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(Sexual situations and nudity, language)

Bash Banks POV

“Damn girl, you feel so good,” I said through grunts as I gave Giavanna Gavino repeated hard thrusts positioned behind her against the side of my bed. I had a tight grip on her fast-moving gyrating hips, and her body slammed against mine.

She screamed out. “Oh, right there..so..good!” Giavanna struggled to get her words out. I was positioned behind her on the bed giving her the best fuck of her life. “Is that good?” I whispered. “Yes…”

I had been pursuing this girl for the last two months. GG worked near my office building downtown in at one of the most elite money management firms in the country. I had seen her and some co-workers at a bar in my building off and on over the last eight weeks or so.

She’d usually curved my advances when I attempted to flirt or get her phone number. But I knew it was just a game because of the way she flirted with me but made every excuse as to why she wasn’t looking to date, anybody. I think about her more than I thought I would. Now that I have her in my bed, I wonder if there could be something more between us; if I could ever be close to her. 

I saw her exchange numbers with one of those blonde, fair skinned pedigree WASP. You know the type, those fuckers who only got into Ivy League because they were legacy members or daddy made a substantial contribution to get their mediocre kid past the waiting list. Girls like GG usually went for those types with the prominent last names and good families. They would fuck niggas like me but typically choose not to date openly.

Giavanna was Brazilian, not one of those black Brazilians, but more so with the looks of like Adriana Lima with a similar exotic flair. If she wanted to get past the fact that she wasn’t blonde and blue-eyed, she could not procreate with a dark Brazilian, a black American, or anyone else that could taint her bloodline. I wasn’t a basketball player, making millions of dollars. That always seemed to ease the minds of white fathers’ racism if their little girls were to marry niggas with money. I did do well for myself, but nothing in the seven-figure range. It wasn’t enough.

I gave her one final thrust as I started to feel myself coming. GG had already came, more than once I must say. She screamed so loudly; she was wild. When women acted outright like animals in bed, it made me even more excited. If you ever wanted to know what the koochie was like on my end, just imagine a tight wet cave stuffed with soft pillows. You slide in, and you slide out, all the better when she made that shit rain.

I finally climaxed, and we collapsed onto my bed. I was hot and sticky; my body burned from the workout I just gave it. GG slid over and rested her head on my chest. Her hair smelled like jasmine, and her skin had a lustrous, silky feel to it. Panting and breathing hard, I looked at her body, admiring it yet again.

GG was so beautiful. She had this tanned olive skin, dark curly hair, perfect pouty full lips and greenish brown eyes. I preferred her phenotype to most other women. She was the definitely the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with. Usually, after I bed a woman, I’m not so eager to continue seeing her, but I felt differently about GG. I wanted to grow closer to her, know her thoughts, wants, and needs. 

“That was so amazing. You are so amazingly talented. What they say about black guys is definitely true,” purred GG, as she turned over to look at me. “Yeah, that’s one stereotype I’m proud to say is true. So I’m the first black man you’ve been with?” I asked. She giggled a bit. “No, you’re not.”

I raised my brow. “Oh? By the way, you were acting before I assumed you preferred Bobbys over Tyrones,” I said, which made GG giggle.

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“Don’t act so surprised, Sebastian. Besides those guys at the bar are just guys I have fun with sometimes and can get me into some pretty exclusive places. They’re like my bosses friends sons who have jobs because of who their fathers are. But you, you Bash, I want to be my big Mandingo. I think I need you a regular basis.”

GG sat up; slowly crawling toward me. Her stare was penetrating as she moved her hand over to my member. I laughed a bit. “I’ll give it to you anytime you want it, Baby.”  

I got up from the bed and went into the bathroom to take a piss. The air in the hallway was cold, but it felt good to cool my skin off.

I grabbed my bath towel and wiped the sweat from my chest and washed my hands. I headed toward my bedroom when I heard a notification of a text message I had received. I spotted my phone on the hall table; it was just after eleven. I opened up the text, which was from Rico Thomas, an old associate from Wharton.

Rico: Hey, it’s been a while since we’ve talked. We need to discuss your future. We’ll meet for drinks at Georgio’s.

That was the end of the message. Rico didn’t specify what day he wanted to meet. When you get a message like that from him, which isn’t often, you don’t ask questions. If you had something planned, you don’t call him back asking to reschedule; you break your date even if your wife is in the middle of giving birth, you see Rico. I was intrigued not so much by what Rico said, but what he didn’t say. What specifically did he mean by ‘your future’?

Rico had one of the fasted growing consultation firms in the region. He rubbed elbows with some of the most influential people in business, politics, and just about every other field. He must’ve heard about the latest promotion I was passed up for.I could only wish to have access to some of the people Rico deals with on a regular basis. My life would be so different right now. Instead of slaving away making the white man richer, I could be running my own firm, using my design with my name on it.

I was eager to talk with Rico, but I would have to wait until he made contact again wait to see just exactly what he wanted to talk about. I had to admit; I felt a little intimidated at the thought of meeting up with him. We knew each other from U-Penn. He was ahead of me in school; we took some of the same business classes at Wharton. He was also a graduate associate professor before he went to Harvard full-time and obtained his MBA. Periodically, we ran into each other at a bar in Cambridge, as I was at MIT, which is very close to Harvard.

I put my phone back on the charger and headed to my bedroom, as Giavanna was starting to get dressed. The room was hot and stuffy and smelled like a combination of her Clinique, my Hugo Boss cologne, and sex.

“I need to get out of here. I have an eight am meeting tomorrow,” said Giavanna. I wasn’t really ready for her to leave just yet, but I didn’t let on. I watched as she pulled her black lace panties on and pulled her dress over her head; she hadn’t worn a bra. Her titties looked as succulent as ever. I had every instinct to push her on the bed again and fill my mouth with each one while I licked and sucked on her nipples.

“I too have early meetings. I’ll take you home.” I told her, snapping out of my fantasy. “Sure, that would be great.” Giavanna walked over to me and kissed me softly on the lips. “Thanks again for tonight, it was great,” she said. “My pleasure.”

Giavanna seemed impressed when she got into my new Benz and complimented how nice the features and heated seats were as we cruised through the dark streets downtown.

It was nothing serious going on between us, and I wasn’t sure when we would hook up again. It was okay for now. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be in a relationship, but I work so much and the women I’m around, act like they’re in charge and control, but they’re not.

These millennial girls of my generation are educated and going out getting careers and competing with males for those same jobs. Yeah, that shit is okay as far as them getting an education, but I find most of the bullshit about independence is just that: bullshit.Most women are the same as they were in my grandma’s generation. They ultimately want a man to call the shots; to make the hard decisions and have most of the responsibility. They mainly someone to take care of them.

I don’t know how many girls I went to school with, fresh out of graduation, a degree in hand, and within a year of finding their Bobby Pedigree, they gave all that shit up. Usually first getting a nice little upscale, overpriced condo near work and later moving out to the suburbs to be near the rest of the pedigree families and join their country club.

The women of the club would organize tea and feel-good charities for the less fortunate little Tyrones, Jamals, and Kishas. It made them feel good to peddle some money into the inner city, to help those little poor black babies; even when those “poor black babies” came from two-parent households. Often when black kids came from two-parent middle-class families, some of the country club Jenns and Susans believed they were poor and unfortunate, because ‘hey, they were black so ultimately they suffered and needed saving right?’ I’ll be the first to admit, however, that some of the thugs that have taken over my family’s neighborhood could use some saving, no matter who it came from.

My family wasn’t living in poverty. They weren’t exactly middle class, but working class; which might as well be poverty if you think in regards of how the real world works, and the divide between the rich and unambitious people in my old neighborhood. They were the people I struggled to get away from all of my life.

I felt obligated to socialize with my family every once in a while to show them that things could be better and that they needed to stop thinking small and living a life of low means was okay. I knew it was too late for my father, the most unambitious man I know, but at least my little sister, Michelle had a chance at getting an education and bettering herself. But who was I fooling? The rest of my family was hopeless. That’s the life they were used to, and none of them had any desire to change it.

Giavanna didn’t live too far away from me in Art of the City, an upscale neighborhood similar to SoHo in New York. The price for living here was almost as high as well. But you get what you pay for.

Once we arrived at her apartment, I walked her up the front door of her high-end building. Her doorman gave us a hard look. I held on even tighter to her and kissed her deeply on the mouth. It will never cease to amaze me how shook some white boys get over the beautiful women I can pull any day and the ones I chose to have on my arm. It’s okay; the haters drove my ambition. As I rise, I’ll give them a real reason to hate me.

 

**My thoughts: I think it’s evident by now that Bash is struggling with some internal conflicts intensified by external problems. A lot of his thinking is or could be perceived as hypocritical. In his mind, he bashes the hierarchy of society, but at the same time, he longs to be part of it and even prefers women who are apart of it, all the while having resentment for their station in life. One thing I know is that people are complicated and sometimes on the surface we appear hypocritical and more often than not, we can be hypocritical internally as well. I don’t think most things are all black and white, but fall into gray areas. I’m looking forward to developing Bash’s character and exploring what it means to be human, with all of our flaws, fallacies, hopes, and the lengths we go through to survive in this system. Thanks for reading.** 

***Author’s Note: The title of this chapter is in reference to the song by the Purple One, Prince. Check out the lyrics to understand what it means from his perspective. I’m an 80s kid and Prince’s music was my life as it still is. As I was listening to this song the other day, I decided to name this chapter after it for Bash’s perspective as he does want to get closer GG even though their relationship appears to be mainly physical right now.

Check out the biography of Bash and other main characters here.

Check us out on Facebook for cc and story updates. Come and join our group. SOCS

 

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(Sexual situations and nudity)

Detective Bella Vega POV:

The San Myshuno Drug Enforcement Task Force arrived early morning at the upscale Midtown Pointe Towers. It wasn’t your typical scene for a morning search; ten thousand dollar mortgage, a doorman, complimentary housekeeping, and all the fixings of high society life. The warrant was signed less than 24 hours ago. This wasn’t a Hollywood element of surprise raid.

I stood there, breathing through my nose, silently waiting. My hands were wrapped around my Glock, in the defensive position, as were the other officers on my team. Lt Lawrence Loomis, who headed the task force knocked loudly out the door. “This is the San Myshuno Police Department. We have a warrant to search the premises.”

I stood in silence with the other officers anticipating the next moment. The target isn’t some low-level dope boy on the corner with his pants hanging halfway down his ass. We weren’t hunting rabbit; it was bear season.

After what seemed like several long moments, the front door swung open. I looked up and saw Big Meech, also known as B-Money, but better known under his government name, Marquez Flex.

Meech was putting on a shirt, while he glared at the smug detectives on the task force and the two uniforms standing outside his door. He knew our announcement was a fake courtesy and we were here because he had no choice. The “law” required us to get a warrant to search the property, but guys like Flex believe they are above the law. He seemed annoyed, but not surprised to see us.

Loomis asked Flex a series of questions before informing him of his rights before he snatched the warrant out of his hands. He briefly studied the document before shoving it back in Lieu’s direction.

Flex turned away from the group of officers that had assembled in his living room, making his way over to the window, giving me a sidelong glance. His swagger was one of confidence, not a man that was worried about the SMPD finding any incriminating evidence this day.

Matter of fact, during the whole five-hour search, Flex didn’t utter a single word, didn’t make one phone call, nor did he leave to use the bathroom.

He stood there as officers went through every inch of the living room, followed us upstairs into his office, and silently watched as we confiscated his hard drives, files, and other electronic devices. When one of the detectives had to ask a question, Flex only nodded or shook his head.

I went upstairs to look through a few drawers in the office and sensed Flex staring at me. I looked around the room. Flex briefly held my gaze, then looked away.

I watched his eyes for a moment, trying to see if he was focusing on anything in particular; maybe there was an area he didn’t want detectives searching or something he didn’t want us to find.

“Vega, will you come over here?” called my partner, Detective Erik Moynihan. I shoved the papers back in the drawer that had been in my hand and walked over to him. “I found these cell phones, probably burners and wiped. There’s no way of telling what’s on them right now.”
“Bag and tag them; we’ll take it to the forensics,” I replied.

I helped Erik take pictures of the phones and record the model in a log. “The serial numbers had been erased on the SIM card; hopefully forensics can find it inside the phone,” said Erik. I placed the cell phones in the evidence bag and looked around to see what other areas in the apartment hasn’t been searched.

I decided to head to the bathroom. “Is it alright if I use your bathroom?” I asked while raising my voice. The look in his eyes could’ve pierced through steel. His mouth didn’t say a word, but the glare in his eyes spoke for him.

I smirked as I headed toward the bathroom and went inside. Flex could glare all he wanted to, but he knew he had no power in this situation.

I turned around to face him again and slammed the door shut, signaling a resounding “fuck you.”

***********************************

It was too early to tell if our search would turn up any evidence to help build our case against the growing cartel that has been taking over the Metro San Myshuno. Marquez was important enough to have an impact on the increase of traffic, but there were bigger fish in the sea we wanted to catch.


After a stressful long day, I needed a good fuck to ease my nerves. Hartley Fullerton is one of the men I’m sleeping with. He was at the search with me this morning, and he was my immediate supervisor, not to mention very married.

My legs were spread as far as they could go as I received Hartley’s impressively large manhood deep inside of me. “Fuck me harder! Harder!” I screamed. I liked it rough and sometimes Hartley wanted to act like this was some lovemaking session. He knew I didn’t care about the easiness or tenderness. He knew when I summoned him, that I needed to get my back blown out, as rough and as hard as possible. I didn’t want foreplay; I didn’t want to kiss and cuddle, just murder the shit and be done with it. Otherwise, what are you here for?

I didn’t know what time it was whether it was still nighttime or morning. I grabbed my cell phone off the bedside table; the time was 4:45. The battery was down to 11%.

“Shit. I forgot to charge this dumb ass phone,” I said aloud. I rubbed my eyes, trying to adjust them to the darkness; trying to spot my charger.

I heard a soft moan next to me. I looked over and saw Hartley laying naked in my bed. I’d forgotten he came over late last night. I felt a twinge of annoyance at him still being here. He knew I didn’t like it when he spent the night. I thought he showered and went home once I fell asleep last night.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked, groggily. “Nothing. Why are you still here?” I asked, irritated. “Didn’t know it was so late, Bella. I fell asleep last night.”

“And what do you plan on telling Nicole why you didn’t come home last night?” I asked. “That I had a case that went late, which is not technically a lie,” answered Hartley. I scoffed. “She can’t be that stupid to keep believing that same story,” I said, Hartley’s expression turned to one of hurt as if he was so offended I would insult his wife.


“There’s no need for you to be so condescending, Bella,” said Hartley, his voice tight. I looked up at him.”I’m not married to you, and you’re not my father; don’t begin to reprimand me. Go home to your fucking wife.”

Hartley grew silent for a moment, shaking his head. “Why do you always have to do stuff like this, Bella?”
“What am I doing Hartley? You know I don’t like it when you “accidentally” slip up and stay over. You need to leave,” I scolded him. “Fine. I’ll take a shower. I’ll see you later,” said Hartley, as he got up from the bed and headed to my bathroom.

I closed my eyes again, but the smell of Hartley’s cologne permeated my pillows. I quickly flipped them over to get the scent out of my nose. There was nothing I hated more than a man trying to leave his mark in my home.

As a supervisor, Hartley had “authority” over me at work, but it also made him think he had it in other areas of my life. Shit, he barely had any power over me on the job, I don’t know why he felt like he could come over and attempt to call any shots after laying up in my bed.

I’ve told Hartley time and time again that I was not interested in anything emotional and if I felt like I wanted to fuck him, I’d be the one to call, but under my terms.

After about fifteen minutes, I heard the shower cut off and the sound of the front door closing as Hartley left my apartment.
I rolled back over in my bed determined to salvage some sleep before my alarm went off at six.

*************************

I slowly rolled out of bed once my cell alarm went off at six and grabbed a cigarette off my nightstand. I took a long drag and held it, letting the nicotine ease my nerves. Fuck, if I wasn’t a cop, I could easily roll a joint.

I didn’t bother to put on any clothes before leaving the room and heading into the kitchen. I turned on the coffeepot and stood there, taking another drag of my cigarette.

After yesterday’s search, I had a late night at the station, and I didn’t feel rested. There was so much evidence that needed to be poured over and a lot of paperwork to file. It was the most shitty part of police work in my opinion. As a detective, I preferred to be out with my partner, gathering evidence and working on investigations. But sitting at a desk doing paperwork was a big part of the job.

After the coffee finished brewing, I took my cup and a newly lit cigarette over to my dining room table and flipped on the TV to check the news. There was no mention of the search in the upscale midtown neighborhood, as there wouldn’t be. It’s not like we ran in there with a battering ram disturbing the peace of all those lovely rich people in their gilded cages; if only the majority of Flex’s neighbors knew what his real business was. I won’t act like some of them weren’t aware, as he undoubtedly had clients as neighbors who were his customers.

“and news from Miami. DEA agents discovered a large amount of cocaine, Xanax, and hydrocodone in a home in South Beach. We’re told that the area has seen a rise in drug activity, mostly from importers outside of the US mainland, with most shipments coming in from the Caribbean.”

My ears perked up, and I listened intently to the anchorwoman. Any news of drug activities of the growing Caribbean cartels always sparks my interest. Any information I hear, I take note of it for my private investigation.

My older brother, Miguel also worked in the Narcotics Unit undercover before he was brutally beaten and killed in a sting gone wrong before I was on the force. His partner, Burl Griggs had also been gunned down during the time. Their killers were still at large.

Twelve years have passed, and the department is no closer to finding their killers now than they were all those years ago. It infuriated me to know the criminals responsible for killing my brother were still out there.

Narcotics turned over the case to the Cold Case department, probably the most inept and lazy unit in the entire San Myshuno Police Department. Those fat fuckers don’t do shit all day except sit on their asses and pretend to do real police work, searching dead girls who’ve been missing for thirty years. Their priorities were all fucked up; a cop killer case should come before anything else.

I have taken it upon myself to find out who killed Miguel and those most responsible. If you want something done, you must do it yourself. I am not interested in dragging them back to have their day in court. I want to do the same thing they did to my brother; beating him beyond recognition damn near and holding my Glock close enough for them to look down the barrel and know that death was imminent, but not before I made them suffer. That would be justice.

Check out the biography of Bella and other main characters here.

Check us out on Facebook for cc and story updates. Come and join our group. SOCS

 

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Hello all, just wanted to let you know, I will be MIA for the time being. I am not sure for how long this time around. I have to deal with some things in my personal life. I have horrible depression and anxiety, and I haven’t been doing well at all. So, keeping up with this mag, which I design all on my own and trying to write a story has taken a toll on my mental health. I also feel that as much work and effort I put forth for my mag, groups, blogs to invite others and provide content for ppl to get involved in the community is all for naught.

The truth is, I don’t make content that appeals to the majority of ppl in this community, mostly because I am older and not very well known even though ppl knew me in the TS3 days and Reagan’s story had and still does have a lot of readers. I still love Sims, but I need a break from all of this. Another thing, I have helped different people while most are kind and gracious, plenty has taken advantage of my kindness. I work hard on layouts and interviews, and I did one recently, and this person couldn’t bother with a thank you. I’m not extending myself to people who aren’t appreciative any longer. I’m done with it. There are a lot of thirsty people in this community who only take without giving.

Sometimes (most times) I wish I was still in my TS2 days when I didn’t even know a community existed.

I’ll always be here for my fellow Simmers, and I will try to help however I can. But for now, I am taking a break; going to try to clear my head and get some things in order. This is a game, and it should be fun.

Sincerely,

Camille.

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As a writer, knowing the basics of copyright law can help you protect your writing before signing your rights away. Copyrighting your books, stories, novels, and poems is rather straightforward. Whether your work is on paper or posted on the Internet, your writing is automatically protected by copyright as long as it’s in a physical form that others can read. The fact that you are reading these words means that this material is copyrighted and has been since the moment it was printed or saved to disk. For today’s creative writers, copyright protection is a built-in bonus.

Copyright is a form of protection for creative and original works (literary, musical, artistic, among others) that are fixed in a “tangible form of expression.” This simply means that what you’ve created—whether it’s a sketch, a sculpture, a short story, or a poem—is intellectual property, and it is protected by copyright as long as it can be viewed (or communicated) in a fixed form. It is intended to protect, among other artistic works, literary work, both published and unpublished, giving the author the exclusive, legal right to copy and distribute the work. No one, including literary agents or editors, is allowed to copy, distribute, display, or sell copyrighted work without permission.

Some writers believe that mailing their manuscripts to themselves is a theft-protection plan against anyone who would steal their creative writing. The misconception is that an unopened envelope with a canceled postmark will have some legal status in the courtroom, but this is simply not the case.

Anyone who creates an original creative work may claim copyright. However—and this is unclear for many writers—you do not have to do anything to secure a copyright for your work. Once the words you are reading are down on paper or saved to your hard drive (fixed in a tangible form of expression), they are automatically protected by copyright and immediately become the property of the author. What you write today will be protected for the length of your life, plus at least 70 years.

So why would a writer formally copyright his or her projects if it’s not necessary? By filing for copyright protection, you would be entitled to legal fees in the event that you were sued regarding the work but won the case. Unless you’re worried about lawsuits, a formal copyright may be overkill.

If you do decide to register with the Copyright Office, you’ll find it an easy process. If you want the facts of your copyright on public record, take the time to officially register. You’ll need to pay a fee, fill out a simple form (depending on the type of work you are registering), and send a copy of your work. For the most current fee schedule and other how-to guidelines, call (202) 707-3000, or go to www.copyright.gov.

Learn more: What Is Considered Previously Published Writing?

Nothing in this article should be construed as legal advice: for questions about copyright law specifics, contact a lawyer. To find out how we can help you get your work published by managing the submission process, call Writer’s Relief today!

This article has been reprinted with the permission of Writer’s Relief, a highly recommended author’s submission service. We assist writers with preparing their submissions and researching the best markets. We have a service for every budget, as well as a free e-publication for writers, Submit Write Now! Visit our site today to learn more.

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Hey everyone, we have a writer’s Facebook Group that anyone is invited to join and share about their Sims. Sims of Color Stories was created to showcase the diversity in the Simming Community as well as provide a space for authors to meet readers, gain support, and meet new people.  It’s a drama-free and positive group where we all uplift each other. Come check it out! SOCS

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The Pleasure Principle and 80s Stunna Collection!

JANET SLAYS

Hello everyone, we at S.H.E are happy to present the latest collection celebrating our special edition 80’s issue. The Pleasure Principle Collection is inspired by Janet Jackson’s iconic 1987 video and featured on the album Control in 1986. We remember watching the video as little kids back in the day and seeing our older sisters trying to copy Janet’s moves. Great memories!

The second part of the collection is a collaboration between supermodel legend and designer Reagan Leeds-Powers and her mother, the quintessential 80s Diva Queen, Apollonia De-Sai. Make sure to read Apollonia’s article on the Pleasure Principle video and what it was like moving from Trinidad and Tobago to Miami in 1986 here at S.H.E!

Make Sure to Scroll Down

 

More information on the collection:

1CRPGGRUNDMC

TS4

80s Stunna Collection

Pleasure Principle Crop Top Tee and Short Sleeved Tee. Pleasure Principle Pants w/ knee pads. This collection was inspired by Miss Jackson if you’re nasty’s outfit in the PP video.

Crop Top 2 Variants. T-shirt 2 Variants. Pants 3 Variants

Model is wearing an accessory jean jacket by Marigold, similar to what Janet wore in the video and the one that could fit over the mesh properly. You can get it on their blog here.


(Not all variants pictured)

Off Shoulder  Crop Top 17 Variants

Denim Skirt 12 Variants

Acc Jean Jacket 3 Variants (found in rings)

Panties 4 Variants

Leather Pants 11 Variants (City Living Needed for the Leather Pants)

Meshes Needed Marigold Crop Top T-shirtPuresims Ringer TeeSimpleSimmer Acc Jean JacketBlue8White CropTop

Thank you!

Some of the bracelets shown are part of the Jem and The Holograms Collection Found Here at S.H.E

The tube tops are part of the Dynasty Collection at Reign

Fishnets are also apart of the Jem Collection

Do not upload, or claim as your own. Link back with credit.

Download at S.H.E

Credit to EA for the mesh. Textures by me, edited by me.

Other cc used, newluxurioussims4, miss blue, and madlen, thank you!

 

THANK YOU, EVERYONE!

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Tutorial: Using Liquify in Photoshop to Correct Jagged Edges

Hello all! This is a quick tutorial to fix some of those sharp edges on the Sim body that often happens when taking poses.

I wanted to make a quick tut (and assumes you know how to use PS) to show how I got these jagged edges on Parminder look smooth for her cover. My tut is very very basic. I’m not going over the other methods I used to edit Parminder’s pics at this time, but I will make a tut in the future.

 

GO FROM THIS

TO THIS

Open your file in PS.

First, make a duplicate of your background layer. Hide it.

Go to Filter-Liquify

This box will open. You can see your brush presets. Here is where you would adjust the setting according to your liking.

Position your brush near the point you want to correct. Pull the mouse in towards the Sim body.

Same process for the knees

Same process for the shoulder. Depending on what part I am wanting to correct, I adjust my brush size accordingly.

Not perfect, but this was a rush job, not the pic I used for the cover. You can see the gist of what I’m doing here. Her pointy shoulder is now more round.

Bottom line, mess around with the brush size to your liking, change whatever you don’t like. Practice makes perfect. Happy Simming!

 

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Quick and Dirty Cut Out Tut in GIMP

This is a simple quick tut on cutting out Sims in GIMP. This is not how I prefer to cut out my Sims. I prefer Photoshop and I prefer to pose my Sims against a chroma green screen. The pen tool in PS or the path tool in GIMP is best for a clean cut out, especially if your Sim is not on a solid background. PS has more tools to help get random unwanted colors out as well. I have not cut out a Sim in GIMP in a long time, but this is just a quick tool because GIMP is free and cool and has some useful features. I will make a longer tut for cutting out Sims with the pen and path tools for PS and GIMP in the future. Happy Simming.