#and allows me to actually work things out over time instead of starting from scratch and having things be less grounded because of it

[sagemoderocklee]

me putting an easter egg into UR: i hope this isn’t too obvious. it’s not like it’s relevant to this fic or lile i expect anyone to know all my fics

also me when no one finds it: but the symbolism….

[carawenfiction]

So...remember how I said in that update post how I might MAYBE do a TSS rewrite and post it for free?

"Maybe" quickly turned into "definitely happening". Instead of making it outside of COG, however, the finished product that's already published will be updated with the rewritten files. This means that if you've already purchased TSS through COG, you'll have the rewritten version available. That's how I originally intended to go about things with the old rewrite and is the better option here to avoid potential complications.

I've been in contact with COG and they've let me know that I'd be able to do what I have in mind even if this results in a different wordcount and very different scenes/plot points and a different kind of main story.

I realize that this announcement is probably pretty jarring since my last post stated that I wasn't sure about doing a rewrite but that I wanted to if I had enough time. After making that post, I started creating an outline for the rewrite mostly for fun...and one thing kind of led to another. I want you all to know that I wouldn't be making this post at all if I wasn't sure about this. It's because I've already begun the process and feel incredibly motivated and inspired that I can do this that I'm making this announcement.

This rewrite is not going to be like my old attempt at a rewrite, though. It's an entirely new one that I feel much more confident about.

So far I've written the outline for the rewrite and started reworking already existing scenes from chapter 1 as well some new ones. I'm happy to say that the difference between how the rewrite process felt years ago compared to now is like light and day. It seems like those years I've taken away from TSS were very healthy and helpful in giving me some distance and letting me figure out what kind of story I really want to tell.

My plan is to rewrite book 1 and then make 1 full continuation after that. Instead of a trilogy, it looks like this version of TSS will be 2 volumes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it'll be shorter than originally intended. I think it's more doable for me to rewrite the first book (starting from scratch while also using some already written scenes, since I've been assured I'm allowed to do so) and then make 1 complete continuation of it rather than trying to fill stuff out over 3 different entries, and I think it'll serve the plot and story as a whole to do it that way.

That being said, I fully understand that some - or most of you - might have trouble trusting my word after me failing to do the rewrite I wanted to years ago and not delivering a second book. That's completely fair. This time I'm not rushing things and I don't feel any pressure to do this. It's not something I do out of dislike for the original, but rather out of love for what it could be and what I could make it into, if that makes sense. I'm taking as much time as I need to and am not putting any pressure on myself to do this.

My other project takes priority right now so I can't dedicate all of my time to the rewrite, but I'm working on it when I have time over or get stuck. It's actually pretty nice to alternate between two different stories that have different settings and has helped a bit in avoiding writer's block.

Here are some differences between TSS and the TSS rewrite (most of the changes I made to the old rewrite no longer apply):

The rewrite will be told in second-person point of view ("you" instead of "I"). The reason for this is that when I first started TSS I was really unused to the second-person POV, but after having spent years in the IF space it's now the other way around. It'll make writing much easier for for me, and I hope it won't feel too jarring for people who are used to the first person POV.

The Shadowman and Jealene (now "J") will both be genderselectable just like the main cast. The Shadowman will be genderselectable later on, though - it might sound strange but I think it makes sense when you have more context. J plays a bigger role than they did in the original and their personality is a bit different in this version.

Some side characters (such as most of the hideout) will be cut. This is because they felt really underdeveloped to me in the full game and didn't serve much of a purpose. Instead I'm focusing more on the main cast + a few key characters to ensure the story plot stays focused and you get more time to develop bonds of various kinds with the main cast instead.

The relationship system will look a bit different. Instead of bars showing a percentage of approval, I'll write a description of each character and what they think of you. The descriptions will shift when the character starts viewing you differently, whether that's due to rivalry, romance or friendship. My hope is that this will allow for a more nuanced relationship system/descriptions. I'll also adjust the options a bit to try and make choices more nuanced and am thinking of including the option of having ex. a heart next to a romantic choice for those who want to know for sure what they're getting into. The different responses (such as shy, flirty etc.) will stay but some of it will probably be reworked. Essentially what I want to do is allow for a wider range of MCs and how the characters respond to the MC.

The MC is going to have more agency in certain ways. I've included something plot-relevant to the main character that can potentially change the dynamic between them and the group a bit, but it all depends on how you play it.

The tone might be somewhat different. Not entirely, of course, but there are some parts of the old TSS where the characters sound a bit younger than they are supposed to be, where tension and seriousness has been sacrificed in favor of humor and where some of the interactions aren't the way I would prefer for them to be. I've gotten older since writing TSS (gasp) and my tastes have changed, as has my writing to some degree. In order to do a rewrite I'd have to write in a way that's most enjoyable for me and that I feel best fits the story I want to tell. That's not to say that there isn't going to be silliness etc., but I'm adjusting the tone somewhat and putting more time and effort into descriptions and the writing overall.

The narrative will be different, even though the overall story itself will mostly stay the same. I'm keeping a lot of elements and also aim to introduce new ones that I believe will strengthen the story and make it a more enjoyable game overall.

I think those are the main differences I can give away right now without spoiling anything. I'll make sure to post updates when I've got more to share! Once the demo for the rewrite is finished, I'll post it on the forums and link it in an intro post on here.

Thank you all for sticking by me throughout the years. I hope you'll find some comfort in returning to this world, as well as new things to ponder and excite you in this new upcoming version of the story <3

The Azuridia and Quaiel chibis are done by the amazing madebysalfi

[shaunamilfman]

Dating Rhiannon Lewis HC's

pairing: Rhiannon Lewis x reader note: she's my pathetic, desperate, clingy gf so get your own.

Throws out an ily on the third date and tries so pathetically hard to play it off. “I love youR SHIRT. It's such a nice shirt.” Before running off to the bathroom to hide. She's so smooth. Pacing back and forth in front of the mirror for ten minutes before she manages to gather enough courage to come back to you and pretend nothing happened.

Keeps score of who’s texting who first and how often. It doesn’t stop her from still texting first, though.

Cannot ever get her hands out of your hair. She's so fucking gentle about it, caressing your hair and gently scratching at your scalp with her nails. Won't go near your hair on her bad days. Running her fingers along the back of your neck instead of your scalp. Fingers flexing like she wants to touch it but won't. Just doesn't trust herself not to hurt you. 

Always makes the house so fucking cold when you sleep over so you're forced to cuddle with her for warmth. Her ass is running around the whole house opening windows and creating drafts in the twenty minutes she has in between your text and when you arrive. Oh, also, all the blankets are in the wash but hers. So sad, guess you'll just have to share. Mysteriously, all of your long-sleeve shirts have disappeared too. Weird. 

Makes you do those stupid couple quizzes in magazines.

Rhiannon “We have food at home” Lewis. Once the initial excitement about having people to go out with dies down, she comes to an important realization: the more the two of you are out, the more you're exposed to dating options that aren't her. That's just not allowed. Doing anything and everything she can to keep you at home short of telling you to get your ass back inside. 

God forbid you try to go out somewhere without her. Why would you need to go see your friends while she's stuck late at work? Who's going to walk with her to the bus station? She starts asking so many questions about it, sounding so hurt that you eventually cave and don’t go. It’s not blatant manipulation, not when it’s you, but it’s usually enough to have you rethinking the whole thing anyway.

So jealous, but won’t directly say anything about it. Just starts holding onto your hand tightly with this strained look on her face.

She always misplaces your things when you're going out, or just if it suits her better. Your car keys? She hasn't seen them. The shirt you were going to wear that she doesn't much care for? You probably lost it. Here, she found her personal favorite of your shirts, though. You’ll find the other shirt mysteriously hung back up neatly in your closet the next day, like nothing ever happened.

Rhiannon wearing your shirts when she knows you're looking for them to entice you to stay home. Laying back on the bed, pouting up at you. Long sleeves that her hands just barely peek out of. “What, are you looking for this?” Making you give her a kiss if you want your shirt back to go to work. Maybe even two if she’s feeling greedy.

Tries to fix all your problems for you the second you mention them to her.

So incredibly clingy. If you're with her, you're with her. Sitting on the counter, talking to you while you cook or while you take a shower. You step out, and she's holding the towel out for you. Makes a show of breathing hot hair on it and pretends she was keeping it warm for you. You wake up every time with all four of her limbs wrapped around you, no matter how the two of you actually fell asleep.

She texts you about the weather all the time just as an excuse to talk to you.

So incredibly sensitive. Bottom lip trembling and tearing up because you said you weren't sure if you'd be able to make drinks with her coworkers tonight. Her ass trying to play it cool all like, “That's fine 🥺.“

Detailed plans for any outing she takes you on.

She plays those like little girlfriend games all the time. The like, "Would you love me if I was x, if I did y, if z happened?” Just hours and hours of it. It starts off so innocent and teasing, but it ends up getting really serious and real specific. “Would you still love me if I, like, killed someone? Accidentally. Hypothetically, of course.”

Gets really drunk one night and starts trying to get a concrete list of breakupable offenses. Pulls out this like color-coded Excel file of info with terms and conditions and shit. She takes this girlfriend stuff seriously, bro. Debating the details of it like she’s making a contract.

Stalks your socials all the time.

I just know Rhiannon pulls those like "ten tricks to keep a man" shit they have in those magazines on you. Goes down it in a list deciding what you react the best to. Tries maintaining eye contact for a freaky long time until you finally call her out on it. Insists that it’s not what she’s doing, but you realize she’s hidden all her magazines from you the next day.

Double, triple, quadruple texter. You better not fall asleep on her, or her ass will be knocking on the door within a few hours.

She likes to surprise you with dates, but she’s so horrifically bad at it. She gets nervous and ends up asking you a billion different questions about things you like, that by the time you get to the date you’ve basically already planned it all for yourself anyway. Rhiannon looks so proud of herself that you can’t bear to say anything about it.

You catch sight of her search history over her shoulder one night, and it’s like twenty variations of “What to do on a date.” / “What to say on a date.” / “Where to go to dinner in…”

[blueberri-blu]

Hi hi! Can I request Rise Donnie seeing his s/o wearing a "I <3 nerds" shirt?

Hiii!! Of course! I love it when y'all send requests! At first, I was thinking of making headcanons... But then my mind came up with a much funnier idea, so I present to you this Oneshot (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠)

I <3 Nerds ✯

[Rise]Donnie x gn!reader

Slightly Suggestive

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

April gifted you the shirt as a gag gift, a white shirt with black writing that said "I <3 Nerds"

It had been sitting in the back of your closet, waiting for a good use for it. You were always teasing him, whether it was moving some of his things only a couple centimeters, or sitting in his lap while he's working.

You randomly remembered the shirt while getting dressed and thought, why not?, you didn't think you'd actually get a reaction from him.

So, you wore the t shirt and some comfy pants and went down to the lair.

You said hi to Mikey and Leo who were in the living room, and waved to Raph who was training, and made a beeline to the lab

When you opened the door and walked in, you noticed Donnie was standing and working on his jetpack. You walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder

He turned to you, giving you his full attention, "Oh, hello dearest, I don't remember you notifying me of your visit?" "Sorry Don, it's just my schedule cleared up, so I thought I'd come see you!" Your happy grin made him relax a bit. "Well in that case, allow me to finish up here, and I will accompany you to the kitchen for some pizza" "aaaaaalrighty don" he quirked an eyebrow at your elongated word, a clear sign you were up to something

While he was working, he kept shooting you suspicious glances, almost as if to tell you to fess up what it was you were up to

But you stayed quiet, albeit, grinning like the Cheshire cat, but quiet. Once he finished, Donnie walked over to you, and gave you a hug, allowing his head to fall onto your shoulder.

"Doooooniiiieeeee" oh no he thought, what did you do... "Yes, my love" "Did you see my shirt?" He looked at you curiously, then looking down, reading it, taking a second to process it, and saying "Oh, *amused chuckle* well now, so you love Nerds, hm?" "It's what the shirt says" "hmph well, it's completely inaccurate"

You had seen Donnie jealous a couple times, he'd normally end up with his hand on your waist, and him telling you about all the amazing things he's done, but this was a feeling you couldn't quite place

Donnie grabbed your waist, hoisted you up onto his desk, standing between your legs. He reached over you, your face all too close to his plastron, grabbing a black permanent marker. He proceeded to scratch out the "Nerds" part of your shirt while saying "I am not a nerd, I am a genius, there is quite the difference dearest"

After scratching out "nerd" he wrote "My Genius, Donnie" on it , only in purple marker instead. And since he already had you here, he might as well take advantage.

You were blushing, definitely not thinking he'd react this way. Donnie closed the distance between you two. He kissed you until your lips were red and puffy, then started to trail kisses down your neck. Once he reached the base of your neck, he stopped, and he whispered "Do you want to be mine?" you were putty in his hands, too lost in how much affection he was giving you, you just nodded. He proceeded to leave little bite marks on your shoulder, and then licking and kissing them better.

Once your shoulder was covered in Donnie's bites, he pulled away, satisfied with his work. "I suggest we hurry if you still want pizza, surely Leo will have no issue finishing a box by himself, My Love" you were still a bit hazed from his onslaught, but followed anyway.

You will be getting more of these shirts for him to "correct"

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

I loved this idea! Maybe I went a little overboard, but... I regret nothing. I really hope you enjoyed it! I love y'all <3

[like-sunshine-and-gunpowder]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65613298

though i burn (how could i fall)

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Yelena Belova

Fandom: Thunderbolts (2015), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Word count: 5,440

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Character Study, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing

Summary: A quiet moment in the Watchtower, where a dream and a dance are shared between two teammates.

——————————————————————————————————

"If the wind turns, if I hit a squall, allow the ground to find it’s brutal way to me”

——————————————————————————————————

There truly was no reason for him to still be living at the Tower other than this: Robert Reynolds was a hazard. Or a liability. Whatever technical term you preferred. He’d even heard an operative call him “Yelena’s pet”.

That last one was almost endearing, if it wasn’t just a bit pathetic.

Bob tilted back another Lithium pill- the second one for the day- and got started on his tea. Pots clanking and echoing along the big empty living quarters, like a depressive reminder. The New Avengers were on a mission, investigating some new flying object that had just entered the atmosphere, saving the world, being useful. Not... well, being a bum on borrowed time.

God, he felt like he was back in Florida, playing the 'unemployed-friend-who-dropped-out-of-college' part, all over again. All that was missing were the copious amounts of Mountain Dew bottles and scary drug dealers at his door asking for their money back. At least the weather was nicer here, where he could wear his long sleeves most of the time.

There was a tremor on his left hand- it wasn’t withdrawal, couldn’t be withdrawal, it had been so long ago- and the sound of a kettle boiling.

His other, also shaking hand, flew to his wrist. Was it just his disturbed perception or was it getting darker? Bob froze. Out of fear, or guilt, as the kettle continued to scream at him for a while, like a continuous omen.

Maybe it was just the new medication. Because, Dr. Briones had already described that it was a known side effect, to-

“You should probably get that,” a familiar raspy voice warned him from behind.

He hadn’t even heard her coming, though her footsteps were loud and intentional.

Bob turned to see Yelena in her suit. Not bloodied, not stained, no scratches, no cuts, no visible bruises and the mere sight of her (safe, unwounded) felt like a weight immediately slid off his shoulders. World's fastest massage.

She continued to stare at him in her usual furrowed brow, blue under-eye makeup. They stayed there for a while until she cocked her head sideways, as if not wanting to speak up again and pointed to the stove with her thumb.

“Ah, hm,” as if electrocuted into action, Bob suddenly remembered how to move again. Turning off the heat, he tried grabbing onto the now-burning handles of a very hot kettle. His fault for wanting to do things the vintage way instead of opting for the automatic ones. “Shit.”

He drew his hands back quickly, looking for a trustworthy dishtowel. Or any cloth, really-

“Here,” Yelena sprung beside him like an apparition, in a way that nearly put Ava to shame. “Gloves,” she explained, naturally.

He chuckled. It was kind of weird how much humor she could pack into so little words.

Honestly, laughter came easy when it came to Yelena. But that was very, very dangerous. See, if Bob had learned anything from having to deal with his emotions it was that laughing too much was usually a bad sign. The first indicator of a trajectory towards the upper polarity of his mental disorder.

There’s a certain kind of melancholy about having to worry when you actually feel content, though.

It was kind of a miserable existence, to have to go in for mandated check-ins because you’re feeling good. He was sure most people didn’t have to go for late night visits with their doctor because they felt okay for once in their goddamned life- but, he remembered, that was always how it started anyways. The manic episodes, the illusions of grandeur, they all started with just... feeling a little better than usual. And were all promptly followed by drug benders, self-harm, near death experiences and immense credit card debt.

The thing about his illusions of grandeur were this: they used to be illusions and now they were not. (Now, he was just wasting time.)

Still, Yelena smiled at him too, with just the corners of her mouth, and for only the tiniest of seconds. But Bob noticed.

He always noticed.

“Do you, hm,” he started, already pouring her a cup of chamomile tea. It supposedly helps you with sleep. “Want… some?”

“Doesn’t feel like I had any saying in it but okay,” she took the white teacup from his hands, fingers briefly meeting. He instantly missed the warmth.

Her body moved away from his, from her place near the kitchen counter and sat down in the common area’s big lounger.

“What’s with the lights being turned off? Very…” Yelena pointed to the ceiling, seemingly searching for a word, finally settling on: “…Noir. Yes?”

Bob laughed again. Damn it. There she goes, with that dry effortless humor of hers. Truth be told, he hadn’t even realized that it was already dark outside, the late afternon sky was diffult to miss when most their walls were made of glass. But, look, time got kind of hard to keep up with when you had so much not to do.

“Uh, yeah. Thought it’d give off a romantic vibe for my late afternoon tea, you know?”

Yelena scoffed before taking a sip. White porcelain, hitting her lips in a movement that made it impossible to look away from.

(It was only after she gave him her characteristic ‘not-so-bad’ pout that Bob was able to let out the breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding.)

“Well,” Yelena said flatly, kicking her boots off with intensity and crossing her legs on the sofa, “if you wanted to be romantic, there’s a candle on second drawer. Near the sink.”

There was no way that was true. Bob moved to check, rustled around and, to his surprise, found an old candle. Right next to a .45 caliber. Huh. Better not to question if it’s even loaded.

“Wow. One, singular, dusty candle,” Bob picked it up, curiously. “Do you want me to light that up then?”

He had asked without thinking. He didn’t mean to make it romantic for her. Well, maybe he meant to. But he didn’t mean for her to think that he wanted her to think that-

Yelena simply nodded.

Bob suppressed a shaking sigh and brought the old candle next to her. Sitting close, but also not that close. He feared he would never really get the distance right– perpetually afraid to fly too close to Sun with his wax-made wings. Whenever he was too close to Yelena Belova, it felt overly confident; his skin felt rough and his breathing got too out of control. But, when he sat too far away, it felt purposedly avoidant, and he would ache to go near, heart pounding too loud to hear her sometimes. Always a lose-lose situation with her, truly.

Her knees moved, then, accidentally touching his and sending tiny energizing shocks all over. She was reaching for his book, Sylvia Plath’s ‘The Bell Jar’, that laid forgotten underneath a couch cushion. She looked over the summary quickly, pulled his bookmark without care, and opened it up on a random page instead.

Her brow furrowed, and, without tearing her eyes from the book, she’d asked:

“So… are you going to light it?”

Ah. Shit. He’d gotten distracted by her again. It was a daily occurrence by now. Bob blamed it on the lack of stimuli around the house. Afterall there were only so many novels to read and so little blonde assassins to stare at, all day.

Sometimes, it felt as if, looking at her, it could maybe be the last time he'd ever get to. So he took his time, whenever he could, memorizing each line that graced the whole of her.

Sometimes, her face, to him, already looked like a memory.

“Oh, right,” Bob ran a hand through his hair. “It’s, hm, I don’t… have a lighter. Or- or a matchbook, for that matter.”

She clicked her tongue at him, in a way that almost sounded like when she spoke Russian with Alexei. He somehow knew she was holding back a joke about how a former meth addict didn't have a lighter on him.

In one swift move, Yelena pulled a lighter from one of her infinite pant-pockets and gently deposited it in his left hand. It was one of those tiny, red ones they used to sell in newsstands. Bob briefly wondered if it was even hers. If it had sentimental value or just strictly tactical purpose. He wondered if she used to smoke.

There were flashes, images of her flooding his psyche. Moments that he wasn’t sure were her memories, or that he had simply created right then and there. Yelena smoking a blunt alone in her apartment. Lighting up a cigarette as she cleaned up her gun. A bomb fuse sparkling along, all the way to a-

Bob took the small lighter then, before the images drowned him in. Between them, the now-lit candle spread its miniscule warmth, illuminating Yelena’s soft features. It made her eyes glisten in a way he’d never seen. It was… mesmerizing.

Romantic, even. One might say.

With annoyingly shaking hands, Bob moved his knitting gear out of the way and carefully placed the candle on the center table near them. Using a few drops of wax and a Chinese takeout box as a makeshift candleholder, Bob sat back and admired his work for a bit.

He turned to Yelena then, who was staring at him sideways. Studying him in the way she constantly did everything. Different from the way everybody else studied him, he mused, but still. Where everybody else always looked at him as if questioning when he was about to explode, Lena’s eyes always fell on him with a certain type of care that made it hard to even accept. Maybe she was just questioning when that timebomb timer would go off, just like the rest. But God, she did it much more nicely. As if she was tracing back every single layer of him whenever bright green eyes found dark blue. As if she wasn’t disgusted by what she found in her search.

He wasn’t sure what to say in these moments. Bob wasn’t sure of what to say most of the time – except when he was absolutely sure of what to say, which was “usually a problem”, or so his psychiatrists said. Fair enough, he supposed.

Still, he forced himself to make small talk.

“Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Oh,” she tore her examining eyes away from him and back to the book. “Doing clean up, they will probably be out for a while.”

He should ask what exactly was being cleaned up. Why she, of all people, looked remarkably clean today. Hell, he should ask why she was suddenly so interested in Sylvia Plath instead of the potential aliens they might encounter. Instead, Bob just let out a simple:

“Ah… I see.”

And let silence fall upon the two of them again, with a disturbing lack of something to do with his hands.

He couldn’t particularly continue to read his book anymore; it belonged to Yelena’s gloved hands now. To be fair, everything he had, truly, belonged to her. He owed his heart, his mind, his peace to the 5’3” blonde sitting by his side (even if she did lie to everybody, saying she was 5’5”). The one person whose short legs, he didn’t mind finding, were about to find their comfortable way into his lap.

His breath picked up as she laid down on the couch with a low grunt, book still in hands.

He was staring again. Trying to cool down his racing mind and even faster heartbeat. God, maybe he should find something to do. Perhaps a job.

She just looked so- grown, every so often. Bob knew she was technically five years older than she looked due to being Snapped, (“So, does that mean Bobby’s into older women?" Walker had openly asked around the breakfast table once, and Bob had wanted to properly drown into his bowl of Wheaties in response) but there’s also an air of maturity for her that couldn’t simply be chalked up to chronological age.

“Yelena?”

The blonde looked up in acknowledgement, no other movements or sounds needed to let him know that she was listening.

There was clearly no need to be nervous, you know. It was just a simple request. Just out of boredom, really. And he was, essentially, trapped against the couch by an assassin, at the moment.

Bob cleared his throat before speaking up again.

“Can you, uh… read out loud for me?”

Yelena obliged. He didn’t know why, but she would always indulge him like that.

——————————————————————————————————

He didn’t particularly notice when exactly he dozed off. But Bob did realize he was now asleep- dreaming, even.

(It was a skill he had developed long ago, back in the good ol’ substance abuse days, to realize when he wasn’t entirely awake.)

In the near distance, though still in a somewhat distorted version of the Watchtower, Yelena was wearing his favorite Joy Division shirt, three sizes too big for her, humming a symphony he’d never heard before as she stirred something in a boiling pot. The T-shirt looked enormous on her, almost as big as a dress, while, at the same time, being perfectly tailored to her curves.

In the fake kitchen, she smiled at him much easier. A smile far wider than he had ever seen in real life, far brighter than he deserved. Perhaps that’s why he clocked in so fast that it had to be imaginary.

There was a mess of pans, tomato sauce and off-brand brandy along the counter, a container of milk and now, the mysterious big pot. What were they even supposed to be making in there?

Bob cautiously made his way closer and closer to Yelena, who continued to almost sing.

She then, wordlessly took the wooden spoon in her hands, blew at it for a few seconds and fed it directly into his mouth. Like he was a baby or something.

But to be fair, whatever food it was- was delicious. It tasted like sautéed beef and sour cream and– was it stroganoff? It didn’t taste like the very few stroganoffs he had ever had in his life, there was something about it that made it different.

“Ah!”

He must’ve made some type of face because she immediately burst out in laughter. God, he wanted to see that someday. Actually, truly, see that.

Yelena turned away from the stove then, hands against the counter, body towards him. An ache took hold of his heart at the sight, for whatever reason.

“Очень вкусно, да?” Yelena asked him, matter-of-factly. And she looked up at him like he understood it, too. “Папин Строгонафф все же лучше. Не говори ему.”

Bob’s head was spinning. What was she saying? There was a word there he was sure he'd heard before. Actually he had to have heard all those words before in order to dream like this, no?

So, what was-

Her cold hands moved from the counter, choosing to be placed against his neck. Bob tensed up, because she then inched her whole waist against him. That’s how some of his dreams went, he wasn't going to lie. But there was something about her grip- something about her eyes that looked and felt very different.

It was still her, but it was much less distorted. Much more concrete. The air going into his lungs felt conscious and- and heavy.

The light emanating from her skin felt almost scorching to the touch.

“Расслабься, Боб,” she ordered. That was his name there. She said his name.

What was she saying? What was she saying? What was she saying?

Why was he dreaming of her speaking in Russian like that? I mean, it was endearing and all. But still, something about it was almost overwhelming.

In between spinning stars and neurons firing up, dream-Yelena confidently placed her head against his shoulder and began to sing what sounded like a lullaby.

His body moving on his own, Bob carefully let his large hands hover against her waist, before finally deciding to rest them there. In a few seconds more they were swaying, in a clumsy rhythm, imperfectly tailored to him. Her hips swung against him with the expectation of the ballerina he knew her to be, and he struggled to match it.

He could get lost in it, if he allowed himself - it was just REM sleep, after all, even he was apparently region-locked in Russia for any reason. Bob allowed himself to touch her round cheek, slightly forcing her head up to look at him. There was something in those forest green eyes, something Bob couldn’t quite place, couldn’t read.

An alarm went off inside him, screaming that giving in would be a bad idea. If you put water in 300-degree heat, you later find it boiling. You give Robert Reynolds hope, you later find the Void.

But it was fine, this was just play pretend.

She touched her forehead to his and closed her eyes then. Her grip on him tightened, like she thought he would disappear- which was very funny considering she was the one who wasn’t real, she was the one about to disappear from him. Bob wanted to drink the moment in; wanted to forget it was all inside his head. Maybe he should allow himself to get lost in it, just this one time. Maybe.

“Вот это романтично,” she’d stopped singing to speak. Absolutely no idea what it meant though.

But there was her scent there, that intoxicating mixture of sweat and the Salonpas gel patches she always had on. There was her hair, with her roots, growing from dark red, to blonde to almost fried platinum. There was the fabric of his shirt– her shirt now, he supposed– a bit wrinkly, yet soft to the touch. And there was her tender grin, (so real so real so real), who grew when she approached.

His breath was wavering, too close to hers. The heat emanating from her was that of a million exploding suns.

He wanted to kiss her. He always did. Except, in that moment there was an unmistakable clarity: she wanted him to.

But, still, he should ask this version of Yelena first, anyways, since it was the polite thing to do. Or, at the very least, make conversation. Ask her about the dinner they were supposedly making, or whatever.

“Aren’t we about to burn up the kitchen, Yelena?”

Yelena’s eyes snapped open. Her entire frame froze, she blinked once, then twice- and with her sudden shift, so did the entire room. Everything around them completely stopped still. The crumpling of the fire on the stove, the ticking of the clock against the wall; all agonizingly silent.

This, Bob realized, wasn’t his creation. He was an intruder.

"Bob...?"

It wasn’t his dream, after all.

——————————————————————————————————

Long ago, Bob had been told that with each unmedicated manic episode, parts of his brain would be getting fried to a point of no return. He used to think that it meant, little by little, someday he wouldn’t be able to tell what was real and what wasn’t.

Well, now he wondered if his entire brain had effectively melted beyond repair.

They both had woken up with a start, simultaneously, as if the realization had grabbed them by the shoulders and shouted. Their previously intertwined fingers separating in the quickest instant.

Yelena jumped backwards, up from the couch and landed perfectly on her feet, just as Bob was only able to put his hands up in surrender.

It felt worse than walking in on her trauma rooms, somehow. God, it even felt worse than that time he accidently walked in on her and Ava changing uniforms.

“I- I didn’t mean to,” he flinched, not able to look at her directly.

She didn’t dignify that with an answer. Bob’s leg started stimming, prompting him to jump upwards. He should try harder.

“It’s… um, it’s probably because of the whole…” Bob didn’t want to say it, but he pointed towards his temple. “…Thing, you know? I swear it wasn’t on purpose, or anything.”

Yelena’s face contorted in quiet shame. He knew that look by now– it was the exact same as when Alexei showed him her high school pictures last week. Oh, Bob fucked up.

He fucked up big time.

He shouldn’t have acknowledged it. Now the cat was out of the bag and roaming around the uncomfortable silence freely.

“I’m sorry, Yelena.”

He wanted to physically slap himself. Shut up, shut up, shut up-

“It’s… okay.”

Was all she offered him, before turning on her heels and heading for the elevator. Leaving Bob alone in the very real Watchtower, fifty-one stories high in the sky, his copy of ‘The Bell Jar’ left forgotten on the floor and a blown-out candle dying out in the middle of his heart.

——————————————————————————————————

It was midnight and Robert couldn’t sleep.

Perhaps due to the leftover adrenaline of earlier, still finding its way around his bloodstream, or perhaps because he had, in fact, taken a nap a few hours before.

He’d paced around his room aimlessly, searched for beef stroganoff recipes and reviews on YouTube, took his 3mg of Zolpidem, stared at the ceiling, tried meditating.

It was 1 A.M. and Robert couldn’t sleep.

He couldn’t go back to his book anymore; every word on it would be tainted with… that whole thing. Yeah, no, he shouldn’t. He started at the ceiling some more. Put on white noise. Counted sheep.

Looked back at the clock and it was still 2 A.M. Oh, so now time decided to slow down for him, yeah?

Bob sighed heavily, irritably pushing himself out of bed. He knew the whole insomnia drill by now, better to admit defeat already. Better to go and do something useful, instead of getting swallowed up by the closing walls of his bedroom.

After trading his pajamas for workout gear (careful not to even look at the Joy Division T-shirt thrown in the drawer), he went down the elevator and into the training grounds. He had hoped working out would get him tired enough to go back to sleep eventually. Or, at the very least, stop his mind from wandering back to dyed blonde hair and sweet foreign melodies.

The elevator dinged loudly, pulling him back to the present and out into the fitness center. Though, just as Bob stepped out, yawning mechanically, he could hear it. Just as his eyes landed on her figure.

She’d already spotted him by then, straightening out the fighting posture she held against the poor exercise mannequin.

So, not only had he invaded her very private subconscious- now he was invading her personal gym time too. Greeeeat. What an awesome guy he was.

The doors closed behind him, as his brain struggled to come up with what to do. Would it be more or less awkward to just moonwalk back into his floor?

More, he thought with certainty. Definitely more.

“Um…” Bob mumbled, trying to look at anywhere else, but at her direction. Somehow looking at her gaze now felt like staring straight into the Sun. And he was sure his face was just bright red and embarrassingly numb as an entire day without sunscreen too.

There was another beat, and then Yelena offered, like an olive branch to his nerves:

“Want to spar?”

They had done it before, of course, every Thursday, 8 P.M. sharp. No delays tolerated ("10 push-ups for each minute you're late, yes?"). She always kicked his ass brutally into the ground, and he knew she was still massively holding back.

(“Why are we even doing this? It can’t be useful to you,” Bob had wondered once. She chuckled ironically, already posing for another round. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Bob.”)

“It’s still Wednesday,” he tried, though he hesitantly took a few advancing small steps. Her gravity was already pulling him without much effort.

“Technically,” she started, picking up and moving the dummy out from the training arena. “It is already Thursday.”

Well, he knew she hated tardiness, but this was something else. Yelena cleaned her hands against one other, clapped once and motioned for him to 'come closer'. Her neck moving from side to side, in stretching and preparation.

She waited approximately one second before she landed her first punch. Bob actually managed to block the second attack, his head brutally hitting the floor after the fourth.

Round two was even quicker.

Round three shouldn’t even be able to count, Yelena hadn’t even waited for him to put his guard up, already having him by the legs and down on the hard pad in a single motion.

“Come on, Bob. Pay attention.”

He did. He tried to.

Round five had a bit more of an attempt. Now, he managed to land a kick against her ribcage- which turned to be a bad idea, in the end. Since she used his airborne leg to throw him up and away from her. Very, very bad idea.

“No distracting,” she cautioned, in a low tone.

Round seven started by her circling around him, like a lioness. He blocked her when she launched at him and she smirked momentarily, turning to try and trip him. He dodged it miraculously, trying to go for a punch- only to find her left hand closing in on his fist and twisting it. Bob felt a blow to the right side of his abdomen, then another. And another. His forearm moved to block it, his feet losing their stance momentarily.

No, he recognized it too late.

Yelena had both her hands on his shoulder, swinging him like a ragdoll. Bob blinked and her whole body had thrown him backwards into the familiar ground. Still, from that angle he saw something he had never seen before: an opening. A misplaced stance.

It was probably testing him, but he took the bait- and successfully took her down by the ankles, sweeping her off her feet in the most literal sense. A loud thud landing beside him.

If she was surprised by it, she didn’t show it. Already moving to be on top of him in a millisecond, with both thighs connecting him at the hip, holding his wrists against the hard training cushion.

“That was a dirty move, Bob,” and he almost apologized before she continued. “Good job.”

The grip hurt so much it could probably draw blood. His back was killing him. His head was pulsating from the previous falls. His breathing was jacked, but then again, he noticed- so was hers.

The Salonpas and sweat hit his nostrils from close proximity. She rendered him immobile promptly, straddling him with ease, but it’s not like he wished to move either way. Part of him wanted to stay there, soaking in as much of her as he could. Part of him wanted to escape, though.

Most of him worried about it all; about the instability that came with this; whatever this was even supposed to be. A shiver went along his spine.

Neither of them budged, though. And neither of them spoke.

There was a single bead of sweat running down Yelena’s forehead, Bob noticed. His eyes traced the water down until it hit her neck and eventually splashed against his ribcage, looking up towards her lips then her reflecting eyes. She was reading him again; he could almost see gears turning around and smoke coming from her ears, searching for something within him with intensity and focus.

Her grip on him tightened and he shifted reluctantly. There was not much else to do, he was at her mercy. Just as he had always been, ever since the day they met.

The instant he laid eyes on her, all those months ago, she already had him on the palm of her hand. He was hers to do as she pleased – to throw around, to protect, to neglect or to keep. And, in another reality, to dance with.

He was staring, pleading; she stared back. An immense dialog having just taken place in the small interaction.

Bob opened his mouth, then closed it. Not sure if he would even be able to produce coherent wording. But he should probably say something, right? Not outright confess he loved her but, like, tell her how much he liked her blue eyeliner. Or how much he liked her hoarse voice and the way her accent made every word flow into another with intensity. Or how much he liked her brutal honesty and how she kept everybody on their toes. Or how much he liked her weirdly frank peptalks, whenever he or anybody in the team was feeling down. Or how much he liked her kindness and how easy it came to her, sometimes to a martyr degree, other times from a place of sincere self-preservation. Or how much he liked that she always lit up a room whenever she walked in. The light inside her could even be blinding and oh, how he would gladly go blind for it.

(He would always be hers to blind, to break.)

Yelena slowly released the hands pinned to the side of his ears, moving backwards, triggering Bob to involuntarily reach for her, supporting himself with his elbows. She was still on top of him, however, and still breathing heavy.

Mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert, he had to lick his lips.

“…Lena, I-”

There was so much to say, so little distance between them. Distance that was abruptly closed by Yelena grabbing at his collar and crashing her lips hard into his. Bob swallowed the shock at record speed, closing his eyes and letting the weight of her fall against him.

And no sooner had it begun, it was already over.

That first kiss, at least.

Because soon Yelena angled forward again, this time positioning herself better against his mouth and deepening the kiss. She tasted like alcohol and chamomile, and he wanted to drink her whole, if she let him. Hands trembling (from exercise, from Lithium, from nervousness), he grabbed at the sides of her neck, his thumbs caressing her cheek, body no longer his own. It was all hers. And it was all her.

All the love he felt for her and the fear of ever causing her any harm again, the feelings clashing and converging paradoxically. Cascading into a river, the meeting of clear and muddy waters.

“Yelena…” Bob whispered, not sure if he wanted to say anything beyond her name.

Either way, she cut him off with finality, running her tongue against his own until he could only produce the most primal of sounds. Yelena kissed as if it was a combat– with brute force and a need for something greater. Though the toughness of her intent contrasted with the smoothness of her lips. Bob wasn't interested in winning any battles, just happy to be kissing her at all.

There was no drug more intoxicating, and that was no exaggeration or hyperbole – it was a fact. Simply so strong and so intense, you couldn’t compare it to any other kind of high.

He felt a pang of electricity running through every spot touched by her, when she ran her way his hair, his neck, his shoulders, his arm… Leaving a painfully wonderful sensation along her trail, as if he was constantly being stung by Black Widow Bites.

Her nails dig into the flesh of his upper arm like a knife and, God, he hoped she stabbed at him deeper. His muscles longed for her in ways he couldn’t particularly understand. He wanted her to cut him open and consume him in like she were a feast.

Man, there was no way it was all his actual life.

(Actually, being completely honest here, he wasn’t entirely too convinced this wasn’t all just pure psychosis, his brain playing tricks on him once more.)

If there was such a thing as true happiness, this was it. Her mouth, her tongue against his teeth, on the insides of his cheek. Icarus melting over and over and over again- and falling with a smile on his face.

No high, no neuron-frying manic episode ever brought him this, Bob gathered. This was tangible. This was his entire world, on his fingertips, feeling heat and sweat and everything in between.

This was Yelena Belova. And she was the woman of his dreams.

And, for now, he would allow himself this happiness as it was.

——————————————————————————————————

"If I should fall on that day, I only pray, don't fall away from me"

[cherriesfm]

[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed SIERRA MOORE walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who SHE is/are ? they kind of look like SAMANTHA LOGAN and i could be wrong but i think that they might be TWENTY EIGHT years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last TWENTY EIGHT. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of LORELAI GILMORE from GILMORE GIRLS. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at SEAGLASS DANCE ACADEMY as a CHOREOGRAPHER. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the BOLTER of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty IRREPRESSIBLE at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty DETACHED to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that ONE BEDROOM apartment beside me over in OCEAN'S EDGE. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you! 

୨୧ STATS

full name: sierra moore.

age: twenty-eight.

gender & pronouns: cisfemale. she/her.

sexuality: pan.

occupation: choreographer / seaglass dance academy.

label: the bolter.

counterpart: lorelai gilmore / gilmore girls.

୨୧ BACKSTORY

even when she was too young to understand it, some part of sierra always knew with one single mention of her last name, she would get anything she wanted.

what she did not realize was that it would come with it's own set of expectations & standards ( & consequences alike when they were not met ! )

so while she grew up with a ton of luxuries, she was not allowed the freedom to do whatever she actually wanted with them. her parents controlled her life.

enrolling her in as many activities as possible was part of their plan to keep her both busy & disciplined

yet their plan completely backfired when she fell in love with dance and wanted to pursure it as a career, which obviously they were against !

their plan for sierra was simple: ivy league, marriage ( preferrably to someone among their friend group's kids ++bonus points if they went to an ivy league too ) & then a position at her dad's company that allowed her to juggle it all.

sierra's plan for herself could not be more different.

dance became very important to her, she was always the last one to leave the studio and the first one there. if she had extra time to spare, she spent it practicing. she was never one to half ass anything.

she eventually used up all of her excuses for coming home late and being busy on the weekends to the point where her parents started getting suspicious

thus, the screaming matches and glares of disapproval began. sierra was and would remain at odds with her parents over her future. every time they pushed, she pushed back harder.

her mother had a habit of blowing things out of porportion and being a bit too dramatic while her dad ? preferred hiring a private investigator.

there was no hiding anymore and it grew to be suffocating. sierra knew she only had one choice: leave.

she left behind her life of luxury and comfort to start from scratch all on her own and while it was a transition, it felt like she could finally breathe.

did not end up going to college and instead, pursued dance just as she wanted to and has found the success her parents constantly told her she would never have.

୨୧ PERSONALITY & HEADCANONS

hides behind humor & sarcasm most of the time

no longer on speaking terms with her parents but her dad still has a private investigator updating him on his daugther and her mother will conveniently show up at places just to see if sierra will speak to them again..

it doesn't visibly upset her but sometimes it hits her that all she really wanted was her family to understand her and make room for her rather than allow her to leave.

speaking of leaving: her favorite thing to do !

a place she doesn't like ? leave. a situation she doesn't want to be in ? gone. a relationship she doesn't want ? bye !

sometimes the lines between want and scared of get blurry though and she ends up running from things she's afraid of because it's easier.

'ignore it until it goes away'-ing her life.

choreographer by day, supernatural investigator by night! ( has her own youtube show, think buzzfeed unsolved supernatural esque )

since she no longer has a connection with her own family, her friendships are incredibly important to her. the minute she feels safe and comfortale with anyone, she holds them in very high regard.

not very big on second chances though. once that trust is broken, it's gone for good.

does not half ass anything. likes doing things her way and by herself and is very comfortable being alone.

self sabotages a lot of the time.

୨୧ WANTED CONNECTIONS

childhood friends: maybe even family friends. grew up in the same circle, neighborhood.. etc. and were inseparable. could go either way now !

dance partners / dance friends / students: is always down for a goofy dance session like will never say no to anyone asking for help or a fellow dancer wanting to have some fun outside of practice

exes ( good / bad terms ): sierra has a habit of running when things get too difficult or too real and that probably happened more often than not in her relationships. maybe sometimes it was mutual and other times it was not.

the family friend her parents tried to set her up with: maybe they ran in similar circles, maybe their parents were always friends and so it seemed inevitable that the two of them would end up together.

the one that got away: this is someone sierra latched onto very quickly and with no second thoughts and then it didn't end up working out for whatever kind of reason (something beyond their control?). her constant what if. her ( in another life i reckon i could have loved you' & 'in another life i would have let you' )

[tiny-pretty-sana]

omg can we get SaMo or Mohyo headcanon??!? I love ur headcanons sm

of course! both will be under the cut but as i said if you wanted something longer let me know

(nsfw content | men and minors dni)

samo headcanons

sfw

momo brings calmness to sana's life. she is her rock, the one who listens to her and slows her down so that she looks around and appreciates the present moment

sana has a lot of energy, she's making plans and could talk non-stop. she is the one who pushes momo to try new things and make the little things in life more special

so... it goes like whatever sana wants or says, momo will do. however, but in spite of what it may seem it is sana who is more dependent

momo and sana are a hot, the type to make everyone turn around and double check

they both have different types of charms that could make everyone fall fot them. sana is well aware but momo has no clue, so this leads to sana getting possesive over her

nsfw

they just have an insane chemistry. they're both verstile but sana is more dominant and momo more submissive, so things can get really fun. it's not unusual for them to end up all marked up, scratched, bruised and bitten

whatever sana wants or says, momo will do. this rule also applies to sex. a look from sana or a hand gesture is everything it takes for momo to get on her knees with her tongue out

sana will mark momo all over, specially in visible areas so everyone knows she's taken. she'll trick momo into marking her up as well but then will scold her later with a smirk on her lips

sana loves to tease momo and play tricks on her, if momo falls for them and masturbates, touches sana or cums when she isn't allowed sana will make sure to teach her a lesson just as she planned

momo loves to have her mouth busy whether it is between her legs, with her sitting on her face or to play with her boobs. sana loves to ride momo (even like this momo will cum first)

mohyo headcanons

sfw

their relationship came as a surprise to those around them because they've always been kind of awkward with each other. it actually surprised them both since they started with something casual and with no attachments

their couple go to the gym together. when they do jihyo tends to get flustered while seeing momo working out focused with all her muscles fexed and covered in sweat. but some days she will have a one sided competion with her

when momo notices she's better at something she just lets her win even when she knows she will get so full of herself and will tease her

jihyo teases and makes fun of momo but she's so tender and always taking care of her, she pushes her hair ff her face, fixes the wrinkles in her clothes, makes sure she doesn't forget anything and always keeps her eyes on her

momo makes sure jihyo takes a break an eat well. she will convince her to have a lazy day cuddling or walking the dogs instead of keep doing things non stop and will cook a meal for her

nsfw

jihyo is the one in control, there's no doubt about that and momo won't put a fight. momo let's her manhandle her like she isn't stronger than her and couldn't flip them around if she wanted too

momo can get really needy. when this happens jihyo play hard to get but it won't last longer, she loves having momo whining and begging for it while sshe has tears in her eyes

there's something about seeing the other with their muscles exposed, sweaty and breathless after the gym that makes them go feral. they have done it a few times in the locker room and if the manage to resist their urges they'll manage to get into the car but that's it

they both enjoy using a strap and they both equally like giving or receiving

at the start it was almost mandatory for them doing positions where they weren't facing each other. momo got to shy and jihyo didn't want momo to know how much she affected her. they still enjoy some doggy nowadays

[sl-walker]

From Little Rabbit, VI.

Getting domestic with Guy for a day wasn't entirely unprecedented; they'd been sleeping together long enough — since the start of summer, and very regularly since, so a little over three months (kinda, technically, relatively) — that there had definitely been days where they spent a few hours, or even a whole night, kind of masquerading as a couple. At least from the outside. That was how Booster knew the day manager (and the night manager, and most of the bartenders) on sight, and that was how Guy knew exactly how Booster liked his cheeseburgers and that he couldn't resist a bar pickle from the huge jar at the end of the bar (the likes of which could not possibly get more kosher dill, given where Guy sourced them from).

They even had sides of the bed, despite the fact that Booster hadn't actually stayed over too often.

But even if it wasn't unprecedented, this was a whole different level of it: Rani, sitting between them on the couch shoveling popcorn, occasionally asking them to explain some part of the game, and Guy and Booster watching the ALDS on TBS, since they both didn't think going to Detroit was worth it in order to see it live, sipping tea instead of beer in deference to head injuries and minors.

Whatever mental health or lack thereof, both men kept jumping off the couch when the Yankees scored, punching the air and otherwise getting caught up in it, and by the time they were in the top of the 8th and the Yankees were killing it in RBIs, Rani had already worked out all the rules and was joining in, turning the couch into a trampoline and forcing Guy to suspend the popcorn with his ring so it wouldn't turn into a buttery kind of confetti.

She was wearing a Warriors t-shirt for a nightgown and Guy had shown her the room she'd be sleeping in; she'd looked a little reluctant, but then Guy had given her the glowing flower-thing she'd been coveting and that had made her a lot more amenable to the idea. And then Guy had stuck about fifteen pictures of unicorns and — oh god — colorful bar-looking drinks on his fridge, though obviously not before he and Rani clued Booster in to what they'd been doing while he had his almost four hour nap.

"You didn't," Booster had said, upon viewing the first one, staring at Guy aghast. "Guy, tell me you didn't teach my kid how to tend a bar."

"I'm gonna get her her own apron. Kid's got some mad mocktail skills," Guy had said back, with a broad smirk, man-spreading on the couch and not breaking eye contact with Booster to ask, "Ain't that right, munchkin?"

"Rae-Rae said I'm not allowed to touch the good stuff 'til I'm twenty-one, but then I can learn how to and I can make loads of scratch," Rani had replied, not looking up from the coffee table, happily rendering something she'd probably mixed herself that looked positively toxic in color.

Booster rubbed his face, then watched her color for a long moment, running that statement on rewind in his head about, oh, ten times as he boggled at it. Then he had to ask, "Did people actually drink them…?"

"And they helped me name them, too!" Rani said, proudly, nodding.

Guy nodded along in almost perfect unison and it was right about there that Booster realized introducing them might have been a Mistake™.

[captain-kraken]

So… It’s been a while! Does anyone even remember me? XD

I always feel bad when I drop off the grid for a while without saying anything. Sorry about that :/

I took a step back from everything and spent the last 3 months working on myself and trying to fix things, instead of just allowing myself to drown. And it’s weird, the more positive changes I make to my life, the more good things it brings to me. I’m actually seeing results from my efforts which I never have before.

Anyway, some updates!

My laptop broke and I had to wipe the hard drive to save it, so sadly lost some work on Blue Blood and a whole bunch of poetry :( Took this as an opportunity to rebuild some things from scratch though. I was losing my groove with Blue Blood for a while, but letting go and finally tearing out chunks of the plot has started to help. Now I can actually start fixing some issues that were breaking my flow.

I’ve been really throwing myself into my job for the last few months, which has had surprisingly good results. I’m being given extra projects that are based on my interests and expertise. I used to complain a lot about how much I disliked my career, but now I’m being reminded of why I love working with data. I got to do two presentations on the reports that I built AND they were shown to both the department head AND the CTO!!

I also became an uncle! Honestly, something I’ve been having mixed feelings about. I’m very happy for my brother and his partner, admittedly also fairly jealous since I can’t have that myself. But it’s been really nice to see my brother starting a new chapter in his life and my baby niece is adorable :D

And the biggest shocker... I’m dating someone! And not just anyone but the guy I’ve had a crush on for over a year, who apparently also had feelings for me this entire time!! Which is just WILD to me that he’s actually into me?? This is the first adult relationship I’ve had and I was so nervous going into it, but somehow with him, everything just feels so easy <3

[androgynousblackbox]

The horror of our love. 1 [Appleradio, Radioapple]

Luci

"By all accounts, it looked to be a normal notebook. It weighted like one, it felt like one. You could even opened it and go through the pages as you would with any other. On the page immediately after the cover there was a seal reading "This journal belong to" with the name Alastor Abaddon first written on the dotted line, then scratched to put instead Alastor Magne.

The actual difference started once you wrote on any of them. If one wanted, they could use any utensils for it, but the words were better received when using a quill and ink. The letters dissapeared in a matter of seconds and soon enough a response would appear right underneath. It didn't had to be a question either. You could write something on the most horrid grammar possible and the words written would mercilessly tell correct you, usually with some insult throw in the mix. If the offending bad grammar continued, the notebook would close by itself and anyone opening it up again would be greeted with another sarcastic remark about the clear lack of literacy going on.

But that would only happen if someone was just fucking around with it, testing it like a new toy and wasting everyone's time, wouldn't it? Absolutely not the thing someone should be doing with something like this. So instead it's mostly used to answer questions. It can't answer everything, and some questions it doesn't want to answer even though probably knows it, but a good deal it can.

Some of those inquiries are easy.

Did you really belonged to person whose name is written on the front?

Yes.

What can you tell me about him?

Anything.

Anything like what?

Sometimes it's not letters that emerges from the pages. Sometimes there are some scribbles. Mainly faces with sharp teeth and smiles that extend far beyond what any real face would allow. That was the answer to the last question. Point taken: you have to be a little more especific than that. It doesn't like it when you are too vague.

The first time that we got it and we realized what it was, after the initial surprise, it asked us who we were. So I wrote it. We were students of professor Magne that went to Hogwarts before it closed. The journal took a while to write back.

A professor?

When those words vanished, others came underneath.

What happened at the school?

I should have throw away that thing the moment that came out. Now is that I see that. The whole point of this is to find out what happened that night, the one right before any student came back to start a new year. There was no witnesses left. All the other teachers, the headmaster, everyone gone. There was so much blood everywhere.

I don't really need to go into too much details about it, do I? It was all over the papers. People still remembered it on each anniversary. People keep making theories about what happened to this day, because that is the thing. Nobody knows what happened. The only thing we do know for sure is that professor Magne was not among the deceased. They found a body that looked like him, chopped into pieces and half eaten like everyone else, but that only lasted as far as the effect of the potion wore off. I had to ask a few favors in order to find that out. No, to make sure that it was exactly what I was thinking of. I am not proud of it. This is exactly the kind of shit we are going to keep off the records if we do decide to go public about this.

Grave digging is not my kind of hobby.

If that motherfucker really did all I know he did, then fuck it. I will do what it takes. If he is dead, then good, I was wrong and I don't have to think about this any more. But if the body that is buried under the headstone with his name doesn't match, then he better be preparing his ass because I am coming for it.

The body that was buried there was too short. The suit that they have put on him for what was supposed to be his resting place was sagging all over it, and not because it had been years since it happened. I remember professor Magne towering all over us even in our final year. That wasn't him. I don't know who that is. Some homeless person, maybe? There was no report of any person missing nearby, none that matched that matched with what we… I found.

That is how all of this started.

He is still out there. Probably doing the same shit he did to all of those people right as I speak. The same shit that he was doing at school even before that night. There was never any other monster who just got hungry and escaped. It's not about proof, not that alone. He needs to be stopped. If there is anything that can help us towards that goal, I will do it. I should have done something when I had my suspicions, because I always knew something wrong with that guy, but I was just some dumb kid back then who had no resources, no connections, nothing. I might still be dumb, but ain't no kid no more. I can move some strings of my own now.

The notebooks was the first one of the pieces that we discovered. When they cleaned up the whole castle, it was discovered among the books in one of the libraries. Everyone just assumed that it was the diary of one of the tragically deceased victims, so they send it to the last relative that professor Magne. Problem is, he didn't had any relative left so it kinda got lost in the system. That gave us a good headache for a while until we found it on a second hand store. The lady that sold it to us said she received it from a friend on the Ministery that needed to get rid of a bunch of old stuf that was just occupying space. She had no idea what it was. She never tried to write on it.

We did. We could have burn it, turn it into ashes, and hope that fucker, wherever he is, can feel every second of those pages being consumed. See if he likes it when he is the one being devoured for once. I still haven't fully rule it out, once we can squeeze anything useful out of it. For now, this is the closest we have to talking to him.

The notebook writes like a well educated kid would have. A kid made it after all. That thought alone is so wrong. Knowing how these things are made makes it so much more messed up. But if I keep concentrating on every single disgusting, horrible, questionable shit I find out about him, then this is just never going to end. More people are going to die and I am just going to be here, hoping my next hangover at least make it easy to forget. So powerthrough this is all I have.

I write that "a monster ate everyone at school one night."

That is the official version at least. It writes back.

A monster? What kind of monster?

I don't know. Nobody saw it. It had to be big though.

After a while, the next words appear.

Do you know Luci?

No. Who is Luci?

It takes a whole minute for it to respond.

Luci is my best friend. If you know where they are, take me with them.

The words vanished just as easy as they came. Of course we researched that. There was no kid whose name could be shortened as Luci on the generation when professor Magne was a student at Hogwarts. Not on his, not on any of the other years, not in the entire school. There were Elizabeths, three Lucious because that name was popular apparently and even one Luz that was two years ahead of him. I couldn't find any immediate evidence that he was close with any of them. I didn't miss either the fact it wasn't telling me any gender.

So I ask it to tell me more about this Luci. I can't really take him to this friend if I don't know the first thing about who they are or what they look like, can I? If he told me that, then maybe we can find them and give them the notebook like Alastor, or this version of Alastor at least, would have wanted.

I could tell you everything, but I don't know if you would like it, appeared on the page. Some people tend to find it upsetting.

I don't mind upsetting, I write back. Sometimes I read horror novels for fun. I have a strong stomach.

You do?

Something about those two simple words makes me read them with the voice of the professor in my head. Using that same gleeful tone he had just before he dropped something horrible onto all of us during class, when neither of us could escape it. I can almost see the gleeful anticipation on his brown eyes as he waits the perfect moment for it.

Yes, I write, because I will take anything I can get. Anthony is reading above my shoulder and my mouth is a bit dry as the quill moves with my hand. Do you have a story for me?

A smiley face is my answer before the notebook closes by itself. Then it opens again, running up to the first page, that ironically we never used when communication with it. We just use whichever we happened to land on. As we see them, entire parragraph start appearing in front of our eyes, as if this thing had all the words at the ready.

I still can hear the voice of that fucker on them."

"Then allow me to start from the beginning, as many stories do. Please, sit back, relax and let me tell you all about how I met the love of my life.

[tastefulbean]

Sooooo thorns!valeries (and by extension the thorns!au which is based around Danny and Val’s interesting dynamic and exploring that!) has been on my mind recently. Still working on the ref but I figured I should go into detail about it.

The idea behind the thorns!au is this:

Valerie gained her ghost hunting gear originally from vlad right? And then later on she got her gear upgraded from technus. Despite her choosing to stay a ghost Hunter, the suit choice and ghost hunting gear were never really hers. This struck me as weird because she seems like the type to do her own thing and fight in a way that fit her.

Blood blossoms got introduced and like,,, never got used again? THEYRE SO INTERESTING THATS A CRIME. In this au, Val finds out about blood blossoms sooner than anyone and incorporates it into her suit. It inspires her to take it upon herself to become a ghost Hunter.

Red Thorn Huntress. *cue music*

Danny goes out of his way to become friends with her after being abandoned by the A-listers. He feels really guilty about Cujo so he tries to make amends.

(In this AU he has his identity under wraps. Not even sam and Tucker know)

This also gives her an excuse to visit the fentons and train under them! Perhaps even to visit Danny more often wink wink-

Thorns! Val’s fighting style is much more martial arts based. She’s not afraid to get up close and personal to fight, which I feel matches her personality. She had a black belt for Pete’s sake!! Blood blossoms are a huge part of her ghost fighting gear too, relying on poisoning and wearing out the enemy over time rather than blast first, ask questions later. The thorns on her gear contain potent poison that is dangerous to ghosts. (However it only mildly affects humans. Think like a mild poison Ivy rash. So it’s not a huge deal if she scratches herself)

Thorns! Val doesn’t fly around on a board, instead on a pair of rollerblade rocket boots to get around. Fenton brand of course! Makes her much more graceful and allows her more control whilst flying at her enemies midair. She can fly as fast as Danny if she tries.

She also has her identity under wraps, at least for a bit. (She’s smart enough to not let it get out otherwise her dad would ground her for life lol)

In this au, she still breaks up with Danny, wanting to keep him safe from her ghost hunting activities. However, they still stay friends even if it’s awkward and Danny feels bummed about it. She doesn’t like,,, up and disappear?? She becomes a part of his small friend group.

as phantom, he creates multiple opportunities to regain her trust and the two actually begin to team up more often, mutually defending the town and acting as equals. Say Danny isn’t able to patrol that night, Val picks up the slack and Amity park becomes a whole lot safer.

Haven’t decided where the idea may go from there but y'know that’s where future art will come in ;)

I started writing this as a fic but a comic might be fun too! (If I can find the time to work on it, that is)

But yeah! That’s basically what I got!

[songstep4002]

All right listen up therians, specifically dragonkin and those with similar tails- I'm showing you mine, and how to make one like it.

So this is an articulated tail, it moves on its own but still holds its structure and doesn't sag and get tangled in my legs despite its length. It makes noise when it moves, but there's probably ways to fix that.

So to start, draw the silhouette of your tail in its resting position on a piece of stiff fabric, then cut it out. The color does not matter as you'll be covering this piece up entirely. The important thing is that this fabric is not elastic at all, otherwise your tail will be very saggy.

Next, mark lines where you want the joints to be. I tried to keep mine mostly vertical so the tail didn't hang in unexpected ways and drag on the floor, but you can do whatever fits your tail motion the best. Then, use some stiff and bulky material to cut out the individual panels that you've drawn twice. I used cardboard, but you can probably use foam blocks if you want more volume. It helps to trace the shape from step one onto your material, then cut the resulting shape into panels to get the final pieces. Make sure you keep track of which pieces are which.

Next, use some kind of glue or adhesive to attach the panels to your base fabric. Depending on how thick your panels are, you may need to remove some of the material around the joints to allow them to move freely. This is the basic structure of your tail.

Once you have your structure, cut out fabric pieces to create your scales. You'll want to cut out individual pieces for each panel, otherwise you might restrict the tail's movement. I cut my pieces on a fold and folded them over the top of the tail to make the top smooth, since it's the bit most people are going to see. Also, it's a good idea to make each cover piece slightly longer than its corresponding panel so that you can overlap the pieces to hide the joints. You can attach these pieces with adhesive or sewing, whatever works best for you.

To make the base of the tail, just cut out a cardboard piece that can fit your whole tail base on it, and cut slits in it for a belt as seen above. Before covering up the top section of your tail, use glue to attach the edge of your tail to the base plate. Depending on what kind of cardboard you're using, you may want to scratch up the surface a bit first. Then (preferably before the glue dries) use masking or duct tape to strengthen this connection. This part should be completely stable rather than flexible, though a little bit of give is okay. Once you're satisfied with the connection, cover up the base section and base plate with your decorating fabric.

Sorry about the vagueness around materials, techniques, and such. It's kinda reflective of the way I approach crafting as a whole, and I literally used the stuff I had on hand at the time (hot glue, cardboard, leftover fabric scraps from my wings) to make this tail.

The design was inspired by this YouTube video btw:

Anyway, hope this helps someone! I know, right, an actual post instead of incoherent ramblings about the inside of my brain, but sometimes my impulsive posting gives me the impulse to do something actually useful for once.

[scrapyardboyfriends]

I know you won't care, but I think it's unfair to criticise the show for not using the cast in the same way it did say 5 years ago. Because of the budget cuts, they can't. They have to limit characters' appearances. I guess the only alternative to that would be making more cast cuts so even more people lose their jobs. Soaps are run differently these days because they have to be. I think that considering their budget issues they did an amazing job with these episodes.

I mean my critical opinion isn't as valid these days because I'm frankly not watching the show all of the time. I drift in and out when something catches my attention.

That said, I get that this block filming stuff was brought on by budget cuts and such. But there has to be a better way to run this show rather then some characters getting all of the screen time and others barely existing. It's about balance. And yeah, maybe if you have 30 characters who only get a handful of episodes a year that you don't do anything meaningful with, you shouldn't have all of those characters. Or maybe they could reduce the number of episodes for the top people by a little so there was more to go around.

And certainly it's clear that if you're not a Dingle, then you're not getting the episode count and I don't really think that's fair. I feel like the show is in desperate need of some diversification on which characters get stories.

Of course this brings me to the other problem, in that they still prioritize Plot over Character and until they realize the issues with that, the show is always going to suffer for it.

Because say they suddenly started throwing a major story at like...Suzy instead of killing her off, who even is Suzy? So many of these newer characters aren't developed enough to even handle a big story because they've never done the work to build them.

And I'm not saying it's an easy fix even though it is in theory, because even though everyone seems to vastly prefer the show from past eras, to make the switch back to that type of storytelling would require a bit of patience from everyone involved, including the viewers.

No one has any attention span these days so when a story lasts longer than a week, people are already bitching about it. So they think they have to constantly move on to the next thing but they've also trained us to be that way (in addition to the rest of media) but it's also because they just kind of forgot how to write any other way.

I feel like they either need to take some big stunt and really let it have a lasting impact that they let play out completely and slowly start rebuilding characters and community out of that. The storm for the 50th would have been a great one to do that with. Instead, they moved on from all of that in like a week. Instead of say the plane crash, which spun out stories for months and really affected the village.

And then I think they need to start slipping smaller stories in there again that aren't these big long running things. Use those other characters where they can. Show people at work. Build friendships again. Allow some comedy and joy to break up the monotony of misery.

And they need to really care about their characters again and think about who they are now and what they need. Take Aaron for example. Losing Adam, then Robert, then Seb really stripped him of all of his character development but other than giving him a sometimes friendship with Mack that is nowhere near the consistency of friendship he had with Adam, they've barely scratched the surface on giving his character what he needs. We should have had single dad Aaron ages ago but they've never gone there. They even brought up Seb with Ross's return and still didn't go there even though the set up was perfect for it. And if they didn't want to go there, they could have brought in a single dad to the village (built him as a character first please) and then had him be Aaron's love interest. Something to allow the character to actually grow up again, rather than keeping him down in that less evolved state so they can use him for their next pointless petty crime story for no reason.

Or I mean, take Dawn, a character I'm less close to. All she has ever had story wise since she arrived is stuff about her kids. First it was getting Lucas back. Then it was keeping Lucas. Then it was Alex troubles with Lucas and then with Clemmie. And then they gave her a pregnancy story. And after all of that, they then give her a baby cancer story for Evan. She didn't need that. No one needed that. Not least because I feel like they've barely shown any of it. They just used it for fodder for her and Will to fight, for Billy to get involved in illegal boxing and now for this affair with Joe. Dawn is a character who just desperately needs something for herself and I feel like an affair with Joe could have worked but only if it was really real. The Robron affair worked because Robert and Aaron really did love each other and were getting something out of that relationship. If they'd gone that route with Dawn and Joe it could have done great things for her character. I mean I liked Billy and Dawn when they first started but they really squandered that repeatedly and they only put them back together because they needed a replacement couple in the Meena story.

I don't know...I just want them to prioritize their characters again.

Also, if they stopped being so obsessed with the next special episode, the next stunt, the next big issue story etc, maybe they'd have more budget for some every day stories again that actually build characters.

I just think it's sad that the most we can hope for on a character development front is if it happens kind of accidentally alongside a bigger story. For example, Liv and Vinny's relationship only got the focus it did because it was happening as part of the Paul Saga. If it wasn't, I'm sure they would have gotten the Matty and Amy treatment.

Right...that's enough ranting. I just think budget cuts only excuse so much.

[your-sweet-cookies]

A helping hand *Closed RP*

RP starter/reply for @artsspi - Kukki x Hayden

Ever since she'd picked up the job at the local downtown bar near the campus grounds, Kukki's life had grown to be even more monotonous and boring than it already was: on top of the daily routine of going to the lectures and seminars, spending time in the library or the dorms to study for her group projects and assignments and dealing with her sometimes overwhelming dormmates that left most of the house chores on her shoulders, Kukki now had to use the reminder of her free time to work part time because her parents once again couldn't support her financially any longer due to their ingrowing debts.

It wasn't the most ideal situation, but she had to make due. At least with this job she could pay her life expenses and the shifts weren't that monstrous, allowing her the timeframe to also continue her old schedule dedicated to school. And maybe a good side to the job could have also been the fact that the bar's patrons weren't entirely an unbearable bunch. The atmosphere was usually peaceful and they hadn't had an actual fight happen within its perimeters for months. So there wasn't anything she should've worried about, or at least that's what Kukki thought...

It should've been your typical Friday evening, peaceful and monotonous, when the loud shouting and commotion noises disturbed the calm atmosphere within the bar. Kukki was busy cleaning some empty glasses and placing them neatly back in the cupboards behind the counter when the swearing and physical violence sounds reached her ears. From the looks of it, that must've been a fight taking place outside the establishment and the parties involved didn't give off the sign that they'll stop anytime soon. The young woman shook her head and prayed to herself that they wouldn't bring the fight into the bar, because the screams were getting louder and louder by the second.

"That's it, if they don't stop, I'm going to call the police!" Kukki decided in the end, once she couldn't stand the chaos anymore. Her shift was almost over and the last thing she needed was to get caught in the middle of a street fight as she'd try to make her way out and back to her dorm room. She picked up the phone, located under the bar counter and was about to finally put in the 110 number (the police number for Japan), when the noise suddenly stopped. A wave of relief washed over the young woman and she reluctantly placed the phone back in its place, wondering if the commotion outside was finally over.

By all the means, it really looked to be the case, as the quietness finally returned back to how it used to be. "Ah, just another bunch of delinquents beating up each other." One of the men sat at a table near the counter commented, while he took a gulp from his pint of beer. "Stupid kids ruining my good mood..." He continued mumbling and Kukki started to wonder if he was indeed right and if there weren't any injured youngsters who might've needed help out there...

The front door of the bar opened right as she was wondering that and a single, lone young looking male stepped inside, limping towards the nearest table. He had multiple bruises and scratches on his face, along with a bleeding busted lip and a bloodied nose and by all means, he didn't look okay at all. Kukki shook her head at the sight of the newcomer, wondering why didn't he go to the student health center that was just a few streets down from here to treat his wounds and opted instead to come in this dingy place when he was clearly in need to medical assistance?! 'God knows what goes through a man's train of thought.' She sighed and took a piece of clean cloth from one of the drawers, dampening it with cold water at the sink and then filled a glass with water, making her way towards the injured customer.

"Get away from me!" Were the words greeting her, as the man understood that she began approaching his table, rendering the silver haired woman to stop briefly in her tracks, before she eventually mustered some courage and finished walking to the table. "Don't be stupid! You are in clear need of help! You are literally bleeding on my freshly cleaned table! So either you let me help you, or you are welcome to leave this establishment! It's your choice." Kukki gave him a stern look and placed the glass of water in front of him with a firm grip.

[itsmissing]

Hi, you said we were allowed to ask random questions, so I wanted to get your take on this if it is ok. I have followed you for years at this point, and your creations are incredible! They inspire me so. I recall some time ago posting a.... reskin? Revamp? Of one of your DnD characters? I know most of your characters are not dnd nor should people use them in their own games, but if I am reading this correctly it means you yourself play or have at least played TTRPGs in the past. So, since you are welcoming questions, I thought it fair to ask an insanely creative person like you.

So I am in many DnD games right now, and most of them are very RP heavy. I find I can articulate myself well digitally when I can edit what I'm saying to make myself look thoughtful and knowledgeable. But when I RP verbally in the moment - particularly characters that have different thought patterns than I do- I flounder and words become difficult.

Suffice to say- how do you approach RP from a creator's stand point? Creating many different characters and making them unique from yourself but still compelling and competent? What is your thought process to RP?

If you do not feel comfortable answering this ask and that is perfectly fine- I realize this is coming out of left field but you did say you were bored and wanted asks, so I thought this line of questions was fair game. Regardless, I do wish to share how insanely creative and incredible I find your works. If you do not mind more questions in the future, I would love to ask a bit more of your inspirations and thought processes towards how you approach art, but instead I'll settle on my odd ask and hope I am not egregiously overstepping.

thanks for the question! bit of a long answer so i'll put it under a Read More.

i've actually played a couple of campaigns of dnd and blades in the dark (tho they were all over discord calls, and none of them ever concluded naturally), and i totally understand where you're coming from! tho i'll be honest, i haven't played ttrpgs in general in a good long while. i definitely had frustrations in my first ever couple of sessions of dnd (using a character i lovingly designed from scratch), and i think a lot of those pain points stemmed from me trying to force a narrative journey i already had in my head, pre-planned, that i imagined during the design phase for that character. but at the end of the day, dnd is improv, and if you're not used to that, your character's going to end up a little different than how you imagined, and that's ok! a session is always going to be a collaborative roleplaying space, where the party's stories as a group and as individuals are crafted gradually, over time, and some of the ideas you had for your character at the start-- their backstory, their personality, the way they talk and think-- are going to be constantly workshopped into something different, naturally, over the course of a campaign as you get more comfortable. i also find it's a lot easier to rp when you stop trying to inhabit The Exact Character That You Made With Love, and instead try to rp with their essence in mind instead. the most important thing for me when roleplaying is to understand the basics of my character-- whether they're nice or mean, outspoken or reserved, polite or straightforward, etc-- more than anything else. more practical, actionable advice is that it helps to ask yourself questions in your off time and try to answer them as best as you can, out loud and in-character. interview yourself as your character! what's their favorite fruit?

thanks for the question, and also the kind words about my art! i had typed a lot more than this out but i felt like it was mostly incoherent rambling. this might still qualify as that, actually. hope this helps in any way!

[msbarrows]

So now that the laptop has been repaired and returned, I've been very happily updating and backing up everything again. When I reached the point of doing anything with The Sims 4 yesterday, I found myself thinking about how, prior to going down to Toronto, I was considering resetting TS4 entirely so it was back in a default state, and starting over from scratch. Which I felt even more like doing as I was playing my most recent sim at a horse ranch and just... not really enjoying it. And then during the couple weeks of waiting for the repair, not knowing if I'd have to reinstall all my programs or not, I found myself thinking "...I could just not restore my saves game for that" and kind of liking the idea. Among other things, it'll allow me to tweak the MCCC settings to (hopefully) prevent the pruning of family trees, so I'll always be able to see how they interconnect.

So, yesterday afternoon I moved my TS4 directory off to a backup location, which forced the game to recreate the save game files from scratch. Reinstalled my preferred mods. And created a new starter sim, Teresa Abbotsford.

Once I was able to get in-game and go to Manage Worlds, I also dug around on the Galery to re-obtain the MaxisCreates TS4 versions of the Grunt, Spectre, Curious, and Smith families from TS2, as well as a reasonably decent version of the Beakers (whom MaxisCreates seems to have missed). Also grabbed versions of their houses that different people created (mostly the versions by XQueenOfHe4rtsX). Decided to squeeze them all into StrangerVille, as it vibes the closest with the old Strangetown, though for reasons of space the Smiths have ended up over in Oasis Springs instead. I've done some minimal editing to the houses, mostly things like replacing observatories with telescopes, or tweaking some of the wall textures. The Curious brothers' house came with a bonus structure in one corner of the lot that had a lot of the scientific equipment available in-game, with a rocket kit staging area on the roof. I moved and rebuilt that slightly so that it fits into the layout of where the lot is in-game a little better (mostly just rotating it 90 degrees and changing it from a fenced-in area to an actual outbuilding).

And I built a starter house for Teresa. She's beginning the family line in San Sequoia, a neighbourhood I haven't had anyone playable live in yet, since there was a nice 20x40 empty lot there that gives her plenty of elbow room to grow. Literally - she's in the gardener career and has the Freelance Botanist nature aspiration. Though I think I need to rotate the house; it fits better on the lot facing the short end, but the zone-in point is partway along one of the long edges. But I digress.

Her house is currently pretty minimally furnished, though that's slowly improving over time. She has the option of working from home with her current job, and since the tasks required for that tend to take very little time (read a book, research gardening on the computer, give someone produce from your garden) I've mostly been choosing that and spending a lot of her time working on assorted skills and going out and about to meet people. I'm playing her as a much more gregarious sim than I usually do, as a result of which she's been following up on a lot of invitations to attend events, go on dates, and go out dinner as friends. She's also joined the Partihouse social club, where she's finally met someone she clicks with who isn't already married or engaged - Paolo Rocca, one of the Partihouse household members.

I think the main thing I may work on the next few play sessions is things like editing commercial lots so I that like them better, making sure all marriage venues have washrooms, adding houses to Newcrest (since by default it's entirely empty lots), and the like. Basically re-doing some of the changes I'd made over the years.