#It's tough being a snob with no money

[servantleverslutdrop]

I feel like dress shoes are either glued together shit leather garbage or absolutely unreasonably priced, with barely any inbetween

[gavisuntiedboot]

We Can't Be Friends (but I'd like to just pretend)

Pedri x Reader

Part 1

Warnings: None

Word count: 8.7k

A/N: After a lot of consideration, I have decided to start posting my Pedri series. I think that I can get a lot of interaction with these, and I think it is a good way to feed my soul and get eyes on what is happening in Palestine. So please, if you enjoy this series, consider helping out Palestine. Even if it's just with a click (second link!)

(Also if there are any continuity errors pls pls pls lmk)

Operation Olive Branch is an org working to help raise money to evacuate people from Gaza. I have decided to highlight Anwar and his family, who need to raise $35,000 in order to survive. Please donate what you can:

I will continue to highlight this family on all my posts until they reach their goal inshAllah.

Synopsis: Moving to a new country can be a pain in the ass. So can starting a new job when your position is completely different to what you thought. But nothing is going to stop you from achieving your goal of being the next Law Roach. Not the language barrier, your aching feet on the wonky streets, and definitely not your annoying, full of himself client. Because everything is going to stay professional, right?

~~~

"Bryce, can you please pay attention? God, I hate Americans."

The slow and thick laughter flowed through the line, peppered with static and cutting off whenever a particularly loud vehicle rolled past.

"Self-hating much? You are also American."

"I'm Texan, sweetheart. We are basically our own breed. Now can you help me?" You were finally able to flag down a taxi, stepping in carefully to make sure you didn't flash the driver. The stark white of the flowy skirt contrasted heavily with your bright orange cowboy boots, worn to match the white "TEXAS" baby tee with orange lettering. Your bangles clinked happily against your wrist as the door closed, hair mused by the late September wind. It was a comfort-from-home turned fashion statement, a way to stay close to your roots but show everyone at the office you were the type of girl that people saved on their "cool y2k outfit inspo" Pinterest boards. At least, girls back home would.

"How the hell did you move to a foreign country without learning the language?"

"Because I was supposed to be in PARIS, remember? I didn't minor in French just for mierde and giggles."

"Yeah, yeah, and then Paris decided to self destruct. I've heard the story. Just put me on speaker already."

Through the phone, Bryce's Spanish flows fluently as she instructs the driver to deliver you at your new place of work. Style Di Fortuna was one of the best styling firms in Europe, if not the world. Located a mere two streets from the Passeig De Gracia, there was nowhere better for a young woman to start her career in the fashion world. Except you weren't supposed to be here.

The plan had been perfect. After 4 years working your fingers bloody at UT Austin, you finally turned the bright orange tassel and accepted your B.A. in fashion. You were able to say "couture" with the perfect amount of phlegm to be taken seriously by the French snobs you had interned with, the ones who were supposed to be your colleagues after you graduated. The dreams of smoky cafes, bike rides through the city, and the lights of Paris fashion week were often the only things that helped you push through your professor telling you that you sewed like a blind sloth.

But then the French did what they do best: went on strike. For months. And after the long periods of no productivity and the destruction of half the inventory, you got the concise email that you would need to find employment elsewhere. About a week before you moved to France. So in a blind panic, you applied to every job you could think of within Europe, desperate to not have your first year post grad be spent at the soup kitchen or bagging groceries. You finally heard back from one of your contacts, another alumni from your school who said they could get you a job in Spain, but it was a little far from the type of fashion you wanted to do.

A "yes please I'm begging" email and 24 hours later, you had a job with SDF. Hey, fashion is fashion, and if you have to start by styling TikTokers in sparkly mini dresses before you could get to the good stuff, so be it. There were dues to be paid after all. So you grabbed your already packed bags and changed your ticket from Paris to Barcelona.

"I can speak Spanish. I lived in Texas for 21 years. Just not... Spain Spanish." You said quietly, rummaging through your bag for the ID that had been mailed to you the week prior.

"Right, and my white ass took it in school and he seemed to understand me just fine. So you, Miss Texican, need to stop with the perpetual fear that people will think you're stupid. Be confident and just speak. The company is Italian, anyways. Most of them will probably speak English, and if not, they'll think you're exotic and sexy."

"Mhm I'm sure."

"You're going to do great, okay? Just be yourself. You had like ten billion friends at home. It's almost impossible not to like you. You got it girl - go hook 'em."

Laughter bubbled out of you at her cheesy pep talk, feeling lighter already. She was right - even if you had gotten this job on the fly, your portfolio was super impressive, and people had no trouble liking you. So what was there to be worried about. After bidding her goodbye and having the courage to thank the driver in Spanish, you stepped out of the cab to the front steps of the new building. It was much taller than the surrounding, standing out like a sore thumb amongst the lower buildings and pale stone. Making your way up to the 16th floor, you were quickly ushered past bolts of bright fabric, racks of shoes worth millions, and some very stressed (yet very stylish) other employees.

"So excited that you're going to be joining our team! It is going to be so helpful having some international input to make sure we are not pigeon-holing our clients into fashion that is not received well globally. You will be reporting directly to Katerina, and she will report to me. Your colleagues are mostly male given the nature of the division. But Tania, Silvia, and Maria should be a good support as you move into the role. We also have Juliana who is between here and the Milan office. So it isn't a complete boy's club."

Huh?

After years in fashion, one thing you definitely knew was that it often was not a "boy's club". Sure, all the suits and big investors were often old and withered men, but most of the creative side of the business had been run by almost fully female teams (and the exceedingly rare stylish man).

"I'm sorry, the nature of the team? What do you mean?" You asked, trying to keep smiling while running after her towards a more and more barren part of the office.

"Sorry, was it not included in your offer letter? You're working in our athletics division. We are horribly understaffed in that department, especially now that we have taken on all the Adidas athletes in Spain. My word there are a lot of them. Bellingham alone needs three team members for every event."

No no no no no. This cannot be happening. You had come in prepared to style a lot of things: prom dresses, lingerie, even the scraps of fabrics that were rented out by the local burlesque show. But sports???

Now don't get it twisted, this isn't some "I'm a girl and I don't know anything about sports!" kind of thing. On the contrary. You were at every football game rocking the longhorns, cheering on your friends as they crushed it at basketball, and even tried watching a formula 1 race (there was a three car crash and you fainted) - you were totally hip with sports. Although you were not a fan of stretch materials or athleisure, you were willing to bite the bullet as a first step. The issue was the hidden undertones of your job. It was the fact that you would be working with, from what you could surmise, a lot of male athletes.

Bryce was right - it did feel like you had ten billion friends back home. Everywhere you went, you spoke to strangers with ease, and people warmed quickly, conversation flowing and bonds forming. But that's the issue: everyone seemed to warm to you, and so it meant a lot of male attention. And despite your best efforts, you always made a "too flirty" comment to someone's crush or "inappropriately smiling" at someone's boyfriend. And so as fast as they liked you, suddenly you were public enemy #1, and the drama became all-consuming.

No one seemed to understand. There was constant advice to just brush it off, to ignore the people who brought pain to your life. But you couldn't help it, laying in bed, stomach in knots, questioning why no one could see that you were just trying to be kind to everyone around you. The cycle of worrying had created a very isolating experience.

"Tania! Where are the other girls? I want to introduce you to the newest member of the team."

A girl with blown out black hair turns around, double nose piercings taking a back seat to a piercing charcoal stare. She was in high waisted jeans and a leopard print button up, the first two unbuttoned to show off the black strap of her bra. Her neck was adorned with a simple gold cross necklace, and she flashed a cordial smile as she stuck out a hand.

"I love your shoes." You said sweetly as you exchanged a shake, eager to make your first friend at work (and maybe in all of Spain).

"Oh, thank you. Dolce and Gabanna - they're friends of the firm. Your shoes are..." She gave a glance to the cowboy boots you had on, "muy naranja" (very orange).

You crossed your legs, self confidence waning after she addressed you like you had traffic cones on your legs. You were introduced to Silvia (a tall girl with short blonde hair and vintage Adidas Sambas paired with boxer shorts) and Maria (dark blue hair slicked back to show off her Italian football jersey). All of them oozed the coolest essence, and you were excited to get to know them.

"Alright, girls, not too much chattering. Barca arrives in 15 minutes, and there is not a single jersey in sight. Lets go! Rápidamente!"

A gasp spread across the room, accompanied with a groan from Roberto in the back, and there was suddenly a mad dash. Stretch fabrics in a hundred different colors were flying across the room, and it seemed like no one could move fast enough.

"I'm sorry to ask but... what is a barca?"

Silvia's sambas squeaked loudly as she came to a halt, whipping her neck towards you. Her eyebrows knitted together, looking at you like you had just said Jesus was a goat.

"Who is Barca? You cannot be serious. Please don't say anything like that when they walk in the door. Just stand out of the way and do some googling. We will fill you in when the team leaves."

You stepped back towards the mannequins, trying not get trampled by the other employees. A quick search on Instagram gave you the basics. Soccer (or well, football now) team that was super famous. SDF was tagged in their post from their TV series premier, so you came to the conclusion that they were long time clients. You were so consumed with your search that you didn't notice the gaggle of young men enter the constricted space until you heard a chorus of voices chant "Bon Dia, Pedri!"

You glance up, trying to see the man that the girls were addressing, but he was covered by a crowd, which was comprised of Tania, Silvia, and girls from the other departments of the building (you could have sworn that red head worked at the café in the lobby).

"Bon dia, ladies."

The giggles that came as response were far too exaggerated for just politeness, and before you could roll your eyes, you heard the gag from beside you and turned to who was ultimately Maria.

"Don't mind the girls. They aren't usually like this, but their brain turns to mush around the magician."

"The magician?"

Almost as if planned, the swarm of girls parted in that moment, a pair of sickly sweet molasses eyes meeting yours, holding your gaze in something that felt warm and almost intimate. His stubbled cheeks spread into an infectious smile, and suddenly a gorgeous man in a hideous pair of jeans was giving you a subtle wave across the room.

"Pedri "The Magician" Gonzalez, current reigning golden boy at FC Barcelona. Who knew God could pack so much talent and trouble into such a small package? Anyways, the other girls in the office are obsessed with him. They all think they're going to be the special little snowflake to pull him away from the line of Instagram models waiting to jump in bed."

As you listened intently to Maria's rant about the sports star, the two of you couldn't keep your eyes away. As Tania and Silvia went back and forth, talking his brain into oatmeal, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Who is the new girl?"

~

Pedri Gonzalez was many things: a generational talent, a laid back 20 year old, and (though less known) a shit-stirrer. These monthly team visits to SDF ranked very highly on his list of favorite activities. He was able to sit with his teammates as they watched some of the hottest girls in Europe fall over themselves just for a kind word or a prolonged glance. He just wished the boys would have seen the way they moved when he came in for personal sessions whenever there was a new Adidas campaign. Not even the king was served so wonderfully.

As the team bus parked outside the building, he lazily draped one arm over Gavi's shoulders, ripping his attention away from his phone screen.

"You know she does have a life outside of answering your texts, Gavi."

There was no attempt to hide or deny, just a continued scowl coupled with scrunched brows.

"She was really weird during the drive home the other day. After Martin was a little bitch on the field, she hasn't been the same. I think there's something wrong, but I don't want to push her away. I just want her to be happy."

"Ay, you'll have lots of time to make her happy after you confess your undying love in her passenger seat and kill her boyfriend." Pedri quipped back, taking a few careful steps off the bus and rushing into the building, the squeals of his name from adoring fans fading into the background.

"Okay, maybe not the best idea I've ever had, but now you do have work with Adidas and Springfield and all the other brands that want a piece of Pedri Potter." The nickname earned Gavi a light smack on the back of the head. "So in the end, I did you a favor."

The boys make their way upstairs, greeted at the elevator by Pedri's fan club.

"Bon dia, ladies."

"Bon dia, Pedri. We missed you."

Gavi tried to tone down the look of confusion that painted his features, watching these two girls trail behind his teammate in a way that was anything but professional. But there was a natural air to Pedri that had women swooning whenever he uttered a sentence, so Gavi supposed this situation would be no different than the one he had seen before in the club, at the beach, in the grocery store - basically anywhere Pedri went. He said a silent thank you to the powers that be that their types were vastly different.

The girls vying for his attention were promptly shooed away, with only the two who were actually part of their styling team remaining. Pedri scanned the room, making a mental note of who he would be looking up on the SDF Instagram once he was done for the day. He was a humble young man, but he wasn't self depreciating. He knew the number of women that wanted him was rising into 6-figure range, and he was not one to deprive himself of a pleasure that wasn't closely regulated by the staff over at Camp Nou. He loved entertaining the occasional tryst with an influencer or model or bottle service girl - whoever caught his eye for the evening. The world was his field, and boy was he ready to sow.

His newest playthings were his regular stylists. Since he was going to be spending a lot more time at the firm, he decided to at least enjoy himself a little bit. He dropped casual compliments, noticed the changes they made to their appearance, let them talk his ears off about how well he did in the previous match. Whatever they wanted he would provide. Why not? He was young and single. If they were to delude themselves into thinking he was going to settle down and take a wife at this stage of his career, then really they had no one but themselves to blame.

Tania and Silvia were nothing if not wholly entertaining. They always bounced around the office together, blonde and black hair making them look like a salt and pepper shaker set. Today, they dedicated themselves to dressing Pedri in the vintage Barca jerseys that were being photographed, leaving the rest of the squad to be dealt with by Maria, Roberto, and the bright spot in the corner of the office that caught Pedri's eye.

"Who is the new girl?"

He knew the question was going to cause the bile to rise in the throats of the two girls in front of him, who were already milliseconds away from killing each other if it meant he would take the survivor to dinner. But there was something about the flash of color that had caught his eye, hair falling in front of a pretty face that was glued to a screen and trying to stay out of the way.

"What new girl?" The response came from Tania, the more jealous of the pair by a mile. Pedri had often caught her stalking his account, his brother's account, and the account of every girl DeuxMoi "spotted" him with during the international breaks.

"Her. In the corner. She's new, right? That's someone I would remember seeing." He raised his head to get a better look at her, taking in the tight shirt and bright colors, watching her jewelry sway along as Maria (his least favorite in the office by far) called her over to help dress the rest of the team. The girls whipped around, taking in the same view that Pedri was.

"La naranja?!" Tania asked, disgust evident in her louder-than-appropriate tone. At the use of what was quickly becoming your office nickname, you looked towards the sound of the commotion, seeing Pedri staring intently at you once again. And while the depth of his gaze threatened to ignite a warmth somewhere within your chest, it was Tania's furious expression that had your heart racing in fear. You hadn't even been at work for an hour - what could you have possible done to have invoked such a murderous glare?

"I didn't think foreign girls were your type." Silvia said, much calmer but tone still icy.

"Maybe I just like the color orange." He replied smoothly, whipping off his shirt to slip into the one from 1980 that he would be modeling for the Barca site. The sight of bare skin was enough to make his playthings forget their rage, being replaced by lustful stares and lingering touches as they "adjusted" the fabric over his pecs about 20 times over.

"I think orange is a hideous color on girls." Tania couldn't help but mutter and she fixed his collar, putting in a couple pins so it wouldn't move as he walked to the photographer.

"I think the ugliest color on a girl is jealousy green." Pedri's eyes met hers in a silent warning. She was officially nothing more than one of his stylists. He was a busy man, and the last thing he needed was for his distractions to become a new stressor. He was notorious for being quick to cut girls off for the most superficial reasons, and Tania was not eager to be one of those deprived of his affections. She smiled sweetly, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Oh, of course. Especially when there is obviously nothing to be jealous of. Go welcome her on her first day - if she can even understand a thing you're saying. I don't think the American school system teaches Canarian." She left Pedri in that moment, calling sweetly to Ferran to come get dressed.

"Ay, Gavi, I knew you were short, but they can't even find pants that fit you now?"

The sudden voice behind you made you jump, causing a yelp from Gavi, who had been stabbed with a stray pin due to your scare. Your head whipped around, meeting that same smile that was brighter up close.

"Perdon, Naranja. Didn't mean to startle you."

Your eyebrows came together, a small frown on your features.

"I don't know what Tania told you, but that's not my name."

"I didn't think it was, but it's quite fitting, don't you think? A cute nickname for a cute girl."

The complement caught you off guard, and your mouth dropped open, reply unable to form in your mind. Was he seriously flirting with you? After half the office just threw themselves at his feet?

"Thank you, but I would really prefer if you called me-"

"Your accent is strange. Where are you from?" Pedri cuts you off, giving you a once over and taking in your figure, focusing intently on the writing across your chest.

"Texas. Can't you read?" You asked, growing more annoyed by the minute. Maria would be back any second to grab the boy who you were hemming, now identified as Gavi. You weren't eager to be seen as a slacker on day damn one.

"Houston?" He asked, accent preventing him from getting the "S" in the word quite right. "My brother used to live there for a bit."

"San Antonio, actually. But I went to school in Austin." As desperately as you wanted to make a good impression on your first day, something inside your chest wanted to make a good impression on Pedri, who was listening intently to the mini tour of Texas you were giving him.

"Is that close to Dallas? We are meant to play a game there in the summer. Maybe you can come along, show me around your city." He punctuated his sentence with a wink. You wanted to speak, tell him that Austin was actually several hours from Dallas, San Antonio even further. But your heartbeat was in your ears, and you could do nothing but nod along.

Pedri was not much better off. He had spoken to some of the most gorgeous women in Europe, maybe even the world in his mere 22 years on the planet, but something about the way you looked at him while speaking, eyes locked onto his, made his heart race in a way that was foreign but not unenjoyable.

"Hey! Hurry up - they need Gavi next. Or are you incapable of putting in a couple pins?" It was Silvia barking down at you, causing you to tear your gaze away from Pedri and back to Gavi's leg. Thankfully, the boy was typing away and didn't notice the break you had taken to chat with his teammate. "Pedri, stop distracting la naranja with your flirting and go get a pair of shoes from Maria."

You burned with embarrassment, the nickname turning from something affectionate to something sour, used to remind you of your outsider status as 'Cinderella' was reminded of her place by the coals.

"I was just being friendly." Pedri said, standing to follow her instructions.

"I think you have enough friends in the office." She bites back, shoving him lightly towards the wall of sneakers.

Your cheeks burn, embarrassment causing your hands to tremble as you continue hemming the trousers in front of you. Maria had gone out of her way to warn you that Pedri was off limits, and yet here you were again: persona non grata with your coworkers because some boy had taken an interest in you.

"You speak really good Spanish for someone from America." A quiet voice said from above you. Looking up, Gavi was gazing down at you, distracted by his phone every few seconds.

"I'm half Mexican, and most people in Texas speak Spanish anyways." You reply, trying to tone down the annoyance in your tone.

"Oh, I didn't know that. My friend- eh, physiotherapist also studied in America. She has this really cute accent when she says some of her words now." You watched his eyes glaze over in a way they probably shouldn't if he was just talking about his doctor.

"You don't have to make conversation with me, you know." You mutter back, scared that maybe this player was Maria's and you would sever the final connection you had left in the office inadvertently.

"Oh. I didn't mean to annoy you." The tone in his voice and his crestfallen expression made you feel like you had just kicked a puppy.

"Oh no! You're not. I just... It seems like I just pissed off the girls by talking to Pedri, and I don't want to make any other mistakes."

He laughed, eyes crinkling and head tilting back. "Pedri is a special case. When you flirt with everything that moves, someone is bound to be upset eventually."

The admission caused a pit to form in your stomach. Everything that moves? The romantic heat you felt earlier cooled into a slimy, sickening emotion. What kind of person toyed with people's feelings for fun? As you entertained the thought, you tapped Gavi on the leg, instructing him to hop off the stand and go get photographed. A shadow loomed over your form as you tidied pins from the floor of the workroom.

"So, I believe you were about to give me your address before we were so rudely interrupted." It was Pedri, returning with a grin, standing coolly with his hands in the pockets of his cargos. "Of if that's too personal, I'll settle for a phone number. Or an Instagram handle - I'm not picky."

"I can tell." You muttered back, unease still sitting in your chest. You avoided his gaze, chewing nervously on your bottom lip and directing your eyes to anything but Pedri.

"I'm sorry about Silvia. She can be... intense. And let me just go ahead and apologize for Tania as well, in advance. They're weirdly possessive over me for some reason." Pedri sounded sincere, eyes doing their best to catch yours and convey his message.

"Don't worry about it. I can see why you're so popular." You shuffled to collect stray pins off the floor. Pedri was not like any other guy you had ever been attracted to. Usually they were tall, lanky frat boy types, all blue eyes and khaki shorts. But the combination of beautiful brown eyes brushed by dark hair, chiseled jaw and plump lips, and strong arms that lifted a mannequin out of your way did weird things to your heart and your stomach.

"Can you now?" He was smirking. You could practically hear it in his voice, the amusement dripping from every syllable. He was obviously completely unbothered by your clear signs of distress.

"Yeah. Every girl I ever knew wanted to be the sugar baby of an athlete. Watch out or you'll get your bank account drained." Despite your best efforts to come across as cutting and sharp, he laughed at the statement. A full head thrown back and hands on his belly type of laugh.

"It's been a long time since I've spoken to a girl as funny as you." His eyes held yours, and the look was so captivating you simply couldn't avert your gaze. In that moment, it was also lost on you that you had, in fact, only made one joke. You responded with a half smile and heat radiating from you.

"Hey listen, a couple of the boys and I are going out tonight. You should come with us."

The invitation started to knock some sense back into you. Out? As in out out? Back home, going out usually meant getting shit-faced and riding a mechanical bull. It wasn't the best look to pull up to work the following morning looking like death and smelling like tequila. You were already on the way to holding the record for the worst first day in history.

"I don't know... I think Tania would put Nair in my shampoo if we were seen together when not contractually obligated."

You looked up shyly, and a part of you waited for him to insist, to feel somewhat special.

"Ah, I won't make you do anything you're uncomfortable with. Just DM me on Instagram if you change your mind. I'm not hard to find."

"Do you answer DMs from every girl that finds you?" You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

"No. But I'll be looking out for yours."

Another voice called out to Pedri, and he left you standing there slack-jawed. Who was this man? And what was so special about you to have piqued his interest? You asked these same questions of Bryce, who was now fully awake.

"Girl, the answer is obvious." She said through face time, words garbled by her teeth-brushing.

"Please don't say-"

"You're hot."

"That. Bryce, these girls in the office, they're stunners. 10s across the board. If he was going for looks, he wouldn't be going for me."

"I think you're over-thinking this whole thing. He just wants to talk to you for now," She paused to spit, "So talk! What's the worst that could happen?"

A shrill voice cried out 'Naranja!' and the trill of your new unwelcome work nickname was the signal that your lunch was over. You trudged back into the office, abandoning the warmth and sunshine for the cold front put up by Tania and Silvia. They bumped you every time they walked past, making comments about your clothing, your hair, the speed of your work, your taste level - everything. You stuck close to Maria, getting only two smug "I told you so's" before it was back to business. The boys left a disaster in their wake, with jerseys, trousers, socks, shoes, and all manners of accessories scattered about the workroom. Maria exchange stories of her childhood in Rome for your escapades in San Antonio and Austin, and the day passed with relative ease. Katerina click-clacks into the room an hour before your sweet release, huddling together everyone who worked with the team for a summary of what was accomplished.

"Great job team. I think Barca will be very happy with the photos, which will make me very happy. Now," Katerina handed out a series of files to everyone in the circle. "As some of you know, we have been fighting tooth and nail against Fordham Fashions for the new Adidas Rising Stars contract. Well, we have finally won! Here are the clients that we will be working with closely for individual Adidas campaigns, collaborations, and so on."

Opening the file, a familiar face grinned back from the first page.

"Everyone already knows Pedri, so we will move past him. Now, let us begin the style briefing for Bellingham..."

You stared for another moment at the bright grin on the page before turning it to take notes on everything Katerina was saying. The meeting wrapped 30 minutes later, with one final request from the boss.

"The new Predator boots have just come in from Adidas. We will be sending a pair to each of our athletes to allow them to adjust before we style and shoot in the coming weeks. And to avoid another, ehem, hair pulling incident, the new girl will be sending Pedri's. Sort the rest out among yourselves. See you tomorrow!"

The glares burned your skin before you even had the chance to process that the 'new girl' in question was you. Everyone scurried to the wall of blue shoe boxes as you looked over the brief again to find the man of the hour's shoe size. Pulling it out of the pile, you moved to a far corner of the workroom, but that did not seem to stop Tania from coming your way.

"So, you think Pedri likes you?"

The statement caught you off guard, hands slowing and your eyes widening at your coworker.

"Excuse me?"

"You think that now he's going to date you just because he laughed at one of your jokes? Because trust me, you're not his type."

You were prepared to rebut, tell her that she had completely misunderstood the situation, and you were just being nice to a client. But it died on your lips as the meaning of her words washed over you like an icy tidal wave, leaving you to pathetically whisper out,

"Why not?"

Her laugh trickled out lightly, delicate and beautiful and cutting all at once.

"Just look at you, Naranja. Anyways, this is a note from the agency that needs to be included in Pedri's box, so slip it in there, 'kay? See you tomorrow!"

Swallowing thickly, you didn't watch her walk away, staring at the table top to stop the flood of emotions that was clogging your throat. You knew you weren't ugly. Quite the opposite actually. It usually only took a coy glance and the bat of an eyelash for you to have people eating from the palm of your hand. But the self doubt started to eat away at you. What was wrong with the way you looked?

And then your eyes focused on the crisp white envelope on the table. The girly scrawl of Pedri was too... romantic to be a formal note. The green slime of jealousy seeped through every one of your veins. You took a quick look around the room, and finding no one, you carefully opened the envelope. Immediately a strong perfume assaulted your senses. The letter was a quick confession of love, and you couldn't help the increase in your heart rate. If your coworker was determined to hate you, then you should at least give her a reason.

Your childish antics came two fold. First, you tiptoed over to the cabinet with the stationary, grabbing a blank envelope and some corrector fluid. You carefully removed Tania's name from the bottom of the letter, writing in a little "S" with a heart beside it. You refolded the letter and placed it into the new perfume-less envelope. The letter found its home in the shoe box, and on your way out of the building, you dropped it off at the mail room. As you waited for your cab home, you typed five familiar letters into the Instagram search bar, and sent a message asking,

"Am I still invited out tonight?"

~

Pedri could not contain the Cheshire cat grin that lit up his face when he saw the DM from you. Scrolling quickly through your Instagram, he zoomed in on your pictures from the summer, swimsuits the same bright orange that had hugged your chest earlier that day. He responded quickly, telling you that you would be the highlight of the entire outing, and as he predicted, your phone number quickly followed.

"See, Gavi? I told you." He turned the screen to his teammate, who could not possibly be less interested. Being met with silence, he quickly snatched Gavi's phone from his hands, eliciting a protest.

"Gavi, this is an intervention. You need to stop this sad puppy behavior. After the sixth unanswered text, it's time to accept that she's not going to respond."

Pedri almost regretted it as soon as he said it, the sunken look painting Gavi's features being too much to bear. It was like taking a baby's favorite toy away.

"I just mean that she's probably busy, hermano. She'll respond when she can. Now, back to me."

Gavi rolled his eyes and leaned back against Pedri's couch. He displayed his most exasperated expression.

"Please, Pedri. Tell me again how you got a girl to swoon for you in a matter of minutes. It's always my favorite story."

Gavi barely missed the pillow chucked at his head, but pressed on anyways.

"Come on, Pedri. It's the same story every week. Find a cute girl, flirt, invite her out, sleep with her, and then block her on all your socials."

"Okay but this one is different. She's my first American."

Gavi gave him a look that told Pedri that maybe the joke should have been reserved for Ferran. Despite all the wisdom Pedri had imparted, Gavi hadn't listened. Instead of taking advantage of the swarm of women ready to show him heaven, he had gone and fallen in love with one of his coworkers. Sheesh. What a stupid idea. But he had never seen Gavi, or anyone really, care so much about a person. So he was being a good friend, just pretending that this love story wouldn't go down in flames (badum-tsss).

Pedri was not willing to be a hopeless lover boy. He killed himself on the pitch, and there was no way he wasn't going to enjoy life after the whistle blew.

"I just don't think it's an idea to start involving girls you're going to have to see again."

The statement cut straight through Pedri's daydream of what you would wear to the club that evening. Gavi may have been right. When messing with Instagram models, it was easy to avoid previous flings. A block online, a slip of their photo to Camp Nou security, and worst case scenario, when they came up to him at an event, he just put on his best confused face and asked, "Do I know you?"

But this was new territory. He had toyed around with Tania and Silvia for months now, but it never left the office. Inviting a girl who he would have to see again and again for work out was risky. But the risk-assessing brain cells were on vacation. All that was left were the party neurons, the ones that craved dopamine and finding out what your skin would feel like against his palms. So he pushed all of Gavi's valid objections into a dark corner of his brain. He opted instead to ask,

"So, are you coming out tonight as well?"

Gavi lifted his hoodie up to cover his face, using all his self control to not grab his phone from its place on the coffee table.

"I don't think so. I'm not in the mood to see Ferran or... anyone really. Just want to sit home and watch my show."

"Suit yourself then. I'll let you know how the night ends."

"I'm begging you not to."

~

You smoothed your hands over your dress one final time. You were pacing around your living room, eagerly waiting for Pedri to pick you up. Despite your best efforts to assure him that you could Uber yourself to the club, he refused, and you couldn't help the giddy feeling at the gentlemanly antics.

Staring at yourself in the mirror once again, you thought of the dates you had been on in your senior year of college. From darties on frat lawns to drive-thrus to fine dining, many guys had tried to win your favor. It wasn't that all of them sucked (even if the majority did). It was just that the guys back home in America were... boring. All of them were pretty self centered and shallow, nice to look at but nothing deeper. While a pretty boy was nice at 19, it was time to grow up and look for something more.

The buzzing of your phone knocked you out of the trance you were in. "Pedri from work" illuminated the screen as you rushed to answer.

"I was going to come in and knock on your door, but I can't get into your building."

You laughed lightly in response, apologizing about the door code while grabbing a jacket and heading downstairs. A low whistle greeted you, dark eyes tracing your figure with a look that you tried not to interpret for your own sanity. A shy smile played across your features as you allowed Pedri to open your car door, sweet talk you throughout the drive, and escort you in to what was more of a lounge than a club. Live musicians played just loud enough for ambiance, but not enough to completely drown out everyone chattering amongst themselves. The two of you walked up to a table of Greek Gods, which you assumed were his teammates.

Pedri introduced you to the group, making sure that his body was physically situated between you and Ferran. He was a good guy somewhere deep, deep down, buried under the anguish of his last girlfriend, who left him upon finding out about the pay reduction that came with moving from Manchester City to FCB. Pedri tried to stop him from taking out his rage on a coworker (and Gavi's crush), but he was hard headed and couldn't be swayed. Eventually he would calm down, and they could go back to being young and single and not bitter. Pedri's phone glowed with a notification from the boy on his mind.

[Gaviiii]: dude i foujd her outside my house just sitting in her car n cryng so im gonna take care of that

[Gaviiii]: dont tect me or call me im not gonna answer

The typos were normal, as it was hard for Gavi to avert his eyes for even one second when his most precious was in sight. Pedri shook off the text and turned his attention back to you, arm coming to rest around your waist in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You were not comforted. On the contrary, you were on the verge of throwing up. You were one of only two girls in a circle of incredibly attractive men, the other being someone's wife. You couldn't remember the names of any of them, except for Ferran, who you had been specifically warned about on the drive over. The devil really is a charmer. His short cropped hair showed the angels of his face beautifully, long lashes fanning against his cheeks. A few tattoos peaked out from under rolled up sleeved, and you had to remember that you were with his friend on a... what was this exactly? Pedri had never said anything more than that he wanted to be friends. But he asked you to go out with him, picked you up, gave you the pre-date compliments, and now was shielding you from other men. Were you on a date?

You tried your best to participate in small talk, listening to them go back and forth about football and training and life in general. The various accent were not kind to your brain that was barely used to the Canarian lilt to Pedri's speech.

"Are you okay?"

The whisper came softly in your ear, hot breath against you skin causing an eruption of little bumps. Pedri's arm had not left your waist, but now he was rubbing delicate circles into your skin.

"I'm fine. Just... a little overwhelmed? I feel sort of out of place."

"Don't worry, linda. No one can take their eyes off you."

The affirmation only increased your heart rate once again, the thump against your chest beating in rhythm with the base from the speakers. You were acutely aware of the warmth of his palm against your skin, radiating through the fabric of your dress. You loosened up as the evening progressed, participating in the conversation more confidently and laughing more freely. Slowly, the boys excused themselves from the gathering one by one, and soon it was only you and Pedri in the low light, talking about the most beautiful scenery you have ever seen.

He was lost in describing his home island, the clear waters and lush foliage that he called home. You leaned forward, enraptured by the passion that he spoke with about the places and people he loved. Slowly, you found yourself getting closer and closer, until there was only a few inches of space between you. The gold flecks interspersed in dark brown became clearer, and you struggled to breathe as you watched Pedri's gaze drift to your lips.

"I am getting the impression you want me to kiss you. Please correct me if that's not the case." Pedri breathed out slowly, more strained than you had previously thought. You don't know what you were thinking. Maybe you weren't thinking. You just acted on what felt right. Closing the distance, you joined Pedri's lips to yours, arms around his neck as you kissed with a hunger borderline inappropriate for the public.

You weren't usually this person. It was usually a couple dates before you would allow for a goodnight kiss, let alone the almost make-out you were currently engaged in. You pulled away from Pedri, the heavy breathing a commonality between the two of you. Maybe it was the being in Spain. Maybe it was that he was hot and young and famous. Maybe it was that of all the girls throwing themselves at him, including your coworkers, he picked you after an hour of conversation. Something told you to take a chance on what could be your love at first sight moment. So when Pedri leaned close and asked,

"Do you want to go back to your place?"

There was no answer but yes.

~

The following morning was filled with bliss. Pedri had woken up just as the first rays of sunlight were painting the stone. He kissed you on the cheek, whispering something akin to "see you around" before he left to training. You floated through your morning, making a coffee in a daze and dressing with a permanent smile. Bryce was still fast asleep, so you left her about 30 minutes worth of voice messages before you had the guts to step out and hail your own cab to work.

You walked into the office still riding the high from the night before. Your skin was ablaze, and every time you thought of the "activities", heat spread through you rapidly. Luckily the November chill kept you from sweating through your bones. Your bliss lasted for most of the morning, as you worked with Maria and a couple of people you had never met to create a mood board for an upcoming photoshoot. As you flipped through paint swatches, a piercing scream split the air, causing you to drop to the ground and cover your head.

"Why are you on the floor, Naranja?"

One of the boys looked at you with raised eyebrows, and a part of your brain registered that your new work nickname had trickled into other departments.

"Oh, sorry. I went to high school in America. Screams like that meant someone was getting jumped. Or shot."

Another scream rippled through the hallway as Maria helped you up.

"That was Silvia. Given recent history, your prediction about her being attacked might be correct."

The both of you scurried down the hall, the clicks of the other department workers followed behind you, eager for the newest and juiciest chisme. The sight before you made you stop dead in your tracks. Roberto was holding Tania by the waist, apparently the only thing that was keeping her away from Silvia, who was on the other side of the room crying and grabbing her head. There was a trail of silver thread between the two hysterical women. No, not thread - hair.

"She cut my hair! She came up behind me and cut my hair!"

"She's a traitor and, more importantly, a whore! I should've slit her throat."

Katerina had finished ushering everyone who didn't work there out of the room, and now she was standing in the middle of the room ready to mediate.

"You two have 5 minutes to explain what the hell happened and why I shouldn't fire you."

Tania had calmed, no longer straining against an iron grip and gaze filled with slightly less murderous intent. She released the clump of hair that she had in her hand onto the floor, revealing the absolute carnage that had taken place. Safe to say Silvia was going to be rocking a pixie cut for the next few weeks. Both of the girls remained silent. The prisoner's dilemma in real time. Katerina clicked her tongue after the moment of silence and simply said, "Roberto."

You could swear you saw a smile on his face briefly before he cleared his throat and began.

"Tania gave the new girl a note with her phone number in it to send to Pedri. Pedri texts the phone number, but instead of addressing it correctly, he says-"

"HEY SILVIA. THIS MORNING HE TEXTS MY NUMBER WITH HER NAME." Tania's outburst had everyone stand up, fearing that she was going to lunge. She remained in place, but no one sat back down.

"So you decided to attack her because he can't tell you two apart?"

"She must have done something to my note. She-"

"No." Katerina interrupted. "I have hear enough. Both of you are no longer working on any project Pedro Gonzalez is involved in."

Protests came from both of the girls, suddenly sullen and docile. They began to plead to be punished with anything else, but not exile from their favorite footballer. As they whimpered to your boss, who reminded them they were lucky to still be employed, it dawned on you. This morning. He texted who he thought was Silvia this morning. In response to a flirty message. After he left your bed. Maybe before he had even left the apartment.

There it was again. The nausea. The urge to projectile vomit. All because of Pedro Gonzalez. Fuck a nickname. He was a rich fuckboy that had played you like a fiddle. You held the tears back as you went back to fabric swatches, taking a moment to block him on Instagram.

"So, how does it feel to be Pedri's personal stylist now?" Katerina startled you, and the shock caused a delay in processing what she had just said.

"His what?"

"Well, now that those two are not allowed to be within 50 meters of him, it's only you and Maria working the Adidas contract. Especially now that Roberto is part of the Olympics team. So you get Pedri, and she gets Bellingham. Perfect, no?"

You nodded, swallowing hard to push the bile back down. This very unfortunate one night stand maybe have been the worst idea you have ever had. You walked through the rest of the day with disgust and rage flowing through you. You decided to brave the cold of the November afternoon and walk home, stopping by a bakery to get something with chocolate to keep the tidal wave of intense depression at bay.

How could this be happening? You weren't this girl. You weren't someone who let yourself be gullible and played. Hell, you had gone the last four years with all of Texas and parts of Mexico vying for your affection. But this little Spanish boy took advantage of the connection you felt, and he had barely left your bed before starting to text your coworker. Your phone buzzed with several messages in rapid succession.

[Pedro Gonzalez]: My agent just told me you were my own personal stylist

[Pedro Gonzalez]: that's good to hear.

[Pedro Gonzalez]: At least I'll have a friend at all these long and boring photoshoots

No mention of the night before. No "I had a good time". No question about your wellbeing. Nothing except his own self interest. How the situation would be good for him. Again. You felt awful as you pushed a teenage boy out of the way, barely making it into the bathroom before throwing your guts up. What the hell. How did you manage to fuck up so poorly so quickly? It was day damn one. And now you were throwing up in a bakery bathroom in Spain because of a man that's 5'9". You sat at a table, cake and coffee cooling in front of you. You didn't trust your legs or your stomach just yet, so you decided to type out a response instead.

Pedri was in overall low spirits. His injury had had another flare up, causing him to limp to the locker room. The email from his agent brightened his day, as he saw your name in the email. He shot a quick text your way, excited at the prospect of seeing you again, only to sour at the response.

[Naranja]: dont speak to me pedro

[Naranja]: we are not friends

[Naranja]: and we never will be

[You can no longer send messages to this user]

~~~

A/N: Here it is! The first part of the new series! Just some preemptive answers: I don't know what my posting schedule will look like and idk how many parts it's going to be. I hope you enjoy this first part. It might be a little rushed because I just wanted to set up the main story. Please let me know your thoughts in comments and asks! I'll try to reply to as many as I can. I love you all <3

Palestine: I will try to donate $1 for every comment that has a watermelon or an olive in it. I will keep y'all updated with how it goes.

Here are some more links to please please please look at while you're here.

Care for Gaza: an org that has been getting help and aid to people on the ground -> https://www.gofundme.com/f/careforgaza

Daily click that donates money to help Palestinians -> https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

[embrosegraves]

𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘

Just a lil something I thought of and couldn't get out of my head :P I hope you enjoy <3

Max Verstappen x Reader  “If you can justify the purchase, then you can buy it for me.” Sugar Daddy x Slightly Reluctant! Sugar Baby

very brief google translated dutch (it's like 2 thing near the end)

You weren’t sure how you managed to get to this point in your life. One night you were working at your local club, trying to make ends meet with three jobs. You needed to pay for rent and utilities and food and the ever looming University degree you had begun studying for. You never thought you’d ever get to a point of financial comfortability, because the situation definitely wasn’t the most stable but it was comfortable. 

At first you thought he was just another rich snob who wanted to impress his mates with the amount of money he could spend on a single night. And to be fair he kinda was. He just also happened to be the one that sat with you while you worked the bar, listening to your woes of being a uni student who needed to work more than one job throughout the day on top of going to class.  

Now though, almost exactly 3 years after first meeting him, you couldn’t believe what you were looking at. 

“I’m not letting you buy that for me, Max.”

“Why not?” He was almost (definitely) pouting. 

“Because I can buy my own laptop? And besides, my final year is almost over, I can get it after.” 

Max looked at you unimpressed. “The one you have now is falling apart. You need a new one.”

You grabbed his hand and slowly led him to a bench that was outside the store you were just standing in. “My love, I adore that you want to get me a new laptop for school, but you cannot justify spending three and a half million dollars on a laptop for me. I don’t care if it’s Swarovski, I don’t care if it’s the best laptop in the world. I don’t need it.”

It was always like this between you and Max. He wanted to buy you the most insanely expensive things just because he could, but you always told him not to. Looking at him in front of you, his face sporting an almost unnoticeable frown, you sighed. Keeping hold of his hand in yours, you moved your free hand to cradle his face. 

“I will let you buy me a laptop-” His face lit up, “on the condition that it cost no more than eight thousand. I know I cannot get you to spend like a regular person, so that will be the cap on how much you spend on my laptop.”

“You never let me do anything fun.” Max was pouting again, but you could see his eyes were happy. 

“Well, that’s tough Schat. If it makes you feel better, after you get the laptop because I’m not budging on that, you can buy me whatever you want-” You held your hand in front of him before Max could interrupt and start celebrating, “but you have to be able to properly justify the purchase. Which means no more mindless spending on things, okay?” 

He pulled you in and wrapped his arms around you tightly. “As long as I still get to spoil you, like you deserve, then I will agree to your conditions.” 

You felt as he placed a kiss on your head before you moved back. You gave him a kiss on his lips and smiled at him. 

“Go. I can tell you’re just wanting to find a laptop to get me.”

He laughed and kissed you again before grabbing your hands and leading to a different tech store for your new laptop. “Let’s go then, Mijn Liefje!”

Translations (Provided by Google Translate) Schat = Darling Mijn Liefje = My Love

[blvckentropy]

Jess Alaniz | 26 | Snob, Kleptomaniac, and Unflirty for @dreambot #Loversrockbcchallenge

To call her famous is truly an understatement. She stands out as the most infamous convict across all simulated worlds. Curiously, she was born and raised in Ciudad Enamorda, but by the time she was four, her parents unexpectedly placed her on a plane to Brindleton Bay to live with her grandmother, her mother’s mom. This sudden separation left her feeling abandoned, leading her to believe that her parents didn’t want her. Jess was left to grapple with her emotions and the trauma of that experience alone. At school, her tendency to keep to herself made her a target for bullying, as other kids found her odd. Then came that pivotal day when a prank went horribly wrong, causing her to lose control and hurt a couple of classmates, which ultimately led her grandmother to transfer her to a different school.

Since that time, Jess transformed into a certified menace. She was constantly getting into fights, neglecting her schoolwork, and arguing with teachers and principals. Before long, she found herself mingling with other outcasts. By the age of 13, she had been permanently banned from several schools, forcing her grandmother to take on the responsibility of homeschooling her. Beneath her tough exterior, Jess felt a pang of guilt for the trouble she caused her grandmother. In many respects, her grandmother was her only refuge, and Jess held a deep affection for her.

By the age of 16, she left home with her boyfriend and his group, creating a new band of outcasts that roamed from Oasis Springs to Copperdale and beyond. They had no money or proper shelter, relying on abandoned buildings and homeless encampments. She adopted the name "Jess," with only her family and law enforcement aware of her true identity. Throughout her twenties, she frequently found herself in jail for various misdemeanors. She has done it all and hasn't spoken to her grandmother since then.

Now 26, she still finds herself in occasional run-ins with the law. So, don’t be shocked if she greets officers by name. With a tight-knit group of friends, most people tend to steer clear of her, which is just how she prefers it. She’s embraced a lifestyle filled with music, art, and a hint of pyromania. Her romantic life, however, is nonexistent. After a string of disappointments, she takes pride in being a good time rather than a long-term commitment. And Riot is no exception; she’s a fierce woman looking to explore some daring adventures together. Whatever those adventures may be, she’s ready to discover them if Riot is willing to join her.

[lifeofkaze]

Cherry Red

Find the whole DarkNoir fun here.

Based on this ask by the fantastic @drinkyoursoupbitch

A/N: The last bit of the DarkNoir!AU (for now) naturally brings my favourite couple of them all. The amount of obsession I have developed for this version of them is entirely unhealthy, but what's new. Warning: dark noir world weariness, allusion to drugs and prostitution.

The room is crowded, the stale air stuffy with the stench of perfume and smoke. I know better than to mingle with the rich and famous. They suffer my presence among them - crave it, even - and yet my very being here is a testimony to both their boredom and their vices. They know it, and I do, too. What I don’t know is who is more disgusted by it.

The annual horse show - the start to a new season of gambling, a prelude to the vicious cycle of seeing and being seen and spending so much money it would comfortably feed a family of four in less than an hour - has just ended. The privileged few with enough money to matter have now assembled at the glamorous afterparty held in one of the most exclusive country clubs in town.

The privileged few, and me.

I keep to the side of the room, to the shadows cast by the twinkling chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Its fragmented light dances over the party guests talking about the day’s purchases and the latest gossip in a world open only to the not-so-lucky-few in attendance. I cast a weary look around the room. Through the haze of blue smoke, all I see are forced smiles on the gentlemen’s faces, and bored looks on the diamond-draped women clutching either their husband’s arms, their champagne glasses, or both. 

So much glitz on the outside, so much dullness underneath. 

Leaning casually against the wall, I find amusement in how the curious looks are dropped as soon as I meet them, but it is a grim kind. No matter how expensive my borrowed suit may look, I don’t fit here, and I know it. They know it, too, but that is what’s drawing their eye. I’m an outsider invading their secret circle, an attraction to be gobbled at. No one wants to admit it, but they are all slavering for their turn to talk to me. To do business with me. Money can only get you so much, but it can provide distraction and diversion to the vapidness of life - which is precisely what I’m here for. 

I nod discreetly at the gentleman who has just left me with his head held high and a haunted look in his eyes, turning my attention back to the crowd who all pretend they haven’t noticed. Business has been going slow so far but I’m not concerned. The night is young, and people need their time to loosen up. It’s a tough business, riding out the high of spending thousands with a snap of their fingers. When they’re ripe for a new one, I’ll be here waiting for them.

The evening draws on. The vials hidden in the pocket of my jacket begin to dwindle, each replaced by a roll of banknotes that make conversation with the swanky snobs almost bearable, and the flirting of their bejewelled banshees slightly less pathetic. I nod obediently at the men and give the women with their fake smiles and real diamonds a deep look into their heavily painted eyes, every single time. 

The things you do for business.

I have already given up hope of anything interesting but money rolling in when the doors open and a couple that is arriving late is led into the room. It’s the man I see first - combed back, sand-coloured hair, a suit more expensive than what I earn in several months, and a swagger that marks someone who is used to being made room for.

The woman by his side I instantly recognise. She is wearing a cherry red dress beneath a heavy fur coat, which gets taken from her shoulders by eager hands. The fabric of her dress - probably expensive as sin herself - shimmers in the light as she moves with a self-confidence that makes her look like she owns the world. Judging by the looks she’s receiving, she might as well. A tilt of her hand, the slightest raise of her red lips, and suddenly the light from the chandelier is rendered dull, and the gemstones of the women surrounding her have become lacklustre. The hint of a smile, and it’s her who lights up the room. 

I watch as she follows her companion, accepting the champagne flute she is handed by her companion with a graceful bow of her head. He talks to her, and even from across the room, I can’t stop looking at the movement of her lips as she laughs. She puts her hand on him - well-placed, fleeting touches, never enough to raise eyebrows, always enough to not let him forget she is there. As if someone like her could be forgotten.

I know the man who has bought her company for the night; a lawyer from a well-established family. Rumour has it, he is in the run-up for a spot in the government. It surprises me that he risks being seen with her, out in public. But then again… what screams power more than a woman like her by his side and not a care in the world? Another touch, another smile. She has only eyes for him and him alone but even so I’m sure she knows that I am here. She always does. 

As the music swells, the man takes her hand and leads her to the middle of the room, where other couples have gathered for a dance. She gives him a coy smile as he places his hand on her waist, the slightest bit too low for my taste. She shifts her hand on his body as they dance, not inappropriately but if you look closely, you can spot her fingers lingering, brushing alongside his arm a tad too slowly to not be suggestive. It’s an act she has perfected - the teasing, the game, the promise of something every man in this room desperately wants, including me. 

Once the music has stopped and the poor guys bloodying their hands for the indifferent applause of the elite are allowed to take a breather, I can’t take it any longer. I slip into the crowd, making my way to her and her companion. I only look at him as I approach. I give him a small nod and a smile, my eyes fixed on his. It’s not quite a challenge but no subordination either.

“May I ask for the next dance?” 

His eyes harden, the look in them resembling disgust. I’m not fazed by it. He’s been buying off me for too long to refuse me. He knows that I know, and I can tell how much he hates it. 

“I don’t think this is appropriate,” the woman speaks up in her suitor’s stead, her voice snide and dismissive. I bow my head, my eyes finding hers. The look in them would be unreadable to most but to me, the spark in them is clear as day.

“Darling, don’t be impolite,” her companion says, the condescending smile people like him suck up with their mother’s milk forming on his face. “It’s only one dance, is it not? You’ll be back with me before you know it.”

“I’m counting the minutes,” she breathes as he kisses her hand, giving him a deep look from beneath her lashes as he walks away. When he has gone, she turns to me.

“Mr Amari.”

“Miss Jameson.”

I extend my hand and she takes it, allowing me to draw her closer as the music starts again. She smells like jasmine and mint, the silk of her dress cool beneath my fingertips as I place my hand on her waist, exactly where her companion’s hand has been.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Mr Amari,” she says as she lets me lead her into the dance. I raise my eyebrows fractionally.

“I go where the money goes, Miss Jameson. What better place to be than a horse show? I could say the same of you,” I add after a moment. “You have been gone for quite some time. A peculiar choice of event to make your reappearance.”

Her laugh is quiet and melodious, and I mourn its loss as she stops to speak. “Nothing but a return to the scene as a glamorous party, isn’t there? I missed the glitz and glamour.”

“The glitz and glamour missed you.” 

She hums as she comes closer for a moment, not a second longer than the music dictates her to. I feel the warmth of her against me, and when she withdraws I have to stop myself from following her.

“What would be glamorous about watching breeding mares prancing around to be traded off?” 

“Are we still talking about horses?”

“What else would we be talking about?” The smirk on her red lips has turned bitter. She averts her eyes. “Aren’t we all wares to be sold?”

“How so?” 

“You said it yourself - everyone in this room has come because of money, one way or another. It’s what drives us, all of us.”

“Some of us,” I correct her, slowly spinning her around, “but not you. You don’t need this.”

“Don’t I?”

I tear my eyes away from her face for a moment. The man she has arrived with is watching us like a hawk, his attention like the tip of a knife grazing my skin. It’s as if I can see the tendons on the side of his neck protruding even from where I dance with her. He is ready to step in should anyone dare to claim his prize. I pull her tighter against me.

“You turned up in some illustrious company tonight.”

“I guess.”

She sounds bored.

“He might get into parliament next term. You’re bound to be talked about.”

She pulls a face. “It’s not ideal. Boss told me I could say no but what was I supposed to do? He keeps requesting me, every time he books with us. He wouldn’t let off, not even when I… had gone for a while.” 

“He’d be a fool not to,” I say, but the thought of him singling her out like that makes me uneasy. I don’t like it, but that’s the deal with her, has always been. She’s a light too bright to look at, and the moths are inevitably drawn to her.

The dance floor has become crowded, and we need to watch where we step. I take the opportunity to pull her close, closer than I would have dared otherwise. She lets me, and I feel her body flush against mine, those curves hidden by her red dress, and the soft skin of her neck, beneath which her pulse is throbbing rhythmically. 

Suddenly, she moves to the side, pulling me along so that I come between her and the eyes of her watchdog. She raises her chin, breath brushing over my jawline as she whispers into my ear.

“Are you coming home tonight? The kids are missing their dad… and so am I.”

Her words stir something I keep hidden deep within, yet I guard my face carefully. My eyes flick over the people surrounding us. They all seem too preoccupied with themselves to have noticed anything but you never know. We always have to be careful. So very careful.

“I’ll try,” I whisper back, my words not more than an exhale. “Make sure that you are, too.”

Her lips part to respond but before she can do so, the music stops. It takes a considerable amount of willpower to step away from her. Her eyes don’t leave mine as I raise her hand to my lips and place a kiss on the back of it. As she withdraws, her fingers quickly close around the vial I have pressed into her palm.

“Be careful.”

Her lips draw into a wicked smile that makes her eyes sparkle. It’s like the fleeting look of softness in them has been nothing but a fever dream.

“Worried, Mr Amari?”

I don’t reciprocate her smile. “Always.”

“I can handle myself,” she says and shakes her head. Nonetheless, the small vial with the clear liquid inside vanishes beneath the hem of her gloves as she does so.

“I know. Just in case.”

“Just in case.” She steps away, her perfect mask of indifference already back in place. Her eyes drop from mine but I know what she’s saying, a whispered secret forbidden to any ears but mine. “Wait up for me tonight.” 

Then she turns, and all I can do is watch her leave. It stings, having to watch her and her cherry red dress walk away, right into the arms of the other man waiting for her. But as long as I know who she will be walking back to, I can bear it.

Even if only just. 

[infisonicosm-moved]

I'd love a little ship, and I'm sending this on anon so my lane doesn't influence your choice.

Some basics: I'm 22 and graduated in December with a bachelors in criminology and psychology. I'm 4'11 and love my height, I have a coworker who is the victim of all my short jokes because they're also my height. (This is why I love a short king). I have three dogs who are the lights of my life, and I'm sadly allergic to cats. The cat allergy doesn't stop me from loving on them though. My hobbies include knitting, puzzles, collecting things (interesting money, vintage glass, etc), and listening to music. My favorite colors are purple and mint green.

While I absolutely suck at cooking most things, I love baking and learning new ways of brewing coffee. I started as a coffee snob, believe it or not, but now I'll drink it however because I love it (and also the caffeine addiction). Coffee, by all accounts is my most expensive special interest, and I have a fully dedicated coffee bar in my home.

My only other special interests are dinosaurs and bees (technically other pollinators too). I come fully equipped with random facts that absolutely no one wants to know. A final bit about me: I look for people on my life who are honest, trustworthy, reliable, and compassionate. I'm one who believes in love at first sight and enduring and everlasting love, despite being a cynic and a pessimist.

This one was tough! I went back and forth on this but ultimately I ship you with Josh!

Josh has grandpa energy in certain ways that I could see him enjoying doing a puzzle with you or learning how to knit. I think knitting would be a good hobby for him to learn as it teaches patience and keeps your hands busy. As a fellow ADHD person I can attest to this cause cross stitching does the same thing LOL. He'd be so entranced learning the different knitting patterns you can do and would probably just zone out watching your hands move on auto pilot.

Cooking is another thing! I think Josh has a sweet tooth and I think it kills him that he cant have chocolate or sugar while on tour. His favorite part about coming home to you after touring would be all the sweets you bake for him. Groaning and moaning about how he can't believe he went do long without your baking and demands you send some with him next time even though he can't eat it.

Not to make you combust but Josh would totally plant a pollinator garden for you so you can watch the bees AND look at pretty plants. He'd claim it's for both of you to enjoy but it's really just for you. He'd love nothing more than watching you relax while watching the garden, going as far as to add in a swing and some bird feeders. Essentially just building you your own lil oasis.

[vxssel]

FULL NAME: Sherrinford Augustus Holmes

AGE: 30

GENDER: male

SPECIES: human

ORIENTATION: bisexual

FACECLAIM: tom hiddleston

HISTORY:

Being a Holmes had it's perks. There was no shortage of inspiration and awe. He needed only to admire his parents grand accomplishments, Mycrofts ability to get things done and, of course, bearing witness to Sherlocks extraordinary deductions. Where did that leave Sherrinfors Holmes? Unfortunately, the short end of the stick. He was burdened with a love for the arts. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't catch up to his older brother Mycroft in academics. At private school, he would often avoid going - preferring to skip classes and walk along the countryside into his own little adventures. He'd find a spot good enough, sketch or write a few lines or so and then walk some more. Sherrinford was labelled as one of the outcasts, but his charm drew attention of the more popular kids. One day he'd be in the library or music room messing around with the few friends he had, next day he'd be pranking some poor kid to get brownie points from the more favoured. Most liked him for his wit, but he always felt alone in secret. He didn't feel as if he belonged at home with the way his parents and Mycroft treated him, nor at school where no-one knew his struggles.

It was at his eighteenth birthday that he planned his escape. At night, he stayed up and waited until his family were fast asleep. He creeped downstairs to the front door but Sherlock heard him try to sneak out and confronted him. Sherrinford said his goodbyes, refusing to be convinced much to Sherlocks dismay. Sherlock was always his favourite thing in his family, he was like the shining beacon in the middle of a room filled with snobs. It was tough, but he closed the door behind him and ran off never looking back.

He makes his getaway to the capital city of England, with little to his name. Unable to find somewhere to permanently stay, Sherrinford was homeless. But refusing to let it get him down, he used the energy he had to help other people in his position. He gained a bit of notoriety through this, becoming a sort of detective to the less well-off. This quickly caught the attention of Professor James Moriarty, the Consulting Criminal.

Enticed by all the offerings Moriarty showcased Sherrinford; from his very own spacious and luxurious apartment, to all the money he could ever need to splash out on whatever he wanted. But the catch was he had to work for him, and get his hands dirty. It was an offer he couldn't refuse, with the alternative being in the streets again.

He was shown how to be a master criminal, how to make a quick getaway to how to plan and hack into a secure building. Quickly he picked up many new skills...And learning how to commit murder sealed the deal to making him Moriarty's most trusted accomplice.

Under the alias 'black sheep,' he was ruthless with his unfortunate victims. He preferred taking his time, playing with his toy rather than giving them the pleasure of a quick death. Learning from the very best out there, he attached his own flamboyance to his work and cared only to live the appearance of a high-end lifestyle.

It wasn't until he was caught by police as Moriarty left him to save himself that his world turned upside down. As the cell door crashed shut behind him, he realised this wasn't how he wanted to live his life anymore - if at all.

He spent time in jail contemplating and writing down his thoughts and experiences on a black leathered notebook. Over time, Sherrinford realised Moriarty had, indeed manipulated him and all those arguments, demands and expectations were a fragment of the abuse he dealt with. Looking back now, he was never truly happy. Sure, there is some shameless enjoyment from the sense of empowerment one has when inflicting pain onto another...But it does not compare to the love and trust of another sincere human being.

It was one early morning when he was awaken by a police officer, forcing him out of his cell in the middle of his sleep. Without warning, his cuffs were unlocked and he was told he was free.

It didn't take a genius to figure out Moriarty was likely the anonymous party that let him leave prison far earlier than intended. What he didn't expect was discovering Jim had randomly disappeared not long ago, and in fact, his trusted marksmen Moran broke to Sherrinfoed the news of his sudden disappearance. They, Moran as well as the unlawful world, were expecting Sherrinford to take the mantle. But he refused the offer, devoting himself to never return to a life of crime.

Moran respects his wishes, and Sherrinford is back into society with a cleared criminal record and a fresh new start.

Having always been a creative person, and wanting to right the wrongs he committed in his past, he is now a writer. A columnist to one of the top London newspapers, his column reporting on local stories. In his spare time, he is an exceptional artist, practising as often as he can to one day display his artwork in a gallery and a practising cello player. He's also working on a book describing how vicious life as a criminal can be, with reference to his notebook he kept in prison.

He hopes to reconnect with his family and to find people or even just someone who can tolerate his classic, british sarcasm as he tries to work through his trauma - mostly consisting of being untrusting of others, a hesitation to open up and become vulnerable to others and his recurring, haunting nightmares.

HEADCANONS:

- during his time as a criminal, he dyed his hair blonde to not only help hide his identity, but to separate himself from his family.

- skilled in a combination of boxing and jujitsu, his weapon of choice are knives and knows how to use guns

- unlike his brothers who play their instruments of choice to help them think, sherrinford plays the cello for enjoyment and can play to a grade five level, which includes music theory. He also dabbles with acoustic guitar.

- a fantastic self-taught artist. his preference is painting with watercolour and with oil paints. his art style ranges from landscapes to realism and to more abstract forms when the inspiration really hits

- adores to write, he's always kept a journal with him in some shape or form. most of which have either been burnt on purpose or kept stored away as some of them are noted with sensitive material. he plans to write a non-fictional novel about his experiences, in the hopes it'll aid others who went along a similar path.

- he's not very well informed in the sciences, but he knows a few things about chemistry and moreso about biology - given he was a murderer and takes care about his health. he's more interested on theology, philosophy and psychology.

- he has ptsd and depression. His depression used to be pretty severe, it took him time to accept who he was and the situation he was in, but having faith helped him tremendously.

- unlike his siblings, he prefers to keep to himself and have a solitude lifestyle. but he's always happy to provide help to anyone who seeks it. his focus is more on his own self, with his faith and in his creative works. he's a fast learner, and often has parades of books around his home as he has an incredibly curious mind to learn about anything and everything, especially as he didn't get a chance at formal education.

- he was an avid smoker during his time as a criminal. he was no stranger to the occasional in take of other drugs as well, mostly cocaine. but nothing hit the spot for him like alcohol did. even as a teen, he snuck the occasional swig from his father's alcohol cabinet, until he got caught one night and was punished for it. alcohol makes him gain confidence, alleviates any stress or anxiety he has and the world doesnt appear so bleak. he now limits how much he drinks significantly.

- his father was abusive to him. because sherrinford is labelled as the 'black sheep' of the family due to him being a rebellious kid from the moment he was born, his father was more strict with him than his brothers by being emotionally abusive, and never getting approval from his Father. His mother was kinder but not often present.

- his love life mostly consists of one night stands, little brief encounters that mightve lasted a few more days or weeks. But nothing long-term and this was happening during his time as Moriartys accomplice. The longest he's gone is with a fellow male student in school, which lasted a few months in secret.

- sherrinford emits this aura of disappointment. not towards others, but rather you have a sense of shame and guilt when you're around him. he may be charismatic, friendly and flirty but due to his past of being manipulated and being manipulative himself, most find it hard to trust him and often turn away after getting to know him. this has led him to be lonesome, and finding solitude in his own interests and hobbies.

[libraford]

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

[kayluh1915]

More Than Anything

Words: 3,813

Pairing(s): Pedro Pascal/Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only!

While enjoying a long awaited drink, you find yourself entertained by the young bartender with horrible jokes. Pedro, however, doesn't see the humor in the situation.

DISCLAIMER

This fic is a part of my "Pedro y su Abeja🐝" series. You don't have to read the previous stories to understand this one, but they're there if anyone would like to give them a glance with your peepers. I write them as a reader insert, but they can also be read as an original character. It's up to you.

Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok if you'd like. I'm pretty boring but I try. You can also checkout my Pedro Pascal Masterlist if you'd like to read some more Pedro works by me.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Additional Warnings: Daddy kink, dom/sub undertones, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, hair pulling, vaginal sex, and creampie.

London was beautiful.

Maybe a bit too cold for your tastes, but beautiful nonetheless.

It was your first time ever in the city… actually, it was your first time out of the States period. You always loved to travel, but never had the time or the money to invest in it. So, being in a new city and a new country was extremely exciting.

Big Ben was gorgeous, the London Eye was romantic, and Buckingham Palace was elegant. So many new and exciting sights all around you and yet your only focus was on Pedro, holding on tightly to his arm as he escorted you down the red carpet.

“Okay?” He asked, turning his attention towards you for a moment. You smiled up at him and nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you did so. The red carpet still made you incredibly uncomfortable, but you had gotten better at it since Oscar night. It’s not something you enjoy, but you didn’t mind it as long as Pedro was there for you to follow and hold onto.

“After I finish presenting, we can head to the afterparty if you want. There’s really no need to stay if you’re not feeling it.” He offered once you were finally away from the blinding cameras.

“That sounds great, actually. I could use a drink."

"Yeah? What're you feeling?" You pondered for a moment.

"Honestly, I'm not really sure. Maybe something with vodka or bourbon."

"Bourbon, huh? Are you homesick?" You scoffed playfully and rolled your eyes with your tongue stuck out at him, earning a deep chuckle as he placed a kiss on your temple.

He teases you about that every time bourbon is brought up.

After the usual press interviews and greetings with Pedro’s peers, you were finally able to take your seats, getting as close to him as possible while he draped his arm across the back of your seat.

Before meeting Pedro, you loved award shows. It was an excuse to get off your ass with friends and shit on the biased bastards who clearly chose the winners on other criteria besides which film had been best crafted.

Now, you fucking hated them. Having to sit still in a seat and listen to these rich snobs drone on and on about nothing important for hours on end with no booze or idiotic friends to laugh with made it damn near unbearable for you. Pedro knew this and picked up on your fidgeting about 40 minutes into the show. He placed his hand on your bouncing knee, gently rubbing his thumb over it.

"You can go on to the party if you want, Abeja. I still have a bit before my presentation and I know how restless you get with these things.” You shook your head, going back to bouncing your knee, but a bit gentler this time.

“Nah. I want to stay here with you and show my support.” He chuckled.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me and you know that." A split second of silence fell between you as you weighed your options, but he wasn't having it.

"Go. Have a drink and loosen up a bit. I’ll come find you after I present and we can watch the clip together on YouTube later.”

Normally, you wouldn’t listen to him and would tough it out. Pedro lit up like a kid on Christmas anytime he was on camera and you loved to see it, but he was right. The video of him presenting would be on YouTube within minutes of it being aired so you’d still be able to see it.

"... Okay. I have my phone if you want me to come back." You offered.

"Alright. I’ll see you in a bit, honey." You exchanged a quick kiss, bunched your dress up in both hands, and nearly booked it out of the theatre, more than happy to finally be away from all the formal shit.

You were the first one at the party, rushing over the bartender and ordering some Jim Beam and Coke. Pretty basic, but it was just something to get you started.

"Your accent is lovely." The bartender complimented as he slid your drink to you.

"Oh, this ugly thing?" You gestured to your vocal chords. "I respectfully disagree, but thank you. I’d much rather have one like yours. Sounds much nicer than deep fried hick." The young man laughed, resting his elbow on the bar.

"Where you from?" You took a sip of the concoction before answering.

"Kentucky. Born and raised." The bartender looked at your drink and then back at you.

"You're not a little homesick are ya?" He asked, gesturing to your drink. You groaned, rolling your eyes and laying your head on the bar.

"Why does everyone ask me that? I just like bourbon, okay?" The bartender laughed again as you took another sip.

"Yes ma'am. I apologize. I'm Brice." He held his hand out for you to shake. You did, giving him your name in return. "So, this your first time in the UK?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The afterparty had a lot more people now, the three drinks you've had relaxing you and tinting your cheeks blush red. It wasn't enough for you to ditch your filter, but it did make you quite giggly.

Brice especially found your giggle fits endearing. He had been talking to you the entire time you’d been there, only leaving to serve the other guests before coming back over to you. He'd lean on the marble bar as you spoke and he started telling you bad jokes just to get you to giggle. He seemed like a pretty cool dude.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked, watching you closely as you down your shot of whiskey. You put the glass back on the bar with a clank, letting out a sigh as you felt the liquor run warm down to your stomach.

"Sure. What's on your mind?" You answer. Brice takes the glass from you and washes it quickly, drying it off with a towel as he seems to ponder on how to say what he's about to say.

"You know, you're pretty awesome and I would love to get to know you better away from all of this." He started, gesturing around the party atmosphere. "So, I was wondering if you would like to exchange phone numbers? Maybe socials as well?"

Ah Lord. You were nowhere near drunk enough to deal with this shit. Brice seemed like a cool guy, but you didn't think you were coming off that way and immediately felt terrible for leading him on. You opened your mouth to say… something. You weren't really sure, but it was going to be better than dumbass silence. However, you didn't even get a word out before you felt a familiar hand on your back and Pedro’s voice right by your ear.

Perfect. Just in time to be used as a gentle decline.

"There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you." You spun around to come face to face with Pedro, your face instantly lighting up as soon as you saw him. He looked you over with a smile, noticing your flushed cheeks and drunken giggles.

"I see you've had your drink." You nodded, holding up four fingers. "Oh, four. Excuussse me."

Pedro looked over to Brice and ordered his own drink. He noticed that the young man had a melancholy look to him, his blue eyes shifting right back to you as soon as he acknowledged his drink order.

"Is he bothering you?" Pedro whispered, not taking his eyes off of the bartender as he made his drink. You gasped, pretending to be offended.

"Nooooo! Brice would never!"

Pedro wasn't usually a jealous man, but something about the current situation was making his blood boil. He concealed it well and thanked "Brice" when he handed him his drink.

"I'm going to go say hi to some friends. You wanna come with me?" You groaned, not really wanting to put your formal face back on, but your desire to be around Pedro as much as possible outweighed all of it.

“Fiiinnee. I’m not talking, though.” He held his hand out for you to take, helping you down from the bar stool before placing his hand on your lower back. He gave the bartender one last glance, trying his best not to feel the pride swell in his chest when he saw how devastated the poor guy looked.

About an hour had passed when you returned to the bar for another drink, Brice apologizing for being forward as he slid you your shot.

“I didn’t know you were with someone. I’m sorry.” You fanned your hand at him, downing your shot in one go.

“It’s no big deal. I didn’t say anything so you couldn’t have known. For what it’s worth, I think you're an awesome dude and would love to exchange socials with you. You have a discord?” Brice’s eyes lit up as he nodded, grabbing a pen and paper to write his username on.

After exchanging little scraps of paper, you continued chatting with him and ended up getting giggly again from the shot. Brice noticed and started telling his horrible jokes again, but your drunk ass still found them fucking hilarious. You were still sober enough to keep the filter, but you were talking and laughing pretty loudly.

Brice was in the middle of a joke when you felt Pedro’s large and warm hand wrap around your upper arm. You melted into him with a fit of giggles, Pedro laughing at how cute you were as he brushed a few strands of hair out of your eyes.

"C'mon, honey. I think it's time for us to turn in." Pedro said, a groan leaving your lips.

"Let Brice finish this last joke and then I'll come okay?"

This time, Pedro didn't hide his rage, looking up at Brice with the most intimidating look he could muster while he had you drunk in his arms. It definitely worked, the poor dude shrinking in on himself as his eyes widened with fear.

"A-actually I'll send it to you on Discord, okay? I think you should go with your boyfriend." Brice stuttered out, clearly intimidated by your sweet teddy bear which you found hilarious. So hilarious that you didn't even question why he was angry in the first place.

Pedro was satisfied with Brice's answer and deep down felt terrible for being such an asshole, turning his attention back to you leaning on him and still giggling.

"C'mon, Abeja. Let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door to your shared hotel room had barely shut before Pedro had you cornered, his eyes dark and the smell of his cologne dancing under your nostrils. You had sobered up a bit on the drive back to the hotel and was starting to feel tired.

You whine pitifully, mildly upset that he was keeping you from your plans of peaceful dreams.

"What is it, P? M'tired." You groaned. Pedro scoffed above you.

"Am I not enough for you?" He growled. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and look up at him.

"Huh? What're you tal-"

"Is this old man not enough for your little pussy? Huh?" You froze and swallowed hard, now understanding where he was going with this and you very much liked it, your exhaustion instantly forgotten.

"N-no… You're perfect." He chuckled darkly, leaning down to trail his lips gently over your neck. You moaned quietly, feeling his stubble tickle your sensitive skin.

"Really? Then why would you waste your time with that... boy?”

Ooohhhh. Brice.

"He-he was just being friendly. He seemed like a pretty cool guy an-"

Pedro interrupted you by slamming you against the door, pinning your wrists to the cold steel as he got close to you, his lips only inches away from yours.

"You have no idea what you'd be missing." He snarled, your pussy clenching hard from just his words and voice alone.

"... Show me, then.”

Pedro growls low in his throat and pushes you harder into the door, now holding both of your wrists in his left hand as he caresses your face and lifts his knee up to your clothed cunt.

"Gonna fuck you so good. Your young little pussy won't be able to take it all." You whined quietly, grinding yourself down onto his knee.

"Please..." Pedro's breath hitched, his grip tightening on your wrists.

"See, look at you... You're already coming apart and I've only given you my knee. That boy wouldn't even get you this close with his inexperience. Only I know exactly what you need." You were squirming at this point, your juices already starting to soak through your panties.

"Please, Daddy… Please..." You begged as he pressed his knee even harder into your dripping heat.

"Patience, my sweet Abeja. Daddy will give you everything soon."

He jerked your wrists forward, pulling you close as he let go of his hold to grab your ass and hoist you up. You quietly squeaked in surprise, wrapping your arms and legs around him as he quickly carried you over to the bed. He threw you down on it, the springs protesting lightly from the sudden weight as Pedro began to strip.

He almost had his undershirt unbuttoned when you sat up and tried to unzip your dress, but he stopped you by pinning your wrists to the mattress.

“Only Daddy’s allowed to take that dress off, baby girl.” You whined, another gush soaking your already damp panties.

He let go of your wrists again and continued to undress, looking over your body hungrily as he did so.

“I bet you’re soaked already, aren’t you, pretty girl?” You nodded rubbing your thighs together as your pussy clenched again. He parted your legs and haphazardly lifted your dress. He groaned at the sight of your heather gray panties darkening in color as your arousal continued to seep.

The stylist had highly advised you to wear sexy underwear with the dress, but you didn't care. You'd take comfort over looks anyday and Pedro didn't seem to have a problem with your choice of underwear.

He took his right pointer finger and ran it gently over the darkening patch, the bulge in his boxers twitching and somehow getting harder.

"Fuck, look at you. So shameless." He wraps his arms around your legs and pulls you to the side of the bed while getting down on his knees. You impatiently began to fidget, knowing exactly what he was doing. He pulled your panties aside, the sight of your glistening pussy spurring him on as he yanked you closer and licked you from your opening to your throbbing clit.

“Daddy…” You sighed, your hands instantly tangling in his hair. Pedro groaned, the vibrations and his facial hair feeling heavenly. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and threw them over his shoulders, pulling you even closer and pressing the pads of his fingers into your smooth skin.

“MMmmmm.” You whined, the sudden movement causing your pussy to clench around nothing. You spared a glance down to Pedro. You could only see his eyes, but that was more than enough, his dark chocolate orbs staring up at you with a dizzying mixture of adoration and lust.

Pedro loved how wreaked you looked, your mouth hung open and your eyes hooded. He took pride that he was the one making you feel this way, knowing that he was the only one who got to see you like this.

He’d had plans on taking his time with you, slowly bringing you to one orgasm after another with his tongue, fingers, and cock; but the sight of you losing yourself just on his tounge alone drove him crazy and he grew impatient.

He pulled away from you too soon for your liking, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal as he yanked off your underwear in one swoop. He discarded his boxers as he stood up, pinning you to the bed as he drug the head of his cock through your slick folds a few times.

“You’re mine, understand?” You nodded quickly, wanting so desperately for him to get on with it. “Say it.”

“I-I’m yours, Daddy… Please….” You begged.

“Please what?” Your mind was so fuzzy with arousal, that you could barely process the words he was saying, let alone compose some of your own, but Pedro wasn’t having it. He grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked it, the delicious mixture of pain and pleasure only making your neediness worse.

“Answer me.”

“Fuck me!” You whined, your voice hoarse and weak, but still loud enough for him to get the message. Pedro let go of your hair and caressed your face, the gentle gesture a far cry from how he’d pulled your hair barley seconds ago.

“Good girl.” When he finally pushed himself in, you both made noises of pleasure, Pedro wasting no time. "God, you feel so good, baby." He groaned, starting to thrust into you faster. Though you both were inpatient and did very little foreplay, you were still absolutely soaked.

“You hear that?” He gruffed, his facial hair tickling your jaw as the sounds of your wet pussy squelched almost musically. “That boy could never get you this wet. You’d probably have to- fuck- have to use lube just to get started.”

You were already close. It’d been a hot minute since you’ve seen each other, your music classes revving up for concert season and his schedule getting booked by the day. It was hard to be away from one another for so long, but this… this made it worthwhile. No toy or vibrator could ever top the way Pedro made you feel.

"Pedro…" You groaned.

"That's it. Scream Daddy's name, baby girl. Show the boys who you belong to."

His cock repeatedly rubbing against your g-spot sent waves of tingling pleasure all throughout your lower half, the intensity of it building higher and higher as he continued.

"Don't stop, Daddy. Please don't stop." You whined, your voice getting higher as your orgasm grew closer.”

"Cum on Daddy's cock, Abeja. Let him feel you drip." Like a rubber band being pulled too tight, you snapped, your back arching off the bed and your toes curling. It hit you hard, your pussy drenching his cock and throbbing relentlessly with wave after wave of chilling pleasure.

“Mmm, Daddy’s gonna cum, baby girl. Whe-where do you want it?” He panted, his movements slowing for a few seconds while he waited on your answer.

“Inside…” You whined, your orgasm still wreaking havoc as he sped back up.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna… gonna…” He thrust his cock into you one last time, his own orgasm tearing through him with the same intensity as yours. The feeling of his cum warming your insides and his throbbing cock brought you to the peak for a second time. It wasn’t very intense, but getting filled up always made your orgasm even if they’re small.

Pedro collapsed onto you, his lips colliding with yours in a slow, passionate kiss. You laid your head back with a sigh on pleasure, Pedro chasing after you to gently kiss and nibble at your chin.

“I know you like me to stay in for a bit after we finish, but can we please make an exception this time? My back is killing me in this position.” You snorted.

“Oh my god, you’re so fucking old.” Pedro pulled out slowly, the feeling of his cum seeping out dazing you again for a moment. He smugly smirked at the sight, his hand gently caressing your upper thigh as he watched it trail down your folds.

“You weren't complaining about it earlier.”

A little later, you were laying on Pedro’s chest as he played with your hair, both of you just enjoying each other's company and the silence after a night of constant noise.

"Since when do you get jealous?" You finally asked, breaking the peace as his hand stilled in your hair.

"M'not… not usually anyway." You traced small circles on his chest for a moment.

"What was so different this time?" He sighed deeply, the silence returning as he thought of an answer.

“I dunno. I guess I just…” He sighed again, running a hand through his hair.

“There’s just... so many people out there… people who have their entire lives ahead of them, who doesn’t have back pain, who doesn’t have gray hair and wrinkles, and who doesn’t sound like rice crispies in the morning and…” He paused, his arms tightening around you.

“... Someone who has the time to give you all the attention you deserve. I feel so guilty knowing that I can’t wake you up with breakfast every morning, that I have to leave you alone for months and months at a time, and that you have to face so much scrutiny because of my age. When I saw you with Brice, you looked so happy and it made me think of all the things that I can’t give you…”

He was choking up at this point, his eyes glassy and brimming with tears. You sat up a bit to face him, your hand caressing his face and gently scratching his facial hair as you stared into his watery eyes.

“Pedro… don’t say things like that. You are more than enough for me. You’re so kind and smart and oh so sweet. You’ll come take care of me when I’m sick, you respect me and treat me as my own person, you spoil me even though I beg you not to, and you love me for who I am.” Pedro sniffled as you rested your forehead atop his.

“You are hands down the most amazing man I’ve ever met and no amount of scrutiny, grey hair, or rice crispy joints is going to change that. You may think that you can’t give me everything, but you give me more than enough and I love you more than anything on this Earth.”

Pedro smiled a small smile, bringing up his left hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and caress your jaw as a tear fell down his cheek.

“I don’t deserve you…” He whispered. You wiped the tear away with your thumb and leaned down to kiss him for a bit.

"That, and you're such a DILF. I mean, did you see yourself in Narcos?" He laughed, wiping his eyes with his wrist as he got up to take a shower.

"Alright, bye. Your fangirl's coming out." You got up as well, hoping to finally take off that stupid dress and join him.

“You know you love it.” His arms suddenly wrap around you from behind, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your shoulders.

“More than anything.”

[making-dough]

Gilded Arena (+Leif)

And if that’s not enough, soon after you hear rumors that Drayden was actually being serious when he kept suggesting a trial by combat to decide who wins the seat. Gladiators from all across the Alliance are gathering for an underground battle royale, all in hopes to receive a fabulous sum of money as well as become Drayden’s champion. Hearsay won’t be enough to confront him–you’ll need to gather evidence. Sneaking into the underground arena should be enough, but fighting directly in the tourney might yield some extra information… [Grants Axe OR Brawl +1]

♠  ~ Alright, so they seemed to be having a bit of a situation on their hands. One of the top nobs down in Deerland bite the dust lately and before you know it, you've had the usual noble jockeying around, fights breaking out and things were starting to look ugly. Clearly, this was a problem. And orders from above had decreed that she help deal with this too. Damn it. Why couldn't these snobs learn to settle things over a game of cards? It'd make things so much more fun.

Well, anyway, apparently one of the nobs in this whole mess had suggested that they settled things with what basically amounted to a duel over it. He seemed serious about it too. He was even hiring! Through a underground arena, no less. Ah, a man after her own heart. If she wasn't already-Actually, scratch that. She had no interest in getting involved in a noble spat.

Besides, the man seemed to have attracted quite a roster already. A whole crowd of battle-hardened tough guys who all seemed eager to be his 'champion'. Farina let out a low whistle of appreciation, casting an appraising eye across the crowd. Whoever he was, he sure was attracting some talent. A lot of talent. Way too much to make sense. Did he already have some reputation on the ground beforehand? As a foreigner to the continent, she wouldn't exactly know for sure.

Well, whatever. They had a assignment to take care of first. "C'mon!", Farina called out to her partner, her deep blue eyes still scanning the crowd. "We're here for info, right? Let's just mosey on up and ask around. Someone's gotta have some dirt on this...Drayden?” Shooting a sideways glance back towards her partner, Farina gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Let’s just keep an eye out, anyway. Any weird banners, any shady weirdos, any, uh..." 

She let out her voice slowly trail off as the crowd before her started to thin out, giving the mercenary a proper look at what they had been crowding around. The prize pool on offer. And suddenly, that size of that crowd seemed to make a lot of sense. That...was a lot of gold. A totally stupid amount of gold. Just imagine what she could do with all that money! She'd never owe anybody anything ever again! And all she needed was to triumph in an arena match to win it all?

There was a giddy thrill in her voice as Farina turned around suddenly to face her brown-haired partner, her eyes still dazzling with sheer greed. "Hold that thought! We need to go sign up right now!" No wonder this Drayden guy was drawing this huge crowd when he was willing to be so so generous. Surely, he’d know talent when he saw it. Could this be her big break?

@diadic

[meduseld]

Oh my god, I loved your response to your last secret baby Berman anon! 🖤 And for them to then decide, what the hell let's have another one? How do you even explain that Ziggy? Like you said, she would have to interact with society bc of her kids. There's bound to be gossip, especially if the first born is a little clone of Nick lol Do you have any headcanon for this new set of Berman siblings btw? I wonder, would Ziggy still live in her childhood home? Where would they go to school? I feel like even though they live in Shadyside, Nick might want them to have a better education but they would have a tough time in Sunnyvale. I also feel like the first one was definitely an oopsie baby, but the second one would be planned and they might not say it out loud but both are excited for this new addition and will probably enjoy the whole process this time around. Plus, their kids are going to be a bunch of book and movie snobs at a very young age. But, most importantly what does Satan think of this happy little family? I'm sorry for rambling in your asks lol

Omgggggggggg love this, been thinking about it since last night!

So, in rough order: Ziggy dgaf at that point. There's already rumors, and she's like well so? Not to mention she does have Nick's behind the scenes comfort and protection. And this is one point in which Shadyside has a point in favor: lots of single parents and non-married people having babies and all that jazz. So socially while there's talk there's not huge amounts of censure. It would be *quite* the scandal in Sunnyvale but not such a big deal in Shadyside. That's not to say it wouldn't be tough and people wouldn't be shitty, but it would not be as bad as the country club "what will people say" crowd. And no one dares connect Nick to it so there's that.

About the kids themselves: they can't be boys, in this universe. Partly because I have the idea of a son (Isaac, but he'd be born post film, and free of the curse), but also bc then the Pact would be back on in full force and fucking them up bc what does Satan care about weddings? (sidebar: could be interesting if one of the Past Goode Sons was originally a bastard and then legitimized). Not to mention, there's the interesting parallel of Cindy&Ziggy, but also really allows Nick to connect with them differently. And it would inform their character and also that tie with their mom, which I think would be cool. Ofc it's also interesting that Satan couldn't *make* them boys as it seems to be that the Goodes only have sons. Let's say in this universe Satan is amused and intrigued by them, and trying to get Nick married and have a son that way, as the curse hinges on the town divide sort of, but also because it would cause way more pain and angst and he feeds on that. So yeah, I think of them as sisters.

So about them. The eldest was in fact an oops baby, born 1980 which is uh, *eyes-emoji* timing due to the near trauma, and they are essentially teen parents (about 18 for Ziggy and just turned 20 for Nick), and such but it's the 80s so Ziggy keeps her. And names her Ripley, after the badass Ellen Ripley from Alien bc yeah those kids are gonna be super pop cultured. There's a shift from her parents, rather than the eldest being the dutiful, mild mannered one, Rip is a bit of a terror. Bold and brave and standing up to bullies, Deena will remind Ziggy of her. She's tighter with her mom, it was them against the world for a while. Played in my head by Sarah Pidgeon, bc of The Wilds, but the badass punk girl that everyone is half in love, half terrified of. Gets in trouble and convinces Nick to teach her to shoot at some point.

Their second was more planned, not fully planned, but yes, more welcome, they were ready for her, not scared now that they have a kid and yes there's that unspoken anticipation and joy. They're older, Nick is more settled, there's more money and they know their groove. Ziggy gets snide looks, sure, but Rip and Nana Lane are stoked (they stayed in Shadyside and her fam home until around the birth of the second baby, that Nick got for them. He did insist on them going/bussing to Sunnyvale for High School and oh boy was that tough on everyone. Sunnyvalers def bullied them more and Rip had to build her rep from scratch. But it is better, education wise) and it's the happiest Nick has ever been, waiting for the second girl, to the point that the Deputies nudge each other that maybe the boss has been getting laid bc he's been more chill lately.

Their second daughter, played by Hayley McFarland on the basis of me rewatching Conjuring 1 recently, is the sweeter, softer one, with her big sister blazing the trail ahead of her. Named Connor, after Sarah Connor because Terminator came out the year she was born (actually, she was born October 31, yes Halloween, and Terminator came out like a week before. A sign, Ziggy thinks. Another, also not quite auspicious one was that Rip was born Friday, the 13th of June 1980, about a month after the first Friday 13th film came out).

And yeah Ziggy named her daughters non-traditionally-feminine names after female pop culture badasses bc she was a teen mom, she and Nick have arrested development, and she wants them to have role models of some sort. Connor gets taken to shoot with her sister and Nick, and turns out to be a *spectacular* natural talent. She's the better shot and has more survival skills. She seems meek and mild but she's got that old school prairie farmer's wife strength.

So yeah I've thought a lot about these two girls. Very different on the surface, but very tight and looking out for each other. And yeah, they both have their father's wavy brown hair and Ripley has his eyes. They know who their father is, too, even if it can't be said and people tease them. Rip did a lot of beating up when she was younger. And again when they got sent to Sunnyvale. But they love and have each other. I love them already

[moveobjectsonblogs]

Zodiac Challenge

Welcome to the Sims 4 Zodiac Challenge!

This idea came to me in a dream after a month of um-ing and ah-ing over whether or not I should start my very own Sims inspired Youtube Channel.

This is also inspired by the Not So Berry Challenge over on my queen, lilsimsie’s page, since I recently started playing that myself and found myself engaging with aspects of the game I never used to before. 

SO, the Zodiac challenge... It’s a legacy challenge inspired by Zodiac traits*, aspirations and careers with a little extra spice to keep the story moving along.  

*Please keep in mind that this is not a direct reflection of Zodiac traits, but merely an inspired challenge based on some common information surrounding each sign and a need to make a workable legacy challenge. I love all you little start signs out there equally and I believe we all have some positive influences on society as a whole. 

Okay, okay, cut to the chase already. Here are the rules of the challenge: 

No excessive money cheats (freerealestate is acceptable, as well as moderate transfer of household fees when a sim moves out) 

You have full control over CAS for your sims/partners/children, however traits are to remain according to challenge 

The color attached to each generation/sign needs to be visible on all sim outfits as well as in household, but you can decide to what degree

You can create looks inspired by the signs, but again, you can decide to what degree 

Make it your own! Where a generation requires pack-specific traits, aspirations, careers etc which you do not own, please substitute and come up with your own unique spin on it!

If a skill, aspiration, or career is listed, the expectation is to MAX IT OUT!

Please tag me! I want to see your videos, characters and creations on this

Generation 1 - Aries / Red - The Go-Getter

You start out as a runaway teen, trying to make it in the Big City. You believe you have what it takes to be the next National Leader, and the City is the place to be! You have a quick temper and a fiery personality, so in order to appear calm in the public eye (everyone wants a piece of you!) you need to practice Wellness every day. You don’t have time for marriage, but your PR Manager advised you it would look good for your political career to adopt!

Traits

Hot Headed

Self-Assured

Ambitious

Aspiration

Leader Of The Pack

Career

Politician (Politician branch to become National Leader)

Skills

Charisma

Wellness

Additional Requirements

Reach Level 3 Fame

Must have no biological children, only adopt

Don’t have a good relationship with child/ren

Never marry

Never retire 

Generation 2 - Taurus / Dark Green - The Loving Nurturer

All your life you tried to get the approval of your always-too-busy presidential parent. You were pawned off to day-care, baby-sitters and after-school activities to fill your time and never knew what a parental figure or family time was. You were told to always appear perfect in terms of good grades, a good university degree and a stable career but in your heart all you ever wanted was love! You spend quality time with your children and your greatest pleasure is helping them grow and succeed in life. You believe in taking the time to grow your own produce in order to eat only the healthiest food and other sims would describe you as ~earthy~.

Traits

Foodie

Family Oriented

Romantic

Aspiration

Big Happy Family

Career

Freelancer (any branch you want)

Skills

Parenting 

Gardening

Additional Requirements

Marry your High School/University sweetheart

Have minimum 3 children 

Work part time in order to help children with meals & homework everyday

Generation 3 - Gemini / Yellow - The Open-Minded Adventurer

You loved your cozy (some would say sheltered) and unconventional upbringing with your earthy parent and many siblings; however, you want to see the world and all it has to offer for yourself! You love people, creativity and being busy and you want to see it all, try it all and be it all. Thanks to your loving mom, you were always made to believe you can be whatever you want in this world. You can never sit still. Due to that, you have many different careers, many different worlds you live in and many different lovers...You’ll try anything once!

Traits

Outgoing

Adventurous

Creative

Aspiration

Renaissance Sim 

Career

Any 3 (as per Aspiration)

Skills

Flower Arranging

Video Gaming

Fitness 

Additional Requirements

Have a love child before marriage 

Have 3 failed romances before marriage 

Move to 3 different worlds in lifetime 

Generation 4 - Cancer / Grey - The Intuitive Gossip

You want a nice and normal life, no surprises, everything as it should be and in the right order. You want to settle down, and live an uneventful life. But when do plans ever work out like that? You earn a university degree in something sensible, and you follow that route with determination; however, you’ve always been described as psychic by those who know you, and you always have the dirt on the town folk. Finally, late in your life you understand that this ability can bring in some serious cash. You switch to the social media career and always work from home to protect your identity from those who’s secrets you spill. Who would ever suspect you, the nerdy Brainiac who barely speaks up? xoxo, Sims Girl

Traits

Neat

Unflirty 

Materialistic

Aspiration

Academic

Career

Initially something connected to Degree, but switch to Social Media (Internet Personality Branch) in late Adult Life Stage 

Skills

Logic

Writing

Media Production 

Additional Requirements

Attend university (Business or History degree)

Change careers when in Adult life stage to Social Media Career

Always work from home

Marry for convenience and not love (not attracted to partner)

Have no relationship with child/ren

Generation 5 - Leo / Gold - The Romantic Star

Your life growing up was boring. Your mom and dad were the least romantic people ever and everything was cookie-cutter perfect (and devoid of any emotion) growing up. So, from a young age, you throw yourself into movies and get lost in the romantic, passionate and fairy tale aesthetic of it all! You move to Del Sol Valley straight after high school to try and make it as a big star and start your own fairy tale! But it turns out not all fairy tales are perfect, and you have to kiss a few frogs to find your prince/ss!  

Traits

Cheerful

Self Absorbed 

Romantic

Aspiration

World Famous Celebrity

Career

Actor/Actress 

Skills

Acting

Singing 

Additional Requirements

Move to Del Sol Valley straight after high school with very little money (10K max)

Cheat on 2 different partners

Date both genders

Generation 6 - Virgo / Beige - The Critical Perfectionist

Owing to your famous parent, you always attended red carpet events with the best food imaginable. Let’s face it, you always thought your taste was just a touch above everyone else. And when you’re good at something never do it for free! Your dream is to criticize others and earn a pay check for it.For you, life is about experiences, perfection and having something to show for it in the bank account. You want to wear and eat the finest things!

Traits

Perfectionist

Genius

Snob

Aspiration

Fabulously Wealthy

Career

Critic (Food)

Skills

Gourmet Cooking

Mixology

Additional Requirements

Marry a famous sim or a sim at the top of their career

Have a house worth over 100K

Have 1 child

Generation 7 - Libra / Pink - The Classy Advocate

You grew up in a very classy home, with only the finest things. You believe in the value of beautiful art, intellectual discussions and physical beauty. From behind the thick, gilded window panes in your childhood mansion, you always witness the injustices of the world and felt a calling to help those without a voice.

Traits

Materialistic

Art Lover

Outgoing

Aspiration

Party Animal

Career

Law (Any Branch)

Skills

Charisma

Violin

Additional Requirements

Attend university, join the debate guild

Marry a sim you find extremely attractive

Volunteer weekly

Own art pieces worth over 20K

Generation 8 - Scorpio / Black - The Beautiful Empath 

You’re a sweetheart deep down and you find beauty in all things physical. Where your parents saw beauty in materialistic things, you see beauty in yourself and others. You always dreamed of perfecting your own body as a testament to your intense passion towards your goals. You meet a beautiful partner along the way and together, you create a perfect image of love, beauty and emotional intensity.

Traits

Jealous 

Active 

Romantic

Aspiration

Soulmate

Career

Athlete (Bodybuilder career)

Skills

Fitness

Mischief

Additional Requirements

Marry a sim seen as extremely attractive

Have 1 child minimum and encourage active side (from toddler to teenager)

Go on a date night with your partner every weekend

Generation 9 - Sagittarius / Purple - The Traveling Spy 

You’re fun to be around and can never sit still. You’ve used this to your advantage to lure people into trusting you, and you have friends all over the world! Little do they know, you’re a secret agent with some top-tier missions to accomplish. Your passion for love and romance means you have a few slip ups and made some (unexpectedly great) mistakes along the way. You can’t ever be tied down. Keep it moving, blend in with the locals and you’ll never get caught!

Traits

Non-Committal

Adventurous

Cheerful  

Aspiration

Serial Romantic

Career

Secret Agent (Any Branch)

Skills

Comedy

Photography

Additional Requirements

Live in Mt. Komorebi and Sulani in lifetime – dabble in local culture and activities  

Have children from both of the above worlds with one of the locals

Never marry  

Generation 10 - Capricorn / Brown - The Idealistic Pragmatist

You’re smart – scary smart. You are a quiet, intelligent soul and you love to lose yourself in the mountains when life gets overwhelming. You approach life with military intelligence, routine and perfection and never thought you could meet someone who cracked through your tough exterior. When you do meet them, you marry them after the first few dates and start your family. Your partner adores you and your family and quits their career to take care of the large brood of kids and animals in your rustic, outdoorsy home.

Traits

Loner

Genius

Loves the Outdoors

Aspiration

Extreme Sports Enthusiast

Career

Military 

Skills

Pet Training

Logic 

Additional Requirements

Marry a spouse after a maximum of 3 dates

Have spouse quit job to raise children

Have 4 children minimum

Go Climbing/Hiking or do Snow Sports every weekend

Generation 11 - Aquarius / Blue - The Outspoken Activist 

You grew up with nature and animals taking preference over technology and humans. Therefore, you are sickened by the state of the world that humans have created and you decide to pursue a green future. You are all for eco living, off the grid lifestyle and conserving the environment for generations to come.

Traits

Vegetarian

Green Fiend

Creative

Aspiration

Eco Innovator 

Career

Civil Designer (Green Technician) 

Skills

Fabrication 

Logic 

Additional Requirements

Live in Evergreen Harbor (all 3 neighborhoods) and convert all to Green Eco Footprint

Live off the grid at least once

Adopt children and animals until household limit of 8 is reached 

Generation 12 - Pisces / Light Green - The Creative Overthinker 

You’re a dreamer and you want to heal everyone. Due to your parent’s ideals growing up, you want to make a difference... but you also want to create art and move souls. You tend to internalize your dreams and fears and as a result often feel misunderstood. You move around as a doctor trying to heal the world and as a result, love is last on the list of accomplishments.

Traits

Creative

Gloomy

Loner  

Aspiration

Painter Extraordinaire 

Career

Doctor 

Skills

Painting 

Baking 

Additional Requirements

Have no friends apart from future spouse

Gain fame through paintings  

Marry for the first time as an elder

Never have children

Live in all worlds through lifetime

[merakiaes]

Falling - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader

Requested: No. 

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: This wasn’t a requested piece, I just got this idea when I was watching the pool scene in ‘Bring It On Again’ the other day. It’s shit and it’s messy but it took me the entire day to write so please show it some love and let me know what you think xx NOT PROOFREAD!

Wordcount: 6776

Summary: You distract Oscar from the fight with his father and take his mind off of the fact that he left again, helping him be happy if only for a short moment. 

Freeridge was nothing like the neighborhood you had grown up in, of that much you were sure, and it was tough for you to get used to the big change considering the heavy circumstances under which you had been forced to move.

You had grown up in a really nice neighborhood, surrounded by rich, upper-class snobs pretty much your entire life. You had lived in a big, white villa and attended a fancy private school and never had to worry about anything in your entire life. 

Your parents were both deadbeats, having abandoned you when you were still very young to be raised by your single grandfather, but you couldn’t bring yourself to complain about it no matter how much it had scarred you, because you knew that you lived a life that others could only dream of.

But that all changed when your grandfather lost his two-year-long battle against cancer and you were left entirely on your own.

He left everything he owned to your name in his will but you had to take it all and pay off his last hospital bills and funeral and even then, it wasn’t enough to pay off the ridiculously large sums and you were forced to sell his house.

It pained you to do so, with all of the memories you had in the place, but you knew you had to move on from the past and start a new chapter of your life, and you wouldn’t have been able to afford to keep that big of a house, anyway.

So you sold it and started looking for a new place, and Jasmine had wasted no time in jumping to your rescue when you came out short in your search.

She was a longtime friend of yours, the two of you having met online and kept in touch on a daily basis over the course of four years, way before your grandfather got his diagnosis.

You had found her a bit strange to a start. She was a few years younger than you and she over-shared to the point that you knew that she had a birthmark in the shape of a pear in her groin and that she had a heavy blood-flow during her monthlies – mind you, you found this out already during the first week of knowing her.

She wasn’t shy, that much was for sure.

But in the end, it was her strange personality that made you like her, and it was also because of her that you grew out of the shy, held back bubble you had been trapped in since early in your traumatizing childhood.

She was loyal and always there for you, as were you for her. You were pretty much each other’s only real friends, despite the large age gap. You knew that people her own age made fun of her, and she knew that you had a very hard time trusting people, and you adjusted yourselves to properly be able to be there for one another.

So, of course, it was a given that she was there for you when you needed to find a new home, too. 

You had talked to her dad on a few occasions over video chat and he had been the one kind enough to find you a house for sale in Freeridge.

It wasn’t nearly as big as your childhood home had been and it was in a pretty bad shape, with flaky paint and broken plumbing, but you managed to make it feel like home with the help of your grandfather’s furniture, and either way, it was just big enough for just you.

It didn’t take long for you to learn first-hand how tight and supportive the community in a less-fortunate neighborhood really was when Dwayne Turner turned up at your doorstep to offer you a job at his barbeque restaurant without ever having spoken a word to you, only having heard about you and your need for a stable income in order to pay for your studies from Jasmine’s dad.

Neighbors were constantly helping out, doing each other favors and opening their homes to people in need of a roof over their head, and you felt more at home there than you ever had in your old neighborhood.

There, everything was about money. Whether it was about having a more expensive breed of dog, a faster car or bigger jewels, people were always trying to be better than each other. Over there, there was no such thing as celebrating each other’s success, something your grandfather had never stood beside.

You knew he would have liked Freeridge, despite the high criminal activity and dangerous streets. He would have liked the solidarity, selflessness and connection between people.

Jasmine had rounded up all of her friends, including Cesar who you found out was living right across the street, and they had spent the entire day helping you move your things in. 

Cesar and Jamal had been quick to offer to repaint the front wall of the house, and you had left them alone at the house to go pick up some paint.

Oscar had come home from an odd job when you were gone, finding his little brother and all of his friends busying themselves with carrying boxes inside the house on the other side of the street, right across from theirs.

Him and his fellow Santos had made themselves comfortable in the couch in front of the house, watching from a distance as a shiny, red car drove up the street and parked right in front of the house as the driveway was already occupied by another, cheaper car.

The beautiful car had instantly caught Oscar’s interest and it had piqued even higher when he watched you step outside with a can of paint in your hand, his brother coming up and grabbing it from you almost instantly.

That’s how you had first met the infamous Spooky, leader of the Santos. He had wasted no time in getting out of his seat and crossing the street to introduce himself to you, asking questions about your car.

It was a Pontiac LeMans from 1969, painted in a pristine coat of maroon with a glittery hint to it. It was beautiful and in a condition that almost made it look like it had never been touched, not a dent or scratch in sight and tires, rims and interior in perfect condition.

It was the only thing aside from some furniture that you had kept of your grandfather’s, but of course you didn’t tell Oscar that, not wanting to bore him with your sob story.

Your shared interest in cars was the first conversation you ever had with each other.

After interrogating you about your grandpa’s car, he showed you his 1964 Chevrolet Impala SS, briefly introducing you to the Santos still sitting around on the couch, watching you, before Jasmine and Ruby came and stole you back.

After that first day, Jasmine and her friends kept coming over to your house almost every day. You cooked for them and gave them a place to hold the strange meetings they had ever so often and drove them around when they needed to go somewhere and Spooky and Ruby’s abuela weren’t available. 

They had you wrapped around their fingers but you didn’t mind. They were like the younger siblings you never had and you owed it to Jasmine after the way she had been there for you every day for four years.

When Cesar was alienated by his brother and his gang, you offered him a place to stay for as long as it was safe, keeping it a secret from Oscar whenever you happened to bump into him.

He didn’t find out that you had been giving his brother shelter before the shit with the Prophets was cleared and he allowed him back home, but when he did, he thanked you, and you and Cesar remained close after having spent so much time together.

You didn’t hold a particular friendship with the gang leader even though you considered each other mutuals, but that all changed when his dad returned home after being released from prison.

He was offered a job at Dwayne’s restaurant already on his first day back just like you had, making you co-workers.

He was a good cook and he talked fondly about Oscar and Cesar a lot during your days working together. 

You could hear in his voice when he talked about them how much he really loved them, but you also knew he had a lot of internal battles that came in the way of him showing that in the right way.

You liked him despite his mistakes, but you could also understand why Oscar would resent him. He had left him and Cesar to fend for themselves just like your parents had left you and you understood his anger.

Cesar was over the moon to have his dad back in his life but Oscar couldn’t even bear to be in the same house as him when he was home, which originally was what drove him to you.

You had offered him to come inside for a beer one night when seeing him storm out of the house, being able to put two and two together when seeing Ray looking after him in the window, and he had accepted.

You didn’t talk about his dad. In fact, you stayed as far away from the subject of parents as you possibly could as you could see that it wasn’t something he wanted to be reminded off more than necessary.

Instead, you talked about your studies to become a nurse, and he told you about how good he had been doing in high school before he was forced to step up and raise his brother.

At the end of that night, you had learned that he had won the spelling bee two years in a row in seventh and eighth grade, that he liked to cook and swim, and that his favourite kind of donut was the ones with sprinkles on top.

They weren’t the deepest or most significant things to know, but even the dumbest person on earth would have been able to understand that it was a big deal that someone like Spooky was opening up at all, so you took what you could get.

He luckily didn’t ask about your family either, probably because he knew that you would ask him too if he did. But you were glad that he didn’t because no matter how much you loved hanging around Jasmine and the others, Oscar was the first acquaintance you had made that was your own age.

It felt nice to be able to be at the same level as someone and you didn’t want that to be ruined by him finding out that you were a former uptown girl who had been spoiled to bits throughout your entire life while he had been fighting to make ends meet every day of his life since he was probably very young.

You knew rich people weren’t very smiled upon in these parts and you understood why. Most of them were truly horrible.

That first night you had spent together hadn’t been the last by far. Whenever he needed a distraction from the jealousy and anger that came naturally when watching Cesar having so much fun with their dad, he would come right to you.

Some nights you talked, but most of the times you barely said a word to one another, sitting silently side by side in your backyard with a beer each, looking up at the sky.

On this day in particular you were taking the nice weather to your advantage by sitting outside and studying for your upcoming exam about the muscles of the body. 

The sun was blinding, forcing you to wear a pair of really dark sunglasses, but the sun was soon about to set.

Jasmine had been by for lunch a few hours ago when Cesar, Monse, Jamal and Ruby had, once again, excluded her from their shady activities, but unfortunately she had to leave pretty quickly when her internship shift at the police station started, again leaving you in your lonesome.

Your concentration was starting to waver after a good hour and a half in the sun despite the fact that the only sounds that could be heard were the light breeze going through the leaves of the trees and the chirping of birds.

The words in your book seemed to blur together and you soon realized that you wouldn’t be getting any more studying done on this afternoon.

You closed the book after a final minute of trying to regain your concentration and dropped it on the glass table in front of you. Letting out a loud and long sigh, you slid down in your chair and closed your eyes, enjoying the last minutes of sunshine.

Just then, the sound of a door opening rather violently across the street cut through the peaceful air, and your head instantly turned to look at the Diaz residence where Ray was now walking out with a bag in his hand, Oscar marching after him while yelling loudly.

“Everything bad that’s ever happened in my life is because of you! You’re gonna crush him the same way you crushed me!” Oscar yelled out and you instantly connected the dots; the angry and hurt look on Oscar’s face along with the bag Ray was holding.

Ray stopped, looking down at the ground. Oscar kept talking, his voice now too low for you to be able to catch what he was saying, but whatever it was caused Ray to turn back around.

As Oscar kept talking, Ray walked back over to him, stopping right in front of him, and you watched as Oscar’s face suddenly screwed up in pain, tears now evident in his eyes as he spoke. 

Before you knew it, Ray had wrapped his arms around his shoulder, pulling him into an embrace.

Oscar responded by hesitantly wrapping his arms around his dad and just for the slightest moment, your heart jumped with hope that they were resolving things, but then Oscar violently tore himself out of the embrace and shoved him away.

The sight forced you to turn your head away, the guilt of invading their private moment finally catching up with you, along with the hurt you felt for Oscar.

You looked down at the ground for a few seconds, gulping down the tears that were building up in your eyes as the situation hit so close to home for you.

Your pulse was beating in your ears and you carefully turned your head back to look at them, finding that Ray was now once again walking away from the house.

Your eyes met his briefly as he walked past your house, but he quickly averted his gaze out of shame, knowing you had witnessed the entire thing.

As he walked away from the scene, you moved your gaze to Oscar who was still standing in front of his house, finding that he was already looking at you. 

Your eyes connected and you swallowed simultaneously, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his face stern as he was obviously trying to hold back the tears.

You slowly and hesitantly raised your hand in a small wave at him, and when you did, he seemed to break out of the trance he had been in and turned around, furiously storming back inside, the front door slamming shut behind him.

You remained still in your seat for a moment after that, thinking over what you had just witnessed. 

You had been lucky enough to only be abandoned once by your parents, but Oscar had just been abandoned another time, and who knows how many other times before this he had been walked out on.

Your heart bled for him, and you suddenly felt a desperate need to take his pain away, so you stood up from your seat with your book in hand and walked inside.

You dropped the book on the table in the hallway and walked into the kitchen where you picked up the keys to your grandpa’s car – that had been standing in the garage ever since you moved in -  and turned right back around, returning outside and quickly locking up the front door before heading across the road.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Oscar’s door, contemplating whether or not you should actually disturb him right now.

But you knew that the worst thing that could happen was that he would get angry at you and when there was a slight chance that you could distract him for a while, that didn’t seem all too bad.

So before you could change your mind, you raised your hand and knocked three times on the door. The sound of heavy footsteps reached your ears within a second and the door was almost instantly flung open.

Oscar towered over you where he now stood in the doorway, tracks of dried tears visible on his tanned cheeks. He looked at you with a glare, as if he had known it was you before he even opened the door.

"What do you want?" He wasted no time in spitting out, squaring his shoulders that you knew without a doubt in your mind was his way to cover up his vulnerability.

You were at loss at words for a moment. You had expected him to be unwelcoming given the circumstances, but his tone still managed to stun you, as it was always so easy going when you talked otherwise.

But you quickly regained your composure, trying to look as unsympathetic as possible. “Do you want to go on a ride?” You asked, tilting your head slightly and fiddling with the keys in your hands. “I promise I won’t ask questions."

His glare hardened at your words. "I don't need your pity." He said, glowering down at you, but for some reason, you didn’t find him intimidating at all.

"Good.” You agreed, the words coming more easily to you now. “Because you're not getting it." You mustered a smile at him, trying to keep a playful hint to your tone in an attempt to ease the situation.

But his glare didn’t waver even for a second and the next thing you knew, he had taken a step back into the house and started shutting the door in your face.

Before it could close, however, you hurried and stuck your foot in between the door and the doorframe. You could see his furious face through the small crack of the door and held up the keys in your hand, your eyes pleading.

"I'll let you drive my car." 

He stared at you for a good few seconds, before kissing his teeth and opening the door wider again, snatching the keys from your hand and angrily marching past you towards your house, the door slamming shut behind him.

You were forced to run in order to keep up with his long strides, and wordlessly opened the door to the garage once you came back to your house.

Oscar didn’t utter a single word to you as he walked to the driver’s side of the car and got in behind the wheel, leaving you to find your own way to the passenger side. 

Once you were both situated, he stuck the keys into the ignition and turned them.

You watched his face from the side silently, taking in the way his eyes flickered with much more positive emotion for a just a second as he listened to the engine of the car roar alive. 

It was only a brief change of attitude, but it was enough to have you smiling as he backed the car out of the garage; it was the first time it was driven since your first day in Freeridge. 

You sped down the streets of Los Angeles, the roof of the car down and your hair whipping around in the air. 

The dark had now fallen and you hadn’t spoken a word to each other since leaving, but you could feel Oscar slowly starting to relax in his seat beside you.

After an hour of just driving around with no particular destination in mind, you told him to make a right to take you back to Freeridge, and not long after, you found yourself pulling up in front of the neighborhood pool.

As he turned the car off, you wasted no time in opening your door and getting out, slamming it shut behind you.

You turned around to look at him, meeting his wary eyes, and flashed him a grin, nodding your head backward. “Come on.” You urged him, and he narrowed his eyes, letting his gaze flicker from you to the fence behind you.

“It’s closed.” He said, speaking for the first time in over an hour.

You snorted as he stated the obvious. “No shit.”

He gave you a look but didn’t question you any further, following your lead and getting out of the car, making sure to take the keys out of the ignition.

You turned back around and headed right for the fence, gripping at the wires. As he came up behind you, you turned your head to the side and threw him a look over your shoulder. “Hoist me up.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise, but his eyes were amused. “You a criminal now?” He questioned and you smirked.

“I’m hanging out with the leader of a gang, what’s a little break-in in comparison to that?”

He hummed, as if to say ‘good point’, and bent down by the knees, clasping his hands and allowing you to put your foot in his grasp. 

He hoisted you up like requested with barely any struggle at all and wasted no time in jumping over the fence himself once you were successfully standing on the other side.

When his feet hit the ground, you were already walking straight for the pool, where lights were lighting up the water and casting a blue shimmer all around the entire area, making it look near magical.

By the time Oscar had caught up to you, you had already removed your shoes and pulled up the legs of your pants, your feet now dangling in the water.

He followed your example, pulling the legs of his grey sweatpants up to his knees and kicking his shoes to the side, dipping his feet into the water as he sat himself down beside you.

You sat in silence for a while, your eyes trained on the small ruffles of the water in front of you and your hands gripping the edge of the pool, your feet swirling around.

Crickets were chirping by then and was the only sound you could hear aside from the sound of the water hitting the walls of the pool.

Turning your head to the side slightly, your eyes fell upon Oscar’s profile. He was staring down into the water just like you had been doing only seconds before, looking to be deep in thought. 

His diamond earrings sparkled in the light of the pool and his Santos cross dangled from around his neck, the black and white plaid he was wearing almost looking green in the blue hue surrounding you.

Your eyes traveled from his face and down to his feet where they were hanging limply off the edge, catching sight of a long, ragged scar going down the side of his knee.

Before you could stop yourself, you had reached your hand out and flicked the scar lightly, instantly making his head turn to you.

“What happened there?” You asked and watched as his eyes flickered away from yours and to the scar in question, his fingers reaching out to touch it.

“Got caught up with some bad people in prison.” He responded, and you hummed, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Have you ever considered leaving this life behind and starting fresh?”

He glanced at you, before turning his head back to the water. “I think about it every day.”

At his confession you tilted your head to the side, a frown settling over your face. “So why don’t you?”

“You’re smart-” He turned to look at you, his eyes now narrowed. “You know it’s not as simple as that. And even if it was, los Santos is my family.”

You knew that the defensive look in his eyes and strained tone of his voice should have been enough of a sign for you to drop the subject, but stupid and curious as you were, you kept pressing it, insisting. 

“It can’t be fun to be running from the law all the time, to handle every moment of your life with hatred and anger. That’s no life.”

“It’s the only life I know.” He defended, staring straight into your eyes, and you shrugged your shoulders, the corners of your lips tugging into a soft, lopsided smile.

“Doesn’t have to be.” You argued. “Letting go of what isn’t right for you won’t be the end of you but rather the beginning. It’s clearing a path for what’s waiting, what’s pulling you, what’s telling you there’s something better out there, even if you don’t know what it is yet.”

“It’s not that simple.” He shook his head, tensing his jaw. “I wish it was, but it’s not.”

“It is what you make it to be, isn’t it?”

His head whipped around to face you in one swift movement, admittedly frightening you slightly. “It’s my turn to ask you something.” He demanded, eyes narrowed with slight annoyance.

You only nodded your head slowly in return, letting out a breath. “Okay.” You agreed.

He raised his head slightly, sending you a questioning glance. "How come you never drive your car?"

You instantly felt the insides of your stomach starting to twist into a knot.

“I drive my car.” You answered quickly, a little too quickly, and you knew he could see right through you and identify the stress that was quickly building up from now being the one in the spotlight.

“I meant the nice one.” He clarified flatly, knowing that you already knew what he was talking about. “Not the heap of twigs you drive my mano and his friends around in every day.”

You tensed your jaw, but didn’t break eye-contact, knowing fully well that you had walked yourself into this position. 

"It was my grandpa's car.” You admitted, swallowing. “It's the last thing I have of him and I don’t trust my clumsy ass not to mess it up."

He scanned your face, trying to figure you out. "You let me drive it." He pointed out and you adverted your eyes back to the water.

"I guess I trust you more than I do myself." You mumbled with a shrug, and he chuckled.

"Bad idea."

You could see him shaking his head in the corner of your eye and the sight of his smile caused your lips to tug.

"Probably." You agreed.

"Were you close?” He asked. “You and your abuelo."

You could feel his stare burning into the side of your face but you didn’t move your eyes from the water, kicking it slowly as you nodded.

"I never spent a day without him.” You told him softly. “He watched over me, made sure I had clothes on my back, food on the table, a roof over my head and a good education. He raised me and made me who I am today.”

Oscar nodded again, his eyes soft and understanding. "He sounds like a good guy.” He said and he seemed to hesitate for a moment, before asking. “No parents?”

That question brought an automatic scoff from your lips. "Barely.” You muttered, turning your head to meet his eyes. “Deadbeats." You shrugged and he nodded.

“I feel you.”

“Do you want to tell me about your dad?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and he tensed. But your stupid mouth just had to keep running. “I’ve only heard his side of the story, and Cesar doesn’t seem to know much about him.”

You expected him to glare, to stand up and leave, but much to your surprise, he smiled at you; a playful smirk. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t ask questions.”

His voice was teasing, clearly trying to be polite, but it was clear that his true feelings didn’t match the forced smile on his lips. His eyes were sad, a flurry of emotions battling against each other behind them, and he was obviously trying very hard not to lose control of his temper.

So you finally decided not to press it any further, and before you even got the chance, he took the subject into his own hands.

“What about your parents?” He asked. “Chicas are always so quick to complain about their problems, but not you. Why don’t you talk about them?”

Unlike him, you didn’t find it hard to talk about your parents. You had forgiven them a long time ago. Not for them, but for yourself, and ever since you had, you had been able to talk openly about them.

The only reason you hadn’t talked to him about your parents before was because you didn’t want him to see you as some spoiled brat, but now that you knew that he still saw you as an equal, there was no reason for you not to open up.

It was the least you could do after he had actually agreed to come here with you, despite the circumstances.

"Parents or no parents, I was privileged growing up. I know it and I don't deny it.” You shrugged simply. “People have bigger problems than I do so I don't like going around complaining and feeling sorry about myself."

He nodded his head along as you spoke, a wide smile stretching across his full lips when you finished, and for the first time that night, it actually seemed to reach his eyes, dimples becoming visible at the corners of his lips.

"There's something I've never heard before.” He looked at you, amused but impressed.

"Well, there’s a first for everything.” You chuckled, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “We're not all spoiled and oblivious to our privileges. I might not live a life in luxury anymore but I’m still better off than most and I’m grateful, for all that I have."

He nodded his head again, his eyes turning softer. "I like that about you." He said, shocking you. It wasn’t like him to say something like that at all.

It made your smile widen, and you raised an eyebrow teasingly, your attitude growing playful. "Oh yeah?” You challenged. “What else do you like about me?"

“You got one of those pretty smiles." He said, and while your smirk turned genuine, his smile turned into a smirk as he joined in on the teasing. "And you have a nice ass, too." He drawled, raising his eyebrows and pulling a hand over his goatee as he shamelessly leaned backward and checked your ass out where you sat.

The shameless flirting brought an amused scoff out of your lips, your hand shooting out to slap him on the chest, heat crawling up the back of your neck. "Idiot."

He laughed, using his hands to protect himself. “What?” He asked. “You’re a fine ass hyna, mamas.”

“Oh, yeah?” You raised an eyebrow, an evil smirk rising to your lips, and before he had the chance to answer or even process what happened next, you delivered a rough push to his shoulder, the unexpected force sending him right into the water.

You let out a high laugh as he disappeared under the surface, shielding your face with your arms as droplets of water went flying into the air.

Oscar quickly came back up to the surface, his face murderous.

“¡Qué mierda!” He swore, furiously wiping the water out of his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” You laughed loudly. “I thought you liked to swim.”

“What’s wrong with you?!” He yelled, glaring as he fought against the weight of his wet clothes, now heavy with water. But you only smirked, kicking some more water at him with your foot.

He let out a guttural growl, wiping his hands over his face, and when his eyes made contact with yours again, you knew you were in trouble.

“No, no-“ You quickly tried to protest, eyes growing wide as you began shuffling backward. But he was faster.

“You asked for it.” He growled, and before you knew it, his wet hand clasped around your ankle and pulled you toward him, your body being submerged in water only a second later. And it was cold.

You flailed your arms in the water and kicked your legs, trying to get to the surface as quickly as possible. Your head soon emerged with a splash and a loud gasp immediately left your lips. “Fuck me, it’s freezing!”

The glare was now long gone from Oscar’s face, his head thrown back with laughter as he swam around you. “You brought it on yourself, mami.” He mused and you smirked, blowing some water off your lip.

“Oh, you’re on.”

You raised your hands and started sending waves of water into his face and he wasted no time in covering himself with his own hands, trying to move out of your line of fire. 

Your laughter mixed in with the sound of splashing water, but your fun was short-lived when he managed to get a grip of your wrists.

All of a sudden, you were pulled into his chest, and your laughter died down when your eyes met his. 

Your hands automatically went to his shoulders in order to hold yourself steady and your chests pressed together.

His face was stern, his hands slowly dropping your wrists and falling back into water, and he was just tall enough to be able to stand on the bottom of the pool. The expression on his face was unreadable, and the look in his eyes was nothing you had seen before.

He blinked, small droplets of water dropping from his long, black eyelashes, matching droplets spread through his dark facial hair.

You weren’t sure when the atmosphere between you turned from playful to… this, but you regretted to admit that it was making your heart feel like it was about to beat out of your chest.

The look in his eyes was so intense, like he was staring straight into your soul, and it was making your head spin. 

His hands suddenly made contact with your waist and you jumped at the sudden and unexpected touch, but you got no time to think or react to it, suddenly feeling a wet pair of lips pressing against yours.

A small sound of surprise rose in your throat but it was muffled into the kiss. 

His hands were gripping at your waist like he hadn’t touched another human in a lifetime and as you came back to your senses, you found yourself responding to his actions with just as much desperations.

Your eyes fell closed and your hands moved up from his shoulders to the back of his neck, your legs wrapping around his hips in the water, pulling him as close as you possible could.

A guttural groan formed in his throat at the feeling of your groin rubbing against his and you moaned into the kiss, tingles spreading through your core and your breath getting heavy as his hands roamed up and down your body.

They moved from your waist to your back, back down to your hips and down to your ass where he held you with a firm grip, pushing your pelvis closer to his which only caused you to hold onto him even harder.

Your head had been spinning before, when you hadn’t been doing anything other than looking into each other’s eyes, but now you were barely even able to form a coherent thought.

Tingles were going through your entire body, your chest heaving against his and your fantasy running. But before things could get too heated, the two of you pulled apart, both breathless and in desperate need of oxygen.

Your eyes met again and your foreheads pressed together, the two of you still holding onto each other like your lives depended on it.

“Holy shit…” You breathed, sucking your swollen lips into your mouth and letting out a breathy chuckle. “That was…”

You raised your eyebrows. You couldn’t even find the right words, still dizzy from the intense moment you had just shared. 

But no words were needed. The tiny smile tugging at his lips told you that he knew exactly what you meant, and that the feeling went both ways.

You watched as his eyes fell shut and listened as a small sigh escaped through his nose. Your hands moved from the back of his neck to his jaw, cradling his face, thumbs caressing the stubble of his cheeks.

“What are you thinking?” You whispered, searching his face.

Another breath left his nose, his lips pulling into a tight line and his grip on your waist tensing. “I’m gonna have to tell Cesar about that pendejo leaving.” He spoke, the strain evident in his voice. “He’s going to blame me. I know it.”

“Hey.” Your eyebrows furrowed together and you raised his head, watching his eyes open and meet yours. “Whatever happens, your brother loves you to pieces. You're the one who raised him and at the end of the day, he'll always remember that. So don’t beat yourself up."

His brown eyes were hard, suspicious. “Why are you being so nice to me?” He asked.

His question caused your eyebrow to raise. “We just made out in a pool and you’re asking me why I’m being nice to you?” You asked, finding the question amusing. But he wasn’t amused, he was as serious as ever, as if he really didn’t understand it.

“Not just now.” He clarified, raising his head in a nod. “You’ve treated me like a person ever since day one.”

“Isn’t that what you are?” A smile played on your lips and your head tilted to the side. You leaned in closer to his face, rubbing your nose against his playfully. “I’m nice to you because I like you, stupid.”

The small, childish act of affection caused his serious attitude to falter, a smile rising to his face, but it fell just as quickly as it got there, his face turning cold again.

“Are you angry at your parents for walking out on you?”

You were taken back by the sudden change of topic, and unexpected topic at that. Every time you had tried to have a sentimental conversation with him, he had shut right off. And now there you were, with him initiating a conversation himself.

“I used to be.” You answered honestly, a crease forming in between your eyebrows as you scanned the thoughtful look on his face. “Furious, really. But not anymore.”

He looked at you, hesitant, battling his own mind. “What changed?” He asked, and you shrugged.

“It was controlling my life so I let it go.”

Understanding what you were trying to hint at, he scoffed, turning his head to the side. “Easier said than done.”

You smiled sadly and softly pushed at his face, forcing him to look back at you. “I know it is.” You agreed. “But you can do it, if you really set your mind to it.”

His eyes fell shut at the feeling of your fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo on his neck, his breathing slowing down.   

“I used to have potential and shit.” He said, and you listened silently, not stopping your movements. “I was smart, had straight A’s. Planned to go to a good college and culinary school. I gave it all up to raise Cesar because our mom kept leaving and Ray got himself locked up.”

You listened with a heavy heart as he finally opened up to you about his personal life, absentmindedly stroking his jaw and keeping to nimbly move your fingers over the inked skin with your other hand.

“You still have a lot of time to make yourself what you want to be.” You spoke softly, slowly. “It’ll come when the time is right. I believe in you.”

The smile playing on your lips when you said those last words were more genuine than any smile he had ever seen in his life. 

He gave you one last look before burying his face in your neck, holding you close and tensing his jaw as he realized things just got a whole lot more complicated.

Your soft, understanding and non-judgmental personality wasn’t at all what he was used to be at the receiving end of. 

He hadn’t been looking, not even a little, but you had found him and he knew that he was fucked because he was falling. He was falling fast, and he was falling hard.

[tinytonysnark]

never fallen from quite this high

this is dedicated to @starkrogerrs and @fred-deeks-ben as well as everyone who liked this post. thank you for the motivation <3 

1. Holding their hands when they are shaking. 

The gallery was already filling up by the time Steve got there. 

There were caterers milling about with trays of finger foods that regardless of portion size, will probably sit like a lead weight in Steve’s stomach. Especially as he spots more and more people making their way through the exhibit, to the back, where his painting is. 

He’s going to be sick. God, he should have picked a different painting, one that doesn’t make his insides feel like they’re tying themselves into knots at the very thought of him seeing it - but this counts for half of Steve’s grade and none of his other paintings had come close to being good enough and now - that painting is hanging on the walls of this exhibit and all his friends are walking through the door and he hasn’t even told -

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky says, clean shaven and hair swept back neatly, wearing a crisp white button down. An ensemble Sam - looking put together as he always does-  clearly appreciates from the way he’s eyeing his boyfriend. 

“Why aren’t you standing by your work?” Natasha asks, looking gorgeous in an off-shoulder black dress, her eyes narrowed at him. 

“Was waiting for you guys,” Steve lies, hoping his panic isn’t reflected on his face.

“Tony’s on his way,” Sam says before Steve can even get the question out, whose mouth shuts with a click. “He got caught up with Thor.”

Oh. Thor. 

Tony’s new friend who he’s been spending a lot of time with, in the last couple of weeks. Tony’s new friend who looks like an underwear model and is named after a Norse God - because sure, why not? - and can actually keep up with Tony’s stream of science talk because he’s studying astrophysics - because of course he is. In the face of all that, what chance does Steve have really, if he even had one to begin with.

God, he doesn’t know what’s worse - if Tony ends up making it to the exhibit, or gets derailed because of Thor and misses it because they’re off doing - 

“I’m here! I’m here!” Tony shouts from across the floor of the showroom, drawing looks from the patrons though Steve would argue that Tony draws looks no matter what he does, especially so if he’s wearing a fire truck red dress shirt.

“Sorry I’m late, I was with -”

“Thor, I know,” Steve cuts in, hoping he doesn’t sound as bitter as he feels.

Judging from the look on Nat’s face, he’s failed spectacularly. 

Clearing his throat, Bucky grabs Sam’s arm and says, “We’re gonna go check out some art. Coming Nat?”

“Oh, I’m with you,” she says, giving Tony a peck on the cheek before shooting a look at Steve that he roughly translates to ‘watch yourself.’ 

She’s always been overly protective of Tony. Tiberius Stone still bolts at the mere sight of her - which, good riddance, really, but Steve’s never asked what she said or possibly did to him, and at this point he’s too afraid to ask. 

Though he might end up finding out tonight anyway, based on how Tony will react. 

“Steve,” Tony crosses his arm, fingers twitching in the crook of his elbow, “What’s wrong?”

Looking at Tony isn’t an option, so he stares in the direction of where his painting hangs and says, “Just nervous. A lot of my grade is riding on this. Why didn't you bring Thor?”

“Oh,” and Steve doesn’t even need to look to know that Tony is smiling, the one that causes crinkles in the corner of his eyes. “I finally, after weeks, got him to Thor up, and ask Bruce out.”

Steve whips his head to stare at Tony so fast, he’s possibly sprained something. “What do you mean ask Bruce out?”

Tony grins, “Yeah, Thor’s been crushing pretty hard and Brucie’s been locked away in his lab for an unhealthy amount of time - and if I’m saying that, you know it’s bad - but he did it! They’re on their date as we speak, and no offence Steve but I don’t he had this in mind for their first date.”

There are a lot of emotions swirling through Steve’s brain right now but at the forefront, it’s definitely relief, and a little bit of shame - I mean, he really has no right to be jealous but he doesn’t know what to say to all that except for, “Good for them.”

There’s a look in Tony’s eye he can’t decipher before the other man grabs his arms and starts leading him towards his painting and oh, oh no - 

“And I know you said you’re nervous, but you really have nothing to be nervous about Steve. You’re incredibly talented and you’re gonna get an exorbitant amount of money thrown at you from all these stuffy art snobs bidding on your work.”

Steve can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him as Tony drags him along. “They’re not for sale, Tony. Erskine has to grade them.”

“Well tough because I’m definitely gonna get Pepper to -”

But Steve doesn’t find out what Tony’s going to get Pepper to do, because he stops dead in his tracks and tapers off, eyes wide and mouth open just a little as he stares at the portrait - his own face reflected back to him on canvas. 

It’s a painting of a photograph, one that he had instantly favourited and stared at all day after Bucky sent it to their group chat - of Tony at the park when they’d decided to have a picnic after Nat’s last paper. His head is thrown back in a laugh, but his eyes are open, shining in the afternoon sun with the crinkles in the corner, cheeks flushing with pink on his brown skin and hair falling on his forehead, curling delicately around his temples - no product or styling other than him running his hands through it every 5 minutes. 

He had looked so relaxed - so, so unguarded - that Steve couldn’t not try to recapture it with his favourite medium to do so, which is now here, waiting to be graded - oh god, why, why why did he - 

“Steve?” he hears distantly, like he’s underwater. “What - when did you - why, why is my face hanging on this wall?”

Steve winces and thinks, well if their friendship is about to end right now because of this, he might as well be honest. “I - Nothing else I painted was good enough, Tony. Erskine has always said to us throughout the year that the difference between a good painting and a great painting is how the artist feels during the process and about the subject. The paintings I have of my mom are good but they’re a little sad and a touch nostalgic. The pictures I have of our friends, they don’t even come close to what you see here.” He sighs then, looks into Tony’s wide, wide eyes and grabs hold of his shaking hands. “Because what you’re looking at here, this is how I feel. This is - this is my heart bled out on canvas because you’re all that’s in it - your smile, your laugh, your eyes -you’re it, for me, Tony.”

Tony has tears pooling in his eyes and Steve is about to step back, terrified with the knowledge that he’s messed up his relationship with one of his best friends but then there’s lips on his lips. 

Tony is kissing him. 

Tony is kissing him - god, he’s so relieved he thinks he’s shaking - and he nearly lifts Tony off his feet when he starts kissing back. 

They break apart when they hear Bucky whistle at them, soft smiles on their faces. 

“You’re it for me too, Steve. Always have been,” Tony says, and really what else can Steve do but kiss the smile on Tony’s lips. 

🎨 🎨 🎨

Erskine gives him an A with distinction for his work and Nat takes them all out to dinner to celebrate, treating them with the pool money she won from the “when will Steve and Tony get together bet” that he found out about that night. 

Steve isn’t really too bothered by it as much as Tony is, arguing with them that they should get a cut off the money cause as he looks at Tony’s smile that’s he now carries with him on his lock screen, his laughter ringing around the diner and the feel of him where they’re pressed side to side in the cramped booth, he knows who really won.

[lessbutnotless]

SIMS 4 BASE GAME  LEGACY CHALLENGE

Citi to Citi

Generations are based on cities. Style them and their homes based on this!

General Rules:

Lifespan on normal.

Allowed to use Mods and other packs but this challenge is for those who only have the base game and sometimes feel left out for not owning other packs!

Next generation heir is first born (if you want specific genders cheat!)

Once parents die, the new generation must return to the home and have an estate sale, collecting the money as an inheritance (No selling permanent fixtures! Kitchen counters, stoves, bathroom appliances). They must keep at least one item to remember them by.

If possible create a graveyard.

1. Generation Phoenix

I imagine this Sim starting out as a runaway who starts with nothing. Use that 20,000 simoleons for the cheapest house in Oasis Springs then cheat it down to 950.

Traits: loner, kleptomaniac and ambitious.

Ambition: Painter extraordinaire

Career: Culinary Chef (server life)

Because of childhood, this generation is extremely closed off and only has 1 best friend, who eventually becomes their partner.

This Sim also has 3 enemies, not because they are mean but because their social skills are terrible.

Hesitant parent; not very attentive but still loving.

2. Generation Miami

Unfortunately, Phoenix’s parenting style produced a wild child. Generation Miami is a bit of a hot mess. Florida man/woman!

Traits: noncommittal, romantic and erratic

Ambition: Serial Romantic

Career: Must reach level 4 of the Entertainer career (going to me a big hollywood *actress*), then quit. Reach level 4 of the Style influencer career. Eventually give up on dreams of being famous and becomes a bartender or a criminal. No hate just Florida typical. They keep this job until they can collect inheritance or children are teenagers and get jobs of their own.

Must marry only once, for money, and ruin it by cheating (preferably with spouse’s family member.)

Must have at least three different baby mamas/dadas

Must have a pool, obvi

3. Generation Boston

This generation was not impressed by their parents' life and strived for better, but still struggles with that childhood trauma.

Traits: Perfectionist, hot-headed, vegetarian

Ambition: Freelance Botanist

Career: Business Manager Branch

Must have part-time job as teen

This generation must have one sibling move with them and be their best friend.

They struggle with their anger but prioritize their mental health and growing, which is why they love gardening.

They marry and start a family but divorce right before becoming an elder, afterwards retiring happily with their sibling.

4. Generation NYC

While this generation had a lot of tough love from their parents, their best friend is their aunt or uncle who taught them to be amazing and hysterical.

Traits: Cheerful, Goofball and Outgoing

Aspiration: Joke Star

Career: Entertainer Comedian

Must get Lunch with aunt or uncle once a week, and if Boston dies before them, must move aunt or uncle in w/ NYC

Must marry another Goofball Sim

Must have two children and be best friends with everyone in household.

5. Generation Nashville

This generation loved their childhood, especially watching their parent on stage! Family is everything to them, but so is music!

Traits: Family Oriented, Music Lover and Creative

Aspiration: Successful Lineage

Career: Entertainer Musician

Must have a FULL house (you can use pets but like chaos is the goal)

Must always cook a family meal (once married)

Must retire and live with one child/grandchildren until death.

6. Generation Barcelona

This generation always felt pushed aside by all of the chaos of their childhood home and chooses to move far away.  One thing’s for sure, they have a lot of stories, from their family to their travels!

Traits: Materialistic, Foodie (they live in Europe, I mean…) and Bookworm

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim

Career: Writing Author

Must opt for reading alone in room as child, than playing with family.

Must max out Logic Skill (chess set on the veranda!)

Must marry a snob

Must have two children. The child who is not the heir must be Evil.

7. Generation Washington D.C

This generation is day compared to their night sibling. They start off with nothing after their sibling swindles them out of an inheritance. But that’s okay because they just want to spread love.

Traits: Good, Active and Self-Assured

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Career: Secret Agent Diamond Agent (would be human rights lawyer if it existed)

Must donate a quarter of each paycheck to charity

Must adopt four children (only one can be a baby; next heir must be a child)

Has only one romantic relationship but prefers to be alone so single parent

Buys almost always the cheapest version of an item and maxs Handiness Skill because of them always breaking.

8. Generation Japan

Having felt slightly disconnected from their heritage this generation moves a lot, eventually landing in this techy city!

Traits (might have to cheat): Geek, Childish and Slob

Aspiration: Computer Whiz

Career: Tech Guru (Gamer Branch)

This sim rarely cooks and relies on quick meals for nutrition, until they start cooking as an elder (Level 5 at least)

Must move at least three times (roommates welcomed!)

Must own at least one of every electronic

Other hobby is collecting gems and fossils, which is displayed!

No close relationship with spouse, they are both kind of socially awkward and introverted.

9. Generation Paris

This generation hated seeing their parents not in love. They want love and fashion, ooh la la.

Traits: Romantic, Neat and Loves outdoors

Aspiration: Soulmate

Career: Style Influencer (Stylist)

Marries high school sweetheart

Watches Rom-Coms as a kid

Woohoos everynight even as an elder (risky;))

Takes children to the park on weekends.

10. Generation Houston

This generation is the end! They are weird and there are def better gens than them, but still fun.

Traits: Gloomy, Art Lover, Hates Children

Aspiration: Mansion Baron

Career: Astronaut

Must marry an elder with a mansion as a young adult. They actually love them and pour themselves into maintaining the house after their death.

Must have a stair well with all of the family photos on the wall.

Gets too lonely as an adult and rents rooms out to strangers

Marries one of them as an elder

[victoryu]

April Valley - A Large Community in The Sims 2!!

Hey guys!!!I’m so excited to share my big creative project to y’all!

I named this project “Creat A Big Community with Plenty of Families in The Sims 2”,so I made a plan and it really took me almost a whole year since the virus started ruining everything:(，but now I did it and called this community“April Valley”,it has double meanings,one is because of the month i began to make the hood,two is for the setting of the stories in the community.

I really love The Sims 2 and the stories of the premades,especially a big family like the Capps or the Montys and so on.But this is the first time I’ve made up my mind learning and creating a large neighborhood with so many big families with stories.and my plan is actually that i really want to share the stories I created to y’all,i thought it would be so fun!

Now I will show some of the families in this community to you!

*Munch Family - The Munchs in The Sims 4 after almost twenty years

*Reed Family - On the surface,Reed Family is rich,noble,elegant,but what happened that caused Reed Family is the richest family in this town though,it is also the most annoying family.Because of the looking through of the evil heart or being snob of three dumb children.However,as an old money family,there must be a lengthy story waiting to be excavated. 

*Albion Family - Dean and Rebecca are a couple of great engineering artists! Look at this warm April Valley, which is the most beautiful work that the couple have made in their whole life. As the chief designer and the mayor's son, Vincent is always out of breath under strict control. From being scolded by his father for his love of machinery as a teenager, to even following his father's footsteps to engage in architecture as an adult, is he really happy? And the couple's beloved daughter has been dating Lucas Munch recently. Is this the best thing that can happen to the Albion Family when everything goes wrong?

*Range Family - As a very ambitious politician, Ford always shows his most authoritative and dominous side to everyone, including his family, which led to the deterioration of his relationship with his family. Queenie, a high school teacher, could not bear Ford's too tough education style, while Ford's eldest son, Martin, was always hiding something from his family. His friends were curious about how Martin would continue to answer questions such as "Why not find a girlfriend" in the future, or the reason was hidden in his friends.

*Wendell Family - Kristal once had sweet love and sincere friendship, but the expansion of ambition eventually leads to all the estrangement. Next, will her family fall apart? Her two children, Seven and Dove, seem to get along very well with Martin, the son of her current rival Ford, but she doesn't see through the complexities of the relationship between the three children.

Besides these families,there are total 21 familes in April Valley,I can’t wait to share it with you,I think the beta version of it will come out in two weeks if not earlier!See you soon!