#except its on steroids

[jilly-jelly-bizy]

It sure is good to be a LN fan next year

Like wdym we're gonna get LN3, ReAnimal AND a new LN comic with a HUMAN ADULT PROTAG??

[ourladyoftheflytrap]

My mom didn't go with me to the vet with dust but today she was like "did she give dust a steroid shot? I was reading online that a different vet gave somebody else's cat a steroid shot. Also im gonna buy dust some supplements to put in his food to help" like why in the world are you trusting the advice of people who have never laid eyes on my cat over the advice of the licensed professional who did??

[imtheiliad]

Is It Gender Play?: A Case Study in Masculine Presentation in Fashion

So first off I want to start by saying that this is about the clothing and it is not about Oliver. These items were chosen by a stylist to serve the aesthetic of ABookOf. He is indirectly involved because he happens to be the one wearing them, his presence does have an effect as this takes on the perspective that he is as far as I know, a cis man. The clothes are the material and in this case he is the canvas– which still has an effect on the artwork at the end but is not manipulated. I am going to be using a feminine, center, masculine approach to this because it’s the best way I can conceptualize this clearly, not because that's how gender and presentation works. Got it? Cool! Let's go! 

ABookOf is a Arts & Culture publication that focuses on storytelling that has a bright and fun aesthetic that is not directly but in the vein of Camp. As a part of their mission statement they state that they strive to highlight “Your brand, your stories, your journey and your talent…through the artistic eyes of our team and collaborators…”  

This ensemble curated by Andrew Philip Nguyen, Fashion Editor of ABookOF, is a look that plays with pattern and masculinity. 

The bold orange shirt that has a slight pattern on it, that is indecipherable at the moment. This appears to be a traditional button up, styled with a red polka dot ribbon. This is what pulls it toward the center in terms of presentation as it evokes that of a traditionally feminine pussy bow blouse while also resembling a traditionally masculine tie. The other styling choice that adds to the mixture is that it is unbuttoned revealing the white undershirt. 

The other attention grabbing piece in this ensemble are the boots. They are a traditionally masculine combat boot style that has been adopted by various “deviant” subcultures aesthetic closet. What pulls attention and them more center is the bright color because bright yellow is not a usual color for shoes, for either end of the spectrum. The height of them is also eye-catching and pulls them into the subversive category as they are taller than the traditional boot and are aligned with subcultures. On a side note I love that they seem to be either Doc Martens or reminiscent of them in their design as a nod to Oliver’s origins, which connects their strive to highlight their interviewee’s story and attention to detail when selecting items for their photoshoots. 

The bracelet is also traditionally masculine, and while jewelry is historically present across all genders, in combination with all the other pieces in this ensemble it adds to the playing toward center and the definitions of masculine fashion that the look is making a statement on. 

The pants are deceivingly simple. Upon first glance they are the least interesting piece in the ensemble but they are one of the grounding pieces of the look. If they were plain black pants, it would all still work, but be far less intriguing. They add yet another pattern and texture to the entire ensemble that creates the Camp aesthetic that ABookOf seems to have curated. 

In a nutshell, each of these items fall into the “traditionally masculine” category when stripped to their bare bones, it is the unique way they are styled and presented that pulls them center. This ensemble is an exploration of masculine presentation that slightly challenges the greater societal expectations of masculine fashion. The boundaries of which have been softening, especially in magazine photo shoots, over the past two or three years. So to answer the simple question of is this Gender Play? No, it is masculine presentation on a masculine body that falls into the family of Camp and breaks societal norms and traditions. 

[malachitezmeyka]

Me: Hm. Idk, I'm probably not gonna watch season 2 of Arcane, or at least not any time soon. It's been years since I watched season 1, I can barely remember how it ended, and I have enough stuff going on anyway

@katkastrofa: *reblogs gifset of Caitvi very, VERY close to fucking*

Me: .... Well now I HAVE TO WATCH IT, DON'T I??

[nerice]

absolutely nothing. n o t h i n g. hear me on this and listen. not a single thing has ever activated my neurons to the extent that the malenia [clicks prosthesis into place] move has

[hawkswildfireheart]

Definitely didn't miss these migraines...can't decide if it feels more like my brain is being crushed in a vice or like it wants to explode

Don't skip your meds kids

[dravidious]

Was thinking about removal and came up with what I think are some reasonable costs for common removal effects and also counterspells

[thatskindasapphic]

Checking my bank account is like a voluntary jumpscare

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[ralfmaximus]

Nvidia stock has lost a trillion dollars of valuation, 30% of the total, since its 2024 high. If history is any guide, and it usually is, there's no coming back from a tipping point like this. The next part will be really painful for a lot of people — and yet more beneficial for longterm tech progress than the bubble mentality could ever be.

The AI bubble is bursting. About fucking time.

Polite reminder that this particular bubble is LLM Generative AI. Products like OpenAI, Midjourney, Microsoft CoPilot. The hallucinating, expensive, useless text-prediction algorithm on steroids. The chatbots that suggest glue as a pizza topping.

Classical Analytical AI is very different; an important, useful technology that really will revolutionize life on earth. When it happens, and it will.

The problem here is that many tech investors don't understand the difference. Because techbros have intentionally lied to blur the distinction, to drive up investments. As a result, money will dry up in all of the AI tech sectors, which hurts classical AI development. For awhile.

But overall, this particular bubble bursting is a good thing. Time to end the bullshit.

[carrotsofthepirabbean]

I will say I think part of the reason OG Kirk isn't more popular on Tumblr is because he can't be crammed into the 'If one part of a ship is the unemotional logical one the other one MUST be the bouncy himbo sparkle softboy' cliche. Kirk can be goofy and has a good sense of humor, he teases and laughs, but speaking in Lord of the Rings terms, Kirk isn't Pippin, he's Aragorn.

Which is SO much tougher for the 'must distill every variety of character into the same 5 different people' crowd on Tumblr. There isn't an 'Aragorn' slot because 'incredibly complicated' isn't descriptive enough for cliche. Like yes, he's charming, but it's the quiet sort of charming. Yes, he's a strong athlete and a fighter, but he's fundamentally a shockingly huge nerd and spends his private time reading poetry and thinking about philosophy and what it means to be a leader. Yes, he's haunted, but he has a fundamental hope that keeps shining through. Kirk's got a serious job, and he's a serious person. He's an Adult kind of adult. He's one of the last survivors of a horrific genocide. He's killed people with his bare hands.

Spock wasn't bowled over by how bright and shiny and cuddly Kirk was. Because underneath everything, there's a fundamental sadness and loneliness to Kirk, and a simmering possibility of rage that most people would consider Abnormal. And Spock shares those qualities, though for different reasons. The thing that really shakes Spock (besides Kirk's iron sense of loyalty) is that there are times where KIRK is more coolheaded and professional than Spock is. In everyday terms, Kirk is easily and confidently emotional in a way Spock was always taught was a weakness, but when the shit hits the fan Kirk gets this shine of cold, calculating, James Bond-like brutality/practicality that not only meets Spock's Vulcan control, it will at times go PAST it. Surviving that genocide gave Kirk access to both a level of iron-willed 'do whatever is necessary to live no matter what' and a level of genuinely bloodcurdling rage that, when death is on the line, reads sometimes like a Vulcan on steroids. In a battle-type situation Kirk has absolutely looked at Spock and snapped like 'for god's sake, control yourself', and that is some whiplash a Vulcan doesn't just get OVER.

At the very start OG Kirk is already both wildly famous for and frighteningly good at being a commander, better than Spock is by miles, which forces Spock to confront his self-hate fueled 'Vulcans are better' prejudices over and over again until Spock has a starry-eyed admiration for Kirk that knocks him so hard into love that Spock's teeth rattle. Kirk isn't Some Soft Boy that grows on Famous Vulcan Spock against his will. Kirk is the most talented Starfleet officer in generations- He's Horatio Nelson, except not an imperialist asshole. Spock is (at first) just Some Science Guy who managed to nail one of the most coveted jobs in Starfleet.

Like, what is Tumblr going to do with a Kirk (who is supposed to be the bouncy soft boy half of Spirk) who looks coldly at an alien who is killing people and without hesitation goes 'I am a military man, we have a mission, we don't have time to understand motivations, kill that thing' and calmly walks off? And then Spock, (the unemotional logical one) is the one going after him going 'please, this is a thinking creature, it could be scared or hurt, think of its feelings, at least let me try to talk to it'. And like, the big lesson of the episode is KIRK being convinced by Spock to care more and be more empathetic?

Like, that's not some shit Tumblr can fit into its 'five acceptable personalities for every single ship ever'. There isn't a category for 'one is the logical one and the other one is the guy in charge on the battlefield that the men point their swords at while yelling "to the king!"'

But, it does make me a bit sad, because god, the relationship between Kirk and Spock is unique. Because Kirk is SUCH a freak. If there's a fictional personality grouping Kirk is a part of it's like Kirk, Chris Evans' Captain America, Aragorn, and nobody.

I super agree! AOS Kirk fits the bill more for the ship dynamics tumblr focuses on (and I do really love Chris Pine's performance, not half because it was what introduced me to Star Trek in the first place), but I do find TOS Kirk more intriguing because he has such layers. He's scarily competent, youngest captain in Starfleet and it's not like you get in that position by being a sunshine flower boy - he's got a streak of cold practicality that, yeah, is super apparent in Devil in the Dark. But he's also warm, loving, and physically affectionate with his closest friends, professional with his subordinates and his duties, calculating with his enemies, and overall an exceedingly intelligent individual who does not take his position and responsibilities lightly. And in terms of his relationship with Spock, it was all those things that drew Spock's respect and interest, and not (checks notes) his being a "bouncy himbo sparkle soft-boy". He's just a wonderful character <3

[doonarose]

GOAD Writer's Guild presents: Give Me Jizz or Give Me Death - A Choose Your Own Jizz (CYOJ) Adventure

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARLOTOFUPDOG OMG!!!!!!!!

(yes, you should feel equal parts pleased and terrified, we wrote you choose your own jizz/graveyard/dark/ghost/crack/weird fic)

And yes, the rest of you can read it too!

Summary: It is a dark and porny night. Everything feels… spooky. And salty. Really, really salty. Tread lightly in this Choose Your Own Adventure fic, our Ineffables have the odds stacked against them as they step foot onto an island with danger around every corner. All they really want is to have a nice picnic… Well, maybe a bit more than that.

Enter if you dare.

TW: Although this is very much for fun (and yay happy birthday, we love you!), we have hit the big ones: major character deaths, graphic violence (and death), noncon. As well as disgusting jizz, ghosts and cameos by characters you perhaps would rather not see in ways you definitely don’t want to see them. Basically: dead dove, don’t eat. On steroids. But for fun.

A/N: Yes, so happy birthday u/harlotofupdog!!! And welcome to the second iteration of the @goodomensafterdark Choose Your Own Adventure style fic. This wasn’t meant to happen. We only had a week or so to whip up something quick and easy to celebrate our dear, dark, jizzy Harlot, and instead here we are with some of the most ghastly, gooey choices a reader will ever have to make.

The premise is simple, borrowing heavily from Harlot’s own very brilliant Good Omens fics, our story begins with Crowley and Aziraphale on a windswept island, out for an adventure and choosing to explore the lighthouse (of course), the graveyard (obviously), or a pub (the trifecta of Best Ever Fic Settings). Within each, our heroes could find their bliss or their very worst endings. How happily they end up depends entirely on your choices.

At the end of each chapter you will have to choose what happens next. Navigate by clicking the links, NOT by clicking ‘next chapter’.

Amazing thanks to u/wingsofopal and u/nosferatini for thinking this was at all a good idea to try to pull off in a week and for wrangling our exceptional writers, betas and cheerleaders!

Shout out to each and every author: u/adverbian, u/-cheeseplants-, u/blackjeans93, u/startledplatypus, u/FuzzyGoblinoid, u/depressedpenguin2, u/yes-its-unholy, u/Natyu0815, u/gaiaseyes, u/nosferatini, u/happynachohologram, u/wingsofopal, u/paperclip_ninja, u/badbitchbarenziah, u/blackjeans93, u/likeafuckingninja, u/sensiblesquirrels, u/she_makes_things, u/doonarose, u/dbacklot99, u/hakunahistata, u/zin_lynn and u/PurpleMoonPagan for the intro limerick.

I think we all found out some interesting things about ourselves and each other during this journey into the darkest, weirdest, jizziest corners of our brains! Many authors also helped beta each other’s work, as well as special shout-outs to u/pepper_bird, u/ghst_signal and u/tawnyowl95 for extra beta help!

Enormous shoutout to u/IneffableCrankShaft for that amazing cover art!!!! And also to u/likeafuckingninja for some extra special saucy art within the fic!

All of this spunky, gooey, frankly quite weird jizz is for u/harlotofupdog to celebrate their birthday!!! And as a little thank you for their lovely/soul-shattering fic!!

Excerpt:

“Well, this place feels…spooky.” Crowley’s words are whipped away in the wind as it lashes relentlessly through the grass. It howls past them, across the red sandstone cliffs and down to the docks they’ve left behind one trudging step at a time. There’s no turning back, not with rain threatening to pour forth from the evening skies at any moment. Not now that they’ve made it this far up the narrow path to the highest peak of the island, panting and heaving a picnic basket back and forth between them. How many books did the bastard pack, exactly? “WHAT?” Aziraphale calls out, and Crowley turns to face him, locks of his own hair flickering like flame across his vision. “I said, this whole place feels spooky .” “That’s why we’re here, my dear.” Aziraphale has properly caught up to him now, his cheeks pink and his pale curls hopelessly tousled. Crowley’s heart twists at the sight, beating faster. “WOT?” Crowley shouts back, attempting a grin. Aziraphale hands him back the picnic basket with a hearty shove and the makings of a smirk about his lips. “I thought you liked spooky! Big, spooky, um, fan, wasn’t it?”

Read the fic here! And don’t forget your amazing bingo card to play along as you go!

[superslavemannn]

The Nuclear Apocalypse of Superman: Book 1 (Chap. 1)

Hi guys. This is my first time updating a novel on Tumblr, a long fan fiction about Superman and his tragic but arousing experiences. It’s a very long story, and I plan to tell it in at least three books. The first book (which has 12 chapters) is already complete, and the second book is currently in the works. Starting this week, I will be updating a version with images every Friday on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: This is a reimagined fan fiction of the movie Superman IV: The Quest for Peace. While most main characters from the film are retained, the entire plot has been reimagined to suit the nature of this work. It is an erotic fan fiction intended for mature readers, featuring male/male relationships and explicit content. This work is non-commercial. In this story, most of the images are derived from movie. I have tried to use photos from the Reeve Superman movies to maintain authenticity, but there are also some high-quality AI-generated images. I do not own these images.

*You can share or repost but please credit @superslaveman on Tumblr or X :)

Acknowledgments: I’d like to express my gratitude to Rick Henry, author of The Extermination of Superman, and @vincentzeal, author of Superman vs. the Vice Lord. Their writing and body of work have been a significant source of inspiration. Special thanks to Drake Grant for his ideas and help in revising the story.

Chapter 1: An Ominous Dream

Thousands of miles from any place humans could reach, a massive crystalline, pyramid-shaped structure stands in solitude on a vast ice sheet. Surrounded by towering snow-covered mountains that shield it from the blizzards raging in every direction, this immense crystal formation has remained untouched and unknown for years, at least as far as we're aware. Its flawless triangular shape makes it clear that it was not built by human hands. Hundreds of conical crystals, each about 5 meters wide and 40 meters tall, rise from the ground, forming a shell-like wall around the structure. They reflect sunlight and the icy glow of snow and icicles, gleaming like diamonds on a frozen crown.

It's a shame that no man on earth had the chance to appreciate the beauty of it except…

''Agggggh… Hmmm…''

A wet, echoing moan filled the empty crystal palace. The crystal walls reflected a distorted, writhing figure in blurry red and blue, shifting like a kaleidoscope, moving up and down in sync with the rhythm of the moans.

Oh, there he was. A towering 6'4'' man, built like a statue of pure muscle, lay sprawled on a massive crystal bed draped in silver silk sheets. Every inch of his overly manly physique was wrapped in a skintight royal blue spandex suit that stretched from his neck to his toes, emblazoned with the iconic ''S'' symbol on his broad chest. His body radiated power—the fabric clings to him so tightly it outlines every ripple of his chiseled muscles. His chest rises like two sculpted slabs of marble. But not like those steroid-addicted bodybuilders, they are pumped and firm, but still somehow gave you a cuddly and warm feeling. With the spandex clinging so tightly on his chest, even the subtle outline of his firm, two cute nipples were visible beneath the fabric. They sat perfectly cantered on his broad pecs, adding a surprising softness to his otherwise overwhelmingly powerful physique.

His arms were nothing short of awe-inspiring, thick, vascular biceps bulge with raw strength. His thighs were strong, solid, and brimming with power, the spandex stretching over them like a second skin, tracing every contour of his sculpted quads and hamstrings. A pair of glossy, bright red leather boots gripped his calves, ankles, and feet with such precision that even the arch of his soles was visible through the smooth, form-fitting material.

And his red cape. It bunched beneath him, highlighting the sheen of his blue suit and the bulging muscles beneath, a perfect contrast to the crystalline surroundings.

As the crystal walls let the refraction of daylights go inside, a trace of nearly white reflection of polar sunlight converged on his spandex skin stretching from his chest to his instep but being cut off in the middle by a bright yellow belt and a pair of dazzling red briefs. His red briefs, the symbol of hope, the avatar of the greatest manhood. It looked even more luxurious than the fabric of his blue spandex, so silky that can make people mistaken it was coated with a light layer of lubricating oil, so tight that covered every inch of his majestic crotch and cup his splendid scrotum. However, no matter how hard this piece of fabric tried to hide his assets, all it could do was to outline the contours of a 6-inch-long, 3.5-inch-thick, half soft, half hard, alien shaft and two testicles.

As his strong right hand casually rubbed over the glans of this wondrous pillar-like thing through silky spandex, a smile started to appear on his handsome face. His eyes were closed, sleeping, with his eyelashes gently touching the lower eyelid. Even he had a look of soft angel, no less than a boy Venus, it didn't mean that he doesn't have a tall nose, an angular jaw, and a cleft chin like the Greek demigod Hercules or a golden age Hollywood movie star. When his left hand unconsciously moved above his stunning pecs and brushes over the nipples, the hair curl atop his forehead began to tremble with his body quivering. In the crystal mirror directly above him, the image reflected the greatest and most beautiful creature in the world unapologetically wearing a suit of revealing blue tights and bright briefs, sleeping.

In his dream, the demigod muttered ''I am…Superman ''.

Yes, meet Superman, Kal-El. The man of steel. The big blue boy scout. The last son of Krypton.

What was Superman dreaming of right now? No, let's not disturb his sweet time. We can talk about his dream later.

To be frank, it's not every day you get to see Superman shamelessly pleasuring himself while asleep. For many people, it's easier to imagine Clark Kent as Superman than to imagine Superman doing something so animalistic. But even with the former, it's almost impossible to make any connection with the greatest hero on earth with Clark Kent, a kind, righteous, sometimes bumbling even cringey reporter from Daily Planet in Metropolis. Yes, he wears the tights and boots underneath his daily business suit. Unknown to anyone else, Clark had a peculiar thrill when he slipped on his business suit, knowing the bright, tight spandex of his costume lay hidden beneath. There was something oddly arousal about the contrast—how he, the world's most powerful hero, could walk unnoticed through a crowd as just a clumsy, bumbling reporter. He didn't admit it or he probably never would, but cosplaying that clown-like inept wimp did give him a tingle in his pants. Every time he became a laughingstock in public, that boner hidden under layers of fabric told it all. Besides, the thought that no one had any clue that underneath his dress shirt and tie, he was wearing his iconic red briefs and skin-tight suit gave him a secret rush. The Kryptonian suit is so tight that can press his large genital and cause slight discomfort when he must sit through the whole day typing. But somehow, he didn't mind it at all and loved his daily practice, wearing that overly tight spandex 24/7.

You see, it's the only thing he can have for himself. The sensation from the pressure on his crotch.

Superman rarely gave himself a moment to relax, but that didn't mean he wasn't still Clark Kent at heart. He kept that pure, honest soul of a country boy, always kind and true. Still, even with all his heroics, he couldn't ignore the growing stir of desires and needs inside him. They were there, lurking, waiting for a chance to be acknowledged.

Yes, everyone has their own needs for Superman, but when it comes to the needs of Superman, only he knew how hard he had to fight back. Mind-boggling to the human on earth but common sense to Kryptonians, Superman, same as every male on Krypton, has prolific testicles and a reproduction system that could drive any human insane.

Growing up, Clark Kent often felt like the universe had a cruel sense of humor. On the one hand, his Kryptonian father, Jor-El, had left behind a legacy of impossibly rigid lessons about purity of heart and body—no shortcuts, no indulgences, no exceptions. Clark learned, through countless holographic lectures in the Fortress of Solitude, that his so-called ''Supercum'' (a term he'd begrudgingly coined for himself) was the source of his immense power. Enhanced by the Sun's yellow radiation, it was what made him extraordinary. But there was a terrifying catch: if he ever released it recklessly, he risked losing his abilities—or worse, his life. Self-control wasn't just a virtue; it was survival.

On the other hand, Jonathan Kent, his adoptive dad, was just as strict, always going on about self-control and how heroes had to set the ultimate example, even in private. Back to the time when Clark first discovered his true identity and put on the Superman suit, Jonathan caught him standing in front of the mirror in the middle of night, dressed in his boy scout costume, playing with his young bulge, feeling the touch from his own hands rubbing again his own peephole covered under red fabric. That night, Jonathan froze in the doorway, stunned by what he saw. Clark, overwhelmed by shame and tears, crumpled under the weight of his father's disapproval. Clark's shame was instant and so overwhelming. But it wasn't his father's anger or stern lecture on responsibility that left a scar—it was the look of sheer disappointment and disgust in Jonathan's eyes. That moment, more than anything, etched itself into Clark's memory, shaping his relentless quest to suppress his own humanity for the sake of an impossible ideal.

Since then, he was a deeply broken-hearted man. At nearly 30, Superman had never been in love, never had a romantic partner, and was pretty sure he never would. Over time, Superman's constant effort to suppress his desires slowly turned into something else—narcissism. When he had a moment alone, he'd catch himself admiring his own reflection, spending longer than he'd care to admit running his hands over his sculpted muscles. His physique was a work of art, and in a way, it felt like the only thing he could truly connect with. He flexed his arm, he kissed his ''S'' shield, he licked his red shinning boots, and he played his erected alien stick with his firm hands.

This self-admiration gradually grew into something more. He started noticing how drawn he was to other strong, muscular figures same as him—especially the well-built athletes he'd seen in passing. What began as harmless admiration turned into a bit of a lustful crush on strength, muscle, and the young throbbing dicks containing the white creamy substance, which almost took his soul away even he just thought about it. Sure, he'd had his moments of secret voyeurism, flying unseen around the globe, lurking around countless locker rooms and being fascinated by the bodies of college wrestlers, gym enthusiasts, and water polo players. With his X-ray vision, he had a front-row seat to their toned physiques. He'd often linger, curious, watching them without anyone knowing.

Yet, despite his search—across continents and through countless encounters—he never found anyone who could match his own power. No one came close. The yearning for connection, for someone who could understand the weight of his existence, grew more intense with every passing day. But the fear of revealing his desires, of exposing his vulnerability, kept him locked in isolation, trapped between his overwhelming need for companionship and the overwhelming responsibility of defending justice and hope as he carried as Superman.

Over time, Superman's deep ache of desire slowly transformed into something darker, more twisted, and increasingly dangerous.

It was almost like the vision haunting him now in his dream: a thick steel necklace that caught the light in an unsettling, cold way, with a green alien stone attached to it, glowing with an eerie, ominous fluorescence.

Kryptonite.

It was a gift he would never forget. Nearly three years ago, Superman encountered his most diabolical enemy yet: Lex Luthor, the powerful businessman who ran Metropolis's most influential corporation, LexCorp. It was the first time Superman had realized that a simple human, armed with nothing but a small piece of green rock, could actually threaten his life.

Secretly, Lex Luthor had acquired a piece of green meteorite from NASA, claiming it was a terrestrial material from Superman's home planet, which he later identified as Kryptonite. Over the course of six months, Lex brought together the brightest minds on Earth—scientists and engineers who worked tirelessly around the clock to understand the true nature of this mysterious substance. After much trial and error, Lex was able to purify the Kryptonite and, through extensive testing, discovered its true power.

The radiation from Kryptonite didn't just weaken Superman—it altered the very mechanisms of his sperms. Instead of enhancing his strength, the Kryptonite's radiation caused Superman's sperms to turn on him, attacking his organs, draining his energy, and inflicting excruciating pain. If he were exposed for too long, the result would be catastrophic—his cells would begin to break down, leading to the collapse of his body. The potential consequences were more severe and shocking than even Lex had anticipated.

''Your very own necklace, Superman. I bet it's the perfect gift—something that almost makes you feel at home.'' The words echoed, a haunting fragment of memory, as the scene solidified in Superman's dream. It was Lex Luthor's voice, sharp and mocking, slicing through the haze.

In the dream, memories hit him with vivid, unbearable clarity. It was Luthor's dungeon, and there was the Kryptonite necklace placed inside a lead box. He could feel it all again—the sickening nausea spreading through his body, the overwhelming pain that surged with every pulse of his being. He remembered staggering back, his instincts screaming at him to flee, to get as far away as possible from Luthor's trap. But his legs refused to obey, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Fear took hold, paralyzing him as his limbs quaked uncontrollably.

The humiliation was crushing. Desperation replaced his once-unshakable resolve, and a single, shameful thought consumed him: to beg. To plead for mercy. To kneel. Anything to make it stop—to put an end to Luthor's cruel game. His knees buckled, knocking together awkwardly beneath his trembling tights, each step faltering.

''Mind over muscles'', Lex had said, waving the glowing green stone in his hands, grinning as he placed the chain around Superman's neck. Now, he even couldn't tell if it was dream or reality. Although sleeping sound, he literally felt like a bullet piercing through his chest as the Kryptonite necklace touched on his skintight spandex costumes, making him cry out like a salty dog just got run over by a truck. Powerless then, he had felt Luthor's hands all over his body, touching him over his spandex, teasing him, toying with him, like jiggling human-size jello. As the criminal master dragged him along, Superman had sensed that his little Supes in his briefs was howling, growing, and creaming. With no warning, Lex took hold of Superman's nipples, tweaking them through the smooth spandex. A strong pinch made the big boy scout cry out a disgraceful scream. Then, a strong cupping hands wrapped around superman's balls. Almost like a sponge, as Lex Luthor squeezed with his nails sunk into that freaky alien's ballsack, Superman's peehole started leaking precum like a spread of pearls forming on top of the red spandex.

The echo of humiliating moans and agonized screams reverberated through Superman's dream. As the dream unfolded, the scene shifted, growing darker and more vivid. Lex, ever the master of manipulation, gripped Superman's red cape with a sinister smile curling at the edges of his lips. But what fills Kal-El's mind was something else: the overwhelming sensation, the long-awaited gratification he was feeling when Lex played him, belittled him, and toyed him.

Without warning, Lex yanked the Man of Steel toward the edge of a massive, ominous pool. The surface shimmered in the dim light; its contents unknown but exuding an unsettling stench. Superman's pulse quickened, his breath shallow and ragged. Every fiber of his being screamed to fight back, to resist, but his strength was sapped, drained by the relentless presence of Kryptonite.

Suddenly, Lex strangled Superman with his iconic red cape around his neck. As Superman opened his mouth to the fullest, trying to grasp some air, Lex pulled out a 7-inch rob-shaped Kryptonite stone from his back and stuffed it into Superman's throat directly with no hesitation. White foam started to overflow from Superman's mouth as tears running down his face. His fully erect penis was throbbing, pushing against his blue tights and ref brief, the wet patch of precum now bigger and more obvious than ever with white foam bubbling on the shining fabrics.

The faint murmurs filled the dungeon, each sound a grim mix of agony and climax. His body had grown heavy with exhaustion. The struggle to stay conscious became unbearable as the seconds dragged on. His pupils dilated, his vision blurring, and with each passing moment, his strength faded until there was nothing left to fight with.

Then, with a final, relentless shove, his nemesis pushed him forward, a move that sent Superman reeling. He tried to look back, eyes wide with fear, as his heart raced in desperation. But it was too late. Lex's boot connected with his hip, forcing him further toward the edge. With nothing to hold onto, Superman tumbled into the depths of the pool of waste, his body plunging like a stone, sinking into the dark, cold waters below.

… Why would Superman have such a dream? How will his fate change because of it?

Stay tuned for the second chapter, updated at the same time next week...

[l-1-z-a]

🖥️ Evolution of The Sims technologies

This is information by conversation from 🌎 #ts3-beta-chat channel in The Sims 2 Beta Discord Server about on which engine each game of The Sims series is developed and what technologies are used by each game of the series.

Just to offer clarity/summarize the above:

1. TS1 is built on top of MFC (Edith) and Gonzo/Rizzo. It uses a renderer which utilizes a mix of SC2K, SC3K, and Quake3D code.

2. TS2 extends TS1’s behavior engine but replaces the renderer with a new 3D engine, although it still uses the Gonzo development framework. It’s pretty much TS1 on steroids internally.

3. Sims 3 is overhauled and doesn’t use any of the tech from TS1/TS2, although it retains several assets ported over. It uses a new behavior engine (no name, but it uses traits/commodities instead) and Renderware (plus other stuff like Speedtree) for the 3D engine.

4. Sims 4 is once again built on a new engine, in anticipation of the game being an MMOG instead of single player. It loosely extends GlassBox from SC2013 (dubbed SmartSim now) but they pretty much have to overhaul it to remove the multiplayer aspect, so it really ends up becoming its own thing. It doesn’t reuse anything from TS3 except the concept of the traits/commodities behavior engine being used for SmartSim.

[bookqueenrules]

With the debate on how bad, or not, DD season 2’s ratings are and the anniversary of the most watched episode ever of TWD, No Sanctuary, I want to share some thoughts on what is working and what is not with the spin-offs.

The 6 Episode Format:

One of the most obvious things that is NOT working is the 6-episode format.  Without a doubt, TOWL has been the most successful spin-off. However, many were left dissatisfied by the ending.  If they would have spent a couple more episodes with Rick and Michonne in the CRM learning their secrets and how to take it down, it would have felt more satisfying to the viewers.  With both DC and DD, the six episodes format did not allow viewers to make any deep connections with the new characters.  For example, I don’t hate Laurent or Isabelle, but I don’t care for their survival like I would just about any character on the flagship.  This makes the deaths and relationships(i.e. Darabelle) far less compelling. 

Fix: Move to an 8-episode season.

The Stagnation and Reversal of Character Arcs:

TOWL is the exception here. Rick completed his arc by accomplishing his original goal of reuniting with his family. Michonne completed her arc by creating a family with a man willing to do anything for his children. While this is wonderful and satisfying, it creates a problem moving forward.  Andrew Lincoln gave a recent interview where he said he would like to see TWDU get back to the smaller survival stories of the past.  I think he is right.  Some variation of that will be what it is needed now that Rick and Michonne’s original arcs are complete.

DC and DD have done the opposite.  It appears that all four main characters have regressed, or at least not progressed, in their arcs.

The themes are clear. DD is about Daryl’s happy ending.  Daryl’s arc, really from day 1, has been about overcoming his upbringing and the trauma of his childhood. The only way to complete his arc is for him to create a healthy family of his own.  Daryl must have a wife and kids to complete that arc.  Rushing Daryl into becoming “ Laurent’s Daddy” is in no way satisfying this arc.  We need to see what Daryl’s happy ending is going to look like even if it takes several seasons( and it should) to be completely realized.  The spin-off needs to stop playing coy and show its hand.  The audience has been waiting 14 years already.  Time for that happy ending to at least be on the horizon. Yes, this means a real romantic love interest and eventually Dixson children.  Daryl needs to realize that Dixsons are not inherently bad or defective in some way.

Don’t get me started on the rehashing Carol’s dead children arc. That arc was completed with Ezekiel and Henry and the loving family she created with them. I am not sure why they can’t move Carol forward into a new story arc.  I truly hope this season puts it to rest, and she can move forward. 

The same is true for Maggie. Since Glen’s death, she has not been able to move forward.  This arc with Negan is at least a little less stale than Daryl’s but has still been going for years.  Maggie must come to some kind of acceptance of Glen's death and move forward.

Fix: Complete these years long character arcs and move the universe forward. The found family arc will only be completed when the OG remaining cast members are reunited. Dragging out the Daryl, Carol, and Maggie arcs has become tiresome, repetitive, and uninteresting.  Wrap those up. Then, reunite the found family.

Moving the TWDU Story Forward as a Whole:

The DD spin-off in particular was teased as having at least some answers to the origins of the virus.  I have seen the entire season, and we learned nothing.  Walkers on steroids are not that interesting.  We wanted to learn more about the scientists who originally created the virus and why.  Give the viewer some pay-off.  The audience you have now has been with you all these years.  Stringing them along with little pay-off is not working.

DC at least is showing that there is a new power source and is somewhat moving the universe forward.  They will need to continue with that story arc. Negan and Lucille 2.0 will not be enough of a story to attract, or even keep viewers. What happens in DC needs to affect the entire universe.

Fix: Pay-off for at least part of the origin story started in TWD season 1 is needed quickly.  The universe itself needs to be regenerated and eventually moved to the next generation of characters with the support of our OGs. 

[spookitordukeit]

Okay okay, so I've been thinking more on this post, and I've got more ideas!!

I think that the Freddy Fazbear brand would've been forced to shut down not long after the events of Security Breach, whether from the horrible publicity, or lack of funds, I'm not sure.

Faz Co would have definitely had to lay low for a while. Collect what assets they could, scrounge up what ever money they had left, and hide in the shadows for a bit. long enough for people to forget about what happened, or at least, mostly forget. A couple generations, at least.

Not that they just spent all that time twiddling their thumbs, no no. Faz Co got to work.

They got their hands into any AI or robot manufacturer brand they could, starting from shares and working their way up. Quietly buying out any and all big brands.

They save a hell of a lot of money by not having any physical establishments open, especially now that they aren’t having to constantly pay out lawsuits.

It gives them the time and the resources to grow, and this time? They’re going big. Bigger then ever before.

As for time period, I’m thinking far futuristic. Space travel and sentient AI, starships and space stations.

And Zaff Co, is located in the biggest hotspot in the Milky Way, not too far from earth. Not only that, but Zaff Co is also the biggest and most successful high-tech supergiant in the galaxy. They have their hands in everything from AI to housing to travel to food. You can’t go anywhere without seeing Zaff Co on the label.

Where the story takes place is in their central space station, smack dab in the center of the Milky Way. Zaff Co Megastation

It’s the size of a small planet, and has everything from housing hubs to super markets. And of course, their main money maker, Zaff Co Entertainment Center. The one and only.

Being the only establishment like it, it draws a lot of attention. People come far and wide to interact with their one of a kind, specialized animatronics and attractions. Its not that they can only afford to have one megacenter, oh no, it's tactical. Having only one makes people more willing to spend, spend, spend.

Its like Disney on steroids. Except Zaff co owns the flyways, the fueling stations, the housing hubs, the stores, restaurants, parks- almost everything is owned by Zaff co. They profit from everything.

They're in control of the flow of currency, Zaff coins. And of course, those who control the money, control the flow of information. They are number one, the top dogs, and they won't fall from grace again.

They spent decades erasing every bit of their history, forming themselves into a new brand. Freddy Fazbears no longer exists, never did. Any older Faz coins are misprints! Bring them in an receive free admission for life! As long as you sign these papers and never tell a soul :)

Okay- now for the animatronics! I've babbled about the company long enough.

First off, I love @loreleilarai's idea of Freddy being based of of Ursa Major! Absolute genius! And to expand on that, Helpy could be based off of Ursa Minor. The both of them would have a color scheme close to/a mix of glamrock Freddy, or funtime Freddy. Bright colors, whites, and bold markings. (also love the shooting stars bit)

Bonnie would, of course, be based off of the lunar rabbit/jade rabbit. Either white, light green, or a mix of both. Obviously with his signature red eyes. Maybe with a crescent moon motif???

I'm not sure what Chica would look like- all I can find on chickens and space is the running chicken nebula?? I love glamrock Chica, so her design would be largely based off of her I think? But more reds, pinks, and a pop of blue.

I'm also not sure if Foxy, Roxy, or Monty would be in this au, as I'm not sure what to do with their designs.

I do, however, have an Idea for DJMM. He'd be a galaxy spider, and the keeper of the 'cosmic web'. A large animatronic connected to all of the severs of the Megastation, watching over everything from bugs, maintenance, and repairs. He'd be less sentient then the other animatronics, functioning as a large scale antivirus/firewall and repair super computer. At least for now.

And of course there's Sun and Moon, the stars, of the show. I think they'd be largely unchanged, as they weren't very prevalent in their previous locations, other then a few complaints about Moon. It's easy for them to take the spotlight, especially once the two are separated into different bodies.

They have a myriad of jobs. Including security, where they combine and roam as Eclipse. Do I know what any of those jobs are yet? No- but gimme some slack, this AU is only three days old o(TヘTo)

I also have thoughts about making a few new animatronics, based off planets. Pluto, Mars, Venus, Earth, Neptune, Saturn, Mercury, Jupiter and Uranus. But I'm nut sure what purpose they would serve? and then maybe it'd be too cluttered with characters- Unless I use the original gang? As an example, Freddy as Saturn, Bonnie as Neptune, Foxy as Mars... ect.

I don't know, Its still a new AU concept and I've rambled long enough for now! lemme know if you have any thoughts or suggestions!! ^^