that's what you call love
I don’t want you,
don’t wanna possess you,
don’t want the REAL ME away from You,
The REAL YOU away from ME,
My love is selfish,
one sided love,
Composed of layers
don’t be my companion,
I want you to shine seamlessly,
happiness caresses your feet like the sandstorm,
Caking your lip,
glittering face,
the more I release the love and attachment,
more I feel close to you,
you are…
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San Sequoia Apartments
hey! today I will share with you my version of apartments for a new city - San Sequoia✨
this is a small apartment for a couple with a child: there are two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen
I always would love to see your screenshots, so feel free to tag me @alerionjkeee
No CC
Lot size: 30x20
Lot type: Residential
2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom
Located in: San Sequoia
Playtested
Recommended have all packs.
Make sure to enable “bb.moveobjects” before placing the lot!
🟢 Download ZIP file - (SFS free, no ads)
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ao3
Steve’s got a soft spot for the Henderson’s Christmas tree—and sure, he’s biased as hell considering he once helped decorate it: a week or so before Dustin’s Snow Ball, he’d gone round to drop off some hair stuff, and ended up hanging baubles on the branches.
It’s not like he planned to; it’s just that he got caught in a festive whirlwind from the moment Dustin dragged him into the house, and then when he saw the tree, he couldn’t just leave it like that—not with a whole section bare right near the top, and the star wasn’t even on yet.
And then he didn’t really notice the time passing as he worked. His main impressions were of a grateful Claudia mouthing, “Thank you,” while stuck on the phone with her sister, followed by a cat constantly getting under his feet.
Dustin found a spare bow on top of a pile of wrapping paper and batted it towards the cat.
“It’s good we have another cat now. Like, it’s good for mom,” he’d said once Claudia was out of the room.
It was delivered in that precocious, self-assured way Steve was already getting familiar with. He knew what it actually meant: that Dustin was really torn up about… what happened to poor Mews.
But neither of them got around to addressing it—not when it was made clear that Dustin was taking the oath of secrecy so seriously; standing there, with the can of Farrah Fawcett spray hidden up his shirt, he looked like a terrible spy doing his best to conceal classified documents.
Steve disguised a laugh by pretending to fiddle with the Christmas lights.
When Dustin was busy putting the star on top, he surreptitiously left a present under the tree. It wasn’t anything big, but still, he didn’t want the kid feeling obligated to get him one in return. That wasn’t what it was about.
A year later, and Steve’s looking up at the same tree—technically, he’s trying not to get jealous over something so stupid: that the star’s already on top, the tinsel draped perfectly. There’s nothing for him to…
It’s just that he liked …
He blinks. Looks again.
“Finally,” Dustin’s saying, shoving a cardboard box into Steve’s hands, “you can finish it.”
And then he steps away, goes into the kitchen to unpack groceries—adds after God knows how long, “Uh, preferably before New Year’s, Steve!”
Steve jolts into action.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says dryly, but it’s just on automatic pilot as he starts unpacking the box of baubles, and the full impact hits him.
That Dustin must’ve made sure these decorations were kept separate. That he’d left a space clear—right near the top of the tree. That he’d waited, just so Steve could…
Before he can hang up the baubles, Steve has to spend a couple moments just standing there, blinking hard.
Dustin pokes his head in after a little while, nods his approval. It’s when he’s reciting the Christmas dinner options to Tews (Steve stifles a snort, this goddamn ridiculous kid) that Steve seizes his opportunity: drops off his present, hidden in plain sight.
Well. It’s tradition, now.
Just when he’s about to reverse out the driveway, Dustin runs to the car.
“Steve!”
Steve winds down the window.
Dustin grins, sticks his arm through.
“You forgot your card, duh.”
Steve smiles back. “Thanks, bud.”
And it’s funny, Steve knows that a part of him will probably always see Dustin as twelve. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s getting taller, that the first year of high school is flying by, and Steve almost wants to get out the car there and then—to ask him to stop, even though it’s impossible.
He doesn’t. He just gently places the card in the back. Starts the engine.
He kind of feels like he did when the box of tree decorations was against his chest. A warmth, a catch in his throat—quickly blinked away as if it never existed.
Time’s gonna go on, another year reaching its end; and all of this will get stacked up like superimposed images, so that Dustin will always be twelve, and thirteen, and fourteen, all at once.
But as Steve takes a last look in his rear view mirror, he thinks maybe this one will stick the most: Dustin, waving hugely, scraps of tinsel in his hair.
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