#bianca rubble

[prxnce]

now how did lilly-bo chique and bianca rubble go from bridgeport to... magnolia... promenade? how long can a spellcaster last in moonwood mill without being... cast out? answer key will be in the love letter save VERSION 2...........

thee other townies: pt. 1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | pt.6 | pt.7 | pt.8 | pt.9 | pt.10

[anamoon63]

Outside the subway, Patrick runs into Bianca again. The two look distressed, and rightly so, they're both late for work and it's not the first time.

And on top of this untimely rain, what a drag!

Suddenly Patrick remembers he's carrying his umbrella.

Patrick: The umbrella, of course, why didn't I think of that before? Now, to count up those ballots!

[youregonnabeokay-kid]

“Ask me for sanctuary”

SCREAMING, CRYING, BAWLING MY EYES OUT

[echo-stimmingrose]

Grover is the satyr equivalent of 12-14 in the first book. He is a child.

When he was tasked with bringing Thalia to camp and failed he would have been at most 9 years old. He was traumatized by her death, and he no doubt blamed himself for it.

He was shamed by the cloven council at (max) 9 years of age for a death he would not have been strong or skilled enough to prevent. He knows the counsel would have preferred that he died trying to save her which likely would have ended up in his and Thalia's deaths. He sometimes wonders if he would have preferred that as well.

When he is trying to get Percy to camp safely Percy hears him muttering "sixth grade- they never make it past sixth grade!" A reference to Thalia and his first mission. Grover is knocked unconscious due to the minotaur but thankfully Percy is able to get to camp without dying. However, he loses his mom in the process. Another death Grover has on his conscience before she comes back.

Thalia, against all odds comes back as well and he's able to feel some kind of relief. He gets to see her alive again and can almost not feel guilty anymore. He starts to calm down, able to ease his own anxiety with the help of Percy and Annabeth. He works on no longer feeling like a failure.

Then he finds the Di Angelo's. The third and fourth big three kids Grover has stumbled across. He tries to hide his anxiety as he gets the two very young kids to camp, focusing on his task because he would not fail again.

They arrive safely to camp unfortunately at the cost of Annabeth being taken. He doesn't know what to feel. It seems his loved ones safety always comes with a sacrifice.

He's the first to volunteer for the quest for her after Thalia. He knows Percy wants to go as well and will not be happy that he can't but a part of Grover wants Percy to stay at camp. Stay where it's safe as selfish as that may be.

Of course his hopes of Percy staying put were unrealistic and he knew that. Percy was far too loyal to rest while someone he loves is in danger. He could sense Percy's anger and restlessness as soon as they left and he knew his best friend would catch up to them very soon.

Grover is now on a quest with three kids he found. Three kids he was tasked with protecting. Three kids from a group of five where two are fated to die.

Bianca is lost and Grover knows that unlike the last two, there is no hope for her return. Even then he digs through the rubble desperately, not stopping until Thalia pulls him away.

They are able to rescue Annabeth and return her to safety. But as always, the safety of his loved ones came with a cost. A sacrifice someone else had to make.

[toournextadventure]

l'appel du vide

a/n: this request was phenomenal, and I had the best time ever with it, so good luck pals

Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: violence, blood mention, swearing, Wednesday feeling Emotions Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

You shouldn’t have done it. You knew you shouldn’t have done it. Wednesday had told you time and time again to not do it. So why had you? What part of your tiny brain had told you to get in the way when you knew it would get you hurt or killed? She had warned you of Crackstone's power and how your wily wit and charm wouldn’t get you anywhere with him. 

And yet you went ahead and did it anyway. You half-wolfed out and punched and caught his attention. Wednesday knew you wouldn't stand a chance, and you didn't when he tossed you through the fire. It gave Wednesday the perfect opportunity to stab him through his black heart. That should have been the end of it.

Then Thornhill came by with a gun of all things and you just had to step in front of it before that horrifying *bang* echoed through the quad. What did you think you were doing? Not once had Wednesday ever asked you to do anything like that for her, she had even done her best to push you away. But now you were singed and bleeding out on the ground and-

-oh. Oh you were dying. You were bleeding out in the quad and Wednesday was just standing there. Her feet had rooted themselves into the concrete as she heard your wet gasps, saw the tears fall from your eyes, watched you claw at the ground because you were drowning in your own blood and she couldn't fucking move.

A single whimper escaped your lips, and Wednesday could hear it even through the crackling fire and rubble falling from the torn up quad. She could hear it even through the buzzing of Eugene’s bees and the pitiful sounds coming from Thornhill a few feet away. She could hear it louder than her own voice as she told Eugene to leave.

Her feet felt trapped by lead as she still stood there, looking down at you and watching crimson blood - which she usually adored - fall from the corner of your mouth. Your blood left a stain on your skin and why didn’t Wednesday think it was beautiful? It should have been. She had never cowered away from blood before, but seeing yours flow so freely? It made her sick.

Bianca got to you before Wednesday could even remind her body to breathe. She got to you first and pressed her hands against your abdomen so hard; did she not care if you hurt? The noise you let out would haunt Wednesday for the rest of her life. But Wednesday could just stand there and watch as your blood continued to flow around Bianca’s fingers. Did it make her feel unclean? Tainted? Would she ever be able to completely scrub your blood off of her skin and feel okay again?

“Addams.”

That was Bianca’s voice, she knew that much. It didn’t change the fact that there was something wrong with Wednesday. Never in her life had she ever shied away from blood and destruction and death. She had enjoyed taking down Crackstone, had gotten a thrill out of stabbing the blade into his black heart. But your blood, and your death? It was… it was terrifying.

“Wednesday, get down here.”

A siren song. It was a low blow, but a very small part at the back of Wednesday’s brain was relieved. A siren song took all decisions away to stay rooted to the spot and just watch you die. You were dying. Wednesday fell to her knees on the other side of you. The flagstone dug into her knees, ripping her skirt and splitting her skin, leaving her warm from the blood; yours or hers, she couldn’t differentiate.

“Can you put pressure on this?” Bianca asked. Her voice sounded muffled, watery, far away. Wednesday gave a singular nod, not daring to take her eyes off of your pained expression. “I’ll go get help.”

For what was probably the first time in Wednesday’s life, she hesitated. She hesitated because what would your slick, bloody body feel like under her fingers? What would she do if she touched you and found you dead? Death was supposed to bring her comfort, not dread, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to try everything in her power to save you.

It took her too long to lock her fingers and put her hands on your abdomen. The moment she touched the blood - your blood - she nearly ripped them away and pulled them back to her own body. But she didn’t. It’s like science class, she thought as she tried to ignore how hard it was to keep her hands in one spot. Except it wasn’t like science, and you weren’t some frog who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You were someone she cared for, and you were dying, and each second felt more and more useless because now you were coughing up blood between your pathetic whimpers.

Wednesday felt something warm and wet on her cheeks and she hoped it was your blood and not her own tears because Wednesday Addams did not cry. Not for anyone, not for you even though the life draining from your body sent a prickling sensation behind her eyes and a tightness in her chest. She did not cry because it would mean that you meant something to her, and no one could never know she cared for you and wanted you to live.

Her heart froze in her chest when she felt your hand, slick and weak, rest on top of both of hers. It was a feeble attempt at pulling her hands away and she didn’t give in. But the gesture, the feel of your skin both cold from blood loss and hot from the blood itself, sent a new fear straight through her heart and down her spine. You were dying. You were dying and she couldn’t even say anything to comfort you.

“If you die before I admit I love you, I’ll never let your soul rest in peace.” It was a threat, and an empty one at that, but you were dying and you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t die, not on her, not on anyone. She had pushed everyone else away but you weren’t supposed to actually leave. What happened to all those promises that you were with her forever? That nothing could come between you if you had any say in it?

“Promise me you won’t die.” The words felt like scalding ash in her mouth and boiling acid in her stomach. She didn’t even know why she had said it, it had just come out. An impossible promise for you to make let alone keep. But she needed you to make it anyway. “Please.”

You squeezed her hands, a pathetic attempt, but your silent words were heard loud and clear. You were dying, but you promised her you wouldn’t, so you would be okay. Wednesday trusted that you would be okay because you promised her you would be. And no one broke a promise to Wednesday Addams.

She was so focused on you, on the shortening of your breaths, of the nearly indiscernible movement of your chest that she didn’t see anyone approaching. A pair of hands wrapped around her waist and tried to pull her back, and the adrenaline shot through her veins. They couldn’t take her away from you, not when she was holding your life in her hands, not when you had promised not to die.

“Wednesday, let them take her.” Enid? What was she doing there? Couldn’t she see you were dying? Couldn’t she see how serious this was, that this was no time to be pulling away?

But Wednesday fell back into Enid and watched through a haze as they - she couldn’t see who “they” were - took over, lifting you and carrying you and taking you away from her. Why would they take you away from her? Why would they take you where she couldn’t follow? Didn’t they know she needed you? She needed you like a fish needed water, like a heart needed blood, she needed you.

Wednesday Addams needed you, and just the admittance of that fact finally broke her and she let Enid hold her as those hot salty tears finally fell down her cheeks.

"It'll take time, but she'll recover." The doctors had promised a full recovery. That was really all Wednesday could have ever asked for, more than she could have asked for. They were making sure you kept your promise that you wouldn’t die, you wouldn’t leave her there. She sat at your bedside and watched over you like the grim reaper, except she was there to keep you alive.

“I love you too.” Your voice was scratchy and painful sounding and weak, so very weak after so long without talking. Wednesday’s eyes shot up and she met yours, bloodshot and hazy and drug-filled. But they were open, and they were looking right at her even if only partly. Wednesday didn’t say anything, she just reached out and grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She was thankful when your eyes closed again because then you couldn’t see the silent tears falling from her eyes.

[my-apollo-gies]

One day, Nico goes out to the junkyard to see where Bianca had died amongst all of the scraps. Scrambling through the rubble, he finds her. Her corpse remains untouched- what's left of it, anyway- and her eyes are still open in shock.

Nico sits down beside her. He's not sure why it's taken so long to visit her body; she still needs a proper burial, after all. Maybe he'd just been too young before, or too afraid, or simply too stubborn- either way, Nico'd left it too long. He needed that final confirmation.

There had never been any trade to begin with, but it felt more appropriate that he at least left something in return. An eye for an eye. He'd made that clear to himself the minute he'd ran away from camp, and he was sticking to that, because he hadn't burnt all of his mythomagic cards- not really. He'd left just one. His opinions of the goddess aside, Bianca had adored Artemis.

The figurine was shortly after, otherwise it wouldn't be a fair trade- a figurine for a card- and after that, he kissed her forehead, brushing a loose hair out of her face, and began to bury her.

[paintaboveyourbones]

Hello! Would you be interested in whittling the hours away until the first episode drops by listening to me talk about my ultimate rare pair crack ship?

Anyone else into the idea of Bianca and Daniel bonding over their shared experiences of living under the rubble that was the psychic fallout of Marius and Armand’s relationship drama? 🫠

[wannabecatwriter]

Being his usual charming self, Ulf found out that not all women enjoy being yelled at through a megaphone as a form of flirtation.

And that some of the women in that group are cops, like Bianca Rubble here.

Bianca: Are you daft, or what? I've had a stressful day and now can't even have a drink in peace? Fuck you!

Ulf: Yikes, what's got your panties in a bunch? Haven't gotten laid lately? I can help with that.

Bianca: Why, you!!!!

[bespectacled-bookwyrm]

A piece for my Hangman's Way AU.

I'm currently figuring out the mechanics of colour theory, especially when applied to shading, and you can probably tell by the art style that this is an older work of mine.

Still, I'm proud of it!

You can read the story for this piece, which also provides context, under the cut. (I might expand on it and make it a proper fanfic in the future, and in turn expand this AU beyond pictures and comics.)

Thoughts? :)

I would also like to add that there’s nothing explicit shown in the text below, but I just want to warn you:

There are references to drug use, prostitution, violence, and bloodsports in the story, so do feel free to give it a skip if it’s distressing at all.

‘Cheren, are you sure you know where you're going?’ Bianca asked, adjusting the bag that held her precious cargo.

‘Don’t worry; I'm sure.’ Admittedly, although he knew where he was going, Cheren had absolutely no idea if the person he was seeking even lived at this address anymore; or, for that matter, if he was even alive.

Hangman's Way was notorious for its violence, prostitutes, drug running, gangs, and Pokémon bloodsports. Cheren hoped the man he was seeking hadn’t fallen victim to the more violent occupants of this place, an unfortunately common fate for streetwalkers. 

Hangman's Way, sometimes referred to as “The Gallows”, was a place that had been left to rot by Castelia’s mayoral office; it was to the point where it wasn’t even present on maps. The only reason Cheren even knew of it was due to his own stupidity as a dumb sixteen-year old, back when he was obsessed with getting stronger and becoming the Champion. 

The man he was hoping to meet today was a bit of an odd Ducklett. He had more spines than a cactus, swore so much he could make a sailor blush, and had the reflexes and mannerisms of an alley-Liepard; and yet, beneath that unpleasant exterior, there was a kind man. Cheren knew this from his own experiences. The man had called him “brat”, told him to piss off, blew cigarette smoke in his face, and, at one point, had even taken out his knife to prove a point. And despite all that, he saw to it that Cheren never witnessed the brutality of The Gallows, never let him or his Pokémon be put in danger, and always put himself in the crossfire when Cheren would run his mouth (despite the man telling him not to fret about his injuries, that he was used to it, Cheren still felt guilty, even now, two years later). He could safely say that the man was like a very chaotic uncle who would always be the first to bail him out of trouble.

The streets were a narrow, unkempt mess, which wasn't helped by the poor lighting and seemingly-perpetual smog that clung to the streets. Bianca was so close that her jacket brushed against his arm. He didn't blame her. If not for his current objective, Cheren would've avoided coming back here. 

He stepped over a puddle of what he hoped was mud and, with Bianca's hand in his, somehow managed to avoid the violent members of this area. 

Sticking close, they headed deeper into Hangman's Way. 

He couldn’t really call it a home. It was more of a bungalow on the cusp of imploding. The exposed wooden supports were rotted through in several areas, the bricks of one of the walls was almost on the verge of becoming rubble, and a window had been smashed. The curtain that had been drawn over the sharp hole was threadbare and looked like it had been gnawed on by something. 

Cheren took a steadying breath, silently hoping, almost praying, that the man he sought was still here. 

He heard the rustle of Bianca's jacket as she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. From his understanding of the cutthroat not-quite-politics that governed The Gallows, Bianca would've been mugged - at best - if she had set foot here alone. That bag of hers was valuable, and not just because of her coin purse.

He glanced back at her. She was nervous, fidgeting with her hat and adjusting her coat. He needed to get this over with quickly, for their sake.

Cheren knocked on the door.

Inside, he could hear muffled grumbling. It got louder, accompanied by footsteps, as the bungalow's occupant approached the door. 

There was the distinctive sound of complaining and cursing. The door was wrenched open, and the man, the one he sought, stood in the doorway. He was haggard and exhausted, and his patchy, hastily stitched-up clothing hung limply over his too-thin frame, the image accentuated by the presence of pale scar tissue. ‘Shit,’ he said, standing upright to lean against the doorframe. ‘It's been, what? Two years now, brat?’ He huffed out a laugh. The term “brat” was practically an affectionate nickname by this point. ‘Shit, kid. I thought you'd know better by now. This hellhole isn't meant for people like you.’

Cheren adjusted his tie, mostly out of habit, but partially as a nervous gesture, and softly cleared his throat. ‘Bianca, this is Colress. Colress, this is Bianca. She’s my friend.’

Colress raised a brow. It looked like he was tempted to dig through his pockets for a cigarette. ‘Why'd you bring her here? They’d eat her alive.’

‘Cheren-’ Bianca interrupted herself by clearing her throat. ‘Cheren said he knows someone who would benefit from my assignment.’

‘Which is?’ Colress sounded impatient, and his expression settled into a soft frown. He seemed oblivious to the Purrloin - a new addition to the household, no doubt - that had draped itself across his shoulders. 

Bianca looked around, at the broken lights and misshapen streets, at the people who watched - not at all subtly - as they, so very out of place, spoke with one of their own. She tugged her bag closer to her side. ‘Maybe we could discuss this inside?’

Colress studied them, tilting his head and causing his long hair to fall away from his face. Cheren suppressed a grimace; there were bruises along the man's neck and jaw. They were dark blue, with flecks of red, and faded into a sickly greenish-yellow towards the edges. He noted how stiffly the man held himself, as though movement pained him. A recent rough day at work, no doubt. He eventually let out a sigh. ‘Fuck. Fine. Just, don't touch anything, yeah?’

He couldn’t exactly call the house clean, because nothing in Hangman's Way was ever truly clean, but compared to what he'd seen, it was spotless. He was still surprised to note that, although Colress carried the strong smell of cigarettes, his place of residence did not - rather, it was musty, like old blankets, and shrouded with the clinging scent of the smog outside. 

‘Kids!’ Colress called, his movements awkward and visibly painful. Work must've been especially rough, then. ‘We've got guests!’

There was the sound of feet moving in the adjoining room, and a head peered around the doorway. A girl, about fourteen, stared at them. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. Cheren had met her once, two years ago, when he had tried to pester Colress into battling him and had followed the man home like a lost Lillipup. Her name was Rosa. She was the more volatile kid, prone to lashing out at anyone she didn't consider family (naturally, that meant the majority of Unova's population) and stealing anything not nailed down and capable of being stashed in her favourite coat, which might've been orange at one point but was now more of a brownish colour. 

‘Oh,’ Rosa said, leaning against the doorframe. Although unrelated by blood, her resemblance to Colress was striking. ‘It's you.’

Cheren chanced a small wave. If he was lucky, he wouldn't get his head bitten off. 

Rosa gave an eye roll and moved to stand beside her father, who had sagged against the wall and was unreactive to the Purrloin rubbing its head against his bruised cheek.

A minute later, another head peered around the doorway after a round of shuffling feet. A boy, younger than Rosa - by about two years, if his estimate was correct - with shaggy brown hair and a visibly anxious disposition. Cheren didn't know his name. The boy had never spoken when he was around, and always seemed to hide himself away. 

The boy's eyes lingered on him and Bianca before turning to Colress.

‘It's alright; they're with me,’ Colress reassured, the Purrloin letting out a soft mewl.

The boy nodded and, visibly nervous, stepped into the room. Never taking his eyes off of him and Bianca, he ducked behind Colress. Cheren noted that he had his arms tightly wrapped around a Minccino teddy. A comfort item, no doubt. With the three of them side-by-side, Cheren noted how the kids were significantly better-fed than Colress was, and that their clothes also had far neater stitching than their father's.

‘Now that we're all here,’ Colress said, nudging a blue Pawniard (with a notable slash across the metal of its helmet) that was getting too close with its blades away from his legs with a foot. ‘Why don’t you tell us about this “assignment” of yours, blondie?’

‘Right,’ Bianca took a deep breath. ‘Right. My assignment is to provide potential Trainers with their first Pokémon and their very own PokéDex. The first Pokémon has already been given, by the request of the Trainer's parents, and now there are two left. I was told I could use my own judgement on who to entrust them to.’

‘Mm-hm,’ Colress crossed his arms, settling more comfortably against the wall, the Purrloin adjusting its position and rubbing its whiskers against his cheek.

‘Cheren informed me that there were two kids who would likely benefit immensely from starting their Pokémon journey, so. . .’ Bianca gave the unusual family a warm smile. ‘Here I am!’

Colress didn’t seem convinced, but Cheren took the fact that he wasn't kicking them out or hurling curses at them as a good sign. 

‘Who sent you?’ Colress asked, his tone wary.

‘Professor Aurea Juniper.’

Colress adjusted his glasses, which seemed to be held together by tape and a miracle, his brows drawing into a puzzled frown. ‘Who?’

‘P-professor Juniper? She's, um. Studying the origins of Pokémon. Surely you've heard of her?’

‘I haven't, actually.’

Bianca's expression was one of surprise. Cheren, however, wasn't as confused by their ignorance. Hangman's Way was very isolated, having been sectioned off with a chain-link fence and barbed wire, and those who lived here rarely left its confines. Plus, Colress and his kids simply had no reason to know of Juniper.  

‘Um-’ Bianca reached into her bag, and pulled out the capsule that cradled two Poké Balls. ‘Wou-would you like to meet them? The Pokémon?’

Colress exchanged a look with Rosa, whose expression was as difficult to read as her father's. Eventually, after a silent exchange, Rosa said, ‘I guess,’ Then, she turned to the boy, who was still hiding behind Colress. ‘What about you, Nate?’

Cheren didn't hear Nate's reply, but he had emerged a bit more from behind his father. Cheren took that as a “yes”. 

Beaming, Bianca popped the capsule open and let a pair of familiar faces out.

The two Pokémon, a Snivy and an Oshawott, took in their surroundings. Compared to the lab and the homes of previous potential Trainers, this must be quite a shock to them. 

The Snivy, the more cautious of the two, experimentally poked at the floor and furniture with its vines. The Oshawott, meanwhile, was a lot more chipper and had practically skipped over to that Pawniard standing beside Colress. The Sharp Blade Pokémon hissed and brandished its sharp edges. Luckily, the Oshawott took the hint and backed off. 

The two Pokémon explored their surroundings, and Cheren was suddenly hit with a rush of nostalgia. It was like two years ago, when he and Bianca and Hilda were just starting out. He couldn’t stop the fond, almost melancholy, smile when the Oshawott toddled up to Nate and held its arms in the universal gesture for “up”.

The same thing happened with Hilda.

The Snivy, meanwhile, had claimed a rather disgruntled Rosa's head as its perch. She was grumbling and looked rather unimpressed, but there was a glimmer of childish glee in her eyes. 

Nate, meanwhile, had sat down, cross-legged, and let the Oshawott clamber onto his lap. For a boy so anxious, it must've taken a lot of courage to do that. Cheren felt a swell of pride in his chest, just like when his students do well. 

Cheren jumped at the feeling of a hand clasping his shoulder. Colress stood just beside him, so thin and frail and yet possessing the strength to not only survive this place, but to also raise and protect two kids from the horrors outside. He was gazing at his children with such paternal warmth that it reminded him of Alder. 

Rosa had sat beside Nate, and was now giggling as the Snivy clambered around her head.

Nate was a lot more subdued, and was instead giving the Oshawott gentle head pats, his Minccino teddy carefully sat just beside him. 

Bianca was watching them as well, with a beaming smile and bright eyes. From her expression alone, Cheren knew she believed him to have chosen right. These kids would flourish on a journey. 

The two remaining PokéDexes were set upon a rickety table. ‘For when they’re ready.’ Bianca said.

Colress gave a small nod. ‘They. . . They’ll do great out there,’ He said, his voice unusually soft. ‘They deserve better than this place.’ 

There was a silent, additional statement to Colress’ words, a statement Cheren thoroughly disagreed with: ‘They deserve better than me.’

Cheren felt the absence of the hand upon his shoulder. 

Colress, who had put some distance between himself  and his guests, scratched behind the Purrloin’s ears - his shirt sleeve slipped down his arm, and nausea churned in Cheren's gut at the sight of bruises wrapped around his too-thin wrist - and gave the Pawniard a gentle, good-natured nudge, which earned him a playful, but harmless, swipe of the Pokémon’s blades in response. 

The man gave Bianca a respectful nod. He met Cheren’s eyes. His smile was warm, and his eyes were soft. ‘Thanks, brat.’

[imamiii]

Been staying up late (quite literally) in Bridgeport with Eli! Got him a job in the education field because in my head he’d be a good English teacher and a writer on the side. Also, I did yassify Bianca Rubble before quitting the game earlier.

[nantucketupsnott]

📨 Random simblr question (for the ts3 simmers) of the day: Who's your favorite premade sim?

Thanks for the question. :D I simply just can't say one sim so here's my little list:

The Sims 1: Chris Roomies + (2 NPSs Vacation Director Kana & Vicki Vampiress.)

The Sims 2: Brittany Upsnott + the ENTIRE Capp family, especially Regan & Goneril.

The Sims 3: Bianca Rubble + (2 townies, Dwight Rubble & Hiller Flint.)

[thegatesofinfinitespace]

@petalseas asked:

there is... immediate confusion onto exorcist's dainty looks, swiftly covered by such sternness. her beliefs of angels & demons were long, abandoned... Only for such an thought to be challenged again. Returning oh lit lantern to side, on hip. golden optics narrowing. drawing out swordstaff. "Halt." Bianca calls out, fear running deep, forcing movement to stop. "May I ask who you are...?" for death or morozoko !!

This place is empty.

Skeletal remains of skyscrapers, marred like claws reaching to the sky, bits of concrete and glass hanging like sinew to bone. It is quiet, the sort of peace that no one would ever ask for. He's more than accustomed to it.

Rubble crumbles. Movement. The God turns his head, un-phased eyes resting not on the blade of the weapon, but its mistress. She does her best to not be afraid. It should be applauded, but not by him.

"A wanderer." His tone is soft, but not quiet. "I am not here for you."

[anamoon63]

MEANWHILE, IN BRIDGEPORT… Patrick runs as fast as he can to his workplace door, being careful not to slip on the wet pavement.

Bianca Rubble follows suit.

As well as William Fangman, who works at the Bridgeport Police Department. Of course, being a vampire, he's the fastest of them all, and doesn't care about slipping.

Kirby Wise, Patrick's other co-worker is the last one to come in. Thanks to the rain, today everyone arrived late for work, hopefully their boss Mr. Cook doesn't fire them all. 🙄

[barelysims]

Felix managed to throw one of the most chaos filled parties I have ever witnessed.

Bianca Rubble went into labour, causing Felix, William Fangman, and Katrina Pala into a mass panic.

Meanwhile, Alexy Fresco decided it was the perfect time to snap a quick pic, Matilda and Harry Marks continued their dancing, trapping Lily-Bo Chique in the corner in the process (you can just see her waving for help)

And then there’s Gwendolyn, who was playing an invisible guitar (?) up on the mezzanine, for some reason.

Honestly one of the funniest scenes I’ve witnessed while playing this game. Oh, and it took Bianca a good 2 in-game hours to finally decide she wanted to head to the hospital.

[femmehysteria]

Bianca Barkley - Wednesday

Bianca - Pokémon

Bianca di Angelo - Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Jericho - Seven Deadly Sins

Jericho Wilson - Teen Titans

Amara Aquilla - Marvel

Amari - Copper Sun

Amari - Children of Blood and Bone

Omar - Rubble and Crew

Omar Shanaa - Elite

Xavier Thorpe - Wednesday

Javier Penna - Narcos

Eugene Ottinger - Wednesday

Eugenie Danglars - The Count of Monte Cristo

Tania - Faerie Path

Tanya Berkowitz - Most Popular Girls in School

Tatiana Blackthorn - The Infernal Devices

Queen Talia (Star Wars)

Talia Winters (Babylon 5)

Talia Hale (Teen Wolf)

Talia al Ghul (DC)

Thalia Grace (Percy Jackson and the Olympians)

Orion Pax (Transformers Prime)

Orion (As Told by Ginger)

Orion Lake (A Deadly Education)

Orion (Men In Black)

Thank you for the suggestions!

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

The Resort

Having just finished the second season of THE WHITE LOTUS, for some inane reason I felt the need to watch still more people taking vacations on which I’d never dream of going. So, I went from the sublime to the ridiculous and watched Taylor Chien’s THE RESORT (2021, Hulu). I’ll admit upfront: part of the appeal was watching four attractive (at least physically) young people cavort around a Hawaiian waterfall, though most of the sequence was focused on the actresses’ bosoms. For her birthday, aspiring horror writer Lex (Bianca Haase) goes with her friends to an abandoned Hawaiian resort believed to be haunted. The ghost is “The Half-Face Girl,” an indigenous woman raped and murdered by tourists. Her spirit has so decimated the guest list at a resort built on sacred ground, the place was shut down. This could make for a great critique of colonialism, but THE RESORT is less about that than it is about hot young bodies, boorish clowning and jump scares. For some reason, Chien, who also wrote, has chosen to jumble time, so the film starts with a security guard being attacked by the ghost and then jumps to Haase in a hospital room where she’s questioned by a detective (Dave Sheridan, whose line readings would make any acting teacher weep and not with joy). Only in later flashbacks do we learn that the guard was killed while the four leads were there. Anyway, for fully half the movie, Haase smiles indulgently while her friends act like fools all over the resort’s remote island. Nothing much happens at the hotel, until Haase realizes she left her backpack in the most haunted room (duh!), at which point they’re subjected to a haunting that has no logic because if it did Chien couldn’t throw anything he liked at the characters. The four young actors (Haase, Brock O’Hurn, Michael Vlamis and Michelle Randolph) aren’t bad, but the writing for them is dreadful. I don’t mind crude jokes if they’re clever. These aren’t. It’s all a sorry mess that sat on the shelf for three years, during which time the abandoned hotel location was torn down. Pity they didn’t bury the film beneath the rubble.