#Mosquito racket

[drop--pop--candy]

i am tired of getting mosquito bites

[turtle-ly]

its a little known fact but im actually so attractive and delectable (mosquitos have been crowding my ass for weeks they want me to get dengue fever again they want me to get dengue fever again they want me to g-

[offerdailyonline01]

Electric Mosquito Killer Racket at Daily Online Offer

Eradicate pesky mosquitoes with Vidhi World's Electric Mosquito Killer Racket. Experience a buzz-free environment effortlessly. Swift, effective, and convenient, this device ensures peace during outdoor activities. Say goodbye to traditional methods and embrace modern protection. Grab yours now at Daily Online Offer!

[elene78-blog]

Tanner, that enthusiastic boy obsessed with improving his skills at Exy, a bit hyperactive and talkative, changes one day.

Suddenly, his voice deepens. He seems to do this on purpose, and the Trojans don't know why, but it's strange and comical. They think Tanner is trying to make them laugh, but Tanner gets really offended when they laugh.

Tanner starts looking at the others intensely, even if he doesn't say anything, with his chin high and a slightly grumpy expression, until the others feel uncomfortable or ask him what the hell he's doing. Then Tanner walks off without saying anything, head high and neck stretched out like a turkey.

Tanner has an accident playing Exy and breaks his nose. The next day, he brags about it, his nose still swollen like a clown. He proudly flaunts his new scar, even though it's barely noticeable.

Tanner buys a leather biker jacket and wears it everywhere (even if it's 30 degrees in the shade and he doesn't have a motorcycle).

Tanner starts using a heavy racket, until Jean tells him he looks like a baby trying to lift a baseball bat and to stop fooling around or he won't coach him.

Tanner starts making up strange phrases when he wants to insult someone, but he's terrible at it. The smartest thing he said was "Croissant Face" to Nabil for a bad pass, and Nabil was embarrassed.

And then… Tanner was starting to fake an accent? It was a strange mix of Southern British with the meow of a cat in heat.

One day, Jeremy is telling everyone the strategy they're going to follow for the upcoming game when Tanner grabs him by the chin and forces him to look at him to let him know he agrees with it.

Jeremy squints at him, dismayed. His good nature immediately fades.

Then it hits them.

"Oh my god, you were trying to imitate Jean!" Cat immediately yells.

"The accent, the biker jacket, the scar on your nose…" Derek says.

"You're so bad, man!"

"Don't laugh, no one laughs when Jean does it!" Tanner yells.

The Trojans burst into laughter as Jeremy, in a tone that brooks no argument, removes Tanner's hand from his chin.

"Don't do that again."

Before he can complain, Jean is there looking at him as if Tanner were a mosquito that's been buzzing around him all night and is determined to squash him.

"Don't touch him like that again or you'll experience a Ravens-style punishment, Tanner."

Tanner's eyes sparkle as Jean threatens him. Make a note of it for when he has to threaten someone in the future, because, in his eyes… Jean is so cool…

(Naturally, Jean lifts Jeremy's chin a while later, and Jeremy allows it with the most brilliant smile in the universe.)

Tanner continues imitating Jean. It still doesn't work out.

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Cologne by Beabadoobee is so besties to lovers with Stanford Art coded

Belly down on his bed putting your favorite stickers on his new racket first your initials on the base printed thick in gold lettering then little stars and hearts covering the rest while he’s tapping his fingers to the beat on your spine.

“Is that a hickey?” He pinches the swollen pink lump on the side of your neck pent up jealously bubbling up inside him.

“No, mosquito bite” you wince swatting him away, “why you wanna give me one?” You joke swiveling your head back taunting him something you've mastered after knowing him since freshman year.

He doesn't bite though instead he wordlessly lifts up your shirt tickles the sliver of skin poking out hoping you don’t notice the dusty pink flush on his cheeks

[themadkatartist]

Feral Pax once again in the nemesis, Pest Control.

(I know he doesn't remember but for now it's feral Pax once again, also I'm back!)

Starscream who happens to survive (again): "I, Starscream, who happens to have the immortal spark of primus, to survive! No one can stop me now-⚡⚡⚡BBBUUUZZZZZ!?!?!⚡⚡⚡" Before Starscream could finish, Optimus appears behind him and hits him with a large electric racket the size of a spider. SPLAT and BUZZ on the ground...

Optimus holding the racket realises who it is: Uh, whoops. I thought you were a Blackarachnia or a giant Mosquito pest that Megatron talked about, so I recommend him to build an Electric Racket from earth to get rid of said giant pest but larger thanks to Shockwave. Sorry Star, Didn't see you there. I hope you don't encounter any giant pests on the way here, see ya! Orion smiles and waves before walking away with the large racket after just slamming Starscream, Megatron comes in to see the commotion.

Starscream crawls weakly with burns on his circuits. M-Megatron...*COUGHS*...You slagging Bolts, you knew I was coming didn't you. You commanded You Goddamn pet...! Starscream shrieks before stumbling down once again on foot Parr to Megatron.

Who is standing Menacingly with a Smirk on his face before bending down, towering over the electrocuted seeker with arms behind his back. Oh I didn't command Him, I was just talking about the Giant Pest that has been causing throughout the Nemesis... And it seems that Orion did a good job dealing with the pest under our noises. Megatron stands back before walking away leaving the seeker alone and unconscious for now so no backstabbing schemes can be dealt during the meeting.

Omg 😆

[kasperhateslife]

you irene are the only mosquito id want to bite me ;3

Girl you are NOT a dog, much less Clifford. you're like a really mean and weird mosquito 😭😭👎

these insults are getting more creative

*sad buzzing noises*

[amostexcellentblog]

Ice's second attempt to get Mav into theater is more of a spur of the moment thing when he impulsively buys season tickets to the local Shakespeare in the Park. It's been decades since that last date to the theater, this is the first summer they can officially be a couple, they're almost domesticated, so how bad could it be?

Mav still does not get it.

"You paid $500 for this? We don't even get a theater, we just sit in the park with the mosquitos all night?"

"Technically, it was $500 each..."

"1,000... We're paying 1,000 bucks to sit in a public park to watch men in tights talk funny and get bitten by mosquitos on a muggy summer night? And we had to bring our own chairs!"

"Well, they did include dinner."

"Oh yeah, the soggy deli sandwiches are so worth $1,000. Face it babe, you got ripped off."

"Look, season tickets aren't supposed to be a bargain, they're supposed to help support the arts."

"It's a racket is what it is!"

[lxxahazel]

╰┈➤ His Smile, Her Sin

[Lucifer x Overlord! Reader]

Chapter 7: [A Lesson In Precision]

✎ | 1 | 6 | 8 |

{Y/n’s POV}

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

The faintest tremor in my throat, a subtle throb beneath the skin, was a constant, unwelcome companion that morning. Violet’s angelic blade had left its mark, a thin, almost imperceptible emerald line that defied my usual rapid regeneration. It was a physical reminder of the precariousness of power, and a silent spur for the day’s agenda.

The sun, a sickly, eternal crimson in Hell’s sky, cast long, distorted shadows across the sprawling, untamed section of my estate that bordered the bayou. The air was thick with the scent of stagnant water, decaying vegetation, and something vaguely sulfurous—a perfect canvas for the work I intended. This was no manicured garden. This was primal, dangerous, and utterly unconcerned with pleasantries. Much like its current occupants.

Alastor was already there, oddly enough. He stood by the gnarled roots of a weeping willow-like tree, one of his long, black shadow tentacles – the notoriously unruly ones – idly batting at a particularly stubborn swamp fly. His perpetually cheerful grin was fixed in place, yet his ears twitched, always listening, always aware. He was humming a discordant tune, a medley of jazz and something that sounded suspiciously like a dying sinner’s wail. The humid air clung to him, making his impeccable suit seem even more out of place against the swamp's wildness. A persistent mosquito buzzed near one of his antlers, and a ripple of static seemed to vibrate through his entire form, barely contained.

"Alastor," I announced, my voice cutting through the humid air with the precision of a scalpel. He didn't jump, merely shifted his weight, his head canting towards me. "Cease that infernal racket. I find myself with a rare moment of… pedagogical inclination."

His grin widened, a subtle challenge in his crimson eyes. "Oh? And to what grand subject shall we dedicate ourselves this fine infernal morn, dear Y/n?"

"Your… temperament," I replied dryly, gesturing vaguely at the shadow tentacles that periodically writhed and lashed out from behind him, seemingly independent of his will. One slammed into a nearby cypress tree, snapping a branch with a sound like a pistol shot. The impact sent a flock of murky swamp birds squawking into the bruised sky. "Specifically, these. They lack discipline. They lack control. A liability, wouldn't you agree?"

He chuckled, a static-laced sound. "A bit of… flair, I'd call it. Keeps things lively."

"It keeps things inefficient," I countered, my voice hardening. "Power without precision is merely chaos. And chaos, unless meticulously directed, is a waste." I stepped closer, my heels sinking slightly into the damp earth near the water's edge. The boggy ground gave a soft squelch beneath my weight, the metallic tang of the bayou’s decay rising around us. "Today, you learn to rein them in. Or suffer the consequences of your incompetence."

His grin tightened, his ears flattening slightly. He understood the unspoken threat, the challenge to his perceived mastery. "And how do you propose to teach a creature such as myself control, dear Y/n? By brute force?"

"Oh, by a far more effective method," I purred, a predatory glint in my eyes. "Experience. You will feel the consequences of your uncontrolled power, until you learn to master it."

I began with a demonstration, my own shadow twisting and elongating from beneath my feet, not into aggressive tendrils, but into graceful, almost liquid forms. It swirled, coalesced, then snatched a dangling vine from the tree above, holding it perfectly still. It pulsed with a contained, silent energy, a stark contrast to the noisy flailing of his. "Observe. Every movement, every twitch, must be deliberate. An extension of your will, not a manifestation of your impulse."

Alastor attempted to replicate my movements. His shadow tentacles erupted, a tangle of black, flailing limbs that thrashed wildly, sending water splashing and mud flying. One slammed into a nest of swamp flies, sending a cloud of buzzing insects scattering. Another snagged on a low-hanging branch, tearing leaves. And then, one shot towards me, a blur of black intent on… what? I didn't wait to find out.

My reaction was instinct, honed by centuries of survival in this infernal realm. Before the tentacle could even graze my skin, my own shadow exploded outwards, a wall of pure darkness that intercepted the errant limb. It didn't merely block it; it seized it, the shadowy tendrils wrapping around Alastor's with a force that made him grunt, a surprised cough escaping his throat. A faint, emerald throb pulsed in my throat, a reminder of the fragility even Overlord power in the face of angelic steel.

"Careful, Alastor," I said, my voice dangerously soft, the air around me crackling with restrained power. "I am not one of your hapless sinners to be swatted aside like a fly. Control your flair, or I will be more than happy to demonstrate its… limitations." The memory flashed in my mind, unbidden, of that chunk of building falling in my path during our chaotic first encounter, the near miss, and the sight of Alastor, overwhelmed and in pain, his shadow tentacles lashing out uncontrollably. So that was the true source of the collateral destruction. How utterly predictable. He was a force of nature, untamed and often self-destructive, a mirror of everything I abhorred in myself.

Alastor’s grin tightened, a flicker of something that might have been annoyance, or perhaps reluctant respect, in his eyes. He slowly, deliberately, retracted the seized tentacle, his other limbs stilling. "My apologies, dear Y/n. A… momentary lapse in focus. I assure you, such… enthusiasm will not be repeated."

I released his tentacle, my shadow retracting, but remaining coiled and alert, ready to strike again. "See that it isn’t," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, again. And this time, with precision."

We continued, for what felt like hours. The humid air grew heavier with the scent of ozone and power as Alastor’s attempts became less frantic, more focused. I pushed him. Relentlessly. When he lost concentration, his tentacles would still lash out, and my shadow would meet them, binding them, twisting them, making them turn against him in subtle, humiliating ways. I would even briefly form my own shadow into a taunting, skeletal hand that would flick one of his ears or poke him in the side, just to remind him who was in charge of this session. When he grew frustrated, I would goad him, my words sharp and cutting. "Is that all, dear? Are you truly so easily defeated by a few errant shadows? Your very power defies you. How utterly pathetic." He was improving. Slowly. Painfully. Like watching a drunken eel learn ballet. But progress was progress. And I’d be damned if I let it go to his antlered head.

He began to adapt. Slowly, painstakingly, the chaotic thrashing gave way to more deliberate movements. He’d experiment, his shadow tentacles no longer merely flailing, but attempting to weave through the gnarled roots with a semblance of grace, snatching precisely chosen leaves, even attempting to create intricate patterns in the murky water. A few of his attempts still ended in minor explosions of shadow energy, sending up geysers of swamp water and charred earth, but even those were becoming less frequent, more contained, almost… deliberate.

"Less a frantic explosion, more a strategic demolition," I conceded after one particularly impressive display where he used a tentacle to perfectly snap a rotten log in half, sending splinters flying with controlled force. "Progress, I suppose. Though you still lack… finesse. It’s too… loud." The very essence of his power, so boisterous and attention-seeking, grated against my own preference for quiet, devastating control. I had no intention of feeding his already towering ego with effusive praise. He would get what he needed, not what he desired.

He responded with a wry grin, then, without warning, one of his tentacles shot out, snatched a rare, luminous bioluminescent flower from a cluster near the water's edge, and presented it to me. Not as a gift, but as a challenge, an act of mischievous defiance. "Perhaps a touch of light will balance the shadows, dear Y/n?"

I took the flower, examining its ethereal glow, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips. "You are improving, Alastor," I admitted, a genuine note of grudging respect in my voice, devoid of the fawning recognition he likely craved. "You have a knack for the malevolent. It suits you." My eyes flickered to the faint line on my throat, which pulsed with a dull ache. The memory of Violet’s rage, and the necessity of forging strength, remained.

Alastor noticed the flicker of my gaze, a rare moment of vulnerability. His smile seemed to falter, just slightly, and he looked from my throat to the flower in my hand, then back to his own now-still tentacles. "Perhaps," he mused, his voice losing a fraction of its radio static, a softer, almost contemplative tone entering his words. "Perhaps we are both learning to control our… flair."

I met his gaze, a slow, knowing smirk returning to my lips. "Perhaps, dear. But I suspect you still have much to learn about true control."

He chuckled, the static returning in full force, and with a flourish, he made his shadow tentacles weave themselves into a perfectly formed, if menacing, bow. The message was clear: the lesson, for now, was complete. He thought so, anyway.

With Alastor’s back momentarily turned as he admired his perfectly formed bow, I acted. My hand moved with lightning speed, plucking a small, sharp pebble from the damp earth. With a flick of my wrist, I sent it sailing. It struck the back of his head with a dull thwack. Alastor staggered slightly, one clawed hand flying to the impact zone as if expecting to find a bullet wound.

"What was that for, pray tell, dear Y/n?" he demanded, his voice crackling with indignant sarcasm, yet underlying it was a clear vexation at the lack of a proper acknowledgment for his progress. "A parting gift? A rather… hard-headed one, wouldn't you say?" He rubbed the back of his head, eyes narrowed in accusation, clearly irked by the absence of applause.

I simply observed him, my eyes analytical, a faint hum escaping my throat. "Mmhm. Next session," I stated, my voice flat but decisive, already turning to leave the bayou. "We begin with improving your reflexes. And perhaps your endurance. And certainly, your speed."

"Wonderful” he murmured, “One might think you enjoy torturing me, dear," Alastor called out, a hint of his usual theatricality returning to his voice, though laced with genuine weariness.

I didn't dignify his comment with a response, but as my heels clicked steadily on the path, I muttered just loud enough for the static-laced air to carry it back to him, "One might be right. And one might shut up and stretch before tomorrow."

My heels clicked steadily on the path as I made my way back towards the grand, imposing structure of my manor, leaving him alone in the lingering shadows of the bayou. He would be there for the next session. He always was. His aura, which had once been a chaotic, untamed static, now possessed a more focused hum, a subtle shift that spoke of directed power rather than mere impulse. A terrifying thought, if it continued to develop. And I had every intention of ensuring it did.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The grand, imposing structure of my manor loomed before me, its obsidian walls seeming to absorb the crimson light of Hell’s eternal sun. The click of my heels on the ancient stone path was the only sound breaking the swamp's lingering silence as I approached the heavy, carved doors. The air inside was blessedly cooler, free from the bayou’s humid embrace, carrying faint notes of aged leather and arcane incense. My personal chambers awaited, a sanctuary designed for privacy and the cold, unyielding work of self-preservation.

I moved with practiced efficiency, shedding my slightly damp attire in favor of lighter, more comfortable silks. My gaze drifted to the mirror, my fingers tracing the faint, emerald line on my throat. It throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that whispered of Violet's enduring hatred. Standard regeneration, usually swift and complete, seemed to struggle against the angelic essence infused in the cut. It was a lingering reminder, a proof of concept for Violet's lethal intent, and a test of my own preparedness.

From a hidden compartment behind a rotating section of shelving filled with ancient, grimoire-like tomes, I retrieved a small, obsidian vial. Its contents shimmered with an unsettling, viscous luminescence – a concentrated extract of a rare, subterranean Hellish flora, infused with the pulverized essence of a vanquished seraphim's wing. Expensive. Potent. Utterly necessary.

Uncorking it, a faint, metallic tang filled the air. I dipped a finger into the cool, gel-like substance and applied it carefully to the wound. A sharp, stinging burn flared across my skin, a cold fire that made my jaw clench. The pain was immediate, pulling at the threads of memory, the echoes of a past I preferred to keep buried. This pain was different; it wasn’t just physical. It was a living accusation.

“Don’t leave me, Y/n… please… promise me that you won't leave me alone,” my mind whispered, the words barely audible, a dry, rasping echo of Violet’s plea from a hundred years ago. The memory was a sudden, suffocating dependency, a clinging desperation that had once warmed me with the feeling of being needed, but had ultimately threatened to drown us both. We had been in that wretched cell, the damp cold seeping into our bones, the stench of stale straw and fear ever-present. Her small, trembling hand in mine, her eyes wide with terror, not of the masters, but of my potential absence.

I remembered the whip’s crack, the screams of others, the gnawing hunger that was a constant companion. We clung to each other, two lost souls, chained together by circumstance. I had taught her how to sharpen a spoon into a weapon, how to hide scraps of food, how to survive. We had made promises in the dark, promises whispered like prayers, that we would be together forever. That I cared about her, more than anything. I had. Truly. The decision to leave had been the hardest I’d ever made, a tactical retreat born of grim necessity, not callous disregard. But she hadn’t seen it that way. She had seen abandonment. And that perception, I knew, had twisted her into what she was now.

The balm hummed against my skin, slowly drawing the green tint from the cut, replacing it with a faint, angry red that would eventually fade to an almost invisible silver. It was a stubborn wound, refusing to vanish with a single application. Like Violet’s rage, it persisted.

Moving to my expansive, unadorned work desk, I pulled up a holographic display, mapping Alastor’s progress. He had certainly been… lively. My analytical gaze skimmed over the projected data, noting the fluctuating energy signatures, the moments of chaos, and the gradually increasing periods of controlled output. He was still a mess, a riot of untamed power barely constrained by a thin veneer of civility, but he was *learning*. His capacity for controlled demolition was growing. He needed more finesse, less noise, more precision.

My thoughts immediately drifted to the next phase of his 'education.' Reflexes, endurance, speed. I envisioned a series of drills: dodging conjured projectiles laced with raw, volatile shadow energy, forced marches through the more treacherous, monster-infested swamps that would test his stamina and ability to control his environment, and precision striking exercises against swiftly moving targets. I smiled faintly. It would be a nightmare for him. Excellent.

He was a tool. A remarkably powerful, fascinating tool. And like any valuable tool, he needed to be honed, sharpened, made perfectly efficient. His resistance, his flair, his sheer chaotic nature—these were not endearing qualities to me, merely inefficiencies to be corrected. Yet, there was a part of me, a very small, almost imperceptible part, that appreciated the challenge he presented. He was not easily broken, not easily swayed. His defiance, while annoying, spoke of a core strength that could be molded, if one was persistent enough. And I was nothing if not persistent. Especially when a debt of suffering was involved, no matter who paid it.

My gaze returned to the mirror, the silver line now almost imperceptible, a ghost of a mark. The wound was healing. But the memory, and the anger it represented, remained. And tomorrow, Alastor would feel the burn of his own next lesson.

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

The attack began badly. At the signal, Welsh led his men forward and Winters ordered Compton to get 2nd Platoon ready. No sooner had Welsh jumped off than a German machine gun at the intersection ahead came to life. In perfect position to dominate the road, the MG 42 spat flame and death at the charging GIs. Welsh and his first six men braved the hail of lead and made it into the town, taking cover behind the nearest buildings. However, the next man in line, Sergeant Robert J. Rader, “simply put his head down and froze,” as Winters recalled. Like cars in traffic, the rest of the platoon backed up behind him and, suddenly, on both sides of the road, men hunkered down in the ditches, heads low, immobile. Winters was horrified. Not only did he now have seven men alone and on their own in the enemy-held town, but the rest were in danger as well. Stopping under fire was the worst thing they could do; it converted them into targets. “Move!” Winters yelled above the racket. “Move. Don’t stop.” Heads stayed low as his words went unheeded. From behind, he could hear Strayer shouting, “Move out, Winters. Get those men moving.” Winters blew his cork. Oblivious to his own safety, he leaped to his feet and ran into the middle of the road. “Go forward,” he yelled. “You can’t stay here. Move! Move!” Guarnere, recalling the attack, said the universal thought among the men was, “Is he friggin’ nuts? He thinks we’re gonna get up?” But Winters kept yelling and gesturing. He was a sitting duck for the German gunners, and he knew it. He had become the only visible target, and the machine gunner did not neglect the opportunity. Bullets churned up the ground at Winters’s feet and buzzed around his ears like mosquitoes as he bounced back and forth across the road, frantically grabbing men, yanking them to their feet, and pushing them forward. “Get going!” Winters yelled. “You’re gonna die here. Move!” The men were stunned, less by the German fire than by the sight of their mild-mannered lieutenant suddenly transformed into a raving madman. At first they gaped at him in awe, then the discipline they’d forged during two years of training returned. Rader moved out, followed by another man, then another until all were charging ahead under the withering fire. Winters ran with them, encouraging them forward, as they poured down the road and into Carentan.

~ Larry Alexander

[monocodoll]

Drug Dealing(MonocoDoll's Vile Ventures) Mod Report(Weed Edibles, Marijuana License, Felony Consequences, Smuggling, Cocaine/Meth Rackets, Heat System, Steroids, Doctor Appointments, Lean, Possibility of PMA in MDMA, House Arrest, and small update to Adderall) Part 2

Doctor Appointments

Doctor Appointments are used to get prescribed medication such as Adderall, Xanax, PainKillers, Cold Medicine, and Estrogen blockers. Your sim is limited to one doctor visit a day.

To Visit a Doctor, your sim will need to go to the Hospital Rabbithole. Costing 100 Simoleans

After selecting the option, your sim will go into the Hospital for around an hour and a half. If the doctor finds that your sim needs any medication, they will provide it to your sim.

[Being Prescribed Adderall]

-Adderall is Prescribed to Sims with the Absent Minded Trait.

-Athletic sims have the chance of being misdiagnosed and therefore may be prescribed Adderall. By Default 10% chance

[Being Prescribed Xanax]

-Sims with either Stressed, Feeling Anxious, Scared, Strained, Feeling Out Of Sorts, Impending Episode, Delusional, Terrified, Fear, or Upset moodlet will be prescribed Xanax.

-Sims with the Unstable trait will also be prescribed Xanax.

[Being Prescribed PainKillers]

-Sims with either Bad Landing, PwnedByBull, Lost The Brawl, Ouch My Face, Hurt Hand, Mosquito Bite High, Mosquito Bite Mid, Mosquito Bite Low, Cat Scratch, Shredded dignity, Saddle Sore, Forcibly Dismounted, Kicked, Bitten, Hurt Foot, or Tooth ache will be prescribed Pain Killers.

[Being Prescribed Cold Medicine]

-Sims with either the Germy, Pestilence Plague, or Sick and Tired Moodlet will be prescribed Cold Medicine.

[Being Prescribed Estrogen Blockers]

-Sims with an Enzyme level of 60 or above and have not yet received permanent liver damage. Will be prescribed Estrogen Blockers.

[Being Prescribed Nothing]

If the doctor finds no issues with your sim. The sim will be prescribed nothing and be sent on their way.

Lean

I had also mentioned Lean on a previous report. However, they were not fully developed at the time. I decided to go back and work on implementing Lean into the game.

[Effects While Under the influence]

Lean will temporarily remove Sleepy, Tired, Exhausted, BuzzCrashed, OrganicKonaLiftBuzz, OrganicSlappicnoBuzz, an OrganicMidnightMudBuss. As well as provide a small boost to your fun. However, Lean will make Sims feel Dazed.

[Withdrawals]

While the sim craves Lean, they will gain the Feeling Anxious, Stressed, and Strained moodlet. They will also take a 1/5 hit to their energy and a 2/5 hit to their fun meter.

[Overdosing]

If your sim consumes too much of the drug, they have a chance at overdosing. It can be either fatal or non fatal. If fatal sim will die. If non fatal the sim will pass out.

Possibility of PMA in MDMA

Anytime your sim purchases Normal Quality MDMA from a Drug Dealer NPC. There is a 10% that the MDMA Baggy or MDMA Pill Bottle may contain PMA. Purchasing High Quality MDMA however, is excluded from this possibility.

If your MDMA has PMA inside, when your sim goes to consume some of the MDMA, the sim will consume PMA instead. Which will result in the effects of MDMA to take longer to take effect.

To check whether your MDMA has PMA inside, you can now purchase Stay Safe Test Kits at the grocery store. Once you have these in your inventory. You can select any MDMA Baggy or MDMA Pill bottle and check whether PMA is inside. Selecting the option will inform you how much PMA is inside. The kits have up to 5 uses.

House Arrest

I also decided to go back and implement a house arrest feature. Now if your sim is arrested and have less than $2500 worth of Illegal product, they will be sentenced to House Arrest for a day.

They will have a total of three hours to get to their home. Otherwise they will be arrested if they are not home by the time the moodlet expires.

Once they are home, they must stay in their home lot for the duration of the house arrest. Stepping out of their home will immediately notify law enforcement and therefore your sim will be arrested. And they won't be getting House arrest if they are arrested due to a breach in their house arrest sentence.

Small Adderall Update

I decided to go back to Adderall and have it have an additional function. On top of what was previously mentioned on reports about Adderall. Adderall now temporarily replaces the Absent Minded Trait with the Perceptive Trait. Once the effects of Adderall wear off. The sim will regain their Absent Minded Trait. If the sim does not have the Absent Minded Trait, then one random trait will be temporarily replaced with Perceptive.

And that is all I have to report on for this month. We went over Weed Edibles, Marijuana License, Felony Consequences. Smuggling, Cocaine/Meth Rackets, Heat System, Steroids, Doctor Appointments, Lean, Possibility of PMA in MDMA, House Arrest, and the small update to Adderall.

I was honestly all over the place this month. A significant amount of progress was made this month. For next month, I'm not too sure what to work on. At the moment, the only major things left are the animations and reactions of the sims that you smoke around. And some minor features to work on next would be to make Lean Craftable, make the overdoses chances tunable, Be able to cut Cocaine Baggies into lesser quality via Baby laxatives, Correcting Spelling errors, Making Images for the moodlets, Make the LSD Sheets into more of a Simlish style, and a Shroom harvestable (I honestly forgot about them when I initionally made all the other drug plants).

Additionally, I also decided on a name for this mod. I have been calling it The Drug Mod for quite a while now. However, during this month I decided on a name. I'll call it MonocoDoll's Vile Ventures. Another nice little detail I want to add to the release for this mod is to have a cover art for the mod upon release. I commissioned my friend. Which is the same individual who made my OC. So I am looking forward to their upcoming sketches.

Now I am going to go back to being a ghost. However, I want to thank everyone again who has been patient.

[msbarrows]

Honestly I just went on Amazon.ca (*spits* - but I keep being given gift cards so whatever) and did a search for “bug zapper racket”. This was just after getting back north, after my nephew using one on a house fly down in Toronto and reminded me of their existence - last time I saw one used prior to that was at a friend’s camp a couple decades ago.

Narrowed down some features I liked, like it being USB rechargeable. particular one I bought is not currently in stock, but looks like this and had multiple vendors using different names:

Basically it has three modes; entirely off, off unless you press switch, and continually on with “attractant light” lit (which also serves as a handy visual reminder to not touch it to anything). I have used it in attractant mode a couple of times, and have eventually heard a ZAP as it gets a mosquito, but no idea if that was actually working as advertised, or just the fly thinking it was a safe spot to land.

The one feature this didn’t have that I’d recommend looking for is an included cleaning brush, to safely clean the frazzled fly bits out of the screens.

I fucking hate mosquitoes

[rafent]

[ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 ] [this is fogado]

the servant is hardly worthy of seeing his master in any state but perfect; one might assume that it is impossible to serve one without seeing them at their weakest, but fogado simply believes that all states of rafal are their most perfect.

on a night where hound and owner are sheltered and alone, fogado exerts his insolence by taking to rafal as he readies for the evening. ash-laden hands reach out and touch the bare skin that he can see, smearing lines of the dead across the expanses. " wow, rafal, your skin is so soft, " fogado coos, touching whatever he wants of rafal's body with amusement. " so, so soft...

" and your hair is so silky, too. " to emphasize his point, fogado pinches strips of rafal's white locks, tinting them ever so slightly with gray. " it makes your pretty red eyes stand out. say, has anyone ever told you how cool you look when you stare at them all serious-like? "

finally, after pausing a moment to graciously clean his hands, the touches move lower---pure insolence. a challenge? or a desire for punishment? " so strong, so soft, so stern... " humming, the pads of his fingers linger on the ends of their journeys. " i'll always listen to my master if he's as handsome as you are. "

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒 — WORSHIP: sender worships receiver’s body

Mosquitoes were bothersome enough, but one distinctly human-sized variant tested patience to extremes, feeling all over without breaking skin and buzzing about with his racket of meager noise. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Vexing though the circumstance had been the first few times, now only weary acceptance rose to meet it, tolerance toward Fogado's mild pawing to conserve what little energy remained as he prepared to retire. Or perhaps Rafal were simply a most magnanimous master.

One could argue for that spirit of generosity.

Harsh bloody streaks marked the pristine body of the Fell Dragon, beautiful as all his kind were beautiful, and - reversely - dirtied as they were so rarely dirtied. Short scuffing finger daubs and long smearing palm prints lacked discrimination against his skin, his white hair diluted to grey by transferred ash. Rafal fumed and tallied every offense. Rafal peered at Fogado, cold and unimpressed, tense but not overly, testament to the furthest extent that a chained pet could travel.

Those impudent fingers perched on hipbones but ghosted no lower. No doubt even the most rabid dogs beheld some margin of sense in their addled states, known not to intrude on some hallowed ground or another, not to quench their thirst on the forbidden fruit far beyond their means. And yet. . .

Fogado was still a half inch too low. Middle finger and thumb came together for a smarting flick against his knuckles. Punishment matched to the crime, of course; the measure of disobedience worth a proverbial strike to nose, and mistaken words worth scorching censure: "Such is the most foolish idea you have spouted today. You will listen to me regardless my looks, Fogado. Even if I should lose all my teeth, every strand of hair, voice, sight, limbs—everything that stands before you—your loyalty to me remains Absolute. Have I made myself clear?"

Imperious and possessive, definitively unshakeable, because nothing would cease to be Rafal's until the day their utmost uses expired. A day that would be his to decide. One more look thereafter, he pulled his robe over his shoulders and tied the sash.

[heyyyypril]

I don’t chase, unless I’m holding my racket.

And I attract, mosquitoes.

[minecraft-fanfiction-house]

Raid captain Idea i got from daydreaming

Any mob picking up a raid captains flag

I got this idea from daydreaming as a nitwit and picking up a raid captain flag in diffrent way [stumbling in a forest, diffrent place, on my front door staircase with a pillager hitting their head the stairs trying to get it]

Oc and implied death

I also thought of one of my ocs from craft an ask, 'Coffin eyes' asexually reproduced child[from autemm fog fic, on the chapters 'docters notes' about witch reproduction and mutation]. Their kid has witness a raid captain coughing up blood, couse poisoned.

Wich I'd doodled an idea on "Educational Patrol"

Unfinished doodle I'm planning to draw some cute little outfit, mb a little cape.

But i have to go to the dentist so I don't promise to finnish this

But chapter one is the pillager crew trying to comfort a child as I try to kill this mosquito [I've slapped that suckered a couple of times and the tennis racket that electrics is giving a rancid smell, while the fly is still alive. It somet8mes looks like a mosquito]

[swaps55]

Firefly follow up???

A while back, I wrote a story called Cappricio, which looked at an 8 year old Sam's relationship with his dad. Originally, I wrote it with a jump to the present tense at the end, but I didn't like the way that fit within Opus. So I chopped off the end and stuffed it in my pocket to see if it found its home elsewhere as a call back. So this is a snippet from that.

Also, it is terribly, unapologetically self-indulgent. ~

Kaidan wipes sweat off his brow as he traipses after Shepard through an open field off Ironworks Pike in the rapidly fading summer light. A handful of horses standing on a hill pick their heads up to watch them before eventually losing interest and going back to grazing.  

Shepard’s been almost silent since they got out of the skycar, not even speaking up to complain about the crickets and katydids making a racket.  

“So,” Kaidan finally speaks up. “Are you gonna tell me why we’re trespassing in a random field at night with – and I’m using your words here – humidity levels that constitute a war crime?”  

“Some people would call not complaining about insufferable atmospheric conditions growth,” Shepard calls over his shoulders.

“Those people don’t know you, then.”

Shepard’s chuckle is deep and reassuring. These days it can be hard to tell when the memories he gets lost in are good ones or bad ones, and ever since insisting they take this trip, he’s sure been lost in something. Just not something he’s been ready to talk about.

“I’m beginning to think your motives for abusing Spectre privileges to commandeer a shuttle to Middle of Nowhere, America aren’t just about the horse museum,” Kaidan says.  

“What, you didn’t like the museum? It was an international horse museum, Kaidan.”

“Yes, and I know so much more about carriages than I did when we got here.”

“Was thinking about getting one and teaching Echo to pull it.” Shepard swats at a mosquito.

“If you turn that horse into a Mako I’m divorcing you.”