#i'll stop rambling later; tbd

[hirak0s]

Speaking of bad words

My cousin learned the word "shit" today.

So damn proud.

[likeasnake]

I'm going to make this a multi ;)

I'm also grabbing Shuuhei by the back of his collar and dragging him along.

[mxguruma]

(remember when I said I'd take that nap?? That turned into like a 14 or 16 hour nap. I'm working on icons rn.)

[simspaghetti]

Generation 1 of the Piccolo Lepacy is complete!

I had a lot of fun in the beginning of this legacy, playing Poppy as a young-adult causing chaos around town was super fun & the challenge objectives were very enjoyable to complete - but as the challenge went on I started to get suuuper bored of the basegame, I think part of the problem is that my lifespan is so long and is normally structured by seasons, but since there are no seasons installed yet, each age stage felt never-ending!

It made me think that I might play around with the expansion packs in a different order than their release schedule... I just don't think I can wait so long to install seasons because it's so essential to the way I play - but that's TBD later (World Adventures is definitely next up!)

Anyway, I'll stop rambling, time to look at the scoreboard!

Grand Total Points: ✨55.5✨

Scoreboard: ⬇️

☑️ Start in Sunset Valley +2

Poppy Piccolo - Where Evil Grows [Criminal]: ☑️ Have the ’Evil’ and/or ’Mean Spirited’ trait +0.5 ☑️ Join the criminal career +0.5 ☑️ Have 1 ‘perfect’ child, neglect the rest +0.5 ☑️ Befriend child or have at least 5 friends +0.5 ☑️ Reach the top of the Criminal career [Thief Branch] +1 ➡️ Thief Branch: ☑️ Master Athletic skill +1 ☑️ Master Logic skill +1 ☑️ Befriend all coworkers +1 ☑️ Become best friends with co-worker +1 ☑️ Complete the LTW: ’Become a Master Thief’ +1

Torgo Pendragon - Sound of Da Police [Law Enforcement]: ☑️ Have the 'Schmoozer' or 'Athletic' Trait +0.5 ☑️ Join the Law Enforcement career +0.5 ☑️ Install a burglar alarm +0.5 ☑️ Befriend all coworkers +0.5 ☑️ Reach the top of the law enforcement career +1 ➡️ International Super Spy Branch: ☑️ Master the Athletic Skill +1 ☑️ Master the Logic Skill +1 ☑️ Become best friends with coworker or boss +1 ☑️ Fight a burglar and win +1

Bonus Goals: ☑️ Woohoo with a service sim +1 ☑️ Marry a service sim +1 ☑️ Get a child with hidden trait +1 ☑️ Resurrect sim (create ambrosia) OR create playable ghost +1 ☑️ Have a ghost baby (or many) +1

Misc. Points: ☑️ Heir tops career (x2) +4 ☑️ Heir completing their LTW (x2) +5 ☑️ Heir mastered a non-required skill (x2) +1 ☑️ Heir completes a skill challenge (x8) +1 ☑️ Heir having more than 2 children (x2): +1 per child ☑️ Forcibly receiving a random trait on age-up (x1) -0.5

Rainbowcy Points: ☑️ Keep a portrait room with each heir’s portrait hanging in it (x1) +1 per heir ☑️ Founder with multicoloured parts +1 per eyes, skin tone, hair, make-up, clothes

[celestialmancer]

❌ // 11:20 pm, tbd ;

low filter bs, i'll delete this later

Emotions come & go in waves, just ride them out, I'm told...

...

Yet it feels lately like the metaphorical tidal waves of emotion I feel are more on par with tsunamis, with the intensity of the way they hit, with how extreme they are, & the fact that they just keep coming in relentlessly has been hard.

& for some reason this shit has decided to target me via just... Finding myself getting. Legit angry with myself anytime I ramble a lot about things I'm passionate about, especially things with my own characters. Lately there's this festering self frustration that tells me I need to shut up, quiet down, knock it off, whenever i just prattle on & on unnecessarily about shit w/ them, & this whole urge that I need to shut up, stop talking, "Stop going on & on about something no one fucking cares about, you're annoying the living shit out of them", so my mind tells me. & I hate it, because it feels like i'm not allowed to even talk anymore wrt my own stuff or muse things w others because the moment I start typing a little too much or talking a little too much, I already am mentally berating myself like "here we go again, how long til they get sick of your ass eh?"

...

Lately I've been getting exhausted, exhausted, exhausted, with the way I seem to immediately turn aggressive with myself for talking ab it too much. Being so hyperaware of how much I talk, of how intense my emotions can run in general over stupidly small things wrt creative work & things w my chars & whatnot or stupidly excitable over things regarding chars I like, is... Its almost like I just have this hatred towards myself for being so overly excitable, so intensely fixated on these things, & this whole ordeal that I just..

I'm, overly anxious over appearing too pushy or something, overly anxious over how I express myself, this whole feeling that I need to dial it back, tone it down shove everything down shove everything down shove everything down stop talking, stop feeling things too much over those things I mentioned, just stop. fucking. being this way. Because its fucking shameful.

The talking on & on & on is also fucking shameful because why the fuck do I think any of what I have to say on my own creative shit matters, right? Stupid to think this means anything & me rambling on & on is probably making ppl drive me away or shut me out or do anything to not have to fucking listen to my insufferable yapping.

& its...

I feel like i just talk too much. In general. I... think this is just connecting to a deeper seated issue of just the fact that I find myself absolutely fucking insufferable when I'm "too much" or whatever I feel is me showing too much emotion & passion on anything. Because I'm supposed to be dialed back, I'm supposed to not let myself show I feel intensely, I'm supposed to not be so excitable over something so small & insignificant because its fucking stupid, I shouldn't be so... Like this.

I mention things w my characters or also w chars i like because that's the main thing rn that's fucking w me in this way & esp w my own lengthy rambling, & watching myself be a fucking embarrassment when i have chars that make me feel things also can cause this shit to rear its head in because of how I've been shamed before over this shit but this also has applied to t hings I like in general, hobbies i ramble on about or interests--& ngl, its bc of this factor that I can't handle just having someone go "ain't reading all that" or anything that insinuates that @ me because it's just a reaffirmation of the very nasty shit i'm telling myself in my head wrt any moment I get even a little too carried away & passionate w these things.

I'm... so accustomed to being dialed back & i find genuine shame & anger when I show anything because i don't feel i'm allowed that. & When it DOES come out when it DOES show because i seem fucking incapable of suppressing it as well, I just can't help but feel instantly like I'm being looked at through a lens of shame, of disgust, of just... repulsion, & like I'm inadvertently driving people away over my intensity of my emotions. This is in ref to my pos emotions but applies to all really. All my emotions. & hell, could apply to subjects im passionate about or that I go on & on about that are rants or what have youk, or just... anything in general I want to express.

Hatred. Hatred. Hatred. I don't know why I'm defective like this.

Was it better to just be emotionally numb like i was years ago? Where I could barely react or express excitement much? Where I didn't have as intense reactions to things wrt the things I like or things that make me happy or things that I am fixated on or attached to or feel things towards or--just, anything? Because this shit just feels humiliating & shameful. I feel fucking humiliating sometimes when I'm so emotionally expressive or something over these kinds of things but that's bc that's all I've been taught I am.

I get reacted to with disgust, with aversion/avoidance, & its just... I get it. I get it, you don't like me being like this. I get it. I'm too much. I don't know. I don't know, I don't know. I think its worse yet when i have had my intensity be treated as some sort of... well, I won't get into that on here, that's more for me to talk abt w friends ig, but its just me being painted in some weird sexual light.

& Hell, the issue of me feeling like I say too much talk too much am too much also extends into when I vent too--watching my vents be lengthy makes me legit feel nasty towards myself because I can't help but feel like I'm too much, yet again, & just... a sries of other things that come out that just...

...No surprise my sona carries the them e of feeling they're too much when I feel that at my core wrt myself.

i don't know how to stop myself from being this way. I don't know how to change. I wish I did sometimes.

it pains me that I can't just be more emotionally stunted like i was years ago after the things i kept going througj (well, stunted yet simultaneously emotionally haywire bc emotional bs always has been intense for me but, my numbness is what showed instead of being overly excitable when it came to pos feelings), before I started going through trying to heal shit.

Because now i get. this shit slipping out from the cracks & im just struggling, struggling, struggling to know how to keep myself composed throughout it all.

i know i'm too excitable. I wish it didn't drive people away. I wish ti didn't put people off. i know i'm overwhelming, i know im a lot. I mean, at least it feels like i put people off for coming on too strong. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

& just. I don't know. This whole thing is a lot of messy self hatred that for once is coming out I guess. Normally I can manage my own view of myself fine but lately that too has been... hard to really figure out wher e I stand in terms of self image.

[gatheringstars]

Lauren rambles under the cut

Hey, I know I’ve been really fixated on Star Wars lately. Most of you probably didn’t come here for all that, and I get it. It’s just... Star Wars has always been a key part of my life growing up. Both the OT and PT have very special places in my heart. The Mandalorian did what the Last Jedi, what the whole Sequel Trilogy didn’t. I thought my passion for the series had reached it’s peak back when Rogue One came out. I was so elated. Vader was amazing, and the RO storyline was so touching and just everything that Star Wars was about.

Then the Last Jedi came out, and it crushed me. I loved the old and the new characters, but they were nothing like what they had been in previous movies. Rey, Finn, Poe, they’re characters felt too different from what we had seen at the end of Force Awakens, and Luke and Leia, clones made to look like older versions of the originals, but were nothing like them.

I was so disheartened. It was another blow following the terrible ending Naruto had. Something I loved felt destroyed, and I became more or less apathetic. I was barely passionate about anything anymore. I’ve disappeared from the RP scene twice for months on end in the last few years since that movie, because I just didn’t feel anything. Fallen Order kind of eased the pain of losing something so precious to me, but it wasn’t quite the same.

The Mandalorian did what the Last Jedi was supposed to do or what I really wanted it to do. No spoilers, but those last few minutes at the end had me and still has me jumping out of my seat with pure joy and absolute elation every time. I had been waiting to see something of that for most of my life, since I first saw the OT as a kid.

So, yeah, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you came here for. I promise I haven’t abandoned my other characters, and I really do want to RP with all of you. 

I love and appreciate you all. Thanks for putting up with me and my stupid ass lol

[rationalclover-blog]

tfw u have so much muse u could do all ur drafts rn but it’s literally 4:40 am and u need bed. also i ramble in the tags a lot i’m sorry omg

[friskynotebook]

'Cause All That You Are is All That I'll Ever Need: A Carrison Fanfic

So. I was planning on doing a mini-writing spree inspired by Carrie Fisher’s The Princess Diarist (and I’ll still be writing all of them, don’t worry), but life got in the way, and it ended up taking me almost two months to write this.

I was actually planning on finishing this before Christmas, but with Carrie’s and Debbie’s deaths, my motivation just wasn’t there. But I’m not letting the plausible verse die, and don’t worry—Carrie and Debbie don’t die in this universe. They aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

The prompts for this fic were, “Happy 40th anniversary, sweetheart” and “He gives her the gold band with diamonds.”

It’s set in my plausible verse (duh), where Harrison and Carrie slowly fall in love after his divorce from Melissa. This takes place in May 2016, right after Carrie comes back from Cannes. There’s not much you need to know, but if it helps, they married in spring 2011 (exact date TBD). Also in this verse, the child Carrie miscarried in the 1980s was Harrison’s, and there is a passing mention of it in this fic.

The title for this fic comes from the Ed Sheeran song “Tenerife Sea,” off his album “x.” You can listen to it here.

Special thanks to @hewouldve for her excellent beta skills and @thecarrisonfiles and @titasjournal for their support. Shoutout to the Slack fam for the general handholding.

This is RPF, and I don’t mean to offend anyone with this story.

Finally, I own nothing. Nothing. You don’t want to see what number shows up in my bank account. If anyone wants money from me, I’ll help you look for it because ya girl needs to buy groceries.

Without further ado, on with the show!

Harrison climbed up the stairs, carrying a tray of saltines, ginger ale, and ginger tea. He sighed as he reached the top step. This is not how I thought we would spend our anniversary.

He was exhausted, but whatever he felt was nothing compared to what his wife must be feeling—she’d been awake for half the night throwing up whatever was in her stomach and then some. Every hour like clockwork, Carrie would rush to the bathroom and violently cough into the cool porcelain toilet—even if nothing came out, she dry-heaved until her body simply exhausted itself.

And every time she had to go, Harrison (and Gary) would run right after her, kneeling down on the cold tiles beside her, holding back her hair, rubbing her back in soothing strokes. When she’d stop, he’d carry her to the sink, sit her on the counter, and press a cold cloth to her forehead while he brushed her teeth. Then he’d carry her back to bed and hold her, Gary pressed between them, as she fell into a fitful, moan-filled sleep until the whole cycle started again.

Now, finally, she seemed to be on the mend. Earlier that morning, she’d thrown up for the last time—vile, bitter-tasting medicine—and quickly fell back asleep when he carried her back to their bed. She woke up a few hours later, woozy and lightheaded, and Harrison figured she was ready to try eating and drinking.

Harrison turned his body and gently nudged the door open, walking into their bedroom and placing the tray on Carrie’s nightstand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, kneeling down beside the bed. “You ready to eat something?”

She turned her bleary-eyed gaze towards him, smiling softly. “Okay,” she replied.

He helped her into a sitting position and placed the tray on her lap. Before he moved to his side of the bed, he kissed her forehead. Her fever seems to be breaking.

Carrie nibbled on a cracker. “Thank you, baby,” she mumbled, absently petting Gary as he lay beside her.

“Of course, honey.” He crawled into the bed. “Have a little ginger ale,” he coaxed.

She finished her cracker and took a sip of ginger ale.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She swallowed. “A little better. Tired. My head hurts.”

He ran his hand along her thigh. “If you can keep the crackers down, I’ll get you some aspirin,” he promised.

She gave him a small smile and reached for another cracker. “Okay,” she agreed.

Harrison watched her as she ate, ready to help her to the bathroom if her stomach protested the crackers.

Carrie caught his glance. “I’m fine, sweetheart. My stomach’s settling,” she reassured him.

He blushed, turning his gaze away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like it when you take care of me,” she confided, nibbling on the cracker.

“Good, because I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t let me look after you,” he replied, a wry grin crossing his face.

She returned his smile. “You’d probably go crazy,” she chuckled lightly, finishing the cracker and reaching for a third.

He pressed his lips to her temple, gently stroking her skin while she chewed on the cracker.

“I’m sorry about this,” she murmured, swallowing her food.

“Sorry about what?” he questioned.

“Being sick, ruining our anniversary.” Carrie took a sip of ginger ale, not looking at her husband.

Harrison brought a long finger to her chin and turned her head to face him. “Sweetheart, you’re not ruining anything.”

“Neither one of us has slept and you’re exhausting yourself looking after me,” she rambled, her eyes wide.

“Baby, I like taking care of you,” he said softly, a small smile on his face. “If you weren’t sick, this would be the best anniversary we’ve ever had: me at your beck and call, you resting in bed all day.”

Her lips quirked upwards. “Still, I wish we could have done what we planned—walking around Larchmont Village and dinner at some hole in the wall Italian place . . .”

“We can do all that when you’re better,” he replied. “They’ll still be there when you don’t feel so awful.”

Carrie leaned forward and kissed his nose. “I love you.”

Harrison pressed his lips to her mouth. “I love you more,” he rumbled, pulling away. “I should get that aspirin for you.”

She squeezed his hand as he crawled out of bed. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiled, escaping to their bathroom. He went to the medicine cabinet and quickly located the right bottle, frowning when he heard rustling from their bedroom.

“Carrie, are you alright?” he asked, stepping back into the room to find his wife bending over her side of the bed.

She turned back around, hiding a box behind her back. “Yeah, I am, honey—just getting your present out.”

He crawled back into bed with the pills. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to do that today.”

Gary’s butt pressed against Harrison’s arm as he sniffed the box behind Carrie’s back. “I want to,” she insisted. “Let’s salvage the day somehow.”

“But I won’t have anything to give you when we do celebrate,” he returned.

“Then buy me something else,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

He grinned, kissing her forehead. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

She smirked, pulling Gary away from the box and settling him in her lap. “Nope.”

Harrison snorted. “If you insist.” He went to his underwear drawer and pulled out a small box, hiding it in his pajama bottoms pocket.

“Open mine first!” she insisted as he crawled back into bed.

He turned to her with a small smile. “Hand it over, Fisher,” he rumbled.

Carrie gave him a long, slim jewelry box with a red ribbon wrapped around it. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

He untied the ribbon and gasped as he lifted the lid. Two sterling silver dog tags caught the light, showing off the engraved messages. The first tag had “Carrie & Harrison 1976” written in cursive writing, but it was the second tag that brought tears to his eyes. He ran a long finger over the engraving—the first initials of their children in the order they were born, with “unborn child” written below.

“Carrie,” he choked out, his eyes shining brightly. “Carrie.”

“You like them?” she asked softly.

He shifted himself to face her, then carefully pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly. “Sweetheart, I couldn’t love them more if I tried.”

She smiled against his mouth. “I wasn’t sure what you’d think about the . . . kids one.”

His lips brushed her temple. “It’s perfect,” he whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’ll have them with me, always.”

Carrie pulled back, gingerly wiping his cheeks. “Good,” she breathed, unable to say more.

“Thank you so much,” he sniffled.

She moved forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome.” She cleared her throat. “My turn?”

Harrison moved back to his side of the bed and slipped on the dog tags, taking a moment to run his thumb over the engravings. He reached into his pocket, pulling the box out and handing it to her.

Carrie sat up and grinned, practically bouncing in the bed as she opened the box. Gary climbed closer to her, sniffing what she had in her hand.

“Harrison,” she breathed. Inside the box was a rose gold band with diamonds encrusted in the Greek key design. She ran her finger lightly over the design, almost as if she was afraid to damage it. “Honey, this is gorgeous.”

“Take it out,” he encouraged, stroking her thigh.

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow, removing the ring from the box. Inspecting it in the light, she saw the engraving, her breath catching in her throat.

“What does it say?” he rumbled, nervous for her reaction.

“Carrison,” she choked, tears springing to her eyes. “You engraved it with Carrison.”

“It’s the right one, right?” he asked. “I wrote it down when you showed me the final draft of your book, but I wasn’t sure—”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, cutting him off. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, repeating his words from earlier. “I’ll wear it every day.”

“You don’t have to . . .”

“I want to,” she insisted, placing it on her right hand ring finger.

He cupped her cheek and kissed her again. “I love you so much.”

“I’ll always love you more,” she teased, smiling. “And I’m always right.”

He barked out a laugh. “Yes, you are.”

She pulled them both back against the bed, pushing aside the boxes as they rested in each other’s arms, her head against his chest. “Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome,” he rumbled as Gary flopped on his legs.

“Not just for the ring,” Carrie clarified. “For the past forty years.”

He squirmed a little. “I’m sure they weren’t all that great for you. I could have treated you better.”

“Stop that,” she gently insisted. “You always did the best you could—and you never intentionally hurt me or anyone else.”

Harrison knew they’d been over this countless times before, but it weighed on him with their anniversary. “I wish you never had to hurt at all.”

“Shut up,” she growled playfully. “I don’t regret any of it. I wouldn’t trade these forty years for the world.”

He smiled softly, reassured for the time being.

“Well,” she hedged, “if you really want to make things up to me . . .”

Harrison raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“We could watch some of the Real Housewives,” she grinned.

He chuckled and reached for the remote. “Sure, sweetheart.”

She turned on the TV. “Smart man.”

He snorted. “If Mama’s not happy, nobody’s happy.”

[apocalypta-secundus]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN LOL

[hirak0s]

uwu

I'm adding a little more to the twins background

Sooooon ™

[hirak0s]

IT'S THE BABIES AND I LOVE THEM! Please squish their cheeks.

Thank you, @rigelig!

[hirak0s]

Don't start with me, I was good at cookie clicker.

[likeasnake]

👀if you wonder why I'm slow, I still have icons to make, sorry!

[hirak0s]

Yeehaw finished Ayame and Shinji's art for Valentine's Day.

I AM TIRED.

I hate open canvas so much

[hirak0s]

and since no one asked.

Ayame and Shinji are twins cause I said so, and it changes nothing when writing with them, so... there bleh.

[hirak0s]

*chews on drafts like a wild animal*