#yes you Gordie

[sadraccoon061]

That one time Gordie called Leon to ask if his entire household could crash at his place for a bit (his household at the time being Gordie, Melony, Bea, Raihan & Allister).

Then everyone kept getting into fights.

Gordie is like who, me?

Side note I really love my Gordie Sim aaaaaa

[rottengurlz]

Story of seasons time

[rosielav]

Hello Tumblr babies. This month, I hardly got any doodling done. Any requests, preferably super silly? If you happen to know my OCs, maybe request one of them? :3

My favorite this month is the Big Cosmic Goose Egg, and the lil cosmic chicken egg.

[altaruwusmolboiz]

Corn reprise is BARS

[parin-gurumin]

more stuff from the same canvas as that iono and grusha comic

my wife gordie

the session's password was bugjuice so i put this on the canvas

[boyfrillish]

I have reached Wyndon tonight! Which means stuff is about to get serious I guess, but also I’m once again crying about so many things especially including – but not limited to – Victor and Hop having another trainride cutscene together

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Stevie Wonder - Superstition 1972

"Superstition" is a song by American singer-songwriter Stevie Wonder. It was released on October 24, 1972, as the lead single from his fifteenth studio album, Talking Book (1972). The lyrics describe popular superstitions and their negative effects. It reached number one in the US Billboard Hot 100 in January 1973 and on the soul singles chart. It was Wonder's first number one single since "Fingertips, Pt. 2" in 1963. It peaked at number eleven in the UK Singles Chart in February 1973. In November 2004, Rolling Stone ranked the song number 74 on its list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. It was re-ranked number 73 on its 2010 list, and number 12 on its 2021 list. At the 16th Grammy Awards, the song earned Wonder two Grammys: Best Rhythm & Blues Song and Best R&B Vocal Performance, Male. In 1998, the song was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.

English guitarist Jeff Beck was an admirer of Wonder's music, and Wonder was informed of this prior to the Talking Book album sessions. Although at this point Stevie Wonder was playing virtually all of the instruments on his songs by himself, he preferred to let other guitarists play on his records, and he liked the idea of a collaboration with Beck. An agreement was quickly made for Beck to become involved in the sessions that became the Talking Book album, in return for Wonder writing him a song. Between the album sessions, Beck came up with the opening drum beat. Wonder told Beck to keep playing while he improvised over the top of it. He improvised most of the song, including the riff, on the spot. Beck and Wonder created a rough demo for the song that day. After finishing the song, Wonder decided that he would allow Beck to record "Superstition" as part of their agreement. Originally, the plan was for Beck to release his version of the song first, with his newly formed power trio Beck, Bogert & Appice. However, due to the combination of the trio's debut album getting delayed and Motown CEO Berry Gordy's prediction that "Superstition" would be a huge hit and greatly increase the sales of Talking Book, Wonder released the song as the Talking Book lead single months ahead of Beck's version, the latter being issued in March 1973 on the Beck, Bogert & Appice album.

"Superstition" received a total of 91,5% yes votes!

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 || william killick x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || your husband sometimes gets carried away with his devotion to you...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 3.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || noncon/heavy dubcon smut (18+ only!!! rough sex, breeding kink, marking kink, hair pulling, praise and degradation, dark but the reader is lowkey into it lmaooo), jealousy and possessiveness, yandere vibes?, gaslighting/manipulation, established relationship, alcohol consumption

"Heavens, you look stunning!" Gordon announced when he saw you, opening his arms wide as an invitation for an embrace.  You only went in for a quick hug, but he grabbed you tight and kissed the top of your head as you laughed delightfully.  "Doesn't she look ravishing?  Don't I have excellent taste?"

The other ladies nearby nodded in agreement, hanging off of him like they tended to.  That was the way Gordon was: magnetic, for his personality just as much as his looks.  Blonde curls with light brown eyes and that megawatt smile�� as long as you'd known him, he'd never had trouble with ladies— he just made trouble for them.

"Aren't I the greatest literary agent you ever had?" he asked you, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're the only I've ever had," you reminded him.  "You represented me when I was a teenage girl trying to sell my assignments from secondary school!"

"Yes, so I win by default," he decided with a big kiss to your cheek that made you scrunch up your nose.

"But that makes you the worst I ever had, too, doesn't it?" you noticed as Gordon relaxed his embrace to just an arm around your waist.

"See?" he prompted the nearby women, "Didn't I tell you?  Can't get anything past this one— sharp as a whip, she is—"

As you shrugged in dismissal of the praise, you looked around the room in awe of all Gordon had done for you now.  He had a taste for the extravagant, clearly; truth be told, it was nothing like you'd pictured it, and nothing like what you'd asked him for when he insisted on throwing a party.

"So, please, drink up, be merry, all of that," Gordon instructed his ladies, motioning out towards the crowded room, "get properly sloppy if you must— all in honour of this lovely woman right here… a genius of writing, and one of my longest and dearest friends."

As they departed in search of free drinks, you turned to Gordon with a nervous frown.  "I'm not sure this is really all for me, Gordy," you sighed.

"Of course it is," he chuckled heartily, "I told you I'd throw something to celebrate another year of us working together— I wanted to have a gala for your novel's first publishing, but you were too busy on the honeymoon then—"

You smiled just at the mention of your honeymoon.

"All these people, doll, they're here for you," Gordon assured.

"The people, maybe; but the evening wear, the drinks, the music, the glamour?  That's for you, isn't it?" you smirked.

But before he could respond to the accusation, his eyes fell somewhere at the other end of the room, and he turned you to look the same way.  "Speaking of people here for you…" he trailed off.

You perked up when you saw William, slipping through the crowds of people, already approaching you with his hat tucked under his arm.

"You came!" you squealed with excitement as you jumped towards your husband, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.  "Oh, dear," you sighed when you saw that you'd printed berry-red lipstick on his cheek, starting to wipe it off with your fingers.

"I couldn't miss it, of course," he smiled at you, his voice so soft you barely heard it over the hustle and bustle of the party.

"They shouldn't have let you in," Gordon said, making you both look back at him.  "It's black tie only, you know."

William smiled slightly with his lips pressed together.  "He's only joking," you realised with an awkward mumble.

"The uniform seemed to go over alright," William replied, sticking his hand out towards Gordon for a shake.

"Oh, don't be so formal," Gordon laughed as he yanked William into rough side-hug.  "We know each other, don't we?"

"Sort of," William answered under his breath as Gordon put a heavy hand— adorned with golden decorative rings— on his shoulder.  

"Though I've half a mind to rough you up for convincing my star author to publish her next book under her married name," Gordon continued with a haughty laugh.  "She's already so established with the maiden name!"

"I didn't convince her of anything, I only married her," William defended.  

"Never thought you'd manage to tie this one down," Gordon smirked, "independent as she is."

"She didn't put up too much of a fight," William winked at you, and you felt a little flushed as you blinked quickly.

Apparently tired with that line of conversation, Gordon stood beside you and flipped it back to the real topic of the evening: your writing.

“She’s quite a prodigy!” Gordon exclaimed with a wide grin, wrapping an arm around you, then.  “You’ve read what she writes, haven't you?”

“Some of it,” William admitted with a nervous laugh, looking down for a moment.  “The rest is too sad for me, I’m afraid.”

“Her latest is a masterpiece,” Gordon assured.  “Forbidden love, secrets, affairs—”

“Sordid stuff,” William frowned, shaking his head.

“Sells, though,” Gordon winked.  “Men and women— we’re even selling copies in America!”

William only nodded, not seeming too convinced, and you deflated slightly as you reached out for your husband’s hand.  “Aren’t you proud of me?” you asked, sounding much more pathetic than you meant to.

“Of course, darling,” he smiled at you, “always.”

“You don’t mind if I borrow your lovely wife again, do you?” Gordon beamed.  “There’s some people over there she should meet— they might just sponsor the tour for her next novel.”

“All these book tours, I feel as if she’s hardly ever home,” William sighed.

“Well, we’ve got to keep her on the tours,” Gordon chuckled, “or that pretty face will go to waste!”

William’s jaw tightened as he nodded curtly in agreement, and you felt nervousness turning in your stomach.

“You should have a drink, soldier,” Gordon offered to lighten the obvious tension, handing William a wide glass of champagne.

He patted your husband a little too roughly on the back as he drank, before dragging you off to talk to some publishers or whatever— you glanced over to try to see your husband at the bar, hoping to catch him smiling at you, but you only caught his icy stare over the edge of his glass.

~

Enough liquor loosened you both up, and you managed to enjoy the party well into the hours of the night— it was almost one in the morning when you got home, yet you had a shocking amount of energy still coursing through you as you started to undress at the vanity.  It must’ve been all the people there, and knowing they were all celebrating you; it was electrifying, even as someone who preferred to be cooped up alone with her typewriter.

William leaned against the bedroom doorway as you shed your heels and stockings, then unpinned your hair.  When you saw him skulking on the reflection, you smirked to yourself, taking out one of your earrings.

“What’s the matter, love?” you asked sweetly, but he said nothing.  “Love?”

“I guess I’m not much of a partier,” he explained flatly.

You smiled a little, taking out your other earring and then reaching behind your neck to unclasp your necklace.  You didn’t even really notice the silence before it was broken.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” William said suddenly, and you scoffed— once you realised what he was talking about.

“He’s just that way,” you assured, “I don’t take it personally.”

“And all the talk of your genius, of your prodigious writing— that’s not personal?”

You shrugged slightly as you turned slightly and looked at him over your shoulder, smiling but knitting your brows together in confusion.  “Isn’t that why you married me?  I thought you liked the way people fawn over me.”

“But you know him,” William insisted again.  “You knew him before you even met me, you work with him— you spend long hours with him, when I’m gone—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you laughed, standing up, but he only glared at you.  You tilted your head as you approached him.  “William, you couldn’t really think—”

“Don’t patronise me,” he sneered, and when you reached out to touch his face, he snatched you by the wrist and yanked you closer.

“William!” you scolded, whimpering as he moved his face close to yours, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily through them.  “William, please—”

“Look at me,” he demanded, grabbing your face with his other hand.  “Look at your husband, darling.”

You bit your lip to suppress its shaking, meeting his fiery— yet cold— stare.  “You’re hurting me,” you whispered, tightening your hand into a weak fist as he held it painfully tight.

“I can see, you know,” he told you sharply and quietly through his teeth.  “I can see the way you laugh at his jokes, and let him pull you closer.  His hand on your hip—”

“It’s nothing, William,” you breathed, and his hand moved down from your face to your neck, then your chest, where he brushed his fingers over the neckline of your dress.

“Wearing the dresses he buys for you,” he noticed with a sneer.  “God, he’s got you looking like his fucking whore.”

He shoved you back and you tripped to land on the bed, hiding your face in fear and shame as he stalked towards you.

“Now you want to play innocent?” William spat as he towered over you.  “I told you to fucking look at me!”

“I can’t!” you sobbed, fighting when he grabbed your arms and tried to pry them apart, attempting to force you to turn onto your back.  “I can’t, William, not when you’re like this!”

“You made me like this!” he accused, eventually getting you to turn over so he could pin down your wrists on either side of your head.  “You made me like this,” he said again, voice lowered from shouting to a soft growl.  “You let him put his filthy fucking hands all over you, didn’t you?”

“No, William,” you denied, crying weakly as you shook your head.  “Never.  I love you— I love you more than anything.”

“But you won’t tell me the truth,” he snarled.  “The truth, darling, not another story— not another one of your goddamn stories!”

“He kissed me!” you admitted suddenly, and before you could explain, William roughly slammed his lips onto yours.  You whimpered into it, struggling against his tightening grip, and he pressed you down into the bed with the weight of his body.

“Tell me how it happened,” he demanded, lips still brushing against yours as he spoke, eyes still piercing through you.

“I swear, Will, I told him to stop,” you breathed, “I pushed him away.  I told him I love you, William— and I do, don’t you know how much I do?”

“He kissed you,” William repeated, rage tinting his voice.

“That’s all, I swear,” you promised.

“And you didn’t tell me—”

“I thought you’d get angry,” you defended weakly.

“You didn't tell your poor, doting husband,” he groaned, “your heartbroken husband—”

“I’m so sorry, William,” you whispered.

“Why didn’t you tell me, hm?  Because you love him?”

“No!  Fuck, no,” you cried.

“Because you considered it— because you thought about letting him make love to you?”

“No!” you shouted, but he suddenly put a hand over your mouth to muffle it.  When you stopped, stilling briefly as he looked down at you, he took his hand away and stroked your cheek with it.

“He must have forgotten,” William whispered under his breath, petting your face and acting oddly sweet.  “He must have forgotten that you… belong to me.”

You blinked quickly, shivering as he pressed a slow, short kiss to your lips.

“That these lips belong to me,” he continued with a sigh, “that this neck belongs to me—”

He kissed it, but brushed his teeth teasingly over your pulse.

“That every single, beautiful, perfect part of you,” he went on, hands running down over your chest and settling on your waist tightly, “belongs to me.”

He bit down harder on your neck and you whined.

“Did you forget too, darling?”

“William, you’ll leave marks,” you whimpered, “you’ll bruise me—”

“Good,” he purred, “then you can’t just take your ring off and act single, can you?”

“I never take off your ring, William,” you swore, “not even to bathe…”

“I still want my marks all over you,” he explained darkly, “I still want you bruised tomorrow.  I don’t just want them to know you’re married, darling— I want them to know how good I fuck you.  I want them to know that your husband fucks you.”

Suddenly his hands were at your dress, tearing it to shreds right down the front.

“And I want them to know,” he continued with a groan, “how much you love it.”

He flipped you over roughly, yanking you up by your hair until you were forced to scramble onto your hands and knees.  Your head dropped defeatedly when he let go of your hair, and he held your hips tightly with one hand as he opened his trousers with the other.

“W-wait,” you stammered, but he ignored you, reaching up under the tatters of your dress to yank your girdle and panties down.  Before you could beg for some mercy again he slammed into you, making you choke out a wavering cry; instantly he was fucking you hard and fast, making you shake all over and try to reach back to grab his hips so he might slow down.  “W-Will, love, please—” you whimpered helplessly.

“Fuck, if that son of a bitch could see you like this,” William sneered.  “If he could see you now— he’d know who you belong to, wouldn’t he?  If he could see you on your hands and knees, begging for me…”

He fucked you even harder— his hand reached up to hold onto your shoulder so you wouldn’t fall forward from the force of it.

“If he could see what a dirty little wife you are,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your skin— more marks, you were sure.  “Fuck, you’re soaking me already, darling.”

A whimper slipped from your mouth as he leaned down, holding you tightly and speaking right by your ear.

“You like it, don’t you?  Playing with me,” he hissed.  “You like driving your poor husband crazy, thinking you might be stepping out on him?”

You shook your head, choking on a moan as he slowed his movements to make sure every thrust reached as deep into you as possible.  “N-no, love, no—”

“You like how I fuck you when I’m angry, don’t you?” he went on anyways, biting the shell of your ear until your channel clenched around him.  “Is that what got you so wet, darling?”

Biting your lip to hide your moans, you held tighter onto the sheets beneath you, and one of his hands came down to wrap around yours.

“So sweet,” he cooed, “such a sweet little wife.  You look so innocent, darling, they have no idea what a slut you are— none of them do, but fuck… they will.”

He sped up again and you whined loudly; the pain and the pleasure together made your legs shake, hardly able to hold you up on the bed.  He snatched one of the nearby pillows and shoved it under your hips— it kept them up when he began to fuck you so hard that you fell forward, and the angle hit just right inside you as a desperate scream was muffled by your face falling into the sheets.

"Yes, there she is," he praised, "my whore wife— how she loves to be fucked, reminded of her place.  This is your place, isn't it?  In my bed, sweet cunt taking my cock?  Not out with that awful man— not on those godforsaken book tours—"

When you tried to reach back to keep him from going too deep again, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them back beside your face as he kept thrusting even faster, making the whole bed bounce and shake.

"You can take it all, darling," he promised with a groan, "you can fit your husband inside, all the way— fuck, you're so beautiful like this.  You're so perfect, my angel…"

He buried his face in your neck as he thrusted into you, his own moans rivalling yours while he kissed your neck and ear and shoulder.  

No one could accuse your husband of lacking passion, even if they didn’t see him like this— which you really hoped they didn’t.  From the very beginning, he’d pursued you fervently: he read one of your short stories, and wrote rather effusive fan mail to the magazine in which it was published.  And then when he came to your publisher’s office hoping to meet you, he took one look at you and became properly obsessed.  He insisted you were the love of his life… and before you’d even really gotten to know him!  You were nearly offended at first; but the longer his seduction went on, the more you couldn’t help but fall for him.  Strong yet tender, kind yet stern, intelligent yet sensitive… and creative, much more than you expected.  He had quite an imagination.

Unfortunately, that imagination had a dark side, especially with his tendency to be quite jealous.  It had never gone this far before, though.

He pulled out of you, only a moment of relief and disappointment, before turning you onto your back and hovering over you.  “Look at me,” he demanded again, though his voice was low and gentle now, “look up at me, beautiful.”

He tilted your chin up with two fingers, admiring the tears in your eyes with a tender sort of expression.

“Oh, my darling,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck as he slowly pushed back inside you.  Your back arched and he slipped one arm under it to hold you tightly as he set a more careful pace than before— though still not all that slow.  "My beautiful girl— you can't help it, can you?  The way men feel about you."

A slightly deeper thrust made you gasp and reach up to hold his shoulders, blinking through the watering in your eyes.

"Of course he kissed you," he breathed, "if you were another man's wife, I'd kiss you too.  I'll always have to have you, darling, nothing could stop me."

"I pushed him away, love," you swore again.

"I know, I know," he cooed.  "But I still can't stand to think of it… of my darling wife being kissed by someone else.  He would've only done that if he thought you'd kiss him back, you know— he thought you would let him fuck you."

He picked up his pace, staring deep into your eyes and gripping you tightly.

“When you’re pregnant, then he’ll know,” William announced proudly as he held your hips.  “Then everyone who sees you will know: you fucking belong to me.”

Overwhelmed by it, you felt yourself get even hotter and slicker between the legs at the idea of that.  He was wrong about you wanting to make him jealous, but neither of you could deny now that you got some gratification out of it.

“Say it,” he ordered.

“I belong to you,” you promised, “I’m yours— you know I’m yours, love, always—”

He hummed in agreement, pumping deeper and faster into you as your head spun.  “You’ll be the most beautiful expectant wife there ever was,” he purred, a rough hand tugging your bra out of the way and groping your breasts.  “These nice and full— all of you swollen and soft—”

“W-William,” you stammered, hardly able to breathe with his weight on you and the way he filled you.

“Big belly,” he cooed, “and my baby inside— our baby.  Fuck, how can I wait to see you like that?”

“F-fuck,” you choked out, “don’t stop, please… please, my love—”

“I’ll fill you, darling,” he promised lowly, baring his teeth as you started to fall into it— your head tilting back into the mattress, pleasure overtaking you, your fingers digging into his shoulders.  “I’ll give you everything I have, every night, until it takes—”

“Please,” you begged, holding him tighter and lifting your face up with what little energy you had to bury it in his shoulder.  You cried from the intensity of it all— from everything— as shudders wracked your body.  He groaned as he felt you pulsing around him, kissing your face and groaning beside your ear.

“What a good little wife,” he praised as you came, “what a perfect little wife— you want it, don’t you?  To be pregnant, have my child?”

You barely managed to nod, you were so overcome by every sensation running through you.  But you did, and he growled proudly.

“You will, my angel,” he promised, “I’ll make sure of it.  Just say one more time that you love me, darling— that you’ll always be mine—”

“I-I love you so much, William,” you swore, muffled in the jacket that you clutched needily.  “I’m yours— I’m always yours— oh!”

You lost track of your words, but it didn’t matter then because you were drowned out by his gasps: heavy, low breaths as he pressed into you one last time and filled you completely.

Instantly, you were flooded with even more emotions: shame, ecstasy, confusion, hurt, love.  It was too much to take even if you weren’t still slightly tipsy and entirely sleep-deprived, but altogether it just turned you into a mess.

After coming down from his high— though he was still catching his breath— William seemed to sober up in a second as you cried harder.  Cooing gently at you, he wrapped his arms tighter around you and hugged you close.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he breathed as he held you tightly, “I’m so sorry.  You know it’s just my love that makes me this way— I just can’t stand to see another man lay his hand on you… I just can’t imagine you with anyone else, it breaks my heart, darling.”

“You break my heart, William,” you whispered back, still hiding in his shoulder, “when you think I could ever hurt you like that.  When you accuse me of something like that—”

“I just get scared, darling,” he sighed, petting your back slowly as he rocked you in his arms.  “I just get scared that you’re too good to be true.  That this beautiful creature can’t be all mine.”

You smiled against his skin, holding onto him tighter.  “I love you so much, William… I’d never— you have to believe me, I’d never—”

“Shh,” he soothed softly, as he held your head and kissed the top of it.  “I know, darling, I know.  Because you belong to me.”

[wilwheaton]

I hadn't seen that Lego image before. The "crying Wesley" annoys me. Big, goofy, Boimler-esque grinning Wesley would have been great, as I always remembered the character being excited and enthusiastic.

I was of the age that Wesley was my audience identification character. I preferred when he was more complex and interestingly flawed in later seasons, but I always wanted to be more like him.

I'm sorry that you endured all of that crap over the years. It's REALLY not fair to you, and I can imagine how tedious it must be. But I'm glad that you were part of TNG, I was always thrilled when you made guest appearances after leaving as a regular, and I love much of your work after your work in later years (Chaos 4EVER!).

So yes, there are many of us that loved Wesley. Especially us fellow Gordies. Thanks for doing what you do and have done, even (and especially) when it's been really hard.

You are so right! Thank you. I would love to see him with that level of enthusiasm.

I have this fan fiction idea where Wesley goes to the Cerritos, and all he wants is for Mariner to think he's cool, because they went to academy together.

Meanwhile, Boimler is just BESIDE himself that Wesley, who knows and works with a lot of Boimler's heroes, is on the ship. So he keeps interrupting Wesley, and somehow Wesley really steps in it.

Boimler feels badly about it, so he just nerds out REAL HARD at Wesley about something, and it speaks so loudly to Wesley's inner nerd, they end up on a major science project together that OF COURSE saves the Cerritos.

And at the end of it, when Wesley is about to leave, and he thinks he's impressed Mariner, she just ROASTS him in the most hilarious way possible. I haven't figured out what it is, yet.

ROLL CREDITS.

[bloodyjuls-blog]

Mi musa. Ana-maria Crnogorcevic x Reader

🚨SOLD OUT 24/09/23 y/n in concert at sala Razzmatazz, Barcelona 🚨

Y/N pov

I was super nervous because today would be my end of tour concert and I couldn't be more excited, I will finally spend more time with my girl. All these months that I've been dating Ana I've had a wonderful time, she is very sweet, very loving, very special to me. I've wanted to dedicate a couple of songs to her on my new album, but I don't want to arouse suspicions because our relationship is a bit low profile.

I invited Ana to the concert and she told me that her teammates love my music so I gave them a few tickets to the concert. Because with this sold out thing it's impossible, they even have a vip pass.

I was wandering in my thoughts when I get a message from Ana telling me that they are almost at the venue.

Ana from Albacete💘

Baby we are almost there

ME

Well gordi, if there's anything you can tell me ILSM ♥️

Ana from Albacete 💘

I love you❣️

Once the concert started the first thing I see is Ana with the whole Barça team? I can't believe it she has brought the whole team hahaha what a woman she is.

"Well Barna how are we?" I say euphoric in what would be my last concert. "Apparently we have some special guests here today" and I look at the Barça girls. They euphorically shout and whistle. "So, are we starting or not?" I say, teasing the audience. To which they shout "Yes" "Guapa" "Say it queen"....

A few songs later, the one I'm going to dedicate to Ana starts.

"Echaste a todos de la fiesta para quedarte sola conmigo en el salón"  I look at Ana knowing that she has understood the reference...

Flashback

"Ana my love, are your mates at home? I've already left the concert" I tell her in the middle of the call, to which she answers me: "I've already told them to leave so you can come and stay with me until further notice" she tells me seriously but at the same time sweetly. "Well my life, see you now".

End of flashback

I see that she turns red and I keep on singing... "Y si pudiera cambiar todo lo que he vivido a tu lado por millones en el banco y un coche descapotao, no" her teammates look at her funny because I'm singing the song straight to her...

"En la parte de atrás de un Mini o en playas de Santorini" this part makes her go crazy with the redness of her cheeks...

Flashback

"Anaaaaaaaaa, the car won't start" I say a bit worried from a slope in Santorini... "Y/n I don't have a signal to call the mechanic, you?" she says relaxed. She laughs a bit at me and puts on the radio.... "Ana for God's sake" I say worried. "Oh love, so little is so little, I have an idea to distract you" she says seductively.... "Oh yes, what idea does that little head of yours have?" I lean into his side a little. "First of all, we have to move to the back because my legs don't fit in this passenger seat" once we are both seated in the back I tell her "Lady I tell you once and for all that no funny business back here eh" she looks at me indignant and says: "I just wanted to give you some kisses and do karaoke" I look at her inquisitively: "well I accept your kisses but we must see how we leave" I lean to give her some kisses first in her forehead, then in her nose and then in her lips...

End of flashback

Ana's pov

This concert is special because it's the end of Y/N's tour and as she has given me the go ahead to invite the girls from the team I don't know what she has planned but whatever it is I know it's going to be great. And well who am I kidding, it's y/n everything does well....

During the course of the concert I notice that a song is playing that I haven't heard before, and that's when y/N looks at me and I can intuit that she's dedicating it to me. My teammates look at me a bit out of place because they don't know what's going on and I prefer not to say anything...

"In the back of a mini or on the beaches of Santorini" I couldn't believe that y/n had put that in a song, a phrase that seems innocent but not. "Hey Ana, didn't you have some problems on your last trip to Santorini?" Keira says to me.... "Yes" I say nervously. "AHH, it's just a coincidence that y/n made that reference and sang it to you" says Lucy connecting the dots. "What a weird thing to say, maybe she rents the car from the same place I do" I say to Lucy calmly.... "Mmm well, if you say so" says Alexia suspiciously.

Y/N's pov

"And well Barna, let's go with the last song of the night, a song that is inspired by my midnight muse," I say more calmly.... "With you 'arrullo de estrellas' " and I start playing the piano.

"Es que no hay nadie como tú, que me haga sentir así, en un arrullo de estrellas, te lo digo desde el alma, y con el corazón abierto" I raise my gaze and focus it on Ana... I see her very excited and it makes me get a little emotional. I let a couple of tears fall...

"Eres mi amor amor eterno

Mi ángel de la guarda

Te lo digo desde el alma

María llena eres de gracia "

Now it was clear who I was going to sing for.

The concert is over and I go backstage and in a matter of minutes the Barça girls and Ana clearly arrive. "Hola y/n" says Ana coming up to me and hugging me, "Hola mi amor" I greet her and give her a little kiss on her "cheek" very close to her lips. "I can't believe this is the end of the tour, wonderful, I loved it" Alexia says to me and the others nod. "Apparently you liked the concert" I say amused. "You're the best" Ana says to me in a low voice. "So, what are the plans after this" asks Irene (she already knows about us so it's a closer question) "to rest and keep composing" "I also want to take some time for myself, for my family, my girl and to travel a little bit" I say calmer after today's roller coaster of emotions. "Very good" says Irene with her stoic calm. "I hope to see you more often at the Johan. Tell Ana to give you some tickets and drop by" says Alexia. "Mmm ok?" I say quizzically. "It's obvious that you go out with Ana, I've noticed the whole concert how you look at her and not to mention the reference to Santorini, Ana has told us about that and it can't be a coincidence" says Alexia amused. "Well I'm not hahaha" I say and give Ana a kiss before I go to change for the after party.

Ana's fic has arrived. Let me know if you liked? The lyrics translate down below

1. Song: Santorini by Enol

https://www.musixmatch.com/es/letras/Enol-Marmi/SANTORINI-Marmi/traduccion/english/amp#view_translation

2. Song: Arrullo de estrellas by Zoe

https://lyricstranslate.com/es/arrullo-de-estrellas-stars-lullaby.html

[gumnut-logic]

Jeff leant on his cane and held his tongue.

His eldest was quietly juggling small talk as they waited for the assistant to bring out the finished product. Gordon and Alan were discussing something about a toy fish far too loudly to be polite, John was talking to Eos via his tablet and Virgil was eyeing Jeff with suspicion like he always was – as if his father might break if Virgil took those worried brown eyes off him.

An internal sigh.

It was a family day out. Well, it was supposed to be. A simple follow up trip to the tailors to collect and check the fitting of their suits. When he suggested they do this together, there had been a few odd expressions, but ultimately, his boys had jumped at the opportunity.

His mother had arched an eyebrow with enough angle to give Jeff the suspicion that this was very unusual. A quick question to her later that night, and his suspicions had been confirmed.

His boys hated shopping.

But this was a different kind of purchase. It was time to spend together as father and sons. Something he yearned for.

The fitting last month had gone really well. He had enjoyed spending time with his boys away from International Rescue. Getting to know each of them. Watching them interact as brothers.

If he was honest, the eldest boys hadn’t changed much in personality. Matured, yes. Taken on more responsibility, of course. But at their core, Scott was still the leader, the hovering, worried older brother. Virgil still had that touch of hero worship for Scott, and rounded up all the others, playing referee to all of them. John was the island he always was until one brother or another cycloned onto his shores and messed with him.

It was the younger two he needed to get to know better.

Something had happened to his little Gordy while he was away. Some things. There were scars on his body that hadn’t been there when Jeff left. His little fish had been through so much injury in his short life…Scott’s quiet voice reported while Virgil stood behind him, so much worry in those brown eyes.

Jeff had enough control not to react. Not until he was alone, late at night, when only Lucy heard his tears.

But there was a gold medal on Gordon’s wall. With the injuries came the triumphs, the list of lives saved.

Including his own.

He had nearly lost a son to Gaat.

Nearly.

He straightened where he stood and shifted his cane.

Of course, this just prompted Virgil to take a step closer, that familiar frown crumpling his brow.

“I’m okay, Virgil.”

The quiet statement interrupted Scott and his small talk. The commander flicked a glance between the two of them, narrowing on Virgil.

Jeff watched a silent communication bounce between them.

Virgil took a step back.

Scott turned back to the tailor, his gaze skipping over Jeff to focus back on the conversation.

Jeff swallowed.

Virgil was still watching.

Another internal sigh. His second eldest was a damned mind reader.

Okay, so he wasn’t feeling the best today. He had days like that. Days where gravity was too much. Days where people were too much. Days where memories were too much. He was getting used to tackling them and they were getting less frequent. Today wasn’t a particularly bad one and he was determined not to miss out this rare precious time with his boys.

“You okay, Dad?” Alan bounced beside him, as always, a ball of energy. His fingers brushed against Jeff’s arm, bright eyes peering up at him.

A half smile. “I’m okay, Allie. Just a little on the achy side today.”

In his peripheral vision, brown eyes across the room narrowed.

“You wanna sit down?” Alan pointed at one of the many chairs in the room.

“No, I’m better standing. Thank you, son.”

Alan eyed him sideways. “Virg, bugging you?”

That prompted a proper sigh. “He means well.”

“Well, if you ever need to hide, I know some good spots.”

“Alan!” Gordon shuffled over and poked him in the ribs. “That’s classified information.”

“Dad, needs our help, Gords.”

The aquanaut eyed his father suspiciously. “How do we know he won’t collude with the enemy in the future.”

Jeff arched an eyebrow. “Since when is Virgil ‘the enemy’?”

“See, that’s what I mean. Allie, you’re risking our security.”

“It sounds like the both of you have been risking your health and making your brother’s job harder.” He frowned at his two youngest sons. “Do you do the same to your grandmother?”

Both boys opened their mouths, but perhaps fortunately for them, they were interrupted by the tailor as the assistant brought out their six brand new suits.

Jeff eyed his youngest as Gordon poked him in the ribs again and whispered in his ear as they hurried off. Alan glared at his fish brother and got noogie for his efforts.

No, perhaps his boys may have matured, but they really weren’t that different.

He followed them into the dressing rooms, the tailor himself holding Jeff’s suit.

“Do you need any assistance, sir?”

“No, William, thank you. I can manage.” He shut the door and pushed the rest of the world out.

He needed a moment.

He threw himself into one of the two chairs in the small room.

The decor was on the opulent side. They paid top dollar for this service and the trappings reflected it. His mind threw up the first suit shop he had attended in Kansas. He had been looked up and down as a country hick. The price had been steep then, but was now less than pocket change.

He had come a long way.

Until eight years ago.

Then he was just a long way away.

He cut off that train of thought. Down that way lay depression and lost opportunities. They had no place here today.

Today was about his boys.

He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the ever present aches and focussed on dressing himself without falling on his face.

No doubt, Virgil, or even Scott, would be hovering outside his door shortly.

He made as quick work of the suit as possible. The dark grey material was soft and comfortable, the most subtle stripe emphasizing his shoulders and distracting from his drop in muscle tone.

A temporary thing.

He would get it back.

Eight years was a long time.

“Dad, you okay in there?”

He rolled his eyes. Scott this time. “Nearly done. I will be out shortly.”

It was like he was the child and Scott and Virgil were his parents.

His mother had just laughed when he mentioned it to her. “Honey, your sons are strong. They have become what they needed to be. Give them time to find their places again. Give yourself time.”

He sighed. Patience was something he had learnt while stranded.

Didn’t mean he had to like it.

He tied his shoes and stood up, grabbing his cursed walking stick.

The man in the mirror appeared professional, poised and, with the cane, a little regal.

The man inside felt anything but.

His eyes stared at him.

Haunted grey.

He shook himself. Focus.

With straight shoulders, he grabbed the door handle and strode out to face his children.

-o-o-o-

Who do you save, John?

[auroravictorium]

unraveling (k.b.)

"My head is clearly muddied, and I'm so sick of coming undone." - Aeroplane Bathroom by Gordi

Summary: when a plague claims reader's sister's life, the news is delivered in the form of a letter; when she distances herself from everyone and hides the news, kaz fears that something serious is going on until she confesses what happened. Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship - they've been together for a while, so kaz feels comfortable being somewhat close to her) Word Count: ~2.6k Warnings: loss of a sister, heavy mentions of grief, mentions of a plague, brief violence (reader strangles someone) Genre: hurt/comfort Request? Yes (@morrigan-crowmwell)

Author's Note: i'm baaaaaaack and FINALLY on break!! i hope you all enjoy this (not so) little hurt/comfort work - i promise i'm following up with a fluffy one soon :))

It started with a letter a low-level Dreg delivered while the Crows gathered to plan a job.

He passed it to you with a murmur in your ear, and with furrowed brows, you flipped it over to see the return address. It was scrawled in the corner, a few letters missing or blurred together in the author's haste to send the missive, whatever it was. Kaz knew from the surprised look on your face that you recognized the address, but the expression disappeared before the rest of the Crows could notice or Kaz could evaluate it further. 

"I'll be right back," you said quietly, rising from your seat next to Kaz and disappearing into the relative privacy of his room. Had you known its contents, you would have gone to your room a floor down and opened it privately.

When you returned, you seemed unaffected to everyone but Kaz. He noticed the troubled purse of your lips, the way you fought to keep a neutral mask in place. You avoided his gaze as you sat back down, and you hardly contributed to the rest of the meeting, your eyes on the now-crumpled envelope in your hand.

In the two weeks since the letter arrived, you had withdrawn. You didn't visit Kaz in his office, you didn't take shots with Jesper at the Club, and you weren't seen outside your room unless necessary.

When the day for the next job came, you were uncharacteristically sloppy. What should have been an easy in-and-out theft of bank information on a close potential associate of the Dime Lions was nearly botched; knocking the guards unconscious took you longer than it should have, and you almost missed the correct papers in the target's desk. When you found them, the guards were beginning to stir again, and the Stadtwatch were en route.

"What happened today?" Kaz hissed, shutting his bedroom door behind him with a firm click. He leaned his cane against the wall and shed his coat and hat, hanging them on a hook haphazardly nailed into the wall.

You didn't respond, dropping the rolls of parchment onto the crooked table in the corner. The letters of your parents' note to you swam in your vision, and you could still feel the guards' pulses slowing beneath your fingertips as you choked them into unconsciousness. Your eyes burned, and you refused to face Kaz, instead crossing to his window and sitting on the bench beneath it. You wanted to be anywhere else.

If you didn't look at him, you wouldn't have to see or bear his disappointment and anger. And if you didn't see it, you could indulge in the numbness that was easier to feel than grief. It settled over you like a coat soaked by rain: heavy, but at least it protected you from the worst of the weather.

The consequences of your indifference would rip your temporary armor from you and push you into a cold, harsh reality. Your sister was gone, a life taken by a plague brought by an unwelcome merchant to your small town. It was a truth you weren't willing to face yet. So numbness it was, even as Kaz and the letter burning in your pocket urged you to confront your grief.

"Y/N," Kaz said, watching as you seemed to go somewhere else right in front of him. What happened? What did that letter contain? His anger about the job dissipated, and worry rose in its place as you refused to even look at him. 

He dragged a chair away from the crooked table and settled beside you, stretching out his right leg to ease the ache. You didn't acknowledge him moving closer, your eyes locked on the crows pecking outside Kaz's window. 

Some said crows were messengers from beyond, intermediaries between the lost and the living. You scoffed at the notion once, the same way you brushed off the idea of Saints looking over you.

That was before you lost someone. Now, a tiny part of you hoped it was true so you could say goodbye to something. Even a damned bird.

Kaz brushed your knuckles with his gloved hand to get your attention. His eyes scanned your face, so carefully arranged in a facade of neutrality. But there were cracks in it; the wobbling of your bottom lip, how your eyes seemed to shimmer as tears brimmed in them.

Sick and selfish as it was, Kaz wondered if that letter had something to do with him. Was it a warning for her to get away? Was it a threat to her life? Was it a detailed list of every awful, heartless thing Kaz had ever done, making her fear him and regret joining the Dregs?

"What's going on?" Kaz said quietly. His earlier anger was gone, replaced by a worry that ripped away the cloak of numbness you'd shrouded yourself in. Just as you suspected would happen.

His concern left you unshielded and exposed to the tempest of grief you'd tried so desperately to ignore, to push away until it left you alone. Now, your numbness was darkening, like storm clouds rolling over the harbor and promising havoc on the city. It twisted and roiled until it was no longer numbness but the all-consuming feeling of loss.

You wished you could hide from Kaz just so he couldn't see the tears beginning to slide down your cheeks. They were hot and salty and dripped down your neck, and you wiped them away as if you could conceal them. "Don't," you said hoarsely. "Don't ask me that." Maybe he would leave it be, and you could hide again for a while longer.

But it was Kaz. He watched you unravel before him and knew he couldn't leave it be. He wouldn't.

"What did the letter say?" he pressed. Usually, he didn't push you to share your secrets. Saints knew he had his own that he refused to reveal. But he couldn't watch you fracture before him and not know what was happening, especially if he could do something to fix it.

You knew Kaz wouldn't relent until you answered. Numbly, you took the letter from your pocket and held it out, still looking out the window at the crows. They were hopping around one another, picking at the remnants of seeds Kaz had thrown out for them the day prior. 

Kaz took the letter from your fingers and looked down at it, taking in the tear stains blurring the scribbles across the page. Still, the short message was decipherable, and Kaz suddenly understood. As he read those words, he was nine years old again, grieving the loss of his brother and watching birds pick up scraps of food and trash from the streets. Kaz knew precisely what you were feeling, down to the weight on your chest that threatened to crush your lungs.

"I'm sorry," Kaz said quietly. He took your hand and brushed his thumb over the back of your knuckles. This was one of the times when Kaz wished to be close to you. He longed to hug and hold you until sleep came, so you could get a short respite from the grief and know you weren't alone. "I'm so sorry, Bluebird."

His words broke your composure completely. The tender nickname ripped a sob from your throat, and you covered your mouth with your free hand to muffle the sound. You hunched over and hid your face in your knees, losing sight of Kaz and the birds and the world around you as the currents swept you away. You broke your hand free from his, curling in on yourself as you finally let yourself cry before him.

Hesitantly, Kaz moved from his chair to the open side of the bench. He swallowed, forcing away the nagging terror that rose as he gently pulled you into him. Kaz wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you against his chest, letting you hear his racing heartbeat. It wasn't the smoothest or most confident hug, and he fought hard to battle the discomfort of having you pressed against him like this. But he was trying. If it eased your pain for even a moment, he'd bear the cold harbor lapping at his flesh and the memories of floating bodies tugging at his mind.

It meant more to you than you could tell him, and you couldn't bring yourself to question whether he was sure about this. Instead, you threw your arms around his torso and buried your face in his chest. He was warm and here and alive, and he was everything you needed right then as the dam exploded and any semblance of being okay disappeared. You sobbed into his vest as the truth came crashing down on you, crushing your lungs and making your head throb from the pain of trying to process it.

You weren't sure how long you cried. Somewhere between those initial moments of Kaz's arms around you and when you could finally catch your breath, the sun disappeared, and the stars emerged from behind the clouds. Turning your head to rest your ear against Kaz's heart, you blearily looked out the dirty window; above the clocktower in the distance was the brightest star in the sky. In your exhausted mind, you imagined it was your sister. That brought you more comfort than the legend about crows. She would've hated being a bird.

Somehow, in the warmth of Kaz's arms and with those words in your mind, you drifted into an uneasy sleep. Everywhere your dreams turned, there were crows. Sometimes your sister's laughter replaced their squawking. They dropped bright tulips on a fresh grave before flying away, their wings beating against the cloudy sky.

Kaz thought you had to be uncomfortable with the windowsill pressing into your back and your legs curled up at a strange angle. He carefully shifted, sliding one of his arms under your knees and the other around your shoulders. Then, Kaz stood and carried you over to his tiny bed. You stirred as he set you down and tucked his threadbare blanket around you. He held his breath, hoping you wouldn't wake, and he slowly let it out once you lapsed into stillness once more.

He stayed nearby as you slept, settling on the bench and looking over the city. When his eyes started drooping, he shook himself awake. When that didn't work, he grabbed a book and forced himself to read about Kerch's history.

As the night reached its darkest point and the East Stave reached its most raucous, you stirred into consciousness again. Your eyes were swollen from crying, and your head pounded. Yet the smell of Kaz, all smoke and rum and something rich, enveloped you and soothed you enough that you weren't severely bothered by your physical discomfort. 

You slowly sat up and scooted back against the wall, trying to shake off some of the heaviness lingering over you. Kaz lifted his head from where it was bent over the book in his hands and straightened up when he saw you were awake.

"Hi," he said softly. He closed his book and swung his legs off the bench. "How did you sleep?"

"Poorly." You crossed your legs and looked everywhere but at his face. This was what you'd hoped to avoid. This tense air between the two of you, the result of your inability to keep your shit together until you got to the privacy of your own room. You felt weak, unworthy of being a Crow. You wished the numbness would overtake you again.

Guilt joined the lineup of emotions, and you looked down at your hands. You were lucky they weren't stained with your friends' blood.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Though Kaz's tone wasn't accusatory, you flinched away from it. 

"I didn't want to burden you." You thought you'd be able to grieve in private without worrying the Crows or disrupting a job. Clearly, that wasn't the case; everything reminded you of your sister.

"You're not a burden to me," he said firmly. He understood your words and reasoning all too well, and he hated that he did. But you weren't a burden on him, the same way you never treated him or his failures in your relationship as such. To you, his struggle to touch you wasn't a failure. To him, your grief wasn't a burden. 

Kaz wished you would treat yourself with the same kindness you gave to him.

You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, even as his words caused your cheeks to flush. It took all your self-control to keep tears from brimming in your eyes; you couldn't tell whether they were from sadness or how he said the words as if they weren't up for debate. Like he didn't question the truth in them.

"When I was young, I lost my brother," Kaz admitted. His voice was quiet and suddenly seemed very far away. Your head lifted, and you looked at him in surprise. Kaz didn't notice, and his eyes focused on the Dekappel portrait across the room.

"He died of the Queen's Lady Plague. I got it soon after." He shuddered. He could still remember the feeling of the fever as it immobilized him, weakened him until he couldn't swim and had to use Jordie to get to shore. "There was nothing I could do, and I was alone in the city after that." His gaze finally turned to yours. "But you aren't alone. You have people who understand." I understand. "And you aren't a burden on me, so talk to me. The Crows, the Club, the Dime Lions, they can wait." 

Kaz hoped that you understood the words he wanted to say. You're more important than all of them.

Your bottom lip wobbled, and you slid out of his bed and crossed over to him. You sat beside him and took his hand, though you longed to throw your arms around him again. That was a level of physical contact he needed to initiate.

"Thank you," you whispered. Your eyes shimmered in the moonlight with more tears, and you wiped them away before resting your head on his shoulder to hide your face. You clasped his hand in both of yours and felt him lace his fingers with yours to comfort you. "I want to throw a tulip in the harbor for her tomorrow." Your voice cracked, and you swallowed before continuing. "It was her favorite flower."

"As soon as the sun rises," Kaz promised. He wished he had a gesture to offer for his brother, but Kaz Brekker wasn't known for sentimentality. It wasn't his style.

You lifted your head and wiped away a traitorous tear with the palm of your hand. "We'll bring a flower for your brother, too," you said quietly, watching Kaz's face. Was it too much to suggest? It felt wrong to not offer after he opened up to you.

Kaz's throat tightened, and he turned to look down at you. "That sounds nice." His eyes softened at the earnestness on your face, and he gently squeezed your hand to thank you.

Your shoulders loosened in relief, and you rested your head on his shoulder again, turning your eyes toward the Dekappel on the wall and watching as the moon's rays darkened the rich oil paint. The room was silent, but there was no need to fill it. Instead, you let yourself think of your sister and her tulips.

You'd start to knit yourself back together come morning.

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yodaa, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt

[thesimquarter]

hello! sims 2 miniopolis update!

first of all, my current sims 2 urbz sims >:3 outside of the obvious change of a default skin, they don't look that different compared to my old versions of them. But! believe me they are better.as well, this time! there's the DS exclusive characters and a few sims intended to be townies. In order, Lloyd, Red Man, Daschell Swank, Chet R. Chase, Bucki Brock's sister, Joe from the Flea Market (yes, he does have a name), Ava Cadavra, and Gordie Puck. Indeed, they're very red.

And an update to the town in general! I've finished most of the easy lots now, mostly having harder lots to do now. Such as the Mausoleum, Circus, Brownstones + Slice O'Life (which I… attempted. can you believe that the map of this game doesn’t follow the laws of physics?), etc.

New lots include: - Junked Schoolbus (which IS connected to the Chopper Garage visually but they aren't the same lot) - Chopper Garage (which i am not going to put underneath the road/jail! it looks cool in-game, but possibly impossible to do in the sims 2 but it makes no sense spatially!! the other side of the garage would just be underground!!!) - Cemetery (Mostly just empty buildings for aesthetics. No graves… yet. and there probably won’t be until the final version of the hood.) - Miniopolis Chronicle (TINY) - Miniopolis Hospital + University (if this was ts3 i probably would have made them separately) - Club Xizzle (what is it supposed to look like on the outside + should there be two?) - Glasstown Megamall - Cinema d'Urbania (how do you make a cinema in this game? big TV?)

I redid King Tower as well, just to make it fill out a 3x3 lot instead of a 2x2 lot, and Café Multiplaya has a new outdoor seating area (to fill in space). The Coffee Shop, the Market, and Glasstown apartments were in my last post, just kinda in the background. The Market has a lot of creative liberties taken to it, as I just didn't like how it translated into the Sims (as in it's made to represent the real-life French Quarter Market more). The Glasstown Apartment has a few other units in it for some of the Urbz sims (more on that in a bit!)

I removed pretty much, all the elevation from the .s4c terrain. It's easy to put back butttt, the sims 2 just doesn't work in a way that's friendly to sloped lots (and simcity 4 for slopes that take <1 unit of distance, you can't make steep cliffs in these games. so, basically, due to the compactness of the city, there isn’t enough room to add in slopes without making it all janky). They may come back at the end if we can Wizard the slopes to work the lots, but for now...

Ignore the weird road off the Sim Quarter. I was experimenting with what could be done with the riverboat. I was thinking about putting it on a beach lot and making a joke about it being temporarily landlocked (read: i already did) and was trying to find a good, functional place to put it. There may be other ways to do a riverboat though… hmmm

Anyways onto housing for the Sims. So, the Glasstown Apartments has a few more units to fit in a few other characters (Lottie Cash (I did manage to squeeze a bowling alley in there), Lily Gates, and Darius) but other than that? Very little! (I did Ewan’s House. however, it’s just a box; i took modest pretty literally). I might make a post soon where I talk about where each Urb would probably live, just as an excuse to talk to myself for a little while.

[atopvisenyashill]

do you think petyr ever genuinely loved cat?

i mean that’s kinda complicated just bc it’s like. what even is “love” what qualifies as feeling love. can you call what tywin feels for jaime “love” when all tywin’s love does is make jaime increasingly more miserable and jaded about his life? can you call what alicent feels for aegon “love” when she’s specifically been pushing him towards a fate he doesn’t want his whole life? can you call what joffrey feels for his mother “love” when joffrey is outwardly very derisive of women & wives and clearly thinks cersei is weak and stupid? i would personally say that rhaenyra loves jacaerys but you can't ignore that this is a very selfish, very possessive, one track mind sort of love where jacaerys is not allowed to be truthful with her the way he wants; it's love on her terms only. i personally love to argue that like, viserys i and aegon ii DO in fact love their kids (yes, all of them) despite their deadbeat tendencies but you could call it perhaps a selfish sort of love as well, a love that is more a reflection of oneself than any sort of dedication to their children. i would argue cersei doesn’t particularly LIKE tommen but does love him, and that she doesn’t know a thing about who myrcella really is but does love her, but really, is that love worth a damn in the end when she’s being actively vicious towards tommen for acting like the child he is? i think it all comes down to like, how do YOU define love - is it merely a feeling or is it an action?

for petyr, i think when he was very young, pre-injury, he felt a sort of love for catelyn yes. maybe an immature sort of love, like the way you feel about your high school girlfriend or your college best friend; there’s real, deep, consuming emotion there esp when you compare those feelings to your fleeting crushes of early childhood but it’s not as selfless, not as mature perhaps. i wouldn’t call this an “untrue” love - what’s that line from stand by me, where gordie says that he never had any friends he loved so much as the ones he had when he was 12. i think this is the sort of love petyr & catelyn had for each other. it’s about growing up together, figuring out who you are alongside another person who is figuring out who they are. that’s a connection you don’t get to have at any other point in your life! no one else knows the romantic fantasies petyr had as a child, back when he still BELIEVED they could come true, no one else knows what catelyn was like back when her grief still kept her up at night.

but again, this is a very selfish love. it is a love that disregards catelyn's feelings on the matter, it is a love that turns her into a prize to be won instead of a real woman with real feelings, it is a love in which petyr can justify utterly ruining her life and the lives of her husband and children because he's been ~sleighted~ (no he fucking hasn't, HE NEVER ASKED CATELYN HOW SHE FELT!!). i think like a lot of men in this series, when you get into that "does he love x" question, it's like...what does it matter? in the end, does it matter whether tywin loved his kids? does it matter whether robert and rhaegar loved lyanna? does it matter that viserys loved rhaenyra, that jaehaerys loved alysanne, that hoster loved lysa? i think petyr feels like he really did love catelyn and i think he felt a childish sort of love for her that can only spring from growing up together. but that love was always just as much about proving himself to be just as good as the nobility he served, about being better than brandon stark, about his concepts of masculinity and worth and class. he loves the catelyn that existed in his mind and while i would argue that when they were small, the real catelyn and the imaginary one had many similarities, that love in the end is not enough for him to actually see her as a fully fleshed out woman with her own needs, her own desires, her own dreams, and if his image of her now is bitter it's because she dared to step out of that fantasy he tried to trap her in.

[ourvanishingghosts]

Could you please do Gordie, milo, raihan and piers whit a s/o who for some reason have a suport pokemon, like a rowlite, arcanine, rockruff or lycanrock. Like in our world we have suport animals so they must have suportpokemon right?

Yes of course.

Gordie~

Your support Pokémon is Rockruff

They are there to alert you if you have any severe food allergies, low blood sugar, or a medical condition that’s is in that realm

Gordie does know about your medical condition and why Rockruff doesn’t participate in battles

He will have a room just for you and Rockruff at his gym and his house

Will educate himself and others about support Pokémon

Especially if the other person is being rude to you and Rockruff

Milo~

Your support Pokémon is Lycanroc Midnight Form

Lycanroc is there to help you out as a support Pokémon for you eyesight

Lycanroc helps you cross the street, open doors, etc

Milo will make his house and gym more accessible for you

Lycanroc will always lend you an arm or hand when you need it

Milo will do the same if Lycanroc is taking a break

Raihan~

Rowlet is your support Pokémon

They help you with your Anxiety and/or Depression

Will alert you when you’re about to have an Anxiety attack and will sit on your lap

They will also know when you’re Depressed even before you know it

Raihan will make his house more accessible for Rowlet

He had a quiet room built in his gym and house for you and Rowlet

Piers~

Piers was there when you got Arcanine

Arcanine is there to help you with mobility

You’ll ride it’s back when your legs give out or when your wheelchair or cane breaks

Piers will get Arcanine to help him when he takes your groceries into your house and car

Has a special section of his gym for you and Arcanine

Arcanine will get Piers when you are in need of medical help

If you’re in the hospital Piers takes care of Arcanine

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Rockwell - Somebody's Watching Me 1983

"Somebody's Watching Me" is a song recorded and written by American singer Rockwell, released by the Motown label in December 1983, as the lead single from his debut studio album of the same name. It features guest vocals by Michael Jackson in the chorus and Jermaine Jackson as additional backing vocals. The song became a major commercial success internationally, topping the charts in Belgium, France, and Spain, and reaching the top 5 in Canada, West Germany, the Netherlands, New Zealand, South Africa, Sweden, Switzerland, and the US. In the UK, it reached number 6 and is Rockwell's only top 40 hit on the UK Singles Chart. Rolling Stone magazine called the song "an international and enduring smash hit that, more than 30 years later, remains the perennial paranoia-rock anthem and Halloween mix go-to song."

Rockwell is a son of Motown CEO Berry Gordy. At the time of the recording, Rockwell was estranged from his father and living with Gordy's ex-wife Ray Singleton. Singleton served as executive producer on the project and would occasionally play demo tracks to Berry Gordy, who was less than enthusiastic about Rockwell's music until he heard the single with Michael Jackson's familiar voice featuring prominently on background vocals.

"Somebody's Watching Me" received a total of 88,3% yes votes!