#oc: braven redfeather

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HEY

Y’ALL

PSPSPSPSPSPSPS

We commissioned ART of our OCS

@miserable-wanker did such a fantastic job oml we cannot recommend them enough. VERY very kind!!! 10/10 would commission again.

Here are Katty and Braven from a future scene in book 2 ❤️♥️✨☀️👻🎶💀😈💚🖤💜

We love them so so much omg look at how IN LOVE THEY ARE!!! They’ve started off as ENEMIES, your honor, they’ve come such a long way.

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allow me to

Humbly

introduce to you,,

Braven (our oc)

Man is the epitome of Pride he is SUCH a priss and he has the sluttiest little waist imagineable

Like the man wears corsets

No joke

He is a slutty little switch with zero ass and is also my Husband

-Grace ♥️

I like men with skinny waists not because I want to put my hands around them, but because I want to put my legs around them

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Keep in mind Delvan is a scrumply little Rat Bastard who hasn’t slept in a week. And Braven is the resident Pretty Boy. Disney Prince lookin motherfucker

-Grace ♥️

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Of Sinners and Sims - Volume 1

On a late summer night, when the simmering winds carry drunken voices howling a love song, Envy and Pride have found themselves in... unlikely company...

Roleplay snippet from this scene below the cut!!

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The Salty Swan Bar and Lounge had been rebuilt in no time. With Geldour’s plenty of workers being shipped to and fro, aiding Eiffel’s beck and call, bringing with them not only numbers, but electricity and magic and much, much else.

Katty didn’t get her job back, but she expected that much. She was lucky enough the owner didn’t kill her the second he see her face, let alone allow her his services in the form of a drink. She took her favorite seat at the bar: last one to the very right, just beside the stage. It was close enough to a corner to be just out of the way. One couldn’t notice her unless they actively searched for her, but she was there. Perhaps it wasn’t the flashiest seat for a woman of Envy, but rhythm enveloped her here: music and laughter and thunderous feet stomping on the dance floor. Katty felt it all. And perhaps, with just enough wine, it would be enough to let the sting of old wounds slip from her shoulders.

Braven had been in this bar before; he wasn't so foolish as to forget such a fact, even as bottles of wine had painted his tongue. Sure, it had been wrecked and then remade, but it was familiar enough. Eiffel was such a centre of the world that almost every part of it held a familiar tinge, even if it was nothing like his home. Buzzing with memories of Polarys, Braven slipped through the bar, and made no effort to turn anybody to his cult. That was not his purpose tonight. His purpose was to drink alone. Until he spotted the woman at the end of the bar, with a rapier at her hip that he knew almost as intimately as he knew his own dagger.

The most recent crystalline heart of her ex sat on the bar before Katty. Ignoring the envy-laden glares of any who saw it, she rolled it on its axis, this way as that, staring mesmerized at the way it caught and reflected the dark green stage lights.

Memories scratched at her mind. They begged her, nagged her to tap into them, to welcome their sappy saccharine daze.

Indulge, they whispered, you deserve it.

They sounded an awful lot like the voice of the Spirits that always kept her company.

Tonight, she felt nothing. She heard nothing. The noise surrounding her played her body for a trumpet that wouldn’t blow, regardless of how much buzz it was given.

She was weak. She was tired. She was furious, and far too exhausted to be furious.

Her eyes hung in dark rings, staring listlessly at the shit before her.

The most recent crystalline heart of an ex, and a half-drunken bottle of wine.

Braven remained akin to a statue for several moments, perhaps even several minutes, his body unsteady and his mind churning with conflict. Then, finally, he took a breath.

He crossed the room, dodging unconscious drunkards and overturned glasses, and then leant against the bar just beside her.

"I have only ever seen you in a fight, or with our so-called great-gluttony towering over to us," he said. "Whatever am I to do with you now, Katalina Caroway?"

Memories flickered through Katty's mind before she even saw the face of Pride brimming down at her - his voice, clear, eloquent notes that rolled off his tongue, narrated blips of the masquerade a the start of the night. Clashing swords and his incessant teases, their steps moving together on the ballroom floor, and his hands hovering just above her waist, like a bird almost afraid to descend upon their prey.

Katty's lips curled into a half-smile - the first emotion they'd given all day that wasn't the rich, grief-coded lacquer of nostalgia, or teeth-rotting bitterness. Her eyes retained their tired emptiness as she looked up at him, but they also danced with a certain humor they often entertained when he was around.

"Well," she said, reaching for the dagger stowed in her boot, "suppose that depends." Katty jammed the wood into the splintered fibers of the bar, right in the space between them. "Are we allies or are we enemies tonight? Pride?"

Braven chuckled, and motioned for the barkeeper to hand him some fruity cocktail of sorts. He then turned back to Katty, resting his elbow on the counter and his chin in his palm.

"Are we ever truly either of them?" Braven said with a smile. "Even when I want to kill you, we share a secret. And even when we're working together, I imagine your head on a stake."

He received his drink, then took a sip, finding it delightfully sweet and strong.

"I don't particularly feel like making a mess tonight, Katalina," said Braven, smiling again. "How about we hide our swords?"

Katty raised her brows. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs, and ignoring the odd tightening in her chest - as if a cobra had sunken its great, mighty jaws around her heart. Slowly, infinitely quiet and barely-there, the cobra tightened its jaws of steel. But its venom tasted like the backwash of a wine coating her throat.

This was probably a bad idea.

Still, Katty made a small, sweeping motion with her hand, so as to give Braven permission to steal the empty seat beside her and shove his dagger into the wood of the bar, right beside hers - a symbol of surrender, yet not complete friendship.

"Good," she said. "I don't feel like getting banned from my favorite bar."

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CHARACTER INTRO

Braven von Romashov

Pride

He/Him | 28 | Co-Captain of The Beauty Scar

Born the youngest heir to a kingdom known for its cruelty, was it ever truly a choice for Braven von Romashov to become the lord of pride?

No. The god of pride.

All he ever wanted, from the day he was old enough to comprehend it, was a claim to his own throne. The throne that his twin, lady of Lust, had stolen by emerging from the womb first. She won the crown, she won the title, and she won the limited affection that lurked in their parents' hearts.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't just.

Arrogant and selfish, cunning and ruthless, there isn't room enough in Braven's heart for anyone other than himself. But there is only so long a man can go without a fire to warm his soul.

A god is only as rich as he allows himself to be.

Braven Redfeather is the feeling of eyes rolling in their sockets. He's the name you call down an endless corridor, where you can only catch sight of your own reflection. Mirrors and migraines, whispers in the dark and empty bed-sheets...

All the world is a throne for him to conquer. People are pawns who exist only to serve him, worship him, and adore him.

But hurt comes easily to a man of pride.

Picrew 1 | Picrew 2

TAGLIST: @the-inkwell-variable

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Of Sinners and Sims - Volume 2

Katty and Braven are still at the bar where we last left them. The music of the night surrounding them has grown into a symphony orchestrated by the drinks they've had. Feelings suppressed in the harsh light of the day meet, now, with loose tongues and wide, batting eyes...

Last Post

Snippet from our roleplay below the cut!!

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It was just the wine.

It was the wine making a mess of the room whirling around her. It was the wine making her see a friend in an emeny. And it was the wine stirring the butterflies in her stomach - a feeling Katty thought she had learned to swallow ages ago, way back in the years of her girlhood, young and foolish.

Katty couldn't swallow this. She couldn't taper the extent of her smile. She couldn't water down the life she carried in her laugh, nor the... dangerous sense of hope she carried inside.

Strange. Foreign. And yet.

"What are you drinking for," Katty asked, shifting in her seat to lean closer to him. She rested her head in the palm of her hand. The chaos of the bar slipped into a humdrum buzz. Katty, suddenly, was aware of only one thing. "I can't possibly expect you to go out roaming the streets of Eiffel looking for me."

Braven smiled at her, wide and mischievous in a way he too-seldom indulged in. Perhaps the cocktails were sullying his mind, turning his thoughts into those that made no sense.

"You presume to know my thoughts and motivations? Katalina, I'm the mind-reader here. You may know past, but you know naught of my present."

He received another drink, and sipped at it. "Why are you here, drinking alone? I don't see another pirate in here, and none with emeralds for eyes."

Aren't you supposed to be the mind reader here?" Katty laughed, mocking, with a playful spark at the edge of her lips. "Why don't you figure it out?"

The image of him stole her vision completely. His eyes, those gorgeous amethysts, his lips and the pout they carried... Had Pride always been this gorgeous? He had to have been. Katty hadn't given him the nickname pretty boy in her waking life for nought.

Braven reached out, and his fingertips brushed the soft line of her jaw. For less than a moment, he allowed a handful of her thoughts to pass through to him, before he pulled back.

"I have discovered you have a fondness for felines," he said, "but I'd have to dig deeper to discover more?"

He smirked.

"Do you want that, Katalina Caroway?"

Katty giggled. She leant into his touch the way she would if she were pressing her neck to his dagger, and she dared. "What do you think?"

This might've been a mistake. Katty knew that. Then again, this entire meeting is a mistake, and she relied upon the bet that neither of them would remember much of this in the morning anyway, so why not take a risk? She was young and drunk and the night was beside her. The concoctions of music and noise, the swaying of rhythms all around her, inside and out... all served for an excellent remedy to forget the woes that she came here with.

None of it seemed to matter when she looked danger straight in his amethyst eyes.

Braven could do nothing but exist in the captivity of her emerald eyes, far more enchanting than even that crystal heart of hers. It could have rolled from the bar and shattered like ice, and neither would look elsewhere.

Was this some kind of spell?

No, no. Katty couldn't do that.

And wouldn't, either, he suspected.

"I think," said Braven, "that you're here to be alone, but that you don't mind my company quite as much as one would expect."

Katty grew breathless. Her spine curled as she leant in to the point that their noses caressed and their foreheads threatened to touch. She spoke in a husky whisper, with her voice misting his lips, "is that all?"

His lips filled her gaze. His lips filled her mind. She couldn't focus on anything else, even if she tried. Need and want curled and writhed within her - a fiery tango that she only wanted to fan the flames of.

If he didn't kiss her, she would do it herself.

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[of-sinners-and-seas]

This man is the incarnation of Pride btw

You know

Like the deadly sin

He gets tortured in our wip

This is the happiest I’ve ever seen his sim be

-Grace ♥️

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an elegant pirate lady with a daddy kink x a bratty pirate man with a mommy kink

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OC STYLE BOARD: Braven Redfeather

The Prince of Pride wears the feeling of eyes fixed upon him more than he does any other accessory. They feast on his glory, beg at the heels of his indomitable leather boots for a scrap of his attention. They’re nothing but peasants, and he, their king.

He certainly portrays himself as such. Braven adorns himself in so much jewelry, one might think he was Envy, with her magic of crystals. Earrings dangle and necklaces wind around themselves as snakes. Pomp and circumstance rolls its eyes at the sight of the peacock feather tucked beneath his belt, protected by dual daggers he wields with a master’s hand.

Hickeys and scratches adorn his neck from a night spent with his lover. They travel down his chest, and burrow ‘neath the cover of his pristine bellowing shirt.

Long, slender fingers laze about the pockets of his ornate black coat. They fumble with a love letter whose ink has freshly dried. His bored eyes glaze over the heads of the crowded street. Nothing so interests him beyond the flash of a jet black curly bob.

—

WIP INTRO

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