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rebouks · 8 hours

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Mia: God, Ivan.. you’ve spent this whole holiday moping. Ivan: Ain’t you s’posed t’be able t’do whatever y’want on vacation? Mia: [sighs] I guess, but you’re bumming me out. Ivan: Sorry. Mia: I’m tryna make you feel better, is all. No one said I was any good at it. Ivan: Thanks for tryin’-.. you’re doin’ pretty good. Mia: I reckon you just needed some time to think, y’know? You can sit down n’ hash it all out once you get home. Ivan: I know him well enough by now t’know he’ll be gone by the time I get back. I’m done, either way-.. he made his choice n’ it ain’t one I can get behind. Mia: Well, it’s hard to understand without the full story but I’ll take your word for it. Ivan: I thought about askin’ him t’marry me at one point… Mia: Why didn’t you? Ivan: Maybe I could tell his heart wasn’t in it by then-.. maybe it was daft t’think we actually wanted the same things. I dunno if I’m even surprised the more I think about it. Mia: Don’t think about it then. Ivan: Easier said than done, ‘specially with Tilda rubbin’ salt in the wound-.. gallivanting all over the place with Triss. Mia: I’m sure you’ll find someone else to gallivant with one day. Ivan: Nah, I’m fuckin’ cursed. [Mia sighed as Ivan launched into a self-deprecating tirade about his miserable love life and the many, many failed relationships and subsequent breakups he’d been through that were all his fault. By the time he’d reached his teens, she’d had enough] Ivan: Oi, I’m talkin’ here! Mia: You’re ranting. Ivan: I was singin’ your praises for helpin’ a second ago n’ now y’fuckin’ off? Mia: Cutting this pity party short is helping, so keep singin’ em! Ivan: [scoffs] It ain’t a pity party. Mia: Time heals all wounds, you’re amazing, you’ll find someone else-.. byeeeee. Ivan: Tch, not likely. Pixie: What? Ivan: Nothin’, petal. Pixie: This couch smells rank. [Ivan chuckled as his imitating lil lady joined him, fond as always-.. maybe none of it mattered as long as she was happy] Ivan: It really does, huh?

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims story #forever in between #fib #mia clement #ivan harper #pixie harper #bbyyy nooooo don't blame urself #ough #;-;#i love mia's approach to ivan's moping/whinging tho #all good n fine until u start bashing urself then she's out #byeeeee #and hmmmm.. i wonder where pixie got the word rank from #definitely not ivan #😅

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kamiiri · 2 days

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“Shut it, already. Stop being weak,” he said aloud to himself. Deciding to stop feeling anything at all, he walked downstairs. When he reached the door at the bottom, he lowered the handle and felt it catch. Locked. Check.

“Hello?” he heard a voice say. “Tank? Is that you out there?”

Tank stopped in his tracks and turned to the door. He lifted his eyes to the foggy glass pane and found two green eyes staring back at him.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” the voice asked again.

“Yes,” Tank finally answered.

“Please, can you—”

“I have to get back, Jenny.”

“I know. I know. Can you just…tell me if he’s okay? Is Johnny okay?” she begged.

#queue #strange2 #strangetown #tank grunt #jenny smith #ts2 premades #sims 2 premades #sims premades #premade sims #sims 4 story #sims story #ts4 story #the sims 4 #sims #simblr #ts4 #division 47

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deardiaryts4 · 2 days

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Bushra spent most of her Sunday looking through one of the victims emails. She came across somethig that looked "coded" but could not make sense of it herself.

The email is long, it's not essential to know what is written. However, if you enjoy puzzles and codes, go ahead and have a crack at it.

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#the sims 4 #the sims community #sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 simblr #simblr #ts4 gameplay #ts4 story #Detective Solomon Wolff

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empiredesimparte · 2 days

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⚜ Le Cabinet Noir | Episode III, N°1 | Tuileries palace, 14 Thermidor An 230

Emperor Napoleon V and his wife Charlotte are worried about the presence of Louis Simparte on French soil. He is a notorious anti-imperialist, a sort of black sheep of the family. It seems he has decided to move back to Francesim. He has published a book "Freedom" in which he recounts his family's mistreatment of him, culminating in his liberating divorce from the mother of his children and the imperial family. The emperor has decided not to censor the book, nor to prosecute the author immediately, which is causing controversy among the Simparte people.

Finally, Napoleon V couldn't resist revealing to his wife that he and his uncle had a plan for dealing with the "Louis Simparte" case, without going into details.

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⚜ Traduction française

L'empereur Napoléon V et son épouse Charlotte sont inquiets de la présence sur le territoire français de Louis Simparte. C'est un anti-impérialiste notoire, une sorte de mouton noir de la famille. Il semblerait que ce dernier ait décidé de venir habiter à nouveau en Francesim. Il a publié un livre "Liberté" où il raconte les mauvais traitements familiaux qu'il a traversé jusqu'à son divorce libérateur avec la mère de ses enfants. L'empereur a décidé de ne pas censurer le livre, ni de poursuivre l'auteur en justice immédiatement, ce qui fait polémique au sein des Simparte.

Finalement, Napoléon V ne peut s'empêcher de révéler à son épouse que lui et son oncle ont un plan pour gérer le cas "Louis Simparte", sans rentrer dans les détails.

(Napoléon) Je l'ai feuilleté, un peu

(Charlotte) Tu te fais du mal (Napoléon) Je sais, mais comment faire autrement ?

(Charlotte) Tu ne m'as rien dit à propos de ton grand-père (Napoléon) Je ne l'ai jamais rencontré. Oncle Henri dit qu'il a trahi notre famille pour "vivre libre"

(Charlotte) Ton oncle doit être furieux (Napoléon) Il ne laisse rien paraître mais c'est évident

(Napoléon) Quel genre de père écrit "Liberté" à la mort de son fils ? (Charlotte) Pourquoi ne veux-tu pas le poursuivre en justice ?

(Napoléon) Je ne veux pas satisfaire les paparazzis

(Charlotte) Louis, tu dois faire quelque chose, il ne peut pas parader autour de nous pendant ton couronnement

(Napoléon) Ne t'en fais pas, oncle Henri et moi on a un plan

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nexility-sims · 2 days

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𝐍𝐎. 𝟓 ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜ | THE DEN & NAKAWE PALACE, AUGUST 1991

❧ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 / 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ She’ll be here any minute.' Arnaut proffered yet another empty explanation to fill the silence. The premier granted forty-five minutes, but he had already spent fifteen giving intermittent assurances that Leonor was en route, delayed in some unpreventable way. Although known as gregarious and energetic, Premier Eladio Guillen sat across from Arnaut this entire time with a small, static smile. The anticipatory silence that dragged on seemed not to faze him. Waiting grated Arnaut’s nerves, meanwhile, as did attempting to puzzle out Guillen’s thoughts. Every minute of quiet that passed constituted some kind of failed test, he was certain. Yet, he exhausted his list of aide-approved topics within the first three minutes, and Guillen resisted his efforts to sidetrack the stillborn conversation into small talk. It could only be taken as a clear, loud message that the premier preferred to sit in total silence than humor Arnaut’s attempts.

❧ important psa: leonor is her grandmother's granddaughter; additionally, i did not proofread much and should've so sdjfsdf if you notice anything off, no you didn't !!!

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

In fact, Leonor was due to be there any minute. She was in the parking garage of Nakawe Palace's complex, and she had arrived there just ten minutes past the appointed time. What kept her was the newspaper she’d snagged from a stand on Oceanside Avenue. It wasn’t a respectable publication, certainly not Nakawe’s paper of record, but its headline for the day caught her eye. That was rare. Even if tabloid chatter affected her subliminally, she wasn’t one to read the stories or pay much attention to the headlines. The newsstands she passed in the course of daily life were easy to ignore; someone delivered her preferred papers and magazines each morning, whether or not she planned to open them. This paper’s claim cut through the inane, sensational fabrications about her body, her love life, the silly woes with which some two-bit copywriter claimed to empathize.

It was almost certain that her having bought a copy of the day’s paper accusing her drug abuse would become tomorrow’s headline. At any rate, the shocked vendor stared. So too did other pedestrians as they passed. The speculation wrote itself. Why, after all, would she have bothered if there wasn’t something to it? Incensed, morbid curiosity wouldn’t do. There had to be a more salacious explanation; it was the one that argued her interest was somehow proof of guilt. But, the simple truth was that she had gasped at the sight of it: a grabby headline, juxtaposed photos innocuous on their own but damning in this contrived context, an authoritative quotation of concern from some anonymous acquaintance. The front page promised a full story unfurled inside, and Leonor, who had never been accused of wrongdoing in her life, became consumed with the need to know every lie printed within the pages.

As she sat in the car, reading about how her alter-self had become obsessed with benzos and tried heroin with a hard rock band, she knew there was no recourse. The Crown wouldn’t respond. These papers could publish whatever they liked, and they weighed that freedom against the constriction of access it only sometimes engendered. Leonor’s people had been silent and inflexible since winter—a moribund policy rolled over from before, when she was an off-limits teenager regarded as inseparable from the entity of her mother. Perhaps that was why she became fair game once the mourning moratorium lifted. More likely, the press’s the dark underbelly dwellers knew the larger apparatus of the royal family saw value in any public discourse about its members. Individual reputations were less of a concern, especially when the Crown itself and more reputable papers churned out flattering, factual stories to complicate any emerging narratives. For some time, gossip and relevance went hand-in-hand. Beatriz’s vision of the monarchy was increasingly a flirtatious one, winking when provocation paid off and demurring when it didn’t. Leonor had never needed to think too hard about it. Her mother went through the grinder time and time again, but her popularity remained intact, and she hadn’t ever let on, at least to her daughter, how terrible it felt.

It was within Leonor’s power to huddle her team and insist they at least pretend to respond. Her little household was hardly autonomous, but it didn’t need to be. Leonor complaining to her grandparents about rude tabloids would get her nowhere; a conversation among aides about public relations, on the other hand, at least created an official paper trail of bureaucratic value. Yet, that was why she found herself frustrated. This paper she held in her hands trumpeted glaring, clumsy lies. Those lies, however, didn’t need to be rooted in fact if they had been planted in a context that made them feel plausible. For the average Uspanian, the takeaway wasn’t in the details. Most people cast idle glances at the newsstands, noticing ugly candids and buzzwords, passively gleaning less of a coherent story and more of an ambient sense. Leonor’s new friends and hangouts weren’t the kind of blank slate she had been. They came with their own public associations, jumbled facts, wild fabrications. These particular details were false, and The Den remained a locked vault to the public, but it wasn’t outlandish to imagine her as part of the scene if ample photographs and videos suggested she was.

Leonor closed the paper and laid it on the passenger seat. It sat there, folded, for just a few seconds before she snatched it up again. Quickly, angrily, she tore at it. It wouldn’t rip down the middle, so she yanked out the pages instead. They shredded into scraps as she pulled wildly with haphazard, hurried fingers. Almost as fast as the impulse struck, it ran out of steam. Leonor stopped what she was doing and, feeling satisfied but far from content, tossed the mangled paper into the backseat.

When Leonor entered the premier’s sitting room, Arnaut watched with disbelief. She strolled in appearing unperturbed by her tardiness, and the apology she offered to Guillen as he rose to clasp her hands was simple at best. It didn’t bother him. His reception of her made his demeanor toward Arnaut earlier that afternoon seem lukewarm—unwelcoming, even. They interacted like people who were well-acquainted; Guillen’s famed charm leapt out as he kissed her cheek and made a joke about Nakawe’s drivers, and Leonor took up space in the room with ease.

Arnaut knew, in theory, he had received an upbringing not dissimilar from hers. They learned the same rules of comportment, and they learned the art of politics from the same teachers. In preparation for today, they had received the same briefs with identical preparation from the same team of aides. Yet, as Leonor settled into the sofa beside him and suggested with unimpeachable authority that they get to work, Arnaut felt the distance between them stretch to its true size. There was no substitute for experience, and there was no hiding its absence. Arnaut had been on the periphery of Uspanian public life for over a decade. Everyone remembered him as the immature, troublesome spare he had been. They viewed his life abroad as suspect. Worse, each day brought a litany of small reminders that no one much cared about who he was now or who he intended to become.

The television summarized it well just a few nights prior. These days, Arnaut watched news broadcasts as if it were a ritual, often doing so with a pen and pad that Lorraine politely ignored. USB’s evening news hour aired interviews with passersby on the streets of Nakawe as part of its programming. One elderly woman, prompted for an opinion on the crown prince, had furrowed her brow deep and hard. ‘Well, I think he is in for the most tragedy,’ she said finally. ‘People don’t change at forty. They just don’t. I lived long enough to know. You grow up right into who you are. So, what Uspana needs, he isn’t.’

Arnaut had been so immediately agitated by despair that he leapt from the couch and began to pace, talking aloud of how easy it would be to identify the woman, to find out where she lived, to go there with a box of sweets and get on his knees and beg her to change her mind. ‘Let me prove it to you,’ he would plead, holding her frail hands. Perhaps he would cling to her feet and even pepper the crooked toes peeking from her sandals with supplicatory kisses. ‘Give me a few good years to show you that I’m different.’ That was how he would frame it, too. She was right that it was a fool’s errand to prove he could change. What he hoped—the hopes that were, almost daily, dashed to dust—was that someone different lurked under the surface, suffocated for too long but real enough to show his face if Arnaut somehow found a way.

That way was elusive, although Arnaut knew he would never find it if he capitulated so easily. Today’s meeting felt bungled already, but he pushed himself to see Leonor’s arrival as a reset, as a reinvigoration, rather than a performance of naturality that he could never possess. He struggled to believe in his heart that the ability to rule flowed through his veins as much as hers, but it was more compelling to remind himself that he had been trained for this, too. Had he been as serious about it as she had, that deceptive distance between them would be more of a trench than a canyon. What mattered now was exactly that: he was serious now and, if the unexplained absence meant anything, perhaps even more serious than she was.

As the conversation turned to business, Guillen let out a sigh. “Fast-tracking legislation when there’s a passing is no way to run a government,” he explained, his tone light and wry even as he regarded them both with an earnest look of condolence.

“We’d be doubling offshore drilling in memory of Mario Esparza,” Leonor quipped. The comment prompted a laugh from Guillen, who pointed at Leonor and nodded emphatically.

Arnaut, meanwhile, sat bemused and wearing a vacant smile. The name didn’t ring a bell. He knew enough about the politics to understand why the policy idea was ridiculous, but he wasn’t privy to the personal backstory that gave it flavor in this context. Arnaut had once believed the capital to be a slow-paced, change-resistant bastion of tradition. The monarchy was sometimes accused of being arrested by its reverence for the old ways, and the legislative assembly had its own superficial but no less real way of doing things. People were the backbone of that. Perhaps naively, Arnaut had expected to find the same names in circulation a decade later. He hadn’t accounted for the turnover, but he also hadn’t accounted for how poorly acquainted with those people—with them, with their place in politics, with their connections to others, with the culture that glued them all together—he had been. It was difficult to insert himself now, knowing he had passed up the opportunity to belong as intuitively to this world as everyone around him did.

Having noticed Arnaut’s expression, Guillen asked, “You remember Mario, right? You’ve met Paula?”

“His wife?” Arnaut, with the urgency of panic, responded.

Leonor snorted, and Guillen raised his brows before clarifying, “His daughter. She’s filling his seat until the provincial election is held, so I assumed—”

“Forgive my uncle,” Leonor said, casting a look his way. “He’s not in the know about any of this. Good thing it’s not his job to be, huh?”

It was clear Guillen wanted to chuckle, but he remained quiet with his lips quirked in a smile that Arnaut found somehow just as offensive. He looked away from the premier’s expression to regard Leonor with quizzical eyes.

Apparently not finished, Leonor added, “You haven’t asked yet, but I’m going to assume Diago Tegridia has been talking to you. He’s never been a fan—especially not of the part about funding students’ studying abroad. My mother planned to massage him on it, but he won’t take any of my uncle’s calls, so—”

Arnaut, growing nervous, laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

“No? I suspect it’s because he offended him during a hallway chat,” Leonor said with a shrug. “Like with Paula? Similar misstep. If you don’t know who’s who and what’s what, that makes it hard to do business, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not relevant, Leonor, is it?” Arnaut asked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Guillen sitting with the same amused, forbearing smirk on his face. “This meeting has nothing to do with Representative Tegridia, and definitely not a casual conversation we might’ve had.”

With an eyeroll, Leonor laughed, “There, see?”

Guillen nodded and offered Arnaut what was, it seemed, his best attempt at a placating smile. “I’ll admit,” he began, looking from Arnaut to Leonor, “Diago does have strong opinions, and I’ve been inclined to hear him out where he has expertise. But, alright, why don’t you walk me through the particulars again—to save time, just make the counterargument to his?”

Leonor turned more fully to face Arnaut, her expression expectant. They stared at each other for a long moment while he assessed the challenging look in her eyes and what she wanted from him,. He remained all too aware that Guillen was staring and judging, too. More than a challenge, Arnaut saw mischief in her eyes. Leonor was unwilling to look away or say anything. The corners of her lips were curled—not altogether a smirk, perhaps something more predatory, as if she intended to bare her teeth instead of break into a smile. The more seconds passed, the more pleased she seemed.

He turned back to Guillen with a sigh, concluding, “… I’ll let Leonor take the lead.”

TRANSCRIPT:

RENZO | Have I see you in blue? In person. LEONOR | Maybe once?

RENZO | It looks good. Black is better. Brown. White, whew. LEONOR | It’s for work. Work! I’m going to be late. Poor uncle.

RENZO | He’ll be alright? LEONOR | He’s a big boy. RENZO | Stick around a little longer? LEONOR | Nice try.

ARNAUT | She’ll be here in a minute.

GUILLEN | [Sighs] Fast-tracking legislation when there’s a passing is no way to run a government.

LEONOR | We’d be doubling offshore drilling in memory of Mario Esparza.

GUILLEN | You remember Mario, right? You’ve met Paula? ARNAUT | … His wife? [Leonor snorts] GUILLEN | His daughter. She’s filling his seat until the provincial election is held, so I assumed—

LEONOR | He’s not in the know about any of this. Good thing it’s not his job to be, huh?

LEONOR | You haven’t asked yet, but I’m going to assume Diago Tegridia has been talking to you. He’s never been a fan—especially not of the part about funding students’ studying abroad. My mother planned to massage him on it, but he won’t take any of my uncle’s calls, so— ARNAUT | Well, I wouldn’t say that—

LEONOR | No? I suspect it’s because he offended him during a hallway chat. Like with Paula? Similar misstep. If you don’t know who’s who and what’s what, that makes it hard to do business, doesn’t it? ARNAUT | That's not relevant, Leonor, is it?

ARNAUT | This meeting has nothing to do with Representative Tegridia, and definitely not a casual conversation we might’ve had. LEONOR | There, see?

GUILLEN | I'll admit, Diago does have strong opinions, and I’ve been inclined to hear him out where he has expertise. But, alright, why don’t you walk me through the particulars again—to save time, just make the counterargument to his?

ARNAUT | … I’ll let Leonor take the lead.

ARNAUT | Where are you going? We’re debriefing upstairs in five minutes. LEONOR | Clocking out early. ARNAUT | Did you let Central know? It’s a weekday. You can’t leave the premises without giving them notice. LEONOR | [Chuckles] No, you’re just not supposed to.

ARNAUT | You don’t think anyone will notice the … slacking off? Talk? LEONOR | What, are you going to tattle on me? ARNAUT | I don't have to. I’m just saying it’s a bad look. Trust me.

LEONOR | You should worry about yourself, uncle. Trust me.

#ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e04

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warwickroyals · 1 day

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You have no fucking idea the amount of work that went into this one. Y'all better give this five million notes.

@thegrimalldis for Mina mention <3

[TRANSCRIPT]

#warwick.story #chapter three #✨#ch: arthur #ch: zella #ch: henry #ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 royal #ts4 storytelling #ts4 edit #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 legacy #ts4 royalty #ts4 monarchy #ts4 screenshots

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wa-royal-tea · 1 day

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(Transcript under the cut - Click Pics for HQ Version!)

@thebrixtons

Magnolia House, Holan (8:50am)

*door opens and closes*

Alfie: Sayang?

Catalina: *groans* Hmm…

Alfie: Wake up. I thought you said you were supposed to meet up with Ginny and Dira today for the dress fitting?

Catalina: *muffled* Five minutes…

Alfie: I’d give you an hour if I could, but you told me you want to get there on time last night.

Catalina: *sighs* I’m so tired.

Alfie: I’ll make you your latte if you want to feel fresher. Maybe some croissants too?

Catalina: That sounds nice.

Alfie: Mhm. Now, go take a shower and come down for breakfast, okay?

Catalina: *yawns* Alright~

Catalina: Morning.

Alfie: Good morning. I’ve made you your latte and croissant.

Catalina: Thank you~

Catalina: Are you going anywhere today?

Alfie: Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m going to the palace this afternoon. Mum wants to meet me and talk about our schedule when we attend Leon’s wedding next month.

Catalina: I see…when are we leaving again?

Alfie: I’m not sure, but I’ll re-confirm it with mum later.

Catalina: Hmm.

Alfie: What’s wrong? Why aren’t you drinking it?

Catalina: Did the milk go bad? It smells…off?

Alfie: Really? Give me that.

Alfie: I think it smells fine to me?

Catalina: I’m serious, it smells bad. I don’t want it.

Alfie: Well, do you want tea instead? I can make you a cup if you want.

Catalina: It’s fine. I’ll get something else to eat later. I think I have to leave now. I don’t want to be late.

Alfie: Oh, okay. Don’t forget to eat, alright? Call me when you get there.

Catalina: Alright. I will.

Fae Bridal, Ahtolia

Catalina: *winces*

Ginny: Is everything okay?

Catalina: I’m fine. I just feel like the dress is a bit tight.

Ginny: Wait, really?

Catalina: Yeah. The chest area is the tightest part.

Ginny: Well, is it too late to alter it? We have a week left but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.

Wonhee: I can alter it, ma’am.

Ginny: You can?

Wonhee: Yes. I’ll add it to my notes. Please excuse me.

Ginny: Alright. Thank you.

Indirah: You said your chest is tight? I thought it was just fine when we had our last fitting?

Catalina: Maybe I gained weight a bit. It’s been a while since we last came here. And my period is about to start too, so it can get sore sometimes.

Indirah: Huh, probably. Or you could be pregnant.

Catalina: Pfft, it can’t be. If I were, I’d know.

Ginny: I don’t know. I’ve read that period symptoms and pregnancy symptoms can be almost the same. Who knows? Maybe you are pregnant.

Indirah: Yeah. Ginny’s right.

Catalina: *scoffs* Eh~ We’ll see in a few days. If you guys are wrong, I want you guys to treat me to lunch!

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rebouks · 2 days

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Matilda: Mmh, what now? Tristen: Breakfast? I have-.. cereal. Matilda: It’s a bit late for breakfast. Tristen: Twelve forty-five?! Shit, I completely missed my shift. Matilda: Love that-.. not what I meant though. Tristen: Oh. Matilda: I meant us. Tristen: Wanna move in? Matilda: Triss… Tristen: What? This is what I do-.. move too fast n’ make a mess, wanna join me? Matilda: I kinda wanted this to be different. Tristen: It is. Matilda: Yeah, but-… Tristen: I don’t want there to be a but. Matilda: I don’t make a good girlfriend! Tristen: Eh, you’ll fit in with the rest. Matilda: If I didn’t love you so much, I’d smack you. Tristen: Hah-.. you would though! Be a good girlfriend, I mean. Matilda: You’re usually such a pessimist, maybe you’ve just had too long to dream about it. Tristen: Am I not allowed to be optimistic about this one thing? Matilda: I still have to go home-.. then what? I have a return ticket, a flat, a job, friends. Tristen: We don’t have to think about that now though, right? Matilda: Hm, I’m starting to see what you mean. Tristen: Uh-huh, messy-.. c’mon, can’t I tempt ya? Matilda: We’ll see. Tristen: Be mine in the meantime-.. wherever you are? Matilda: After a night like that? You’re on. Tristen: [snickers] You thought it’d be bad, didn’t you? Matilda: Not bad, just.. a little more awkward, maybe. Tristen: The guy in the sky gave me something, at least.

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims story #forever in between #fib #matilda douglas #tristen burks #cmonnnn tilda make a mess with triss #sdkjskj #the guy moves fast ok #why'd you think all his relationships are usually a mess lmaooo #😅#but not this time right?!

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kamiiri · 2 days

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Tank looked into her pained eyes for a few seconds before averting his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Jenny’s brows scrunched together. “Please, Tank. I’m his mother. I need to know. Please.”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Tank refused to look at her. He returned upstairs as he listened to her quiet cries. He really didn’t know if Johnny was okay, but if he knew, would he have told her? For just a moment, he thought that he might’ve. Jenny was always kind to him back when they had been neighbors. She seemed like a good woman.

A good woman who committed horrible crimes against humanity by aligning herself with the aliens. Tank knew she was where she belonged.