#typewriter asks

[typewriteringalaxy]

How about egg, hand, or lovely

there's egg and hand(s) in my WIP as fire loves innocence ! (which still needs more time to cook)

"Saw the wood elf by Rooba's today," Rye says and drops the bag of flour with a huff. "We'll get fresh meat, at least."

Peeta keeps his eyes on his bowl, trying not to react. The egg he had to split cracks unevenly, shell shards sinking in the batter.

He thinks of her hands tight around an otherworldly bow, the tip of her arrow aimed at his heart. And yet, it's not entirely fear that makes his heart race at the memory.

thank you for the ask and for coming up with this tag game!

[madameriasims4]

Hope your day is going well. I just wanted to ask if your off-the-grid typewriter was compatible with the current update.

As far as I know, the typewriter still works with the current update (and by that I mean that nobody has reached out to let me know that it's broken).

Between moving to a new apartment and having my C: drive fail on me, it took a lot longer for me to get my computer up and running, and by that point I had to spend a lot of time going through the broken/updated mods/cc lists that had accumulated.* Honestly I was starting to develop some anxiety about returning to making cc after spending that much time away, and I sort of avoided even launching the game for a while.

All that is to say that while I haven't specifically tested the typewriter since all the updates, it shouldn't break your game or anything. I am aware that it moves with the "mouse" animation, so I plan on updating it to fix that, and I will be re-testing everything else at the same time. I wish I could be more precise about when that will be, but just thinking about that typewriter still makes me anxious. I don't know how modders keep all their content up-to-date.

*Huge kudos to @luthsthings for creating and maintaining a thread every time there's an update. She does so much work for the community and it's such a thankless job. Please consider sending her some appreciation on her patreon.

[cupofsharks]

Draw Med annoying Misha while Misha is trying to write a story on his typewriter

He only wants ONE (1) surgery! And then maybe a second just for good measure.

[taw-k]

Hc: Loki's Nordic runes are really good, he writes them like they're stamped on, but his English is the most incomprehensible ancient calligraphy you've ever seen and his math is even worse.

He writes like this

And his math looks like this

He insists it's completely normal and entirely readable.

[cvntroach5000]

Underneath it all, we're just savages

author's note: i dont know what the fuck is happening in the trailer, but thats okay. i have ideas and those ideas dont need this context, they just need to entertain me and i hope they can entertain you as well. nexos is not the actual name of the place and i dont like the codenames used for the lis in the event, so ill just be making shit up. do not take anything i say at face value, this is a self-indulgent space. also this is more of a preview than a whole fic, so please send feedback if you'd be interested to read more!

based on the new tommorows catch-22 trailer, written with the event outfit in mind, no use of y/n, reader has the command evol, if you feel like im referencing something no you do not

i think command evol reader is going to become a recurring thing on this blog, so stay tuned for more of that ig

pairing: sylus x reader (implied LaDS men x reader)

content warning: imprisonment, power imbalance, mind control, depiction of fictional mental ailments, descriptions of bodily discomfort

Becoming head warden of the Nexos Prison was not something you did out of ambition. It wasn't some kind of dream-come-true, a job and position you yearned to seize. It didn't make you feel fulfilled, it didn't bring you happiness nor satisfaction. It did ensure you had a roof over your head and food to fill your stomach, basic needs you suppose you were grateful to have taken care of.

But the reason you were here, overseeing the most dangerous wards and the most rabid prisoners was because they were yours. Madness tried to take them from you, so you followed them to the place where insanity rules to reclaim them. Once you'd succeeded, you'd leave this wretched place and take your prizes with you.

Six wards, six sectors in each. The sixth sector of every ward was your territory. Unless explicitly asked, other wardens steered clear of those places. Not that they were forbidden entry, but rather it was wise of them to stay away if they valued their lives. In each sixth sector was a lion's den, containing a single ferocious beast. People infected with insanity, distorted into abominations in body and mind.

You don't work on Sundays. This is a prison, not Hell, even if the lines seem to blur sometimes. The remaining six days, you make rounds through the wards, interrogating the predators residing in your sectors. As the number goes up, so does the level of contamination. The first one is quite sound of mind, even if his body acts out. The sixth one is wholly feral, lashing out physically and verbally, itching to tear everything near him to shreds. But it's okay, it's not like you play favorites with your charges. They are all precious in their own ways and working with them gives you purpose. The only gratification from this cursed fucking job.

Today, you're going to the Sixth Ward.

...Perhaps you do play favorites, after all.

The prison is a labyrinth, massive and intricate. Everything is made with enforced steel from Deepspace. It's cold and harsh, giving the place as little comforting energy as possible. You swear, if those who are sent here were not mad already, they'd be driven mad by the dreadful atmosphere. Nobody gives a shit to put up some pastel colored wallpaper or even a little photo of a sloth that says 'Hang in there'. Though natural light is scarce in the desolate wasteland beyond the prison gates, Nexos goes above and beyond to snuff it out and enshroud the whole facility in complete darkness. Some hallways are lit so poorly, the staff carry around lanterns to be able to navigate through them.

It only takes two hours of elavator rides, weaving through the dark halls and passing through security to arrive at your destination of the day. You climbed the chain of command so fervently when you first arrived here. You used to be nervous and unsure, worried you might mess up at your tasks. Anxious and insecure, struggling to communicate with the other staff. Now you barely notice the guards cowering and scattering as you pass by. You don't even feel a rush of adrenaline as you finally make your way to the gate to the Sixth Sector.

As the doors slide open, a long corridor comes into view. Even from the entrance you can feel the stiffling energy crackling from the cell at the end of the hallway. It's disorganised and weak, as if the air itself is calling out for help. You let slow, long steps guide you down this path you've walked hundreds of times before.

There he is.

You catch a glimpse of the shock of white hair in the darkness, an imposing figure leaning against the jailbars. Even sitting down and slouching, his hulking body looks massive. He doesn't react to the sound of your footsteps. You've made no effort to conceal your presence, yet he doesn't seem to notice you up until you are directly behind him.

His hand slams into the bars, snapping back in a sudden burst of instinct. He almost seems surprised to see you—he really didn't register your presence until now. Still, he lets out a low, breathy laugh. You can see his fangs gleaming in the faint light as he grins mischievously. His gaze seems shrouded by a dark cloud, pupils practically gleaming as they erractically scan over you.

"Well, hello there, dear supervisor. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" There's bite to his tone, yet he doesn't sound entirely sarcastic either.

You adjust your gloves and review the toolbox you have prepared outside his containment cell.

"Hello. I'm here for your routine interrogation." You announce robotically, as per protocol, "Do you know who I am?"

The prisoner exhales through his nose as though offended by your question. But he takes a moment to observe your face before slowly admitting,

"No. Should I?"

The furrow of his brow softens and he seems to genuinely rack his brain for an answer. He means to tease you, imply you're a nobody that he'd have no way of knowing. And yet he studies you carefully, searching your uniform for some kind of identifier; a name tag, ideally. Though there seems to be a thin metal plate over your right breast, he doesn't spy any words engraved in it.

"Noted." You finish preparing your tool box, setting it just outside the door of the cell.

"I will now be entering your cell. Stand in the middle of the room and raise your arms, please." You instruct him.

He snaps his teeth at you in defiance, but complies, positioning himself as you asked. A special set of chains snakes down from the ceiling, coiling around his wrists and pulling him upwards. He hisses as the links in the chain bite into his skin and he is hoisted high enough that even with his height, he's forced to stand up on his tip-toes.

You lift your hand up to the scanner on the door, activating the security lock. After authorising your identity through the biometric scanner, the bars of the door slide to the side. You leave your toolbox outside for now, slowly entering the beast's cage.

It is dreadfully barren, a single chair stationed in the corner and a pathetic, thin little mattress lying directly on the cold floor. Unfortunately, there wasn't much else that could be provided to predators of his level. They were so stripped of their senses, they barely registered the discomfort they lived in. Always pacing around like starving lions, they were restless. They didn't sleep, they simply collapsed from exhausion once the contamination couldn't force them to stay alert anymore. And they recovered fast, prowling in their cells again as soon as an hour later.

You hum in acknowledgement, stepping forward to inspect your charge. There's a few fresh bruises on him, some a ghoulish shade of purple. A couple of small scratches and one open cut. You suspect he'll heal up soon and create more wounds to replace the old ones. None of them ever had the same injuries two visits in a row. Still, this was a pretty tame entry on his record.

After circling around him, you are quite satisfied with your findings. You look at his face to find him staring back at you, analysing you with intensity to match yours. His eyes trail over the items lined at your belt; a whip, a pistol and a baton. You take the whip from its strap, caressing the leather as you do.

"Heh, I see you came here to play. Plan on beating the disobedience out of me?" He taunts you, but the crazed look in his eye tells you he's almost excited by the prospect.

You huff increduously, "My weapons are tools of self-defense."

He lets out a humorless laugh, "There is no such thing as a weapon for self-defense, sweetie. Weapons are always made with the intent to hurt, to maim. You cannot enforce peace."

You swiftly crack the whip, using it to seize the chair in the corner by one of its legs. You pull it towards yourself, halting its acceleration with your foot. You turn it to face the prisoner and sit down, crossing your legs. You like putting on little shows like this for him. They are wholly eccentric and unnecessary, but often, they help loosening a stuck cog in his brain. Something to work with later on, as you continue your routine interrogation.

"You know, you used to tell me that your body is a weapon. What about your body then? Does it, too, only know to hurt and to maim?"

He seems a little taken aback, but shakes it off quickly. He snarls, gnashing his teeth at you like a wild beast.

You sigh. You snap your fingers and the chains holding him up to the ceiling clatter to the ground. He grunts in surprise as his heels touch the ground. He rubs his sore wrists, red eyes raking over you in intrigue.

"Aren't you arrogant, letting your prey loose like that." He scoffs.

He's trying to figure out if you're stupid or if you've got an ace up your sleeve.

"Sylus."

His ears perk up at the sound of his name, so foreign yet so familiar. Nowadays, it means nothing to him. He can't even recall it himself. And yet, your voice and that name resonate with a primal part of his soul, buried under the layers of madness and contamination.

"Who—"

"Sit."

His brain barely registers the command before his body acts on it. His knees give out and he falls to the ground. It's like his nerves are on fire. More than a prisoner of this cell, he now feels imprisoned in his own body. Like a spirit, tethered to a hollow, useless shell. He can barely form thoughts as his entire being responds only to you and your instruction.

"What... Did you..."

"It's my Evol. Everyone obeys me, whether they want to or not. You are no exception."

Sylus's mind is racing a million miles per minute, yet it feels completely standstill at the same time. He's trying to comprehend this power, gauge its limits, figure out its weaknesses. Pinpoint the loophole he can exploit to escape your grasp. Through the haze over his mind, he registers how your eyes have a knowing glint in them. Like you know exactly what he's thinking, like he's an open book to you.

Can you—

"I cannot read minds, no." You clarify before he can even attempt to voice the question.

He notices the whip is gone from your hands. Instead, you play with the baton, inspecting it as you ponder your prey.

"You must be thinking 'There has to be a weakness I can use to break free'. You always loved testing the limits of my ability."

You're answering his questions, yet your words leave him more confused than before. Always? When did he ever see you use your Evol? When has he strategised with it in mind?

A sensation like an electric current runs violently through his body, making his brain tingle as though it's going to pop. It hurts to think, yet he can almost taste all the answers he seeks. They are like blood on his tongue, reeking of iron.

He strains his neck to look you in the eyes.

Your gaze is so empty, as though you are looking through him. Miles into the distance at versions of him he can't recall.

"What if I told you..."

There's a buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the second.

"That we've had this exact conversation hundreds of times before?"

The buzzing halts to a complete silence. And the prisoner slumps to the floor, unconscious.

You stare at his limp body for a moment. Then, you get out of your chair and pull up your notepad.

Another failure.

Tommorow, you're circling back to the first ward. Let's see if there's going to be any progress there.

As you fill out your report, you hear the faint sound of wind rushing through the corridor. Of course, there is no wind in Nexos Prison. Cawing echoes through the cramped space and a single mechanical crow flies into the open jail cell.

Mephisto perches on your shoulder, peering at the tablet in your hands. Then, his eyes shift over to the unconscious, white-haired man on the floor. He lets out a soft caw, flicking his metal wings. Absentmindedly, you reach up to scritch his head, even if the robotic bird can't really feel anything, only simulate the joy of being pet.

"Don't worry, Mephie. He'll return to us."

[good-wine-and-cheese]

Lo-fi Kazuya to scream and die to

[lyrical-swiftie]

“𝗧͏𝗮͏𝘆͏𝗹͏𝗼͏𝗿͏ 𝗦͏𝘄͏𝗶͏𝗳͏𝘁͏ - …𝗥͏𝗲͏𝗮͏𝗱͏𝘆͏ 𝗙͏𝗼͏𝗿͏ 𝗜͏𝘁͏?”

[the-writers-wrench]

I could've sworn you already answered this but I can't find the post -- is that your typewriter in your header? And if so, do you use it a lot?

[dudeshusband]

"from flawed media"

all media is flawed, folks

[funplexflip]

RIP Bunny you would've loved Grammarly

[jonathanbyersphd]

The fact that Nancy doesn't have a typewriter on her desk drives me a little crazy tbh

[typewriteringalaxy]

if dathan was kenobi?

If Dathan Kenobi, son of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Satine Kryze, father of Rey Kenobi, lacking perhaps a strong connection to the Force but not his parents' other traits, if such a character existed, star wars and particularly the sequel trilogy could have been a lot more cohesive: a Kenobi trying to save a Skywalker, and either succeeding or getting corrupted too by the end. Even without Rey in the picture, it would've been nice to see more mentions of Satine (how a whole show set in Mandalore forgets her escapes me). Dathan Kenobi could've been a pilot, a diplomat, a Mandalorian commando, anything.

But unfortunately canon gave us Dathan, failed clone of Darth Sidious, left to live only to continue that raisin's bloodline, and finally father of Rey Palpatine. Thanks, I hate it.

[madameriasims4]

the only odd things i've noticed are that the typewriter moves around when the sim wants to use the "mouse" and that when you click on the typewriter it gives you "computer security options" to lock the typewriter for only certain sims to use it. but it works great otherwise!!

Awesome, thank you for letting me know!

I noticed that it moves around, too, and I honestly thought I had fixed that in a previous version but I noticed it again recently! I'll definitely have to try updating it again once I've finished moving.

The "computer security options" thing is because technically the typewriter is a limited computer, and I think that the interaction is automatically added to any item that contains the "computer" tag (which I need to have enabled on the typewriter for it to work properly).

Edit: I meant to answer this ask privately as we'd been discussing my typewriter and potential issues with it, but I accidentally posted this last response, so I figure I'll just leave it up.

[kdramaxoxo]

wait what happened to Yoo ah in???

The story behind Yoo Ah-In's drug use is so sad.

Yoo Ah-In originally tested positive for marijuana which is illegal in Korea, but then tested positive for Propafol, a controlled drug that given to him illegally by different doctors over a two year period.

After that, he also tested positive for cocaine and ketamine, a drug that might have been illegally prescribed to him. Finally he might have also taken zolpidem in "excessive amounts." (not my words).

After this went down (really fast actually), all of his upcoming projects got cancelled.

The thing is, he has a sleeping disorder he was being treated for and apparently started taking other drugs on top of that. If you've ever had a sleep disorder, you would understand the toll that takes on mental health. I also remember he has (had?) a painful bone tumor so I get the impression he's been through a lot.

Look at his drug choices:

Zolpidem can be used used for insomnia

Propofol is an anesthetic used for sedation

Ketamine is also an anesthetic but can help with depression and anxiety.

Marijuana also can help with anxiety and sleep

These are drug are ones someone who wants to be unconscious would pick. This screams mental health issues to me and someone who legit needs therapy and help, not arrest warrants.

For me personally, I'm just devastated because he is SUCH a talent and his career is pretty much over. I don't think drugs should be illegal (any of them), but on top of that we should treat drug addiction as a mental health concern, not a criminal issue.

[dipperscavern]

okay but Cregan butt ass naked-imagine a commercial with that kind of shit, like those ads that try to be funny but the lonely lady who has terrible luck with dating or the wife with the lazy husband wishes for her situation to be different and she hears a knock on the door (a heavy handed knock bc Cregan has that kind of knock ofc) and she goes to answer the door and he's standing there naked asf and is like " hello there gorgeous" in his sexy ass Northern accent

put you in the writers room for season 3 RIGHT NEOWWWWW1!!! this is the kind of action we've been missing.... myess.... *i mutter to myself scratching my head as my advisors watch in horror*

also the mention of the heavy-handed knock im drooling oh my god please cregan its all over the ceiling

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Actually, sorry, I still don't see why TOTK is imperialistic. The imperialistic one does seem to be Ganon in his greed to conquer. I'm not saying I doubt your argumentsz just... Could you help me understand that?

Hey, yes! No problem at all. If that's okay with you, I'll compile my arguments in a series of links where I reply to previous asks.

Again, I want to reiterate that I don't think what we see in-game is secretely an imperialistic story about Rauru being a bad guy. We can speculate all we want, but there is no evidence in-world for Ganondorf to be anything other than a horrible baddie. My point is not that Ganondorf is secretely misunderstood in TotK, but that I believe Nintendo should have constructed its storytelling in a way that avoided falling into very loaded narrative patterns with real-life imperialistic echoes, and I am criticizing that they didn't try to deliver a version of Hyrule that gracefully accepted its own history, its influence over the world and its inherent moral grayness, instead of nervously scrubbing itself of substance out of fear of its own legacy.

This is the big one, that addresses the game's framing and why I think TotK's version of Hyrule parallels imperialist narrative movements.

This one talks about my problem with Rauru's character writing and what doesn't land for me.

This one is about why I don't think Nintendo is cackling about that good imperialist story they did, that it was probably accidental but still worth mentioning.

And this one, which I assume is the previous ask you sent me, adresses why I think saying that the zonais (and Sonia) are also PoC-coded kind of misses the point in my opinion.

Hope this clarifies my argument! I feel like, as the conversation matures in the fandom, this specific position (not talking for anyone else but me here) is getting kind of warped into something that it's not, or being conflated with the way people are creatively invested in the characters, which, while I certainly won't deny one obviously feeds off the other as far as I'm concerned*, are two separate things.

Again, it's completely fine to disagree! Or to agree and not be put off (everyone stop feeling guilty over the rare joy we manage to catch mid-flight --we can critique media without demanding people to Feel Bad as a result of the conclusions): it's a really fun game and I did play over a hundred hours! But I think the conversation is at least worth considering in a way that isn't caricatured as its weaker arguements.

*(to be very transparent so my own position is crystal clear, and it helps people making up their own mind: Ganondorf touches me as a character because of the way he inherently tries to fight against the limitations Hyrule/The Goddesses/the fiction itself try to force upon him --to devastating and unproductive results-- so the more his own canon tries to flatten him and the more poignant his character becomes to me. Won't deny that! It's this exact realization that made me spiral into hyperfocus to begin with --I am deeply touched by themes of tragic ambition and the impossibility of meaningful rebellion while STILL willingly burning everything down for the sake of refusing your place in the universe, even when the only thing accomplished by the end was the unflinching expression of your agency as well as General Suffering. So of course he would just catch me by the throat like that, that bastard. That being said, I don't think TotK Ganondorf (or any Ganondorf tbh) is a poor little meow meow, especially not in this game's canon where he is *obviously* nothing more than a threat to be stumped and doesn't ever meaningfully oppose you ideologically, which is kind of my problem. Even OoT Ganondorf, simplistic as he may be, questions Hyrule's inherent stability, inevitability and glory in many, many ways. Here's another, final post about why I liked the gerudos better in OoT despite All of The Problems, that partially addresses this exact point!)