#he has no name yet ·:(

[misspepeshi]

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

[deepcuts]

Demon cat boy who woke up in a bar bathroom, disoriented and wanting a cigarette before he figures out who he is, was, or will be

[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

[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

[goldcleaver]

what in the Yearning is this

[lil-vibes]

local cult leader can Not get anything done bc of their eepy cat. more at tomorrow's sermon

[apieceofcrew02]

Alberu when Cale told him yet another batshit insane plan but it's beneficial for the kingdom:

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: Lex Luther's annoyance

Vlad Masters is....a pain. Not in the usual elite way Lex is used to. Not the empty-headedness of wealthy men like Bruce Wayne or annoyingly humanitarian like Oliver Queen.

Masters was annoying in the confusing kind. He was new money who danced around Lex's manipulations as if they were mere flies. He never gives Lex a reason to take him out but always leaves the bald man feeling weary.

Unsettled. Unsure.

The effect Masters had on him was irritating. Lex Luthor doesn't get unsure.

Luthor's family money came from his father, but it was Lex who turned the moderate company into one of the biggest powerhouses in the world. He was ruthless, always three steps ahead of his peers, using his clever mind to his every advantage.

Lex prides himself in being the danger in plain sight. He charmed kings and politicians alike, carefully placing a controlling hand on the back of their necks with each casual joke or helpful investment. Wherever Lex went, it wouldn't be long before he gained control of the floor and moved his pieces on the board to his liking.

That was if Vlad Masters wasn't in attendance.

Masters rarely join in high-class events- why should he? He was wealthy, of course, but nowhere near Lex's level. He just didn't run in the same circles- but whenever he did, it was like a rock being thrown in Lex's clam river. No matter where he was, Lex found his eyes tracing the underwhelming cut of Masters's suit (Easily one of the cheapest ones there) or catching the man's gaze that hid barely concealed amusement.

That was another thing. All social rules and etiquette indicated that Masters should be chasing after Lex's attention and approval or, at the very least, feel nervous in his presence. Masters acted like Lex was a part of the background, never impolite but never dazed or impressed.

Equals in a way that made Lex's stomach lurch in anxiety.

He has met some people who thought themselves better than Lex through arrogance, but none have taken one look at him and deemed him unimportant. It was as if Lex were just another man walking down the street who was only worthy of getting a passing greeting.

As if the man had a presence at all. Lex was often the man of the hour, and Masters was the guy nursing a drink by the wall, watching the crowd with a calm, nearly detached expression.

Masters was known for being a rather dull wealthy man, only seemingly interested in conversations if it was about his precious football team or random scientific discoveries. Seeing as he made his wealth through scientific discoveries, it was understandable that he knew an awful lot about them.

However, besides being a fantastic investor and stock buyer, Masters didn't have a single social bone in his body.

Lex had witnessed him flout through galas, parties, art galleries, and political rallies without a hint of displeasure or pleasure. Always engaged in conversations, but only if someone approached him first. He would often be seen admiring the decor, as though he was visiting a museum rather than networking or losing himself in a vice-like alcohol or bed partners.

It was almost as if these grand events that others killed to get an invitation were mere walks in a lovely garden for him. A break from whatever hectic life he lived.

Except that after having his people look into it, Masters didn't have a hectic life. He barely had one. No matter how much Lex dug into his background, besides that one accident that landed him in a hospital in college, Masters's life had been a pretty average rise from rags to riches through his hard work and intelligent mind.

A wealth that would likely only be passed down two generations with no hints of wanting to raise it like Lex had. No hints of ambition for something greater. No hints of nefarious schemes or back-alley deals. No hints of any sort of crime.

Just a man who wasn't amazed by Lex's world of wealth.

Lex hated how utterly boring he found the man and yet, how his eyes always followed him through the room, fascinated by how Masters didn't make any sesne. It was irritating how Masters didn't even have to do anything to grab Lex's attention; just walking by had him nearly tripping over his own two feet to watch him.

He didn't even know why he wanted to watch Masters. He wasn't even that handsome! His long silvery hair tied in a perfect tail, his slightly dry-looking skin, the dark circles under his eyes, and that teeth-gritting accent of his.

He didn't even know why Masters sounded like an upper-class British man. He was born in Wisconsin!

What did he take voice acting lessons to craft an accent? (Lex's checked. He didn't. Masters is just like that. It made his heart beat like Superman was about to burst into his office. He called his doctor to check if he's developed a heart condition)

The worst part was the way Master lingered in his mind, sitting at the back of it with inane questions like: What was he doing? Does he like chocolate or vanilla more? Why has he tried to buy the Parkers from Green Bay ninety-five times?

It made him look like a fool. No one made Lex Luthor look like a fool.

In a fit of madness, Lex had ordered Mercy to blacklist Masters from any parties they would host. He could not stand to have that man throw him off his game a second longer.

It worked for about three months, and Lex did not have to suffer from stomach twisting or heart hurting due to the sudden increase in heart rate. Then he ran into Masters at a Wayne Gala of all places where the man was dressed like an idiot with his pure black-on-black outfit only to throw on a Packer's scarf.

It looked so stupid that Lex had to hide in the men's bathroom for an hour after spotting the man chatting quietly with Wayne's butler. He could not describe why that stupid green and gold scarf had nearly brought him to his knees.

According to Mercy, who had eavesdropped, Masters' mother was from England, which explains his odd accent. She didn't quite judge him openly, but Lex could read the subtext of her stare as she reported everything Masters did at the gala.

He danced to one song with Bruce Wayne. Lex had nearly broken his hand when he punched the way to the bathroom.

The night after Waynes' gala, Lex lifted Masters' ban because he missed the rather dull man's presence. This gala had been the season's highlight, and compared to the other various parties, Lex had found himself feeling something besides boredom or contempt.

The next time Lex saw Masters was at a charity five months later. Once again, Masters was wearing his black suit, but this time, he had a silver undershirt and a ridiculous red bowtie. Lex had spent five hours changing outfit after outfit, trying to find the most flattering one, and Masters had the audacity to wear a red bowtie.

"He looks good," Lena says, eyes drinking in Masters, leaning on a wall with a blue drink in hand and gazing over the dancers. Lex felt like hurling up when Masters' lips twitch up into a grin as a man stumbles by with his unimpressed dance partner. "You should ask him to dance."

"No," Lex bites out, feeling sick. "Why would you even say?"

Lena shares a look with Mercy before muttering, " It's almost pathetic how he doesn't know how to handle his feelings."

"What was that?"

"You're pathetic," She says with an eye roll. She grabs Mercy's hand and drags her to the dance floor, though his bodyguard sends him a look, asking for permission. He waves his hand, knowing his sister would bite his head off if he stopped her from dancing with her girlfriend, even if she was currently on the clock.

" I'm not pathetic. I can make a living clone with my own DNA." He grouches, glaring at her as she twirls under Mercy's arm.

"You can?" The familiar accent has Lex jumping a foot in the air. He spins around only to look down into Master's blue eyes. Lex had always noticed that he was a head taller than the other man, but it was one thing to know on paper and another to see in person.

He felt like Masters' blue gaze had grabbed him by the throat. "What?"

"You make clones?" Masters repeat, eyes alight with delight. "I've dabbled in that technology myself. I have a daughter, thanks to it."

Lex stares, feeling off-footed. "You're married?"

"Oh no, no." Masters laughs, though Lex can pick up a hint of anger from the curve of his jaw. "I'm a single father. My daughter happens to have some characteristics of her DNA donors, but she's mine entirely."

"I see." Lex suddenly feels like every social skill he's ever developed has evaporated. Or, at the very least, all of his brain cells because why else would he have blurted out, "I have a son. He's my clone with another man."

"Oh, congratulations. You and your husband-"

"No! I'm single. I mean, I'm not married. I was never married. In fact, it's been a long time since I've been in a relationship. So long I think I forgot how they are supposed to go." Lex cuts in, nearly spilling his drink as he shakes his hand. Masters' fae clouds with amusement, and Lex realizes he's been talking for too long.

"Well, it's hard to date while being a single parent." Masters hums before smiling, and Lex feels like Superman has just punched him through a wall without wearing his power suit. "Science is a wonderful thing, isn't it? To allow us to have our children."

"I suppose"

Masters ponders something before he holds out a card. "My daughter has always wanted to meet others like her. Would you and your son care to join us for dinner if it's not too much trouble?"

Lex thinks he makes a sound of confirmation, and just as he appears, Masters vanishes. He walks into the crowd, disappearing from sight, taking his mind-numbing, amused eyes and his stupid bow tie.

It takes him a moment to realize the card has Masters' phone number. Lex stares at the seven digits, feeling like he's freefalling and he's seconds away from being sick. He stumbles to a chair, falling into it without his usual grace.

Mercy is at his side in seconds, eyeing him wearily as Lena touches his shoulder. "Lex? You okay?"

"I have...to make a call." He hears himself say, stumbling for his phone. With shaking hands, he taps on a contact, bringing the device to his ear and listening to it ring. It takes five rings before it's picked up, and a voice bites out.

"What?"

"Conner." He starts, hands still shaking slightly. "Are you free this Friday?"

[kermdoeswriting]

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.