#functions of block chain
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If you cant have it make it or whatever
(3D Model of Eileen's pocket watch)
Check under the cut for the closeups of the watch
#while this is a blog for my 2d art specifically i decided to post this to not completely kill my blog lol#started a full time job and ive been struggling with art block and burnout and although i did draw its nothing i would like to share#orv#omniscient reader's viewpoint#r.art#orv pocket watch#i made this a while ago too...#for those who did not know i am actually a 3d artist lol#maya#it was a pain the the ASS to trace the goddamn pattern#it is an exact (low poly) copy of the pocket watch#also i am a liar i do own the pocket watch#3d art#it is also fully functional and rigged too#well not the chain cause i could not be bothered to simulate that
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such-justice-wow was flagged by shinigami eyes o7
Thanks for the heads-up! I checked their blog and didn't find anything explicitly anti-trans, but I'm on mobile and have gone on a few terf blocking benders, so I can't rule out the possibility that there are posts on their blog hidden from me because of whom I have blocked.
In that sense, I've deleted the post, and will check their blog again later when I have access to desktop
#answer let luce#anonymous#i also just woke up and mobile search function is not a *function* as we all know#so gotta have braincells to check#perhaps ill find another little rat tail attached and can block a bunch more transphobes#re blocked posts. idk what mobile is doing there actually but it kept hiding posts from me after blocking#which made following reblog chains to block more people tricky#so maybe thats happening again somehow#fuck if i know how mobile works#plus a few of their featured tags show up entirely empty for me. like the misandry tag. 🤡#edit for context: this is about the if i was rich post
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yearning!bestfriend!smoke x black!curvy!nasty!fem!reader
You and Smoke been thick as thieves since before y’all even had teeth. Since you were two loud little brown kids playin’ in the sprinkler in your grandma’s yard, barefoot on concrete and dripping in popsicle juice. He was the boy who always ran. Ran to get what you wanted. Ran to fix what you broke. Ran to grab the extra cookie you were too scared to ask for.
And even when you got older—full hips, lip gloss poppin’, that spoiled little whine always curled in your throat—you still didn’t have to finish a sentence before Smoke was already halfway to doin’ it.
“Smoke, can you—?”
“I got it.”
“Wait, you know what I want—”
“I already do.”
That was y’all’s rhythm.
He’d never said how bad he loved you. Never said that when you called him your best friend, it made his chest hurt. He never told you how many nights he stared at his phone, waiting for a text that said “Come over.”
You never told him either. You thought he knew. Thought maybe he didn’t feel the same. So you started dating other people. Just a little. Just to test the waters.
But you still showed up at every function on Smoke’s hip. Like today—his mama’s birthday cookout. You in that damn white dress. Tight up top, short in the back, every inch of you jiggling and glowing. Everybody noticed. But he noticed first.
He saw you before you even walked past the fence. Watched your thighs bounce with every step, your gold anklet glinting, your curls pulled up with just enough down to frame that smartass mouth he’d kill to kiss.
He didn’t speak first. He just stared. Chain glintin’. Blunt burning slow between his fingers.
You plopped down next to him at the table, legs crossed, plate in hand, talking loud with his cousins like you ain’t been skipping his calls.
And that’s when Aunt Vi turned to you, fork paused halfway to her mouth. “So baby girl, you still single? Or you got a lil boyfriend now?”
You blinked. Swallowed. Peeped Smoke from the corner of your eye. Then softly, like you ain’t really mean it: “…I do.” The clink of Smoke’s fork hitting his plate was the only sound for a moment.
He turned slowly, eyes glued to you. Not moving. Not blinking. That quiet, slow anger in his chest boiling over in silence. “You do?” he said low, voice tight.
You didn’t answer. You looked at Aunt Vi instead.“He tall?” she asked, eyes twinkling.
“Mhm.”
“Cute?”
“…Kinda.”
“Got a picture?” You pulled your phone out, too quick. Nervous giggle stuck in your throat. Smoke didn’t take his eyes off you. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded, watching you show the picture. Your screen faced Aunt Vi, but he saw it too.
And his jaw clenched hard enough to crack.
Marcus. From the block. A dude Smoke knew. A dude who tried to be like him but couldn’t hold a candle. He stood slow. Walked around the table. Quiet as ever. Then reached down and snatched your phone right out your hand.
“What the hell—” “Get up,” he said. You blinked. “Smoke, don’t start—” “I said get. The fuck. Up.”He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t curse loud. But his tone wrapped around your neck and dragged you up out that chair like gravity shifted. Your thighs trembled. You followed. You had to.
He yanked the back door open and took you through the house—ignoring every cousin, every curious glance—into the den. The door slammed behind you. And then? Silence. Thick and hot and tight. Smoke turned, chest rising slow. “You really fucking with Marcus?” he said. Voice low. Not yelling, but shaking. “Marcus?”
“He nice,” you whispered, but your voice cracked.Smoke stepped forward. Your back met the wall. He placed your phone on the dresser like he was lining it up for later. “You know how many times I wanted to tell you?” he said, hand finding your waist. “How many times I had to sit there and watch you run off with them clown-ass niggas? You do that shit on purpose?”
“I didn’t know you—” “Yes the fuck you did.” You didn’t answer. His mouth found your neck first. Hot, soft, trailing down like it was muscle memory. Your hands fisted in his shirt. His touch wasn’t rough—but it was hungry. Desperate. Like something that’d been waiting too long to be born.
“Still lettin’ me do everything for you,” he murmured against your skin, tongue flicking just beneath your ear. “Still callin’ me first. Still wearin’ shit like this around my damn family.”
“I didn’t know you cared,” you whimpered. His hands slid down your thighs, cupping your ass, pulling your hips against his. “You the only one I care about.” He kissed you. Slow and deep, lips pressed like a seal. Like a brand.
When he lifted your dress, you gasped. His fingers found the soaked cotton between your thighs and he smiled against your mouth. “This for him?” he growled. “Or me?”
“You,” you whimpered.
He dropped to his knees, pulled your panties down slow, kissed your thighs like he had all day. Then, without warning, he lifted your leg and buried his tongue in you—slow. Groaning into your folds, fingers digging into your hips.
You came on his mouth in minutes, shaking, gasping, whispering his name like a prayer.
“Say it right,” he whispered, standing, dropping his sweats. “You know what to call me.” “…Pa.”He moaned. Deep in his chest. Lined himself up and slid in—slow, deep, smooth, until his whole body trembled. Your mouth dropped open. You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes glassy.“You feel that?” he groaned. “That’s mine.”
He moved slow but heavy, rolling his hips deep inside you like he was making a promise. His lips on your neck, your collarbone, your cheek. His hand on your jaw. “I been waiting so long for this, bunny,” he whispered. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna touch you again.”
You were close again. Shaking. Crying now.
And then he reached for your phone. “Call him.”“What—” “Call that little nigga now.” With shaking fingers, you dialed. Voice trembling. He pressed the speaker on.
“Hello?” he spoke. Your breath caught. Smoke thrusted deep. You cried out, breath hitching. “I’m with my boyfriend.” Then Smoke grabbed the phone and ended it. And came inside you with a long, low groan that rattled your bones. His forehead rested on yours, breathing heavy, thumb wiping the tears from your cheek. “You’re mine now,” he whispered. “And I’m done sharing.”
A few weeks later…
You don’t even call him “Smoke” no more. It’s Pa this, Pa that. The whole damn block know what it is. He walkin’ with his arm around you like you made of gold and velvet. One hand resting on your hip, thumb rubbing that little space on your waist like it’s his personal territory. And it is.
You’re wearing one of the three diamond rings he bought you. Not engagement, not yet—but you keep tellin’ folks, “This one’s for my mouth, this one’s for my attitude, and this one’s ‘cause I’m spoiled.” He don’t argue. He just adds another.
And right between your collarbones? That chain. Thick, gold, glinting in the sun. His name on the pendant in soft cursive—“Elijah’s”—like a warning and a lullaby. He’s got one too. Yours. Tucked under his shirt but always there, lying flat on his chest, heartbeat pressin’ against the letters.
You’re headed to get ice cream, arguing playful in the heat. You want strawberry shortcake. He already bought it for you ten minutes ago and it’s in the car. He just like hearing you beg. And then, like a breeze cutting through the thick summer air, you hear two girls on the stoop whispering:
“—you ain’t hear? Marcus? That nigga gone. Shot dead couple weeks ago. Just now found the body in that alley behind Glenwood. Whole clip in him.”
You pause mid-step. Smoke doesn’t.
His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, just enough to make your stomach flip. He’s still walking, face neutral, but you catch the edge of his mouth. That little curl. That little smile.
He don’t say nothing. Just keeps moving. Pulls you closer, presses a kiss to your temple. You look at him. “Pa…” He raises a brow like he don’t know what you’re about to ask—but you don’t even finish the sentence.
You know better. You know exactly what that smile meant.
He ain’t ever gonna tell you what happened. But you can feel it in his kiss, in the way he holds your hand a little tighter now. The way he makes love to you like he got rid of every last threat.
That chain around your neck ain’t just jewelry. It’s a warning label. “Property of Elijah Moore.” And when the streets whisper about Marcus? Smoke don’t blink. He just licks ice cream off your lip and says: “Open your mouth, bunny. You know I don’t like repeating myself.”
last one yall… last one for the day.
@cursed-carmine for the dividers.
#black girl aesthetic#beyedit#beyonce#black tumblr#smoke x reader#smoke au#smoke stack twins#elijah smokes x black!oc#michael b jordan x oc#elijah smoke moore#smoke x black reader#smoke x you#smoke x y/n#michael b jordan x black reader#michael b jordan x black!oc#michael b jordan x reader#michael b. jordan#michael b jordan
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Anything IX
The 9th instalment in the Anything-Verse
Main Masterlist
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8
Like the characters? Read their fics below!
Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist
Series Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.
A/N: I'm back for good this time cos I bailed out of my trash job of 6 years hello mferssss
Warning: Graphic Language, Graphic description of violence
You’d been thinking about your past more often than usual, especially on the nights that you lay staring at your ceiling. Saint told you that it was a sign that you’d begun to move on. The villain that had consumed your thoughts was now a tentative ally and you’d been left with history seeping through the cracks.
You were almost grateful.
Almost.
You thought about your career before the incident, about the missions that went impossibly wrong. Death, grief, sorrow, hatred, and guilt, they weren’t things that you experienced alone. Shared pain eased the blow- you weren’t the only one suffering and, in a way, that provided comfort.
However, the mission that truly plagued you was a mission so highly classified that there were only four people who still knew of it. There were only four people who survived it.
“You and me, Birdy.
We’re dead.”
You sat up in your bed, mind kicking into overdrive. The dim light on your wrist indicated that it was well past midnight but your blood was electrified.
You’d been so preoccupied with what had happened to you that you’d stopped thinking about what you’d done. Why had someone tried to kill you, you had to have done something. You had to have known something.
“We’re dead.”
You pulled your duvet from your body, the cool air washing against your skin to make it prickle. Winter was, by far, the worst month to live on base. The heating units in your block were terrible and outdated with the empty promise of upgrades. You slid into your slippers and ventured into the hallway, palms rubbing up and down the length of your arms.
Your feet were on auto-pilot as they led you to the door of the last person you’d expect to seek out. There was no light seeping out from beneath cracks and you couldn’t hear a sound from inside. He might not have even been home, it was a Saturday night after all- no one was in. Not even Simon, and that was saying something.
You shifted your weight on your heels, wincing when the floorboard creaked under the pressure. It couldn’t hurt to knock. Or it could, you supposed. You had no idea why you were here, knocking on his door at 2am in the morning was unhinged behaviour.
You took a step back from the door, another creak betraying your position. This was a dumb idea. You could talk to him in the morning like a normal, functioning human being would.
The door swung open suddenly, forcing your heart into your throat.
König’s hulking silhouette filled the frame, shadowed and imposing. He barely fit through the door as he stepped into the corridor, the dim warmth of the ceiling fixtures washing over his figure.
You quickly realised that he’d been asleep as you took in his visage. Sleep tousled hair, a vulnerable gaze, König stood before you shirtless in long tracksuit pants. You forced your eyes to remain fixed to his face as he looked you up and down.
“Birdy?” He rasped, scrubbing his face lazily with one hand, the other resting on his hip. “Why are you lurking at my door?”
Indignant heat crawled from your neck and into your cheeks. “I wasn’t lurking, I was about to knock.”
König narrowed his eyes, silently telling you that he knew you were lying. You changed the topic, crossing your arms defensively.
“I just wanted to talk about something, I didn’t realise how late it was.” You cast a glance down the hall where you’d come from. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, we can talk in the morning.”
As you turned to leave, hot with embarrassment, König sighed.
“Birdy.” He called.
You peeked at him tentatively from over your shoulder.
The man opened his door and gestured inside. Your breath hitched in your throat, the room behind him was dark. That jade gaze watched you tiredly but with intent. He wasn’t going anywhere with you, this time you would have to come to him.
“Are you sure?” You asked quietly.
You received a nod in reply.
With a sharp breath and squared shoulders, you wandered cautiously into the lion’s den. Your bare skin brushed against his waist as you passed him, sending a thrill down the length of your spine.
A floor lamp turned on behind you, flooding the room in a warm, sensual glow. You barely heard the door click shut, you were too busy taking in the room before you. It was nothing like you’d been expecting, furnished and decorated with a surprising attention to detail.
The room smelt lightly fragrant, as though incense was lit frequently enough to linger. You caught sight of candles on the desk to your left, ‘cedar wood and myrrh’. That would do it.
The corner of your lip quirked upward at his library/gaming corner. A dark wood shelving unit housed a plethora of his books and a gaming console, then a flat screen mounted in the centre. Bean bags were neatly organised atop a dark rug, you figured they would be more comfortable for him than an inevitably too small couch.
A game was still playing on the screen, the character standing inactive in their own world.
“Were you playing?” You turned to look at König, who seemed very suddenly uncomfortable.
“No,” he cleared his throat and cast his gaze to the floor. “No, I fell asleep while playing.”
Your eyes were drawn to the bed last.
“That’s a big bed.” You don’t know why you said it.
“I’m a big guy.” Was the reply.
The bed was tall, something you would have to climb onto if it were your own. There was a large, dark wooden headboard pressed against the back wall, framing the bed like it was the main feature of the room. Dark silk pillows adorned the matching silk bed sheets, and you could only imagine how comfortable they would be on your skin.
You turned to face König who had put a shirt on somewhere amidst your gawking at his home.
“I didn’t think your room would be so…” You trailed off, gesturing at the space around you.
“Delicate?” He offered, self deprecation ringing through his tone.
“Nice,” you finished. “I was going to say nice.”
A small smile finally graced his lips, the first one you’d seen all night. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have thought he sounded self-conscious about the space he’d designed.
“I spend a lot of time here,” he shrugged as he offered you a beanbag. “I wanted it to be… nice.”
You took a seat, sighing as the tension in your body dissipated instantly. König stretched those long legs out as he got comfortable atop his own bag across from you.
“Why don’t you get out more, there’s plenty to do around here,” you mused.
König chuckled darkly, “people don’t like me very much around here, Birdy.”
The mood dampened at that, the energy in the room shifting. His green gaze had lost the softness that you’d almost grown accustomed to, becoming guarded instead. You wish you’d just held your tongue.
“What did you want to talk about?” König asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
You swallowed thickly, bracing yourself for another shift of his attitude- this time to anger. You weren’t afraid of his frustration, not anymore. God knows that you’d seen enough of it directed at you to know that you were physically safe. Despite that knowledge you still hated seeing it with every fiber of your being.
“I want to tell you about a mission I did a while back,” you said shakily. “Then I want you to help me figure out whether it might be connected to everything that’s… happened.”
König’s eyes narrowed, darting to the door and back. He stood to his feet quickly and you flinched as he brushed past you. You turned to look over your shoulder at him, surely he wasn’t walking out of his own room.
“I thought we agreed to drop it,” he growled beneath his breath and you weren’t sure whether he was talking to himself or you. He was rummaging through his desk irritatedly, muttering as he worked. “Of course you didn’t drop it. Why would you? Let’s all die together!”
Soft music began to play and you raised your eyebrows as he placed a speaker against the door.
“What, are you setting the mood?” You snarked, settling back into your bag as he returned to his. He shot you a withering glare.
“It’s so that no one hears us as you, once again, try to get us killed by talking about this on base.” He hissed, propping himself up.
You rolled your eyes at him but you knew he was right. It would be more suspicious if the both of you had gone on an excursion into town together, you’d have all eyes on you. There weren’t many places for you to approach him about information but it seems all the places you have were wrong.
“Tell me about the mission,” he sighed though his nose. The frown lines on his forehead softening as you nodded.
“This mission was, and is, highly classified. You cannot tell a soul about this.” You warned, watching him earnestly. It was König’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Yes, I will try my hardest to not tell all of my best friends in the 141.”
You shot him a withering glare.
“Fine,” he groaned. “Obviously I will not tell anybody, Birdy.”
You nodded, satisfied with his response, before launching into the details of the mission.
-
“Alpha 1-1 to Bravo 1, SITREP, over.”
“Bravo 1 in position, green status, over.”
“Bravo 1, maintain position. Payload incoming. Alpha 1-1 out.
You drew a deep breath, taking in the view a final time beyond the scope of your rifle. You’d perched up on the high ground, neatly hidden between wiry bushes and dirt mounds. The U.S forward operating base, its entrance, and the arterial road in, were all at your mercy.
Your mission was to provide cover for a high value payload and offer additional defense to the U.S FOB while it received. For a black bag operation it was deceptively simple. Then again, you had no idea what the payload was. You’d been told that the objective was to protect a Shadow Company squad while they “delivered the milk.”
You weren’t important enough to be privy to more than that.
A dust trail in the distance indicated the payload’s approach and you set to work. Thermal imaging provided you a clear picture of the incoming convoy as it cleared the crest. To your alarm there were only three vehicles before you, for such precious cargo you thought that there’d be a larger security detail.
There was a civilian blocking the route ahead of them that you’d raised concern about prior. U.S soldiers had been dispatched from the base to remove him but were thus far unsuccessful. Your stomach tightened as the convoy slowed to a halt 350 yards from your position.
As one of the Shadow members dismounted their vehicle you couldn’t shake your rising paranoia. You felt the hairs on your arms raise and your skin prickle- a sniper’s sixth sense. You turned your sights to the crest the convoy had appeared from.
There was something very, very wrong.
You watched the crest carefully, praying that you were paranoid.
But, you never were.
“Sierra 1, contact rear, near ambush!”
No sooner than the callout had left your lips, the incoming vehicles opened fire.
Chaos erupted the way it usually did in war. The screams, the callouts falling on deaf ears, the gunfire- it all blurred, really. The only thing you could truly hear was your own breath. Every inhale was steady and your heart followed in suit, a steadfast sniper was the most accurate.
And there was a reason that you were the best.
One by one they fell. Amidst the cloud of moon dust and the flurried movements you could see everything, and everyone, as clear as day. The floor was littered with bodies, men from both sides ironically meeting the same end.
A blinding flash forced your eyes shut as your scope lit up. The explosion rocked the earth beneath your stomach and you knew then that the fight was lost. An RPG blast had ended it all in an instant, obliterating the men you were protecting. Limbs, shrapnel, and wreckage were all that remained of Shadow Squad.
Your teeth were clenched tight enough to cramp your jaw. You couldn’t get a shot with the enemy operators hidden behind the cargo.
“Bravo 1, don’t let them take that fucking payload!”
Shepherd's voice was desperate, a growing hysteria that you’d never heard from him before.
“I don’t have a shot,” you ground out through your teeth.
Between Graves and Shepherd barking half-baked orders down the line, there was little coherency.
The mission objective was a monumental failure and an unjustifiable amount of lives had been lost that day, along with the payload. There was only one survivor of the ground assault, a blessing in itself. Dipaolo had been knocked unconscious in his vehicle after the RPG explosion and assumed dead by the enemy.
You had tried to talk to Dipaolo briefly while waiting for your transport home. He’d been mumbling to himself dazedly in the back corner of the medical room for hours when you approached him.
“Dipaolo?...” You trailed off. The man had lost his entire squad in one hit, he’d woken up to their blood on his face and their limbs scattered across the dirt. No amount of experience can give you the right words to say to a man like that.
His hazel gaze met yours, distant and tired.
“What have we done?” He whispered.
Your tongue dried in your mouth and you could only stare at him in response. You’d failed is what you’d done. You’d failed this man and his men and you couldn’t protect them.
“We’re so fucked,” he shook his head. “We are so fucked.”
“What-” you’d barely choked out the word before he grabbed your wrist roughly. You yelped as Dipaolo pulled you in close, the smell of sweat and blood on his skin. He reeked of death.
“Do you know what we’ve fucking done, Birdy?” The Shadow hissed through gritted teeth as you tugged uselessly against his grip. “Do you know what we just fucking gave them?”
“Let go,” you rasped. Panic began to rise in your chest when his gaze turned hysterical.
The door behind you flung open but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man before you. His grip tightened as he flicked his sights to the medics entering the room.
“Do you know what we’ve done, Birdy? Do you know what we gave them?” His words blurred together desperately. “We’re fucked! You hear me?”
“Woah, woah, woah!” Relief flooded your chest as the returning medic inserted himself between you and the crumbling soldier. “Let’s just back up for a second.”
You ripped your arm from his grip and immediately turned to leave, your skin burning where you’d been detained. You tried to tune out Dipaolo's screams as you left the room but this wasn’t a battlefield and you had no rifle- you heard it all.
“We are dead!” The Shadow’s voice broke from behind you. “You and me, Birdy, we’re dead!”
-
König’s face was stony as he leaned back into his seat.
The silence following your story was heavy and your mouth was dry. You couldn’t remember the last time that you’d spoken so much in one sitting.
“Birdy,” König mused, “when was that mission?”
“A while back, a few months I’d say,” it was a rough estimate. “I’d have to check my dates.”
König shook his head, green eyes flashing with alarm. “How long did it happen before our… incident?”
You blinked slowly, taking in a deep breath. Your heart dropped to your stomach and it was as though König knew what you were going to say before you said it.
“It was the last mission I had…” you trailed off shakily. You felt like you were going to vomit.
König’s eyes hardened as he voiced the realization that you had both come to.
“It was the last mission you did before I was sent to kill you, Birdy.”
#konig x reader#könig cod#könig x reader#könig call of duty#König#konig modern warfare#konig mw2#konig call of duty#konig cod#modern warfare 2#mw2 x reader#cod mw2 x reader#cod mw2#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#call of duty#anything verse#anything cod
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ao3 skins faq
Just a few answers to questions I've seen in the notes on this poll
What is a site skin? A site skin is CSS code that changes the way AO3 looks. This could be anything from changing the page colour to the font to the way tags look to hiding parts of the site - and more.
Where do I find site skins? There are a few places. The easiest one is in the site footer (that red band at the bottom of the page). There are four skins linked there under the word Customize, and you can click on them to see what they do. Another place to find skins is https://archiveofourown.org/skins?skin_type=Site Those skins were created years ago and loaded into AO3 for easy applicaiton. Just hit the Use button and they'll be applied to your account. Lastly, you can find skins created by other AO3 users. Some people post their code on AO3 itself, some use github or other code repositories. A lot of folks share their skins here on tumblr with images and then a link to the code itself.
How do I save them to my account? If you're using the ones in the footer or the ones linked on the Public Skins page, you don't need to save them. Those are built into AO3. If you want to create your own (or use one created by another user), that's when you save them to your account. Tap on your name at the top of the Ao3 page. Then select Dashboard, then select Skins. Tap the button labelled Create Site Skin and give your skin a unique name. Write or paste the CSS code into the big box, then hit the Submit button to save it. If you want to use it right away, hit the Use button on the next page.
What's the difference between a Work Skin and a Site Skin? A work skin changes the appearance of an individual AO3 work, and it changes it for everyone who looks at that work. This lets you turn your fic into something that looks like an email or a text chain or a newspaper, etc etc without having to use images. Work skins can also be turned off by other users, so if they just want to read the plain text of your work they still can. A site skin changes how the entire site looks - but only for you.
How do you have 100+ site skins?? I start a lot of skins that I abandon partway through. I also create skins for certain specific purposes - for example, changing the look of all of the buttons on the site - and then I can just grab that chunk of code and add it to any "full" site skins I create for the purposes of sharing. I have a lot of experiments that fail, but I keep the code around because maybe I'll learn how to fix it someday.
Can I create my own site skin if I don't know how to code? You can! AO3 has a site skin Wizard that will help you change the colours, fonts, and font sizes on the site. Go to your Dashboard > Skins > Create Site Skin and then tap on Use Wizard. Give your skin a unique title. Click on the ? bubbles to get examples of how to enter information into each box. If there's anything you don't want to change, you can just leave that box empty. When you add in colours, they must be hex colour codes, and they must include the # at the start. Any font you add need to exist on your device (so it might work on your computer but not on your phone because your phone doesn't have that font installed). You can add parent skins to Wizard skins, too. See below!
I wish I could have [X functionality] in [Y aesthetic skin] You can! If you create one site skin in order to block certain works or tags, you can add that skin on top of an aesthetic skin. To do so, edit your aesthetic skin, scroll down and tap on the Advanced button (lower left of the CSS box), tap on Parent Skin, type in the name of your blocking skin and Add Parent Skin. Then save your aesthetic skin, and the two are combined! You can also do this with those skins that are native to AO3. So for example, you want a Reversi (dark mode) skin that Shortens Long Tags and also hides the "you have muted some users" banner. Create a site skin with the muted users code:
p.muted.notice { display: none; } And add Reversi and Shortening Long Tag Fields to it as parents. (you can also copy/paste all of the code into a single site skin, if you'd prefer)
For more FAQs, you can check out the Skins & Archive Interface section on AO3's FAQ page. Or you can drop questions in the notes, too.
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I dont know how to explain why this is important
But let's not forget that Parkour Civilization is a meritocracy. A socialist autocratic meritocracy.
I feel people don't dwell on this fact enough, opting to just focus on the capitalist allegories, which is awesome bc the allegory is strong and well made, but the literal government seperate from allegory is ALSO very well made and unique, i mean I've never seen a fictional government quite like it, and it's impressive.
People often struggle to conceive the thought of another government or societal idea, and Evbo managed to make an entire government and social norm completely different from any of our own.
Like, let's break this government (or lack of) down.
Parkour Civilization has a sole and all-powerful ruler, The Champion. Which makes the society autocratic with a dictator.
The "businesses" ( housing stores, buying food and blocks, etc. ) are collectivley owned, not belonging to a single person but rather the community. Especially in higher layers, people receive as much as they give to their society. If they work, they get food, they do extra tasks, they get blocks. It's essentially a Marxist Leninist socialist society, but one that's heavily affected by the meritocracy, which can make it seem more capitalist leaning.
Speaking of Meritocratic society, people often mistake the meritocratic aspects as being outright capitalistic, like the social hierarchies and needing to parkour for basic necessities. HOWEVER this is because the society is structured based on your merits in parkour, those with a higher skill level are placed higher in the social chain. Thats why the Parkour Champion is a dictator, because they're the person who is THE BEST at parkour, making them the most capable to lead society according to meritocracy.
In any case, the fact that people are forced to parkour ALL the time is pretty understandable, considering this government is based on merit. They're encouraging people to show off and practice their parkour because their skill level is the only thing to get them anywhere in society. Based on their merits, they get their bare essentials, and if they have particularly good skill levels, they can rank up in society and have access to better resources.
People also always talk about how Evbo didn't make food and resources accesable for free without parkour, which is kind of where the capitalist lens takes over because those things ARE free. There isn't a system of currency in Parkour Civilization. it's all just MERITS. The fact they can die from parkour and the fact they use language like "buy" and "sell" makes it seem capitalistic, but they dont work and receive currency. The currency is infinite as long as their SKILL SET allows it. People had to worry about the consequence of dying from parkour, which is what made it scarce and less accesable, people werent willing to try. Evbo, however, gave them the ability to try again without consequence, which pretty much DOES make everything free, as free as it gets. They have infinite "currency" based on their skills, and theres no consequence for failing or trying again.
I also feel that when people beg Evbo or the future generations to turn Parkour Civilization into more of a communist society, they're completely ignoring the worldbuilding. That is an insane leap to make, from a society based on parkour abilities to having nothing to do with parkour? "Well, they can still parkour!" They could, but you'd be removing the vitality of it completely. I mean, imagine asking the states to become fully communist? It's an insane change that their society would never make, and thats not the end goal. Society can be functional and good without our interpretation of a utopic government because every society is different.
I love the government in Parkour Civilization. Please hear this. And ask me questions or talk to me about it.
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Hi .may i request yandere jamil viper and yandere vil scheonheit (separately) x fem reader who run away at their wedding but fails ? Thank you

.。*♡゚Jamil had meticulously planned every detail of the wedding — down to the second. And deep down, he knew you’d try to escape, you yearn for freedom, for the sun and the the city, you yearn to escape. He respects that, as he used to want that too, but you can't have that. He can't function without you and Jamil is fine even if you hate him.
.。*♡゚ The moment you slip away during the reception, his grip tightens around his wine glass, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "There she goes… Go get her."
.。*♡゚ Before you can even reach the exit, his followers are all around you, dragging you back, fighting back when you try to kick and elbow them, ignoring your screams while they sooth you. His voice is a silky whisper in your ear: "Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, my love? Did you really I wouldn't have prepared myself? I know a liar when I see one."
.。*♡゚ The guests don’t even bat an eye — they're hypnotized by him. He carries you back to the altar, grip unrelenting, murmuring promises of "never letting you go again" as he seals your vows with a kiss that’s equal parts devotion and possession. That night, he locks a delicate golden chain around your ankles and wrists so you can't escape at night. You even look cute, eyes puffy and wobbly lips, still wearing your wedding attire.
.。*♡゚ Cute enough to corrupt. But he will resist. He'd take you for the first time after both of you are well rested.
⠀⠀⠀
.。*♡゚ Vil’s wedding is a masterpiece — flawless, elegant and perfect — just like his beloved. But perfection requires control. Lots of friends and paparazzi are present, his father is loudly laughing and bragging to his acquaintances about how beautiful and cute you are, how you're perfect for his son, how both of you are in love.
.。*♡゚ So when you bolt mid-ceremony, his smile doesn’t waver. He simply snaps his fingers, and the doors lock. And his bridesmaids (read: loyal followers, mainly Rook) block every exit, their smiles eerily serene, as Rook drags you back to the altar. "The star of the show can’t leave before the finale."
.。*♡゚ Vil laughs at the shocked expression of the public and clarifies that everything was just a little joke, a play pretend so they could never forget that event and everyone is buying right into that poor attempt of excuse as they laugh and chit chat. Vil cups your face, his voice honey-sweet yet chilling: "Darling, you’re ruining the aesthetic, behave yourself."
.。*♡゚ The ceremony resumes as if nothing happened — except now, his grip on your waist is bruising, his kisses laced with poison-laced devotion. Later, he gifts you a diamond choker — "So everyone knows you’re mine." And if it’s a little too tight? Well, that’s just to remind you that he is the air you're allowed to breathe, even if it hurts. His love hurts a lot.
#yandere twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland#jamil x mc#yandere jamil x mc#yandere jamil x reader#jamil x yuu#jamil x reader#yandere jamil viper x reader#yandere jamil#vil schoenheit x mc#yandere vil x yuu#vil schoenheit x reader#vil schoenheit#vil x reader#yandere vil x reader#vil x yuu#vil x mc
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there is an awful lot to say about ladders in the terror but this sequence of Little always staggers me! through Sir John’s funeral speech, we can loosely conceptualise the ladder as a bridge between the world above ('Jacob's dream') and 'its brother-world' below. among the shadows, in this latter place, is where the men trap Silna, where they brought her father to die, where the rats copulate, where Hickey festers, etc. the belly of the beast; the belly of the ship.
Little is framed between the rungs of the ladder, doubling in this context as a gesture towards the ‘chain of command’ he will refuse to abandon even at his death. the lamp at the top of the ladder in the first shot confirms our earlier theory: the world above is light, below is dark and doomed. what differentiates this shot from others in the show are the objects. usually when the ladder is occupied, it is by another person, such as Irving, constantly hurrying up or down, or Magnus, reluctant to descend to the dead room:


here, however, the men’s ‘offerings’ to Silna block the way. they are placed on the middle rung of the ladder, neither above nor below, their fates (literally) hanging in the balance. if sir john had imagined a Christian 'world of spirits', then these offerings acknowledge, however crudely, an alternative belief system. the everyday objects of the victorian sailor— 'a match case, soap, a comb, tobacco'— acquire a significance beyond the confines of their prescribed functions. their superstition signals the men's declining faith in the ships’ authorities to save them, and this is why Fitzjames orders the removal of the offerings each morning and promises 'punishment for leaving them.’
desperately, the men's personal effects have been recycled into bridges to salvation, to rescue. it matters that Little is the one to engage with these offerings because he will stay with these same men until their deaths, while simultaneously gripping onto the old ladder long after they have abandoned it and the upper world has closed to them forever. when Francis finds him at Starvation Cove, still dressed in his officer's uniform, it must feel to Little as though the Lord has descended His ladder to cradle Jacob.
‘the Lord stood beside him, and said: […] behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee whithersoever thou goest, and will bring thee back into this land; for I will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of.' And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said: 'Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.' (Genesis 28:13-17)
back on Erebus, confronted with the offerings, reaching for one, ‘Little looks at them all, a bit unnerved.' he has orders to remove Silna to Terror. Goodsir climbs the ladder offscreen, a flurry of eager footfalls. Little remains below. he and Silna watch each other, the men's offerings, a kaleidoscope of hopes, a dozen dreams by a dozen Jacobs, suspended between them. do they connect their worlds? block their vision? whatever they can mean, they won't be enough.
#💥: glove one#the terror#amc the terror#edward little#silna#john irving#magnus manson#sir john franklin#francis crozier#harry goodsir#meta
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Hi
I hope you're doing well
I don’t know if your requests are open but if there are
I was wondering if you could write for Agatha Harkness x reader. Maybe Agatha finds reader humping against a pillow and smut
tysm <3
Pillow Humping
Hi anon! This has been sitting in my drafts for months and I apologize. I hit a huge creative block and I just haven't felt like doing anything, but I'm slowly crawling out and trying to get to the requests piling in my inbox. This was kinda buns so I'm sorry. My requests are always open unless specifically stated otherwise :D
Wc: 1.4k+
Warnings/notes: Top Agatha, bottom reader, r is sexually frustrated because her wife is away for a week, pillow humping, fingering (r receiving), mommy kink, slight degrading (a calls r a whore), cunnilingus, legal age gap (all characters over 18), 18+ NSFW under the cut!
This entire week has been absolute hell.
Your wife, Agatha, had been away on a trip for her job in Chicago with the promise of making it up to you as soon as she got back. But, in her words, “You are under no circumstance to touch yourself while I am away, or Mommy will have to punish you”. And this had made the entire week a slump before she even left.
Oh, it probably didn't help that she would call you at night and would be masturbating over the phone so nonchalantly you could be fooled she wasn't playing with her clit while she had the phone on speaker next to her.
By the second call, you couldn't even concentrate on her voice anymore. All you could hear was the visceral sounds of her fingering herself or using the dildo she fucks you with when she dons her strap.
It was pure fucking torture.
You had managed to not touch yourself the entire week, but you've had enough at this point. Your wife would continue to taunt and tease you, and you needed relief fast. Agatha's actions had you too pent up and sexually frustrated to even function on your own work, and it showed in your performance.
So, you know what you said? Fuck it.
Fuck her rules. Just this once can't hurt, right?
The air in your shared bedroom with her buzzed with arousal and pent-up desire. Your eyes flickered to her pillow beside your head, and the idea you had already made your loins hot and sticky. If you couldn't fuck her, then her pillow was the next best thing around.
Maybe you were a tad bit excited at the prospect because you scrambled out of those blankets and shucked your sleep pants, having forgone underwear for the evening all together.
As you grabbed her pillow, all you could smell was the lingering traces of her conditioner. Even after a week of her absence it still carried that familiar scent of jasmine and coconut she loved so much. The pillow slotted in between your legs, and you slowly lowered your hips to glide your folds along the seam. But you must have been really sensitive from a week of orgasm denial because when your clit connects with the seam, an obscene moan flies from your throat. It's loud enough that you don't even hear the front door open and close downstairs.
Agatha had gotten home early from her work trip and wanted to surprise her darling wife by fucking her thoroughly in their bed. She wanted to make the night about you as an apology for having to go away for so long. But you can imagine the older woman's surprise when she finds said wife humping a pillow–failing miserably may I add–which went against her rules of not touching herself.
And, Agatha realized, it wasn't just any pillow on the bed that you were humping; it was one of hers. You were humping her pillow. The pillow she slept on every night.
The sight was arousing as much as it was infuriating. No pillow could make you fall apart like she can. She's the real deal, and she was going to make sure you knew that.
First, her baby girl broke one of her rules, and second, she was trying to get off on her pillow. A fucking pillow. This wasn't going to fly with her at all. She finally broke your chain of frustrated grunts and moans with a taunt.
“Well, well, well. What is this?” She tsks. “An impatient wife of mine who is too much of a whore that she can't even wait for Mommy to come home?” Her face mimics an expression of mock hurt.
“And here I thought I could surprise you by coming home early.”
Her footsteps fall silent on the bedroom carpet as she stalks to the foot of the bed like she was caging in her prey.
It wasn't too far from the truth.
Once her voice had broken you from your incessant humping of her pillow, you knew you were absolutely fucked. You were caught breaking one of her rules and she was going to punish you.
She crawls on the bed and yanks the pillow out from between your bare legs, throwing it somewhere behind her and onto the floor.
You scramble up the bed until your back hits the headboard behind you, and apologies spill from your mouth.
“Agatha, I'm so sorry, I-”
“Is that how you address me?” She huffs and takes your hair in one of her hands, yanking your head close enough you could feel the humidity of her breath on your face.
“You fucked up, and I want you to address me properly, you brat. Who am I?”
She grabs your chin, not tightly, but firm enough that you can't turn your gaze away from hers. Agatha's eyes burn like a blazing inferno, but not out of rage. Her eyes reflect that of a woman who was equally pent-up with desire as you had been the past week. And the cerulean of her irises are nearly blown out by how dilated her pupils were.
“I'm sorry, Mommy. I tried to be a good girl!”
Your wife huffs in mock disbelief, and you can still smell the lingering traces of Starbucks on her breath. It's a smell you know so well due to how often you find her slaving away in the office downstairs.
“If you were a good girl, then you would have known better than to touch yourself, pet.”
She pulls you down by your thighs from the headboard slightly so your head is resting on the pillows. Her fingers softly glide and dance over your inner thighs, always stopping just short of your soaked folds before gliding back down. It was torture, and she knew what she was doing. She was the master of puppets, and by puppets, you were the only one stringed up in her web.
You roll your hips down to try and catch her hands, desperate for any sort of friction on your throbbing core.
“Mommy, please! Need your fingers inside of me!”
She smirks and trails her fingers to just grazing along your folds, and the ghostly touch makes your hips jump up.
“Do you think you deserve it? After all, you were a bad girl and broke one of Mommy's rules.”
A frustrated whine left your lips as she straddles your hips to keep you from squirming.
“Please, Mommy! I'll be a good girl. I promise!”, you whimper. It was an act of pure desperation, but it seemed to be enough for her because as soon as those words leave your mouth, her eyes darken and swirl with a hunger only you know you can satisfy. Her breathing is shallow and ragged as those same hungry eyes rake over your form, and she shimmies down your body until her face is eye-level with your groin.
You hook your thighs on her shoulders as her tongue delves in between your folds, licking a hot stripe up from your entrance to your clit, swirling circles around it, and then pulling away.
Her fingers replace her tongue only a moment later, pumping in and out of your quivering hole, desperate to bring you to your peak.
She wanted to punish you, but when she was sexually pent up for an extended period of time and then had you begging like that? She couldn't. Agatha needs this as much as you do.
Your g-spot was constantly being bumped by her fingers, the stimulation from it, and your overall neediness were bringing you to the edge faster than you expected. It was like a tsunami slowly rolling into the beach.
Agatha took note of this and navigated her mouth back to your clit to bring you over the waterfall. This woman always drank up your reactions and thrived to see you tumble over the precipice.
She was so consumed by your impending orgasm that she didn't even realize you had cum until she felt it gush all over her mouth. Her chin and mouth were dripping with the aftermath of said orgasm, and it only fueled her.
“Let me go get a towel to clean–” you start to move to the bathroom, but your wife stops you. She has a certain glint in her eyes, one that you're accustomed to by now.
“No,” she says firmly. “Its been too long since I've had you.” Agatha begins to undo her pants, and while she pushes them down, you can hear the unreleased desire in her voice as she speaks.
“It's Mommy's turn now.”
#agatha x reader#agatha harkness x fem!reader#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness#agatha all along#lesbian#mommy agatha harkness
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Sniffle any louder
Natasha Romanoff x reader
Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆
Summary - when you show up to work il lit aggravates Natasha that is until she sees your dire state
Warnings - mention of illness, nonsexual nudity, hurt comfort, as usual not proofread
Word count - 2k
A/n - I started rushing at the end because I wanted to have it out by tonight so the ending might not be as good srry

Fractures of pain shot through your aching body like icicles as you left the team meeting. God how you wished you'd just admitted you were ill this morning instead of letting your pride get in the way and pretended to the team that you were right as rain. I guess that's what happens when your on a team with literal super soldiers, you too start believing your above any illness or injury. Oh, but how wrong you realised you were when this flu hit you like a ton of bricks. The combined migraine alongside with the distrsssing chill of your bones left little energy left for you to do anything except lie down and rest, which you hated to admit and wouldn't ever given the choice, despite how sickly you'd begun to look.
Your usual bright eyes full of life and wonder became dull and bloodshot from the lack of sleep your blocked nose had caused you the previous night when you chose to ignore it. The skin on your face that was often painted a rosy colour now paled almost deathly looking, comparable to that of a ghost. Your unshakable senses, often remarked as some of the best had become overworked and dulled from the sickness using up all your remaining energy causing you not to notice people around you until they had begun to speak. The gravelly gasping and choking noises that spluttered from your inflamed throat were foreign to your usual bubbly voice.
Despite these stark and clear changes in not only your physical appearance but also how you carried yourself around the compound you had tricked yourself, somehow, into the belief no one around you would notice. Obviously you were unwell anyone could see that from a mile off and if you didn't think out of a house full of spies, enhanced beings and military personnel that not one of them would pick up on something up with you then you must have been seriously down with something.
Unlucky for you someone did notice after your sniffling had interupted their train of thought for the seventh time, it didn't take a genuis but she'd been ignoring the signs since you arrived. Natasha Romanoff had been trying to reread and correct a badly written mission report written by an incompetent intern. This had already been stressful enough for her without the woman next to her trying to desperately through her blocked nose instead of just going home. The first time she actually noticed something was up was when you nearly walked into the door, stumbling around like bambi on ice. This was something someone with your spacial awareness and high senses would never manage to do if they were as okay as they were telling everyone they were. She spotted it again when you began to cough like a smoker and at that like someone who smoked at least five packs a day, a thing she knew you were not. You'd told her a while back that despite your bad habits which were endless and definitely on show today that you never wanted to smoke because it reminded you of your mother. So unless you'd switched up on that which she very much doubted and had taken up chain smoking the answer was clear; you were ill, very ill.
She also questioned why you were even here, how you were even here. Natasha would leap at the first chance to avoid these dull meetings even if it meant admitting illness to the rest of the group. She'd actually faked being ill before to skip debriefs and instead head to the gym. At one point she had no clue how you were even still able to be alive and functioning with how shallow your breaths were. Everytime your mouth opened a disgusting noise alike to the disgust she felt at nails on a chalk board rung from deep in your throat. Aswell your ever scratcher voice that was beginning to drive her insane. It was one thing to come in sick, it was another to make yourself more ill by working harder than usual.
This had made her angry more than anything, angry at your selflessness. Angry no one else would ever do this, including herself. Angry you put working above your own physical health. Angry that you'd risk everyone else getting ill instead of taking a sick day. Angry you couldnt just admit your illness and leave.
Your eighth sniffle really sent Natasha over the edge as she turned to look dead at you and gave you a menacingly dirty look. A scowl that could kill glowering into your soul. Yet in feverly state you could hardly even register the spy looking in your direction as you still tried to process something said in conversation several minutes ago. Throughout the rest of the meeting she sideyed, scowled, gritted teeth, frowned, muttered under breath and cursed in your direction much to you ignorance. On an average day you could recognise what emotion someone was going through just by being in the same room as them and the tone of their breath but right now even with Natasha directly next you, practically right in your face you couldn't pick up a single negative emotion.
After the meeting you quickly stumbled in the direction of your room, hoping to avoid anyone on the way there, which you managed with much ease despite your worsening condition. Once you reached your room you shut the door without bothering with the lock. Stripped to your underwear and crawled back into bed without a sound. Curling up under your soft thick duvets you shivered and slowly cried yourself into a feverish slumber.
Natasha stayed behind to finish her reports, which she easily could have done hours ago without your incessant coughing and sniffling and all round ill noises. It only infuriated her more as she worked quickly, alone and welcoming the silence since the end of the meeting. When she finished up the work she was just about ready to give you a piece of her mind. And thats what she was gonna do. She had strong feelings about you prioritisation of work over wellness and she was gonna share them with you whether you wanted to hear or not.
Easily, she threw open your door and it hit the wall with a bang, enraged she didnt notice your crumpled whimpering figure writhing under the duvet.
"Sniffle a little louder next meeting." She comments loudly and sarcastically before instantly wincing at the sight of you in the bed.
Instantly her whole demeanour changes into one of care and pure unhidden worry. Natasha crouched over your trembling figure on the bed. Quickly she removed the pile of blankets from overtop and pressed a palm to your forhead before just as swiftly pulling it away with a frown. You were boiling 38°c at the very least and yet your body was still shivering. Without thinking twice Natasha knew the best thing for you was a cold, very cold shower.
She carried your somehow still sleeping figure easily into the bathroom as if you were no more than a light weight to her, which you probably were considering her max dead lift. Gently and ever so carefully she sat you down in the bath before turning the cool shower on next to you. Adjusting it so the water pressure was lower than usual so that it maybe less of a shock for when you fully woke.
Soon after the water began to flow your eyes opened to the hazy view before you. Natasha knelt over the bath making sure you were just alright. When you noticed the water and the bath, definitely not where you fall asleep you began to panic. Quickly flailing much like a fish out of water. Thrashing to get out the bath and attempting to scrabble to your feet. Natasha noticed your sudden frenzy and much quicker than you could, grabbed a hold of your hands halting your movements while whispering affirming words to you.
"Shh sh its okay. Your just in the bath, don't worry were just trying to soothe your fever." She begins to rub your palms slowly in a way which soothes you and instantly slows your panic as you go to rest your head on the bathroom wall.
"Hm don't do that darling. Try and stay awake while your in the bath, just for now." She's says quietly afraid to worsen the headache you already had as she coaxes your head off the wall. "That's it good girl. You can do this."
Her small praises would have usually annoyed you and felt almost condescending but right now they were almost enough to make you smile. She was making you feel as if your feeble attempts to stay conscious were really doing anything.
"M' so tired." You mumbled out a response that slumped together into your mouth so it was barely understandable to Natasha yet she still smiled and nodded at you, not wanting you to feel any worse than you already did.
"That's okay sweet girl, the sooner we get you out the bath and some medicine down you the sooner you can sleep." All the while she kept rubbing at your hands and fingers to keep you grounded in the moment. "I'm going to find you some fresh clothes just stay here."
You nodded but the minute Natasha left your head flopped back against the wall as if magnetised towards it. Upon her return with fresh clothes Natasha tutted.
"You really aren't well, are you?" A small attempt at a nod on your part did not surprise her one bit. "See if you told someone earlier we wouldn't be here right now. You have to ask for help when you need it." She knew her words meant little to you in your current state but she wanted to start bedding them in now nonetheless.
"Now, do you need help getting dressed? There's no shame in needing the help."
"Uhm.. I think a bit." Your response was croaky and your voice was beginning to sound worse by the second.
"That's okay, I'll help you then." She gives you a hand getting out the bath and holds you upright as she helps fully undress you. In her panic to get you in the bath she hadn't thought to remove what you were wearing.
You weren't insecure about your body but something like this would usually not be on with you. But right now you knew you couldn't refuse the help Natasha was offering as you could barely even stand still yourself. So begrudgingly you allowed her to undo your bra and slip off your underwear before tossing them in the bath saying something about getting them to the wash later. Putting on the fresh clothes was easier than either of you anticipated as you didn't resist and her strength helped you from falling against the cold tile floor.
Natasha helped you hobble back towards your bed which you instantly fell against ready to embrace sleep again.
"Ah. Not so quick, first the medicine then sleep." She said softly handing you first a couple pills and some water. "For your headache." Begrudgingly you took them and Natasha smiled as she saw the look of grimace on your face finding it both amusing and adorable. "Okay sweet girl just the syrup left, this will help for your throat." You stared at the syrup in your hand with a frown. Just the smell of its contents was enough to make you dry heave and its colour wasn't tempting either. After two minutes of more convincing and praise you managed to stomach it, not all of it but enough so Natasha was happy enough to stop bothering you.
You knew after that you could finally emmerse yourself in a blissful slumber and with little care curled up, face pressing into Natasha who watched over you as you slept making sure nothing interupted your much needed rest.
Tags: @wandasfifthwife @yanaromanov @idkwhatever580 @stayevildarling
#natasha x reader#natasha romanov#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha x you#natasha x y/n#natasha romanoff x you#natasha x fem!reader#natasha romanoff x female#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#hurt/comfort natasha romanoff#sickfic#fanfic#natasha Romanoff sickfic#marvel natasha#natasha mcu#natasha avengers
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A Brother In Need
A gift for @nova--spark and a partial continuation of this post by her (ft. my fic blurb for it).
Sometimes, when things are dire, the Matrix can tear through the very walls between worlds. It can call out to others, summoning Primes to aid a brother in need.
━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━
Optimus grunted as another shot scorched his armor. The upgrades he’d received were doing nothing against the raging force of nature that was Megatron. A jetpack was useless against a forged flyer. The Magnus hammer, which he’d not so quietly borrowed, was doing slag all do deter his foe.
Being taken prisoner had done nothing to calm Megatron or make him less of a deadly opponent. With Ultra Magnus out of commission, all Optimus could do was try to buy time while the Autobots got themselves organized. The battle had already raged for almost five minutes, a near eternity for Optimus, who, as much as he hated to admit it, was certainly not built for war. He could only hold off for so long, and with no allies en route, he was essentially a sitting duck.
Every dodged attack slowed him down. Each hit he managed to land seemed to bounce right off of the warlord. Even with the Allspark resting within its casing around his neck, providing him with energy he sorely needed, he was still losing. Bit by bit, he was pushed back closer toward civilian regions. It had never gotten this bad, not even on Earth.
“Foolish Prime. You will learn the meaning of suffering for daring to put me in chains.” Megatron flew at him yet again, and all Optimus could do was struggle to keep his frame from overheating as he forced himself to dodge. Unfortunately, Megatron was faster, hitting his jetpack with a well timed strike and finally sending him careening toward the ground. Optimus adjusted mid-fall, slowing his descent and landing on his pedes. However, as he attempted to get back into the skies in the hopes that it would limit civilian casualties, his jetpack failed to function. It puttered uselessly against his back, reminding Optimus again of just how dire things really were.
“I’m not going down without taking you with me!” He taunted his foe, running as far away from housing districts as possible. The Allspark weighed heavily around his neck, thrumming with strange energy he did not understand. It did little to aid him, but its glow reminded Optimus of what he was fighting for.
Megatron could not win. Not while Optimus still functioned.
“I will strip you of your armor, one plate at a time!” Megatron roared in outrage, landing with a thunderous crash that left Optimus reeling. He clutched the Magnus hammer, not letting himself focus on the faint tremor of his digits as he raised the weapon high. He checked his comms, frantically letting his optics flicker around the area in hopes that someone, anyone, would come to his aid.
He saw and heard nothing. No one was coming. He was alone.
“I’d like to see you try.” He could sense the stress warnings for his servos running across his vision, but Optimus dismissed them. He needed to keep fighting, to buy more time for Sentinel to get things in order as acting Magnus. He doubted his former friend would actually aid him, but if Optimus could do something to give the Autobots a chance, then he would gladly put his life on the line yet again.
He took a deep vent, the world slowing around him as Megatron unsheathed his blade and leapt forward. Optimus distinctly recalled wondering if there would be anything left of his frame once the battle was done as the warlord’s blade met his hammer.
The shock rattled his entire frame, knocking his shoulder from its socket. He didn’t have time to cry out in pain before he was forced to try and block another hit, then another, and another. He tried to fight back, but every time he tried to land an attack, Megatron’s blade cut through his armor like it was made of tinfoil. He was covered in gashes, each burning as they bled. He stumbled, trying to keep his balance as Megatron smiled, stalking forward and pushing Optimus up against a wall.
“This is what happens when you play soldier, Optimus Prime. Now, you will die like the disposable pawn you are.” Optimus spit up energon, coughing as he clutched a particularly deep wound with one servo. The Magnus hammer was held weakly up in front of him, his entire arm shaking from the effort as he prepared to block. Part of him hoped that his team would arrive and save his sorry aft. The rest of him was praying for a decently quick and honorable end, perhaps a blaster shot to the spark.
Unfortunately for him, Megatron had other plans.
The warlord swung his blade, sending the Magnus hammer flying away from Optimus’s grasp. He cursed, getting into a combat position despite how battered and tired he was. His vents were flared wide, his fans running on their highest setting as he panted and tried to play hero. Everything ached and burned, his vision flickering from energon loss. But he was not given a chance to even try to preserve his honor as the hilt of Megatron’s blade collided with his helm, knocking him to the ground.
He cried out in pain, no longer able to stifle the agony of his failing frame. He heard Megatron laugh as a kick landed on his abdomen, sending Optimus flying against the wall behind him and leaving him to purge what little he had in his tanks before coughing up energon that had to have come from something internal being ruptured.
He shook in terror that he could no longer mask as the warlord loomed above him, his towering frame now no longer anything close to the storybook villain Optimus had come to know. He prayed for salvation as Megatron took his time, hitting him again and again and kicking him around like some sort of training dummy. Every hit broke something else, shattering plating or snapping components that were likely vital.
Optimus tried to be brave. He tried to keep being snarky, if only to buy time. But as he lay utterly beaten amidst the rubble of their battleground, he could only cry while pulling himself into a sitting position. There was nothing he could do now except try to die with a small iota of dignity.
���Ratchet, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Sari… I’m sorry I won’t be coming back to all of you.” A choked sob broke through his tortured venting. As Megatron cackled, Optimus touched the container the Allspark still sat within. He prayed in silence, hoping that the phenomenon that gave him life would heed his quiet plea.
He wasn’t religious. He had no god to worship as the humans did. But he still hoped… that maybe, somehow, the thing that made him would have mercy on his spark.
“Goodbye, Prime.” Megatron’s blaster powered on, sickening purple and flooding Optimus’s vision as he raised his helm in one final act of defiance. If he were to fall, he was going to do so, looking death in the optic. He would not cower, not even in his final moments.
He stared down the blaster barrel, uncaring of how it made his optics flicker due to the brightness. But as he watched his death come closer, he felt warmth emanate from the container around his neck. He dared not look away from Megatron, but as blue light began to drown out the purple, Optimus could only gasp in awe at what occurred mere nano-kliks later.
A shot fired, but it was not Megatron’s blaster putting Optimus six feet under. Instead, bright blue energy impacted Megatron’s armor, scorching his seemingly untouchable plating and earning a cry from the warlord. Optimus gawked, his agony momentarily forgotten as he followed the source of the shot, his optics setting on a figure that towered over even Megatron.
A faint blue figure flickered in and out of existence, becoming more solid with every passing moment. Optimus’s optics widened as the mech stepped forward, his frame setting into reality as he held his arm up, the limb having transformed into a blaster without so much as a klik of hesitation. He stood proudly, his armor battered and scarred but still strong. His shoulders were sharp, and an autobot badge stood out clearly amidst the scratches and dents. His legs were long and built for combat; his waist was thin but his torso was heavily armored. A crack ran along his windshields, but it seemed to mean nothing for the mech who stood so powerfully on the battlefield.
Optimus watched in complete awe as the mech stalked forward, a battlemask firmly in place on his face as he fired shot after shot at Megatron. With grace that Optimus had never seen in anyone before, the mech strode forward, breaking into a steady run as his arms turned from guns to blades. In an instant, the mech, who looked so much like Optimus in color and overall design, met Megatron in combat. Their blades sparked, their grunts of exertion echoed across the battlefield.
Megatron tried to push back, but the mech was swift with his blades, cutting through Megatron’s defenses and slashing his armor clean open with rapid movements. Megatron stumbled back, screaming a curse in a language Optimus did not know. The mech, his counterpart, responded in kind with a quick kick to the chassis, sending the warlord sprawling after a pitifully short fight. It seemed that despite his failure to bring down his foe, Optimus had indeed tired him enough so that his counterpart had little issue bringing him to his knees.
A smug part of his spark flared in glee at the revelation.
“Serves you right, you glitch.” He raised a middle finger in Megatron’s direction as Autobots finally appeared in the distance. His counterpart knocked Megatron upside the helm, forcing the Decepticon leader into temporary recharge. Then, without a second thought, he came to kneel before Optimus, his battlemask slipping away.
“I apologize for failing to assist you sooner, little brother. The call of the Matrix can be slow at times.” Optimus carefully reset his optics, but the scene did not change as his counterpart tenderly picked him up as if he were but a newbuild. The Allspark pulsed against his chassis in response.
“It seems your reality has different rules than mine, but you need not fear. We are one and the same, merely separated by time and a barrier between worlds.” The other mech, the other Optimus, smiled in a soft manner before holding Optimus close. He coughed weakly, the pain slowly overwhelming his senses as his counterpart held him close. He wanted to speak, to ask who this mech really was.
But he found his questions answered as the other Optimus carried him to his team, passing him off to a very worried Ratchet. He stared, still in shock, as the other Prime began to flicker and fade, his existence starting to vanish like smoke.
“Rest well, young Prime. May Primus light your path.” With those final words, the other Prime disappeared as if he’d never been there in the first place. Megatron was bound and carted off, Ratchet strapped him to a gurney and rushed to get him hooked up to an IV. All the while, Optimus stared up at the sky uselessly.
He didn’t know how or why, but through the thing that hung around his neck, Optimus had been saved by another version of himself. A mech who carried his name, his burden, and his rank.
He’d had his life preserved by a brother.
#transformers#maccadam#transformers prime#transformers animated#tfa optimus prime#tfp optimus prime#tfa megatron#tf animated#alternate universe#the matrix of leadership#gift fic#transformers fanfiction#enjoy nova :))
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Kinktober -09: Forced/Fuck or die
Simon Riley x f!reader
Warnings: Here it is, what you've been waiting for. Based on this post. MUTUAL NON-CON, Dark Simon, Simon fighting with himself. This is the darkest thing I've written to date. Heed the non-con warning!

His mask is gone, it’s the first thing he notices when he groggily regains consciousness, the bare skin of his cheek pressed against the grimy cement below his body. All his tactical gear, shoes and shirt are gone too, though his pants thankfully remained on his person.
The second thing he notices is you, curled up in a ball and still knocked out a few metres away from his person, the bare skin of your back on display. Fighting the lingering fatigue he pushes himself up, dragging himself towards you, only noticing the chain clamped around his ankle when it clanks against the floor.
Luckily, he’s been given enough slack to make it to your side, large hand shaking your shoulder as he averts his gaze from your bare form to preserve as much of your modesty as possible. By the time you wake up, Simon has managed to regain most of his faculties and has thoroughly scoped out their situation.
They’re in a cell of sorts, blocked off from the door by a set of iron bars that show no visible weak spots. There are no windows though light is provided by the glaring fluorescent white lights that hurt to stare at for too long, other than that there is a ratty mattress covered in stains that Simon doesn’t want to ponder too long on.
You’re not restrained in movement by a chain like him, though you have been completely stripped bare and when you sit yourself up Simon makes sure to stare directly ahead. You seem grateful for the fact, though neither of you directly comment on your state of undress.
Quietly, the two of you converse, unsure if there are any hidden cameras in the area. Together you manage to piece together the spotty bits of each other's memory leading up to waking up as captives.
It doesn’t take long for you to start shivering, the frigid temperature of the room amplified by your lack of a barrier between your skin and the cold floor. You start to move closer to him and wordlessly Simon holds one of his arms out, allowing you to tuck yourself under his armpit, your legs crossing over his lap.
His heart is pounding furiously in his chest at the feel of your skin on his, your breath shuddering against his side as your arms wrap around his torso. You bury your face into his side, both hiding from his gaze and hiding your own sight of him. Simon meanwhile, starts to expend a good portion of his mental function on not popping a boner. You’re so close that he can smell your hair, even over the musty air.
At some point, you make the executive decision together to move to the mattress, trying to find the least stained patch instead of remaining on the cold unforgiving concrete. As if that had been some sort of invisible cue, the rusty door swung open with a whine, hinges protesting as it scraped against the floor.
Pressed so closely against him, you feel the way his shoulders tense, the arm wrapped around your shoulders subtly tugging you further behind him. The man who entered was skinny, long black hair greasy and shining in the low lighting. His smirk feels even greasier than his skin, however, and the way his eyes trail over your bare skin makes a shiver run down your spine unbidden. Simon evidently notices this too, and the muscles in his arm flex as he subconsciously tries to pull you even closer.
Unfortunately for you both, Simon’s reaction doesn’t go unnoticed, and the slimy man’s sickening grin grows even wider than you would have thought possible. “You’re finally awake! How are you liking the accommodations?” his tone is mocking as he leers through the bars, giving you the perfect view of the gun tucked into his waistband.
Neither you nor Simon answer, simply glaring up at your captor with varying degrees of acid and wariness. “Not going to answer? That’s okay, I can speak enough for the three of us.”
“I don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve but neither of us will talk” Simon drawls, his chest rumbling pleasantly against your ear. The response he receives is a laugh, a mocking pitch that further fuels the deep unease brewing in your gut.
“Oh? No skin off my back, I’ve no interest in any information you might provide.” He waves his left hand dismissively, reaching for the pistol tucked into his belt nonchalantly.
Your unease evolves into something deeper, heart-thumping like a rabbit caught in a snare as you try to curl in on yourself even further. The warning signals in your mind are blaring at you to run, but there’s nowhere to go and as such you’re forced to just hunker down beside Ghost. Your mind is confident that your lieutenant will protect you, he always does.
Slimy man drags a rickety old table close to the bars with an ear-piercing screech and you’re surprised that it doesn’t outright collapse when he jumps to sit on it. His short legs swing back and forth like a child on a ride, the gun laying loosely over his lap, his grin never once dying as he continues to stare eerily.
If it wasn’t information he wanted, then what?
The question floats uneasily in the forefront of both of your minds as you await the man’s next move. The answer to the unvocalised question comes not even three seconds later and punches the breath from your chest in disbelief.
“I want you” he points at Simon with the pistol, “to fuck her,” he moves the gun lazily through the air to point at you, his head leaning forward to rest on his free hand. You cringe when the gasp that leaves your throat is loud enough for him to hear and even Simon can’t quite contain his shock.
Neither of you move. Neither of you speak. As if you’re both waiting for the cameras to roll out and for the man to announce you were being punked.
Predictably, this doesn’t happen and your lack of reaction causes the first cracks in the man’s nonchalant mask to form. His grin finally dies down into a deep frown, his eyes filled with faux pity as he sighs loudly.
The gun is still levelled at your head and your throat is so dry it hurts to swallow. Your heart roars loudly in your ears, thumping so hard you fear it’ll completely burst out from your skin.
“I’m getting a little impatient now. I know you heard me the first time. So you better get to work man, or else I’ll kill her.” All of the perceived amusement has fled from his outward persona and you look up at Simon with wide eyes.
Simon doesn’t look down at you, his jaw clenched so hard you can clearly make out the bulging veins as his skin reddens in anger. Looking up at him, you miss the click of the gun's safety and by the time you’ve noticed Simon’s suddenly panicked reaction pain is already flashing across the skin of your cheek as a bang echoes through the small space.
Simon’s eyes are suddenly very desperate and focused on your face, his free hand cupping your jaw and his thumb running over your cheek. Wincing at the sting of weight against your injury you flinch backwards slightly as blood smears over your face and his hand.
“That was a warning, but I’m reaching the end of my patience so you’d best get on with it unless you want me to kill her.” You whimper at the words, tears that you try to blink away rapidly filling your waterline as you try to keep your breathing under control.
“It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.” You find yourself muttering over and over again, looking into Simon’s agonised and sick-looking gaze, gently pulling him down until his bulk is trapping you against the mattress.
He’s breathing heavily, panic, disgust, terror, regret, flit so quickly over his face that you can’t even begin to hope to decipher all the emotions running through his head. Though you think they likely mirror your own.
One trembling hand clutched his cheek like a lifeline as you forced his gaze to remain on yours, unwilling to let either of you look at your tormentor. You’re trembling pathetically, your dominant hand struggling with the zipper of his pants as you try not to sob.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Simon is frozen above you still as you repeatedly apologise through cracks in your voice. You’re shaking so badly that you can’t manage to unzip his pants and bile rises in your throat as one of his large hands stiffly reaches down to do it for you.
Due to the stress and depravity of the situation, he’s not exactly hard yet. You don’t want to touch him, not like this, without his permission and you freeze long enough that he decides for you, jerkily stroking himself as his eyes shutter closed with a grimace.
It’s a few agonising minutes of silence, both of you attempting to mentally prepare or disassociate from the inevitable. He must be ready because suddenly the hand that isn’t holding him up slips over your pubic bone and you can’t stop the flinch.
Instantly his hand darts away and his eyes scrunch even more closed. You bring your other hand up to his face, cupping his cheeks with trembling fingers as you urge him to open his eyes. He watches as you nod your head, breath trembling as you continue to spill apologies.
His fingers flick back down to your understandably dry pussy, gently trying to prepare you a little, to make it less painful. You’re still apologising and Simon desperately wishes you would shut up.
He should be the one apologising. But his mouth won’t move and he can’t wake up from the nightmare.
He can’t hide the flinch this time when their captor speaks up once more with a lazy but impatient drawl, “I believe I said fuck her. Not finger her.”
He’d thought the situation couldn’t get worse but once again the ground had been shattered beneath him. It’s only your hands cupping his face like a lifeline that prevents him from reeling back completely. Simon has frozen again and the crushing guilt consumes his soul entirely when you have to force him back into action, wrapping your ankles around his lower back and pushing him closer.
Looking briefly towards the unwanted audience it’s the sight of the gun, still primed and aimed towards you that finally spurs Simon into action. Leaning down on his elbows so his mouth rests near your ear, out of sight he finally whispers his only apologies as he slowly presses the tip of his cock into your unprepared pussy.
He’s barely breached you, having been met with immense resistance and already you let out a slight whimper of pain. He tries to move as slowly as possible but he’s only halfway and you can’t hold back your tears anymore. They roll down your cheeks in earnest and your chest rattles with sobs as you clamp down like a vice on him.
He’s only granted a few seconds to let you adjust before it’s made clear he’s not performing satisfactorily. When he pulls out only to slam back in you shriek, hands moving to grip at his back and leaving harsh scratches that are undoubtedly bleeding.
He has to bite his tongue to prevent a groan of pleasure from slipping out and his nausea grows at the fact.
He wants to be gentle, he tries to be. He swears, but he’s not allowed. Not when it’s apparent that this is supposed to absolutely shatter your body and soul.
It’s not because you feel so fucking good, he swears.
And you’re still fucking apologising to him.
Gods. You’re so perfect his brain coos. So concerned for him when it should be him begging on his knees for your forgiveness.
Even though you won’t risk saying his real name, Simon can’t even blame his actions on the Ghost, because without the mask that’s not who he is right now. It’s not the Ghost causing you such agony, it’s Simon.
It’s Simon that’s doing this to you and it’s Simon that’s started to enjoy it.
With the added stimulation to your clit your body has finally started to provide some natural lubricant, even if you’re still very clearly in pain. The slide in and out has become easier, letting him pound deeper.
His skin slaps harshly against yours, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your limp body. His cheek turns and he noses at your skin briefly, inhaling your divine scent before his tongue darts out and laps at your tears.
You look so pretty like this. Eyes glazed over and fucked out from his cock.
At some point, his horror has turned into pure pleasure and any guilt that threatens to keep surfacing is quickly pushed back down by the dark little voice in the back of his head.
You’d been the one to initiate. A part of you must have wanted this deep down, it whispers.
His face returns to the crook of your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin there as he continues to try and make this even the slightest bit pleasurable for you. Your pained whimpers have mostly died down, sobs reduced to slight sniffles and something in Simon preens in pride at that.
He’s cumming faster than he would have initially predicted, filling you with thick ropes as his hips ground into you as deep as he can humanly manage. His muscles falter a little and he collapses on top of you, face still buried in your neck.
It isn’t until there’s loud applause and boisterous laughter that Simon suddenly returns to his senses. Reeling away from you as if burned, chest heaving in revulsion once more as clarity sets in.
You don’t move, shoulders still trembling minutely as Simon struggles not to vomit at the reality of what he’d done. The reality of what he’d enjoyed.
The door swings closed with a thud and still you don’t move, eyes staring wide and blankly at the ceiling. Simon’s eyes dart between your legs, a mix of his cum and blood streaming down your thighs.
Quickly but gently he pulls you back into his arms, settling you on your lap and flinching when you wince at the movement. It’s his turn to cry, shuddering breaths buried in your hair as he apologises over and over.
“S’ok.” You simply reply, voice hoarse and a little too understanding for his liking. He spends what must be hours apologising into your hair as you tremble and apologise back, your tears marking his skin.
Unfortunately, Simon knows that none of his apologies will ever be enough. Not when that twisted, vile part of his psyche had enjoyed fucking you, relishing in the free opportunity he may have never otherwise been granted.
He doesn’t sleep. Remaining wide awake and battling himself long after you’d cried yourself into exhaustion. Because even now you still subconsciously trust him enough to do so!
His arms tighten around your body as much as possible as he continues to stare blankly ahead. He’s never going to let you go, not even if you both get out alive. You need him to protect you. To protect you so nothing like this ever happens again.
It somehow doesn’t occur to him that perhaps he’s the one you may need protection from.
Tags: nigthmar3moon thychuvaluswife
#x reader#cod mw x reader#simon riley x reader#cod ghost#cod simon riley#simon riley#ghost x reader#kinktober#tw noncon
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+90 VAMPIRES & VAMPIRESSES MODS & CUSTOM CONTENT
i have been playing a new occult legacy in my gameplay blog. so i started looking for mods to enhance this occult experience. right now, i am playing with vampires, so i will share my findings with you.
SMALL MODS
vampires everywhere by kuttoe
plasma packs from plasma fruits by littlemssam
vampire powers by littlemssam
no burning sun in forgotten hollow by littlemssam
vampire self-preservation by gaymerborealis
vampire invasion fix by lotharihoe
occults activities by zer0
bloody party event by ilkavelle
vampirify spell by r3m
reworked vampires mods (vampire tweaks) by zero
vampire tweaks by airianna
crimson tea by icemunmun
advanced plasma packs by erosims
tralfaz vampire mods
GAMEPLAY MODS
vampires rebalance (harder vampires) by awwoo
vampire bloodlines by baniduhaine
super rascals (child vampire manifestation) by dipper
CAREER MODS
vampire council by lilyvalleycc
vampire rights advocate by lilyvalleycc
vampire counsellor by lilyvalleycc
darkside vampire by tlaram
ASPIRATIONS MODS
dracula untamed aspiration by ilkavelle
bloodborne aspiration by sresla
slayer & nosferatu by snowii95
SKIN DETAILS & MAKEUP
gapped vampire teeth by wyattssims
ankle biter teeth set by yooniesim
countess a vampire mini set by ladysimmer
nightfall tattoos by mynasims
real lips - vampires by amoebae
CLOTHES & ACCESSORIES
ruffled shirt by myfawnwysimblr
bite me top by lilypixels
vladislaus male clothes pack by wistful castle
rose dress by regina-raven
evelyn dress by nords
edea dress by sentate
revampire gown by tryllike
sanguine society collection by ellone
brides of the undead by zeussim
razorblade romance by myfawnwysimblr
tricker treat stuff set by ayoshi & aharris00britney
spooky kids rec by invadersims
toddler vampire suit by georgiaglm
bat and vampire costume (infants) by powluna
bat ass glasses by xldkx
spider gloves by regina-raven
punch drunk rec by pyxiidis
bat wings by nolansims
batty wings for infants by lilypixels
chilling clasps by nolansims
bat earrings & necklace by shandir
it's frickin bats tights by arowenc
bat wings boots by ctrl-sims
HAIRSTYLES
nadja hair by llazyneiph
farrah bun by dogsill
mon hair by simduction
de-chained bang long by missbunnygummy
twists long conversion by kiarazurk
vampy accessory bangs by atashi
BUY
skelly planter by nolan-sims
spooky clutter by 9sims
medieval music boxes by plumbobteasociety
my little montster nursery mobile bylittlbowbub
tiny vampire nesting blocks by tartiish
small bearcula by pixelfolk
coffin bookcase by simlaughlove
functional radiators by chippedcupanddustybooks
coffin beachtowel by bramblefinch
coffin mirror by xldkx
(not so) vampire bathroom by simswonderland
rune stone set by lumenniveus
the princess and the vampire bedroom by sixam
BUILDS
old church by alerion
chapel of ritual by xogerardine
blackmier house by septembersim
grim's house challenge by schnuck01
hemlock hollow by schnuck01
little vampires cottage by pixelshary
'til death do us part by whyeverr
quiet voices memorial by sweetbeagaming
POSES
bloody lovers by ratboy
vampire ea poses by herecirmsims
baby bats by marshmallow-sims
fangtastic poses by samssims
vampire family by culsims
bare your fangs by alpine-lapine
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A small 'this is how you use tumblr' for the people that haven't been here very long. These are in no particular order, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask them!
Since I probably did not mention a lot of things, you are welcome to add to this post with your own advice.
a) Reblog posts. if you like it, reblog it. even if you have zero followers and ESPECIALLY if it's art or writing of any kind. We will see the reblog in our notifications and that alone brings joy. One reblog can start a chain and push the post onto many people's dashes.
b) Tumblr is not a very functional website, if you want to survive without losing your mind, there are two things you need: xkit rewritten and dashboard unfucker. Play around with the settings until it is to your liking. Additionally, change to firefox if you haven't already and install ublock origin to get rid of ads, tracking etc.
c) If you go to your settings (account! not blog) you can find this under dashboard at the bottom. Turn off at the very least 'best stuff first' since that will fuck up your dash and not give you posts in chronological order.
The rest are a perfonal preference but it will keep your dash tidy and easy to control if you turn them off, too.
d) Apropos settings—get a profile picture, a header, write something human in your bio, anything. Otherwise people will assume you are a bot and block you on sight.
e) Blocking! Do it generously and whenever you want, this is how you keep whatever remains of your sanity. It's not a lethal offense, it is (usually) not even seen as rude or anything along those lines. You block people and they block you and everyone is happy.
f) Under account settings you will find this:
Just like with blocking, use both options to your heart's content.
g) Tumblr is not like other social media platforms, spam liking & reblogging and going three years deep into someone's account is NORMAL and encouraged. You can search a blog by post type, tags, or even go to the archive and scroll through the posts there.
h) Lastly—interaction. We already went over reblogging (I mean it, REBLOG), but there are also replies and asks. If you add something to someone else's post please behave like a kind human being and don't be an asshole; based on my experience, that's easier said than done. On top of that, the tags are ALSO used for communication, go unhinged, ramble, leave your thoughts, or simply use them for organisational purposes. Everyone loves a good insane tag wall.
An open inbox (either anonymously or with your blog attached) is to be used! Please send people asks if they have them active, use it like DMs or a comment section, use it to recommend something, ask questions, participate in an ask or prompt game—we love asks here.
(We do not like harassment in our inboxes, same rules as above.)
#alex yells at the void#tumblr culture#fandom culture#tumblr in a nutshell#how tf do I tag this. anyway#i know a lot of new people followed me after good omens 2 and still are#so this is for y'all!
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New Feature - Story Mode
Moving forward, we are unlocking the "testing options" that beta users and ourselves use for various cheaty testing quickness. This should make it easier for everyone to get into the" supply chain" aspect of Sun&Moon sets.
We are dubbing it "Story Mode". Mostly because cheating sounds icky, but the Sims 2 is a single player game...so no one should care if you cheat anyway but also there is no need to make a player feel called out if they used a shortcut to get to the good parts of a single player game am I right?
Sun&Moon was always a project meant to simulate realistic supply chains. As we made more sets, things have become more intertwined than ever. We get that this is confusing for newcomers and truthfully, it can sometimes complicate testing. Story Mode can make it easier to get into the gameplay and get your supply chain started, or allow you to skip that entirely and still enjoy the sets.
Please note this is intended for sets from September 2024 forward. There are still intentions of updating older stations to the Crafting Points system and as that is done, this feature will be added in. A proper update notice for each set will of course be announced.
Options that can be found under the Story Mode pie menu option will include:
Fully Stock Station - This will stock the station with everything needed to make a product, no need to direct a sim to stock or even have the items gathered. Your sims will still need the proper skill levels, writs, or traits to complete the task.
Receive All Products - Don't want to even go through the manufacturing motions? Or wait for a timer to run to get to the end products? Or build up skill levels/have writs in your inventory? This action grants all end products to the sim's inventory, no fuss. This will include any Skill Level reward, such as Writs of Mastery. Warning, this can result in cluttered inventories.
Spawn - This is to force a spawner to reproduce or summon the attached item, bypassing timers in items like hunting spawners, or self propagating plants.
Action! - Makes a sim complete the animations associated with a station, but results in no ingredients needed, and no products made. Just for the looks and photoshoots really.
Of course as things develop, more options may be added to Story Mode. Note, that Decoration options are not part of Story Mode and will stay on the standard pie menu.
Turning On Story Mode
Story Mode is OFF by default, and can be activated by one of three ways:
Trait Restrictions - Built into the code already, if you use traits and don't mind adding one more into a sim's inventory add in the Story Mode trait and these menus will auto show. This method allows you to restrict by individual sims.
Lot Controller Object - Built into the code already, if you place the Sun&Moon Lot Controller Object on a lot then all the menus will auto show. This works on all sims per lot.
SimPE Edit - In the object you want to turn Story Mode permanently on; Navigate to the TTAB, select the Pie Menu Functions resource, and select a story mode option you wish to edit. Select the Pie Menu Option you wish to enable, select all numbers/text in the Guardian BHAV box and hit delete to clear the box. Commit and Save.
Recompress.
Lot Controller Object & Story Mode Trait
Including these two files here, as they directly affect this feature. Both can be found in the Misc>Misc category for $0.
Using the trait is simple, just put it in a sim's inventory and forget about it.
The Lot Object Controller however, has had several features coded into it so it's not just useless deco. More features will be added as they come up.
Hide/Show all Blocks of Blocking and Mini Blocks of Blocking
Hide/Show Sun&Moon made specific OMSPs
Inventory Transfer tool between sims. Code taken the original by mike_1102, using the mesh and texture features of Fractured Moonlight's version. Also has an invisible option.
Download
View Use/Instruction Manual
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A perineal raphe is a typical trait for a lot of perisex people, and often is more easily distinguished on perisex individuals born with penises. It is typically hyperpigmented (dark line) or hypopigmented (lighter line that can resemble a scar). While estrogen could help mature an immature uterus (such as with puberty, Turner's and hypogonadism), it cannot move the development down the stages (such as dissolving a septate caused by underdevelopment), nor can it develop ovaries to generate estrogen unless such tissue is already present. If you had IGM and they did (very rarely, several decades ago) only sew the opening closed, other traits would be present, including different internal feelings and signs of internal bleeding. More commonly, they remove all of it. This misunderstanding only adds to my point
Let's read the chain of events leading up to this post, shown by recency


As we can see, "develop into a functional uterus and ovaries so I can generate my own E" was never said
It's so incredibly ironic to complain about "weirdos bitching bc they don't like when science disagrees with them" and then go on to say how you thought you had blocked an intersex activist (the weirdos) because I had left comments showing science that disagreed with you (bitching)
Why would your response (link) start with a question, only to end with a statement that shows you were never really asking? Because you weren't seeking understanding—you were posturing.
Not only that, but you continue to defend and pretend that your "first" time wasn't chalk full of erasing the emotional labor of NUMEROUS intersex individuals trying to educate you away from your misogynistic, intersexist, transmedicalist bioesselensialist belief

This was actually your first shot at intersex fetishism. You find "it" (intersex bodies) hot. It.
It.
Intersex bodies are not an "it"


Alt acc is inana-gets-political (for blocking purposes, bc she will respond w gets-political on convos that started w maggot)
There's more, holy shit sorry for so many edits

Left is when Status Quo Hater vaguely posted abt her post and explained the intersexism


Too tired for any more pics, have a URL (link) to yet another example. Thinks pregnant men are "kind of funny" (link)
#maggot-in-my-skin#inana-gets-political#trans intersexism#casual intersexism#brain intersex#intercommunity discourse#free blocklist#screenshots
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