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[mightyrealestatellc]

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[5tarryknight]

Just an Elliot standing there, what can i say?

Creekwater is co-created by @5tarryknight and @neonnovaa . Check out @creekwater-archives for more info!

[pseudotsugas]

innovations in the pursuit of "fieldwork femme" as a gender: tying my hair up in a cute pink bow but the bow is made of slightly mud-smudged pink flagging tape

[neonnovaa]

JUMP SCARE!!!

It's Brandi

And her big hair that doesn't fit into Creekwater very well

(We have a last name change as well)

[korva-the-raven]

POV: Contemplating moss down by the creek. Sound on! 🔊

[freshguacoo]

Wow

It's been a hot minute

But here's Elliot

Threatening you

[moved-2-coyotejone-s]

ninjago is fun

[5tarryknight]

I am once again asking for your support. Vote Elliot! ^^ <33

Here’s some doodles of Elliot, his brother Michael, his dad Jon, and of course his great uncle Millie! I’ve been meaning to post these anyway, so it’s a good time to share!

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

Attention! The winner of this poll will become the winner of Team Salmon and will represent the team in the quarter-finals!

Max Way [Sons of the Star @thegreenleavesofspring]

Max Way is the leader of a biker gang and a vigilante who fights human trafficking in his home city. He is gruff, violent, fierce, and fiercely honorable. His creed is to always protect women, children, the innocent, and the weaker, and he rules his six younger brothers with a rod of iron.

Dr. Elliott Sinclair [Creekwater @5tarryknight]

While the whole town sings the praises of his brother Michael, the sheriff, Elliot happily plays the role of the Menace of Creekwater. The chaos bringer. The leaver of firecrackers. An irredeemable, heartless monster who… Loves cats. Who can quote the Mustafar scene verbatim. Who drives his schoolie across town every morning to take his best friend, Lucille, to her teaching job. (Even though she assures him she could just bike there.) Sure, Elliot may engage in the occasional benevolent act. But make no mistake! That’s only to keep people in suspense! To keep the citizens of Creekwater on their toes! He is a wolf amongst the sheep. It certainly isn’t because he cares. That would be ridiculous.

[octopiys]

Lost and Found

Prev | Next

iv. creekwater eggshells

Six hours. You have six whole hours to put together a meal for Simon, and who you think is his best friend, along with said best friend's....wife? You weren't sure. You hoped that was the case.

Six hours. You can do this, right? You've made pasta, at least some variation of it, at least a few times a week since you've made yourself a little space here.

Slowly, Simon noticed, you were acclimating. Your room was still bare, but he could fix that. He just needed to make sure that you knew that it was, well, safe here. He wouldn't force you to stay, that's not what he's trying to do. He's seen that, and swore he'd never bring that upon somebody else. His house would be safe.

You had a small bag, shoved in between the blankets in your closet, of your personal belongings. The clothing that Simon had gotten you sat in a very empty dresser, made of old stained wood. He bought it off the woman up the street who wanted to paint it like.... grey or something. He couldn't bear to see that happen, so he knicked it off of them for a tenner to her husband.

Maybe this weekend he'll take you to a furniture shop. Help you decorate.

You're covered in flour the next time he spots you, as he was walking in to figure out how he could help. You've noticed he never asks, just silently assumes the nearest task, and finishes it just as fast.

You look like a doe caught in headlights when you spot him. Nothing that lives in this house was spared by the wrath of this now open bag of flour. Sweet Barrow was a different color completely, and not at all phased by this change, as she sleeps right through it.

Scraggle, however, does not take this transgression lightly. No no no, this is deepest insult to Scraggle, you try and give Scraggle color? You try and give Scraggle fur? No, this is an attack, Scraggle does not take lying down. Scraggle is-

Simon pats off the yowling cat who was weaving in between his feet and clawing at the hems of his pants, brushing it free of flour.

Scraggle rolls around on the ground, before seemingly getting over itself, and wandering back into your room.

He hears you giggle, and looks up. The sound makes his chest ache in a way he doesn't know how to describe. "Wot is it?"

"You an' that cat." You say, still laughing minutely to yourself, before turning back to the mess on the counter. You crack in egg in the center of the flour ring, and begin mixing it in slowly, before kneading the dough as it forms. You've printed out a little sheet of instructions that you have taped to the cabinet in front of you.

He watches you from the archway, crossing his arms as he leans against it, taking you in, breathing the scene like the flour that puffs up as you move your hands. Your tongue peeks out from your lips as you focus in concentration. There's flour smeared on your cheek, egg caked on your hands.

He's getting used to this, he realizes, as almost a month had passed. Used to the domesticity of it all. There's peace in his chest, the ugly thing, taken root deep inside. He's not sure what would happen if it fizzled, burned out.

You had gone out to the back garden. There were a couple wild herbs you had spotted out here.

You liked how they had bundled in your small hands, of only a few years. These ones didn't sting your palms like the ones with the pokey leaves, or did they itch like the softer flowers. Your momma liked these ones. Said they made good tea. Spiced up what needed to be spiced, and sweetened what needed to be sweet. Just like you.

"You can find it anywhere," she had told you, calling your name across the hills. It's abundant as water, flows as common as grass. The air is smoky, you wonder if someone is cooking.

You shocked to the present the second you stepped into the creek, the cold water soaking up your long socks.

The basket trembles in your hands, and you swallow, just out of view from the house, just inside of the trees. This is Simon's land.

You're safe, you tell yourself, you're safe, you're safe–

There's a soft piddle against the soft of your lower leg, a little peep. You almost hop out of the way in surprise before you see it.

There's a little duckling brushing up against your inner ankle, newly hatched by its size. It peeps and *wecks* and you swear right then that you may not be it's mother but you are now, no other bird in sight. It's a fuzzy little creature with dark eyes that possess no thoughts whatsoever, and it is yours.

"Don't take what does not belong to you. Greed is unbecoming of you. You aren't behaving poorly now, are you?" His accent wafts through the air, stifling like a too humid day. The grip at the base of your hip tightens.

There's a soft *weck* as you pick up the tiny bird, cradling it into your hands. It's shivering, trembling, looking for warmth.

You'd found enough herbs today, you decided. Needed to get out of the woods, like Little Red should never have gone down the path, lest the Wolf catches her scent.

You pick up your basket and hurry back to the cottage, calling for Simon to find a lamp.

You miss the tall grass, disturbed by boot prints much too big for you, planted in the center of a squashed nest. The yellows of the inner egg have dried into the earth, parents nowhere to be found.

"Simon! Get me a lamp!" You shout, slamming the back door open, your hands bundled around the small creature.

It was in no life threatening danger, in fact, it looked quite content to just stay curled in your palm, but you were determined to get it better warmth.

Simon shoots out of his bedroom, concerned— a familiar expression of his, whenever you reenter your home– before spotting the little wriggling mass in your hands. He blinks once, twice, before closing the door on Scraggle, who wanted to see who dared disturb it's slumber.

"That's a duck." Simon says shortly, and you stop, slowly turning around and looking at him.

Said duck peeps in response.

Apparently, your look said whatever Simon needed to hear because he disappeared down the hall and returned with an old shoe box, and a reptile lamp you recognized from the old tank in your room.

Duck in hand, you leave to the kitchen to find a spare hand towel, tossing it at Simon who puts it into the box, and he plugs the lamp in.

The buzz fills the working silence.

"So... where'd ya find the lil lad?" He asks after a moment.

"By the creek. Couldn't find his parents. Didn't wanna leave him alone out there, he looks too small-" You stop yourself short as sweet Barrow lumbers in through the dog door, sniffing the air curiously, before deciding to lay down right there. "You're- You're provably gonna make me put him back- I'll- I'll, uh-"

Simon hushes you, brows furrowed at the sight of your watery eyes. "I ain't say that, honey."

"B- but-" You don't mean for it, but tears well up in your eyes anyways, your lower lip trembling. "You can't take in any more animals-"

"Says who? Y' challengin' me or somethin'?" He huffs, and you panic, shaking your head as a tear slides down your cheek, frantic. The duck deeps again.

"I got 'nough stuff, honey. A duck ain't gonna send us over the edge. Here, can I-" He reaches for the peeping mass of feathers, but you surprise yourself by jerking back, holding it out of his reach.

"Don't-!"

He blinks, before you burst into tears, tugging the duck to your chest, apologizing profusely. "I- I'm sorry, I just- I trust you- I- I don't wanna give up on him-"

"Honey, nobody's givin' up on him-"

"Cus he's so small, an' he doesn't deserve it, I don't want anyone to hurt him, Si, he doesn't deserve it-" You sob to him, or to the duck, who isn't comprehending anything that's really going on right now, because the lights are on and everyone moved out.

Simon tugs at the carpet, for once unsure what to do. He chews his lip, thinking. He doesn't fault you at all, he's not upset, the duck is yours. You're protective of it,that's nothing to be ashamed of. There's a pain in his chest when you cry, and he's not sure it's completely uncoincidental. "Honey...? How 'bout you put him in the box, then we'll set him up on the counter so he can watch us cook, okay? Promise I won't touch him."

You sniffle, nodding, feeling horrible that you snapped at Simon in the first place, though he doesn't think you even did at all.

"Are you still up for dinner, do you wanna have a night in? We can reschedule, I'm sure they won't mind." Simon asks, his voice softer than you've heard in a while. You feel embarrassed.

"W- we can keep cooking, it's- I'm sorry, I just...." You hiccup, bowing your head.

"The duck'll be safe, hon. Ain't nobody else I'd trust more with somethin' that fuckin' small than you. Ain't nobody's gonna hurt it, and if they do, then I'll sic Barrow on em."

You're both pretty sure Barrow is snoring with her eyes open, bless her sweet little heart.

"N- no, you'll have to send Scraggle, we'll n- never see the poor bastard again, that's for sure, it'll slice em to ribbons..." You giggle slightly, the sudden pressure in your chest lightening as you gently set the duck into the box on the counter.

The cat yowls behind the door, it's paws peeking out from beneath it, trying to grab at one of Simon's socks in the hallway. This is an ATTACK on Scraggle, attack of the greatest degree, curse to Father and curse to Mother-

You sniffle again, and Simon offers you a tissue. You hesitate, before wrapping your arms around him instead, burying your stuffy nose in his shirt.

He tenses at first, before slowly relaxing into it, and he puts an arm around you too.

He was warm, warmer than usual, a little soft around his middle, but built enough like a country man. He vaguely reminded you of a warrior, well fed and strong. The warrior of this little farm. He smelled of cedar and campfire smoke, with something else richer underneath.

You let out a shaky breath you didn't know you had been holding, and Simon's arms tighten. When was the last time you'd hugged someone?

The duck is safe, and so are you.

Nothing can take that away, not if Simon has anything to say about it.

And he has many, many things to say.

masterlist

[liveleaker]

god I love scooping the creekwater with my hands. and the creekwater loves me

[5tarryknight]

Some rare smiling Ellies and one less rare overstimulated one ;w; it’s hard out there, man. Featuring @neonnovaa’s girl Lucy babbling with Ellie about their interests.

Creekwater is co-created by @5tarryknight and @neonnovaa . Check out @creekwater-archives for more info!

[pokemonshelterstories]

Water pokemon that do well on land? Most water we have around here are creeks and a wetland.

a lot of water pokemon actually do quite well on land! fish notwithstanding, many of them are semiaquatic and regularly come out of the water.

since you've got wetlands and creekwater, i'd recommend looking into some freshwater bog pokemon. that'll be pokemon like the marill line, bibarel, johtonian wooper line, chewtle line, poliwag line...there are a lot of really neat pokemon that naturally live in that environment! you'd need to further assess things like water temperature and the ratio of water to land, but a talk with your local rangers about the native environment can help you narrow down which pokemon are best suited to your environment!

[neonnovaa]

Welcome to the introduction of Lucy's beautiful mother

This is Lucille Garcia (when she was younger)- yes, they do share the same name, hence the whole Lucy being a junior thing.

This Lucille goes by Luce.

She's a very devoted single mother and a very successful business woman. She owns a grocery chain called FoodSnake which was founded in Creekwater. It's organic and partners with local farmers, among other people, and gives them opportunities to sell their hard-work and all that financial stuff.

[freshguacoo]

Ellie on a peach

It was a gift for Christmas for @5tarryknight

Peach on peach crime fr fr

Also hiiii

I have arrived

[tyvian-ore]

i just need to dunk my brain in cool creekwater and then i'll be fine