#Owl City was right all along

[battymommastuff]

To be Mine

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Warnings: A bit of NSFW

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Masterlist

(NOT MY GIF)

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

"It's a shame isn't it? Watching someone you thought loved you, be with some else?" The voice spoke into your ear before moving some of your hair to the side. You could feel his golden mask press against your cheek. How did you end up here? One minute you were in the mansion...now you were standing on a building watching Batman with Catwoman. After weeks of hiding, the Court found you. He found you. You left your window open by mistake, and it was easy for them to sneak in an grab you. Alfred would have never known...

"And you are so beautiful...simply perfect." The Grandmaster whispered to you while running a hand along your waist, "How about we strike a new deal? Instead of becoming one of my Talons, you become mine?" Your eyes went wide when he said that. His? As in his lover? His wife? 

"I will worship you. Protect you...nurture you. What has Batman done for you besides break your precious heart?" He asked while gesturing to the couple only a few buildings away, "Take my hand...and I swear I will show you what it means to be loved." He purred. Your eyes moved down to his hand. The black, leather glove had become more tempting. Who were you to resist such a tempting offer? 

"Would I still be a part of the circus?" You asked, and the Grandmaster nodded. The circus...your home...your family. You could go home, and everything would be okay. Hesitantly, your hand extended to his. Despite him wearing it, the glove was cold to the touch. The Grandmaster smirked under his mask then pulled you close, "Welcome home, my love." He whispered, guiding you away from the edge of the building. 

Selina had her head tilted to the side as Batman kissed her neck hungrily. A smirk on her face as she almost had him right where she wanted him. Then she could make her daring escape...as usual. That is, until she saw a group of people watching her from afar. "What the hell?" She whispered, getting Batman's attention. He pulled away from her neck then turned around. His eyes widened when he saw your hand in the Grandmaster's. How did the Court get to you? 

Leaving a very confused Selina, Batman made his way across the rooftops as quickly as he could. He couldn't let them take you away. He tried so hard to act like he didn't care for you. He wanted to shut you out, but he couldn't. Even when he was kissing Selina, all he thought was about your lips, your neck...your everything. Batman...Bruce Wayne, they couldn't live without you. 

By the time he got there, all that was left was a cloud of smoke. Batman fell to his knees and panted softly. Even though you weren't there, he could still smell your perfume. That smell would never leave him. 

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"Woah woah woah. You mean to tell me, you married the Grandmaster?!? Of the Court of Owls???" Jason asked as he got up from your bed. You smiled awkwardly while rubbing your baby bump. 

"It wasn't my proudest moment, but I was young...and heartbroken." You explained then looked over at Dick who was just staring at the photo of you with him and his parents. You reached over and gently took the photo from his hand, "I loved them...as if they were my family. They were my family..." 

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Tonight…nearly two years later, your husband was hosting a masquerade ball in order to do some under the table business deals. You were also there. A golden mask that matched his, but only covered your eyes and nose. A black floor length gown that sparkled more than the diamonds on your finger. You were his bride, his trophy. Which made it very easy when a certain billionaire decided to attend.

This was your first public appearance in almost two years. The Court could keep you hidden from Batman, but not from Bruce Wayne. He wasn't on the guest list, but money always seemed to get him into the most interesting of places. Now here he was, walking up to you as you picked up a drink for you and your husband.

"Hello, (Y/N)."

That voice had chills running down your spine. Turning you saw his beautiful face. He was the only one not wearing a mask.

"Bruce…"

TAGLIST

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[10byten]

Soft Spot for u

- When you started college, one of the student associations assigned you a senior mentor. Back then, you never thought you'd still be friends with him as you enter your final year, while he’s already long graduated. Even less that he’d be the guy of your dreams—the one who makes your heart race. -

Words : 2.6K

You’ve never been much of a party girl. Well, not in the “nightlife scene” kind of way. But a night owl ? That’s totally you. Staying up late doing all the things the daytime doesn’t allow ? That’s your jam. Especially when you’re spending those nights with him.

Since your freshman year, Yuta has been your go-to for late-night hangs: studying, laughing, bickering, drinking, and dancing. You quickly adapted to his vibe - even though, unlike you, he thrives in the nightlife. He loves hopping from on-campus parties to the city’s best clubs. For Yuta, you’d adjust to anything. Normally, you’re not big on people or physical contact, but with him, it’s different.

The first time he asked you to join him at a party, you tagged along, thinking, Why not? At least I’ll have a story to tell. You didn’t like dancing in public—the stares, the unwanted touches—but his touch? That was different. Before long, you were showing up to every party he invited you to, becoming a campus party regular.

Little did they know, you hated parties. You only went for him. For those moments on the dancefloor when his hands rested protectively on your hips, silently warning other guys to back off. It drove you crazy that it felt more big brotherly than anything else. But when you danced together, something shifted. He wasn’t being protective—just… present.

You’ve always wanted to make a move, but the fear of losing him held you back. If he hadn’t made the first move, it probably meant your feelings weren’t mutual. Right? But honestly, just being by his side was better than being with anyone else.

Yuta changed you—not just in how you see relationships, but in how you see life. He was more than a mentor for academics; he pulled you out of your comfort zone and into a brighter, more open world.

Waiting for him to pick you up tonight, you’re lost in thought, touching up your makeup as Keshi’s Soft Spot plays in the background. Your phone buzzes.

Yuta: Be there in 2 mins, love.

You grin, his name lighting up your screen. Gosh, this man owns my heart.

When you hop on his bike, he whistles, eyes raking over your silver sequin dress.

“You planning to set the campus on fire tonight? I don’t remember telling you to outshine me, little miss.”

“No one’s hotter than you, Yuta.” You flirt back, the way you always do when he compliments you. It gives you butterflies every time.

He smirks, giving you a playful smack on the thigh. “Flattery’ll get you far, baby. Keep it up.”

At the party, Yuta, as usual, commands attention. Walking in with him feels like entering as a rockstar’s date—his magnetic aura turning every head. You join his friends—Johnny, Taeyong, Doyoung—who’ve already lined up shots.

Johnny hands you a suspiciously colorful concoction. You sniff it. “Johnny, is this safe? Because I really don’t want to start the semester in the ER.”

Everyone laughs, and Taeyong teases, “Sometimes I forget you’re still in school. Those were the days…”

Shots clink, faces grimace, and the party kicks off. But soon, the buzz, the chaos, and the alcohol start working their magic on your senses. All you want is to dance—with him.

The noise, the games, the music, the chaos of people chatting and singing along, all the stuff happening around you, mixed with the alcohol buzzing in your veins, has your senses on high alert. And now, you only want one thing—to dance with him. You’ve shared him with the crowd long enough, and now it’s your turn. Just you and him, in your world, even if it’s just for a bit.

You leave Jungwoo and Kai behind, still going at that ridiculous card game where every rule somehow ends in "take a sip." It’s funny as hell, you can admit that, but nah—right now, you need him. It’s all you can think about.

You find him at the bar, mid-conversation. You head toward him, sitting by the counter, your mind racing with one single thought: you wanna throw your arms around his neck and kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. His legs are spread like he’s waiting just for you, a couple of messy strands of hair falling into his eyes, and his half-unbuttoned shirt teasing you with a glimpse of that stunning belly piercing and a peek at his tattoo.

You stop in front of him, hesitating for a second. He’s still chatting with Taeyong but doesn’t miss a beat, sliding an arm around your waist like, yeah, I know you’re here. That little gesture? making you go crazy, and without a second thought, grab his wrist and pull him to the dancefloor. Pressed against him, your bodies move in sync, his hands on your hips, his breath on your neck. Butterflies? More like fireworks. 

He’s totally getting with your vibe, moving with you like he’s reading your mind. When you turn around, you catch that huge smile lighting up his face—and wow, it’s the kind of smile that hits you right in the gut. He’s loving this moment, and it’s setting off a full-on butterfly storm in your stomach.

You kinda wish his smile wasn’t this attractive, this unfairly cute, this stupidly sexy. Because all you can think about is kissing him senseless. Like, right now.

You keep getting closer, grinding up against him more, and for some reason tonight, you’re feeling extra bold. You slide your fingers into his, guiding his hand to trace your curves in a way that’s definitely more suggestive than usual. Yuta doesn’t just go along with it—he’s into it. His response is all green lights, like his body is totally in tune with yours, wanting this as much as you do.

You feel his breath on your neck as you press your back against his chest, and yeah, it’s short. Is he... out of breath because of you? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and without even thinking, you push your hips back against him, swaying like it’s second nature.

And then you feel it—him. Hard. For you.

That’s the last green light you need. You turn, locking eyes, fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him, pouring years of longing into it. He kisses back—hungry, desperate.

Next thing you know, you’re in a dimly lit laundry room, pinned against the door as his lips crash back onto yours. His hands are everywhere, his voice dripping with desire.

He kisses you again, and this time it’s pure, raw desire. Like, where the hell has he been hiding all this? Not that it matters—you’re practically melting in his hands. Your skin’s on fire, and it feels like your blood is boiling. He’s gonna make you explode, like you’re some freaking nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown.

The only way you can even begin to handle this insane craving is by biting his bottom lip, cutting the kiss short. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and there’s this spark in his eyes that makes your breath hitch.

“I didn’t know you had this bad girl side,” he says, smirking. “You’ve always been my sweet, innocent Y/n.”

“Not that innocent I guess, if only you knew about my dirty secret.” 

“Hmm tell me more baby” you smile hearing the petname he gave you, you love it soo much. 

“I touch myself so many times, soaking my panties, just thinking ‘bout you” 

He groan “You didn’t.” 

“I can’t even count how many times since I know you, you’re my favorite fantasm.” You say a lil bit shyly. 

He looks into your eyes, a proud smile on his face. “Then allow me to make the fantasy come true.”  He takes hold of your dress, so small that it doesn't take much effort for him to expose your already soaked thong. He slides two fingers over your pussy to caress you through the fabric.

“You’ve been holding out on me, huh?” he growls, fingers brushing against the lace of your underwear.

“Only for you, daddy,” you whisper, testing the nickname that’s been on your mind for way too long.

He freezes, then smirks. “Gosh, you’re gonna drive me insane.”

You've never been so willing in your life. You only dream of one thing: his tongue on you and IN you. He lifts your leg and places it on his shoulder to get better access. You feel his breath on your inner thigh and you moan at the sensation alone. 

“Oh god.” He look at you, from the bottom and smirk “You can call me Yuta.” And with those words he wraps your whole soaking pussy in his mouth. First he eats you through the fabric of your thong. Then, using his fingers, he shifts it to the side. He flicks his tongue up and down your folds and then concentrates on your clitoris, sucking gently. The stimulation sends you into heaven, you feel as if you've left this earth. And then he starts playing at your entrance with one of his fingers, looking at you “Want me to get inside baby girl?”

“Yes, please, yes !”

 “Your wish is my command.”

He takes hold of your clit again, nibbling lightly, then gently and deliciously slides a finger into your pussy, soon adding a second, which you welcome as a blessing. You try to be as quiet as possible, but your little cries and sobs excite Yuta even more. He picks up the pace and eats you up like he's starving, tasting you like you’re his last meal, you’re trembling. Soon you feel your orgasm coming on and you press down on Yuta's shoulder as if to let him know you're about to burst. He smiles, "Let it go baby, I'm here for you.” You feel the most powerful orgasm you've ever had in your life rushing through you. And this time you can't help yourself, you moan his name out loud and pray that no one else walks by at the same time. He stands up and sucks on each of his two fingers in front of you. Then he slides his tongue back into your mouth. 

“I think you can still feel yourself on my tongue, so much that I've sucked you in.” You wrap your arms around his neck, wanting more, but Yuta slows the pace. “Maybe we should slip away before we're noticed.

You slip out quietly, not even bothering to say goodbye to anyone. On the way back, you’re still all sensitive from the way he completely wrecked you earlier. When Yuta pulls up in front of your dorm, he looks a little more hesitant than before. Still, you invite him to come up with you for a bit.

As you close the door to your apartment, you see him sitting on the couch, his hands covering his face like he’s deep in thought. But you don’t stop to overthink it—he’s already given you too much tonight for you to back down now. You climb onto his lap and kiss him, slow and intense. He kisses you back but suddenly pulls away.

“Wait,” he says, looking at you seriously. “I need to understand what’s happening here. Like, what are we doing right now?”

You stare at him, confused. “Do you want a diagram or something?”

“No, I mean, seriously. Isn’t this, like, a bad idea? I’m older than you, and you’re totally wasted. I am too, actually.”

“So what?”

“So yeah, I don’t think this is a good idea. You’ll probably regret it tomorrow. I don’t want to mess things up between us. You mean a lot to me and—”

You cut him off with a dramatic wave, making it clear he needs to stop talking immediately. “This is unreal. Stop seeing me as the clueless first-year kid who doesn’t know anything and needs a protector. Yuta, I don’t want a protector—I want you.”

He just stares at you, speechless.

“I got a soft spot for you, from the very beginning,” you continue, your voice shaking with the weight of the truth. “And honestly, I’ve been hoping every single day since we met that one day you’d wake up and feel the same. But you’ve always had this big brother vibe, and God, it’s been killing me, because I love your attention, I love how affectionate you are, and how you’re always there for me. But Yuta, I want so much more than that. I never said anything because I didn’t want to scare you off or ruin what we have. But seriously, I’ve been into you since day one. So please, stop being my bro—be my lover. Tonight, I felt like it was now or never. There was this moment, this chance, and hell, it’s my last year. I want to leave this university finally dating the guy I’ve been crushing on since freshman year. So if you’re not into it, just say it, but please stop looking at me like I’m some little kid and start seeing the woman I could be by your side.”

Yuta’s lips crash onto yours, giving you the single greatest kiss of your life.

“So you’ve been this into me for all this time, and you never said a word?” he teases, a grin spreading across his face.

“Yuta, please. I’m not exactly the most social person, but I’ve spent practically all my time with you. I hate parties, yet I’ve been at them every week since I met you. I HATE octopus, but I learned how to make Takoyaki like a pro. I think Naruto is the most boring anime ever, but I binged every damn season. Why do you think I did all that? For who?” you shoot back, exasperated.

“Uh… sorry?” he mutters sheepishly.

“Don’t apologize. Honestly, I love most of those things now because they remind me of you, or they’re just so you. I don’t force myself. If it means spending time with you, it’s always worth it in the end.”

He smiles at you, soft and affectionate.

“I’ll admit, I’ve thought about this a lot over the years too,” he says quietly. “But the age gap always felt like too much. And I had this mentor role, you know? I didn’t want to look like some creepy older guy. More than that, I didn’t want to lose you or ruin what we have.”

Your heart pounds at his words. So he doesn’t see you as some desperate little kid, and, more importantly, the guy of your dreams feels the same way about you.

“Can you say it out loud, though? Just once?” you tease him.

“I got a soft spot for you, Y/n.”

“No, no, no, you can do better than that.”

He chuckles, running his tongue along his cheek, clearly amused but knowing you’re not letting this go.

“I got a big crush on you.”

Your smile stretches ear to ear, and you crash your lips against his again. He responds instantly, sliding his tongue against yours, his hands moving to your hips as he pulls you closer. Then, without breaking the kiss, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you to your room, laying you gently on the bed.He trails kisses along your jawline, down to your neck, and a soft moan escapes your lips. He nibbles at your earlobe before whispering, “If you play your cards right tonight, sweetheart, you just might get me to admit I maybe am in love with you by the end of it.”

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier

"The first sip is joy, the second is gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy." - Jack Kerouac

Summary In July of 2023, Evie looked at a list of cities in North America and rolled a die. Just like that, she packed up her life and moved to Chicago, a fresh start. The 2023-24 NHL season started well for Tito; he did not expect the call on November 28th telling him that he was being traded. To the worst team in the league. And just like that. 10 months after being ripped from his home, he had to pack up and move again. To an unfamiliar city, and to unfamiliar faces. Which is why, when Tito and Evie ran into each other, quite literally, on Christmas morning, they both latched on to a familiar face. Over the next few months, they became close friends. They didn’t talk about the nights shared in Chicago clubs.  They didn’t need to. Because they're just friends.  Right?

This is a completed fic split into episodes for easier reading. It was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston.

Episode 1. Blue Christmas (4.9k) Episode 2. I. Winter (4.4k) Episode 3. Pal-entine's Day (4.8k) Episode 4. Four-leaf Clover (5.5k) Episode 5. Evie's Birthday 🌶️ (5.6k) Episode 6. II. Spring (4.8k) Episode 7. Not Goodbye 🌶️🌶️ (5.4k) Episode 8. III. Summer (4.8k) Episode 9. Tito's Birthday (4.2k)

Read it in full (44.5k)

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Under the cut: author's notes, tropes, warnings & disclaimer, fun tidbits, chapter summaries

Author's Notes: This fic was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston. It got so out of control long so quickly. I genuinely had so much fun writing this, it's basically my magnum opus; if you look closely, I think you can probably see my soul in there somewhere. I would like to thank @devilssacrament, @wyattjohnston, and @forgottenflowers for being my editors, holding my hand and keeping me sane in this. Also, thanks to @swissboyhisch, and @imperatorrrrr for being a sounding board for ideas . All of your help and support has meant so much to me. You are all just the fucking best, I am sorry this has been my entire personality for the past month, I will probably return to normal soon. Probably...

Tropes: a gut-wrenching mix of angst and fluff with a happy ending, slow burn friends to lover (tbh, idiots to lovers let's be real), alternating POVs

Warnings: alcohol (one instance of alcohol poisoning by side character), mature content bordering on smut (mostly occurring in clubs/public), references to a toxic past relationship. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team based there. Only other Chicago players mentioned by name are: Nick Foligno, Jason Dickinson and Connor Bedard. Other notes: NHL players featured Mat Barzal (a heavily featured supporting character/bestie) and brief mentions of Zach Hyman and Matt Martin. Assume that Tito and Evie are always speaking in French with each other.

Face claim for Evie (if you want one, but you can imagine whoever you like): Adeline Rudolph

Fun Tidbits: Original Character (she/her) called Genevieve Gignac or Evie (pronounced eh-vee) is the oldest sibling of Tito's juniors teammate and friend Brandon Gignac. Along with their other sibling Wiliam, they grew up in Montreal. Evie had been living in Toronto for six years, before moving to Chicago in the summer before the fic starts. I did way too much research so a lot of the little facts are true. Nicknames: (ma) chouette (shoo-wet): owl (mon) chou/chouchou (shoo): in practice, honey, sugar, baby, sweetheart // by definition, my cabbage or my profiterole/cream puff (depends who you ask) Solours (soul-oars): the Québécois name for the yellow Care Bear with the smiling sun on its belly Solou’ (soul-oo): a diminutive Evie decides to use

Cook, Cook, drink your tea, But save some in the pot for me. We'll watch the tea leaves in our cup When our drink is all sipped up. Happiness or fortune great, What will our future be? -- "Afternoon Tea at Pittock Mansion" by R.Z. Berry

Episode Synopses:

Blue Christmas Evie and Tito are both starting life anew in Chicago. It's an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar faces. They're both alone on Christmas. Maybe it's fate that brings them together. Jason and Alandra Dickinson are already smelling smoke from this fire.

I. Winter Tito injures his wrist in the first game of 2024, he’s out for 6-8 weeks and then his car breaks down. He thinks maybe he’s cursed. Evie becomes a shoulder to lean on. Barzy gets suspicious.

Pal-entine’s Day Tito returns her kindness by being a shoulder Evie can lean on when she is having a hard time after all-star break. She tells him it’s anxiety about work. He brings her a box of pastries and they cuddle on the couch all day; he doesn’t realize it’s Valentine’s Day. Later, a hook-up goes very wrong.

Four-leaf Clover Tito’s been playing again, and during his first stretch of away games begins to miss home. Well, Evie’s home anyway. When he sees her in the bar, he can’t help but show it. Barzy calls him out on his lies.

Evie’s Birthday Sometimes the music moves you. Sometimes the bass pounding in your chest makes you do things you wouldn’t do. Fuck it, it’s your birthday. That’s what Evie tells herself anyway. There are gifts given, but there are also secrets kept. 

II. Spring Tito tries to tell her— he does— It’s just he needs to find the right time, and something keeps coming up. Evie’s honest with herself. But does that even matter? Mat decides maybe it is his time to intervene.

Not Goodbye Evie realizes that her time is running out. To do what? She doesn’t know. But she has one last night to find out. That is until— Well. It’s too late now. Tito flies home and wonders if that will be the worst mistake of his life.

III. Summer They try to get on with their summers as if nothing is wrong, convincing no one. How long will it take them to realize they can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine? And who will finally take the leap of faith?

Tito’s Birthday Tito receives the best birthday present he has ever gotten: the girl he loves standing at his parent’s front door. It was never destiny or fate; it can only be by choice. And they’ll choose each other every time. Eventually, anyway.

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[porcelainseashore]

Coffee & Secrets (2)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rookie Cop! Leon x Barista! Fem! Reader

Summary: As a cozy coffee shop owner in Raccoon City, you’re no stranger to visitors seeking comfort, quiet, and warmth. When a rookie officer named Leon finds a kindred spirit in you, it sets in motion a chain of events that forever changes the course of your lives. An alternate universe set in Resident Evil 2 Remake and inspired by the game Coffee Talk.

Content & Warnings: Canon divergence, coffee shops, romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, idiots in love, fluff, slice of life, swearing

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Beginnings

“What kind of coffee shop only opens at night?”

Leon had kept his word, returning some time during the week after his work shift. However, Claire left you a postcard, delivered through him, with “I.O.U.” written at the back in an inky marker.

“My kind,” you quipped back, clearing out some of the cups and glasses, and wiping down the tables used by the previous customers who had left.

He shifted awkwardly between his feet, realizing the faux pas he had made. “Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense.” 

You looked up at him from the cloth rag on the table and smiled. “None taken, you’re just saying what comes to mind.”

“I like that,” you added for good measure.

Biting his bottom lip, his cheeks turned pink as he peered around the room before meeting your gaze again. “I-I… I guess I just wanted to know why?”

“Hah, she’s not interested in business! She’s rich!” a low bellow erupted from a ponytailed man sitting at the corner in an armchair. He laughed at his own joke, adjusting his spectacles along his nose bridge before guzzling down a thick, dark, syrupy brew from his cup. Then, he went back to reading his newspaper as if he had not uttered anything at all.

“Rude,” Leon whispered under his breath.

You chuckled as you gestured towards the older man. “That’s Ben, one of the customers I cater to. Enjoys coming here after dark. Says it helps him to think straight.”

“You see, I wanted to open a place where everyone could feel welcome,” you continued. “Even if it’s just the outsiders.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Ben called out again, though not once taking his eyes off the tiny print of the paper.

You smirked at his response. “Some people are night owls. So why not have a space for them too?”

Leon cocked his head to the side, staring at you contemplatively for a moment before replying, “That’s really nice of you.”

You looked away, unsure of how to respond. From the beginning, you had always accepted your role willingly, never giving it a second thought, so praise always came as a surprise.

“Mmm, why don’t you go make yourself at home, and I’ll be right with you?” you finally decided as an answer. 

Evasive, but polite—perfect for such a situation.

He did as you asked, heading over to the counter seat, and seeing you work your magic on his drink. It seemed like he had taken a note out of Claire’s book, inviting a little more spontaneity this time into his order. He wanted something warm yet cool, but not too sweet.

“It’s not too much of a hassle, is it?” he wondered out loud anxiously.

You huffed out a small laugh, saying, “It’s fine, relax.” 

As you served up the concoction before him, his gaze trailed across the amber swirls of the liquid, glinting under the pendant lights. They came to rest on the conical-shaped egg white foam you had whipped up on top.

“Gee, I feel like a kid in a candy shop,” he muttered. Taking a whiff of the mixture and upon finding it agreeable to his senses, he imbibed the rest of it.

“How do you—” he paused to recollect his thoughts before continuing, “How do you make such amazing drinks?” 

Twirling the glass in his hand, he examined it, seemingly trying to figure out its ingredients. “It’s almost as if you read my mind.”

“I just listen to what people need,” you mentioned nonchalantly, playing down the compliment. Jerking your thumb towards the glass, you added, “I call it Midsummer’s Nightcap, by the way.”

“I’ll definitely remember that.” 

He handed you the glass and you immediately followed up with a “Can I get you anything else?” It had been ingrained in you from day one to do so.

His face scrunched up slightly as he furrowed his brows. “I don’t know, hmm…”

“Something simpler?” you offered. “A glass of water?”

At this, he flashed a toothy grin. “There you go again. Reading minds.”

You scoffed good-humoredly, shaking your head as you poured him water over crushed ice with a slice of grapefruit and lime at the end. “So how’s your first week at work been?”

An involuntary groan rumbled from his chest, though he tried to suppress it.

“Not great?” you asked sympathetically.

“No, it’s good,” he began, “it’s more than I could’ve asked for, but…”

You held back, giving him the time and space to process his emotions. He fiddled nervously with the glass, pressing his fingers into it and leaving temporary imprints on the condensation.

“I don’t wanna fuck things up, you know?” he sighed. “I did well at the academy, but this feels like a totally different ball game.”

“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” you observed.

“Yeah,” he agreed, throwing his hands in the air. “I left everything behind for this job. My family, my hometown, my friends, my—” 

All of a sudden, he stopped in his tracks abruptly, as though something had clicked and he instantly regretted what he had just said. “I’m sorry for dumping this all on you…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You reached over, holding his hand gently as you gave it a little squeeze. His pupils widened and his breath hitched at your touch, but similar to the previous time, he did not pull away.

“You’re afraid of failing,” you murmured, already busying yourself with cooking up another beverage to soothe his nerves. “Maybe you’ve never failed before, and it scares you.”

He remained silent, watching you from across the counter with a grim expression on his face.

It was only after you offered him the warm, steaming cup that he spoke, “You ever get that feeling where you’ve waited for this moment your entire life, and when it comes to it, you’re paralyzed?”

A rueful smile crept onto your lips. “When I set up this shop, yeah.”

Your answer stunned him initially before he started laughing, and you joined in.

When he finally managed to catch his breath, he probed further, “And how has it been for you?”

“It has its ups and downs, but you’ll survive.”

Your eyes met his. “Leon, it’s okay to fail.”

He averted his gaze in embarrassment. “That’s not what she—my girl—uh, my ex would’ve said.”

“Sometimes, people say things because they’re hurt,” you sighed. “I guess she didn’t want to lose you?”

Shaking his head, he rubbed his face wearily as he exhaled a deep breath. “Yeah, she didn’t want me to move so far away.”

Then, he found the courage to look you in the eye again. “I thought she’d be the one. I… I’m an idiot,” he surmised self-deprecatingly.

“You felt deeply for her,” you pointed out. “It doesn’t make it any less real just because it didn’t go the way you expected.”

While he mulled it over, you motioned to his forgotten drink and he obliged, knocking it back as if it were a liquor shot. “Time,” you proffered. ”Everything takes time.”

His jaw slackened as he took a moment to savor the warmth and taste, but once that passed, he had yet another curveball to throw at you. “What if I’m not cut out for this job?”

“If it comes to that, you could either keep going until you are, or find a new path,” you countered, placing your hands on your hips. “Don’t limit yourself.”

“Anyway, I have a hunch you’ll do just fine,” you reassured him. “If you don't believe me, then ask your supervisor.”

“Wait, you know Lieutenant Branagh?”

You did not respond to his question, instead sneaking in a wink and a smile as you removed the cup and saucer from his table. That appeared to distract him as he dropped the subject and latched on to a new one. 

“My grandma used to make this for me,” he said, indicating at the cup you were holding. “She had a name for it. Dreamsleep… I think?”

“Are you trying to tell me that I remind you of her?” you teased as you placed the items in the sink with the other dirty dishes.

“God, oh no, I’m sorry!” he coughed out, his face contorting into an expression of shock and horror upon realizing what he had implied. “That’s not what I meant!”

“I’m joking, Leon,” you giggled as he rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of relief.

But when he took a peek at his watch, he pushed himself away from the counter. “I must’ve lost track of the time, um, I should get going.”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he glanced bashfully in your direction. “Thank you… for tonight.”

You waved it off. “Don’t mention it.”

However, when you opened your mouth to speak again, he shushed you with his finger and a fiery look of determination in his eyes. “And no, this time I’m paying.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[cowpokeomens]

Good morning squad I’m thinking bout

Matt who so clearly has a big ole crush on you and everyone knows except you and him it seems! It’s ironic because you’re so sweet and down-to-earth and Matt is. Himself. Anyways! The whole gang has a whole day to run amuck and explore The City right? And so everyone is making their little plans when like Nicky asks what you’re gonna be doing and if you wanna tag along with anyone. You’re like “what’s everyone doing?” And he says “some of us are gonna go walk around downtown, there’s some wildlife center that someone mentioned, and Noah said he’s just going to rot in bed for the morning and decide later.” And you’re like ooooh!! Wildlife center means goats I’m going there!! And Nicky is evil and says “cool Matt will go with you teehee bye” and Matt is pouting because he wanted the day to bro down with the owls and now some girl he doesn’t even like liar is coming with him smh so you’re hesitant but you go for the goats okay and Matt drives the rental and his mood is sour but you’re keeping your spirits high!! He doesn’t speak the entire time and when you try to engage in conversation he just grunts at you :-/ but you arrive safely and the folks working there are so nice and let you hold the chinchillas and the capybaras and Matt is actually cracking a smile watching you, takes lots of pictures bc he adores you the capybaras :-/ they let y’all meet Rocky the raccoon who’s recovering from a leg injury and Matt gets so excited that he goes from hesitant smile to literally beaming like a little kid, feeds Rocky little bits of fruit :-(( you take lots of cute pictures of him so you have evidence that he can feel human joy, y’all tromp around the center for hours petting deer and holding owls and giggling until the sun is starting to go down and you’re abt to pass out from hunger and Matt is like “cmon there’s a good place not too far from here” grabs your wee hand to help you navigate the “rough terrain” (there are some pebbles) but then ope! Doesn’t let go! No reason in particular! And it makes your tummy flip flop but it’s probably just because you’re starving so you write it off :-/ Matt opens your door when y’all get to the car :-/ someone cuts him off in traffic and his arm instinctively comes up in front of you :-/ he drops it onto your thigh and just :-/ leaves it there :-/ lets you queue up music and he bitches the entire time about it until you roll your eyes and put on like. PeelingFlesh or Cannibal Corpse or whatever passes the vibe check and then he’s rolling his eyes and saying “you can listen to your Taylor Swift it’s fine I don’t actually care-“ so you start bumping Picture to Burn and belting it out and he’s just :-( so fond :-( keeps smiling to himself bc he can’t name the emotion he’s feeling but I’ve thinks it’s content :-( y’all get food and you steal half his onion rings even though you swore you wanted fries and his foot keeps bumping into yours under the table and you don’t know why it’s giving you goosebumps!! It’s just cold in here that’s all!! When everyone gets back to the hotel you two are sitting on the couch practically in each other’s laps comparing photos of the day and giggling and teeheeing :-( he gets an arm behind your shoulders bc it was “falling asleep” so you’re all nuzzled up in his chest now and he smells like soap and grass and maybe you’re a little drunk on it but who knows :-( everyone knows

Anyways bye

[angelschoir228]

Frustration.

Man fuck this reality. fuck the government, fuck only living once, fuck money, why are we as humans so dependent to literal paper!? why must be entitled to one title or we have to be labeled?? its so fucking tiring living on this planet, and the thing is the planet called earth is so magnificent and amazing but it is slowly dying, Why!? because a bunch of old white man are being babies and want the world to be made for them and so they destroyed our home along with them oh it gives me a damn headache!. we could've all been taking the time to realize how beautiful earth is, but no. were to busy workin nine to five just to stay alive!! paying to exist, why do we got to pay tree paper just to live! and not appricate this planet to its fullest!..

man fuck this whole reality, this timeline no longer serves me and it does nothing for me, i want my happiness, to be loved unconditionally and be in my mans arm, i want him. always him..i miss him. i miss our matching necklace, rings , and earrings.. i miss sharing passionate nights with him, secretly playing games with on our phones, in our own little world just building houses or going on quests in minecraft or rhythm games. i want to share corny ass jokes with him and watch his facade break and crack to beautiful smile rise on the breathtaking face of his...that has captured my heart and never let it out of his grasp.. i want to sing as he plays the piano like it his second nature. i want to tend to our chimera( phobos, his edgy ass named her that) who i found in a dumpster in the city, who i consider our daughter and he does too. i want to pet ceberus and his three heads, my black panther; nala. my owl; precious, my two bats, terror and fright.

i miss my soulmate, my other half. my one and only.

sincerely - Noah Delle Amore Akinyemi

( can someone tell me how to just let this reality go? i know i exist everywhere, i know im right now huddled up in my mans arm rn, just how do i open my eye, my third, spiritual eye? how do i make it see what i am seeing and imagining, i know imagination is reality, its just how do i ground myself one im home? i open my eyes and im slipping back here..s.o.s)

[bbyhellfire]

our phantom of forever

➠ summary: eddie is resurrected by vecna, only to realize you don't exist in the upside down.

➠ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (she/her pronouns)

➠ word count: 1.3k words

➠ warnings: angst city, death, resurrection, allusions to suicidal thoughts (eddie wishing for death), swearing, reader moved to hawkins with her parents, vecna being vecna.

➠ a/n: pushing the 'eddie is alive' agenda 😌 i have a couple ideas about eddie making a deal with vecna that i'm debating turning into a series or just standalone one shots, so let me know what you think! and let's continue to live in delulu

It was stupid, running away from Vecna in the Upside Down. It wasn't like he controlled it or anything. But Eddie Munson isn't exactly known for his smart decisions.

He makes a mad dash from the Creel House the first chance he gets. He's alive, resurrected by the very monster responsible for his death. Eddie should be relieved that he can feel his heart beating as he runs through the decrepit streets of Hawkins. The never ending fog blurs his vision, not that it matters. Upside Down or not, he knows where he is going. No alternate dimension can change that.

All Eddie wants is you. He wants to curl his wrecked body around yours and cry into your neck as you tell him everything will be okay. He knows it won't happen, Vecna won't be so quick to let his new plaything go. But the hope is still there, and it's enough to take him across town towards the direction of your home.

If he can't physically be with you, then at least he can be surrounded by you. A piss poor replacement, but he'll take what he can get.

The ash-like spores make his lungs burn with every jagged breath. His body, still weak from his death, begs for him to stop, but he is already here. The navy blue paint is chipped and vines have broken through the front windows, but it's still your home. The world around him blurs into a watercolor of black and blue as he rushes through your front door and up the stairs to your bedroom.

Maybe you'll be waiting for him. You'll greet him with open arms and a teary smile and –

Nothing.

You're not there. In fact, none of your belongings are there. Not your bed, not your desk, your posters, your clothes. The room is empty.

What the hell?

He moves towards your bathroom. The counter should be covered in your toiletries. The doodles he'd given to you should be taped up along the mirror.

An owl with "You're owl I need" written on the bottom.

A mug with "I love you a latte" etched in the front.

Another of a cat holding a sign that says, "I've got felines for you."

The bathroom is as empty as your room. The only things waiting for him are those fucking vines, slithering out of the bathroom sink like a bouquet of snakes.

No, no, no.

Vecna controls this universe, right? So it's not completely unreasonable that he could make you disappear. Right? That has to be it. This is just Vecna. It's all Vecna.

"Do you really think so little of me? After I saved your life? Think, boy."

Eddie's head shoots up to the mirror, expecting to see the monster standing behind him like this is some sort of horror movie, but he's alone. Of course Vecna has an omnipresent voice that echoes throughout. Of course he fucking does.

He's never gonna beat the God complex allegations, Eddie thinks as the vines in the sink start to move. A little nudge of encouragement so to speak.

He bolts out of your room and down the hallway to your parent's bedroom.

Empty.

He tries the linen closet.

Nothing.

He practically tumbles down to the first level. Your living room, dining room, kitchen, even the garage. Everything is devoid of you and anything connected to you.

Dread is settles in the pit of his stomach. He is running out of places to check. All he thinks to do is scream. And he does. He wails and wails until his vocal cords hemorrhage. The dull taste of blood in the back of his throat makes him add obscenities to his screams. Maybe it'd be enough to echo through the other side. Hell, he'd take your parents materializing to scold him. He'd take anything as long as it means you're there. But nothing ever comes. It's just him and his pain.

It's like you never existed.

Only when he's back in your bedroom, standing in the exact spot where your bed should be, does he remember Nancy's diary. Ice cold realization turns his organs into stone.

He tries not whimper, "She isn't here, is she?"

"No, she's not, but you already knew that." With every word, the fog thickens into a violent red until the monster responsible for all of this appears in front of him. Eddie shakes his head in furious denial as the date in Nancy's diary taunts him.

November 6, 1983.

It's like you don't exist in the Upside Down because of you don't exist. Your family wouldn't move to Hawkins until the following month. It wouldn't be until the start of the spring semester when you and Eddie would properly meet, paired up for a science project. By February, he'd build up the courage to ask you on a date. His adoration for you would bloom with the spring flowers. He would be head over heels in love with you by the fall.

But with the Upside Down frozen at a point in time where he didn't even know your name, you won't be here. There will be no record of you, no liferaft to cling to as his humanity is thrown into freefall.

"No, it's not fair! This isn't fucking fair!"

"The human existence is anything but fair. Your life was an excellent example of that."

Eddie knows that very well, but he doesn't need this walking smear stain reminding him like he's a toddler. He remembers every taunt, shove, and outrage that formed his life. They were his to experience, not anyone else's. They were his life no matter how unfair it may have been. Vecna didn't get to use them against him.

Now, he is angry. He lunges toward the monster, but vines shoot out to wrap around his waist before he can reach Vecna. They throw him back violently, wrapping around his middle and neck to keep him flush against the wall. The tendril around his waist tightens until he stops moving, his arms pinned to his side. Another vine slithers around his neck, squeezing until he has no choice but to look up at the monster of the Upside Down.

"So ungrateful even after I gifted you the chance of another life. Do you understand I can take that away from you? And then how would you see her again?"

Eddie grimaces, scrunching his nose and glaring with all the resentment building inside. He knows where this is going, the manipulation so obvious it's insulting.

The weight of his situation presses down on him harder than the vines bundling his body. He finally cries. Fat, angry tears run down his dirty cheeks as he glares at Vecna. Eddie hopes he looks as pathetic as he feels. Maybe Vecna will be disgusted and realize he made a mistake resurrecting him. He is not a killer, not a hero, not a villain. He is just Eddie.

He wishes for a reinstatement of his death sentence. He'd rather his body be picked apart by demobats than a life shackled by shame and defeat.

"I'm not unreasonable, Eddie," Vecna takes heavy steps towards him. "You can see her again, if it's what you really want. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it. I just need you to do something for me."

The tears keep falling, his vision blurring from the splotches in the shape of you. He thinks of you, the way you smell, the comforting feeling of your hand in his, the sweet nothings you'd whisper when you thought he was asleep. He remembers the nights you'd spend wrapped in his sheets, eyes glassy from all the weed you'd smoke, as you talk about the future.

That is all he will ever have of you – memories. Memories that will fade until only the pain of what could have been remains.

What else is he supposed to do?

"What is it?"

divider by @/silkholland

[highqueenofelfhame]

ROWAELIN MONTH DAY 11: SONGFIC

better late than never, right? this is kind of a mashup of tis the damn season and stick season.

warnings: language, sexual content

The irony wasn’t missed on her that she chose the middle of the night to drive into the sleepy mountain town. It was well below freezing and everything around her looked stripped from her very own soul: cold and dark. Almost like if she saw everything under the sun it would be too real and too hard to keep running from.

The thoughts were pushed, once again, to the back of her mind as she pulled into a long driveway that took her to a little cabin at the end of a gravel road. As soon as her car was turned off, she took a few moments to collect herself. In that short span of time, fog coated the windshield glass and she knew it would be a chilly evening all around. The interactions, the weather.

The part where she left.

Pocketing her keys and her phone, she slid from her SUV and approached the door. Snow crunched beneath her boots while two owls talked back and forth somewhere above her. Her breath was nothing more than puffs of vapor slipping from her lips as she raised her fist and knocked. It was so cold it stung her knuckles and left her rubbing her hands together to produce any sort of heat to bring them back to life.

“Rowan! It’s fucking cold out here,” she shouted, not worried about disrupting any neighbors. He didn’t have any for miles.

Aelin’s teeth began to chatter, the heavy cold settling into her bones as she waited. Just as she was nearly ready to kick the door, the porch light flicked on and it swung open, revealing a shirtless and slightly disheveled Rowan Whitethorn squinting down at her.

“You have a key.” She brought a gust of cold air with her as she breezed into the cabin, dropping her things on the coffee table.

“I lost it,” she lied. It was sitting in a landfil somewhere, rotting under thousands of pounds of garbage at this point.

“You were supposed to be here two hours ago.” Rowan stepped close enough that she could see goosebumps all over his arms and chest. Her eyes moved to his face and a fake smile forced her lips to attention.

“Work beckoned, traffic out of the city was terrible and all that.” It was getting too easy to lie to him– almost as easy as lying to herself. Maybe that’s why she was so good at it.

Aelin crossed the living room and put the kettle on, fingers tapping on the counter while she waited with her back to him. His presence sucked all of the air, along with her sanity, out of the room and being too close for too long while she wasn’t high off the touch of his hands was too much. She needed to be doing something.

“Oh, are we pretending you want to have tea and catch up? Not skipping straight to it?”

“We’re not pretending to do anything, I’m cold and want to warm up. You could have changed your mind since I clearly woke you up, and if that’s the case I’ll be out of your hair and on my way as soon as this is ready to go,” she rebutted, barely glancing over her shoulder.

“Gods, Aelin, I wish I could change my fucking mind when it came to you.” Rowan’s body was warm as he stood behind her, one arm bracing the counter and the other reaching around to turn off the stove before she was caged into the confines of his arms. She gulped down her anxiety, feet glued to the wooden floor as his lips grazed the back of her head.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The man behind her took a long deep breath as his fingers carefully pulled her hair to one side of her neck. Out of instinct her head tilted to the side and one of his fingers dipped beneath the fabric of her turtleneck and tugged down. Everywhere he touched was like she’d been branded, goosebumps following the trail of his fingers.

No word of admission would ever be muttered from her lips but she was touch starved for his hands on her body. The first graze of his lips against her neck had the smallest sigh filling the large room, and the first flick of his tongue elicited a moan. It was building up to be the perfect storm: his mouth on her neck, the pull of her shirt the mockery of what his hand would feel like around her throat. The final nail in the coffin was the low groan that Rowan let out at just tasting her skin. She knew he was dying for more, for everything, to be buried so deeply inside her that neither of them could think straight.

“Take it off,” she muttered, spinning in his arms while he pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor.

Aelin hopped up into his arms and he didn’t miss the catch, a hand on her lower back forcing her body to be flush with his while he carried her to his room blindly. Their kisses were feverish, punctuated with bitten lips and throaty moans. They didn’t even make it to the bed; Rowan was quick to push her back against the wall and sink to the ground in front of her. Clever fingers worked at the button on her jeans while she kicked off her shoes and the pants soon followed.

Standing in nothing but lacy underthings, Aelin combed her fingers through his hair. Warm lips pressed against her lower stomach while his fingers traced the shape of the lace on her hips.

“You wore this for me.” The growled words weren’t a question. Both of them knew it was the truth. Aelin had a knack for driving him insane and she hoped he couldn’t see through the wall she built up when it came to him. He drove her crazy, too.

Soon he tugged them down her body, slowly dragging the lace down her thighs. Everywhere he touched felt like sparks that would turn into a flame and engulf her entirely. She was proved right moments later when her thigh was over his shoulder, mouth pressed to her center.

Gods, his mouth, his tongue, the gentle nip of his teeth against her clit sent her spiraling into madness. Everything felt so good, too good. Waves of pleasure crashed over her as she cried out. Her fingers were knotted into his hair and daring him to stop, but he didn’t.

Rowan worked her until her legs were shaking, two fingers deep inside her. It was a tease of how his cock would feel and she needed it. She would wager they both did if the way he feasted on her was any indication.

“Please,” she gasped, pulling his head back by his hair and leaning down to press her lips to his in a messy kiss. Something about tasting herself on his mouth had her groaning again. “I want you inside me.”

“Fuck.” It was more of a hiss than anything else. Rowan was quick, stripping off his clothes and tossing her on the bed.

Aelin laid back, spreading her legs as he knelt between them. His thumb rubbed in smooth circles over her clit while his cock slid against her center. Rowan loved to tease her like this, loved to have her begging for pleasure only he could give her.

“Please,” she groaned, reaching down to line him up.

“Say it.” Fuck.

“I need you inside—” her desperate pleas were cut off by a sharp inhale that twisted into a moan as he slid into her. Gods above, nothing and no one could compare to this feeling. Every thought she had turned to ash. There was only Rowan.

Moments like this made her wonder why she ran from him, made her wonder why they didn’t and couldn’t work. Anything that felt this good had to be right. Nobody else could compare. Only ever him.

“You feel,” he breathed, leaning over her body to kiss her mouth, “So fucking good.”

Aelin swallowed his words, lifting her head to catch him in a searing kiss that threatened to undo her. All she could do was nod in agreement and allow him to take her hard and fast. Everywhere he touched was lit with flames, heat coursing through her body down to her toes. They curled when he hit a perfect spot inside her, a gasping moan escaping her swollen lips.

Rowan groaned, lifting her leg onto his hip to get even deeper inside her. Every thrust elicited a moan from her. Red nails scratched over his back and he bit the curve of her shoulder. He went faster and harder and Aelin knew he was close.

“Come for me,” she groaned, angling her hips up for him. Those words seemed to unravel him because he finished deep inside her.

In the aftermath he remained on top of her and inside her until he slipped out. Rowan flipped them and pulled her on top of him, strong hands rubbing up and down her back while they came down from the highest high Aelin had felt in a long time. Since the last time she saw him, if she was being honest. She had a knack of lying to herself, though.

“I need to go,” she whispered, raising onto her knees and smoothing her hair from her face. Rowan sighed heavily.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I—”

“It’s the middle of the night, you don’t have anywhere to be. You’re just running like you always do.” Aelin sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and gazed toward the window. He was right. “All you have to do is stay with me, Aelin. I’m not going anywhere.”

It was a conversation they’d had a million times over but the words never seemed to sink in. She didn’t like getting too close to people, they always left. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was young, her foster father was abusive. Even her romantic partners always decided she was too much and turned away.

Everyone except for Rowan. It had been ten years of tip-toeing around a relationship but her fears drowned everything else out. They dated in college until she got scared and broke things off. Yet he remained, patiently waiting for her to come around to the truth: that he wasn’t ever going to leave her or give up on her.

Rowan propped himself up on one shoulder and used his thumb to coax her lip from her teeth. Aelin’s eyes dropped to where he tangled their fingers together, how he lightly tugged on them.

“Baby,” he said softly, and Aelin curled up on her side next to him. With her head on his arm, she looked at his face. “You know I’m not going anywhere. You know this is a good thing. What are you scared of?”

“People change their minds.”

“I’m never going to change my mind about you. I would have already done it. I want you. I want us. I've been so devastatingly in love with you from the moment I saw you. There’s no one else for me but you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, fingers tracing lines over the tattoo on his chest. Maybe she could try. Maybe Rowan wouldn’t be like the others.

“Yeah?” With her ear on his chest, she heard the quickening beat of his heart. Aelin nodded, face nuzzling his side.

“I want it all, too.”

“You’ll be here in the morning?” Aelin chewed on her lip again. Everything in her told her to run because she could get hurt. But she was tired of running. In her bones, her soul, she was exhausted. She wanted to feel safe and secure and the only source of that lately was Rowan.

“Yes,” she breathed, a slight nod of her head.

In the safety of his arms, she drifted off to sleep.

@rowaelinscourt

[ghost-bxrd]

Keep going I want everything *holds up a note pad* give me angst

*slides glasses up higher*

Okay, you asked for it! Get ready for some really cracky ship content on the side of more Court Family au!

Bruce grows up learning high society and Court etiquette mostly from Alfred and some trustworthy Court members and quickly decides that some things need to change. (He may be morally flexible here but he still wants to change things for the better). He still puts up the Brucie mask in front of High Society, but now he does it with the goal to gather blackmail material from as many people as possible and indebt them to him for potential use down the line.

Bruce becomes Voice of the Court when he turns eighteen and immediately starts uprooting several of the more corrupt members of the Court, instating new people into the ranks that will benefit the city as a whole. He makes some enemies this way, naturally. And soon after the Cout’s Talon is tasked with Bruce’s safety at all times.

Bruce and Cobb do NOT get along. At all. Mostly because Bruce is determined to make Talon’s life even harder by trying to slip away from his sight every other second. It’s infuriating. Cobb considers literally sitting on the guy after only one week. (“Try bailing on me now, o’ honorable Voice”)

Bruce spends several months strategically implementing new laws and projects that will benefit the Court AND Gotham in the long run, making it a point to go to the most important meetings in person, even if they happen to be between criminals. (Cobb was so, SO tempted to let Black Mask shoot the idiot that day.)

Within two years human trafficking is close to nonexistent in Gotham City, lethal crime is down a good ten percent (which isn’t much in the grand scheme of things but for Gotham it’s almost biblical) and whispers of “Batman” are omnipresent. (Cobb considers asking if slapping his Voice would be considered treason but… it probably would. Even though Bruce really deserves it with such a stupid cover name. Owls HUNT bats… couldn’t he have chosen Owlman?)

(“What’s your name, anyway?” Bruce asks one day, flipping his tie into a neat Windsor knot that’s just passable enough to not be considered sloppy. “I am the Talon of the Court, my Voice.” Bruce hums, one elegant eyebrow raising in the stark reflection of the mirror, “No, your real name.” “It’s whatever you wish it to be, my Voice.” “You know what I mean, Talon. If you do not wish to answer, then I will not make you. But do not play me for a fool.” “… Cobb. William Cobb.” Bruce blinks, the left corner of his mouth tugging upwards, “Will… I see.”)

The first time a traitor nearly succeeds in killing Bruce is when he once again slips away from the Talon’s sight, and while Bruce is still well trained he’s no match against five people with guns, sedatives, and a mission. Cobb finds them right as they’re about to shoot Bruce in the head and goes absolutely feral. (He hates Bruce, he hates Bruce, he hates Bruce, he hates-)

Bruce wakes up back at the manor with a pissed off Talon standing in the corner of the room, keeping watch and refusing to talk to him anymore beyond what he’s ordered to. Sneaking away from the Talon after this becomes virtually impossible for Bruce.

Cobb keeps giving Bruce the cold shoulder for months to the point where Bruce becomes genuinely concerned, but the Court scientists assure him that their Talon is running at a 100% capacity. (That’s not what I’m asking, Bruce wants to scream. I want to know if he’s okay.)

(Cobb wasn’t worried, he wasn’t. He watched countless humans die in so much worse ways already. Inflicted worse himself. It’s just because he almost failed his mission and allowed the Voice to be killed that he’s so unnerved now. That must be it. That’s all it is. That’s all.)

Dick’s parents fall and Bruce is up and out of his seat the next second, pushing through the masses until he can clutch at the child and cover his eyes, shielding him from the view of his parents’ dead bodies. Social Services never get to put their hands on Dick Grayson.

The Court is ecstatic. Cobb is ecstatic. From tragedy, opportunity blooms like a rose with poisonous thorns, and the Talon stands ready to take on his apprentice as the Court broaches the subject with Bruce.

But Bruce (idiotic, stupid, bleeding-heart Bruce) refuses point blank. (“He’s a child,” Bruce says. Like that means anything. They were all children, once. He’ll grow out of it quickly enough. And the boy will make an excellent Talon, perhaps even surpass Cobb himself, with time and training. Maybe more capable at keeping the Voice safe than him, too. But then Bruce says, “He’s my child. My ward. And any of you who think to go against me will answer to the Talon and myself.” And, oh, damn you, Bruce. Damn you. But what else is Cobb to do but lift his head and stare down the Voice’s subject in silent challenge, daring them to object? Bruce is his Voice. Talon will never not side with the Court’s voice. (He pointedly does not think of the time he slit another Voice’s throat. He does not.))

Dick is anger and fury and sunshine and it drives Cobb crazy. The raw potential that is lost with Bruce’s refusal to allow him to train the boy… he cannot stand it. There will be another Talon before long (Cobb is not bitter about it, he is not) and with Dick the protection of the Voice would have at least stayed within the line of Cobb’s blood, but now… now Cobb can’t be sure the new Talon will take their task as seriously as the boy would have.

Dick is the one to approach Cobb for training before he ever goes to Bruce

Bruce nearly has a heart attack the first time he finds Dick training with the Talon, ripping the boy away and screaming at Cobb for nearly an hour about “orders” and “NOT a Talon” and many other things Dick doesn’t really get

Bruce asks Talon to bring him Zucco’s head and Cobb will forever deny the vindictive pleasure he felt when watching the smarmy man squirm and beg for his life (he didn’t get fond of Dick. Cobb doesn’t do fond. He hates him almost as much as he hates Bruce, thank you and good day.)

… okay I just realized none of this really qualifies as angst but— somehow this post got away from me. I’m sorry 😭😭😭 feel free to ask for more specific angst content tho? 🙏

[imtrashraccoon]

Oh hey, looks like the Reader is being comforted in one of these for once. Slight warning that there is some vague mentions of random people dying in this one, but it was all just a dream...

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Killer - Comfort

Word Count: 1,604

You tumbled out of bed with a scream, dragging the bedclothes along in your descent. Your gaze whipped wildly around your dimly lit bedroom and your heart felt like it was going to explode from how hard it was pounding. You couldn't seem to inhale oxygen fast enough and your chest felt like it was being constricted by a large snake.

The screams were still echoing in your ears.

Experiences that were not your own kept flashing across your vision.

You could still smell the potent stench of death and feel the burn of inhaled smoke in the back of your throat too.

You had to shock some sense into yourself.

Struggling to get your legs disentangled from your sheets, you stumbled to your bathroom like a half dead corpse before hauling yourself into the tub and turning the shower on full blast. You hadn't even bothered to get undressed and barely registered when the cold water struck your body.

You don't know how long you sat there.

You felt completely numb.

Your vision was blurry and it took way too long for you to realize that you were crying. By then, you were full on bawling and there was nothing you could do to stop.

You'd just witnessed what could only be described as Armageddon.

The sky had been torn in two and only a void of complete black lay beyond. Earthquakes caused most of the buildings to collapse, fires raged from both the breaking of electrical lines and leaking gas, and the familiar sounds of a once bustling city had been replaced with utter chaos. Children cried, dogs barked, and the sounds of alarm systems going off all at once had been nearly deafening.

But that was nothing compared to the roar of the Void.

You'd witnessed people get sucked into the sky and disappear. Some of them were even people you knew. Their screams of terror and pain still permeated the very depths of your mind even now.

You'd only woken up when you had been crushed by falling debris while trying to flee to safety. You were lucky as you may not have woken up immediately if you'd died from burning to death. It was easily the worst way to die that you could think of and with how real that nightmare had felt, you had no doubt that it would have been just as awful to experience in a dream as it would be in real life.

It had all seemed so real. You'd just seen and experienced things that couldn't possibly be explained as your mind mashing up and connecting old memories. What else could it have been than a nightmare though?

At some point, you were startled by a knock on the bathroom door, that you'd apparently had enough sense in your numb state to at least close.

"hey, angel cheeks? you've been in there for a while... are you okay?"

It was Killer.

You didn't want anyone to see you right now, let alone him. How would he react at seeing how pathetic you looked? Would he laugh? Or would he just stare at you? You didn't even know if he was fully capable of pity, not that you wanted any from him.

"No..." you finally croaked in response.

"do you need anything?" he asked.

You wanted to scream that you did but couldn't bring yourself to. You managed to form a response, albeit rather hesitantly "I... Just...stay with me..."

You heard a light thump and some shuffling on the other side of the door as he sat down and leaned against the wooden surface. He was only quiet for a couple seconds though.

"so, a horse walks into a bar. the bartender looks at him and asks, 'why the long face, pal?'"

When you didn't respond, he tried again. "you know, i used to have a handle on life...but then it broke."

You heard him click his non-existent tongue and he fell silent for a solid ten seconds when his joke had zero effect. "i got a new pair of gloves today, but they're both 'lefts', which is great on the one hand, but on the other, it just isn't 'right'."

"Your jokes are awful..." you finally muttered.

He sighed, "yeah, i know..." He seemed to shift the way he was sitting before asking the question you had been dreading. "did something happen?"

"I...don't want to talk about it right now...maybe not ever either."

"i see."

You didn't say anything else and neither did he for a little while.

"hey...are you decent right now? and i guess my next question is, if you would want me to come in?"

Normally, you would've yelled at him for even entertaining such a thought, but you were so beyond caring at this point. You were dressed in your pajamas, which just so happened to be an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts, although you weren't wearing a bra at the moment. Still, you were covered up enough even with the water causing your clothes to stick a bit more to your skin than usual.

"Yeah, alright. You can come in if you want I guess..." you responded hesitantly.

He slowly opened the door and you noticed he seemed to pause before entering. When he did come in, he did so without looking directly at you, which you actually appreciated quite a bit. He was aware enough to be respectful of your privacy even now it seemed.

He glanced at you in a quiet manner and if he had eyelights, you would've seen how much he was currently studying you. To your surprise, he didn't make any snarky comments, not even about how you probably looked like a half drowned cat at the moment. Instead, he knelt down next to the tub and reached over to turn off the water. At the same time, he cupped your face with his other hand and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb.

With how concerned he looked and the tenderness in this simple gesture, you couldn't help but burst into tears all over again. He didn't hesitate to wrap you up into a fierce hug, despite the fact that you were currently soaking wet. He even stroked your back in a way that while his movements were stiff, was probably the best attempt he could make at being comforting all things considered. He didn't let go until your sobbing had ceased and you tried to pull away from him.

"I'm sorry..." you murmured through lingering sniffles. "I'm a pathetic mess...and now you're all wet because of me..."

He tilted his skull and gave you the warmest smile you'd ever seen on him. "nah, it's fine," he insisted.

You still felt bad but didn't have the energy to argue further.

"here, do you want some help?" He motioned to your dripping wet hair and you immediately realized what he meant.

You shrugged, "I mean, sure? I can wring out my hair on my own though..."

He gently chided you before carefully pulling your hair to one side so he could wring the water out of it. You didn't bother protesting and he took great care not to pull your hair too much while doing so. He then wrapped a towel around your body to help dry you off a bit.

"do you want help changing too, cute thing?" he purred and leaned closer to your face.

Your face flushed a bright pink and you tried to shove him back. "No, please get out..."

He laughed and winked at you. He did leave without further comment though to your relief.

It was then that you realized that you had no dry clothes. There was no way you were going to try and make the walk of shame back to your bedroom in a towel either.

"Um, Killer...?" you called out nervously.

Apparently he hadn't gone far once he'd left the bathroom and he soon hummed in response.

"Would you mind...bringing me something from my closet that I can wear?"

"sure thing, angel~"

You didn't like the smarmy tone his voice had taken on but he was gone before your protests could reach his non-existent ears. The good thing was you didn't have many clothes that most would consider provocative. The bad thing was that you didn't trust Killer as far as you could throw him and he would totally try to find something revealing if he wanted to.

He returned a few minutes later and knocked lightly on the bathroom door. "here, i'll pass them through the door, okay?"

He didn't wait for a response before cracking the door open and sliding the leggings he'd gotten mended for you and an old crop top that you'd once used for exercising inside the room.

"No. You have got to be kidding me."

"oh, whoops, my bad." He then slid a knitted sweater you hadn't worn in ages inside as well. "almost forgot this~"

You took a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. It could've been far worse. Sure, he'd picked out form fitting clothes that you no longer enjoyed wearing, but it was better than being naked at least. You would tell him off later, once you were properly dressed anyways.

Unfortunately for you, Killer just had to make a comment about how cute you were as you walked past the living room. Man, he knew just how to get on your nerves! You were still grateful for his help today though.

Who knew that he actually had the capacity to be comforting, even when you were at your lowest point?

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

The Unlikely Similarities Between Kittens and Vampires

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav

Warnings: an almost kiss, some sexual tension, Astarion being himself

Summary: Very early into their adventure, the city-raised druid Sable and her new companion Astarion have an interesting conversation at camp.

Notes: Yes I'm part of the Astarion simp pile, but I never asked for this! Anyway, have a one shot. (That I managed to keep a reasonable length, go me!)

Read on Ao3 here!

The firelight dances, creating shadows that flit in and out of the campsite, playing along tents, keeping those that sleep under the stars company. Crickets chirp cheerily, owls hoot in the distance; the night is peaceful. 

Which is why Sable is away from her post on the first watch. Instead of at the campfire, she’s down by the river, sitting on a rock and dipping her sore feet in the river. She knows that there’s only trouble when the nocturnal sounds stop. 

Or, well, so she’s read.

The elf leans back on her hands, looking up at the gorgeous night sky. The novelty of a crystal clear sky hasn’t worn off yet, a riot of white and bright blue pinpricks, with the occasional rare red thrown in. She traces constellations she’s only seen in books and swishes her toes through the gentle current below. 

“Well, you’ve certainly taken to nature rather well,” a voice simpers behind her. She doesn’t need to turn around to see who it is, even though her traveling companions are very new. That incredibly smooth tone could only belong to Astarion, the elf with the red eyes and rather prominent canine teeth. “I’m almost jealous.” 

Sable can’t help but smile faintly. Despite his propensity for selfishness so far, she can’t help but like the man. Which she knows is a problem, even if she knows that he doesn’t know she knows yet. “Almost being the key word.” 

A soft chuckle graces her ears, and she hears him step up next to the rock she’s sitting on. “Of course. Jealousy is such an ugly emotion. I want no part of it.” 

She hums in acknowledgement. “I agree.” 

“Ah. I knew you were sensible.” He watches as the cool river water flows past his companion’s toes, his eyebrow arching. “Does that…feel good?” 

“It does, yes,” is her soft response. “Helps ease the ache after walking all day. I can move over if you’d like to join in.” 

He hesitates, looking at the running water trepidatiously, before rolling his eyes at himself and nodding. “Oh, very well.” She grins faintly and moves over as he pulls his boots and socks off. He rolls up his pant legs, and she has to quickly tear her eyes away from slender ankles, shapely and defined calves. Two spots of heat blossom in her cheeks, which of course he notices as he turns around. “Getting flustered at the flash of an ankle?” he purrs, even as he tentatively dips his big toe into the water. When there’s no sizzling of skin, he slips both feet into the river with a moan of delight (that definitely doesn’t make her stomach flip) and leans back much like she was. “Positively archaic of you.” 

She rolls her eyes, her blush deepening at his words. The rock is large, but not large enough that there’s much space between them, the outside of their thighs nearly touching. “Hilarious. Why aren’t you in your trance?” 

“Darling, this is only my second night in the great outdoors,” is the reply, sounding vaguely annoyed, but not necessarily at her. “I’m used to a proper mattress, not…whatever that thing is they try to tell me is a bedroll.”

“Well, we’ll have to adapt,” she replies. 

“Adapt,” he says flatly, not even framing it as a question. 

“Adapt,” she confirms. She continues to watch the water flow past as she adds, “vampires are supposed to be good at that, right?” 

For a long moment, it’s dead silent. He stares at her in shock that not only does she know, she hasn’t tried to stake him. “...I won’t do you the disservice of pretending to be otherwise,” he finally says with a little amused huff.

Her lips curl again in a faint smile. “Appreciated.” 

“How long have you known?” 

She hums in thought, turning her eyes back to her toes, his own quite close now. “I had my suspicions from the first time I saw you, honestly,” she admits. “Elves don’t really have red eyes, unless they’re drow. I thought at first that maybe some ancestor of yours could have been Lolth-sworn…then I saw your teeth.” She chuckles, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her thighs. “Even then, I was willing to chalk it up to natural discrepancies.” She pauses, remembering… “But then you caught my hand when I tripped over a root. That’s when I knew. Your skin was–or is, rather–so cold.” She huffs at herself, and finally looks at him. “Long story short, I’ve known from the first day.” 

“But you…haven’t said anything?” he asks, confused. The look on his face, so thrown off guard, almost makes her laugh. 

“Well…no. We all have our secrets, Astarion. You haven’t tried to kill one of us in our sleep…” She leaves the ‘yet’ hanging unspoken in the air. “...and as long as you continue to not do that, I have no problems with what you are.” 

He stares at her again, trying to settle on some sort of reaction, something to say. “...well,” he finally says, tilting his head slightly as he considers her. “That’s very kind of you. A little too trusting, if I might say, but considering it’s towards myself I’ll let it slide.” 

She snorts inelegantly. “Generous of you.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” he says, smug. She can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s messing with her, and he chuckles right along with her. 

She turns her head to look at him, and whatever she was about to say dies on her lips when their eyes meet. A spark of something shoots through her, settling behind her navel. They’re so close, less than a foot separating their faces. Even in the dark he can count the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, see the different glints of color swimming in her hazel eyes. 

His own crimson orbs darken faintly. His lids lower halfway, his beautiful lips curling into a sly smile. Her breath hitches as his fingers brush over her jaw, lifting her chin…and she knows her body obeys, that he had to use no strength to move her where he wants her: the perfect angle for a kiss. 

Her face heats, and when he starts to bend down to her, she all but throws herself off the rock. He freezes as she stares at him, now from a good ten feet away. “...darling, if you didn’t want a kiss, you could have simply said so,” he drawls, but his eyes are sharp on her. “That was a little dramatic.” 

She swallows hard. “S-Sorry. I’m sorry, I…didn’t mean to react so strongly.” 

He watches her, and the look on his face is so unreadable that it makes her nervous. “And why did you react so strongly? I know you find me attractive, my dear Sable. You blush if I so much as glance your way.” 

“I…” Speaking of blushing… “Yes, I do. But…” She tries to gather her words to explain, before just blurting out, “You’re a kitten!” 

For the first time in a long, long time, he finds himself speechless. “...I beg your pardon?” he finally replies, his voice a little more high pitched in his astonishment. “Did you really just call a two hundred year old vampire a kitten?!”

She very nearly flails her hands. “I–no, wait–that’s not what I–look, just listen, okay?!” She takes a deep breath, trying to pull that calm she always has around her back on. “I didn’t mean that you literally are a kitten. What I meant was…” Her lips purse as she finds the words. “...Back in Baldur’s Gate, I worked with my parents as a veterinarian, taking care of people’s pets. Mostly rich people’s. You don’t spend decades working with animals and not pick up some interesting facts.” Another pause, and she meets his eyes again. “Do you know why some animals are cute?” 

“I haven’t the slightest,” he replies, and by his tone she would have thought he was bored…if it weren’t for the intense look in his eyes. 

“It’s a defense mechanism,” she says firmly. “With most people, they see something adorable and helpless-looking, they’re much less likely to attack it and much more likely to try and nurture and take care of it. It’s a biological instinct, and unless a person has no sense of empathy at all, they’ll certainly feel it. You…you have something similar, but it’s less for defense and more for offense.” She’s quiet for a long moment, and he watches her eyes roam his form before settling back meeting his. “You are…the most breathtakingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen. But I’m biologically wired to think that, and your vampiric nature takes advantage of it. Your beauty lures people in. Were we not in the situation we’re in now…” She shrugs. “I’d be easy prey.” 

Dead silence greets her ears. He’s staring at her as if considering a particularly interesting puzzle. She has to fight not to fidget. 

Finally, he sighs, and his look is torn between amusement and ruefulness. He slips off the rock, grabbing his boots and socks with one hand before prowling up to her. He stares down into her eyes, before giving her a slow, sly smile and a playful pinch to her chin. “Perhaps not so easy, darling. You’re much smarter than I gave you credit for.” Then he leans in, his lips just barely brushing the shell of her ear, and his voice goes low, smooth, as sensual as the slide of silk over bare skin. “Besides, contrary to what your mind is thinking, your body knows…there are much more interesting things I’d like to use my mouth for than simply sucking your blood.” 

He pulls away and shifts around her, before turning to walk backwards to give her a cheeky grin as if she were not currently losing her mind in a sudden arousal she’s not sure how to handle. “Or at least, in addition to. Sleep tight, darling,” he calls teasingly, before sauntering back to his tent. 

But as he dries off his legs and sits down for his evening’s rest, his mind is filled with thoughts of just how surprising his new companion is…

…and how uncomfortable it is to be read so easily. 

[zergula]

Welcome To Sims3City!

They say if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere! Celebrities can be found wandering the shops and giving impromptu performances all over Sims3City. There's live show venues everywhere and it's easy to see why they say this city runs on dreams yet never sleeps!

I found this absolutely gorgeous map: Waterfall Beauty and just had to use it to make my own city world save! This map did come with lots already designated so I filled it up with the best townhouses, apartments, and city life buildings I could find or make to make my own version of a mashup of Starlight Shores and Bridgeport.

INTERESTING CHARACTERS

Every sim comes to Sims3City to make it big! With a performance venue on nearly every corner, you're sure to see:

The Warflowers - These twins started a band and pulled some of their reluctant friends into it. They know once they got here to The City, they would make it!

Chloe and Bob Katt - always on the hustle to make people believe in magic again!

The Myth family is here, of course, living in the spookiest house!

Mirage Sable always seems able to make everyone else's wishes come true, hoping one day her only one will, too!

Candice and Arthur finally made it to The City when Candice got her book deal. Arthur is hoping to make it into the celebrity chef business...with a little help from his friend and now roommate, Derek. This new relationship has a lot of challenges being thrown its way, but this couple is determined to make it here and everywhere!

The Vireowing Fairy Sisters not only have beautiful voices, they love to bestow inner and outer beauty on all of those around them. That's perfect in a city that values beauty!

As with anywhere, crime can be overwhelming in the city but H & H Private detective family, Harmony and Henry, are on the case!

Lots of sims from Starlight Shores and Bridgeport are here: The Drama On TV household, the Crash Pad household, the Atkins Household, the Elson Family, the Sagar Family, the Platt Family, the Hemlock, Schlick and Slayer families, the Belle family, the Art Central household, and the Whitfield family.

AROUND TOWN

38 Community lots

74 Residential lots

This city is ALIVE! Along with all EA rabbitholes, you will find:

CHIPS Casino - a big show venue where you can see the greatest performers and play all games

Across the street, you will find another live show venue - The Locker -

where you can see more live performances. After that, dance the night away at Bubbleworks -

and keep the party going with the late night crew over at The Afterlife Vampire Lounge!

Don't worry about ghosts, though. A recreation of the firestation from the movie, Ghostbusters, is right next door so we ain't afraid of no ghosts! Next to that firestation and hospital emergency center, you will find the Anachronistic Art Gallery and City Hall rabbithole, with some mysterious things to explore in the basement!

In the more affluent area of the city is where you will find the Affluence Golf Club rec park and Tee Off! Sports Bar and Grill -

and some sweet treats at The Big Cheese bakery and shops!

In the center of town, you will find lots of fun for the kids at The Wise Owl Library next to the Aquarium Science Center and the Bright Beginnings Daycare and School center -

Stop by and get some sweet treats at The Plaza Ice Cream Parlor

and then get rid of all of that excess energy at the Big Rock Climbing Centre Gym or The Pac Man Public Pool next to the stadium rabbithole!

Don't forget to visit the Surf's Up Wave Garden at the beach right across the street or the seasonal festival grounds!

Downtown, you can get those extra strings at the DownTown Music Store, play some games at the Laserberry Arcade, and then head over to the Stardust Diner for some drinks and good times!

If you go at certain times of the day to catch a movie at Serena's Community Cinema, you might be able to see some of today's biggest stars working on set! You can pick up whatever you need at the big Sims 3 Market nearby and marvel at all of the old historical residential buildings before you head over to the Double Rainbow Disco Club for more dancing!

For those sims with a more exclusive taste, Club 112 in the historical section is the perfect lounge!

There's The Remaude Coffee Emporium Coffeehouse and Elixir Of Life Coffeehouse and shops for more live venues and fun in Sims3City!

After all of that excitement, the city folks like to visit the Stone Troll Mill Fishing Pond to unwind and maybe catch some dinner if they're lucky!

MORE INFO

This is a world save file. You will need to have the world installed in order to play the save file. In this download, you will find 3 save files and the world file:

Sims3CityCommunityLots - this version of the save is only the community lots

Sims3CityUnpopulated - this is the final version of the save without households

Sims3CityPopulated - this is the final version on the save with all households

I have all expansions, stuff packs, and store content so most of it is probably used in this save. If you do not have the item, the game should generate a similar item. The only expansion not used is PETS so I do not know how this save will run with pets, my apologies. THERE IS ZERO CUSTOM CONTENT IN THIS SAVE. All lots are set as regular lots (not apartments) so if you want to change them for roommates, etc feel free! I hope you enjoy this save as much as I am! Please tag me @zergula or #Sims3City if you share any photos, I would love to see them!

Please check out my other world saves here:

River Falls

Simarellen

Kaodina

Lunestia

Happy simming and green plumbobs for all <3

SIMSFILESHAREDOWNLOAD

[cthulhusstepmom]

What Is and What Could Be

Down in the bayou it’s never silent. The air is filled with the shrill calls of a million marsh birds, underscored by the harmonies of cicadas, crickets, and whining mosquitos. With a tempo set by croaking bullfrogs and sluggishly churning water, urged along by hooting owls and supported by the bass tones of bellowing gators. The song of the swamp is a busy tune, not unlike the brassy jazz played by those that live there. And if you know how to listen just right, it can tell you no shortage of things. 

In a warm and humid tavern a group of adventurers sits around a table, glancing furtively this way and that, squirming slightly under the judgemental stare of the more naturalized citizens. Things don’t often change in the bayou, it’s a wild place, untamed. Civilization has tried to reach within before and without fail it’s been pushed back with prejudice, those that do live here are proud of it and somewhat by design they tend to be a rather insular folk. By and large this means they don’t take kindly to most strangers. Particularly strangers that show up asking questions .

And this crew had been asking plenty, beyond the glaring offense of very clearly not being from around this neck of the woods. 

They rolled into town a few days ago, talking like Galticans or similar enough to them, and by the look in their eyes: running from who knows what. They found rooms at one of the nicer inns, kept to themselves and tipped decent enough(it takes more than that to ingratiate yourselves to the folk of Agwé) before they started asking things. Innocuous at first. They wanted to know about the circus going on just out of town, who the mayor was(useless question) and who was really in charge(that one earned them some begrudging respect). Then they dug deeper, asked about other people. Powerful people. People who are none too fond of having their business nosed about. 

However, if there’s one thing the people of Agwé like more than being stalwartly unhelpful to those they dislike, it’s watching someone else be stalwartly unhelpful and commentating on it over Sunday brunch and mimosas. 

“I’ll tell you what, you go on over to that carnival a ways outta town and I reckon you’ll find who you’re looking for.” A greasy tabaxi offers between wiping tables, battered tail flicking back and forth with a hard to determine emotion. “I wouldn’t dawdle if I were you, it won’t be in town much longer.” The Tabaxi returns to his business with a glinting smile and a few gold pieces that were well worth the trouble. If city slickers wanna go poking beehives it’s not his business to stop them, especially if he’s compensated for handing them the stick. 

The carnival itself is in full swing when they arrive, flashing lights and smells both sweet and savory assaulting their senses from the get go. The operation is staffed by a motley crew of goblinoids, bullywugs, humans, kobolds, and anything else one could reasonably imagine; in the corner of her vision, the half elven leader of the group of adventurers even catches sight of what look to be a few pixies working the crowd though the tide of patrons sways and they’re obscured before she can be fully certain. 

Games line the thoroughfare all of which, from the looks of a surreptitious investigation, appear to be thoroughly if subtly rigged. Arching above the sea of people is an impressive ferris wheel, bedazzled with twinkling magical lights as it turns and turns. Near it, a calliope booms a cheery tune over the sounds of hawking carnival workers, screaming children, and laughing patrons. A map near the entrance advertises a hall of mirrors, a freak show, and hourly performances in the red and white striped big top including a magic show, fire dancing, beast taming, and a spectacle led by the carnival owner at noon and midnight. Perusing through the carnival, wandering and wondering just how they’re meant to find anyone here let alone the one man they seek, the party save one(a dragonborn with a hand harp strapped to his side) seems oblivious to an odd quirk of this particular carnival. There doesn’t seem to be any clowns.

Their hotheaded gnome companion is easily egged into a game of strength(taunted all the while by a colorful lizardfolk wearing the symbol of the carnival), black eyes glitter with excitement as their minotaur begs to go to the big top to see the beasts in the next show as the small pseudodragon on his shoulder makes similar pleading motions, a disinterested rabbitfolk quickly snatches her hands away from a passing purse under the stern reprimand of an androgynous human with subtly glowing eyes. They come to the conclusion that they should split, agreeing that they will meet at the big top in an hour for the Spectacular, all concluding that should be their best chance to get an audience with who they seek. 

As they go their separate ways(one pair to the big top, one pair to the freak show, one making her way down the alley of carnival games and the last picking his way towards the concessions) the party is pulled into the atmosphere of merriment and none of them perceive the very distinct feeling of predatory eyes locked on their every move.

The party never gets a chance to reconvene at the big top. 

Instead, throughout the hour each one meets a disparate misfortune. The half elven woman drops to her knees at the edge of the thoroughfare, clutching her head in pain as the hand reaching for a holy symbol falls limp.

Behind her, the human spins about in panic, muttering a few infernal words before a hand is clamped over their mouth and ether slowly calms their struggling limbs. 

At a dart game, the dragonborn reaches to claim his prize and suddenly finds himself somewhere else entirely with only a moment to scream before his mind is enveloped in darkness and he falls to the ground fast asleep. 

In the large circus tent, the harengon thief is escorted away from her thoroughly distracted friend by a mysterious tabaxi claiming to be security, receiving a sharp blow to the temple as they walk towards a ‘holding cell’. 

Within the hall of mirrors, a black and orange hand reaches forth and yanks the furs worn by the gnome; sending her careening through the glass-turned-portal. 

Last to go is the minotaur. Enamored by the performance, he couldn’t pass up a chance to speak with the beastmaster of the carnival: an old goblin with an easy smile and a worn wooden ocarina. The only moment of warning he had was a deep hoot behind him before the world went dark.

Some indeterminate time later the human is wrenched from unconsciousness by a familiar, if perpetually jarring, voice shouting within their mind. In swift order they endeavor to wake the others, attempting to take stock of the situation. Their surroundings are dark, what little light is present struggles to illuminate anything through heavy curtains drawn over wide windows. Beneath them is an opulent rug, the color of which is hard to discern in the low light, and under that are tight wooden floorboards that match the walls of this space. What they can see of the walls anyway; most of the space is taken by lavish hangings and shelves of kick knacks, the one closest to them holds a beat up silver cigarette case, a small wooden figure of a two headed vulture, a clockwork dragonfly, a crocheted doily, a hip flask, and a vial that looks to house a small lily pad floating in water amongst a few other things. The air is thick with the scent of quality tobacco and warm food and the ambience it creates might even be homey and welcoming in the right circumstances. Though now, tied securely to chairs with no idea how they got there, it seems rather daunting. 

Spatially, the room is quite large. Wide enough for six chairs with displeased adventurers to be lined up side by side with a foot or so of walking room on one side. It’s longer than it is wide, maybe twice over though it’s hard to tell; the windows are positioned opposite each other in the very center of each wall, what light that escapes the curtains quickly stifles in almost absolute darkness before it reveals any sign of a far wall, at least to disadvantaged human eyes. What does catch their gaze and take their breath away are a pair of glowing dull magenta dots in the darkness. No, that’s not quite right. Not dots. Eyes . 

From the gasps coming from their left and right, some of the human’s more visually attuned party members have also perceived the eyes, and most likely the creature attached to them, whatever horrific beast it may be. 

Soon after they discover their predicament, the air is filled with the muffled noises of the carnivalé outside and underneath the muted cacophony the occasional grunt over a chorus of heavy breathing(the Thing on the other end of the room doesn’t move a single muscle, doesn’t even seem to breathe), a sliver of light falls upon the interior of the wagon. 

Creaaaaaaak. 

A door on the far side of the wagon opens. 

It takes a moment for the adventurers to get their bearing in the new light, when they do they first notice the creature connected to those dully shining eyes. 

A large bugbear stands against the far wall. He stands tall, the tips of his bat-like ears almost brushing the ceiling, limbs corded with lithe muscle, and a severe bearing that hints at confidence and ferocity. Running over his arms and up under his sleeves are large spots devoid of any of the dense brown fur that covers the rest of him, a closer look reveals thick rings of angry scar tissue, long healed but clearly agonizing once.

As the bugbear moves away from the opening door he reveals these new variables to their unfortunate situation. 

Stepping into the room with twin, thudding, clanks , a large fire genasi drags a pair of thick chains across the floor attached to weathered manacles that cover his forearms. The genasi is broad, with muscles that speak of hard labor and sheer physical power. His face is creased with deep laugh lines though the only smile on his lips at the moment is a malicious smirk as he reaches behind him to hold the door open. 

Lastly, a lizardfolk gentleman strolls through the door. He moves with the assured ease of a man who holds all the cards. Wearing a sharp purple suit, hand gripping the amethyst skull atop an ornate cane, the lizardfolk takes his time setting his top hat on a stand in the corner, breezing under the watchful eyes of the bugbear without a care for the sharp claws hovering near his snout. When he finally seats himself in a commanding armchair set front and center of the room, he casually fishes in his suit coat before withdrawing a sleek black cigarette holder and a cigarette from a mother of pearl case. It’s hardly in his hand for more than a second before the genasi at his shoulder provides a light at the tip of his finger before leaning with crossed arms on the back of the chair. As his back makes contact with the leather, a spidery hand covered in fur proffers a crystal tumbler of dark alcohol. 

After a long, weighted silence and a luxurious draw from the cigarette, he speaks. 

“What a do friends …”

[thetomorrowshow]

knowing what the cards were

hi besties enjoy (or scream at me)

cw: past major character death (and mourning thereof), violence, blood

There's a pond in Rivendell, down the face of the mountain a little ways, right in the thick of the pine trees that grow all the way down the side. It's far enough away from the main city (and any outlying buildings) that likely few have ever even seen the pond, a place too insignificant to be worthy of any sort of attention. Despite this, the pond and its surrounding trees have always been a beautiful, peaceful location. The pond has only ever had the clearest water, carried down through a small stream from the melting snow of the high peaks.

Now, in the dark of night, water skimmers skate along the surface; a couple of frogs sit on rocks at the edge. Otherwise, there's no sign of life. No fish, no creatures poking through the trees to find a drink here.

The pond is a small, unseen place of tranquility, particularly at this before-sunrise hour, when even the owls are sleeping in their nests. The night is still, the forest silent, and the pond a dark reflection of all the unheard and unseen.

And Scott, sneaking out of his bedroom window like a guilty teenager, goes to it.

He had discovered the pond in his youth, a quiet hideaway from his brother and his parents and all their politics. He hadn't gone there frequently, only when everything really became too much and he had to get out before he exploded.

The pond had always had a calming effect, apart from the real world, a tiny piece of grace and solitude.

He chooses it now as the place not for its seclusion, nor its beauty, but for its lack of living creatures.

He doesn't know what's going to happen when he uses the artifacts.

Again, Alinar had been frustratingly vague on how to use the artifacts. There'd been something about magic, and something else about learning how the artifacts interact with him, so Scott hopes that using them before facing Xornoth in battle will be all right. He doesn't really understand what it means when it talks about interacting with him, but a test run never hurt anyone.

He already sent Gem the instructions (recipe? Scott really doesn't know a lot about magical terms) for the crystal that they need to trap Xornoth. She and Katherine are going to be working together on that, as far as he knows. Lizzie and Joel are occupied with the war. Pix has been out of contact for weeks. Pearl is maintaining neutrality. Shelby hasn't responded lately.

So it's up to Scott to execute the rest of the plan, not sure who he can even turn to for support in this. After all, only the Champion of Aeor can unite and use the artifacts to trap Xornoth in the crystal.

Scott lands carefully on the mossy ground beside the pond, wings drawing up behind him. The moon has disappeared beyond the mountain, but the sun hasn't yet begun to rise. Perfect time for experimental magic.

Scott pulls his Cod-woven bag off his shoulder and sets it down on the moss, leaning it against a small boulder, then slips off his soft shoes and sets them neatly beside it.

He doesn't much care for the feeling of damp moss under his socked toes, but a glance at the grass to his left tells him that it would be infinitely worse (and far more wet) to stand there.

Should he even be wearing socks when he puts the boots on? Will that ruin the . . . magical connection, or something?

Scott strips off his socks and stuffs them in his shoes, just in case. Then he unlatches his bag and pulls out the boots, which he sets atop the small boulder.

They glow, he realizes, the runes casting a very dim blue light over the leather and stone beneath. Scott stares at the glow for a moment, surely only bright enough to discern due to the almost non-existent light cast by the stars above, then reaches into his bag again, where his fingers meet the chilled gold rods of the antlers.

He withdraws the crown as well, sets it on the boulder. It glows as well, just the slightest bit, the gold clear against the dark background.

That's got to mean something. Maybe all ancient, godly artifacts glow like that.

There's really nothing else to wait for. At any moment, a servant could come knocking on his bedroom door, summoning him for matters of war, only to find him missing.

He should pray. Right? He is trying to get Aeor's attention, after all. 

Haltingly, Scott kneels in the grass, grimacing when he feels the knees of his black trousers instantly become soaked. He's not really any good at praying, but he can give it a shot.

"Um," Scott says awkwardly. What is it the priests always say? "O Aeor, God of us all and of those below, God of the mountains and . . . and of the snow, God of the day that conquers the night, God that now slumbers until the world is returned to thy light. Uh. . . ."

The introduction part feels clunky and must actually be more ornate than that, but Scott can't quite seem to bring it to his remembrance, even with however many years that he's been hearing it. It's good enough, though, and now he ought to continue—but the prayers differ after that, a thousand and two different ones for any situation. And Scott, after he recited the main forty for his religious tutoring, made no effort to keep them memorized nor learn any of the others.

"Aeor," he says after a few moments of deliberation, dropping all attempts at following a prayer, "if I truly am your chosen, consecrate these holy objects now in me. Show me . . . show me the way. Help—help me."

Did Alinar ever kneel alone in a forest, praying for any help that his god would give? Did Alinar ever feel entirely inadequate for the job that he was faced with, for the mantle of Aeor's Champion?

Years ago, reading Alinar's tales, Scott would've laughed at such a thought. Alinar had been foreordained, had perfectly completed every task set for him. Never was there any doubt that the task at hand was beyond his reach.

But now that Scott's in the hero's story, he can't help but hope it's normal to feel like an utter failure. Normal to be scared. Normal to feel totally, utterly lost.

Scott stands, brushes off his knees, and pulls a boot on.

It fits perfectly, of course, his foot sliding into place with ease. He laces it up as tight as he can, the boot going a bit higher than halfway up his calf. The other is no different, though his fingers fumble on the white leather of the laces and it takes him a moment to get it pulled as tight as he wants it.

Okay. He has the boots on.

Next step.

Scott straightens, and with mounting anticipation and shaking hands, he lifts the crown of antlers onto his head.

He waits.

He doesn't . . . he doesn't feel any different, so far. Maybe . . . holier, maybe?

He flexes his toes in the boots. They aren't stiff at all, the leather well taken care of but fairly worn-in.

He tilts his head from side to side. The crown feels almost weightless, impeccably well-balanced. It isn't in any danger of slipping, either, set firmly on his head, fitting as perfectly as the boots do.

Now. How is he meant to test these out?

Scott takes a tentative step forward.

There's a sudden, crinkling-crackling sound from his feet—Scott looks down—

The edge of the pond is frozen.

There's frost under his toes. The edge of the pond is frozen.

There's absolutely no way.

He takes another step—more crackling, the ice spreads another foot down the pond.

Carefully, Scott puts some of his weight on the ice.

It holds. More spreads, even.

He puts both feet standing on the now half-frozen pond.

It doesn't even crack.

Ice magic, then. The boots have some sort of ice enchantment, likely written into the runes. That—maybe he's meant to freeze Xornoth? Freeze him, so that he can't get away from the whole crystal ordeal. Or maybe use the ice to freeze him to the crystal? 

And when thou hast the daemone at thy will, binde it to the cristyl.

That . . . that might be right. Right? It's probably more than normal ice, it's probably strange magical ice. Something that can bind.

Scott crosses to the middle of the pond. He's walking on water, practically. The pond is just freezing around him, making a large path for his next step before he's even raised his foot.

Jimmy would have found this so impressive. He would've stood on the shore and sputtered, mouth hanging open. Scott would've laughed, and held out his hand, and brought Jimmy out onto the ice to stand with him. And then, gazing at his perfect lover with his permanently-messy hair and his still-shocked expression, he would have kissed him.

And it's for Jimmy that Scott is going to end Xornoth.

He can't kill Xornoth, the book had told him that much. Their souls are connected, some sort of confusing reincarnation of spirits kind of thing that Scott doesn't really understand. He needs to bind him to the crystal in a ritual that he also doesn't understand, but if the boots have an ice enchantment to freeze Xornoth in place or attach him to the crystal, maybe the crown just gives him the magical authority to command Xornoth to go into the crystal? Or something like that?

Scott points at a sleepy-looking frog. "Don't move," he commands with all the power he can muster.

The frog doesn't move. But it probably wasn't planning on it, anyway.

And part of the intrinsic elvish magic that he already has is the strength of suggestion. If he tells someone not to move, really tells them, with power, chances are they won't move.

Will the crown just amplify that magic, then? Or will it make it literally impossible to break a command given, since the power comes from a god and not just a normal elf?

Well, at least he figured out what the boots do. He really ought to get back—he's already spent enough time away. A servant could have alerted the entire palace by now if they knocked to find him missing.

Scott heads back to shore and unlaces the boots, stepping out of them and into his own shoes (he doesn't bother with his socks right now, tucking them into his pocket). Then he puts the boots and the crown back in the bag, beside a small book that looks . . . unfamiliar.

When did he put a book in his bag? Especially one that looks so . . . ancient?

Frowning, Scott pulls it out and cracks it open.

The text isn't anything like what he's used to, blue lines thick and letters big, with no discernable spaces for words. It takes a moment of staring stupidly at the large letters before he has the sudden realization that this is a book in that form of Oceanic that he was meant to give Lizzie. He's already given her the book, but he remembers that it had a smaller book inside. It must've slipped out at some point.

He'll probably see her soon, right? War negotiations have constantly been taking him or one of his advisors to and fro, so surely there'll be someone to give it to her, if not him precisely.

So Scott puts it back in his bag amongst the artifacts and takes off, flying straight back to the palace and landing on his bedroom windowsill, crawling in.

Unnoticed, the touch of his fingers on the window frame leaves frost.

-

When Scott wakes up (blurry nightmares of chains and indistinct threats), he feels cold.

He must've left the window open. He's done that before, woken up to a little bit of snow on the windowsill after a late-night flight.

And his bed's been rather cold as of late, missing the heat of another body.

But when Scott opens his eyes, his favorite blue blanket is white.

He sits up, confused—and snow falls off of him in little showers, clumping onto his blanket in the creases.

Why is there—?

There's ice on his bedside table, just a thin layer of it. Snow on the bedknobs. Snow on the rug.

And the window is closed.

The low fire that's usually still a bed of hot coals in the mornings is emitting zero warmth, the coals black and cold. The lantern on his bedside table has gone out.

Scott throws his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the cascade of snow that falls to the floor. How did—what?

The boots.

Are they still active even when he isn't wearing them? But—had something changed when he put them on? Is there a way to turn them off?

Scott fumbles around his bedpost until he finds his bag hanging, from which he pulls out the boots and turns them over in his hands.

"Stop," he says, voice still heavy with sleep. "Just . . . don't."

Nothing changes. Did it work? Are the boots still freezing the room?

Nothing really looks like it's melting, but there isn't anything new in the room, either. Scott sets the boots aside (and they feel normal, they aren't covered in frost or anything) and stands up, stumping over to the fireplace on numb feet. He stokes the coals, trying to bring any bit of warmth back to the room, but there's absolutely nothing left to be brought back.

He doesn't keep a flint and steel in his room. Usually a servant cares for these kinds of things, but he doesn't want a servant in here to find his room frozen. How on Aeor's green earth would he explain that?

He has to have a flint and steel in his travel kit in the closet, right? Scott ducks into the closet, finds his travel kit thrown on the floor where he left it after the funeral. He picks it up, rummages through it for a moment. Sure enough, tucked into a part of the leather kit is a small flint and steel, right next to a small hunting knife and needle and thread. He pulls it out and heads back to the coals. He can do figure this out. No need to panic.

There's a little pile of logs by the fireplace, which he shakes the snow off of before tossing them in, hoping they aren't too damp or anything. That would be just his luck, the inability to light a fire in a frozen room.

Thankfully, they aren't too damp. It takes a couple of tries with his numb fingers to get the flint and steel to strike a spark, and another couple tries to get it to light, but it lights nonetheless.

Once the flame takes hold, the room immediately starts to feel a bit warmer, and Scott shudders as his fingers start to tingle with pins and needles. Right, that's taken care of. Maybe now he won't freeze to death.

And then he remembers that there's quite a bit of ice and snow in his room, which will all be melting shortly.

That might be even worse than all the ice, and it's with a panicked hurriedness that Scott starts scooping up the snow in his bare hands and running it to the window to toss it out. He gets a good bit of it (at some point he lifts his blanket off his bed and just shakes it out the window) out, but it's already starting to melt and he can barely feel his fingers and the rug squishes under his feet—

Knock-knock-knock.

Scott curses, wipes his hands off on his dressing robe, and has his hand on the doorknob before he realizes he isn't wearing his veil. He curses again, doubles back to his closet. He doesn't have time to pin the whole thing on, he doesn't have time for any of his—

Scott pulls a veil on over his head and doesn't even bother with any of the pins and ties. It's a long one, meant for trips out, but he just adusts it until his eyes are in the eye-slit and hopes that he doesn't have any hair sticking out.

Then he can get back to the door (he trips over the trailing veil, it wouldn't be long enough to trip over if he'd tied and pinned it properly) and crack it open, sticking his head out.

Surprisingly, he finds not a servant, but Galidre, a junior member of his council. Galidre bows, black robes sweeping the floor.

"Your majesty," they say, straightening. "A representative of the Undergrove is here to speak with you."

"Shubble?" Scott asks, a little bewildered. What does she need?

"Not—not the ruler herself, but an ambassador. I believe they are requesting sanctuary, Milord."

Sanctuary?

That doesn't make any sense. The Grimlands haven't really mobilized anything concrete yet, and as far as Scott was last aware, Mythland and the Lost Empire were both still attacking the Ocean Kingdom.

But Scott doesn't ask questions. He just withdraws and gets dressed (properly pinning his veil this time), then grabs all the towels from the washroom and lays them on his bedroom floor to try and soak up some of the water. Hopefully nobody comes in to clean his room or gather his laundry while he's out.

Last of all, he steps into his very normal boots, pulls on his black gloves, and sets his crown atop his veil.

Perfect. He looks the pinnacle of 'king-mourning-his-fiance', no doubt about it.

He misses Jimmy.

And just as Galidre had suggested, in the meeting with the representative of the Undergrove, Shubble's people are looking for sanctuary.

"There's so few of us, your majesty," the gnome implores, twisting his mushroom hat between his hands. "Less than eight thousand at our last count. We do not ask for you to provide for us, but if we could come to just the foothills of your lands, someplace safe for our children, we promise all able gnomes will serve in your armies."

That isn't asking much. It's asking far less than Scott would have asked, had the situation been reversed, and Scott's bruised heart aches at the humble plea. Can he even bear to turn them away?

"I will . . . I will discuss this matter with my council," Scott tells him, glancing between Galidre and Aphoras, the two advisors present. "I don't wish for any to be harmed while it is in my power to stop it."

If Shubble's worried, it means fWhip is getting ready to attack. Or maybe that Sausage and Joey are leaving their battle, hoping to strike Scott in his complacency. Something's happening soon, and the Undergrove cannot protect itself.

He doesn't want to uproot the gnomes from their new home. The gnomes had appeared in his childhood, three or four thousand of them moving from some unknown, conquered land to take up residence in their own small corner of the world. They've nurtured and cultivated that corner, built a city and begun farms and families, until it became what it is—a lovely little civilization beginning to thrive. To take that away from them would be cruel.

But he has to do it. To save them the destruction of their entire culture, he has to pull the gnomes away from everything they have.

He could make the decision here and now. His mind is already made up, he won't need to discuss this with his council.

But as the gnome hops down from his too-big chair, bowing deeply, Scott knows that there's another way.

He has to end the war.

-

Ending a war is easier said than done. For one, Scott still doesn't really know how to use the artifacts. The crown remains stubbornly unforthcoming with what its use might be, and the boots. . . . Well, the boots don't stop. The next morning when he wakes up, his room is frozen again—and the morning after that. Scott stops bothering to melt it and just pins a 'do not disturb' sign on the door, before moving to sleep in Jimmy's almost-untouched bedroom. That one freezes, too, as well as the sitting room, and Scott gives up on trying to stop the boots from freezing things and just piles blankets onto his bed and puts pans of hot coals in between the sheets for when he needs to sleep. Otherwise, he just stays out of his room and pretends like it isn't covered in ice.

(He doesn't notice, but frost spreads under his desk, and his untouched cups of tea ice over, and every tear he cries freezes on his face.)

(Others notice, though. Ilphas stares when a wave of Scott's hand sends a streak of frost along a wall; a servant cleans his office and is bewildered by the ice everywhere; the eldest of the palace begin whispering rumors of Aeor's Champion, remembering the old songs.)

For another, Scott doesn't really know how or where to meet Xornoth to defeat him. Does he just go outside? Call his brother's name? Hope the demon shows up, despite the wards around Rivendell preventing his entrance?

He really doesn't want to summon the demon. Somehow, that seems like a poor idea. Some part of Scott is certain that demons have the most power right as they've been summoned, and whether that's true or not Scott doesn't want to test. And he'd absolutely rather not have Xornoth in Rivendell.

The only thing he can think to do is meet Sausage's armies at . . . well, at the border of Mythland. It would be a bold show of support for the Ocean Kingdom—he would have either to march his army through Mezelea or sail across the ocean to reach Mythland. It should only be a move to make if he's certain that he's ready to fully enter the war, or if he's certain that Xornoth will be there.

And suddenly it doesn't really matter, because three days after the ambassador from the Undergrove arrives, he receives communication that fWhip has set out for Rivendell, thousands of soldiers at his command.

His hand is forced. Scott sends Gem a quick message, asking if she's been able to create the crystal. When she responds by gushing excitedly about the properties, he tells her to meet him at No Man's Pass, on the far East border of Rivendell.

It only takes two days to mobilize the advance party of his army, prepared as he has been to enter the war. He can but hope (and dread) that Xornoth will be there.

So Scott swallows down his anxieties about not being able to figure out the artifacts (and he really has tried, but he's only had them for a little over a week), swings the Codmade bag with both of them inside over his shoulder, and rides out to meet Xornoth.

With any luck, Aeor will guide.

-

It's a cold morning when Scott steps out of his tent, ready to treaty with fWhip.

Their armies had met the day prior, and both of their generals had agreed to a meeting between leaders to see if they couldn't come to an arrangement of some sort. So Scott steps out, dressed in his most moveable mourning clothes (a short veil tight enough to be almost a scarf around his face and head, a hood pulled over that, billowy black trousers and a belted tunic with an open-front surcoat) and the Boots of Alinar on his feet, the Crown of Alinar a conscious weight in the Codmade bag at his side.

And when he enters the treaty tent, set on a cliff overlooking a rushing river in the shadow of one of Rivendell's mountains, with Ilphas at his side and two guards behind him, there are more people in the tent than he expected.

fWhip he notices first, dressed in his usual black coat and scarf, standing between two guards of his own, elytra clicking idly. But next to him is Sausage (naturally Scott wants to kill him), and next to him is Joey.

Which is entirely unexpected, because as far as Scott is aware, neither of them brought their armies—or any sort of guard—with them. They must have flown over for this confrontation in particular, as if a war wasn't currently happening, as if their own soldiers aren't dying right now.

Scott can barely muster disgust past the fear (fear of what will happen, fear that it won't work, fear because these three men tortured him again and again and if all fails, he'll be at their mercy again).

Also present is Gem, wizard's staff in one hand, a leather bag swung over her shoulder, and Katherine, wings fluttering anxiously behind her.

"I'm here to keep the peace," Katherine says immediately. "I don't know why everyone else is here."

"I'm here because Scott asked me to be," Gem pipes up.

"I'm here to see my Xorny," Joey says obnoxiously.

It's less the idea of Joey dating a demon and more the idea of Joey dating his brother that makes Scott want to vomit. Out of all the men in the world, he picked Xornoth? And out of all the men in the world, Joey is his potential brother-in-law?

Sausage shrugs in a way that makes Scott want to kill him. "I just wanted to see it all go down!" 

"Me too," a voice says behind Scott. Scott whips around—Joel's standing there, looking entirely unrepentant.

He was counting on the fact that there would be some factors within his control, such as who was present—he had only anticipated himself and fWhip and Xornoth.

"All right, this is far too many emperors in one tent," declares Scott. His feathers are standing on end, all of his nerves jangling. This isn't good. Something is going to go sour here. Especially adding Joel to the mix. Joel is hotheaded at the best of times—in the middle of a war, in a tent with the enemy? Scott doesn't trust him to keep cool.

Scott almost doesn't trust himself to keep cool.

"It's like a House Blossom meeting all over again," Sausage says, voice cheery in a way that makes Scott want to stab him through the heart.

"Hey, I'm just here—"

"This does concern me, after all, it's about—"

"Well if it concerns you, then it concerns—"

"—for everyone, so they—"

"—is that Lizzie said that—"

"My lords and ladies, your presence is acknowledged and appreciated," Ilphas steps forward, checking over their shoulder at Scott. Scott nods his go-ahead—he's never been so grateful to have political, stuffy advisors who know how to be polite.

"This is, however, a meeting between Lord Smajor and Count fWhip, and as such, no other rulers are permitted to be in the tent during the meeting."

"Aw, come on!" Sausage whines. If Scott could kill him without breaking a million laws right now. . . .

But they all clear out, even as Joel walks backward, glaring hard at fWhip.

And Scott is left alone with the man (and their combined guards and Ilphas).

fWhip nods toward the table and two chairs that have been set up in the middle of the tent, a clearly-just-unrolled red rug underneath them.

Scott waits. He doesn't plan on implying that he's at fWhip's command.

After a long moment, fWhip shrugs and sits.

It's the little things.

After waiting a sufficient amount of time to establish that he is the one running this conversation, thank you very much, Scott sits across from him.

He's about to speak. He's about to open his mouth and demand a conference with Xornoth. He's about to end this war.

But fWhip leans forward, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I heard it wasn't exactly quick," he says lowly, and Scott has a moment of confusion—quick? what wasn't quick?—before fWhip continues.

"Not as long as Xornoth was gonna make it, of course," he says, eyes fixed on Scott (and goosebumps spontaneously appear all over Scott's body as he flashes back to those six days in captivity). "If Xornoth got your little fish boy, he was gonna make it long. I heard some of his plans—something about making you watch as he slowly skinned him—?"

Before he even knows what he's doing, Scott's on his feet, hand dragging fWhip up by his collar, pulling him halfway across the table as the man lets out a surprised, choked noise.

"Milord," says Ilphas sharply, tugging on the back of Scott's robe.

Scott shoves fWhip back in his chair (which rocks onto its back legs from the force), hands shaking—whole body shaking, trembling with something like the grief-stricken rage Lizzie had shown at Jimmy's funeral. He—just to casually—casually mention torturing his dead fiance and—and Scott knows he's doing it on purpose, he knows it's to get a rise out of him, and he finds that he just doesn't care.

fWhip's guards step forward, though, weapons raised, and with Ilphas firmly pushing down on his shoulders, Scott sits back down, his gloved hands balled into fists.

He isn't going to stand for this. He isn't going to let fWhip sit there and just speak such filth about his beloved.

But he can't do anything. Not yet.

It gives him a bit of satisfaction to see fWhip ruffled, collar upturned and hair out of place. But fWhip just fixes a stupidly smug look on his face and crosses his arms.

"Scott, we both know you can't threaten me anymore," he chuckles. "Not since I beat you, whipped you, branded you with my own signet . . . there's absolutely nothing about you that I find scary. You've literally begged me for mercy way too many times for that, my friend."

Scott forces himself to breathe deeply, let his fists relax, even as the faded whipping scars on his back twinge in memory. He has to—he has to get control of himself, he has to conduct this in a kingly manner. It doesn't matter that he was tortured by this man, it doesn't matter that his fiance died mere weeks ago (over a month ago, his mind supplies, it's been over a month and the world has somehow gone on), it doesn't matter that he's only a hundred and nine, for Aeor's sake, he is a king and he has to act like one.

"We are here—" he starts, but fWhip interrupts.

"Xornoth only wants one thing. Well," he laughs a little, "a couple of things. World domination is pretty high on his priority list. But he wants you to give up the god, Scott. He already knows you're Aeor's Champion or whatever that is, so you are his best chance at finding the other one. After all, you've got a very rare direct connection to a god yourself!"

That . . . that doesn't make any sense.

The other one? Aeor is the only god that Scott knows of that happens to be living (other than Exor, who Xornoth is already irrevocably bound to). Are there others alive? Others that he's somehow meant to know about?

It doesn't really matter, Scott supposes. He's here to end this war and that's allowed.

"That subject is not the purpose of this meeting," Scott says stiffly, ignoring the chill that runs down his spine at those words that he'd heard so many times in his nightmares. "The purpose—"

"Yeah, yeah, you want me to not bring the war to you or something, trying to convince me to leave your people alone," fWhip waves. "Your people mean nothing to me. I'll kill them if you make me, but if you don't want me to do that, I have a couple of terms. So—"

"That is not what I intended to discuss," Scott says icily, smoothing out a wrinkle in his tunic.

fWhip raises an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Then what?"

Scott leans a bit closer, all of his instincts screaming for him to move further away. "I am here to demand a meeting with Xornoth," he says, forcing every ounce of cold anger that he feels into his words. "He has tormented these lands for long enough. My business is with him and him alone."

fWhip scoffs. "If you've got business with him, you've got it with me," he says. "So, go on. Say your piece."

You know what? Sure. Scott doesn't mind killing two of his tormentors in one go. First fWhip, then Xornoth. He can absolutely do that.

But Ilphas's hand falls on his shoulder, as if they know exactly what he's thinking of. It would be very, very bad politically to kill fWhip right here and now.

"You misunderstand me," Scott says, and his stomach flips because this is it, it's time to save the world and he doesn't know if he has the strength to do it, and he doesn't let his voice waver but he does let his breath catch— "I mean to kill him."

fWhip bursts out laughing. "Sorry—are you serious? You kill Xornoth? Like, I admire the initiative, but you're the weakest person I know! At least, the weakest living person."

Scott ignores the jab at Jimmy, as disgusting as it is. He just settles back in his chair, crosses his legs.

Eventually, fWhip stops laughing, and his cheerful demeanor drops into a glare alarmingly quickly, quickly enough that it unsettles Scott more than anything fWhip's said so far.

"Your funeral, Smajor," he says darkly. "It'll be nice to get you out of the way."

The lamp on the table goes out, bathing them in a cool dimness.

Scott's heart leaps into his throat.

He doesn't dare breathe in the sudden stillness.

The lamp flickers back to life, the once-yellow flame now a deep red.

The tent, which had been almost frigid for some reason, rapidly begins to heat to an unbearable temperature. Sweat breaks out on Scott's forehead, rolling down his back, dripping down his cheek. It's like he stepped into the Nether, hot enough that his head starts to feel dizzy and his stomach unsteady.

The table begins to rattle, quiet at first, then faster and faster and louder and louder. The ground begins to shake, actually, rumbling and trembling, and the tent walls are flapping in a sudden roaring wins and Scott knows he's coming he knows he's here—

The tent pulls free of the stakes and completely flies apart, the red light spilling outward over the darkening plain, much further than a lantern's light ought to go. Scott shoves back his chair and stands, surcoat whipping around him, searching the skies for any sign of his brother.

Scott's never really seen the demon up close. He's briefly seen him (outside of their youth) twice. Once was from a distance in the End, Xornoth standing atop a tower to watch the battle to save the dragon. The other time was just a brief encounter, Xornoth appearing behind him while visiting the Overgrown close to a year ago, seemingly to do nothing but spook him.

And now, as Xornoth appears before him, Scott loses sight of all his anger. He can't feel anything but cold fear.

Again, Scott's never really seen the demon up close. And as he stares now, feet rooted to the ground, he doesn't see a single sign of the brother he once knew.

Xornoth, like Scott, is dressed all in black, but where Scott's mourning clothing is carefully fashioned and clean, Xornoth's black robes are torn, his dark armor unshined and grimy. His feet are shod with armored boots, his hands with leather gloves, and upon his head is what could either be a literal pair of black antlers or the red-streaked crown of Exor's Champion, a crude mockery of the one hanging at Scott's side.

His face is distorted, blackened, eyes bulbous and entirely maroon, mouth far too large and cutting jaggedly into his cheeks. His ears are still somewhat elvish, poking through his straggly black hair (which had always been purple as a child), which trails down his shoulders and chest.

Whatever that demon is, Scott can barely picture his brother in its place.

Yet it is his brother, here and now, and Xornoth is standing atop a boulder on the edge of the cliff, dark veins of red spreading out from it through the earth, cracking apart stone and solid dirt. Soldiers and rulers that had been milling about leap back, weapons raised.

And echoing through Scott's head and bones and the stifling air around him is a voice that hasn't haunted him in decades.

"Well, brother," Xornoth says, their blackened lips stretching inhumanly, pointed teeth bared. "You think you can destroy me?"

Scott's really starting to think he can't. The very air is thick with the stench of brimstone, so much so that members of his army are doubled over coughing, and the wind is howling and the skies are dark and there's maroon smoke rising from the ground and Scott can't breathe, he's choking on his own air and he doesn't even know what he's supposed to do—

But he doesn't fall to his knees, even as Katherine does beside him. He doesn't cover his ears and squint his eyes shut, like Joel does.

Instead, he fumbles open his bag and pulls out the Crown of Antlers, which he trades out for the crown on his head.

And Xornoth's smile falters.

His gaze travels down, down to Scott's feet.

Scott taps a booted toe against the ground.

"That's right," Scott calls out, above the whistling of the furnace-like wind and the coughing of the soldiers. "I have the artifacts. I'm going to bind you and your master, never to return again."

Almost as if caused by his words, spoken with a conviction that he forces himself to feel, the wind changes directions. The sweat on Scott's back freezes. fWhip, mere steps away from Scott, coughs, his breath appearing before him in a puff of smoke.

"You don't know how to use those," Xornoth sneers, but despite the years it's been since they last spoke, despite how unrecognizable he truly is, Scott knows his brother. He knows that when his voice becomes harshest is at his moments of uncertainty, determined to command his way out of any problem.

That means he's scared. He knows what Scott can do to him.

(Even if Scott doesn't know it himself.)

"Gem," he calls over his shoulder, and within moments she's at his side. "I'll need you to hold the crystal while I bind him, all right?" he says, quieter.

She nods, reaches into her sleek leather satchel and pulls out a huge, clear crystal, bigger than Scott's own hand. It shimmers slightly, gold specks scattered throughout that somehow shine with the sun hidden by the dark grey skies. She hefts it up, mouth in a grim line.

Scott nods back to her, then takes a step forward, one arm up to shield his eyes as the wind and heat get stronger the nearer he gets to Xornoth. Another step. Another.

There's a crack in the air, deafeningly loud, and Scott only has a moment to register that Xornoth has vanished in a cloud of black smoke before a literal tentacle bursts out of the stoney ground right in front of him, sending chunks of rock flying, and wraps around Scott's middle.

It lifts him into the air, a sizzling sound and uncomfortable heat against his body and wings telling him that it's burning through his clothes and feathers, and Scott struggles against it to try and pull his wings free but it's holding tightly to him, raising him higher and higher into the air—

And then it stops.

Ice is gathering where Scott's fists have been beating against the tentacle, gathering and spreading down, and though it melts almost instantly it simply reforms, until the tentacle begins to slowly recede into the ground.

Scott stumbles out of its grasp and onto blessed solid ground (he loves being in the air but not like that), and Xornoth himself appears right in front of him.

The demon moves, arm reaching out, mouth stretching open, Scott's arms fly up to shield his face—

"Stop," Scott gasps blindly, putting as much compulsion as he can into the one word, even though he doesn't even know what he's commanding Xornoth to stop doing.

The wind calms to almost nothing. Ice crackles across the ground. The air becomes frigid, though the terrible smell still lingers.

Scott lets his arms lower from blocking his vision, terrified of what he might find. Dear Aeor, his legs are utterly trembling, but he doesn't have the time to collapse.

And he finds that Xornoth is standing motionless before him, face twisted in rage.

"Gem," Scott says, voice too loud for the sudden silence, heart pounding in his ears. "The crystal—Gem, now—"

Gem hurries forward, holds it out, and Scott musters everything he has in him and commands, making the words up as he goes, "Xornoth, Exor, and those demons within you, I bind you by the power of Aeor to this crystal, never to be free from it again."

He waits, breath tight in his chest.

Nothing happens. Xornoth glances down, eyes catching on Scott's waist, and chuckles.

"I bind you!" Scott says again. This has to work. He has the crown, he has the boots, he has the crystal, this should be working—

He shoves all the imagined power he can through the air, as if to push Xornoth bodily into the crystal, this has to work he's getting desperate—

He's knocked backward with a sudden force, a blast of frost and ice coming from his own body, and Scott hits the ground and rolls through the dust, bumping his elbows and knees and hips, his veil getting caught under him and tearing down off his face.

He lays there for a moment—he can't afford a moment, but he can't breathe—and when he gets up, pushing himself up on his gloved hands, he sees—

Xornoth is frozen, a giant block of ice encasing him. The crystal is on the ground, twinkling under a blanket of frost.

And Gem is on the ground too, slumped as if dead, hair white as snow.

No—no—

"What'd you do to my sister!" fWhip shouts, rushing forward to Gem. He kneels down beside her, pulls her into his lap, starts shaking her.

Scott struggles to his knees, tugs off his torn gloves with shaking hands. He didn't—he didn't mean to hurt anyone, he didn't mean to hit Gem—he doesn't know what he's doing, he was just trying to fix everything but he doesn't know how and he doesn't know what to do—Aeor, please—

He stumbles up, the lace of one boot getting caught under his foot and coming entirely undone.

Ice is everywhere. Great chunks of it around the plateau, coating every bit of ground in a sheet, the one tree growing in the tough dirt entirely uprooted and frozen.

Those members of his and fWhip's armies that are closest to the treaty grounds are dusting frost from their uniforms, some of them picking themselves up from the ground where the force of the blast had knocked them.

He didn't know the boots could do this. He didn't want to do this. He didn't mean for this to happen, he didn't want this to happen—

"You—!"

And before Scott can even really process everything, fWhip is barreling into him, sending him right back to the ground with an "oof".

"I'm gonna—" fWhip starts, straddling Scott's stomach, eyes wild and face red with anger, but a CRACK! that shoots through the air gives him pause.

Everyone, slowly, trancelike, turns to where the frozen Xornoth remains, and the large crack that's splintering down the ice encasing him.

With strength that must come from Aeor himself, Scott shoves fWhip off (he ignores the way fWhip's jacket goes stiff with ice) and rolls to his feet, stumbling toward Xornoth, scooping up the crystal on his way.

And then he doesn't know what to do.

He holds up the crystal beside the frozen chunk of ice that holds Xornoth, willing it to do something, anything.

"I bind you," he chokes out, pressing the crystal through the crack and into Xormoth's chest. "Come on. . . . I bind you!"

The ice shatters from Xornoth with a wave of heat that blasts Scott back, knocking the crystal from his hand as he once again hits the ground hard on his back (all the breath is forced out of his lungs and it hurts) and slides a couple of feet, feathers turning the wrong way and getting torn out.

Scott scrambles to regain his bearings—he can't breathe and everything hurts—but before he can even get from more than a sitting position, a foul-smelling boot kicks him in the chin and his head snaps backward, sending him back down.

He opens watering eyes, blinking several times to clear their blurriness, arms splayed out at his sides. Xornoth stands over him, radiating heat, the dark clouds in the sky behind him seeming to swell.

"You think you can trap me in a little piece of glass?" Xornoth growls, and when Scott again tries to get up, pushing himself up with his arms against the gravelly ground, he again kicks him down, knocking his head against the stone.

No. No, he has to save them—he can hear people shouting, he can hear screams, he's Aeor's Champion, this isn't how the story is supposed to go—

Xornoth laughs, cruel and derisive, before bending down over Scott and gripping one gloved hand in the front of his tunic. He drags him up, up to standing, his tunic tearing just slightly.

Scott can barely even struggle. His body feels like jelly, wings hanging limply behind him, legs almost unable to support his own weight.

He tried. He tried so hard.

Xornoth's face is so close to his that Scott can smell his reeking breath, see how the points of his black teeth glisten with saliva, but he can't even find the strength to tip his head back, get away from him.

"Even your little fish boy fought harder than this," sneers Xornoth, only loud enough for Scott to hear, and Scott's heart breaks.

Jimmy.

He just wants Jimmy.

Somehow, if Jimmy had been here, it all would have been okay.

A tear slips down his bare face. Scott swallows back a sob, brings up his fumbling arms and weakly pushes at Xornoth's hand.

Ice spreads across his glove, and Xornoth hisses before throwing Scott down. He lands hard on his side, feels one of his ribs crack with a flash of white-hot pain, and he can't do anything but lie there and try to breath through it.

"I am Xornoth," the demon declares, voice echoing around the cliff, and the armies waiting on either side quiet, the only sound Xornoth's voice and the once-again rushing wind. "I am the ruler of this world. The so-called king of Rivendell tried to challenge me, and has failed. If any of you who followed him wish to feel my mercy, give up your arms now."

Scott knows his people. He knows that despite his youth, despite some unpopularity among older generations, his people care too much for him (for tradition, for his family) to renounce him.

And he can't let that happen. He's done for. He failed.

Rivendell needs to surrender.

Scott raises his head, just a little bit, some grit that had been stuck to his cheek falling to the stony ground, and looks around—there.

He catches Ilphas's eye—Ilphas, standing at the forefront of his army, their grey cloak slipping from their shoulder and hair out of place but their chin held high and stance dignified—and ignores the abject horror painting their face, then gives the tiniest, most minute nod.

They blink several times, and if Scott didn't know any better, he'd think they were crying. They nod in return, though, and turn away, calling instructions to surrender.

Xornoth nudges Scott with the toe of his boot. "This is your king," he spits. "And he is dead."

Before Scott can do anything, before he can so much as move, another maroon tentacle cracks out of the ground beside him, burning hot, and wraps around his legs.

It's all Scott can do not to scream—this tentacle is far hotter than the other, burning straight through his trousers to his skin, but before he can try to squirm away, it drags him up into the air upside-down and throws him.

Scott doesn't even have time to process the wind rushing through his ears before he slams into the ground, knocking his head against a rock in a way that makes his vision flash black and grainy and sends pain jolting through his entire head.

Xornoth stalks toward him, he sees, through blurry vision red with pain, he says something—something terrible and pulsing—Scott scrambles back, his palms bleeding against the rough texture of the cliff, he just has to survive he just has to survive—

Xornoth grabs him by the right wing, pulls him up as the delicate bone strains, Scott tries to even out his weight to his feet but he can't find his footing—

The bone in his wing snaps and Scott doesn't have the energy to scream, his breath releasing in a little gasp. No . . . no. . . .

He meets Xornoth's eyes, the world hazy.

There's no pity to be found in those dark pits. No mercy. Only satisfaction.

And Scott knows, right then and there, with a clarity that cuts through all the pain and haziness, that he's dying.

He failed.

He failed all of them.

And with a burst of hot power from Xornoth, Scott is once again flying through the air and then he's falling, down, down, the wind buffeting his back as he goes over the cliff, his right wing thrown uselessly this way and that as his left wing tries valiantly to save him but his weight is too much, and with a gross clunk and a white hot burst of pain, it slips out of the socket.

Before Scott can scream, before he can pray, before he can do anything but twist his body in the air to face nose down, he hits freezing water and blacks out.

The last thing he thinks, mind desperately spinning, is that at least he won't have to live so alone anymore.

-

His body aches, pulsing up and down, from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes, traveling up each limb and down each vein. Everything hurts, in ways that he can't quite understand.

The stag steps carefully through the forest, over gnarled tree roots and clumps of grass, each step rocking him from right to left.

Scott takes in a slow breath, body slumping further against the stag. The fingers of his right hand loosely grasp its hair, his left arm hanging at his side.

He just wants to fall asleep. He's so tired, and it all hurts so much that he can't even think. He just wants to sleep.

But he blinks slowly instead, watches as a squirrel skitters up the bark of a huge oak tree. A deer pokes its head out from behind a birch, its ears twitching curiously. Somewhere in the branches above, a chickadee sings its repeating song.

Scott lets his breath out in a long sigh. His body rolls with the slow trundle of the stag, jostling his various uncategorized wounds.

He swallows, throat dry.

Maybe he can sleep here. On the back of the stag. Let it carry him to wherever it intends to go.

He's so tired.

The ground below gets softer, bit by bit, the dirt becoming darker, the grass more frequent. The stag's hooves begin to leave impressions in the ground, the grass springing up after every step. A frog croaks from nearby, low and long. The leaves on the trees start hanging lower and lower, dripping down into puddles of murky water.

And then, the dirt now mud and squishing with every step, the stag stops.

Scott should see why it stopped. He should lift his pounding head, see what's before them, because surely if it's important enough to stop the stag he has to see what it is.

But he doesn't have the strength.

As his body is pushed, further and further—

After a long moment, the stag bends its neck, head dipping low in an arc, and Scott begins to slide forward, his fingers slipping from their limp grasp, his body leaving streaks of red in the brilliant white hair.

He slowly slides further, further, until he rolls between the stag's antlers, his tunic catching on a sharp antler and pulling a long tear down the side, before he slowly falls into a clear pool of water.

He sinks, red billowing up in the water around him—

Sinking, water filling his lungs, so much weighing him down and down—

Down and down, until his toes meet silty mud at the bottom.

He hangs there, in the water, letting it wash away his aches and pains and all the blood, and he sighs, bubbles spilling from his lips.

He's so tired.

A fish swims up to him—a cod—

Hands under his arms and pulling at his tunic, dragging him up onto a rocky shore scraping his back—

It noses at him, pokes him hard in the chest—

Pressing on his chest, harder and harder, again and again and it hurts—

And then swims up to between his eyes (it takes a moment to come back into focus) and stares at him, eyes large and somehow desperate.

And he sees, wavering in and out, desperate and beautiful brown eyes.

[whitherwordswither]

05: Wrapped Up For Your Dreams, Again

Old Town, one of my favorite districts in the whole city. I had a lot of fond memories here. From hanging out at the local pizzeria and brew pub, to wandering aimlessly along the waterfront. The cherry blossoms in spring, late drunken summer nights and questionable choices.

Today, the streets were empty. Abandoned. That should have been somewhat concerning, but the sun was sparkling in the sky and a nice breeze was drifting along. It wasn't my focal point, so it didn't come off as out of place at all. My attention was glued on the two sophonts I was walking with.

These were friends I hadn't seen in I don't know how many years. We were idly chatting about our thoughts on the latest animatronic body horror jazz club ghost inception movie, Hyperbole, while we made our way toward one of the city parks. That was where Rachel's new house was. In a tree. She was very excited to have the owls over for tea and board games. My other friend, also Rachel, said we should all form a book club and read Derrida.

I wasn't sure he had all the words to keep the water wheel turning.

It wasn't long before I found myself losing focus, the Rachels faces becoming blank and featureless as their words turned from coherent to muffled gibberish. The world slowed and my vision tunneled toward an alley up ahead. All manner of vegetation and vines crept around the sides of the buildings, spilling out in to the streets like a thick viscous sewage from an old drain pipe. Pink and purple flowers blossomed between large, leafy fronds. Thorns pierced concrete and asphalt. Time froze. Everything aside from myself and the plant growth turned lifeless and gray, a scene of cement statues. My friends crumbled to dust.

The city followed suit in a cacophony of screaming birds. The vines beckoned patiently despite the collapse and chaos. I raced ahead to greet them as the dream destabilized behind me. They seemed delighted as they reached out, wrapping around my wrists and ankles, my waist, lifting me up and pulling me in to the alleyway. A very large, voluptuous venus flytrap was growing out of a pile of nondescript rubbish. It opened its maw in a yawn as I was brought toward it. I felt no fear response. No panic rose with bile in the back of my throat when the gaping mouth closed around me. The trigger hairs on the inside of the plant's lobe tickled my exposed skin and… I happily let it swallow me whole.

My next moments were spent tumbling down a membranous sinkhole of darkness, walls of silk squeezing around me, pushing. Further. Deeper.

The world turned upside down and inside out. Scenes and places from dreams I had superb recollections of… and also ones that I had forgotten through the years spiraled around me. I felt the distinct impression that I needed to choose one. I reached a hand out and grasped at the first scene that called to me. Ironically enough, it was a dream I had as a child. The setting was the house I had grown up in, my father's residence on the outskirts of the small town where Trimixthis had saved me from myself. The only difference was, in this dream, exactly as it had been before… the interior of the house was covered in wonderful and vivid flora. Small pools surrounded by crystals and minerals were in the spots in the living room where the furniture would have been. The windows still looked out over the deck and the pond below.

Thick fisherman's netting stretched across the arch leading to the kitchen, the island table strewn with all manner of urns, vases and pots of varying color. Succulents of all sorts grew, shivering and breathing in a more animate living state. The scene was so very surreal. I imagine I had chosen it because it reminded me of Trimixthis. It felt right.

And there they were. In the middle of the living room, connected with the dreamflora, smiling that strange and wondrous smile of theirs. I settled before them, looking up in to their all at once reflective yet depthless eyes, a few of their thinner vines caressing my cheeks and tracing the line of my jaw. When they spoke, it reverberated through the entire foundation, rippling outward. It made my skin crawl in a uniquely tantalizing way. "I am always amazed at how certain things remain so elegantly engrained in the human psyche. You haven't had this dream in…"

"Twenty-nine years or so…" I found myself answering, tethering on the entrails of their words.

"Fascinating, truly~" Trimixthis emitted what I took for an approximation of a chuckle as they smiled down at me.

A silence stretched between us, each caught momentarily admiring the other. I did notice a difference in the dreamscape then. It was much more than it had been, where as I only could recall the particulars of the scenery, how things looked and felt. Trimixthis presence seemed to add another level of life and flourish to it. Their song permeated through everything. If I wasn't careful I knew I would lose myself in that music, so I let my perception branch out… almost as if I could feel along their vines as they could. The house hummed its own song of being. Plants rustled in a calm wind that blew in through the open windows. The trickle of the stream that fed the pond and the bluegill grazing the surface of the water. Even the gentle sway of the large pines along the water's edge.

I ended up losing myself in a multitude of different songs until another rhythm broke me from my expanding absorption. A single vine tapped my left shoulder. I didn't notice it at first, but its continued persistence eventually brought me back to the living room and Trimixthis. They were still smiling. That same vine caressed my cheek. "My, my~ How easy you get tangled in the whirling essence of everything~"

I felt a heat rise on my cheeks as I dropped my gaze to the floor, hands idly occupying themselves with a still tendril that rested upon my lap. "Sorry," was all I could think to say.

"Don't be, sweetling. It's quite pleasant to observe. And quite a useful skill to have if you hone it correctly and not allow yourself to disperse in to obscurity." Trimixthis seemed to ponder something for a span of seconds. The notion was filed away as they shifted closer. "Earlier I asked if you had any questions. I believe you were a little too… wrapped up… to answer?"

My face scrunched in thought. Questions? I tried to retrace my morning despite the brainfog. Once I was able to pull apart the sparse memories of clothing myself and climbing up on to the couch where things really started to fuzz out, I found the inquiries I had not voiced at the time. They all jumbled together and came floundering out of my mouth at once. "Are we on… and the terminal… ship… space and… the doors lights?"

After that mess my mouth hung open in utter disbelief of its own transgression. How did words even? My brain hurt itself in its confusion.

The boisterous, beautiful sound that echoed through the dream was Trimixthis laughing. Flowers blossomed along their figure, vibrant and glowing. The sound carried on the wind and once more reverberated through the dreamland. They set a leaf beneath my chin and closed my mouth proper. "Oh, my stars… you darling thing~ Lets try that again. One at a time, shall we?"

Their vines smoothed through my hair and patted my head and I giggled sheepishly. It wasn't entirely my fault I was a pastiche of hazy recollections! But, oh what a joyous thing to feel their laughter. Every hair on my body stood on end. It was like being hugged by static that was giddy with warmth.

I cleared my throat with a nod and tried again to piece my words together in an order that would make sense for the both of us. "On… your terminal. There was a… ship. Departing…?"

"Yes. We are that ship. The terminal was displaying our trajectory leaving Earth. We should be arriving in orbit around Venus soon. I had Maraxus throttle our speed so we had time to get you a little more acclimated to things. I am afraid I have been… slightly careless with your xenodrug regimen. Honestly, I'm somewhat surprised you've maintained a modicum of self in all this. It was not my intention to foster an entirely vacant floret~ I only wished to pluck all the…" Their vines shifted much like I did with my hands when I couldn't conjure up the words I wanted right off the bat. "…unsavory petiole from your stem. Give you a… fresh start, so to speak."

I wondered about all that. Really. It took some effort, but a cursory poke around my addled mind revealed some disquieting blank spaces where I'm fairly sure, at some point prior to all this, existed… something. At the same time though, I wasn't overly concerned. The tiniest speck of a voice not unlike my own screeched pitifully from a far off void, begging for remembrance. I paid it no mind and even gave it the nudge it needed to plummet deeper and disappear. I didn't like the vibe it held. I didn't want to feel whatever it insisted I needed to feel. Instead, I beamed up at Trimixthis and clapped my hands together. "I thought never I'd get to going space!"

My head was patted again. I liked having my head pat. Trimixthis continued to smile. It was a such a lovely smile. "Chloe?"

"Yes?" I tilted my head and gazed up at them.

"Rephrase." They tapped my head once more.

Oh. Right. The words belonged in particular spaces in order to be understood. I licked my lips and thought real hard before allowing the words to leave my mouth again. This time though, I plucked them out of the air and arranged them accordingly. Because this was a dream and I could physically manifest my words if I felt like it! "I… thought… I would… never get to… go to… .." I hung on the last word, looking back over my sentence to make sure it was correct. "Space."

"Very good!" Trimixthis nodded. "I thought a nice trip off planet might be healthy for you. Now, do you want to know why we're traveling to Venus, sweetling?"

I had been curious about our destination. Venus was in no way shape or form hospitable for human life. But the affini were essentially plants, weren't they? Did Venus have something plants liked? A useful resource? I was trying my hardest to remember what compound Venus was in excess of, making strained little mouth noises as I tried to pluck the answer from the empty space between our bodies. Trimixthis pulled me on to their lap, and I cuddled up against them as I shrugged my shoulders, giving up. They seemed excited about it so all was well in my world.

"We've begun construction of an orbital platform for the collection of planetside resources. Primarily concerning the rich carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Along with the sulfuric acids present in the cloud layers, these two compounds are highly beneficial to promoting cultivation. We've developed some lovely technology that allows us to utilize them in regenerative growth." They spoke as they let their vines worm around my dreambody, stroking and petting as they saw fit. "Carbon dioxide is by and large considered a waste product by your species, I believe. What is that cute little Earth saying? One organism's trash is another organism's treasure?"

My head bobbed with affirmation. Ah! Venus was rich in those things, wasn't it? Humanity, to my knowledge, had a passing interest in the second planet for a while. The abandoned HAVOC project from NASA came to mind. Which really hadn't gone past the theoretical stage… and after further discovery, any deep exploration ideas were scrapped for other ventures. I was intrigued by the idea of a station though, my brain immediately wandering off to dredge up fragmented memories of the first anime I'd ever seen in my grade school days that had featured an orbital ring that surrounded the Earth. Tekkaman Blade, I think it was. I wondered if I still had those DVDs somewhere…

"That is not an entirely incorrect vision of what it may come to look like, sweetling~" A light trilling fluttered in Trimixthis' throat.

I just blinked up at them. Wait. Could they read my…?

"Oh, petal~ We're in your mind. Of course I can. Silly thing." Their delightful laughter trickled across the scene, this time causing the vegetation to shift through an array of pleasing colors.

I guess that made sense. I wondered what the station was going to be like.

"Currently, there is a sizable portion that is cozy and habitable. More is being grown as we speak. I'm sure you will find it quite incredible! It is also, however, part of my job. I am an interface engineer. One of my primary duties is to make sure all our systems can connect and speak to one another. So I may become rather busy. But… not to worry." Trimixthis lifted me up above their head like a puppy, smiling up at me. I more or less dangled there and grinned down at them. "I have arranged for you to meet a number of playmates to keep you out of trouble while I'm working. While I am able to do most things remotely, I prefer onsite inspections when it comes to the more delicate bundles of sensory passthrough and~"

A distant chime sounded, something foreign. Trimixthis' attention was instantly pulled away. I could feel it. Like they were suddenly in another place, only faintly tethered to this dreamform. I tried to focus on the sound myself, because it felt so out of the ordinary. This just led to me getting caught up in the web of sensations, the flux and flow of the dreamscape like before and this time there was no tapping vine to bring me back from the ledge. I felt myself disconnect and dissipate in to the whole of everything. It would have been an ultimately strange experience had I been able to maintain cognitive recognition. Alas, the fog began to roll in through… the trees…?

I blinked, looking around. I found myself laying on a bed of soft, sweet smelling grasses in the clearing of a forest. Tiny yellow flowers dotted the small glade. I knew this place. It was usually a buffer space I envisioned on nights where I needed to coax myself to sleep. The trees stood like guardian silhouettes, the fog a comforting shroud.

Trimixthis was gone. I felt a bit of sadness that began to well in to an awful sense of desertion. Their song still echoed in some awkward proximity, but it wasn't quite enough. It was like the entire foundation of being had been suddenly ripped out from under me. I curled in to a ball and shut my eyes, rocking back and forth on my side as I began to hum the song. To keep it near. To not forget. I didn't want it to go. Why had they left me alone here?

The forest was beginning to not feel like the safety net it was supposed to be. I couldn't concentrate, the song fading by degrees. The abrupt snap of a twig had me bolting up and scanning the immediate area. Fear began to blossom within the tiny beads of sweat on my brow. I could wake up now, right? Please?

"Trimixthis…?" I whimpered under my breath.

Another twig snapped to my left and I whirled about in attempts to keep whatever it was in front of me. A huffed breath and a faint clicking noise echoed off the bodies of the trees. I couldn't tell where it was coming from. The temperature dropped like my mood, my breath expelled in wispy ghosts that drifted up toward the fractures of night sky barely glimpsed through the canopy before the fog grew more dense and only a few feet of grass remained visible.

I didn't like this at all.

A soft, almost chittering-like noise came from my right. I turned again, scrambling backward as a shape took form in the fog and crept closer. The chill I was feeling was pushed back by an intense warmth extruding from whatever it was. In its own way, it was calming and my rising panic was lulled to a more manageable state. I sat up on my knees, trying to wipe the fog away by waving my hands through the air. A futile effort. I just… I wanted to be able to see…

That thought alone spawned a decrease in the atmospheric obfuscation. Oh, big words. My brain was working.

Crouched no less than two feet before me was a creature I'd never seen before. Certainly nothing I'd ever dreamed up before, either. I tilted my head to one side and it mimicked the movement. The elongated muzzle curved with a toothy grin as we locked eyes. It had a very canine-esque appearance that was somewhere between a quadruped, giving the look of its hindlegs, and a full on anthropomorphic embodiment, noting the more humanoid forelegs. It brandished six limbs altogether. A slightly smaller set of arms accompanied their main pawsy-grabbers. It also had a rather short tail that barely touched the grass that was currently twitching back and forth. That was a good sign, right? Not that I should be applying terran-dog logic to this dream-canid. I took a breath and managed to find my voice. "Hello…?"

"Hello?" It repeated. The voice was strangely pleasant. Just this side of sultry. Playful even, with overtones of mischief. Or maybe I was projecting because of the uncanny way the entity was smiling at me. It had a double set of triangular ears and two antenna upon its head.

"Who… are you…?" I asked, and unsurprisingly, it echoed the inquiry right back at me.

When it moved forward I found myself frozen in place, either severely unwilling to take my eyes off of the creature, or entranced in its gaze. I couldn't determine which. It circled once around me, leaning in close to sniff as if we weren't in a dream and scent was real. Could you smell things in a dream? I wasn't sure if I ever had olfactory senses in any slumber-space.

The dream-dog-thing settled back in front of me, raising its forepaws and placing them under my chin, tilting my head up as it looked me over. It tilted its own head from side to side as if inspecting a specimen. It's front bappers were more like hands than paws, I noted. It's smile widened, and my eyes did the same. "M-m-my… wh-what um… sh-sharp teeth you have…"

I had always wanted to use that line in some version of reality. This was probably a good enough place as any for it to be utilized. Mostly because I had no idea what to say and had more or less just blurted it out as I remained motionless in the creature's hold. The smile faltered on its twitching lips before it leaned back and barked a laugh. Before I knew what was happening it had plopped on its haunches and wrapped all four arms around me in a tight hug as it cackled, one of the paws petting my head. A series of trill-growls, strained crackling squeaks and chuffing noises were made. It sounded like an organic dial-up modem. But then the caniform spoke.

"Eeehee~ Mixi said y'was aaaaah-durable~ Rrrright as usually, they is!"

My brain completely glossed over the usage of a nickname for Trimixthis as I wriggled in the canid's grip, managing to gain enough leverage to lean backwards in its arms. I rather wanted to look at it while I spoke than mumbling in to its… distractingly super soft chest-fluff. Which my hands were totally, definitely not playing in. So warm. So soft. So inviting! Oh, right. I needed to focus. "Heh… I don't know about… um… any of that, but. I'm…"

"Chloe, yessss? We are Viremia! Pleasurable greetings!" Any fear that had cropped up in the last few minutes was all but washed away at this point. The manner in which the entity spoke and enunciated was oddly uplifting. I quickly found its demeanor to be infectious, in a good way. Even stranger was my inability to keep my hands to myself, as if I needed to explore every soft nook and cranny of this awkward alien-canine-valley of fur. And the smell! It weaved between peony and roses and fresh earth and something else that was indescribably enjoyable to breathe in. I guess that answered my question of dream-scent.

I buried my face in Viremia's neck as we tangled together and flopped over on to the grass. Trimixthis had said there would be playmates. Was this one of them?

Viremia made a content murring noise, stretching out and allowing me to more or less entertain myself in the daze of sensations their body offered. "We's been assigned t'keeps ya company while Mixi dealsss with ssssomethin' came-up-bruptly like. If y'wants t'bein'in th' waking-place, jus' say words. Rrrf~"

A reply of mumbled nonsensical acknowledgement sputtered from my mouth, my brain simply registering that I had been given a wonderfully soft waggy-tail organism to snuggle with while Trimixthis was doing Trimixthis things.

I could absolutely live with this.

[tacoma-narrows]

Tac's OC Ref Masterposts 2: Primary OCs

See my other ref posts here: Sonas, Secondaries, Tertiaries

I wanted to have a series of posts where people can find all of my characters in one place! Since I have too many to fit them all into one post, I decided to split them up based on how much I use them/how developed they are, the same way they're split up on my Toyhouse.

I wanted to have their refs here so people can find them relatively easily and not have to go digging through their Toyhouse galleries to find them lol. If anyone ever wants to draw them, you are very much encouraged to do so!! Same goes for asks about my characters! Those are always welcome as well!!

These will have some general information about each of my characters, but if you want to see more about them in depth, each character's Toyhouse page will also be linked! If/when I update any particular characters' ref in the future, that will be updated here as well ^^

Will also include each character's theme song because I like showing those off too :3

See my primary OCs here below the cut!

PRIMARY OCS

These guys are also the ones I generally use the most often and have a fair amount of development, but aren't as much a direct reflection of me as my sonas are. That being said, a lot of them do still hold different facets of my personality here and there!

They're split into two categories: Upper Tier Primaries, and Lower Tier Primaries. This is mainly to differentiate between how much I use some of these characters, as I will admit that there are definitely some I use much more than others lol. Basically the Lower Tier ones are the characters that I don't use as much, but feel too connected to, or have enough development to not be demoted completely to secondary OCs lol

Between the two tiers, everyone listed here is listen in alphabetical order ^^

Upper Tier Primaries

Astro [Toyhouse Link]

Space cat who lives in space and does Space Things

Can visit the earth and interact with any of my other OCs

Can fly through space, leaves a streak/trail as he flies (like this)

Friends with Tarmac, as they both can hang out in space :3

Theme Song: Alligator Sky by Owl City

Eejanaika [Toyhouse Link]

SkyWing/RainWing hybrid

Name pronounced Edge-a-NYE-ka

Goes by Eej as a nickname

Has issues with anxiety and self-confidence

Demisexual, girlfriend of ThunderSnow

Has a short right horn, RainWing frill spines with no membrane, a double-pointed nose spike and is missing every other spine along her back as a result of being a hybrid

Name and design based on the old color scheme for the Eejanaika roller coaster at Fuji-Q Highland in Japan

Theme Song: Trip the Light by Garry Schyman and Alicia Lemke

Kickflip [Toyhouse Link]

Cool skateboarder guy

Competitive rivals with Seabreeze

Friends with Rye

Boyfriend of Floatie (owned by @/macaronichewtoyz)

Fun fact: his hat is based on a hat that I (used to :[ ) own!

Theme song: Hollywood by Flickerstick

Luau [Toyhouse Link]

Major comfort OC

Very chill, laid back attitude

Good friends with PB and Shep

Occasionally guest vocalist for Let's Get Back! and often runs the lights/effects for their shows

Always has a flower in her hair, but can be any flower!

Girlfriend of Seabreeze

Theme Song: Otter Pop by Shawn Wasabi and Hollis

Moxie [Toyhouse Link]

Celestdog - Siberian Husky

Another major comfort OC

Loves to have fun, can play a little rough sometimes but always means well

A bit bigger and more stocky than Isaac

Sister to Isaac and the rest of the Celestdog family

Theme Song: Fly By The Wayside by Skye Sweetnam

Pumpernickel [Toyhouse Link]

Twin brother to Rye

Drummer and backup vocalist for Let's Get Back!

Easygoing and relaxed

Enjoys being outside at night

Theme Song: Sleepwalker by Owl City and Derek Fuhrmann

Rhazz [Toyhouse Link]

Huge comfort OC

Design and personality based around the Roaring Twenties

Super energetic and affectionate

Lesbian, girlfriends with Agouti

Stage performance partners with Foxtrot

Has a necklace, two hoop earrings on her left ear, a ring on her left horn and a feathered headdress (all are not optional when drawing her! I have a separate ref for them here)

Theme Song: The Golden Age by The Asteroids Galaxy Tour

Rye [Toyhouse Link]

Twin to Pumpernickel

A bit more rambunctious than his twin

Likes to strut around thinking he's cool stuff when he's really just kind of a dork

Keyboardist, backup guitarist and backup vocalist for Let's Get Back!

Theme Song: Deer in the Headlights by Owl CIty

Seabreeze [Toyhouse Link]

Lively surfer girl

Girlfriends with Luau

Good friends with Starburst as well, as both are pretty adventurous

Always has her lucky seashell necklace

Theme Song: Learn How to Surf by Owl City

Soda [Toyhouse Link]

Pooltoy Fox

Best friends with Tarmac

Also good friends with Luau and Seabreeze, sharing their love of water/the beach

Has a giant tail that can be bopped around

Can scale up and down in size for more people to float on/with him

Theme Song: Clap Your Hands by Owl CIty

Tarmac [Toyhouse Link]

Aeromorph dog

Mix between the Concorde and the Space Shuttle

Can fly both supersonically and in space

Best friends with Soda

Also good friends with Astro

Tallest/biggest of my anthro OCs (I haven't decided exactly how big, but like he's a big guy lol)

Theme Song: Defying Gravity by Matt Copley and Noise Machine

Wilkołak [Toyhouse Link]

Big scary (or at least he tries to be scary) transgender wolf guy

Name can be pronounced either Veel-koak or Will-ko-Lack (His name means Werewolf in Polish)

Second tallest of my anthro OCs after Tarmac (about 6'5 or so)

Has hydrokinetic powers and his blue markings glow when he uses them

Used to be a WoF Fantribe OC named Galeforce before I redesigned him lol

Theme Song: Armed To The Teeth by Abandoned Pools

Lower Tier Primaries

Agouti [Toyhouse Link]

RainWing

Relatively quiet and shy until you get to know her

Lesbian, girlfriends with Rhazz

Can feel the emotions of others very strongly (for better or worse)

Theme Song: Sunburn by Owl City

Doppler [Toyhouse Link]

SeaWing/RainWing hybrid (75% Sea/25% Rain)

Weather forecaster with his wings and scales that show weather radar

Makes up a weather watching/storm chasing team with Sundial and ThunderSnow

Boyfriend of Sundial

Radar can show any kind of weather (rain/thunderstorms, hurricanes, snow storms, tornadoes, etc.)

Theme Song: Safe and Sound by Capital Cities

Firecracker [Toyhouse Link]

Jack Russell Terrier

Small but full of energy!

Loves 4th of July themed snacks and baked goods (his personal fav are Star Spangled Ding Dongs haha)

Friends with Starburst over their shared energetic lifestyle and red white and blue color solidarity :]

Theme Song: All My Friends by Owl City

Isaac [Toyhouse Link]

Celestdog - Australian Shepherd

Nonbinary Asexual

Quiet and reserved, generally prefers to do their own thing

Very smart, loves trivia facts

Sibling to Moxie and the rest of the Celestdog family

Theme Song: Into the Ocean by Blue October

Kwaro [Toyhouse Link]

SilkWing

Gay, boyfriends with Rutabaga (owned by @/macaronichewtoyz)

Likes to sing, but is self-conscious about singing in front of others

Generally softspoken

Kinda velvety soft rather than full scales

Theme Song: Butterfly Wings by Owl City

Pebble [Toyhouse Link]

Small and fluffy with long, silky fur

Husky/Samoyed mix

Hates getting his fur dirty

Smallest of my feral dog OCs

Theme Song: Count On Me by The Meadows