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phantomrose96 · 8 days ago

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God's Favorite

Lucy wakes to the soft tapping of rain against her window, and she is God’s favorite. She knows this in the absent sound of her alarm, and she knows this in the yawning rumbles of thunder, and she knows this before she touches her phone alight to the notification screen.

8:43 am. Far from the 4:30 am alarm she’d needed to heed to make it to her flight. Her screen is awash with airline notifications.

She scrambles from bed. Her urgency is an apology. Lucy skips the shower and skips the hair washing and paints on deodorant before stowing it back in her carryon and calling her uber.

“Crazy weather,” her driver with the big mustache remarks. His windshield wipers swish through a river of rain.

“Yeah,” Lucy answers. She glances at her rumbling phone. She glances at the rumbling clouds. The road is clear. It shouldn’t be, not this route and not at this hour. A gas main broke somewhere up the highway that feeds this street. A freak accident. 2 injuries. It’s kept this road clear for just the locals since it happened. Lucy encounters no traffic enroute to the airport.

There are pockets of planes grounded across the runways, barely visible behind the sheets of downpour. They look like herding animals, herbivores, standing stock-still in brace against the weather. Lucy stares at them only a moment while the driver pulls her carryon out of the trunk. She grabs her jacket closed against the wind, and grabs her carryon handle, and thanks her driver. The rain does not reach her here, though the wind does.

Inside Lucy drags her bag past the help desks swarming with the orderly filings of people in disarray. Parents leaning too hard on help counters with kids pulling on bag handles. Hurried conversations and requests and arguments. The electronic boards are awash with deeply red DELAYED and CANCELED. The airport is choking. Lucy, who God loves, glides through security unimpeded.

At gate-side, Lucy finally looks to the large red board of DELAYED and CANCELED etchings to confirm what she knew without even checking her phone notifications. Gate A14. Her carryon wheels pitter and patter across tile as she walks, striding quickly, with apology.

When Gate A14 comes into view it is smothered with the weight of two or possibly three flights worth of people. There are people asleep clutching backpacks and curled on the floor. There is a four-year-old girl with her face buried in an iPad and a mother having a phone call whose clipped urgency infects Lucy. There is a man leaning over the counter to talk to the gate agent, and his hands pulse with each tensing of his fingers. “…to the hospital before she…” Lucy makes out, or thinks she makes out. She doesn’t hear the gate agent’s response, but she can read the defeated shake of her head.

Lucy’s carryon wheels clunk where the smooth tile of the terminal shifts to carpeting. She doesn’t think to grab a seat because there are no open seats. So she positions herself in a way to unmistakably say she is at the gate, threading between stagnant suitcases and kids splayed on the floor. Lucy approaches the rain-splattered windows, and like a conversation shy upon being overheard, the thunder recedes from her advance. The rain draws to a polite close. The clouds split along a seam and pull away, as if they were only ever a wave that had transiently crashed to shore. The sky is beautifully blue.

There is a stirring hopefulness in the air. Other passengers have pushed past Lucy to stand closer to the window and peer outside, as if their confirmation of the changing weather can convince the airline of what to do next.

The gate agent puts down the phone receiver of a one-sided call. She pulls the microphone close and with grainy clarity she announces, “Boarding for Flight A1874 to Detroit will begin in 10 minutes.”

On the walkway, through the gap between the throughway and plane, Lucy sees the puddles rising with steam. They throw the iridescent spectrum of a rainbow up into the sky.

In a backlog of hundreds of flights, Lucy’s is the first out across the runway. This is because God loves her. She only wishes It loved her in a way to fix her broken phone alarm.

…

In childhood Lucy had heard “God loves you” and “Jesus loves you” in the placative ways that Sunday School teaches its children. With jingles and crayon-drawings of sheep and shepherds and a decorated ornament, crafted each Christmas Eve.

Lucy had long since fallen out of it and had thought very little of her parents’ tepid god for the last 10 or 15 years.

It was last spring, 27-years-old, that Lucy had found her way out into the marsh. Mud sucking her boots and gnats plicking in swarm against her skin. Where she sat her tailbone in the muck and folded her arms over her knees and buried her face in her legs to cry. And cry. And cry. And there with the mugginess sopping her skin and the humidity coiling her hair, God decided It loved her.

It loved her with a parting of canopy for the robin-blue sky. It loved her with the chirp of cicadas. It loved her in the way a dog circles its owner and nudges a wet snout to palm, because It was here, and It would make her feel better.

Lucy’s seat is the window seat beside the man with the tensing fingers. He fiddles with a phone in his clutch until he locks it in airplane mode and stows it, to look at no more. Lucy wonders who this man knows in the hospital, and she wonders why God doesn’t love him more than It loves her.

…

In March, Marco breaks up with her over a plate of fish that is too dry. In the moment, Lucy wonders if it’s her fault, because of the fish. But that’s not it. The signs were there, in all the subtle and stuttering moments Marco had pulled away. Each little moment like a slightly missed step, on a staircase growing ricketier each month.

Marco leaves and everything is so quiet, to the point that Lucy thinks her own sounds are pretty stupid, and pretty embarrassing while she’s coiled snail-like and snottily-sobbing into her pillowcase. She thinks absently of how she has to wash the pillowcase now, and that’s fine, because she was going to wash her linens this weekend anyway. She sobs so hard she’s almost screaming. Oh, and kitchen towels. She’ll wash the kitchen towels too.

She’s alive enough the next morning to throw all her linens and her kitchen towels on the floor of the laundry room. And maybe Marco breaking up with her is fine, because his birthday is December 25th and who wants a husband whose birthday is the same day as Christmas?

Her doorbell rings. And somehow it’s Marco again. She opens it to him, and he smells like a wildfire.

“Sorry, Lucy, this is awkward,” and Lucy believes he means it. He’s clutching a jacket around himself for what looks like security more than warmth. His apartment burned down last night. A resident fell asleep with a cigarette lit and dangling from her fingertips. Unit right below him. All his stuff burned, or filled with smoke, or is now logged up with water. He’s been sitting outside on the cobblestone for the last few hours, watching the blaze, on the phone with insurance. His landlord hasn’t responded to him yet. He’s cold, and he’s smokey, and can he shower here maybe? Can he stay for just a day or two, maybe? Sorry. This is awkward. He has no family on this coast. He really has nowhere else to go.

“Sure.” Lucy lets in Marco who smells like a wildfire. She adds the towels to her laundry list because they will smell like a wildfire too once Marco has used them. When he is clean, Lucy asks him nice questions. He asks her nice questions back. She helps him figure out something strange on the insurance form. He starts cooking dinner before Lucy realizes he’d entered the kitchen, because she was busy with the linens and the towels.

Marco takes the couch and clean linens. “Thanks, again, really. I can pay you a few days rent, when I get the insurance payout.” It’s no problem. Lucy goes to her room and shuts the door. It’s warmer here with Marco again. She wonders how long he’ll stay. She wonders if it will be for as long as she thinks the sound of him breathing in the other room is a comfort.

Something twists in Lucy’s chest. She wonders why God loves her more than It loves Marco. Lucy wonders why God didn’t love the woman with the lit cigarette who did not make it out of the building.

…

In June Lucy is desperately throwing together the haphazard makings of a financial report. She meant to stay up late to finish it, and get up early to make it beautiful, but she’s had a cold for a whole week now and the new bottle of decongestant she grabbed wasn’t “non-drowsy” like she thought.

Her heart is beating, and she nearly twists her ankle with a misstep in high heels, and she almost loses her grip on the shoddy makings of a too-light financial report still warm from the printer. She can spin it, maybe, that it’s intentionally light and she’d simply wanted the esteemed and respected input from the executives in the room before she produces the truly polished report this evening. And when the eyebrows are raised and she is told the report is due now, maybe they will refrain from firing her on the spot since she is still the only one who can produce the report they need.

She pulls open the meeting room door as if she is not out of breath, as if her nose isn’t red from a thousand tissues. She takes her seat so hastily that she does not notice, until she looks up properly, and sees the CEO’s seat is empty.

No one speaks. No one acknowledges her entrance. Lucy hugs the warm binder to her chest.

The door latch clicks open, but Lucy knows it will not be the CEO. She heard the click of heels before the doorknob turned.

It’s his assistant with the lovely auburn hair that curls around her shoulders. Her suit is red and her eyes are red and she stands just behind the CEO’s chair. Everyone notices her in the way they did not notice Lucy.

She speaks. The CEO’s wife and daughter were in a head-on collision with a drunk driver 42 minutes ago. They’re in critical condition, and the CEO has gone to be with them. He asks everyone’s forgiveness and grace in this time. The meeting is rescheduled for tomorrow, same time, and he humbly requests if everyone in attendance can adjust their calendar to accommodate this. This is a big ask, he knows. The board will have questions, he knows. But these are extenuating circumstances. The assistant will help with any necessary reworking of everyone’s calendars. And Lucy, can you please deliver the report tomorrow? The assistant has a sympathy card, which she lays on the table along with a black pen, and she asks if anyone would care to sign it.

Lucy signs it. The card paper is so cold, compared to the warmth of the half-finished report squeezed tight against her chest. The half-finished report should have cooled by now, but God must know she’s cold and ashen-faced, and God loves her so much.

…

In July, Lucy is a perfectionist. Her mother swears she wasn’t always like this. Her high school best friend is surprised, when in town for a weekend and meeting up for coffee, by the way Lucy triple-confirms the time, and the place, and the way she wears two watches. Why two watches? he asks. Because the alarm on one watch might fail. What about your phone? The watches are the backup, if the phone dies.

There’s something off-putting in the way she talks, and the way she asks questions of him, and the way she exclaims in joy at every piece of good news he shares. Josiah glances behind himself, more and more, and it’s because Lucy stares back there like she knows someone else at the next table.

It’s all weird, and Josiah can’t help but pull away. But Lucy pulls away first, retroactively. She can always pull away retroactively, and declare to her four walls of her room how much she didn’t need that friend, like she doesn’t need Marco, or anyone else who God may drop at her doorstep like the dead bird bounty of a cat, happy to share with the person It loves.

Lucy finishes her reports early. She wiles away the sun at her office even in the summer finishing reports far before anyone could need them. She double-checks, every time. She triple-checks. Her boss pulls her into a meeting room and with hands folded on the desk, he asks if maybe she needs to take some time off. And instantly she declares to the four walls that no-one at the company is doing this to her. “I wasn’t implying that…” but she’s not looking at him when he answers.

In July Lucy returns to the marsh. She returns with stones she’s horded up and gathered in the trunk of her car. She walks through the boot-suckling mud and she weighs stones in her arms while she hurls them, and throws, and screams, and hopes one of them might strike God in Its snout.

“I HATE YOU!” she screams. She throws all her weight into a stone whose sharp edge nicks bark. She hurls one through the bushes and another into the leafy canopy above. She is sopping wet and the cicadas chirp at her. “I HATE YOU!! GO AWAY!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” She chucks a stone which lands in the sucking muck, capsizing like a ship beneath the algae.

She throws, and her gravity heaves forward, and her boots stay stuck in the mud. So she topples elbow-deep in the mud, spattered, soaking into her chin and her shirt and her jeans and her hair. She parts her lips and tastes the earthy wetness on her skin, coppery blood, split lip. The stones are all under her. She laughs. Lucy tilts her head to the sky screaming with laughter. Joyous to tears, with the wetness drawing rivulets down the mud on her cheeks. She laughs because sopping-in-mud-and-muck is NOT the state of something God loves. This wouldn’t happen to something God loves.

Lucy goes home. Lucy showers. Lucy does her laundry. And It crawls back into bed with her. Perhaps like a scolded animal, but perhaps It did not even know It was being scolded. Lucy cannot tell.

The wine stains came out of her linens today because God loves her.

#writing #original writing #2.5k words #just a story idea i had :)#God's Favorite

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plumbheadsims · 5 months ago

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A THREAD IN CASE YOU NEED SOME INSPIRATION TO BUILD ACCURATE MEXICAN HOUSES FOR YOUR SIMS 4 LOVESTRUCK WORLD ❤️‍🔥🧵

the exteriors do NOT look like casita from Encanto, in fact, most of them are just big boxes with a little bit of color, also we don’t have open entryways, we usually have gates surrounding the main door.

we also don’t use the typical american mailboxes, we use the small metal ones like the ones from City Living and Snowy Escape.

and most of us have this metal things around the windows for safety reasons so if you want to add them it would make your builds more realistic

a tip for the interiors is that we don’t use carpet or wooden floors, we use tile floors in all the house, also the walls are usually plain white but of course some of us paint them to make it feel more like a home so you can also add that

here are some floorpans in case you need some inspiration, as you can see most of the houses are not that big, but of course you have freedom to make them bigger and also make your own floorplan.

now moving to the patio area, most of our houses don't even have patios but if we are lucky we will have a small one like these, don't forget the water heater, we also have lavaderos where we wash our clothes but I think the sims don't have any item similar to that one so you can just put a sink instead, you can also add a washing machine and instead of a dryer, you can add a clothes rack dryer like the one from Laundry Day

and if you don't want to add a patio you can do everything in the azotea (the rooftop), just add a small stair inside or outside the house that leads you to the roof, don’t forget to decorate and add life to the houses.

and to finish this thread I just wanted to say that this is not how ALL Mexican houses look like, we have so much diversity in our country, I just wanted to add the ones im familiar with, you can look up higher class Mexican houses, you can create ranchos, vecindades, haciendas, colonial houses etc, I hope this thread helps you <3

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #the sims 4 lovestruck #ts4 lovestruck #ts4 build #the sims 4 build

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elliesmainhoe · 7 months ago

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need ellie to take care of me drunk desperately

i love your writing 😭

Rescue Remedy

e.williams x fem!reader

summary: you call Ellie to come and rescue you from a bar after having a few too many drinks

warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, mentions of hangovers, slurred speech, drunk crying, fluff.

just realized this is basically a self insert vent post of a very similar situation I've been in LMAO

WC 1K

DAY 4 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

you were relieved when the familiar beaten up Ford focus pulled up beside you. you'd been sitting on the curb for almost 15 minutes- tear stained cheeks, smudged glitter and mascara as your body shook and jittered from both the cold Seattle night and the mixture of cigarette smoke and alcohol causing the most humbling case of hiccups you think you've ever had.

"Ells!" you whined, a new flood of tears streaming from your eyes at the sight of your night in shining armour- your girlfriend.

"c'mon sweet girl" she huffed, hair thrown up messily in the usual half up, half down style, clad in red and black checkered pyjama pants, black hoodie that was splattered with paint topped off with the obnoxious lime green crocks you'd gotten her for her one Christmas, of course decked out in charms shed collected over the past few months.

before you could even process it you were sitting in the passenger seat, leather seats sticking to your sweat glazed skin, and sobs turning to hiccups.

this had been the worst night out you'd had since your 21st. and as soon as the car revved and moved down the road, Ellie's hand pressed firmly on your bare thigh, the fabric of your dress not long enough to cover the majority of your thigh.

"what happened sweet girl?" oh and by that one question, it's like Ellie had opened a flood gate.

firstly, you got to the club of choice after having to walk almost a mile from where your designated driver had parked, accompanied by a couple of friends. after queuing on the curb for almost thirty minutes, you reached the front of the queue and then promptly realized you had left you purse. with your id. in the car. a mile away.

so after you'd trekked all the way to the car, retrieving your purse and id, getting back to the club, queuing for another 30 minutes, on your own this time- as your friends who had not forgotten their id decided to go in and leave you to sort your shit out.

let's just say you were already a little pissed off.

secondly, you got in the club and it stunk. not just of sweat and booze, but piss. fucking piss. and to top that all off you couldn't find your friends so- you did what any other sane person would do and ordered shots.

shots that were actually doubles, but of course you hadnt realized that until way too late.

which leads into the final stage of the night, your head being deep in a grimy toilet bowl, knees bruised from having to kneel on tiles that were not grouted properly and pieces of them shot out and cut at your skin.

and by that point you had gotten out your phone, which was now on 7% charge because you had offers to use your GPS and it drained all your battery, and was a blubbering mess on call with your girlfriend.

you would later have to retell the story again, as apparently according to Ellie- she couldn't understand a word you were saying, just nodding along in a desperate attempt to keep you awake long enough to get a glass of water and a slice of toast down you.

it must have been during your tangent when you'd gotten home, as when you finally finished your incoherent mumbling you were sitting on the beat up leather couch of yours and Ellie's apartment, a couch you'd hated as soon as you moved in, but Ellie had a weird attachment to so it stayed in it's place, the first thing you saw when you entered the home.

Ellie was kneeling in front of you, sitting between your thighs and facing you, holding up a large glass of water,

"sip baby" she spoke softly, to which you groaned.

"do- do- I haveeeeeee to?" you whined, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to distract your girlfriend "jus' wan' sleep"

"you can sleep after you drink that." after another groan you took a sip of the glass of water- admittedly, it was refreshing, however you still gagged to prove a point.

"good girl" she purred, standing up and kissing your forehead, moving over to the cabinet to grab a packet of pills.

"fuck off"

she laughs, moving back with a small white pill in the palm of her hand, to which you begrudgingly take after Ellie promises to take you to get ice cream the day after.

you felt your eyelids droop once more, you couldn't tell if it was sleep, or just your false eyelashes becoming suddenly very heavy, you whine "'m tired ells..."

"alright I hear you, c'mon baby" she sighs, leaving a half eaten piece of toast on the coffee table, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees as she made her way to your bedroom, plopping you on the mattress and you sigh, already drifting to sleep before you screech at the feeling of something wet in your face.

"hey- hey" Ellie laughs, "I'm just taking off your makeup baby, just taking off your makeup", she smiles, dragging a cotton pad across your skin, taking off the creams and powders you had applied previously, smudged mascara coming off with it.

Ellie was thankful you'd taken off your clothes as soon as you stepped foot into the apartment saying something which she thinks was "dresses like these are modern day torture devices"- but with the way you slur your words when drunk she could never be sure, leaving you just in your underwear, making her job a whole lot easier.

trying to maneuver you, who had now dropped on the mattress like a deadweight, would've been a too strenuous task for 3am.

after discarding the used wipes and pulling your hair back into a very messy ponytail, Ellie scooted in beside you, the mattress sinking as you unconsciously snuggle in closer, head nuzzling into the girls neck, her hand going around to caress your back, soothing you into an easy sleep.

the hangover tomorrow was going to be horrible.

••••••••••••••

The third time I've tried to write this, I almost gave up 🥰

#lesbian #ellie williams #the last of us #wlw #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x reader #lesbian fic #ellie williams headcanons #ellie x fem reader #the last of us fic #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams imagine #ellie x reader #the last of us part 2 #tlou 2 #tlou fic #sapphic summer

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lilis-palace · 1 year ago

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FOLKLORE - Skanzen Set Part 3 🌽🥕

⚪ 18 Build items! 🍎

You get countless worn down doors for your stables and barns, a cool rustic fence as well as window & door add-ons!

⚪ Get more FOLKLORE items!

FOLKLORE - Off The Grid Living Set

FOLKLORE - Skanzen Set Part 1

FOLKLORE - Skanzen Set Part 2

FOLKLORE - Homestead Set

FOLKLORE - Traditional Candle Making Table

FOLKLORE - Rustic Pumpkin Carving Table

⚪ DOWNLOAD UNDER THE CUT

⚪ Set compatibility

All items are base game compatible exept the 4 tiles wide gate. That one requires the Vampires GP. Find them in your game by typing in the search-box either “lilis palace”, “FOLKLORE” or “Skanzen”

DOWNLOAD: Patreon (early acces until 2023/nov/3 17:30 CET)

#ts4 cc #ts4 historical cc #ts4 maxis match #ts4 buy cc #ts4 custom content #ts4 build cc #ts4 simblr #ts4 history challenge

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amjustagirl · 4 months ago

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chapter 4

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 5k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

When you blink open your eyes, you find yourself back in the Hoshina family estate.

The garden is exactly as you remember it. Bonsai trees, neatly manicured. The white gravel ocean raked with ripple lines. Heat shimmers off the ground, harsh summer sun bearing down on the tiled roof. A young man with dark hair and sad, violet eyes sits across you.

“Soshiro”, you cry, fumbling to your feet.

He looks right through you even when you’re standing right before him.

He’s wearing the navy hakama he reserves for formal occasions, the family crest embroidered in gold thread on the back, a ceremonial katana strapped to his hip. Something’s about to happen, you realise, the compound bustling with servants carrying paper lanterns. No one pays you any notice as you float behind him down the familiar corridors of the house, a ghost.

His father approaches, severe lines running through his forehead. “You know your duty”, he claps his son’s shoulder with a heavy hand.

Soshiro’s shoulders slump, an invisible weight bearing down on him.

His duty awaits outside the estate’s gates.

A young woman, clearly noble born, waits for them to greet her with her chin in the air, dolled up in matrimonial white, surrounded by a retinue of servants. She tilts her chin higher to assess her groom as he offers her his arm before bowing her head demurely, letting him help her up the stairs.

The sun in your eyes forces you to turn away. Another woman catches your gaze, the profile of her face backlit in the blue-grey dusk. Rough hands, a cheap, cotton yukata, she hides in the shade. Her anguish is apparent in the defeated curve of her mouth.

She’s you, you realise, with even sadder eyes.

This is a dream, you tell yourself. A shitty, crappy excuse of a dream that you probably caused by drinking one too many cans of beer. You really should take better to maintain a healthy REM cycle, maybe pick up some meditation or exercise, because heaven knows your psyche will suffer if your subconsciousness decides to torture you in your sleep too.

You close your eyes.

You still don’t find yourself back in your bed. Instead, the stench of manure hits you, then the scratch of straw under your feet. That sad girl - you, in another life perhaps, kneels before the same dark haired boy, Soshiro, still as a statue.

“The horse is saddled. We can ride somewhere, far away where no one knows either of our names, leave all of this behind. You don’t have to get married to a woman you don’t love -”

He’s carved of marble in the moonlight, doesn’t move to meet her gaze, not even when she tugs at his sleeve. “I am but a second son, but even I know my duty to my clan.”

“And what about love?” she asks. “What about me?”

Neither of them notice you when you tumble out of the stable into the night. But there’s nothing but darkness looming before you, the moon nowhere to be seen, and when you turn back, the stable has disappeared. In its place, a familiar, wooden hut, where a fire grows. The heat of the forge stings your face, ash flying, the smell of burning steel in the air.

This time, Soshiro’s in the lacquered leather of a samurai warrior from centuries past. “Is it ready?” he directs his question at the woman in the forge.

Wordlessly, she hands him the sword in her hand, red hot from hammer and tongs. He weighs it in his hand, swings it once, twice, flashing quicksilver in the dim light of the blacksmith’s forge. You recognise the blade. You’ve seen it hung up in one of many sitting rooms in the Hoshina estate, captioned as belonging to a Hoshina ancestor who never returned home.

You understand why her voice quivers when she calls out to him before he leaves. “My lord”, she says. “Will you ever lay down your sword?”

“Perhaps in another life”, he replies.

In the shadow of the forge, the violets in his eyes wither and die.

You cannot bear to watch this play out before you again and again, a twisted loop you’re powerless to stop. There is nothing you can do to shock yourself awake, a ghost in every lifetime you freefall through, so bone weary, you stop running, sink to your knees. Wherever you are, the nightmares stop once you close your eyes. The damp grass is cool against your back, the darkness becomes soothing. It’s easy to lose yourself to a deep, undisturbed sleep.

(wake up)

The thrum of your heartbeat starts to still. You think you hear a faint echo. It sounds like Soshiro.

For the first time in your life, you hesitate to answer.

(please, wake up)

“But it’s comfortable here”, you say to no one at all. “I’m so tired.”

The neverending grind of work, of long hours spent hunched over glowering flames and complicated weapon blueprints. The dull ache of heartbreak, the painful lesson of learning to be okay alone.

“Let me sleep”, you whisper.

The darkness holds you close, blankets you. It’s too easy to let yourself just be, no one to disappoint, no one who disappoints. You let yourself be pulled beneath the tide, the endless ebb and flow lulling you into a dreamless slumber.

Perhaps you could be content like this.

Perhaps not. You think of the menagerie of plants you’ve gathered, they depend on you for food and water. There’s a pottery class on Sunday that you’ve been excited to attend, an abstract pot that you want to attempt. You’re supposed to meet your mother for tea, you’re looking forward to feasting on peaches, in season in the dying weeks of summer.

Your eyelids are still heavy with the weight of sleep, but you force them open. A streak of pain that shoots through your right side, but you slowly sit up anyway. A sea of hydrangeas, shimmering violet-blue in the early morning light stretches before you.

An achingly familiar voice calls your name. You lift your face to meet the rising sun, feeling its warmth flicker through you.

Your heart begins to hum.

You’re not in your own bed when you crack your eyes open.

The room is too white, too pin-neat. There are clear tubes running from your arms, bandages restricting even your slightest movement, not that you really can do much other than shift about the too-narrow bed you’ve found yourself in, the sudden brightness disorienting you.

“Oh!”, an unfamiliar voice exclaims. “Call the doctor, she’s awake!”

Your head threatens to split open. It hurts too much to stay awake.

You fall back into a dreamless sleep.

You drift in and out of consciousness after that, the pull of sleep still irresistible, but you stay awake for longer periods of time. Doctors poke and prod at you, nurses fuss over you. It’s hard to recall any conversations you have during this time, your memories melding almost into your dreams.

People ask you questions about your name, your age, where you’re from. It feels as if you’re stuck underwater, it’s a struggle to gasp for enough air at times to answer them, but you think you find enough brain cells to rub together in the cotton wool jumble in your head, mumble the right answers so they go away.

Your parents show up to visit you.

‘’Llo”, you mutter. Your father looks strangely old, your mother tired.

You’re pleased that your mother brings chopped peaches for you, less so when you realise you have no ability to swallow solid food just yet. They disappear for a hushed conversation with the doctors, leaving you with little distraction so you drop back off to sleep.

The next time you wake, the room is dark.

Even in the dim glow of machines beeping, you make out the faint outline of a boy you know too well, curled up uncomfortably in a plastic chair. “S‘ro”, you mumble, half asleep.

A flurry of movement. He appears by your uninjured side, staring at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t disappear. You wonder if he’s another figment of your dreams because he stands so still drinking his fill of you, until he remembers to breathe again.

“Hey”, he says hoarsely.

“Mmph”, you grunt. In your vague, rambling train of thoughts, you register surprise that he’s even here. “S’ work?”

His laugh is wet. “Are you seriously askin’ me ‘how’s work’ right now?”

You frown. Why - why is Soshiro even here?

“I’m here for you, silly”, a warm hand settles on your left arm. “Go back to sleep. I’ll seeya later.”

You start to stay awake for longer stretches at a time.

Your parents gently fill you in on your situation. You were touch and go for a while, your mother recounts tearfully, your head injury making the doctors doubt you’d ever wake. You had to be cut open to stop internal bleeding in your gut, fix a multitude of shattered bones in your right hip and leg. Burns, on your shoulder and arm which required skin grafts, extensive medication to keep infection at bay.

Everyone treats you like you’re made out of glass even as your condition steadily improves, aided by the wonders of kaiju regenerative technology. Your parents fuss over you like a child, tucking you in too tight beneath starched hospital sheets. The nurses refuse to let you shower, only allowing you sponge baths which you detest.

Soshiro’s the worst of the lot.

At first it's endearing how protective and sweet he is. The doctors give him a wide berth, most of the nurses terrified of him, though he swears that he’s been utterly polite when you question him about it. He doesn’t allow you to do anything yourself, not even hold your own cup of water when you drink. Your bedside is overflowing with colourful greeting cards, half of them signed by him, and he brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers during each visit.

“That boy is besotted with you”, one of the nurses who isn’t intimidated by Soshiro trills in with her unsolicited opinion. “It’s adorable.”

He’s not”, you deny, frowning. “We’re just friends.”

It’s a little too much. The only visitor who doesn’t smother you is Sochiro, who snaps back to his usual self the minute you show a little of your usual snark. “Did you break your head too?” you ask, when he arrives bearing a hamper of fruit.

“Impertinent brat”, he snaps back. “I’ll have you know my father put me up to this.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s where your brother got his manners from. Pity you don’t have any.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t storm out of the room. Instead, he brandishes a small, silver knife and starts peeling fruit. “I never wanted a younger sibling”, he grouses. “Should’ve dropped Soshiro in the drain the minute he was born, then I’d never have to deal with your smart mouth -.”

“Aww”, you coo. “Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, getting soft in your old age.”

“Shut it”, he snaps, while stuffing perfect wedges of fruit into your palm.

It reminds you of the easy friendship you had with Soshiro, not the way he’s behaving, almost as if he feels anything more than friendship for you - which he’s confirmed to your face that he mostly does not. It confuses you, the tender way he treats you, the lingering stares when he thinks you’re asleep, and you much prefer him to go back to the way he was before.

“Stop it!” you finally burst, when his smothering becomes too overwhelming. “Treat me like your friend - not like I’m some glass figurine you’re trying to keep safe.”

A plastic chair screeches back. He stares at you. “Do you even realise how close you were to dyin’?”

“Sorta”, you reply, though some gaps remain empty in your memories, “but I’m okay now, and ‘sides, what happened was just bad luck -”

“No it wasn’t just luck”, he replies. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Something shutters behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you’re hurt.” He angles himself away from you. “I crashed into your building.”

“The kaiju threw you into the building”, you correct. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He lunges forward to grip your bed rail, his sudden intensity scaring you. “I could’ve been the cause of you dyin’-”

“My head’s pretty hard”, you try to diffuse the building tension with a joke. “Would take more than a fallin’ building to kill me.”

He makes a strangled sound of outrage in his throat. “Don’t. Just - don’t.”

His tone is devoid of its usual lightness. He’s - he’s angry, scared, face twisting into a scowl, body coiling, as if preparing for an attack. “You’re upset”, you murmur. “Don’t be.”

“You could’ve died.”

“Hey”, you beckon him forward, lifting your uninjured hand off the bed to place it on top of his. He grasps at it, a drowning man clutching at a lifeline.

“It’s okay”, you say gently. “I’m okay.”

“Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I’ll try my best”, you offer.

An angry sound escapes through his clenched jaw, his face strained. You brush the skin of his wrist with your thumb until the too-quick staccato of his pulse steadies.

“Go to sleep”, he finally says. “Just stay safe.”

After that, something shifts. Soshiro resumes the mantle of his chaotic, goofy self.

“I’m gonna yell at you when you’re better”, Soshiro huffs the next time he visits. “A daikaiju -it was a nine on the fortitude scale, y’know - decides to attack near you, and you not only choose to stay put, you run back into a collapsing building for whatever reason -”

“I was trying to save some of the blades -”

“How about you focus on savin’ your own damn skin -”

You sniff, deliberately closing your eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Oi”, he grounds out. “Stop pretendin’.”

The reappearance of the playful banter you’re used to sharing with him puts you back at ease. “Don’t you need to sleep too?” you ask, staring pointedly at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “In a bed, not a hospital chair that’s going to give you a crooked neck.”

“S’fine”, he always replies. “Still way more comfortable than sleepin’ out in a forest durin’ kaiju hunts.”

“Still”, you insist. “You don’t have to visit me so often. I know how busy you are with work.”

He squints at you. “Do you not want me to be here?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it -”

“Sometimes work can take a backseat.”

You beckon him forward, place a hand against his forehead. “No fever”, you pronounce. “That’s odd - the Hoshina Soshiro I know would never say that unless his mind is addled by illness-”

He pulls away with a splutter, cheeks a furious pink.

But awkward moments like this remain, no matter how much you try to keep your conversations light, breezy. There’s a tension Soshiro carries, especially apparent in the broad lines of his shoulders. He’s nervy, jumpy almost, the unguarded hitch in his breath when he draws in just a little too close. There’s something he’s keeping in, deep inside his chest that keeps trying to explode out of him whenever he’s not careful.

There’s a glimpse of that when you tell him of your plan to move back to Osaka to continue recuperating under your parents’ roof. You’ll miss your apartment where you navigated much of your young adult life, the routines you’ve built for yourself. But you’re tired of living in the hospital, sleeping on a too-hard bed, without much privacy from nurses who pop in and out of your room at odd hours at all times. Your parents agree to ferry you to check-ups and appointments, and they even got your brother to transport your plants to make you feel more at home.

“You’re not leavin’ for good, surely”, he frowns.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug. “Izumo Tech does have offices in Osaka, and there isn’t much tying me to Tokyo anymore.

There’s a sudden lull in the conversation as Soshiro falls silent, face stricken. He opens his mouth as if to speak, once, twice, before shutting it deliberately, Then his face slackens into a childish pout.

“Don’t go”, he whines. “Who would I hang out with when I’m off-duty?”

Caught off guard from this sudden change in mood, you refrain from pointing out that you’d each taken turns to studiously ignore the other before. “You’ll survive”, you pat his hand. “And, on the rare occasions you actually find the time away from work, you’re always welcome to visit me in Osaka.”

“I will”, he replies, so seriously that your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“I doubt you’ll get enough time off work”, you brush him off lightly before changing the subject.

You don’t expect him to visit, not when Osaka is two and a half hours away from Tokyo on the shinkansen, but he turns up at the doorstep of your parents’ apartment with roses, dusty pink like the flush up his neck.

“Hoshina-kun”, your mother exclaims. “Come on in!”

Something is up. Your mother bustles around, ushers him into your room, lays out before him an offering of cut fruit. Surprised at the tableau before you, you blink, looking up from your book.

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I do have days off, y’know.” He says, easing you into your wheelchair.

“Thought you said killing kaijus isn’t a nine to five job”, you remind him pertly.

He tweaks your nose. “Don’t be smart”, his eyes crinkle as he laughs, rolling you out of the confines of your parent’s house to a nearby park to enjoy the crisp cool autumn breeze, settling you down in the shade beneath a sprawling gingko tree.

“Well, how’s work?”

He considers you with a sideways glance. “I refuse to answer”, he says primly. “If I do, you’ll make use of it to accuse me of being obsessed with my job.”

“Aren’t you?”

“This is exactly what I mean”, he throws his hands out dramatically. “Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here -”

“Actually”, you tease. “Isn’t the train fare really expensive? Can you afford that on your pay?”

“The Defense Force’s generous enough to give me food, clothing and a roof over my head”, he replies drolly. “So I think my bank account can take the occasional hit.” Then, he shoots another mock glare your way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about work or anything related to work.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing else to talk about”, you tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Idiot”, he wrinkles his nose. “We haven’t even talked about how you’re doing.”

“Me?”

Exaggeratedly, he takes a look around. “I don’t see anyone else I could be askin’ about -”

“You wanna hear about my boring doctor appointments?”

His eyes are wide, earnest. “I wanna hear about everything.”

The sudden seriousness of his demeanour catches you off-kilter. Haltingly you tell him about the long check-ups that take hours, the doctors being optimistic about your progress, the physiotherapy sessions you’ve started. You’re slowly starting to walk again, a few steps at a time, giving you hope that you’ll be on your own two feet by the time of your brother’s wedding at the end of fall, even if you have to rely a little on crutches.

“I’m talking too much”, you say, looking down at your lap.

“Don’t stop”, he urges. “Keep talkin’.”

A snort. “You’re gonna get sick of the sound of my voice”,

“What a silly thing to say”, his gaze holds yours, steady, sure.

There’s something impossibly soft in his eyes, a tenderness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t dare to put a name to it yet, don’t even dare to look too closely at it lest you lose yourself to daydreams that can’t possibly be true. Yet, in the purpling dusk, even though the seasons dictate that there be no summer flowers this late in the fall, there’s a bud of hope in your heart that starts to unfurl, petal by petal, twining itself between the ribs of your chest.

(i like you)

(i’m sorry)

You remind yourself that your heart is not quite healed. Stitches remain, fleshy scars pink and raised. Ventricles working overtime to compensate for the damage he’s wrought just months prior. Mercilessly, you prune those hopes like unwanted weeds, chopping away at errant stems and leaves.

“I’m tired”, you break away from his gaze. “Shall we call it a day?”

He makes it difficult for you to safeguard your heart.

Once a week, he makes the trek from Tokyo to Osaka without fail, appearing at your parents’ door with a bouquet of flowers and a bag bursting with fruit, whatever is in season - peaches and peonies, apples and chrysanthemums. Picnics when it’s sunny, cafes or supermarkets when it rains. Your mother has a sudden change of heart regarding him, always asking you when he’s coming to take you out next.

“Seriously, don’t you have work?” you demand. “You can’t keep coming down here, it’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asks quietly.

“It is”, you reply. “It’s a waste of your time and money.”

With careful, calloused fingers, he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. “What must I do to make you believe it’s really, really not.”

You flinch, cramming your thrumming heart back into the confines of your chest. “You’re ridiculous”, you say as calmly as you can. If your leg weren’t still broken, you’d flee in the other direction, put as much distance as you can between you and Hoshina Soshiro, for fear of losing your heart again to him.

He’s relentless, a quality that makes him an excellent swordsman and soldier, though it does not bode well for your heart. You spend the next few weeks keeping your conversations light, unsentimental, refusing to allow that unnamed emotion budding in his eyes flourish any further, he remains undeterred. You catch him watching you sometimes, with something you don’t dare to name that bleeds into you, spreading the seeds of hope deep in your gut.

“I’ll be back next week to see you”, he always says. “Stay safe.”

You should tell him to leave you alone, let you replant your heart in another pot, give it a chance to learn to stop looking towards him for his light. But the words choke in your throat, and it’s all you can do to look the other way.

You don’t get any respite even at your own brother’s wedding.

It’s too large, too crowded an occasion, your parents booking out a banquet hall in an upscale hotel to cram in their swarms of guests. As the younger sister of the groom, you’re expected to greet each and every guest, thank them for their attendance even if you’d much rather be at home, warm and snug in bed. Instead, your head threatens to split open, your hip’s on the verge of falling apart. You curse your stubbornness in insisting against bringing your wheelchair, the crutches you lean on cutting into the tender flesh of your underarms.

“Did anyone tell you that you look beautiful tonight?”

As it was in your dreams, he’s in a haori, deep blue with golden thread, but this time he looks right at you. Your mouth goes dry and you can’t seem to swallow your heart back down your throat.

“Save your flirting for my cousins”, you retort, turning away. “They’re all aflutter at meeting you tonight.”

He doesn’t let you flee. An arm loops around your waist, sears through the silk layers of your kimono and smoulders. “You’re cranky cos you’re tired, so let me help you.”

You blame your capitulation on the absence of your wheelchair, not because you’re light headed from the sudden surge of helpless affection in your gut, as much as you refuse to allow yourself to believe his words. You let him steer you into your seat, palm flat against your back, heat suffusing into your skin.

“I’ll be here if you need me”, he says simply.

You don’t need him, you want to say, you can’t, but your mouth can’t seem to form the words when he leans in, tucks a stray strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, his touch feather light.

“Vice Captain Hoshina!?” As you foresaw, a gaggle of younger cousins goggle at him, drag him away for selfies and autographs. You don’t get a chance to speak with him again once the wedding starts, the seating plan placing him with his parents and other business associates of your parents, a few tables away.

The sheer scale and grandeur of your brother’s wedding isn’t what you’d have chosen for yourself, the cavernous ballroom feeling too large and impersonal, speeches dragging on for too long, but your brother and your new sister seem to radiate contentment, though you suspect the champagne toasts might have helped.

As the sister of the groom, you’re the target of your older aunts’ inquiry as to ‘when it’s your turn next’, never mind that you burrow into your seat, trying to disappear from sight, and when that fails miserably, try to divert their attention to anything, anyone but yourself. If you had full use of your legs, you’d make a hasty retreat by now, but you’re so painfully slow on your crutches that you’re sure even the oldest grandma questioning you on your dating status (or lack thereof) would be able to catch up with you.

“Ladies”, a smooth voice cuts in. “How are you all doin’ tonight?”

A boyish smile with a cheeky snaggletooth works wonders on elderly ladies, you learn. It gives you the chance to slip away to the bathroom, splash water on your face, shackle your heart back in place.

This brief reprieve doesn’t last long. Soshiro emerges from the shadows, pushing off the wall to pad quietly behind you.

“What are you doing here?” you demand. “You should be back inside -”

“I’m here to make sure you’re safe”, he replies. “Unless you don’t want me to make sure you don’t fall and crack your pretty head open?”

“Stop it”, you say crossly, your crutches clacking loudly on the floor as you speed up, trying to put some distance between you two. “You’re giving everyone the wrong impression.”

He follows right on your heels. “Perhaps I’m givin’ the right impression -”

“Just - just stop, Soshiro.”

You burst through glass doors to push your way onto the open rooftop in the hope that the nighttime air will cool the heat rising in your cheeks, but you miss your step, crutches sliding on marble tiles and oof -

Warm arms wrap tightly around you. You tell yourself it’s the shock of your almost-fall that makes you sag against a broad, lean chest, compliantly allowing Soshiro to tuck your face into his shoulders, settle an arm beneath your thighs, carrying you over onto a seat. A thick, rich fabric rests on your shoulders - his haori, you realise, the warmth from his body seeping into your skin.

“Are you hurt?” he drops to one knee in front of you.

The intensity of his gaze flays your chest open, exposing your beating heart, its stitches frayed. The spectre of the girl with sad eyes haunts you, leaving you terrified that you’ll suffer the same fate as her in this lifetime too.

“I need you to stop”, you shove him back, a trapped animal brandishing its claws. “I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want your pity -”

“Pity?!” he falls back on his haunches, gaping at you, incredulous. “Is that what you think it is?”

“What else could it be?” you demand wetly, eyes stinging. “Nevermind, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know -”

“Haven’t I made it obvious these past few months?” he asks, and you shake your head stubbornly, no. “What I feel for you - I’ve been goin’ crazy from the moment they told me a buildin’ fell on your head, so fuckin’ terrified I was goin’ to lose you just as I realised how stupid I’ve been -”

Your head swims. “I don’t -”

“I’ve loved you since I was eight. I just didn’t realise it til I nearly lost you.”

You push aside the clouds of anger and fear blurring your vision. You see Hoshina Soshiro kneeling before you, slicing his chest open with your blade to reveal his heart, pressing it bloodied and beating into your waiting hands.

In this lifetime, in this moment, he is yours and you are his.

There is no guarantee that this will remain. Duty will always call upon him, and he will answer without fail. That is his destiny, as much as he is yours. Realisation crashes into you, relentless waves pulling you underwater. You will have to share him with the rest of Japan, possibly the world. This too shall end, be it tomorrow or years down the road if fate smiles down on you both.

But even if his heart belongs to you for no more than a day, it’s enough. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“You love me.”

“Yeah”, he murmurs, moving so impossibly close that you see the violets in the depths of his eyes in full bloom. “And I kinda think you love me too.”

Instead of answering, you tug him towards you, tangle your fingers in dark hair, let your lips press against the seam of his lips. He doesn’t give you the chance to breathe, arm curling around your waist, his hand cupping your face so he can tilt your chin up to pour himself into you. You drink him in, greedy to take what you can get, mouth open against his, lost to the raging current of want, of love that pulls you beneath the waves.

“I think I do”, you say softly.

Hoshina Soshiro smiles at you, wider and brighter than the moon.

a/n: i hope this chapter soothes the anxiety from last week heh :>

squeal at me pls! muacks always <3

#hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #hoshina soushirou #kaiju no. 8

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bedoballoons · 1 year ago

Note

I read both mitsuri!reader head cannons (love them)!!! I was wondering if I could request if they met the readers EX who called her all those names and made her insecure.

Thank youuu!!! Also I have been thinking about that and oh my gosh I'm so glad you requested it!!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃

{༻~Insecurities~༺}

CW: Angsty with comfort!, F! reader gets called names, character helps, established relationships, cursing, and some mentions of weight shaming/eating disorders! (Pet names: Lyney: Mon amour!)

Also I only wrote 4 characters with this one because it was soooo longggg!!

(Includes: Diluc, Lyney, Albedo, and Wanderer!)

Past Demon slayer/Genshin fics:

Mitsuri reader pt 1

Mitsuri reader pt 2

Mitsuri like reader X Lyney

Tokito Muichiro reader

Shinobo Kocho reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Diluc:

You smiled happily, pink green strands of hair flowing in the wind as you lounged on the blanket Diluc had laid down, the subtle scent of the apples he was cutting for your picnic sweet and tantalising, but sadly enough to make your stomach gurgle uneasily. You wouldn't say it out loud...especially not in front of him, but even despite both of your best efforts you were still finding it difficult to actually consume food. It had become a torture to eat...even when you were hungry or it was your favourite dish...those words just kept coming back.

"Oh my archons...look who it is. Didn't think I would be seeing you outside the gates of Mondstat, especially with the owner of the infamous wine industry."

Your whole body went cold, eyes shooting to the direction of the familiar voice...the voice that had said the words that changed you, that made you see your own body as a mistake. "I-i...ahem, he's my boyfriend." You silently cursed yourself for having such a shaky tone, if Diluc hadn't figured it out just by your reaction...he definitely had when you started to speak.

He stood up with crimson eyes that had gone dark, a menacing look decorating his features as he stared the other man down, "Don't believe we've met, who are you?" You glanced between the two of them, feeling like your presence was steadily growing smaller as they stared eachother down...the situation was making you feel sick to your stomach.

"I'm her ex boyfriend. Honestly I can't believe she caught the owner of the winery, are you some type of chubby chaser?"

That name...it hit you like a ton of bricks, any thoughts of recovery slipping away as tears filled your eyes, but you weren't alone this time. You jumped as Diluc grabbed your ex by his shirt, pulling him close so his fist would be inches away, "If you ever, call her that again...I will find a way to make you disappear, do you understand me? She's perfect the way she is and I love her more than anything else, besides your opinions don't matter...there's only two people who should see her for how goregous she is. Me and her."

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney swung your intertwined hands gently, humming a soft melody while the two of you walked through fontaine. It had become a routine now, taking a walk together after his show and sharing a meal, it was one of the few times you enjoyed eating...mostly because you weren't actually focused on the food. Your attention was drawn to Lyney, the way he always seemed to be glowing with love and excitement after a show, the way he talked with adoration and he never once failed to mention how you'd inspired one of his tricks, it was so calm...that just for a moment you forgot everything else.

"Oh mon amour! Look a new shop has opened up, how about we eat there?" You tiled your head to see past him and sure enough there was a new shop, bustling with customers. "Oh Lyney...it's so crowded though." He chuckled, pulling you into a warm embrace, his eyes meeting yours as he placed a kiss on your lips lovingly, "I won't force you, but...we could just get something to eat and then find a nice quiet spot, it would be different...in a good way."

A light blush dusted your cheeks as you let him lead you to the crowd, silently agreeing to his adventurous ideas like you always seemed to.

"No way...is that you?! You haven't changed one bit have you?"

You stopped dead in your tracks, emotions all but gone at the sound of that voice...the one that haunted your nightmares and used to make you feel so small...treat you like you were nothing but a number on a scale. He seemed to be waiting for your response, but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything...you were frozen in place, heart racing.

"Mon amour who's this?" You glanced at Lyney, wondering if he could tell you were uncomfortable, but he didn't appear to have any difference in attitude...had he really not noticed?

"I'm the one who was trying to keep her out of these foodlines so she wouldn't get any fatter, looking out for her health like a good boyfriend should do...guess you can't say the same."

For a split second you thought Lyney was going to strike him, instead he chuckled and lowered his voice to almost a whisper, a terrifying tone seeping into his words as he spoke, "You should really stop talking....I happen to be apart of the fatui and truthfully, if you utter one more word about my perfect girl, you won't be able to say anything at all by the time we are done with you."

𑁍༄Albedo:

Klee held onto your hand tightly, pulling you through the crowded streets with Albedo trailing not far behind. The air was filled with the delicious smells of baked goods and fresh made dishes, and the streets were decorated with stalls that held bottles of wine, toys, banners, anything you could imagine. It was a festival like no other and you couldn't believe you got to be apart of it.

"Come on come on!! We are almost to the stage! Dodoco wants to see it all decorated!!" You giggled happily, following the little girl as she lead you up to the big stage in the center of all of the magic. It really was a sight to see, ribbon and cecilia's hung up with fairy lights, a sweet bard strumming away on his lyre while he sang of a hero from another land and to top it all of, there were dancers not far away, each of them moving to the melody with their partners.

"Wow...this is incredible." You stood in awe for a second as Albedo lifted Klee onto his shoulders, her hands holding dodoco in the air so it could watch along with her. It was a picture perfect moment,...one you wanted to remember forever...until it was ruined. Your eyes landed on met that of a person walking towards you...a familiar face you had thought you'd left in the past.

You crossed your arms over yourself protectively, hoping he wouldn't say a word to you, but of course that would only be to easy, "Heyy look who it is...see you got yourself a new partner to shove food in your mouth. He's clearly feeding you right isn't he?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your clothes suddenly feeling tighter and your previous small meal you'd barely managed to take a few bites of rumbling in your tummy.

"Im sorry what was that? Clearly you must be blind, she's truthfully a work of art and without a doubt the most stunning woman I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. Perhaps you should go get another plate of food, actually make it two since you look like you could probably eat both, and stop bothering everyone with that tragic excuse of a voice you have."

"A-a-albedo?!"

𑁍༄Wanderer:

Wanderer huffed quietly as you pushed away your plate of food, less then half of it missing and yet you were already feeling queasy? It bugged him to no end,...no matter how many times he said you were perfect and argued with you that your weight was never a issue...you still thought it was. He begged you, something he never thought he never thought he'd do, to try and see yourself from his perspective, but it didn't work.

"You want some of mine? Maybe you'd like it more if it was different? Hey? What's up with you?" Wanderer waved his hand in front of your face, surprised to see fear in your eyes and goosebumps forming on your skin, you didn't even look like you were breathing you were so deathly still. It actually freaked him out a little, could humans just die like that?

"Hey stop that, you're making me all worried. What are you looking at?" He tapped your hand, but with no response he turned to follow your line of sight...it was just some guy? That's what had you all scared?, "Who is he? Did he beat you up? I won't let him hurt you if that's what you're afraid of." You shrunk into your chair, footsteps drawing closer as the some guy made his way to your table...

"If it isn't my ex girlfriend. I really didn't think I'd be seeing you at a restaurant...actually I did completely, I'm more shocked you don't have three plates finished yet. Piggy. Even got the pink green hair to prove it...and who's this clown, his hats bigger than he is."

You covered your face in embarrassment, trying to hide away from the situation...not let either men know how much it bothered you, but Wanderer was to clever for that and he took no shame in starting something...

"How about I take my big hat and shove it so far up your ass you see actual pigs fly. Maybe then you'd know the difference between when you should keep your mouth shut and when you should open it. Oh and moron, she's clearly not a pig cause she looks nothing like you."

He stood up with a grunt, pushing the guy so harshly he was sent backwards falling to the ground with a satisfying thud while your boyfriend grabbed your hand and lead you away, telling you more than once how beautiful you looked as you made your way home.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

◥(•̀￦•́)◤☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 ☾𖤓~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

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simdertalia · 2 months ago

Text

✈️ ACNH Airport Set ✈️

57 items | Sims 4, base game compatible, some extra swatches added by me 💗

All the items you'll need to recreate the Airport from ACNH, Dodo Airlines, in your TS4 game. Most items came with only 1 swatch each. Some items I have added extra swatches for. *The Monstera Plant that goes inside the airport has already been made in part 2 of the Paradise Planning set. Everything is always posted with the option of pick & choose, so they are easy to find and one-click download.

The floor for the interior is 12 swatches, like a puzzle, can be put together for any room size.

I do not use DX11 with my game. If you are using DX11, run the DX11 batch fix with Sims 4 Studio before starting your game. For those that have never done it, do not fear for it is very simple and will update any CC in your mods folder that needed it. I know the new DX11 API causes issues having something to do with the walls build items, that I know of. If you do not have Sims 4 Studio, here is a link about how to install it from their official website. (And of course, if you need help please send me a message).

Type “acnh airport" into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on December 4th, 2024 💗 Midnight CET

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my CC is early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness & things have been rough as of late):

★ Patreon 🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi ☕️ ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet

Other CC Pictured: -Ghost Doll (i accidentally left it there when testing slots lol) -Monstera Plant (this would go opposite of the line of the other 3 plants in the sitting area)

The rest of my CC

#ts4cc #s4cc #sims 4 airport #sims 4 acnh location #sims 4 office #sims 4 desk #sims 4 wall decor #sims 4 plane #sims 4 sign #sims 4 plants #sims 4 gate #sims 4 barrier #sims 4 travel #sims 4 vacation #sims 4 dodo airlines #dodo airlines #ts4acnh #sims 4 maxis match #simdertalia

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stereo-91 · 10 months ago

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CHATEAU DE VERSAILLES CC SET

NOW AVAILABLE ON PATREON!

Everyones favourite Chateau is finally here!!!!

After a lot of hard work, we have finally finished making our Versailles CC set.

Ever since the Sims 4 first came out me and Anna have always wanted a Versailles CC build set in the game. After learning many new CC creation techniques together over the last few months, we decided to attempt a Versailles set of our own.

Now simmers can build an accurate Version of this very popular and beautiful palace.

This set includes

* Stone Balcony and Gilded balconies with their platforms ( separated )

* Huge Sculpture with the Clock in the middle

* Full Columns in 2 different sizes

* 2 different Wall Columns in 2 sizes

* 2 Types of Shelves for your walls

* 2 Types of stone benches with their pedestals

* Stone Vase decor

* Rooftop railing and pedestal

* Friezes, ornaments, keystone as you see in the pictures

* Front Door with multiple swatches to choose

* 6 Different windows in different sizes and shapes

* Arch in marble

* 2 Types of Niches for the walls

* Marble and stone floor tiles set for the entrance

* Rooftop Windows ( both )

* 3 types of golden chains railing for the rooftop

* Roof tiles matching Versailles

ALL BASE GAME compatible, except for the golden entrance gate that requires Vampires EP

Se hope everyone enjoys building using these new CC items to create their dream house or palace

We will be creating the back facade in set 2 in the future.

We really hope you enjoy this set

LINK BELOW:

#sims4 #sims 4 cc #sims 4 #the sims 4 #thesims4 #sims4cc #historical sims #sims 4 historical #sims 4 creations #historicalsims #sims 4 versailles #versailles sims 4 #versailles #palace of versailles #palace #france #architecture

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syboubou · 2 years ago

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Fency set

It's been a while since a made a proper entrance set with new fences and gates. For this one, I followed Kate Emerald wish for more modern tall fences when building contemporary houses. I also included 4 new statues using retopolgy technique with photoscanned opensourced models of real statues !

Description

Includes 14 new items, all basegame and lowpoly

2 tall fences + 1 low border walkable fence

2 gates

An illuminated porch

Decor intercom and camera

Functional mailbox

4 statues

1 stone tiles floor

Download

Early access on my Patreon

Available for free download on my website !

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idle-soliloquy · 5 months ago

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Prison AU (?)

TW: Attempted SA (not between Gale and John), violence.

About 4 hours ago, this idea hit me like a freight train. I think I might turn it into a full fic, but for now... here it comes.

After years of suffering abuse at the hands of his father, Gale finally snaps. He’s had enough, and for the first time, he decides to fight back.

With little mercy—not that his father deserves any—he doles out the punches. His mother is there, watching, screaming at the top of her lungs and begging them both to cut it out, but it’s far too late. It’s vicious and heated, a rabid fight for survival. A fight to the death, as it turns out.

The facts of the case are indisputable—after a push to the chest, James Cleven falls back and hits his head, cracking his skull on the tiled kitchen floor, dying instantly.

Gale’s lawyer claims self-defence, leaning on the years of abuse as mitigating circumstances. The murder charge gets changed to voluntary manslaughter. Gale is sentenced to five years in prison, with the possibility of parole.

Heading for the prison gates, Gale’s aware of his vulnerability. He’s young, has no prior history of violence, no connections inside the joint, or in the criminal world outside of it. He’s distinctly alone—there’s no one he can count on to stand by him when (not if) things get out of hand. Afraid, but ready to stand up for himself, he enters.

He’s placed in a cell with a young man named Curt, who’s loud and brash, but ultimately friendly. It quickly becomes apparent that prison life has its own intricate set of rules. Observing the ebb and flow of inmates and their daily interactions, he notices a couple of prominent groups emerge from the more passive crowd, including a respected ‘gang’ of inmates that call themselves the 100th, with a man called Bucky at the helm.

Gale’s wary of him. According to his bunkmate, Bucky’s swell. But how can one be swell, if they murdered a man in cold blood in the middle of a train station?

In the chow hall during breakfast, and out in the yard, Gale can feel Bucky’s eyes sliding across his back like a hot poker. It’s unnerving. Makes Gale’s teeth stand on edge. Bucky’s illicit presence is like a blazing cocoon of (un)wanted attention that settles around Gale’s shoulders, and stays there no matter his disgruntlement with its weight.

As the days go by, Gale keeps his distance, but can’t deny that he’s horribly intrigued. Why won’t Bucky come to him, if he’s so bothered? Curt says it’s cause Bucky never forces anything. Gale should be the one to come to him. That’s just the way things are done around here.

Gale’s too proud to bite the bullet and reach out. So, they keep circling each other, Bucky always somehow in Gale’s vicinity, and Gale standing on attention, his unreasonable heart hammering in his chest when he spots the other man out of the corner of his eye.

A couple of weeks into his incarceration, the dreaded moment comes: Gale is set upon by one of the other prominent gangs in the prison hierarchy, one with a less pleasant reputation than Bucky’s lot. At first, he holds his own, but things are looking bleak. Roughed up and swaying, Gale’s strength is close to waning, when—

Three guards step out of the shadows, and break up the fight. Chaos ensues, but the attackers are quickly corralled, and the main offender is sent off kicking and screaming.

A figure looms at the periphery. With one eye nearly swollen shut, Gale watches Bucky come closer, with Curt hot on his heels, and... lets himself be helped, lifted off the ground. He hates it, viscerally, but his body’s aching and there’s bile in the back of his throat. He’s acutely aware of what Bucky’s just saved him from.

His jaw is so tense it’s clammed shut. He wants to thank him, but the only pathetic sound he’s able to force out is a wheezing cough.

Bucky rubs his shoulder, helps him get the tremors under control.

“You’re alright. It’s gonna be alright,” he says, tone soothing. His piercing gaze is gone, replaced with a swell of tenderness.

After a trip to the infirmary, Gale gets back to his cell and crawls into his bunk. He can’t sleep, staring at the ceiling, mind in a perpetual whirl.

He hears Curt roll out of his bed and tiptoe across the room.

“You alright?”

The blooming bruise above Gale’s right eyelid pulses like a living thing. He looks at Curt, and nods with little conviction.

“You know it was him, right?” Curt says.

“What?” Gale swallows. “What do you mean, him?”

Curt points to his battered face. “The guards. They came to save your ass cause Bucky called.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die. It was him, alright. And when you were in the infirmary, one of the guys from the 100th was standing watch.”

“Why?” asks Gale, breathless.

“Cause Bucky’s told him to.”

Gale shudders. Of course, Bucky’s got the guards at his beck and call. Gale’s done nothing so far but ignored the man, but he’s still dispatched them like it was nothing, like it didn’t cost him anything, which Gale knows cannot be true; here, every favour is a trade. In one way or another, Bucky’s paying for Gale’s protection.

“You have to get yourself sorted out, man,” Curt whispers. “It’s gonna happen again, you know that. We can’t keep an eye on you 24 fucking 7, unless—”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“The only thing you can do. Get yourself under Bucky’s protection. It’s the safest place to be. No one in the 100th holds with rape, it’s pretty much the only rule we go by.”

“And what do I have to do in exchange for his protection?” Gale asks through gritted teeth, expecting the worst.

Curt frowns. “I just told you we don’t hold with rape. Nothing. Be a part of the group, uphold the code. Protect others in turn.”

It sounds too good to be true.

Curt won’t stop talking, praise after praise pouring out of him. You’d think he is Bucky’s biggest fan, and maybe that’s exactly the case, and for a good reason too. Gale learns that Curt went through a similar ordeal, but since he’s been running with Bucky no one has dared to touch him. But the final straw turns ot to be the full story of how Bucky’s landed himself in prison: the man he’s murdered in cold blood raped and killed his teenage sister. Bucky chased him across the country, from Wisconsin to Wyoming, after the man was acquitted due to lack of evidence.

“I’ll talk to Bucky first, let him know you’re coming,” Curt suggests, and Gale, swallowing down his pride, agrees.

A strange thing happens the next day—Gale’s moved from his cell to a new one, with cleaner, sturdier walls, and a bed that doesn’t creak and wail with every shift of his body. He’s even got a proper pillow, all fluffed up, with a mint chocolate placed neatly in its centre.

His new bunkmate is none other than Bucky himself.

“Curt came in for a chat this morning. Said you wanted to see me,” Bucky says from the doorway. “I pulled a few strings and got you moved in here for now. Better keep an eye on you.”

Bridling, Gale turns away, but doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t want to come off ungrateful.

“So—” Bucky says when Gale remains silent. “What do you wanna chat about? I am all yours.” With a wink, he sits on his bunk bed, arms crossed on his chest, head cocked to the side.

The words barely crawl out of Gale’s mouth. “Let me join you. Protect me,” he says, “and I’ll stand by your side.”

Bucky smiles, a wicked glint to his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“You don't know it?”

“A name is something willingly given.”

Gale blinks, bewildered. “It’s Gale—”

Bucky barks out a laugh, and shakes his head. “Gotta give you a new one, a proper prison name. A name like Gale’s gonna get your ass kicked even with my protection.”

“How am I supposed to—”

“Your name is Buck from now on.”

“What?” Gale gapes at him, frozen to his spot by the tiny sink, nails biting into the heels of his palms. “You gave me your name?”

“Gotta clean out these pretty ears of yours, Buck, or are you hard of hearing? It’s an entirely different word. I’m Bucky, you’re Buck. With a name like that, there’s gonna be no doubt who you belong to.”

More to come (maybe) to ao3 near you…

Thanks to @angelfruittree for being the best brainrotting partner, and @nicijones and @don-humes-tiny-shorts for their brilliant suggestions on what crimes Gale and John would be capable of. Kissing your brains!

#clegan #mota #masters of the air #prison au #gale cleven #john egan #cw attempted assault #buck x bucky #fic idea #ANIME STYLE

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riding-with-the-wild-hunt · 3 months ago

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"Eärnur had held the crown only seven years when the Lord of Morgul repeated his challenge, taunting the king that to the faint heart of his youth he had now added the weakness of age. Then Mardil could no longer restrain him, and he rode with a small escort of knights to the gate of Minas Morgul. None of that riding were ever heard of again. . . [A]nd the crown of Elendil lay in the lap of King Eärnil in the Houses of the Dead, where Eärnur had left it." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, "Appendix A: Annals of the Kings and Rulers"

@aspecardaweek day 2 ⇢ aromanticism || EÄRNUR OF GONDOR

[ID: a picspam comprised of 12 images in shades of green, grey, black, and white (the colors of the aromantic flag).

1: A lush jungle with ferns growing / 2: Two black horses resting their heads on the back of a white horse / 3: Greenish white serif text with a darker green shadow reads "eärnur" in italicized capital letters on a black background / 4: Amar Chadha-Patel, a british-indian/punjabi actor with light brown skin, dark, shoulder-length hair, and a full beard. He is shown in profile, looking serious and wearing leather armor. / 5: The green facade of an indian building / 6: Lightning and clouds over low mountains / 7: A long hall lined with statues, with a black and white tiled floor / 8: Green grapes / 9: Amar Chadha-Patel, this time shown from the front wearing a breastplate under an open surcoat, with his hair tied back / 10: Same format as Image 3, but the text is lowercase, and reads "He was a man of strong body and hot mood; but he would take no wife, for his only pleasure was in fighting, or in the exercise of arms." / 11: Silver armor with bronze-colored trim / 12: A bed with brocade coverings set into a wallpapered alcove //End ID]

#aspecardaweek #asaw24 #eärnur #gondor #lord of the rings #mepoc #lotr #lotredit #tolkienedit #oneringnet #tolkiensource #sourcetolkien #litedit #fantasyedit #brought to you by me #edits with the wild hunt #described #picspam #fc: amar chadha-patel

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harperfrost · 15 days ago

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“I wonder what WoF Lego would be like” - Me, about to start cooking

I feel like they’d either make the dragons big collector sets, entirely brick built, make them normal minifigs, or make special molds for each tribe and just use different prints depending on the character.

I feel like the first wave of sets would likely be arc 1, since that makes the most sense.

anyhow. This is what I think wings of fire Lego sets could be like. I’ll probably do more in the future when I read more of the series. Don’t take these as 100% confirmed undeniable proof that Lego will make wings of fire sets.

ARC 1:

BOOK 1:

SET 1: Dragonet Cave Escape

Builds: The DoD cave, Table and shelf for scrolls, cave door

Minifigs: Kestrel, Dune, Clay, Tsunami and Starflight

Play features: the door would have the ability to open and close.

SET 2: Skywing Arena

Builds: Skywing Arena Pillar, Arena Balcony, Glory’s fake tree and Scarlet’s throne.

Minifigs: Queen Scarlet, Peril, Clay, Tsunami, Gill, Glory, Princess Burn, and 3x unnamed Skywings

Play feature: Scarlet’s throne would have a mechanism that knocks her off of it.

The unnamed Skywings would have spears.

BOOK 2:

SET 1: Royal Hatchery

Builds: Royal Hatchery, Orca’s Statue, Hatchery Doors.

Minifigs: Tsunami, Orca’s Statue.

Includes a printed egg piece to represent Auklet’s egg, and a spear for Tsunami. The statue can be removed from its base.

SET 2: The Summer Palace

Builds: The Summer Palace, tables, shelves.

Minifigs: Tsunami, Queen Coral, Anemone, Riptide, Commander Shark, Whirlpool, Princess Blister, 5x unnamed Seawings.

Play features: Each floor is removable, allowing for easier access to play with minifigures.

Two of the unnamed Seawings would have spears. Whirlpool would have a 1x2 flat plate with a scroll printed on it. Coral would have a double-sided head. One side is a calm face, and the other an angry face.

BOOK 3:

SET 1: The Rainwing Village

Builds: A large platform, plants and hammocks. The Queen’s Throne Room

Minifigs: Glory, Mangrove, Queen Magnificent, Tamarin, Jambu, Liana, Mango, Grandeur, Bromeliad.

SET 2: Blaze’s Fortress + Enchanted Tunnel

Builds: Blaze’s Fortress, Enchanted Tunnel

Minifigs: Blaze, Mangrove, Glory, Deathbringer, 1x unnamed icewing, 2x unnamed sandwings

Play features: The enchanted tunnel would have a play feature where you can put a minifig inside, turn a piece on the top, and the minifig would spin around to the other side.

The tunnel, on one side, would be rainforest terrain, with plants, and sand and rock on the other.

SET 3: Volcano Tunnel Builds: The Volcano Tunnel + Rainwing prison.

Minifigs: Glory, Kinkajou, Orchid, Deathbringer, 2x unnamed Nightwings. Play features: The prison’s back walls and roof would be removable, and the doors can be opened. The unnamed Nightwings would have spears, and one has a key to open the doors.

The volcano tunnel would have the same rainforest terrain on one side, but would have rock and orange lava on the other side instead of sand.

BOOK 4:

SET 1: Nightwing Library

Builds: The Nightwing Library, Bookshelves and tables.

Minifigs: Starflight, Morrowseer, Flame, Squid, Ochre, Viper, and Fatespeaker. 2x unnamed Nightwing

Includes a dreamvisitor printed onto a 1x1 flat round tile.

SET 2: Nightwing Lab

Builds: Tables and scientific equipment

Minifigs: Mastermind and Starflight.

SET 3: Battlewinner’s Cauldron

Builds: Battlewinner’s Cauldron, rock terrain.

Minifigs: Battlewinner, Starflight, Greatness, Fatespeaker

Play features: The cauldron would have a mechanism where Battlewinner can be lowered inside, while a “frozen” (translucent blue) version of her minifig is launched out. Translucent yellow, orange and red studs could also be dumped out of the cauldron.

BOOK 5:

Set 1: Scorpion Den + Enchanted Tunnel

Builds: Scorpion Den gate, market stalls, Thorn’s tent, Enchanted Tunnel

Minifigs: Sunny, Thorn, Qibli, Sixclaws, Preyhunter, Fierceteeth, Strongwings, 3x unnamed sandwings.

Extra set: Stonemover’s Cave

Builds: Stonemover’s Cave

Minifigs: Stonemover, Sunny, Dinner (the fox)

Set would include the third dreamvisitor piece, so all 3 would be able to be collected without buying duplicate sets.

Set 3: Weirdling Tower

Builds: Weirdling Tower, Cage.

Minifigs: Scarlet, Smolder, Flower, Sunny, Peril, Thorn.

Play features: The cage would be able to be opened up, so Scarlet can be put inside. The roof and walls of the tower can open up to allow access inside.

It would include a printed dreamvisitor piece again. Scarlet would have a new face print, showing her face burnt.

FINAL SET: The Brightest Night Battle

Builds: The Sandwing Stronghold, desert terrain.

Minifigs: Clay, Tsunami, Queen Glory, Starflight, Sunny, Thorn, Smolder, Flower, Queen Glacier, Queen Moorhen, Queen Coral, Queen Ruby, Princesses Blister, Blaze, Burn, Peril, 5x unnamed Sandwings, 3x unnamed Skywings, 2x unnamed Seawings, 1x unnamed mudwing, 1x unnamed icewing.

Includes a box and two snake pieces, printed to resemble dragonbite vipers. Set would include a special molded Eye of Onyx piece for Thorn.

The set would be able to be combined with the Weirdling Tower as well.

#harpertalk #Harper’s yapping like an idiot #wof #wings of fire #lego #lego wings of fire

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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Aw, maaaannn, another one of my dream houses is back on the market, but this time, instead of the $3.5M price tag it had in 2018, it's now listed for $9.75M + $1,967mo. common charge. The 1910 building is located in the East Village, a desirable trendy part of New York City. It's a large duplex with 5bds, 4.5ba.

The entrance is thru an iron gate and a forest green door.

The property consists of a penthouse with a cottage on the roof.

In the living room is a lovely fireplace and a mezzanine on the 2nd level opens the space, giving it some architectural interest.

The home was renovated and has a renewed staircase, yet retains an original niche. A ceiling-high glass block window lets in light.

Open concept dining room lined with windows for lots of natural light.

The open space ends with the kitchen.

Love the vintage look flooring. The kitchen island is unique- it looks like a mid-century modern sideboard.

The mezzanine is basically just a walkway, but it has a wall of shelving and enough room for a chair or two.

There's also a nook for a small desk or writing table.

The primary bedroom is a nice size, gets good natural light, and has a small nook for a chair, plus a lovely fireplace. It also has a view of the patio. And, it's located in the rooftop cottage.

Very nicely remodeled vintage style bath.

Hallway with a built-in closet and a bedroom used as a TV room.

This bedroom is designed the same as the primary, but on a smaller scale.

Lively turquoise subway tile bath and bedroom #3.

And, another lovely tiled bath with bedroom #4.

The rooftop cottage and brick patio looks like a beautiful home you'd find on the ground.

It's like the best of both worlds, living in the city and the country.

There're even trees, lawn & gardens.

View of the city.

#NYC property #penthouse NYC #houses #house tours #home tour

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kotias · 1 year ago

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South Downs cottage - Our Eden

Okay, I've decided to create the cottage that I envision for Aziraphale and Crowley's final retirement at the end of the story.

I have used the Sims 4 game, meaning that I have been a bit limited on a few things, but here it comes, the vision I have for it.

Anyone looking for references, for inspiration, whether it is for drawing or writing, is very welcome to use those pictures.

In a story being worked on together with @daneecastle, called Our Eden, here is the full description:

Our Eden

(2836 words)

It felt like it had been two hundred years in preparation. And in a way, it was; the universe had so kindly presented him to the suicidal girl who had made it all possible, after all. It had so kindly given him a way to help her that would change her so dramatically that the effects of it still rippled through current days. His hands started shaking, and he pretended it was the strain of the walk. He had received the rights to that land in 1884, as Elspeth expired in her farm near Fulking, leaving a will addressed to him. He had spent years and years preparing it, honing it to perfection. He had build a proper garden out of the enormous fields, made it something his. Something theirs. Back then, he thought he may have lost Aziraphale, and yet receiving the land had sparked something new in him. He had spent an ungodly amount of time, only planting his trees, giving them time and space to grow into the luscious beauties they were today. He guided him through what felt almost like a forest, infused with his attentions. The apples had started showing- he grabbed one on the way, gave it to the angel. Anxiety spiked as they approached and were about to come into the final view. He pushed him against a tree, blocking his path, and kissed him, passionately, desperately, with all his love pouring out. He was shuddering. He wanted him to- He kissed him, again and again. The tree above them glowed a golden sheen.

"Cro-" more kissing. "Crowley-" Even more kissing. "Mm!" Aziraphale couldn't break away. So he pushed hard. "CROWLEY! What is going on?"

Crowley pursed his lips. Fuck it. He took his shades off, pushed them down into the pocket of his vest. He had never been good at hiding his emotions, his eyes betrayed them all. His anxiety, mixed with unfathomable excitement, was shining through them, he knew that very well. But Aziraphale knew what taking them off meant; he trusted him, he trusted him entirely, and he wanted him to know. "Just... just a little bit longer." He grabbed his hand again, and they were back on the path. Very quickly afterwards, he opened a little garden door, they passed another set of weeping willows, and there they were. The old farm had been rebuilt entirely into a cottage. A ground floor and a first floor, hidden under a dark tile roof. Maroon bricks, intertwined with regular touches of beige on the rims. Big, white windows all around it, giving more than sufficient lighting to the entire place. Large, teal shutters were attached to the walls. The entire garden around it had been fournished as to compliment its outdoor colours, and deeper into it, an enormous greenhouse had been installed, and was already almost exploding with greeneries. "... well. That's-" He forced himself to breathe. "That would be ours, if... if you would like to."

[...]

"Wanna visit the property properly, angel?" While he was swimming in his relief that his companion loved what he had created, and could stay there for days, he saw the looks he gave to the place, and of course he would be more than happy to show him what he had built for them.

Crowley took the hand and heaved himself up, cradled Aziraphale's hands into his own and kissed them. "Come on." He guided him back through the weeping willows, through the little garden gate, and they lost themselves into the near-forest he had taken the time of erecting for a century and a half. The trees who were welcoming them into the orchard were none other than apple trees of various types, blessing them with reds, greens and yellows. They were sheltered under gigantic mirabelle plum trees whose branches were hugging their little siblings, mixing their tame golden with the reds of their counterparts. The wind -or so Crowley pretended- was passing through the leaves, shaking them slightly as they passed below them. Like a finely-tuned music, nectarine trees, mixing their blonde and crimson colours into perfectly round and juicy fruits. Extending lower on the ground, several mulberry trees were offering a dark shelter from the sun and from any external view.

With a few steps, Crowley leaned down to pass under them, and leaned against the trunk of one of them, pulling Aziraphale against him. He gave him a kiss and brought him out of the leafy shelter, opening his view to a little vineyard he had managed to put together in the last decade. The vines adorned themselves with the blush colours of the setting sun, and opened their arms to the view of Devil's Dyke below. The never-ending greenery, the valley and the hills were battling for a chance to be seen by their two pairs of eyes, demanded the full spotlight and, in doing so, enhanced each other even more. Far into the horizon, beyond the curves of this landscape, glittered the shadow of the sea, reflecting the Heavens above like the Sun dropping into it burned like Hell below.

[...]

In his estimation, fifteen minutes passed before he nudged Aziraphale forward in their tour. They circled the orchard, until they reached the peaches and the pears that were hanging proudly from their trees. He guided him back into the small forest, and quickly, they were entirely covered with foliage above their heads. "I wanted to have more than one originally, but... they just don't know when to stop taking all the space. I thought it safer to just leave the one." This one was a fig tree, whose trunk was large, almost veiny with small craters all over, and its leaves and branches were extending so far beyond it that it had made itself a proper clearing. No other trees were allowed in its protection, and its roots were merrily swimming just below the surface of the ground, peeking through in a few spots. "But, strangely enough..." he brought him to the other side of the trunk and pointed to a large bush whose sharp-looking leaves were climbing up the fig tree like a praying Saint. "It seems to have gotten well acquainted with the strawberries. I don't know how they even appeared here, I for sure didn't plant them, but they've been clinging onto it for about ten years, I'd say." He leaned over the bush and picked one of its fruits, offered it to the angel. "Their taste really is unique, it seems that they've taken a bit of inspiration from the figs above them."

He brought him further into the orchard and back out the other side, and they were back into the garden around the cottage. Bushes full of fruits and vegetable patches were trailing their way around the back fence and contained to a single, rather large area, hidden behind rhododendron flowers. Crowley snapped his fingers for a basket, and did that a second time to collect the never-ending stream of growing zucchinis that were trying very hard to take over the entire area. A few pumpkins were starting to show, and the carrots and potatoes were just about to be ready- only a few additional weeks. Snap. The basket was sent into the kitchen directly. The sun was almost entirely set now, and the light was getting very dim. "If we enter the greenhouse now, I don't think you'll be able to see much. How about we go tomorrow morning, and I show you the house?"

"Yes, I'd like to see the greenhouse with the light, I believe thats where I'll find your best handy work so ..." He gestured toward the cottage. "After you?"

Crowley wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's and led him to the cottage's front door and unlocked it. He couldn't help a deep breath before opening the door, feeling his heart race again. That was it. Everything else would mean nothing if he didn't like the inside. The entry was a short corridor where a thin, dark brown table had been placed for usual end-of-the day clutter; it was open in a way that gave some space for the shoes of the hosts and visitors alike. By its side on the wall, a few hooks had been placed for any coat that needed taking off. It was quite simple, with walls painted yellow and a maroon ceiling. On the left, there was a bathroom as Crowley showed, rather large for the use they may have of it; a toilet, a sink, and, behind a semi-clear curtain, a grand bathtub, with enough space for two people to bathe without feeling the tiniest bit cramped. "I figured that you may appreciate visitors. There are a few families around here, and the kids get easily curious, I'm sure they'll pop by eventually. So... thought I'd furnish it properly, with the toilets and all."

[...]

He opened the door on the other side of the corridor, showing the living room, with one mahogany bookshelf taking over the wall in front of them, entirely empty except for two plants crawling their way up to the ceiling and showing off their vibrant green leaves all around the shelves. On their right was a large, arch-like window that would fully lit up the room during the day, in front of which were two armchairs and a small side table. In front of them, he had placed an off-white oak table that would comfortably host six diners, eight if they were feeling generous, but at the moment, a wooden bench and matching two chairs were surrounding it. On the far left of the room, a large couch and a low table were facing a grand chimney. Just before the couch was an archway that gave a hint of the kitchen hiding behind the wall.

Aziraphale wandered into the room, touching the furniture and looking at all the details of the room, a big smile on his face as he explored the living room. "This is so cozy! I love the chairs." He came to the arm chairs and leaned against one. "Do you prefer to have one or the other? Or is it 'whatever closer'?"

Crowley smiled tenderly at the angel. "You seem to have chosen yours already. Go on, try them out- I think you'll like them."

Aziraphale smiled, glad to see that Crowley noticed which one he favored. He sat in the armchair and leaned into it. It almost felt like he melted into the chair. "It's so comfortable and yet not too much so, I can definitely see myself spending a long time in this chair." He got up and walked over to Crowley, "next room?"

He nodded when it was time to get to the next step, and guided him through the archway and into the kitchen. Compared to the other rooms, it was rather small, but, Crowley thought, rather well furnished. It also was entirely Aziraphale, he hoped. Its soft, pastel colours, mainly beiges and teals, were lighting it up quite nicely, particularly considering that the window in this room was not quite as impressive as the one in the living room. It had a small folding table placed against the nearest wall with two high stools, where his basket full of almost overgrown zucchinis was resting. All over the right corner, facing the door leading to the entry, were a large set of counters and cupboards, an oven and a stove. In one of the cupboards, he had hidden as many kitchen appliances as he could find, enough to make the angel's life easier whatever the task he set himself to do. On the left side of the room was the stone staircase leading them upstairs; before it was a glass door bringing them back outside, behind it was one last door to be opened- and that was the big one. His library.

Aziraphale examined every drawer and cupboard. He pointed out the appliances he knew and questioned and investigated the ones he didn't; he was on an adventure through the kitchen, really getting to know everything. He knew this was his place. He had not really gotten too much into cooking,as he usually only made things for himself, but this time was different. He wasn't just cooking for himself. He was cooking for Crowley too, even if his demon only drank alcohol and coffee; he still got to share that experience. He hurried over to Crowley like a little kid. "Apologies dear, I couldn't help but explore. What's the next room?" He tipped his head ever so slightly in curiosity.

"Oooh, I think you'll like it." He really hoped he would. He took his hand, brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss, looking straight into his eyes. "And please, tell me if you would change anything." He brought him to the door, and opened it. While it had not been filled with books yet, the library was covered, on every wall, from the floor to the ceiling, with book shelves. That was a very round and rather high room, crawling all the way up to the end of the first floor, almost eating into the roof of the cottage, and every bookshelf had been designed to embrace those facts. They were accompanying the walls, hugged them perfectly all the way up to the roof. Three more of them, thinner and shorter, had been placed closer to the middle, creating a visual guide to the large window on the left side, mirroring the one in the living room. In that place, he had installed a wooden resting place, with plenty of cushions and plaids to keep it comfortable. Under that bench, he had created a large space to confine all sorts of blankets, tartan covers, pillows and other comfortable fabrics that would prove incredibly useful during the winter period. Covering the ground, he had chosen soft, dark blue carpeting, and placed more ottomans and footstools in the middle of the room, and a small, low metal table had been fixed on the floor for stability. Aziraphale did love drinking something with his reading, it would be a shame for it to stupidly fall on the floor due to a bad movement making the table tumble. Crowley gave plenty of time to the angel to discover his space, sat on the wooden bench while he was looking around, anxiously watching his reactions.

Aziraphale's reaction was bigger than any of the other rooms he was so overjoyed that his wings burst out and stuck to him as he ran around checkout every detail of his library. He would chatter on and on about what books he wanted to stack where, what he wanted to do with which area during which time of year. He even joked about letting Crowley sleep in a little area for him to cuddle with his Angel when he wanted to read. Then he came running back, floating when he leaped, his wings assisting, then pounced Crowley kissing him. "Thank you! This is absolutely wonderful, my love!"

"Well, as you'd have it, that was the plan-" He kicked into the bench's sides, and a little door to its hidden space opened, revealing the overflow of covers. "I know how much time you'll spend in here, angel, and I'd hate for either of us to get cold. Now, since you're already floating- if you go up to the next floor, you should be able to see your study. I made it so it felt part of the library." It was a little space he had created with a desk full of drawers and a few shelves, usually accessible by going up the stairs, and facing the open space of the library with only a fence separating them. Two windows circled it, giving it a fair bit of light.

Aziraphale paused and looked behind him, and giggled, let his wings vanish. "No, I think I'll go up there the human way. Care to show me?"

[...]

He chortled against his mouth and grabbed his hands, dragged him towards the bedroom's door, opened it with a kick and brought him in. It was a great room, he thought; full of warm colours, albeit on the darker side of the spectrum. The walls were burgundy, with large beige accents all over them, and the lamp above them was adorned with golden colours. On their right, the wall was comprised of a large, retractable door, with large mirrors attached to it, opening to what he knew was an enormous walk-in wardrobe, big enough to host all the clothes they had amassed during the last centuries. There were two little, dark side tables with small lamps attached to them. But the main piece was the bed; perfectly outraged with the tiny thing that Aziraphale dared call his resting place in the bookshop, Crowley had taken it upon himself to make it a proper King size, which had been covered with white and teal bed sheets on which slithered a red bedspread.