#I have rewritten this answer multiple times to remove as much bitch from my answer as possible

[sadaveniren]

Louis continues to like photos of Danielle, and it will be so funny to see his face when he admits he is with her

🙄🙄 reminder to every anon frothing at the bit for Douis to make a comeback and prove me wrong for saying “nah not happening” this was from like a week ago via her IG stories. Her getting kissed on the cheek by her FIANCÉE who she has been with for 5 years while WEARING HER ENGAGEMENT RING.

JFC he liked a post about her dog - a dog he knew!! Louis - a confirmed dog person!!! - liking dog posts on IG! Shocking concept I know.

[tripstaysnoided]

Flow Just Like Water

Story and writing-related transparency update and my many shames...

The Question on Everyone’s Mind

“Hey you haven’t updated No Stars over Uptown in almost a year...”

Hmm, I hate it when you’re right. (This section has been rewritten ad-nauseam to curb back the bitchiness by the way)

So back in early/mid 2018, the idea was to divorce Uptown from a person who influenced it (and myself) heavily. She was my most important audience member, the closest friend I ever had, and unfortunately someone who used her power to bully, ostracize, and hurt others with my help. I cut contact when the hurt + some self-awareness finally reached me. Apologies were made and I feel like my work will never be done with it, but there was still Uptown.

Between censored comments, entirely recasting Axel’s save, different plot threads, and a load of disclaimers, there was nothing that would scrub her influence from the story. There was no way to cleanly drop everything because of how deep her influence went. It disgusted me to look back at it, and I had to private the blog because I feared what it endorsed, even if just in the past.

I pulled back from that sims writing community. I had its main thread on the Official Forums removed too (I guess if that was a mystery to anyone). It was a surrender that I never wanted to do, but I had it in my mind that if I was gone, then she wouldn’t be there either. Uptown became this cursed item, and as I quietly retired it, I noticed that she went quieter too. Not gone, but enough to make me sleep easier at night and even occasionally say hello to old friends.

And I hope deep in my heart that no one else is getting hurt in my place, but now this is gonna haunt me all day huh!

The two paths forward...

1) Complete Uptown rewrite that I’ve been threatening everyone with all year. While it won’t ever be clean because I can’t undo time, I do have a sound outline for a story that is much more true to my actual vision and how I’ve evolved, with a few necessary boundaries in place that are going to be there for all stories moving forward: no more casting calls and no more collaborative efforts. I am not going to open myself up to this happening again, even if the people have changed.

2) Same as above, but I continue the original Uptown as a favor to loyal readers alongside the rewrite. I would try to put the effort into it that I initially did, but with no promises on an update schedule and no advertising. I did ask myself “is there Patreon but without pledging money, just the private posts function” but it could operate as part of a private forum, a members-only part of a website, etc.

Also readers of the original would be beholden to a rule of “don’t spoil the rewrite for new readers, c’mon guys”. I mean, not really, but it is a good courtesy to extend to people.

Priority on this isn’t high but you at least will see what is!

I will probably make the blog public again either way due to the many broken links on my Tumblr but we’ll see. There are other things to deal with as I shall list!

Where Life’s Been Regardless

Been spending more time with my grandpa every weekend. Life’s pretty good and he’s warming up to my dogs.

Shiny New Webbed Site

Cucumber Fields Forever is a site I own now. We have a full domain, cucumberfieldsforever.com, a blog with one post, and the framework needed to host stories the way I want to and still through WordPress. The functionality of likes, comments, and following should still be the same but you know...I’ll take feedback too...

The main blog still has an undefined purpose though I do have drafts sitting around about:

The maybe/maybe not hoax band that was on the Metal Archives and the history of Funeral Doom Metal.

The curious case of when Sims 4 babies get their genetics and my only collaboration (read: was talking about it with a friend and might quote her if needed, it’s actually a bit of a doozy)

Amazon.com’s fake dried udon noodles, an actual issue by the way.

Things I’m reading! (This’d be a monthly feature if so)

For the sake of unity, I am thinking of solutions for hosting old and shameful content there including Uptown and for the real fans in my followers feed, Eight Cicadas...a world I totally have plans for too (not really). I don’t want them to be front-and-center, and that’s why I mentioned forums/members-only content. I finally have that power! Maybe.

Ooooh but what are the costs? Not too much to handle, that’s what. 😉 (Like really, I don’t need any hand-wringing about this, I can manage my finances)

Project Queue (In Order of Confirmedness)

Outrun the Scythe: have you seen me post out-of-context Sims 3 pictures? Did you want more? Did you hope it was Linda in Custody? If the answers are yes, yes, and “meh, whatever you want”, then you’re in luck.

Outrun the Scythe is a Sims 3-based tale of a young gay man and his zombie grandma, as they are both offered separate roles of being the undying intermediaries between the world of humans and the influence of a race of space daemons. It’s pretty familiar if you’ve been following me pre-Uptown, taking some cues from stories I’ve kept under lock and key like Eight Cicadas, The Chains of Lyra, and the not-so-locked-up Ironstar Immortals (of which Outrun is just the direct sequel to sans any retconning...ah the smell of early 2013 and performative heterosexuality)

Ah, back to my roots.

It’s a hybrid of gameplay, story, and lore about my little race of daemons with a lot of my own idiosyncrasies that I’m not really ashamed of: basing it off a super-polarizing Sims 3 challenge from a site I moderate, using a lot of EA’s pre-made townies and their genes, lots of unnecessary posemaking, stupid references. It’s a comfort to have in my roster.

While the first few chapters are in the middle of revision, I have around six in the queue and will be making this public when I have ten. I’m guessing December then?

Undocumented Black Widow Challenge: I just did this for fun/forum kudos (yes, in fact I have joined many forums), there was going to be a short story but it was quickly becoming something against my code of ethics. I mean, sims die and all. (read: I had to choose between “heterosexual widow” and “widow with some same-sex marriages that still end in tragedy, reinforcing negative stereotypes to the public for the sake of me not getting bored and detached during gameplay” so there were no good choices. Except for her affair with the mailwoman, 10/10) I hope to finish this before October ends and get my medal on Boolprop, I’m pretty far through it all. I might upload the sims involved anyways. This is for TS4.

I mentioned it because it’s keeping me busy. But not for long!

NaNoWriMo 2020: Dipping my toes into that again! It’s not sims-related, just a tale of lesbians, nosy neighbors, a haunted beach house, and some light murder and kidnapping. And I actually got my brother to scout out locations for me this weekend. If there’s any demand, I can share chapters as the rough drafts are finished, especially for the sake of proofreading.

Not saying I’m publishable, but wouldn’t it be nice? Will keep me occupied for much of November.

Untitled “Dear Diary” Challenge: Tired of feeling left out of the fun on the Boolprop forums, their “Dear Diary” challenge was the one that appealed to me the most on first glance. Why? Probably once I found an idea that let it be set in the early/mid-2000′s to begin with and explore some interesting characters through diary entries (which I have mixed feelings on as a literary device but I think that’s just me saying “well I didn’t like Dracula”, yes you get bonus points for writing it like a diary)

Also writing is the one skill I’m good at across multiple games. Wanna hear me bitch about the cooking skill tree in TS4 or riding in TS3? I’ll spare you.

I guess I could have included “spending time on Boolprop with old and new friends” in where my life has been. It’s a nice lil community if also a place with its own idiosyncrasies as well. So it doesn’t feel like I’m promoting another community if/when I make a thread there for Outrun the Scythe, I want to have a couple chapters of this ready to go by Outrun’s release, though it’s not gonna be the highest priority compared to it nor as long because I think I can blast through the gameplay quickly.

This one will be played in TS4 due to it having the easiest writing skill/I dunno variety is the spice of life. And hopefully another December release.

Defunded or Forgotten?: Oh shit I actually released stuff in 2020 and told no one? I do have a “mortifying ordeal of being known” sinking feeling whenever I get a site hit because it’s not my best work (but good enough) and veered sharply into issues I may be over my head in, though I try to be a good noodle with research and listening. Maybe hiding is bad after all.

Being based off a very flawed and incomplete Sims 3 challenge I found in the annals of the Official Forums, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work just making sense of things. And I’m scared of working on reconstructing the house but I haven’t abandoned the project yet. The story has eight chapters so far and is pretty game-based with some additions here and there. Scared of how long it could be though!

Date for this unknown.

Untitled Sunlit Tides Decadynasty: another year-long abandoned TS3 project with a much stupider reason why. Last update was about Hua getting ready for her wedding, and I wanted to do some poses for a bait-and-switch wedding chapter because to put it mildly, her real one was an absolute disaster.

Blender decided to fuck up its interface again, I got discouraged (this probably does account for some of the Uptown delays too), and when I decided to plow forward, it was for other projects instead.

Meanwhile I played all the way to Gen 5′s teenhood and the only thing stopping me is time (it takes almost 30 minutes to load the file right now, though they’ll be looking at moving towns in a couple gens) and maybe fear of the Logic skill.

Date for this also unknown but it’s easy to pump out updates once I’m in the groove for it. My third heir had a difficult life so maybe I’m just trying to bury it.

Also I just noticed the view count there was really good and probably because I linked it here on Tumblr last year. Thank you so much guys. I can’t really fret over views on Carl’s forum these days thanks to the years-long death spiral pretty much every forum anywhere has been riding on. But it’s a nice surprise. And it’s an alright little challenge recap to read during your lunch break or whatever.

The Wawas

I figured I’d end on the real news everyone wants! Both the chihuahuas are a year and a half now and reached their adult size around a year ago. For the most part, they are happy and healthy dogs.

[phylophe]

Only Human

The Mechanic observes his Magnum Opus. 

----- 

There’s something different about him - he’s used to that shit-eating grin of this asshole, and something about this one just doesn’t feel right.

“Where’s your doctor?” He asks as Four throws himself down onto his couch and stretches out, as if he owned the place.

“Aww, what if I just came over here because I missed you and your rough treatment?” The out-of-place smile is still there, and it feels more wrong by the moment. Still, the man’s committed to his acting, if nothing else, and keeps up the cocky composure even as he smears blood onto one of the new cushions. “Or maybe I just wanted to have a catch-up with my favourite mechanic?”

“Sure. In the small hours of the morning. Covered in dried blood. And… did you get shot?”

Four doesn’t retort immediately with some smart comment; only after a few seconds does he manage a feeble comeback. “I didn’t get shot. I got shot at, and they missed.”

“Nice try with the bullshit.” He doesn’t press further. He hasn’t seen Four so weak, so broken, so human, since the time he’d spent months putting the man’s body back together.

He doesn’t ask anymore questions, and Four doesn’t tell anymore lies. Two days later, he wakes up to find his couch empty.

Don’t do anything stupid, he thinks.

-----

But of course the bastard goes and does multiple stupid things.

Over the following weeks, the double-agent does an abysmal job of upholding that title, and ends up dirtying his couch three more times. The last of these times, his partner ended up having to actively hack into the government surveillance records and manually overwrite some files.

“Are you so full of crap that it’s finally filling up the space in your skull, shit-for-brains?” Four’s actions were reckless and selfish, so he figures he deserves a taste of his own medicine, if only in the form of a scolding. “Please tell me you’re fucking up on purpose, because if you’re getting us into trouble by actual stupidity, I’ll have to kick your ass myself.”

“Maybe I don’t have enough fibre in my diet?” Even while sedated, the shithead somehow musters up enough energy to pull a jerk-ass face, and he’d like nothing more than to put his fist in it, except his hands are currently occupied by clamps and a scalpel.

“I’m serious, Ilvait.” The emphasis on his real name does the trick - Four’s face grows stern and his eye sharpens with attention. “I couldn’t care less if you got your sorry ass handed to you and die in some rat-hole, but if you keep pulling crazy stunts and jeopardising the safety of the rest of us, I’ll go have a word with your superiors on both sides.”

Four doesn’t bother with a reply - that alone tells him that the agent’s streak of poor performance isn’t simply coincidental.

“What happened to your doctor?” His anger is diffusing a bit. He’s only human, after all.

Four supplies a single word: “Hrodna.”

The airstrike. They’d attacked not only the infantry, but also one of the field hospitals. “Did she die?”

“No.”

The gears turn in his head and the pieces click into place. “So are you going to do anything about that stick up your ass, before it migrates too high and gives you a heart attack or a stroke or something?”

“What do you suggest?” Four asks with his face turned away; he can’t say he likes it better when the asshole’s grinning, but he also can’t deny his pity for the guy. “Should I take a leaf out of your book: Insubordination For Dummies?”

“I thought you of all people would somehow find a way around it, what with all those nasty thoughts squirming around in there.” He cauterises a blood vessel with an electric scalpel. There’s some nerve damage and a number of small arteries need to be reconnected - procedures that are beyond his abilities. Four will have to get a proper doctor back at home. “Assuming you can even manage rational thought at this point.”

Four doesn’t respond. Oh my god, he’s actually listening.

“Look, if it’s bothering you to this extent - damned if you do and damned if you don’t - go take care of this personal shit before you fuck up everything else.” He puts down the scalpel and picks up a suturing needle, sighing as he turns back to his subject. “If it’s that difficult, I’ll do what I can. Marclai will help, too.”

He braces himself for a smug quip, perhaps preceded by a coy, overly-affectionate coo.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t expect that. “Don’t thank me.” He waves it off with a soft grunt. “I just don’t want me, or him, or anyone else getting caught up in this mess because you’re worried about your woman.”

Four is only human, after all. The reminder rings once again in his head. And nothing is more human than the weakness for love.

-----

He squints at the scanned document on the screen. It looks like a scientific paper, impeccably formatted with LaTeX, complete with figures, tables, and equations. The author had identified himself as ‘Ivan Mikael Fore’.

The text, however, consists of just one word: chicken, over and over. He glances over to the page count: Page 1/34. “What’s this?”

“Something that came to the attention of the general himself. Apparently one of his close associates - a civilian, to boot - got tipped off with this piece of intelligence.” His boss sounds exasperated through his headset. “It looks like a prank, but there’s a hidden message in this apparent nonsense.” A PDF file is opened, with a short message occupying a tiny fraction of the page:

on ap ril twen ty nin th at ze ro thr ee hund red ho urs th ere will be an acci den tal deto nat ion of a seri es of six und isco ver ed la ndmi nes five po int two ki lome tres sou the ast of the ca mp

He recalls a conversation he had with Marclai a couple of weeks ago. Apparently Four had requested access to the secured bunker where all the yet-to-be-defused explosives from previous wars are kept, and asked to have the records rewritten so the missing items couldn’t be traced. There was also something about drawing up a circuit involving a timer.

“Do you know anything about this, Haekel?” His silence probably answered that question already. Shit. “This has Ilvait written all over it, don’t you think?”

“I can’t say for certain, ma’am.” He fumbles with the mic of his headset. “What camp is this, if I may ask? Does the general have an idea? Any matches with anything in our records?”

“The general thinks it’s Dzisna.” Oh, damn it, Four. “The Naveau name has been popping up mysteriously lately - someone bumped the Hrodna-Dzisna case up the priority list, the password access to files of missing personnel has been removed by an unknown hacker, and rumours are gaining traction. The media loves it, of course, and wants to know what the military’s doing about it.”

“My apologies, but I don’t know anything about this chicken manuscript, ma’am.” He leans back in his chair, feeling both amazed and exasperated. “I can have my associate dig into the server’s logs if you wish - do some data-mining, see if anything turns up.”

“That’d be useful. I’ll send you the details after further discussions with the unit, then.” His boss sighs. “It just seems like too much of a coincidence, with Ilvait volunteering to be deployed to that month-long recon mission in Azerbaijan. Is he trying to create an alibi for himself?”

“I really don’t have an answer for that, but I’ll see what we can do, Major General.”

He waits until the electronic security scan is complete before turning to his partner. “You helped him, didn’t you, Ilya?”

He really pulled a leaf out of your book, after all, Marclai signs from across the room. Since it’s for a righteous reason for once, I agreed. It reminds me of old times.

“I’d be impressed if he can pull this off.” He pulls off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. “Truth be told, I kinda hope he does.”

He will, if I’m backing him up.

-----

Okay, he’s impressed.

The Special Reconnaissance Unit had decided, in conjunction with General Naveau and the rest of intelligence, that the tip was genuine, and too good of a wave not to ride. 

In the chaos provided by the ‘accidental detonation’, a small taskforce composed of volunteers stormed the place, and rescued the surviving prisoners - Four’s doctor among them. The base itself was heavily bombed to erase any evidence of the taskforce’s intrusion.

When Four returned from Azerbaijan, he was taken into custody almost straight off the plane, ferried back to headquarters, and questioned thoroughly and mercilessly, but there’s no solid evidence of his involvement, and his alibi was flawless.

He was even more pleased when the Major General decided to unofficially punish Four, anyway. He sure couldn’t say no to the offer.

“So… you’re my bitch for the next four weeks.” He pulls the most smug, snide, shit-eating smirk he can manage, and drops a stack of dusty binders on top of the pile of documents. It’s probably got nothing on Four’s face, but damn, it feels good. “Looking forward to all the old cases you’ll have the honour to look through?”

“I hate you so much,” Four grumbles, but there’s something behind his petulance - a hint of pride, and satisfaction. He’s back.

“Aww, is that the way to talk to your master?” He chuckles, and not entirely out of spite. “Aren’t you at least a little bit grateful you’re not in a worse situation right now?”

“I guess so.” Four shrugs, pouting as he turns back to his fort of files, and hunches over the computer. “I could be stuck with old case reports and not have air-conditioning.”

He laughs heartily at Four’s sign of defeat. He thinks things over, and after a few minutes of silence broken only by the white noise of fingers tapping away on a keyboard and shuffling through papers, he spins around in his swivel chair to address the man once more. “Did you see her?”

“Nope.” The typing and shuffling don’t pause for even a moment.

“Planning to?”

“Maybe when she gives her statement at the capital.” The man slaps a stained, crinkled stack of paper onto the end of the desk. “Probably not the right time for a catch-up over coffee, though.”

“Probably not.” He agrees. Still, it all feels so… sad - this secrecy, this distance, this unfulfilled longing. “Hey, Four?”

“Hmm?”

“I hope things work out for you.”

“Thanks.” The typing and shuffling stop. A sigh - miserable, weak, human. “I hope so, too.”

-----

He thought he was done dealing with his bullshit once he’s resigned from the unit, but in true Four fashion, the man has once again proved him wrong. 

“What the fuck, Four?” He’s concerned - the man is properly dressed, but his complexion is pale, and there’s this disturbingly absent look in his eyes, but that doesn’t negate how angry he is at the former-agent putting the safety of himself and everyone around him at risk. Again. “Don’t tell me you went around looking like that - in case you’ve forgotten, you’re meant to be dead now, dumb shit.” 

Four has the gall to look up at him - straight in the eyes, then simply shakes his head. “I covered my tracks.” 

He allows Four to shove past him into his workshop, and watches as the man sheds his coat, scarf and gloves in turn, tossing it over his stained couch.

His eyes scan over his body, and stop at his right hand, which is covered in soiled, carelessly-wound bandages. The blood on it looks old. 

He rolls his eyes and lets out a groan. “Sit your sorry ass down before you fall over and break something.” He digs under his desk for his medical kit, gnashing his teeth. He gets the feeling that this will be beyond his ability to fix. “Who and how did you fuck up, this time? You look like shit.” His stomach is flipping. Four isn’t an agent anymore. This wasn’t a mission - this was personal. 

He fucked up someone as a personal errand. 

Four still won’t talk to him, but at least he’s sat down on the couch. “I know you’ve been moving around.” He reaches for the bandaged hand, grabbing Four’s wrist rather roughly. “Ticking off that hit-list you’ve been compiling, right?” 

Four is silent. He takes that as a ‘yes’. 

“Did you catch and release?” He has to reduce his questions to yes-or-no ones; his friend looks damned near catatonic at this stage. 

“No.” Ah, he spoke. “Took care of the last one.” 

“And how long ago was that?” He peels off the bandages - blood and pus and iodine soak the dressing, sticking the layers together, and there’s no way he can be as gentle with it as he’d like. “Long enough for you to take piss-poor care of a simple cut and catch an infection.” He lets out an angry huff at the state of the wound - it’s probably once a neat gash across the palm, but infection has reduced it to a swollen, discoloured, feverish mess. He starts cleaning it with disinfectant. 

Four is muttering. “I was in Dzisna.” 

“…Fuck.” He can’t find a more suitable response. “You screwed up.” It wasn’t a question, because of course he did. 

He’s only human. That place is haunted for him. No way he’d have gotten out of that unscathed. 

He tries his best to get the details out of Four over the next hour as he worked on the wound, asking him short questions and prompting him to divulge. He learns enough to piece things together: Four has been committing to some vigilante work and tracked down those who’d wronged his doctor - his woman - in that camp. He’s appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner, and hit a roadblock when it came to his final victim. 

The sergeant in charge of the camp; the man who’s allowed for the vicious abuse of his woman during her imprisonment there. 

“No wonder you snapped. Damn it, Four.” He glances over at Marclai, making sure his patient is held still, before he tugs the piece of rusty, chipped scalpel out of Four’s palm. The man jolts, but the movement is much weaker than anticipated. “I know you have a lot of mechanical parts in you, but news flash: you’re still human. You have feelings. You’re not invincible.” He starts to suture the swollen, infected mess as best he can. “Don’t put yourself into stupid-ass situations like that, you extra son-of-a-bitch.”

Four doesn’t retort. He finds himself feeling too sorry for the man to scold him anymore, however much he deserves it. “Stay here for a while.” He suggests, and Marclai nods in agreement. “I have to order some shots for the technicolour mess that is your hand, and until you’re better, you’re staying here. I don’t want you passing out somewhere out there and risk exposing all of us.” 

“Until I’m better, huh?” Four lets out a pathetic little snort. 

I know; for people like us, things may never truly get better. Still– “Until you’re good enough to go back to your woman.” He tries to be firm. “No more stupid shit. Your woman doesn’t deserve to see you looking as fucked up as you do now.” 

“Okay.” Four’s response has an edge of his obnoxious sarcasm, but when he opens his mouth to reassert his message, he fancies he can see tears in the former-agent’s eyes. 

“Go lie down before you fall over.” He walks off; Marclai has long since disappeared. He understands it well - space and time are the only things that can make it better, now.

We’re all only human, after all.