mc$

funny story

apparently when i was 3 or so, we went to Christmas Eve mass and while we were there, the priest did that thing where he invites all the kids up in front of the altar. so my 5 year old brother and I go up there and while we were there, I was doing something he didn’t like and he told me to stop which made me really mad. so I took off my shoe and just started slapping him in the head with it over and over again in front of the entire church while the priest was talking. i’m not sure how long I was doing it but my bro never objected and just sat there silently while I abused his head. our mom sees us and she tries to come over and get me but she can’t because there is an entire ocean of kids around us so she’s standing next to the pew with anger welling up inside of her. a lady behind her realizes she’s the mom of the shoe-girl and puts her hand on her shoulder saying, “don’t worry. it gets better.”

vine

aye tb to the good old days

okay the awkward silence after a small fight would have lasted a while but he’d get tired of it because it just shouldn’t be weird for you guys to stay in silence while laying in bed. so you’d be on your phone and you’d slowly feel Michael coming closer to you and he’d support himself on one elbow and he’d have an arm wrapped loosely around your waist and finally he’d say something like “you smell good” because the poor boy is so bad after fights and he doesn’t know what to say and he just doesn’t want fights and the awkward silences after them so you’d just chuckle a bit, making him feel a bit worse. “i mean it,” he’d whine softly and you’d nod because of course he meant it but it’s just funny to see him struggling after fights, especially silly fights. “you smell nice too,” you’d reply with a grin and he’d roll his eyes because he’s only realizing now how silly that sounded. “i’m sorry, that’s all,” he’d whisper. “im only accepting your apology because you smell nice,” you’d say and he’d nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and say “be nice, please”

3

200 FOLLOWERS GIFT    //    HIPSTER JACKET

finally! hi guys!
a few days late, here it is, the 200 followers gift! I’m very happy to seeing this, you guys are awesome! 

So, this time, i have a men version of the Little Hipster with the mesh by @sims4-marigold and recolors by me. It comes in 2 versions, one with T-Shirt (as top) and one without (as hat). You can choose both if you want ;)

need mesh! here:  with tshirt  //  without tshirt

DOWNLOAD HERE - tshirt version

DOWNLOAD HERE - without tshirt version    ! UPDATED ! now with thumbnail


thanks for all the support and a special thanks for @sims4-marigold :)

vine

“how different will slfl be from rowyso?”

Trust

Band Member: Michael
Type: Spiderman AU
Request: “the idea of Spiderman! Michael seems very cute to me” - Anon


You were almost asleep when you heard it. The gentle tap on your window, just barely loud enough for you to pick out amongst the wails of police sirens and chatter of a busy city. You knew before you’d even opened your eyes what had caused it.
He’d been doing it for weeks now; appearing in the middle of the night, quietly muttering an apology as you slid your window open to allow him entry.

Spiderman.

That’s what they called him; the people in the city. He was their crime fighting vigilante, their saviour, the mystery superhuman that no one could pin down.
But you knew him as Michael.
These nocturnal visits had started back in the summer, but the first had been nothing like the soft tap on your window you’d now become accustomed too.

You’d been sat out on the fire escape when it happened, your fingers fumbling on the screen of your phone as you tried to call the police. A young girl in the alleyway below you was being mugged, and you felt powerless to do anything but babble down the microphone in a panic.
And then he’d appeared, seemingly out of thin air.
He’d swung down on a silver strand, disarming two of the thugs before you’d even had time to blink. The girl had bolted in fear, and you had been rooted to the spot, transfixed by the way he fought. But as he’d taken out the third, he’d misjudged his step.

The knife didn’t cut him deeply, but you’d heard his gasp of pain as it sliced across his stomach. He’d fired out another web, tangling around the three unconcious men and binding them to the wall, their heads hanging low on their chests. And then he’d tried to run.

He’d only made it a few steps before collapsing.

The rest of the night was foggy in your mind, a blur of blood and split skin and gauze soaked in antiseptic. But you’d gone to him, got him away from the alley before the police could arrive and cleaned him up in the tiny kitchen of your apartment. He’d been grateful, but you had known he was nervous.
“I’m not going to tell anyone you were here.” You’d told him. “You can trust me.”

You’d only turned for a second, reaching for the box of paracetamol in the cupboard. But when you turned back, he was gone.

You didn’t think you would ever see him again.
You could not have been more wrong.

He’d shown up once every few weeks at first; but now it was almost every other night. The pharmacy down the street was starting to look at you suspiciously, their curiosity piqued by how often you were stocking up on first aid supplies.
But you kind of liked his midnight visits.
In all honestly, you kind of liked Michael.

“Who was it this time?” You asked, wrapping your hoodie tighter around yourself to fight off the chill from the open window. “The sand guy? Oo, or the one with eight legs? He always kicks your-”
You paused, leaving your unfinished sentence hanging in the air.
He was moving painfully slow, his fingers gripping at his side as he swung his leg over the window ledge and ducked inside your room.

Shit, are you okay?”
You reached for his arm, slinging it across your shoulders and half-dragging him across to your bed. He let out a moan as he fell back, still clutching at his ribs.
“Michael?”
You reached for his neck, your fingers sliding under the hem of his mask.
Don’t.” He groaned, clasping your hand in his. “Leave it.”

You surrendered, allowing him to move your hand away.
Eighteen weeks had passed since you first met, and still he would not reveal who he was.
On any other night, you would have argued with him. You had argued with him, multiple times. But he’d never come to you in this state before.

He rolled onto his back, revealing what was causing him so much pain.
His suit was barely damaged, only a thin slit the length of your hand visible across his ribs; but it was soaked with blood.
Holy shit, Michael. What happened?”
You hooked a finger under the fabric, stretching and lifting it to see the wound underneath.

His skin was gaping open in a thick red line, deeper than any you had bandaged up before. Bruises were already beginning to bloom around it, a watercolour of purple and black that extended across the soft skin of his stomach. This was far beyond your capabilities.
“Remember I told you about the creepy, alien version of me? Venom?” Michael asked, his teeth grit.
You nodded, reaching under your bed for your first aid kit.
“Well, it had a kid. And the kid is worse.”

You helped him pull his arms out of his sleeves, rolling his suit down to his hips. He looked ridiculous with the mask still on, but seeing the wound in its entirety choked back the laughter you’d normally have let loose.
“I- I don’t think I can do this, Michael.” You whispered. “You need a doctor.”
His hand found yours, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I trust you.”

-

He hummed as you worked, the soft melody interrupted every time he winced. It had always been his way of coping with the pain; a distraction to take his mind off the needle and thread that was slowly stitching him back together. But he’d never had to sit this still for this long.
“I’m going to destroy that symbiote fucker.” He cursed, his fingers gripping at the bedsheets. “This hurts like hell.”
“It would hurt less if you stayed still.” You muttered, adjusting your bedside lamp to try and get better lighting. “Or if you maybe stopped taking on aliens singlehandedly, like I’ve already told you…”
“Alright, I’ll call you next time, yeah?” He said jokingly. “Maybe you can nag him to death.”

You resisted the temptation to bite back, secretly glad that his mischievous sense of humour was returning. He’d scared you when he first appeared; you’d never seen him struggle so much with pain before. But making jokes was his way of letting you know everything was okay, that he was okay. And you were grateful for it.

“All done.” You announced, tying off the bandage in a knot.
He nodded, slowly shuffling until he was sat on the edge of your bed. It was normally at this point that he would leave, lifting his mask just enough to press a quick kiss to your cheek in thanks.
But one look at his slumped shoulders, and you knew he wouldn’t make it half a block.

You could see the beads of sweat rolling down his neck from under his mask, his head hanging as he took a moment to catch his breath. It seemed wrong to see him so vulnerable, when he was normally so strong. You wanted to avert your gaze, to allow him a minute to recover his privacy and dignity; but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You sat beside him, your arm pressed against his.

“I don’t think you should go.”
The second the words left you lips, you regretted them.
He met them with a cold silence, as though he hadn’t even heard them at all.
“I just, I mean, you’re really hurt, Michael.” You stammered. “A-and you’re already here, it makes sense for you to just crash whilst you heal up a little…”

He was completely still, his hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly.
“I know you don’t trust me fully,” you added quietly, “but I’m not going to sell you out, Michael. I would never.”

He shook his head, just ever so slightly.
“I know. And I believe you”
He lifted his hands, taking the hem of his mask in his fingers.
You inhaled sharply.
“Michael, no, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay.” He said softly. “I trust you.”

He slid the mask slowly off his face, and you allowed yourself a minute to take in every detail, every line. From the flecks of stubble that grazed across his jaw, up to a pair of green-tinted eyes and dark brows pierced with a metal stud, right up to a shock of unnaturally coloured hair.
He was nothing like how you’d pictured him.
He was better. He was more.

All of your conversations, every night you’d spent laughing as you stitched him back together; all of those memories suddenly had a face to them. Looking into his eyes felt real and raw, and you wondered for the thousandth time if he felt the same strange spark when he looked into yours.

You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out, your fingers trailing gently across his jaw. He closed his eyes, savouring your touch. You saw the tension leave his body, his muscles finally beginning to relax as he tilted his head into your cupped hand.
You’d never shown each other intimacy like this before, but it just felt right. It was as though he’d stripped back more than just his mask, his biggest and most preciously guarded secret no longer one he had to bear alone. It made him something new entirely.

“Who are you?”
He looked up, meeting your gaze.
“I’m ‘The Amazing Spiderman’,” he frowned, “I thought the suit gave that much away?”
You lifted your fingers under his chin, turning him to face you properly.
“Spiderman is your job. Who are you, Michael?

He sighed, leaning closer towards you and taking your hand in his. He watched his thumb trace circles across your palm for a few seconds, his teeth chewing on his lip as though he didn’t know what to say.
You waited patiently; acutely aware of the way your heart was hammering in your chest.
But no amount of time could have prepared you for what Michael did next.

His lips were soft against yours, the salt on his skin lingering on your tongue as his fingers knotted in your hair. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, and you had to pause to take a moment to catch your breath.
He kept his forehead pressed to yours, his hands sliding down to rest gently at your neck.

“Honestly?” He whispered. “I’m just a guy. Just a guy, who’s in love with you.”

Nothing built can last forever. And every legend, no matter how great, fades with time.

With each passing year, more and more details are lost until all that remains are myths…half truths.

To put it simply: lies.

And yet, in all the known universe, between here and the far lands… the legend of the Order of the Stone endures unabridged as self-evident fact.

Indeed, it is a troubled land that has need for heroes. And ours was fortunate to have, so long ago four heroes such as these.

Petra the warrior- Whose sword all combatants would tremble.

Olivia the redstone engineer- Whose machines sparked an era of invention.

Axel the rogue- who channeled his destructive creativity for benefit of all.

And Lukas the architect- Builder of world’s and leader of the stone.

These four friends together, would give so much to gain their rightful place as four heroes.

Their greatest quest would take in a dangerous journey to fight a mysterious creature known as the Ender Dragon.

In the end, the order of the stone emerged victorious and the dragon was defeated. Their story complete they slipped away into pages of legend.

But when one story ends, another one begins.


And @a-euphoric-apocalypse and mine story begins. Shall we begin our little adventure.

Start of reversed order au: episode 1

Fanfic recs!

Cleaning out my AO3 bookmarks again, and I’m now down to three pages of bookmarks! Of course, I’ll go check out the new Captain Swan fanfic and will get bumped back up to four pages. Why do all of you have to be so talented? All links are AO3 links, and these are all one-shots or completed multi-chapters. Don’t worry if you don’t see yours, I have plenty of stories that are on my to-be-read list.

A Pirate Comes to Pemberly @mryddinwilt
Years ago Miss Emma Nolan of Pemberley was left heartbroken by the unfaithful Neal Cassidy. Now an older and wiser young woman a chance meeting with the scandalous Captain Killian Jones leaves her determined to not make the same mistake. A OUAT AU fused with Pride & Prejudice where David and Snow are Lizzy and Darcy and Emma is Georgiana. (This is amazing! Not just based on P&P but written in Austen style. So unique and wonderful.)

Possession Is Nine-Tenths – @sambethe
She left and he adjusted. Now Emma keeps poking at the edges of his life and Killian doesn’t know what to do. (If you need more persuasion, this is the prompt she based this on: “yes, i know this is your sweatshirt and that we broke up five months ago but it’s really comfy okay. i totally don’t wear it because like it still smells like you or is the only thing that even remotely feels like home since i moved out. pfft. absolutely not.”)

Definitely Unexpected – @unspoken-and-wild
Emma Swan, self-described “loner, loser, and complicated wreck” takes a much needed vacation from her New York City life by doing a home exchange with Liam Jones, a charming bartender from Brighton, England. She could have never anticipated that what, or whom, she would find on her summer vacation was exactly what she had always been missing. (The Holiday AU, summer style)

Treasure Hunt – @lenfaz
While tracking a missing yacht, Emma Swan, PI is forced to work with a team she’d never imagine working with in the first place.

Drag Me Down – @seastarved
When the world falls apart around their shoulders two souls learn that sometimes, love isn’t enough to fix it. But, in a land torn apart by war, it is the only thing that keeps them alive. A Captain Swan Rival Royals AU.

Give Me Love (Like Her) – @phiralovesloki
How can Killian Jones ask his aggressively aloof neighbor on a date without making her uncomfortable? And how can he ensure that he doesn’t default to having a one-night stand with her? His unusual solution: announce his affections anonymously and hope for the best. Companion piece to With Affection from Killian’s point-of-view. (Here’s With Affection, which you should read first. You won’t be disappointed!)

And two WIPs I’m following right now.

In the Name of the Brother – @tnlph
Killian Jones not only finds out about his father’s death, but about the brother he never knew he had. Rather than let another Jones boy grow up without a father, Killian takes the boy into his life. He’ll do all he can to be the man for his younger brother that his older brother had been for him.

Cupcakes and Snow Balls – @mearcats
It’s been almost a year since her best friend left town after their disastrous hookup. Can Emma and Killian find their way back together?

Incarcerus: Chapter 10

summary: AU. Vampire and bail bondsperson Emma Swan is drawn into a supernatural murder mystery that entangles her with strange forces, dark secrets, a far-too-charming, handsome, and enigmatic fellow vampire named Killian Jones, and the ultimate questions of how to start a blog on Fangd, get a parking spot in Boston, and avert an immortal war. She is confident love is nowhere in the plan.
rating: T
status: WIP
available: FF.net and AO3
previous: chapter 9


London, 1734

The carriage jounced to a stop yet again in the midst of the crowded thoroughfare, the driver leaning off the running board and roundly abusing the idiot in the brougham who had apparently never learned how to drive his bloody conveyance without causing horror and catastrophe to the masses, and Killian Jones leaned against the stiff velvet-backed seat with a sigh. “If I’d known it was going to take so long to get to Whitehall, I’d have suggested we walk,” he said, rapping on the roof to no effect as a further holdup embroiled traffic ahead. “Then again, I doubt the Admiralty would think much of us tromping in with muddy boots and filthy coats and looking as if we were fresh off the ship after two months’ voyage from the Indies.”

“The hearing starts at two o'clock, St. Paul’s only just sounded half past the hour. We should be quite timely.” Liam paused, stuck his head out the window to survey the situation, and amended, “Still, if those fools don’t get their oxen out of the way, there will be hell to pay. Parliament really ought to make a law about these things.”

“Maybe you can suggest one,” Killian said, grinning at his brother. “You’ll have rather a say-so, don’t you think? Commodore Liam Jones, fleet commander of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, West Indies. Surely that would entice an entire host of back-benchers to take notice of your views on the deplorable disorder of City traffic. Have you printed up new calling cards yet?”

“No,” Liam said crisply. “Because I don’t believe in crossing bridges I haven’t reached.”

“Oh, come now, Li. We all know the hearing’s just a formality. The Admiralty Board will hem and haw and shuffle papers, a lot of boring todgers in wigs will make speeches, and then they’ll sign off on your promotion. You’ll be the highest-ranking officer in the entire Caribbean. They’d be lunatics not to.”

“Aye, perhaps.” A thin line creased Liam’s brows. “Or they could ask me about the Port Royal incident, the sinking of the Mary Elizabeth, and our handling of the slave revolt. The moral good and the laws of Great Britain don’t much see eye to eye on that matter, as you well know.”

Killian winced. The Jones brothers’ uncompromising refusal to escort slave ships, support the trade or practice of chattel bondage, and discreet overlooking of the revolt that killed twelve notoriously brutal overseers on British sugar plantations in Jamaica had certainly earned them the censure of their superiors in the Royal Navy before, even if nothing could be proved, and they did their job more than well enough to render further questions moot. They caught enough pirates to make up for it, at least, and the British Crown’s worry for its shipping in the region was chief among the reasons they were now considering Liam for elevation to the rank of commodore. He had captained the HMS Imperator for over a decade, Killian serving as his first lieutenant and right-hand man for nearly all of that time, and they had made countless trips to the Indies, to Africa, to Europe, to the American colonies, navigating hurricanes and dark taverns and thieves’ hideouts and shipboard duels with privateers and every other sort of adventure, always knowing they’d come through as long as they were together.

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