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stickpenalties

@stickpenalties.blorbo.social.ap.brid.gy

writer (fanfic + original), playful sadist, thriving autist, professional and amateur computer tormentor recently mostly: pro wrestling, Blue Jays baseball […] 🌉 bridged from ⁂ blorbo.social/@stickpenalties, follow @ap.brid.gy to interact

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stickpenalties @stickpenalties.blorbo.social.ap.brid.gy · 09/05/2026

anyway,

dril drunk driving tweet edited to read "stacey penalty on curl may allow a lot of goals but it also makes me laugh so it's impossible to say if it's bad or not"

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stickpenalties @stickpenalties.blorbo.social.ap.brid.gy · 18/04/2026

showed this pic to my girlfriend and she said "the lesbian Pietà" (image source: x.com/princepvma/status/20216939164…)

pro wrestlers Anita Vaughan and Safire Reed in the ring during a match. Anita has one knee on the mat and her other foot planted, and Safire is draped belly-up over her thigh with eyes closed and head tipped back. Anita's hand is almost but not quite touching the back of Safire's head, as if she's about to either cradle her tenderly or grab a fistful of her hair

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stickpenalties @stickpenalties.blorbo.social.ap.brid.gy · 27/11/2025

@tellingetienne.bsky.social the holiday market here opened this week and I got a HAND-FELTED WREATH WITH A LITTLE DEER ON IT! hung it up in the entryway opposite the front door so it's the first thing I see when I walk in, and it's doing wonders for making the place feel like a home

a felted "wreath" about the diameter of a dinner plate. the wreath part is cream-colored with a design of brown twigs and green leaves wrapping around it, and the space in the middle of the wreath has a felted deer, brown with little white spots, its head turned to look out at the viewer

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stickpenalties @stickpenalties.blorbo.social.ap.brid.gy · 25/03/2025

I love you Ferren Areios!!! (excerpts from chapter 34 of Avenging Son by Guy Haley) #warhammer40k

War was what Areios had been made for. He advanced quickly up a wide corridor towards the command deck main ingress, dodging into cover every dozen yards and covering his men as they moved up behind him. His gun moved precisely to match the motion of his legs so that his aim was perfect. His armour systems helped him, highlighting the wretches who came at him in dull orange outlines, showing them to be little threat. Bright, info-rich pictograms hung around their heads, showing that most had been mind-slaved. Though they could not harm him, though they were not objectively guilty of treachery, they were the foe and they had to die. For each one he spared only a single bolt, switching with inhuman smoothness from target to target. Bolt motors flashed brightly in his thermal imaging systems. The deaths of his foes were impressionistic splots of short-lived white on the deep blues and greens of the ship’s deck.

He moved, he killed, but he did not think. Areios went into battle as a passenger in his own mind. For millennia, the hypnomats of Belisarius Cawl had reworked his being. Until that point Areios had thought of himself as an extension of the boy he had been. When he went into battle on the Blood King he saw that for a lie.

He moved so fast, his own limbs working without his input, and he killed without compunction or hesitation. He had undergone thousands of simulations. He had been sparring since he had woken on the Zar Quaesitor, and there had been the battle on the Ideos, but this was the first time he had killed something that was truly alive. Every one of his foes was a person, even the servitors had been, once. Each had their own thoughts, desires, dreams and fears. Many would be slaves taken from Imperial worlds. He killed them just the same. Any moral objection he might have had as a child was gone.

War was what he was. He was a living embodiment of mankind’s destructive impulse.

Ferren was still there, but he was a vestige, clinging on to the shadowy parts of his mind like a ghost, wordlessly watching, and he thought again of the unliving, dishonoured dead of his home.

He caught a servitor in the throat with the blade of his left forearm, flipped it over his extended left leg, drew back his sword and decapitated it before it hit the ground. The neck glowed with the contact, and the skull exploded. There were dozens more, pouring out of side doors lit by hellish forge glows, like ants coming out of their nest. As he slew them, as his brothers slew them, he had the awful thought that he was not so different to them. He had not wanted to be taken. He had been snatched from his home and his people, and made into a tool for war. He had no control, it seemed then, over what he did. They were all human bullets for a war that would never end.

He filed the idea away for later consideration.

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stickpenalties @stickpenalties.blorbo.social.ap.brid.gy · 07/03/2025

Scribus's "Standardized Rock Colours" preinstalled color set has captivated me

a list of a bunch of natural-looking colors, most of which are rather dull. they have names like "Grayish Olive" and "Moderate Reddish Brown"

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stickpenalties @stickpenalties.blorbo.social.ap.brid.gy · 24/02/2025

Found out just now that the official position of US Customs & Border Protection is that their facial recognition program—you know, the one that no one who isn't a US citizen is permitted to opt out of—technically isn't a surveillance program because it's not a […] [Original post on blorbo.social]

Our traveler identity verification process is not a surveillance program. Surveillance programs involve cameras that are hidden and out of sight, capturing video of people when they are in public spaces and completely unaware or informed. Our process is out in the open and signage in clear language is displayed where all passengers and travelers can see them and stay informed about the process and technology.

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