4-8: Ch-ch-ch-changes

In order to attain the guise of being well-adjusted, a child’s education must begin as it slides onto the birthing bed. A doctor will snip off its umbilical cord and swaddle it in a blanket-modesty and a mysticism surrounding the bellybutton. Two lessons in a single slice. After twenty-four hours in an industrial incubator (or more, depending on the mother’s propensity for alcohol or her child’s unique condition), the child switches hands from a baggy eyed nurse to its swollen feet mother and stubbled chin father-usually. In this modern era, we must always note the exceptions. The child could be handed to its two fathers, two mothers, or travel home with a parent flying solo, among countless other combinations. No matter whose care it falls into, however, it must be taught to wobble about, to lisp proficiently, and to use the toilet without making a dreadful mess all over the floor.

This is much more difficult than it sounds.


Watson Belue accepted the challenge with a boundless grin and a dwindling diaper budget. In the absence of anything even mildly resembling a relationship, what else was there to do? Surely no midnight escapades nor Saturday morning coffees adorned his weekends. His daughter’s eyes were his own, and her wings simply an extension of his love. With little else to strive for, he would teach her to take on the world.


Victory travels in small steps; little Elizabeth learned a lifetime with each forward stumble. To meet the ceiling, she first had to leave the floor. Her hopelessly creative mind floated a plethora of ideas, though some more appealing than others. Perhaps if she attached a lifejacket around her ankles, she’d drift gently out the window, through the trees, and down the lane towards the city. Dodging a crowd of dumbstruck patrons, she’d stop at the art museum, and admire a Monet before traipsing home to her befuddled father.

A quick survey of the room revealed that Elizabeth did not, as a matter of fact, live in a lifeboat, nor a well stocked fishing shack. She sighed and hoped she’d be a functional fae soon. Toddlerhood was awfully boring. She could hardly crawl out of her crib, let alone take a bus to the beach.

The spoken word offered a brief escape. Her aunt, Scarlett, often told colorful tales of close to home melodrama, historical tragedies, and aliens. One went as follows:


“So Dante and I were messing around, as usual,” began Scarlett, “and he said, ‘Let’s do it in another room.’ And I said, ‘What?’ because we were already naked and running fast towards round two, and what sort of weirdo wants to stop in the middle of things to run naked around the house trying to find a better place? I should’ve told him to leave right then, but he started grinning all wickedly, and said, ‘Okay, maybe for round three.’ I was very pleased with that, naturally, and we started getting all heavy and things were going dandy when-”

Elizabeth hiccuped uncomfortably. Scarlett hadn’t quite figured out Elizabeth’s advanced handle on language yet, but would soon enough.


“Dante said, ‘I think the doorknob just turned.’ I dove under the covers, and your grandpa walked in.”

She paused dramatically. Elizabeth blushed for her.


“And Dante just jumped up, buck-ass naked, stuck his tongue out at my dad, and my dad did the same right back at him! Weird ass vampire shit. Sorry about the swearing, hon, I’m still trying to figure out what the hell happened last night. I can hardly process it in my own head, let alone somebody else’s.

So then my dad left without another word. Dante crawled back on the bed, told me to get dressed, waited until I finished and then pulled me downstairs. ‘What the hell was that?’ I asked him, and he just shushed me. I had no idea what to do. I’d never felt so out of control. I followed him, because everything fogged up-I was walking through a cloud. He whirled me into Angus’s room. Have you met Angus? He’s not as unfriendly as he seems.”

Elizabeth shook her head numbly.

“This next part’s sort of rough,” said Scarlett. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I just-” she sighed deeply “-I just didn’t know who else to tell.”


“But Dante just…he just grabbed my arm and sank his teeth in. Didn’t ask permission, didn’t even look me in the eye. He just chomped down and started sucking, and my eyes rolled up to the ceiling and my knees started rattling and I wanted to scream but I couldn’t and the ceiling fell closer and the floor came forward and Dante licked his lips and nodded his head and that was that. That was goodbye.”

Elizabeth, while only understanding a terrifying fraction of Scarlett’s ramblings, nodded sympathetically. Scarlett smiled down on her, blinking once and then twice in quick succession. Elizabeth cocked her head to the side. She was the sort of child who preferred to rationalize every bodily function before sputtering a mangled condolence. Scarlett could do little but smile down on the child’s illegible, car crashing together thoughts.

Only the failings of the child can distract from the catastrophes of the adult.

Scarlett’s nails tugged at the bite marks on her wrist. Her stomach churned; her blood boiled. “I think,” she gurgled, and set Elizabeth roughly on the floor, “I think I’m going to be sick.”


She barreled through Elizabeth’s door, tore down the stairs, and sprinted through the sparsely decorated dining room. Beneath the coils of her intestines and the question marks swirling in her stomach, a darker thought stirred from its grisly sleep.


She tried to shove it from her mind as she curled over the toilet. She tried to smash it through the paper shredder as she coughed and sputtered violent cries. She tried to bury it beside her grandfather as the vomit spewed. She tried to crush it like a dandelion beneath her heel, but as the water swirled down the drain, it only rose once more. “I couldn’t be…” she whispered. “I’m an adventurous woman-not an unfortunate one.”

Her knees knocked together as she crawled to her feet. Her stomach curdled once more, and she fell back to her knees, back over the toilet, and screaming under her breath, planted her tremblings hands under her trembling shoulders.


An hour and many a paper towel later, Scarlett finally stood. She wiped a trace of vomit from her chin and sighed. Her head was heavier than a freight train, and her heart doubly so. She looked to the toilet, then to her hand, and then back at the toilet again. Slowly, like an infidel confessing his alleged sin, the question bubbled up once more.


“Am I…” -she took a deep breath and bit her lip- “pregnant?”


“Are you crazy?”

“I’m perfectly sane, Chester!” said Daisy. “I just forgot something important in there.”

“I don’t like spending any more time with cowplants than I have to. The nasty suckers bit off my grandma’s knickers-traumatized me for life, that did. If I had my way, they’d be paying for my AA meetings.”


“Wow,” said Daisy. Sympathy never came easy for her, but she could flutter her eyelashes as desperately as the best of them. “I, um, didn’t know you attended AA?”

“Yeah,” said Chester roughly, “and I didn’t know your bathroom was more bleached than my ex’s-well, I probably shouldn’t use that kind of language around a lady. Never know if she’ll have the brains to keep it to herself.”

Pushing his crass manners and veiled bigotry into her mind’s dusty lockbox, Daisy searched her pocket for an invaluable trinket. She’d found the ring in a cracker jack box, but after three cans of gold spray paint, thought it looked nearly as authentic as a blonde Elvis impersonator. His money spoke louder than his words, and her desperation more than her conscience.

They were married by the end of the evening and out of the house by dawn.


As Daisy and Chester eloped through the night and Elizabeth dozed Scarlett’s woes away, an unusual ringing buzzed from Watson’s computer. He cocked his head to the side and frowned skeptically. “Nobody e-mails me,” he murmured. His detective novels, while considered the best of the dime store heap, rarely garnered as much fanmail as the local milkman.

It certainly wasn’t from Julia. He hadn’t heard a word from her since she’d handed him Elizabeth, silent and mournful, into his aching heart. Whatever, thought Watson bitterly. Fuck her.

Cautiously, Watson approached the computer. He held a steady hand in front of his face-if a tentacle burst through the monitor, he would flail slightly less helplessly than a fish on the chopping block. After squinting into the screen’s glowering depths for a few minutes, Watson gingerly sat down, scrolled towards the top of the page, and opened the e-mail.

You are a beanstalk in a battlefield, Mr. Watson. Tell me: have you ever prayed to God? 


Next time…

Mystery! Romance! Awkward appearances from my Simself!


The Echo-Friendly – “Same Mistakes

A/N: Sorry about the length of this one! I want to focus more on Watson (and JOHN!!) in the next chapter, and didn’t want to shoehorn it in with this transitional chapter. I really wanted to cover Daisy and Scarlett’s happenings and introduce Elizabeth’s character before diving into the denouement of Watson’s arc and the framework for Elizabeth’s. It’s great to be writing again! Also sorry if this is really rusty, it’s been a bit wheezy getting back into the Belues again. Things will pick up a bunch more this next chapter! (JOHN!!!)

Hope to be seeing ya’ll more often from now on! I’ll be fairly sparse next week-it’s show week for my school’s production of Almost, Maine, and I’m so pumped to be onstage!-but will be updating much more regularly from now on.

ALSO 5000 POSTS WOOOO! I’ll try to do a chapter of bonus shots or an extra for it. 😀

In conclusion:


“Speak English faster or I’ll feed you to the cowplant.”

Um, Panda? That’s your granddaughter you’re talking to, not some weirdo in parachute pants.

Posted in Generation 4 | 17 Comments

The Belues are going on vacation.

Instead of simply disappearing for two months, I am formally announcing this Belue hiatus. I am so sorry for the delay-I was cast in our school’s production of Almost Maine, participating in our One Act play, trying to keep up my grades, am working diligently on a writing side project for February, on top of having a steady boyfriend and making time for him, friends, and family, as well. I hope to be back in action by March. I will really miss all of you and the Belues until then. I try my damnedest to keep from falling behind in your legacies, though, and will stay up to date as best I can!



I’ll be back as soon as possible. See ya’ll soon! 

Also, here’s a lil sneak peek of what’s to come. 🙂 

Posted in Generation 1 | 12 Comments

4-7: Fatherhood


Before Young Watson’s fingers could even brush the doorknob, Malix threw open the front door and drenched his son with enough rain and darkness to turn the Mojave Desert into a rainforest. “Christ, Dad,” said Young Watson, words still slurred. His genetics were set firmly against sobriety.

“Sorry,” said Malix. He wiggled about for a moment, as if attempting to squirm the rain out of his clothes. “It’s just a bit, er, wet outside.”

“Did you have to bring it inside?” groaned Young Watson.


“Did you have to boot your sister into it?” hissed Pandora. She stepped through the front door and past Young Watson, throwing her head back and accusing eyes forward. “If Vodka was here”-her voice cracked-“she’d have your thinker on a silver spike.”

“Panda,” said Malix gently, “can I talk to him first?”

“I don’t know, can you?” She threw her hands in the air. “Rose was the only thing Vodka left and he-!”


“Mom,” said Young Watson. In whispers of the night’s woes, the world crumbled, particle by painful particle, around him. It is often difficult to remain powerful when in sober company-the first of the night’s lessons came, as lessons rarely do, subtly, with nary a backward glance.

“You’ve got heaps to yak yourself out of,” sighed Pandora. “I suppose I’ll leave you two duo, then. Young Watson, we’ll talk later.”


Pandora exited into the dining room, and was greeted by a chorus of cheers. Even the most morally ambiguous girls loved their mothers, thought Young Watson, when they’d been deprived of them for long enough. Malix cleared his throat. “I don’t really like lecturing,” he said with a sigh, “but Daisy called in advance to fill us in on your latest adventures, and I thought Panda and I would be able to offer you a bit of wisdom. And you’d, er, let us live here, because we’re your parents and all, and we had to sell the house to buy toilet paper and are subsequently homeless. Fair deal, right?”

A gust of wind burst from beneath the front door, and suddenly Young Watson was hit by the lonely force of his disastrous evening. “I wanted everything,” he whispered to himself. His heart sank faster than the Titanic. “I lost it in a bet with a fairy.”

“Young Watson? You listening?” Malix waved his hand in front of Young Watson’s face. “I suppose you’re not that young anymore… Do you still answer to that?”


“I think,” said Young Watson slowly, “I think I’m trying to grow up, but it’s even harder when the name doesn’t fit. I’m too old to be Young Watson, and too young to be Old Watson. I lack definition”

Malix thought for a moment before answering. “How about just Watson?”

“It’s very plain,” said Young Watson tentatively.

“Aren’t most names? It’s for the best, really. Nobody wants to read ‘Ebony Darkness Raven Dementia Way’ off the roll call.”

“Watson,” said Watson. “Watson. Watson. Watson. I suppose it rolls off the tongue all right.”


“Now, Watson,”-Watson couldn’t help but smile a little-“about our deal?”

“Let me evaluate the profits. You added money to our wallet, I added another floor to the house. You give me advice, I give you a home. It’s a fair deal.”

“I thought you’d like it,” said Malix. “Everything always evens out in the end.”

“Not always,” sighed Watson. He glanced into the kitchen doorway and peered into Julia’s domain. “Sometimes things are a bit…lopsided.”

“Ah,” said Malix. “The fairy.”


“Yes,” said Watson. “The fairy.”

“How have you been managing? Daisy said you weren’t handling it well.”

“I had to cope somehow.” Watson’s cheeks burned. Rose and Daisy surely hated him now if they hadn’t already.

“I suppose you did better than I did,” chuckled Malix darkly. “At least you only knocked up one girl.”

“What?” Watson nearly choked.

Malix coughed. “It’s irrelevant. Really. Don’t worry about it. We’re here to talk about your mistakes, not mine. Okay, well, yours in relation to mine-minus the gritty details and things you really don’t need to know about. Listen, Watson, I know I haven’t been here for you. Not while you were a baby, not while you were a child, nor as you ran from high school blindly into adulthood. I was in your house, but never in your life.


I know you’ve never seen me as a role model, but genetics breed familiarity. I want you to distance yourself from that. Forget about your family history. When she has your baby, I want you to remember that that baby is a part of you. It is to be loved, adored-that child is the most important thing in your life.

Don’t be like me. I put myself before my children, before Panda, before…” Malix trailed off, staring, unblinking, into the thunderstorm past. He shook his head slightly and continued. “You have to take responsibility for your actions. Do whatever it takes to give that child the best life you can, because when you’re old and jaded and your child is nothing more than a stranger to you, your heart will break a thousand times to Tuesday, and you’ll cry your heart out, because you know that their childhood has passed you by, and there is nothing you can do to regain that. Watson, you’re better than your family’s legacy. You’re better than I am. You can give this child more than just a large house and warm meals-you can give them a dad.”


“Dad…” began Watson. He blinked away tears, and chastised himself for it. Dads don’t cry! he thought furiously, and neither do crime novelists. “I’m going to-”

Julia stormed through the doorway, eyes wide and furious. “Young Watson!”

“Watson,” said Malix pleasantly. “His name is Watson. And you must be Julia?”

Julia ignored him. “Who is this vampire?” she hissed.

“This is my Dad,” said Watson. Her swollen belly gave him a headache. His ache was not due to her stomach’s contents, but rather the hideous shade of purple stretching over it. She dragged him to the other side of the room, grip fierce and frightened, and his headache only intensified.


Julia’s stomach plummeted through the floorboards, the Earth’s crust, and deep into the boiling mantle. “How many of my people has he killed?” she hissed. “Is he one of the Schlicks? The Slayers? The Merricks?”

“Dad doesn’t kill people,” stated Young Watson. “He mostly just offers witty commentary at inappropriate times  and paints masterpieces on the weekends.”

“Wrong!” she snarled. “Vampires slaughter. Vampires drain blood to extend their already immortal lives. They’re disgusting, filthy creatures with no regard for the fae, and lack the integrity for fair deals. Besides, they hate garlic, and you can’t trust a creature who despises a vegetable.”


“All vampires are bastards!” said Malix, voice high and mocking. “They’re all members of the same bastard family! That’s obviously why we all have different last names!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you have his blood inside you?” cried Julia. “A quarter vampire, a quarter human, half fae-this child will be an abomination! The blood of two warring species…oh god, oh god.”

“Because all half breed children are nasty little buggers,” said Malix, rolling his eyes. “Gotta love fantastic racism.”

“Dad’s a rogue vampire,” snapped Watson. “He doesn’t participate in any of that organized coven stuff. His blood won’t destroy the child-it’ll benefit it. This is a child, not the product of war.”

“Aha!” said Malix, who was fully aware that he was being ignored, but chose to add his opinion anyway. “Logic!”


“This child,” she spat, “is part vampire.”

“This child is a part of me,” said Watson coldly, “and it’s a part of you, too.”

“You infected me!” Her voice rose, piercing the night air like a bullet through a sheet of glass. “I was pure, and now I’m soaked with the blood of a vampire! You’ve ruined me, Watson! I can never return home now…” She began to sob softly. “I’m lost.”

“You pressured me,” said Watson. “I never asked you for anything. You climbed in my bed, and didn’t bother to listen when I told you no. Now we’re having a baby, and while you don’t love it, I’m going to make up for all that you lack. Damn it, Julia, I’m going to take care of this child, and if you’re not going to join me, then I don’t want to see your face again. If you abandon this baby…” He trailed off, trying to think of a threat potent enough to strike fear into the furious fairy’s heart.


“I thought that you cared about our deals. I thought that you cared about me” she whimpered. She raised her hand as if to stroke his cheek, but then sighed, lowering it back to her side. “I’m going to bed.”

Watson nodded curtly. He watched her back as she ascended the staircase, eyeing her shifting shoulder blades, her drooping wings, the clacking of her boots. Had he cared for her, he realized, he’d have grabbed her arm, gently hoisted her from stair to stair, and pulled the blankets over her swollen breasts as she drifted to troubled sleep.

She was nothing but a spot of misplaced tenderness. If she left, he’d sleep with ease. If she left, he’d be able to speak with his father freely.

If she left, she’d miss her child’s first step, its first word, its first kiss. If she left, she’d lose a chance at a family.

Thoughts swirling, he ascended the staircase, crossed the pitch black hallway, and slipped hesitantly into bed beside her. We really need to buy a couch, he thought as sleep overcame him.


Watson awoke to a rustling of the bedsheets and a sharp grunt. It was approximately three in the morning. Blinking drowsily, he sat up. Julia was already awake. She sat on the bed’s edge, breathing heavily. She refused to meet his scarlet eyes. “Why are you up?” yawned Watson.

“I think,” she breathed in sharply, “I think it’s coming.”

“What’s coming? The daily mail?”

She stood up shakily. “The baby.”








“THE HOSPITAL!” she cried. “NOW!”

Forgetting his inhibitions, Watson shrugged on his jacket and pulled up his jeans. Julia simply swirled into the hideous purple dress; Watson couldn’t help but cringe. If he never saw that garment again, he would die happy.

Julia gasped. “Young Watson-!”

“Watson,” he corrected.

She rolled her eyes. “It hurts so badly!”


Out of necessity he eased her way down the stairs, and carefully followed her as she crossed the foyer. Watson smiled to himself. His baby. He accepted Malix’s challenge. He would love this child with all of his heart-preferably without Julia at his side. The stakes had risen. Fairy games, while never wise, were particularly deadly to him now.

“I don’t want this,” whimpered Julia.

“It’ll be over soon,” said Watson unhelpfully.

She shot him a glare. He tapped her shoulder and pointed towards the door. “The taxi’s that way.”


Julia stumbled into the front seat. Her chest heaved, and sweat dribbled down her forehead. Watson slipped into the backseat. She stared at him through the rearview mirror as if examining an insect under a microscope. Had she known of his heritage…she shook her head. She wasn’t quite sure that she wanted to know what she would’ve done. A reaction is only twice as violent when thought of afterwards.

Watson stared out the window. He’d have to formally quit the con. He wasn’t going to be his father-he wanted to be the sort of man he had wanted to grow up to be. The type his child would admire. The type that would admire his child.


The taxi screeched to a halt outside the hospital. Watson threw a crumpled twenty to the driver and leapt from the cab. Julia struggled to remove her seatbelt, but after a ridiculous amount of grunts and grumbles, cast it off spectacularly.

Head held high, she stepped from the cab, ignoring Watson’s helpful hand, and walked directly through the hospital doors, eyes staring blankly ahead, as if surrounded by blinders.

Watson wondered briefly if he should follow her, but stopped three paces from the door. He’d only make the delivery, already messy and awkward, even more painful for everyone involved. He wanted to meet his child in a pleasant situation fraught with good connotations-a lively, warm bakery would be ideal.


He wasn’t quite sure if a thunderstorm was the most comfortable place or safest situation, but was sure it was much better than the hospital room. It would have to suffice.


As the evening gave way to starry eyed dawn, footsteps clattered down the hospital stairs. The doors creaked open. Watson, who had been sitting on the steps, thinking about the pointlessness of incessant rain, leapt from his seat. “She’s beautiful!” he cried breathlessly.

“I can’t look at her,” said Julia softly. She began to cry again-wordless, harsh, blubbering. The sobs of a woman lost, betrayed by her heart and her species. She thrust the baby into Watson’s arms. “The nurse called her Elizabeth. I thought you’d like it, so I didn’t say anything.”

She lowered her head into her hands, exhaustion overcoming her weary neck. Her whole body quivered-whether from the rain or the tears, Watson would never know. She began to walk away, each step brisk and aimless. Her arms wrapped around her thin body as if to keep her cries sealed between her ribs. “Julia!” Watson called after her. “This is your daughter!”

Her pace quickened. Her form blurred as the rain poured, like a heart into a diary, from the inkblot sky. “Julia!”

And she was gone, severed from her family in thirty paces. Relief, strange and breathless, flooded Watson’s bones. He looked at his silent daughter and smiled softly. She hadn’t uttered a cry the entire night. Something had to be going right. He held her close to his chest, and raised his hand. A taxi would surely stop for them.

“Well, Lizzie,” sighed Watson. “I think it’s time to go home.”

Next time…

Aging! Romance! Family! Parenthood! Angus!


LCD Soundsystem – “All I Want

A/N: Sorry this update took a while to finish… BUT FINALS ARE DONE!!! But anyway, I’m so happy to have Panda and Malix back. I really missed those guys. Also, happy MLK Day!

Another beeteedubs, this song of the update is one of my favorite songs ever. I’m so bummered out that LCD Soundsystem broke up. 😦

In conclusion…


I love this picture of Panda and Malix. I think that Pandora is just the cutest Sim ever. Gah, I am so happy to have her back in my game!

Posted in Generation 4 | Tagged , , , | 14 Comments

4-6: When Life Hands You Lemons, Make Vodka


Young Watson bit his lip. The teapot whistled, Scarlett’s boyfriend hissed, and a low growl shook the house more than a gorilla who has skipped breakfast. He thought, a bit too late, that perhaps the kitchen wasn’t the best place to break it off. Another growl rattled the floorboards.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Not again with the growling! It had been nearly incessant since the previous evening, and rather than petering off it only grew louder and more distracting with each passing hour. His confidence shrunk to microscopic levels as the volume hit the stratosphere. He had a sorry task to do, but found it difficult to muster up the courage to follow through with so much racket going on. A very large growl reminded him of tigers, and there are very few men who can stand in the presence of a tiger, let alone simply hear an implied one, without feeling utterly emasculated.

Julia eyed him curiously. When he opened his eyes, she’d tell him. This all depended on the roaring’s volume, however. It was awfully loud. She wasn’t quite sure if the noise was coming from the room beside the bedroom (somebody must have been living there, she reasoned, but she’d never set eyes on the mystery fourth Belue), beneath the house, or from Scarlett’s abominable vampire boyfriend, but wished that somebody would discover a mute button for the damn thing. If it could stay quiet for just one minute, perhaps she’d be brave enough to discover what it was.

In a stroke of fatal luck the growling faded to a dull roar. Young Watson snatched his chance. “Listen, Julia,” he began.


She grabbed his hand before allowing him another word. Young Watson sighed. Women really were too much of a bother. First they took your bed, then your body, then they made a mess of your work life and your social life-all of which was terribly dreadful to clean up afterwards. Young Watson was not afraid of mopping up old wounds, but he was a bit terrified of Julia’s dress. It clung in such a way so as to suggest a foreboding swelling of her belly and a prolonged thinness of her limbs. He gulped. With any luck, the hideous rag was just a phase; it couldn’t mean anything more.

Unknown to Young Watson, Julia also loathed the dress, but she had unearthed enough patriotism from somewhere inside her uterus to make it nearly bearable. “Yeah?” she asked Young Watson, rolling her eyes. Her acceptance of the purple dress did not go without grudge, however. It wasn’t entirely her fault she had to wear it. While history often disagrees with itself, it universally affirms that it takes two procreate.

“We’ve had a great time together,” said Young Watson sheepishly. He should have practiced break ups, like he had most everything else, back while he was still learning his times tables. “But Scarlett’s had to get a job polishing podiums, and we’ve had to resort to selling space rocks to pay for the groceries-!”


“How convenient!” grinned Julia. “I’ve got the perfect solution.”

“What?” asked Young Watson flatly. His brain, for all practical purposes, slid to a crashing halt.

She patted her belly. “This little fella can make us a lot of money.”

“Little fella?” Young Watson choked.


Thunder cracked outside, and a dull rumble clattered the windows. Scarlett, who sat at the kitchen table, wondered vaguely which part of Julia’s statement Young Watson should worry most about, realized their impending poverty, and sadly got out the last bottle of vodka.

The world spun a little closer to its end.

“Little fella,” said Julia.


Young Watson was not quite sure what happened after Julia’s fateful words. He knew only that it involved a great deal of vodka and a grand twelve minutes too long sing-a-long to “Sweet Caroline,” and had ended with him sitting cross legged on his bedroom floor, alone and more dour than a Russian Christmas. “She can’t be pregnant,” whispered Young Watson. “I mean we used a-!”


At that moment, Daisy came bursting in, panting more than dog in South Africa. Her tongue lolled from side to side and then suddenly zipped back in her glossy mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut, cheeks puffed out, and lips pursed. “How were the lemons?” slurred Young Watson.

“Young Watson!” she shrieked. Daisy had never taken a stress management class in her life.


“What in the fuck do you want?” grumbled Young Watson.

“Get up,” snapped Daisy. “You’re starting to sound like Grandpa.”

“Drunk as Grandpa.” Young Watson struggled to his feet.


“Hopefully you won’t end up as angry as him-or as dead.” She took a long, tragic breath. “Sad story. Anyway, we’ve got more important matters to discuss.”

“Like how we’re going to afford a fucking baby? And you can’t just, like, trivialize Grandpa’s passing. He leapt into a fucking cooking machine…thing, for chrissake.”

“Quit swearing,” admonished Daisy. “It’s unbecoming.”


“You’re unbecoming!” retorted Young Watson. He slurred each word to the extent that he sounded like a particularly sloppy mudslide.

After a moment of pondering his words, Daisy snapped back, grinning cheekily (she adored feeling witty-it didn’t happen very often), “And this is the worst night to get wasted. Mom and Dad just called. They forwarded a check and will be here tonight.”


“Fucking hell,” breathed Young Watson.


“That’s the reaction I was hoping for, minus the foul language.”

“Oh god,” muttered Young Watson. His hands shook as if they were sitting atop an earthquake. “What am I going to tell them about Julia?”

“The truth? You knocked her up. Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

“I don’t fucking want to deal with the consequences!” shouted Young Watson. “I’ve been keeping this family together since before you could tie your shoelaces, and when things turned sour, I didn’t try to marry myself out of the problem. I’ve worked my ass off to pay for our house, our meals, our bills, and what have you done?”


“I wash the dishes!” snapped Daisy. Her cheeks flushed scarlet.

“Is that it?” Young Watson chuckled shortly. His head pounded. “You wash the dishes, and I’ll just keep writing bestsellers so you can afford your designer jeans. You haven’t done a single profound thing in your entire miserable existence. You almost married a millionaire, you almost got a job, you almost went to a dinner party. Almost, almost, almost. Yes, I knocked up my girlfriend, but you know what? I’m not going to like it, but at least I’m going to deal with the goddamn problem and clean up after your mistakes while I’m at it. You waste my life so you can put off discovering yours, and I’m not going to take your shit tonight.”

Daisy stood completely still, jaw halfway to the floor and eyes dripping more than a broken faucet. Young Watson stared at her. She was the smallest human being he’d ever seen.

Daisy opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a deafening roar from Rose’s room. Young Watson threw his hands in the air. “And now I’ve got to deal with whatever the fuck that is, too!” he cried and stormed from his bedroom to his eldest sister’s.


It wasn’t real. It was a joke. A sick, insane prank by his sick, insane sister made only more frightening by the alcohol. The wet, gurgling growls were her stereo. The sweltering, heavy breathing came from the trees whistling outside the window. It was an after school special. Everything was manufactured. A Scooby Doo episode with exquisite special effects-there was no other explanation. Young Watson’s machine stuttered, stammered, coughed through his hackneyed thoughts. Too much to process, too much to handle, system overload, red alert, gates closing, alcohol flooding, vision blank, mind blank, reloading when threat subsides.

“This is Angus,” said Rose. “He’s going to eat you.”

If any gears remained functioning, they were promptly tossed out the window. The only thing remaining was the beast in front of him.


Its teeth gnashed, and its tongue slithered out from between them like a glare through a crowded room. Huge nostrils huffed heavy spurts of sweltering, sickening breaths; the whole room reeked of an ancient decaying flooding from between the horror’s black lips. Its eyeless head swung back and forth ravenously, black and white splotches blurring to a menacing grey as its fever intensified. Its udders nearly scraped the floor. Young Watson’s mouth was a desert; his lips parched to sandpaper.

“Yes,” said Rose. “He’s a cow.”

Young Watson said nothing.

“He ate my bed, but he’s still hungry.”

The silence stretched for the length of a moderately large highway.

“Yes,” wheezed Angus finally. “I haven’t had a meal since 1969.”


“Get out,” said Young Watson flatly.

“What?” asked Rose. Her voice quavered.

“Get out.” Young Watson’s voice rose. “Get the fuck out.”

“Are you sure that’s not the vodka talking?” inquired Angus.

“I hope so,” slurred Young Watson. Rose shoved him out of the way, running faster than her stick legs had ever carried her before out the front door, and away from the little brick house, away from the con, away from her malevolent garden, away from her family’s legacy. She never once looked back.

Young Watson slunk from the room. His head pounded harder than a wrestling match. After a brief peek from the kitchen doorway, Julia approached cautiously. “You okay?” she asked.


“Drunk,” sighed Young Watson. “It worked for Grandpa, but it didn’t work for me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Julia truthfully. She was rarely purely honest with herself or anyone else, but for a brief moment, a grain of truth slipped past her teeth.

“I’m just having a really bad day.”

“You’ve still got me.”

Young Watson looked at Julia, and Julia looked at Young Watson. Beneath the vodka, he felt something stir within him. She had such lovely eyes, he realized for the first time, and for the first time, he wanted to do nothing more than hold her hand.

A car honked outside. “They’re here!” Scarlett called. “Quick, to build/buy mode!”

Next time…

Malix! Pandora! Freak outs! Massive house renovations!


Crystal Castles – “Reckless

A/N: Man, sorry if this was a fairly dark chapter. I’ve had a horribly stressful week and can’t seem to write anything happy to save my life. It’ll get better soon enough, though. Finals are over on Tuesday, and the One Act goes to competition Friday, and if we don’t win, then that’s over, too! Then more Simming time, huzzah. 😀

Anyways, just a little warning about the next chapter. I’ve expanded the entire Belue house massively, which has left their decorating a bit, er, wanting. It will get better as their capital increases, though!

In conclusion:


Scarlett’s boyfriend, Dante (I really need to introduce this guy), is getting some abuse from Julia. She really hates those vampires. 🙂

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All I can say is YES. YESSSSSS! I am all over this shit.

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4-5: The Contraceptive Crisis isn’t Averted


It was not often that Young Watson smiled, and even rarer that he legitimately enjoyed himself. He spent the great majority of his time mulling over life’s lesser footnotes. “The little things are what make a great novel,” he liked to say.

All the world deserved his attention, but it sighed at his inane observations. For example, take Young Watson’s reaction to the local news: The gypsy caravan was suffering fiscally (Hadn’t they all run over that cliff at some point or another?), there was rumor of a vampire revolt (Total snoozefest), the whack-a-gnome booth had gone out of order (Family emergency), and little green men had invaded the city hall (No profit, no fucks). With so many insignificant thoughts demanding his attention, he never found the time to leave the house-until Julia came along.


He had first been lured from his study by a face so ridiculous even a Marilyn Manson fan would fear replicating it. She offered no explanation but the crossing of her eyes and a sloppy grin across her face. When questioned, she only twisted her face into something resembling a sexually confused flounder and handed him a white sack.

Helplessly intrigued, Young Watson trailed her from his study to the filthy kitchen and finally to the virgin front lawn. They stood a good ten meters away from each other and stared until any reasonable person would have wiped their tears and blinked shamelessly. She wiggled her tongue. Tears streaked down Young Watson’s face. If he didn’t think about the pain, he reasoned, it wasn’t there. Distract yourself! he thought fervently. His fingers tugged open the string at the sack’s top and tossed it to the ground. He was certain his eyes would fall out at any moment. Still, he peeked inside the bag.

He dashed to the side of the house, turned on the hose, and began filling his water balloons as fast as a bicycle racing down a moderately large hill. He allowed himself a rejuvenating blink. Julia, whose pride wouldn’t allow her to blink without reason, still stared at his previous spot, unable to to twist her gaze to his new position. Basking in opportunity, Young Watson stretched his arms, yawned, and scratched his back. After he had reasonably warmed up his stiff muscles, he hurled a water balloon at Julia.


“Wow!” screamed Julia, doubling over. Young Watson was sure that she blinked, and gleaned a small amount of pride from his questionable win. “That was awesome!”

“Didn’t it, er, hurt?” asked Young Watson.

“It was so cold!” she grinned. “I’ve always wanted to be a freezie-haven’t you?”


“You made me try it out once, and I didn’t think it lived up to the hype.” His stomach hurt simply thinking about the experience. Nope, freezies definitely weren’t for him.


“It’s not hype when it’s the truth!” protested Julia. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Damn! I forgot to grab myself some balloons”-she continued menacingly-“then you’d understand how hurt I am by your statement. Why would I lie to you?”

“I only disagreed,” said Young Watson.  “I never said you lied.”

“How about an instant payment plan?” asked Julia. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and smiled seductively. “You can repay me right now and get it over with.”

Young Watson fiddled about in his pockets and brought up a pile of lint and a long lost button. “I’d rather not give up the button,” he said mournfully, “but I suppose if you need it.”


“I don’t want your button!” snapped Julia. She stomped her feet one after the other and cupped her hands around her mouth as if she weren’t already shouting louder than the neighbor’s television. “Do I need to be more clear?”

“Yes, I think you should.”

“Let’s go inside.”

Young Watson sighed. Sometimes he believed she was speaking in morse code. This belief did not go without guilt, however, and there were days when he believed that perhaps he was at fault. Maybe, he thought like his mother had long before him, he should get seduced more often.


They stepped inside, and Young Watson paused to yawn dramatically. One was not truly tired, he secretly believed, unless he stretched his arms to each corner of the ceiling and opened his mouth wide enough to swallow a swarm of locusts. Julia rolled her eyes and nodded towards the bedroom. “You’re not exhausted already, are you?” she sighed.

“Oh, you know,” said Young Watson. “I’ve got a few years in me left.”


“Do you want me to warm you up or something?”

“Some soup would be nice, thank you.”

“Physically,” said Julia. She sighed heavier than a freight train.

Young Watson spread his arms wide. A hug, he thought sadly, would be almost as good as clam chowder. I guess. Being warm on the outside would have to suffice.


His arms never made it around her waist. She threw her hands in front of her and yelped like a cowering puppy. Young Watson froze, a statue caught in mid falling. “What do you think you’re doing?” cried Julia.

“In America, we like to call it a hug,” snapped Young Watson. “All you ever want is sex, but when I want a hug, you push me away. What’s wrong with a hug?”


“I don’t want a hug or whatever that is!”

“I knew fairies have a bad case of ADD,” said Young Watson flatly, “but I didn’t think you’d grow bored of me within a month.”

“Bored of you?” Julia’s eyes widened. “No!”

Young Watson was at a loss for words. He shuffled through his mental filing cabinet at an increasingly frantic speed. New hypothesis, modify to fit the evidence, arrange the observations into a tangible CONCLUSION…

No conclusion. Observations tumbling into confused, mangled mess, mess, mess. Red alert! Wheeoowhheeeooowheeooo. Complete absence of hypothesis. Mind vacuous. Zero purpose, zero ideas. Order self destruct in five, four, three, two…


“Get ahold of yourself!” hissed Young Watson. Close call. Engines cooling, logic returning-catastrophe averted?

Julia licked her lips. Temperature rising! “It’s just that you grabbed me out of context,” she said, and the gears began creaking once more.


She continued. “I’m not comfortable with that sort of thing, you know? Everybody’s got their boundaries.”

“I can see your point,” said Young Watson slowly. Light green. All operations running smoothly. “You dislike hugs, because they aren’t sexual in nature?”

“You could put it like that, yeah.” She stepped closer, fluttering her eyelashes and puckering her lips. “I’m okay with kisses, though. I know where they lead.”


Carelessly, he kissed her. He kissed her through the hallway, pushing her up against the shady walls and running his hands down the insides of her cauliflower thighs. He kissed her against his bedroom door before realizing that the floor was unsanitary, and turned open the knob behind her ruffles. He kissed her as they tumbled to the floor, rolling over one another and becoming entangled in the clothes they were shedding. He kissed her as they painfully stood, only separating to make his way to his side of the bed.


Julia snuggled up beside him, twining her fingers with his and placing his hand on her breast. “Are you ready?” she purred, and Young Watson helplessly nodded.


Across town, Scarlett’s phone buzzed. She flipped it open clumsily, swearing under her breath as she read the sender. “Daisy?” she wondered aloud. Her eyes plodded over the message, widening with each word. “‘Did you take the last package of condoms?'” she repeated the text to herself as a vacuum open inside her stomach. “Fuck.”

Condoms were expensive, figured Scarlett as she flipped through her wallet, and their pocketbook was shrinking rapidly by the day. If Young Watson would ever pick up the goddamn heist instead of sleeping with Julia, they’d be able to buy enough condoms to take them to the moon. She hoped he wasn’t sleeping with Julia right now-a contraceptive run was in order. “They’re better than children,” she muttered to herself. “Condoms didn’t kill Grandpa.”

Scarlett was right. Condoms didn’t kill Bender Belue-Daisy did. All of her childish wailing was simply too much for the mustached man to bear, and he gladly dove into his grave after a night of toddler torture.


Julia snatched up her clothes from the floor, groaning dramatically. Young Watson followed her and eyed her midsection suspiciously. “Leaving already?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “My stomach is killing me.”

“So lay down?”

She pulled her dress over her head and stepped into her panties. An eye roll shot in Young Watson’s direction. “Like I’m-about-to-vomit-so-let-me-go killing me.”



“Oh god,” she put her hand over her mouth and clutched her stomach. Young Watson wasn’t quite sure if it was from nausea or exasperation.

“If you’re going to vomit,” said Young Watson, “please don’t do it on my computer.”

With a bat of her wings and nary a glance backwards, Julia dashed from the room like a small child who has been holding their bladder for too long and has finally been allowed a restroom break.


As she crashed through the bathroom door, Young Watson rebuttoned his shirt, zipped up his jeans, and continued to work on his novel.


Inspector Schwinn had never been so enthralled and so terrified. Blue could crush him harder, faster, and more permanently than Poverty Williams ever could, if she wanted to. She could crush his pocketbooks, crush his pride. She was everything he ever feared. Reason, he repeated to himself each morning, reason and money. Those were more important than fun. More important than sex. More important than deals with a trickster.

And besides, with Gold Digger and Pianist lazing about, he had to regain his focus. Money could buy a new house, a husband for Gold Digger, or the solution to his latest case. Inspector Schwinn didn’t need women-he needed finances. And fast.


He could rip her out of his life life a Band Aid. There was no ring to keep them together, nor any children to chain them to the ground. Inspector Schwinn could be a cold hearted bitch when he needed to be. He learned it from his father, to whom he had little to thank for but his luck with the ladies. His father, it seemed, had given him a gene that made him irresistible to odd women, and repulsive to everyone else. 

Inspector Schwinn was never sure whether it was a blessing or a curse, but he did have a damn good time. 


Play time was over, though. Poverty Williams had a son, and in a burst of incredible originality, named him Poverty II. Most simply referred to him as “Junior.” Like his father, Junior was a sick son of a bitch, and uglier than both his father and his Uncle Ted, a relative of the dinosaurs, combined. 

Inspector Schwinn would stop at nothing to bring them down. They were why he got into private investigating, after all. 

Julia flushed the toilet. Her stomach heaved in patriotic fervor, but had nothing left to offer. Satisfied, she stood. The biological shift had begun, as it usually did, over an uninviting toilet. It smelled a bit funny and had an odd stain near the rim, but Julia supposed that if she had to suffer for her country, there were worse ways to go about doing so. She patted her stomach and ignoring the smell, whirled into a shapeless purple dress.


“WHY THE HELL DID IT HAVE TO BE PURPLE?!” she screamed. She would do nearly anything to save the fae, but when it came to having to wear a color that so terribly disagreed with her hormones, Julia would rather kill for the other team. Perhaps, she thought tentatively, she was just crazier than your average pregnant woman. “Crazy or not,” she hissed to herself, “I still want to put this dress through the paper shredder.”

A horrible, grinding, guttural growl roared from the room next door. Julia froze.

Suddenly the dress didn’t matter so much.

Next time…

Violence! Betrayal! Pregnancy! Jazz?


The Blue Van – “Silly Boy

A/N: I have been so antisocial this week, it’s stupid. Usually I’m very out and about, but I’ve spent each day running straight home from school and just moping about in my bedroom. Well, maybe not moping-more like ravenously reading everything I can get my hands on. Fuck yeah, literature.

In conclusion…


Zombie Chester’s at your door, eating your brains.

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Extra: Daisy Goes Jersey Shore

So I was working on shots for the next update and feeling a trifle bored with Julia and Young Watson’s incessant “ooh la la”ing in the words of the great Panda Belue and decided to send Scarlett and Daisy to the summer festival. The results were, er, interesting to say the least.

Much commentary, unedited photos, and shameless Willy Wonka references follow.


“Scarlett, it’s raining and Chester hasn’t called me back and nobody’s even at this dumb festival anyway!”


“Oh, Daisy, you’re drearier than the weather! I know a little man that will cheer you up…”

Speaking of little men, you know what’d be the coolest new lifestate University could offer? Dwarves. Not like the ones on that TLC show, but the hardcore, whiskey guzzling, wooly mammoth slaying, elf hating Scottish dwarves.

Unfortunately, Scarlett wasn’t talking about dwarves. 😦


“I feel a little mean doing this!” spurted Scarlett. “What if those gnomes had mothers?”

I’m sure the Whack-a-Gnome factory is crying buckets, Scarlett.

A chrome, futuristic machine caught Daisy’s eye. “TANNING BOOTH,” read the massive sticker on its side. The fine print, which most everyone ignored, read smartly, “for oompa loompas only.”

Daisy, like most people, ignored the fine print.


“All older men love tan women!” cheered Daisy. It was why her father had stayed with her mother all those years, she was sure, and it would get Chester to propose to her faster than a gun to his forehead.


“This is way better than going to the beach!”

She emerged in a few minutes, and her world ended.


“My abs are so much more pronounced! Far out!”

Just wait for the graphics to catch up to you, hon.

Scarlett, however, was ahead of my computer.


“Daisy, you look like a fucking orangutan.”

“They’re muscular! I’m muscular! That is all we have in common!”

“Look again.”


“Where in the hell did those tan lines come from?”

“That’s the least of your worries,” huffed Scarlett. “You look a ginger Snooki clone.”

“But I’m on a diet!” protested Daisy.

“Diet or not-you’re still orange.”

Horribly embarrassed, Daisy fled home, desperately hoping that she wouldn’t run into anyone before the color faded. This being the Belues, she was intercepted before making it in the front door.


“She’s not real, she’s not real, she’s not real!” cried Rose, who could rarely discern hallucinations from real life. She often thought of sheep, which were mostly harmless, but the other twenty percent of the time, her vision was occupied by raging oompa loompas.

“It’s just a spray tan!” cried Daisy. Just a spray tan, hah. Keep telling yourself that, Daisy.

She ran inside, hoping to get to her room unnoticed. Unfortunately, Julia was partying up the dining room.


“Wow, Daisy, going real hardcore there,” giggled Julia. “I’m really enjoying the yellow stripes.”

“Come on!” cried Daisy. “The tanning booth malfunctioned!”

“And now you’re sweet potato orange! Have you seen Young Watson? We have a deal to consummate.”

“Gross,” scowled Daisy.


At that moment, Scarlett arrived home and decided to make amends with Daisy. “It’s not all bad,” she said. “At least you sort of match the countertops.”

“Thanks a bunch, Scarlett,” hissed Daisy. “I feel loads better now.”

“Just doing my job,” smiled Scarlett.


“I’ll make you feel sorry for me,” snapped Daisy. “Then you’ll feel bad for being so cruel!”

“Really?” Scarlett yawned. “I’m mostly just bored. Maybe I’ll call up Dante.”

Daisy stood in the corner for a few moments, racking her vapid mind for a vain idea. She thought of each chick flick she’d ever seen-the number racked up in the thousands-and decided on her favorite: The Pirates of the Caribbean.

In Daisy’s mind, every movie was a chick flick-especially if it was directed by Quentin Tarantino. Inglorious Bastards was her favorite.

She set the plan into motion.


“I’m feeling a little faint!” she called.

“What was that?” hollered Scarlett, pressing her phone to her cheek. “I can’t talk right now!”


“I think I might faint!” shouted Daisy, punctuating it with a sigh.

Scarlett ignored her, but Daisy tumbled to the floor anyway.


After a few minutes, Scarlett noticed a distinct lack of complaining. “Did Daisy die?” she wondered, before shrugging and turning to china cabinet.

While Daisy may have not died in body, her spirit certainly suffered a great deal.


Scarlett – 1
Daisy – 0

Sorry, Daisy. NO FRIENDS.


A/N: I might do more of these in the future. They’re a lot of fun to write, and I’m sure that I’ll have a lot more wackiness that doesn’t fit into chapters now that I have Seasons. Stay tuned for a new chapter…sometime! 🙂

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4-4: Fairy Tail

Under the burning lights of a city crumbling, an unnatural war raged between the meandering eyes of the blind and the omniscient. Cold, undead hands lingered over exhaustive battle plans, and glimmering, spying wings fluttered past their windows, desperate for a hint on the next day’s clash. It was nearly Bridgeport’s most dangerous game, second only to its extreme rooftop beer pong.

The war sprung, as most wars do, from an argument over the weekly news. The vampires lamented their tragic, lovestruck portrayal on the six o’clock segment, and said, while nursing their easily wounded, perpetually melancholy pride, that they should have been shown as the ferocious beasts they were. They then returned to lurking in their basements and weeping about their sorrows to their yawning lovers. The fairies, a burgeoning and chaotic force in underground Bridgeport politics, of course waggled their tongues at the matter. Their callous disregard offended the vampires so much that the next day’s headline screamed bloody war, and in a bout of true Dungeons and Dragons logic, the celebrities wore white sheets over their heads  to identify themselves as “true neutrals.”

Of course, armies needed to be raised if either side wanted victory…


Such was the mission of young Julia Willow, who on her patriotic quest to create new soldiers had gone soliciting door to door for fifty miles and completely lost the city her species aimed to claim. Once she realized her plight, she wandered about the countryside for many a day, and ate the crops of every farmer she came across. It was their fault for planting the corn outside, after all.

After two weeks of hungry, aimless walking, a very tired and sweaty Julia finally came across a house on the outskirts of a rickety small town. She clapped her hands together and hooted before walking briskly to the front door. “They have to have air conditioning!” she said with a grin, and then rang the doorbell upwards of ten times.

There was a grumble and a shuffling about, and the door flew open.


Scarlett Belue emerged, large lips pursed and arms crossed over her ample chest. “You here for the cure?” she snapped. She had finally started to play the piano again and had only just sat down at the bench. “Is it really so urgent that you had to ring the doorbell twenty fucking times at ten in the goddamn evening?”

“It’s really hot outside,” panted Julia.

“Erm, what?” asked Scarlett, blinking.

“It appears that Seasons finally got installed,” said Julia quickly, “and I am sweating up a storm! Summer is Hell on Earth, I’ll say. May I come in?”


Lowering her voice, Julia leaned in and whispered, “I don’t think you’d want to offend me a second time.”

With a gulp, Scarlett nodded her head. “You really want that air conditioning.”

“Yep!” giggled Julia. “I need the cold like an online gaming addict needs Sprite and four boxes of pizza. I’d simply die without it!”

I’m going to regret this, thought Scarlett. She stepped inside, and Julia eagerly followed, drinking in their meager furnishings. She wasn’t much bothered by their secondhand (or third or fourth or fifth-the Belues had no way of knowing) chairs, but by their iron spatula protruding from an overflowing cupboard. One never finds it comforting to find kryptonite in the kitchen.


“I’ll grab Young Watson,” said Scarlett. “I think he’s the one you’re looking for.”

“A man!” said Julia. She struggled to retain a composure as cool as her favorite weather. “I’ve been searching for one of those. He has a man thing, yeah?”

“A man thing?” asked Scarlett, furrowing her brow. “Like a dick or a rifle?”

“Same difference.”


“You want to fuck my brother,” stated Scarlett. “Figures. Word spreads fast between fairies.”

“Where is he?” squealed Julia.

“Young Watson!” shouted Scarlett. “Someone’s here to see you!”

A spoon clattered to the study floor. “I have to pee,” said Scarlett curtly. She wasn’t fond of sitting in on other’s sexual escapades. “You kids have fun.”

“Is he really a kid?” wondered Julia aloud, gray eyes widening. She hadn’t come to entertain children.

At that moment, Young Watson emerged from the study, eyes completely uninterested, as usual. They lit up slightly at the sight of a fairy, but remained disengaged until she came barreling towards him like a coal train on hyperdrive.


“You’re not as young as they say!” she giggled as she dashed towards him. “Look at you! You’re manlier than a grizzly bear drinking whiskey during Friday night football! I’m Julia, by the way. It’s so nice to meet you!”

“Who said that I was young?” huffed Young Watson, stepping back cautiously. “I’m a man, obviously. Hasn’t anyone seen my driver’s license? It says so right on the top!”

Julia had no idea what he was talking about, and instead crashed into him enthusiastically. Her hands immediately dropped to his nether regions and began groping about frantically.


“Watch where you’re grabbing!” cried Young Watson. “I just told you that I’m a man-you don’t need to check!”

“Oooh!” squealed Julia. Her eyes widened. “You’ll do just fine!”

Young Watson was not used to being handled while standing, and to regain his bruised pride, pushed the fairy away. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “Did you just tell me no?” she hissed.


“Not verbally, but with my body language, yes,” stated Young Watson. “I would gladly-!”

“And you really think you can tell a fairy no?”

“I just did. Now if you would listen to me-!”




Young Watson rolled his eyes, and then admonished himself. He was picking up Scarlett’s bad habits. “Why should I look up when I know the only thing up there is the ceiling? That’s balderdash.”

A rush of cold slammed down upon him, and Young Watson wrapped his arms around his body, teeth chattering louder than a wood chipper. Julia snickered.


“I’m not your stupid popsicle!” cried Young Watson.

“And that’s why you don’t say no to a fairy!” teased Julia. “We’re not usually this nice, either. Most of us would’ve killed you for pushing us away, or at least transformed you into an ugly hag.”

“I don’t feel lucky,” said Young Watson, shivering. “Just freezing.”

“That’s the best way to feel!” said Julia, delighted. Most people didn’t catch on to her more beneficial tricks. “Now you’ve got to pay me back!”


“Wait, what?” asked Young Watson. “Did you just make a deal with me?”

“I’ve made a deal!” piped up Daisy, who had just arrived home and had a terrible craving for macaroni and cheese. Alcohol had a knack for making her break her diets.

“And I don’t give a rat’s ass,” snapped Young Watson to his drunken sister. “What deal am involved in?”

“You’ll see,” said Julia, waggling her eyebrows.

Young Watson threw his hands in the air and groaned. “I think I’ll retire to bed,” he grumbled, putting his hand on his pounding forehead. Even fairy women were becoming too stressful for the poor man. He’d rather just write his neglected novel or make a good thousand conning a hapless werewolf.


Young Watson stumbled to his bedroom, still shivering, and fell to his bed. He stared at his ceiling for a few minutes, contemplating his meaningless existence. What a bother, thought Young Watson, that people spent more time thinking about trivial things like true love, filing taxes, and obscene lawn ornaments. They hardly got any real thinking done-you have to finish your morning bowl of cereal before you began sprouting true philosophy, and most people these days neglect the most important meal of the day almost as much as their telephone bills. Young Watson was always sure to eat his breakfast; this directly contributed to his nightly melancholy crash, but heightened his midday innovation considerably.

In a burst of typical efficiency, Young Watson realized how meaningless it was to contemplate his meaningless existence, and decided his time would be better spent catching up on lost sleep. He was gone within minutes.

During his seventh snore, the door creaked open, and Julia slipped inside the room and out of her clothes.


She stared down at the sleeping man, and thought again of her family back home. Last she’d heard, the fae had been losing; their numbers were dwindling like water swirling down the shower drain, reaffirming the usefulness of the new policy, demanding and rash, but wholeheartedly effective. They wouldn’t just draft in new soldiers-they would create them. Five children from each remaining fairy would be enough for a restored army-those who didn’t comply were sent to the dogs, and fairies couldn’t stand the “mangy, foul smelling” creatures. From the folds of their people, the fae would defeat their undead enemies, and reign mischievous chaos over the jaded stars of Bridgeport.

Julia hated dogs, and besides, she found Young Watson rather handsome for a human. He had a certain lofty, confident logic about him that one rarely saw in fairykind. Julia cocked her head to the side. She couldn’t decide which she liked better. “The cock or the cockiness?” she murmured to herself. Still flopping about the answer, she crawled into bed beside the youngest Belue, and traced a pale finger down his spine.


“You’ll help me, won’t you?” Julia purred, breathing softly in Young Watson’s ear. He stirred, and his red eyes blinked open slowly. “The strong man always helps the little lady.”

“False,” yawned Young Watson. “Contrary to popular sexism, I would put my own safety first.”

“You’ve got to help me!” snapped Julia, each word shooting out like popcorn kernels from an uncovered pan. “Our deal!”


“Does our deal have to do with why you’re in your underwear?”

Julia purred, grinning widely. She nodded.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. Was it the wings that so enticed him? The dangerous glint in their eyes as he sidled down, down, down? He made a mental note to contemplate this the next night. Despite his growing affection for the fae, he remained wary. “So you froze my face off, and now you want to have sex with me?”

Julia scooted closer. “Yes.”


Young Watson frowned. “This doesn’t seem like a fair deal.”

“You got a taste of sweet winter, so I get sex. What’s more fair than that?”

“Having a coffee and getting to know one another?”

“Did you do that with any of the other fairies you slept with?” snapped Julia.

Young Watson gulped. “I just didn’t like them as much as you!” he lied, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Getting to know them was unnecessary!”

While Young Watson would con anybody he could peddle his elixirs to, he couldn’t stand being caught in an unfair deal.


Julia hoisted herself over him, looming over Young Watson like a great, hungry stick insect. “You like me!” she squealed.

“Er,” coughed Young Watson.

“Well,” she cackled, wiggling her eyebrows and toying at his pants zipper. “You’ll get to know me better soon enough.”

“Yes,” said Young Watson quickly, “but I’m very tired at the moment, and would like to go to bed. Breakfast at ten?”


She kissed him. Young Watson’s eyes widened and then closed dreamily. A deep wave of euphoria crashed from the curves of his toes to the creases in his forehead. His hands began to wander from his sides to her xylophone spine, then to the clasped hooks of her bra. Hazily, he fiddled about with it for a good deal longer than he should have before it burst open and fell haphazardly to the floor. Julia began to purr loudly. “This doesn’t seem fair,” murmured Young Watson, hooking his thumbs around her underwear.

She was rapidly unbuttoning his shirt, and turned to him sharply, giggling loudly. “We’re completing the deal.”

“This is a spell, isn’t it?”

“No,” she said simply. “This is love.”


“Bullshit,” breathed Young Watson without a second thought, diving under the covers.


As Young Watson, saturated and wasted, drifted to sleep, Julia crawled out of bed with a great swirling in her abdomen. Accompanied by a golden cosmic burst she whirled into the air; a mad, almost feral grin spread across her face. She’d serve her species soon enough, and Young Watson would help her-whether he wanted to or not.

Next time…

Questions! Answers! Sex! Jazz! Online dating!


M.I.A. – “Boyz

A/N: HAPPY 2013 EVERYBODY!! I hope this year is even better than the last. More new experiences, more laughs, more friends, more fun, and of course, more updates for ya’ll! I gotta warn you about the update schedule, though… Since today is the last day of winter break, it’s going to be a while until the Belues see another update. Finals and the One Act are in the far too near future, and I’ve got to devote myself to my studies for a bit. I hope to be up and at ’em again in late January, early February or even in between!

Thanks so much for putting up with me and my stupid life. 🙂

Also, thank you so much for the 4,000 views! You all are fantastic, and I hope you have a great rest of the year!

In conclusion…


“Awh, tricking my brother into unprotected sex! How adorable!”

Oh, Daisy, just go back to your sugar daddy.

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Fourth Generation Heir Poll!

Hey guys! It’s that time again.. Now that we’ve gotten to know our little con artists, it’s the hour to vote on which one will continue the Belue line!

From oldest to youngest, here are our options:

Rose Belue

Rose has always been ignored by the rest of the family, and feels her loneliness acutely. She dives into and occasionally eats romance novels, hoping that one day her prince will ride into her home on a glorious sheep and deliver her from her solitude. In the meantime, she gardens and thinks about her dead mother.

Scarlett Belue

Scarlett has always lived a life of passion, and follows her heart’s fancies until she tires of them. She has had many lovers, and broken many hearts. Scarlett rarely allows herself to be dragged down by anyone, but when tragedy strikes, will she be able to pull herself back together?

Daisy Belue

Daisy is after one thing: money. She has no desire to work for a living, and will do whatever she can to avoid it. Despite being pegged a gold digger, she still lives by a strong moral code, and frequently complains about it. However, her ethical divide comes at a price, one which Daisy might not be able to afford.

Young Watson Belue

Young Watson enjoys writing crime novels, making money, and being the family genius. He is the brains behind the con, and does most of the work, as well. He keeps to himself outside of family meals and dealings with clients. He’s not the emotional sort. However, he finds himself drawn to fairies, yet deceiving them at the same time. Can Young Watson survive this dangerous game?

I’d love to get your opinions. Please cast your vote here or leave a comment! Thank you and happy holidays!

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4-3: The Family Business


Windowless, sparsely decorated, and dimly lit, the Belues’ new home was hardly promising. Daisy retched at the sight of it. She would have been safe in Sunset Valley. A spacious, grand manor, gloriously burning against the sunrise would have awaited her at the end of each leisurely day, cementing her thousands into the watercolor sky. If only Thornton hadn’t been married, she thought sourly as she followed Young Watson into the forlorn house.

The kitchen was empty aside from a rusty stove, absurdly loud refrigerator, crusty counters, and a crotchety, ancient table. The living room was nonexistent. Daisy’s jaw nearly smashed into the floor. Young Watson and Scarlett passed her smoothly, entering the back room together. Lips firmly pursed, Daisy followed.


Young Watson stood in the corner, flipping the pages of an antique leather bound book and occasionally glancing at the vacant cauldron to his left. Scarlett stood in the center of the room, hip cocked to the side, hand impatiently resting at her waist. “-so you don’t know what you’re mixing?” she was saying, and “Pixie sticks, cough syrup, and mushrooms.” Young Watson was responding, and Daisy decided she had had enough.

“You realize that this house is empty?” asked Daisy, acid dripping from her tongue to the hardwood floor. Scarlett let out a low whistle.

“Obviously,” said Young Watson. “Do you take me for an imbecile?”

“Young Watson’s got it all figured out,” said Scarlet. “Just because you’re not living like Princess Peach today doesn’t mean that it won’t get better later.”


“He just said that he doesn’t know what he’s mixing!” cried Daisy. “And besides, Princess Peach gets kidnapped by Bowser!”

“And lives in a goddamn castle,” laughed Scarlett. “We’ve to do this. It’s not like Young Watson’s any good at public relations, right Young Watson?”

Young Watson nodded his approval. “I don’t want to talk to them. That’s up to you guys.”-he paused before barking out their instructions-“Daisy, Scarlett, I want you to spread the word. Get everybody talking. Remind them that the world’s ending. Play up their fears, their vanity. Flirt a little, if you have to.”

“Scarlett won’t have a problem with that,” hissed Daisy.

“I’ll only flirt with people my age,” retorted Scarlett, rolling her eyes. ”We should assign Daisy to men fifty plus.”


“Too narrow,” stated Young Watson pointedly, as if reciting a well known fact. “You forgot to figure in wallet size, as well. I think that’s more important than the age.”

“Very funny,” said Daisy scathingly. “Do you really expect me to go spread the word now?”

“Yes,” said Young Watson. “The faster we get clients, the faster we’ll get modern plumbing, and we all like our modern plumbing.”

Swallowing her pride, Daisy agreed to help spread the word. A shower sounded much better than sulking in her bare room. “I’ll take the tavern,” said Scarlett. “You get the lounge, and I’ll meet you there when I’m finished.”

The women squandered the last of their money on separate cabs. As she climbed into the cab, Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief. Ever since high school, Daisy and Scarlett had barely been able to have a conversation without some sort of scathing insult, throwaway accusation, and occasional screaming match. It’s not my fault she’s a gold digging neurotic, thought Scarlett crossly. The cab screeched to a stop outside the tavern; Scarlett thanked the driver graciously.


Stepping into the tavern’s bright lights, Scarlett spotted her first target right away. He possessed the hairline of a forty year old, and the clothes of a twenty year old. Looking at his rapidly receding hairline, Scarlett decided that he probably didn’t have any friends, and therefore he was prime bait for advertising. With newfound knowledge at his disposal, he’d try to wow the other tavern patrons-Scarlett wouldn’t have to do any work at all. Putting on a worried face, Scarlett approached him. “Have you been watching TV?” she asked him, green eyes wide.

“I haven’t anyone to watch it with,” said the man mournfully. “It’s hard to make friends when you’re prematurely balding.”


“I’m so sorry,” replied Scarlett, stifling a yawn. “But certainly you’ve seen this advertisement at the bar! The one about the end of the world?”

He thought for a moment, and then answered with a question. “The end of the world?”


“If we don’t start curing supernaturals”-Scarlett’s voice dropped to a whisper-“the whole planet’s going to go boom-kadda-boom. Thankfully, I’ve heard rumors of a cure.”

“Thank God!” cried the man. “Where is it found?”

Scarlett slipped him a card with the Belue family name, address, and her telephone number. “Be sure to spread the word. We wouldn’t want the world ending on us, would we?”


It’s not the end of the world, thought Daisy weakly, if he has a few wrinkles. His suit reeked of luxury, and his beard spoke of a wealth that defied common courtesy. He lacked Thornton’s chiseled jaw and burning eyes, but claimed a certain security and lonely availability that Thornton couldn’t dream of.  The facial hair betrayed his kingly, yet empty bed. Daisy would relieve him from his solitude-for a hefty price. “Hi,” she said, smiling uncomfortably. Introductions had never been her forte. “I’m Daisy.”

“Chester,” he replied. “I like yer frock.”


As Daisy opened her mouth to reply, Scarlett entered the room. A shuffling, wild-eyed werewolf approached her immediately; Daisy could barely hold back a smirk. “Thank you,” she said a little too loudly. “It’s designer, but so is your suit, right?”

“Yep,” said Chester, clearing his throat. “It most certainly is.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes and feigned gagging. “Excuse me,” she said to the werewolf. She’d already informed him about their fledgling business, and he’d solemnly agreed to stop by the next night. “I think I need a drink.”


Without an apology, she stepped around the werewolf and to the bar. Scarlett poured herself a glass. It was odd, she thought suddenly, the Moonlight Falls tavern lacked somebody at the counter. Any decent tavern should have at least three barmaids, each one prettier than the last to concentrate the customers on their ascending beauty rather than the quality of their liquor.

Eyeing a well groomed, brooding vampire, Scarlett set down her glass. She crossed the room to him and let her eyes soak in his exposed collarbones, tousled hair, and puffy lips. “Have you heard about the apocalypse?” she asked, voice low, woozy.

“Yes,” said the vampire gravely. “The end is inevitable, isn’t it?”


“Not quite,” said Scarlett. With a wink, she added, “The cure’s at my place. Would you like to come back and see?”

The vampire whistled a forgotten tune, grinned widely, and nodded. Skepticism stood no chance against the promise of love. “Hey, Daisy!” shouted Scarlett. “This gentleman has just offered us a ride home.”

Daisy tore herself away from Chester, and head bowed low, joined Scarlett and the vampire. “I’d get a ride myself,” hissed Daisy, “if we could afford the damn fare.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Soon, Daisy. Soon.”


Very soon, thought Young Watson as he poured a vial of sludge he’d discovered in the backyard into the rusty cauldron. He stirred the liquid furiously and tried not to breathe through his nose. The front door slammed shut. “Hurry!” Young Watson muttered. “You can’t lose your profit!”

The cauldron belched a puff of foul smoke, and Young Watson closed his eyes, smiling to himself. Was there anything that he couldn’t do? “I don’t think so,” answered Young Watson.


He marched from the study only to be greeted by a chorus of climbing screams and a horrified Daisy. “Young Watson!” she wailed. “Isn’t it horrible?”

He grabbed a plate of waffles and sat down beside her. He wolfed them down as if he hadn’t eaten for a week, and spoke between hurried gulps. “Mostly annoying,” he replied.

“It’s repulsive! If Scarlett had any manners, she’d keep her climaxes to herself,” said Daisy indignantly.

“That is impossible,” said Young Watson. Suddenly, the house went silent.


“Great,” sighed Daisy. “When do you suppose they’ll start round two?”

To her surprise, the vampire emerged from Scarlett’s bedroom. “I’m ready for my cure,” he said pleasantly. Young Watson grinned.

“Now if you’ll just stand in front of the door,” said Young Watson, “right there, yes.”


He threw the elixir to the floor at the vampire’s foot, and a harsh blue mist enveloped the creature. Blinking his eyes in confusion, the vampire coughed, inhaling the fumes, and then yawned. “How long does this take to work?” he asked groggily.

“A year,” said Young Watson confidently. “That will be $1,000 please.”

Another day came, bringing with it the promise of another thousand dollars. The morning whirled past uneventfully, skimming over lunch and breakfast with the minimal interest of a lumberjack in a antique store. It was not until dinner and the dawn of the full moon that the snowball began rolling down the hill.


“Rose,” admonished Daisy, “I know one is supposed to devour a good book, but I’m sure whoever said that didn’t mean literally.”

“I love romance novels,” mumbled Rose, nearly incoherently. “They’re delicious.”


“They’re pure, sticky fluff,” said Young Watson. “They must taste like marshmallows.”

“Like couch, actually,” said Rose.

“We’d be getting a couch,” said Daisy sourly, “if Scarlett didn’t have to pay the stupid bills.”


Outside, Scarlett scribbled her signature on their utilities bill. Blissfully unaware of the werewolf, she ground the pen into the paper, desperately willing it to spew an extra spurt of ink. After the unattended tavern, she doubted that Moonlight Falls had a general store, or even a lonely gas station to purchase a new pen at.


The werewolf squinted and shivered; his muscles rippled beneath his wrinkled lab coat. The moon beat down on his burgeoning beard, and illuminated the yellow gleam behind his ghostly eyes. He gazed hard at Scarlett from behind his low hanging bangs. Her bob spoke of a daring sexuality, her green eyes of a reckless self-confidence, and her clothes of a wealth past its expiration date. His stomach churned. He’d known her type-all flaunt and no tangible purpose. Useless, careless women using up useless, careless men.

Still, he couldn’t help but admire the curve of her breast, the glow of her thighs… They captured his imagination as if a masterfully woven tale told over a seductive fire. His bit his lip, wincing at the salty river of blood flowing under his restless tongue. “Shit,” muttered the werewolf and Scarlett jumped, nearly dropped her bills.


“I’m sorry,” she said shakily. “I was so deep into the bills that I mustn’t have seen you there. You’re here for the cure, aren’t you?”

His eyes crawled from her breasts to her mouth. Soft, pink, utterly deplorable. He hated her, yet he saw everything beautiful in her, as if she had bloomed into a poisonous butterfly. “Yes.”


“My brother’s just finishing up dinner,” said Scarlett. “He’ll be out in a moment.”

A pause stretched through the darkness; Scarlett shifted her weight from foot to foot, and her emerald eyes darted from the door to the werewolf. The night closed in around her. “You don’t like me, do you?” asked the werewolf, breaking the gap between their words.


“I, um, wouldn’t know,” said Scarlett uncomfortably. The werewolf’s face had begun to contort and sprout a new layer of hair. She felt as if she were about to vomit, but could not place why. ”I hardly know you.”

A miserable human being, thought the werewolf. He was certain she’d slept with men she knew less. She was wicked to the core, but yet those breasts rising gently with the rush of each new breath… He had to wrench his eyes away, reclaiming her frightened face. “Correct,” he said gruffly.


“Look,” said Scarlett quickly, taking a step back. “Here comes Young Watson.”

“He doesn’t look young,” said the werewolf. “He looks older than you.”

Ignoring his comment (The Belues loathed having their traditions questioned), Scarlett began walking briskly towards the house, eyes to the ground, arms wrapped around her body. Young Watson raised his eyebrows. He would ask her about it later, he decided. Business came first. “Hello,” he said to the werewolf. “Money first.”


Charm would never go on Young Watson’s résumé. Begrudgingly the werewolf handed over his money, and drank in the fumes of an odd, misty elixir. He sniffed deeply, wondering why it tasted strangely like old water. Pondering this over, the werewolf bid Young Watson goodbye, and continued on his way.


Business exploded as the weeks spun on. Witches brought their children, their sisters, their husbands, and their wives. Werewolves brought the whole pack, and vampires the whole coven. Fairies came alone, humming tingling songs. They were Young Watson’s favorites. Sweet promises of knowledge and solitude danced from their lips, and Young Watson drank in it all, thirsting for more language, more numbers, more facts, more answers. More, more, more. He thrived on their mystical, unearthly kisses; they lured him to his bed, and he wanted nothing more than to oblige. It almost hurt to mislead them, but the green bills bursting from Young Watson’s pockets more than made up for his ethical ache.


Sex was not a matter of love or passion to Young Watson. The knowledge that accompanied was much better than any pleasure he derived from the fairy form. He loved their encyclopedic minds, and they loved his unshakeable pride. In the mind of a fairy, they and Young Watson were of the same mold; only one lacked the touch of nature’s magic. Naturally, Young Watson disagreed. He voiced his concern over the dinner table. “They have wings,” he said, “and I do not. Therefore, we are not cut from the same stone.”

“You think so?” asked Scarlett, chuckling. “You think too literally, Young Watson.”


“Chili isn’t chilly,” huffed Rose.

“No,” said Young Watson, voice quavering. Steam shot from his ears and his face began to swell. “In fact it’s…



“Way to go, Dragon Breath,” laughed Scarlett. A rush redder than her name bloomed from her throat to her cheeks, and her eyes widened. Flames burst from her mouth towards the eldest Belue child. Rose merely blinked and thought of sheep before taking another bite.


“Who’s Dragon Breath now?” taunted Young Watson, waggling his eyebrows.

“Not me,” said Rose plainly. She gulped, and her jaw dropped. Her face flushed scarlet. “Oh no.”


She had tempted fate, and fate smacked the alien girl with a middle finger to the throat. Fire spewed from open mouth and scorched the table. Thankfully, Young Watson had managed to save enough money between furniture and cab fares to pay for a new table. They all laughed merrily and tossed the chili con carne into the trash. The bank could support them, and they would support each other. “We’re all we have,” Young Watson said, and Scarlett and Rose heartily agreed. With a toast and a smile, the three siblings departed for separate rooms.


Rose went to her room, changed clothes, knelt on the cold floor, and began to tend her tomatoes. Soon, she hoped, she’d be able to feed their family without even leaving the house. After a few minutes of pruning, she stood back, admired her work, and crawled into bed. Rose was asleep before the moon hit the sky. She dreamed of romance novels, of blooming vegetables, but most importantly, she dreamed of fields of sheep.


Daisy was at the bar, drinking and forgetting. Chester hadn’t answered her calls for a week, but she’d spotted a handsome man on the dance floor, penniless and alluring. Another gulp down and she waltzed to him, glorious and alone in her drunken abandon.


Young Watson squeezed his eyes shut. He would remember this recipe if he had to cut his heart out with a plastic spoon. “Beneficial to fairies” read the text. For a moment, he wondered if he was beginning to care for the fragile creatures, but then shook his head. It was business-nothing more.


Scarlett sat at the piano, tapping out a long lost melody. Her grandfather used to hum it, she faintly remembered, while he was assembling the pieces of his failed robot. She smiled to herself. Grandpa Bender would have liked to see them now-he loved making money in illegitimate ways, and she was certain he would be proud of his grandchildren’s trade. In a way, Scarlett was proud of them, too. They’d lifted themselves from the claws of poverty, and through clever use of common alchemy, were rapidly advancing to the luxuries they aspired to become. “All is well,” whispered Scarlett to herself, resting her fingers on the keys. “All is well.”


Footsteps pounded up the front steps, and Scarlett glanced behind her. They paused before making their way to the front door. The doorbell rang once, twice, three times. Scarlett rose to answer it.


Next time…IS A MYSTERY!!!

Voxtrot – “Raised By Wolves

And now it’s heir poll time! The post will be up in a few minutes on here, Sims and Friends, and the forum. I’m going to keep the poll open while I’m in St. Louis for a few days, and hopefully I can get the next chapter out during January. It’s going to be a busy month, but fingers are crossed!

In conclusion:


Merry Christmas from me and the Belues! (: (or a PC happy holidays!)

Also Rose got her ass handed to her by Watson’s fairy for no apparent reason. I was playing with Daisy for two minutes, glanced over at the kitchen, and found a fight going on! I guess there’s some sort of secret fairy alien rivalry going on here.

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