SirianaSims

[AKIRA]

Akira has only been in the Netherworld for a couple of hours, but already, he knows that everyone in Alice’s orbit is full of shit. It wasn’t clear exactly why they were lying to her. The place had a strange relationship with the Embodiments.

Actually, her realm had a strange relationship with a lot of beings, including Edith, but the Embodiments were the bigger problem. So far, he hadn’t learned much beyond their names. Discord was Eris, Grief was Oizys, Agony was Algea, Anxiety was Curae, and Asceplius was Disease.

Oh, and he knew they wielded the things they were named for like a weapon. Bryan kept insisting they were Alice’s powers, and they wanted to help, but it was obvious she didn’t control them, and the word “want” was doing a heavy lift. 

“They don’t seem helpful,” Alice points out. “Why would I want them at this trial? They’re just gonna rile me up!”

“Technically, they’ll rile everyone,” Bryan corrects in a way that sets Akira’s teeth on edge. “No one is immune to the Embodiments on account of Asceplius.” 

“What does that even mean?” Alice scowls. 

“It means she’s an amplifier,” Akira answers. 

Bryan looks both surprised and offended. 

In a lot of ways, Vlad was right, Akira was absolutely a neanderthal. But he wasn’t stupid. And he knew magic. “Who directs them?”

Bryan gasps. “How did you—”

“You’re talking about animism.”

“I…yes, but—”

Akira’s patience is wearing thin. “This form is not what they are. Grief is not a dude in a blue suit. Agony is not some skeleton-looking motherfucker. Pretty sure Disease ain’t actually an emo chick in leather pants. Magic gives them a shape, but if they don’t have a purpose, they’d be hard-pressed to maintain it.”

He fixes Bryan with a dark look. “Someone or something gives them purpose because if they were doing it themselves, I would actually be enjoying my date instead of sitting here with you bony bastards”

Bryan straightens. He doesn’t have facial expressions, but the rage rolls off him. “They have purpose!” 

It’s the first completely true thing he’s said so far. Akira tucks that piece of information away. 

“And anyway, you’re asking a ridiculous question,” he continues indignantly, “You’ve already been told that they are powers of Death.”

“Yeah, but I don’t direct them.” Alice folds her arms and turns to Bryan’s siblings. “Mostly they make me feel crazy, and then someone else directs me away from them.” 

Akira stands, enjoying the show. Admittedly, because he’s fucked up individual, he loses himself whenever Alice or Vlad needs something. Few things feel as good as them turning to him for comfort. But nothing compared to watching them wield their power with full confidence. 

Whatever look Alice is giving the skeletons has them shrinking back, and he is here for it.

Bryan, of course, ruins the moment. “Well, technically, it didn’t happen. Your feelings aren’t real; they’re just—”

“Okay, you can fuck off,” Akira snaps. He looks at the other skeletons. “James, you’re up. Who controls the Embodiments?”

“Edith’s been administering the Netherworld in Alice’s absence. She’s the one who put up the wanted posters for you and Vladislaus.”

Akira frowns. “The what?”

“There’s a reward.” James twists their hands nervously. “You’re supposed to be killed on sight and tossed out to the in-between, so you can’t cause problems. She said you’re omens.”

Well, that was hilarious. And short-sighted. If they really thought Vlad and Akira were threats they should have sent an assassin to the mortal world years ago. Instead they were posting signs and wagging their fingers after the fact. What was this? Amateur hour? 

“If it were up to me, I would’ve sent an assassin to the mortal realm before you even met her,” Missy huffs. 

Akira can’t help but smile. Finally, someone was using some common sense. “An assassin skilled in magic?”

“Too easy for you to track,” she lifts a shoulder. “I’d want a weapons professional. Someone who can get in close range and use knives with a paralyzing agent, all smooth like.” 

“This conversation is hardly appropriate,” Bryan hisses. “We’re getting distracted. There is an order to the ritual. We should be focusing on that.”

“No,” Akira shifts his attention to Alice. “But while we’re on the topic, we need to make sure you’re distracted so they can’t pull you in.” 

“Oh, I can avoid paying attention like a champ, but I don’t think that’s enough. They had no problem getting to me last time, and I wasn’t even aware they existed. Edith has to direct them to focus on something else.” She glances towards the conference room where Vlad is meeting with his client.

“You have an idea?”

“Maybe,” Alice drags out the word, forcing him to hang on every syllable. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Akira grins and stretches his hands behind his head. “I think if Edith is anything like our uptight blue-hat-wearing bag of bones here, then we have the perfect creature to draw her attention.” 

[EVAN]

The conference room was somehow both completely mundane and terrifying at the same time. Gruesome paintings of staff members hung from the walls, testifying to their accolades even as blood dripped from their eyes and sharp teeth burst from their mouths. 

Evan watches warily as Death’s creepier boyfriend leans his elbows on the table. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” he begins in his crisp accent. “And I want you to reply as fast as you can, honestly or not. I don’t actually care. Sims and their wavy-gravy relationship with truth isn’t really my business.” 

It’s a crazy thing to say. But before Evan can ponder it, Vladislaus spits out the first question. “Have you ever stolen anything?”

Immediately, Evan finds himself flustered. “Um, maybe. I don’t know. A pen?” he stumbles through a rambling explanation, but Vlad cuts him off mid-way.

“Wrong. You should say ‘define stolen.’ Does no one in your world ask for clarification?” He squints, “Gods, the imprecision of your conversations must be exhausting. Next question: Do you fear oblivion?”

“What?! Why would I—why is that even...?!”

“Good, that level of panic is perfect. Oblivion deserves our respect. Keep that energy.”

The questions continue in this manner until Evan is so confused, he begs Vladislaus to stop. “What are we doing?”

“Prepping for the trial.” Vlad looks perplexed. “Do you not understand what’s happening here? Are you addled?” He frowns briefly, “Don’t answer that; it will absolutely reflect poorly on me and my legal prowess. Next question: what do you value most?”

It should be an easy question, but truthfully, Evan is so exhausted and mystified by Vladislaus that he doesn’t even know how to answer. Should I try to be clever? Should I be honest? Should I lie? Vlad said he didn’t care, but everyone else seemed to think lying was a bad idea. 

It was hard to know what answer would keep him from being eaten, so in the end, Evan goes with the only answer he knew to be true—the simple truth: Jayden. 

Jayden is the one thing he values most. He loves him. He'd do anything for him.

Vladislaus looks pleased. “That is the only answer that matters.”

It’s unsettling, certainly, but Vlad’s smile seems genuine. They share a few quiet moments, and while Evan doesn’t feel hopeful, exactly, he does feel relieved. “How do you know so much about the Netherworld’s legal system?”

Vlad pauses and then laughs. In fact, he laughs so long that Evan begins to fear that he is a dead man for sure. “You are adorable. Next question: Have you ever danced with a ghost?”

“What?”

“Let’s talk dragons.” Vlad changes the subject so quickly Evan’s head spins. “Hypothetically, if a dragon threatened your boyfriend and kicked his ass, what would be the best way to go about killing it?”

Before Evan can answer, the door to the conference room swings open. Akira strolls in scowling. “Vladislaus, do not piss me off. I told you we are not doing shit about that dragon. We want to talk about the plan for Evan’s defense.”

Clearly excited, Vlad claps his hands. “Delightful. I love plans. Speaking of which, have I mentioned that I need a suit?”

“Do I look like I’m running a fuckin’ retail establishment? You have clothes, and for the record, you love to foil plans. But not this time. This time, you’re gonna do everything I tell you.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You get to be the center of attention.”

Vladislaus’s smile is slow. “I love being the center of attention.”

Akira smirks. “Yeah. I know.”

“I think Vlad would look cute in a suit.” Alice gives Evan a warm smile and a wave. “Hi Evan! Ready for Judgement?”

Decimation is the process of selectively destroying parts of a digital object to reduce its polycount while preserving its overall appearance. It's very important for CC creators to understand and use this tool, because the game has a couple tricks up its sleeve to help save processing power while rendering scenes, and the primary one is LODs.

LOD stands for Level Of Detail. LODs are numbered, beginning with 0, and the lower the number, the greater the level of detail (and the greater the polycount!)

When you position your game camera right next to an item, the game uses LOD 0, the best and most-detailed model available. But when you move the camera a little further away, it switches LOD 0 for LOD 1, which has a lower polycount. Move the camera even further, and LOD 1 gets switched out for LOD 2. The furthest-away objects will be rendered using LOD 3, the least-detailed version of the object. Switching an object too far away to be seen in detail for a lower poly version reduces the strain on your computer, which makes it vital for making deco sims.

LODs aren't the game developer's only trick, though!

Left: the diffuse map for my deco sim. Notice how the sleeves have folds and shadows painted on and compare that to the mostly-smooth 3D model visible on the pictures of the complete sim above. Right: the normal map for my sim, which is used to help create the three-dimensional appearance.

For certain objects, certain graphic design tricks can create the illusion of depth and texture on a simple model. For example, a lot of "pockets" on EA clothes are essentially painted on, with fake flaps and buttons. Most objects also have a "normal" map or "bump" map, which is a flat color (usually purple-ish) that uses greens and reds to create the impression of raised and lowered areas. These correspond to the highlights and shadows on the object, and the game uses both in concert to create more of a 3D effect. In fact, game designers will often use normalmapping to "restore" some of the texture and details lost by decimating a complex mesh.

Putting all this together: you can "save" on your deco sims' polycounts by decimating the mesh and adding in a normal map to restore some of the lost detail.

Here we have two decos next to two "living" sims. You can tell which ones are deco sims and which ones are "alive," but can you tell which deco Sim is higher poly?

Most deco sim creators don't decimate at all when creating LOD 0. The highest LOD will have the exact same polycount as a normal sim but still look like an unnerving wax dummy due to the aforementioned lighting differences. However, a decimated mesh with a normal map looks almost identical to an undecimated mesh in that they both look equally unnerving and waxen.

Fortunately, if you're creating a Deco Sim with the sim ripper method, you already have both your diffuse and normal maps right at hand. SimRipper spits out four files: a .dae file (used for importing the sim into blender), and four .png files: the diffuse texture, the normalmap, and the specular map. You can delete the spec map right away, but the diffuse will become your texture for different swatches, and the normalmap will be uploaded in the appropriate slot in Sims 4 Studio:

Most ripped sims are between 15k and 20k polys, assuming you use mostly EA items or Maxis Match CC (alpha CC often has a MUCH higher polycount), which means that undecimated deco sims will have the same for their highest LOD. Decimating (70-80% is usually a good ratio) brings that polycount down to 10-14k, which will be easier to load and use.

Now this method isn't perfect. If you know what to look for, decimated deco sims often have noticeable mesh issues, including holes in the mesh and visible seams. I think this is a worthwhile trade-off, since deco sims are unlikely to show up in the foreground of screenshots and no one will be able to see these issues!

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[TRANSCRIPT]

(Upstairs in the abandoned house next to Quoth Cafe, Darling and Morgan are tied up on the floor, guarded by a vampire. Low groaning sounds as they slowly return to consciousness. More vampires are talking just outside the room. One is carrying a body to an ice freezer. The other two argue over a sim passed out on the floor)

[NIKITA]: Why would we freeze her if she’s not dead? We leave her here; she wakes up later, and we move on.

[ARI]: Because then the blood will be extra fresh. Do I tell you how to eat your meals?

(Downstairs, more vampires wait, talking to each other using telepathy)

[JARON]: I don’t know why you’re complaining.

[SAVANNA]: I’m not complaining. I just want to know why we’re first on the line.  

[AUBREY]: We’re first on the line because we’re the best. And some of us have unfinished business. Ryker, how close are they?

[RYKER]: Just outside the room, in the hall. 

(In the front hall, Akira and JJ prepare for an ambush. They DO NOT have telepathy, but they have been working together for a long time)

[AKIRA]: You go left, I’ll go right. We hit ‘em hard and fast and get them to clear out.

[JJ]: ???

[AKIRA]: Never mind. 

[AKIRA]: Look, whoever doesn’t want to get stabbed should get the fuck out now!

(Meanwhile, in the cafe next door, Vlad and Cora are sitting at a small table, enjoying their coffee and cinnamon rolls)

[VLAD]: So, given your previous romantic entanglement, what exactly would you say is Akira’s trauma around control?

[CORA]: I…what? I’m not going to answer that.

[VLAD]: Fine. Can we talk about your gun? I’m interested in getting access to one.

[CORA]: Why do you need a gun? You ate like 30 witches. 

[VLAD]: 36. 

[CORA]: What even are you?

[VLAD]: Bored. Do you think Akira is forcing me to sit on the sidelines because he wants to break up?

(Back at the abandoned house, the fight continues. Vampires swarm both JJ and Akira. Aubrey leaps through the air, JJ growls as he tackles Savanna, and Jaron runs to her aid. Akira fulfils his promise, drawing out a knife and using it to stab Ryker in the neck)

[AUBREY]: Incoming!

[AKIRA]: Maybe you didn’t hear my announcement, shithead. Or maybe you just like getting stabbed in the neck. 

(In the cafe, Vlad and Cora continue their conversation)

[VLAD]: It’s not that I’m not allowed in the weapons shed, it’s that I need to prove I’m sane before I can access it again.

[CORA]: I don’t think you could ever prove that you’re sane.

[VLAD]: Exactly what I said. Bloodvein claims he gets messages from aliens, and my mother doesn’t stop him if he wants to take a machete for a spin.

(Fighting continues at the house. Akira gets the jump on Savanna after JJ knocks her over. He stabs her in the mouth with his knife as she tries to call for backup. Ryker is in the corner, clutching his neck, panicked gurgles escaping as he waits for the injury to heal. Meanwhile, JJ is trying to hold off Aubrey and Jaron, who have taken a tag team approach. He manages to get one good hit to Jaron’s jaw. Vlad and Cora are still in the cafe. Neither has touched the sticky buns, but their coffee is nearly gone)

[VLAD]: I think one of my biggest issues is that I’ve only had sex once, and I didn’t really like it. The sweat? The breathing? Ugh.

[CORA]: Vlad, I'm begging you. We do not have to talk about—

[VLAD]: But Alice and Akira have unlocked something in me, and now I fear that horniness is going to kill me.

(Cutting back to the house briefly, Jaron has tackled Akira to the ground and is working on getting the knife out of his hand. Aubrey has also brought JJ down and is teasing him as she tries to get her fangs into his neck. Ryker’s throat has healed enough for him to shout for backup)

[JARON]: I told Markus I never liked you!

[AKIRA]: Feeling is mutual. Get offa me!

[AUBREY]: Come on, JJ, just one little bite. I know you have a thing for blondes.

[RYKER]: CODE RED! IT’S AKIRA!!!

(Back in the cafe, Cora wishes she could disappear from this conversation)

[CORA]: I…I don’t think you can die from horniness.

[VLAD]: Well, I can’t really die at all, Cora, it’s a metaphor.

(Upstairs in the abandoned house, the other vampires have gotten the message and are discussing their next move, given the identity of who is attacking downstairs)

[JENNIFER]: Holy shit! Did he just say Akira? I miss that asshole.

[NIKITA]: I don't. Come on, let’s wrap this up. I do not want to hear Markus’s mouth about his precious baby.

(At the cafe, Vlad is finally getting under Cora’s skin in a bad way. They finished their drinks and moved to the couch area. But when he pushes too far, she storms out)

[VLAD]: Do you find the unresolved sexual tension between you and the wolf frustrating, or is that just your kink?

[CORA]: What? I’m not…we’re not…that’s none of your business!

[VLAD]: I think if you fucked you’d feel better. Plus, he seems stable. Take it from me, when you’re unhinged, you need a man who will put up with your shit.

[CORA]: I am not gonna sit here and listen to this.

[VLAD]: Storming off does nothing. I have a deep and unwavering commitment to my friends even at their worst. 

[CORA]: How can we be friends? We just met, and I don’t even think I like you. 

[VLAD]: I would never let a petty thing like your complete disdain for me ruin our friendship. 

[CORA]: Whatever. I am not unhinged. 

[VLAD]: You’re voluntarily helping your ex-boyfriend and acting like the sight of him doesn’t fill you with rage, even though you tried to get a dragon to kill him. 

[CORA]: I’m not acting like I’m not angry! I shot him in the stomach.

[VLAD]: For rage reasons?

[CORA]: No. Because he was being annoying and endangering others. 

[CORA]: Rhygo was mad on my behalf. I paid her not to kill him, because it wasn’t all his fault. I knew what we had wasn’t real.

[VLAD]: Then my point stands. Emotionally speaking, you’re a mess. Fuck that werewolf and let him become the perfect counterbalance to your volatile nature.

(Nikita and Jennifer make their way downstairs in the abandoned house. Chaos awaits them. JJ argues with Nikita and kicks her into a wall. Akira stabs Jaron in the eye. Savanna is out cold. They shout until they get everyone’s attention)

[JJ]: It was one date. And I don’t have a thing for blondes.

[AUBREY]: Two! We went on two dates, you jackass!

[NIKITA]: ENOUGH!!!! Everyone, stand down.

[AKIRA]: Fine. Not like this was a real fight anyway. Ryker’s in the corner, crying like a little bitch, grabbing his stomach. I stabbed you in the neck, jackass.

[RYKER]: Shut up. You conjured a knife, you cheatin’ ass motherf—

[NIKITA]: Grow up, Ryker. And don’t accuse the fae of cheating. Akira, you and the pup agree to end this fight, and we all walk away now.

[JJ]: Really, Nikita? "Pup"? Come on!

[JENNIFER]: That’s what we call you if you can’t survive a third date with Aubrey. Now, Akira, are you taking the deal, or are you gonna fight us for the mortals?

[AKIRA]: What? I don’t give a shit about a bunch of sims. Take your meal and fuck off. I got things to do. 

[NIKITA]: Same old Akira. Hope the Devil’s treating you well. You can always come back home, you know.

[JENNIFER]: Yeah, Markus would be delighted. We’ll give him your regards. He misses you.

“So?” Barbara asked to break the silence.

Mikey sat across from her, running his finger through the condensation on his water glass with his brows pulled tight and his mouth pressed in a thin line like he’s trying to keep the words from spilling out, words he was desperate to tell her only yesterday.

Finally, he looked at her, opened his mouth, and let out a rush of air along with a single word, “So…”

And, like, really? He was really going to torture her like this? She wanted to grab him and shake him, but she shoved the impulse aside because they were in public, and instead pummeled him with questions, “What are we doing here, Mikey? What do you want to talk about? Where have you been for the last month?”

He sat up straighter then, wiped his hands on his jeans and said, “I’ll tell you. I promise. But can we talk about you first?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, how are classes? Work? Are you doing okay?”

She stared at him incredulously. Something weird had been going on with him lately. She didn’t like it. She also didn’t like the implication in his tone. “I’m fine. I am capable functioning without you.”

“I never said you weren’t. I’m just checking in. I know I haven’t been around much, and I’m sorry for that, but it doesn’t mean I don’t still care.”

She deflated a bit at that. At the softness in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice. Sometimes it was impossible to hold on to her anger around him. She nodded slightly, conceding that perhaps a conversation would be more effective than an interrogation. For now. “I’m doing good. A couple of classes have been tough, and it’s been hard to focus on studying. The house is too quiet without you there. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Mostly, I just miss you.”

“I miss you too.” He gave her a small smile that she couldn’t help but return.

Their waitress, a bubbly woman with dark hair pulled high into a messy bun, showed up then. She set their tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches in front of them with a smile and told them to give her a holler if there’s anything else they need before disappearing into the familiar hustle and bustle of the diner.

“So,” Mikey said around a bite of his sandwich, “are you going to tell me about that guy at the library?”

Barbara stopped mid-opening a packet of saltines and looked up at him. He crooked an eyebrow at her, and she thought about playing dumb, but knew it wouldn’t get her very far. She crushed the crackers into her soup and stirred them around as she answered, “Nothing to tell really. I don’t know him. I just think he’s… interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Yeah. I mean, he goes to Britechester, but he studies at the public library four days a week rather than the university library. He’s studying microbiology, but he’s always pouring through books about Selvadorada. The culture, geography, rare plants, myths, all kinds of stuff. He’s so focused and smart and quiet. So quiet. I’ve never heard him speak. But he stares off sometimes and I can tell his mind is just spinning with thoughts, and I want to know every one of them. I want to be the person he tells all his thoughts to.” She stopped. Her face felt like it was on fire. She hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

Thankfully, Mikey didn’t try to embarrass her. He just breathed a laugh through his nose and said, “That’s quite a crush.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, a gesture of nonchalance that was doomed to fail given her previous statement.

“Are you going to do anything about it?”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated for a moment before deciding to continue. He was, after all, the only person she could talk to about this. “He always has this little toy car with him.”

Mikey froze, but didn’t say anything.

“He puts it on the desk while he works. Sometimes he holds it, running his thumb over the tires. But most the time, it just sits there. I think it could work.”

He sighed, “Why can’t you just talk to him like a normal person?”

“I will. I just want to get a sense of him first. If you were smart, you’d do the same thing with Katie.”

“Her name is Catherine. And I’m not going to do that. You never should have done that.”

“I’m glad I did. Mikey, if you felt what I felt, you’d understand.”

“It was just a dream! It doesn’t mean anything. This, right here,” he knocked on the table as if to make a point, “you and me, awake, this is what’s real.”

“I know that. But this being reality doesn’t make dreams meaningless. They’re a window.”

“Not the way you think. They’re memories. Distorted and jumbled. They can be interpreted a million different ways. But most of all, they’re private. We don’t belong in other people’s heads.”

She slumped. She couldn’t argue with him on that, not without sounding awful, and he knew it. But that didn’t mean she believed there wasn’t a middle ground. Because, selfishly, she did want to get a sense of Gabriel. And after spending thirty seconds in Catherine’s head, she felt it was important now more than ever. Because people manipulate, and they lie. But dreams, distorted and jumbled though they could be, were honest.

They finished their meal in silence, saying nothing until their waitress came by and they thanked her as she stacked their dishes and took them away.

“So, are you going to tell me where you’ve been or what?” Barbara finally asked because she wasn’t going to let him get away with leaving without fulfilling that promise.

Mikey nodded and leaned forward on his elbows, “Okay, but I need you to promise me that you’ll listen before you react. Set your judgments aside because I really need you to be happy for me. Or at least supportive.”

She didn’t know what to make of that. She scanned his worried expression. What could possibly… Oh no. Oh no. “Oh my god, Mikey, please tell me Catherine isn’t pregnant.”

“What? No! Is that really the first place your mind goes? We haven’t even… done… that.”

She laughed, mostly in relief, “What are you, saving yourself for marriage?” She’d meant it as a joke, but the way Mikey looked at her told her that was exactly what he was doing, and she laughed again, “Seriously? She does know you’re not a virgin, right?”

He sighed, that exasperated one she knew so well, the one she sometimes thought he reserved only for her, “Yes. She knows that. So does her father.”

She nearly choked, “I’m sorry, what?!”

“It’s not… He’s on the church council, so it’s unavoidable. Listen, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’ve been in Willow Creek, preparing to join the church. I told them everything… about my life so far. Prayed. Repented. It’s a whole process of shedding the life of sin and stepping into a new one. To walk in the Light of God.”

Barbara was speechless.

She knew Catherine was religious. She knew Mikey had been going to church with her on weekends in an attempt to be supportive. But this. This, she didn’t know what to do with. She’d never heard him talk like this before. They grew up in a secular household. Their parents were academics. Atheists even. Though, it’s not like she couldn’t understand. At least a little bit. When Dawn passed away, even Barbara questioned things. Wanted to believe in something more. Some grand design or purpose. But she knew there were no concrete answers to be had, and organized religion always gave her the ick, so she settled comfortably in agnosticism.

“B? Will you say something, please?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her voice trapped between his need for support and her need to ask him if he’d lost his fucking mind. But then one thought came barreling through in a rush, “You told them everything?”

He closed his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her when he said, “Everything.”

“Traveling?”

He nodded and opened his eyes again. “But it’s okay. I promise.”

“How is that okay?”

“They’re going to help me. Make sure it never happens again.”

“What? How? Why? I… Mikey, how many times do I have to tell you? This is a gift. It’s not a curse.”

“I disagree.”

He said it so simply that she didn’t know how to respond.

He reached out and put a hand over hers, “My baptism is on Sunday. I really want you to be there. Listen to them. Just once. And I promise you’ll understand.”

The depth of sincerity in his eyes terrified her for reasons she couldn’t quite understand. She didn’t know how she was supposed to react. Of course, he was allowed to believe in whatever he wanted to believe in. But who the fuck were these people, and could they really take away his ability to Travel?

She already felt like they were growing apart, moving in two different directions, and it made her sad, angry, maybe a little jealous, but this… This was different. She felt like a part of her was being ripped away and she couldn’t take it.

She pulled away from him and shook her head, “I’m can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

And she left.

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Her mouth opened. A silent scream...until she awoke. 

Iris touched her chest. She was sweating. 

“Damn you,” she said to no one in particular.

She sat up from her bed, body clammy. The remnants of the Tomarang heat clung to her body, and it made her feel uncomfortable, as the temperature cools down. Iris looked outside her window; it’s late afternoon. 

She’s in Tomarang with the Selvadorada Temple Order. A necessary migration, but it's not permanent. The Watcher willed it to. But she knows they'll be back home to Belomisia, where she'll hear and feel the cool spray of the jungle waterfalls as she spars with Mata. 

It took her another moment to bring herself back in the present. The sun will come down, and the night markets will soon open. 

She decided to take a bath. It’ll cool her off, and make her forget the…dream…

Or was it a nightmare?

A foresight, perhaps. 

Iris didn’t realize she almost spent an hour in the bathtub, and the sun had began to set. She stepped out of the bathtub, and then drained it, water droplets dripping down her body. Taking a deep breath, she started to dress up.

Iris could smell the aromatic dish Chief Song is preparing as she stepped into the temple. She found Raul and Lakandiwa sprawled on the floor, asleep, as Kashvi sat on the floor, eyes closed.  

The vampire babaylan’s eyes twitched, and she smiled up at her. “Seeker Iris, have you cooled down?”

“I took a bath,” Iris replied. She took a moment to watch Raul and Lakandiwa. She could feel how hot they are just by looking at them.

“The Tomarang heat is different, no?” Kashvi said. “I miss our baths in Belomisia.”

Iris nodded. She stepped away from the group, walked to the altar, where the image of the Watcher stood. The image of Omisca. Pride swelled in her chest, knowing that the Tomarang people still believed in Her. However, she didn’t kneel nor prayed. She stood there, looking at it – gazing at it.

“Is something troubling you, Seeker?” Kashvi’s gentle voice brought her out of her trance.

Iris lowered her gaze. “…Mata’s awake, isn’t he?”

Kashvi hummed, “He went back inside to help Chief Song. He said he’ll bathe after you.”

“I’m going to the night market,” Iris said, stepping away from the altar. “I’ll meet him there.”

Kashvi watched her leave Ro Kaya Temple, a little confused.

Iris watched the vendors in the night market hawking their goods. She watched a tourist haggling a little trinket from the wares stall, and she made a face, huffing when she saw the tourist fail.

And then, she felt a gentle tug, her magic harmonizing with someone – with Mata. When she looked, he smiled at her. She looked away. 

Side by side, they stood as they watched the night market scene.

“Are you hungry, Iris?” Mata asked. “Couldn’t wait for Chief Song’s dinner, hm?”

Iris ignored his teasing, continuing watching the scene before them. Mata’s teasing grin dropped. He studied his fellow Seeker’s face. 

“Let's walk,” she only said.

“I’ve dreamt about something,” Iris started, “did you see it too?”

“I did,” Mata nodded. “I saw the Watcher enjoying her excursion with Diego. They’ve been lounging all day in the monastery pool.”

This caught her attention. Different dreams? This couldn’t be. Both of them dream the same thing. 

As they approached the Lotus Plaza, Mata continued to describe his dream.

“And then the Watcher looked at me, straight in the eye,” Mata continued, “She was about to say something, but I woke up.” Sighing, “I’ll have to apologize to Her in the next dream.”

Iris paused. Mata noticed and stopped walking. “What’s wrong?”

“Mata,” her eyebrows knitted, “I didn’t have that dream.”

His smile faded a little. 

“Mata, we have always had the same dream. We see it the same, as if we’re both there,” Iris almost growled, “What I had…it wasn’t Her talking to us. A…”

She whispered the last word, and if it wasn’t for his sharp ears, he wouldn’t be able to catch it. 

Nightmare.

When was their last nightmare? He couldn’t remember, for their Lady Creator had made sure they will never dream a nightmare ever again. Mata watched her walk towards the Lotus Statue of Morensong, before following behind.

“You’re tired, Iris,” Mata said, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She could feel his magic enveloping her warmly. It's comforting. “I haven’t seen you rest well ever since the last meeting with Unit Thirteen.” 

“How could I, Mata?” Iris huffed, gently pushing him away. “The Circle is active, again. I never rested well even when they were silent, and now that they could be anywhere…”

Mata’s voice is gentle and soft. “Tell me about the nightmare.”

She took a deep breath, eyes closed. “Let’s not – ”

“Tell me.” Mata touched her elbow.

Her fingers lightly touched her lips.

“I was walking down the old streets in Willow Creek…and then the pavement...softened. It made me unstable, as if the whole world wasn’t real. As if the whole world was unstable. I blinked. And then everything got dark. I was in the dark. Then a voice called me – called my name. The name I vowed to forget. My birth name. I screamed...and then I woke up.”

Iris cast her eyes downwards, and without missing a beat, arms wrapped around her, and she melted in her fellow Seeker’s embrace. 

Deep into the night, when all the monici had retired to their rooms after their evening prayer and meditation, Iris found herself walking into the temple. Later, Mata found her meditating above the carpet. 

“Are you not tired?” He asked. 

“I’m not,” she replied without looking back nor opening her eyes.

“Scared of the nightmare?” he teased.

Iris huffed, losing her form. “No, it’s too hot in the bedroom.”

Mata joined her on the carpet as she sat down. “It’s not. I’ve recast a cooling spell around Ro Kaya. You broke it when you were having a nightmare. I think that was what the Watcher was about to say to me in the dream.”

She fell silent. 

“We could sleep here together,” Mata smiled.

He didn’t hear anything but a sharp huff. They sat there for a while, Iris just staring down at the carpet. Not too long after, she laid down. 

“You love that clover leaf earring from the Pupil, don’t you?” Mata teased again. “You have never removed that when you got it from the mail.”

He saw her closing her eyes with a huff. Mata chuckled. 

Silence fell over them. Mata could feel the connecting magic he and Iris shared. It’s warm, it’s beating steadily. It comforts him, like a blanket, wrapping him, protecting him from harm. And then, he felt its beating slowing down. 

Iris went deep into slumber, and Mata is there to stay, not allowing his fellow Seeker fall into the dark tendrils of a nightmare.

The other shoe was dropping. Ben knows as soon as he inhales a breath. At its core, magic was a turbulent storm. It wanted to whip things into a frenzy and then soak up the still quiet that only came after everything had been torn down.

Later, there would be the acrid scent of death and destruction. But for now, the air smelled sweet, the potential for chaos delicious and tempting. Even creatures with the barest hint of magic would feel hunger curling their bellies.

But something massive had to be in the works because if Titania was around, then so too was Akira.

Making his way to a quieter corner of the bar, Ben dials a number on his phone. Magic liked a conduit, and sometimes it worked better in a tangible form. “I know this was you,” he says, by way of greeting.

The Kibo siblings were generally seen as egotistical little maniacs who stabbed first and sometimes didn’t even bother to ask a question. And that was true. They were a menace in every timeline they had ever existed in.

But Titania was brilliant; the fae had endured not because of their creators but because of her. 

And Akira wasn’t arrogant so much as he was singularly focused. A thousand years alone on a corpse of a timeline that the Divine couldn't fully cull had carved everything else out of him.

All he wanted was to get back to the two creatures he pledged his heart to—to fulfill his promise to take care of them. Fae as he was, the errant demigod would not go back on his word. Ben had only ever seen that level of resolve in one other creature. 

“Good evening to you, too, Ferryman,” the Devil’s drawl is slow, almost playful. “Or should I say Head of Security? Director of Investments? It’s hard to keep up with your various career changes.”

“A witch don’t need a wand to remember things.”

“I’m not clear on what that has to do with me,” Jacques replies. The Devil didn’t lie. He and the God of Sleep were bound to the same laws they made for their creations. Still, they were both adept at dodging the truth when it suited them.  

“Come on, mate, you of all creatures is clear on your on your role. You running a side plot while the world is ending? Maybe I can help.”

The Devil senses the offer for what it is—a lie. “Very cute, Ferryman. Help with what?”

“Don’t be coy!” Ben laughs, but it comes out hollow. “Level with me. I know about the Wand of the Forgotten. There’s no bloody reason for witches to give a shit about a thing like that.”

Jacques chuckles in that way only a primeval creature, a Premade, could ever laugh. Ben was old, yes, but the Devil was ancient. “What an odd declaration to make.”

“I know a scheme when I see one. Come on, you've got to be involved! Can't give me one little piece of information?” His voice cracks. Immediately, Ben knows he’s overplayed his hand. 

Defeated, he sets the phone down on the table and contemplates ordering a shot. He can’t help but picture tossing that shot in the Devil’s face. 

“I can feel that, you know.” Jacques’s tone is mildly disapproving. “Such violent thoughts, and here I was believing you held me in high esteem.”

It's enough to force Ben to crack a smile. If anyone understood what it was to have your magic go from barely tolerated to high demand, it was him.

“I still do. But I’m not a fool. A drunk, maybe, but not stupid. Melisandre loves a trinket, but she’d never bother running down a wand like that for herself. Not unless she was going to use it as payment.”

“I don’t hear a question," the Devil replies, nonchalantly.

“I’m asking you why you want it!” Ben growls. “What do you remember that we all forgot? Akira is here, and that’s not by accident. Don’t piss on my boots, Atropos, and tell me it's raining.”

Jacques scoffs at the use of his true name. But when he speaks, his voice isn’t unkind. “You know as well as I do, apocalypses are never just one thing.”

Ben swipes at his cheeks, surprised to find tears. Gods, it was always like this with the Devil. Your desires came pouring out. Your truths, too. “We are shadows and shells, old friend, a diminishing proposition. We just want quiet and a chance to pretend to live. This world barely believes in gods, and maybe they shouldn’t.” 

“Not all of us,” Jacques says, but it offers little comfort. Alice was an exception. No other god had passed on the mantle. Something was coming for her, and it would end this timeline well before anyone was ready.

“At least tell me you have a plan.”

The Devil scoffs, but doesn’t answer.

“A plan that is more than just hoping Akira found his fate. You can’t leave it all on him!” Ben’s tone is caustic. It’s not clear whether he’s accusing himself or Jacques, because they both knew the truth:

Alice was a marvel, but her power was ten thousand screams when what you needed was a whisper. And most creatures wouldn’t set foot near Vladislaus, not willingly, at least. He'd devoured whole worlds on a whim, and there was no telling what belief had twisted him into now. Even the fae spoke of him like a boogeyman, calling him by his works and not his title, like he and his ilk did not belong to them.

It had to be left to Akira. For all his flaws, he was an unstoppable force of sheer will, stubborn in a way that the old gods were too tired for—that Ben was too tired for.

“We like this world,” he says softly, “But I worry we can’t be bothered to fight to keep it.”

“You’re too young to be so jaded.” Jacques’s admonishment is gentle. “I’ve followed my thread, B’Ollithiranon, son of Nyx and Erebus. It’ll work out. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an appointment. Enjoy the apocalypse while it lasts.” 

When the line goes dead, Ben tries very hard not to think about his mother, whom he ignores, or the other name Jacques gave for a god that he no longer remembers.

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So here's another project that rapidly spiraled out of control! Thanks to everyone who took the time to vote or comment on my WIPS over the course of this week.

Known issues

You may experience some clipping, depending on which clothes and sliders you use in CAS

A few wrists and elbows may look busted for the usual reasons wrists and elbows sometimes look busted

No infant or newborn poses, but I won't rule out the possibility of an add-on set for babes in arms

I tried to make these poses as modular as possible, but some combinations may cause clipping or conflicting eyelines

Barbara’s head slumped down for the third time in as many minutes. She jerked it back up with a sigh and tried to refocus on her textbook. History had never been her favorite subject, but this was the first time her solid ‘A’ average had been threatened. She had never got a ‘B’ in her life, and she wasn’t going to start now. It was a slippery slope. With a shake of her head, she looked up at the clock to check the time. 4:17 She smiled to herself. Gabriel would be there soon. The realization filled her with renewed energy, and she returned to her textbook, refusing to look toward the entrance.

If she was caught watching the doors when he walked in, he may think she was waiting for him, and that would be far too embarrassing. Because she wasn’t waiting for him. Not really. Not like that. She just appreciated the consistency of his routine. She’d grown to anticipate the moment he walked through the door. The way he would stop at the same shelf to pull the same books that he returned the evening before and sit at the desk by the far window to continue working on… whatever it was he was working on. She’d never had the courage to ask. Or to speak to him at all, for that matter. He didn’t seem the type that wanted to be bothered.

The only reason Barbara knew Gabriel’s name, and the fact that he went to her school, was because she happened to mention him to Imogen, her friend and former roommate, who somehow found his student profile within minutes of Barbara describing him.

One minute Barbara was going on about his dark hair and eyes, and the way he tended to cover his mouth with his hand—gripping it tight with his brow furrowed, or scraping his thumbnail along his lower lip as he stared off with unfocused eyes—and the next minute, those eyes were staring back at her from Imogen’s screen. “That him?” she had asked.

“Yes. How did you do that?”

“It’s a gift,” Imogen shrugged like it was nothing, “His name is Gabriel Russo. He’s a grad student, majoring in Microbiology.”

When Barbara caught herself daydreaming yet again, she stretched and chanced another glance at the clock. 4:21 Apparently, this day was never going to end. Giving up, she pushed her textbook aside and decided to start scanning the books from the return bin instead. Might as well work while, you know, at work.

The doors opened a minute later, briefly letting in a draft of cool air and the smell of wet concrete. It was raining again. Not a heavy rain, just a quiet drizzle. Barbara smiled to herself, waiting for Gabriel to walk by before she would allow herself to glance up and watch him navigate his now familiar path through the shelves. But he didn’t walk by. Instead, soft footsteps walked closer and stopped behind her.

She was about to turn around and ask if the person needed help when they knocked on the counter. Three knocks, to be precise, in quick succession. Followed by two slow knocks. Left then right. Michael. Mikey, to her. Her twin brother. And the last person she wanted to deal with right now.

She turned to him, her face going from customer-service-smile to you’re-dead-to-me-glower so fast that she wasn’t sure if she was successful. For good measure, she added a succinct, “Fuck off,” and turned her chair back around.

“B,” he said, sounding more exasperated than he had any right to.

“I’m sorry,” he tried again when she didn’t respond.

Barbara went back to scanning the books, one by one, “I’m working.”

“If you’d answer my calls, I wouldn’t have to bug you at work.”

Now that pissed her off.

She whirled around on him, no doubt she was giving him the full force of her glower this time, “We live together, asshole. You could come home some time.”

He took a deep breath as if he needed to gather strength before saying, “Can we just talk, please?”

“I’m working,” she said again through gritted teeth.

“Can we meet for lunch tomorrow?”

“Depends. Is Katie going to be there?” She infused all the bitterness she felt into the name. It was rare these days for her brother to be without his girlfriend. Barbara wouldn’t be surprised if she was waiting for him outside, and the thought made her tense.

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, exasperated all over again, “No, Catherine will not be there. Just you and me.”

Barbara was going to dig in deeper, but was distracted when the doors opened and Gabriel walked in. She stared for a beat longer than she intended and he glanced at her. Not just glanced. He smiled. Okay, more like the smallest quirk of one corner of his mouth, but it felt like the sun bursting through her cloud-covered day and made her heart trip over itself.

She looked back at Mikey, but he was looking curiously at Gabriel as he walked away, and she wanted nothing more in that moment than for Mikey to leave.

“Fine,” she said, pulling his attention back to her. “Lunch. Tomorrow.”

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“He’s no one.”

“Liar.”

“He’s none of your business.”

“That’s how it’s going to be now?”

“Yep.”

He sighed yet again in that way of his. As if talking to her had depleted all his energy stores and then some. “Noon. Our usual spot.”

“Can’t wait,” Barbara said without an ounce of sincerity.

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Ben (he hadn’t been B’Ollithiranon in a very long time) tosses the phone down and slides back on the bed. He lied to Parker, not about Sulani—the end for his friend was coming, but they still had time to travel. He lied about Melisandre. She might’ve been the worst creature he’d known in all his long life.

Although “life” was kind of a misnomer. Ben wasn’t alive because he couldn’t die.

No god could. 

He lets out a dry laugh at the thought. The gods petitioned the Divine for the chance once. The Creators, though, were adamantly against it. The dead belonged to the God of Death, and no god could belong to another god. The imbalance of power would unmake the world. 

They did not mention the imbalance of power that already existed by their own action. 

They were so eager to make sims, so enamored of their mortal creation that they did not hesitate to let the oldest of the gods create more beings. Spellcasters, werewolves, vampires, fae, mermaids, and everything in between wreaked havoc at first. In searching for the right tool to force the gods to rein in their progeny, the Divine Creators landed upon death.

Every living thing dies, they decreed. Even supernatural creatures with their long life spans or immortality could be welcomed into Death’s embrace, could belong to it. But gods did not live. If they faded, if they were culled or forgotten, then gods did not get death. 

Gods got nothing.

The message was clear: control your spawn, or they will go where you cannot follow. The message the gods absorbed was to paint a target on Ben’s back. 

The most egregious part was that necromancy was a near-useless power when Ben was young. Death was for clearing out the harvest, and resurrection was for bringing it back. He had been a gardener, not a god.

Although no one was a god at first. Sims and Supernaturals came up with that. When there were only a few beings with enough power to do the impossible, it made sense to call them gods. But in the old tongue, the dead one that no one speaks anymore, the word for “god” didn’t even exist.

In that language of Ben’s youth, when there weren’t just a couple like him, there were hundreds of thousands; they were called Made. Premade, if they were very old. 

Existence wasn’t a curse then. That came because of the war. 

Ben was a child when it happened; he’s sure of that. He can remember Somnus, the God of Sleep, snatching him up and fleeing a burning tower. But even Diego, as Somnus now called himself, couldn’t recall what the tower looked like or what the war was even about.

The Divine Creators had broken apart the very essence of time and space and wove a new set of circumstances. As a result, the Made and the Premade like him—the ones that endured—were left with memories that functioned like half-finished autobiographies written by someone who was largely incoherent. 

The Divine called it culling, but that was a pretty set of syllables to hide the horror. In the new timeline, the world was similar but also different in ways the Made and Premade could not articulate. If there were less of them, if there were buildings missing, or rituals gone, no one could confirm it. The loss they felt was an unnamed placeholder. 

Now, it had been ages since that first timeline—that first world. It was hard to know how many he’d been through. Hundreds? Thousands? 

Once the world was full of gods, and now there were just under twelve, with a few demigods and aberrations thrown in for good measure. Some timelines, they avoided each other completely. In other timelines, they were so driven by rage or ennui that they created any number of horrors. Hence, the plagues and the Dark Ages and their most recent monstrous achievement, Operation Eternal Flame. 

What a mess this existence was. 

Ben lets the dark thoughts wash over him a little while longer before he hauls himself out of bed. He heads for the kitchen to grab a barley bale or six.

Sober was no way to endure an endless existence. 

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