#could be one of those mods i mentioned

[sysig]

Sims 2 has played Clinical Trial, it all went by the exact same beats

[naomiknight-17]

Man some days I log on here and it's like

Beautiful trans girl calling herself ugly

People in Palestine are dying

Please help this awesome person who can't afford their medical bills

Look! A cute cat!

Someone drew underage porn of media I like

People in Sudan are dying

Tariffs tariffs tariffs

That idiot world leader is at it again

The transphobes are at it again

This other awesome person desperately needs money right now

Here's a bunch of hate directed at ace people, look how bad it is

Did I mention people are dying

...

Man. Maybe I should log off for a bit

[worldofedd]

Going off the last post. That's probably the main reason "Eddsworld Horror/Grimdark" is not that prevalent and difficult to pull off. Because it's pretty damn hard to take any horror elements seriously when the characters die, get injured, and have all sorts of fucked up stuff happen to them all the time, either all for laughs and/or reversed through negative continuity.

It's the same reason why it's hard to make horror stuff for things like Family Guy, South Park, etc without making it too corny, cliché, or just having it...not work.

[crazy-hazy-sims]

Hey everyone it seems there a malicious individual trying to hack the sims cc community again and fill it with malware you need to stay vigilant as a creator and a downloader so

i have some tips for both to stay safe while downloading:

1- sims cc file extension is always .Package never download anything that is .exe

2- do not auto unpack zip files and rar files into your mods folder directly, open each zip or rar individually check the file extensions and drag them to your mods folder one by one

3- the only mods that have a .ts4script extension are ones that affect gameplay or how the game works, understand that if you are downloading cas or bb items you shouldn't have a .ts4script file

4- if you are downloading gameplay mods that do have .ts4script make sure that A) the creator hasn't announced on their pages that its infected B) you are downloading from a link provided by the creator of the mods themselves not something off of google or a link you got sent and make sure dates of upload match dated of announcements

5- if the mod or cc creator has retired and hasn't posted for a while LOOK AT THE DATES OF THE UPLOAD if it has been "updated recently" after the creator has left the community its most likely re-uploaded by a hacker and infected

6- download mod gaurd by Twisted mexi and keep it updated and keep your windows defender or malware detector Program up to date and always running do not disable it

7- make sure everything you download comes from a direct link from the cc creator, in this day and age do not trust link shortners, adfly, linkverse, etc get the universal bypass extension and ublock extension to stay safe but genuinely NEVER CLICK ON THOSE no matter how much the creator reassures you its safe it. is. NOT.

8- this is more of a general saftey precaution but, create a system restore point weekly before you run the game with new mods that way if anything happens you could have a chance to restore your windows to an earlier date before you downloaded anything.

9- BACK UP YOUR SHIT im serious right now either weekly or monthly put your files somewhere safe like a usb a storage card a hard drive even an online cloud if you dont have any of the previous.

10- files you should back up are your media from games and media everything else, any mods, games saves, work files, passwords, saved bookmarks, any documents txt files word files pdfs, links you saved, brushes or actions for Photoshop if you have any, any digital bills or certificates if you have any, and keep a physical list of all programs you have installed and where you installed them from

11- turn on any 2 factor authentication and security measures for any account you have

12- google and firefox have the option to check your paswords and emails against any data leaks USE THIS FEATURE and change any leaked passwords

13- regularly check your logged in sessions to make sure all the logged in devices or computers are yours and log out any that aren't and any old devices or unused sessions do this for every website and app you have an account on if available

14- change your passwords often. I know this is a hassle i know its hard to come up with new passwords but changing your passwords every few months will help you against anything mention previously that wasn't detected.

15- and as a cc creator check your cc and the accounts you host cc on and its uplaod and update dates make sure nothing has been changed without your permission :(

16- generally try not to get swept up in the "i must get it" fever you do not need to "shop" for mods weekly or monthly you do not need to download everything by that one creator you do not need to download new cc everytime you want to make a sim, im guilty of this so i know how hard it is to resist but take a breath and think "do i want this or do i need it" before downloading.

These are prevention methods i cant claim they are 100% will prevent any hacking but its better to be safe than sorry and these do keep you safe so

Brought to you by someone who has had their laptop ruined and data leaked from downloading cc once upon a time

[questions-about-blorbos]

People in my inbox trying to accuse Khao Kheow zoo of abusing Moo Deng and acting like they are experts who can point fingers and say the zoo and Moo Deng’s Thai keeper are unfit to take care of Moo Deng are so silly.

I’m Thai and I live only an hour drive away from the zoo. I used to visit the zoo frequently when I was a kid, and I — as well as any other Thai people — know the zoo does NOT abuse animals. It’s actually the opposite when they rescue and take in injured animals or animals who they rescued from abusive backgrounds.

Please don’t act like you know better than locals, who are familiar with the zoo and how they treat and save animals, just because you saw one TikTok post where a white person with white savior complex said Moo Deng was abused because her caretaker patted her on her butt a little too hard when they played, or because he manhandled her playfully when she, just like any other kids, threw a tantrum and tried to squirm away— even though Moo Deng’s mom, who could literally be seen eating next to Moo Deng when her caretaker “abused” her in those videos, trusts the caretaker to take care and look after Moo Deng for her and are always unbothered by the way Moo Deng is treated. (Because she knows Moo Deng is fine.) Just like how he took care of her other kids, Moo Deng’s older siblings, for the past 8 years.

And did I mention that Moo Deng’s older siblings are literally so clingy that they always demand to be close to their human caretaker? HE MUST’VE BEEN SOOOOO ABUSIVE TO THEM THAT THEY LIKE HIM THIS MUCH 😡

LOOK AT THESE PHOTOS (and gif) OF ONE OF MOO DENG’S OLDER SIBLINGS WITH HER CARETAKER (the same man who takes care of Moo Deng) AND HOW “SCARED” SHE IS / sarcasm

Anyway, this post explains so absolutely well why the baseless claims, about the zoo being abusive, are complete bullshit.

My favorite quote from them: “Please don't trust random (may I add racist?) foreigners on the internet over locals who actually knows what they're talking about.”

As a local who’s familiar with the zoo and has visited the place many, many times, Khao Kheow zoo and the caretaker NEVER abuse Moo Deng or any of their animals. Thank you.

*Please also follow and support the amazing, hardworking caretaker of Moo Deng and her family over at khamoo.andthegang — gif and all photos above credit to him

— peace and love, mod 2

[marzghost]

Ok so I know my two cents in the situation concerning skizz may not matter since I'm not trans but I still wanted to get this out there because if I'm being honest I hate how everything is going down right now. I am genderfluid so I can't say that him not saying trans rights didn't hurt a bit at the time but I got over it fairly quickly maybe because I feel like he's right in that he's shown that he supports the LGBTQ+ community time and time again by his actions or maybe because he'd worked so hard to create a place where people could be kind to each other and forget the harsh realities of our world and society. As much as we want our existence not to be "political" or "polarizing" the truth of the matter is that it is when it sure as fuck shouldn't be. I'm a hispanic afab genderfluid pansexual living in the USA south and the truth of the matter is that most 40+ year olds that support us don't even go as far to show their support like Skizz does. The fact that some of the fandom is calling to boycott him is just absolutely insane to me because why are you going to go out of your way to hurt someone who is a disabled ally, and yes he is disabled since he suffers from MS, and has expressed his fear over and over again about not making enough money for his family if he went full time content creator? He recently became a full-time content creator and just hit 200k subs on his main channel. You have a right to be mad, we all do, but to try and use tactics that are meant to be used on big time companies and such on someone like Skizzleman is absurd. By that logic Scar and other bigger more popular hermits should be boycotted because they love Disney and talk about Harry Potter. You can't pick and choose who you turn a blind eye too just because they're more popular or less known. If I'm not wrong Skizz lives in a red state so yeah he's a cis white male giving him more wiggle room than most but you guys have to realize he does have a family he has to protect and provide for. Skizz does not care what people think of him. He says this on multiple occasions but he sure as hell cares about his family and like it or not people have been killed for saying they support us.

As for the situation with his mods, we have to understand that those types of things take time. He's had those mods for a while with one being on his team for five years if I remember correctly, please correct me if I'm wrong, and can't be replaced overnight not to mention by now they're probably somewhat seen as friends. I don't think they've ever brought up their beliefs inside of streams or videos so maybe I'm crazy but I don't think that should be held against Skizz. He haired them to do a job and they did it pretty well despite their whack ass political beliefs. Yeah obviously he should fire them but damn give it a month or something don't go straight too killing the man before he can learn!

[fandomshatepeopleofcolor]

Okay, since the Spielberg post blew up, I need to clear up something because I can see in the notes that pple think that Spielberg owns the rights to MLK speeches and I don't want to spread any misinformation. This is what the Vice article says:

In 2009, Steven Spielberg's DreamWorks company paid the estate for film rights to King's words, along with his life rights, which allow a person or company to make content based on an individual's story. DreamWorks has yet to produce or direct Spielberg's planned King biopic, but the rights have caused complications for numerous filmmakers. (Neither Spielberg's literary agent nor King's estate returned Broadly's request for comment.)

This means that while the MLK estate still owns the original copyright for the speeches, Spielberg actually bought and now owns the film rights to MLK's speeches. However, this doesn't erase how problematic it it is since this means that Spielberg is the only filmmaker legally allowed to use MLK's speeches word for word in his films. A White filmmaker is essentially holding onto the film rights, at the expense of Black filmmakers. The article talks about how Ava Duvernay had to write original speeches from scratch for Selma.

King has received only one major biopic, 2014's Selma, directed by Ava DuVernay [...] Instead of using King's speeches, DuVernay wrote original monologues that sounded like soliloquies the civil rights leader could have given. [...] When asked about the changes in 2014, DuVernay told the Washington Post, "We knew those rights are already gone. They're with Spielberg."

The article also mentioned that Spielberg bought life rights and according to this Forbes article, this means that Spielberg also bought the rights to MLK's life.

By paying the Estate for the film rights to Dr. King's speeches along with life rights, Spielberg obtained unprecedented filmmaking access to Dr. King’s life — supported by Dr. King’s extraordinary intellectual property (the right to use Dr. King’s actual words.)

Hope this clarifies everything!

- mod sodapop

[elliesbabygirl]

CHAPTER THREE: PARANOIA.

SERIES SYNOPSIS: Midterms were crushing you-and so was she. Maybe she was the right person at the wrong time, or the wrong person at the right time. Either way, none of it mattered when she was next to you.

WARNINGS: 18+, alcohol + drug use, cheating, swearing, mentions of tattoos + body mods (piercings & tattoos), arguments, blood, partying, pining, sexual tension, eventual smut. slow burn with fluff and angst.

The story is told in a messed-up timeline with memory fragments, a gauge on the reader trying to pick at where it all went wrong with Ellie.

SUBMARINE; MASTERLIST.

The movie had been Ellie’s pick—some indie film with washed-out colors and long silences, the kind where everything was a metaphor for something no one says out loud.

She had pressed play with that excited glint in her eye, telling you “You’re gonna love this one, trust me.”

You did trust her.

You always did.

You were curled into her side on the couch, blanket over both of your legs, her arm around you—but it felt more like muscle memory than intention.

Ellie hadn’t said much since the movie started, and you had spent the last thirty minutes trying to find the right moment, to ask the question that had been chewing a hole in your chest for the past two weeks.

It felt stupid, and maybe a little desperate.

But it had been three months, almost four.

You weren’t asking for fireworks or some perfect title.

You just wanted to know when—if ever—you were going to be Ellie’s girlfriend.

You turned to her, slow and cautious. “Hey, els—can I ask you—?”

Her phone buzzed.

Ellie flinched, and then immediately sat up, untangling from the blanket like she’d been waiting for an excuse.

“Shit—sorry, one sec. I gotta take this.”

You blinked. “Now?”

“It’ll just be a minute.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Sorry— I promise.”

Before you could say anything else, she stood, grabbing her phone and slipping onto the small balcony of her apartment.

The glass door slid shut with a soft click.

And you sat there, mid-sentence, hands curled into the blanket.

It wasn’t late, just past nine.

Whoever was calling didn’t feel like a work emergency, or like a casual check-in from Jesse or Dina.

You watched her through the glass—Ellie turning her back to the living room, phone pressed to her ear, her posture easing as she smiled.

Not just polite, and not just casual.

A real smile.

Your throat tightened.

She used to take those calls next to you—on the couch, your legs draped over hers, her voice lazy and open.

She used to show you her sketchbook without being asked, flipping through pages with pen-stained fingers and watching your reaction like it mattered more than the work itself.

Now?

She barely mentioned her new pieces.

Said she was “busy,” or that Joel had been piling on too much at the shop.

Said she’d show you when it was done.

Always later.

Lately, everything was later.

Even you.

You didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

You didn’t want to be that person.

But Juni’s voice echoed in your head like a warning you didn't want to hear.

“She’s trying to get with Ellie”

You had brushed it off.

Said Ellie was just being nice.

That she didn’t notice Cat’s looks, her lingering attention, and her casually layered compliments whenever Ellie talked about her art.

But now—watching Ellie smile like that while hiding on the balcony, after dodging your question like it didn’t even matter—something ugly and cold began to settle in your chest.

The indie film kept playing, untouched.

Onscreen, two characters were quietly falling apart in a sun-drenched room.

The movie had almost ended by the time Ellie came back inside.

You heard the balcony door slide open before you looked, her feet light against the floor as she stepped in, rubbing the back of her neck.

She had that same easy smile on her face—careful, practiced—but her eyes didn’t quite meet yours.

“Sorry,” Ellie said, sliding her phone into her back pocket. “That was Joel. He’s at the shop trying to close up and forgot how to run the register, again.”

You gave her a short nod, not looking up from the screen.

The film had moved into its last ten minutes—one of those long, drawn-out sequences with soft music and no dialogue.

You couldn’t recap a single thing.

Ellie dropped back onto the couch, noticeably farther from you now.

Not across the room, not dramatic—just a little space between you that hadn’t been there before.

She leaned back into the cushions with a soft sigh, stretching her arms behind her head.

“So,” she said, trying to make her voice sound light. “What’d I miss?”

You let out a soft shrug. “Some sad montage. Someone cried, and probably some metaphors.”

Ellie laughed under her breath. “Damn, knew I’d regret it.”

You still didn’t look at her.

Shimmer had hopped up beside you during the lull, curling into your side.

You ran your fingers through the cat’s fur slowly, eyes fixed on the screen, your body stretched out along the couch—just far enough to avoid leaning into Ellie’s side again.

Then, after a moment;

“Hey… what were you gonna ask earlier? Before Joel called?”

You blinked, your stomach sinking.

Ellie turned her head towards you, but you could feel she wasn’t really pushing—just curious, distracted.

Like she knew there’d been something, but didn’t think it mattered much now.

You hesitated for a moment, then shook your head, voice low. “Nothing, wasn't that important.”

Ellie hummed like she accepted that, even though she didn’t ask again.

You turned back to the screen, letting the soft, melancholic soundtrack fill the silence.

One of the characters on screen was standing alone in an empty room, staring at a window like they were waiting for someone who was never going to come back.

+

It felt like a relief, finally having Ellie back beside you.

You’d missed her—missed this.

The slow, easy way she draped her arm over the back of the couch while you leaned into her side, the way she laughed too hard at Jesse’s dumb impressions, how her fingers brushed against yours on instinct when she passed you the joint.

After weeks of “Sorry, shop’s slammed,” and “Joel’s got me on inventory again,” the stretch of time between now and the last time you saw her like this had been long enough to start to feel like a gap.

But she was here now.

You were with Dina and Jesse again, curled up in their cramped apartment, the familiar scent of weed filling the space while Jesse's lo-fi playlist played low through his speaker.

You’d ordered too much food for delivery, and as always, Jesse had suggested movie night but no one had touched the remote in over an hour

You were mid-laugh at one of Dina’s stories when she turned to Ellie with a grin, waving a pretzel for emphasis.

“By the way, that tattoo you gave Cat? So sick. That shading on the horns? You’re disgusting.”

You blinked. Smile fading just slightly.

Ellie, who had just taken a sip from her drink, swallowed and nodded casually. “Oh—yeah. She sat like a champ actually, it was pretty hot.”

('Hot'?..What the fuck?)

Your brows pulled together a little, your voice quiet. “Wait… you tattooed Cat?”

Ellie glanced at you. “Oh, yeah. Last week, I think? I was gonna show you the sketch, I just—haven’t gone through the book in a bit. I’ve got all my ideas in there.”

Your mouth was suddenly dry.

Dina kept talking, completely unaware. “It’s, like, this full blackwork goat—just line and shading, clean as hell. Honestly, I kind of want something in that style now.”

You nodded along, slow, the edges of the couch pressing harder into your back than they had been a moment ago.

(So that's why she hadn't opened the sketchbook around you in weeks.)

The one she always used to share.

The one she’d promised—”you’ll see it when it’s done.”

Jesse glanced between you and Ellie once, subtle but sharp-eyed.

You didn’t notice.

You were too busy suddenly trying to remember what night it had been.

What you were doing.

What you were told by Ellie.

He cleared his throat and stood up, stretching with an exaggerated groan. “Yo, food’s downstairs, right? Hey, mind helping me grab it?”

You blinked. “Oh—uh, yeah. Sure.”

You followed him into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you as he hit the stairwell, his voice low but gentle as he slowed to your pace.

“You okay?”

You kept your eyes on the steps. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jesse gave a dry chuckle. “That was a very convincing 'yeah'.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Just wrapped your arms around yourself a little tighter.

He looked at you again, more serious now. “You didn’t know about Cat’s tattoo appointment with Ellie, huh?”

You shook your head. “Not a clue.”

Jesse sighed. “I mean, it’s probably nothing, but… you two feel a little off lately. Ellie’s been a little weird, right?”

You looked up, something bitter curling at the edge of your mouth. “She’s just been busy.”

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

You kept walking.

And in the silence that followed, you realized; it wasn’t just Ellie who’d gone quiet.

It was you, too—quietly waiting, quietly hoping.

And quietly wondering when you’d start to feel like hers again.

+

The shop bell chimed softly overhead as you stepped inside—hands in your pockets, the familiar scent of antiseptic and warm wood wrapping around you like second nature.

You hadn’t texted first.

Ellie always told you not to bother. “Just come by. Doesn’t matter when.”

It was supposed to be a good surprise.

The front of the shop was quiet, blinds half-closed against the afternoon glare, music low and pulsing in the background.

No one behind the desk.

No sound of machines buzzing.

Then, through the divider curtain—half pulled, half-forgotten—you saw them.

Ellie was standing between Cat’s legs, the two of them tucked into the corner of her station like they had the right to be there.

Her hand was under Cat’s shirt, fingers curled lightly against her skin in a way that was so familiar it made your stomach twist.

That was your place.

And that was your Ellie.

They were kissing—slow, like the world had paused around them, like it was a habit.

You stopped in the doorway, stunned into silence.

The bell still echoed faintly overhead.

“I should probably go check who that is,” Ellie muttered against Cat’s mouth, her voice low, breathless—soft in that way you knew too well.

The one she used only when she was comfortable.

Relaxed.

Intimate.

Cat hummed lazily, her hands on Ellie’s hips. “Just another walk-in?”

Ellie chuckled faintly and pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Cat’s. “I’ll be right back, promise.”

She turned towards the front.

Still smiling.

Still flushed.

Still carrying that post-kiss softness in her expression.

Then her eyes landed on you.

And everything stopped.

Her breath hitched like someone had punched it out of her.

And her face dropped—smile collapsing, posture stiffening, hands falling like they didn’t know where to go.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Ellie opened her mouth.

Nothing came out at first.

Then, choked, raw—barely above a whisper;

“Baby—”

Her voice cracked halfway through it.

You stared at her like she wasn’t real.

Like none of it was.

Ellie stepped forward fast—too fast, panic rising in her chest as if momentum alone could undo what you saw.

Her voice stumbled out in pieces, half-excuses tripping over each other.

“Wait—wait, it’s not what it looks like, I—she just—Cat was just—” Her hands hovered mid-air, like she didn’t know whether to reach for you or bury her face in them.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

The silence said enough.

The way your eyes didn’t fill with rage—just with something far worse.

The way you didn’t cry or yell or ask why.

You just looked at her like something in you had quietly died.

“No, please, just—listen, okay?” Ellie begged, voice cracking now as she moved around the counter like she might catch you before you slipped away.

“It didn’t mean anything. I wasn’t—fuck, I wasn’t thinking, alright?”

You took a slow step backwards, your eyes still locked on her, rimmed with something distant.

Shaking your head—once, small, final.

A gesture not of disbelief, but of recognition.

You believed her.

And that’s what hurt the most.

She was exactly who you were afraid she’d be.

“Don’t,” you whispered, barely loud enough to cut through her frantic breathing. “Just… don’t.”

Another step back, and your hand found the door without looking.

Ellie’s voice broke completely. “Please.”

You didn’t stop.

You just turned and walked through the door, the bell above it chiming one last time.

+

(Now, you were here. Why the fuck did you let Ellie in?)

She stood just inside the door like she didn’t know whether to run or collapse, chest rising and falling fast, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt.

You stayed planted where you were—back near the kitchen, arms crossed, as if the counter could keep you upright.

Your heart had been pounding since you saw her at the shop.

Since you saw them.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” Ellie started, voice shaking. “I didn’t even know—I wasn’t thinking, alright?”

“You never are,” you shot back, sharp and immediate. “That’s the problem.”

Ellie winced like you’d hit her. “You don’t get it. You never fucking get it.”

(What the fuck was she talking about?)

“I saw you, Ellie,” you snarled, stepping forward. “Saw your hand under her shirt like it belonged there, like it used to belong to me.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” Ellie said too fast, too defensively.

“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped, voice rising, raw. “Don’t insult me with that.”

Her fists clenched, her face flushing deep with something between shame and rage. “You don’t know what it’s like to be with someone like you.”

You stopped cold. “Someone like me?”

Ellie’s hands shot up, hair falling into her face as she paced in a sharp circle.

“You hover, okay? You cling. You’re always there. Always wanting to talk, always wanting to fucking understand everything. I can’t breathe without feeling like I owe you something—like I’m supposed to be your goddamn redemption arc.”

Your mouth dropped open. “I just loved you, Ellie.”

“No,” she shouted. “You smothered me. You’re like a fucking parasite. Always needing more—more answers, more commitment, more goddamn validation! And I tried, I really fucking tried, but every time you asked for more, I felt like I was disappearing.”

You staggered back like she’d struck you.

You actually put a hand to your chest, trying to calm the ache blooming there.

“I never asked you to disappear,” you whispered, eyes glassy.

“I asked you to show up.”

Ellie faltered, breath hitching.

“I waited,” you continued, voice shaking now.

“I waited for you to call me your girlfriend. I waited for you to feel safe. I waited through every phone call you took outside. Every time you brushed me off. Every sketchbook you closed in my face. I waited because I believed you. Because when you looked me in the eyes that night at yours and said I was perfect, I thought you meant it.”

“I did,” Ellie whispered, voice cracking.

“But you still chose her.”

“I didn’t choose anyone!” she exploded. “I chose to fucking breathe! And yeah, maybe I kissed her, maybe I let it happen, but it was because for once I didn’t feel like I was failing someone just by fucking being me!”

You stared at her, your entire body trembling. “So that’s what I was to you? A job? A project? Something to fail?”

Ellie turned away, hands shaking. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you said quietly. “You meant it enough to say it.”

Silence crashed between you—thick, suffocating.

Ellie turned back to you, eyes desperate now, rimmed with tears. “Please,” she whispered, voice broken. “I don’t know how to fix this. Just tell me what to say.”

You shook your head, tears finally spilling. “There’s nothing left to say.”

Ellie stood there like she didn’t hear you—or like she couldn’t afford to believe it.

Her shoulders were trembling now, fists clenched at her sides, and her voice nothing but shredded nerves when she spoke again.

“I can fix this,” she insisted, stepping towards you. “Please—just give me a chance. I know I fucked up, I know I said shit I didn’t mean, but I can fix this.”

You didn’t move.

She ran a hand down her face, already spiraling deeper than before.

“The candy, the flowers—I know that shit was dumb, I know it doesn’t make up for anything, but I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t answering me, and I panicked, I—fuck—I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You did lose me,” you said, voice low and raw. “The moment you called me a fucking parasite, Ellie.”

Ellie’s face crumpled, like she’d heard the words for the first time.

“I didn’t mean that. I was scared. I was cornered. You were right there and I didn’t know how to explain myself, and it just came out. I didn’t mean it, I swear to god.”

“You don’t get to walk back everything because you’re scared now,” you said, tears sliding down your face.

“You said it. You looked me in the eye and said I smothered you. Like loving you was something ugly that I did.”

Ellie’s breath hitched, her voice splintering. “It’s not. You loving me was the only good thing I had. You—you were the good thing. I just didn’t know how to hold it without ruining it.”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “So you went and proved yourself right.”

Ellie was crying now, silently, her chest rising and falling like she couldn’t catch her breath.

“I didn’t want to prove anything. I just—I wanted space, I wanted clarity, I wanted you and I wanted room to breathe and I didn’t know how to ask for both. And I fucked it all up. But I swear to you, I will do whatever it takes to make it right.”

You shook your head. “Even if you could fix this, you can’t erase it. I saw the look on your face when you kissed her. I saw what it looked like when you didn’t have to try.”

Ellie’s knees almost buckled. She covered her mouth, eyes wide, broken open. “Please,” she whispered.

“Don’t give up on me, don't let this be the end.”

You looked at her—really looked at her.

This person you once thought would carry your heart like it was sacred.

The same person who, now, was begging for another shot while standing in the wreckage she made herself.

Author's note: heyyy...how y'all doing. What did we think?? I know the timeline can feel a bit confusing but I am creating a timeline graph for each scene or event that happens in the fic. I will show it to you guys around chapter 4, where it'll come into play, TRUSTT. I'm literally updating submarine LIVE from a party, LIKE ON MY PHONE. And a little drunk.

TAGLIST:

@mayfldss @sewithinsouls @iadorefineshyt @safficoon @panic4sage @modernvenuss @re1daway @bluminescent-moon @valeisaslut

LMK IF YOU WANNA BE ON THE TAGKLIST.

[yandere-daydreams]

file #4: the body mod fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!wriothesley x reader (genshin).

length: 3.1k.

warnings: non/con touching + groping, nonconsensual piecing, dubiously consensual tattoos, permanent body modification, intimidation, needles, obsessive behavior, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Just one?”

The question had been hushed, meek, directed more towards your lap than the man sitting across from you. The warden – Wriothesley, you chided yourself, biting the inside of your cheek and attempting to remember what he’d asked you to call him, Wriothesley – broke into a wry smile, but nodded, leaning back in his armchair. “Just one,” he reassured. “And you’ll taken care of until your release date.”

You didn’t respond, but he must’ve seen the way you paled at the suggestion. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just—” You grit your teeth. Your eyes flitted up momentarily, but fell back to your legs just as quickly. “I… I’ve never really liked needles, I guess.”

You could see his eyes light up, his grin broadening as he tried to stifle his laughter. You scowled, but couldn’t blame him. He was used to dealing with hardened criminals, the scum of Teyvat, thieves and spies and murderers, and here you were – on the verge of fainting because he asked you to get a tattoo. “I promise, you don’t have anything to worry about.” At least he was trying to sound comforting, even if it was clearly a half-hearted effort. “I’ll make sure you’re in good hands.”

And he had, in a way.

You just wished he would’ve mentioned that those hands would be his own.

Calloused fingertips dug into your bicep as a scarred palm pressed into your skin, keeping one of your arms loosely secured against the mattress of the cot while the other was pinned between the bedframe and his chest (the placement unintentional, or so you hoped). You’d been shaking when he brought out that terrible machine – a vial of dark ink trapped inside of a cage of copper and steel; a single, silver needle protruding out of one end and a leather grip wrapped around the other – but it’d only taken an hour for fear to fade into boredom, another for boredom to drag on into a rotting, discolored sort of exhaustion. For as much as you’d been dreading it, there was more pressure than pain. It was repetitive, if anything – a monotonous pierce, stab, pierce, stab that you could only try your best not to focus on. You could already feel an ache settling below the skin of your shoulder, already knew that you wouldn’t be able to lift your arm for days, but you tried not to—

His needle stabbed into the thin skin over your shoulder blade, and you couldn’t stop yourself – letting out a low hiss as you flinched into the cot’s thin mattress. You expected Wriothesley to laugh, to drag a damp cloth over the affected area and mutter something like ‘bear with me’ or ‘my bad, love, my bad’ like he had a dozen times before, but instead, there was a muffled click as he switched off his awful machine, a dull clatter as he dropped it onto a bedside table already crowded with bottles of disinfectant and the nurse’s bizarre tools. “We’ll stop here. It’ll take another session, but I think you’ve been through enough for one day. For a virgin, especially.”

You were only half-listening; the phantom of his machine still buzzing in your ears. “Are you sure?” You asked, trying to hide how desperate you were not to spend another night in the empty infirmary with a man you barely knew. “It’s not that bad, I can go for another—”

“I’m sure. Sit up, I’ll let you have a look.”

You pursed your lips, but didn’t protest. You could see how Wriothesley had gotten into such an authoritative position. The way he spoke, his constant undertone of stern stability – it was hard to so much as imagine talking back to him, let alone breaking one of the rules that’d been meticulously and painstakingly drilled into you when you’d arrived at the Fortress of Meropide a little under a week ago. Still, you’d been terrified – too scared to so much as speak to another prisoner for the first two days. You weren’t dangerous. You couldn’t hold your own in a fight, or protect yourself if someone else, someone stronger decided they had a problem with you. You could barely even call yourself a criminal, but apparently, the Iudex hadn’t agreed. You’d been on your way to the fortress before he could finish reading out your sentence, and now, you were trapped in the darkest, deepest place in all of Fontaine, alone and so, so painfully vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for Wriothesley, you probably would’ve requested to forgo your imprisonment entirely and be sent straight to the gallows.

A hand on your shoulder, a softened lull to his voice. “You can sit up, can’t you? I’ll have to call Sigewinne, if you’re in that much pain.”

“Right, I— uh, sorry,” You stammered as you shook your head and pushed yourself up, careful to keep the thick, overly starched cot sheet pressed to your chest. The infirmary was empty, the door locked and sealed, and while Wriothesley hadn’t seemed to think much of ordering you to take off your shirt and lay face-down, you couldn’t bring yourself to brush off the stark, damp chill that came with any amount of exposure in the fortress so easily. You guessed that, after enough time, you’d get used to it. You guessed that, when you did, the thought of not being so cold so constantly wouldn’t make you feel so sick. “I…  I think I’m still getting used to this,” you went on, with a strained smile. “Still a little out of it, I guess.”

“That’s alright, love. We all take a few months to find a way to cope.” When you glanced over your shoulder, there was already a mirror in his hand – a compact, small enough to fit in his palm. You had to crane your neck to see it, but Wriothesley knew how to strike the right angle, and soon enough, the sprawling, spiraling pattern stretching from the lower curve of your shoulder blade to the ball of your shoulder came into view. It took you a moment to make out the pattern, but relief accompanied the delayed realization. Lumidouce bells, all blossoming and linked together by a single vine. He’d finished the linework, and there was a smattering of color in the bottom corner – only, oh, he’d gotten the shade wrong. Rather than deep violet, he’d used a light blue, more similar to ice than the water nearly everything in Fontaine stole its palette from. Judging by his expression, though, all beaming pride and low-brewing mirth, he hadn’t caught the mistake. “What do you think? Don’t keep me in suspense, now.”

“It’s… nice,” you said, the sentiment sincere despite your hesitance. And then, laughing, “I was—Well, it feels a little silly now, but I was terrified you’d leave me with, I don’t know, a sea monster or a giant wolf or something.”

“Maybe next time. Not a wolf, though - you don’t strike me as that vicious.” You bit your tongue, forcing yourself not to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time and opting to focus on the soreness starting to knot in your shoulder, instead. You swung your legs over the side of the cot, moving towards where you’d left your shirt draped over an unopened crate, but Wriothesley caught your wrist, tugging you gently back onto the thin mattress. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his playfulness suddenly more irritating than it had been, a few second ago. “I don’t think we’re finished, yet.”

Not for the first time, your smile wavered. “I… I thought we only agreed to one, sir.”

“Of course.” He squeezed your wrist teasingly. “One of each.”

Something heavy and spiked dropped into the pit of your stomach. This time, you couldn’t help the way your expression dropped. “Sir, that’s really not what I—”

“It’ll be worse the longer you put it off.” You weren’t dangerous. You weren’t a criminal. You weren’t strong, but Wriothesley was. Before you could so much as push yourself to your feet, his arm was around your waist and he was perched on the edge of the cot, one leg tucked underneath him to make more room for your body, soon pulled between his thighs. The back of your shoulder screamed where it pressed into his chest, but you managed to swallow the little, pitiful sound threatening to bubble past your lips and clung to your sheet – suddenly so much thinner than it’d seemed, seconds prior. If Wriothesley noticed your apparent panic, the distress of his prisoners was an inconvenience he was willing to endure. Only half-consciously, you tried to shove yourself away from him, but his muscle-bound arm was snaked around your waist before you could gain any distance, keeping you flush against his broad chest. He was so much bigger than you’d realized, when he was on the other side of that desk, when he was engraving something intrusive and permanent into the very fabric of your being. This had been a bad idea. Trusting anyone here had been a bad idea. You should never have—

Your elbow slammed into his diaphragm, and Wriothesley let out a slow grunt, his fingers burrowing into the plush of your side. “Easy now, love,” he half-muttered, half-breathed, bowing his head to speak into the side of your throat. “We had a deal, remember? Can you tell me what it was?”

“You—you said I wouldn’t get hurt if—” You forced yourself to stop, to swallow, to breathe. “But, I only agreed to get one tattoo, and you—”

“I said I’d take care of you. Get you a nice, cushy job with the fortress administrator, keep you out of any over-crowded bunks, make sure the other prisoners don’t cause you any trouble – that kind of thing. I’m really not supposed to play favorites, so even doing that much is going to take more than a little discretion on my part.”

“But, you offered to—”

“I said I’d take care of you, and I’m going to.” You could see him fishing something off of the bedside table with his free hand, but you forced yourself not to look, not to make the ever-growing pit in your stomach feel that much more hollow. “You’ve heard a few stories about what it’s like in the underworld, right? I try to keep all of you nice n’ safe, but a few are bound to fall through the cracks. Rehabilitation can only do so much and—well, I’m sure you know all about how bloodthirsty desperation can make someone.” There was a pause, an ebbing lull to the tenderness in his voice. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, sweetheart. Are you going to help me get a little practice in, while I do that?”

Practice. If he wanted practice, you were sure there were another hundred prisoners who’d willingly lay down and let him carve a hole through whatever he wanted to. Still, you did your best to calm yourself down, to stop thrashing, to shut your eyes and try to ignore the large, pulsing thing you could feel pressing into your ass. You didn’t nod, didn’t give him permission, but when his fist balled around the infirmary sheet and tugged it away from you, the only resistance you managed to scrape up was a slight frown and a wary glance in his direction. “You’re already in for a rough night,” he explained, as if that was any excuse. “Might as well get the hardest one out of the way first, right?”

You refused to let yourself linger on the implication that this wasn’t going to be the last, too.

You clenched your eyes shut as his large hand pawed at the right side of your chest, kneading into the softened flesh with an almost delicate sort of care. “It’s easier after a little stimulation,” he murmured, as if that meant he had to spend so long circling your nipple with a calloused thumb, occasionally swiping over the sensitive bud in a way that made your thighs twitch and your face burn. When your nipple was stiff and pebbled, he pulled away, but it was a momentary reprieve – torn away from you with a splash of freezing disinfectant. It dripped down your chest and filled the stagnant air with a thick, chemical haze as Wriothesley caught your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching tightly. You felt the long, curved tip of his piercing needle against your skin, and braced yourself for the pain. Wriothesley wasn’t kind enough not to drag it out, though. “Wanna count me down?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself that much closer to his chest, desperate for any kind of stability. You’d hoped that Wriothesley would take your clear obstinance as a sign not to drag it out any longer, but he seemed to savor it – the agony of the wait, the way the dread seemed to multiply tenfold every time you forced yourself to suck in a ragged inhale. Seconds seemed to pass like frozen honey, only just beginning to drip. You’d started to think he wouldn’t do it, that he’d just laugh and admit this was all part of some bizarre, invasive hazing ritual when Wriothesley let out an airy chuckle and plunged his needle into you.

Oh, archons.

You really thought the tattoo would’ve been worse.

It was faster, at least; a bright shock of pain followed immediately by a steady, throbbing sort of ache that seemed to drown out every other sensation and fill your mind with a buzzing, numbing static. You didn’t realize your eyes had shot open on reflex until tears blurred your vision, until you glanced down just in time to watch as he dragged the needle through and replaced it with a small, silver stud – a barbell, as wrong as it felt to think of yourself having something so vulgar attached to you. You were crying unabashedly by the time he finished, pain and humiliation dripping down your cheeks in hot, wet streams, but Wriothesley’s shallow pool of sympathy must’ve run dry. “Ah, don’t make that face, sweetheart – we’re only halfway done.” You felt him panting into the crook of your neck as his hand found the other side of your chest. The last threads of his veil of composure frayed and broke apart as he groped unabashedly at your chest, toying with your nipple as your sobs echoed off of the clinic walls. You felt something thick and hot and wet crash against your collarbone and drip down the curve of your chest, and forced yourself to believe it was only disinfectant. That there was nothing it could’ve been except disinfectant.

Wriothesley’s hips rocked against your ass, the rigid outline of his cock pressing into you, incinerating any lingering delusions you might’ve had of helpful prison wardens exchanging one favor for another. Five fingers bit into the plush of your chest as he brought his needle to your unmutilated nipple, his hand surprisingly steady despite the airy, drawling moans he was pouring into your throat. “P-please don’t,” you managed, fighting to speak above the pathetic cries and choking fear doing their best to strangle out your voice. “Please, I can’t—I don’t want to—”

But, Wriothesley wasn’t listening. It wasn’t a spark, this time, but a red-hot knife, stabbed deep into your chest and twisted as far as it could go. You heard Wriothesley let out a rough groan, felt something warm and damp against your ass, and then, you were gone.

~

You startled awake hours later; bolting upright as you heaved in jolting, uneven inhales. Immediately, pain knocked you out of your panicked daze – sharp and piercing, imbedded into the back of your shoulder and either side of your chest, strong enough to remind you to measure out your breathing and calm down before you blindly threw yourself back into a seething pit of violent criminals. It took you a second to realize that you weren’t on an undersized infirmary cot, anymore, and another to piece together where he’d taken you – a bedroom nearly triple the size of your bunk. The warden’s chambers, you figured, as you scanned over the limited decoration and piles of dust-coated paperwork stacked onto every possible surface. Wriothesley’s room.

Wriothesley’s bed, at that. A cold chill ran down your spine as you realized that he’d taken the time to strip you out of your ill-fitting coveralls and redress you in a shirt sizes too big to be one of yours – the bleached, threadbare material a stark contrast to the satin sheets draped over your legs. You started to push them away and move towards the edge of the mattress, but froze as a door on the far side of the room creaked open – Wriothesley slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him. He moved away from it quickly, but as it closed, you could’ve sworn you heard the muffled, deafening click of a lock sliding into place and cutting you off from the rest of the world – or, the rest of the underworld, rather. As if there was anyone out there who would bother to save you, even if they could try.

“There’s my sleeping beauty.” He grinned as he lowered himself on the side of the bed, positioning himself closer to you than he absolutely had to. He reached out, moving to cup your face, but quickly let his hand fall back to his side when you flinched away. His smile dimmed, but didn’t fall away. “Get a chance to see the improvements, yet?”

After a second of hesitation, you shook your head, and he nodded to your chest - the gesture more of an order than a suggestion. Reluctantly, you pinched your collar between two fingers and peeled away from your skin. Through the narrow sliver, you could see his handiwork: a pair of twin rings hanging from either nipple, connected by a thin, lax, silver chain – so light, you could barely feel it brushing your diaphragm as the air caught in your chest.

You dropped the collar before you could give in to the nausea beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t bear to look at Wriothesley, so you kept your eyes on the sheets, kneading at the fabric half-consciously as you struggled to find your voice. “That wasn’t what we agreed to,” you muttered, mostly under your breath. “Can I go back to my bunk, now?”

His smile took on an almost apologetic note. You tried again. “Am I... Am I going to be able to leave?”

This time, when he reached out, flinching away wasn’t enough to stop him – his hand catching your chin and drawing you that much closer to him. You tried to lurch away, but it was too late, his lips were already crashing into yours, his tongue already slipping past your teeth and raking over your own. While your eyes widened in shock, his went half-lidded, closing just a second too late. Abruptly, it occurred to you that you’d never really noticed the color of his eyes – a pale, faded blue. The color of the half-formed flowers currently stretching across your back.

Wriothesley’s hand slipped to the nape of your neck. You let your eyes fall shut, and did your best not to think at all.

[writingwithcolor]

Does the way my alien character disguises himself as a POC perpetuate harmful tropes?

Anonymous asks:

"Hi all! I'm a longtime follower, first time asker. There's something about my current story that feels a little sticky, and I haven't been able to find any applicable information on the blog. I'm working on a queer monster romance. The setting is a modern one with supernatural elements. One of the main characters is an alien refugee, and his species has an ability to possess corpses and retain some of the last soul's memories to disguise themselves. It's morbid, but it's supposed to be a story about monsters, and he doesn't do worse beyond that. I've read a lot of posts by Latinx and Jewish people talking about aliens on Earth as a metaphor for immigrants, with the struggle of adapting to a new culture and being separated from the one you were born into, and since my story takes place in Southern California, which has a large population of Mexican immigrants, I thought it made sense to make his ""host body"" Mexican. However, the more I think on it, I'm worried that his ""disguise"" method could be viewed as a violation of a brown body. I'm also concerned that he's just TOO monstrous, and could play into a harmful trope of making POC inhuman. The other main character is white and more visibly monstrous, and there are other POC who aren't monsters, but is it enough? Should my alien disguise himself in another way? I know mods aren't answering questions about Latino culture right now, but I think this is more about harmful tropes against POC in general. Thanks for reading."

I appreciate that your response is about the Mexican community rather than the Jewish community, but still take a look at Mod Shira’s post on Jewish Monster Characters Doing Harm  as well as Monsters in General.

Consider the tension that your monsters create. As those posts suggested,  could you swap out “monster” and replace it with “immigrant,” “Latine,” or "Mexican" and see real-world conflict? If so, then the story could be veering towards a metaphor for race-relations, despite being a romance genre and not an #ownvoices narrative. 

You mentioned that some monsters disguise themselves in white bodies but are “more monstrous.” That’s interesting, but I’m still unclear: does your alien monster merge with its host, or is it just wearing their skin? In the anime Parasyte, the alien Migi and its human host have deep conversations about humanity, culture, and perspective. These are all things Migi doesn’t initially understand. This exchange gives the human host agency while preserving their cultural identity. Will your Latine MC receive that kind of humanization?

If not, and these aliens are simply using a Latine appearance as a disguise, that’s a problem. It effectively erases the Latino experience while using a Latine character’s face, which feels deeply unsettling. It risks reducing Mexican identity to an aesthetic rather than acknowledging its depth of culture, traditions, history, food, music, humor, or language.

Since this is a queer romance, it also raises another issue: if the alien is just impersonating a Latine person, then the Latine love interest is, in reality, falling for someone who isn’t actually Latine. Does the love interest teach the alien about Latino culture? That could work, or fall flat depending on execution.

Ultimately, if there’s no strong narrative reason for this alien to present as Latine, it might be worth reconsidering their ethnicity. Maybe your next story could have a Latine MC without this sort of ambiguity, or you could make the alien merge with a real Latine host, similar to Parasyte. Alternatively, the love interest could be Latine, allowing for meaningful cultural exchange. Personally, I’d pass on a book where a non-Latine entity is running around murdering and romancing in Latine skin. But that’s just me. 

~  Melanie 🌻

since my story takes place in Southern California, which has a large population of Mexican immigrants, I thought it made sense to make his "host body" Mexican.

This just sounds exactly like the aliens disguising themselves as Latin American immigrants in The Men In Black (1997) lol. In MIB, it is an intentional joke/play on the word “alien” that only worked in the 90s. That’s going to be the first thing audiences think of when they read this scenario. 

~ Rina

Rina and Melanie’s Required Reading/Watching Recs:

The Men In Black (Columbia Pictures, 1997) 

The Host (Stephenie Meyer, 2008) 😖

Parasyte (dir. Shimizu Kenichi, Madhouse, 2014)

Our prescription: more research and genre awareness.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Unscripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 6−1

Propaganda

Trish Una (Riley Hopkins and Their Amazing Friends: Interstitial Infinity):

Ok genuinely I'm gonna need some razzle dazzle for the Deal Great Harm queen, the beautiful mind, the arm through a little blonde boy with bad vibes, thumbs down, bad motherfucker l, head full of rocks heart full of emotions Trish Una

She's been left by everyone she cares about- are you going to leave her too?

trish una is capable of such violence it's beautiful. listen to those clips again i beseech you

Mod Note: This is only the Trish Una from the podcast Riley Hopkins And Their Amazing Friends. Do not vote on the basis of any other Trish Una.

Husky (Hope's Hearth):

not only is she a giant polar bear woman, she has a Russian accent, is MASSIVE, fat, has huge tits, threatens people, and has a high rank in Sexy

Audio asking so-so-niceys for your vote against Pickman.

Art of Trish Una courtesy of @charaznablescanontoyota.

Art of Husky by @lotsadeer.

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Trish Una (Riley Hopkins and Their Amazing Friends: Interstitial Infinity):

Trish Una, from the universe of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, ensures that the hits start coming and they don't stop coming. Trush Ina, from JJBA, fights Rachel from Animorphs and wins. T. Una Sandwich, from Jimmy John's Brash Accumulation, is best friends with Shadow the Hedgehog and she's also my dad. T-Minus Uno, from Chipotle,

She is emotionally compromised and definitely not turning into her father

Trish "is it stands" Una is the type of motherfuckers you need to see to be believed. Trish & Carrie toxic Yuri. Trish the fucking Spirit of justice. Trish is the real one.

Please vote for my close friend Trish Una or else you leave without saying goodbye to her

TRISH "THE MONEY" UNA

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

#is that fucking shadow the hedgehog

yes! he's one of the main party members! listen to intersitital infinity on riley hopkins and their amazing friends!

Trish Una is a girl who is certain she knows what's going on. She shishkebobed Simon from Infinity Train. She is best friends with Shadow the Hedgehog, Mob from Mob Psycho, Alphonse Elric, and technically Shoka Sakurane.

Please vote for Trish she is so so sexy

Trish Una could take over a position of leadership in a preestablished location but could Virtue have a emotionally fraught conversation with carrie white?

vote for trish una, girl who went to another universe, found out she was fictional / a tertiary character at best in her own story, and decided the proper coping method was to punch a guy to shreds

vote for trish una, girl who looked at carrie from the movie carrie and said "i could fix her"

vote for trish una, girl who fought a bear and won

vote for trish una, girl who put a part of herself into a machine in an attempt to control it and inextricably(?) linked the machine to her soul

vote for trish una, girl who might be the devil

Husky (Hope's Hearth):

She can crush a watermelon with her thighs. Or your head. Whatever you prefer.

She's a SPACE PIRATE on the Gilted Rose and uses her massive paws to solve problems. Husky WILL go through you. There is no stopping her.

Also did you know she's so big, a honey badger person can stand on her tits like a shelf?

She committed a successful honey heist and stole from a fascist empire. She helped save an eldritch god's girlfriend from demons who had taken over his library castle. She threatened to kill her boss, who she thought had been dead, because he was being a coward.

She's fat and powerful and deserves this.

did I mention she's a lesbian

A giant polar bear woman

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

Did I mention Husky is also a wizard, with stats in Sexy, Battle, and Wizard? Guess which stat is her highest

VOTE FOR MY HOT BEAR GIRLFRIEND

VOTE FOR SPANKS' INCREDIBLY HOT BEAR GIRLFRIEND

Spanks: THAT'S MY EXTREMELY HOT POLY GIRLFRIEND WHO I WOULD GLADLY MARRY IF SHE WAS COOL WITH IT babe did you bang a centipede and also a bird thing that's hot

Husky: We discuss marriage later, Пупсик.

We need everyone to vote for Husky

I would like to submit that Husky is a giant polar bear woman who is perpetually being climbed by a slightly smaller, but equally butch honey badger woman. And we all know honey badgers don't give a fuck. I'm just saying!

VOTE! FOR! THE! LESBIAN! BEAR!

Vote for a woman who can be sexy in multiple ways. She's a space pirate, she's a femme, she's a lesbian polar bear alien, she's fat. Vote for Husky!

Being able to pick up a man by his scruff and threaten him in a low voice without using your gun is sexy.

Audio message to Sammy Sinclair.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

very specific but i like to think of a nikolai, just out of the shower, still in a towel, coming into price’s office. he sits down on the couch put in the corner (price only got it because, if it wasn’t there, he would take price’s chair. when the captain complained, nik would pat a knee and tell him there’s a perfectly good seat there, just to see the other go red.), and sit there for god knows how long just *talking* about anything that comes to mind.

This is a delicious thought, Non. Freshly showered Nikolai would smell so good, and his body hair would be so soft.

Imagine it's early days. Pre-first shag and relationship. The first time Nik kipped over they didn't have any spare beds. Base was run by the MoD, not the bloody Hilton, Nikolai. Nik hadn't complained, but he had helped himself to Price's en suite while Price was at a meeting and, upon Price's return, he found Nik in his desk chair, completely in the noddy but for the towel around his waist.

If it had been anyone else, Price might have thrown a wobbly and barked them back into their damn box, but it was Nik and Nik was about as controllable as a feral black street cat. That is, he did what he bloody wanted and, if you had the audacity to try and correct his behaviour, he dug his claws in.

"Get out m' bloody seat," Price grumbled as he dumped his laptop and a stack of files on his desk from the wrong side. He was trying not to look at Nik's body, his broad shoulders and hefty tits on full display, the curve of the towel over his lap leaving little to the imagination. Not to mention all that fluffy black body hair that probably felt absolutely fuckin' fantastic to--

Focus, Jonathan.

"I have better idea," Nik said, spinning a little on the centre stand. He stretched his long legs out and then curled them back, patting his upraised knee with a crooked little grin. "I will be your seat."

"Yer a nightmare, Nikolai," Price said with an amused huff, rubbing his fingers into tired eyes. Mainly so he didn't linger on those thick thighs or the large hand that looked like it would fit very nicely around his waist. "Put some fuckin' pants on, fer Christ's sake."

After that, Nik's sleepovers became fairly regular so Price dragged an old couch out of inventory. It hadn't been completely shredded by the squaddies in their rec room and after a bit of judicious scrubbing it was clear of all suspicious stains. Nik sat there in his towel, sometimes with a book, other times with only his phone, chattering away as Price ploughed through his paperwork. All the while, Price had to fight the urge to waltz over there and tug that damn towel open to put his mouth to better use than nattering about any ol' bollocks.

Problem was Price reckoned Nik knew what he was doing. But if Nik was a feral street cat, then Price was a cantankerous bulldog and he would not be rising - or sinking, as was the true shape of his want - to such bait. Nik would have to come and bloody ask for it like every other bloke. Price wished he'd hurry up though, because there were only so many sad wanks one man could have before it became pathetic.

[allfearstofallto]

you’ve mentioned once that you’re not sure if childe and his darling knew each other before, well, the whole kidnap situation

so i was wondering how childe “found” and then decided to kidnap someone who kinda didn’t even know he existed💔

btw love your childe posts, you’re lit feeding me

OMG, I love this one so fucking much.

So I do have headcanons for how Yanderes met and fell for their darlings or one of the ways they could've and the only one who didn't write for was Childe, mostly because I couldn't decide. Like, for him, I have so many ideas.

I mentioned Ajax's darling always hailing from Liyue because that's where I assumed Childe spends a good chunk of his time, but some other thoughts I'd have is: Young Ajax with a full cheeks a bright smile, far before he fell into the abyss. He'd meet a girl unfamiliar with the snow and maybe shivering and shaking like a leaf in a storm.

The orange haired boy, feeling pity on you would give you his gloves and scarf, but not much else could be said before you're pulled away. A fuzzy memory that he can feel more than envision. At least, until he spits that familiar face once again and he doesn't want to let you go.

Okay, so another one, and this one is common, is: owing money to him or the northland bank in some way, I wrote something similar with "When it Comes to You" but another way I'd love to add depth to the idea is by not owing just for yourself.

Assume, you were orphaned, possibly dropped off at the nearest orphanage in liyue. You stayed there, grew, and got nothing, but love and adoration from your little family. Watching the others come and go while you still stayed, but you didn't feel any sorrow upon staying within those dreary walls, because they held unconditional love.

You'd stay until you were supposed to age out. And even longer after that. No longer a resident, but now an employee, gifting the same love you'd received once before. Everything seemed well, almost fairytale like. Everything except the finances.

So many hungry mouths to feed, so many mods that entered every day. You were drowning in a perpetual cycle of struggle ajs fear. You could leave. The thought crosses your mind from time to time. But who will care for the young ones if not you?

You go to the bank in search of help and catch his attention almost immediately. When Ajax offers you a deal, you don't hesitate to accept. It's not like you have many other options. And they amount he's willing to give is more than you can make on your own.

The children are healthier with the amount they're being fed, they have toys and clothesm yet you can't help, but notice the frequency in which you're seeing Childe roaming around. And how his interest lies in you.

Obviously I have a bunch more, but those are just a couple!!

[diggersapologist]

Let the Light In (Doctor Phosphorus X Reader)

I. I had some divine inspiration. Who up hurt/comforting they Alexander Sartorius????!??!!?!?!?

TW: Mention of death, blood, a knife, SPOILERS for Doctor Phosphorus's backstory

Written by: Mod Diggers

Word Count: 2191

The plaza of Belle Reve was bustling today- you had prisoners playing ping pong, others playing checkers, and of course, plenty of fighting. Today was not a day where you felt like you were capable of tolerating the bustle of your peers, it was one of those days that the outside world simply wasn’t an option for you, all too overwhelming to consider. It was the kind of day where nothing sounded more ideal than curling up on your bunk with a book nestled perfectly in your palm.The thin sheet of a blanket was draped over your lap, and your lips were in a soft pout as your finger trailed delicately over the page, entirely entranced. 

It wasn’t until you heard the awkward sound of someone clearing their throat that you were snapped out of the temporary spell of your book, your eyes shooting open and head whipping to the door of your cell to see Alexander. His skull peered into you from across the room, not any different in appearance than usual, but you could simply sense that something was wrong. The melancholy in the room was palpable and emanating from Alexander, just as potent as the glow coming from his irradiated form. “Hey,” is all Alexander would say, his tired sockets looking into you as you moved to set your book to the side, gently patting the cot next to you. “Hey…” you whisper softly, watching as his feet would drag against the floor, grunting as he flopped on the cot beside you and leaned against the wall, the back of his skull hitting against the concrete. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Your soft voice was a stark contrast to the deep emotion in the room, but Alexander softly shook his head. “Not yet.” He would answer curtly, staring blankly in front of him. The flames that would gently flicker across his body would softly crackle, providing a brief reprieve from total silence. You were silent in turn, waiting a few moments before speaking. “I’m here when you’re ready to talk, Alex,” you would reassure, your hand slowly slipping over the sheets to rest atop his own planted palm, your thumb gently stroking his translucent knuckles. At the intimate act and use of his name, Alexander would ball up the sheet in his fist, scorching it before letting it go and groaning. “Shit- Sorry- Sorry… I’ll give you mine.” He rubbed his face with his palm, looking at you with an- as per usual- unreadable expression. “No- No. Don’t worry about it- it’s fine! I-I’m sure they would replace it if I asked?” You could tell Alexander was squinting scrutinizingly at you, blushing as you turned your head and pouted softly. Alexander would sigh at your reaction, having sought you out for comfort in the first place and already afraid he would run you away. 

Alexander was full of so many thoughts, so many words, yet, he couldn’t find the energy to speak any of them. His gaze was full of longing, yearning, and it killed him that you couldn’t see it. Despite not being able to see it, you certainly still could, in a way. You saw and felt the pain in his eyes, the utter loneliness that was pooling in his glowing chest cavity, and it was just as painful for you. No one takes pleasure in seeing their lover in pain. 

It felt like time was slowed as you carefully reached to the side, moving to take Alexander in your arms. This was completely alien to the both of you- while you were both in an established relationship, you hadn’t had a discussion on intimacy, but if anyone seemed like they needed a hug right now, it was Alexander. Your arms enveloped him with just the right amount of pressure, still giving him an opportunity to pull away if desired. Alexander was as stiff as a board as his arms hovered to your sides, grateful his expression wasn’t visible. He was in utter shock at not only the gesture, but the physical sensation of it, something he hadn’t experienced in over fifteen years. If there were ever a time where his body truly felt like it was engulfed in flames, it was now. His jaw was hung open, his eyes as wide as dinner plates as he stared behind you. 

His hesitance worried you immensely, but you quickly realized- he hadn’t pulled away yet. Alexander was still for some time after the realization, but giving him time was the correct answer. A gasp would tear through your throat as Alexander desperately clutched you flush to his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, fingers tangled and threaded through your hair, while the other clawed at the small of your back. Alexander’s face was buried in your hairline, and due to the close proximity, you could feel that he was making a contorted expression as his breathing grew heavy. 

The air was electrified, there was nothing but want, need, and desire in the cell at the moment, but not in a carnal sense. This was far more intimate than fornication could ever be. Alexander was baring his soul to you, all of the hurt, all of the loneliness, all of the doubt, the regret, everything that was weighing on him, he wanted you to see it. All he wanted was for someone to see him- no one had met the qualifications to be that someone- not until he had met you. 

Unbeknownst to you, today was one of those days for him, too. He had woken up that morning in a cold sweat from a nightmare- the same one as always. The cot was absolutely drenched, along with his jumpsuit. Alexander was panting hard, swallowing dryly as he slowly lifted himself up from his lying position, sitting up and hunching over, his head in his hands. After a few moments, his hands would lower from his head in a painfully slow manner, palms facing upwards in his lap as he couldn’t help but simply stare at them. The images would flicker in his head- he could still picture Parvin’s crimson blood pooling in the crevices of his cracked hands. The solid handle of the knife felt all too tangible in his palm at this moment- he could feel the sanded texture of the wood, the stinging cool of the stainless steel blade, the forceful grips on his wrists as they were strewn across the defiled corpse of his beloved wife- 

Alexander shook his head and nearly howled. He could feel every nerve in his body in a painstaking way, his senses more heightened than he ever thought possible. He spent his entire morning living in fear alone- but that was through no fault but his own. It was frequent that Alexander would miss breakfast- so no one brought it into question. It wasn’t until he had appeared in your room that anyone would know something was afoot. It took far more courage than Alexander would ever admit to step foot in your room, but he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t handle being alone. He had spent fifteen years denying himself the comfort of another, mental and physical, and he wasn’t going to do it for fifteen more. 

A soft sob would break the air, the hand in your hair almost tugging with how close Alexander needed you at this moment. You wouldn’t dare move, your arms would only hug him tighter, your brow furrowing as you tried not to cry yourself at Alexander’s broken state- but this wasn’t about you. Alexander would try to ignore the sound of his singeing tears as he let go, sniffling quietly as he cried nearly silently against you, but you could feel that it was far more painful than any wailing cry could be. No words were exchanged, simply just an air of understanding and sympathy. To be honest, you had no idea what was wrong, but you didn’t have to know. You would be here for Alexander regardless. He would no longer ever be in a situation where a burden was his and his only to carry. His grip wouldn’t lessen, no matter how much time had passed. 

After what had to have been at least fifteen minutes of his iron grip on you, he would slowly lie the both of you down on the cot, gently kissing your forehead as he stared blankly forward. You would slowly pull your head back, your hand reaching up to hold Alexander’s cheekbone to tilt his head down for a proper look at him. Your eyes would reveal nothing but adoration and tenderness for Alexander, and no matter how hard he tried and prayed that he would find a sign otherwise, it would never come to fruition. He was honestly terrified that this was going to work out- that this wasn’t going to prove him right, prove that he was the monster that everyone else saw him as inside and out, including himself. He so desperately wanted you to hate him sometimes. 

“Stop looking at me. Don’t look at me like that.” You were bewildered for a moment at Alexander’s snippy voice breaking the silence, stammering softly. His tone stung, but after the push, there would always be the pull- in every sense of the phrase. His arms would tighten around you despite his words, his gaze boring holes into your own. “Did I do something wrong?” You would ask genuinely, continuing to look into his sockets with conviction. Alexander was silent for a few moments as he processed your question, a million ways to approach the answer- but even if he didn’t want you to care about him- he cared about you. He wanted to be honest. “No. No you didn’t. I don’t know what to do when you look at me like that. I don’t like it.” Alexander would spit out, trying to seem intimidating.

 You nodded softly, pursing your lips. “If you really don’t like it, I won’t do it.” “You really need to stop it-” “S-Stop what?” You were far more confused at this point, looking across his skull for any sign of the source. “Stop being so respectful! Stop being so nice to me all the time, stop treating me as an equal- I can’t do this! I can’t-” “Alex. Alex- Alexander!” You would try and snap him out of it, your thumb gently pressing into his cheekbone. “What.” He would speak in a bitter hiss, and you could feel his squinted gaze on you. “Let me love you. Let me at least try.” 

Alexander felt like the air had been knocked out of him, a swift verbal punch to his gut as he stared at you incredulously. “Would you like me to be honest with you?” Alexander would ask in a monotone and gruff voice, his face a mere inch from yours. You would nod softly in affirmation, swallowing dryly. “Please.” Alexander was silent as he looked over your face, your face he found all too soft in contrast to his angular skull, in fact, he thought everything about you contrasted him. You didn’t deserve to be seen around him. “When you look at me like that, I’m utterly terrified. I’m terrified of what I would do for you and what I would put you through because of it. You don’t know what I’m capable of. I will ruin your life.” He had no idea why he was behaving this way- he didn’t want this. Alexander had no intention of letting you go, but he knew one thing for certain. If you let go, he wouldn’t stop you. Not out of disinterest, but his presence in your life was doing you a disservice, he was sure of it. If you changed your mind, he knew he couldn’t blame you. 

“My life is my own to ruin- I won’t ever give anyone else that power, rest assured. If you’re not ready for a re-” “No! No- don’t- don’t SAY that. I’m ready. I’m more than ready- I was- I was BORN ready.” Alexander tried to unconvincingly reassure you, your furrowed brow causing his shoulders to fall as his hands would only grip onto you tighter. “I don’t want you to end up hating me. I don’t want you to realize that I’m a sociopathic shithead and bail-” “-I happen to be painfully aware that you’re a sociopathic shithead, but I like that about you.” “Why are you so insistent?” Alexander would ask in an unnerved voice, it shaking slightly as he spoke. “Because I know you need me to be.” You would whisper softly, moving to hug him tighter and burying your face in his neck, gently kissing it. Alexander could turn into ash with the heat he felt radiating around him at your tenderness, his fingertips digging roughly into your hair and shirt as he buried his face in your neck in turn. Today may not be the day Alexander tells you his woes, his past, his burdens- but today was the day he knew he could when the time was right.

[creatingblackcharacters]

This is maybe not the right place for this, but here goes anyway.

I run a small roleplay community for ocs! It's really great, and for the most part, members tend towards being pretty inclusive and thoughtful. We've had a couple incidents resulting in bans, but ultimately things are usually ok.

...usually.

The thing is, in an online community, there's no way to tell someone's race unless they've stated it. We have a few members who have mentioned at some point or another that they're Black, but far, far more who are ambiguous via anonymity! (i said small. its a couple hundred, but most are inactive)

So: a few times I've run into the issue where someone's Black character or character design COULD have some stereotypical or negative implications regarding their race..... OR this could be a Black person innocently creating a character that happens to have some traits that, while technically fitting a stereotype, are also just traits they like to see in their characters!

So I guess what I'm looking for is advice on it how to handle this like, delicately - it feels inappropriate to just ask 'are you Black' in response to someone describing a character who could be an Angry Black Woman or could be a Black woman who is angry (as a light example), especially as I myself am white! While I feel it'd be totally ok for me to call out other white folks, I'd feel REAL bad if I tried to say something about racism and then get told that the person I'm talking to is, well, Black.

No worries if this isn't the place for it, but I'm ready to listen if it is!

Sorry for the wait; I wanted to ask my partner in crime his opinion, but he's been bedridden for a few days. He is alive now, so I'll hand it to him:

☕Hot Chocolate: Hello! So first and foremost I think you're doing great with handling issues as they arrive. As you stated, it's very difficult to monitor and catch race baiters online because they never have to reveal themselves. The best you can do is ask them privately, and if something comes up later, you did your due diligence, ban them. In my experience (which is mostly outside of fandom spaces) when you ask a Black person if they're Black, they usually just say yeah? It's those who get overly offended that are the questionable ones, imo.

Ice: I will add this in addition; if you plan on approaching someone about racism you DAMN sure better know what you're talking about. Be sure that this thing you're discussing is potentially an issue. Tbh, you can solve that problem by getting a Black mod. Having leadership that is aware of something that you might not be would make those conversations smoother to have. You'd just need to make sure you're protecting that Mod from the inevitable disrespect they will receive from participants who think they don't have to respect the Black mod or treat their word as equivalent.

[blocksruinedme]

Update: Skizzleman's youtube subs used to be public and included lots of far right assholes. And he's mentioned listening to Joe Rogan's podcast.

[That's the summary there, you can stop reading if that's all you need to know, the rest of this is just some details and me expressing my feelings. At length.]

So after I made my last reblog I went back to #skizz situation and, well, turns out in 2021 Skizz's youtube subs were public? And he subscribed to far right assholes? YEAH IT'S GREAT.

Like Joe Rogan and Ben Shapiro and Prageru (and oann, zeducation, steven crowder, timcast, and anthony brian logan).

Ha ha ha ha ha ha! What a fool am I, what assumptions I made. I assumed Skizz was at least left of center, but grew up in the 90s and learned including *everyone* is a virtue. (Like I did!)

This isn't that. This isn't "being friends with people you disagree with", it's not even "putting people who hate them in positions of power over your fans". It's not being willing to tell us the truth about how we don't matter, it's accepting the support and profiting from and living off people he wouldn't stand up for in the most minor way. Of course he thinks "trans rights!" is political, because he thinks it's politics, not human rights. As he reportedly said on his podcast this week, he doesn't care what anyone thinks.

Skizzleman does not care what you think.

Skizzleman does not care if his friends might want you dead.

He's deep in red america and he's not your friend.

Skizz does not care about you.

[edit: after i wrote the rest of this post i searched "joe rogan skizz" on tumblr and found a post from 2024 saying Skizz has admitted to listening to the Joe Rogan podcast! I'm particularly sensitive to that one. (I am upset with my brother every day of my life for playing that for my niblings. My 10yo nephew randomly said we should kill Biden at a family party. Joe Rogan is not okay.) ]

Anyway, I found the links to 2021 posts about Skizz's *many* far right youtube subs in an ask on this blog. I was going to screenshot them all but I don't want to do that to personal posts that had very few notes, one of which asked for no reblogs, so I'm doing summary and screenshotting a big hc blog.

From what I can gather, in 2021, someone noticed what channels he was subscribed to and found a lot of far right bullshit. People talked about it on tumblr, shared some of the channels in posts and replies, and said "go look for yourself"[1]. He privated his youtube subs and made no statement[2] disavowing those views or anything to say that isn't part of who he is.

Skizz never disavowed the far right and he is still platforming publicly MAGA people.

(As someone who was an angry adult long before 2021, I want it to be clear that wasn't before the far right went mainstream and very bad. We knew those people were dangerous at least back in 2016. It wasn't subtle.)

The biggest post I could find about this was from the @hermitcraftheadcanons blog, which takes submissions about, well, hermitcraft head canons and has multiple mods, two of who were quoted in the 2021 post. The blog announced they were no longer accepting non-hermits, for multiple reasons but specifically for Skizz.

This is (part of) what they posted in 2021:

That's what I've got.

I'm not telling anyone what to do besides "don't harass people on tumblr for posts four years ago". Don't do that!

If you don't care if people hang out with and platform MAGA people, who are likely less extreme than what they watch on youtube, I literally do not have the energy to care. Do with this information what you will. (If this hurts you, I'm truly sorry. Caring about non-fictional people is dangerous, I can't imagine how I would feel if this was one of my blorbos. Be kind to yourself.)

But me? I'm fucking disgusted. I daydream about telling off my MAGA family members, I am not giving a pass to someone who isn't my friend and who made sure to emphasize this week, weeks after this all went down, how much he doesn't care about anyone's opinion or "being told what to do".

I know some people see not caring about other people's opinions as a virtue. I do not. Especially men in positions of power in any community, especially especially if the community is based around them!

The people in power are the ones who should care the most about what other people think.

I would be shocked if there was any hope of Skizz doing anything because some [whatever he would call us] told him to.

Finally: I have more to say that is about how terrible people find each other through "just a joke" but it's not about Skizz, so I'm tossing it under a cut, along with the footnotes:

So we found out about Skizz's mods, and I looked through some twitter screenshots until I felt uncomfortable. I hoped, but I really really worried, cause who people's friends are, the people they choose to be with not just friendly coworkers, says a lot about them. Because here's the thing about people hanging out with shitty people, often turns out... gestures heads toward any friends groups of abusers you know. I'm only talking about politics with Skizz, not anything else, but it is the same social process.

I was reblogging about "just a joke" last night. It's how people test the waters, to see who laughs at jokes about bigotry and terrible things I won't name here. And someone like me says "ugh wtf" and their friends defend them and I distance myself, and everybody who stood with the shithead has a fun little bond, whether they are aware of it or not. "Just a joke" is how nasty people find each other, to hang out and support each other's bigotry and abuse, support each other in building up power structures to abuse, things like that. In some cases, start bringing them to your favorite bar and see if they want to be a white supremacist too. It 's NOT a coincidence when abusers and bigots hang out. It's never every single person they know, don't immediately cancel every abuser/bigot's friends, but be fucking wary.

Footnotes about skizz in 2021

[1] I have found no screenshots but a mod investigated it and said no more Skizz, and enough people treated this as public information that it would a wild conspiracy theory to say everyone made it up.

[2] someone claimed to have talked to him in twitter dms but wouldn't even screenshot it. ""I talked to him in DMs on Twitter. He wants to keep all this as private as possible so I won't be posting screenshots, but he confirmed he didn't realize how extreme their views were, that he's not a bigot, and that he just likes to follow news sources on all sides.""

Sure, screenshots can be faked, but you're not even giving us that? If this conversation happened, I don't care! Meaningless!