#posted elsewhere

[hypersaline]

I've posted a small requested mod at GOS. Sims with the new Ring Hater trait won't wear rings when engaged/married. This is an edit of the Engagement Ring Stones by Color Traits mod by @episims.

[mxemjay]

semi old edit

[astro1derland]

I’m today’s transits, the Sun at 29° Cancer forms a polar opposition to Pluto at 29° Capricorn. Our illumination needs seem to clash with how we struggle for power refusing to settle and meet in the middle in a resistant but nurturing and reliable way. Expect to be coerced today into something more enjoyable than resisting. Escape depression today!

Also in today’s transits, the Moon at 21° Virgo forms a trine with Uranus at 22° Taurus. Our emotional needs and responses seem to build a foundation for or fill in the gaps, making our problem solving genius more reliable in an analytical and revolutionary way. Expect some enhancements today! Fill in the rest tomorrow!

[somuchfangirling]

From Hogwarts to Heartbreak

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I've written a new story. It's the sequel to my other story "The Ultimate Year." It is part 4 in the From Beauxbatons to Hogwarts Universe/Series I am writing. Please enjoy. It's also posted on FF.net, Wattpad, and Quotev if you prefer one of those.

[rosefires20]

This might say Skylarksky509 but I can assure you that this is me. My old account went by that and some of my other accounts go by that so not everything will say RoseFire20.

Anyways this is a color palette thing I did recently and I was insanely proud of it so here it is. This is of an oc of me that will appear here many more times.

[into-the-unknown-fanfic]

CHAPTER 1: RAIN

A cold breeze flows through the night sky, chilling Madeline to the core. She shivers, rubbing her arms to keep warm. She takes graceful steps, her feet flicking water as she walks. It's 8:30 at night, and basically pouring rain. Madeline loves the rain. The sound, the way it looks falling from the sky, the puddles and mud she can stomp in, the smell. It's a great escape from her dad, who is either at a bar getting wasted and doing God knows what, or at home, drinking away his sorrows. Sadly, the outcome of him being an alcoholic, he lashes out at Madeline. Screaming and cursing back and forth, will usually lead to physical harm. Madeline doesn't care. Or, at least she tells herself that. She's used to being hurt. Of course, that is a terribly unhealthy mindset to have.

It'd gotten so much worse after her mom died. She used to be able to calm Madeline's dad down, usually getting hit. But she always found a way to calm him down. One of the only things Madeline has left from her mom is a dainty, indigo, ribbon choker with a moon charm on it. She tries her best to wear it every single day to remind herself of both her mom and her ancestors' past. Her mother had been killed in a freak accident, from what her dad told her. Of course, you never know when he's lying or not. Madeline doesn't know for sure, but what she does know is that if she doesn't get home soon, she's gonna be in huge trouble.

Whatever. She could just go to her brother's house. He won't care... much. Although, his wife, Nancy, might. Only in the fact that it's nearing 9 pm and Madeline's walking around town in the pouring rain in mid-October. She might get lectured a bit, about "how she needs to stop walking around in the rain at night", "it's too cold for that", "you could get kidnapped" or whatever. Getting lectured, then getting to sleep in a warm bed in soft pyjamas is much better than going back to a house that's practically falling apart, reeks of booze, sleeping in the cold and worrying about being beat.

The rain begins to get lighter, eventually just sprinkling. Madeline gazes upward at the oil-black sky, as the charcoal clouds slowly part, revealing the almost full moon. It shines down on the earth, giving everything a marigold tint. Madeline smiles, grazing her tongue on her pointy teeth. Her pupils dilate, her ocean eyes shimmering in the moonlight, as she begins to skim her fingertips across the crescent charm on her late mom's choker. Give it a couple days. She reassures herself. It'll come in due time. It always does. You know this.

The rain has completely stopped by now, and the clouds have nearly covered the moon. Madeline checks her phone for the time. 11:46 pm. "Damn," she rasps, turning her phone off and placing it back in her pocket. She halts to a slowed stop in a front rickety, old bungalow. The wind howls, blowing her hair to the side and rattling the windows.

Hopefully, dad's asleep by now. She gulps, looking over to his banged up, old hatchback. The car windows are cracked and dirty, the sangria paint job is scratched and chipping, and the rust seems to be setting in.

She cautiously walks down the walkway, towards the front door. Everything seems to loom over her, as her ears begin to ring. The wind slams some window flaps closed, receiving a yelp from Madeline. She grumbles and continues walking. Making it to the porch, she places a hand on the overhang's wooden column. As immediately as she puts her hand on it she pulls away quickly, examining her new wound.

"Damned pole," she seethes. "Damned splinter, damned house!" She mutters quietly, softly kicking at the base. There's a loud creak, sending fear and regret into Madeline's soul. As soon as it started it stops, leaving her standing like an idiot, hoping that's the end of it. She waited for a few seconds before sighing in relief.

She shakily reaches for the doorknob, her fingers barely even grazing the metal before she recoils. Her hand at her chest, she takes a deep breath and slowly turns the knob. The door squeaks a bit, making Madeline cringe silently. A waft of beer fumes greets her, as she wrinkles her nose in disgust. The living room is dark and messy, littered with cigarette buds and empty beer cans. She slowly shuts the front door behind her, the latch clicking to indicate that it's closed.

Madeline tiptoes cautiously through the mess, avoiding every piece of litter and every creaky floorboard she can remember. She takes slow breaths, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Every misstep and mistake makes her cringe as litter crinkles and floorboards creak.

Finally reaching her bedroom door, a loud sigh of relief escaping her lips. A bit too loud.

"What the hell are you doing?!" her dad slurs from his bedroom. She clamps her mouth shut, her lips pursed together. Her eyes widen with fear, as she tries to rush into her room. If she could get to her bed in time she could pretend to be asleep and avoid any conflict.

"Fucking answer me, bitch!"

No, no, no! She wiggles her bedroom doorknob. It won't move... It's stuck.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!" she hisses under her breath, as she violently tries to open the door. The doorknob shakes as she frantically eases the door. She can hear her dad's footsteps get louder, creaking the floorboards and kicking litter out of the way.

Finally, the doorknob turns, and the door swings open. Madeline falls into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Her dad sticks his foot in the doorway, shoving his way in. Madeline gets back on her feet, and braces for impact. He yanks at her wet hair.

"The hell is this?" he inquires, his breath stinking of alcohol. Madeline gulps, her breath quivering from both fear and the sudden chill she felt run down her spine.

"I was just taking a walk to get some fresh air.." she rasps, cautiously pulling his hand away and out of her wet mop of hair. He scowls.

"At this time of night?" he slurs, harshly. "What, are you trying to get raped?"

Shaking her head quickly, as to get a short answer out, Madeline feels a sinking weight in her chest. She never liked how her father thought it to be necessary to even say things like that.

"Women. You're all the same. Always making up excuses. Excuses, excuses, excuses..." he continues, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Madeline stares at her feet, not knowing what to do. If she talked back, she'd likely be beaten. The same would happen if she stayed quiet. Her father continues rambling on and on about this and that, berating her with insults and such, each word hacking away at her.

"Hey," he grumbles, gaining Madeline's attention once more. He grabs at her left are, squeezing it tightly. Madeline squeaks, attempting to make little noise so she didn't get hurt worse.

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you, bitch!" He squeezes at her arm, tighter, tighter, tighter. It begins to bruise, quickly. Tears well up in her eyes, but she blinks them away, trying her best to not show how terrified she is.

They stare at each other for a while, his eyes daggers into her soul. Her breath shakes, as she bites down on her lip to distract herself from the situation.

Letting go of her arm, he scoffs at her pain. "Fucking baby, always crying about the littlest shit."

He stumbles out of her room, slamming the door behind him. She hears him trip over something, falling to the ground. He curses loudly, before getting back up, cursing under his breath. She hears the jingling of keys, the front door opening, then a slam, a car starting up, then driving off.

Madeline looks down at her arm, grazing her fingers over the bruises. She hisses at the sudden sting, recoiling and placing her hand on her chest.

Her body, shaking violently, falls to the cold floor, and she begins to sob. Her hot tears fall onto her body, and onto the floor, pooling into small puddles. This was probably one of the most low-key conflicts she's had with him, but that doesn't mean that she still wasn't scared. And she sure as hell wasn't going to have a good day tomorrow.

𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚𝔐𝔚

The next day begins, and Wirt is walking to school. Taking a deep breath in, he sighs contently, the scent of rain still looming in the air.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, making him jump, startled at the sudden touch. Turning around he sees Madeline standing behind him, smirking devilishly. He exhales, knowing it's no one he doesn't know. Madeline chuckles a bit to herself, thus annoying Wirt.

"Oh, haha. Very funny..." he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice, turning on his heel and continuing his journey to school.

"I'm sorry," Madeline smiles. "I just think it's funny how jumpy you can get. You got a case of the jitters or something."

Wirt smiles at her, shrugging it off. "It's fine,"

Madeline and Wirt had started hanging out when they were at least seven years old and had been best friends ever since. Wirt had told her about his love for playing the clarinet, and she told him about her love for playing the violin. Madeline and Wirt both share a love for poetry and will write each other poems that add on to each other, almost like forever ongoing stories.

Madeline occasionally shares issues at home with him, after much prodding from Wirt. But this time, neither of them had to say anything. Dread rises in Wirt's chest, as he stares at Madeline fiddling with her long sleeve, blurry palettes of black, blue, purple and green are left like stings on her arm.

"Maddie!" Wirt shouts as he looks down at her arm. Madeline jumps. She's not used to him yelling like that. He never yells. Ever.

In a panic, she exclaims. "What?!"

He points to her arm, and fear stuck on his face. "Your arm! What did he do this time, Maddie?"

Madeline looks down and kicks the sidewalk, scuffing her shoes. She mumbles something, not even she can understand, upsetting and scaring Wirt even more.

"You're hurt! Like, REALLY BAD! Do you need to go to a hospital or something?"

Madeline shrugs.

"Maddie--"

"Look, Wirt, I'm fine, okay? Just don't worry about it, okay?" she smiles, solemnly, looking into his eyes. The look of worry in his eyes soothes her, making her feel guilty at the same time.

Wirt tries to figure out what else to say, but just sighs. He takes off his backpack and pulls something out. His water bottle. Wirt places it onto her arm, the cold of the container making Madeline hiss a bit with the sudden contact. They continue this for a little bit until Madeline isn't in pain anymore.

"How do you feel?" Wirt inquires, gazing into her eyes. Madeline blushes, smiling back.

"Better," she answers, a look of relief entering Wirt's face as he sighs. "Thanks."

They both start walking to school again. A feeling of sudden nausea enters Madeline's stomach, her chest feeling light and uncomfortable. She glances at Wirt, a breeze blowing his hair a bit. His hazel eyes glisten in the morning sunrise, orange illuminating his face. He looks so beautiful...

He glances downwards, fixing his layered sweater, then looks to her. She chuckles, shoving him to the side playfully. He returns this gesture, giggles and laughter filling the morning air.

I hope you guys liked this first chapter! I wrote it back in March of 2019, and first posted it online in January of 2020 so it wasn't as good as I hoped it to be. So I edited it the best I could recently, and I'm quite proud of it!

[secretlywritingfanfic]

The tears were real

Up on the roof, with Moriarty’s body cooling behind him, Sherlock was convinced he could brazen though Lazarus and jump without a second thought.
“Oh God.”
But John arrived, and he found holding to his plan harder than he realised. Listening to his blogger plead more and more desperately to stop, come down, not do this, Sherlock felt a sharpness in his throat that had nothing to do with the cold rooftop wind.
The script was exact, the call was being recorded. But the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks… they were unplanned. His chest constricted, his hands tightened on the phone. Searching for something (anything) that could signal to John that it would all be alright, adrenaline coursing even over the pounding of his blood, Sherlock tried.
God, he tried.
“It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.”
“No. Alright? Stop it now.”
The ground was getting farther and farther away. John Watson was a brilliant, shattering beacon. 
“Goodbye John.” On the tarmac, with the buzz and drone of airfield business all around, he faced John again - another last moment - pressing his lips together firmly. The was banter, awkward in the face of a parting they could not undo. A change they could not survive. 
“How long?”
“Who knows.”
And tears again rimmed his eyes as he searched for the right words. The real words.
“John, there’s something I should say. I meant to say always and then never have… since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.”
No more goodbyes. No more begging. No more false lines to push between them. 
But John looked away, and he knew (he was Sherlock Holmes, after all) by the hunch of shoulders and small, firm line of mouth that John Watson was steeling himself for a truth they both knew, but would be forced to live without the rest of their lives. 
Throat tight, eyes swimming, Sherlock searched again for the lifeline - the hint that somehow it would all be alright. They would find a way to go on, even if it must be without each other.
“Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.” The laughter that followed chased his tears back. When their hands folded together it was again the very best of times. On the plane, alone, he allowed himself to cry.