For all your super strong bodybuilder muscle babes.
The rotating gif is with body fitness and fatness sliders set to the very center and all sliders at baseline. I made this preset to intentionally look best with the fitness slider set to max, but do whatever you like obviously. :3
⚠️THERE WILL BE CLIPPING WITH SOME CLOTHING, ESPECIALLY NECKLACES.⚠️
Not all clothing will look good with this preset, especially necklaces due to the thicker trapezius muscle and neck. But I've found most clothing looks fine, even with heavy slider usage.
If you wanna show me any sims you've made with this preset feel free to tag me!
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Someone cracked the whip at me about the Sevika fic so I’ve been counting between the two
They’re just outlines rn cause I wanted to read a normal, bound, published book before writing anything cause I’m so afraid that my writing style will be too influenced by dooms scrolling. I have to keep my affectionate Green Gables But Not Slightly (:/) Racist Vernacular
Back when I used to torture myself, my last “boyfriend” (who was someone I kept around for the sake of boredom had gotten me a rainbow llama and a grandma card for Valentine’s Day, and I remember thinking about him being subhuman
Everything changed the day Amira was born.
The world outside was collapsing — bombs, dust, screams, and fear. Yet inside a small room, by the dim light of a single candle, a new life began.
While others were running for shelter, I was holding my newborn daughter, trembling, crying, trying to believe that something so pure could still exist in a place like Gaza.
I named her Amira, because I wanted her to feel like a child of life —not a child of war.
A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed
Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep.
She has just turned one.
She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her.
She doesn’t know the word “loss.”
She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there.
Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like.
And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again.
I want to rebuild our home.
Not just for the walls — but for her future.
For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war.
I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear
My name is Saja. I am a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza trying to hold on — to hope, to my family, and to a life that no
A Mother’s Message
To everyone reading this — thank you for listening to our story.
Your kindness means more than words.
Every share, every message, every donation — it all helps me rebuild not just a house, but a future for Amira.
From the heart of Gaza, from a mother learning to hope again —
we will live. And I will make sure my daughter grows up in a world that knows love more than war.
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mean abby and her girlfriend whos obsessed with her(for some reason) pls pls
hard hands, soft heart.
pairings: mean!abby x fem!reader
preface: abby says she doesn’t care — and proves the opposite every time.
author's note: THIS IS CUTE?? OMG YES PLEASE.
wrn: lowercase ;; messy, abby's kinda mean but she loves you dearly <3.
navigation.
it was freezing. not the kind of chill that made you shiver once and forget, but the type that crept under your skin and settled there, stubborn and biting. you hadn’t meant to leave your jacket back at the watchtower, but the sun had been up then, and you were in a rush to keep up with abby’s long-legged pace. now it was night, and the path back to base was nothing but shadowed trees and your chattering teeth.
“you cold?” abby asked, voice flat.
you glanced at her sideways. she hadn’t looked at you once since you both left the patrol route, but her shoulders were tense, her steps more aggressive than usual. she always walked like she had something to prove, but tonight she stomped like she was angry at the ground itself.
“i’m fine,” you lied, arms crossed tight against your chest.
she scoffed. “right. that’s why you’re shaking like a damn leaf.”
you bit the inside of your cheek, not wanting to snap back. abby always had a sharp tongue, but something told you she didn’t like it when you snapped too hard.
a few more minutes passed. silent. tense. until she suddenly stopped walking.
you paused too. “what?”
she didn’t answer. just tugged her own jacket off with a harsh grunt and threw it at you. literally threw it. it smacked against your chest, heavy, warm, and smelling like gunpowder, cedar, and a bit of the soap she hated to admit she liked.
“put it on before you turn into a goddamn popsicle,” she grumbled.
you blinked. “abby, i—”
“i said put it on. jesus. i don’t need you passing out on me in the woods. do you know how much trouble i’d get in if i had to carry your frozen ass back to base?”
you smiled, just a little. she noticed, of course. and glared.
“what’re you grinning at?”
“nothing. just… you care.”
she rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. “don’t get used to it. next time i’ll let you freeze.”
but when you slipped your arms into her jacket and zipped it up, she turned slightly—just enough that her hand could brush against yours. barely. like it was an accident.
it wasn’t.
the med bay was quiet except for the hiss of the disinfectant and your occasional hiss of pain. abby sat on the edge of the table, scowling down at you like you were the problem, not the gash on your thigh.
“i told you to duck,” she muttered, voice low and biting.
you winced as her gloved fingers pressed around the wound, inspecting it. “i did duck. just… not fast enough.”
she clicked her tongue. “no shit.”
you were used to this by now. abby didn’t do sympathy. she did angry concern. irritated affection. if she was yelling, it meant she cared.
still, you rolled your eyes. “you’re so sweet when i’m bleeding. really warms the heart.”
“shut up,” she snapped. but her voice was quieter now. her hands gentler. “you could’ve bled out, idiot.”
you looked up at her — hair tied back, jaw clenched, brow furrowed like it was physically hurting her to see you like this.
“i’ve had worse,” you said, softer this time.
abby glared at the gauze in her hands like it had personally offended her. “yeah? well, you’re not gonna get the chance to again if you keep pulling this reckless shit.”
“i was covering you.”
she paused. just for a second. and that’s how you knew it got to her.
the antiseptic stung, and you hissed again. instantly, abby’s grip on your leg loosened. her thumb brushed against your knee — gentle now, apologetic, even if her face was still all thunderclouds.
“…you okay?” she asked. barely audible.
you nodded. “yeah.”
she huffed through her nose. “good. ‘cause i’m not carrying your ass to the infirmary again. my back still hurts from last time.”
“…you carried me?”
she froze. shit.
“no,” she said quickly. “shut up.”
you smirked, even through the pain. “you totally did.”
“say one more word and i’m wrapping this with duct tape.”
you grinned wider, and she couldn’t help it — a ghost of a smile flickered across her lips.
“…dumbass,” she muttered again, but this time, it sounded suspiciously like affection.
abby hated mornings.
she hated being awake before the sun, hated how cold the floor was when she swung her legs out of bed, hated the too-loud birds and the way her shoulder always ached from sleeping on it wrong.
but mostly, she hated how easy it was for you to ruin her whole i-don’t-give-a-shit persona with something as simple as… looking at her.
you were sitting at the tiny kitchen table in your shared safehouse, sipping coffee from a chipped mug, legs tucked under you, hair a mess, hoodie obviously stolen from her drawer. you looked at her like she hung the damn moon — like she hadn’t just growled at the floor for being cold.
“what?” she barked, halfway through tying her boots.
you blinked, confused. “nothing.”
“you’re staring.”
“i’m allowed to look at my girlfriend.”
“not like that,” abby muttered, knotting the laces too tight. “you’re doing that eyes full of stars shit again.”
you giggled softly. “maybe that’s just how i look at you.”
abby’s ears went red. she didn’t even blush, usually, but you’d figured out how to fry her brain with two sentences and a smile.
she grumbled something under her breath and stood up, stomping over to the counter with way more force than necessary. her whole body screamed “leave me alone,” but the second your socked feet padded up behind her and your arms wrapped around her waist?
she melted. quietly. secretly. like a warship turning into warm butter.
“god, you’re clingy,” she mumbled, not moving an inch to stop you. “you’re obsessed with me or something.”
“i am,” you said cheerfully, cheek pressed to her back. “you’re my favorite person in the whole apocalypse.”
abby grunted.
but her hand came up, covered yours on her stomach, and gave it a quick, tight squeeze.
then she said, barely above a whisper: “…you’re mine too.”
you barely remembered what day it was. your throat was raw, your nose was stuffed, and your body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of clickers. twice.
the worst part wasn’t even the fever or the coughing fits — it was abby.
“sit. the hell. down,” she snapped from across the room, holding a mug of something green and steaming and definitely cursed.
you tried to sit up on the couch, blanket slipping from your shoulders. “abby, i can—”
“nope. shut up. you’re literally dying.”
“i have a cold—”
“a fever of 102 is not ‘a cold,’” she said, marching over and shoving the mug into your hands with the grace of a tank. “drink this.”
you stared into the mug. “what is it?”
“something mel made,” she grumbled. “it’s got herbs. garlic. shit that’s supposed to help. tastes like death but you’ll live.”
you sniffed it. instantly regretted it.
abby crossed her arms. “i swear to god if you don’t drink that, i’m gonna pour it down your throat myself.”
you took a cautious sip. immediately gagged. “abby, this tastes like wet socks.”
she glared. “and yet, here you are. still breathing. you’re welcome.”
despite her tone, she didn’t walk away. she crouched in front of the couch instead, one hand resting on your knee — not rough, not teasing. just… there.
“you didn’t have to stay home,” you whispered, the guilt hitting you harder than the fever.
she snorted. “and let you get eaten by your own sinuses? pass.”
her eyes flicked over your face, frowning at the sweat on your brow, the dark circles under your eyes. she sighed like she hated how much she cared.
“you look like shit,” she muttered.
“thanks, babe.”
but then her hand moved — up to your face, thumb brushing just under your eye, calloused fingers cupping your cheek like you were something precious she wasn’t quite sure how to hold without breaking.
“just rest,” she said quietly. “i’ve got you.”
and when you dozed off not ten minutes later, she didn’t leave. just sat beside you with her arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t watching your every breath like it was the only thing that mattered.
you were laughing.
that’s what made it worse. that little light, airy laugh you only did when you were being extra nice. the kind you gave to strangers when you didn’t want to be rude. and the guy you were talking to? eating it up. grinning way too much. leaning way too close.
abby stood off to the side, arms crossed, teeth grinding so hard she could’ve chewed through steel. from a distance, she looked calm — still, collected, totally unbothered.
but her jaw twitched. her eyes tracked everything. your smile. his hand brushing your arm. the way he said your name like he had any right.
by the time he touched your lower back — barely, casually — abby was already moving.
“hey,” she said, voice sharp as a knife as she stepped between you and him. “you lost or something?”
the guy blinked. “uh… just talking.”
she stared him down. no emotion. no smile. just that cold, calculating stare she gave to people she didn’t plan on speaking to twice.
“yeah?” she said flatly. “well, you’re done.”
he stammered something, gave an awkward wave, and booked it.
you blinked. “abby—”
“what the hell was that?” she hissed the second you were alone. she didn’t even look at you — just ran a hand through her braid like she was trying to stay calm and absolutely failing.
“i was being polite.”
“he touched your back.”
“barely.”
“that’s not the point.”
you stepped closer, arms crossing. “you jealous?”
she scoffed. “you think this is funny?”
“…a little.”
abby turned to you so fast it startled you. her eyes locked on yours, hot and stormy, chest heaving like she’d just fought off a bear. she didn’t speak for a second — just looked at you like she was trying not to say too much.
and then, in a voice low and rough:
“i don’t share.”
your breath caught.
she moved closer, now chest to chest with you, one hand curling around your waist like she was staking claim. her fingers pressed into your lower back — the exact spot he touched — but this time it made your heart skip a beat instead of your stomach turn.
“i don’t care if it was harmless. he doesn’t get to look at you like that. no one does.”
you swallowed. “and how do you look at me, then?”
abby leaned down, lips brushing your ear, breath warm and dangerous:
“like you’re mine.”
it started with you hugging her from behind while she was brushing her teeth.
“can’t even be in the bathroom alone now?” she mumbled through the foam, raising an eyebrow at your reflection behind her.
you nuzzled into her back like a koala. “you’re warm.”
she rolled her eyes and kept brushing, but didn’t move to shake you off. not even a little. you could feel the slight twitch in her shoulder, like she was trying not to lean into it.
ten minutes later, she was attempting to lace up her boots, and you sat on her lap.
not just sat — you flopped down, arms wrapped around her neck, legs on either side of her thighs like it was your god-given right.
“seriously?” she growled. “you need constant attention or something?”
you shrugged innocently. “yup.”
abby leaned back slightly, brows furrowed like she was trying so hard not to smirk. “you’re clingy as shit.”
“yet here you are,” you whispered, nose brushing against her jaw, “letting me sit right here like your personal heater.”
“you’re annoying.”
“you like it.”
she grunted. but her hands were already moving — one sliding up your thigh, fingers spreading possessively, the other resting low on your back, holding you exactly where you were. her grip was firm. grounding. a silent stay.
your forehead rested against hers now, breaths mingling, the tension in the room thick enough to wrap around your throat. her eyes dropped to your lips. just for a second. just enough.
“you’re not even trying to get off me,” you whispered.
she exhaled hard through her nose, jaw tightening. “you’re such a little brat.”
you rocked your hips just enough to get a reaction. and you got one — her hand on your thigh tightened almost painfully, her grip on your back pulling you closer until your noses touched.
“keep it up,” she growled, “and i’m gonna remind you exactly whose lap you’re sitting on.”
silence. heat. your heart thudded wildly in your chest.
“…okay,” you breathed, voice barely audible.
abby chuckled, low and dangerous.
“thought so.”
abby wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.
really.
she’d just come back from patrol early, quietly slipping through the side door of the safehouse, planning to drop her gear and maybe surprise you with the rations she scored.
but then she heard your voice from the kitchen. soft. laughing.
and someone else’s — nora’s.
“i don’t get it,” nora was saying, teasing but curious. “how do you deal with her attitude 24/7? i’d lose my mind.”
you laughed. “she’s not as mean as she pretends to be.”
abby froze.
“she’s kind of all bark,” you continued, unaware of your very large, very grumpy girlfriend standing frozen just out of sight, pulse thudding in her ears.
“she acts like she doesn’t care, but she remembers every single thing i say. she brings me water before i ask. pulls me behind her if there’s even a rumor of danger. sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door—” your voice cracked a little. “like she’s ready to protect me even in her sleep.”
nora let out a low whistle. “damn. you’ve got it bad.”
“i do,” you admitted. quiet. honest. vulnerable in a way you never were around abby herself. “she’s the safest place i’ve ever had.”
abby felt it like a punch to the gut. a warmth so deep it almost hurt. you… thought of her like that?
she’d always assumed you stuck around because you were patient. because you put up with her temper, her walls, her dry sarcasm and blunt edges. but now?
safe.
you felt safe with her.
she must’ve made a noise — a scuff of her boot or maybe a breath too sharp — because suddenly you were peeking out from the kitchen, eyes wide in surprise.
“abby,” you said, blinking. “hey.”
she stood there like a statue, arms crossed tightly across her chest. “didn’t mean to… interrupt.”
you looked like a deer caught in headlights. nora raised her eyebrows and immediately ghosted like the best wingman ever.
now it was just the two of you. silent.
“…you weren’t supposed to hear that,” you mumbled.
“yeah,” abby said, voice hoarse. “figured.”
she didn’t know what to do with the feeling in her chest. didn’t know how to handle something so gentle and pure being aimed directly at her.
so she did what she always did — scowled, shoved her hands in her pockets, and muttered, “you’re sappy as hell, you know that?”
but when she walked over and pulled you into her chest — arms strong, tight, clingy — you knew she didn’t mean it.
“…i don’t mind,” she said quietly, lips brushing your hair. “being that for you. safe.”
you smiled into her shirt, heart hammering.
“i know.”
it was almost 3 am when abby jolted awake.
at first, she didn’t know what did it — just that the room was dark, silent, and cold.
then she heard it. the tiny, broken sound.
you.
you were curled up on your side, back to her, shoulders shaking. not sobbing — not out loud. it was the kind of pain that tried to hide itself. which was somehow worse.
she was next to you in a heartbeat, sitting up, pulling back the covers just enough to see your face.
you flinched like you'd been hit.
“hey,” she said immediately, voice low, steady. “it’s me. you’re okay.”
you tried to breathe. failed. your chest stuttered and your eyes were wide, glassy, far away.
abby swore under her breath and leaned closer, palm cradling your cheek with shocking gentleness for someone with hands like hers.
“look at me,” she said, firm but not sharp. “right here. eyes on me.”
you blinked, focus snapping back, and the second you saw her face — safe, familiar, abby — you broke.
a sob slipped free before you could stop it, and you immediately turned away, ashamed.
“nope,” she said, already pulling you into her lap. “you don’t get to hide now. come here.”
you didn’t even have the strength to protest. you just melted against her chest, arms wrapping around her waist like you were afraid she’d disappear.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered. “it was just a dream, i didn’t wanna wake you—”
“you think i give a shit about sleep?” she muttered, one hand already rubbing soothing circles into your back. “you wake me up anytime. every time.”
“i didn’t wanna be annoying—”
abby pulled back just enough to look at you, her jaw tight.
“okay, say that again,” she said, deadly calm. “say you’re annoying one more time and i swear i’ll pick a fight just to prove you’re not.”
you let out a small, shaky laugh.
“there she is,” abby murmured, brushing the hair from your face. “my mouthy little disaster.”
you sniffled, eyes searching hers. “it felt so real. like i lost you.”
her face hardened. “you didn’t. you won’t.”
“but—”
“no,” she said, final and fierce. “you’re stuck with me. i don’t care what dream-world version of me did — this one’s not going anywhere.”
she pulled you tight again, arms like steel around you, chin resting on your head.
“you’re safe,” she said, voice low and steady. “i’m right here. i’ve got you.”
and she stayed awake the rest of the night — one hand on your back, one stroking your hair — holding you like she could physically keep the nightmares away if she just stayed close enough.
you were sparring.
which really just meant “play-fighting under the illusion of training” while stealing every possible excuse to touch each other and pretend it wasn’t doing things to you both.
abby blocked your punch with one arm, the other catching your wrist mid-swing. “weak,” she said, smug. “you hit like a kitten.”
“yeah?” you grinned, eyes narrowing. “you smell like one.”
“try again, sweetheart.”
you twisted, ducked under her arm, and elbowed her side — which she barely flinched at — but you were already moving, dancing away before she could grab you again.
she smirked. “running? that’s cute.”
“not running,” you teased. “just staying out of arm’s reach. you get handsy.”
she lunged.
you squealed and dodged, barely missing the wall. “abby!”
“you started it.”
she chased you around the mat until she caught you with a solid sweep of the leg — and you went down with a yelp, landing flat on your back, abby immediately straddling your hips, pinning your wrists down above your head.
“you done?” she asked, panting a little, her braid sliding over her shoulder like a whip.
you stared up at her.
big mistake.
because now she was on you — flushed, strong, breathing hard, hair slightly messy — and looking at you with that smug, mean glint in her eye that made your brain short-circuit.
“i could keep going,” you breathed, way too fast, way too reckless.
her smirk faltered. “don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“who says i won’t finish it?”
abby’s expression changed.
the air shifted.
one second you were joking — the next, her eyes were dark, locked onto yours like she was searching for something, something she couldn’t say, couldn’t admit.
you swallowed. “abby…”
she let go of your wrists but didn’t move. her hands slid down to your forearms, slow, grounding. her weight on top of you felt too real now — not a fight. something else.
“you’re not just playing anymore,” you whispered.
“neither are you,” she said, voice low, tight.
silence. your heart pounded against your ribs.
and then, quietly:
“you scare the shit out of me sometimes,” abby muttered, eyes dropping to your lips. “because i look at you, and i can’t remember what it felt like before you started living in my head.”
you blinked. “was that… a confession?”
she huffed, flustered now. “don’t make it weird.”
you cupped her cheek, thumb brushing under her eye. “too late.”
she leaned down, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot. “if you tell nora i got sappy during a fake fight, i’ll body slam you into next week.”
you smiled, heart full, tugging her even closer. “noted. now kiss me, you coward.”
she did.
and it didn’t feel fake at all.
it slipped out on a tuesday.
you weren’t even doing anything big — just folding laundry, tossing a hoodie at her across the room with a lazy smile. “here. your stupid sweatshirt. love you.”
silence.
you didn’t even register it at first — too busy fighting with a tangled pair of socks — until you looked up and saw her.
frozen.
staring at you like you’d just dropped a live grenade at her feet.
“…what?” you asked, confused.
abby didn’t move. didn’t blink.
“you just said—” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “did you mean that?”
you frowned. “mean what?”
she looked… pale. like her brain had slammed the brakes. “what you said. the ‘love you’ part.”
“oh.” you straightened, heartbeat spiking. “yeah. i did.”
silence.
her jaw clenched.
she looked away for a second, hands flexing uselessly like she wanted to hit something or run. you weren’t sure which.
“abby?”
she turned away.
and it hurt. just for a second. long enough for your chest to cave in a little.
“…it’s okay,” you whispered, backing off, voice suddenly small. “you don’t have to say it back.”
that’s when she whipped around.
“no,” she said — sharp, low, furious. “you don’t get to say that and walk away.”
you blinked. “what?”
“you don’t get to say that like it’s casual. like it’s nothing. like it didn’t just crack my fucking ribs open from the inside out.”
your mouth went dry. “i didn’t mean to—”
she stormed across the room, grabbed your wrist — not hard, never hard — and held you there like you were the only thing keeping her upright.
“you say you love me like it’s easy,” she whispered, breathing hard. “but it’s not. not for me. i’ve never had someone say it and mean it. not like that.”
you stared at her. “abby…”
her forehead touched yours, eyes squeezed shut, like saying it would physically hurt her — but when it came out, it was raw and trembling and so real you almost couldn’t breathe.
“i love you too,” she whispered. “so much it makes me want to rip my own fucking heart out.”
you laughed, a little watery. “god, you’re dramatic.”
she groaned and buried her face in your shoulder. “you make me dramatic. i was fine before you.”
“no, you weren’t,” you smiled, arms wrapping around her.
“…okay. i wasn’t.”
she held you for a long time after that — too tight, like she thought you might vanish.
Poppy Playtime Chap4 Spoilers but the implication that there are multiple kids that make up Doey is so haunting especially with the whole using them to silence the parents thing works
Like on one hand what happened is that the kid we saw fall in was the first to be made into one of the little doh guys and then, after killing the parents, had more kids made and just tossed into Doey
And on the other hand, the idea that kids fall into the doh all time and the whole “come meet your kid we saved them we swear” *locks door* fiasco is just protocol is terrifying.
I need to know how far along the orphanage project was versus when the kid fell in to know if they were the first doh boy or if that’s just one incident of many
As someone who used to base their entire life source on the vague future idea of being loved, I’ve found that now I only do things when I think it’d be hot. The audience I’m appealing to is myself and only myself. Im preforming to catch myself in the mirror and gawk.
The only issue is trying to figure out if I want to go for relationships or not because not only do I have super high standards but I don’t know how to be attractive to other people anymore. I think I’ve divorced myself from the idea of being desirable to someone else so long that now i can’t even fathom someone doing that.
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hc: sevika has an incredible singing voice. like it's deep and rich and full of aching joy and melancholy. thing is she would never be caught DEAD singing but early one morning she's in a good mood and since she thinks you're asleep she starts humming a chet baker song in the shower and it's the most beautiful sound you ever heard
Hey hi !! I just wanted to say that I love you and the skits you do on TikTok (that’s how I know you) and I followed you here because TikTok was getting deleted and I wanted to keep up with you. I love the Sevika brainrot- MUAH. YOU ARE LOVED!
(I’m not expecting you to respond, in fact I’m hoping you don’t because I may die from embarrassment. Hurrah to parasocial relations!!)
WAAHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! I’ve actually been feeling like genuinely terrible recently and this made me so happy
Sevika is a morning person. she isn't able to stay asleep for long and once she's up, she literally can't stay still: there's always something she feels like she needs to do. it'll be like 6am and you wake up to see Sevika sauntering around the place in her boxers and a tank top drinking a cup of coffee and cleaning the windows or something because she didn't want to wake you up by vacuuming.
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I think Sevika like horses. I think if someone finds a random horse related item like an old figurine or a book and she hears about it the item goes missing (in her pocket)
“Damn where’d that Horse Encyclopedia go”
Sevika, with a suspiciously book shaped cloak, “And why the hell would I know.”
