#Researcher Ambrosia

[banesberry-anomoly]

The Fruit Bearer

New scp oc just dropped! Meet Researcher Dutch Ambrosia (He/They + Neos), aka SCP-0345: The Fruit Bearer. He is literally a tree, specifically the tree of knowledge from the Garden of Eden

Playlist linked + extra info below cut

Three snakes live in his body, and his heart is an apple. He uses a breathing tube because instead of lungs he has branches with leaves and needs a constant flow of air, the Foundation also uses it to give him small doses of class a/b amnestics because they don't want him to find out that hes the tree of Eden 8⁰3c

Made to ship with the newest iteration of @ooorgeorge Gatlin Hayes who is Literally Jesus (Carpenter x Tree is really funny), and is also friends with Dr King for fairly obvious reasons. Apples, Figs, and Pomegranates are all significant fruits for various reasons, and theres more to him than meets the eye

Bonus picrew + doodle of chest cavity:

[banesberry-anomoly]

HOLY SHIT I WAS NOT EXPECTING SOMETHING OUTTA THE RENAISSANCE /VPOS

EATS IT ALL UP

Can you draw my silly Tree guy (Dutch Ambrosia) :scheming:

I am so sorry this took so long

[abunnsburrow]

[starsambrosia]

This is what i mean by do better research.

I want a life coach that's good what do i search?

Best life coach legit

Best reveiws life coach

Best credible life coach

Do something else.

Research requires thought and intention, like plotting a corse. More like this, ask yourself questions before you set out.

What philosophy am i looking to improve or change, and why

What needs to change in my life that caused me to look for this

Why do i need help, what exactly is wrong

Write down what youre looking for and why because that may give you more tips to finding what you actually need, rather than being fed the algorythm and whoever paid the highest / had more internet traffic. Some times real knowladge goes ignored because people value conveinence over truth.

Even more so when truth is scary.

But i digress, its fine if you don't do it every time, just be more aware that what you may think is a good search, isn't anymore. And if you dont get ahead of it, the misinformation will choke out any value of your statements.

This isn't a recipe either, what im telling you to do is sit down and think about what it is you're looking for before you search it, just a few seconds even, itll help snap you out of the haze of auto searching.

[banesberry-anomoly]

THE SILLIES EVER

i caught 95 ailments and diseases because of them

other guy belongs to @banesberry-anomoly

[madlovenovelist]

Book Review – ‘The Deep’ by Nick Cutter

Can anyone hear you scream at the bottom of the hadal zone? Genre: Science Fiction, Psychological Thriller, Horror No. of pages: 394 A strange plague called the ’Gets is decimating humanity on a global scale. It causes people to forget—small things at first, like where they left their keys…then the not-so-small things like how to drive, or the letters of the alphabet. Then their bodies forget…

[porcelian]

HOW HE LOVES | d. wayne | 0.4k

SYNOPSIS: how does damian wayne show his love for you?

ANON: “hi author!! wanted to just make an ask to see if you would write something with damian? if it's okay with you, may it be sfw and romantic? hc's or not, whatever you prefer!!”

A/N: i did some research about his culture and found some interesting facts about how love and endreament is shown in the arabic languages. if i made any mistakes while turning the gendered phrases gn, please let me know.

✹ ꕀ MLISTS . NAV.

REDAMANCY: The endless labyrinth of your minds has been unlocked and explored by both of you. Words are unnecessary for Damian to understand what you want and need. Your presence has left an indelible mark on his heart. It’s the way the two of you gradually reshape your speech, crafting a language of your own—how a glance across a crowded room signals that you want to leave, and he’s at your side in an instant. Your hand finds his. Together, you’re out the door. He knows your routine by heart. He knows you’ll come home tired, so he’s already queued up your favorite show on the DVR, snacks spread out on the table.

ACTIONS FOR YOU: In the beginning stages of your relationship, Damian doesn’t express his love through words or elaborate phrases woven with sophistication. His love shows in his actions—the subtle ways he tries to brighten your everyday life. It’s the way he washes your hair when you’re too exhausted, how he wakes up early to prepare you something to eat, how he ties your shoelaces when they come undone, how he straightens your outfit with care.

“I’ll do it. Only because you asked me to.”

ONLY YOU: Damian only sees you. The crowd fades to a dull blur, while you stand out like the sun. You’re his choice, the one he wants to share every moment with. Waking up, getting ready, cooking, strolling to the grocery store, wandering through the park at dusk—all of it is with you. He can’t imagine it any other way.

“You—you are the exception, ya hayati.”

THE DETAILS: Nothing escapes his notice. It’s the way he brews two cups of coffee for you both, the way he listens to every word you say as though it’s etched in his mind, even if it’s as simple as how your day went. After particularly hard days, he stays close. He peels a piece of fruit, splitting it in half to share, because everything tastes better when it’s with you. Damian cares for the small things.

“You’re definitely the only person I’d do this for.”

WORDS LIKE AMBROSIA: As your relationship deepens, Damian’s promises become like whispered prayers on an altar—a vow etched into his soul. With his words, he assures you that he’ll be by your side, if you’ll have him. Softly, he tells you, “Bahlam feekum”—I dream of you—each night, a phrase that carries weight in its quiet way. To dream of someone is no small thing; it’s a gesture of devotion.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[starsambrosia]

I've seen this post a few times and I gotta say, cultural lense (as some one newly studying) is so fucking important, I've looked into the culture for only like two years consistently and even with just that I have such a better veiw on the gods and hellenic paganism than I ever had before.

History is important but specifically cultural history for cultural practices ESPECIALLY GREEK. Goes so unnoticed and uncared for because greece and the people there are being and have been picked appart by everyone who wants a piece for literal centuries.

I’m not a classicist, but I suspect one of the reasons so many of the Greek gods are portrayed so unflatteringly was less because they were seen as villains than because they represented their domains.  Of course Zeus sometimes misuses his power, that’s what a king does.  Of course Artemis’s wrath is wild and painful, that’s what nature can be.  Of course Hades snatched away a young girl from her mother’s arms, that’s what death does.  This is one of the reasons callout posts for some gods comparing them negatively to ‘nicer’ gods are kind of missing the point.

[ubercharge]

marcille's pokemon team! i imagine she's acquired a variety of mons over the years but some of them have been with her longer than others, like the dragonite she raised from dratini. azumarill is from before going to magic school. she got braixen as a fennekin for research purposes, and evolved it during the school period. cherrim is the newest of this bunch, caught and evolved during magic school.

(if you’re curious about why i picked certain pokemon for marcille, and names i gave her team members, it’ll be in the readmore!)

BRAIXEN (Ignis): an easy nod to magic school and her wooden staff. i wanted a straight-up fire type since marcille uses a bunch of explosive magic in the dungeon. i went with braixen instead of delphox because it has more of a youthfulness like marcille herself.

CHERRIM (Pom/Pomegranate): i definitely wanted a grass-type to reflect her staff being made of wood (with little green sprout), her green eyes, and her love of vegetables. cherrim having a bit of a food (cherry) element is a nice plus, and like braixen, it has a yellow colour like marcille’s blonde hair. i think marcille would also love cherrim’s cuteness, and its red accents match marcille’s own red accessories. it being flowery also matches marcille’s floral-enjoying aesthetic sensibilities. on top of that, i imagine it switching to its overcast form after marcille becomes the lord of the dungeon to reflect her mental state.

AZUMARILL (Tsunami): i wanted a more whimsical-looking pokemon to show off marcille’s cuteness, and a fairy-type adds to the magical feel. but even if azumarill looks silly and marcille can be silly, they really pack a punch. scarvi raiders will appreciate this beautiful round friend with a nod.

DRAGONITE (Stratus): rather than just have marcille’s team reflect her cuter aspects, it was important for me to include a member with competitive viability (which generally means the mon itself has a bunch of strengths). before i considered that aspect, i thought about including dragonair as a reference to marcille’s coatl monster, but i went with dragonite in the end for a cute-looking friend with a lot of strength. marcille has, after all, studied magic for a long time and is really good at it. It’d certainly make sense for her to have an objectively strong mon like dragonite on her team, especially considering the position dragons have in dunmeshi’s world and culture (and they were once at the top of the food chain in pokemon too...).

not pictured:

ALCREMIE (Nectar): a suggestion from my friend i really liked, partly because it’s food. and that’s obviously funny. a sweet-looking pure fairy-type (red accents too!) ties into marcille’s enjoyment of sweets and adds more of that fairy/magic feel. as for which colour variant hers would be, i’ll leave that up to you guys to decide. and a funny little sidenote: marcille wanted a fairy for herself like the canaries, but was daunted and disgusted by the requirements to create one. the homunculus the fairies start out as looks like a little blob of a guy, and alcremie’s pre-evo milcery is... well.

because of the homunculus stuff, i imagine she hatched Nectar from an egg and evolved it before magic school!

GOURGEIST (Ambrosia): while braixen works as a cute magic school reference to magic, gourgeist has more of a witchy, spooky feel. marcille isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, after all. but since this is her team from the start, gourgeist is a nice way to wink at a darker witch aesthetic compared to her other mons without fully giving away marcille’s eventual transformation. it still has a fitting whimsical design, plus its broomstick likeness can be seen as another nod to ambrosia.

Ambrosia would, of course, have been obtained as a pumpkaboo and raised until evolving in line with marcille's staff creation in dunmeshi

honorary mentions: ponyta/rapidash (for her horse love), milotic (for the quetzalcoatl), rotom (suggested by my friend who likes the mental image of her putting senshi in rotom wash), arboliva (italian), liligant (floral + grass-type), foongus (grass-type, reference to walking mushrooms), deerling (grass-type, cute, a deer is vaguely horselike), morpeko (silly/cute, has a “dark” form like cherrim)

dungeon lord: she would have control over all the mons in the dungeon without them being “hers”, so i didn’t plan for her team to change upon her becoming dungeon lord.

[banesberry-anomoly]

old trees want to hurt you. It doesn't matter if you're snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, or just taking a walk in the woods. Old trees want to hurt you, and I think they'd kill you if they could.

[liketolaugh-writes]

So, lore in the Good GIW AU:

A good amount of my Danny Phantom ghost hunter lore - in all my fics, not just this one - is rooted in the assumption that pre-portal, all the Fentons and the GIW (and all other researchers) had to work from was a slightly more concrete version of the stories we have in the real world. They don't know about Nocturne and Vortex and Pariah Dark; they know about the Bell Witch and Alcatraz and Mary King's Close, and some historical journals/records that they believe are ghost sightings.

(Ignore all debunking that's happened in the real world, let's not be pedantic here.)

'Guardian spirit' is an obsession category; we'll elaborate on this later. There are multiple subcategories, but the GIW hasn't finalized those yet because of their vaguely inadequate sample size. (Ghosts don't use subcategories but the original obsession categories come from them.) (We'll actually see this either next week or the week after in The Life and Death of Danny Phantom.)

'Death-bound' is the term for a couple that died together and whose main obsession is to be together forever.

Newly dead ghosts (usually five years or less) retain their human appearance. They start to shift to a more ghostly one after that, and that can take another five to ten years.

Angel's Ambrosia is, unbeknownst to Danny, a god-tier offering. You could give three of these to Pariah Dark and he would consider it an acceptable gift. At some point, the GIW managed to get one of these by sheer happenstance and cultivated it into a fruiting tree with an elaborate setup of ecto-projectors and filters.

The main reason they're so valuable is because they grow only in areas with a very low ghost population, making their ecto very 'pure.' If a ghost goes to pick one, their aura sullies the taste, and if lots do it, the tree dies. Their best bet is to hover way, way below and hope a fruit falls off, or maybe throw something.

'Liminal' here is a term used by spiritualists, while the ectology term is the standard 'ectocontaminated.' Ghosts don't have an equivalent term because they don't care about ecto-infected humans lmfao.

Summoners get one warning and after that they need a license to summon anything.

I spent way too much time on this.

[thatfreshi]

I Want to Mean It - Astarion x Reader

Your wedding is fast approaching, and you have one last preparation to make.

Recommended Song: Sick of Losing Soulmates - Dodie

You and Astarion are set to get married tomorrow evening. After nautiloid crashes and illithid parasites, you never really thought you'd get to do some romantic ritual like this. After all, both of you should have been long gone by now, yet Lady Luck stuck around.

Despite how soon the ceremony is, you've been quite busy working with Gale, who just so happens to be your best man. A powerful wizard like that is good to have on your side, especially when marrying a vampire. After yet another long day of perfecting spells and testing magical methods, you return home to your lover, who is making last-minute stitches into his wedding outfit.

"If it isn't my soon-to-be spouse, come here my love."

Despite his cold skin, it's a warm embrace. You're tense though, and he can sense it.

"What's the matter darling?"

You try to swallow the nervousness, but it sticks in your throat.

"I'm sorry I've been so busy this week. I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect for us."

"Why of course. It has to be a night to remember after all. Wouldn't be our wedding if it wasn't."

You go to grab something out of your pocket, wrapping your hand around a small vial, almost shattering the glass with your grasp.

"What have we here?"

He slips his hand past yours, easily removing the vial from your hand. To his surprise, it's empty. There is a slight coating of what used to be a liquid inside.

"Astarion, I love you so, so much."

He investigates the vial further, almost ignoring your sentence.

"Well of course my love, I know that."

He uncorks the vial, and is immediately hit with a sickeningly sweet smell, a scent he can't quite place.

"My god, what is this. Or better yet, what was this?"

You're shaking, unsure of what he'll say if you tell him. Instead, you move to your other pocket and grab a rolled-up piece of paper from Gale's journal. Putting it in his pale hand, you go to sit on the bed, head in your hands. He begins reading.

"On the sixth day of attempting to perfect my spell, I have confirmed the following:

It was successful

The research I found was accurate and correctly documented

The subject has gained immortality."

There is more listed below, but he doesn't read it.

"Tav, you idiot. You absolute fool I-"

Astarion is unable to speak, both dumbfounded and emotional.

"Ambrosia, you're playing dangerous games. Games you don't know the rules to."

He's angry, you expected him to be. As someone who has lived for centuries, he knows what you've asked for, what you've done. Ambrosia, a liquid of pure joy, one of the only things that can grant immortality. You spoke to Gale for weeks on end, trying to figure out the safest way to live forever. Turns out, there are very few, and this one was quite difficult to perform.

"Astarion I-"

"No, we have to reverse it, we have to go to him right now and figure out how to stop this."

"Aster, my love, you know as well as I do that's not possible."

"Well damn it he'll make it possible!"

You shudder a little. He doesn't raise his voice often, usually only ever out of fear. Then the tears roll.

"Why would you do this to yourself."

You get up from the bed and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He turns away, almost as if he's ashamed of your choice.

"Because when we say our vows tomorrow, and I tell you I want to be yours forever, I want to mean it."

You begin to sob too, not out of fear, but out of how much you love this man. Years ago you never would've drunk something like Ambrosia, you never would've asked to live forever.

"But you'll be stuck with me forever. Hells, I'm stuck with me forever and sometimes I wish I wasn't."

You don't know what to say, how to tell him you knew this was right, how you and Gale fought about what you were asking for, how he said that Astarion would react this way. While you try to gather the words, he turns to look at you again, still overwhelmed by this information.

"What if... what if you get sick of me?"

You wipe a tear away from his eye, and give him a bittersweet smile.

"You know damn well we're already sick of each other."

You chuckle, he does too.

"You should've told me."

"Well, I wanted my wedding gift to be a surprise."

While the mood lightens, he loses some of the tension, all of the anger dissipates. He realizes he's not alone anymore, that he won't have to watch you pass on into the afterlife without him.

"Well, it's a phenomenal gift my sweet."

You both become enraptured in a deep kiss, something ravenous behind his lips, something relieved in his heart. That kiss multiplies, until you're both out of breath.

"Save some of that for after the ceremony dear."

You wink at him, and you both burst out laughing. The hysteria in the air, it's something you've never quite felt before, and you'd get every chance to feel it again, alongside with Astarion, and you realize you've never felt more sure about anything in your life. This is one decision you'll never question, as long as he's yours, and you are his.

[cu7ie]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ (✪㉨✪)  beasts of burden.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀▚▚▚▚▚▚⠀⠀when the pet aims to become the master! ▚▚▚▚▚▚

⠀⠀⠀⠀cw; non-con / dub - con ! reader owns hybrids like how you might own pets. rough groping, clothes ripping, sexual aggression. no specific gender or genitals mentioned. hybrid! characters x human reader. REALLY LONG POST. (5k+)

Shepherd!Shinichiro is full-grown when you meet him. The dog you pictured taking home with you wasn’t anything like Shinichiro. He’s too tall. Sheds too much (you sat down with a black shirt and stood up with a coat) gets so excited squirreling around with his friends that he nearly stampedes you. 

But he’s the one you leave with. He’s the one who’s papers you’re signing your name all over. The one who’s collared and dutifully walking in step with you back to your apartment. The one you chose to love.

He’s not shy; not necessarily forth-coming either, but he respects you enough. Wipes his feet on the mat when he comes in, doesn’t chew up your furniture and sits on the first try every time. You’d never owned a hybrid before.  And with Shinichiro’s specific breed, you’re even less certain about his disposition; though his excitement and his happy licks and demand for head rubs is giving you a good feeling. You do your research sparingly in the upcoming weeks, scrolling down google with one hand,

The other threaded affectionately in Shinichiro’s hair.

A few more weeks pass, and Shinichiro’s thin shell cracks under the weight of your relentless affections. You’re touchier than any owner he’s ever had.

He doesn’t know how to express to you, this coiling snake in his belly - roiling hellfire whenever you stroke under his chin, pat him playfully on his cheek and drag your hand up and down his tummy -

You don’t notice (or pretend not to) the tent he’s pitching in his shorts. He’s wheezing and you won’t stop rubbing. Your eyes are glued to his,  sip-sippin’ up his ambrosia; enthusiasm, utter joy, laughter so strained it sounds painful.

You’re a good boy. Such a good, good boy. You whisper to him. And he’s whining - whining so loud and he can’t help himself, he just can’t help it. 

And when he bites you, you are shocked. You choke on your praises. Surprise leaves you deafened and petrified, and you are being pulled by your hand up up into Shinichiro’s sharp and eager grasp before you can dissuade him with a firm ‘bad boy’. He feels you up. 

(He only seen you. In parts, never all at once or for very long. Steam fogs up your mirror when you shower and there was always something peculiar about that depressingly gelid draft, rising goose pimples in your skin despite the warm shower. He’s looking, then, and looking at night. He’s supposed to be sleeping beside your bed, but he worms his way beneath your covers. Breathes so close to your face that your eyelids twitch in your sleep. 

You’re warmer than any human he’s ever met. Your laughter crisp in the space behind his eyes. Everything’s so quiet now - but it’s like he can hear you so clearly, moaning quietly and,

So perfect. All his.)

He forgets how fragile humans are at the best of times. His nails - which you’ve been meaning to trim, he’s just too excited sometimes - scrape along your skin from your waist and down to your hips, etching in crescents whenever he grabs you firm. You squeal, mousy eyed and meek handed, pushing firmly against Shinichiro’s chest. He only leans into you more. Eyes softened with adoration and love, resolve sharpened to a blade’s edge as he licks his lips like you’re something that ought to be devoured. 

He can tell there’s something that’s making you uncomfortable. His cock is stiff in his boxers - he’s sure you can feel it, how much he loves you too - and he’s staring like he can’t believe you’re real; but he doesn’t wager either of those things are the reason why you’re quiet. You’re new to this. Never been bred before; he deduces from the apprehension in your gaze. He strokes your cheek, like you’d done once before to comfort him. Like he’s telling you not to worry, as your shorts tear and buttons pop off. As he flips you over and fixes your positioning, raises your hips so when he curls over your back they’re raised to his, you fidget. You spasm, you squirm, jerkily moving your hands to support your weight as you attempt dislodging his grip from your hips.

“No! Bad boy! Bad dog! Shinichiro!-” He grinds his dick against you with pent-up aggression, carnal fervor that slides along your back and drags something sticky along with it. 

There are hearts in his eyes. If he wasn’t holding your head down, you might’ve been able to see them.

  ⠀⠀⠀⠀₍⑅ᐢ›ﻌ‹ᐢ₎⚟  

Kitty!Izana doesn’t live in a shelter. If he did once, then he recalls it with no fondness, taken to lying with shadows like any other discarded piece of trash. He’s a bit fleabitten and mangy, to be expected from a backwater alley cat. Nobody pays him mind as long as he relegates himself to dark corners; sticks to swiping things from beneath unsuspecting strangers’ noses and desiring little more for himself. Not one familiar place to him anymore; and he had no business being in any place a human called home. So he lets himself fester. Allows resentment to pry open his chest and live there, congealing in his open wounds, choking a withered heart. And for a long while, he knows no comfort beyond that of his own thoughts.

You just finished signing your lease agreement, and should be finished moving in before the end of the week. An optimistic estimate. All your boxes remain packed, stacked into several towers and sorted by importance. Memorabilia, your tankobon collection, tapestries and vases and the rest of your life in sturdy cardboard containers.  The area is .. okay. Not the cleanest, or most well lit at night, or even the safest feeling, (you feel like something’s stabbing you with its eyes. Slithering up your neck, a snake-) but well within your budget - and the landlord is just the sweetest older man. He checks up on you often. Doesn’t have many restrictions or rules; no loud music playing, no smoking ( or more reasonably — no cigarette butts on the steps,) and absolutely no hybrids. So when you happen upon those yellow beady eyes in the alleyway, the vague rumble of hunger that squeezes your heart before the specter bounds behind the safety of the refuse,

You aren't sure about your angle of attack. On one hand, he's despondent. Doesn't believe in your kindness, hisses at your handouts and leaves your arm beat up and gouged out on more than one occasion. He's just nervous, you think, slicing tuna, flattening and molding rice into sheets that you roll up and slice into pieces. He'll come around, one day. 

He just has to. It's getting colder. Autumn is cut short by the blizzarding winds of winter, and Izana grows desperate. A human's persistence always feels like the cure to all problems. That's probably what you think - with your pretty eyes and your dumb little fucking human brain and - 

Yes, he does eat the food you give him, because it's fresh and he's starving, and he takes the coat you 'were going to throw away' (you shove it into his hands, for him to keep,) because it'd be a shame it'd go to waste. Not because he likes you. Not because he appreciates you. In fact, you might just be the bane of his existence.

(You make him hurt. Unlike any pain from being kicked or having bricks thrown at his ribs. Worse than the cigarettes that have burnt permanent ash into his fur. He doesn't need you. Doesn't want to want you. So this feeling, that butterflies his lungs and crackles his ribs and has him looking away whenever you fix him with those cloyingly pitying eyes, 

It must be hatred. Must be disgust. He is unwilling to rationalize it as anything else. Sometimes he'll climb the fire escape when he learns your specific apartment, sees your head sticking out the window one day to move your potted plants inside when it gets too too cold out; lingering in the dank fetid air of the alleyway, maps you out and keeps his notes for a rainy day. You see him, try to lure him in with food and promises of affection and play and toys. He's gotten less aggressive, willing to compromise at least. Doesn't hiss when you wave him good mornings, doesn't claw at the air and bite your wrist when you scratch him behind the ear. It's only been a few months. You don't seek your landlord's ire (you're not sure he could handle a surprise, let alone find out you're hosting for strays) but you trust that Izana could keep a secret if you can. He's mostly quiet in your interactions and that doesn't change much once he's inside. He isn't reciprocal with affections, doesn't pay you much mind in your own house, but is harmless and docile when pampering is involved. He's butter over warm toast, melting and purring as warm water washes over him in - oh, you don't even know how long. 

It's unlike him regardless.

(He's hurting again. It's dull and throbbing in his lungs, cold and piercing and fierce; you caressing his cheek, the water pooled around him. He's not drowning but he's full of something and he despises the sensation, but leans further and further into your hand-)

You rinse dirt from out of his hair, decay from behind his ears, scrub the loneliness from his skin. 

(You're so focused. His anxiety worms its way to his stomach and buried itself, the seed to which your affection tends; the unknown, the unusual inspires his fear. Is your betrayal imminent? There seems to be no ruse in your ministrations, but his heart pounds at the thought. You wring out the cloth you used to clean him and tell him he can stand before leaving the room. You can't see him. He will use that to his advantage.)

Your back is turned as you rummage through your closet for an extra towel. You remembered grabbing one, though it makes sense your mind could have been going - oh shoot. Did you tell Izana to wait for you in the bathroom? You spin around so fast you sway in your spot for a bit, stomping towards the bathroom, towel in hand. 

But he's not there. Wet footprints lead you to your living room, but he's not there either. He's a bit soft pawed, the slippery kind of feline you presume. So the hunt marches along. Not under the kitchen table, under the couch, near the window or the front door. He didn't go back to the bathroom. Your mounting confusion is the first thing he notices when you walk back in your room. Your face; it's pretty. Which becomes a revolting conclusion as soon as it's realized, but he can't take it back, can't unthink it. Humans are not beautiful. But maybe you are? He's under your bed, by the way. You see the pale yellow eyes as a surprisingly strong hand curls around your ankle firmly - and tugs. The world falls around you and you raise your head so your shoulders hit the floor before you get a concussion; aching and holding up the towel shield against a very wet, a little dusty Izana.

 "Buddy. What's up with all the rabble rousing? I was gonna towel you off and we were gonna be all cool-" Your voice lurches as he tosses the towel wayward, forcing you to bare witness to his lean physique, his tail curling around your leg as he leans up and,

His cock is throbbing. So hard, pre leaking from the ruddy tip, as it sticks up and out like an offensive gesture. It's ribbed with nub-like bumps, blunt and odd and menacing. You whine and try to gain leverage with your legs, attempting to kick and wriggle your way out from beneath him. Dead weight. He does not budge. He does look a little impatient now though; terse like you've been the one wasting his time.

"Human." He croaks, placing his hand on your shoulder and scooting further up your chest, his cock head kissing your lips. You whimper.

"Lick it."

⠀⠀⠀⠀ʚ₍⑅ᐢ.ﻌ.ᐢ₎ɞ  

Lab!Manjirou was the one nobody wanted. Hybrid kennels are rough, and most owners don't know how to dress up and play pretend. He's not doing much when you first start working there, determined to make a home out of this hell. He didn't trust your commitment. Wary of most humans in his day to day, he doesn't aim to keep an eye out for them. Mostly lounging around with the other hybrids, aimless and picking fights with the biggest guys and scaring all the little kids with the big eyes and burning glares, whooping and hollering and barking through metal fences. Your patience is effortless. You assign your 'pack mates' (employees, you later explain) tasks; maintain the kennels and the play spaces and the feeding and walking times, while you see to Manjirou's personal retraining program. He's a good fella at heart, you know that; just a little bit of a lack of focus is all. Preoccupied with his own thing to his own detriment. You begin with teaching him how to listen. He often doesn't bother with humans; preferring the ravings of his hybrid friends as opposed to human conversation and commands. You're not his boss and you don't try to be. What you are though, is his caretaker. He ought to listen to the people trying to help him - and you don't get it, because you've never been in his position before - so maybe your first lesson doesn't go over too well with him. Maybe he stops paying you attention for the next couple days, bleeding into the next week. 

Maybe he just doesn't want to listen to a word you say. And that's fine. You guess you could be okay with that.

(But he did listen. Listened to every word that fell from your lips like it'd be the last thing he'd ever hear, felt your heartbeat as you started to feel unsure of yourself; smiled dumbly at how easy you fluster. You are trying. He saw it. As real as stars in the night, as certain as sunrise. And maybe he commends you for that, but he mostly dreams of your pretty mouth and how bright a future could be with you in it.

He doesn't talk to you because it doesn't make him feel cool. The others keep pulling his leg, jaunting and ribbing and getting under his skin; and while he hates being serious, he hates being made to look a fool more. So he stands and lets you hit, pick up a card, play.

You try again. And again. And again. Burning away his resolve. He is abrasive. He drags his feet, turns his head the other way. Doesn't take you seriously.

But you are firm. Your voice never wavers. Manjirou, don't you want to be a good boy for me? 

He dips his nose into your palm, and you wonder if dogs know how to keep promises.)

You make progress with the pups and kittens and think you're making something out of yourself when the first month under your management comes to a close. The kennel has taken root and grown into something of a home. Massive fronds that keep the hybrids safe in and intruders out, a wealth of life inside like a fresh breath of air; colors pulled right from a painter's palette, vivid and buzzing and delightful all around.  He almost hates his quickly it feels like you forget about him. You're busier and work later but still chat with him when you can; just not as focused, not as forward. He misses your special attention. Now he mostly sees you dispensing food around dinner time, greeting the others as you come and go. 

Tonight, his hunger is legendary. You walk into the kennel the same time you do every night, pat the same heads, serve the same meal, clean up, and-

Mikey's been following you. It's not new for him. You get a second shadow and he gets much needed attention, although none of it is particularly good. He keeps stepping on your heels and trying to smell the air around you, trying to rub his scent off on you, and you're a saint; so patient and so caring and so fucking blind,

Because the rest of the hybrids have formed somewhat of a circle around you. Innocuous seeming, but as your hands empty; bending over to place an empty box on the ground, you hear a shrill, low whistle. It's Mikey. Surrounded by all his little friends with their innocent eyes and big smiles. "What..?" You trail off, not observing the danger as it bares it fangs at you, stepping forward with that probing gaze. "Mikey, are you alright?" Your concern wraps around his heart and almost makes him feel sorry about what he's going to do to you.

(The others have taken a liking to you too. Draken and Peh - Yan and Kazutora and -  all his friends really. They don't like you as much as he does, you're his favorite, but they like Mikey enough to fall in line with him - to turn cheek when he lands on top of you and scratches your forearm; starts popping the buttons on your dress shirt.)

Mikey is sooo hungry. His tongue curls around the plane of your neck and his hand impatiently gropes at your chest. Shallow breaths give way to panic; the realization you were the one meant to close up shop, there’s no one else here.

“Manjiro. Stop! Get off of-!” He forces his mouth onto yours, kisses you sloppily like he’s been waiting for you to fall into his arms just so could take you, just like this. His erection pressing against your thigh as he spreads your legs so wide the other hybrids just have to take a look and, 

You’re crying. 

(They seem drawn to it. Your tears. Your squirming. Mikey licks a long stripe up your cheek, tastes the salt in them. His saliva burns you.)  His hands have already forced your pants down your legs, and all the time and effort you poured into him; all your love; it’s become malformed. Grossly misrepresented as he aggravatedly humps your thigh, popping threads your underwear at the goading of his friends, sticking a finger in you so suddenly and harshly that you groan and squeal, pumping it in and out;

“I can be a good boy for ya.” He simpers, raising his hand; lapping your fluids off his fingers. “Let me show you.” 

⠀⠀⠀⠀c(⌒o(  -▽-)ノ

There was no contingency plan in place for if you lost your nerve and ended up taking home two hybrids instead of one. Sure, you have the space - s’not like you don’t have the money; but dad was going on and on about the importance of spending limits, keeping track of your schedule - making sure they have what they need. “These are live animals, you know. You can’t just throw money at it and make it happy. They’re alive. They think, they desire, they need. You need to take real responsibility n’ take care of them properly or-”

“It’ll be fine. And I’m not just saying that, dad. I swear on it.” Sure you do. You don’t let him finish before you’re making an excuse to get a foot out the door, (because you hate being late more than you hate being told what to do,) a short drive to the kennel your father suggested; which practically feels like a hop and skip away. It’s ritzy, for sure. Mint and cream lettering that deems this building ‘Tenjiku & Friends’. Something about this place is just too cute. You hop out the car and two other men (that your dad sent, because even though he loves you to bits and pieces, sometimes you act like you took a high dive in a low well) tail you, open the door for you, clear the way for you. You had called the kennel the previous day to see if they had anything exotic for sale, and before you make it all the way down the hall, someone -

Cream pants, cotton candy blue vest, polite smile -

stops you in your tracks. He knows your name because he remembers talking to you, but let yourself feel like a celebrity anyway as he walks you down the hall. Most hybrid kennels only vendor dogs and cats - but specialized ones have the more exotic options for high-ballers. You walk past a basilisk (kinda looks like a dragon), wild cats (some big, some small), and harpies; from peacocks to pigeons, it's like this place has it all. 

You like the look of the basilisk the most, you guys walk back towards the reptile section as the young man hurriedly explains more shit you don’t give a fuck about-

And then you see it. A brilliant beam of light as pretty scales refract a heat lamps’ brightness right into your eyeballs. You stomp over with all intent to be irritated with whatever stupid ass animal did-

That… 

Your rage is cut with shock - all encompassing and rapidly onset. Your shock gives way to astonishment, flapping your hands as you point and go “Look, look!” towards the ice cold cobra resting behind the glass. He doesn’t move at the emergence of new faces, too busy being effortlessly gorgeous and minding his own damn business - but you have the wealth to be nosy.

It’s almost like .. he’s calling out to you.

From behind the observing glass, his chittering tail slips out of view; Rindou - the silver inlay on the name plate reads. There’s another name beneath it - Ran - though the cool-mint scales (on what you presume to be his brother) that slink out of view appeals to you profoundly on an aesthetic level. His brother doesn’t look lots like him as far as coloration goes. He’s a shiny beetle black. Under this heat lamp you can see shifting emeralds and colors of envy shift within the pot of black ink; his skin, beautiful, and (look, your mind’s changing again,) pressing your forehead to the glass, you weigh your options and are unable to think beyond ‘Gosh, they are just so gorgeous.’  

They continue ignoring you. They’ve seen ambitious types like you before; the ones that come in and crowd around the main attraction - the twin kings, magnificent and dangerous and feral. That which humans consider beautiful. Their captivity. You gape and awe and marvel so much; pay no heed to the handlers’ that say ‘back away from the glass’, just flash a cute enough smile (show them the billfold of your wallet) and they let people like you carry on. Because they know you’re good for it. 

(Rin and Ran talk amongst themselves often; refrain from speaking when humans are around but they definitely talk - about the handlers, about home, about freedom. No more poking with this needle, sedating with that pill, living ‘natural’ lives behind plexiglass. Preferably without pesky fucks like you trying to rip them apart - take them from everything they know-)

“These two are kinda like a package deal. One won’t move without the other - most people just want one and, y’know, s’not like we’re gonna corral em’, or force em to go but-” The guy you’re listening to but not quite blathers on and on, til’ you raise your hand and look over; with the stars and the sun and moon in your eyes; a little less than half a grand in your hand. He looks startled by your fervor, the way you bark orders at the people you came with to get the trucks to have these guys moved out within the hour - having the blue blooded audacity to stand in the way of the snake handlers as they coax the cobras out into the open, watching with wonderstruck glee and tapping your feet and jumping for joy. (You are so annoying. Most well-to-dos are, but when they lay your eyes on you for the first time, when they care enough to bear witness to their new owner; you’re not what they are expecting, and they don’t know if they like that. No crotchety, old, suit wearing executive, no crude perverse old hag. You’re young. A socialite maybe, but naive; surely.) They whisper and hiss and slither across linoleum tile to sniff at you with cautious forked tongues, chittering with their rattling tails. You shouldn’t be this close to them; not yet at least, but money makes men dance and the kennel company is more than happy to oblige your specialty requests. 

You look so excited to own them. That’s what they think at first, your mouth gaping at their utterly massive size. Their tails have to be at least twenty feet long, undulating slowly as they are walked down the hall with no issue. The striking specimens are enough to make your eyes water. How would they look in the sun? Sparkling like infinitely precious gemstones and gold. Their scales must be waterproof - maybe if they enjoy a good swim they could break in the new pool you just had renovated. You sigh in utter delight, enchanted by your future and running back to your sleek black car; practically throwing yourself down the flight of steps and demanding your chauffeur break every single traffic code in order to get home before your new pets do.

Hybrids; the best companionship money can buy.

You prepared your house for a hybrid to move in - note, singular, - and largely anticipated bringing home something so much more … normal. What do nagas even enjoy? Do they even like sleeping in beds? Probably not - real snakes don’t even sleep in beds, that’s stupid. You’re stupid and make impulsive decisions. But it's okay. When in doubt, cash out. You start doing research - a little late, but same day delivery is a terrific thing - and are interrupted soon after by violent buzzing and knocking at your door. 

Rin and Ran look shocked when they slither inside but that doesn’t matter in the least bit to you. You’re too excited by the towering nagas, clasping your hands together as the handlers ascertain and assess your premises. Good enough, they say, and leave you be.

“So. You guys talk right?” You ask almost stupidly. They share a glance and Rin speaks before Ran does - and you don’t know if it’s a lisp or if that’s just his tongue, but -

“Yes.” His s’s are so sharp they sting. “We do talk, human.” They are far, but close the gap in an instant and, once raised to their full sitting height, tower over you effortlessly. You’re not smart enough to feel intimidated. Ran seems to take to you more than Rin. Isn’t as aloof; rubs his body along your sides as he slithers by, flicking his tongue out at you. “Awesome! Well, this,” You make a sweeping gesture with your hand at the grand expanse of your house. “is your home now! Get comfortable. There’s plenty of room to lounge about and do whatever snakes like to do.”  Rindou sneers at you, and you feel like you might’ve said something wrong; but don’t care enough to correct it. They’re your pets, anyway. You provide, they don’t complain.

Rindou continues being cold to you, but Ran warms your heart and soul and almost never wants to leave your side. (They’re playing you. Good cop, bad cop - trying to figure out what makes you tick. How that can be leveraged - work to their benefit. Ran does take a liking to you; you’re dumb and fun and adorable. So small and fragile compared. He learns a lot about you, too; the human shows you like to watch and the fickle games you like to play. You’re not very strong, not very bright - but you’re affluent; wealthy, and to humans that is power.

Him and Rin talk less and less about leaving as the weeks pass. Even Rindou is starting to like you more. Your embarrassed smiles and the fear he can smell in your nervousness. Makes him.. tingle.)

You give them whatever they ask for whenever they want it. More treats, shiny things, installments in your house that can hold their weight, so they can climb and perch and slither and rest. But eventually, they get bored of your money. 

They start looking to you for more substance, but that’s when they begin to realize their individuality matters little to you. They are humanoid. Human-ish. But they are not people. To you, they are mindless. You ruffle their hair and call them “Good boys”. You bombard them with hugs and kisses and pats when they don’t want them; though when they are seeking out your attention you’re suddenly too busy, suddenly so annoyed. And of course, they have other needs too. 

(You don’t care about being naked in front of them. You strip carelessly and leave articles around the house for them to find, walking into rooms in towels or sometimes nothing at all. It means nothing; your nudity and you purport it should be the same for them. You don’t stare at them like they stare at you. Analyzing your every move. Every inch of bare skin is scandalizing, racy and jarring - they don’t know what to do but stare. Ran, a lapdog if anything, tries to get close to the source - Rin prefers taking mementos and memories. Your bathroom’s so big and shower so relaxing that you don’t care if Ran keeps slithering in and out. He keeps an eye on you, so Rindou can be the one to rummage through your drawers & your laundry. Finds the clothes that smell the most like you, steals them away to fashion into a nest in any random corner of your big ass house. You don’t notice. Maybe you just don’t care.)

You buy clothes obsessively. You have two separate dressers, two closets - probably an entire room for the nice, vintage stuff that takes up space, collecting dust because you have more than you know what to do with - too selfish to give away. You don’t go in there often because most of the time you don’t need to - but all your cute shit is missing all of the sudden. No more flowery blouses or cute boleros or miniskirts - most interestingly, your matching underwear sets. They’ve all gone ghost and of course, you don’t necessarily blame your pets. They’re not messy. Never once had an instance of them chewing anything up, leaving refuse about the place - no, never them. But you don’t find those clothes even when you do your laundry, shake every fucking thing out of that hamper til the lint makes you sneeze, dig through your drawers (cause maybe you just shoved them back inside??? maybe??). 

No cigar. You put everything back where it needs to be and step out of your room.

In a last ditch effort, you opt to check that storage room. You don’t anticipate finding anything but dashed dreams and wasted efforts - maybe a Savage X Fenty shopping spree to tide you over - potentially an exorcism to vanquish the ghost who’s taken such a liking to you fucking underwear.

You hear rattling. Like can filled with mung beans shake - shaking down the hall. You really don’t want to be mad or jump to a conclusion - so you wait until your right in front of the door to say for certain that yes, it’s one of those hybrids. You don’t know which name to get ready to scream because you haven’t seen either all morning, rattling the door knob with sweaty palms as you fill your lungs to-

Wheeze.

What you see is … You’re not entirely sure but it knocks the air of your lungs - makes you draw breath that you cannot exhale. 

Scratch that - you are certain, you just really, really don’t want to believe it.

The room itself is in no state of disarray. But a crude hill of clothes that was certainly not there before has formed, and holding a pair of your panties in one hand is Rindou - who jerks his cock.. Ahm… cocks, with heated fervor; not interested in your presence immediately, which gives you the grace of time. You swallow your shock, open your mouth - 

Before you are shoved into the room entirely from behind. Ran was always a bit big for a Naga, but he didn’t sacrifice stealth for size. You would have fallen on your knees if he hadn’t caught you, the strength he has in one arm perhaps more than you had in your whole body. Rindou acknowledges you then, tauntingly as he rubs your precious velvet panties across the length of his shaft, a wanton moan that breaks into a cruel giggle as Ran proceeds to move you forward.

“What the fuck. Rindou! Ran! What on earth-” You’re jostled. They smile and laugh like there’s a joke you’re not in on. As he forces you closer to Rindou’s cocks, you can smell his musk - the overpowering scent of cum and sex as Ran carries you forward, ignoring your belligerent hollering as your attempts to slip from his grasp prove futile. Ran’s smell dominates your olfactory sense and there’s something about his vulgar display you can’t pry your eyes away from. His dicks are massive; thick at the base where it comes out of the slit, with ribbed edges that you can’t parse. You can hardly imagine something like that fitting inside a human.

“Stop it you fucking snakes! Let! Me! Go!” You flail and fidget but they only chuckle and hiss; playful in their expressions but not in their actions. They aren’t talking in words you can understand either - fucking assholes. You’re angry until Rindou’s cock is bobbing right in front of your face. Then your mouth goes dry and you’re stammering and you don’t know what to do other than -

“Suck it, human.” He commands. You whine.

“No - I’m not putting that thing in m-my, “ He pushes the head of one against your lip until it pops into your mouth, muffling any protest that follows. Ran has already busied himself with your bottom half. He’s gotten your shorts and underwear down to your ankles, using his tail to support your body as Rin focuses on shoving his cock down your throat. The other rubs across your throat and feels strange but not unpleasant. 

Ran uses his tongue. It’s too long and slimy and makes you whimper, Rin shudders and groans; thrusts the rest of his cock into your throat, and Ran preps you brusquely  -  spurned by his brother’s fun, raises your hips and all but impales you on his dick; you jerk and moan around Rindou’s girth, your jaw cramping and your hole stretching-

Kinda like a fucked up see-saw. When you slide off one cock, the other’s rushing to greet ya. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀don't be shy !⠀send this user a message!⠀૮ • ﻌ -  ა

[starsambrosia]

I ran into a Wiccan today who was telling people to research more thoroughly...if that's not the funniest joke I've heard all day idk what is lol

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 89 (Reanimating a New Friend)

content tease: at least one pic of Lavender, at pretty much her cutest yet, is hidden below the cut.

The sun hadn't come up when Conrad heard Lavender babbling in her crib upstairs. Heather dozed peacefully at his side but he hadn't slept, staring at the ceiling with his mind clouded by stress. He got up quietly to greet his daughter, passing a sleeping Felix Psyded, Esquire, on the living room sofa.

"Daaa baaa," she cooed, and Conrad took Lavender downstairs to fill a bottle for her. When he reached the landing, the apparition in their living room was already awake.

"Morning," they said to each other. Polite, succinct. Once the bottle was ready, he took Lavender into the bedroom to feed her. Conrad didn't know whether infants could even see ghosts, but he wasn't about to introduce her to one, anyway.

He left the door open for their pets, and Felix approached cautiously. Conrad nodded, barely turning his attention from his little girl, and Felix slowly floated inside. Heather stayed sound asleep and the ghostly apparition glanced away from her with a start. "I'm sorry, I should not see your fiancee in bed."

"This is our bedroom. What did you think you'd see, Felix?"

"Esq-"

"Don't."

Felix sighed, glancing warmly as Conrad fed his daughter. "I want to apologize for my behaviour last night. It was unbecoming and the truth is, I acted that way out of jealousy. I told you last night how hard it was to lose the woman I loved, and you're a very fortunate man with a beautiful family. I thought you seemed ungrateful."

"I'm not ungrateful."

"I know. I may have misread you."

Conrad smiled at his daughter as she finished her bottle and he held her up to burp her. "It's alright. I wasn't really myself last night, anyway."

"I would like to start over. If everyone you know speaks so highly of you, you must be a good man, and I don't want my... overconfidence ...to get in the way of making a friend. That's been a problem of mine for over one hundred fifty years."

Conrad put Lavender in her toasty unicorn onesie before setting her down to practice tummy time. As a wiggly baby who could already roll over to her stomach, she loved to practice on her own, and would try to pull herself up to greet their pets.

"I'd be happy to start over," said Conrad. "But I'm only ever calling you Esquire if we're in a courtroom."

"Once I've eaten the ambrosia, if it works I'll head back to Britechester and not impose further. I think I'm just about ready to retake the modern bar exam. I've tried to stay current and I know quite a lot already, but when I get back, I'll study up! If you and Heather need an attorney on retainer, I'd be happy to offer my services free of charge. As my first clients this century, and the ones who helped me live again, you'll never owe me a penny."

"Is that how you plan to live your second chance at life? As a lawyer?"

"I've loved exploring the world as a ghost, but there's something comforting about returning home to live my life again - like I'm picking up right where I left off. But I've never been able to work just one job, and moonlighting as a ghost historian suits me just as well as legal work. I'll make most of my income from law, but I know the historical research will be equally fulfilling."

"Sounds like a pretty good plan, Felix."

Ash came bounding down the stairs then, heading toward the kitchen to get breakfast. "Did you say you're a ghost? Conrad, is there really a ghost in our house? Wow! Arron Kalani will never believe this!"

"Hello, young child. Felix Psyded, Esquire, at your service."

"I'm Ash and I'm six! How old are you, Mr. Esquire? Are you over a hundred?"

"Not really. I've been dead that long, but I was born in 1879, died in 1915."

Genius Ash needed less than a minute to do the math, joining Felix in the living room with a breakfast burrito. "So you've been 36 for one-hundred forty-one years? What's that like?"

"It's not as fun as being alive," said the ghost. "I miss it, so your parents agreed to make me a food called ambrosia."

"Conrad's not my dad. When he and my mom get married he'll be my stepdad, but I call him that already. My dad lives in San Myshuno in a big penthouse. What will ambrosia do?"

"If it's made correctly, it will reanimate me. I'll rejoin the living and be skin and bones again, just like you."

"Food can do that?"

"This is a very special food." He stood respectfully when Heather finally roused herself from the bedroom. She'd slept in a bit after their late night at the bar, trusting her techs to manage the clinic while she rested.

"Will you be skin and bones again when I get back from school later?"

"I think as soon as I'm corporeal again, I'm heading straight back to Britechester. Home is where the heart is, after all. But I'll see Conrad and your mother again. They've put me in charge of a little research project on some town history."

"I hope I'll get to see you again, too, Mr. Esquire. I've heard about ghosts and some are really scary, but you're a friendly ghost! Like Casper, but you're not a little boy."

Felix smiled. "I should hope we'll meet again, young Ash."

"Can I stay home from school and watch the ambrosia work?"

Conrad shook his head. "Not a chance, buddy. We'll let you know how it goes."

Ash moaned, but he took his empty plate to the kitchen and left for school on time.

Meanwhile, Heather prepared ambrosia to the exact specifications in the newsletter. One angelfish purchased by Conrad from the Magic Realm. One death flower grown in their backyard from a seed her astrobotanist mother had cultivated the previous winter. And two ounces of a silver-tinted Potion of Youth they'd received from the Ambrosia Society as they marked off tasks in each newsletter.

She watched the fish cook slowly over the stove, finally plating the finished dish as Felix waited in anticipation.

"It smells nothing like I imagined. This is so exciting! I can only hope to repay this kindness by learning everything you want to know about your old man at the museum."

Felix pulled out a fork to dig in as Heather's phone rang. "That's work. They need help with a surgery, but I can drop Lavender at daycare on my way. Will you help Felix before you leave for work? And be nice?"

"We made up this morning," said Conrad. "We'll be fine."

He stood to kiss her goodbye, returning to the kitchen as Felix finished the entire plate of ambrosia. Staring at the empty plate, he smiled as an ethereal glow seemed to burn off him. The apparition stood as his body warmed. A force lifted him in the air, as a bolt of energy shot through every inch of his spectral frame.

The force let go and his body spun toward the earth, so fast he thought his head might swivel off entirely. But he looked down at his hands; they were as flesh and bone as the day he died. He touched his face in awe. "It worked! It actually worked!"

Conrad smiled. "Congratulations."

"My debt to you and Miss Heather can never truly be repaid, but I assure you I will try."

"We appreciate that, but just restart your life for now. Get used to living in Britechester again, and let us know when you're settled in."

"I did want to ask a few more questions about your man before I go, if you have the time. But you mentioned his appearance last night and I couldn't help but notice some of your beautiful family photos hanging around the house. The photos of you as a younger man, your father is with you, I presume?"

"Yeah, that's my Dad. The old man sorta looked like him, but more from a distance than up close."

"And you said he offered to show you around the lighthouse after hours, but he walked out of the museum?"

He nodded. "Are you trying to track his movements?"

"Well, Sargent, ghosts don't move like people do, so not exactly. But if he's a ghost, where you met matters. It could be a clue to his identity, or have something to do with the message he's trying to send."

"What message?"

"Older ghosts' unfinished business is less about sticking around, and typically more about making sure the people they love have what they need to go on without them. Sometimes the messages are about lost heirlooms worth thousands, and sometimes it's just to let their loved ones know they'll be okay, since Grim doesn't pass on last words. When he wouldn't tell my dear Maude my last message to her, it hardened my resolve not to cross over."

"Did you ever get to tell her?"

Felix frowned. "I did...But a new chance at life beckons! No sense dwelling on the last one, now."

The new man had no suitcase and Conrad sent him on his way. But as he dressed for work, there was a knock at the door. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[fics-by-noworriesifnot]

Chapter 7/19: A Twist of Fate. Now on Ao3 Hermione turned to scan the paperwork spread out over Lucius’ workbench. Her eyes darted over his writing, the trial and error of his potion making all carefully recorded. “Just look at all this research, Malfoy, it’s almost complete!” She said, placing the bottle of Ambrosia down carefully beside the sprawling notes. “I mean, this is just incredible,” she said, picking up a piece of parchment to examine the research closer. “An Ambrosia Elixir! I didn’t think it was possible.” She looked up to exchange an excited look with Draco, but found he had wandered off to take up a seat on the staircase. His eyes were downcast, his forearms slumped over his knees. “Malfoy?” She asked softly. “I didn’t want you to find all this.” He said, monotone and unmoving. Hermione took a few steps towards him. “...Your father’s project?” She asked, taking a seat on the staircase alongside him. “He was trying to bring your mother back, wasn’t he?”

“When he wasn’t murdering people for Voldemort… yes.” Draco sighed. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.” Hermione replied, shaking her head.

Draco scowled. “Because I knew you would go ‘full Granger’ on it. Father’s obviously abandoned it ‘cos it’s a piece of junk.” He said. “But I can try-” “I don’t want you to waste your time on this… on me.” Draco said, pointing away from her. “Waste my time?” Hermione repeated slowly. “Malfoy-” “Father spent my entire childhood down here, and for what? It’s useless.” Draco snapped, throwing a hand flippantly towards the hulking machine, before folding his arms tightly over his chest. “He was so preoccupied with the past, that he couldn’t see the life he had in front of him. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you- you’re already working on a potion that is actually important. You’ll change people’s lives.”

Hermione felt irritation ignite in her chest. “How is this not important too, Malfoy?” She argued, “I could bring you back, you could have another chance! Lucius’ notes are so meticulous, I don’t think it would take me very long to pick up where he left off-” “How do you not get this?” Draco said bluntly. “I don’t deserve it, Granger. This is my due for all the wrongs I did when I was alive.” He twisted around to look her in the eye, to give her one of his patented withering stares, but she held his gaze with a wretched earnestness that he couldn't combat.

“But you don’t remember-” she began. “Don’t.” Draco said sharply. “How you died-” she persisted. “Granger. Stop.” “But Malfoy!”

“I said I don’t want to hear it.” He let out a long, suffering sigh. “Please, Granger.” He said, turning away from her, so he didn’t have to look into her wide, imploring eyes. “I know I was on the wrong side of the war- I do not care to hear a morbid list of my personal failings that led to this twisted purgatory… just leave me alone.” He said, feeling her body stiffen beside him.

Then suddenly, she was on her feet, her fists balled at her sides, her face contorted into a snarl. “GODS!!” she cried, “you’re more insufferable now, than you were in life! If you would just listen-”

Draco stood sharply, his anger rising to match hers. He tugged up his sleeve and thrust his exposed arm towards her; the twisted black ink in stark contrast against his ethereal glow.

“I hardly need to listen when I can see it for myself!” he said, the tremble in his voice betraying him. “Why would I have carried this into the afterlife if not to remind me why I’m here?”

Hermione gaped at the Dark Mark tattoo on his forearm, her fists remained balled, though her composure had softened slightly.

With her eyes now tightly closed, she raised her wand to meet her eye level. “If you won’t let me tell you…” She said as a thin bright strand of light, Draco recognised to be a memory, curled slowly from her temple and down her wand. “I’m going to show you,” she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.