And that’s all for this year, my lovely pumpkins! Thanks for coming to my porch light and knocking on my door!
I had to answer over thousand of asks in these days! That’s insane! Thank you all so much! It was a fun Simblreen for me. And I hope you enjoyed it too! :)
Feel free to post pics of the treats, but please don’t share the download link. :)
My treats will be all released, so don’t worry if you missed them!
Oh i forgot to post this cute Halloween family portrait i did today with the family i’ve been playing! They’re: Mary (mom), Zachary (dad), Vicky (pumpkin head) & Katy (hot dog), about to go out for trick or treat! 🖤
I got out of work early today, so I gave myself two hours to work on an autumn-inspired house (I blame this anon XD). Because I built in Forgotten Hollow and went for a gothic-themed house, it came out very Halloween-ish. :)
Woah I didn’t expected that so many people would like to trick and treat me :D I’ve spent almost the whole day answering asks and messages and even I’m super tired right now it was really fun and entertaining!
Ofc, I’ve made some fails (lol) stupid me but in general it was amazing experience and I’m super excited for tomorrow. Please come by to see more treats!
For now, my porch light is off, sorry guys but I can’t feel my fingers and I’m super sleepy.
Thank you to everyone who participated in Simblreen this year! If you missed out on the goodies from the weekend, have no fear - they are now public and available to all! Happy Halloween! /╲/\╭[☉﹏☉]╮/\╱\
Of you still have time. For the October challenge 12 and Chris (of courde I have to ask for a Chris story xD)
12. Write a plot about a character meeting a fae creature, but realizing they aren’t as pretty and delicate as the fairy tales made them believe.
“You’re back early,” Christophe notes as Victor sweeps into their suite, back from a practice he’d insisted was going to take some time. For a moment there’s uncharacteristic silence, the sort Victor doesn’t sink into unless he’s in one of his moods. Is he? When Chris glances back to check, it doesn’t look like it: behind him, Victor’s rattling around in the fridge, more restless than despondent.
“Yeah. It just …” Victor trails off, uncertain, and Christophe counts to ten inside his head. He makes it to the number six. “It felt like I was being watched, you know?”
It’s a strange thing to say for a dance major, but they’re not exactly at the world’s most ordinary university. On the one hand, in Victor’s chosen career, people will be watching him all the time. On the other, Christophe’s been watching him narrowly evade one supernatural encounter after another ever since they met, freshman year. Everyone knows about Barkley, goes the saying among people who are like Chris: it’s a bohemian kind of institution, very artsy, in Savannah. It’s also the only place he knows of in the country where there’s tacit acceptance of students who maybe aren’t quite human, and this is why their mutual friends consist of a werewolf, several witches, one harpy, and, in Christophe’s case specifically, a part-lilin, incubus being such a misconstrued word these days. My mother’s a very misunderstood woman, Christophe jokes. His mother is a professional dominatrix. This is his life.
In any case, Victor is none of those things. He certainly has the looks for it: high, fine cheekbones; wonderfully bright eyes, and gorgeous, sweeping silver hair. Except Christophe’s tested him more than once. There is absolutely nothing magical about Victor Nikiforov, aside from his dancing, and perhaps his ability to accept with wonder the community of oddballs who have sprung up around him, be it his tolerance for Georgi’s monthly moon-induced moodswings or the sort of mischief Mila Babicheva gets up to. Which isn’t to say there haven’t been some close scrapes: Victor’s beautiful and beauty tends to attract attention in the kind of community they’re in. Victor doesn’t need to know how many attempts there have been to harvest that sort of thing from him: the inspiration of it, or the elegance he carries. He just needs to know that Christophe occasionally inserts himself into the process with a flash of red eyes and subtle fang, perhaps the most useful part of the other side of his lineage. This one is under the protection of the lilin, he’s lied, at least a dozen times. In truth, Chris hasn’t really taken those kinds of steps.
Still: there’s something about Victor which seems to make everyone want to claim him. Chris would be lying if he didn’t include himself in that list.
“Weird,” Chris hums, pretending not to think about it primarily because he doesn’t want Victor thinking about it. Being strictly human, he doesn’t have the same right to navigate throughout magical communities, and Christophe usually tries to not incite his curiosity, which can sometimes be a terrible, potent thing. “Probably just an old ghost passing through the studio,” he says instead, and he makes a note to get Victor drunk enough that he goes to sleep early so that Chris can trudge down to the Performing Arts building and tell yet another creature the boundaries he’s imposing around Victor’s person.
“It was …” Victor’s not letting this go, so Chris gets up and goes to the kitchen under pretense of making dinner. “Not necessarily unpleasant,” he says, and Chris, who’s more naturally in tune with people’s motivations and drives primarily because something lives under his skin that hums feast, hears: intimate.
(the final portion of the witch prompt trilogy from all my halloween silliness. read pt 1 here, pt 2 here - someday i will clean this up and a03 it, someday)
It’s summer when the realization that will ruin Victor’s life hits him. He is fifteen years old, and he’s traveled south for the summer to visit with relatives. There’s another boy in town who’s just about his age, Christophe, and they’ve just gone for a swim to stave off the summer heat. Victor’s beaten him in a race to and from the other bank twice, through no fault of Christophe’s: Victor cuts through waves like he was born for them, has always felt most clearly himself standing on a shoreline or looking into a pool.
If there is magic about Chris, and Victor doesn’t have any reason to believe there is, it doesn’t speak to him in waves and currents and tides. Its secrets are not kept in a beautiful blue grimoire that Victor’s gotten to peruse while his mother watches. It’s a little sad, perhaps; he’ll never know the sacred circle of a coven, and there’s a whole portion of Victor’s life that he’ll never be able to clearly articulate.
For now they are just two boys making mischief, due to head back to the manor, crafting plans to steal pastries from the cook.
Christophe pulls his shirt down from where they’d left most of their clothes, hanging over tree branches, and Victor notices the way his muscles ripple.