#and also spring + violet

[grozen-fr]

Hell naw challenge accepted

Oh my god, the Random Progen of the inactive account that was just on the front page....

WOW THIS PERSON GOT SHAFTED

[cee-chanxiv]

Blossoming Anew

[always-scared]

it's not often that I find myself... becoming one(1) with a /minor/ character in a show, a non recurring one. but something about amy bartlett (or isabella york)(or the unnameable woman she was forced to become) is making me want to scream and cry and rip my heart out, in a way not many things always do

i had been watching violet evergarden for the past two weeks or so, and the show, by itself, had already become an irreplaceable, integral memory for me. it became so so important to me, in such a short time, with every single thing it stood for,,,, human connections, war, empathy, memories, peace, violence, remembrance, burning, words, language, thoughts, feelings, desires, love, so, so so much grief, but such devastatingly greater love..... something about the innate humanness of the show got me in a way nothing else has, and it became one of the .. safest pieces of media ever for me. at the centre of my overwhelming intensity of emotions, of fondness and love stood violet evergarden herself, who was forced to grow up so quickly yet... actually I'll talk about her later, because as much space as violet has in my heart and will for evermore, this post is not (just) about her

and then I finish the series and I'm filled with this deep sense of grief, but a deep sense of love. and so I start this little movie and here comes isabella york, the deuterogonist who at first glance seemed to me like the normal rebellious girl, born in a high class family in a high functioning society with the crushing expectations of patriarchy typical of the Victorian era that the show is supposedly set in, placed on her shoulders- a harrowing narrative for sure, but nothing new, nothing we haven't seen before, something we could primarily sympathise with, rather than empathise. you expect her to be like the typical, common place rebel, who finds herself strangled with these. you're convinced that there's no way violet would be able to "tame" her, and she'd give violet a world altering speech about the confines of the nobility being too constricting for her, and she'd give her a small kiss and fly away into the setting sun, with violet watching her go with a half smile on her face

except

except none of this actually happens.

you watch, and you're instead hit with the ..... heartwrenching tragedy, that isabella york is. you watch her be tamed, you watch her become increasingly lady like, you watch as the resigned set of her shoulders becomes wearier. you watch her fall so desperately, so hopelessly in love.

you watch, and you start getting restless, because there's no way right? you convince yourself, there's no way. there's no way they'd keep throwing in the scenes of her before in her ragamuffin clothes except to highlight that the person in present is far at home in them, that past image could never be comfortable, be One with the silks and satins and ribbons and bows right? there's no way they showcase the love, the heartbreaking love she had for her little sister unless they planned to reunite them immediately after, with a little help and push from violet right? there's no way they show her falling so much in love, just for it to go... nowhere right? they wouldn't show her in a prison, just for her to never escape... right?

right?

and then you watch, keep watching with a pounding heart, and you see violet and her bidding adieu, and you see four years passing without a word from her, and you see her sister growing up, and you see her sister yearning for her, and you see her at end and you see her .confined. imprisoned . still. and even though the movie ends on a happy note, you go and look her up, you look up the light novels, and you search frantically, looking for some news, any news of her.

and that's when it hits you. the absolute tragedy that amy bartlett is, the absolute tragedy she's been turned into. that's when it hits you that some people aren't like violet, who've been saved so thoroughly and wholely (as joyful as I'm about that). that's when it hits you that some people are just dealt a ... rough, miserable hand by God. and they end up hating him for it.

like,, idk I don't even know i genuinely don't know what about her got me so bad, that I'm sitting here with my head pounding and loads of work to complete, but instead im just . sitting here with my heart feeling like it's carved out of stone.

i think it's mostly the never ending grief of womanhood, the heartwrenching pain of a denied queerness.

like, i read the two extra stories dedicated to her and both of them just. stuck a chord in me, a chord that made my very soul flinch, shudder in agony. it was the absolute hopelessness i think. it was this i think

ORESTES: This was always going to happen. She's been dead since the beginning.

Aeschylus, The Oresteia

like,,,, idk idk man I wanna cry so bad, i think it genuinely was this, a large part of it was this; she'd never been meant to be the rebel girl, who'd find love and acceptance and freedom whilst getting to love her sister and the girl she adored and herself. it was never about fighting, breaking free.

her fate had been set in stone since the moment her "father" had appeared out of nowhere to restake his claim on an abandoned child and asked her to partake in a monstrous deal, a deal where she'd been dealt the losing hand even before it had been stuck.

her three months with violet weren't supposed to be the grand, life altering point paving the path to her freedom, you realised. it was just supposed to be her reprieve, her... noon. that she'd forever clasp, unseen, hidden, and that would have to be pried from her cold, dead hands.

i don't know, even after writing this much, i feel like I haven't gotten to the essence of it, of why amy bartlett makes me want to sob my heart out, why i relate to her more than I have to anyone ever. i can't, i Cant get over the unfairness of it all, about why She alone was dealt a miserable hand, why she couldn't have been saved like the Postal company saved violet and like she (and then violet) saved taylor and how she again saved the couple who had been thrown out of her husband's room and ...

god, something,,,,.just something about the two chapters about her is still shattering me, devouring my very heart where i sit. like,,,, this girl, this brave, tragic girl, who should've been able to fall in love with a girl, her... her violet blossom, should've been able to tell her, should've been able to live with her, and her sister whom she adored and who adored her so, so heartbreakingly much, and lived comfortably with them, lived in their small house where nobody would have been lonely and nobody would have needed saving and the sun would shine and the world wouldn't be a terrible place and if she were to be asked if it should end, she wouldn't have had to say it should, and god would have dealt her a much softer hand for which she would never seek revenge and she would live forever in her noon, basking in the loud laughter and quiet smile of the two women, one whose red unruly hair she'd dry and brush for all of time to come, and the other for whom she'd tirelessly pick out thousands of violets and place countless flower crowns in her velvet hair, the two women who were her whole world.

she was instead fated to live as a Woman, a woman through and through, representation of the absolute,,,, misery that womanhood can be (even more so as a queer individual), a woman cut out for suffering the moment she was born, a woman with a terrible childhood, and- just as she started feeling like a child, like she belonged, to have it wrenched from her grasp, to watch, unseeing as her sister begged her not to go, to trade her very life in exchange for her sister's, to donne on dresses and gowns and be commodified, to meet a girl whom she'd probably love more than she would ever anyone else in this lifetime, to play with her hair and hold hands and swing and swing around and fall in love just because she was walking alongside her, and then to have it once again wrenched from her grasp because again, this wasn't something meant to last was it? and then continue and be married and forever, for ever carry the atlantean weight that every, every woman is forced to carry, especially in those times to have been gifted a forever cursed existence, to be so lonely, to want to be saved, so so much but knowing that no one was coming ever, to have precisely this be your tragedy, to forever seek revenge by saving others because she would never be saved, to live with an abusive man, to spend her whole entire life stretched ahead of her, vast and so tragically unending, struggling to make do with the handfuls of love she'd had, to force it to be enough, for it to not nearly be enough, to, be so full of love so as to make her sister and her visits her entire noon as she grew up and older, to forever live as someone she wasn't because she'd given up her life long ago, to love someone she couldn't, she shouldn't have had to.

a woman meant to love only for a short while before having it yanked from her, from her chest from her heart, a love that still raged in her, but she'd forever, ever after, continue to live with the memory of that love, the sheer force of it. to remember violet longer than she knew her. to be so in love, but to be okay even if the other never finds out, for all eternity.

claudia tells violet "you haven't realised that everything you've ever done has sparked a flame that is now burning you up. one day you'll stop burning and understand, and for the first time, you'll notice the burn marks." and I think amy bartlett's tragedy is that she never. stops burning.

[kindaeccentric]

My favourite fragrantica reviews of the perfume I just bought

[thebardscipher]

me, watching Jack Skellington get excited and wave every time Elsa gets within 5 feet of him: 2013 tumblr would have gone HAM with this game....I am going ham with this game.....

[kayzero]

So like. Julius Caesar and Pope Gregory XIII don’t exist in the Pokémon universe. So there’s no reason for the Julian or Gregorian calendars to exist. Angels don’t exist in the Pokémon universe either, so the Enoch calendar, but the story behind that is Uriel came down and gave Enoch a calendar with exactly 13 weeks in all four seasons for 364 days.

Black and White confirmed that the Pokémon universe has four seasons, and it’s entirely possible for a human to have created a calendar splitting Arceus’ eighteen Plates throughout the year, each month containing 4 five-day weeks.

And if they did, the months could look something like this:

[ Image ID: A list containing all eighteen Pokémon types split between the four seasons. Spring has Normal, Fairy, Poison, and Electric types, with Electric underlined. Summer has Grass, Bug, Fire, Steel, and Fighting types, with Grass and Bug italicized and Fire underlined. Autumn has Psychic, Flying, Ground, and Dragon, with Flying Underlined. Finally, Winter has Rock, Ghost, Ice, Dark, and Water, with Ice and Water underlined. / End ID. ]

Explanations under the cut.

Summer and Winter have five months because of math Fire and Ice are the Summer and Winter Types. These are explained in-universe as the Supreme (Type) Months, the months in the dead middle of their respective seasons without any dimming or bleeding into the next season. And this is TRUE in the Pokémon universe because (most) people aren’t stupid enough to cause ecological disasters when causing an ecological disaster awakens an all-powerful legendary Pokémon that’s angry at you specifically for causing an ecological disaster! Global warming doesn’t exist! People are afraid of Cappy the Polar Ice Cap Legendary smacking them out of existence!

I’m open to discussion and suggestions about where to shift each type.

Italicized types were considered for a different season, and will be explained more thoroughly.

Underlined types probably won’t be changed without an Astounding Logical Argument that makes me feel stupid for even considering anything else.

Spring:

Animals give birth in the spring and Normal Type Pokémon are based on normal animals.

Fairies are associated with. Um. *flips notes* n. nature. i’m gonna be real with you in every planned-but-not-written explanation of a human sensing fairy type energy i describe it as “smelling wildflowers” and that’s all that went through my head.

Poisonous animals like frogs and snakes and the like. They hibernate. They come out of hibernation in the spring. Yay! This could easily be Winter for the same reason PLUS the fact that you store poisons in cold, sometimes freezing, temperatures.

Electric likely will not change. Thunderstorms happen most frequently in the spring months, because of the moisture and the heat present in the air. Electric could have easily been a Summer Type but I figured that because it rains more frequently in the spring because of snowmelt (“April Showers … May Flowers”), it would be easy to rationalize thunderstorms happening more often in the Spring in Pokéland.

Summer:

Grass and Bug were both considered for Spring because of the whole winter melts away and grass blooms and whatnot and then of course once the plants bloom it attracts the bugs. If I were going to change these two Grass would go to Spring and Bug would stay in Summer maybe.

But I ended up choosing Summer for these two because the summer sun makes the Grass grow and also all the other plants and then the heat and humidity brings all the Bugs to the yard. and they’re like. your sweat is tasty. why do bugs swarm humans we’re so much bigger than them.

Fire is unlikely to change. It’s the Sound of Summer. Summer hot. Sun go brr. Heat Wave Waves Heatingly. Etcetera.

You use fires to forge Steel. Or something along those lines. Honestly I just pulled that out of my butt, I was thinking about Heatran and like Heatran is a legendary and sub Steel. Volcanos or whatever.

THE FLAMES OF YOUTH IGNITE WITHIN FIGHTING TYPES and that’s why they’re in the summer. If you try to fight in the winter you like. Cramp up or something right? Is that bias? I hate winter it causes my body pain.

Autumn

Psy. chic? Fall Season is. appropriately. brain. y. (this is literally my favorite type i was NOT going to put it into the Evil Winter Season. die winter. i hope the global warms faster i’d rather drown than freeze.)

Flying was unlikely to change... however, migration plus tornadoes sneason was my initial thought. But Tornadus-Therian Searion is actually in the spring and migration is a two way street, the birds come back in the pringles. I might just. Switch Flying and Poison. If you Aggron Agree with switching Flying with Poison let me know in the comments.

You know how you run out of spaces and a type just HAS to go into a slot? Luckily I only had one of those. Unlucky it was Dragon. You smart folks probably have a better idea as to what Dragon should switch into but unless you have a good reason as to why the second Type should switch out, don’t @ me (or do @ me I like the attention).

Winter

Mountains are wintery and snowy because they’re so tall. And do you know what mountains are made of? …You do? Can you tell me, I’m lost, I thought they were made of chocolate but they don’t melt in the summer time so that idea’s washed…

Ghost was originally in the Fall, because Spooky Halloween, except not only could October totally be in the Winter now that I’m in charge of the calendar, and if it can’t, then Halloween doesn’t have to be a Fall holiday, it can be a winter holiday!

Ice? Ice. Baby.

Do you know how Dark it gets during the winter? How quickly it gets Dark? Even if we eliminate Daylight Savings (and we are eliminating Daylight Savings) the Equinox still happens in Winter. Days are still shorter. Darker. Sneasel type.

Water is unlikely to change. Like, it was initially in the spring because “oh look the ice is melting it’s time for spring” no bitch that shit cold. the ocean is cold. even during the summer the lakes are cold. it’s at the end of Winter towards the Spring side of things but That Shit Cold.

and that’s it that’s all i have does anyone have ideas for month names or day names aren’t the months named after like. emperors or something. should we name the months after legendaries. If someone comes up with a month name that’s a palindrome that starts with Ho and ends with oh I’ll give you $10. Call that a fiction commission.

[goldensunset]

[the-feral-one]

Wo's feeling pretty, and he won't judge you if you want to do the same.

[lizardrosen]

Also i want you to be the first to know that Spring Brings Violets!Laertes canonically had a pregnancy scare with his mystery gf 😳

I feel so blessed to know this fact, and it really does seem like something that would happen to laertes - he loves with his whole chest and unfortunately doesn't always look before he leaps. But I also firmly believe that if it were an actual pregnancy he'd support her in whatever choice she made, and drive her to the abortion clinic or help raise the kid.

It's driving me crazy that I don't know who the mystery gf is, i've written down all the clues you've dropped, and i made a list of traits that laertes and beatrice have in common, and yesterday i pored over a list of all the female shakespeare characters and couldn't figure out anyone who really fit it all, so I think I'll just sit back and wait to meet her at this point

but the list itself is extremely funny, I think:

fiercely loyal

JUSTICE

bisexual

wordplay?

controlling father figures?

family above all

impulsive

gullible

fencing (laertes only)

[cleverclove]

Hi everyone! As a final thing from me, I’m so excited to reveal the SBV Photo Album :D needless to say, updates on this one might be a bit sparser lol. If you have any requests for me to draw for this universe, feel free to do so!! <33

[irish-belle]

[fierykitten2]

Cherry and Orange being very happy with each other

Anyway, then Violet started making a noise over and over again so I turned around…

…I’m not sure Passionfruit likes you doing that so close to it Violet (if it’s another Iron Leaves you want, I don’t think that’s going to work)

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ climax 2.0 ] | sylus

— summary: he takes you to a safe house. reasoned it was the safest option while his men tied up whatever loose ends remained from your mission. you get the feeling there’s more to his words than what floats at surface level. — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, profanity, sexual tension, minor character deaths, mentions of blood & violence, terms of endearment, self-deprecating thoughts, a sprinkle of romance, self-indulgent, unhinged moment, mdni — notes: special thanks to @alfredosaws for helping me write this. thank you so much for reading! — now playing: i follow rivers - lykke li

Silly woman. Getting your hopes up for nothing. Still...

He’s yet to set you down—Sylus. Your enigma of a boss, cradling you in his arms like an offering to be bestowed on an altar. Long fingers crooked under your knees, a possessive arm swept under your back.

You’re not hurt—he saw to that when he safely lured you to the ground with his Evol. So why does he insist on carrying you like you are?

You try not to get caught up in how he smells—petrichor during the spring. The leftover carbon of spent bullets. Suede and the freshly-broken skin of a clementine. 

How he feels—strong yet firm, honed from years of boxing and a past you know little of. Tender despite the violence he’s capable of. Big and comforting, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer on the coldest days of the season. 

How he breathes—even, as his heart thrums a steady tempo against your chest. Soothing like ocean waves rolling over your feet, lulling you into tranquility. 

Tch. Since when did you become so poetic?

You’ve long since traded the cacophony of bullets ricocheting off his Evol—of Nikolai’s men shouting obscenities, bleeding malice and vitriol as they spit orders—for the serenity of the night.

Passersby mill about on the moon-laden streets. Couples laugh, bundling together to ward off the night’s chill. An occasional drunkard stumbles down the sidewalk. Sylus effortlessly sidesteps them, refusing to let you walk on your own despite the perturbed looks he garners. You try not to dig too deep into things. And yet…

He’s carried you like this for at least a mile through the city’s heart. Past historic buildings jaded by time, under twinkling string lights, hung over shopping centers and outdoor cafes bordering the street. 

It’s something of a dream. Something like a romantic film, but you don’t feel like you deserve to be its star.

He’s made no move to set you down. You’ve also made no effort to untwine your arms from around his neck. Instead, you study the flexing tendons in his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple when he chuckles something murky and guttural after he catches you staring. You look away with bashfulness creeping beneath your skin, only to repeat the ritual all over again. 

It feels like old times—a memory far off when he carried you like this once before after you led him on a hunt through the docks. After you took down one of the most prominent human trafficking rings in the underworld, and after he thought he would lose you forever. 

You’re sure you were heavy then—he spent most of the night searching for you, reducing anyone who got in his way to ash and bone. He was exhausted, violet bags hanging beneath his eyes, blood speckling his collar. Yet he still held you so tenderly. Walked you towards the horizon, clutching you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. 

You’re sure you’re heavy now.

And he shouldn’t be holding you like this. Despite how delightful it feels, a voice admonishes you from the deepest regions of your mind for getting too comfortable. 

He’s not yours. This isn’t right. 

She might be gone, swept up in the mountains playing escort, but you can’t help feeling like you’re betraying the hunter. You’ve already crossed her so many times in your mind before. 

You squirm a bit. His gaze slides to you. Scarlet eyes gleam beneath the tawny lights like multifaceted rubies. His brows lift slightly, and the beginnings of a smile prod his lips. 

You clear the phlegm from your throat, tamping down the hot flush rising from your chest to stain your neck and cheeks. He’s effortlessly beautiful, like something spawned from a Rembrandt painting. 

“You can put me down now,” you urge, your voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself.”

He looks forward, wearing a full-bodied smile. “I know.” He continues walking like you didn’t speak, making no effort to let you go. 

You give him a deadpan look. Try again, a little more insistent this time. “Sylus.”

“Yes?” he returns, humored, patient. 

“I said you can put me down.”

“I know.”

You sigh, exasperated after a few moments spent glaring at his side profile. His devastatingly attractive profile. That sloped nose. Those heart-shaped lips. Those pretty, grey-fringed lashes. 

“Aren’t you afraid of someone seeing us like this?” You gesture to your conjoined bodies with a nod. “People might get the wrong idea.” 

You might get the wrong idea.

He huffs a laugh like you’ve said the most absurd thing. “When have I ever been concerned with how others perceive me?” Those softened eyes flick back to you, something cold prickling low in your belly at the weight they carry. At how his voice dips like he’s drawing you into a secret. “Since when have you?”

Your lips twitch. He poses a fair argument. You’ve never cared much about how people view you, save for Sylus and the twins. More recently, Ms. Hunter. 

Guilt twists in your throat. Burns like ash. “Sylus…”

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Because if I am, I’d be happy to set you down.” There’s a beguiled edge to his voice. A challenge. A plea. Almost like he wants you to say, ‘No.’

Surely, you’re being delusional.

Regardless, you blanch. And it’s comical how quickly you shake your head, eliciting a thick, low purl of laughter from your savior. Your argument dies in the back of your throat. The drape of your arms around his shoulders slackens. But you still don’t let go. You don’t want to let go. 

You decide she’ll have to be upset with you—Ms. Hunter. Decide to be a little selfish, but only for a little while. You’re growing too comfortable with the sharp click of his heels against the cobblestone. With how he lightly jostles you in his arms after each measured step. You could fall asleep like this, ushered to dreamland by the source of your fantasies and suffering. 

After some time spent wordless, Sylus slows to a stop. When you glance at him, he nods at something ahead, finally setting you down. You’re bereft of the warmth and safety his body provides as he helps steady you. Smoothing out your dress, you take in your new surroundings. 

A structure stretches before you, much like the ones you passed before, only the upkeep is better. Three stories of dark, historic brick and an awning dotted with sepia-toned lights loom overhead. The building's name scrolls on a marquee sign in its center, blaring through the frosty haze of the night. It reminds you of an old movie theater, repurposed for something more upscale. 

You turn quizzical eyes to Sylus. “A restaurant?” Come to think of it, you are a little famished. Murder always manages to stir your appetite. 

Sylus pushes back the tails of his suit jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets. Exhales slow. The spotlights highlight his smile as he looks between you and the entrance. “Not hungry?”

“Yeah, but…it’s a little short notice, isn’t it? Don’t you normally need a reservation to get into places like this? Will they even let us in?”

With a huff caught in his throat, Sylus brushes past you, bounding up the few steps to tug the door open. A swell of noise spills outside, the soft stroke of piano keys, the clatter of cutlery against plates. The savory scent of cooked meat and sautéed vegetables assaults your senses. Your stomach growls. You pat it placatingly, casting Sylus a wary look.

“They should,” he says with a shrug, patiently waiting for you to enter. “I own the place.” His eyes shine with playfulness, posture lax.

You scoff. Of course. He owns half the city. It makes him more attractive, knowing he can buy anything at the drop of a hat. 

“Wow. That’s awfully Bruce Wayne of you, don’t you think?” you mock, stepping up into the restaurant, guided by your fingers wrapped around his forearm.

“Wait,” you start, inadvertently tucking into his side. “Why are you hungry? I’m the one who did all the heavy lifting.”

Sylus shrugs again, feigning innocence as you clear the restaurant's entryway. “Watching you work always makes me peckish.”

You whack his broad chest, rolling your eyes. Can’t help smiling. Giggling. Letting your defenses waver.

The air between you feels lighter, reminiscent of times spent carelessly flirting when the line between employer and subordinate blurred beyond recognition.

—

It’s lively inside, but not overwhelmingly so. 

Colorful conversation brightens the atmosphere around you. Patrons of new and old money, dressed in designer clothing, sip expensive wine. Prattle on about their reckless ventures, about fickle things you can’t be bothered to entertain. 

It’s a high-brow restaurant, with the gentle croon of live music and light fixtures dangling overhead to simulate candlelight. The interior is Art Deco inspired. Jaw-droppingly beautiful. You’ve found yourself eyeing the bar more than once, impressed by the expansive shelves housing vintage wine and spirits, stretching towards a yawning, stained-glass ceiling. 

Had you not known better, you would’ve thought you were on a date and not lying low while ornery men tore the city apart looking for you. But that’s not the case. 

At least, you don’t think it is. 

You bite down on your fork, bleeding warmth, ignoring the scarlet eyes boring into your face for the umpteenth time.

You’re tucked away in one of the restaurant's corners with your boss, seated at a booth, shying away from the spotlight. Away from the prying eyes of the other patrons, though that doesn’t stop the occasional gaze from wandering over you. Curious clients raise their wine glasses at you with tense smiles, scrutinizing the pair of you as if you’re celebrities. 

You do stand out, still donned in your attire from the banquet. And Sylus commands attention wherever he goes, standing a good foot over most of the populous, his hair a riotous shock of white. 

Also more perplexing is that he hasn’t booked the place out. He prefers solitude, the comfortable quiet. And yet, he’s brought you here, surrounded by people, treating you like something to be shown off, and you're lightheaded from the whiplash he’s giving you.

He’s been nothing short of a gentleman. Pulled your chair out for you, ordered on your behalf, ensnared you in idle conversation. Kept your champagne glass full when your waiter was out of earshot, even lauded you for another successful kill. It’s all so uncharacteristic of him, and you can’t help feeling like he’s building up to something big. 

It’s grown quiet between you since your meals arrived, and your thoughts have crept in, robbing you of any bliss you began to experience. 

You’ve caught your boss watching you several times. And he’s never appeared guilty, shamelessly peering into your eyes, smiling, slowly ticking away at your resolve. 

Your skin prickles with warmth as you push around the vegetables on your plate. The meal is lovely. Savory, but your appetite’s abandoned you. Something’s off. You’ve sensed it for the better part of the night. Sylus is being more attentive than usual, and it’s unsettling. 

What’s his angle? Have you offended him? Is he keeping an eye on you, afraid you’ll run away? Will tonight be the night he lays you off?

You decide to confront him, having had enough of this ambiguity. This farce he’s put up. You clear your throat, smoothing out the napkin on your lap. Set your fork down, gaze hesitantly sliding to him across the table as you attempt to make light of your situation.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?”

Sylus’ eyes crinkle with a quiet mirth. A soft youthfulness as he props his elbows on the table, twining his long fingers together. A grin blooms behind his fists. You hold your breath.

“Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are while you eat?”

You choke on your spittle. Violently pat your chest to dislodge it, reaching for your flute of champagne to wet your throat as tears form. Adorable isn’t something you’d use to describe yourself. And adorable isn’t something you’d ever imagine Sylus classifying you as, either.   

“Maybe you should lay off the champagne,” you cough, the burn in your esophagus subsiding. 

He isn’t much of a drinker, so you suspect he’s spewing nonsense because he’s tipsy. You set your glass down, snatching the bottle of bubbly from the table’s center. It’ll be safer on your side, out of reach, where your boss can’t use it as an excuse to utter more absurd things. 

Sylus’ brows knit, mock hurt descending onto his face. “What? Am I not allowed to compliment you?”

You cough again, bringing the bottle to your lips. Drink straight from the source, crisp liquid drizzling down the sides of your mouth. How ladylike.

Maybe you should stop drinking. You’re starting to hear things, your daydreams coming to fruition. This isn’t happening. Your boss isn’t pouting at you like a child, calling you cute, and making you feel things that should be buried beneath the Earth’s crust. He’s typically stingy with his compliments unless given to a specific person. So why suddenly aim them at you? 

The bubbly’s got your head a little fuzzy. That, coupled with the adrenaline slowly seeping into your veins, emboldens you to get to the heart of his strangeness. You decide to poke the proverbial bear. 

“What’s your problem?” you prod, setting the bottle down with a definitive thunk. You fix him with a look, one of tight lips and furrowed brows. 

Sylus chuckles, seemingly in disbelief at your brazenness. He’s fucking with you. He has to be. Maybe he’s trying to get a rise out of you, sensing how vulnerable you’ve felt throughout the night. How vulnerable you’ve been the past few months. 

“Whatever do you mean, sweetheart?”

You ignore how the term of endearment tingles in your skin. It feels more weighted than usual tonight. Everything’s heavier tonight. 

You sigh, looking at your lap with a forlorn smile. Toy with a loose thread on your napkin, steeling yourself for this unavoidable conversation.

The champagne’s got your tongue a little loose, and the people surrounding you give you a boost of courage—witnesses in case Sylus decides to kill you. 

“You’ve been really nice to me all night.” You sound mousy, contrasting the crass asshole you were moments ago. “It’s kind of…weird.”

A silver brow lifts. Sylus adjusts in his chair, leaning closer to hear you better, the faint note of his cologne wafting off his skin. Threatening to derail you. To change your mind.

“Have I not been kind to you before?” He momentarily scrutinizes the lacquered wood of the tabletop, seemingly lost in thought. Gazes back at you, inspecting your face.

You swallow against the sandy grit of your throat, powering past your nerves, an anxious titter on your tongue. You toy with your necklace, dizzy. “No. No, you have. Just…not like this.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Sylus wordlessly encourages you to continue, watching your mouth, your eyes.

“I mean, the gala. Rescuing me from Nikolai’s goons. Carrying me. Dinner. The compliments. I don’t get you, Sylus. One minute, you’re pushing me away. You’re ignoring me, and then the next, you’re…confusing the hell out of me.”

The words are out before you can contain them. Silence stretches between you, stiff like a bowstring drawn back. You can’t look at him now, feeling so small and stupid beneath the blistering weight of his stare. 

You’re disbelieving that he could be so kind. Romantic. Considerate, treating you like something closer than a subordinate. Like he doesn’t have someone else occupying his mind, and you’re wondering if he’s playing some twisted game with your emotions tonight, using you to fill the gap the hunter left while out saving the world. 

“Am I truly that difficult to understand?” he replies, his voice gritty yet soft. 

Something pinches in your chest at the fragility of his tone. You want nothing more than for the world to open up and swallow you whole. 

You flinch when the flat sides of his nails graze your temple. He briefly stops before tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. Then, his fingertips blister down your cheek. He tilts your head back, cupping your chin, coaxing you to look at him. And you do, reluctantly, a warm film of something wet washing over your sight. 

He studies you with a reverence you don’t deserve. A look you haven’t been subjected to in a very long time, yet it still manages to constrict your heart. Still makes your stomach jump like you’re descending downhill, and your lips part slightly, quivering. 

Time slows to a crawl around you, the world seemingly carving out a pocket of space for only the two of you to exist. The sights and sounds of the restaurant fade into obscurity. You’re focused solely on the scarlet wash of his eyes, how they shift back and forth, studying your features, searching. Seeking answers your mouth refuses to utter. 

“If I’ve made myself anything less than transparent, I apologize.” The sincerity there, the quiet vulnerability, it makes you sick because you’re undeserving of it. You feel like you’re taking part in a naughty secret. Witnessing a side of him usually reserved for the hunter. “But I assure you, I’m not as mysterious as you think.”

You snort despite the moment. Despite your pulse thudding in your eardrums, a trickle of optimism seeping through you like molten liquid. You don that arrogant, playful front as if rolling over and showing him your belly will be viewed as a sign of weakness. He could still very well be screwing with you. Getting your hopes up to shatter them like waves breaking against the rocks.

“Yeah, right. And I’m the Queen of England,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

Sylus shrugs, resigned. Still, he doesn’t relinquish your gaze, the soft curl of his fingers around your face. Instead, he grows more tender, his irises twinkling a youthful shade beneath the ambient lighting as he leans closer. His voice is wispy like he’s murmuring something confidential. 

“You don’t have to believe me. But I am no liar, sweetheart. You know that.”

With that, he releases your chin, fingers slowly dragging over your face, leaving a searing path in their wake. You breathe again, unaware you weren’t, as if released from a spell. You watch him take up his champagne flute, slender fingers curling around its stem, and he stirs its fizzy contents. 

You’re jealous of that damn glass, still feeling those ruinous digits burning themselves into your skin.

He decides to shift gears. You’re thankful because you need time to process things. To get your heart rate down from the sky. 

“Besides, you looked like you could use a break. I figured tonight would be a good time for some morale boosting.”

You snort again, sipping from your own flute to assuage a flare of anger. “Me? A break? Morale boost? Yeah, sure.” 

Taking a breather with your boss, playing around on a date like you didn’t just murder someone? Was he serious? And is that all this was? A figurative pizza party to say, ‘Thank you’ for being an obedient little pet? 

You knew you were an idiot, getting your hopes up for nothing. 

“You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m not as much of a slave driver as you think,” he says, parting the tumultuous sea of your thoughts.

“Really? Luke and Kieran might say otherwise.” There’s more vitriol in your voice than you intend to let out. But you’re deflecting, protecting yourself. 

Your chest tightens when Sylus looks down, idly twisting the glass stem between his fingers. His gaze softens, and something in his voice shifts. “Can’t I just spend some time alone with you? Show you how much I appreciate you for being loyal to me all these years?” 

You stiffen, feeling like someone’s thrust a knife into your gut and twisted it. You must not have heard him right. For a moment, he sounded exposed. Wounded. And for a moment, you feel bad for doubting his intentions. 

You’re about to pursue it when your waiter reappears. He’s all smiles and professionalism as he sets two martini glasses on your table, crystalline liquid swirling ominously inside.

You look up at him with quirked brows. He stands in good form, folding his hands together behind his back. 

“Courtesy of the couple over there,” says your waiter, gesturing over his shoulder with a nod. 

You peer behind him. A middle-aged man and a younger-looking woman dressed in eccentric textures smile and wave enthusiastically at you. You lift your glass to them in a quiet toast, pasting on a smile. The gesture is sweet, but what’s the occasion?

“They said, drinks for the lovely couple, and congratulations on celebrating your anniversary.”

You sputter, sending drops of your martini flying every which way. 

Sylus laughs at your plight, taking up a glass for himself and lifting it in appreciation towards the couple. You glare at him as he sips. 

“Happy Anniversary, darling,” Sylus teases. Winks for added effect. He laughs a wealthy man’s laugh while you choke. 

You contemplate correcting the generous couple, but the martini is delicious. And Sylus doesn’t seem affected by it. 

And maybe it feels good pretending that, just for a moment, he’s yours and yours alone.

—

Someone had a sweet tooth following dinner.

That someone, of course, being you. 

The dessert menu at the restaurant looked appetizing. But you had a craving for something cold. Soft-serve. Besides, you were growing uncomfortable the more that couple ordered you drinks. At one point, they’d been so bold as to stop by your table on their way out. 

They kept ogling you. Winking, laughing drunkenly, spewing out their hotel room number upstairs. When they left, you leaned over the table, cupping your hand around your mouth.

“I think they’re swingers,” you whispered to Sylus. 

He laughed, sitting back. Raised his glass to you, a brow tilting up to match the cant of his lips. “Wanna go find out?”

“Hell no! I’m a one-partner kinda gal.”

You didn’t miss how his gaze shifted. Darkened into something you couldn’t quite place. 

You find yourselves in a 1950s-inspired diner— a modest hole-in-the-wall joint with retro decor and bright lights. Only a couple of other diners inhabit the restaurant. You’re nursing a milkshake, courtesy of your boss, buzzing like a child who’s gotten everything they wanted. 

He teased you about your cravings—only you’d want ice cream when it’s cold out. But he didn’t put up much of a fight, humoring you after you wore him down with those puppy eyes and your fingers buried in his sleeves.

He entertained you further by playing the claw machine in the corner at your behest. Watching a man so big, feared, and elusive fiddle with such a garish machine—you felt honored.

You cheered him on, the sleeves of his jacket draped over your shoulders, puddling around your elbows. After several attempts, he was successful, sheepishly shoving a purple koala bear into your hands. Your face burned hot, and your cheeks ached from smiling and laughing. 

It feels like a dream. The ideal date. And for a moment, you forget that Sylus is your boss. That he could never be yours and that you’re anything but a killer. 

You fiddle with the jukebox, earning curious glances from the diner’s other customers. They’re whispering things, eyeing you warily. You ignore them, queuing up a song. And you’re dancing, silly at first, but muscle memory kicks in. Soon, you’re moving your hips, smoothing over the contours of your body, spurred by Sylus observing you from his place atop a stool. 

You wish he would smile more—an authentic smile, unhindered by sarcasm or smugness. He’s much more handsome like this. 

You think about all the times he’s smiled this way for the hunter, and you stumble in your steps. You flash him a smile when it looks like he’ll get up to help you. Carry on dancing, doing one of the things you do best.

You pretend you’re at Lux, and he makes you feel like you’re on a stage just for him, your nerves flaring at his attention. There’s a gleam in his eyes as he leans back on the countertop on his elbow, watching you with muted appreciation. How long has it been since you’ve danced for him?

So swept up by the music, you hardly register the diner slowly emptying. Not even the servers seem to be bustling about anymore. You get an ominous prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the fine hairs there standing stiff. You stop. 

You exchange a look with Sylus. He raises a brow, tapping his temple. “Keep going,” he rasps, doting, coaxing. Entranced.

He has whatever’s about to transpire under control. You trust him fully. The Bonnie to his Clyde. 

The wispy tendrils of his Evol materialize around the diner’s interior to form a barrier, tossing the restaurant into a misty haze of red and black. It’s reminiscent of hellfire, and you feel like Lilith taking part in a sacrilegious waltz. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, attentive as you continue to dance. And you smile, putting on a damn good show as Nikolai’s men funnel in, their cries of agony tempered by the music spilling from the jukebox and your laughter coloring the air as Sylus rends flesh from bone with his Evol. 

—

He takes you to a safe house as the night reaches its peak. 

He reasoned it was the safest option while his men tied up whatever loose ends remained from your mission. Like dining and holding hands out in public didn’t warrant an ambush. 

Someone snitched. Saw that familiar riot of white, those brawny shoulders. Heard that gritty voice mixed with your distinct laughter and sent Nikolai’s men to finish you off. Sylus picked them off while you danced unhindered, but there was no telling how many stragglers were left, ducking into the shadows, creeping along the historic brick walls. 

Again, he insists on carrying you as you break through the door of a quaint, quiet home perched on a hilltop. Secured by his biometrics. Bordered by evergreens and the calming symphony of the forest. Isolated, like him. Hidden from invasive questions, from prying eyes. 

You’re tired. The night’s adrenaline sloughed off, leaving you tenuous and agreeable, which is why you don’t put up much of a fight as Sylus walks you through the foyer, smiling down at you like you’re his precious bounty. It’s infectious. Your lips tug, too, though a little less enthused. You blink slowly. Breathe evenly, lulled by the mollifying thump of his heart against your cheek. 

He drops your stilettos on the hardwood floor halfway to the living room. Deposits you on a dark leather settee, fixing your dress over your legs and his jacket around your shoulders. Draws back. Your chest tightens. You don’t know what hits you when your fingers close around the pleated sleeve of his button-up, eyes beseeching when he looks at you from over his shoulder. 

You don’t say anything. Don’t have to.

Don’t leave. Stay.

You don’t want the dream to end. Not yet.

He chuckles low, all smooth like whisky poured into a glass. Softened, scarlet eyes pan in through the low light, his silhouette haloed by amber. He lifts your legs to settle onto the upholstery beside you. Pulls your feet onto his lap. They’re irritated. Rubbed raw from being strapped to too-tall heels all night, running and gunning like you had no limitations.

He sensed your discomfort. Always such a gentleman.

Large, sweltering hands close around your feet, kneading through pressure and knots of tension. Knuckles at the balls of your feet. You exhale slowly, pleased. Thankful. The attention’s nice. There’s a small voice wading through the murky sea of your mind, telling you this is wrong. That you don’t deserve it, his tenderness. 

You’re getting pretty fucking sick of your conscience. It’s just a foot rub. It’s not like you’re kissing him. 

“You’re good at this,” you note offhandedly. 

“My hands are more useful than you think.”

Something dark threads through his voice. Something cheeky. You ignore how your stomach flips, your mind sparkling with impure ideas. 

Drowsiness sweeps in around the corners, bordering your vision like a vignette. He’s masterful with his hands. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the king of the underworld. You doze off, shepherded through the inkiness by the faraway tick of a clock. By trees rustling beyond the massive window, the moon dragging itself to the center of the sky, cloth moving as Sylus rubs over your calves. 

You stir when he shifts. When he moves to get up and lay your legs on the couch. That feeling returns. That ache. The call of loneliness. Your sleepiness abandons you, making way for cold fright. You stumble from the settee. Rush to stand at full height, gripping his shirt at the crooks of his elbows, halting him.

Your mouth opens. Heart thundering. You don’t know what to say—what you were thinking. His gaze is unyielding, studying your face like the slow flicker of a flame. Silver brows knot. Peach lips fall slightly open. He’s waiting for something. Asking for something. 

You’re on autopilot when you cautiously angle yourself closer. Your gaze falls to his mouth, and he mirrors you, cradling your elbows as if he’s afraid to break you. You’ll blame it on the bubbly you consumed later. On the spell he somehow cast over the night, enthralling you with his chivalry. 

You tug, and he meets you halfway. Not like you have to put in much effort. He’s already leaning down. Eyes already half-moons, breath already shaky. 

He tenses when your lips meet. Shoulders drop once the initial shock peters, and then he’s kissing you with those full, molten lips. He draws you closer, hands splayed possessively at the small of your back. Thumbs cruising over the meat of your hips. Up and down your sides. Wherever he touches, you burn.

You exhale through your nose, and your arms snake around his neck. Fingers sift through the fine hairs at his nape.

He teases your mouth open with his tongue. Sighs something anguished when you grant him entry, licking into your mouth. Pulls you impossibly closer. He’s rigid and warm against you. Gathers your cheek in his palm, angling your head back. He kisses greedy. Selfish. Plunders your mouth, milking the sweetest little sounds from your body. Sounds you didn’t think yourself capable of making.

You kiss and kiss until your lips are chaffed. And even then, you don’t stop. He’s ravenous, moving against you like he’s waited eons to do this. Like he’s fought a war with himself and lost. You’re his Gettysburg. His Kryptonite.

You’ll feel sorry for yourself tomorrow. Blame it on the air, charged with something heady, your inhibitions and common sense thrown to the wolves.

It’s just a kiss. He’s your boss. And tonight, he’s been something of a friend. A dream. Friends kiss all the time, right?

So why do you feel so guilty?

— tags: @emneedshelp, @reiofsuns2001, @crazy-ink-artist, @vonev, @subliminalwish, @ikiru-wa, @inkonparchment, @regandoesthings, @szired, @alyyylog, @leekingsman, @beewilko, @an-ever-angry-bi, @abbylee0710, @sunnyf4lls, @himiko-omikami, @midiplier, @ari-shipping-stuff, @karespocketboyfriends, @glamouroki, @babygirl-panda19, @im-in-different-universe, @sillyfreakfanparty, @lunebulous, @vilehrs-blog (sorry if i missed anyone.)

climax | masterlist | falling action

[los-plantalones]

grape hyacinths are one of my favorite spring ephemerals. not only are they adorable, but the flowers can be used for making syrup that tastes faintly and sweetly of grapes.

and if that’s not your thing, they can also be used for making color-changing ink. the initial ink might look purple in color, but as it hits the paper and begins to dry it will turn blue. and if you add an acid, it will turn pink. and if you add a basic it will turn green (you can do this with the syrup, too!)

this happens because of naturally-occurring pigments called anthocyanins – the same pigments found in purple cabbage, violets, and blueberries!

COLOR SCIENCE 🧪

___________________________________

Ink Recipe

Ink Tutorial | Part 1 | Part 2

Syrup Recipe

[jawusa]

[4t2] Sixam - Secret Alien World for TS2 ^^

Remember my 4t2 Sixam project I started 2 years ago? Which I almost scrapped but revisited sometime last year? ... well, I've got good news for you then. It's finally out now! ^^

Welcome to Sixam!

Sixam Academy is a prestigious intergalactic university on the planet of Sixam that provides special training for aspiring students to become Birth Queens, Colony Drones, or even the latest innovation in alien technology: Pollination Technicians. The academy offers hands-on experiences, collaborative research, and cultural exploration, alongside interstellar expeditions, nurturing a community focused on curiosity, inclusivity, and innovation.

Yes, I recreated the secret alien world from TS4 for TS2 as a custom university subhood! Why as a university subhood you may ask? Well, I tried to keep the original vibes of Sixam of it being an "unlockable"/visitable place your sims can explore rather than a regular neighborhood your sims can live in!

Well, even after graduation, your sims can actually stay and live in the university subhood using Lamare's YAs can enjoy maternity (and all that) mod, as well as Lamare's Pets at University mod!

While technically it's a university, it could easily also be just a downtown or a main hood, as it includes quite a few urban city-style residential & community lots that a main hood/downtown would also otherwise have… just all in sci-fi/alien theme, of course! ;)

Download: MTS | Simblr.cc | SFS

More info under the cut...

Neighborhood Info:

Requires only Uni/NL/OFB EP and no CC were used to build the lots - I made this without Apartment Life EP, so TS2 Super Collection users can also use it, but in the future, I might also make an alternative version as an actual downtown with apartment lots!

No camera mod is needed, yet, still recommended for easier gameplay, especially since some lots were built on skyscrapers and can be hard to view with just the vanilla camera.

Number of Sims: 90 (10 playable sims in 4 playable families, 31 townies, 44 NPCs, 5 dead sims)

Number of Lots: 35 (7 residential lots, 2 Greek houses, 5 dorms, 1 secret society, 20 community lots, where 8 of which are owned businesses)

Gameplay Info:

Speaking of lots, I made lecture halls for every major, which you could use with beestew's Active Classes mod! These are community lots, featuring skill-building equipment and study spaces, with NPC professors (as lot owners) available for tutoring whenever your sims visit.

I also made an optional custom skybox and custom lighting file for Sixam that will make it always nighttime (Yes, you heard right! The sun never shines here on Sixam!) with subtle seasonal color changes - reddish in Autumn, bluish in Winter, and greenish in Spring.

While the empty version should be CC-free, the inhabited version requires the 3 alien skintones (blue/turquoise/violet) from my [4t2] aliens set to keep the TS4 alien characters like Aileen Rauvu authentic. As giving all these colorful aliens the default green skin instead felt as bad as white-washing, say, giving black characters like Olive Specter a lighter skintone for me. An alternative CC-free version with no CC skintones is also available for players who prefer to not have any CC skintones in their games, though.

I also recreated some characters from TS4, especially all the characters from the The Sims 4 Get to Work: Sul Sul trailer. Every character comes with a complete set of ancestors (at least parents) and customized memories, even townies and NPCs! Some also come with interesting lore! Even though, they're just... townies! Oh, and everyone has genetic infant faces! Yayy! XD

Speaking of characters, scripted events don't work in subhoods, but I wrote a text in each family description that somewhat mimic the scripted event notifications anyway. I think this is a brilliant and fun way of introducing new characters, even in university subhoods. All households should also have a complete set of family album pictures that show their lore a bit. ^^

Recommended Mods:

All notownieregen/antiredudancy/nodormiespawn/nossrespawn mods. All university townies/NPCs in Sixam are aliens.. or at least have a very good reason why they're there, but this can easily be ruined if you don't have these mods installed, lol.

bloodredtoe's Mannequin babies can be born mod. To have more variety, I used the mannequin skintone for some of the alien sims. While this mod isn't required, it's recommended to prevent crashes, especially when these aliens have offspring, as there's a chance they could inherit the mannequin skintone.

Squinge's No Townie Memory Loss. Again, townies and NPCs in this neighborhood are highly customized and I recommend getting no townie amnesia mods to prevent their lore from getting wiped out! As there are a few clues in the bios of some of the townies... including long lost twins!

lingeringwillx's Restore Default Names for Sims in Subneighbohoods . This is especially helpful, not only because the townies/NPCs are related to the playable sims, but also, it will help to maintain the alien atmosphere of Sixam with names like Pollination Technicians, Colony Drones or Birth Queens, etc. instead of having EA's default townie/NPC names.

Install Instructions:

This download consists of 3 parts:

Neighborhood itself:

Place the USXM folder into your PROGRAM FILES/EA Games/The Sims 2 University/TSData/Res/NeighborhoodTemplate folder

Note: If you have TS2 UC, it's PROGRAM FILES/EA Games/The Sims 2 Ultimate Collection/University Life/EP1/TSData/Res/NeighborhoodTemplate

Note: If you have TS2 Legacy, it's PROGRAM FILES/EA Games/The Sims 2 Legacy/EP1/TSData/Res/NeighborhoodTemplate

2. OPTIONAL: Custom skybox (& 3 new alien skintones):

Place the Sixam CC folder into your DOCUMENTS/EA Games/The Sims 2/Downloads folder

Note: If you have TS2 UC, it's DOCUMENTS/EA Games/The Sims 2 Ultimate Collection/Downloads

Note: If you have TS2 Legacy, it's DOCUMENTS/EA Games/The Sims 2 Legacy/Downloads

3. OPTIONAL: Custom lighting (for enabling 24/7 nights):

Place the sixam_lot.txt file into your PROGRAM FILES/EA Games/The Sims 2 Mansion & Garden Stuff/TSData/Res/Lights folder

Note: If you have TS2 UC, it's PROGRAM FILES/EA Games/The Sims 2 Ultimate Collection/Fun with Pets/SP9/TSData/Res/Lights

Note: If you have TS2 Legacy, it's PROGRAM FILES/EA Games/The Sims 2 Legacy/EP9/TSData/Res/Lights

Credits:

To EA for creating Sixam in the first place, even though it was originally created for the wrong game ;)

Makers of SimPE (especially with the newest version, allowing creation of customized NPCs!)

Mootilda for all her amazing tools, especially LotCompressor, LotAdjustor, HoodChecker, and her tutorial on how to create a custom subhood template.

Numenor for his AnyGameStarter, allowing for the creation of a Uni/NL/OFB only environment.

@lowedeus for his original skybox, which I recolored and modified to make the skybox season-friendly, as well as @criquette-was-here for the tutorial on how to make nhood objects glow at night.

Gwenke for the original ocean surface nhood deco, which I also recolored and modified to make it glow at night.

@catherinetcjd for all her inspring builds and also for being such an amazing friend. I recommend her Isosceles Apartments, Experiment 4.2, The Colony as well as her Pyramid Commune No. 9 Live, specifically as optional additional lots for this neighborhood. I learned a lot from you in the past few years of neighborhood and lot building!

Creusa Sims for her support and love while I was creating this neighborhood. It was fun discussing some of the lore in this neighborhood with you. XD

@lordcrumps for also being such an amazing friend! It was you who kept pushing me to actually redo the skybox when I wasn't happy with the draft version, lol! And also for your helpful inputs very early on. ^^

@lamare-sims for being such a talented modder and her amazing mods that make living in university subhoods possible in the first place! This concept wouldn't have otherwise made sense.

That's it for now I guess? I hope you have as much fun with this neighborhood as I had building it! <3