#shells writes

[its-shells]

“So,” Grian says, “this is awkward.”

Scar says nothing. Scar had said nothing for quite a while, honestly, sitting cross-legged in the void and playing with the hem of his cloak. Or with the flower stems woven through the hem of his cloak, as it were. Lilacs and poppies. Grian had thought it painfully ironic the first time he saw them. Scar hadn’t. Not until now.

“So,” Grian says, again, “I can explain? I think?”

He can hear stifled giggles behind him, Scott and Pearl discussing the last moments of the fight. He feels Martyn’s heated glare between his shoulder blades too, knows that he’ll be getting an earful about taking his final life whenever the fourth winner can get his hands on him, but at least Martyn’s been kind enough to leave him at the mercy of the fifth for now. Or not kind enough, as it were. Whether or not Scar has any mercy for him is an open question.

“Explain what,” Scar says. It’s not a question, which is just as well, since Grian doesn’t really have an answer.

Can he explain?

“Well,” he says, “there’s these death games.”

The death games he technically started, and then technically couldn’t stop. The death games that weren’t meant to be blood sacrifices, but probably count as happening on somebody’s altar. The death games that no one ever wins, but technically–

“Technically, the people who win them get to keep their memories.” He scrunches up his nose. “Or, uh, recover their memories of the previous ones, I suppose. Which is what’s happening to you. And Martyn, and Pearl, and Scott, and I was the first, so–”

“One heck of a headache, right?” Pearl yells behind them. “Was even for me, and you’ve got four whole timelines to deal with!” She flops backwards onto the floor, which is the void, pressing the back of the palm to her forehead theatrically even as she peers up at Scar through parted fingers. Scott rolls his eyes and grabs her hand.

“Give them a moment, Pearl,” Grian hears him whisper. “I know you weren’t there for Third Life, but I’ve explained it to you a dozen times, so–“

“So,” Scar says. “Third Life was real.”

It’s a strange way of putting it for someone who hadn’t remembered it at all until now.

“That’s a strange way of putting it for someone who hadn’t remembered it at all until now,” Grian says, because he’s always loose-tongued after dying. Scar stares at him, unblinking.

“That’s a strange way of thinking for someone who declared the first ever game a double victory,” he says. His head is tilted to the side.

Grian stares back.

“That didn’t count.”

“It didn’t not.”

“You didn’t remember until now.”

“I didn’t not.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Scar shrugs. He plucks a flower from between the dark threads. It’s a poppy. “No less than the rest of it. No less sense than me waking up with sand between my toes, or burns on my arms, or bamboo in my pockets. No less than the dreams. Those didn’t make sense either.”

“It’s not like you ever asked me to explain.”

“Would you have?”

“Not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

Pearl is still giggling. Martyn is still staring. Scott is quiet.

“Maybe it is,” Grian admits, quietly. It’s not an apology. It never will be.

Nor is it forgiveness, when Scar leans forward to tuck the poppy behind his ear. Nor will it ever be.

Sure feels like it sometimes though.

[skeletonsgeorg]

The differences between TFP and Earthspark Optimuses are sooooooo fucking funny. TFP OP is burdened with "I've never seen Prime laugh, cry, or lose his cool," he responds to "Hey Optimus you wanna see something funny?!" with the numbest dead-eyed Eeyore "No," he's just generally Haunted and Stoic every waking moment

Then we have Chuckles McGee with his looney toons ass face winking and making finger guns and giggling nervously and spamming the group chat with emojis and cracking jokes and making "graphic design is my passion" self-help pamphlets

[girlboyburger]

[pearl-blue-musings]

MY FAVORITE LOL

Are you sure you wanna write Adam and only one bed trope??????

AHAHAHAHAHA

AHAHAHAHAH OMGGGGG

“What the fuck do you mean there’s one bed you dumb bitch?”

You roll your eyes and thank the hotel concierge and take your bags toward the elevator. “She means,” you try to downplay his words. “The room we booked is only one bed and all that’s available.”

Adam rolls his eyes and quickly walks toward your assigned room. He jams the the key into the slot and opens the door. He throws his bag onto the bed and flops onto it. “Really? I thought she was talking to the people behind us. No shit there’s only one bed! I can fucking see that, I’m on the one bed!” He sighs and runs his hand down his face. “Don’t they know who the fuck I am??”

You roll your eyes and push his bags off the bed. “We’re literally in hell on a recon mission.” You sigh deeply and rub your eyebrows. “Lute couldn’t be here so I’m here with you. Since you’re fucking Adam-“

“I thought I told you to call me dick master.”

“What the fuck ever, you’re gonna sleep in the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor,” you finally finish. You look around the room for an extra pair of linens and start to get your “bed” ready on the floor. You miss Adam take off his mask and roll his eyes at you getting comfortable on the floor. Against his better judgement after changing into something more comfortable, he sighs and moves to one side of the bed.

He coughs to get your attention. “Hey, you look like an idiot on the floor. Just,” he sighs, “take this small part of the bed. Don’t touch me alright?”

You squint your eyes in suspicion but follow his words. You carefully get into the bed and take up only about 10% of it. Adam finally relaxes and takes most of the covers. He spreads out almost spread eagle, his hand hitting the back of your head as you lay on your side. You grip the sheets with a shiver as you’re annoyed at how comfortable he is taking up most of the bed. You continue to feel him shift in his sleep and you try to finally find some yourself.

About 30 minutes in, you suddenly feel a pair of hands on your waist and your body being pulled in.

You give a tiny yelp and suddenly feel his warm body behind yours. You don’t dare move for fear of what he’ll say, but you tru anyways. “Umm, Adam? Why are you…?”

“I swear to god bitch if you don’t shut the fuck up and let me cuddle you.” He pauses, his breath hot on your neck as his legs intertwine with yours. “Having someone close fucking helps me sleep, bitch. And, you’re someone I actually tolerate more than Lute.”

For as long as you’ve worked with him, you’ve never heard Adam sound like this, his voice strangely demure. You hide your smile from him as you place your hands over his. Behind you, Adam blushes and pulls you tightly into him. He won’t admit it, but he’s secretly glad there is only one bed as he’s able to touch you in ways he’s only imagined.

But he’ll never tell you that, he’d have to be on his death bed to get a confession out of him.

[mitoad]

okok but can someone please please recommend some tooth rotting diabetes causing nickocado avocado-inspiring cod x reader fanfictions ? im so sick of searching up cod x reader works just 2 get bombed by “AND THEY CHOKE ND STRANGLE YOU” “HARDCORE SEX STUFF HERE !!” please i just want to be silly and domesticated with the boys why is peace not an option

[cuubism]

well it's taken 2000+ pages but brandon sanderson finally gave me exactly what i didn't know i wanted all along: a toxic codependent friend group that took over the world

[lineffability]

hey remember when aziraphale and crowley ran into each other in rome and aziraphale said 'well then let me tempt you to- oh, no, that's your job, isn't it, haha'? what if crowley succumbed to the temptation in more ways than one? what if they had oysters and sex about it? then what?

wordcount: 17,8k rating: explicit tags: PWP, Rome 41AD, oysters, so many oysters, so many orgasms too, banter, little bit of emotion little bit of angst, but mostly fun, oysters and aardvarks, food kink, oral fixation, roman baths, an oyster is never just an oyster, and what is love but hunger (more tags on ao3)

READ ON AO3 🦪

[purpleshell-x]

Hello! Can you do something short (like hc or oneshots) of Valeria with a f! Or gn!reader that got valerias name tattooed on her? Like her name in a pretty letter font in a heart on her shoulder. Like they've been together for years and one random day Valeria gets home and reader shows her the new tattoo. Thank you! :)

Valeria when her s/o gets a tattoo of her name

Trigger Warning—Nothing to crazy, gets a bit suggestive at the end but other then that it’s sfw. Google translated Spanish so if it’s not fully correct it ain’t my fault💀

Character—Valeria Garza

A/N—I went ahead and just used general pronouns! Thank you for my first request! This was fun to do. <333 Also I didn’t proof read this cause I was feeling lazy

Type—HeadCanons/Oneshot

Tattoos are a sentimental thing for Valeria, all of hers have a meaning to them, so when she sees the fact that you got a tattoo of her name? made her go crazy.

She’d definitely tease you about it, teasing you on how now every one knows your hers.

Definitely loves that—the fact that her s/o has a permanent remind on them that they are hers, drives her wild. (she’s a bit possessive if where honest)

Valeria might not say it but it means a lot to her, any time you show your loyalty to her it makes her a bit weak. She’ll end up giving you more kisses than normal for it. 

“Mi amor, what’s this?” Valeria asks looking at the tattoo of her name in pretty cursive right over your heart, her eyebrow raised with a grin creeping up on her lips, her hands resting on your hips.

She had been gone for a few days for a “business” trip, finally coming home as you were making dinner, the tattoo on display from the low-cut shirt you were wearing. The sight made a heat grow between her thighs, “Your name on my chest.” You replied with a bit of teasing look in your eyes as you stated the obvious making Valeria roll her eyes lightly at your brattiness—but she let it slide since she now got to see how her name was on her girl’s/boy’s chests like you were entirely hers.

Which you were of course.

“Thought it would be a nice surprise.” You add, tone a bit softer, a bit of a grin on your face from the way Valera was looking at you. “Like it?” You say as Valeria’s lips find your jaw, her tone of voice a bit gravely as she murmurs, “Más que, chica bonita/chico bonito.” Her grip on your hips pulling you closer as her lips trail down

Más que chica bonita/chico bonit= more then like, pretty girl / pretty boy

[amevello-blue]

A con artist and a petty thief walk up to you with a scheme...

How do you respond?

Ghost looked down at the two alternate version of his kids and noticed the rough clothes, the thinness, the way they smiled. He knew that look on Leo's face, and the same look on Mikey's. They wanted something, they were scheming, plotting. Together, too, which was the most dangerous way to plot for the two of them, if they were anything like his own kids.

It didn't really matter if they had ulterior motives, though. They didn't need any tricks with him, Ghost was already thinking about what he could give them. He wanted to get them nice, clean clothes and warm food and somewhere safe and cozy to sleep. The urge to sweep them under his cloak like a broody hen was rising exponentially, especially with his own kids out wandering around, leaving him to his own devices.

Fighting an inner war to ask where he needed to sign their adoption papers, he sighed softly and gently rubbed both of their heads.

"Anything you want," Ghost murmured. "I'll give it to you."

@tmntaucompetition

[bluepeachstudios]

Not the Soft (Ame Writes)

Guys I swear this isn't the soft I promised-- I wrote. A Ghost. As part of the @tmntaucompetition and as a way to cope with @somerandomdudelmao's absolutely devastating last update to their apocalypse series. Cause it sat in my head a little too long.

It is sad. Sorry. <3

Once more, Ghost was somewhere he didn’t want to be. Another portal to fall through, another swarm of alternate versions. It was different this time. More of them were kids, they weren’t all from the boys’ realities. He’d even seen a few from his own. He avoided them now, like the plague. He couldn’t stand to be near them, couldn’t stand to see them happy like that. It hurt too much.

He saw a few he recognized from the last interdimensional competition. The grown up Mikey who handed Leo a bat was familiar. The kids with the actual ghost were familiar. The older Leo and little Leo both missing arms and passing out water bottles were familiar. The computer Donnie was familiar, but he didn’t want to think about what had led to that, just as he didn’t want to think of it last time.

It wasn’t a shock when he spotted the next familiar group. He recognized them the easiest from their robot Raph, but he almost didn’t. Their demeanor was so different from when he’d last seen them, cheering Tello on.

Just one look over them and he knew.

Grief was so easy for him to see now. As much as they were trying to hide it, to brush it off to people who asked, he could see it in their eyes, in their shoulders. They were so different.

The first thing he felt was an unbelievable loss.

It felt like just last month he’d held Tello’s hand and smiled at the crowd. Hugged him once they’d escaped prying eyes. Told him to be better than Ghost had been.

His grown son from another dimension, one who didn’t even know him, was dead.

It hit him like a knife, a wet thud into his heart. Some part of him screamed in his head, drowning out all the other noise, all the other turtles but the three that had been left behind. He felt the desperate urge to find his own Donnie, to check that he was breathing to hear his heartbeat, to listen to his voice, feel his hands in his own.

Ghost swallowed it. Swallowed the grief that was seeing his child dead, even in another world, in another dimension, another time. Swallowed the scream. Swallowed the urge to ground himself with Donnie. He didn’t want to scare him.

He didn’t want to scare any of them, yet there he was, just watching the three turtles and their human companions.

He couldn’t bring himself to approach them. It felt unfair. It felt like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to be seeing; a version of his family after they’d lost their Donatello. He felt like he didn’t deserve this, like this was some window into what had happened after he’d disappeared. Like he was intruding.

They had lost their Donatello, and he was a Donatello who was lost.

Promise me you won’t let anything happen to them.

I guess that’s just what we do.

He’d been so caught up in telling Tello to take care of his family he’d forgotten the most important part of the whole thing.

Take care of yourself.

Guilt crashed through him. Guilt on his own behalf, guilt on Tello’s. He wasn’t responsible for every Donatello in every version of themselves, but sometimes it felt like he was the cause of it all. Like he was the first, the one who had doomed every Donatello to a fate of being lost, to a fate of failing to protect their family.

He added another soul to grieve on his shoulders. Another photograph he couldn’t have. Another life he couldn’t speak of.

He meant to walk away, but Leonardo spotted him across the arena. Recognition made him perk up for a moment, and then his expression fell as he saw the knowing look in Ghost’s eyes.

Ghost took a breath. They met in the middle.

It was like fitting a piece into a puzzle where the picture didn’t match.

He didn’t know what else to do but murmur a soft, “I’m so sorry.”

He was apologizing for so much more than just the loss of Tello. He was apologizing to them and his own brothers. To every version of them that Donatello had failed.

Then Mikey gave him a worried look, and it felt all so unfair again. Some part of himself that made him ill wanted to know how Tello died, what they’d done to prevent it, what hadn’t worked. He wanted to know how they were holding up, what they were doing without Tello, how they were functioning, if they were functioning at all.

He squashed the selfish part of himself, the part that wanted to know if his family could have felt the same ways. These were a version of his kids, and here he was with the urge to interrogate them about their brother’s death.

Ghost swallowed it. Mikey still gave him a sad smile.

“He was with us,” Mikey said softly. “In our arms. He went peacefully, in his sleep.”

Ghost’s expression twisted from the flat gaze he’d managed to hold. God, that was his son saying that. That was his son that had died. Not them exactly, but enough like them that it felt like he was being told his children had died in a war that he wasn’t allowed to be a part of.

He couldn’t even cry for them. It felt unfair to be so upset, to be so ruined over a Donatello that wasn’t even his.

He swallowed it.

“He loved you all so much,” Ghost whispered. Even that felt unfair to say, but he knew, and he needed them to know. He needed them to know.

“We know,” Leo replied. He touched the hilt of the sword at his waist, running a shock of purple fabric through his fingers.

Ghost took a breath. It felt like he had to force himself to breathe, like he had forgotten how. Instinctively, he signed, circling his fist over his chest in an apology, thinking they were the same as his kids, that they could read sign language somehow.

He pressed his hand over his chest and got control of his breathing again. Found his voice. “That’s good.”

He hoped the depth of it all didn’t show on his face. He was trying to keep his expression as flat as possible, but it felt like he’d lost someone important. He wasn’t great at dealing with that.

Obviously. He’d been grieving for 24 years.

“I’ll see you guys around,” Ghost whispered, bowing his head slightly. A small, polite gesture he picked up from his own father.

He turned and walked away.

He couldn’t bring them anything but more grief.

There was no solace in his words he could offer, no pain he could lessen with his presence.

He was the wrong missing piece.

He couldn’t fill their void just like they couldn’t fill his.

His son was dead.

His brothers were gone.

The world was ending but continuing on.

He swallowed it and pulled his hood up.

[tacogoats]

Unwell about the idea of Orin using Durge's face to keep the charade going of the Durge still being around, so Gortash doesn't get suspicious.

He does anyway because she didn't understand how real their relationship was - and she slips up. Often. He knew immediately when the Dark Urge became so, so very cold. Nothing like the warmth he has known for years now behind closed doors; because it isn't them.

She is good at fine details of the body; she gets every scar, every little blemish perfectly, but she can never truly imitate the person behind the Urge.

She couldn't have hoped to anyway, because she didn't know who they really were. Only Gortash could, because he is the first to ask.

It surprises her, and infuriates her, even! The mighty Dark Urge, debased into some lovesick puppy yearning after this little Lordling!

And the mistakes that follow are how Gortash learns the Dark Urge is gone.

[its-shells]

Here’s the thing: Grian would kill for him, and it should be enough. 

If there is one thing they learn throughout the three iterations of a death game, it’s that nothing is more extreme than finding yourself on the wrong end of the sword. (Or a flint-and-steel, or an arrow, or a stalactite – they take the world apart, and use it all for weapons.) There’s nothing worse you can do than die, and consequently, there’s nothing better someone can do than kill for you. It’s a declaration of love equivalent to shouting from the rooftops, to carving a heart out and handing it, beating, to someone else. (And it doesn’t even have to be your own heart.) 

Grian would kill for him, Scar learns, very early on. Grian rigs up minecarts and laughs manically as they go off. Grian spends hours hiding red TNT blocks beneath the sand and lecturing Scar on what levers to pull if he wants them to go off at the right time. Grian collects the dripstone (because sand is too precious a resource to waste just yet) and mounts it diligently to a cobblestone roof. 

Grian comes back huffing, speaking of his boiling blood and revenge. He tells Scar that the TNT trap wasn’t his fault, that the ones responsible will pay, that this world will bow to them yet. Grian collects sand, a pitiful echo of the past, and shoves it in Scar’s face as some grand achievement. 

Grian drops the dripstone. 

Grian kills for him.

Grian kills BigB. 

Well, really, Grian kills Ren, and doesn’t quite remember that this would also kill BigB until later, but who is Scar to complain? He should be happy to know that Grian would kill for him, no matter who the target is, and if his secret soulmateship goes down in the process, well, then maybe he should be happier still.

Except. 

Except Grian makes BigB a grave. 

Scar had died on him so many times and never got one. Scar had died to him, just like BigB did, and still was left with nothing but sand and cacti to choke on as a ghost. Grian had jumped, is the thing, instead of making a grave, and shouldn’t that be a better declaration? Shouldn’t he be more content with the statement that amounted to “I can’t live without you”, than a statement that amounted to “I will mourn you for as long as I live?” Grian had died for him, and Grian had killed for him. How dare he expect anything more? 

How dare he want smiles, want confessions, or a beautiful sunset behind a hill as they talk? Grian kills for him; how dare he want anything else, even if the thing he wants is just some whispered words? 

Grian laughs, and snarks, and screams. Grian kills and dies when he’s fully devoted, because it’s a death game, and there’s nothing that will ever matter more. Grian doesn’t – because why would he – spare, or live. 

So really, really, what does it matter if all Scar wants is some bread?

[gae-bolg-alternative-dot-exe]

POV: It's 2030, Japan. You've committed a severe crime and after escaping giant robot spiders you turn to see this after your door gets kicked down

[talaok]

I love your writing!! This was much bigger than the usual requests but I have so many fantasies and I would love to see them come true in your writing, sorry for anything. 💘

ok this just popped into my head, Pedro and the reader have been friends (she is also a virgin, it will make sense later) for some time, both with feelings for the other but not admitted, until one night, where they are both with his friends and mutual friends in a nightclub, Pedro is at the table with some of his friends drinking and having a good time, the reader and her friends went to the dance floor and the dances are getting a little hot, and one of the reader's friends( who are not friends with Pedro) start to make comments doubting that she is a virgin because she is dancing like that and is so sexy and Pedro becomes nervous and uncomfortable with the situation and when the reader returns to the table he asks to talk to her and tries to warn about these "friends" and ends up admitting that he felt jealous of her and decides to declare himself, just like she did after him.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

"and she says she's a virgin" He heard the guy to his right scoff, elboying his friend.

"ha" the other fucking guy laughed like it was funny, like there was anything to laugh at "Sure, and I'm the president of the United States"

His hands curled into fists by his sides, but he refrained because he knew you wouldn't have liked it if he did what he was thinking of doing.

First of all. How the fuck dared they talk about you like that? And furthermore, doing so while calling themselves your friends?

You deserved much better than them. Fuck, you deserved whoever was in first place for best friend in all the world, that's who you deserved.

And second of all, Why the fuck were they looking at you? He could see the way their eyes scanned every inch of your body as you danced to the rhythm... and god, god but the urge to put those fists at his side to use was getting stronger.

But just then, by some miracle, you whispered something to Jenna (a friend of yours) and started making your way back to the table, to him... and those fucking guys next to him.

"hey"

"hey there" the blonde one grinned "had fun?"

"yeah" you smiled, sweet as ever, and a wave of pure anger made its way to Pedro's body.

There you were, smiling that heartstopping smile of yours to those guys, guys who were making fun of you not five minutes before.

You deserved so much better.

You deserved the whole word and more.

"hey" he spoke, before he could stop himself "can we talk for a sec?"

He saw a glimpse of confusion flash before your eyes before you nodded.

"So what did you wanna talk about?" you asked as soon as you stepped out of the bar and into the chilly night.

You tried to lean onto the brick wall behind you, but a shiver of cold ran up your spine.

"Here" he said, not waiting for you to say anything and just placing his jacket over your shoulders.

"O-oh thank you"

"no worries"

You looked at him for a moment before you recalled what you were there for.

"so... you said you wanted to talk"

"right" he nodded, as if he too, had lost himself in you for a moment"I just... it's stupid really, I'm just-"

"I'm sure it's not stupid"you smiled reassuringly, shaking your head.

He couldn't help but let out a little sigh of relief,

you always had a calming effect on him

"it's just that- while you were dancing, your friends...you friends were..."

"what?"

"well they were being mean" he spat out "and I wanted to warn you, because sweetheart you deserve so much more than that, and they-" he paused, looking back at the bar's doors as if he could see the two men sitting right there "they don't deserve you"

"oh" you frowned, slowly taking in his words

"and-and they were making comments and looking at you like that, and I just- god-" he sighed, passing a hand down the length of his face to try and ground himself "I'm sorry y/n, I think I just-I was jealous"

And you had so many things you wanted to say and so many questions to ask, but for whatever reason a single word was all that came out of your mouth.

"jealous?"

his mouth opened but it took him a moment to find the words as he looked into your eyes

"Well I didn't want them to look at you like that-" he realized out loud "I- I wanted to be the only one who could do that"

He'd said it so fast, so quick, that even he hadn't realized what had come out of his mouth.

"w-what?"

"fuck" he muttered, his eyes widening "I-I- well fuck this is as good as time as any"

"Pedro what are you sayin-"

"Y/n I like you" he's said before his mind would catch up "Like a lot"

Now it was you who couldn't talk

"W-what?"

He watched the confusion crowd your face,

"I-I really like you y/n. And I-I don't know why I'm saying it now but I am" a silly, amazed chuckle left his mouth "I like you y/n, every single thing about you, every single moment with you- I just- I love it"

His heart was beating so fast he was surely going into cardiac arrest soon, while all you could do was blink to try and understand if all this was a dream.

"I-Are you b-being serious?"

He swallowed what felt like concrete in his mouth

"Yes" he nodded

"Y-you like me?" you couldn't help but smile a stunned smile

"I do, y/n, I really do, and I know this is not the best time I could have chosen bu- "

Your mind was a mess, but it still worked enough to make you able to shut him up... by simply crashing his lips with yours.

And even if it was winter, you didn't think you'd ever been so warm,

"I like you too Pedro" you laughed giddily as you leaned away just an inch "A lot"

[blue-kyber]

All of these YT videos telling writers to "stop doing this," or "don't make this mistake," or "This is cringe and here's why," or "We hate this so stop," make me want to scream.

These are videos made by tired, jaded people who need to step away and let new people with new ideas into the mix. They need to do this instead of bullguarding their spot, hissing at new people eyeing their gold horde that they're gathering up into their arms like 'Mine!,' and slapping the unpopular/unknowns down by telling people what sucks and what doesn't in order to keep the "riff raff" from taking their place.

Funny how it's usually their works on the 'this doesn't suck' list, huh. It perpetuates their attempts to make people believe they have all the answers. That theirs is better.

When they don't. And theirs isn't better. Cleaned and polished does not equal 'better.'

They had to be new once, too.

They had to fight, too, so why are they so angry that those who are following in the same field are fighting to find their place?

What's cringe is only cringe to the person saying it's cringe.

Rules are there to be learned.

Once learned, you have the knowledge to see which ones you can effectively break, how to intelligently break them, and how to find loopholes.

Write however you damn well please.

Because your story will never belong to them.

[rockethorse]

Mid-Century Burst | CC-Free

A tricky little shell challenge that you can get some use out of too! Tried to dig into some 70s inspo for the exterior on this one. This is 2 bed, 1 bath, fully-furnished and CC-free. Because of the limited size of the main shell, I added a detached garage with an apartment on top, which adds +1 studio bedroom and +1 bathroom.

The TS4 shell challenge I used for this lot was called "BubbleShell3" on the gallery from the ID "bubblesisgaming". I'm also playing around with using random palette generators for room inspo, this time from ColorHunt. It's been fun and I recommend using it to get out of your comfort zone!

Download Mid-Century Burst @ SFS