#he has no name yet ·:(

[pepeshiagent]

No, I can assure you, Miss Pepeshi absolutely not went down a rabbit hole and got lost. One of two sims that will be exploring Batuu. The other one is in the oven being baked.

@iberissims Hi, please rescue me from this rabbit hole.

Outfit by @natalia-auditore. | Thank you all CC creators. ♡

[satogacrank]

[modern-inheritance]

WIP with some cute, it's not finished yet but oh my god i love it

@magicandmundane @fuzzytheoristtyrant congrats you two liked the thing you made me smile I am giggling i love this

~~

The hatchling’s nostrils twitched, soft snuffles picking up in intensity. He lifted his angular head and immediately locked on to Brom.

Eyes of warm, brilliant amber, sharp and inquisitive, met the old Rider’s gaze. Brom hastily put a finger to his lips as the creature let out a burble of question, gangly limbs already disentangling from velvet wings. Of course he didn’t understand, a chuff of annoyance squeaking out as he stepped on the tip of his tail.

“‘Nuff, lil.” Brom winced. Arya’s groggy mumble was accompanied by a closed eye drag of her forearm, blindly trying to pull the hatchling back towards her. “Back’a sleep.”

The hatchling half hopped, half tripped out of her reach. 

And, to Brom’s silent amazement, raked his hind legs and kicked a wayward pillow into the elf’s still loose embrace. 

‘Smart for a little thing.’

Seemingly satisfied that his caretaker was nuzzling the pillow, the emerald hatchling dropped to the ground. Soft wings spread for a few measly feet of lift, a bit of a stumbled landing clattering muted ivory claws into the mossy stone. 

That was that. A dragon hatchling, a hundred years late, was sniffing at Brom’s boots. The creature lifted a paw, the scales startlingly lighter than the deep green of his back, and sank his claws into the leather, a hiss of warning at the new intruder now at his level.

Brom could not help his smile. A hatchling. A real, live hatchling! And a new Rider! They could not be far, not with the hatchling so undeniably new. 

“Hello there, little one.” Brom whispered. He carefully lowered himself to kneel, reaching out to gently pry the talons from his shoeleather. Stars knew the damn things couldn’t take much more regular wear and tear, not to mention a dragon having at them. “Hello. Where’s your partner at, then?”

The hatchling’s nostrils flared, smoke billowing out in twin streams as the elder Rider’s fingers came towards him. It was all Brom could to yank his hand away as the dragon’s head darted forward with a sharp, loud hiss, needle-like teeth snapping shut millimeters away from his fingertips. “Easy! Alright, it’s alr–”

“No!”

Stars flashed and blood roared in his ears. Something was on top of him, slammed him away and out of the doorway, rolling and spitting and snarling locked against his arms and digging into his side. The crashing and turning ended with a thud, grit digging at the back of his head, blood streaming from his nose, ribs screaming louder than he could suck in a breath to actually voice. He could taste pine needles and sap and dirt and there was fire above him and–

Everything stopped.

“...Brom?” 

The voice was quiet, shaking. 

Brom risked cracking open an eye. 

“At least…” The elder Rider managed to wheeze as Arya shifted the position of her knee against his ribcage, clambering off him. “Your protective instincts…are still there.”

“Please. Please.” Brom frowned. Arya wasn’t talking to him. She was looking over her shoulder, where the hatchling was half flapping, half stumbling an unseemly little run towards her where they ended up against the rocks beside the creek. “Don’t do that again. Wake me up first.” 

An affronted squall was all that met her plea, a rough puff of smoke trailing behind the darting green head. 

“I’m sorry.” Ah, now she was talking to him. “I…everything happened so fast, it’s been…we just got here, and…” Careful of his still ringing head, Arya helped her old mentor into a sitting position, a quiet spell resetting his broken nose. “I’m sorry.”

Brom rubbed his face free of blood with the back of his sleeve. “Don’t let me get in the way of your duties.” Even so, he scanned the clearing, looking for the necessary third person for this odd meeting to even occur. “You shouldn’t keep him here though, not when he’s so small. He needs to be with his partner as much as possible now. Where are they? Was it Alana or Dusan?”

“...About that.” A happy chirp and flap of still-unprepared wings, and the gangly green hatchling landed upon the elf’s shoulder. Arya’s hand shot up to help him balance, the motion so instinctive Brom couldn’t help but wonder if…

If it wasn’t the first time.

His eyes widened, a certain giddiness rising in his chest as a smile brighter than the damn sun began spreading across his face.

“Brom, I…” He could feel her shaking from the hand on his back, all her mottled joy and trepidation and uncertainty and elation tangling in her wavering voice. “I’m the only one who touched his egg.” 

A low, rumbling purr, so, so familiar to him yet separated by over a century, rose at the Crags of Tel'naeír once again as the green hatchling rubbed his rough cheek against Arya’s. Even in the dark of night, Brom could see the unmistakable match of the brilliant scales to the bright flecks in the woman’s eyes. 

“Brom, he…he hatched for me.” Arya let him reach up and take her left hand. With trembling fingers, pride and jubilation fit to burst from his skin, Brom turned it palm up. 

Moonlight caught in the silver mark that now graced the elf’s hand.

And Brom laughed. He laughed and felt tears springing up at the corners of his eyes. 

“Stars above!” He couldn’t help himself. The words came without his direction, and he let them roll off his tongue as if they were meant to be and set into the fabric of the world and all was finally, finally well. “Both my damn kids are Dragon Riders!”

[snep-arts]

some things of this fucking guy

[pinkiepig]

My sillys

[lonely-moonshine-still]

🫀🗡

[dukeoftheblackstar]

Excuse me while I casually thirst for Plo Koon's father while we build him up.

850+ years old maybe? Deeper voice? Bigger, a little bit buffer than lean Plo Koon? Square shoulders for that regal vibe? Perfect knees in peak condition, not a Jedi, and very smooth manner of conversing/interacting. Butter smooth.

Wears Dorin blue robes. Does charity work. Retired veteran maybe?

[onlyprincey]

Growing Pains

Grunting, the weary piglin hybrid trudged through the crimson forests of the Nether, his tattered golden armor clinging to his worn frame. Evidence of the countless battles he had faced and the perilous trade negotiations he had undertaken adorned his attire. The weight of acquired treasures jangled in his satchel, serving as a constant reminder of his successful dealings with the formidable piglins.

However his path was not driven by a desire for riches. Instead, it was a duty that brought him to the piglin community located a little ways from his isolated crimson hill. Amidst the desolate landscape, he found companionship and a sense of belonging among his fellow piglins.

The community nestled within the claustrophobic confines of the Nether, contrasted starkly with the idyllic landscapes of the Overworld. Its labyrinthine maze of red stone walls twisted and turned sharply, seemingly designed to disorient even the most experienced traveller. The suffocating atmosphere combined with the omnipresent shade of red created an oppressive ambiance, challenging every moment there spent within.

The air resonated with a cacophony of grunts, snorts, and echoes of the crowd, bouncing off the unforgiving walls. It was a constant assault on the senses, amplifying the inherent stress of navigating the congested space.

The piglins, rough and rugged in demeanor, displayed little inclination for camaraderie, their expressions bearing the weight of their hardships. A growl warned any who ventured too close to keep their distance.

Despite weariness and the overwhelming environment, the piglin hybrid pressed forward. He knew his visits to the community were necessary for survival, and he had earned a reputation through fair trades and honest negotiations. Respect and camaraderie, as much as their culture can show, had been bestowed upon him by his fellow piglins.

Yet, deep within him, memories of a past lingered.

As a child, he had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon his village by creatures from the Overworld as they destroyed everything and left nothing but destruction in their wake. His mother, in an act of self-preservation, had whisked him away through a glimpse of the Nether portal, sparing him from the same fate that befell their kin.

That portal, a doorway to a world unknown to him, had become a haunting symbol of loss and the pain inflicted upon his people. It stood as a stark contrast between the chaos of the Overworld and the harsh reality of the Nether, reinforcing his decision never to return, resonating with the memories that resurfaced whenever he encountered the remnants of the ruined gateway.

As the weary piglin hybrid navigated the convoluted paths of the piglin community, gratitude and bitterness mingled within him. Gratitude for the sense of community, support, and the opportunity to forge a new life amidst the chaos. Bitterness for the memories that surged forth whenever he caught sight of the ruined Nether portal— a constant reminder of the world he had lost.

Aware that his place was in the Nether, among the crimson forests and the unforgiving beauty of his surroundings, he found stability and purpose within the flawed piglin community. With each step, he continued his journey, the warrior spirit burning within him, fueled by battles fought and scars earned.

His footsteps carried the weight of battles fought and taken lives in the Nether. The piglin hybrid was not just a trader; he was a warrior, a survivor. His golden armor, battered and worn, bore the marks of countless clashes with hostile creatures. The crimson forests echoed with the whispers of his triumphs, and his battle-worn weapons were a testament to his prowess.

Each encounter in the Nether had been a dance of life and death, a delicate balance between striking down foes and evading their lethal blows.

He had faced the fiery wrath of ghasts, their explosive projectiles threatening to consume him in flames. He had clashed with fearsome magma cubes, their searing touch capable of melting even the strongest armour. And in the depths of fortresses, he had confronted the relentless onslaught of blazes, their fireballs igniting the air around him.

But it wasn't just physical battles he had endured. The Nether itself was a treacherous realm, where the very environment posed a constant threat. The oppressive heat, suffocating ash, and volatile terrain demanded a resilience beyond mere combat skills. Survival in the Nether required cunning, adaptability, and the ability to navigate its hostile landscapes with unwavering determination.

The piglin hybrid had honed his instincts and reflexes through these trials, emerging stronger and more capable with each encounter. His fellow piglins admired his combat prowess, their grunts of respect a testament to his status among them. They saw him not just as a trader but as a guardian, a protector who ensured their safety in the face of the Nether's dangers.

Yet, even amidst his battles and triumphs, the allure of the Nether portal beckoned to him. The flames that danced within its depths whispered of uncharted realms, of untold wonders and mysteries waiting to be unraveled. The warrior within him longed to venture through, to explore the Overworld and experience a world beyond the crimson forests.

The uneasy feeling of curiosity tugged at his heartstrings, gnawing at him relentlessly. The desire to know, to witness the landscapes that existed outside the confines of the Nether, grew stronger with each passing day. It whispered promises of new adversaries to conquer, new battles to fight, and the chance to uncover truths that could reshape his understanding of the world.

But for now, he suppressed the call of the portal, knowing that his duty lay in protecting and strengthening his piglin community. The memories of his past fueled his determination to ensure that no other piglins would suffer the same fate as his village. And so, with each step he took, he carried both the weight of his battles and the yearning for the unknown, a warrior torn between his responsibilities and the unquenchable thirst for adventure.

[maekyart]

Dragon's nest!

Here comes my boy! Sleepy and yellow, I love him! I was in a mood for some fluff and this image wouldn't leave my head so here we go! Very glad I finally managed to finish this one :D

[vvrgo]

This is my dnd character creation process, a sad dad!

[angstandhappiness]

SO PRETTY can this Lamb be called Lucero? It means light source, bright star, morning star", and this Lamb is very star bright

cotl lamb but it’s soay lamb me actually

[eichel-tower]

some personal news

[abacistat]

she uhhhh she young on my just till i us ?

original can be found hereee

[ashestoashes7]

Wondering if somewhere in Wymack’s desk is a buried file of one Jeremy Knox who, unbeknownst to the Foxes, was offered a position on their line but stayed in California instead

[mjulmjul]

Katya / Goncharov

[renwisterianova]

Little birdie