#even the discs are slightly wet

[talietikasero]

i get home and was relieved to see some dumbass didn't try to steal my order. i am however considering returning this because the box wasn't properly sealed or maybe the rain undid the packaging tape and now my new record jacket has that wet paper feel and ripple to it

[elliesgaythoughts]

Movie night

MDNI

Warnings: FLUFF,FLUFF,FLUFF, fingering e! receiving, so much teasing e! receiving, face riding r! receiving, slightly bratty ellie, squirting, dacryphelia, underwear tearing, humping, slight pain slut ellie.

reader not described as masc or fem.

readers appreance isn’t described specifically.

You were estatic. Ellie had called you on face time, not saying anything, just holding the disc of your favourite movie up to the camera with a teasing smirk on her face, “I’m on my way!” you excitedly scream down the phone, you hear Ellie laughing as you hang up, running to put your shoes on.

When you arrived at her house you were in awe at the effort she put in, dim lights and lavender candles awaited you, her band tee, that smelled just like her and a pair of her boxers that were folded to perfection was placed into your hands with a sweet kiss, she even went to the store and got all your favourite snacks, pouring them all into one big bowl because that’s the most her organisation skills would allow, you appreciated the effort tho, giving her a sweet peck on the forehead…

“Babe!” She calls from the living room.

“Two seconds!” you shout back as you slip into her clothes, her top barely covering the boxers you wore.

“Hurry uup” she wines.

You walk into the living room and see Ellie squatting down, her plad boxers moving with the motion, causing the bottom of her freckled ass cheek to peek out, “cutee” you thought to yourself as she slid the disc into her PlayStation.

You cough to get her attention and she nearly jumps out her skin, you’re laughing your ass off as you reach a hand out to help her up, pulling her up with so much force that her feet leave the ground, so she wraps her legs around your torso as your arms slither around her waist, pressing your lips to hers as you sway side to side, one of your hands gripping her ass and pressing her centre to your belly, your tongues dance with eachother, practically in slow motion, just tasting one another, feeling the heat of her mouth, the wetness of her tongue…

she moans sweetly into your mouth, you pull back and she giggles sweetly when you rub the tip of your nose side to side against hers “love you baby” you say, staring into her pretty, green orbs, completely engulfed by her.

“I know” she replies, squeezing her legs tighter around your waist, she wraps her arms around your back, nuzzling her face into the side of your neck “I love you too”. One of your hands trace circles onto her back and you feel her eyes flutter close, her lashes tickling the skin of your neck.

“can we watch the film now?” you giggle out. “We could do something else” she says, grinding softly against your belly. “Elliee” you whine “afterwards, okay”. She sighs, faking agitations, SHE COULD BE SUCH A BRAT SOMETIMES, you suck on her neck lightly, teasing her “don’t be a brat baby”.

“Fine” she tries to hide her eye roll but you catch it, ignoring it for now.

You crawl onto the couch with her still attached to you, laying on your back, her head resting on your chest as you lean over to press play, you peck her on the top of her head as the intro of the film begins to play, but she ignores you, nuzzling the side of her face into the centre of your chest, her arms around your neck, her knees still on either side of you…

Your attention has completely left the film since you started to notice her behaviour, lightly grinding into you every five minutes or so, she’d play it off as “just getting comfy” but you knew exactly what she was doing when her eyes fluttered close and an almost silent sigh left her pretty lips, her heartbeat fast against yours, your hand came down and began massaging her cute little butt cheek, giggling to yourself as she “tried to get comfy” yet again.

“What you doing” she asks, her eyes still close.

“Just getting comfy baby” you whisper out, your hand landing behind her knee, pulling it thurther up your waist and tracing the back of her thigh. Her face is between your breasts as she tries to muffle her whine, her hips bucking into you.

“Ellie” you call to get her attention.

“Yeah” she huffs out, almost sounding like a moan.

“This parts really good”

She nods into your into your chest, completely ignoring you.

You fake anger “Ellie are you even watching it?”

Her head whips towards the tv “mhmm” she hums.

“Good” you pinch her inner thigh and she moans at the pain, you carry on massaging her leg ignoring her sounds, enjoying this little game.

Your fingertips slide up her inner thigh, she opens her legs wider and you fucking hear how wet she is as her sticky folds separate with her movement, excitement bubbling in your chest at the fact you can get so her wet so easily, no matter how many times it happens you’re always shocked by how soaked she gets for you.

Your other hand reaches for the remote to turn the tv down a little “too loud” you mutter. “Yeah” she mumbles, clearly lost in thought, eyes still close, thinking you haven’t caught on yet.

You lightly trace your way to her centre, tracing up and down her slit through her thin boxers, feeling her wetness pool on your fingertips through the fabric.

Your fingertips land onto her bud and press down, a gutteral moan leaves her chest, you couldn’t even pretend you didn’t hear it “shhh, this is my favourite part” at this point she didn’t know if you were talking about her or the movie as she sneaks one of her hands over her mouth, catching the squeak that tries to escape her mouth as you continue playing with her.

Ellie grows impatient at your teasing tho, her arm bending behind her to pull her boxers to the side, causing your fingers to accidentally slip against her bare folds, you pull away in surprise, a line of her slick connecting you both.

“please” she begs quietly, looking at you with pleading eyes, you grip her chin facing her freckled face towards the screen “shh”.

She almost sobs as her hips buck towards you again. You don’t touch her for a moment, your eyes on the screen…

Little huffs left her the whole time your hands were off her, you actually started to feel bad for teasing her for so long..

Her gasp of relief turns into a gutteral moan as you slip a single digit inside her without warning “yess” she whispers, tears instantily forming on her lashline as her hands reach up your shirt, her nails digging into your back as you thrust in and out of her slowly, enough to disturb her breathing pattern but not enough for her to cum, her pussy squeezing onto your finger as you suck on the side of her neck “more…please” she instructs.

“Not yet, don’t want you missing anything”

“Please” she sobs, as she grinds her clit against the shirt that you’re wearing.

“I’ll stop” you warn her.

“Don’t. please.” she whines.

“Quiet then baby”…

You continue thrusting into her, pulling out when ever she sounded like she was about to cum, her slick leaking through her band tee and onto your belly. You knew the movie was about to come to an end, so her torture ended swiftly as you thrusted a second finger into her as the credits began to play.

You hurriedly switched the off button on the remote, the room going silent as you slammed into her repeatedly, the only sound you can hear is your soaked fingers gliding in and out of her used cunt, precious squelches filling the air. “S-so close” she stutters out, grinding against you frantically, her eyes watering as her hot breaths land against your throat.

The plush of her thighs squeeze together onto your hand, spasming “ughh d-don’t stawwp” her warm tears hitting your neck as she buries her face into your skin, gasping your name out repeatedly.

“you gonna cum?” You ask, knowing the answer.

“Yess!” she squeals and you pull your fingers out of her before she reaches her high.

She looks at you with wet eyes, staring at you like you’ve just committed the worst act of cruelty, before she can even start begging, you interrupt her “sit on my face” you plead desperately. She doesn’t even answer you, quickly crawling up your body, pulling her underwear to the side, trying to expose herself, but they’re in the way of what you need most in the world, you tap her hand that’s holding the material to the side and she quickly moves it, placing both her palms on the arm of her couch, closing her eyes, bracing herself for how good she’s about to feel, till she hears the sound of fabric tearing, she looks down in shock as she sees the material that covered her hip in shreds as you pull it to the side, immediately taking her whole clit into your mouth and suckling on it…

Her hands instantly land behind your head and pressing your face deeper into her, her chest raising and falling as she leaks onto your chin, her pussy clenching around nothing, you slap the outside of her thigh harshly before both of your hands clasp onto the flesh on top of her thighs, your nails digging into the skin, almost causing blood. “Im ughh im gonna fffuck gonnacum, gonnacum” she squeals as you shake your head side to side, sucking her off, her hips are jerking in all directions, her eyes rolling back, her fingers pulling on your hair so harshly it almost hurts.

Tears are streaming down her face as she repeats your name over and over, her voice turning extremely high pitched.

“cum for me” you instruct into her and an instant gush of liquid spills onto your face, almost drowning you, you struggle to breath, her liquid in your lungs as she grunts above you, riding you, using your face selfishly as she prolongs her high, her body going limp soon after, you hold your lips to her beating clit, “mmh” she whines at your light touch, your digits grip onto her waist, lifting her from your face and placing her sensitive core onto your mound, she lays into her original position on you, “thank you” she whispers, placing a kiss onto your heart as her breathing steadies.

Your hand comes up, fingertips massaging her scalp “you deserve it, angel”

She can only hum in response, her eyelids so heavy as she starts to drift off.

The silence that filled the room is interrupted with her muffled voice as her face presses against your chest “love you” she says weakly. “Love you too, baby”. Your heart swells at how cute she can be as you sigh closing your eyes, the taste of her essence still on your lips as you drift off to sleep with the love of your life..

[thesassypadawan]

Debriefing *part 3* (Knight Anakin x PadawanFemReader x Master Obi-Wan)

Summary: Due to the level of severity for his most recent mission, you’ve been forced to remain behind. Leaving you aching for him in the worse way possible and in desperate need of a private ‘meeting’…just between the three of you.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut. Some holo calling mutual fun and…Ani and Obi’s big dicks. Padawan reader is of age.

Notes: Thanks all you lovelies for taking the time out to read part 3!  I hoped you enjoyed it and look forward to part 4!  And I also hope you enjoy part 1, part 2, and part 4!

‘Stupid mission.’ Due to the level of severity for his most recent escapade, you had been forced to remain behind. While he and his ever-faithful partner in crime were off saving the galaxy…yet again.

Leaving you aching for him. Longing to see him. Yearning to have his hands all over your body. Needing to have him split… You couldn’t take it anymore.

So after sending off a short message, requesting to have a private ‘meeting’. You had quickly made your way back to your shared quarters. Where you quickly shimmied out of those stifling robes and sprawled yourself out on your sleep couch. Waiting ‘patiently’ for him to call,

When the holo disc lit up, you eagerly answered. A sultry smile spreading across your face as the miniature, blue version of him flickered into existence. “That was fast.”

Sporting his own excited expression, along with a ‘little’ something else. He parted his lips to speak, except no words came out…only silence.

“Kriff, your signal is bad. I can see, but can’t hear you.” You pouted, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Oh, well; guess you’ll just have to relax and enjoy the show.”

Leaning back against the pillow, your legs spread teasingly. Hands trailing up your body. Cupping and squeezing your breasts. Fingers toying and tugging at your nipples. A soft coo escaping you, pretending it was his calloused ones doing the work instead. “Mmm…”

You watched his long digits wrap around his length, beginning to pump. Gaze fixed on you and your other hand. Following its decent; dipping between your wet folds, rubbing softly at your clit.

“Do you see this?” You whined sweetly, slipping a finger into your aching core. Moving it in time with his own slow pace. “Do you see what you do to me?”

Sinking a second inside, you speed up. Letting out a low, breathy moan when you saw him doing the same. Fat cock twitching in his grip, beads of pre oozing from his tip. “Got me carving you, wanting you all day long.”

Swirling a thumb around your sensitive bud, your hips bucked wildly. Trying to mimic the way he would pound you so perfectly, split you open so deliciously. “Wish you were here…you fill me up much better,”

His big hand stuttered for a moment before resuming. Head tipping slightly to the side, his jerks quickening. Teeth biting his bottom lip, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Adding a third finger, your started to match his rhythm. An audible wet sound filling the air of your quarters mixed with your needy gasps. “So close…going to…”

Desperately, you chased your release. Writhing on the sleep couch, the pleasure within rose up in a haze. The knot in your stomach growing unbearably tight…and it was clear that he was fairing no better. “Nngh, cum…cum with me… Want to see you paint yourself in white…”

That’s all it had taken… A wave of ecstasy came flooding through your bond. Followed by the sight of thick rope after thick rope spewing forth. Dripping down his fist, covering his stomach. Some even splashed up onto his chest and chin.

Which then, in turn, sent you crashing over the edge. Walls fluttering and clenching, whole body tensing as your orgasm overtook you. Leaving you a babbling and panting mess.

Shifting your eyes side to side, you pulled out your digits. Licking each clean individually. Imagining that you could taste his salty, sweet release mingled with your juices. “Miss you… General… Master…”

Popping the last out of your mouth, you reached forward to unmute the twin devices. Smirking in satisfaction at the shocked looks they wore, the horrified tones in their voices.

“Angel, what the…?!”

“Darling, explain your…?!”

“Hope you two liked my ‘debriefing’,” you said sickeningly, sweetly. “May the force be with you both.”

And with a tap, you ended the calls.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @cacti5539, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: red-eared slider

It's turtle time, everybody! Today's topic, the red-eared slider turtle, is one of three subspecies of the pond slider, Trachemys scripta. The other two subspecies, the yellow-bellied slider and Cumberland slider are similar and I will mention them, but this post will largely be about the red-eared slider. Red-ears are the most popular pet turtle and as a direct result of that, is the most invasive turtle in the world.

(Image: a red-eared slider basking on a log. It is a small turtle with a dark green upper shell striped with yellow and brown. Its body is a very dark green, almost black, with yellow stripes. A red stripe runs behind the eyes. End ID)

Trachemys scripta elegans is knows as the red-eared slider because of the red markings on the sides of its head and its ability to quickly slid into the water when threatened. They are freshwater turtles who reach an average of 15 - 20 cm (6-8 in) in carapace (upper shell) length, but can grow over 40 cm (16 in) in good conditions. The shell is composed of bony, keratinous scutes and varies in appearance as the turtle ages. The carapace starts out as a strong green color with variable markings and darkens to a brown color as the turtle ages. The plastron (lower shell) starts out yellow with darker markings and can darken to a red color with age. The turtle's skin is green with yellow stripes and also darkens with age. The shells and skin are always covered with stripes and irregular markings that help camouflage the animal by breaking up its silhouette. They have no external ear canals. Instead, the ear is covered with a disc of cartilage called the tympanum. During winter, they enter a state called brumantion, which is similar to hibernation but requires the turtle to occasionally wake up to eat and breathe.

(Image: a juvenile red-eared slider in a tank. Its shell and skin are a lighter green and still heavily striped. The toes on one foot are spread, showing off the webbing between them. End ID)

It can be difficult to tell male and female red-eared sliders apart, especially when they are juveniles, but there are a few tells. Females usually get larger than males while the males have longer claws used to grab onto the female's shell while mating. Males also have a slightly concave plastron that helps them balance on the female's shell during mating. The biggest tell is the cloaca, which is located on the tail. In males, the cloaca opening is close to the tip of the tail, while in females it is close to the base.

(Image: a red-eared slider seen from the front. It is identifiable as a male by its long claws. End ID)

Red-eared sliders are native to lakes, ponds, and slow-moving streams and rivers of the American midwest (which, for those of you who don't know, is on the east side of the country) and northern Mexico. They are omnivorous, feeding on aquatic and shore plants as well as aquatic invertebrates and small fish. They are not social, but tolerate each other's presence as long as there is enough food for everyone. In lean times, they will compete over food. Red-eared sliders are almost entirely aquatic, but they need to leave the water to warm their bodied by basking in the sun. Pond sliders can often be seen basking on rocks or logs sticking out of the water. They will bask in groups and even climb on top of each other. When they see danger, they will retreat into the water.

(image: a group of 6 red-eared sliders basking on a rock. One of them has partially climbed on top of another. End ID)

Mating season begin in spring and lasts until summer. Males will perform a courtship dance for females. He swims around the female while touching her head with the backs of his claws. This may help direct pheromones toward her. If the female approves, she will sink to the bottom and become receptive to mating. Otherwise, she will chase the male away. Courtship can take almost an hour, but the mating itself is short, lasting no more than 10 minutes. The time between fertilization and egg-laying can vary and females can hold onto sperm to fertilize herself later. Before laying eggs, females often have a change of diet and will spend extra time basking. The female will also spend more time on land, looking for a good spot to build a nest. The nest is a shallow pit dug in sand or loose soil. The female will lay between 2 and 30 eggs in the nest and bury them before leaving. A female can lay up to 5 clutches in a year. Incubation takes between 60 and 112 days. The temperature of the nest determines the sex of the hatchlings, with warmer soil producing females. The hatchlings use an egg tooth to break out of the egg, which will fall off a few hours after birth. Hatchlings are born with an external yolk sac attached to the bottom of the plastron that will provide nutrition for days after birth. The yolk sac being damaged or jostled enough to introduce air is fatal. The juvenile turtle needs to fully absorb the yolk sac and allow its plastron to fully fuse before entering the water, which takes about 21 days. Juveniles born late enough in the year may brumate in the nest and not emerge until next spring. Red-eared sliders reach sexual maturity at about 5 years of age and a turtle that survives its two years can live up to 30 or 40 years. Red-eared sliders can hybridize with the other pond slider subspecies.

(Image: a pair of juvenile red-eared sliders being held in someone's hand. They are small enough that both together don't take up the full palm. End ID)

Red-eared sliders are classified as least concern by the IUCN, meaning they are not at risk of extinction. They have become popular pets due to being cheap with low maintenance costs and not getting too big. They are the world's most commonly traded reptile thanks to the pet trade, though they are also eaten by some people. Release or escape of pet red-eared sliders had led to them becoming an invasive species in many parts of the world as their fast maturation allows them to outcompete local species. They have also been responsible for spreading diseases and parasites to native turtle populations. Red-eared sliders are also asymptomatic carriers of salmonella and need to be handled with caution. I leave you with a fun fact: the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are, in at least one continuity, red-eared sliders

(Image: a pair of red-eared sliders standing in shallow water. their necks are extended and they are looking upwards. End ID)

[mlmxreader]

Not My Simon | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ i need “you’re not coming home, are you?” “i doubt it.” with ghost. gn, male, nb reader, literally any I JUST NEED THE ANGST - @mockerycrow ❞

: ̗̀➛ it's not your Simon. It's not how you remember him. Whatever it is, that's not your Simon.

: ̗̀➛ body horror, major character death, swearing, smoking, graphic depictions of fatal injuries

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The last conversation kept playing in your head as you stared at the photograph in your trembling hands; you knew that you had to make the call, that you had to pick up the phone and talk to Price.

He was sorry about what had happened, he had done his best to protect Simon. He asked you to call. You couldn't.

Every time you looked at your phone, you could only ever hear that last conversation. You weren't going to take it from the drawer. You couldn't.

The glass on the frame was stained and streaked, smudged with wet fingerprints. You licked your lips as you swallowed thickly and took in a shaky breath. The last picture.

You and your Simon, at a heavy metal concert, seeing a band that you adored who did songs based on historical individuals and events. He had bought you a zip up hoodie. You never wore it after that last conversation. It was collecting dust in the wardrobe.

Along with the bin bags full of his clothes, packed up by Johnny and Kyle.

You could hear his voice so clearly as you replayed the conversation.

"You're not coming home, are you?"

"I doubt it." His voice had shaken slightly. "It doesn't look good…"

"At least make sure there's something they can bring back," your voice had broken, squeaking. "I don't want to bury an empty box."

"I'll give Johnny my discs," he had told you. "He'll make sure that you get them. Keep them with you."

The line had cut off abruptly after that, you could still hear the monotone beep of the phone ringing in your ears. You put the photograph aside on the bed, shaking your head as you stood up.

It had gotten cold suddenly, you weren't sure why; you figured it was just the winter air creeping in, and grabbed a hoodie. It was red, stained with curry sauce.

You could still remember when Simon had spilled it, how profusely he had apologised. How you laughed and told him not to worry - it was just curry sauce. It didn't matter much.

Your vision was blurry, something hot and wet trickling down your cheeks. Something blocking your throat and your nose as you trudged to the kitchen.

The kitchen was even colder, and the smell of pineapple and pepper clung to the air. You didn't think much of it. The window was open, and it wouldn't surprise you if one of your neighbours had had a barbeque earlier.

But then an unease washed over you, the hairs at the back of your neck standing up and your heart banging against your ribs; you were being watched. In the darkness, something was lurking in a corner. You could see a shadow moving from the corner of your eyes.

You figured you were just tired as you stood with your back against the counter and lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag. Your hands didn't stop shaking. You could feel the chill getting worse. The patio light flickered, drawing your attention.

You could have sworn you saw something move from the corner of your eye. You tensed up, clenching your jaw. You were just tired, that was all. Just tired.

A shadow stood, motionless and towering over the vase of dead and wilted daffodils. Simon's last gift.

You pressed your back against the counter a little more. Shaking your head. You were just tired. Seeing things. That was it. You were just tired. Slowly, the shadow moved, and the lights flickered slightly.

Exposing an all black SAS uniform, but it didn't look right.

Something was… off about it.

The shadow got closer, and the lights flickered again, settling on staying on, although dulled. A pale grey light filled the kitchen as you glared at the exposed shadow.

It wore a broken skull mask, the tactical vest was ripped and torn and exposing what was beneath it. The trousers were frayed and falling apart at the calf and knee. The helmet was broken, exposing dull grey flesh beneath it that throbbed.

Then you got a really good look, and you nearly dropped your cigarette.

The jaw of the shadow was broken, shattered and hanging on by sheer spite. Something black and gooey oozed from the open mouth. The movements were jerky, bones crunching and grinding where they had been broken. The elbow stuck out from the flesh, poking against long and thin sleeves.

You froze, meeting lifeless white eyes. But you knew him. It was Simon, but it wasn't your Simon; it wasn't how you remembered him.

Soft and short, neat, brown hair. Deep and wide facial scars. Those deep brown eyes you could get lost in, so dark that they could look black in the right lighting. A towering frame, chub that hung over the edge of his trousers.

What you were looking at wasn't your Simon.

It might have looked like him, but it wasn't him. No. That wasn't your Simon. That wasn't how you remembered him. You shook your head, sinking down and covering your face with your hands, screaming.

That wasn't your Simon.

You screamed and screamed, sobbing and weeping. That wasn't your Simon. It was not your Simon. It wasn't how you remembered him.

But it moved forward, and with a grinding and crunching thud, sat down opposite you. It reached its charred and burned, blistered and leaking, hand out and rested it on your calf gently. Grunting and gargling on its own blood. Choking on it.

It garbled and growled softly, spitting ooze on the floor. Desperate to speak as the flesh in its open skull pushed up and down against the jagged cracks of the broken helmet. It nudged your leg. You screamed again.

So it withdrew its hand, and turned its white gaze to the floor. Ashamed.

He never meant to scare you. He never meant to hurt you. He just wanted to see you one last time before he had to go again. He wanted to tell you that he loved you, that he was sorry. That he never meant to hurt you, and he would always watch over you. He would always be there.

He shied away, standing up and taking one last hesitant look at you. A grunting garble sounded from his mouth as he choked on the ooze, desperate to speak. To apologise for not being your Simon. To apologise for his appearance and tell you that he was sorry.

He knew that that wasn't how you remembered him.

One last look, and he was gone.

The lights flickered, and returned to being off. The smell died away and the air seemed to warm up slightly. But you stayed there, screaming and sobbing.

That wasn't your Simon.

[shimbongulus]

Thorns and Stars

(Warning! There are spoilers for Undertale Yellow's pacifist ending up ahead! Don't read if you haven't played it! Or do. I'm not your dad.)

The sun fractalized through the branches of trees in the park, making Martlet squint a bit as she relaxed on a wooden bench. 

The days since freedom came had been absolutely wonderful. Sunlight for the first time in most monsters’ lives, a decent peace with humanity, and a chance for a new start in a world they got to explore all anew.

Martlet had been doing her fair share of exploring around Ebbott, at least, but she wasn’t as young as she used to be. Her brief morning flight was evidence of that as she nursed a mildly aching wing, her fingertips massaging sore muscles and brushing over feathertips that frayed with age. 

She rued how unruly her down had gotten as she aged, but she reminded herself that was a sign of age - she got to see her down get all unruly, and feel her muscles lose the endurance they once had. It meant she had made it far enough to see the sun, that fabulous burning yellow disc that Monsterkind had dreamed of for so long.

But at the moment her wings weren’t the only things aching.

For the past decade and then some, she had been coping with the loss of a friend who had been in her life briefly but brilliantly. Starlo, Dalv and Ceroba had been excellent companions in the process of mourning and grief, and she had managed to grow around it, but it still bristled its thorns from time to time. 

Was there a world where they got to age with her? Was there a world where they came at this point in time? Perhaps.

Suddenly, a childlike voice echoed from Martlet’s right. “Is your wing alright?” She turned to look, and immediately recognized the figure of Frisk Dreemurr, the human name that every monster knew and would know for centuries to come.

“Oh, just fine. Things start to ache as  you get old. It’s whatever.” There was something incredibly familiar about Frisk’s presence and energy, something that seemed to summon the sweetness of the rose that dwelt somewhere within the thorns of grief.

“Say… you’re Frisk, huh?” They gave a nod, “Yup. What’s your name?”

“Martlet. I’m originally from Snowdin, but I’m currently staying in an apartment in New Waterfall.” 

Frisk gave that smile that caused the rose of grief to give its fragrance in Martlet’s soul even stronger as they extended a hand and shook with a firmness that shook her to her foundations. “Nice to meet ya, Martlet.” Suddenly, their face drew sympathetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I say something?” 

“W-Wha?” Small flecks of wetness on the periphery of her vision grew to Martlet’s awareness. “O-Oh, uh, it’s.. It’s not you. You just…”

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself as she spoke the sentence, “You remind me of an old friend of mine. In a really good way.” She brushed some of the tears away, but a few miniscule replacements came behind them. Martlet tried her best to repress the sadness and lean into the bittersweetness that welled up from within her. 

Frisk pulled to a seat beside them, adjusting their blue-and-purple-striped jacket to keep the untimely spring cool out. “Who were they, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

For a moment, Martlet found it hard to summon words. What words could describe that brilliant, bright little candle that had come into their life for that moment those years ago? Friend? Compatriot? Companion? 

“Clover. Their name was Clover,” was all that she could manage for a moment, her blue bowlcut shifting in a slight breeze as a few tears flecked from her chin to her lap. 

Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, “T-They were a human, the last one to come before you. I h-helped them through Snowdin and to the Dunes…” Frisk put a hand on the tip of her shoulder, as if to ask permission to hug them. Martlet nodded as the child stretched an arm across as much of her back as they could reach.

“They were a really, really good friend. They were really strong, and really compassionate, like you.” Something seemed to wake up in Frisk as their brows raised and they asked, “Did they wear a cowboy hat?”

Martlet nodded, the tears slackening a little bit. “Yeah - yeah, they did.” Frisk seemed to look down into their lap, pondering as she continued, “They had a little toy gun, too. They loved coffee, and sweets, and pancakes, and dancing, and adventuring… They were tough as nails, and stronger than anyone could have ever believed.”

Frisk looked up and frowned a bit as they quietly nodded. Martlet then realized Frisk had obviously seen the container. “How did it happen?” 

Martlet’s head hung a bit as another few tears trickled down. “While they journeyed, they heard about the wrongs we’d suffered. They g-gave up their soul s-so that we…” Martlet tried to finish the sentence, but they could speak no more, and a pathetic little squeak came from her mouth as the tears seemed to come unfettered and undammed, coming in a small shower from her face as Frisk hugged her that extra little bit harder.

They squeezed Martlet’s feathered shoulders as the bird-monster cried, whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” to her. Martlet’s tears finally slackened a bit as she reciprocated the hug to Frisk. 

Suddenly, the human looked up at them with bright eyes full of an idea. “Would you mind if I ran and got you something?” Martlet tried to voice a “sure,” but all that they could manage was a little nod as their breath still failed them from the emotional moment shared with the one who helped break the barrier.

She sat and watched as the human ran down the street, past the old brick building and away to some corner of this new town. She was alone now, for the moment, and wondered how Starlo and Ceroba were doing. Last she had seen Dalv, he was making moves to a more open stretch of ground to the east of the mountain, good for growing the fields of corn he excelled at growing.

Starlo and Ceroba were staying somewhere in New Home, she knew, and she wondered if they would ever complete the move up to Surface Home, but as far as she knew they were happy as it was. 

Martlet smiled a bit. Even if Clover was gone, she still had a good crowd of friends. She started to make a mental note to arrange a get-together between Frisk and everyone else, when she felt a tugging at her sleeve. 

As she turned, she saw Frisk, who had made their way back in front of her with nary a sound, giving her a start for a moment, “Aah! Oh, gosh, you scared the feathers off of me.” Frisk smirked, “Really? Looks like you still have ‘em all.” 

She shook her head, “You know what I mean.” It was then that she noted Frisk’s hand was clasped around something small. “Hm? What’s that you’ve got there?” Frisk smiled, “Something I found in the Underground when I was making my way through.”

Their hands unclasped to reveal a little six-pointed star with small brass knobs sticking out at each star-point. A word shone out from the center of the well-polished and well-kept keepsake, “DEPUTY.” 

Martlet’s hands involuntarily stretched out for the star, which Frisk eagerly handed to them. She caressed the thing and felt its contours, caressing even the pin which once held this to the chest of the human she had known so well.

She smiled a bright, happy smile at Frisk as the sweet rose that lived inside grief gave off a perfume they had not smelled since the thornbush had first grown. She felt love emanate from the little badge and embraced it, taking her arms and physically embracing the love - or at least its momentary source, Frisk, which Frisk was all too happy to accept.

“Thank you, Frisk.”  

Martlet could not explain it if she had tried, nor if she had been the most knowledgable monster in existence, but for a moment it was as though she felt Clover there, with her. As if she could hear the words murmuring through some consciousness of hers, “It’s okay. It’s all okay. You’re free now.” 

The thorns seemed as they were all coming up roses now as she enjoyed the remainder of the afternoon with a new friend.

(Thanks for reading! Be sure to go give this fic a kudos on Ao3 too!)

[lunchmeater]

AUGUST HONEY: CHAPTER ONE : STRANGERS - PREVIEW

Ghost x Reader -- Firefighter/Civilian AU -- Word Count 1.8k

Description: A dead-end artist, bookstore owner, and front woman in a band, from the outside everything looks like it’s coming together for you. But within, your life feels like it’s repeating the same day over and over again. You’re sleeping with your bass guitarist, you live in the apartment above your bookstore, and your art all looks the same. You miss the danger of youth, the thrill of freedom. You miss change.

And right when that feeling hits, right when you’re grasping for straws, a couple of the new local firefighters decide to go out for drinks.

TWs for Entire Fic: Depictions of unhealthy relationships (not with Ghost), mentions and depictions of alcoholism, smut

TWs for Chapter: Very small reference to alcoholism

AN: I'm very new to Tumblr y'all please excuse the horrendous formatting

Seven in the afternoon. Time to close up. With a satisfying click of the shop's front door locking, you rubbed the back of your neck, turning your head slightly to the side to see the scenery outside.

You've owned this shop for so long that the view from the window was more familiar than the layout of the lines of your palm. Your attention traced the road first, noting the way the concrete was still wet from the early morning rain. The sidewalks were a shade darker for the same reason and covered in the muddy footprints of passersby. Windows from other shops and buildings stood tall, some of the buildings they belonged to were twice as tall as your own. Then your eyes traveled along the rolling mountains in the background behind the buildings and the still-lit houses lolling up and down its curves. This was a small city.

The sun was beginning its journey behind the distant mountains. It's beams were reaching hands across that of the thresh hold of your little bookstore, stroking the hardwood floors and illuminating them golden. Following the line of the sunlight, your eyes landed on your dog, a Rhodesian Ridge-Back named Sylvie. Despite being a big-game hunting breed, she was beyond lazy and sleeping soundly in the light of the sun.

God. You wished it was normal for humans to do that too.

It was warm in here, beginning to get quite cold out there. Your head turned back to the window and saw the clouds that were rolling in from the West. Likely more rain. Maybe there would be a nice thunderstorm tonight, or maybe even some snow.

The entire day you were waiting for this. Just being alone in the place. The place creaked with age, the floorboards despite having been replaced since the buying of the home whining as you stepped on them. You reached your record player sitting in the corner of the room on its own personal table, surrounded by shelves you built yourself. They held numerous vinyl records that you collected yourself over the course of the years, ever since you were thirteen.

The sleeves, despite their various colors, were painted with a gold glaze in the light of the evening sun. Your finger traced each individual spine, feeling the grooves in between the sleeves of the records, before you finally landed on one titled Pink Magic.

You grabbed it, slipping it out from in between Citrona and Subliming. The cover held a gradient that eased from pastel pink on the right to pastel blue on the left. In the center stood a man holding a disco ball covered in paint in front of his face. It was an album you bought on a whim and hadn't heard in a while, so you put it on. Easing the needle down onto the grooves of the record disc where you knew the specific song was nearly by muscle memory. You read the lines on the record like a language few understood.

The song started, fading into earshot before a guitar part layered over the tones. Then a drum beat and bass guitar came in afterwards, then finally the lyrics.

"Picture this, a swing and a miss."

You interlocked your fingers together and stretched upwards, slightly arching your back in the motion and leaning back before letting out a long sigh and turning to check all of the tables in the entrance area. The welcome mat was muddy and could use washing, the tables had coasters, drops of various drinks, and crumbs scattering their surfaces. A quick turn and a glance into the reading areas on the other side of the shop, connected by a large arch doorway, showed the large area was in only a small amount of disarray. Books, the order of which you had memorized, were out of place, some abandoned on the tables near the windows. The rug was wrinkled, and there was some mud tracked on the floors, but nothing major.

"Never exchanging a name."

When you turned around, you noticed your head was starting to hurt from the stress of the day. Saturdays were always crowded with not only the typical adult customers but also lovesick rowdy teenagers looking for a cup of coffee and loud conversation with one another in the large table by the window.

You opened your eyes after rubbing your temple with your fingers and jumped near six inches off of the ground when a figure was seen standing close to the window.

He laughed immediately, his hand in the pockets of his black slacks and a tux jacket slung over his shoulder. The hand removed itself from the place in your old friend's pocket to wave and you relaxed, slightly annoyed by his sudden appearance. A white dress shirt covered his torso loosely, unbuttoned far in the front showing the floral tattoo covering his collarbone. From a mixture of White and Hispanic heritage, as you knew, he had tan skin with dark, long hair that swung around in curls and waves. He had dark brown eyes with thick brows and an unshaven five o'clock shadow. Upon his face was a smile. His name was Bailey.

"Infatuated, I contemplated your lips."

You walked over to the front door and opened it, to which you discovered him standing in front of you. Your friend from high school, your ex boyfriend, and your bassist. Couldn't say you weren't expecting him, you just weren't thinking right. You wouldn't have locked the door behind him if you were.

"But my infatuation was strange."

He smiled a little wider and you frowned.

"Don't do that," you said bluntly. "Scared the shit out of me."

Bailey laughed. "Sorry."

"Black, purple and cream."

You invited him in silently by stepping aside and opening the door; he stepped inside willingly. Curt, and with the intention of both teasing and genuine thanks, he nodded his head silently. His black boots, as you saw, made muffled footsteps as his well-used footwear made contact with the welcome mat. Bailey wiped his feet, shifting the mat with the movement, and didn't need to reach far to hang his coat on the rack.

Your eyes followed the way his shoulder blades pressed against the cloth of his white dress shirt and you averted your eyes, feeling your chest swell gently knowing what was likely coming tonight.

Suddenly noticing a rising ache of stiffness in your shoulders from standing and trying to play off the staring in case Bailey noticed, you shifted, brushing aside the drifting cloth of your over-sized lavender dress shirt and placing your hands in your cream khaki pockets.

"These are the colors of your nightmares, and colors of my dreams."

"Fizzy Blood?" Bailey asked in reference to the song playing on the record player. He huffed a laugh. "I forgot about them."

"Me too," you responded, walking briskly past him to get to the counter and fetch the hand towel you used to wipe down tables. You noticed the table to your left, a table for two occupied earlier by a particularly noisy tween couple that met briskly before departing. Despite them being rather annoying upon presence, the thought of them was sweet. Reminding you of you and Bailey in high school sneaking out to see movies and get garbage gas station food.

In fact, this song played once or twice during those adventures, pushing you into a sudden state of nostalgia.

The song was moving into the chorus as Bailey leaned against the corner of the counter and watched you wipe down the table. His steady hands, painted with tattoos of vines dancing around his fingers that moved with him, was planted sternly on the side of the counter. You knew how rough his fingertips were from pressing down thick strings and how easily they drew ink freehand sketches of various animals, mostly foxes.

"So what's the set for tonight?" he asked. His voice, tainted raw and gravely with cigarette smoke, always reminded you of his hard history. He moved out of his mom's house recently, improving his mental state, but he still had yet to overcome his nasty habit of smoking and drinking.

You shrugged in response. "Haven't thought of anything yet. Busy day."

"Need suggestions?"

"Yeah."

"Well with it being Friday night and all, the bar's going to be packed," Bailey responded, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting the bulk of his weight from his hands to his waist which pressed into the corner of the counter as became more relaxed. He was always relaxed, smooth, and always wickedly smart. "I suggest Reignwolf."

Not a bad idea. Not too heavy, not too slow.

"Alright," you responded, finishing up with the table and briefly looking over all of the others. They were clean enough. You'd get whatever you missed eventually. "Your bass is still in my room. Get my guitar while you're at it; I'll get the amps."

Bailey smiled before removing himself from the counter and crossing the threshold of the counter, his strides so smooth and even his head barely bobbed from the distribution of weight as he walked. The footsteps created from the click of his shoes against the ground faded as he went further up the stairs.

You sighed as you watched him walk away and the shop faded back into quiet. You heard the sound of Bailey opening your bedroom door before the silence returned again like a wave that had faded off into sea and slammed back onto the sand. The sound of your dog Sylvie's breathing returning into the ambiance; she wasn't even affected by the entrance of Bailey.

Your eyes landed on the honey brown dog laying on the floor and you dropped briefly to stroke her flank and scratch behind her ears. She was snoring loudly, her eyes doing that gross scent-hound thing where the lids flipped and she slept with, essentially, her eyes open.

Not the weirdest dog you've ever owned, but certainly up there.

You moved back to your feet and crossed your arms, thinking. End of the day at the shop, then packing up instrument stuff, then going to the bar and performing, then back home again. Wake up and repeat. Day after day, week after week.

Until what? What was waiting for you? What was going to happen?

You leaned against the counter and stared out the window with your arms crossed, when your eyes landed on a figure on the other side of the street that stared back.

Tall, extremely tall. Easily six foot or more. Broad shoulders and a neck gaiter with a skull on it that covered his face from the nose down. Blond hair peaked out from underneath the hood of the black hoodie he had on with the fire department emblem on the breast. Jeans covered his long legs and a leash hung from his arm, connecting to a German Shepherd that seemed really intent on continuing his walk.

Your shoulders dropped when your eyes met, but it only lasted a second before he turned his head and continued walking, but you kept staring as he walked away. How long had he been standing there?

You cocked a brow, confused, before discarding the thought and turning around to see what was taking Bailey so long.

Inspired by the Firefighter!Ghost AU by @thelaisydazy

[merryfortune]

drop me in the water, washing me down

August 13th: Hurt/Comfort | Bathing Together | Mafia/Detective AU

Title: drop me in the water, washing me down

Ship: Raindropshipping | Aqua/Miyu

Series: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,497

Tags: Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Scars, Non-Sexual Nudity, Kissing

   Steam wafted upwards in delicate curls and the water below was warm. Miyu smiled a small smile as she sank her foot into the bathtub, hesitant at first but immediately charmed by the perfect temperature of her bath and so went the rest of her. Water welled up around her, a wave splashed over the edge of the bathtub as she got comfortable in the depths of it.

   “Aah, perfect.” Miyu said, smacking her lips together.

   She turned her head slightly, she felt weighed down by the towel twisted into her hair to protect it from getting wet and felt it wobble. She looked over towards Aqua who sat perfectly prim in her Duel Disc which was nestled in her discarded clothing.

   Despite being the Water Ignis, Aqua was still an electronic creature and so was hesitant around the real thing.

   “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” Miyu asked. “The water’s great.” She kicked her foot and purposefully splashed the floor, not caring if the bathmat got too soggy.

   “I’m sure.” Aqua murmured.

   “Oh, okay then…” Miyu replied, visibly dejected.

   Things were… awkward between them. Or maybe just new. After all, here they were, kind of chatting in the bathroom and Aqua had no problem with Miyu being naked around her but other than that, it was awkward. And new.

   Aqua had only recently resurrected after all. Her reappearance had been a hard won by the efforts spearheaded by Playmaker but Aoi assisted also. She felt it was her sacred duty to allow Miyu and Aqua to meet again so she put in the most effort out of everyone in Playmaker’s faction to facilitate Aqua’s return.

   Aqua, getting no say in the matter, felt conflicted. She had died. Now she lived again and that was bittersweet, she was still getting used to it but was, from the bottom of her soul, overjoyed to have been brought face to face with Miyu liked she had dreamed for as long as the Incident. She loved and cherished Aoi, of course, and thanked her tremendously but at her Origin’s side was her rightful place.

   As fraught as it was due to the Sugisaki family politics in the background. Her parents had divorced, her Mother refused to believe a thing like artificial intelligence could exist and let alone be the reason Miyu had been kidnapped as a child. Thus, she was smuggled around like contraband between the two households and even within the sphere of the Zaizen affairs.

   Even so, Aqua wouldn’t have it any other way if it meant she could be close to Miyu but since life was so precious and so fragile, she was worried - waiting - for that bubble to pop. Miyu was too carefree, perhaps. This brought them to friction which pervaded what might have otherwise been a smooth transition if… if many things hadn’t happened.

   Like the arc of Ignis warfare, for example, but what was done was done and they should both be thankful for a fresh start as it was nothing less than a miracle for them to have one.

   Still, there was a distance between them. Ice which had yet to break. They both sensed it even if they wanted to pretend it wasn’t there.

   Miyu played with the meniscus of the bathwater, humming to herself. She glanced at Aqua again, vying for attention.

   “I… I kind of want my back scrubbed.” Miyu said. “Can you help with that?”

   “It would be my pleasure, Miyu.” Aqua replied.

   Miyu smiled again. Thank goodness. Things weren’t fully ice cold between them but even so, Miyu could feel how Aqua looked her over. She knew she didn’t have a typical body. Most girls - no, most people - didn’t have quite so many scars.

   Miyu didn’t mind. She got stared at. A lot. But it came with the territory. She was a competitive swimmer and people didn’t really expect for someone like that to have a body laced with criss-crossing electrical scarring. She got questions from time to time but she point blankly refused to answer them. How could she? Even so, she just let the weird stares and invasive questions roll off her like, well, water off a duck’s back.

   But Aqua’s gaze on her.

   It was different.

   Sadder.

   More understanding.

   Aqua drew in closer to Miyu, transforming from her tiny self akin to a fairy and into more of a monster. She situated herself on the edge of the tub and Miyu made more room for her, offered her back to her and tried to be helpful by getting a loofah but Aqua was quicker. She had six arms though, in this form, so she clearly had an unfair advantage in that department.

   “Tell me if I’m being too rough.” Aqua said.

   “Don’t worry. I hate it when people are too gentle anyway.” Miyu assured her.

   “I see.” Aqua replied.

   She proceeded to oblige Miyu’s request. She dabbed the loofah in the water first and then soaked it in soap. The smell of it - cherry blossoms and vanilla - was heady in the tiny bathroom, it rose above the steam and clouded their senses.

   Aqua then put all her strength into scrubbing Miyu’s back, every inch of her would be spick and span by the time that Aqua was done with her but that gave Aqua plenty of time to think. To ruminate. To acquaint herself with just how scarred Miyu truly was.

   She tried to focus on other things, like the task at hand. Or even how Miyu’s skin was soft where it was unmarred or how the vertebra of her spine jutted out. That she even had a couple moles or freckles here and there but it was her scars that Aqua could not help but fixate on.

   All of the Incident victims had these scars but still. Aqua was harrowed deeply by seeing them, especially upon her Miyu.

   The electrical scarring criss-crossed all over her, the shapes of the scars were thin and flowing, long since healed but what remained was an expansive pattern. Aqua rubbed hard over them with the loofah, it scrunched and fluttered held tightly in the spool of her paddle-cupped tentacles.

   “Aah, yeah, that’s the good stuff.” Miyu complimented Aqua’s technique.

   “I’m glad.” Aqua quietly replied.

   Her tone of voice chilled the bathroom. It was so small but the heaters in the ceiling were whirling, the water was the perfect temperature and yet. Aqua spoiled it. Miyu shivered as Aqua continued to bore into her with the loofah.

   Aqua’s tentacles had quite a bit of force behind them. Aqua was always so earnest in demeanour and it showed, especially when she winced as she went over the ridges of Miyu’s scars and slowed.

   “Y-You can stop now, if you like.” Miyu said, awkwardly.

   “If that’s alright with you.” Aqua bowed her head.

   She wrung out the loofah behind Miyu. Miyu tilted her head forward and felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she was misted with water turned cold and the soapy seconds of her body wash. Aqua, of course, did her best not to douse Miyu like this but accidents happened.

   As did thoughtless gestures.

   Aqua placed the loofah on the ceramic inlay on the far side of the bathtub. Her other tentacles, not in intended use, drifted and curled, even ghosted along Miyu’s shoulders. They touched her. Softly, gently, demurely, and left an impression of melancholy upon her skin, like a dew, or so Miyu felt.

   It was all she could feel emanate off Aqua through the whole of her pampering. Aqua did her best to conceal it but she was honest to a fault: she was worried about Miyu’s scars. 

   The moment lingered. Aqua’s tentacle continued to rest on her shoulder and Aqua did not move it even though Aqua had finished her tasks, thus confirming Miyu’s intuition.

   “You don’t have to feel sorry about it, you know…” Miyu whispered, assuringly. She reached over and placed her hand atop Aqua’s tentacle that rested upon her shoulder. “It’s not like you did this to me personally.”

   “Yes, but I- my existence, it was facilitated by your pain.” Aqua pointed out, breaking her own heart as she did so.

   Miyu hummed as she shook her head, she coaxed Aqua closer. Aqua obliged once more. She twisted and curled around, slunk past Miyu’s body and the rubbery sensation of Aqua’s skin against her tickled her. It took some graceful manoeuvring but in the end, Aqua placed herself atop Miyu’s body but Aqua’s synthetic one floated in the water. Miyu had to hold her so she wouldn’t bob up and down on the water.

   “I love me just the way I am and you should too.” Miyu told her.

   She nuzzled Aqua’s face, kissing her gently with her ever present, trademark smile.

   “Trust me, Miyu,” Aqua replied, her voice cracked, “I love you just the way you are, I always have and always will.”

[saintsofwarding]

EMBRYO

Chapter 4: Electricity Puns

Her boots hit the pavement with a bone-jarring wham. Mold tendrils trailed around Rose's body, unsticking from the building; they'd taken the brunt of her impact. She straightened, looking up at her open window, then grinned. Glee rushed through her, wild and fizzing. Okay, that was pretty cool. She should pull that in gym class.

Rose pulled her hood over her hair and hurried off into the night.

Traffic rushed past her, a blur of light and engine roar. Even at this time of night, a few passersby were with her on the sidewalks, coming home from or heading to late shifts, going downtown for some of Regent City's famous nightlife. Nothing was gonna jump out at her here- too much activity. The monster in the alley hadn't gone for the obvious target. It began with the dumpster. That meant that even in its mutated state, it still had animal instincts. If she wanted an opponent, she'd have to make herself a much easier target.

Rose made a turn down an alley and beneath an underpass, down a flight of concrete steps and through a dark side street, hurrying past rows of closed store-fronts, the laundromat where she and Heisenberg went to wash stuff, the corner diner that had been shut down by the health department multiple times in the eight months they'd lived in Regent City. The rain torrented down, running in rivulets over the pavement. Rose broke into a jog, and within a few minutes she'd reached what she was looking for.

The park was no more than a couple blocks of grass and trees, a small dirty creek bisecting the place diagonally. The wishing bridge looked like what it was wishing for most was a fresh coat of paint. Rose squished onto the soaked grass, watching the shadows, the park benches, the pockets of impenetrable darkness beneath the trees. In daylight, the place was almost cute- kids playing on the rusty old playground, parents chatting to one another on benches, the atmosphere shabby but sweet. Now, lit only by the filtering haze of sodium light from the border streets' lamps, it was a black, wet, freezing hole.

Hands deep in her pockets, she made her way to the middle of the park, slowing near the playground. Swings creaked in the breeze; rainwater sluiced from the jungle gym, and over by a copse of trees, the carousel revolved slowly, its central disc slightly off-kilter.

Rose glanced around the darkness once more, chewing on her lower lip.

"Here, monsters," she muttered. "Come and get it."

Nothing happened.

She went to a swing and shook off the worst of the rain, then folded into it. It was so close to the ground she had to fold her spindly legs like jackknives. Giving the ground a light kick, she rocked back and forth, rain soaking into her shoulders and turning her loose hair into wet, pale ropes. Nothing moved but the rain, the wind in the bushes, the headlights of the occasional car on a nearby street.

No monsters.

Not even a raccoon, dammit.

"This is so stupid," Rose announced into the night.

Heat crept up her cheeks. What was she thinking? Running off like a dumbass, leaving her nice, warm, dry room so she could sit in the rain and wait around for a monster that likely didn't even exist. That one in the alleyway must have been a fluke. She and Heisenberg hadn't encountered anything super-weird for like a year and a half beforehand, had lived a peaceful, if understated, existence since that one zombie in the supermarket incident, and- hey, maybe that had just been someone having a really bad day-

Well, his face had been sloughing off, and he had tried to bite into her neck like a chicken wing, and Heisenberg had sort of crushed his skull into strawberry jam with a quick-thinking intervention of his powers and a jumbo-size can of clam chowder-

Still, the logic held. Sam had just been scared and would have said anything to help the situation make more sense to her. There were no monsters anymore, not since the village, not since the mountainside, the lycan army, the vast pale draconic creature in the snow that had stolen her into her living nightmares. No monsters in Regent City except for her and Heisenberg.

The wind picked up. Rose shivered. Something ached in the pit of her skull.

No.

Not an ache.

Cold swept down her spine. Her nerve endings flared, each one a lit match. She sat bolt upright on the swingset. The darkness spread around her.

In it-

Something rustled in the bushes. Rose squinted, not moving from her uncomfortable folded position on the child's swing. The leaves shook near the ground, and she saw something rummaging around in there.

Rose slowly let out her breath. That small, it had to be a raccoon after all. The leaves parted; a shape nosed from the leaves, onto the wet grass. For a moment Rose thought it was indeed some small stray animal.

Then it wandered into a pool of lamplight. The orange sodium light glistened off grayish-black flesh, tinged with pink where it shone through veiny, jellylike translucence. Rose couldn't focus on its shape; it kept changing. About a foot long, it seemed to roll and crawl along like it had no internal structure; on occasion a limb would extend, split into a clawed hand, feel around on the grass, pull itself forward. Orifices gaped, sniffing at the air. It looked like nothing more than an ambulatory wad of chewed gum.

Slowly, trying not to make a sound, Rose got up from the swing. The thing crawled a ways on, pausing every so often to sniff, to wave various protuberances around.

Rose's heartbeat settled somewhere around the level of her stomach as she stared at the weird little creature. Whatever this thing was- lump of living meat, mutant raccoon, parasite disconnected from a host body- it would go out with one good stomp, much less a jumbo-size can of clam chowder. Now, unlike then, Heisenberg wasn't here to get her out of a sticky situation. Now, unlike then, Rose could take care of herself.

"You lost or something?" she said. She stepped from beneath the swingset, toward the creature. It didn't divert from its path across the grass. "What are you, anyway? Kind of creepy-looking, to be honest."

She shrugged. "Not that I should judge."

As Rose walked, she lifted one hand. Black veined from her palm, wrapping around her fingers. "But I'm kind of on the lookout for creepy things," she went on. "And, I'm sorry, but I think you're up to no good, and that means it's curtains-"

The thing swiveled.

It was like watching a wave hit a rock. It surged, springing from the ground and expanding in the same movement, a spray of gelatinous gray-pink-black matter. Rose could only fling herself back and scream as it lunged toward her. Her foot twisted on the wet grass; she fell backwards, hard, on her ass.

Her breath whooshed from her; her head cracked against the foot of the swingset. White burst in her vision.

When it cleared-

Oh, fuck-

It writhed before her, matter slicking and twisting into shape, a gangly, ill-proportioned humanoid, its limbs too long and bending backwards at their joints, its head a mere lump of translucent flesh atop its shoulders. Extra arms unfurled from its back. Illuminated from behind by the streetlight, Rose could see through it, could see the cloudy silhouette of some kind of organ system pulsing within its torso.

"Holy shit!" Rose yelled.

She shoved herself backward as the thing took its first step toward her. It tipped its head sideways; features rippled through its...meat? Jelly? Rose recognized with a kind of plunging, gutless horror her own features, her long nose and open mouth, even her wide eyes, one on the thing's forehead, another on its cheek.

They blurred again as the thing advanced again.

Rose found her limbs. Gotta be fast, kid. She flipped onto her hands and knees and pushed herself up, breaking into a sprint.

Her whole body shook. She clenched her fists as she ran; she heard the thing following her, heard the slick sound of its matter sloshing against itself. Mold rippled around her; she twisted on one foot- her ankle gave a hot throb of pain- and flung out her arms.

Darkness reared from the wet grass, from her hands, eating up the space between her and the monster.

"Hah!" Rose yelled.

Her glee died fast.

The thing's whipping, too-long arms crossed before it, their matter hardening into long talon-blades of milky crystal. They shattered through the mold, sending it sluicing in waves, passing harmlessly around the thing. The mold disintegrated into black dust, billowing away in smoky clouds, soon lost in the rain.

"No," Rose choked. She stepped back. Her ankle throbbed again; she must have twisted it bad. "No. Shit. No."

The thing flicked its arms, blades transforming again to jelly flesh as it advanced. Rose's heartbeat pounded inside her, so hard it hurt. She threw her arms forward again, heaving everything she had at the thing.

Mold exploded in jagged shards from the ground, hardening into spear-sharp points. They sliced past the thing, taking chunks of jelly with it.

Its head split open; a shriek ripped through the rain, long tendrils of matter flailing as the thing reared back, stumbling a little.

"That's right!" Rose yelled, her voice shaking. "Stay back, you little-"

Before she could finish her threat to the monster it whirled, and in a single leap, it began to lope away, toward the nearby thoroughfare, toward lights and movement.

Toward more people.

"No," Rose said. "Oh, shit, no-"

Ignoring the pain in her twisted ankle, she sprinted after the thing. It pelted across the road and squeezed between two buildings, wriggling out of sight. Rose plunged after it; she shoved herself through the narrow, smoky alleyway and burst, skidding on the wet pavement, into a blaze of headlights. The thoroughfare, a relatively-busy shopping street, still occupied even this time of night. Three lanes of traffic roared before her, pedestrians stumbling aside as a drenched, wild-eyed, mud-assed girl shoved into their midst.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" someone said, but Rose barely heard them; she looked around frantically for any sign of monsters.

A scream lit the night. A commotion, near the entrance to one of Regent City's subway stations. "Sorry!" Rose said as she shoved off someone and flung herself toward the commotion. She glimpsed something huge, much bigger than the gangly teenager-sized monster the thing was in the park, glistening that rotting-flesh color, for an instant before it vanished through the crowd, into the subway station.

Is it drawing me away?

Healing up so it can hit me again?

Wants me to follow so it can kill me for real?

Didn't matter. Down there, in the subterranean confines, people would be sitting ducks. She had to get after it and find out a way to stop it, or get totally fucked up trying. Scrubbing her hand over her mouth, Rose ducked past the crowd and plunged into the tiled stairwell that led down to the station.

Watery echoes surrounded her as she hurried down the steps. Neon light from informative signs cast glossy reflections on the grimy white tiles; dark fluid streaked the concrete floor, as if tracked there by a long, loping gait.

The distance between fluid streaks increased by the meter, and as Rose hurried deeper into the station, passing darkened ticket booths and empty waiting areas, a few people huddled, terrified, in corners, dread pulsed alongside her heartbeat.

Was this thing growing the more she fought it?

Only one way to find out.

"Get back to the surface," she yelled at a group of girls around her own age, clutching shopping bags. "This place isn't safe right now."

"Mara's down there!" one of them said, her face streaked with tears. "She was in the bathroom- she doesn't know about that- that thing-"

"I'll get her out," Rose said. She sounded braver than she felt.

"How?"

"Just get out," Rose said. "Now!"

They got out.

Rose pushed onward.

She leaped the turnstile and continued down, down, down. Rumbles vibrated through her boot soles as her gait slowed, as she reached the subway station itself. Fluorescent lights flickered, casting a sickly light over the platform, the gaping mouth of the tunnel, the rust and oil-streaked tracks snaking off into the darkness.

Something else hummed: the third rail. Heisenberg might conduct electricity like some kind of weird eel-man, but she figured she should keep well enough away. Nothing like a zillion volts applied straight to her brain to really screw up her night.

"Mara?" Rose called.

No answer. She began along the platform, toward the bathrooms at the far end. "Mara?" she called.

Something clattered; something went yelp that might have been a cut-off scream. Rose hurried faster.

Dark liquid oozed beneath the door, glistening red in the fluorescent lights.

Her dread sharpened to a point. Rose pushed open the door with one shoulder, her hands raised, calling her mold. The red was a rivulet of blood down the middle of the dingy bathrooms, wicking into the spilled paper towel bin, pooling over the tiles.

A wet tearing filled the air, low, weird hisses and snarls slithering to Rose's core. She rounded a corner and into the long row of stalls, reflected back on themselves by mirrors over the sink.

One of the sinks was on and overflowing. Water dripped onto the floor, mixing in pinkish swirls with the blood.

The monster hunched before her, its once-gelatinous shoulders hardened into spikes of crystalline armor. Its head was down; a body was splayed before it. Another teenage girl, her reddish curls haloing her head. The thing had hold of her leg. Her eyes were open, glazed in agony.

She was alive.

She saw Rose.

"Help...me," she whispered.

The monster whirled. Rose jolted back as it lifted its head from Mara's mauled leg, rising- up, and up, and up. She felt the blood drain from her face, her lips parted, her eyes wide as she took the thing in. Changed. Massive. It towered six and a half feet or more, its back and shoulders and upper arms spiked with that crystal armor. A great, distended sac hung from its belly, full of those organ-shadows. Tentacles writhed from its split-open head-jaws, triple lopes hanging with glistening ropes of toothless mouthparts.

One smacked a mirror as it writhed, leaving smears of bloody mucus across the glass. The thing's smell hit Rose, hard enough to make her gag: rotting meat and blood and digestive acid, bitter and stinging as a noseful of bleach.

Her nerves frayed. They snapped. Rose backed off, one step, another, boots squeaking on the bloody tiles. The thing advanced, wet snarls echoing over Mara's pleas for help. Underfoot, Rose felt the tell-tale vibration of a subway train passing on a lower track.

She spun on a heel and ran. The monster leaped after her; she felt its weight leave the floor, felt the impact of its footsteps shake the ground after her. Rose burst through the bathroom door and onto the platform, leaving bloody footprints behind her; a beat of silence- then the door smashed off its hinges, armor plating screeching against the doorframe as the thing forced its way through. It screeched, tentacles splayed like the mantle of a hunting squid.

A few people had collected on the platform- maybe they'd heard Mara's cries for help. A chorus of screams and yelps filled the air as Rose pelted toward the edge of the platform, the monster hot on her heels, going down on its knuckles to pursue her on all fours.

The edge of the platform rushed toward her. Bitter acid crept up her throat. Don't think. Just do. Rose leaped into empty air; the rails rushed past. She overshot the electrified rail and crashed to the greasy gravel on the far side. White pain sheared through her ankle; with a scream she went to her knee, palms grinding into the gravel.

Shadow fell over her. She looked up as the monster gathered itself to leap after her, station lights shining through its weird half-translucent body, its matter writhing and pulsating, amassing size even as she watched.

"That is how you work, isn't it?" Rose panted. "Get bigger and bigger the more you fight me?"

Well. She wouldn't give it the chance for more.

Far down the tunnel-

Light glanced off dirty concrete walls.

She felt it in her palms. The gravel jumped and vibrated. She pushed herself to her feet, limping back, back, until she hit the far wall. Wind stirred her sweaty hair.

The monster leaped. Rose ducked; it crashed into the ground just in front of her, just atop the electrified rail. The sound it made was a buzz-saw in her brain, a high-pitched howl that filled the tunnel, louder even than the roar of the approaching train. Blue lightning crackled and arced over its body, leaving blackened, glistening gashes in its matter everywhere it touched. The thing went rigid, claws splayed, tentacles lit eerie blue from within.

The gashes sealed within seconds, but Rose wasn't counting on the electricity alone. She ducked under its claw and toward the edge of the platform. The train's roar grew, and grew; wind howled past her, hot and metal-scented, the air itself shoved out of the way as the massive hunk of steel and plastic hurtled toward her at fifty miles an hour.

Her heartbeat was rabbit-fast, stringy and panicky. Fuck the monster; she was about to get hit by a fucking train.

Light blazed, and its horn sounded, vibrating in the pit of her stomach.

She flung out her hands. Strands of mold shot from the far wall of the platform like webbing. She pulled, hard; her boots left the ground and she sailed over the platform's edge moments before the train roared past.

The sound was devastating. A truckful of watermelons crushed. The monster's screech cut off in the wet splashing-cracking-tearing; fluid spattered Rose as she flipped onto her back, breathing hard, eyes huge, watching the train blur past. People approached; someone said something. She couldn't hear it over the sound of blood rushing through her ears.

The train vanished once more into the tunnel. Nothing was left of the monster save for lumps of blackened meat strewn across the tracks, and-

Was that-

Somehow, Rose managed to get up. "I'm fine," she said, dully, to the small crowd that had gathered around her. Ignoring any protests, she hopped down gingerly onto the tracks, her twisted ankle letting out little shoots of pain.

Embedded in one of the meat lumps was what looked like a round disc of metal. Rose paused, then pulled her shirt sleeve over her hand before digging it out. She cleaned off the goo with her thumb. It was covered in fine engraved numbers and what looked like a barcode. None of it made any sense. Near the bottom, though, were words.

EMBRYO- TEST 005

"What the hell was that thing?" someone on the platform said. "Someone called an ambulance already- is this blood yours?"

Blood. The word kick-started Rose's brain.

Oh. Shit.

"Mara," she said.

She scrambled back onto the platform and limp-ran into the bathroom. Mara was curled against the far wall, clutching her leg. Deep burns oozing clear fluid wrapped around her calf and ankle, her jeans melted away like candle wax.

Rose fell to her knees by the girl's side. "Mara," she said again. "Oh, god- Mara, are you okay? Can you speak?"

Her eyes fluttered open. "You...again..."

"Yes, me." Rose couldn't stop her grin of pure relief. "Hi."

"I thought...you were gonna leave me."

"No chance."

"That thing..."

"Fried."

Mara let out a weak laugh. "Cool."

"I think so." She sniffed, her eyes hot. "Listen, can you hang tight? Help is coming, okay?"

Mara managed a nod.

Rose stayed with her until she heard voices from outside, until paramedics muscled their way into the bathroom. She gave Mara's hand a final squeeze, then slipped out, a skinny shadow dressed all in muck-encrusted black. Someone called after her, but she ducked into the crowd and back up through the station, back into the rainy night.

Cop cars made a barricade around the subway entrance, cops already cordoning off the area, but in the crowd of emergency workers and people rushing from the subway station Rose was beneath notice.

She didn't look back, didn't stop until she was halfway home, her ankle screaming with pain on every step, her soaked clothes icy against her skin. She folded against a telephone pole and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back a wash of tears.

"It's okay," she told herself. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

The scream echoed through her head again and again. The vibration of the approaching train. The smell of the monster's digestive fluids, the sickening pulse of its matter. All at once Rose's breathing was too tight, her limbs watery. She couldn't be out here. All she wanted was her room, her bed, to pull the covers over her head and cry until she didn't feel anything anymore.

***

She ran home, despite the pain in her ankle, despite her exhaustion. The climb up to her room was rough, but she made it, pulling herself up by her mold-strands. Her window was still open, her laundry hamper still in place by the door.

She pulled the window shut, cutting off the sound of the rain. She changed quickly, stuffing her monster-gut-covered clothes in the bottom of the laundry hamper and pulling on a clean pair of pajamas. Rose went to shower, hurrying into the bathroom- in case Heisenberg was lurking outside her door with more platitudes- and turning up the heat to scorching levels. As she waited for the water to heat up she stared at herself in the mirror, her long draggled hair, the bruises already pooling on her skin, the scrapes all over her knees and elbows.

Her ankle was swollen, painful to the touch. Maybe Heisenberg wouldn't notice. He hadn't noticed when she'd dyed her hair green that one time.

The shower helped drown out the memory of the subway train, the monster, the feeling of its goo on her skin. Rose went and curled up in her room, making a nest in the middle of her bed, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. She didn't think she'd be able to sleep, but maybe if she just stayed there, everything would get better.

A knock came on her door.

"Kid?" Heisenberg said.

Rose was silent for a good ten seconds. Then- "Come in."

He did. He opened the door, pushing aside the hamper, and stood in the doorway. His eyes roved over her room.

"This place," he said, "looks like shit."

Rose didn't alter her fetal position on the bed. "I clean every Friday."

"Tomorrow's Friday. You'd better put your money where your mouth is or your ass is grass."

"Uh-huh."

He kicked aside her laundry hamper and stepped into her room, clearing the stuff off her bedside chair with a sweep of his arm.

He sat, slowly.

"Heh. Nice," he said, pointing at the poster of Gillian Anderson.

"Yeah."

"You make that yourself?"

"Obviously."

He peered sideways at her, one gray eye narrowed. "You still sulking?"

Sure. Let's go with that. "Yeah."

"Fair enough. Let me know when you're ready to not be a bitch baby." He made as if to get up, bracing his hands on his knees.

Rose's hand shot out, catching him by one burly wrist.

"Wait," she said, quietly.

He sat again, watching her. He smelled, she realized, of cold, of metal, sweat and gasoline. He rarely let on what he did all day, how he got the money that kept them afloat. Rose never asked. Their lives were one of careful balance and cautious camaraderie. And, now, secrets. When she was a little kid she shared everything with him, gabbling away about her innermost thoughts, her dreams and fancies and fears. She'd never been afraid before to tell him what was bothering her.

What had changed? Rose had no idea. All she did know was that she wanted him to keep sitting next to her, to stay there until she fell asleep, to be what he'd always been: a warm presence by her side, keeping away the nightmares.

But the nightmares were inside her. Had they always been?

"Heisenberg," she began.

She stopped. He said nothing. His eyes glinted in the low lamplight, his focus sharp. She'd never been able to read him well, and now more so than ever.

"Who am I?" Rose asked, at last.

He didn't answer immediately. He leaned back in the chair; the wood creaked. "You're you," he said. "Whoever you want to be."

"That's not what I mean. My...my dad." She had only vague memories, a warm glow, a bloody hand on her cheek. "He died to save me."

He paused again. "Yeah."

"You've never told me more. I remember...Lady Dimitrescu in the snow...the mountainside, the lycan army, all that. But that's it. Who you were before that. Who my dad was. If I even have a mom somewhere..."

"The past's the past, kid. Doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters," Rose said. "It matters to me. Maybe if I know, if I can...understand, then my powers..."

"Enough about your goddamn powers," Heisenberg said. "You think you're some kind of freak because folks condemn what they don't understand. Fuck what the mortals think. There's nothing wrong with you."

"But I care!" Rose burst out, lifting her head. "I care! Doesn't that matter to you?"

"'Course it does-"

"Then act like it! And tell me!"

He watched her for a long time. Again, that razor focus. Again, that impenetrable mask. He put his hand over hers.

"I meant what I said," he told her. "I'll always have your back, Rose. That's the long and short of it. That's all you need to know."

He got up and went to the doorway, then pointed at her with one scarred finger. "Clean your room," he told her, and was gone, pulling the door shut behind him.

Rose lay there in the semidarkness. The panic had ebbed away, replaced with a rigid clench in her guts. After a minute she swung out of bed, went to the hamper, dug around, and re-emerged with the metal disc. It shone in the fairy lights.

Embryo test number 5.

If that meant what she thought it meant, then there had been four more of these things running around Regent City. Someone would have noticed. If she could find where they'd been, what they'd done, track them down, then maybe she could get to the bottom of this.

But she needed to be prepared. She'd gone up against this thing and it had nearly kicked her ass to the moon and back. If she hadn't gotten lucky with the train, she'd be just another bloodstain on the tiles. She had approximately thirteen dollars to her name, so she'd need some funds if she was to get some better gear.

Her hand clenched around the metal disc. It didn't matter. She would find out the truth. She would put all these monster sons-of-bitches in the dirt.

Or, y'know, she'd die trying.

Whichever happened first.

[noxspost]

safe in the nest rest a hurt soul who uses a thorn and spiky exterior

well Percy knew of Ares’s coping skill of age regression which wasn’t a kink but only something to deal with his trauma which was one of his more sane and healthy coping skills but most of the time Thanatos or Aphrodite would help him when he was a little since he in that mental state saw them as his mom and dad.

So, Percy was never really interacting with Ares when he was in his little self, but Percy was often busy with being a working of soul paperwork for hades which was a job which he could do on the surface, and he would do the paperwork and then scan in on his printer and send it hades before asking Hermes to bring it to the house.

Well, he was asleep snugged right up to Zagreus who was holding him in turn. They were in Percy’s apartment in new Rome. He was so warm with Zagreus, he felt safe even with the nightmares which would show up sometimes.

it was raining and the sounds of thunder and lightning made both men a little warily when they went to bed since the other man hadn't returned from the house of Zeus, yet they trusted Ares to be safe and not a dumbass. 

the sound of Zagreus mumbling about his lovers and Percy was dreaming about running a candy shop with Hestia if he was a child of Hestia. he was sad but those dreams were sweet as if Hypnos and his son were making sure those dreams happened.

Then they heard a crashing sound, and this even woke up Zagreus and then he was now up and turned on the lights and both Percy and Zagreus were shirtless, and they both see Ares who looks so scared his white and peachy hair was fizzy and wild like he had been yanked and pulled, his hair had his sunglasses nestled in and there were cracks in the lens.

his eyes were wild and scared with the red color were bright and glossy with tears. he was wearing his tank top which was messy thrown on and he had only on boxes like he had made a quick escape, but he had bruises and small cuts and scrapes. he wasn't wearing any shoes but some socks.

he was breathing heavily as he walked in, and he was looking around and then he saw the soft lamp light on the bedside tables and he was reaching out and then they were both up as they saw Ares who was also wet from the rain, and he looked like a wet bird and rat with his wings and feathers.

he was paler and his white stripe was blurred out and they both saw his face puffy and bang up there was open wound on the bridge of his nose and on his jaw and also, he had a black eye.

"oh Ares... it is..." spoke Zagreus who was groggy with sleep but Percy wasn't he got up with a start panic slightly at the state of Ares who was Leaning against the wall that he had his hand on like it was a lifeline and he staggered a bit trying to get to both of them two men got up from the bed with a start and went to him as soon as they got about five feet to seven feet away from him he fell down, Percy jumps to help Ares who was panting in fear.

Zagreus was at their sides and then he looks at the closed window and then he curses in Spanish. then Ares whispers "too loud..." then Zagreus grabs the headphones which help Ares who was stimming which was lightly tapping his chest near his collar bones, and he was still breathing unsteady.

"Hey bub." spoke Zagreus who grabbed some of the chewelry which was a necklace with a disc with a hole for the thick cord. he was looking around the room and then when Percy starting to wipe away his white face paint.

Ares leans into the touch like a dehydrated man in the desert to a glass of water then he was starting to chew on the rubber disc and then Zagreus was texting someone.

the phone was softly sounding as he walks to the bed and then calls someone and was speaking in Spanish which most likely Aphrodite and then Ares was crying and as then Zagreus turns on the fairy lights which was soft and Percy smiles as Ares was starting to calm down and then he looks at Percy and signs "i need hugs." Percy nods and then signs back "sure come here birb."

they were hugging as Ares's panicking was calming down and then Zagreus looks up as he hangs up "well i just called auntie Hestia and she will talk to the king." he was rolling his eyes and then Percy said with some worry "well Ares went nonverbal and i was thinking about 3am chicken nugget and comfort food party?" this makes Zagreus break out a smile and then Ares was smiling and signs "yeah i need some help with my injuries." 

they nodded as they help Ares to the bathroom, Ares was walking like he was drunk and then he was help by both of his boyfriends which was silly time which was a little sad as they both saw a little bit of blood on his head where the white was stained with red and gold blood.

when they got him to sit down on the lid to the toilet as Zagreus was gathering the things they needed and he was speaking to Ares who was wearing on his boxers, he was blankly staring down at his hands which were bruised "well Ares i am glad you could get here safe as you could be." he was places the bandages and antiseptic, disinfect and some cotton swabs.

Percy had some cool water and was crushing some herbs and getting a rag to help Ares who just nodded, and he looks sad as Percy was washing on his face and Percy sighs "wow we are similar in how we handle being hurt huh?" he was cleaning off some of the dirt on his neck and shoulder and Ares sighs and signs "well yeah i have to protect my siblings who are work and live in the house."

Percy nodded he was about 26 now and he hadn't gone on the quest in so long, but he still felt sad when Jason died thanks to the fates and Zues... how Ares and Percy had started dating and met when peace was well in place. Percy was there when he saw Ares setting up temples just like Jason and setting up shrines that were gravestones to the dead not just roman and Greek demigods but to the Norse, Egyptian, Indian Hinduism, Japanese, Mayan, Aztec and Celtic.

he had mourned the loss of the native Americans and a few other groups too. Percy was stunned when he walked to the lake he was next to sitting on a tree overlooking the lake. he had set up on that lake was small slowly floating lanterns which were held by these lotus flowers which gleamed blue, yellow, white and black and each flower color was different, and each lantern was made in a style of each group.

he was looking down not seeing the demigod of the sea next to the weeping willow which was ironic for the god of war to being like this and to be in a weeping willow.

when Ares did notice the young adult, he only nodded his head at Percy and asked for him not to fight and let him mourn in peace. which had been strange but as he was puzzled Ares had the glasses of Jason Grace which he was placing into one of the flowers and then he was lighting one of the lanterns which had the camp Jupiter symbol on the front and back of the lantern but on both sides of the lanterns had wolves and, on the top, had a moon where a stick or rook were be to hold a lantern and then Ares jumped down and the flower was now white but when the flower lantern  thing turned a yellow color as the yellow overpowered the white color.

"i wish you the best Jason Grace my brother." he spoke, and Percy had been placed into shock as he heard the pure sorrow and pain in the war god voice. 

Percy was brought back to the present "so i have a question why did those mechanical magical lotus flowers only showed those four colors of white, yellow, blue and black?" Ares looked up and he looked at Zagreus who places down the cotton swabs and spoke "Percy love in some cultures white is a sign of mourning and or death and the yellow and blue and black represent the five stages of grief," he speaks as he treats the cuts and blood on Ares face and arms.

"The yellow represents anger, bargaining and denial the blue represents depression in the black represents acceptance. those flowers change to the person who is at the lake and if those flowers show black and bits of blue it means that the person had accepted their death, but they are still sad about it."

Percy nods and he spoke "so with Ares still setting up the temple for the minor gods of Rome and Greek and other pantheons their major gods and their minor gods it is his way of grieving for the loss of Jason and others?" Ares signs "yes."

this makes Percy smile and speak "well when we are done i am cuddling you Ares and no buts you are going to rest." he starts to get the glasses out of his hair which was really in there and when Ares was getting band aids and small bandages on his knuckles and forearm. "Well yeah of course we can't let our Ares hurt by himself he has done enough of that." spoke Zagreus as he was getting to the gash on his head.

after they were done, and they got some food and were watching The Owl House which Ares felt asleep to nestled between two his two boyfriends. Percy was last to fall back asleep and then he looked up as the window and he saw a wind spirit which was in the shape of a wolf with the eye color of Jason and then he sees a dove which was a blue eye and brown eye which both then ran off as the wolf spirit chased after the dove. he smiles as he falls asleep. 

[laurkamkitchen]

I have several chicken pot pie recipes saved, all because it's one of my dad's favorite dishes. This one looked above and away the best, with an insane amount of 5-star ratings, so I chose to make it for him as a special treat after a procedure.

I made this in full using a red onion (we didn't have any yellow) and leftover deboned chicken from a party my parents had catered. My pastry I made about 2 hours in advance to give it time to chill in the fridge.

If you're used to baking with pastry and are willing to put in the time here, this recipe is actually not too difficult and surprisingly forgiving. I had no issues making my filling, even the roux. And even as someone who is indifferent to chicken and doesn't like mushrooms, believe me when I say that this filling is insanely good.

My pastry rolling was unsurprisingly a bit haphazard, especially with the top disc, where I'd been a bit loose with measuring the water (that is to say, it was a bit wet). I would say, unless you are truly striving for perfection, don't worry too much about rolling out a perfect circle. I used some of excess piece to patch up gaps where needed.

However, take that with a grain of salt because, unfortunately, part of the top pastry on the side was a bit too heavy and not very well secured, so in those first few minutes in the oven, a few chunks melted off and started burning off down on the bottom. This made for a very smoky baking process. The pie itself was alright in the end, but it ended up being a smoked chicken pot pie on accident.

It didn't matter, though, because this was insanely delicious. The filling was amazing, the pastry crisp and perfectly golden on top, while soft and just slightly doughy underneath, a perfect bake in my opinion.

So, yes, I made a mess in the oven, but it was all worth for this absolutely amazing dish and especially to make something comforting and delicious for my dad!

[honey-climb]

The Vivisection

Characters: Philip Wittebane, The Collector, Previous Grimwalker

Rating: Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Major Character Death

Tags: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Dismemberment, Amputation, Torture, Dehumanization, Surgery, Descriptions of Guts, Explicit rating is for the gore - nothing sexual happens, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Word count: 8k

Description:

Philip has questions about his new Grimwalker that he intends to answer.

Viv·i·sec·tion (noun) -

The practice of performing operations on live animals for the purpose of experimentation or scientific research.

Read on AO3!

From the loosely packed, humid earth clawed ghostly hands, one after the other. Frantically they cleared the soil, making way for the matted, blond head that followed. Deathly skinny shoulders came next, the discs and vertebrae visible through practically translucent skin.

The creature—the first Grimwalker born by Philip’s hand—was the size of a ten-year-old child. It moved without hindrance and with precise coordination as it freed itself from its grave. Aside from how skinny it was, so far it seemed to be an excellent first attempt.

Pride swelled in a dark corner of Philip’s heart, muted against all the other emotions flooding him. He had succeeded in an ugly and impossible task; he had raised life from death. There was little now that stood between him and God.

That thought made him smile slightly.

Philip then welcomed his Grimwalker to the world with the heavy swing of a shovel delivered to the back of its head.

A sickening crack rang out through the small cave-turned-workshop. Philip’s hands were slick with sweat against the handle of the shovel; when it made contact, he almost lost his grip as the force wracked through him. The Grimwalker jolted forward, then fell in a heap, face-down on the upturned dirt from which it crawled.

The Collector on the wall behind Philip shrieked with laughter. “Holy crap!” They shouted. “Didja kill it?”

Philip wet his lips to chase away his horrid smile. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. Even still, he kept the shovel raised, his shoulders tense and hunched, as he prepared a second strike if necessary.

The Collector laughed harder. The sound pierced Philip’s mind and mixed painfully with the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“I think you did! You killed it!”

That worked to rid him of his smile. A familiar feeling of dread and uneasiness welled up in Philip’s stomach. Combined with the Collector screaming, he found it almost impossible to focus then. Part of Philip wanted to retreat into his own mind and avoid the reality he had created, but still he forced his attention on the creature.

The Grimwalker showed no signs of moving; its arms lay out, partially pinned under its body from its collapse. Its shoulder-length hair was thick and, toward the base of its skull, came a slow trickle of blood. Everything about it, so far, was eerily similar to that of a human. Or a witch, Philip supposed, as he observed the tips of its pointed ears poking out shyly from its hair.

Another beat passed. Its body lay completely still, with no sign of breath.

Philip allowed himself a slow exhale; it did little to quell the adrenaline rushing through him. He lowered his shovel and stabbed the spade securely into the soil at his feet.

The Collector slid across the walls to the side adjacent to Philip. They hung overtop his cluttered work bench, their shadowy legs swinging against Philip’s collection of open books, various tools, and assorted knickknacks. The Collector gawked; their mouth turned up in absolute delight.

“Whaddya think it looks like?”

“We’re about to find out.” Philip replied. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbow, uncomfortably eyeing the Grimwalker all the while.

“What if it’s all gross looking?” The Collector commented. “Or— or what if it has three eyes and two noses? And a b-iig mouth full of shark teeth? And—”

“I suspect that it will be entirely average-looking.” Philip cut in. With his sleeves secure, he reached behind his head to tighten his ponytail. “If the book of forbidden knowledge is good to its word, it should look almost identical to its… Source material. And I’m sure that I followed the recipe exactly.”

The Collector pouted. “That’s lame. Maybe you should mess up the next one, to see how freaky they can come out.”

Philip pursed his lips and shot the Collector a look. Then, after a brief pause, he eased slightly. “…Actually, that isn’t a bad idea. However misguided you may be, that is the mindset of a scholar. We ought to push boundaries and expand our knowledge through trial and error… Excellent thinking.”

The Collector smiled wider. They puffed out their chest proudly. “Heh, well, sometimes I do have pretty good ideas.”

It was a fine line that Philip treaded often, keeping the Collector sated with praise and humouring them. After all, if Philip was going to continue wringing them for knowledge, he needed every advantage he could take.

That aside, Philip gazed once more upon his fallen creature. An uncontrollable shiver shot down his spine. At a quick glance, he could have almost convinced himself that it was a younger Caleb laying there, face-down in the soil.

But it wasn’t, Philip reminded himself.

He had spent weeks mentally preparing himself for this moment, and he couldn’t get in his own way now. Though the book of forbidden knowledge that he possessed was extremely detailed on the ingredients and synthesis of a Grimwalker, it lacked further information. There was nothing written on the creature’s temperament, or its anatomy, just a brief description and the recipe.

It was because of this, and Philip’s innate thirst for knowledge, that he made an important decision upon undertaking the creation of his Grimwalker:

Regardless of how it looked, how it acted, what it said or did, Philip would treat this first Grimwalker for what it was—a cadaver. An experiment.

The Collector’s eyes bore into Philip as he crouched over the Grimwalker. He laid his hand upon the creature’s shoulder, and immediately recoiled. Its skin was hot and damp to the touch. Disgusted initially, Philip wiped his palm against the leg of his pants.

He felt then that there were a hundred sets of eyes upon him. A quick glance up confirmed that the Collector had multiplied themself across the cave walls and ceiling, every set of their eyes spectating Philip and the Grimwalker. When they noticed him look, each mouth grinned wider. Anticipating the face on the Grimwalker, just as Philip was.

Philip drew a steadying breath. Better prepared now, Philip once again took the Grimwalker’s shoulder. Its pale skin was slick with sweat, making purchase difficult as Philip rolled it over.

The reveal of its face was… Underwhelming. A sigh of relief—disappointment?—trailed past Philip’s lips.

The Collector, more vocal about their disappointment, moaned, “Aww, man. It’s not weird at all. That sucks.”

The book of forbidden knowledge spoke of how the Grimwalkers took on the face of the corpse they were built from. Philip prepared himself to be faced with an exact copy of Caleb. What he saw instead was more akin to a distant cousin, or a distorted memory.

The nose was wrong, first of all. The Grimwalker lacked Caleb’s broad, prominent nose, instead its thin bridge sloped crookedly to one side. Its eyes were too far apart, its mouth too big. A hooked finger into its cheek revealed perfectly straight rows of white teeth. Observing down further, Philip noted its jutting collarbone and thin, frail emancipated body. If the creature were sentient and not a soulless husk, Philip would consider it a male. Above that anatomy, also, was smooth skin across its stomach, with no sign of a belly button. But that made sense—after all, it hadn’t grown in a womb, thus had no umbilical cord.

Other pieces worth noting, which Philip would later record in his journal, was that the longer the Grimwalker sat out, the more it seemed to pink up. Practically before his eyes, he watched the creature’s cheeks turn round and rosy, and its fingers, toes, and joints flush.

Overall, the Grimwalker was basically a stranger. That would make the following easier.

“It’s awful skinny,” Philip commented, mostly to himself. He pressed his hand against the diaphragm of the Grimwalker and was met by surprising resistance. He expected to feel the bite of ribs, and instead felt the shift of liquid, as though he were handling a leather canteen. A shudder went through him. “Yet it feels solid. Are they always this skinny?”

“I dunno,” the Collector offered in a symphony from the walls.

Philip wanted to roll his eyes but resisted. “Was it the soil content, I wonder? You know how crops grow stronger in rich, composted soil… Are the Grimwalkers similar to plants that way?”

The Collector shrugged in a wave across their clones. They watched with interest as Philip proceeded to poke and prod at the Grimwalker.

“We’ll need to investigate further.” Philip said. As he went to draw his hand back, he felt a thump against his palm. Then another, in a slow rhythm.

Philip’s skin crawled. The Grimwalker was still alive.

But it was too late to turn back now.

Philip reminded himself that the Grimwalker was a corpse, a cadaver, less than an animal. It was nothing; he had created it, and he could destroy it however he saw fit.

The audience, which was the Collector, observed with interest as Philip gathered up the Grimwalker in his arms. They followed him across the room, to the stone table Philip had built with glyphs beforehand. At each corner were short pieces of rope tied and anchored down. The Grimwalker’s body flopped, listless, as Philip loaded it up on the table. Grey smudges of bruises were left in Philip’s wake across its skin.

The Collector shrunk themself back down to one shadow. They perched high on the wall, giving themself a bird’s eye view.

Philip tied the ropes around the Grimwalker’s ankles and wrists, securing it to the table, arms above its head and its legs spread-eagle. Its skin only became oilier the longer it was left out. Along with this, Philip became aware of another problem; the Grimwalker was much smaller than he had been anticipating. Had the creature been a full-sized man, as Philip accounted for when building his workstation, he would have had more than enough rope. However, the rope stretched tight to reach the Grimwalker’s short limbs and Philip was only able to knot it once.

A quick pull on the restraints left Philip satisfied that they would hold regardless. Plus, he felt confident that the Grimwalker wouldn’t escape—it was barely alive as is and frail enough that a sharp breeze would knock it over. Surely it would be fine.

Anxious now to begin, Philip took a step back from the table. He went instead to his desk, where his journal and necessary tools had been laid out. He took up his quill and jotted down quick, short-hand notes. He couldn’t exclude anything, or forget his train of thought; Philip would need to reference these notes when he began building the next Grimwalkers and all their variations.

Behind Philip, the Collector gasped with delight.

“Hey, it’s still alive! I saw it twitch!” The Collector called out, laughing. “That’s so cool!”

Philip tensed slightly. With his shoulders hunched over his desk, he ground his jaw shut and forced himself to continue writing. His handwriting stuttered slightly across the page. He knew that the Grimwalker was still alive, but it was easier to comprehend it in his own mind if he pretended that it wasn’t. Having the Collector there to remind him that the creature he planned to dismember was, in fact, a living thing put a slight damper on things.

Philip finished scribbling his last thought, then exchanged his quill for a tool from the table. He was quite lucky to have scavenged it washed up on the beaches—a slightly rusted handsaw. The handle sported intricately carved designs; whoever had owned it before obviously took much pride in it. Philip hoped to honour it well once more.

It was the same saw that he used to dismember his decaying brother, what felt like a millennia ago. The shovel he used to subdue the Grimwalker was also the one that dug Caleb up. Perhaps Philip ought to use the same knife to carve up the Grimwalker, just so he’d have the completed set.

Though he wanted to laugh, the thought settled sour in Philip’s stomach.

“Whaddya gonna do next?” The Collector asked. They had slithered off the wall and now wrapped themself around the handle of Philip’s shovel like a snake.

“I’ve done my external observations,” Philip explained as he approached the Grimwalker once more. “Now I will proceed with the dissection.”

“Ooh,” replied the Collector. “What’s that mean?”

“I’m going to cut into it and observe how it works internally. I’ll start by gathering a sample of its bone.”

“While it’s alive?”

Philip glanced back at the Collector with a forced, patient smile. “I’d hardly call this thing living, wouldn’t you?”

(The Collector quietly contemplated that statement as Philip turned and moved in on the Grimwalker. They had a hard time viewing anything as a living object whereas their perception of time and space was so much different than other beings. Inside, they felt like Philip was doing something despicable, but he was so casual about it. Besides, Philip wouldn’t do something bad intentionally, he wasn’t like that. Maybe he was right—the Grimwalkers couldn’t be considered alive.)

Philip stood at the Grimwalker’s side now. The saw handle fit almost perfectly in his palm.

In the face, the Grimwalker appeared as though it were peacefully asleep. Its soft expression was relaxed and its wet lips slightly parted as it breathed. At first glance, Philip could almost convince himself that this was a real child strapped to his work table, instead of a creature synthesized from a corpse.

Philip blinked that thought away, and said decisively, “Let us begin.”

The Collector, from their perch on the shovel, watched on with wide-eyed wonder.

Philip laid his right hand on the Grimwalker’s shoulder to steady it. The Grimwalker stirred slightly, though it didn’t open its eyes or wake. Then Philip placed the jagged teeth of the saw against the creature’s skinny bicep. He drew in another deep breath, bore down, and forced the saw against the Grimwalker’s arm.

The young, pale flesh offered no resistance. With little effort on Philip’s part, the saw chewed through skin and muscle with a grisly tearing sound. Blood sprayed hard and fast from the wound, as though a pipe had been burst, staining the table and Philip’s hands red.

Before he could complete the first cut, the Grimwalker’s eyes shot open. Its chest leapt with a ragged gasp, which then fuelled the ear-piercing scream that left its mouth.

The Grimwalker twisted and writhed against the restraints as it screamed. Desperately it tried to escape from Philip’s saw, though Philip merely doubled down. He leaned his weight fully against the Grimwalker and drew the saw back, chewing away at the tender flesh. Skin and muscle flayed away from each other, appearing then that an animal had taken a bite of it, rather than a saw. The sight almost turned Philip’s stomach, as hot blood poured over his hands and strings of snapped muscles convulsed before him.

After two tearing strokes, the teeth of the saw sunk into bone, impeding his progress. The Grimwalker’s screams turned into sobs. Fat tears mixed with blood and snot rolled down its cheeks. It gasped breathlessly, a high-pitched whining emitting in-between, as its body twitched and tugged uselessly against the restraints.

“Strange that it isn’t begging for mercy,” Philip mused aloud, a little breathless himself. It was harder work than he imagined chewing through living bone and marrow; when he dismembered Caleb (then dead for the better half of six months), the rotten flesh offered nowhere near as much resistance.

“Maybe it can’t talk,” the Collector offered. They stuck their tongue out as the Grimwalker wretched and bled all over the place. They had never seen such a show before; though they were disgusted, they couldn’t look away.

Philip paused. He hummed. “I hadn’t considered that. Do you imagine it’s mute, or does it need to be taught language?”

The Collector shrugged. They slithered down the shovel handle to the sticky, bloody floor. “It sure is makin’ a lot of noise, though. Maybe it doesn’t know it can talk.”

“Interesting.”

This aside helped refocus Philip’s mind. As he wondered on the specifics of Grimwalker speech and learning, his mind blocked out the sobbing screams of the creature under his palm. Philip once more put his weight behind the saw; he grunted with effort as the Grimwalker’s panicked and pained screams rose to the ceiling.

Sweat beaded across Philip’s forehead from the effort it took to gnaw through the surprisingly sturdy bone.

“Bugger,” Philip mumbled. His hands, slick with blood, struggled to find purchase against the squirming Grimwalker and the slimy saw handle. “I should’ve gone through the elbow. I imagine it would’ve been a great deal easier.”

The Collector snorted a chuckle. At Philip’s feet, they changed their shadowy body into an interpretation of the suffering Grimwalker, missing the arm that Philip currently sawed away at, complete with a cartoonish bone stuck out at the nub. “Ohh, oww!” They wailed in a mocking tone. “Boo-hoo!”

Finally, with a last few powerful thrusts through the spongy marrow, the blade completed its journey. As Philip shoved his weight behind the saw, he almost toppled forward; he cleared the bone and severed the flimsy skin holding it together underneath. The Grimwalker shrieked louder as it stopped feeling the blinding pain from both ends of its arm.

Philip heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of a job well done. He tossed the saw aside. Blood, sharp bits of bone, and spongy dripping marrow splattered on the floor as the tool bounced away. He plucked at the rope loosely holding the limp arm and picked it up. Philip examined the appendage, briefly disgusted that it was still warm and now especially wet—both from the hot blood pouring out of the grisly wound and from sweat.

A childhood of torturing small animals along with a brief apprenticeship with Caleb at the local butcher meant that Philip was no stranger to blood and bone. Though his knowledge of internal human (no, witch; there was nothing human about the creature at his table) anatomy was limited, Philip was impressed. What little he did know based on an examination of his rotting brother and a few sparse anatomy books seemed accurate to what he observed in the Grimwalker.

Philip brought the arm closer for studying. The entire appendage was drenched with blood; he estimated that it weighed only a few pounds. As he waved it about, held by the elbow, rigor mortis had yet to set in. The pale wrist and fingers dangled and flopped with every movement. Philip noted previously that the Grimwalker was fully articulated as it escaped its grave; seeing its joints work in-real time up close was nothing short of astonishing. Philip bent the elbow twice, testing how smoothly he worked the joint, then moved to the amputated end.

The saw did a nasty job of the bone. Philip never bothered to sharpen it, and it showed. The entire nub was gored, the bone splintered and jagged. Dark pink marrow and fat black blood clots seeped out. Blood dripped from the frayed, torn shreds of skin and the stringy muscle.

Curious, Philip swiped his finger across the amputated wound, collecting a small sample of blood. He sniffed it, then decisively tasted it. Sure enough, the familiar warm coppery taste rested on his tongue.

“Eww!” The Collector shrieked.

Philip glanced down. The Collector laid between his feet, gazing upwards. Their expression twisted, quite literally, with disgust.

“Are you gonna eat it? Is that what humans do?”

“No!” Philip snapped, his cheeks flushing red. “I will not be eating it. For all the things I am willing to do in the name of science, that certainly is not one of them. Plus, that’s a disgusting notion.”

“I’ll say!”

Philip stepped around the Collector, huffing. He carried the severed arm over to his workbench on the other side of the room. He abandoned the arm there, on a spot he had specifically cleared for it, then returned to his Grimwalker. The screaming had stopped some time ago, Philip realized.

The Grimwalker now lay listless, its wine-red eyes almost glazed over as it stared up at the ceiling. Any colour that previously tinted its face vanished; somehow, it appeared even more ghostly than before.

Blood pooled on the table and cascaded to the floor in a slow, steady drip. Yet, despite the endless amount of blood that the Grimwalker lost, Philip still caught its chest rattling. From its wet, quivering lips and chin came quick, stuttering breaths.

“Resilient thing,” Philip mused aloud.

Though he held little respect for the Grimwalker’s life, Philip still produced a bandage that he’d set aside earlier, makeshift from an old, torn shirt. He pressed it tightly to the sawed-off wound. Hot blood soaked through it quickly, dampening the cloth and Philip’s hands once more.

The Grimwalker weakly turned its head. Its eyes seemed unfocused, but still Philip felt it observing him. There was no resistance or fight left in the creature.

“This is a weird game,” the Collector offered from across the room. They hung on the wall behind Philip’s work desk, taking their turn then to also examine the severed arm. They feigned poking at it with their shadowy finger. “Won’t it need this?”

Philip shook his head. He finished tying the bandage with a hard knot, then he patted the Grimwalker’s shivering shoulder.

“I don’t imagine it will, but beside that point. This isn’t a game—it’s science. It’s experimentation and research.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

“To each their own, my dear Collector.”

The Collector huffed and made a show of how bored they were getting with the whole ordeal. Philip put them out of his mind as he went to rinse the blood from his hands in a small water basin.

While Philip’s mind wandered to his questions and hypotheses about the Grimwalker, the Collector’s eyes roamed over to the creature itself. The Grimwalker’s creepy red eyes gazed back.

(A strange feeling crept up inside the Collector again, although they didn’t have the words to describe it. They felt like the Grimwalker was trying to plead with them, attempting in futile to reach inside and touch them. But it shouldn’t be able to; like Philip said, it wasn’t alive. But it moved and looked at the Collector and screamed bloody murder like it was alive…)

Either way, the Grimwalker obviously had no idea that in this limited form, the Collector was practically as useless as it was. Just until Philip released them, anyway.

In response to its desperate pleading gaze, the Collector smiled, made a funny face, and waved.

Philip returned, wiping his hands on the front of his pants. Once dry, he stepped to his desk and took up his quill.

“I have to ask that you refrain from tormenting it,” he chided.

“I’m not!” The Collector argued, pointing at the Grimwalker. “It was lookin’ at me funny.”

“Somehow I doubt that. That thing certainly lacks any higher thinking power, especially now.”

The Collector frowned. Philip intentionally avoided looking at them as he scribbled in his journal. He caught a glimpse of their shadowy body cascading over the wall and out of his direct line of sight. More focused now, Philip finished his thought and began a quick sketch of the severed arm beside him. Blood pooled underneath it, though the outward bleeding from the wound had stopped. Philip made special note in his journal that the underside of the arm, where it rested on the table, had gone dark and bruised looking—where the blood inside now pooled, presumably.

The sketch when it was done wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be; Philip would do a more detailed diagram of the bone and the marrow once he was finished completely disassembling the Grimwalker. He would have to shave the skin and the meat from the bone as well, to get an accurate look at how it all came together.

Satisfied for now, Philip pushed his journal aside, away from the severed arm, and exchanged his quill once more for another tool; this time, a meticulously sharpened, several inch-long blade. The weight of it was similar to the one that had started the entire process, and it filled Philip with a disgusting sense of nostalgia.

When he turned back to the stone table, his expression fell. Philip pursed his lips.

The Collector grinned up at him. They draped their shadowy body over that of the shaking Grimwalker, and twisted about, making a show of it all.

“No-o-o-o, don’t cut me up!” The Collector wailed dramatically. “Ahh, I’m so scared right now!”

“Collector.” Philip said sternly. He waved his hand over the Grimwalker’s stomach to shoo the Collector away. “I told you that this isn’t the time for games. Move, please.”

The Collector frowned deeply. They pouted and crossed their arms over their chest.

“It’s never time for games anymore! All you care about is this stupid Grimwalker!”

“Collector—”

“You spent all this time makin’ it and now you’re just takin’ it apart! Where’s the fun in that? You aren’t even gonna play with it first!”

Philip opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Getting worked up and talking out of turns to the Collector would prove to be unhelpful, so he chewed over his words and cycled through what he needed to say. It was difficult to remember sometimes that the Collector was but a child, and needed to be treated as such. They needed gentle words to calm their fits, although Philip had been raised under the motto that if you spare the switch, you spoil the child. He supposed, however, you couldn’t switch a shadow nor a child-like God of all knowing knowledge.

Finally, Philip eased his expression. He allowed himself a small sigh, as he switched the knife from his left to his right. He stepped in closer, then placed his hand over the Collector’s—and by extension, the Grimwalker’s—shoulder. Under his palm, the Grimwalker shook.

The Collector’s expression twitched. They tried to stay pouting, though it became difficult then.

“Come now,” Philip urged gently. “Once I’ve finished with this Grimwalker, I must assemble the next one. What if we made a game of it?”

The Collector turned their head into a flat profile, glancing away from Philip. Underneath, they exposed the terrified, hazy left eye of the Grimwalker, otherwise forgotten.

“…How would that be a game?” The Collector asked. They failed at keeping the intrigue out of their voice; Philip knew by the note in their tone that he had won them over once again.

“How about you think on it. You’re an intelligent young man, or… Whatever you are. I’m sure you could come up with a way to make it all more fun, hm?”

Philip gave them a warm, doting smile. Almost immediately the tension and troublesome-ness fled the Collector. Moments later, a wide smile broke across their masked face.

“Yeah! Okay!” They grinned, their eyes turning up into elated crescent moons. They snorted and giggled. “I’ve got some great ideas already!”

“Excellent. I won’t be much longer. Run along and keep thinking.”

“Aye-aye!”

The Collector slid off the table, exposing the ruddy, jaunt cheeks and the hazy, distant eyes of the Grimwalker below. As the Collector relegated themself to the far upper corner of the cavern to scheme, Philip dropped his smile. He stared down impatiently at the Grimwalker.

Its hollow chest still moved with breath, miraculously, although at this point that notion had lost its intrigue. Philip no longer cared that it still breathed soft, whistling breaths from between drooling lips. The fact that it was still alive now was proving to be a nuisance more than anything. He hoped that this was a fluke, and that the other Grimwalkers weren’t going to be so hard to kill.

Philip wiped the Grimwalker’s sweat off his left hand on his pant leg, then switched the knife back.

“Alright,” he said, mostly to himself, though the Grimwalker’s eyes moved pathetically to him. “Let us continue.”

Philip pressed the tip of the blade to the skin just below the Grimwalker’s breast bone. With little effort, the blade pierced the skin and sunk inside; using great restraint, Philip dug the knife in less than half an inch. Blood swelled and spouted from the incision, and cut small streams of red down the Grimwalker’s ribs.

The Grimwalker jolted, a startled, “ghhk,” sound escaping it. A wave of fresh tears flowed from its puffy, crusted eyes, though it made no further sounds.

Philip proceeded with the first cut.

Once upon a time, very briefly, Caleb had worked an apprenticeship with the local butcher. Too young to work or be left alone, Philip had accompanied him most days. He learned second-hand how to cut and clean almost any animal—though Philip never had any interest in such a hands-on job. Neither did Caleb, who was incredibly squeamish and didn’t last long at the apprenticeship. However, they were there just long enough for Philip to absorb all the information he could, which he would later finesse on squirrels and mice and cats that he would capture, and now on his magnum opus.

Philip smiled at the memories, as the Grimwalker once again pitched into a sharp, short scream. The long cut, which Philip was careful to keep consistently deep, went straight down from the bottom of the ribs, across the Grimwalker’s belly, and ended just below where it ought to have a belly-button.

Blood flooded freely as Philip drew back his knife. The screaming Grimwalker’s quaking abdomen was painted entirely red, as the pulsating wound flushed out a comical amount of blood. There was no inch of the table left dry now, and a considerable puddle formed on the floor. Philip walked carefully through the tacky liquid, as to not slip, as he moved back up to the upper half of the Grimwalker.

In addition to the long vertical cut across its body, Philip traced two diagonal cuts from the top of the first. Each of the new incisions trailed over the Grimwalker’s shrieking, bumpy ridges of its ribs, and stopped below either nipple.

The incisions weren’t perfect due to the Grimwalker using the last of its fading willpower to struggle and flop like a dying fish, but none the less, Philip was impressed with himself. He set the knife down on the slippery table under the Grimwalker’s amputated armpit, then slid his fingers under the vertical incision. Gently, ever so gently, he peeled back the Grimwalker’s skin.

As the tender flesh separated from muscle and bone structure, the Grimwalker cried and screamed to the heavens. If Philip had thought he needed it, he would have gagged the Grimwalker. However, as he unveiled the beautiful, disgusting mess of the Grimwalker’s innards, everything else became ambient background noise.

Philip found his breath taken away as he gazed down at the Grimwalker’s dissected abdomen. He watched the Grimwalker’s diaphragm quiver and snap behind its ribs, shielded only by a thin layer of muscle and mucus that hadn’t been cut on the first incision. Its bulging digestive track stared back at Philip just below, shining in horrid hues of red, pink, purple, and grey. Exorbitant amounts of blood pooling from the skin and between the organs made it hard to discern at first glance what exactly was what, but it was wonderful. It was so wonderful. To see this all before his very eyes, the inner workings of a creature he had created with his own hand—the only way to describe it was overwhelming.

Philip was overwhelmed to the point of almost crying himself. Out of pride, or disgust, or anguish, or euphoria.

To cry because he had dismembered his beloved brother once again.

To cry because this pitiful creature wasn’t Caleb, and he hadn’t gotten to kill Caleb again.

For a moment, the feelings overtook him. In the back of his mind, Philip thought, damn science, damn the sake of learning. Acting purely on want alone, Philip shoved his left hand deep into the Grimwalker’s abdominal cavity.

Wet, hot heat enveloped him, slick and strange and unlike anything he had ever felt before. Philip didn’t need to know what the internal organs of his Grimwalker felt like, but he wanted to. And to have the Grimwalker’s guts and offal squirming about his hand, knowing that it belonged to creature that was both alive and dead at the same time… It scratched an itch inside Philip’s brain he never realized was there. It made him smile as much as it all disgusted him.

Philip pushed his arm in farther, the gore sliding up his forearm. The Grimwalker finally lost its ability to scream at full volume, its voice gone hoarse or perhaps even dead altogether. The low, whining noise that escaped it now may have well been a death rattle. Philip didn’t care.

All he wanted was to rip through the pericardium, so carefully cradling the Grimwalker’s stone sleeper heart, and feel it beat in his palm. He wanted to squeeze it until the organ exploded and then tear out the remains.

This urge, however, Philip resisted. All movement around him seemed to stop then. Finally, the creature must have died. Surely.

Mentally, Philip reigned himself back in. Indulging in these impulsive thoughts was good for the soul, but he needed to be more controlled than that for the future. If Philip were to complete his end goal successfully—and he would—he needed self restraint. He needed to be calm and collected.

He shoved down all the thoughts of Caleb and the hurt and the evil things he wished he could do to make something hurt as much as he did. He drew his hand back from the Grimwalker’s body slowly. Its organs made a sucking sound as he withdrew. His arm was coated in blood and mucus, to his sleeve rolled at the elbow. Briefly, Philip admired the sight of it, then he turned his attention back down to the Grimwalker’s gaping cavity.

In his mind, Philip compartmentalized everything; he secured his feelings away, and mentally brought his mission back to the forefront. Then he turned away from the Grimwalker, and went back to his desk.

There was a slight shake in his hand as Philip took up his quill once more. He wrote quickly to distract his mind, hoping to become fully absorbed in his work once more. He noted everything he could about the internal structures of the Grimwalker from a first glance.

The Collector made themself known again. They hung low on the wall by the desk, peering over Philip’s shoulder to the dead Grimwalker.

“The next step will be to disassemble it completely,” Philip said aloud, partially to the Collector but mostly himself. “I’ll remove the organs to examine them, and then compare them with the witch’s book of anatomy.”

“Umm, Philip?”

“I’d like to know in particular if the thing has a bile-sack. Given its nature, could it perform magic?”

“I think you’ll wanna see this.”

Philip didn’t intentionally tune out the Collector, however he also didn’t register them speaking until they waved their shadowy hand across his journal. As Philip blinked, he also noted that he had smeared the page with the Grimwalker’s blood. He hoped that his notes weren’t too obscured to read later.

Philip pursed his lips and looked up at the Collector. They smiled back.

“What is it?” Philip asked.

The Collector clasped a hand over their grinning mouth, the corners poking out over the edge of their palm. They slid back up the wall more, giggling, and pointed over Philip’s shoulder.

“Look behind you!”

Exasperated, Philip straightened his back. He turned to the table with the dead Grimwalker.

Except the Grimwalker wasn’t dead.

Philip jolted with a gasp. He grabbed the edge of the desk as he almost lost his footing.

Somehow, somehow the Grimwalker had freed its hand, and then it had untied its ankles, too. Now it sat upright, wielding Philip’s bloody knife left discarded on the table. It stared at Philip, its eyes hazy and blurry. It swayed as it weakly kicked the restraints from its ankles.

The rope! The damn rope wasn’t secure!

Philip’s heart lodged hard in his throat. “What the hell?” He managed to whisper.

“What’s ‘hell’?” The Collector asked, ever helpful.

Philip ignored them. He kept his focus on the shivering Grimwalker. Likewise, the creature kept its drooping eyes steady on Philip in a tense stand-off. Philip was positive that he could easily overpower the Grimwalker, especially considering its condition, but if the damn thing had lived this long, who was to say it could be killed at all? Knowing Philip’s luck today, the creature would probably outlive him at this rate.

Philip gathered his courage—how stupid he felt then, being secretly afraid of a dismembered child—and shifted forward. He held his hands out, ready to either attack or defend himself.

The Grimwalker steadied itself likewise, its body quaking. Blood poured from its gaping cavity wound as it pulled itself fully upright and scooted towards the edge of the table.

The wet squelching sound that followed would live forever in Philip’s mind. Every one of the Grimwalker’s organs crushed together, all loosely packed in the abdomen. The sound echoed across the cavern, making Philip almost wretch. The Collector, meanwhile, laughed like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

“Why aren’t you dead?” Philip mused aloud again.

The Grimwalker failed to respond. It pointed the knife as steady as it could at Philip. Carefully, one at a time, it swung its legs to the floor.

Philip watched on in awe. Despite everything, and the yawning, grisly wound dominating its body, the Grimwalker lived. It still breathed. It still moved. And more than that, it was learning. It evidently had learned from Philip that the knife could be a weapon and how to wield it—or was this knowledge inherent to it? Horror suddenly washed over Philip like a wave of icy water; had the Grimwalker retained Caleb’s memories?

Philip locked eyes uncomfortably with the creature as it slid off the table. Holding this terrible thought in his mind, Philip was able to see more of Caleb then, reflected in those distant, hateful red eyes.

The Grimwalker drooled over its slack jaw. Keeping its body stiff and steady, perhaps keenly aware that the only thing holding it together then was its willpower alone, the Grimwalker took a shaking step forward.

Foolishly, Philip prepared himself; as if he expected it to lunge at him, knife and teeth gnashing.

Instead, a tearing sound occurred, like ripping wet cloth. The Grimwalker’s eyes shot open. Its breath came in a sharp gasp from its throat, as though someone had punched it.

The incision of its abdomen split open completely. The tear continued from where Philip had stopped cutting, around where the Grimwalker’s belly button should have been. That small strip of untouched flesh until now had held a majority of the Grimwalker’s organs together. Now, it tore open, succumbing to the weight and the pressure of being upright. The skin ripped, tearing hard and fast down its pubic bone, and cleaving through its penis and testes. In the same instant, its entrails were expelled outwards; fat ropes of intestines and a surge of bile and blood rolled out from the cavity and splattered on the floor in a heap.

Philip winced and stared. Disgust boiled inside his own cold stomach as the sight and smell both hit him at once. The Collector shrieked with laughter behind him.

The Grimwalker staggered at the force of its insides sliding out. It looked down upon its mound of innards strewn from its body. Some ropes of its guts hung against its legs, dripping wet and bulging. Finally, the last of the colour vacated from its face. The Grimwalker dropped the knife with stiff fingers, allowing the weapon to bound away. Instead, it reached down, eyes wide and pale expression unmoving, as it grabbed a handful of its own guts. It attempted, unsuccessfully, to shove the mess back into its cavity; each time it tried, its intestines quickly slithered back out, squishing and squelching against one another. Having only one hand now certainly made the task all that much harder.

Philip wondered briefly if the thing even felt pain anymore, though based on the dumb, shocked look on the Grimwalker’s face, he doubted it. Finally, its physical state must have caught up with it—the Grimwalker’s shaking became more violent as its actions got slower and slower.

Finally, perhaps in an act of mercy, on the third attempt at putting itself back together, the Grimwalker’s shaking turned into full convulsions. Its heel skidded on the sticky blood pooled at its feet, and it pitched over backwards. The Grimwalker’s feet shot out from under it, and its insides were briefly tossed into the air like party streamers as it went airborne. The Grimwalker made no sound as it crashed down, landing on its neck; only a sharp snap rang out.

Philip reeled back and winced. The Grimwalker’s head bounced on the hard ground and came to rest at an unnatural ninety-degree angle. After a second, the twitching ended. The Grimwalker now lay listless on the floor, covered by its own gore and tangled by its entrails.

Philip exhaled in a deep rush. When he breathed back in, he did so through his mouth, to both calm himself and to avoid the smell. He found that the sour taste of raw guts and offal lingered in the back of his mouth instead.

“Ho-ly crap,” the Collector said beside Philip.

A glance to the side showed that they were a flat profile on the wall, gazing out also at the Grimwalker.

“That was… SO NASTY!” They squealed with chortling laughter, falling over backwards with their arms clutched to their stomach. “It was so wet inside! And then— and then everything fell out and it was like—” The Collector turned their eyes into big dinner plates, their mouth open with faux horror. “A wuh-huh-huh—”

“Collector,” Philip said. Though visibly shaken by the entire ordeal, he tried to remain calm and stoic when speaking. “Your inside voice, please. I need to think for a moment.”

The Collector turned themself over in a somersault and clasped their hands over their mouth. They grinned and snorted. “Sorry. It was just so funny!”

Part of Philip admired the Collector then; so ignorant and innocent that they couldn’t see the horror in front of their face. He would do well to mimic them that way.

Philip approached the Grimwalker to crouched beside it. He knew better than to presume it dead by this point, though he didn’t think to arm himself with the shovel or another weapon. For good measure, he ought to put a stake through its heart or cut off its head.

Again, Philip would have laughed if the dread inside him didn’t weigh him down completely.

This time, Philip pressed two fingers against the broken neck of the Grimwalker. His fingers basically sunk into the pale skin, as the artery underneath seemed to flatten. No pulse. Finally.

Philip wanted to be relieved, but relieved about what? The fact that the Grimwalker no longer suffered? That he wouldn’t need to watch it struggle to live after he dismembered it?

(That he wouldn’t need to see Caleb’s look of betrayal in its eyes?)

He told himself that the creature was never alive to begin with. It was a cadaver. An experiment. Philip needed to believe that now more than ever.

“Perhaps these creatures are more akin to plants than I expected.” Philip said. He brushed the Grimwalker’s bangs away from its forehead and found them to be soaked through with sweat. Likewise, every part of its body, even the ones untouched by blood, seemed to glisten.

“Whaddya mean?” The Collector inquired. They were on the far wall and craning their neck for a better view.

“It seems that underfeeding and overwatering undoubtedly influences their growth. Take this one, for example. It’s far too skinny and... Wet.”

Philip drew back and wiped his hand on his pants. He scowled with disgust.

“The humours are all out of balance, no doubt. I’ll change the watering regime for the next Grimwalker, and if it comes out similar to this one, in that it’s too hot and wet, I may have to prescribe bloodletting…”

He couldn’t risk having another Grimwalker with too much blood and too much will to live. Not to mention how quickly it turned to self preservation. Was there something Philip could do to prevent that from happening? If the Grimwalkers could learn… Could he gain their trust?

With the gears turning in Philip’s head, he found he was able to bypass his previous thoughts and feelings on the dead creature laying at his feet. Much like before, he compartmentalized everything—he needed to focus now on his research and write down his findings for further experimentation.

Philip rose to his feet, turning his back on the corpse. He grabbed the desk chair he had pushed aside earlier and drew it in. There he hunkered down and began furiously writing in the blood-soaked pages of his journal.

The Collector crawled up Philip’s desk and shrunk themself down so that they were the same size as Philip’s journal. They pointed over at the Grimwalker with a tiny hand.

“Are you just gonna leave it there?”

“For now.” Philip replied. Then he huffed over the scratching of his quill, “Hopefully it won’t go anywhere this time.”

The Collector took that in with a nod. Then they grinned.

They cascaded off Philip’s desk, then between Philip’s and the chair’s legs. They skated over the pools of blood covering the floor, until they were at the Grimwalker’s side. Seeing it up close now with all its guts and organs hanging out was disgustingly interesting. The Collector circled it twice just to get the full image.

When they stopped again at its side, they grinned wider. They waved their shadowy hand over the ropes of intestines wrapped around the Grimwalker’s leg, pretending to grab at it. With their mouth, they quietly mimicked the squelching sound it made earlier. They wondered what the intestines felt like; they bet it felt gross and slimy like big fat slugs. They imagined that the organs would squish and squeak in their palm.

Maybe when Philip finally released them and allowed them to use their physical form, they could find out for themself? The Collector’s imagination soared at the possibility.

While Philip wrote and the Collector played, the Grimwalker stared up at the ceiling with residual tears leaking from its eyes.

It did not cry, for it was already dead, but as the internal pressure of its body gave out and relaxed, a small streak of tears escaped its eye and collected on the floor.

[carbrakes]

Finding the Right Fit, A Guide to Ford Brakes

New Post has been published on https://www.carbrakes.net/finding-the-right-fit-a-guide-to-ford-brakes/

Finding the Right Fit, A Guide to Ford Brakes

Properly functioning brakes are essential for the safe operation of a vehicle. Brake systems on Ford vehicles are carefully engineered and require maintenance on a periodic basis. The right choice of Ford brakes is crucial to ensuring that the system behaves reliably and safely.

Ford vehicles feature a variety of brake systems, and some are better-suited to particular applications than others. Disc brakes are the most common Ford brakes and provide better performance in wet and slippery conditions than other systems. Disc brakes are also more resistant to wear, provide superior stopping power and are easier to install. Ford offers a number of different types of disc brakes, including single, double, or even four-piston calipers. Disc brakes should be fitted with appropriate brake rotors for maximum performance.

Drum brakes are another type of Ford brakes. They are usually found on the rear axle of a car, where they provide more efficient braking than disc brakes, but with slightly less stopping power. Drum brakes also require more frequent brake servicing than disc brakes, so careful attention should be paid to brake pad wear.

When selecting Ford brakes, it is important to choose the ones that are best-suited to the driving conditions and the type of vehicle you are using. If you are driving in areas where the roads are primarily wet and slippery, disc brakes are a better choice, as they provide superior traction and stopping power. If you are driving on dry roads or in a performance setting, then drum brakes may be the best choice.

When selecting Ford brakes, make sure to consider the type of car you own and its specific braking requirements. Factors such as the size and weight of the car, the riding style and the frequency with which the brakes are used should all be taken into consideration when selecting brakes.

Finally, when it comes to maintaining Ford brakes, regular maintenance and servicing is essential. Owners should ensure they are regularly servicing their brakes, as this will greatly reduce the likelihood they will suffer from wear. It is also important to take extra care when replacing any worn brake components, as improper brake installation can have serious safety consequences.

Overall, properly functioning Ford brakes are an essential part of the vehicle’s safety system, and the right brake choice can make a significant difference to the way a vehicle performs. By carefully considering the brake system requirements of their car and following the necessary maintenance and servicing procedures, drivers can ensure they have the best brakes to ensure the safety of their vehicle.

[smellslikejail]

Sam flinched slightly at the touch, but didn't pull away despite Clu's tight grip on his jaw. Shame welled up in his chest as the comment made him remember what he was. A User. Why couldn't he be perfect like the Admin was? His head hung low once his jaw was released, but it immediately jerked back up at the promise of his disc.

"I'll be good! I promise!" Sam called out; but Clu was already gone. There was a rush of relief as Clu left, but it was quickly replaced with fear. A guard grabbed him the arm and smacked a hand to the back of Sam's empty disc dock. Sam yelped at the sudden contact, but any chance of talk back was cut off by his helmet rezzing and locking into place.

He still jerked his arm out of guard's grasp, "I can walk." Sam snapped, his voice coming out lower and modulated. The guards around him just laughed and pushed him out the door.

Had he been without his helmet, the hallways that made up the lab he'd been held in would have been blinding and overwhelming. However, the helmet helped to muffle any outside sounds and dim the lights around him. The labyrinth of hallways that made up the lower labs were practically vacant of other programs, but Sam still kept his head down. The programs they did run into quickly stopped and moved out of the way. Eyes lingering on him as they passed.

They finally reached a door and it opened to a room he'd been in before. Small-ish, and empty, he remembered exactly what it was used for. A guard grabbed him while another pressed a hand to his chest. Sam's helmet and under-suit disappeared, and he was left naked with only his red circuits reflecting off the white tile. The guard holding him shoved him to the other side of the room, and a deluge of unusable energy poured down onto him. It was embarrassing and ice cold. The guards just stood and laughed, making him feel more degraded. At least he got clean, even though the energy dropped on him did nothing to replenish his reserves.

Some time later, the "shower" stopped, but they made him sit there while the liquid evaporated. Sam sat huddled in a corner, still wet and shivering. A stockier guard pulled him off the floor and rezzed his under-suit and helmet back on. They all maed their way back through the hallways and to a lift. The door opened with a pleasant ding, and they filed inside.

With a press of a button, permissions exchanged, the doors closed. The lift rapidly ascended as Sam tried his best to pull himself together; despite the still wet hair sticking to his face and helmet, and the shudders that wracked through him from the lingering cold.

The ride is quick and the doors opened to the top level of Admin tower. 'Just keep your head down, follow orders, only speak when spoken to, and...and..' Sam thought, but whether it was his nerves, or failing memory, Sam couldn't quite remember everything he was meant to do while in the presence of the Admin. Either way they were here and there was no use running. Besides, Sam wanted his disc and to please his Master.

"He's been cleaned like your ordered Sir. Anything else?"

Still with those shifty eyes . . . it seemed they hadn't broken the user of his animal instincts to run and cower when trapped in a cage. Shame. Still, there was time yet. Mortal as users were, existing in the Grid prolonged Sam's lifetime exponentially. Clu was sure that he could make a very well-behaved pet out of him yet.

He took Sam's chin in hand, tilting his head side to side as he took in the human's bedraggled features. Their kind wasted so much of their energy on pointless automatic processes like growing hair and producing excess skin oil. The effect was uneven and unpleasant to behold. No wonder so much time in his memories was spent grooming.

"You're filthy. You need a shower and a shave." The admin made no attempt to hide his disgust as he let go of the human's face. "Should you behave, you may receive your disc. Should you misbehave, well . . ." Clu smiled behind the opaque material of his helmet. "I will be very displeased."

He turned to leave the room, and as the door opened, he addressed the guards waiting there. "Bring him to me once he's cleaned up."

[kurulover]

I can’t get enough of salt. We eat that shit with a spoon. Spice too. We add enough heat to something that a bite makes me cry. I think it’s the proper way to do things. If I can’t handle the heat that’s a skill issue. Steel yourself. But occasionally you want to actually enjoy something without crying. And you can’t just eat that shit with a spoon. That’s the cinnamon challenge, and it’s bad for you. So - Spice cookies.

1 1/2 cups white sugar, but definitely fill it a little too full or add an extra tablespoon of brown

1 cup butter. If you like normal amounts of salt use unsalted. If you want My amount of salt use salted. Alternatively you can use salted butter and add only a pinch of salt later

Warm the butter (partially melted is fine just do not try this with cold butter we have been that stupid and I’m trying to save you) and then beat the sugar and butter together until it’s one kinda creamy mass

2 large eggs

1 tablespoon vanilla

Add these to the sugarbutter and beat it all until it’s super fluffy!

Different bowl, mix together:

3 cups of flour - the basic stuff (almond and coconut flour mixed 2:1 are a good gluten-free substitute, if that’s relevant to your family - it is to mine)

3/4 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground cloves (they smell so good you will want to add more. You can add a little more)

1/2 teaspoon ground allspice (it smells so good you will want to add more. Do NOT add more)

1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

(I’ll be honest. You can cut the ginger and allspice and it’ll still be good. Do NOT cut cloves or cardamom though. You won’t even know what you’re missing.)

I’ll add a tiny bit of baking powder if I want them to rise (1/4-1/2 teaspoon MAX) but you can go w/ flat fuck cookies too it’s fine. They’re supposed to be crispy, crunchy, and kinda powdery. Break out the Apple cider for these bad-boys.

Mix all that dry shit together REAL well, until it’s evenly colored. You don’t want a chunk of spice Hanging Out

Stir the flour mix in a bit at a time. Beat it ferociously the whole time, but go slow adding the two together. If it’s way too dry, add more flour. If it’s way too wet, add a little half n half. Actually that’s the other way around.

Actual cooking sites will tell you to roll out the dough and get a pretty cookie cutter out and all that shit but we aren’t pretentious here. You can just take a couple tablespoons of dough and gently press it into a bit of a disc. It’s probably fine.

Refrigerate those discs for an hour (okay 30 minutes if you’re impatient like us) and set the oven to 350. Pop em in for like, 10-15 minutes, maybe slightly longer if your oven sucks as bad as ours.

Thas cookies babey!!

Optional Glaze:

1 cup powdered sugar (regular shit doesn’t work trust us)

1 1/2 tablespoons half n half (but any milk works don’t stress it)

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

pinch of cinnamon. Just for the effect for the drama.

Drizzle on and let harden

That’s jazz, baby! Al’s recipe and my fantastic translation. I don’t guarantee the taste - we’re a cook, not a baker, in the same we’re a biologist, not a chemist. But we have made these and they are edible and even well received. You’ll probably do em even better than we will!

(Apple cider isn’t mandatory but highly recommended)

aight drop some baking recipes

im stressed and cant express myself properly. I wanna work on healthy coping mechanisms for working on stress. kinda want something simple but not TOO simple

reblog and share please...?

[griffintail]

Hi I'm so so sorry for bothering you! I absolutely love your child reader x parent dreamsmp series, it's amazing!! I had an idea for the lost ones though, or a seperate scenario if that's okay!!! What if the baby was a witch? Witches exist in minecraft, so what if as the child gets older, their powers grow. Windows breaking when they cry, things floating mid air, sparks and fires from their hands, things like that?? I think it'd be really interesting if you want to write it!! If not all the lost ones, then just tge sbi seperate please! Thank you so so very much, i love this series and i cant wait till the next part!!!!!

Magical Born

Pairings: Tommy, Technoblade, Wilbur, Philza, and Ghostbur x F! Child! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of raids, mentions of death, light blood, light violence

A/N: It’s based on Lost Ones Canon, all over the timeline, but it is NOT canon. I didn’t write all of Lost Ones because it’s already a lot to write Lost Ones as its own entity :P I added Ghostbur though for fun because I just really like Ghostbur. Technically he’s part of the SBI!

I went further than planned though so enjoy. ♥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TommyInnit

        Tommy screamed as he ran from Fundy, who had caught him stealing from his house, (Y/N) sitting on his shoulders as she laughed. He was making for the sewers as (Y/N) waved at Fundy.

        “Bye, bye furry.” She smiled.

        “YOU’RE SO DEAD TOMMY!” Fundy shouted.

        But now Tommy was laughing hysterically as he quickly turned a corner and made for Tubbo’s entrance into the sewer. Tubbo startled when his door opened.

        “What the—” Tubbo questioned.

        “No time, good luck big man.” Tommy saluted, (Y/N) waving her hand before Tommy held (Y/N) and jumped into the entrance.

        “WHERE IS HE!” Fundy came in a moment later.

        “Damn it, Tommy,” Tubbo muttered under his breath.

        Tommy laughed as he pushed his wet hair back, (Y/N) clapping her hands.

        “Big score for us little (F/L). And extra disc time for calling him furry.” Tommy grinned. “Let’s get home with it all.” Tommy walked along the pathway, letting (Y/N) walk behind him.

        (Y/N) clapped excitedly hearing extra disc time. She bounced slightly behind him as Tommy was bragging about this adventure.

        “The furry may be an easy target to take, but we managed to escape successfully, becoming richer!” Tommy said to the little girl, who continued to bounce, announcing as she did.

        “Boing!” She giggled.

        Tommy chuckled, not looking back at her. She had a lot of energy like him and always had to find easy solutions to let it out.

        “Boing!” She squealed with delight and Tommy froze where he was walking as she…float over and past him??

        “…What the fuck?!” He shouted, dropping the bag of stolen loot.

        “Boing!” She jumped over to the other walkway of the sewer water.

        Tommy put his hands through his hair as he watched his child fucking float.

        “What the fuck is going on?” He muttered, looking around.

        She jumped over to him, and he yelped as he caught her, staring at her.

        “Hi, big man.” She giggled.

        “We’re going back to Tubbo.” Tommy nodded, picking the bag and walking back down the tunnel. “No jumping.”

        (Y/N) gave a pout but didn’t jump as she followed after Tommy. He had her go up the ladder first before following after. Luckily, Tubbo had gotten rid of Fundy, looking rather miffed as he went back to sorting his chests.

        “I already got rid of Fundy, what are you doing?” Tubbo groaned, seeing the pair.

        “Dude, you got to see this, I don’t get it,” Tommy told him. “Ok, (Y/N) jump.”

        She smiled again before bouncing around. Tubbo raised an eyebrow as she bounced around like normal and Tommy was concerned for his mental health for a moment when she started to take large leaps again.

        “What the hell!” Tubbo freaked out.

        “Exactly!” Tommy motioned to the girl, who was making her own sound effects as she jumped.

        “Could…has she always done this?”

        “NO! You think I wouldn’t say if she always did this?!”

        “What the hell?” Tubbo put a hand on his head.

        “I know!”

        Then (Y/N) jumped too high and hit her head on the ceiling, crashing on the ground.

        “Shit!” Tommy flailed his arms for a moment before rushing over to the little girl.

        He made sure she had no serious injuries as she started to tear up then cry.

        “Hey, it’s ok.” Tommy tried to assure her, gently rubbing where she hit her head.

        But she only cried harder and Tommy and Tubbo both screamed as the windows in the room exploded. Tommy was hugging (Y/N) to him, looking at Tubbo with wide eyes as Tubbo was looking around wildly at the shattered glass.

        “What’s going on?” Tubbo gestured wildly to the windows.

        “I don’t know!” Tommy said exasperated, still gently rubbing his hand on her head, the effect doing good now.

        The little girl died down to sniffles as Tommy connected the dots.

        “Wait, she cried and the windows broke. I think that was her.”

        “What?”

        “I-I don’t get how it works but she’s doing these crazy things.”

        “Do-Do you think she’s magic or some crap?” Tubbo threw out whatever he could.

        Tommy’s eyes went wide as he nodded. “That has to be it! I mean…I don’t know where she came from after all.” He muttered now, looking at the little girl.

        “So, what, she’s a witch?” Tubbo huffed.

        “I guess…” Then Tommy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Tubbo, can you imagine all the things we could get away with?”

        Tubbo frowned as Tommy now, as Tommy put (Y/N) down as she had calmed down.

        “This could be great! We’ll need to figure out how to teach her of course…”

        “We don’t even know what we’re doing with her as a normal kid!” Tubbo flailed his arms.

        “But she’s still alive.” Tommy pointed at his friend and Tubbo put his head in his hands. “We’ll be the greatest, richest crime trio!”

        “She’s a child!” Tubbo protested but Tommy picked (Y/N) up.

        “You can help me out now little (F/L).”

        The chaos they could cause once they figured out exactly (Y/N)’s powers were. Tommy couldn’t wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wilbur

        “Alright little star, we have to go talk with a few people today but after, we’ll play together, just you and me,” Wilbur promised the little girl as he held her hand.

        They were wearing their matching L’Manberg uniforms and (Y/N) was humming as she walked beside him, their first stop at Niki’s bakery.

        “Ok.” She nodded with a smile.

        “Thank you, little star. Why don’t we get some cookies from Niki to make sure we’re not hungry while we walk?” Wilbur offered with a smile.

        “Yes pwease!” (Y/N) grinned.

        “Please.” Wilbur corrected gently.

        “Hello!” Niki greeted the pair as they came in. “How are you two?”

        “We’re well Niki, I hope you are as well.” Niki nodded and Wilbur went on. “I’ve come to talk to a few the citizens around L’Manberg,” Wilbur told her. “And we were also hoping to have some of your best cookies while we’re working.”

        “Your very best.” (Y/N) agreed.

        “Of course, I just finished a new batch. Would you like to see?”

        (Y/N) looked up at Wilbur with puppy dog eyes and he chuckled. “Alright, but you have to stay away from the furnaces, they’re going to be hot.”

        “Ok!” She nodded before the two went around back into Niki’s area.

        As (Y/N) watched the woman in infatuation put a new batch into the oven as she was taking the other out, putting them up to cool for the few minutes Wilbur was talking with her about how her life in L’Manberg was. The adults continued to talk as (Y/N) was now looking at the furnaces curiously, wondering how the fire worked to make the cookies.  While she was, Niki suddenly screamed, making the little girl jump as Wilbur looked around in a panic to see why she screamed.

        Wilbur saw after a moment, (Y/N)’s hands had little fires on them! (Y/N) spotted them as well and gave a shriek as his reactions kicked in as he spotted a bucket of water. He snatched it up before quickly throwing it on his little girl. The fire was gone as the girl stood soaking wet, Wilbur bolting over to check her hands.

        “I told you not to go near the furnaces!” Wilbur scolded as he carefully took her hands.

        “I-I didn’t daddy.”

        Wilbur looked at her hands confused though. She didn’t have a single burn.

        “How…” He muttered.

        “I stayed away. Just like you said.” (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably in her wet clothes.

        Wilbur looked at Niki, who had run and came back with a health potion.

        “She’s not hurt,” Wilbur told her.

        “What?” Niki looked at him with wide eyes.

        “I-I don’t know how,” Wilbur said, looking back at the little girl, freezing up as he did.

        All of the sudden…her clothes and hair were completely dry! He hesitated before touching her jacket, indeed finding it free of water.

        “Niki…I have no clue what’s going on.” Wilbur gently pulled (Y/N) to him. “Sweetie, how did you do that?”

        “Do what?” She asked confused.

        “You don’t have any water on you anymore.” Wilbur pointed out to her and she looked at her clothes, before shrugging.

        “I don’t know.”

        “Have…you ever done that before?” He questioned and she shrugged again.

        “How…how do you think it happened,” Niki asked him.

        “I’m not sure,” Wilbur muttered. “I need to send a letter to Phil or Techno; they’ve seen a lot more things in their time. I appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone Niki.”

        “Of course.” The soft-spoken woman nodded.

        “Thank you, we’re going to go home early little star.” Wilbur stood up.

        Niki still gave them a few cookies and Wilbur brought (Y/N) home, making a bird call outside first.

        “Whoa, that was cool!” (Y/N) grinned as a crow landed on Wilbur’s shoulder.

        “It’s one of my father’s crows, they’re usually all around,” Wilbur told her as they went inside.

        “Your dad?”

        “I guess I’ve never told you about him.” Wilbur chuckled quietly as he sat, writing a letter to both Techno and Phil. “My father, Philza Mine Craft, is pretty old but he’s a great dad. He taught me a lot and he’s been through a lot. I’ve told him about you a few times, I suppose I forgot to tell you about him in return.” Wilbur ruffled her hair lightly, making her giggle. “I don’t talk to my brother Techno as much though…we had some arguments in the past. I’m hoping maybe we’ll put that aside to see what be happening with you.”

        He signed off the letters and let the crow have them before they flew off.

        “We’ll know in a few days though I suppose. Now, let’s play some music while we eat these cookies.” Wilbur offered out.

        Waiting for a return letter became a little more desperate the next few days. Not only had Wilbur found his daughter’s hands liked to spontaneously combust with flames sometimes, through some careful observing, but he also found if she was particularly happy she’d find herself being able to jump to his height; and thanks to Tommy, when the boy had come to visit to get instructions from Wilbur, he decided to scare the little girl, causing her to scream and Tommy, in turn, screamed when all the windows shattered.

        “Not a word!” Wilbur immediately demanded as he made sure (Y/N) wouldn’t step on any glass. “To anyone.”

        “What the fuck?!” Tommy screeched.

        Wilbur was tempted to force the boy to stay at the house to ensure word didn’t get out but after a bit of time, he got Tommy to promise him. Finally, two separate letters came in to tell him the same thing.

        (Y/N) might be a witch.

        Techno was a bit blunter about it, proceeding to tell Wilbur off a bit for just taking some orphan, but Wilbur knew it was just his brother’s ways and didn’t hold it against him. Phil’s letter had a bit more useful information and he had once researched witches. Wilbur kept that letter safe as he came out to find (Y/N) jumping around with her powers. She was smart and figured out how to activate it, she often liked to play with her floating power.

        Wilbur wondered what else she might be able to do…It was a rather terrifying thought but he’d learn regardless. She was still his little star, witch or not.

        “You’re getting good at that little star.” Wilbur praised as he came over.

        He also let the thought cross his mind if that’s why she was abandoned but pushed it away. That didn’t matter, she was his little girl now and they’d figure it out together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Technoblade

        Techno watched from the porch with crossed arms as (Y/N) laughed while running from Tommy, who was armed with two snowballs. Tommy did know how to bring the energy out of his kid. (Y/N) stumbled and fell, Tommy, grinning with victory as he stood over her but the little girl reacted fast and threw snow at him before running again with a giggle at Tommy’s temporary blindness.

        Tommy shouted profanities as Techno smirked, the voices praising his child. That’s his little girl.

        “How much longer are you two going to be out here?” Techno called now.

        “Not much longer!” Tommy shouted before swearing again as (Y/N) managed to hit with a snowball while he was distracted. “THAT’S CHEATING!”

        “All is fair in war!” She demanded.

        “Don’t track snow in the house,” Techno told them before going back into the house.

        Phil was tending to one of his crows as Techno came back in.

        “They alright?” Phil asked.

        “They’re fine.” Techno nodded, going over to his enchanting equipment.

        “I’m proud of you, mate. For taking in that little girl and making sure she’s happy.”

        Techno simply shrugged as he was glad, he had taken in the little girl as well. Life would be nearly the same. He often thought about how things might have been different if she wasn’t around, he probably would have already taken out L’Manberg but he held back for her. He didn’t need people hunting him down again right now and find out about her…

        He was taking off his pick to put a new enchantment on it when his world slowed hearing a scream and Tommy shouting loudly. Running out with his pick in hand, Phil grabbing his sword off a chest as he ran after, he found (Y/N) shaking on the ground as a wolf stalked towards her as Tommy had a bloody arm. Techno dropped his pick as he ran over, taking off his crossbow, a bolt already loaded.

        He took a shot at the wolf but his panic made him sloppy and he missed! It went over the wolf, it not noticing until…

        The bolt turned around all of the sudden and hit the wolf right in the front leg. It gave a yelp, snarling as it backed away from the little girl now, who was scrambling back.

        “B-Bad wolf!” She shouted as she shook.

        The wolf noticed the approaching pissed off man and cut its losses, running off with a limp. Techno was most certainly confused about the bolt but he had other worries. Phil was already going over, tending to Tommy as Techno came next to (Y/N), putting a hand on her shoulder.

        “You, ok? It didn’t hurt you, did it?” He asked as he quickly checked the little girl.

        “No.” She shook her head before hugging him. “It hurt Tommy.”

        “I know, Phil’s got him though.” Techno hugged her before picking her up. “Let’s get inside.”

        Phil was helping Tommy inside as Techno followed, picking up his pick.

        “If it hurt Tommy, is it ok it got hurt?” (Y/N) asked Techno.

        “Yes, because it was about to hurt you too. So, it’s ok. That’s defense.” Techno told her but he wasn’t sure what happened.

        The bolt had certainly missed and then flew back, striking it in the leg.

        “I didn’t want to hurt it.” She mumbled. “But it’s right.”

        Techno was confused by her words, but maybe she had gotten confused with her own words. He put it to the side for now as he spent a bit of time with her for the rest of the day to make sure she was alright. After he put her down to sleep, he came down into the main room where Phil was sitting by the fire. Techno sat across from him and brought up the thought he had put aside.

        “(Y/N) said something weird today.”

        “What was that?” Phil looked at him.

        “She said she didn’t want to hurt that wolf. Like she was the one who fired the crossbow.”

        Phil hummed, looking out the window. “Something was weird, I saw that bolt move on it’s on.”

        “Good, I’m not losing my mind.”

        Phil gave a quiet laugh. “Not yet my son. But something odd did happen. Have you ever seen anything like that?”

        “No…Not around here at least. I’ve seen witches do stuff like that though. That’s why they’re difficult to kill sometimes.” Techno took off his mask for the day, putting it down safely on the fireplace mantle. “If there had been a good witch around, I’d say it was them.”

        “I haven’t seen a witch in some time. Pretty rare these days, some people don’t like their power with magic and hunt them down. They’ve pretty much gone into hiding.” Phil nodded.

        “Sounds about right,” Techno grumbled, leaning against the stone of the fireplace, closing his eyes.

        “Mate, you don’t think…(Y/N) might be a witch?”

        “Doubt it. Would have meant she was magic born; they wouldn’t have just left her on someone’s doorstep for them to die.”

        “It’s rare but she could have been naturally born, with normal parents, and we’re now just finding out.”

        “Even then, when she was born, she shows signs. A magical birth has effects while they’re born. The parents would have known.”

        That made Techno frown now at the thought as he looked over at quiet Phil, who had the same frown. They were both thinking the same thing; what if they left her because of the magical birth?

        “It would explain why she said she hurt the wolf.” Phil leaned back as well on the other side of the fireplace.

        “Yeah…I’ll find out more in the mor—”

        Both Phil and Techno jumped up with muscle memory at the sound of (Y/N) screaming. Phil’s crows cried out in panic as Techno was first up the ladder to find (Y/N) whimpering as she hugged herself as a few objects floated around the room. Techno went to her side as Phil came up, Tommy shouting up as he had been startled awake by the noise.

        “Hey, it’s ok little goddess,” Techno muttered to her, putting a hand on her side.

        “T-The wo-wolf.” She whimpered.

        “It can’t hurt you. I won’t let it.” Techno told her, sitting next to her and pulling her into him. “And neither will Phil or Tommy.”

        She gave a few more soft whimpers before everything in the room slowly floated down, Tommy standing on the ladder, watching amazement.

        “You’re alright,” Techno promised, looking at Phil, the two sharing a meaningful look. “We won’t let anything or one hurt you.”

        There was just more of a reason to keep (Y/N) their secret. He’d have to brush up on his knowledge about witches as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phil

        “Alright, it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Phil told the little girl. “So, I got to do a bit of practice.”

        “Ok.” The little girl tried to have patience as she was taught but couldn’t help but bounce in excitement.

        Phil chuckled, ruffling her hair, before spreading his wings. “Ok, let’s see if I still remember this…”

        He took a deep breath before taking flight; he grinned as he felt the wind flying by, enjoying the wonderful memories that came to him. Flying had been something he had really missed. From the ground, (Y/N) cheered in the snow as she jumped, clapping. Phil chuckled at his little girl’s reaction as he took a few warm-up laps to make sure his wings were truly back in shape.

        Techno looked up from his work at the commotion, coming out as he took off his glasses. Going out, he looked to see Phil snapping by in flight and he smiled watching his father flying again. He had seen how it affected him to be trapped on the ground. Across the field, he spotted his little sister running after their father rather uselessly but she jumped as she followed after the older man, cheering as she did.

        The older brother shook his head as he watched his father again as he leaned his back on the railing, a few of Phil’s crows flying beside him as they were going over the roof. Techno was watching when another figure went over his head, giving a shriek.

        “Techno!” (Y/N) said and Techno fell backward off the railing of the steps, his cape over his face, but he shouted out.

        “PHIL!”

        Phil looked over to find his daughter now falling to the ground?! With practiced ease, he turned and caught the girl before she hit the ground. He took a bit of a crash into the snow as his crows gave out a few cries in panic but he was alright. It wasn’t the first time he had crashed after a flight.

        (Y/N) looked around a bit of daze before grinning and throwing up her arms. “Again!”

        “Did you throw her?!” Phil exclaimed as Techno threw his cape off his face.

        “What!? No!” Techno huffed as he stood up, brushing snow off himself. “I was watching you and all of the sudden she was over my head!”

        “That makes no sense, mate.”

        “I didn’t throw her; I actually like her more than my brothers.”

        Phil looked at the little girl, who was still grinning even though she could have gotten hurt. “What happened?”

        “I jumped and I flew like you! It was a bit scary and I almost fell.” She told him animatedly. “But then you caught me and it was like Whoosh!”

        Phil looked at Techno as Techno was raising an eyebrow at the explanation.

        “Y-You jumped and flew?” Phil turned his attention back to her.

        She nodded. “I was jumping after you because I was excited.”

        “Why…don’t we go inside and then I’ll take you on a flight, alright?” Phil asked her.

        She gave a little pout but nodded. He nodded as well before standing up, letting her walk on her own. Techno followed the pair in and they let (Y/N) be before Phil spoke to Techno alone.

        “I…have a feeling (Y/N) might have magic.”

        “You think?” Techno snorted. “Where’d you find her again?”

        “A village during a raid,” Phil muttered, glancing over at (Y/N) as she was playing with a few of her toys as one of his crows kept an eye on her as a few of them were just as protective of her as he was.

        “They could have been there to get her family. Pillagers tend to like magic and hearing about magic users, they probably were there for them.”

        Phil nodded. It made sense; the village he had found was a pretty small farming village it had seemed. It had been odd to him how they were raided but now it made a bit of sense…

        “Guess I’ll have to brush up a bit on my witch knowledge. It’s been a few years since I’ve run across one, good or bad.”

        “Yeah, it’s been some time. Heard around the arctic that a few of them were going into hiding. Probably because of the pillagers.” Techno nodded, as he went over to his potions to do a bit of work.

        “Dadza! Your crows talk?!” (Y/N) exclaimed in excitement.

        Phil paled as Techno snorted into his potion ingredients chest.

        “You need to learn what the hell they can do too,” Techno said.

        That was going to take a bit of time to learn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ghostbur

        “No one else was in the room where it happened. The room where it happened. The room where it happened.”

        Ghostbur clapped as he sat on nothing as he floated above the ground as he watched his daughter sing and do her own little dance. Tommy had taught her all about his favorite musical and taught her a few of the songs. She now wanted to show off what she learned to her father and Ghostbur was more than happy to sit and watch his little blue. He even made sure Friend was there to give her a proper little audience.

        She stumbled over a few words occasionally but he loved watching and listening to her regardless. Once she finished the song, she gave a little curtsy with her hoodie and Ghostbur clapped, giving a joking call of an encore as Friend gave a baa. She giggled, coming over and hugging him. He gladly returned the hug, nuzzling the top of her hoodie.

        “That was wonderful little blue! I can teach you a few more songs and you can sing more for Friend and me!” He smiled.

        “Please.” She nodded eagerly.

        “I’ll have to get a few of my books from L’Manberg, so we can do it tomorrow,” Ghostbur promised her. “We can all go visit Phil as well and you can show him how wonderful you are. Wasn’t it wonderful Friend?”

        The sheep gave another noise and (Y/N) giggled, letting go of Ghostbur and hugged Friend now.

        “Thank you, Friend. You’re a very good friend.”

        “We should get inside, it’s almost time for dinner.” Ghostbur stood now.

        “Ok, can I ride on you, Friend?” She asked the sheep and the sheep didn’t make a noise of acceptance or protest. “He said yes.”

        “Thank you, Friend,” Ghostbur told their sheep friend before putting (Y/N) on top of the sheep.

        After, he took the lead and took the pair to their home in Logstedshire. (Y/N) gently petted Friend’s wool as Ghostbur brought the pair inside, not seeing Tommy, which meant he was downstairs in his chest room.

        “What do you want to eat today little blue?” Ghostbur asked the girl as he helped her off Friend.

        “Carrots and potatoes.”

        “Ok.” Ghostbur nodded, petting Friend before going to cook.

        He made food for (Y/N) and set her up at the table before brewing a few potions he was low on. He hummed as he brewed, (Y/N) happily enjoying her meal as she talked to Friend. Ghostbur occasionally glanced over with a smile at his little blue and the last time he glanced over, he saw Tommy had come up and snuck up behind the little girl. Ghostbur was about to speak as he held a potion bottle but Tommy moved first.

        “BOO!” Tommy gave (Y/N) a scare as he took her shoulders.

        The little girl shrieked…before disappearing.

        Ghostbur and Tommy both stood there for a moment before (Y/N) spoke, gasping.

        “Daddy! I’m like you!”

        Tommy screamed at that, jumping back as Ghostbur dropped his potion bottle, shattering it on the floor. He floated as he went towards the table.

        “(Y/N)? Are you…invisible?” Ghostbur asked, unsure how to process this

        “I can’t see me.” She spoke.

        “HOW?!” Tommy flailed at the empty spot.

        It was another moment before the little girl appeared in the chair again, grinning. Tommy put his hands through his hair as Ghostbur feet touched the ground again as he stood in front of the little girl. There were a few beats of silence before he grinned.

        “You are like me!” He picked her up, hugging her. “This is a very fantastic day!”

        “You found her Ghostbur! She’s not supposed to be like you!” Tommy protested.

        Ghostbur pouted at that as he nuzzled the top of her head. “She can still be like me if I found her.”

        “I…I’m getting Phil. This is not normal and he’ll know.” Tommy pointed at the pair before leaving the house, too freaked out to stay inside.

        “He doesn’t understand yet,” Ghostbur whispered to the little girl before grinning. “Maybe I can teach you to do it on your own like me!”

        Ghostbur had cleaned up the glass quickly as he made (Y/N) stay on Friend just to be safe before he sat with her on the floor, trying to teach her to go invisible excitedly. The moon was a good bit into the sky when Tommy came back, a worried-looking Phil coming in.

        “Phil! We were going to see you tomorrow!” Ghostbur grinned. “(Y/N) wanted to show you a few things.”

        “Like…what?” Phil questioned carefully.

        “She learned a lot of songs and we were going to learn more. Then at dinner, she turned invisible like me! Isn’t that wonderful?”

        “See? I wasn’t lying!” Tommy motioned.

        “Calm down Tommy,” Phil told the younger boy before sitting on the floor with Ghostbur and (Y/N). “Is that true (Y/N)? You did that?”

        She nodded, smiling widely. “I learned a lot of songs and I disappeared like daddy.”

        “Have…you ever done that before? Disappear like that?”

        She hummed before shaking her head. “No.”

        “It’s new?”

        She and Ghostbur nodded.

        “Well…She could be magical born.” Phil threw out, looking at Ghostbur and Tommy.

        “What the hell does that mean?” Tommy asked as he stood next to Phil.

        “She’s a witch. Her parents would have probably been too. It’s extremely rare to have a magical born in a non-magical family. And as the house that Ghostbur found (Y/N) was the way…it was.” Phil avoided the details but Ghostbur floated off the ground as he remembered. “It would make sense; some people aren’t keen on witches.”

        Tommy frowned at the thought with Phil as Ghostbur tried to just ignore the bad images. As Ghostbur looked away from Phil, he looked at (Y/N) to see her sticking her tongue out slightly as she had her eyes closed as well, looking to be concentrating. What she was concentrating on doing made Ghostbur grin widely.

        “(Y/N) can float too!” Ghostbur cheered, making the little girl open her eyes and grin herself.

        “I’m like daddy!”

        Ghostbur laughed as he scooped her into his arms, cuddling with her. Tommy and Phil shared a look though. They had to make sure Ghostbur wasn’t vocal about this…They couldn’t let little blue lose another life just for being a witch after all…

        But Ghostbur didn’t think about that as he was simply ecstatic about his special little blue.