In honor of the new pack, hellohopesims and fruitysimsy present: the Struck By Love Legacy💞
ETA 25.JUL.2024: GEN 10 IS HERE! We had a few requests for a version of generation 10 that doesn't include new items from the pack, and while we usually would just say "Use your best judgement,"
...We did it for you anyway ;) We hope you guys enjoy!
The general rules are the same as always, (find them here, and the Fruity Legacy here) and don't forget to have fun!
use the tag #struckbylovelegacy to #showusyoursims!
We're around if you have any questions/concerns/comments!! If you need help swapping a trait you don't have out for one you do, feel free to reach out, too!
I hope you have as much fun with this one as you did the fruity legacy <3
xx,
Hay + Hope
hiiii guys, so happy to be posting again ♡ a week ago or so i accidentally deleted my whole mods folder which was a huge blow to me. but I've been slowly building it back up & plan to keep sharing my cc finds as they come (:
down below are links to 15 beautiful short/med hairstyles! - all maxis match
Nightmares tend to slink their way into her mind like a snake. Silent and eerie as they slither against thoughts and memories, looking for a place to sink poisonous fangs. Tender spots too irresistible for an opportunistic reptile. Lucy has become no stranger to these types of intruders, often meeting them in the shadows of sleep. And tonight, if she allows it, she knows they will meet her again. The events of recent days primed and ready to welcome guests inside her head. So, instead she stays awake. A choice that leaves no door for nightmares to slip through.
In an effort to keep exhaustion at bay, Lucy does her best to occupy her mind. She begins by counting the leaves that hang above her. It is too dark to see what sits beyond the jungle, past the tree line where she lays. So she focuses on the plants closest to her, the glow of moonlight making it possible for her to sketch out the shapes of stoic branches dressed in green. For each leaf that she tallies, she twists the piece of seaglass around in her hand. Her own version of a click counter. 210, twist, 211, twist, 212… But then the wind comes and rustles the leaves like feathers and the whole thing has to begin again.
Lucy goes like this for some time until finally surrendering the victory to the breeze. Bushes sway in celebration and her eyes close briefly, the tug of sleep enticing and seductive. Her bones have turned to stone thrown into wet concrete as Lucy sinks deeper and deeper into herself. Something slinks against her mind in anticipation and in a sharp moment of realization, she jumps to her feet. Panic trembling through her arms and pushing out the remnants of fatigue.
From her new position she notices, more clearly, the sea of bodies laying around her. Fourteen people. Fourteen survivors from a total of a hundred and fifteen passengers who boarded the small cruise across the Pacific Ocean. John sleeps a few feet away from her, and she watches as the softness in his features twist and change to something Lucy knows too well. Dreams morphing into sinking ships and ink black oceans. And a surge of guilt rushes through her veins. It was Lucy’s fault they were all on that ship in the first place, coming at her insistence to go on a vacation together. Her need for some time to connect and relax together as friends rather than just coworkers. And now, because of her, they were in danger. If she could take it all back she would. She would go back and throw away that stupid brochure like Tim told her to do in the first place. A pang stings the back of her throat at the memory and she forces herself to swallow it down. Regrets are useless now, she tries to remind herself.
Ripping her eyes from her friend, she scans the area desperate for something new to take her focus. In answer, a piece of silver shines over to her left, and she smiles with gratitude as the sinking rock in her chest slips away for now. Walking over, sand crunching under foot, she discovers the remnants of the group’s lifeboat supplies. Piled together against the boat in a makeshift pyramid, left to be used later on. She picks up a hatchet, still glinting of silver soaked in moonlight. It’s one of two identical tools, each about the size of her forearm and with an unused blade still sharp to the touch. Lucy is careful as she lifts it. An item originally so easily bought at a home goods store, now promoted to a title of preciousness and necessity.
Kneeling, she gently lays the hatchet across the ground away from the pile of tools, the other one soon following and finding a new home beside it. She’s slow and tender with each object she picks up and moves it, cautious not to harm anything as she separates them one by one. The world is quiet as she works. Muffled by the stillness of early morning, and a warm pink tint that begins to spread across the earth. Once each one is spread out before her, she rises and surveys the treasure of items, dusting sand off her pants in harsh strokes.
Two oars, one compass, two hatchets, a dipper, four flares, one flashlight, one signaling mirror, a jack knife, one set of fishing tackle, five thermal blankets, and a first aid kit.
Lucy scans the items again.
And then again.
A familiar wave of concern and suspicion ripples through her and she pokes her head inside the lifeboat. Her calloused hands brush and slide along the crevices of the boat before circling the raft as she kicks up and pushes the sand around it. When the boat comes up empty and nothing new is unearthed from beneath the ground, Lucy forces herself to take a deep breath as her hands push her hair back from the scalp.
Something is missing.
-----------------------
The camp has begun to rise and Lucy watches as each castaway wipes a terrible night’s sleep from their eyes. Groups have naturally started to gather together in the early dawn. A few people have started to scale the rocky coast for driftwood, walking up towards the stone cliff that sits a few hundred yards beyond. Some of them even venture tentatively into the jungle for dry kindling, careful and unsure of what kind of wildlife lurks within. From her seat next to the lifeboat she can see a group of three men on her left. They sit in a triangle, arms dangling over knees as they lament over injuries and sand fleas who snuck bites throughout the night. One of them, Jared, nurses the arm that he dislocated in the chaos days ago. He adjusts the makeshift sling she remembers Tim made for him the first night on the boat from a belt. He plays it cool in front of the others, Steven and Henry, as they talk. But every now and again, Lucy will notice how his fingernails will curl into his palm and the color drains from his face with every accidental touch or brush from a harsh wind.
A little further on, another but more familiar group of three stand tall and huddle together in deep conversation, bound by a benefit of shared history. A history that Lucy shares as well, and draws her in from her spot on the surf, pulling her towards them now. It has been an hour since she discovered the items missing from their supplies, and since then a ticking clock has begun. Taunting her in the back of her mind with a tick tick tick. News like this is not something that will stay quiet for long.
Even from a distance, Lucy can make out the shapes of her friends. Angela’s hands are expressive as she talks, moving along with her. Tim crosses his arms across his chest in firm contemplation, and John wipes a sweaty hand down his jaw. An air of seriousness engulfs the discussion, but then again, all conversations have felt serious these days. When she reaches them, friendly eyes catch hers in recognition, but are too engrossed in their conversation at the moment to go beyond acknowledgement.
“...inside the jungle! We can’t rule out the possibility that there is something or someone out there that could help us.” Angela continues, Lucy only catching the tail end of her response.
“What about rescue? I’m not sure packing up and leaving is our best strategy here,” John argues, his tone level but stern.
“A few of the others have already started on figuring out a signal fire, but John we can’t just sit here.” Her voice has started to rise, desperation and truth ring in her words, and the men are silent as she continues, “It was a miracle that our lifeboat even survived that typhoon. Rescue may not know we are even alive. And even if they knew to look for us, who knows how far we were taken! They may not know where to start looking.”
All night, as Lucy counted leaves and organized supplies, Tim’s assurance of rescue from the day before rang in her head. His confidence at the time had wrapped around her like a blanket, providing a comfort she ached for. And as the night wore on, his words would float through her mind. Rescue is going to come. The whole time, she half expected–hoped a helicopter or rescue boat would shine a spotlight onto their camp, announcing the promise of safety. Lucy sneaks a glance at Tim, and she wishes that she hadn’t as all his comforting conviction falters with the fall of his chest. A knife twists into her fostering fear, and the air is cold on her neck as the semblance of yesterday’s comfort strips away. There’s a beat, and Tim finally speaks up.
“So what’s your plan?” He asks.
“I can take a group of two or three of us. Take one of the hatchets, some of the rations, and scout the area while the rest of you get a decent camp and signal fire going. We can walk the shore, and see if this place is as deserted as it looks. At the very least we may find fresh water or some fruit trees.”
“As great as that plan sounds, we have a problem,” Lucy interrupts, pushing the fear down and seizing the opportunity. Angela’s eyebrows knit together and looks over at her.
“What do you mean?” She asks, and before responding, Lucy takes a moment to tentatively take in the rest of the camp. Everyone was bound to find out sooner or later, but until some sort of solution can be prepared, it is probably best to keep the amount of people in the know small. The men are a ways back now, a few standing to dust off the sand and move on to somewhere new. After a moment, she concludes no one else is close enough to hear without straining, but Lucy lowers her voice anyways.
“The rations are missing.”
“What are you talking about? We had enough for at least three more days,” Tim counters, lowering his voice along with hers to a harsh whisper.
“I know, but I’ve gone over the supplies a hundred times. They’re gone.”
They all share a look, and Angela takes a few steps back to run a hand through her hair processing the information.
“Are you sure an animal didn’t take them in the middle of night?” John offers, always prepared to give the benefit of the doubt first.
“I mean it’s possible,” Lucy says as she shifts her weight on her feet back and forth, “but the area was absent of any tracks and nothing else from the pile was touched...” Her voice trails as the other possibility hangs in the air like smoke. An unsaid accusation that seeps into the conversation, lingering and present.
“God damnit,” Tim swears and leans in, “have you told anyone else?”
“Not yet, I figured it was best to keep it quiet until we came up with some sort of solution.” Lucy responds and earns nods of agreement. They are all quite close now, leaned in with low voices. The beginnings of a plan forming amongst the four of them. John and Tim suggest a stake out throughout the day and next night to see if the thief is brazzen enough to take something else. Angela proposes an investigation to weed out a suspect. But none of it seems to matter as chaos is carried up from the beach.
Lucy whips her head around, following the yelling and out near the lifeboat she sees them. Two men, Steven and Henry, who moments ago were lounging on the beach together, now entrapped in a shouting match with each other. It takes one second and a single push for their words to blend into something physical and fall to the ground in entangled limbs. She doesn’t think before charging after them, the others following right behind. Steven is taller and stronger than his opponent, his build lean with sturdy arms giving him enough edge as he hits Henry. The sound of knuckles hitting skin crackles through the air. A few feet away Jared calls for help, his shoulder stopping him from making any meaningful intervention.
“Knock it off!” Lucy commands as she reaches the fight, her voice landing on deaf ears. Steven’s hands are a blur as he continues to hit him and Henry tries his best to block what he can, pushing his arms up in front of his face. Lucy digs her fingers into Steven’s shoulders, and Angela steps in to pull Henry out of the way. She rips at his arms and as he swings his elbow back, he accidentally makes contact with Lucy’s face, smacking her backwards. The pain is sharp and the taste of iron fills her mouth. The new sensation startles Steven as well, as if he was unaware of her presence the whole time and he jumps back startled. Only now comprehending the crowd that has gathered, filled with wincing expressions and unease. Angela takes the moment to help bring Henry to his feet and John grabs Steven to restrain more than steady him.
“What the hell is going on here?” Tim demands as the two men struggle to catch their breaths. Chests heaving up and down between charged glares.
“Ask him! He’s a fucking lunatic!” Henry yells, as he spits out a mix of blood and sand.
“Don’t act like you don’t know! You’re the one who ate the rest of the rations and left us here to starve on this rock!” Steven shouts back, and John’s grip on him tightens to hold him back.
“I told you it wasn’t me!”
Steven scoffs, and Lucy goes to shoot Tim a knowing look, only to find him already watching. His gaze trained on her since the fight, and she can feel something wet trickle down her chin. The bickering has grown irritating as the men continue to shoot remarks at each other. Steven convinced of Henry’s guilt, and Henry stern on his stance of innocence.
“You know maybe it was actually you who–”
“Cut it out!” Lucy interrupts, her patience evaporating as she wipes the blood from her face. Her voice echoes as she speaks, “You idiots are forgetting that we are not the only living things on this island. It’s far more likely that an animal came to our camp last night and stole it!” It was a possibility that she dismissed earlier, but at this point the truth offers only contempt and suspicion. Useless feelings blocking any progress towards actually getting rescued.
“An animal that leaves no crumbs?” Steven mocks, and a few members of the crowd huff in agreement.
“Fine! Let’s say it was Henry! How is kicking the crap out of him going to get any of it back?” A flash of guilt floods Steven’s gaze as he glances at Henry. Most of his punches landed on his arms causing fresh bruises to scatter his arms, and neck. Lucy seizes the moment to continue, “We were going to run out of rations sooner or later. If we're going to survive, we can’t be turning on each other at the first sign of trouble. We haven’t even gotten a proper fire going or a shelter to block out the wind! We have bigger problems to be dealing with than throwing around baseless accusations!”
Lucy’s speech rings around the group like a bell. All the bravado from earlier cleared away to defeat.
“So what do you propose that we do?” A blonde girl from the crowd speaks up and everyone turns to Lucy for an answer. One that she isn’t sure she’s prepared to really give at this moment. She takes in a breath as she searches for what to say, searches for a plan that could set them on the right track. The silence is stretching on for too long, and Lucy can feel the group’s doubt and fear inflating with every second she stalls. At last she sees Angela and recalls the conversation she walked in upon mere moments ago. With a nod in her direction, Lucy finally says,
“I believe you had a few ideas.”
____
Thank you to everyone for the support on the first chapter! I was really touched! Unfortunately I could not get this chapter out as fast as I hoped, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! You can also follow me on Ao3 @apollobar !
Summary: Lucy Chen and her friends join what was meant to be a dream vacation across the Pacific Ocean, aboard a small cruise ship. But when a devastating storm strikes, turning their journey into a fight for survival, Lucy finds herself stranded on a deserted island with her companions. As they struggle to endure and await rescue, tensions rise and bonds are tested. Amidst the challenges, a budding romance has begun to unravel between Lucy and Tim, her old mentor turned fellow survivor, casting a fragile ray of hope amidst the uncertainty. Yet, as they all navigate the challenges of island life, dark secrets emerge, threatening to unravel the fragile bonds holding them together. With each passing day, the survivors must confront not only the mysteries of the island but also the depths of their own resilience and the intricacies of their relationships. Will they find a way to overcome the odds and make it out alive, or will the island's mysteries consume them all?
Chapter 1 of ?
CHAPTER 1: Travellers from Beyond the Shore
Unable to face the screams, Lucy Chen looks out at the ocean. It’s hypnotic, the way the water laps upon the shore. Swallowing up the beach and then spitting it back out, leaving behind sand dollars and bits of rock to litter the ground. Every cry or shout of her name is muffled as she stands there. The sand pulls mindlessly against her feet like thousands of tiny magnets, whispering for her to be engulfed along with them. But the temptation is briefly silenced when a sudden spark of green catches her attention. An object splashing amongst the recent waves, tumbling across the beach until finally resting against her bare foot. The search for her left shoe lost and momentarily forgotten.
All jagged edges and rough cuts have been erased from the fragment along with any sign of what it once was. Now replaced with rounded curves and polished sides that Lucy imagines must be smooth to the touch. She remembers learning of sea glass long ago, reading about it in an elementary science class. Her textbook had explained about the effects of weathering and erosion; how shards of broken bottles, plates, or jars are worn down overtime. The tides push and pull while carrying it miles away. A journey, Lucy vaguely recalls, takes years for glass to become as opaque as the pebble that now lays at her feet. She lifts her head and looks beyond the bank, beyond the smoothed glass and the chorus of waves crashing against each other.
Her eyes fall on the horizon, where the sky touches the expanding sea and she scans the line searching for a clue to the sea glass’ origins. How long has it been away from home? She wonders. She waits for a response but a silent ocean taunts her, holding tightly to its secrets. The deceptive peace and the absence of everything that she and the glass have been through pulls at her insides, twisting and tearing until she can no longer hold herself up. Lucy drops to her hands and knees, and she can feel the contents of her stomach threatening to spill out. Sand digs into her skin as she grips it. Needing something to hold onto and give her balance while she fights to keep what little she has left inside. But as she claws the beach, her lifeline escapes through her fingers. Flowing back to the shore and with nothing left to keep her steady, the remaining contents of her stomach eventually follow.
When there is nothing left to give up, she rolls onto her side, unable to bring herself to stand.
At least not right now.
The warm sand, baked from the afternoon sun, is inviting enough to convince her to lay down for a few moments longer. The emerald shard of glass now sits a few inches from her face and without thinking she reaches out and takes it. Lucy squeezes her hand shut, all the danger of broken glass long since worn away and with the pad of her thumb she outlines the bumps and divots of the stone over and over again as if running her fingers along a piece of die.
The voice beyond is beginning to get louder now, he will find her any minute now but she’s not ready to face it. Just give me a few moments more, she pleads to herself. Her eyes fix back onto the task in front of her. Fingers, sticky with sand, occasionally grind against the stone as she moves it around in her palm. An action that emits a crunching sound similar to that of stepping onto gravel. The noise is quiet but distraction enough to pull her focus back in.
Lucy can’t help but feel a connection to the poor glass. Both of them in an indescribable distance away from home, forever changed by a journey they never asked for, but swept into nonetheless. She clenches her fist, pulling it protectively against her chest. Memories of home call upon an ache that has settled itself within her heart, and Lucy is unsure of how long it has been there. The pain conjuring up thoughts of how long it will be until she can go back home-if she can at all? Or will she become more like the traveler in her palm, destined never to return? The hot sand, the advancing desperate shouts, and smell of saline begin to overwhelm her. In an attempt to push out the world, she squeezes her eyes shut. However, the pulse of the beach is no longer loud enough to drown out her environment and a familiar voice has finally reached her.
“Chen! Where have you been? My god, what happened?”
There is a sternness and sincerity to his tone that only he can bring and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to recognize who it is. So when his hands tentatively touch her shoulders, warm and solid, she doesn’t flinch. She knows it’s Tim. Her teacher, her friend, and now fellow survivor.
She opens her eyes as she lets him pull her up into a sitting position, his own scanning her for signs of new injuries. It’s only when he finds none does his concern fall to annoyance.
“We have been calling your name for ten minutes, boot. You know better than to just go off on your own and start ignoring everyone. After everything that has happened..” His voice falters and he fights to get it back under control of it, taking in a short breath and twisting chapped lips. Tim’s habit and pathological need to remain in control is so soaked in normalcy that Lucy can’t help but laugh at it. At the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
“This isn’t funny.” He tells her, taken aback at the absurdity of her reaction.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out while lifting her head towards the sky in disbelief, “You’re right, I know. It’s not funny. None of this is funny.” The insincere fit of laughter trickles away with her last few words and flows seamlessly into tears. After the intensity of the last few days, the nights adrift at sea and the morning’s fleeting relief of finding land, Lucy had not let herself grieve. Not allowed the reality of their situation sink in.
Tim is quick to pull her into his arms, sheltering her from the wind and bringing a comfort only an old friend could provide, his initial annoyance now dissipated. The intimacy of the touch is uncommon and foreign between them, but Lucy allows herself to welcome the reassurance it unexpectedly brings. She tucks her head under his chin while hot streams glide down her cheeks. Lucy knows this situation has taken so much from them both, from them all, and will continue to ask more of them as the days go on, but she is grateful for his patience at this moment. A moment that is needed. A moment that has been earned.
When her breathing falls back to even strides, she attempts to peel herself away, afraid of overstaying her welcome. But Tim’s arms tighten without a word and Lucy suspects that he needs a moment as well. So she gives it to him, instead taking the time to really look at his appearance for the first time.
Much like Lucy, Tim’s clothes are dirty and torn with fresh purple bruises staining his exposed arms. Red blotches have soaked into his shirt, and those thick pieces of cloth that stick to his torso like glue have now transferred onto her own shirt. She lingers for a moment on the rubber, yellow band around his wrist at her side. The same one they all eagerly put on a few days ago, now smudged with dirt and blood. Evidence of a vacation gone wrong.
She braves a look at his face and his eyes catch hers, exhaustion and worry hidden within the lines tucked around his mouth and the creases between his brows. With their experience of being police officers, and Tim’s added time in the military, they’ve both been through traumatic events before, trained to handle the most stressful of situations. However, the LAPD doesn’t hold many courses on shipwrecks, and Lucy can’t recall ever receiving a Tim Test on what to do in the case of being stranded on a deserted island. They are in unfamiliar territory, and no amount of training fully prepared them for a situation like this. Rookies again.
Finally, as a silence begins to nestle between them, Tim pulls away and Lucy watches him debate on what he should say next. He shifts around a bit, growing uncomfortable in the quiet and from the kneeling position he had taken earlier. She imagines what he could be thinking, knowing “Are you okay?” must feel like too lame of a question and“Get up, let’s get moving” while more in line with Tim's usual rough demeanor, perhaps too harsh even for him in this present moment. He is the first one to break eye contact as he finally stands, stretching his legs. The silent debate in his mind seemingly over and won.
“What are you doing out here?” He asks finally, his question soft and low. For a second, she’s taken aback by the unusual gentleness he continues to show her. But when she feels some of the heaviness in her shoulders release, slightly, but as if lifted up by a balloon, she is thankful for his tenderness. Lucy looks down at her feet. A single brown boot on one foot, and she wriggles the uncovered toes of the other drawing his attention.
“My shoe.” She responds, and Tim raises an eyebrow. “I just wanted to find my shoe.”
“After the rescue boat shows up, I’ll take you to buy a new pair, hell about twenty?” He proposes and it’s his turn to smile. It's small but there, and Lucy can’t help but feel the infectious pull of it.
“You are going to take me?” She teases and Tim scoffs.
“Why is that so shocking? I’m probably not as good as Angela, but I know my way around a shoe store.” He jokes and it is enough to bring a genuine grin out of her.
Seizing the moment, Tim stretches out an arm and Lucy takes it, accepting his offer to help her to her feet. As she rises, the island beneath her sways and the clouds spin causing her to stumble. Tim is quick, as he often is, and steadies her by grabbing her elbow. Keeping her upright as he waits for her world to stop spinning.
“Thank you.” She tells him, after a breath, and they both know that her words are meant for more than just this moment.
There’s a pause before Tim says, “Rescue is going to come.” His voice is sure and absent of any doubt and Lucy notices the hand still cradling her elbow.
“I know,” she whispers. And she does. Lucy has always been clever, and the logical part of her knows that Tim Bradford is right. With the advancement of modern technology, the likelihood of rescue boats arriving any minute now is high and there is no need for panic. So when Tim suggests they go back to the group and wait for help, she doesn’t argue. However, as he guides her back to their friends and fellow survivors, to their humble beginnings of a campsite not meant to last, the ache in her chest tightens. And the weight of the seaglass, still secure in the palm of her hand, grows heavier than ever.
Thank you for reading! You can also find this story via my AO3 account @apollobar.
My name is Jess and welcome to my page! Here I will be posting all of my fanfiction creations. I will likely be writing for shows such as The Rookie, Lost, Outlander, or Supernatural. However, my interests are wide and I am happy to write for other fandoms~. I will be posting part 1/chapter 1 to my first fanfic, involving characters from the show "The Rookie", very soon! And my ASK box is always open if you have any questions, comments or requests. I have not written fiction in a long time, and this is my first time writing a fanfic in ten years, so I am a little nervous. However, I am also excited to go and share my journey with everyone. Thank you, and happy browsing!
The ghost of Christian Shephard didn’t come all the way up from Hell to explain the ending of LOST to have you all saying that they were dead the whole time. What kind of disrespect.
Some tips for using a few words to describe voices:
1. Tone Words: Use tone words to convey the emotional quality of a voice. For example, you can describe a voice as "melodic," "soothing," "sharp," "gentle," or "commanding" to give readers a sense of the tone.
2. Pitch and Range: Mention the pitch and range of the voice. Is it "deep," "high-pitched," "raspy," or "full-bodied"? This can provide insight into the character's age, gender, or emotional state.
3. Accent and Diction: Describe the character's accent or diction briefly to give a sense of their background or cultural influences. For instance, "British-accented," "Southern drawl," or "formal."
4. Volume: Mention the volume of the voice, whether it's "whispering," "booming," "murmuring," or "hushed."
5. Quality: Use terms like "velvet," "silken," "gravelly," "honeyed," or "crisp" to convey the texture or quality of the voice.
6. Rate of Speech: Describe how fast or slow the character speaks, using words like "rapid," "slurred," "measured," or "rambling."
7. Mood or Emotion: Indicate the mood or emotion carried by the voice. For example, a "quivering" voice may convey fear or anxiety, while a "warm" voice may express comfort and reassurance.
8. Resonance: Describe the resonance of the voice, such as "echoing," "nasal," "booming," or "tinny."
9. Timbre: Mention the timbre of the voice, using words like "rich," "thin," "clear," or "smoky."
10. Cadence: Highlight the rhythm or cadence of speech with descriptors like "staccato," "lilting," "rhythmic," or "halting."
11. Intonation: Convey the character's intonation by saying their voice is "sarcastic," "apologetic," "confident," or "questioning."
12. Vocal Characteristics: If applicable, mention unique vocal characteristics, like a "lisp," "stutter," "drawl," or "accented 'r'."
