afrofuturism🪐
☆ one ~ solange hair by darknightt (tsr warning) ☆ two ~ loretta hair by @simtric ☆ three ~ bahati braids by @sheabuttyr ☆ four ~ isonoe hair by octetsica ☆ five ~ binah braids by @sheabuttyr ☆ six ~ cornrows & curls hair by @leeleesims1 ☆ seven ~ indie hair by @sashima ☆ eight ~ loc petals by @shespeakssimlish ☆ nine ~ mnemosyne hair by octetsica ☆
mini dedication essay to black simmers and ts4 creators below! pls read if you have the chance! <3
this edit is a small homage to afrofuturism and the various unique black hairstyles (and especially the black creators of most of these hairs) that i have downloaded and admired over the years! some of these are old and some of these are new.
to me, afrofuturism means constantly honoring/reclaiming/challenging the past while constantly creating/dreaming of a better society/world/future. a society/world/future that embraces and empowers all of our differences, ingenuity, aspirations, and unique lived/cultural experiences. a society/world/future that does not limit us through the various systems of marginalization and oppression (racism, homophobia, transphobia, fatphobia, sexism, xenophobia, ableism, classism, colorism, etc.) that often affects how we, as black people, live today.
blackness is so diverse and intricate yet it's always been a struggle to find my culture within a game that's known for being so limiting, bland, and extremely eurocentric when it comes to hairstyles, clothing, food traditions/events, etc. black simmers have always had to figure out how to make this game more inclusive and make it resemble either more like how our ancestors lived, how our current lives are, or how we would want our lives (and even our children's lives) to look like in the future no matter how dystopian the real world look and feel now. fortunately, these hairs and their uniqueness bring a huge sense of culture and style to this game. they have always inspired me and made me feel extremely proud to a part of the lovely african diaspora (and the ever-growing black simmer community).
in a way, being a black simmer and cc creator usually means that we are often digitally creating our own worlds as afrofuturists to varying degrees (whether we know it or not) every time we open our game, make our sims, make houses, and/or make black cultural cc. also, now i know that cc making is not easy to do and is extremely time-consuming so this post is also just me giving all black cc creators especially those who create for free their well-deserved flowers! here are some other black cc creators who created cc that have greatly impacted my game since i first started playing sims 4: @/leeleesims1 @/simtric @/hi-land @/yuyulie @/sims4bradshaw @/ebonixsims @/xmiramira @/sheabuttyr @/qwertysims @/oplerims @/sleepingsims @/shespeakssimlish and so many more im forgetting probably (im too shy rn to tag ppl but i greatly appreciate y’all fr i hope y’all telepathically get this message somehow 😭).
last but not least, i am hoping that this inspires somebody to keep creating or start creating regardless of what they think their skill level is! somebody will absolutely fall in love with your work and/or your art/work will 100% change someone's game forever <333
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Yeet.
A/N: this is just pure word vomit. I’m so sorry. The title is SO bad but I was giggling so hard when I wrote it. Also this is literally so fucking self-indulgent.
Summary: Spider-People have a sixth sense. This is common knowledge to anyone who intimately knows one. What you didn’t know however was that it can occasionally misinterpret intentions, leading to disastrous results.
Hobie Brown x gn!Reader
Contents: No use of Y/N, anxiety mentions, reader gets full on thrown through a window, reader dissociates (symptoms of dissociation are described in depth), reader gets injured, angst, hurt/comfort
————
It was mid-afternoon, the sun starting to lower towards the sky-line as you hauled your bags back from the grocery store. It wasn’t a long walk, not by any means, by the bags were heavy with ingredients for dinner and the sun was at the perfect angle to shine in your eye.
As you dragged yourself through the lobby of your apartment you could feel your heart flutter at the gentle vibration of your phone in your pocket. Hobie must be telling you that he entered through the window. How you longed to see him, today had been impossibly long and he had a subtle way of making everything better.
As you shuffled your way into the elevator, smacking the button awkwardly with your elbow, you impatiently watched as you rose through the levels of your apartment building.
It felt like a century. But eventually you were met with the sweet ding of the elevator reaching the correct floor. You dragged yourself one last time out of the elevator and down the hall, however instead of the sound of sweet guitar cords you were met with silence.
You anxiously creep down the hallway. When Hobie comes over he always plays his guitar loud enough for the whole floor to hear. As annoying as it was to your neighbors you couldn’t find it in you to ask him to stop, the sweet melody melting the stress right off your bones.
You somehow manage to mangle your key out of your pocket without putting anything down, and as soon as you’re inside you’re dropping your groceries without a care in the world and pulling out your phone.
As you unlock it your worst fear is confirmed, it was Hobie texting you alright. Him not playing his guitar almost certainly meant something was horribly wrong. To make matters worst Hobie had said he had a “surprise” for you. That made the anxiety in your stomach twist even harder, the idea of one of Hobie’s many enemies capturing him, or using you to get to him sparking to life in your mind.
You leave the door to your apartment open a crack, just incase you need to run, and creep down the hallway. The door to your bedroom is open just a crack, and light is spilling out of your room, causing you to hold your breath as you creep closer.
You perch on your toes, hoping to decrease the chance of someone hearing you as you near the door, hands posed at your side, ready to fight for your life or run as fast as your legs could carry you at a moments notice.
You lean on the door frame and push the door open another few inches using the side of your foot, holding your breath as the hinges let out a loud squeak.
When you don’t hear any immediate threats coming from inside the room you carefully shift your weight forward, gripping the door frame like it would keep you from harm.
You feel your heart leap with relief as you see not one of Hobie’s enemies, but Hobie himself. He’s sitting in your desk chair, facing the closed window. He has his guitar in his hands, but that is not what stands out to you. Instead what stands out is the pair of headphones on his head, forcing his wicks out of the way in a messy way that shows he has not taken much care when placing them on his head in the first place.
You scrunch your nose in delight at the comical sight and decide that some teasing is in order, after the near heart attack he gave you.
You creep forward, your movements reminding you of a cat as a Cheshire grin grows on your face. You still completely when you’re in pouncing distance and you see Hobie’s finger still on his guitar strings. A small cue, but one that indicated you’re plan would be foiled if you didn’t attack right… Now!
You pounce forward, you barely feel your nails scrap the thread of Hobie’s shirt before a firm force is pressing on your stomach, pushing you up and over yourself.
You can barely breath, a second and an eternity pass as you crash through the air.
You don’t think you’ve ever hit anything as hard as you just did.
The top of your head and one of your shoulders feel the crunch of the impact first, but it does nothing to slow your movements as your thighs crumple downwards you, and then past you still.
It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re falling.
Not that you had a long time to realize.
You didn’t realize that you had the instinct to face the ground. Was that something that was impeded in every human? Or were you simply privy to this trait as you saw your boyfriend leap through the air on a near daily basis?
Whatever the cause, your descent is stopped by the feeling of something pulling on your back. It reminds you of how a bully would pull on your backpack in middle school, only if the bully was a double-decker bus instead of a 12 year old.
Your internal debate on the nature of 12-year-old assholes is stopped as you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in through the cracked frame of a window.
You didn’t remember being pulled in the wrong way through the air. Traveling in reverse. But it would be impossible to forget Hobie’s face staring at you with as much concern as you’ve ever seen on it, eyes wide and almost glassy.
You can feel the tightness of his grip on your shoulders, and you’re sure his fingerprints will be imprinted in your skin. You can see his mouth moving quickly but you can’t hear his voice.
You look vaguely at the busted window frame, the wood is cracked and splintering in nearly a hundred places. You fear your landlords reaction when he sees that. How are you going to explain it?
You feel Hobie gently brushing your forehead with his thumb, pulling you from your thoughts. You look down and see small specks of glass, almost like glitter, dusting your lap. You raise a hand to your head and it comes back a deep vermilion, you swear it sparks the same as that damned glitter.
You feel Hobie’s hand on your cheek, turning your eyes towards him.
“You with me?” Hobie’s eyes are large and concerned, troubled brows peering at you.
You can barely find the strength to make eye contact, mind still far off, falling through the atmosphere, clouds catching in your throat.
You feel Hobie’s firm thumb on your cheek, consistent pressure pulling your mind back down to earth.
“Hey now. Focus on me.”
You blink a few times, and slowly feel your bones becoming solid once more. You can hear the traffic out the window, Hobie’s breathing, feel the warmth of blood on your head. You find your chest naturally matching the rhythm of Hobie’s as he breathes deeply, prompting you to copy him.
You go to reach up to your head once more, intent of seeing how bad your injury is, but Hobie grabs your wrist and pulls your hand back down.
He stares at you for an intense moment before he scoops you up bridal style, being so incredibly gentle as he stands.
“Let’s get you cleaned up Luv.” He sounds more quite and subdued then you have ever heard him. He walks oh so gently, slow and smooth so as not to bump or jostle you.
He sits you down on the counter of the bathroom gently, and pulls a first-aid kit out from under the sink. Typically it is you patching him up after patrol, looks like the tables have turned this time.
He works in utter silence. His first mission is staunching the wound on your head. It’s no where near the point of requiring stitches, it had simply bleed a lot as head wounds are prone to doing. He cleans the wound efficiently, and before you know it the wound is hidden by a thick, white bandage on your forehead.
The rest of your wounds are thankfully small, and don’t take much treatment. After a few wipes from a damp cloth and some Neosporin your wounds are treated. The only evidence that still prove the incident occurred recently is your blood stained clothing.
Hobie stays in the same spot he was in as he treated your wounds, hovering almost. His normally large presence has shrunk and if your didn’t know better you’d say he was trying to hide himself away from you.
You are staring at your hands, finding your fingers very interesting as the intense silence clouds the air, closing in around your throat you want to say something to break it, but your throat chokes in on itself as soon as you open it.
“I’m sorry.”
Hobie looks so small as he whispers those words to you. His hands are ghosts on your thighs, you can feel him, but you’ve never felt so separated from him. He eyes the tile of the bathroom and you can practically see him beating himself up, pulling away from you in a belligerent attempt to protect you.
You gently place a hand on his cheek and turn his face towards yours, forcing him to look at you. “I don’t blame you.”
“I know.”
“I still trust you.”
He glanced away from you briefly, and blinks aggressively like he’s fighting off tears. “Are you sure you should?”
Instead of a verbal response you take one of his hands from your thigh and guide it your head, setting the tips of his fingers right on the thick bandage that lays there. “This is proof that you care. That it was an accident and we both regret it. I trust you with my life.”
He suddenly lurches forward, pulling you into his body with a sob. You hold him gently as he cries into you, rubbing his back comfortingly, letting him feel his emotions and let them out.
You have no idea how long you sat there on your bathroom counter, blood stained clothing as you try to piece back together the broken pieces of your boyfriend without any words. But none were needed.
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I think the show is going to start doing better by Eddie in upcoming episodes, and I desperately hope I’m right. Some critical thoughts incoming because I just want better for Eddie.
My focus of this post is about Eddie being in a romantic relationship, although there are absolutely so many potential storylines to delve deeper into with Eddie. Trust me, I know.
I do get why Eddie was with Ana, I do. That man was still repressing so much trauma for starters, and (even now) Eddie was also feeling pressured by society and his upbringing to “give Chris another mom.” It was something Eddie felt like he should do. And hooboy does Eddie still need to work on issues surrounding things he often feels like he “should” do. We all know that Eddie stuck it out with Ana far longer than he should have (Ana is guilty of this two, cause it takes two to tango). An apt description for Eddie is that he’s “the architect of his own misery.” ← Idk who originally said this phrase, but I got it from @yramesoruniverse, and it’s true.
Speaking of misery. No matter how the show tried to paint it as something cute and good, there is nothing actually good about Marisol and Eddie. Let me explain and bear with me.
Let’s be real. The show during 6B treated Eddie’s loneliness and his subsequent desire to date as a joke. Maybe not 100%, but even 1% is too much. That montage of Eddie going hiking, playing golf (??), and hanging out at a fucking country club (?????) to find a date? That was played for laughs.
Now at one point, Eddie had a genuinely great heart to heart with Bobby. I can’t recall their conversation exactly right now since I haven’t rewatched season 6 since it aired, but I know Bobby basically said Eddie should find someone who will sit with him during the hard times (please correct me if I’m wrong).
But then the show tried to frame Eddie running into Marisol - someone he met on a call - as this spark, this magical moment. Let’s remember that in season 6 Eddie was wistfully reminiscing on his and Shannon’s beginning and called it magic. And so again, the show tried to say, “Hey look! Eddie bumping into Marisol (no last name) is meant to be. This is magic!” Then we jump into season 7 where we’ve gotten no development on Marisol still, and zero development on their relationship, unless you want to call Eddie admitting to using Marisol as a babysitter as some development. Hell, we don’t even know how Chris feels about her.
With all of this in mind, to me this just looks like Eddie had grabbed onto the first person he could so he wouldn’t be lonely. If the show wanted us to care an iota about Marisol or their relationship in any capacity, they would have. But they haven’t. And that’s just heartbreaking for Eddie. All they’ve given Eddie is a surface level, nothing of a relationship.
It’s clear Eddie and Marisol are going to break up in 7x7 at the latest, and… for what? 7x5 will definitely have to do some backfilling on where and why their relationship isn’t going to work (it doesn't appear Marisol will be in 7x6). Even still, what was the point of it all?? Before anyone says it, yes Eddie is allowed to date, even casually, but GD there’s been nothing to grasp onto, you know? No reason to feel even remotely excited or happy that Eddie’s dating, specifically not with Marisol (and the actress is a shitty person) who ffs doesn’t even have a last name. Just having two attractive people in the same room does nothing for me, sorry.
To try and conclude this, this *gestures at everything I just said* is why I want better for Eddie and Ryan. I really really hope we’re going to get something of substance for Eddie as a character. Yes it’s been great to see Eddie so much happier in season 7 (thanks to therapy, though he needs more, and Buck and Tommy lbr), but, and to stick with the relationship aspect of it all, I want better for Eddie. Idk if Eddie will have or needs someone like Tommy for himself, or if Eddie is just going to work on himself before the next relationship he’s in will be Buck. We’ll have to wait and see, but yeah…. Eddie just. deserves better.
(this post was inspired by a recent conversation I had with @elvensorceress)
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