#2 Homes 1 Lot

[rachelpedd]

2 Realistic Houses On 1 Lot

2 realistic family homes for you and your Sims to enjoy. Both houses are partially furnished to allow you to really make them your own.

Completely CC-free.

2 separate houses.

§52,695

30 x 20 lot (Evergreen Harbor)

Fully play-tested.

“bb.moveobjects on” will need to be input before placement.

Now available on The Gallery! Origin ID: RachelPedd.

Download (SimFileShare)

Happy Simming, everyone!

[shalomniscient]

i just woke up, it’s 7am and i’m having thoughts about jingliu…

if there was one person on the luofu who knew jingliu the longest, it was you. not the high cloud quintet or the cloud knights, you. the daughter of jingliu’s master, and the stubborn sword champion’s personal healer. she entered your life as a gangly, hungry girl who could barely hold a sword in both hands—and now, she’s the greatest warrior the luofu has ever seen.

but more importantly, now, she’s your wife.

it seemed almost like an inevitability, that you’d fall for her. for all that she was your mother’s disciple, you didn’t see her much as children. jingliu would always be training, and you would always be studying. it was only after she became a member of the cloud knights, and you a member of the alchemy commission, that things would really start to blossom—like a lotus flower, bright and pure.

you were the only healer jingliu really trusted and even allowed to heal her. the warrior had a stubborn streak several miles wide, but perhaps it was the echo of your mother in you that had her obediently heeling to your treatments—a fact that always awed her fellow cloud knights, who teased her relentlessly about it. “whipped,” they’d say. jingliu would only grumble and grudgingly thank you, before leaving the clinic and decidedly and publicly putting every one of her squadmates on their asses during a sparring match.

but nonetheless, it is no one but jingliu who comforts you when teng xiao arrives at your door, a set of armor folded neatly in his arms, and a grim, apologetic look on his face. that night it is jingliu who sits by your side, letting you weep into her shoulder as she awkwardly and clumsily attempts to console you. grief burns through you like a wildfire, but jingliu is there, her presence soothing and cool like moonlight. you both fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms, finding that, if nothing else, there is comfort in shared loss.

the next morning, you ask her about it as you both still hold each other close. jingliu’s mouth opens and closes, struggling to choose the right words. “i swore to her that i’d protect you,” she answers. it makes you smile, just a little, even if grief still twists sharply in your heart.

“you’re protecting me by cuddling me?” you tease her, and her pale cheeks flush.

“that’s— i believed you might have needed—“ she stammers, and you cut her off by pressing closer against her cool body.

“i’m just teasing,” you whisper against her skin, arms tightening around her muscular form. as if to ground yourself, as if to assure yourself that she’s really here. “i appreciate it, jingliu. thank you.”

at your words, the warrior relaxes. her voice is barely higher than yours when she replies, tinged with a hint of tenderness. “of course.”

jingliu is different, after that. you guess that it’s because you are all she has left—much the same in how she is all you have left. there is a gentle awkwardness to her now, like someone who has never known how to be soft trying to learn for the first time. she sits patiently as she lets you fuss over her wounds, knowing that you need this, that you need to know she’s alright. she only looks away when you get a little too close, when she can feel the warmth of your breath on her skin, and she hopes you don’t notice (you do).

she comes to the house whenever she can, which feels just a little emptier without your mother’s commanding presence. she stands shoulder to shoulder next to you at the counter making dumplings, her rough, battle-scarred hands dwarfing your own more delicate ones—but she wraps the dumplings with finesse all the same. you eat them together, quietly, but the silence is comfortable. you know each other enough that words are unnecessary. these nights you can only ever fall asleep in her arms—and she can only ever fall asleep in yours. neither of you question it, but what is there to question anyway?

jingliu ends up being many of your firsts—including your first kiss. it happens on one of those nights, tangled in each other’s arms, with nothing but a sliver of moonlight to illuminate jingliu’s pale face. you feel her pulse jump under your touch, as your thumb traces the ridge of her cheekbones and your lips press gently against hers. kissing her is nothing grand, no fireworks or butterflies—just the quiet sense of finally coming home.

jingliu is your first time, too. her hands trail down your body with reverence, lips pressing kisses like prayers against your skin. she brings you to the edge of heaven with her fingers and her mouth until you lie boneless on the sheets. she kisses you while your essence is still smeared across her lips, and you eagerly return the favor.

jingliu is your first and only love. it’s the soft, quiet kind, more of a respite than a whirlwind in and of itself. a shelter where both of you can return to, when the world becomes too much. you’re there for each other at the lowest lows and the highest highs—jingliu attends the ceremony as you’re sworn in as the cauldron master of the alchemy commission, eyes trained only on you as you accept the honor. and you attend jingliu’s ascenscion ceremony for the title of sword champion, standing at the forefront of the crowd, a proud smile on your face. to jingliu, that is her true victory.

and yet, even as the sword champion, there are still things she fears—like telling you she loves you. it takes a grand amount of coaxing from her new friends—a blacksmith, a high elder, and a pilot, respectively—before she works up the courage. she whispers it against your neck one moonlit night, intertwined with you in the sheets. her voice trembles ever so slightly, her breath fanning unevenly against your skin, and she tenses when you laugh softly. but the tension bleeds out of her immediately when you say it back, and she slumps against you, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.

(baiheng and yingxing later force her to buy them drinks, and she does so, grudgingly. after all, they were right when they said there was no way you’d say anything other than ‘i love you too’. dan feng only attends for the free alcohol, but he is happy for her nonetheless.)

your marriage is a quiet affair—or as quiet as it can get, with baiheng and yingxing together on the guestlist. but it is perfect, to you and jingliu. the rings were crafted by yingxing, inlaid with stones baiheng discovered along the trailblaze. neither of you actually wear them on your fingers due to your jobs, but none other than dan feng gifts the both of you corded red rope to loop the rings through and wear as a necklace. it becomes your greatest treasure, even centuries down the line.

the next few months of your life are calm and routine—until jingliu returns home one day with a teenager, of all things. the boy has long, shaggy, white hair, and curious golden eyes. He reminds you of a cat.

“this is jing yuan,” jingliu introduces to you. “my disciple.”

the boy greets you politely, before jingliu sends him off to an empty room in your home for him to claim as his own. once the boy is out of sight, you turn to jingliu, quirking a brow.

“disciple?”

she nods. “yes. i believe he has potential.”

you only hum at her answer, stepping forward to fix her collar. she lets you fuss, as you always have, and then presses her lips against yours gently, her hands on your waist. “trust me,” she whispers, and you do.

jing yuan fits into your life more easily than you expected. a sharp-witted young man, quick with a blade but even quicker with his words. it isn’t long before you grow fond of him as well—in an almost parental sort of way. before you realise, you start fussing over him the way you fuss over jingliu. it seems you’re not the only one susceptible to jing yuan’s charm, since the newly formed high cloud quintet adore him just as much—baiheng, especially, is delighted to have another little brother figure besides yingxing. jingliu is no exception; the pride in her gaze as she watches jing yuan train is visible to anyone.

nowadays, your home feels fuller. it is no longer just you and hingliu making dumplings—another pair of hands, sometimes even another three appear to help. the dinner table is full more often than not, and there always seems to be more plates in the sink. sometimes you find purple fur on the floor, or the occasional jade-like scale in between your couch cushions. but joy, you learn, is fleeting. nnd no one ever notices it is here until it is gone, ripped from your hands before you can even blink.

jingliu is your first and only love. she is also your first and only heartbreak.

everything you’ve built with jingliu over the course of centuries crumbles in a matter of days. the battle against shuhu is vicious. you can barely even keep up against the constant stream of injured that flood the alchemy commission. you and your colleagues down energising pill after energising pill to stay on your feet and support the xianzhou forces. tet the news from the frontline would nonetheless bring you to your knees.

baiheng, dead. yingxing, cursed. dan feng, imprisoned. and worst of all—

jingliu, mara-struck.

the ten lords commission keep her under strict watch in a holding cell. you barely have the time to visit, what with the number of patients that demand your attention. jing yuan is the one who visits her, by his authority as the new arbiter general. he speaks to you when he can, updates you on her condition—but you’ve treated enough cases to know when something is bad, even if jing yuan tries to assuage you with purposefully vague wording.

she barely recognises you when you approach her. her beautiful ruby eyes are covered by a ragged, black cloth. thick, metal bindings encircle her wrists and restrain her arms behind her back. you call her name, quietly, gently, trying your hardest to stifle the tremble in your voice. sometimes, there is a flicker of recognition. most of the time, there is nothing.

you return to an empty house. it’s so, so cold, and your bed is far too big. you hold tightly to your ring, praying that jingliu be spared this fate. but the aeon does not listen.

because no more than a few months later, jingliu breaks free from her confinement, and rampages across the luofu. smoke chokes the air as ice and frigid wind sweeps across the epicenter that is jingliu. but instead of running away, you run towards her. the ice seems to part and melt before you as you run. you need to see her.

instead, all you witness is the majesty of the lightning lord, as he strikes down your beloved.

nothing remains of jingliu. they find no body, not even any remnants of armor or personal effects. after that, they strike her name from every record for her dishonor. all her achievements, her victories—erased. as if she never existed. you are forced to resign as cauldron master in shame, with your apprentice dan shu taking your place.

you feel… nothing. only a pervasive, parasitic emptiness spreading through your entire being. you spend your days in a bed in a guest room—you can’t bring yourself to set foot in the room you once shared with her. the kitchen lies deserted. you barely feel hunger or thirst, or any sort of sensation. and yet, you keep living. your cells respire and your lungs draw breath, and your heart still thumps in your chest—even as your soul rots and decays.

the only thing—or person, rather—that stirs you now somewhat is jing yuan. he has lost everyone too, this general who will always be that curious-eyed boy to you. you do your best to pick yourself up; if not for yourself, then for him.

(but jing yuan knows. he sees it in your eyes, the truth of the matter. the guilt that gnaws at you, that compels you to keep fussing over him.

you think that caring for him will help you atone for the way you failed jingliu. he wants to tell you that his master would’ve never thought such a thing. but he doesn’t, and lets you mother him all the same.

he needs this too.)

jing yuan appoints you as his personal healer, even as his advisors protest. they question your ability—after all, how could a good healer not even mend the one she loved most?

that moment is the first and last time you ever see jing yuan angry. it fades as quickly as it comes, however, and you are appointed as his personal healer nonetheless. you remain by his side for the next few centuries, watching as he grows more and more into the role of the general. the pain of your loss doesn’t heal—not fully, at least, but it scabs over.

still, you can’t help the ache in your chest when jing yuan approaches you one day, a young boy at his heels.

“this is my disciple, yanqing,” he introduces. the boy has flaxen hair, and expressive amber eyes. there’s a fire in them, a determination that you remember seeing in a pair of ruby ones. he greets you, politely and a little shyly.

it’s a painfully familiar scene, and the best you can manage is a wordless smile.

yanqing becomes another target of your fussing soon enough. he squirms when you check him over for injuries, insisting that he’s fine. the boy is incorrigibly stubborn. but in the end, he is still a boy. his enthusiasm, unmarred by grief and loss, brings a liveliness to your monotone life. you can’t help but sneak a few more extra strales into his pockets for swords when jing yuan isn’t looking.

(but he knows. jing yuan always knows.)

you are not happy, not truly, not without her, never without her, but for now you are content. the boys in your life give you reason enough to keep going.

yet your life turns upside down once more when the stellaron bursts on the luofu. jing yuan keeps you away from the whirlwind of conflict, assigning an elite squad of his knights to guard your house. it makes you curious, but the answer reveals itself to you only a few days after the crisis is resolved.

there, standing amidst the unconscious bodies of the cloud knights supposed to guard you, is none other than the ghost of your beloved.

she’s as beautiful as the day you lost her.

[n3ongold3n]

Anyway, here's hyvää puuta

[queenlua]

The crisis of the last year with student protests has made even the richest institutions aware of how much of their presumed wealth can be yanked away from them by a donor class who are increasingly inclined to exert their influence and authority in openly oligarchic ways. The obsession with safety—and the contradictions of that obsession—is as much about financial management as anything else. But that also is a wider sociocultural formation: the American upper middle-class is generally an asset class now who think about safety in the same way as universities both because all institutions with asset-based wealth have to and because they personally have to safeguard their assets in the same fashion, and face some of the same risks from liability exposure. [. . .] Moving away from the caretaker era can’t just be a matter of exposing students to risk and dismantling systems that make safety the mandatory product of an intrusive regime of surveillance and correction. If the people in charge inside the university and outside of it aren’t equally exposed to the natural consequences of their actions and decisions, all this means is forcefully communicating to students—or perhaps all young people—their relative powerlessness and vulnerability. It means deciding that the lesson you really want to teach is that it’s bad to be powerless and thus you should strive in life for power and wealth in order to be beyond consequences. Arguably, if the caretaker era and the bystander era were both aligned with a wider social ideology that was broadly shared across a generation, then this in fact the new ethos of our time—that there is no safety but in power, and that where power believes people are not being sufficiently punished for the things that power disdains, it will find a way to make consequences where there have been none.

bleak essay that nonetheless collects a lot of idle thoughts i've had in one place & puts them together with more coherence than i've ever managed

[ssruis]

Any thoughts on mafufu :3

(With the caveat that I’m not very caught up on niigo stories so this is mostly like. Surface level reading.) I’m fond of her… I think her bluntness is very funny (even if she doesn’t intend for it to be) and the reason behind her sekai’s existence is heartbreaking. I like the route of the good girl who seems to have it all but is secretly breaking under the pressure and no longer knows who she is anymore that they took with her character. I think she’s a kinder person than she (& the fanbase) gives herself credit for as well, even if she doesn’t know what motivates that desire.

I feel like - at least in the main story - she wants someone to listen to her & she wants her pain to be witnessed, but she doesn’t know how to drop the act she’s been putting on for so long & doesn’t see a way out, so giving up is the easiest option. And I love that Niigo showed her that it can get better, and that giving up may be easy but things can get better so it’s worth trying. I think it’s sweet how they’re all trying to help her figure out her likes and dislikes and supporting her.

I think her relationship with her mom is really well written (setting aside ensekai’s hamfisted TL and the fanbase’s really black and white hyper villainization of her). Like. Her mom thinks she’s doing what’s best for mafuyu. In her head I’m sure she’s like “I wish someone had pushed me to achieve greatness like this when I was younger,” “she’ll thank me when she’s older,” etc etc. but this is all what *she* wants for a younger version of herself. “Don’t throw away your dreams on a whim friendships are temporary achievements are forever.” or something.

There’s certainly a discussion to be had about her being a housewife and pushing mafuyu to be a doctor and how misogynist societal roles women are pushed into (specifically in Japan in this context, although I’m sure it rings true around the world) probably shaped her into how she is today. I think she’s not seeing mafuyu as a person with a life that she isn’t a part of, or as a person with desires that don’t mirror her own, but more so as an extension of herself. A mini me. A chance for a do over of her own life, perhaps.

Not to defend her mom of course. While I think she’s portrayed as much more evil and conniving than she actually is by fans, she does suck. She sucks a lot. The damage she’s done will take mafuyu a long time to heal from, and no amount of good intentions or fixing their relationship in the future or changing for the better will erase that. From what I’ve seen her relationship with her dad is pretty well written and realistic too, which I like.

& ofc the wxs/niigo tsukasa/mafuyu foils thing is neat. Trying to get into a role and struggling because you’re so authentically yourself that it bleeds through vs struggling to stop playing a role you’ve been playing so long that you no longer know who you truly are. Very opposite problems. Also emu and her are so funny.

[nexus-nebulae]

every day i wish that Rats SMP was a cartoon bc it would make the greatest show ever i think

[fuck-kirk]

Wait i just saw your tags that your job is the "do list of tasks until complete then leave" type - what sort of job is it? Bc that sounds amazing tbh

I will say my job isn’t like this ALL the time…maybe like 50-60% of the time

I’m a “pottery operator” at a community art center—but essentially I’m the assistant to the main teacher. I also teach classes, but that’s only a few times a week. The rest of the time my boss gives me a check list of studio chores to do. She is often not there bc she owns her own gallery, so for example every Monday and Friday I spend the whole day just checking off tasks on a to-do list. Things like cleaning and organizing shelves and cupboards, loading kilns (which I LOVE to do, unironically), mix clay, prep clay and tools for lessons, etc etc… and then when I’m done, I can either “lesson plan” which is usually me looking at pintrist, writing a bit, or working on teacher samples to see how I would demo it (which is very fun to me) or I leave, because I get paid salary, so if the work is done I’m good

So basically it is literally the perfect job for me. The perfect mix of social interaction (and it’s usually with other artistic people), teaching (which I also love to do), and mentally and physically engaging but NOT back breaking menial tasks that I can just check off on a to-do list (and I usually listen to an audio book the whole time..)

So, like, a pretty niche kinda job I guess….but it’s seriously the perfect fit for me

[compacflt]

wip wednesday: picking at it slowly but surely

[crybabybat]

Worlds tiredest bat gets banh mi again btw

[day-night-darlix]

<<star rail oc>>

zelalem

• a man who treads destruction for the sake of preservation.

after seeing his home world have its culture, people and language nearly eradicated for resources three times within his short life, he resolved to completely destroy any force that would dare meddle with his home. to further his pursuit, he is currently posing as a history fictionologist to help a real fictionologist destroy his own planet.

[darkwood-sleddog]

Idk some malinois owners are so obsessed with their dogs it almost seems like a cult. They go on about the hours they put in and the drive their dogs have and it feels like they’re seeking purpose for themselves rather than what’s actually beneficial for their dogs? If Mals are so high maintenance how could ordinary people own them?

If a malinois is owned by a regular person the cult-like folk will go on and on about how those people must not have intense dogs or that their (the cult-like people's) dogs are soooo much more crazy and work worthy than the people with them as active companions lol.

Really the way they talk about these dogs is no different than the people that worship corporate work grind. Like the type of language is the same and everything.

[mobblespsycho100]

This sounds like a crazy ass conspiracy theory, but what if Boothill hails from the same planet as Kafka? aka Pteruges-V

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Did Reggie, Head Support Agent, get the ok to use the Agency Budget to get that ticket to the Mask of the Read Death show under the guise of it being for the mission (and giving Sam in Accounting a NIGHTMARE) or is that man making bank.

[emdotcom]

My brain is so full of Bees about Post-Shift 2.

It's a fan game that was delayed for 4 years -- by the time it released, fnaf fangames as a whole were not as popular as they had been, & most people in the scene had forgotten about Post-Shift 1, so not a lot of people heard about it/played it.

Worse still is the people who did talk about the game. Pretty unanimously, the consensus was this: this game is the craziest, most insane fnaf fangame. It's overly difficult with mechanics that have no rhyme or reason to them & tutorials that are wordy, unhelpful, & sometimes actively mislead the player, meaning you need to comb through a lot of text only to be misinformed. It's not as infamous as some other fangames, but it definitely was talked about very poorly.

In general, I think most of these criticisms were blown up out of proportion, but I can't really disagree with most people's problems -- it is difficult & wordy, & rather hard to understand. I think, however, that the game is still 1. Really fun, 2. Not a bad game at all, &, most importantly, 3. Is a free fucking game that was clearly a passion project. Most damn fangames never get off the fucking ground when made in groups because the creators will never make a red cent off the thing -- this game was made by one dude for 4 years & delivered to people for free. It didn't ask anything of you except to accept it as a difficult game & to not go in with wild expectations. The dev just wanted to make a game that was rough, but he also wanted to make a game that felt unique & was fun. & It is fun, too, is the damn thing.

[tenitchyfingers]

I have found this just now and have actively been losing my mind over this like one of those Loki fans in the early 2010s like

his FACE. He knows something we don’t and he’s TRYING to not say anything.

“I know that there’s been a lot of effort to establish that Stu is still alive in the last movie”

“They’re shooting Scream right now and I’m not in Scream right now. Right now I’m not in Scream, right now I’m in San Diego” (this video was posted in February but it’s sure that it was shot during SDCC 2022 which means he was talking about Scream VI, not anything in the future and him repeating he’s not in Scream RIGHT NOW doesn’t exclude he’ll be in Scream sometime in the future)

So, me, once again:

[bufomancer]

I know I’ve been talking about downsizing basically forever but things keep happening. But since taking in these emergency rats it has REALLY driven home that I *need* to be much further from my capacity limit.

I am not rehoming any of *my* animals, but I am doubling down on my efforts to increase my number of outside fosters so that there’s fewer fosters at my house, and will be keeping much fewer permanent animals going forward.

I am not planning to have any forever rats (except sanctuary rats) going forward, or forever mice. Once my current ones pass I will not be getting anymore. I have 9 gerbils through various circumstances but my limit is going to be 4. I have 3 hamsters & will be setting a limit of 1-2 going forward. I am planning to have no more than 6-7 permanent rodent enclosures (currently I have 14, so I will be halving my numbers essential, as they slowly pass of old age.

Before I ended up with these emergency rats I was doing just fine, not quite at my limit but getting close, and now I am over my limit and not sure when that’ll change. I’m managing, but since I never know when the next emergency will happen I need to maintain more open space and more bandwidth.