#what the heck you doing hitting on that witch

[bcbdrums]

soul eater manga spoilers

Stein x THAT ONE KINKY WITCH

i think about this sometimes. like. dang girl. what, was ohkubo just...channeling all the stein fangirls into that witch?? my gosh.

[soniclozdplove]

MK Something came up on the mountain. Will explain during training. DO NOT BRING OUR FRIENDS! Especially Jangles! Trust me, you'll understand why when you get here. Monkey King.

MK reread the message for the 100th time, worried over the implications. Not only does Wukong rarely use the phone Mei got him, preferring to simply Astral Project any messages they need to do, but he'd never forbid their friends from joining in on training. Not since they all started training together while fighting against Azure, and Wukong had promised to not keep secrets anymore, what with the Samhadi Fire debacle. So the fact he's asking to keep it a secret is a big deal. Although, as Mei had pointed out when he showed her the message, the other monkey had never explicitly said to keep it a secret, just that he didn't want anyone except MK on the mountain for some reason, likely related to whatever he was going to tell him during training.

"Weird that he pointed out Tang in particular. Like, what did Tang of all people do to make Wukong not want him near!?"

MK didn't know. But as he flew towards the mountain he resolved to find out. The last thing he expected was to be met by a very familiar face when he landed. Or rather, four familiar faces that looked far too similar yet still different from his family to be a coincidence.

"Eeek! Demon boy!!" The Great Monk Tripitaka shrieked as he cowards behind Zu Baijie, Ao Lie, and Sha Wujing. All of them with weapons pointed towards him.

"Aye! Knock it off!" Wukong's voice roared out as he appeared in a flash of gold and red, standing between MK and the others, guarding him. "It's just my c- It's just my successor!"

The weapons immediately drop as the Pilgrims, the ACTUAL PILGRIMS from the STORIES, looked at Wukong incredulously. Zu Baije was the one to voice it.

"You!? A TEACHER!?"

"Yeah, I know!" Wukong snorted, as if hardly believing it himself, "But a lot can change in 1300 years and MK is a good kid. He deserves only the best, Piglet!"

"And... that's you?"

"No, but I'm the one he's got." Wukong's voice was flat, prompting MK to turn his attention to him. He yelped as a well placed kick hit his shin. "MK! What the heck!?"

"What have we talking about regarding self deprivation, Monkey King."

"What... I- that was for you!"

"Still applies!" MK folded his arms triumphantly as the audience began snickering at Wukong's flustered expression as he tried to find a comeback. Eventually his master concedes defeat with a chuckle, throwing his arm around MK in a side hug with a wide grin.

"Alright... well let's do introductions! Master, Ao Lie, Sha Wujing... Piglet. This is Xiaotian, or MK as he prefers, my student and successor. MK, the Pilgrims of the Great Journey... who somehow ended up here!"

"Oh wow! This is like a total dream come true!" MK was practically vibrating as he grinned, only to pause and turn to Wukong as a thought of occurred to him, Wait. Is this why you said Mr. Tang and the others shouldn't come over!?"

"Ah... yeah. That." The Monkey King scratched at his facial fur a but, looking guilty, "I have a good reason for it, MK. Jangles and the rest of these guys' next life in the reincarnation cycle. In all my years of living, I've never experienced a situation where a reincarnation has met their predecessor face to face. I wanted to be cautious in case, like, Jangles meeting Master causes the world to implode or something... again."

"Again?" Tripitaka raised a brow, glancing at Wukong with a concerned look, "Monkey, just what sort of-"

"L-look! We've have some crazy stuff happen recently, okay!? A crazy ice witch turned the mortal realm into an icicle, someone overthrew the Jade Emperor..."

"Somone did WHAT!?"

"And all of reality very nearly kinda sorta shattered when a pillar broke. MK and I managed to fix all of it."

"Yeah, we kicked monkey butt!" MK cheered along, "And only kinda got... emotional, physically, and mentally scarred along the way."

"Only kinda!?" Ao Lie tilted his head, curious, "Would any scarring at all not be considered a big deal?"

Wukong let out a laugh, slinging an arm around MK and the dragon's shoulders.

"Look, it's done and... maybe not over yet, but the main threat is passed. Let's jsut all settle down, I'll put some tea on, and we'll go from there. And maybe make a few calls to Sandy..."

That last part was muttered to himself as he herded the two into his house alongside the rest of the Pilgrims, telling them.not to mind the mess. After all, he shares the place with a bunch of wild monkeys and was still in the middle of cleaning up after Azure.

[2skyflorix2]

Siciria Analyzes The Most Complex Stick Figures Known To Man (part 1)

SPOILERS FOR AVA / AVM / INFLUENCER ARC SERIES

READ AT UR OWN RISK

Also here's part 2

I was rewatching Influencer Arc Ep 1 because the music slays, and the fight choreography is just awesome.

*cut to Siciria chilling*

But then I noticed this;

So, to those of you that don't know what I'm talking about, I noticed that Blue just kind of waits there for a moment before going in to help Red. I wondered why, because throughout the series, these stick figures are shown to have really quick reaction times in these kinds of moments.

But then it hit me; it's about personality.

So then I decided to do a deep analysis of Blue's character, which is probably going to be the first of five parts (maybe even more) where I deep dive into everyone's traits and flaws and whatnot.

-

Here goes...

So, we've seen Blue as more of the pacifist assistant. He likes plants, netherwart, potions, and cooking. You don't really see him being the first to instigate something, or the star of a fight. Heck, even in the Raid episode, it's more focused on Yellow and the command block staff than him.

But we do see more of an aggressive trait as well, in that sometimes, he acts without thinking.

LIKE THE LAVA. HE DIDN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT AND JUMPED INTO STICKING LAVA. WOW. WOWOWOW. WOWOWOW.

But, what startles me, is that even though he'll self-sacrificially jump to save someone, and follow someone without thinking, and needs someone to ground him (usually Yellow), there are also times where he just freezes. Like in the Influencer Arc. He freezes when Red is getting beat up by the clones, before shooting at them. His brain takes a second (hehe) to catch up.

And here, too. Yellow is making a plan, where Blue's emotions are overriding any sort of thought.

...BUT AT THE SAME TIME, we also see those two things coalesce together for the better. We see him take action instead of freezing, and actually think about what he's doing as well. And this moment in the battle against the King goes kind of unnoticed, in my opinion, since there were so many hard fighting sequences and emotional stakes.

LIKE WHAT THE STICK. HE LED AN ENTIRE VILLAGE INTO WAR, AND THEY WERE ACTUALLY ABLE TO HOLD THEIR OWN AND CAUSE THE PILLAGERS TO RUN AWAY WITH ABSOLUTELY NO CONTEXT OR PRIOR TRAINING (albeit before they came back with the evoker and illusioner)

But we also don't talk about how much he assists everyone else. Like here. Green would have gone flying twice if Blue didn't have the presence of mind to brace him.

I saw a comment under the video calling Blue the MVP of the fight against Greenscreen. And while I do harbor the opinion that everyone contributed a lot to the win (and don't really agree with the comment, as Green, Yellow, Red, and Second contributed so much too), you can't deny that he assisted everyone frequently during the fight, and was a key part of success.

Blue's character arc is something we don't really talk about much as a fandom, but there are truly some moments which are, like, really cool.

And the most important one of all, of course.

Bluecifer "Elsa" Blonde. (my fanmade name, tell me if u like it!)

#slayqueen

EDIT AS OF 9/24/24:

There's also something else I noticed. Blue is shown to be able to keep track of a lot of things at the same time as well, like the positioning of his friends in a battle, and enhance them properly. He knows exactly what they need and can deliver it to them.

In the Witch, when he arms himself with potions and starts fighting, he has the presence of mind to turn his friends into animals that can stop the witch. For example, when Red is about to strike, he turns him into a golem for it to pack more punch. It's truly amazing, because he was able to pinpoint that that was about to happen before it did.

And even with himself, when the witch started shapeshifting, he did too. He knew exactly which mob would combat which, and he might have won if he hadn't run out.

[scoops404]

Scoops' Fics of 2024

It's that time of year again! The time for me to rank my own fics for the last year in order from my least favorite to most favorite. I only considered fics I wrote entirely myself, so you won't see an honest living in here because that was almost 50/50 written with Dizzy! (but you should definitely go check it out!)

This year I only had two novel length fics because I was supposed to be focusing on original work (oops). I had a heck of a summer with my bingo fills. There's definitely recency bias at play here, but that's just how it goes sometimes. Let me know if you agree/disagree :D

See the Elephant - T - this one was written for a fic fest that ended up getting canceled because of the grituation. I had already written the entire thing and it had to be T because the artists were going to post their work. If I had known it would be canceled, I would have had them doing the freaknasty. This was after I had already planned out and written a fic before new boundaries dropped in November (see Circling Back). Basically, this fic fest was never meant to be, I suppose. I was starting to think I was a curse. Oh, but the fic itself is a soulmate AU and kinda angsty and has a hospital scene. 0 horse mentions.

Merry Men Making Merry - T - This was written for Fairy Tales from the SMP - the first and only successful fanfiction event I've completed all the way through (it's never me dropping out btw, it's always the event getting canceled). Anyway I got my first choice of fairy tale, which was Robin Hood, and I put a fun spin on it. The art with this fic was gorgeous!! A very different type of fic for me and it stretched some writing muscles I didn't know I had. Secret identity and identity reveal, some of my favorite tropes. 4 horse mentions.

Move to Florida, buy the car you want - E - the first of my bingo fics. It turns out I am bad at being brief. Anyway, DNF get together and semi-roadhead and I dunno, it's cute. I wrote most of this fic free hand in my note book at my work desk because fuck capitalism. I just checked, the prompt was "late night care rides" which checks out. 0 horse mentions

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts (croptop) - E - this is the one from the middle of June about crop tops that was also written for bingo. I dunno. It's cute enough. 0 horse mentions.

Everyone understands why it’s mean to be (a/b/o phone call) - T - this one is funny because I didn't even bother saying what the prompt was in the author's notes, but I think it was a/b/o. This one was fun to write because it was basically a nod to the 2021 fandom and where we were, and where DNF were -- waiting on that damn visa. Like going back in time and writing a fic. 1 horse mention.

Can I Use You Up - E - I really had fun writing this one. It has fun Dreateam dynamics and then a really intense sex scene and the dichotomy of both of those things in one fic -- and short (for me), at that! impressive. 0 horse mentions.

Circling Back - E - this fic is fun and wild. I got to write co-workers to lovers that is also hidden/secret identity -- and it works! WILD! I re-read this one recently and it stands up. This was originally written for that first fic fest i was talking about and when they changed it for the new boundaries for art, I couldn't have any smut and the whole plot kind of hinged around the smut, so... I decided to just write it as it is. ALSO this is the first fic that Chelsey beta'd, I think. So that's fun! And it was the first fic of the year (not counting Hits Different which wrapped up in January). 0 horse mentions.

Just to do experiments on - E - Yall, if you had told me that I would write tentacle porn, I would have laughed at you. Extra has been trying to get me to write tentacles for YEARS and then it came up on my bingo card and I felt like I finally had to bite the bullet and do it. Except, I actually really love how it turned out? This bingo prompt was tentacles, obviously, but also cursed by a witch. A twofer, if you will. 0 horse mentions.

Let Me Familiarize You - E - here's some Scoops lore. I wrote this fic in two sitting and it is 13K, so that's wild!!! It took me two days in the time after my surgery but before I could go back to work to write this (in between writing the beginnings of Two Fools and another story that I haven't and won't publish lol). Anyway, it's about witch!George accidentally making Patches his familiar and then coming clean to Dream and also his mom is there. And then literally that same day, George dropped a video with his mom. Crazy pants. (or maybe it was the day before when this was all written? Can't remember. Also I was on pain pills). I really like how it turned out. It's a fun premise! 0 horse mentions.

Puzzle pieces in the dead of night - T - another bingo fic, the prompt was pirates. Anyway, I had a BLAST writing this one. Secret identity, kidnapping, munchy mc dynamics, I really like writing action adventurey fics and this one feel right into that category. A fun read, in my opinion. 0 horse mentions.

I’m Having His Baby (No, I’m Not) - E - a bingo fic, the prompt was "mpreg, but abortion" because the person who made the boards *ahem* doesn't like pregnancy stuff and wanted to punish me (lightheartedly lol). Anyway, joke is on her, because I made this into an epic story and I had so much fun writing it. Like, laughing out loud to myself while writing it, which is kinda sad, but is also the point of fanfiction. You have to entertain yourself first and foremost. And also I snuck eventual mpreg in there anyway so haha! for real, though, if you think the premise of this one is weird -- Dream and George accompany Sapnap on a roadtrip to Colorado to get his abortion -- you should try it out anyway. 1 horse mention, and arguably the one that brought it to our good anon's attention.

Anagnorisis - E - speaking of mpreg, LMAOOOOOO. My "I didn't know I was pregnant" AU with Angst and miscommunication and domesticity and last minute flights to London and a baby named after the lead singer of Glass Animals. This fic has a lot! I wrote a lot about the beginning of this fic on Tumblr and kind of how I begin writing fics. Here Anyway, pretty proud of this fic. I had to ask my mom a lot of questions about NICU. 3 horse mentions.

I Am Two Fools - E - every year the last novel length fic of the year seems to be in the top spot. No Exception this year. This fic was very tough to write, but very rewarding. I think it taught me a lot about making sure character motivations are fleshed out and make sense. It, and Anagnorisis, taught me about trusting the reader and dropping hints at things. Yall got So Good at catching hints and making molehills out of anthills, as intended. I took a chance and switched up POV halfway through, which is almost never do. And I think that really helped me stretch my writing muscles as well as all the bingo fics. Very proud of the work I did on this fic. 0 horse mentions.

[amphibiahawks321]

[M!Reader on the phone with aphmau]

Aphmau : Are you sure having Lucinda as your roommate is at all safe? I mean don't get me wrong she's careful with her potions buuuuuut sometimes her mixing can create massive explosions

M!Reader : Don't worry aph she's very careful with her potions making also I'm pretty sure roommate with a witch is better then roommate with someone who ships me with someone behind my back

Aphmau : ........Touché

M!Reader : Lucinda is a careful woman she won't do anything crazy-

💥💥💥!!!!

Aphmau : Y/N!? the heck was that noise!

M!Reader : U-ummmmm talk to you later aph!

Aphmau : Seriously! what the heck was tha-

[END PHONE CALLED]

[Goes to Lucinda's room]

M!Reader : What in Irene was that!

Lucinda : [Cough] [Cough] heeeeeeeey baby

M!Reader : What potions were you creating! It almost hit our precious TV!

[grabs her potion book]

M!Reader : a truth telling potion? Wait what's this?

[Sees a folded paper on the book]

[Takes the folded paper]

M!Reader : a list of questions? Do you actually love me? If I say I miss you too much will you dislike me? am I too clingy? Will you still love me if I get jealous?

M!Reader : Awwww Lucinda are you being insecure again?

Lucinda : .....A bit yes

M!Reader : Lucinda you know I'm not like Ivan like at all right?

Lucinda : [sighs] I know I know I'm so sorry for thinking like that Y/N I just-

M!Reader : Lucinda don't worry i understand...

Lucinda : R-really?

M!Reader : you had a bad relationship in the past and you just wanna make sure we're not gonna be one

Lucinda : Awwwww! How did I land such a cutie like you~

Lucinda : How about this For being doubtful and almost exploding our TV how about I treat you with going out to eat?

M!Reader : Awww that's so nice Lucinda! But really it's not necessary-

Lucinda : We'll go to olive garden~

M!Reader : DEAL!

[M!Reader thought 💭]

I am so sending pictures of the food to aphmau...

[✨you're welcome aphmau&mystreet fans✨]

[silverofthunder]

i decided to share a rec list of some of my fave fics. my "to read" list is still long and i wish i could read so much more but as the time is limited... well, you know. heck, people literally have whole masterlists i could recommend but anyway, i wanted to give a little shoutout to some of the fics. there are some super duper great writers in this fandom and i can't tell enough how much i appreciate your work. my humblest thank yous to all! ❤️

Haeresis Heiress by GhulehVous || mature

if you want to read some family-centered shenanigans, this is your fic. dad!Secondo is surely something you didn't know you needed - though in this case, the path to parenthood is not that smooth. 😊 lots of humor and awkward situations so far!

In the Darkness of Your Dreams by @the-curator1 || 18+

demon!Copia makes me melt. he's so sweet, i want him to protect me, too. 😊 beautifully written piece. ❤️

In Cold Blood by @da-rulah || 18+ (dark fic)

absolutely great. this is creepy but in a captivating way. reading this was like watching some horror movie. this surely would be an amazing horror movie.

First Bite by @ghuleh-witch || 18+

Dracopia, do i need to say more? what a delicious little treat. 😏

Winter Chill <> The Date <> Question Marks <> Couple Skate by @kissingghouls || 18+

i loooooove Mary Goore in these. all are such a delight to read, you will fall in love Mary if you already aren't in love with them/him.

Napping in the Clouds by @ramblingoak || SFW

aww, such a cute steampunk family-centered piece. Secondo and little Copia are so adorable!

Blinded by @lilspacewolfie || 18+

love the devil!Terzo concept and and this is just delicious. beautifully written. (i definitely need to read more...) ❤️

I Knew Nothing But Shadows by @writingjourney || 18+

a masterpiece. such a beautiful, raw story that really hits all the spots within you - honestly. it feels like words aren't enough to describe this. just wow. ❤️

Ribbons & Ties by @anamelessfool || teen and up

such a great world-building, lovely story about Terzo and Omega's relationship. ❤️

[alanaartdream]

Funny thing happened on one of my TikTok videos where I was drawing and talking about fairly odd parents; my fairy Timmy au; and Nicktoons unite

And I had a comment on one of them

Asking

*Danny PHANTOM has a FANDOM 😭*

With that crying emoji with it and I responded that yeah it does like I was surprised someone would ask like that being as Danny phantom was one of nicktoons most popular cartoons along with fairly odd parents invader zim; Jimmy neutron and SpongeBob for quite awhile until well Nickelodeon made SpongeBob their golden child out of its cartoons and devoted all it’s attention to it ignoring it’s other cartoons series (it kinda reflects in the nicktoons unite games because when those games started you could see they tried to include all the most popular cartoons main characters as it’s focused but as the game started to hit the end of their run the games got more and more focused on making SpongeBob the main focus witch is kinda sad they went that way)

Like I live in Australia 🇦🇺 and grew up in Australia 🇦🇺 so not all the nicktoons shows or games made it to here or were not advertised much other here ( also like most Australian families didn’t have foxtel networks like Cartoon Network or Nickelodeon; like in mine it was enithr have internet cable or tv cable and we went with having internet cable so would end up watching Danny phantom on YouTube as well as watching others game play of nicktoons unite games on there as well; think I enjoyed watching the cut scenes most)

So my guess that commenter didn’t really get to see Danny phantom cartoons ever being as here in Australia most of us got to watch Nickelodeon cartoons through abc kids channel here a lot of fairly odd parents cartoons made it on there and I think jimmy Timmy power hour made it onto there

(I was obsessed with cartoons as a kid and became obsessed with anime as a teenager; those both became a hyperfixtion for my adhd brain and I can tell you kid and teenager me REALLY hated those reality TV shows that got into way of cartoons/ anime I wanted to watch

I hated those sidcoms that were not cartoons because they stated to replace cartoons I enjoyed on other free to air channels here in Australia

Think I wasn’t the only kid who hated those I remember abc kids network asking it’s kid fans what they wanted on the network and a lot were asking for anime content so not many wanted those sitcoms)

So my guess is they only knew a handful of the nicktoons because probably only got to see only a handful of the cartoons from where they were from (what I do know Australia got SpongeBob on channel 10 network in the mornings I believe; not sure wasn’t as into SpongeBob as many others were I was more into fairly odd parents; invader zim; a very beavers cat dog Rugrats and Aaaahhh! Real monsters!

Ok now that I think about it it was abc kids and channel ten that would air Nickelodeon cartoons/shows to Australian audiences one would do mornings or Saturday mornings while the other would do afternoons after school

You had to get the times just right to watch your favourite shows

And I know jimmy neutron did well here because his movie did make it here as did fairly odd parents because that ended up showing until like seasons 6-7 on abc kids in afternoons then just stopped so kids knew about those cartoons heck avatar last air bender ended up on that network as well for a time but the thing was invader Zim and Danny phantom didn’t end up on either of those free to air tv; you had to watch on YouTube or a friend would have dvd box set of the show and you could watch it from them (that’s how as a teenager I got to see invader zim and Danny phantom I had to go to YouTube for that)

So maybe that’s why half don’t understand Danny’s family/ friends got his back while many misunderstood how Timmy’s life truly sucked for him or why he needed Wanda & Cosmo

They may not of gotten many episodes to go off on and maybe what other fans have told them or maybe I’m overthinking things

[obitobi-simp]

Jonin obito Au but obito is still a freak

Imagen obito manages to free himself from madara by going inbetween that chidori and being there earlyer he get's coma but he lives

Memory ussus and a lot of CPTSD he's fine anyone woud think he's normal now but he isn't

He's legaly still dead cuz no one ABSOLUTLY NO ONE wants to deal with the absurd amount if paiper work so he legaly is still dead and he abuses the heck out of it and will bring it up every opertunaty he gets

Ppl don't notice he's a freak untill he starts open his mouth and say some wierd fucked up shit like as if he's talking about the waether

Obito: Yaeh the uchiha massacer was wild i got there in time to watch that shit go dowen i was so glad to always have popcorn in kamui

Sasuke : so you didn't nothing while this happned

Obito: sasuke pls i'd never and I didn't do nothing i sat there and watched it while eating popcorn and thinking ' damm didn't know bodys coud move like that'

Sasuke: WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD INSTAD

Obito : many reson ig ? I mean legaly speaking i actuly am dead alrady Oh also i can phase through things and can't realy kill what can't be hit yk

He has nughtmares about " an ugly stinky old witch very ugly and stinky"

Whoever thought giving him 3 genin kids to look after is just as mentaly deranged as obito but dw kakashi us there too cuz legaly it's his team and oh damage controll cuz obito get's urges to be an unhinged problem if he doesn't take his meds and therapy( his therapists need therapists and or are scared of this sweetie with 42 underling mental issus cuz ge's tottaly normal most of the time exept when he isn't)

He's very sweet happy and still a stalker but he has a heart of gold an wierd 10 tailed mini dog thing with 1 eye and a spiral thingy that showes up from time to time obito doesn't know what these things are or where they are from but since they pass the vibe cheack they can stay

Wierd shit happnes to him atlest once a week

Imagen this obito meets the other obitos somehow the convo they have in my head

They all magicly aper on the battlefiel of the 4th shinobi war

Jonin obito on the 4GNWW with other obito variation : WHAT THE HECK WHY DIES THIS WIERD SHIT ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME I PROB STARTED A WAR IN MY PREV LIFE OR SOMTHING

White haired (unhinged completly lost it and gave up on sainaty) obito : uhh abt that So who wants to tell him ? 🙂

Tobi: ughh-

All obitos : SHUT THE FUCK UP TOBI NO ONE CARES

(Any obito): not only that (casuly lists all massacers and acts of terrorisem he comitted and or was involved in) 😐

Jonin obito : yaeh sounds like somthing i woud do in theses situations🤔 what why are you all I all ? staring

War arc obito : i fucking hate you go kill yourself or somthing 😠

Jonin obito : Hey what the heck did i do ? ALSO I'M YOU LIKE WTF ?!

White haired obito that got more sane after the war: well we coud just blame everything on trauma but thanx to you fucking asshole we now gotta face the realaty with the fact we are just inhersntly insane with or without being manipulated into it thank

Tobi : wow they hate you more then me

Silance...

Madara finaly : WHAT IN THE EORLD IS GOING ON ?! I HAVE A FEW QUESTIONS?!

Jonin obito jumping on his AU kakashi shoulders : AGAAAAAA THE UGLY WITCH FROM MY NIGHTMEARS

The obito thst actuly was in the muddelvifxthe war he started (maby canon obito idk) : yaeh i have a question. My wuestion no 1 is why is other mes hair white ?

Anyone tbh but in my head it's either naruto or kakashi: THAT'S THE QUESTION YOU CHOSE TO ASK IN THIS SITUATION ? There are a lot of things that need answers and you chose to ask /focus on about your fucking haircolour ?! And not like why there are multiple diffret versions of you (and maby kakashi idk kamui shenanigans ig?)

Obito : hey that's a resonoble question cuz last time i cheacked my hair is black

Kakashi: AND LAST TIME I CHAECKED YOU WHERE DEAD

Jonin obito : if it helps i'm legaly speaking still dead

Any obito : that's on you honestly i'm suprised at the shit i got away with

kakashi : TFYM?

Any obito: wait so you actuly never noticed me sitting 3 meters behind you in a bush?

Another obito: or in your Apartment?

Anther obito : oh funny story i'm pretty shure he tottaly saw me that 1 time baised on eye contact but he prob thought i was a hallucination idk (was feeling bored and daering that day/night)

another kakashi apering and smaking one of the white haired obitos in the head with porn: WHAT THE HELL OBITO I LEFT YOU ALONE FOR 5 MIN ?!

That obito : i got bored okay

Kk eye twitching: realy ? You did ? WHEN I SAY DON'T COMMIT TERRORISEM ON THIS PLANET IT WASN'T AN INVITATION FOR YOU TO BECOME A SPACE PIRATE AND BULLY SOME ALIAN GODS (otsosuki) AND EHEN U SAY STOP BULLING ALIAN GODS IT ISN'T AN INVITATION FOR YOU TO DO THIS WHOLE TIMLINE MESSY THINGY LIKE HOW TF DID YOU EVEN DO THIS ? I WAS JUST ON THE TOILETTE FOR 5 MIN ?

That obito : in my defense your instructions weren't very clear and i was bored and i don't like boering why'the heck you think i started a war ? I was bored and wanted shit to finnaly happen

kakashi: DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW TO SPELL consequences?

Obito: . In all honesty you want to know a secret ?most of the shit i do is for keeping me intertained of cuz being " normal " is boering and i don't like boreing i only do the shit i know i get away with anyways it's no big deal but to answer you question it's C O N S E N T

Kks: WRONG that's how you spell consent but i'll let it slid cuz that's importaint too

Ob: realy ? I was messing up on purpose iym a genius

Kk: ...yaeh for that and not like idk inventing time travle but who cares clean that shit up and bring everyone of you back where you shoud be

Ob: i coud do that or Or hear me out i do it completly random and we are gonna watch what happened next ?

Kks: is this gonna affect or timeline in any way shape or form ?

Ob: no not all why ?

Kk okay fine 2 days then you have to make everything normal agin

Ob : only if you buy me dango

Kk: fine let's go get this done with

Litterly everyone completly baffled exepf obito

War arc obito : what ? I've seen wierder shit happen

N: LIKE WHAT COUD PSSABLY BE WIERDER THEN THIS SHIT THAT JUST HAPPEEN ?

obito ignores everything related to that trying to gaslight everyone that was just a filler episide

[demonkinguwu]

FANFICTION PROGRESS

This is an update since I'm back in a mental space where I can start writing again. [A bit of my personal thoughts at the end] I am continuing all of my current fics, none will be abandoned but some will be on a long hiatus before I get to them, so I'm sorry for the delay on those, but I'll most likely fix the aus they are based on. Now for the statuses of those:

The Witch Bride and The Groom Ghost: I will most definitely be finishing this one in the next coming year, I have been plotting it out and have all the chapter drafts finished. However, I will most likely be moving the chapter upload from once a week to once every two weeks due to the chapter length [boy they are long jdsknf] and my work schedule picking up. Art will added later on.

Subcon Waltz: This will most likely take a while for me to revisit, mostly because I am plotting out the chapters and reworking most of it, no drafts have been done as of yet but I have a pretty good idea of where the story is headed. Plus this has been a story I've been wanting to get back to since it's been in the works for so long, it's a nice mix of the fairytale tropes, horror, and that good old Subcon dark humor lol. I really come to love it :>

How To Be a Loving Family: This is definitely one that will take me the longest to get back to work with due to the amount of rework that I'll do with the AU. A lot of it going to change from what I had in mind but it's for the sake of feeling comfortable with it. That said, once again, the current chapters will be reworked a little at a later point once I have a clear idea of the reworked AU.

I'm also working on 2 new fics not yet to be announced but they're being worked on behind the scenes on occasion. Thank you so much for sticking with me on these, your kudos and comments are appreciated!

A bit of a personal journey with writing these fics

Last year hit me pretty hard, I experienced big-time burnout. I wasn't really capable of doing much that I felt I like doing artwise, especially with writing. I only did doodles on discord but aside from the occasional post, not much else.

Back then, rereading my old writing, my old rps from the old servers I was in, I just cringed at how bad I was. I don't consider myself a good writer, heck even now I'm so-so on my writing, but reading back on my old stuff, man I feel like I kissed a lemon dkjnfddf I was pretty bad and writing felt off to me since then. I did still do private oneshots but I couldn't get back to writing these series. The thing about the Hat Mom AU and the Subcon Waltz AU fics being felt in the dust was that I wasn't as invested in A hat in time much, it was just a mix of my hyperfixation on the series dying off, the fics not being ironed and plotted out properly [Literally didn't plan a thing on Subcon Waltz and just winged it out impluse] and the fandom drama had drained me [Yeah, remember the whole Vanessa hating asks I got? Yeah those certainly didn't help with my mood at the time]

The only reason I got back into writing at all was due to how invested I grew in TGOGM but it didn't have that many fics at the time so I decided to throw my hat into the ring with my own au. By then I learned how to properly plan out chapters and writing and remembered I was just doing this for fun, I wasn't being paid to do this so I could take my time with this.

Eventually, I applied this mindset to my other fics and aus once I got back into ahit, these are my aus/fics, I can rewrite them if I don't like them. So that's what I'm doing right now, just taking the hammer, smashing stuff and just fixing them into something I like. Because at the end of the day, I'm not really a popular artist nor have a grand story everyone is invested in, I'm just a silly little creator with my own silly ideas that I choose to share with the world. If they like it, then poggers!!! I will cry and sob for weeks over a nice comment dkjnfds If not, well, I like this, and maybe one day someone else will too :>

I know this is long but I just needed to share my thoughts out there alongside telling you guys they're not dead, they're just being fixed with the hammer lol :> If you read this far, thank you for reading this madness fdnjf I'll try to get these to a place a like while taking my time in doing so uwu

[s12-kittie]

The devil works hard but my neurodivergency works harder.

Tag game:

Into the unknown but make it epic

Red Fountain Affair

What the heck is that 6

All of them? As if I should feel challenged.

With love ofc

Thanks for asking!!

"Into The Unknown But Make It Epic" is already finished and published in here, but here's a brief summary anyway:

The Trix wait for Jade (OC) in the Gloomywood forest, bc Jade had promised them a deal. How did they believe her words?? They didn't. They just decided to take the magic of Jade's friend, Daisy. But the trix failed to do it, and due to, ahem, circumstances they had to accept the deal

Red Fountain Affair

In short words: Ruby steals a wind rider, together with her new friend, Elly. And ofc both of them get into trouble

The only thing written here is this:

What The Heck Is That 6

Bold of you to assume I remember what's in there lol

Ah yes, Jade almost being killed bc she decided to fight alone against four adult witches. You hit a jack-pot! ^^

Here's most of what I've written

Thanks again for the ask ^^

[aries-rp-corner]

Deep within her slumber, memories surfaced within Dimah’s mind. A familiar soft voice echoed as her memory cleared… It was Mira! Having a very concerning expression on her face…

“Are you certain that you and Sage wish to do this? We can’t afford anymore risks… we finally found what we were looking for.” Mira spoke worriedly, causing Dimah to sprout up with confidence.

“Heck yeah we got this! If I have to, I’ll do it all by myself!” The girl smiled big, while Sage rolled her eyes. “Besides, I want to at least give something to this Ghetsis guy! A mark will at least do!”

Mira looked hesitant at first, but caved in upon seeing the Commander’s confidence… reminding her so much of Kane’s when he first started out. “Oh… all right… but please be very careful! I don’t want anything happening to you…”

“Pssh! I’ll be fine! I can do this! You don’t have to look out for me that much now! C’mon Sage! We got work to do!” Dimah cheerfully spoke, as she and her fellow commander began their mission… but before leaving, Dimah looked back to Mira one last time as she gave a big smile, and Mira retuning her’s back… but that’s when the rest of her memories rushed back. The attack, the attempted escape… and… Strings?… She remembered being coiled by them, as they were squeezing her will into submission while dragging Dimah herself into the cold Abyss…

“Gah!!” The woman awoke in a panic while gasping and coughing for air. Believing she had crashed into cold water… thankfully it was a dream… unfortunately she slowly began to feel an familiar cold atmosphere. Trying to open her eyes at first was agony, due to feeling her head pounding with pain. “Ouch… What ever that jerk did… does it really have to hurt my head?… Ow..” She carefully opened her eyes to see a pale light hitting her, combined with shadows…

“WHA-?!” Dimah gasped as she rolled to her knees, and thanks to her surprised adrenaline she is able to view her situation…

“Oh… Ooh… Shoot…” She nervously and angrily exhaled, studding her new environment to figure out how to escape again. Looking down to see her protective armor chest piece and power gauntlets are gone. Without her chest piece, her remaining armor won’t last that long without a power source. “Of course they’ll take those away… but… Where are my…?” Dimah noticed her Pokémon team were gone as well, even her Murkrow. It honestly struck her the hardest, but there was no time for that for now she has to plan her escape. Hopefully after she gets out, she’ll find her missing armor and get her Pokémon back…

Carefully getting up as she looked around to see if there was anyone in the room with her, while she steadily began to dig into her inner belt to get a pin out…“I know what will happen if that Guy or the Witch makes me talk… after that, I’ll be a popsicle or worse that’s for sure… my fate won’t end here…!” She quietly huffed as began to pick her bind, while having an earshot to whoever comes in or whoever is here…

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Hibbing 911: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: A case brings you all the way to South Dakota where Jody Mills and Donna Hanscum are. Jody has to remember not to mention that your kids are with her in fear of what you might do with that information.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Sam and Dean head over to the rooms where the cops are staying and easily find room 304. Sam jimmies the lock open and barges in, not expecting to see anyone inside. However, Jody and Donna are, and the blonde jumps out of her skin when she sees Jody pull out a machete.

"What the heck is that for?!" Donna gasps at Jody.

"Y/N told us what was going on."

"Sheriff Cuse is a vampire."

"She just pulled out a machete," Donna says at the same time as Jody.

"Donna saw his teeth."

"What the cuss?! A vampire?!" Donna cries out.

"Shh, lady, the grown-ups are talking," you say. Dean slaps your arm and you pull back with a frown. "Ow!"

"You promised to behave."

"Sorry Donna," you roll your eyes.

"I don't think you meant that."

"Do you want to give her the talk?" Dean asks Jody.

"Yeah, we'll meet you out there."

You, Sam, and Dean give the two women some time to talk everything through. Jody is going over monster after monster so it takes some time for Donna to wrap her head about this. When they're done, they meet you three outside in the parking lot.

"Are you good?"

"Wait. So, when we were at the weight-loss spa--"

"Monsters. Sucking on your fat. We took care of them."

"Ah, jeez. I knew losing ten pounds that fast was too good to be true." She turns to you. "You're a witch?"

"Ex-witch."

"You're soulless?"

"You're perceptive."

Donna takes out a piece of paper from her jacket and hands it to Sam. It has an address on it that she got from the room.

"Here. Maybe this is where Sheriff Vampire went."

"It could be anything." Sam takes out his phone and puts the address into his maps. "What's there?"

"It looks like it's an old farm outside of town."

"It could be something," Dean shrugs.

"It's the only lead we got," Donna says.

"We? With all due respect, Sheriff, vampires are far more dangerous than the Johns you throw in jail. You're gonna sit this one out."

"Stuff you, Dean!" Dean's eyebrows raise in shock. "Or whatever your real name is."

"Hanscum's good."

"Jody--"

"I said she's good," she cuts your husband off.

"Don't blame us when she dies. It's on you, Miller," you say and walk to the car.

Everyone piles into the car, leaving the two brothers in the front and all the ladies in the back. You're squished between both of them but it beats being stuck between two Winchesters. You're looking at the road in front of you but you can feel Donna's eyes on you the entire time.

"Stop staring at me," you finally say and look at her.

"You were much nicer at the spa."

You choose not to say anything to this. You really don't want to hear about it from Sam or Dean. It takes Dean thirty minutes to get to the farm where they grab their weapons from the trunk.

"If you're gonna swing, swing hard. Heads gotta roll with vamps," Dean says and hands her a machete.

"Got it," she nods.

You advance toward the barn and peek through one of the windows. Sheriff Cuse is sitting at a desk doing something. You look back at Sam and Dean and nod twice to let them know he's inside and when you look back, he's gone. Two seconds later, his head pops into view and you jump back in shock.

"Run!" he warns.

Before you know it, you're hit on the back of the head by something hard, causing you to fall to the ground knocked out. When you wake up, you're tied to a wooden pillar inside the barn. Sam and Dean are tied up next to you, Donna is tied to some tractor machine, and Jody is tied to a chair.

The youngest one who looks like a hippy chick walks over to Dean and runs her hands down his chest. He struggles to get away from her but she just laughs.

"It's all love, pretty boy. All of you will become all of us. We won't waste one bit."

"Okay, Mufasa, enough with the 'Circle of Life' shit. You're a vampire. You're scum. End of story." She runs her hands down his body and starts to remove his belt. "Yeah, I'm not in the mood."

"It's not enough that you kill people. You've got to rob them, too?" Jody asks.

"We scavenge. We don't sip and go. We use every part of the buffalo." Hippy Chick looks at you and notices the necklace you have on that represents your first daughter. She slinks up to your side and touches the jewel. "Pretty necklace."

"Don't you touch that!" Dean shouts.

Hippy Chick smirks and yanks the necklace off your neck.

"Take it. I don't care about it," you shrug.

"Starr, please, let them go," Sheriff Cuse begs. "I helped you out. I ditched that video of Catfish killing that man."

"We didn't want favors, Len. We wanted you," she glares.

"What use am I now? I don't even kill people. I'm on bagged blood."

"I beg your pardon? I saw you with your vampire face standing over Sheriff Goodhill!" Donna accuses.

"No, I found her," he stutters. "I smelled her blood. I couldn't help myself. My fangs came out but I didn't bite her."

"Aren't you a hero?" Dean scoffs.

"It's your nature to eat people. A vampire who doesn't feed is like a tiger eating salad. We're not gonna stop, Len. We'll take down every person in your sweet, little Hibbing till you come back to the nest."

"Why do you want him so badly? What did he do for you?"

"Len found me crying on the curb after my daddy kicked me out. I got in Len's van and the rest is wavy gravy."

"What, Len's like your Charlie Manson?" Jody asks.

"Charlie couldn't hold a candle to Len. He taught us everything. It was liberating. Then one day he's gone. We only found him because he got his picture in some newspaper for running a police retreat, of all things. You didn't just go straight. You became a damn cop. Now, that is wild, man. Are you feeling dirty, Len? Because we're about to have ourselves a bloodbath."

"Don't you want to know why I left?"

"I know why. You got boring."

"I got a conscience. Prey that begged for their lives... It was like even if I used every part of what I taught you, it's still wrong."

"You walked away?" Sam asks.

"I tried to protect people after so many years of gutting them. That's why I'm here. I'll join your bloody caravan if it means you won't kill these people."

"We aren't killing anyone. You are."

"You don't have to do this," Jody begs.

"Kiss my ass," Len glares.

"We love you, brother, but we don't know who you are anymore." Starr takes one of the machetes and beheads Len. "Can't say we didn't try."

While they were talking, Donna and Dean had been trying to get free of their binds. Your husband breaks free and swipes one of the machetes to attack the vampires. He is too skilled for the vampire to react to his attack, so he didn't see him coming... literally.

One of the male vampires hisses and charges after Dean just as Donna breaks free. She grabs a machete and starts swinging. Between the two of them, they are able to kill all the vampires inside the barn including Hippy Chick.

"Hakuna Matata, lady," Donna smirks as she slices Hippy Chick's head off.

"Now, that's what I'm talking about!" Dean smiles.

You, Sam, and Jody are released from your binds. All of them leave the barn to start the clean-up process while you stay behind. You watch them get far enough away from you before you look at Hippy Chick's body. Dean cleans off one of the machetes when he notices you're not with them. He frowns and walks back to the barn and peeks inside to see what you're doing.

You walk around her body before kneeling next to it. You reach inside her pocket and pull out the necklace she ripped off your neck. You stare at it for what seems like hours when it's only been seconds. You stand up and place the necklace back around your neck.

"Don't ever touch this again," you glare at her body.

Dean can't help but feel at peace when he sees this. He doesn't think no one is ever completely soulless. When Sam didn't have his soul, he felt like some part of it was still stuck inside of him. It was a small part otherwise he'd have killed Dean the second they met again. He truly believes some part of your soul is still stuck inside your body. Memories of the past are still stuck inside your head, and he believes that if they worked hard enough, they can influence you to do good.

You're in there somewhere. He just has to get that part of you out.

He leaves the bar before you see him and rejoins Sam's side. Donna and Jody are at the front of the car while the brothers are standing by the trunk.

"Are you okay?"

"Other than feeling like I want to hurl, sure. I just chopped off a vampire's head."

"You were great at that," Jody smiles.

"Thanks. I don't know, knowing that these things are out there makes the world seem bigger... darker." 

"You know, if you want any pointers on how to fight this crazy shit, I'm willing to fill you in on what kills what."

"I'd like that," Donna smiles.

"Are you okay?" Sma asks his brother.

"Yeah. You know, for the first time I've been back, I didn't feel like the Mark was pushing me."

"First time?"

"All I know is, back there, killing those vamps... I felt like me again."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, that's step one. We'll take it day by day."

Everyone but Dean finishes up and piles into the car. Dean looks around for you and finds you leaning against a tree in thought. You look at the necklace and rub your thumb across the jewel. 

One of the nurses brings your daughter wrapped in a pink blanket. She isn't crying anymore, but she is hungry and desperate for her mother's affection.

"Here you go," the nurse smiles and lays her in your arms.

You just sob in happiness at finally feeling her in your arms. She has a beautiful head of hair, and you can only imagine what it's going to look like once it grows out. Her eyes are a dull blue, but they will get their color in a few months. Freckles softly dance across her cheeks and nose just like her father has. She is perfect in every sense of the word.

"Hi, baby. You're my little angel," you cry and finally give her, her very first kiss on the head. "I'm your mommy."

"I'm your daddy," Dean says emotionally from right next to you.

"She's absolutely gorgeous. Do you have a name for her yet?" the nurse who brought her to you asks.

"Joanna Beth Winchester."

"Are you coming?"

Dean's voice pulls you away from a memory of the past.

"It's about time," you sigh. "I thought you were going to chick flick moment forever."

Just like that, the past stays in the past.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[blackdigitalrose]

Sat - Delicious Party♡Precure -EP 32 - 34

Recipeppi, I swear this word keeps tripping me up and this is suppose to be a kids show -.-'' It may well join the outlandish word choices along with effervescent.

EP 32

Not even five minutes in and swiftly reminded on how trippy this series can be.

Does that mean Pam Pam is the fairy of sandwiches and Kome Kome of rice balls?? Is that how it works? Seems like rather underwhelming titles but considering the overall theme of the series, I suppose it checks out.(Also, egads! Mem Mem getting screentime! It only almost 30 eps.) Babysitter Mem Mem (not the first time mind you) but how does a Recipeppi go missing?

I don't know why this comes as such a surprise or why you don't see it more often? Although, it was nice touch that due to Mem Mem being tired and drained prior, it affected how powerful Yum Yum was in battle. (Not that it was much of a fight in this ep but more of a pep rally between Yum Yum and Mem Mem).

The one casually with a drink included is more amusing than it should be XD. Still that brings up a lot of unanswered questions about Kumamon/ The bear ??? Seriously, what's its deal and can it see Recipeppi's to? The ending kinda suggests it can?

EP 33

This feels so out of season >.< but I won't say no to a Halloween ep!

This response seems rather belated? Why trigger after he's caught? Should this have not been an arc while he was about to openly taunt her and she was still wrestling the idea on if she could really be a Precure?

I was not expecting to see this place again, guess its a default occasion store now but admire how Oshi-na town does in fact actually have something that isn't a cafe/restaurant or food cart of some sort.

This ep settles that then, the Parfait Receieppi really is her fairy partner o.O it doesn't exactly tie into the other three but at least she has something. However, it does make this fall out rather unique.

Aww, this one is quite funky, look at it's little witches hat! Wonder what it does for the rest of the year though if it's a Halloween special item?

Such varied gets ups! The fairies as ghosts XD simple but quite fitting considering they can float to but why isn't it night? The atmosphere just isn't there when you show it in, what looks like the middle of the day.

And I have absolutely no idea what today's utensil was, the attacks didn't clear it up either ??? But just Grace casually listening in to Amane's and Parfait's rather personal conversation just because they needed a fairy around to act as translator.

Parfait for best companion!

EP 34

Ok, seriously now, what is with this guy and shopping? Why writers? At least he's a live, this is the first you've heard of him in quite a few eps now. Ooh, Takumi's mum is being suspicious, wonder why they'd bring up Mari's master this late in though?

To one heck of an escalation, poor Takumi, guy just got shot down by Yui's obliviousness to.

Although, this baseball game has just about everyone in it, even Amane's brothers are taking part.

I don't think daily exercise really justifies being able to jump over an adult male, even if Takumi is on the taller side.

Admittedly it was hard to tell at first but huzzah, they showed him with the protection like the Precure get. (Just got use to him being overlooked at this point, despite the audience knowing who he is.)

Honestly, their actual Precure attacks are so rare, I couldn't tell you the name of any of them.

Out the six, I do think this is the strongest contender for fave so far despite its flaws, the cast are fun, even the nothing eps don't drag and their always seems to be something to talk about but darn have the fights become so lack luster. Appear, dodge or shield, one hit, finisher...and they were so creative before!

[sapphicslaylist]

On Borrowed Paths Chapter 13 - Death of the Author

Start Prev Next

Making amends with an ally hundreds of times your size is never easy, but despite it all compassion prevails. The stakes are much higher with a restless soul who’s lived through more than enough of life’s senseless cruelties — and it may take more than begging for absolution to regain her trust at last.

[This chapter is heavy. I highly recommend giving the beginning notes a read before proceeding.]

Tws: This chapter directly alludes to real life events of genocide, including the witch trials, human medical experimentation, and Holocaust-era propaganda & censorship. I am a generational survivor myself, and have taken the time and care in portraying their fictional counterparts in a respectful and appropriate manner.

Divinity had one advantage: no path was taken entirely alone. The Voices served as their own designated parliament, with every Wild Her a new conversation. And, of course, that left Thorn to be next on the chopping block.

“You know how They are; They come and go as needed.” Spectre’s words were a guiding reminder as Thorn made her way from the dining room to kitchen. There was a small “dog door” which led to the back porch; it has been one of the places Smitten had pointed out in case of emergency, designed for use by the Chimeras. Thorn took her turn to duck out of the flap with ease, the stinging chill of the moonlit air hitting heavy in her lungs. 

These woods had ears. Twenty-five of them, in fact. And while four of those staunchly preyed against her, Thorn knew the remainder of them were much pickier on choosing their time to pounce. Even without reopened wounds, the Network served as its own blood trail; friend or foe, they would find her.

Talons, tails, and padded feet had made their way along the wooden slats. The menagerie plodded onwards, revealing itself one at a time. With nine of them present and this many opinions, discussion could easily last the rest of the night. Better to get on with it.

Thorn padded through the onslaught of bared teeth, sighs, and head shakes towards a more familiar ally; with a sole notched ear and missing hind leg, this reddish raccoon was recognizable by his sharp silhouette alone. Cheated’s step was tender despite frustration as he pawed forward, using his crooked tail as an aid for what his other limbs were lacking. This cynical fellow was patient, unlike his other kin; he had no other goals in mind besides assessing all of the damage done, and what to do about it. He didn’t like seeing anyone slighted.

“I see someone else is shit out of luck,” he mumbled, his voice maligned into an almost sneer. “Tongue got the cat this time?” The slight cockney snip was always a pleasant respite from the farce of tranquility, giving Thorn a nudge. Out of all the Voices, they understood one another’s circumstance the most. Several of the woodland guides had placed their own trials to her in proving ‘worthiness’ for the throne, but he was one of the few who’d been played by circumstance with his own introduction. The bear trap from a near decade ago had been challenging and costly to get him out of, but worth it.

His leg might argue otherwise.

Thorn quirked a brow in response, almost playful. “I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that. Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

The raccoon shrugged. “It would seem so. You know, you’re the only one I’ve ever seen relieved when I show up,” Cheated noted. “Most everyone goes ‘bloody fantastic; there’s the rotten bastard. What is it this time?’ ” His own sliced-up hands raised for emphasis, before dropping them back down in front of him carefully. “As if I’m not being stabbed every time the wind shifts, too.”

“You show up after the situation goes south,” Thorn retorted lightly. “It’s not like you cause chaos.”

“Try telling that to any other Wild,” Cheated grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Heck, any one of Them. You won’t convince them.”

Redirecting her attention, Thorn bristled as the entourage circled round. “You’re certainly on time.”

“Early, actually,” Cheated shrugged. His tail wrapped around her now, splayed out unevenly at the end. “I didn’t want Them deciding on anything rash.”

“There you are.” Hero flitted over with a lift of his beak, interrupting with a polite nod. “Thank the Wilds; they’ve been impossible to stall.”

“I can imagine.” Thorn looked over to the familiar slinky form of the Opportunist, having a tense argument with the others. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you. What’s he after this time?”

“Invoking The Obsessed,” Hero sighed, nervously preening. “Seems to think that of all things is smart.”

Oh, of course he is! It’s just never going to end. Thorn grimaced, soothing the hostile dilation of her eyes before it breached. The voice in question had a distinctly… Adversarial relationship with her bloodline, and it’d only taken a childhood glance at the cordyceptic grizzly to etch him in her mind for decades.

‘Do not approach that one,’ her mother had instructed, pulling her away into an open sett. ‘He seeks to devour us all.’ Over time, she’d learned just how and why the taste of even one heiress had driven him to the breaking point. Talk about cutting to the chase.

“Is anyone actually surprised?” Keeping composure, Thorn let the fear drip off with a rattlesnake’s flick of her tail. “He’s been trying to gain control of the forest for years.”

“Never were,” Hero deadpanned. “He’s always been like this. Ahem, speaking of…” His eyes squinted uneasily, as though pre-mourning the question. “You’re back. Is he…?”

Hero’s head tilted sorrowfully towards the house. He had always been one who came and went to visit another, and now she knew who and where. It had been a good thing they’d gotten things settled; the corvid’s question was easily met with an understanding shake of her head.

“He’s fine. I wasn’t going to put him through that,” Thorn reassured, giving her own worried glance in that direction. “Probably still asleep; took a much larger dose than usual to get him to calm down. Might’ve slightly overdone it.” There was a grimace as she flicked the seeds off her own hands; the opium was more an obstacle now. She needed to stay vigilant. 

“Thank the Wilds.” Hero gave a heavy sigh of relief. “Knowing him, he would’ve passed out from shock alone if you hadn’t treated him for it. You did the right thing.”

“His heart rate is stable. Breathing shallow, but controlled.” An aquatic opossum slunk out through the pet door. His darkened pelt and webbed paws were slick with water and sweat, but maintained composure as he settled. Paranoid; ever faithful. “And he’s not alone. Everyone with a pulse seems to be doing alright for the moment.”

Everyone with a pulse. Great.

Paranoid gave a tilt of his head. “Still don’t understand how that other mark managed to take…” 

“Ghost blood is tricky.” A gruff, shackled rat jumped down from a stack of boxes to join the conversation. Another less familiar; this must be Skeptic. “That is, if we can even call it ‘blood.’ There shouldn’t be a mark, you know? That’s not how their souls are supposed to work.” 

Paranoid squinted, pelt bristling. “Why are you even here?”

 “I’ll be in and out. Have a delivery to make,” Skeptic spoke gruffly, nudging a yellow container. “They should really rename this stuff. It doesn’t really poison rats…”

“It doesn’t poison you,” Paranoid countered. “That’s different.”

“And you tell me not to look too far into things,” Skeptic laughed. “Shouldn’t do anything too bad for the kid, either.” Thorn didn’t need to press further, giving a slight roll of her eyes as the rat absconded. The current events were enough for Witch to harness sharper tonics.

“Ahem… In any case, you may want to brace yourself,” Paranoid uttered. “Things are… Tense in there.”

“But it sounds like ‘things’ out here are a little more urgent,” Cheated huffed. “I don’t think we’re negotiating an armistice back there.”

“No. We’re not.” Paranoid turned his head towards the crowd, slackening his jaw. “We’re doing what we can to get him off the subject—-“

“It’s not going to work unless I go over there.” Giving a bothered huff, Thorn allowed her feral expression to fade; a cordial necessity. Permitting the wily traits to remain unhindered in Quiet’s house was a blessing, but they were a proper threat to wildlife. “I’d appreciate it if you stay close, in case he strikes.”

“You’ve got to be bloody stupid if you think I’m letting him anywhere near you,” Cheated growled. “He’s outnumbered.”

Tensely, the trio stepped forward. Masking the scent of fear was more than challenging, especially with her current company coarse with adrenaline. But bit by bit, they approached the weasel, surrounded with the barks and uneasy shakes of half a dozen heads.

“Look, I don’t think you’re understanding,” the Opportunist chuckled, to Smitten’s disbelief. “I’m not saying that I would kill her—“

“Then what were you saying?” 

The sound of Thorn's voice made the weasel’s blood run cold. He’d bested her before, but that had been years before Beast and Hunted’s council. He would have to choose his words very carefully.

Tentatively, the Opportunist turned around to offer a sharp-jawed smile. “Ah! Your Majesty. Didn’t expect to see you around this early.” He was spluttering. “Just trying to offer solutions for, you know, this whole sigil thing,” he chuckled, twirling a forepaw. “Perhaps offer up an alternative vessel… Someone who doesn’t mind the whole ‘death strike’ thing. And I’m not saying I’m the only one willing to volunteer—“

Thorn did not speak an answer. A rising growl in her throat indicated enough.

“Well that’s a bit rude,” the Opportunist huffed. “Did I not save your backside at the palace? By the way I remember it, if I hadn’t intervened your life would’ve ended beneath a vintage stopper.”

“You ripped her apart,” Hero countered coldly. “I don’t think I have to explain how that’s worse.”

“Sacrifices had to be made,” the Opportunist bragged with a flick of his paw, “and she’s still quite alive, is she not?” His eyes set dangerously on Thorn’s, growling the latter words: “It isn’t my fault that someone wouldn’t pull off .”

Thorn felt her hackles raise. It was taking every instinct not to shield her hands from him once more.

“You damn well know that wasn’t what you were doing, you heathen.” Smitten’s coat bristled, raising his head to appear larger. “Trying to walk a path long forsaken — You make a fool of us.” The badger flicked his ears apologetically toward Thorn, padding over to flank her on the other side. “There are dozens of other solutions—“

“Oh, really? Start shooting, Lover Boy,” the Opportunist spat. “At least I’m doing something to offer up ideas opposed to this pathetic bodyguard routine—“

“I’ve got one!” Contrarian was next to speak, waving a silver tail excitedly. “I think we should take him on; this whole ‘Obsessed’ figure.” The enfield was one of the youngest council members, arriving to the table in Thorn’s own lifetime. Foolhardy and playful as any imp, but not as naive as he seemed; his suggestions were always hit or miss. But when they hit, they hit. “That old bear has been through quite a lot, and it’s obvious the solution isn’t making another strangled vessel stuck in metaphysical limbo. So why don’t we avoid doing that, go into those woods and just cut Her out of him? Spare them both from that bullshit.”

… Oookay. Clearly not one of his better ideas.

Cheated balked. “And why on earth would we do that?!”

“Well, you know,” Contrarian shrugged, “there has to be a time when —“

The rest of the conversation was inaudible. An eruption of barks and yips had taken place of common sense, turning the cordial meeting into frightening unceremony. The howling permeated walls, rousing Quiet reluctantly from sleep. Heavy wings opened slowly, glancing at his right hand’s welcoming chill as it slipped from fingertips to forearm.

“Finally awake? You certainly are a heavy sleeper, Killer.” That same marital affection was clear in Spectre’s teasing words, trailing along the edge of his nervous system. One by one nerves took in the stimulus, before settling just before his brain stem.

“Yeah; passed out,” Quiet admitted with a sheepish growl. “By the Wilds… that was an adventure.”

Spectre acknowledged him with a blink. “Seems like you’re doing better.”

“Kind of.” Passively, Quiet allowed the remaining petals to drop with a turn of his hand. “I doubt this is over. But at the very least, she’s aware of what she’s done. She’s trying. ” A finger brushed the edge of his scalp, the fresh scar of the Wild laden in the other palm. “Something tells me you’re next to bat.”

“Is that so?” A mischievous flicker befell Spectre’s eyes as she glided up to him. “Shame; I don’t think we have that axe anymore.” Tiny hands hovered to cup Quiet’s chin, giving a giggle. “But I’m sure I have something that’ll do the trick.”

Quiet leaned into her touch and her words. He’d long since gotten used to her threatening whimsy. “I’m sure you do.” His head swiveled towards the far side of the kitchen, bewildered. “Where did she go, by the way?”

“The back porch.” 

Quiet twisted around to the sound of whetstone, watching Witch passively sharpen her blade by the edge of the table. Her ears were pinned; tail passively lashing as she regarded Quiet. Upset, but not at him. “She needed a breather after everything.” Then, a little pointedly in Thorn’s direction: “It’s quite a gathering out there. Wonder what rule breaks happened to warrant that many of them.”

The Voices. Even without approaching, Quiet caught sight of Hunted’s antlers, and heard the barking of Smitten as he tried to keep their peskier companionship back. Judging on what he could hear of the conversation, the weasel’s foliage was beginning to make a little more sense.

Spectre eyed the scene passively, giving a disappointed click of her tongue. “Unfortunate, but not unexpected,” she tutted. “ Seems they’re having some trouble with bloodlust; I think this one’s my call.” With a small hum, Spectre placed a long kiss along the corvid’s feathers that trailed down Quiet’s beak. “You should get ready for bed; I’ll join you once things are settled.”

And thus she flitted to the back porch without a trace, watching covertly in the shadows. If intervention was needed, she’d be ready. 

“Alright, alright - everyone, back up.” Tiny ears folded back against Smitten’s head, giving a huff. His squat body blocked her view. “We’re not going to get anything accomplished like this.”

“I didn’t need him to come in to begin with,” growled Cheated, eyeing the weasel with contempt. “We all know he’s bad news.”

“I did offer another suggestion —“ Contrarian settled reluctantly as the raccoon bristled.

“We’re not slaying the fucking bear,” Cheated snapped. “We’re dealing with him, not running off on some whimsical adventure.” Cheated’s fur had grown more bristled, jumping in agitation. It was then that Opportunist’s slunk-back nature broke, padding forward with bared teeth. Cheated, cordially, bared his right back.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I’m bad news? You really are one to talk.” The weasel gave an indignant snarl, placing a paw to his chest as he looked over from Cheated to Thorn. As Smitten advanced to place himself in front, the look was not returned by either.

“I think she’s got plenty of reason to hate you,” Hero grumbled.

“ She can hate me all she likes,” the Opportunist sneered. “Either way, it doesn’t change the fact the alternative was much worse. Surely you all don’t see me as that bad…”

All the other voices turned their heads away.

“I had this handled just fine on my own,” Cheated grumbled. “But then all of you had to come in after—“

“You’re not the only one who has a say in this, you know.” A reddish boar tilted his head dismissively; Adversary’s usual opponent. “Ignore him. He’s just talking for talk’s sake.” 

“At least I’m offering up suggestions!”

“Ahem, you’re not the only—“

“ Save it.” Cheated barked a clear warning, cutting off the chattery fox.

The Opportunist rolled his eyes. “Moving on. If you don’t like that one? I know we have have plenty of alternatives. But it all comes down to this.” The weasel felt the stiff bristle along Thorn’s tail as he approached. His glance flitted behind Smitten’s paw almost threateningly. “ You need a vessel. Your precious Chosen One is a little deep into the woods for that, and the two you made your entourage don’t want that honor. Rather wasted, if you ask me…” The weasel paused for a moment, opening taloned hands. Tentatively, Thorn reached forward; a slice of elven claws burst forward, carving their mark along old roots.

“Gyah! Feisty today, aren’t you?”

“I thought I made my answer clear. You don’t really think I’m that stupid, do you?” As the weasel slunk closer, unsteady laughter broke from the fanged jaws of the Borrower. Thorn had mirrored his body language to a stand on all fours, tail swept forward, claws threatening their way to his throat as the pair circled. “Clearly you haven’t learned from the last time one of you got claimed. Or have you forgotten how that left them?”

“The cycle of dual parasitism is not one I recommend.” Hunted, who’d kept his peace, raised an antlered head. “They are living off each other when neither has much to give. It’s mere immortality which keeps the one from starving out the other.”

“Yeah, no; can we not eat the Heiress?” The nausea in Hero’s voice was palpable. “That was really out of line. The woods haven’t been the same since.”

“That fucker really thought it would work. I tried to warn him,” Cheated scoffed. “But of course, he thought he’d win against Her. Surely paying a good sum for that preemptive melding.”

Oppy ignored them, waving a paw. “Gossip is a bit unbecoming, don’t you think? I’m sure he’d love to hear your… constructive criticism.”

Thorn didn’t have to see anything more than the monstrous silhouette from the bushes: a ravenous, dripping maw obscured by dozens of scratches from his failed hunts of countless heirs. Scars pelted body along back and neck, illuminated by cordyceps and other parasitic mycelium. The veiny roots of the Wild halfway slunk across limbs and underside - and those ribs poked out partway, tangled in the gnarled vines of The Devoured. And those eyes… those eyes and their piercing white glow rivaled even Quiet’s with their intensity. Left to his own devices, he’d come back again - hungry for more.

“I can smell you.”

The words were even more sharp and ragged than Beast’s. Despite the attempt to keep it back, Thorn knew he could sense the dam begin to break under coursing adrenaline. Nearly every creature bristled in defense, as if preparing to land the damning blow. But this ursine knew the Wild’s scent well enough to pick her out each and every time, no matter the cycle. They were outrivaled by that strength; they’d need to find a better way forward.

Thorn didn’t even get to think. A swift, sharp pull nullified it all, fractalizing her insides with ice.

Spectre. It had to be. The cold grip held much more contempt than usual, but not violence; Thorn dared not move as the phantom took hold. She didn’t need to look to be able to tell what was going on; she could feel the sting of nerves screaming as the ghost rummaged for a hold of something within her chest. And then, of course, settled its restless search once it reached the target.

A hoarse, chilled breath as Thorn dropped to her knees. The hand had placed itself around her beating heart. Perhaps she’d underestimated the depths of this phantom’s rage after all.

“You’re bleeding.” 

Sharp, not cruel. The grip along vitals loosened, from a snatch to near caress. Tiny pinpricks settled along neck and shoulders; Thorn could feel the drape of the opposite hand along her upper back as they knelt there, silent. Masking the open wounds.

The bear sniffed the air. There was a twitch of confusion.

“Where did You go? I know you’re out here. You can’t hide forever.”

“Stay very still.”

Thorn obliged. If Spectre really nullified her scent that much, the bear couldn’t see them; his vision had long since been co-opt by The Devoured. Her signal flickered as he stood there, unnerved. And then it rose once more.

“It’s okay, now.” From somewhere within those strangling roots, the siren’s call of The Devoured had gently replaced the voice of that brute. “Come back into the woods; there’s no one here.” 

“No. She’s still there. We’re so close. Just one more hunt —”

“There will be another time. You’re exhausted; come.” There was a jolt as the Obsessed shuffled almost mechanically back, pulled by Her from within. Desperate, terrified, he raised one eye before he turned back around. As if he wanted his prey to help him. The signal seemed wrong on this self-made monster as Thorn held his gaze, silent. But there was something almost pitiable about him, as one last tug finally jerked his head away and left him plundering towards the woods.

Nothing but static; a ravenous dread where what ate away was not literal. Once they were certain he was gone, the grip released, leaving Thorn a panting mess.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the Opportunist mused. “You know, the old fellow isn’t nearly as much of a go-getter as I--iAUGK—!” 

His words were choked into silence. That frigid something has snuck from Thorn to weasel and grasped him by the throat. From her own corner, Thorn could tell her grasp reached somewhere through common tissue and straight to…. Vitals. So it seemed her theory of this ghost’s autopsic ability proved correct.

“You have overstayed your welcome.” Colder, more callous than usual as Spectre tightened her grip; an echo that did not die in its absence. Thorn felt the shuddering fear just as easily as the twitching weasel, trying to say something without it ever coming. 

“You’re fond of crossing boundaries, aren’t you?” Spectre’s hand trailed from within, along the Opportunist’s throat and down his spine. “You’re forgetting what can be done in kind. Break your ribs, fracture tibia — If you’re already going to be so heartless, I’m more than happy to make that a reality .” The wispy state of her hair was almost sharp as she stated it plainly.

“Y-Yes, of course—“ The Opportunitist struggled in her grip. A singular eye looked upward, as though resigning to fate, but then resolved itself with a wry chuckle. “Another time. My, you’re surely not like the other gho—”

“Leave.”

Spectre released her grip. Coughing, the Opportunist slunk back down, skittering off the patio steps. And then her eyes fell on the heiress.

Inside.

That wasn’t a request, and Thorn dared not question it. She padded behind the phantom seamlessly, punctuated only by the shuffle of inorganic fabric. The meeting was over.

The corridors of the house seemed emptier arriving back. The dark blue hues of the night had all but consumed them, making even Spectre’s wispy trail hard to follow. But steadily she pressed on, strung along by the icy sting of fingers less than happy to guide.

“Quiet’s asleep.” A fondness which never wavered, mingled with steeping ichor towards her current company. “Surprised he’s able to.”

“I gave him something for —“

“I know.” That was certainly brisk. “We’re taking another way back to the walls this time.” 

Still not a request. Thorn held her tongue and followed suit.

By now, the familiar presence of the grandfather clock had painted its way into muscle memory; clamber up the base pillar, shimmy to the side rails to get to the mirror. So when Spectre instructed her to climb up, Thorn didn’t think much of it. The subtle trail of the ghost entwined her way up after, presumably letting Thorn lead this walk of shame. It was clear that the phantom was holding back a storm of her own; for that, the heiress was grateful. But even in the midst of all that pain and hate, Spectre had saved her from those shredding claws and gnashing teeth twice over. Her understanding of things seemed a bit stronger than Quiet’s.

“Oh, it’s not. But that doesn’t fix anything if you’re dead.” The note of forced civility made Thorn’s tail spike. Spectre barely even gave notice to the telepathic jump, merely shrugging. “You didn’t think the break was even, did you? Some of your thoughts come to me.”

Spectre beat her to the top, waiting for the other Borrower to join her. Her gaze was focused on the hole in the side of the wall; gears hummed and latches clicked, giving way for the subtle pulse which ran through it.

The heartbeat of the house. Its metronomic rhythm which fueled the blood of everything around. Memory guided Thorn to the banister by the side, but the lingering gaze within seemed to indicate otherwise.

A beat passed. Spectre’s eyes just kept gazing in, not saying anything. Then:

“.... No. Not around.” A tilt towards the mechanisms within. 

Thorn’s fur bristled. “… I thought you said that was off limits.”

“I did.” Two unreadable syllables. “I changed my mind.”

Oh, hell no. Front or no front, that was more than readable right now. Their pact was over. And if Spectre really thought she was going to be that stupid —-

“I think you’re forgetting something.” Even without scent, the cloak of adrenaline wasn’t easy to mask from this particular voyeur. “If I wanted to kill you, don’t you think I would’ve let them finish you off? Tear your heart out and toss it into the woods?” There was bitterness there, but no hostility. “Explaining why would defeat the purpose. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

The singular thing that bound the pair of them; an empathetic trust which had settled too deep. Spectre’s words had merit and concrete lines of evidence. It wasn’t as though Thorn was unaware her own ragged acts were fierce and unpolished — yet every time, met with a rare grace and care. If it was Spectre’s turn to finally get a few hits in, then so be it.

“Okay.” The word was mumbled, but genuine. An exasperated sigh left Thorn’s lips as she trailed the edge of the wood with her claws, hesitating on the edge.

“I thought you’d take more convincing.” The momentary confusion broke the facade. As expected, the innate urge was not to harm.

“You’re right. You’ve had motive and opportunity; I’m honestly surprised you haven’t acted.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Spectre giggled. “But really, what would that accomplish? I know how that would end. And then I’d never be rid of you.” A harsher echo; it was enough to make anyone’s skin crawl. But by now Thorn had gotten used to this ghost’s threatening punctuation.

“No. You wouldn’t.” Simply returned with a shrug and a tail flick; this alone was a test. Whatever it is you have planned, stop hiding from me. I won’t run. “It’s your turn. Do as you will.”

An unsettling grin met her response: part excitement, part maldiction. It reminded Thorn of the way Adversary regarded her in the midst of their “brawls…” This was just returning to something more familiar. It made things easier.

From frustration to confusion again, the giggle slipped out. Was she nervous about this? “I don’t quite think you understand what you —-“

“I do.” Thorn’s tone was low on emotion, but definitive. A single flick of a nail towards the bitten-off chunk of one ear; precise work. That had definitely been another Borrower’s doing. “I’ve been in this game even longer than you have.”

No blink; it was understood. The coy smirk was back as it reached forward this time, yanking her forward. That was fine. Thorn could deal with a bit of rougher nature. 

“Is that so?” Spectre’s voice lingered close, echolocative. “ We’ll certainly see about that.” With the clock symphonizing its own truth, there was no holding back now. And thus, Thorn finally stepped into the mechanism within.

Their dance had begun.

The rhythm of gears ticking in stasis. Weighted prongs tapping along chimes which droned out their melody, the mechanical swing of a pendulum down beneath. Artificial circulation as gravity seemed to take control; clambering one pillar or swinging weightlessly along the grooves within; a tail flicking between each prong and crevice it could find. A carefully choreographed symphony of survival and trust; a rhythmic shuffle of movement amidst a system that did not harm her, and a Borrower’s who did not harm it. Interdependent ecstasy against the molten metal of the skin. Was this what it felt like to possess?

“What is a body without the spirit?” Spectre’s voice seemed to emanate from around the wooden frame. “An endless drone of mechanical function, left to dwindle without place or purpose.” A flitting presence inverted, traipsing along the underside of metal beneath Thorn’s step. A shadow without form. “But a spirit without a body can be just as jarring when left alone. Custom-fitted forms are one-time use, and the inhabitants of shared confines are ill receptors of their purpose.”

Spectre’s voice returned to level as they crossed; no longer ethereal. “Left with no recourse, what is left but to keep trying? You asked to understand, and given the other option was impossible, I needed to accommodate.” 

Silently, Thorn made it to the crack in the side. Slipping carefully towards the back of the mirror, she stumbled back into the confines of that familiar bedroom. The carpeting seemed to brace her lest she fall. Spectre, for once, did not.

No words needed to be exchanged as Thorn settled along the bed, tail twitching up at her expectantly. The metronomic click of the clock droned on, holding the Borrower hostage in its trappings. At the very least, her time with Quiet hadn’t gone as badly as it could’ve; Spectre, however, was a wildcard. Gaping wounds would have to heal slowly, but the damage may well be permanent. Even apologies and clarifications wouldn’t erase that. 

It was time to cut another rug as Spectre drifted from the face of the clock down towards the paperclip steps. While masked beneath unreadable lips, frustration reflected easily in the deadened gaze; just a glance told her the pain was there. Anything Spectre wanted to say, anything that was screaming to come out was pushed back. But while weary, Thorn willed herself to keep her hackles down and let Spectre take the lead.

“Well? Are you going to just sit there, tongue-tied and silent?”

Yep. There was the bite. Spectre seldom shifted her gaze away, but for now she kept to herself in the corner. No attempts to linger or flit around; it was better just to rip the bandaid off at this point.

“I think I understand what you were doing.” Thorn shifted to the side, brushing her shoulder. “And I think we should talk. About tonight, about —“

“About—? Spit it out.” The ghost bit her lip. She was visibly shaking to keep composure.

“All of it. It was my fault, and I can’t even begin to apologize enou—“

“You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?” Sharp eyes settled on her. The words were soft, but an acidic edge sliced right through the boundary.

“I abused your trust, and hurt you,” Thorn replied. “I’m sorry.”

“No. You did much more than that.” Finally, Spectre turned her head; the thin line of tears had returned, spiteful and angry. “Not everyone can reach that place. Do you think I wanted to find another way to explain it?”

Okay. Better out in the open than left unseen. Thorn watched patiently as she paced around the room, giving a growl of frustration.

“You both can come and go as you please. From here; into there. ” Her finger brushed roughly against her own translucent palm, punctuating the point. “I let you demonstrate. I allowed you the opportunity to explain things in a way I never could. I thought if he just saw how hard it is, then maybe it would help. Was that not enough?! Am I not enough…?”

The clock, the ire… Now it made sense. It wasn’t an attempt to punish so much as re-evaluate.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with worth,” Thorn admitted. “We all end up there, except—” Those who were stuck in stasis; The Wandering. Thorn paused as it finally clicked. “It’s… It’s wasted on you, isn’t it?”

Spectre’s gaze narrowed. “You graciously gifted me the key to a door I can’t open. You think I haven’t tried?” She shook her head. “As if my death wasn’t humiliating enough. It had to keep stacking.”

Thorn nodded solemnly.

“It would’ve been different if I could come and go. You can. He. Can. Every time I even get a glimpse it pushes me out.”

“I don’t have control of that yet,” Thorn admitted. “But if I did, it would be different.”

“Will it become different?”

“If I’m able to. I don’t know all the rules yet,” Thorn admitted.

“Clearly.” 

Both Borrowers turned their backs, drinking in the silence. Be it trust or frustration, the result was the same.

“It wouldn’t be as bad if I could just get in to begin with. Even if it meant I couldn’t stay.” Spectre let the sigh pass, gaze softening. “So much for the ‘Tenents of the Dead….’ Gilded words amount to nothing if you restrict who can cross over.”

There seemed to be more to this than just the afterlife. The way Spectre talked about it was, well, longing for something more than just rest. Was that a correct assumption?

It would track. Every corner of this house was hidden knowledge, from the walls to the workings within. It had been stored alone and decrepit, a museum completely wasted on everyone — including its careful curator. Throughout their time here, it seemed that the phantom was more than willing to mediate their customs and taboos... Yet mortality held the most sought-after secret just barely out of reach.

Thorn flattened herself. That was a cruel joke.

A sick feeling twisted up from within. This was much worse than just failure to cross the boundary. And it seemed that looking up at her, Spectre knew she was aware of that now. It only made the poor ghost sound more desperate for answers.

“ Why? Why did you give it to me?”

There were a dozen things that could’ve been said; ‘Because I trust you.’ ‘Because I wanted to help you back.’ ‘Because you wanted to know everything, and didn’t get the chance to experience it all.’ But at the end of the day, those were all lies; the only motive was in defiance of a nonexistent threat. And Spectre deserved the truth.

“… I don’t know.”

Hot white flashes of anger lit up Spectre’s eyes. Just seeing the twitching in her fists, it was taking everything to restrain.

“You. Don’t. Know???”

“I don’t even know how it happened.” The fear was back on instinct. Bad move. “I wish I could tell you otherwise.”

“You don’t have any idea how this works, do you?” The look exchanged was one of concern; nay, terror. Of course she would be terrified.

“I told you already: I’m learning. I’m still not ascended. There’s time.”

“Is there?!” That was a valid, frantic question. How much time was left to ponder if she had already begun?

“I… I don’t know how much. But there may be a way to reverse it—“

“I don’t want you to reverse it. I want you to Let. Me. In.”

“I don’t know how!” Thorn stumbled back. The typically passive ghost had clutched her opposing hand almost violently, expression now threatening. But the look in her eyes faded almost immediately upon noticing the distress.

“I might’ve gone a little-“

Thorn returned to her own stasis, raising a hand to stop her. “I told you I could handle it.”

Anxious eyes watched Thorn get off the bed, turning to face her. No longer slumped over in a distressed heap, Thorn almost did look as commanding as any queen; stance wide, tail erect. Huh, that was new. It was Spectre this time to turn and look away; the eye contact was surprisingly assertive from her current tenant. But as she turned back to meet that emerald gaze, it softened.

“Someone once showed me that it was okay to feel. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Spectre rubbed her shoulder, more so to distract herself from reaching out. There was a tail twitch from the opposing party, but Thorn neither reached out or pulled away.

“I don’t want to be alone again. I’ve had enough people walk out on me; it only takes one wrong move and it’s over.” There was a halfhearted laugh. “Quiet and I both have things the other cannot understand. He’s wonderful during the day, but at night...”

“He’s asleep. And you don’t get to tap into that cycle anymore, even if your host is resting. Right?”

Spectre nodded. The once-commanding phantom seemed to lean in this time, no longer fearful of taking up space. She traced the Fae’s form with her eyes, looking for any sign of facade or weakness. No, this was genuine.

Finally, she sighed and circled the bed. “There’s so much I’ve wanted to say. But when you got here, you were scared . I didn’t want to chase you off like everyone else.” 

“It wasn’t personal,” Thorn replied. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

Spectre shook her head. “I knew it wasn’t. I could tell that deep down you were curious—“

“— But fear and pain was the only thing driving me then, yes. I’m not afraid anymore. Of you, or of Them.”

Spectre tentatively reached out. She never even got her full arm out before Thorn yanked it forward, closing the distance. What she needed right now was clear enough. And while more forceful signs of devotion were unusual for all but the Fae, the communication was seamless.

There was something more there, too; honor-bound and tender. Carefully, the heiress flicked a claw along Spectre’s scalp, angling it to comfortably phase through and stroke along those wispy strands. These parted easily as Spectre placed her own hand to Thorn’s, bringing her forehead to hers. This, in turn, was permitted.

“Hey,” Thorn breathed, realizing just how close they were. Had the moment been less painful, she would’ve reached up and kissed her. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

It wasn’t just Quiet who’d learned the art of the slow blink. And this time, Thorn returned it: I trust you. And I know you trust me. So when Spectre pulled back, there was no hesitation to give her that space. Judging by what Thorn could read, she probably needed it.

Requited affections. Even for those more socially comfortable, those were hard to process. Waiting a moment before speaking, Thorn merely offered her hand; this time, Spectre pulled her forward before she could blink.

“I’d like to get to know you better; it’s time.” Thorn offered somewhat awkwardly; her moment of courage was fading. “But there’s something you should see first. It’s upstairs; you still came through the mirror, right?”

“Mmh.” Spectre purred. But her eyes betrayed her coy demeanor, glimmering with bottled excitement.

“Then follow me.”

For once, Spectre didn’t mind being a mere passenger to whatever Thorn had planned. Quiet was more obedient, and that power was something she seldom turned over to anyone. But this tricky little vixen had burrowed her way in between layers of ice, and wasn’t coming out. There was the subtle swish of movement as she walked, and Spectre followed patiently behind. Only when the heiress instructed her to wait at the top of the passage did she stray, letting Thorn scramble, four-legged, through the passage.

There was a small head tilt to indicate she could enter.  If death’s breathless state could triple, this was it.

A decade’s tapestry was finally complete. From lingering roots to columns of vertebrae, it was alive with the flow of capillaries and warm trickles of blood. Lingering scar tissue; the herbology the Wild Fae used to adorn wounds. No longer just a biological scrapbook, nay — an ecosystem of paths aligned and divided. It was all too much for a singular moment; the tears came first, shaking with awe and disbelief.

“I saw the outlines you’d sketched out for a lot of these,” Thorn admitted, “and, well, added some of my own. You did mention wanting this to be a place of safety for— did I… Was I not—?”

“It’s finally finished.” Spectre’s head tilted towards the tactile marks, gliding over seamlessly. “This is … perfect,” she murmured, allowing one hand to slither along the cracked paints and dyes. “I was never able to get ahold of Fae documents. Most of them were—”

“Burned, just like everything else.” There was a bitter taste of grief in Thorn’s voice, trying to bite it back down. “There’s only so much I could remember from the records. There’s so many more we lost and may never get back.”

“They’re not the only documents with that fate. But those fires were, well, more targeted.” A twinge of her own sadness shone through as Spectre swiveled to the desk. “What I’ve seen and what I salvaged are two entirely different things.” Shifting around a moment, a finger beckoned for the heiress to step forward. There was no resistance as she came over. 

“Who were you?”

“Oh, you know… Everyone, and no one.” The words were well-rehearsed, watching Spectre’s demeanor shift once more to calm nonchalance. “You can’t be much of anyone if no one else is there to witness.” Spectre’s fingers trailed the blade’s hilt as it dangled beneath her grasp — wait, when did she get ahold of that?! — before drawing it back up. A singular hand pulled Thorn’s and slotted it in between her digits, aligning with the living’s throat.

No resistance. Baring her neck, and keeping composure. This ghost had an odd way of showing affection through affliction, but again, it was nothing Thorn was unaccustomed. It was just a blade, not fists and claws and bloodied teeth. I suspect they’d get along. The thought passed absently as Spectre’s grip loosened; the trust fall had passed.

“I’ve seen and done things you wouldn’t believe. How much do you want to know? ” A sharp, icy pain dredged Thorn’s arm almost threateningly. “And just how much are you willing to endure to get it?”

It was all tone. Yet somehow, Thorn suspected this wouldn’t be an easy arrangement. “However much you want to show. You sat through my side; now it’s your turn. That’s how this works, right?” A single glance from feline eyes indicated her consent. Spectre noted it as she hovered more patiently, encircling her limbs.

“Knowledge comes at a price,” Spectre reminded as she settled. “Many scholars would kill for what I’ve saved. But, so long as you’re offering…”

There was that empty gaze upon her. Curious, fractal eyes which asked without speaking. A half-nod. A hand extended to permit her entry. That seemed to be all it took for a flitting moment as Spectre dived forward and —-

A growl of icy pain ignited in response, muscles convulsing. This was way worse than last time. Despite gentler confirmation, Spectre’s grip was firm and tense. Pulling, pushing against more muscle memory than just the brain.

I’m making room. Harsh; bitter. But still not anything like Spectre’s wrath as she temporarily rewired the environment to her liking. That’s right. I told you you weren’t getting off easy.

The coarse notes rang through Thorn’s skull, a strenuous —

Just give me five minutes. You’ll get used to it.

So you’re going all in? I said that was fine, Thorn muttered internally. Go ahead.

Consciousness temporarily abated as controls switched to the passenger within; the anger wasn’t over, but it was relieving itself through action. There was a slight tap somewhere deep in Thorn’s mind. Tell me when you need to stop. This time, there was no reassurance so much as instruction; a ‘when,’ not an ‘if.’ Whatever was yet to come would not be pretty; that much was guaranteed. A nod again, absent.

Not good enough. There was a more pointed tap this time. I need to hear you say it. Will you tell me?

“Yes. I’ll tell you.” Bolder this time. And while the same primal instinct had elevated her pulse, the heiress shifted to lay on her side and brace for it. Spectre’s words began their trance and drowned out the haunting room within.

Alive, then dead, then alive again. Your braindead body is a vessel you will never take again as you struggle against the pull of a wavering frost you cannot see. No sensations of your own, no one there to hear you scream. The mark you carved yourself serves to warn others to stay away.

All at once, the images sprang back to life-and-death at Spectre’s elaboration. An open fridge, a slamming door; the needle-sharp pinprick of cold with the true implement for a personal act of mercy —

Not a needle; it seemed she let Witch off kinder in their exchange. That X-shaped weapon was an entire butchering device. The stabbing sensation was like fire in her chest, but Thorn had experienced it before and endured. The shaking form of a body that no longer existed. On the back of the fridge, bloody fingers scrawled the sanguine words:

 KEEP OUT.

“I’m still okay. Keep going.”

You have made and remade your world to watch it crumble away. Who will ever find you now? A weary step; transparent nails slashing at the tapestry’s “heart” to leave the mark of the slain. The prick of tears in steady inertia. A paintbrush that couldn’t be grasped; the use of transparent inks to mark out scar and tissue marred straight through bone and sinew. I showed what I could. The rest I had to trust would be found eventually. Then, with some hesitation: But you already know how this story ends. Why don’t I go back a little further?

A shudder of spinal columns. An open book. This memory, for once, was distinctly warm and odorous . 

Dust and lint. The heavy perfume of glue and caulk and weathered pages; the cracking spines of old manuscripts. Beans wandered shelves upon shelves of heavy archives, taking out articles and talking amidst themselves. Some carried quills and parchments to notate on the side, while others remained engrossed. “Are these--?”

“The Beans call it a library,” Spectre filled in. “So, yes; they're not unlike your archives. This is how the rest of us learned.” From one corner of the room, a young Borrower scoured from above as a scholar worked. One which, while clad in dark and muted colors, was distinguishable enough as the undead’s prior form; scarcely a child, watching from the corners of the shelves. “ There were more hiding spots than you could imagine,” Spectre trilled. “Ones which we could bury into at a moment’s notice if necessary. For the most part, it wasn’t.” 

A notable fondness stained her voice in a way it usually did not. Behind copies of physics and chemistry, there was a door not unlike the one here; adorned with green wallpaper; no handle. Just a nook and cranny to scurry back into, giving way to a tunnel down below. The padding of human feet above was audible.

“They had to check the walls frequently for rats,” Spectre clarified. “We stayed mostly below the floor unless it was safe.” Then, with a softer edge: “But we weren’t alone. We had visitors… A handful who knew about us and we knew of them. Scholars who wanted to bridge the gap.”

“‘We?’ How many of you were there?”

“Enough.” 

Blurred-out forms of Borrower passerby slunk from one side of the corners to the next; some cautious, others eager. But none close in age. For how they looked over at this child reproachfully, it was clear some taboo had been broken. “It wouldn’t have even taken direct interaction to make them worry.” Giving a tilt of her head, Spectre indicated the joined passage to a locked room, buried in the earth. “It was already a problem going near their labs.” 

Darker lighting and briny fumes; an unsettling glimpse of wildlife cadavers, pinned down and notated in similar fashion to the wallpaper. The Borrower’s pale hands grazed the aorta of a heart preserved in glass, shuffling to contribute a note or two to the growing list on the table. “It was an easy place for them to hide one. Kept access locked; cards required. Let others study in secret.” A broad stroke of the child’s quill illuminated the manuscript. “And notation was anonymous; it meant anyone could contribute. Just had to write larger; that’s all.”

“You’re going to get pinned.” A hollow voice, emotionally withdrawn and curious. “If you keep coming back here like that, they’ll find you.” 

Finally, the figure shifted somewhere above; just enough light reflected to see him. Borrowing domestic eyesight was trickier than it looked. Did these Borrowers see anything?

“Not much, compared to you.”

 It seemed to belong to one of the rafters’ own colony of bats - but something about this one was wrong. Even from a distance, glass eye replacements indicated that this creature was more dead than alive; pelt a patchy array of different fur and feather samples; of wolf, of owl. There was a shrug of wings as they flitted down; half the face consumed by flames of frost curling upward from his --

“Skull. That’s right.” All thoughts came to her in the end. Spectre seemed to notate the shock nonchalantly, prowling around to Thorn’s backside. “You’re not the only one who encountered Them.” Spectre shifted her hands. “You came in fairly late to the picture. I suppose it made things easier having someone else to keep an eye on.”

So it was him, then. 

“Yes.”

Cold was more a legend than a council member; the woods had lost sight of him during the past few cycles. And if he was in this state, stuffed and clutching onto the body of a manmade monster, that would explain it.

It didn’t seem like he was that bothered by it, though.

“Never was,” Spectre confirmed. “He could’ve left at any time, but he chose to repossess it. And that was just fine.” 

“No, I won’t. They won’t see me.” Finally hearing this pre-Spectre talk, the child’s voice had similar qualities to her older spirit’s voice. Slightly higher in pitch and shorter in soundwave, but even without the overlapping echo it was undeniably her. “Dorothy showed me. Just go in and out —“

“Oh, wow,” Cold deadpanned. “And what do you suppose they know on this?”

“Not enough,” the child retorted. “That’s why I’m getting it for them.” There was a satchel slung around this child’s neck, made from discarded hardback leather. It smelled sturdy and warm, as if its source was just mishandled. But as the notebook slid out, one detail stood out amidst the rest: S. …

“... You were one of the Greys?!” 

“They took me in when no one else would,” Spectre replied. “Even if more as an apprentice than family. I can’t really remember having one—”

Thorn opened her mouth to speak; nothing came out. ‘But you do now.’ There was a slight tint of borrowed warmth in the ghost this time, but she said nothing in response.

The scene shifted subtly. The air was warm and stale, as though the place had not been used in a very long time. Aligning the walls and elegant beams within the drywall, there were near-thousands of tiny, carefully laid-out journals on splintered shelves. 

“There used to be more than these,” Spectre added, “but time loves to erase us. Many of the manuscripts were from Borrowers who had already died. I suppose that doesn’t make me any different.”

Situating her own notebook next to an open shelf, the child waited patiently as two transparent forms reshaped. Warmth and darkness, vitality and desecration; it was undeniable these were the fabled scholars as they made their debut.

“Back so soon?” The first was draped in an elegant gown, veiled in transparent gossamer silks. Despite the undead soul it carried within, her visage was bright and glowing. Sunken eyes even deeper than Spectre’s, the skull took precedence on her face. A hand wrapped around, tenderly. “It’s always so wonderful seeing you stop by.”

“She’s late, Beatrix.” The second form was far less tender. A tarry, sodden presence draped in mourning veils, her deeper voice reverberating around the walls within. “Don’t coddle her.”

“I was just grabbing a few more notes,” the child insisted. “I would’ve been here sooner if —“

“The bat. I know.” Dorothy held herself with an air of strictness; the other far more lenient. But nevertheless, her hand extended likewise; the child took it. The pair steered her down a set of sanded plank “stairs.” The “basement,” if you could even call it that, was divided in its conjecture.

A deep, briny substance had overtaken the walls within. The elegant beams were clinging for dear life amidst the scent of growing decay. Thorn noticed the child’s nose scrunch up in anticipation, but followed carefully down into the dug-out burrow within.

“Remember not to drill into plumbing when you make your own place,” Dorothy reminded, giving a glance over to illuminated manuscripts in ruin. Two skeletal forms of the dead had found their place; one submerged, the other left high and dry. “The results may follow you.”

A usual reminder. 

Thorn balked. “Usual…?!”

“This is just how they started things off,” Spectre replied nonchalantly. “You got used to hearing it after a while.”

“I guess. But why did—?”

Spectre flitted to face her, silencing her feline counterpart with a chilling finger along her nose. The whimsy was back; the anger was abating.

“Watch,” Spectre added teasingly. “You just might learn something.”

The pools glistened with a mana of their own; bubbling, vibrant to the touch. Without hesitation, the child dipped her hands into it as the strands of liquid… Yielded.

“Spellcasting,” Spectre filled in the gaps. “Not all magic was unobtainable, even if we weren’t born with it. We just had to get it from the books, and practice.”

“The most accessible kind,” Thorn agreed. “Even common Borrowers can pick it up with a bit of practice. But also the most controversial because of it. Witch was always more partial to spells and potions; lot of debate on how ‘real’ that magic was and why she was ‘wasting’ her own reserves.”

Spectre raised a brow. “You’d think they’d have more respect for your family.”

“That only goes for the Queen,” Thorn replied briskly. “The rest of us are, well… Open targets if they think our way is ‘wrong.’” Her body slumped and crouched down on the edge of this vision; the topic was clearly strenuous. “We both got bitten.”

Spectre blankly nodded. Her eyes refocused as she noted the room, the child dropping the water in her hands. “I never did get the hang of things,” she murmured. “I would’ve eventually, but—“ Her features dropped. Silent again.

“— Yes?”

No response.

“Spectre? What happened?”

The scene was torn asunder in bright, burning columns. It all came flickering back in succession. Daggers through the backs of wisely dressed men; bloodsoaked hands crumpling up their documents and journals. Hands of curious maidens and young teachers which curled around their smaller kin in final breaths, sheltering them from the rage of marauders. Many had already died in protective hands. Matches lit against bloodied tin boxes, flambéing the corpses beside the archives. The screams polluted the air. Then one by one their murderers plodded away succinctly from the fire as though nothing happened, soaking the water red with bloodied hands and bodies to remove the scent. Any dilation in Thorn’s eyes was gone. This scene was different, but its cruelty familiar.

“The documents confirmed as much: we were always supposed to coexist,” Spectre voiced sharply. “That there was a time where we all had access to magic; traded notes and learned from one another. In order to make an enemy, those memories had to be destroyed.” From the backlight of the fire, there was a scene of violence in its wake.

 A fire left unquenched which grew. 

And grew.

Pressure-cooked windows splintered from the heat; a blaze of molten ash. Nighttime smoke plummeted from above, clogging lungs and drenching records in the soot. The pale and ashen form of the child carried ripped-out manuscripts and dodged the falling bodies of the dead. Slipping back into the walls, her final stand remained tucked away in that watery abyss, dragging down what she could from fires that erupted without warning. To protect herself, and to protect what was left of everything . 

A tumultuous scene with seemingly no end. Echoed screams died out, leaving little behind but charred remains and ashes. But as the fires finally abated, that one cracked space in the wall remained: with heavy air and soot-filled findings, its sole inhabitant was alive, just barely holding on.

“They meant to hurt you.”

There was a growl and a flick of Thorn’s tail. Hackles raised against a past-existent enemy. Spectre merely shrugged, feigning a smile of nonchalance. But buried this deep into her mind, Thorn knew it was all to keep the peace. “Of course they did. Those records contained everything they’d need to know about this world; and why would anyone need that?” Sarcastic soliloquy dripped faintly from every syllable. “Evidence must be destroyed to lay it all to sleep; make it look like an accident; craft something new. But I knew better.”

From the wreckage, shaky hands carved out rubble and clay to build a temporary shelter. Humanity had its eyes on the spot and watched it wither away. A crisped-out shell of the former haunt diminished to a vulnerable den out in the wilderness; wallpaper of literary notation peeling and withering away. The sunken cheekbones of two mourning spirits watched as crumpled scraps of paper unfolded, reading them out word for word.

Day in and day out, stragglers came to pick things from the wreckage and claim information as kindling. But a small handful seemed to stop and leave offerings, knowing who had burrowed beneath the earth to hide. It looked like they were trying to help.

“Some were. We had to be careful,” Spectre reminded, her eyes flickering to a choking Borrower. “Most had laced their ‘offerings’ with poison.”

“Then why did you stay?”

“There were things I couldn’t leave behind. I couldn’t leave them - not after they’d lost everything.”

The distress was apparent; the echoing trill more disparaged and uneven. For right now, it was better to leave it alone; if it really was that unsettling to remember —

“… I can still hear you.” Spectre blinked, clearly annoyed. “Are you forgetting, or are you doing this on purpose?”

“…. Sorry. I do mean it, though; you don’t have to rake through it if it’s too much.”

“If I can’t tell it, no one can,” Spectre countered. “No one else made it out alive. I… I made it further than that, at least—“

“Then tell me, but slowly.” Within her mind, Spectre’s form was tangible enough. Thorn used it to her advantage to shift forward, slotting both hands’ digits into the other’s. “And if it gets to be too much, I can just watch. We’ve got all night.”

“But you have to sleep at some point.”

“I can be up for days if I have to be,” Thorn reminded. “I’ve done it back then, and I can do it now.”

“You really are trying to make it up to me, aren’t you?” Okay; there was a smirk. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

For now, it seemed that Spectre had let the scene unfold by itself, curling around the small of her back. The only presence peeking over were two hands settled on Thorn’s shoulders, peering from behind her neck.

“… And this is how you’ve chosen to watch?”

“Might as well have some fun, right? Because it just keeps getting worse from here.” 

The scene carried on. From beside the rubble, it seemed that a familiar bat had lingered; his fur slightly tattered, the icy spirit within keeping him from burning away. He dropped something at the crook of the Borrower’s location, hovering expectantly.

“… Well, I guess ‘survived’ depends on how you view it. He survived, but he also didn’t.” Spectre took a moment to ponder it. “So there wasn’t really anything left to survive or not survive, was there?”

“Except the body,” Thorn reminded.

“Except the body. It was enough that he was able to gather things nearby — at least for a short time. And after that ran out, well… I had no choice but to leave.”

“Who do you have there?” A familiar peryton flicked his tail, addressing the bat curiously.

“A survivor,” Cold murmured.

“I don’t remember you having much interest in the living.”

Cold lighted near the shaky child, who looked up at him unsteadily. “This one is special. She’s far too interesting to die.”

Of course there was ulterior motive. The Voices were curious creatures, and their help was usually mutually beneficial or not at all.

“Then bring her into the forest,” Hunted responded. “There are people looking; they’ll find her.”

The child opened her mouth to protest; a pale hand laid itself on her back, giving a pained smile. “It’s alright,” Beatrix beamed. “You need to go where it’s safe.”

“But—“

The click of Dorothy’s tongue rendered the child silent. “We don’t need shelter like you. We’ll be here to pick up what’s left.” Then, with an almost smile: “I’m proud of you. You did what you had to; never feel remorse for that.”

The hard-earned praise descended from her mouth like Beast’s.

“They followed similar tenets," Spectre replied; her voice was a little choked, leaning back further. Instinctively, Thorn placed a hand on top of hers; they could brave this together.

As the pair of them watched the child bid the scholars a tearful goodbye, a thought was beginning to stir.

“Yes?”

… Right. “You shouldn’t have needed to hold on like that,” Thorn sighed. “That’s a lot for one child to hold onto. You know that, right?”

“I wasn’t a usual child,” Spectre dismissed. “I could handle it.”

“You were still a kid,” Thorn insisted. “You didn’t deserve--”

“Oh.” Dismissive as ever. “I think you and I both know it never was about what we deserve. Your sister didn’t deserve to be exposed to all this so young; you didn’t deserve to be torn apart by the weasels and the Echo. This is just how it is. Things just happened to us, and we made the best of it.”

There really was no arguing with that. “Fair enough.”

“No, it isn’t. But life’s not fair.”

Through the woods and over streams, the pair of Voices carried their quarry. From the fields, there stood a white house, with blue trimming. Hunted finally set her down amidst the grass.

“Here,” Hunted instructed. “It’s the closest we can find. The town doctor lives here; it’s not a library, but it has plenty of archives and hiding spaces. You might be able to carry on as usual.”

A bitter chuckle. “It worked for a short time,” Spectre rambled on, “but it didn’t last. We’re just pests to them, and you know how that ends.”

Shared sensations returned; it seemed that Spectre had decided it better this way. Cloudy vision as something shattered in human hands and splintered off; and an earsplitting shriek. A dozen blades of transparent shrapnel pierced against flank, back, arms—

Thorn didn’t even realize the scream which shot through every nerve. Thrown onto the ground by phantom senses, Spectre needed no elaboration; the shrieks of ‘vermin’ and a fervent reach for a blade of glass to defend herself confirmed it all. A feeling of total helplessness as this shaking, bleeding, borrowed body stumbled and swayed to get away.

“How did you manage to—?”

“— Survive?” In the forest clearing, there was a stabbing pain of small pins and thread across her chest. A shaky, firm hand had woven the stitches taut, underbrush palpable as shards were removed and wounds patched over. “You didn’t think my diagrams were just for show, did you? I studied. Doctors prefer using us to mice, but their records can help as much as harm. I assumed that risk for a reason.”

“At ten?!”

“It saved my life,” Spectre bit back. “It’s a good thing I did.”

That seemed to be as much of a response as Spectre was willing to give. Instead, she settled back once more, unlatching herself from Thorn’s shoulders to stand up straight. The scenes unraveled, thread by thread; a small shelter found, a fume-pelted escape. A swipe of a cat in the next, barely dodged over humans shrieking ‘Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!’ Over and over again as the years went on; ‘vermin,’ ‘rat,’ or ‘mongrel.’ A new trap in place to disassemble; a spray to diffuse. Never once in their eyes a person as the trail, dejectedly, led back out into the woods.

“Let’s say I was about…” Spectre tapped her fingers, counting idly. “Maybe fourteen? It’s been a while since time stopped meaning anything. Now, picture this:

“Everything you knew and everyone you loved are long gone; a passing soul through woods which do not suit your needs. You spend your days alone and defenseless, with scarcely a shard of glass to your name as you encounter them. You know precisely who I’m talking about.”

Weasels pelted Thorn’s vision, a confusing blur of motion as they clawed and bit. Much like Quiet’s dogs, painful yet survivable; a swipe along the throat of the assailant provides personal mercy. From the distance, a glowering form of a slim-beaked foe, staring daggers just as sharply as the young girl before Him.

“You met Him before.”

“Of course I have. He knew I was a threat long before you. It’s easier to assassinate a monarch; no offense.”

“None taken. We both know He managed that once. No doubt He’ll try again.”

The slice of glass against a feathered cheek. Talons releasing in anguish, just long enough to permit escape. All of it familiar, yet scarier from clawless hands.

“He will, but He’s scared now. That’s different. When He saw us in the woods, He knew He couldn’t break the cycle — and we knew He could do nothing else to shatter us. His game was over before it began, and this time He’d lost.”

“Finally,” Thorn breathed, agitated. She blinked upon the sight of a small encampment in hostile woods, where gnarled roots had formed into a broken arch. And within it… Wait a minute. Were  those Borrowers bustling about? “I didn’t know there were others out here,” Thorn managed. “These woods were—“

“Stripped down,” Spectre finished for her. “Barren. This place destroyed itself from within; there’s a reason you haven’t heard of it.”

A small forest haunt, filled with domestic refugees. Burlap sacks and patterned packs from Borrowers young and old, gathering at the base of the trees and underfoot tunnels. Humanity had developed their own guides on how and where to look for their interdependent prey, leaking the documents intentionally as a threat. The societies surrounding had heeded the ‘warning’ and taken their ultimatum:

HAND OVER YOUR SORCERERS, AND THE REST ARE SPARED.

The gigantic posters nailed against the bark of a nearby tree. It made both observers shudder.

“They didn’t mean it; the lie seemed fairly obvious to me.” Spectre hummed. ”Any Borrower is Fae enough; they don’t care what kind you are. But people are foolish, and easy to scare. It did its job. We’re all worse for that.”

The sentiment continued to spread. Small leafy pamphlets papered local shops; others graffiti’d with berry paints and blood. ‘Be wary of scholars. They coincide with the Fae.’ Another. ‘Your neighbor is not your friend. Be vigilant.’ From local shops buried in the heart of trees and fallen logs, local Borrowers picked them up and shot glares at wary neighbors. ‘Mind your curfew. Beans are roaming past 8.’ But the most damning of all had been placed at the center of the town, adorned with the shredded talons of a raven’s prey:

 THE WILD HAS ABANDONED YOU. TAKE BACK WHAT’S YOURS.

A beat passed in angry silence. “We’ve always taken care of each other,” Thorn hissed. “It was never like this—“

“They knew that,” Spectre confirmed. “But they were too scared to think for themselves. If Beans were involved, resisting could put themselves in danger. By the time I arrived, they could smell it on me: they could sense I was trouble.” A genuine grin. 

“They were right.”

Doors from a dozen burrows slammed in the teenager’s face. “Dangerous cur,” one of them hissed. “Housefolk like you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Another. “Gotten too used to house life, eh? Wait and see what happens when they find out about ya.”

And another, more concerned: “Please, get back inside. If they know what you speak, they’ll kill you.”

“I understand some of what they were saying,” Spectre hummed internally. “It only took one Borrower to relay to the Beans, and it would be over. Information they had is information they could use against us, and we had plenty. But They shouldn’t know how much weight it takes to break us. They shouldn’t know how long it takes for our lungs to give out submerged. No one in their right mind would hand that over to someone who wanted to hurt others so badly. They just wanted a common enemy.”

The days passed on, ever-fearful. The ruins of a former resident’s burrow made for a proper shelter. Its glass windows shattered, the remains were left as though its late tenants were devoured in the wake. Carefully still, the teenager patched up the walls and boarded the doors; a splintered bedframe left enough of a cushion to sleep. And that was all she needed, really.

“I learned to become nocturnal,” Spectre continued.

Thorn quirked a brow. “With that eyesight?”

“Hey, I never said it was easy!” Spectre giggled, before regaining composure. “But, yes. Common Borrowers go to sleep at night; it left me some room to explore alone. Unearth what they never wanted us to find.”

It only took a few steps out to smell the iron; even with muted senses, that was clear enough from Spectre’s foresight. The forest clearing was painted in blood; a fallen branch had claimed the lives of several in their midst. Others had been cemented to the waters, their hands crushed, mouths agape from the impact of riverbank debris. Nervous hands wavered over the small notebook, before scratching it out aggressively. “What I saw I never wrote down; I knew I had to let it die with me. Someone must’ve leaked notes like it to our larger kin; I’m certain of it.”

As the teen carried on, there was a glint of metal; blood-dredged hooks clawing up the remains of stragglers. The teen didn’t seem to notice at first, hunkering down to a crawl to journey forward.

“Are those traps?!”

Not far from the log’s demise, heavy wire prongs had splintered bodies beneath their weight, covered by leaves. Crows circled their quarry, prying them off; others jumped as metal lunged from below.

“Yes,” Spectre spoke plainly. “I suppose you wouldn’t have known about them.” Spectre hovered a moment, bringing them both a little further away. Something seemed to break the calm facade; something older and deeper. “That’s the difference between you and me: when you die, you know that it’s for a reason. That just as you came, you too will return to the earth; sustain the roots below. And if something eats you, it had to take a life to survive.” Spectre’s gaze drifted away, formulating her words.

“That was a luxury here. We weren’t killed for a reason. We were killed because they can.”

The teen circled the area; the forms they took were familiar to the inferno’s trail. Tiny scholars and outspoken members of the community; ones who’d been more upfront in their resistance.

“You could tell?”

“Of course I could. They were the ones everyone wanted gone.” Nervously, the teen bent to one satchel to take a page from their book. Wasn’t that heresy?

“They didn’t need it any more,” Spectre replied. “They wanted someone to find it.”

 The teen turned the letters of the deceased in one hand. On one form, a raven’s sketch adorned hasty words in charcoal:

IF YOU’RE READING THIS, THEY FOUND ME. RUN.

“So He was behind all of this.”

Spectre nodded darkly. “He had help from the Beans in spreading fear, but He initiated all of it. He knew where we were and who to target; who to martyr; who to kill off without ceremony. Where to lay the traps. No matter what they say, our enemies have always been the same. But the fewer people that believe that, the easier it is for them to pick us off one by one until there’s no one left.”

The days had stacked into months. Doors shut and homes fractured, the darkness had pooled into riverbanks which had long since run with blood. Every day, a new document confiscated and burned. A new notch in the trees to mark their author’s fall. Fewer bodies as the regime continued; their numbers were dwindling. But they could never seem to trail their one observant quarry as she settled by the river, using conflicting scents and narrow outcroppings to conceal herself.

“A smart Borrower stays tricky. Surviving Beans was always a matter of evasion — I just never expected I’d have to use those same skills to hide from my own.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Thorn agreed. “They shouldn’t have made you.”

“But they did, and that is that. There’s no way of undoing any of it.”

The days didn’t matter anymore; time had already begun to derail from its tracks. Yet sometime after time and grief had lost its meaning, someone else — more clever — was watching from the bushes.

“You have to be more careful,” came a stern, controlled voice. “One wrong move, and you’re dead.”

The warnings were familiar.  The teenager scarcely batted an eye. “I know,” she quipped, “That’s why I hide my tracks and switch up locations.” 

“That’s not enough,” the form dismissed. “There’s patrols everywhere; we’ve all seen them.” With a groan, the watcher revealed herself: a silver-haired girl of roughly the same age. The pronged wire implement that dangled her bag was reminder enough that some still carried tools from their old places. She seemed familiar.

“You’ve met her,” Spectre confirmed. “Your memories confirmed as much.”

Oh, is it—? Then Prisoner had her hands in more than a couple ploys. Steady hands melded the wire of one nearby trap; another flung a sizable pebble into the midst. It snapped shut, rending the stone in two. Spectre’s young form shuddered. 

“Why do you care what happens to me?” The teen’s question was pointed; challenging.

“Because I know the signature on that book you’re writing, and I know what it means.”

The teen of raised a brow and closed her notes. “How?”

Prisoner took a careful step. Scanning the area for any other eavesdroppers, she reached into a hidden pocket of her vest for a notebook of her own —

CHAINLINK.

“I trained under them, too. You weren’t the first,” Prisoner answered. “My notes were kept in the newer section. I took the backup when I left.” Concealing the book once more, Prisoner glanced back; her eyes full of interest, mouth sharp and silvertongued as ever. “Now, do you want my help, or are you sticking to scribing notes and borrowing off of corpses?” Prisoner asked plainly. “You’re leaving evidence everywhere; someone’s surely traded the Beans for forensics. Your life and your work don’t amount to much as kindling.”

The teen said nothing as Prisoner shifted. Some ancient mechanism was stirring in her brain, weighing out the pros and cons of her next move, before extending a hand.

“Why are—?”

“You know too much to be wandering alone. We could really use your help.” Another rustle through a furry vest. “And take these. They’ll cover your tracks.” Prisoner forked over a small pair of boots; their soles had been carved out at the bottom, resembling the tracks of finches. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t.” Hesitant yet eager, the teen did as she was told; following came easily with this natural-born leader. And brisk as she was, both Fae and phantom had quickly learned this strategist had her heart in the right place. She would take care of it.

“She had quite a way with words,” Spectre recalled fondly. “Saying little, but conveying it all. One of the few people I know who could make you fall in line like second nature.”

“She knew what she was doing back in the cellar,” Thorn confirmed. “I’m not surprised she’d learned some tricks beforehand.”

“Exactly. It was hard not to feel safe around her—“

Even despite circumstances, there was a excitement in Spectre’s eyes watching this meeting once over; one which Thorn didn’t —

“… Yes?”

“Okay, I can feel what’s stirring here. Were you two…?”

“It’s… Complicated,” Spectre sighed. “We were friends — or at least as close as she got. Anything beyond acquaintance could be used against her, and that wasn’t a risk she could take. Attachment was an easy weapon.”

It certainly explained the formalities. Time might’ve stopped meaning anything for Spectre several years back, but the trek behind this stoic Borrower was endless. Until, finally, they reached a clearing.

From the heart of the forest, there was a place where nothing grew. Spiderwebs had long since claimed their haunt; former streams carved ancient rivulets in the smoothened clay. At the base of this decrepit place, there was a small tunnel leading down between the gnarled roots that hung above like an arch of ribs. A void which dared its onlooker to lean ever closer.

From the entrance, clawed, skeletal fingers grazed the sides of the tunnel in gristly scratches. The body of the inhabitant looked, well, wrong, with exposed bone bending more like rubber than vertebrae. Those harsher eyes and marred organic body of the dead was apparent now: one of the wraiths roaming the area, and judging by the carved mark across her chest she’d been assassinated by local Borrowers. No animal sliced that quick and deep.

“No one’s home,” the spirit hissed. “Go bother someone else.”

“You know,” the teen murmured, “maybe this isn’t the right—-“

“No. Just stand back.” Prisoner knelt to the ground before the spirit, carving a few of her own scratches into the dirt. One of them was deep and jagged, entangled amidst itself in tapering curls; the second more subtle, with fractal swirls across the slice-and-dice mayhem.

DEFINE “ABSOLUTION,” it read. 

Thorn blinked. “You can read Chimeric?”

“I learned a lot out in the woods,” Spectre replied. “Reading their code was one of the most useful. It was an easy halfway point between all of us — just about everyone can learn to read and write with practice, no matter their vision. Add enough and it looks like any place was ransacked opposed to scribed; it kept us safe to communicate.”

The wraith looked over at Prisoner skeptically, then glanced sharply at the pre-spectral teen. 

“What about her? ”

“She’s with me,” Prisoner asserted. “The Greys taught her.”

The wraith glared over the pair for just a moment before retreating. There was a click of a lock as Prisoner’s boots erased the mark from sight, and the tunnel was left open for its company.

“Follow me.”

Prisoner spoke two words with the grace of a patient watcher; the guiding voice which led down into the abyss. Thankfully, the seamstress of these particular webs was long gone as they descended downwards, deep into the belly of the earth. It was dark again; near pitch black. Only a small set of dug-out clay stairs and a wooden handrail seemed to guide the pair of them down.

But in place of sight was something else; more code to decipher. The teen trailed the banister and the earthy abyss, flicking a digit or two over Chimeric scratches to source their meaning.

‘Don’t let them fool you.’

‘Question what you hear.’

‘Look for facts, not fallacy.’ 

‘Tread carefully.’

‘Mind who you trust.’ 

Then a final, deeper etched reminder: 

‘Whatever you do, survive. Your own existence is rebellion enough.’

They were the rules of following down this proverbial path of resistance. The literal path required some care to squeeze through as it tapered off narrower and narrower near the bottom.

“Weasels,” Prisoner growled. “They don’t know when to back off. The more tightly-packed the space, the less welcome, and the less likely they are to find it.”

The earth was warm and stale as the descent led into an abandoned warren; the condition indicated it’d been this way for some time. But even if not the size of a rabbit, there was something else down here in the gloom. Twitching whiskers and naked paws brushed past them; the rattle of chain and clank of metal. Prisoner reached out for it, turning a lock. “You don’t need that on right now,” she directed. “No one else is coming down. We don’t have to be chained up.”

There was something to be said about being kept alone, in the dark, with a pair of beings you couldn’t see. With night vision Thorn’s standard and scent filling in all other gaps, it was terrifying watching this pit of nothingness as borrowed perspective expunged it all. Every shuffle of darkened footsteps felt louder; the husky breath sharper as the massive animal crept closer. Knowing that one wrong move could spell out decapitation — or worse. 

“We have a visitor.” Prisoner’s footsteps trailed over, pulling their head around towards their company. Her voice echoed towards the further wall next, barking another command. “Flicker, the lights.”

A roaring flame lit up old torches. From the outcroppings of several tunnels, a sizable gathering of Borrowers peered out — with one, its codenamed mage, forefront and center. Her light blond hair reflected reverently in the scorching light, a pained smile on her face. Dangling around her neck was the form of a familiar dagger —

“How many of these fucking things are there?” Thorn groaned the question, raising her own. It’d returned itself from the Wild’s standoff, but felt awkward seeing yet another model of it in plain view.

“I don’t think I could answer that,” Spectre chuckled. “I don’t think it was from the Ring, and it isn’t the right size for Quiet’s. There really are a lot more of them than I was expecting…” She took a moment to ponder it. “I always suspected hers came from the Beans. Borrowers aren’t usually so pampered unless they decide for us like dolls or pets, and it was pretty obvious she’d escaped that fate.”

This Borrower really was dolled up. With tulle trappings and feathered accents weaved across a raven’s shawl, her human captor had put a lot of time and work into that image. But she seemed happier without them now, despite the trails of charcoal mascara down her cheeks.

“Hi, it’s been forever since we’ve seen another scholar,” Flicker beamed faintly, reaching a hand out to shake. “I heard you talking upstairs. I was one of Beatrix’s apprentices for a while.”

“Dorothy’s,” the teen responded. “But I’m still not very good at any of the spells.”

“That’s okay!” Flicker laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m still the only fire mage here. I do my best to keep the peace.” Her inner fires might’ve been doused, but they weren’t out. This girl seemed to be regaining what she’d lost.

“Picked up a new one, I see.” The creature looked over at Prisoner with a nod; illuminated in the torchlight, he was finally visible. A large rat towered two or three times over the crowd of Borrowers, draping his chains across the floor as he walked. Skeptic?

“Skeptic. He was always with her.”

 “Alright,” he scoffed lightly, “what’s her poison?”

“The same as us.” Prisoner guided the rat over carefully. “She wants to learn.”

The rat didn’t take an invitation before creeping closer. Skeptic merely stared down at the young Borrower curiously, locking eyes with her in the dim firelight. “Do ya, now? Let’s start real simple. Know anything about lockpicking yet?” When met with a shake of the head, Skeptic chuckled softly. “Aye, good start. That’s a damn right necessity out in the thick of it; the more chains they put you in, the more chains you gotta fight your way through,” he asserted, gnawing a stray link in half. “We can teach ya.”

A tentative hand reached out to take the risk of closer contact; the rat obliged, letting the full impact of the teen’s palm collide. When coarse first bristled against the younger’s hand, it was clear what had been represented: a pact.

“You can talk more with him later,” Prisoner instructed. “Flicker, I want you to follow us. We have a lot of work to do.”

“They kept their promise. They taught me everything.”

Light and color came to the forefront again. The trees were losing their foliage, and the trio of Greys’ apprentices snagged what they could for paper. The river’s bodies had withered away to bone by now; those who hadn’t been plucked off by scavengers were buried by the earth where no one could ever hurt them again.

“We had to be careful,” Spectre recalled. “More so than I had before. They taught me how to break the wires before anyone could be caught; and for those that had been, it wasn’t always fatal.” A blur of spiderwebs draped over a victim’s chest and back. Flicker’s hand stabilized a gash with a small trail of flame. “We treated them if we found them in time. But the others never stopped looking.”

“Come on, Starling; we have to keep moving.” Prisoner looked over the teen more fondly this time as she took her hand. Time began to blur once more.

More days passed, then weeks. The body of a rabbit settled at the edge of the bank. “Abandoned food, or perhaps a warning; I’m still unsure,” Spectre murmured. “When they recruited the chimeras, we used the blood of prey to throw them off of us and the trails of those who fled. There were more of us back when I started. But over time we grew less lucky.” The warren’s bustling crowd was waning; forms replaced with shadows, becoming nothing more than memory. One night’s journey out into the woods had Flicker nearly drop her torch, convulsing. An encoding mission was abandoned to bring her back to safety.

“You’re learning the hard way, just like me,” the guarding wraith snarled as they made their way back. “Sooner or later, you’ll learn that you have to kill them before they kill you.”

Spectre’s former self turned towards her then, giving a shake of her head. “I won’t have to.”

“Wishful thinking. There was no stopping the inevitable, no matter how hard I tried.”

Shame and guilt permeated the walls of this memory. The spirit’s prophecy was true in the end as over time their world was drawn apart, the sanguinary end of malicious Borrowers staining knives and bloodying glass.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” Spectre managed shakily. “But she was right. Sometimes, we don’t have a choice except to fight or die.”

Blood has splintered a pristine vision in the grass. The teen jolted back, wiping her eyes.

“I know; it’s hard. But you did the right thing,” Prisoner muttered, placing a hand upon the shaken teen’s back. Only a shaky, breathless question back:

“Why do I feel like we’ve done something terrible?”

“Because you have a heart,” Prisoner answered. “And they don’t. They've forgotten that we’re people.” Prisoner wiped the blood onto her sleeve, taking her hand. The warmth was back. “You’re doing what you have to. Never feel ashamed for that.”

The memories fizzled and flickered. The strain was immeasurable, yet Spectre continued on in due course. Color dredged itself in muted hues; no longer capable of holding onto everything at once.

“We lived. We died. We took our chances. Our warnings filled the trees and paths, on hills and dirt beneath their feet. Borrowers of all sorts had learned from them and fled; not all of them made it; some traded off, and others, well…”

Spectre’s words were less coherent, running off in fractured sentences. Time and people were running out. The warren had been covered in blood from within; small trails of oxidized copper had wicked their noses, choking down the heavy breaths. Flicker laid on the teen’s lap, trying to find comfort in one of the few heartbeats left. Prisoner stood guard by the exit, saying nothing as she watched the predators circle round. The silence was deafening.

“Aren’t you frightened?” Flicker scarcely looked up as she asked the question.

“Are you?” Prisoner looked over at the pair, disinterested. Somewhere above, a burly creature prowled near the tunnels, sniffing the air. “I’m not. Chimeras are impatient; they’ll get bored on a dead trail and change course.”

“I just wanted to be certain we weren’t alone.” Flicker looked up almost pleadingly. The expression mirrored in her other company; Prisoner sighed looking over the pair of them.

“You’re not. But eventually, you will be.” Prisoner didn’t elaborate. The strategist took one last glimpse out into the open before descending the stairs, metallic gadgets scraping against the dirt pathway as she knelt to take her hands. “One of these days, they will find me. It may be years later. It may be tomorrow. When that time comes, I want you two to run, and never look back . They'll learn the hard way that I don’t stay down.” Even in the dim firelight from agonized torches, the smirk was palpable. “If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll find the Queen wherever they send me off. I have a lot of questions for her.”

A half-hearted chuckle from the teen in response. “And what if we get there first?”

“Do me a favor and slap her straight. Whatever’s been holding up the Wild had better be good.”

“You certainly did,” Thorn chuckled nervously. “And I’m honestly better off for it—“

An expression of affection cut her off. Prisoner’s hand had guided itself along the teen’s chin, giving a gentle scratch. Was there something there? “Hey. I know how you feel about me, but it would be cruel of me to lead you on. Bad things follow wherever I go, and I’ve never had any control over it.”

“Neither of us had any control,” the teen responded. “We’re just the ones these things happened to.”

Prisoner sighed. “Our luck has been rotten, but that doesn’t mean it has to keep stacking for you. When they come for me, promise you won’t go looking. Find yourself a partner who can look after you. And take care of each other.”

“I promise.”

(“I promise.”)

The overlapping echo of past and present caught Thorn off guard. This particular strain had looped Spectre back in; fresh tears had streaked her cheeks, peering out at the frightened Borrower in a past life’s arms as the trio enfolded around each other. 

This was where it ended.

The memory was dimming. Sound was fizzling out. It seemed that as time took its toll all over again, the calm facade was breaking.

“…. I didn’t think we’d get this far.” Spectre choked. “I thought you would’ve turned back by now.”

“I told you I could handle it.” Thorn took a moment, placing a hand on Spectre’s shoulder. “You got through mine. Did… Did you want me to?”

“No.” That was the truth. It echoed deep and long through shared sensations. “I just thought it would be easier after all this time.”

Thorn watched as the phantom’s legs buckled. This was the first time she had seen Spectre sitting down, especially so suddenly. But the course of action was obvious as Thorn, too, settled down beside as the ghost hid her face in her hands. Now was not the time to be alone.

“Do you want to stop?”

Spectre was silent for a moment. “… I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I have all of it. It’s been in my notes for years, but this just feels more real—“

There was a hitched breath as Thorn dug closer. Two weeks ago, Spectre had draped herself over the sodden, shaking form of a nightmare’s hostage — one who scarcely trusted anyone. But this same action had clamped down on Spectre herself this time, blinking rapidly in confusion. They really had come this far, hadn’t they?

“Neither of them made it,” was all Spectre could muster. “I was the only one who made it out of the woods.”

Thorn remained silent for a moment. “They knew what they were risking, just like you,” she reminded gently. “If you stayed, they would’ve killed you on the spot. It’s more likely that they both survived.”

“Your memories didn’t show beyond the cellar. And neither of us have any clue what happened after that, to either of them.”

“Domestic Fae get traded off as pets. If that’s where she came from, then that’s probably where she returned,” Thorn admitted ruefully. “Alive, just… Captured.”

“Mmh.” Spectre muttered confirmation over anything. “That’s scarcely a life.”

“No,” Thorn agreed. “It’s not.”

The pair sat together there, momentarily silent. The mindscape had long since become pitch black. Lower sound and senses; just the flicker of occasional light, and the calming lull of absence.

“It’s dark here, isn’t it?”

“I think you switched control back over to me,” Thorn replied. “This is a lot like the Network, just less woven. You get used to it over time.” Thorn unlatched herself, offering a hand. Eyes tried and failed to meet a little awkwardly; this strange, human ritual of staring straight ahead felt unnatural on both of them. Upon the third or fourth try, there was finally a laugh. A more comfortable energy had taken place; they settled for sitting just sitting in close company, looking down at nothing in particular. “I can probably find a way to take you down there eventually; I’ll just have to figure out how . There’s… a lot I want to say. But I can’t get any of it off my tongue.”

“That’s okay. This is enough.” Spectre cleared her throat, sharpening her posture. You know you don’t have to do that, right? That you can just —- The posture slumped again. — Relax- Oh. I didn’t think it would be that easy. “Thank you for letting me show you.”

“Anytime.” Thorn nodded. “I don’t think there’s a lot I can do to help right now except being here; I have ideas, but not the energy.“

“Like what?” The mental image of the body came from Thorn’s perspective first. “What — trying to give Quiet another panic attack?” Spectre chuckled the words sarcastically, looking over at Thorn incredulously. No waver. “… You’re serious.”

“You deserve to be remembered ,” Thorn insisted. “Not just stuck aimlessly in limbo . You clearly did a lot to help others, and didn’t receive much of that back.”

“It’s fine, really,” Spectre dismissed. “I’m clearly still here for a reason. And I don’t think that’s —-“

“Let me help you.” Thorn’s visage boldened, gripping Spectre’s hand tightly in her own. For once, the desperate gaze wasn’t forced as Thorn held her closer, practically pressed up against the phantom’s face. “Please.”

“… Okay.” Sometimes it was okay to take up space. That was still a new realization. “But how would we do that without you joining me?”

“I don’t think it would be a problem if he helped us,” Thorn reasoned. “Kept the door open, and watch. The whole reason it ended the way it did for you was because—“

“He didn’t know I was there,” Spectre nodded. “Or at least, alive. We… Had some correspondence beforehand.” There was a softer shift of Spectre’s hands in her lap. “He just assumed I’d been haunting him since the day he arrived.”

An amused breath of laughter emanated through the space. Thorn couldn’t help it; it was charming seeing her back to her old self.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot more I wish I could tell him —“

“Then why don’t you? I don’t think any of this is beyond his comprehension. He seemed to understand just fine when we talked.”

“But you had the Network.”

“That’s not the only way. You managed to show all this to me without it; couldn’t you just possess him? You’re not doing each other any favors keeping things secret. That’s how this all started.”

“Because I was so determined that he had to feel it to know. You’re right.” Spectre hesitated. “Alright; I’ll show him.”

Thorn stepped back.

 “Do you feel better now?”

“I do. I think… I think you’re right. And I’d like that, actually. All of it.” As Thorn stirred from her spot, Spectre held out a hand; it felt weird being pulled forward so easily, but still felt right in its own regard. “Just let me do the talking. But we should probably wait until morning; that’ll take quite some convincing, and you’re both exhausted. I promised him I’d join him as soon as we were done talking.”

“If you’re ready, then go ahead. I should probably get some sleep myself.”

Reality was returning. The floor beneath their feet solidified, bringing back the scent of inks and dyes. There was no icy pain this time as Spectre disentangled herself; her firm slipped past seamlessly, giving Thorn an appreciative glance back.

“Thank you again. I’ll guess let you know tomorrow when I’m ready. I’ll see you then.”

Thorn gave a nod of respect. Whatever came next could finally wait as Spectre retreated; It felt correct. There was a heavy weight which lifted off Thorn’s shoulders  — only to crash down once more with fatigue as the reality of it all had sunk in.

This night had been exhausting. It was finally time to call it a day and get some rest.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Opening Up

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 >

Ford Pines & Stan Pines | 2,337 words | Axolotl’s Acolyte AU

Stan gets himself cursed, and reluctantly calls upon his brother for help. Never one to resist the strange and unusual, Ford goes to him, even if he has to recruit the assistant he barely remembers to get there.

[Ao3 Crosspost]

Fic under the cut

For better or for worse (mostly for worse), Stan is a pretty stubborn guy. When he gets himself into a situation, he’s got a tendency to dig his heels in and stick to his guns. Even if he is forced to hit the bricks, he won’t often admit, even to himself, that he made a mistake.

Right now, Stan can admit that he’s made a mistake.

“Um, what are you doing?” a woman says loudly, and Stan tries his best to hide his flinch as he turns to face her. His hand, along with a bag of chips, is shoved into the pocket of his jacket.

“Right now? Talking to the prettiest broad this side of the Rocky Mountains,” he says with a wink. A shock of pain laces up his hand, because okay, fine, she’s an ugly old lady who isn’t Stan’s type at all.

“Excuse you, I am married!” she gasps shrilly, lifting her hand to show Stan a flashy wedding ring.

It’s the sorta thing Pa used to sell, but it’s probably actual diamond instead of quartz, judging by the fancy duds she’s all dressed up in. It’s a shame Stan has to play it lowkey, because she’d be a great target for… something. Maybe he can still pickpocket her if he manages to play this off.

“Lucky man,” Stan says casually, and yes, fine, he’s lying, his shoulder doesn’t need to tell him that! He turns away from the woman just slightly, even if the hole won’t show through his clothes.

“I meant, you put a bag of chips in your pocket! Like you were trying to steal it!” she says, loudly. Stan glances over his shoulder to see the cashier— young man, probably a high schooler who’s not getting paid enough to watch customers carefully but isn’t quite disillusioned enough to straight-up let them steal— perk up. Shit.

“Hey, I haven’t stolen nothin’ yet!” Stan says, which is at least a little true. He hasn’t stolen anything from here, but in general—

Pain pulses through his left cheek. The woman shrieks, quickly going pale. Two finely manicured hands lift to cover her gaping mouth.

“Oh my lord, what’s wrong with you!?” she gasps, backing away.

“Hey, what are you doing?” the cashier says, jumping the counter to storm up to him. Stan turns to face him, and the cashier stops. “Oh, ew, what the hell?”

“Is that any way to talk to a non-paying customer?” Stan scoffs, gesturing with one hand. The cashier looks down at his hand and gags. “Yeesh, you’re dramatic!”

Stan lifts his hand to wink at the cashier through the perfectly round hole punched right through it. The cashier stumbles away, hitting his back on the counter.

“Call the police! Young man, call the police!” the woman screams.

“For what!? I ain’t doing shit!” Stan says, turning to throw his arms up at her. The movement jostles the bag of chips out of his pocket and onto the ground.

“A thief and a freak!” she scoffs, sounding a little smug about herself despite the horror.

“Who’re you calling a freak?” Stan snaps; despite everything, that word still gets his hackles up.

“Yes, hello? Yeah, I’m a cashier at the—“ he hears the cashier starting to say, and Stan curses. He grabs the bag of chips off the ground— so not worth it— and makes a break for the front door. Obviously, neither of them stop him.

So yeah, Stan may have made a mistake. Not in robbing the 8-Twelve, because that was one of his favorite hobbies and also his main source of food, but in getting stuck with a curse that punishes him every time he lies. He can cover up a lot of it with his clothes, but he looks like a beat-up slice of swiss cheese.

And yeah, okay, the chick he was messing with was pretty obviously a witch, what with the cat following her around and the bottles on her belt and yeah, okay, she had a pointy hat, but she also had a heck of a lot of jewelry! Expensive looking stuff too, big colorful jewels on gold and silver chains. He was feeling a little nostalgic for the ol’ pawn shop and just couldn’t resist giving it a go.

So, despite the fact that she was so obviously a witch, Stan struck up a conversation. She was young enough for him to play charming in a potential-boyfriend way instead of a son or grandson way, so he laid it on thick. So thick that they ended up in a swanky little bar just outside of Denver later that same day. A few drinks in, and it was easy enough for him to lay a loving hand over hers and slip a ring and bracelet into his pockets while whispering sweet nothings.

Unfortunately, she was not drunk enough to let that slip, but she was drunk enough to scream and cry and sob about her broken heart and how all men are the same, which seemed like a lot for a man she’d met earlier that day. She made such a scene that Stan gave everything back and even apologized as he made a break for it.

When he woke up to a sharp pain in his chest and looked down to see a clean round hole punched right through it, he had no doubt in his mind about where it came from. It hurt, but it didn’t bleed or anything, even as Stan sat up and stared at the layers of his insides along the edges. Vaguely, he remembers thinking that Ford would be really into this.

So, Stan had a hole in his chest. In a way, he kinda felt like it’d been there for a long time, somewhere around ten years in fact. It didn’t hurt for long, so Stan covered it up and went on with his life. The hole punched right through his heart continued to not kill him, so Stan continued trying not to die.

Unfortunately, not dying for a man like Stan meant a whole lot of lying, so it didn’t take long for Stan to figure out that the curse wasn’t a one-and-done sort of deal. No, of course not, that’d be too easy; put a shirt on and nobody’d ever know.

Instead, a brand new hole would open up every time Stan told a lie, and every time it’d hurt like hell. Sure, Stan was pretty used to hurting like hell, but constant wincing wasn’t a good look on a charming salesman. Eventually, the holes got a whole (hole, heh.) lot harder to hide; a few on his hands and wrists, one right through his throat, and now one on his cheek. After all he’d done to get his hands on some decent dentures, Stan wasn’t willing to lose his winning smile all over again.

After wandering around downtown Denver long enough to lose anyone who might be following him, he makes his way back to his car. He catches his face in the mirror, and sees that the way it’s punched through one cheek and not the other gives him an unsettling view of the inside of his mouth. It isn’t drying it out though, which is pretty cool. Still, incredibly uncool that he has a hole in his face.

As he takes off his shirt and looks down at his torso and arms, he finds that he hadn’t realized how bad it’d gotten. It’s still more flesh than not, but Stan doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen once it’s not. If he gets enough holes to circle his wrist, will his hand fall off? What will happen if the holes chew him up entirely? Will he still exist as a consciousness without a body?

That's a fun thought experiment, or, maybe it would be if it wasn’t at risk of becoming a reality.

He could hide the hole on his cheek— he’s already taken to wearing a scarf to cover his neck, he’d just have to bring it up over his nose— but how much longer can he keep this up? How many more lies can he tell before he ceases to exist entirely?

Yeah, he’d made a mistake alright. He just has no idea how to fix it. He might be able to track the witch down, but he doesn’t exactly trust her to help him out after… all that. But who else could he call in to help him with something so weird?

Weird. Stan knows one person who he thinks might know a whole lot about weird.

Ma mentions Ford just about every time they talk. He’s up in Oregon, she says, studying all that ‘anomaly hokey-pokey he was always into when youse was kids’. Pa hates it, says he should be studying something worthwhile (read, profitable), but Ma always seemed amused, happy that at least one of her sons was living the dream despite the best efforts of the other.

So yeah, Ford. If anyone knows about weird curses and spells and shit, it’s probably him. The thing is, he really doesn’t want to call Ford, especially not when he needs him to clean up his own mess.

On the other hand, weird curse! Ford would love that! It’s also super gross or maybe scientifically intriguing how all of Stan’s organs are just hanging out, fully functional around the hole punched in them. Stan doesn’t really know what Ford is focusing on (probably nothing, because he wants to know everything ) but surely he’d be interested in what Stan’s got going on?

Yeah, Stan needs help, but it’s with something Ford will be interested in! He’s totally justified in calling him.

Stan puts his clothes back on, and tells himself that it’s all totally justified and fine and Ford won’t be mad at all. He continues to tell himself that as he leaves his car and makes his way to the nearest phone booth, and as he slips a coin in and dials that number he knows by heart, and as he listens to the dial tone.

Once Ford actually picks up, though, he regrets everything he ever did to make it to this point.

“ Doctor Stanford Pines speaking ,” Ford says stiffly, a little smugly, because he loves introducing himself as Doctor Pines.

This was a mistake. The words catch in Stan’s throat.

“Hey,” Stan says, instead of the quick and clear explanation of what’s going on he was planning on.

“ Hello? To whom am I speaking ?”

“ Whom the hell says whom?” Stan snorts before he can stop himself.

” That’s not —“ Ford stutters, and then his voice goes all soft with… disbelief? “… wait, Stanley ?”

He doesn’t sound mad.

“Yup, that’s my name.”

Silence on the other end for a long, painful moment.

“ What do you want ?” Ford asks, and yep, there’s the anger.

“Well, uh, hate to ask this of you outta the blue, but I kinda sorta got cursed and need some help getting uncursed?” Stan says, speeding up towards the end in a rush to get it all out.

Another long lapse of silence, followed by a heavy sigh.

“ Of course. Of course you would call me like this ,” Ford huffs. “ 10 years of silence, and now you’re calling me just because you got yourself into a bad situation !”

“Oh sure, I got myself into a bad situation, it’s all my fault!” Stan says, and a shiver runs up his spine as he feels one of the holes force itself shut. Damnit. Stupid curse doesn’t understand sarcasm. “Listen, can you help me or not? You know I wouldn’t call if I had any other choice.”

Damn, that sounds desperate. Play it cool, Stanley.

“I mean, it’s not life or death, I don’t think, at least not yet, but it sure does suck.”

Another hole closes. He doesn’t love being honest, but maybe Stan can fix it himself if Ford refuses… until he tells another lie, of course. Ugh.

Another long-suffering sigh from Ford.

“Hold on a moment, Stanley,” Ford says, and the phone clicks against a table or countertop or whatever; he set it down, but didn’t hang up.

Stanley holds on for a moment, before he hears approaching footsteps and the sounds of rustling pages over the phone.

“ Explain this ‘curse’ to me. How did you acquire it, and what are its effects ?” Ford asks.

“Long and short of it? I ticked off a witch and now I’m full of holes.”

“… holes ?” Ford echoes, soft and almost sounding scared. “ You said it wasn’t life or death! If you have several puncture wounds, even if they are magically inflicted, you should be at the hospital, not calling me!”

“Nah man, they’re not puncture wounds,” though Stan sure knows what those feel like, “they’re just… holes. The first one is right through my heart and it’s still beating and shit.”

“… fascinating ,” Ford says with an audible scrape of pen against paper. “ You are not bleeding, and no organ functions have been compromised ?”

“Nope, not as far as I can tell anyway,” Stan says, poking around the hole in his hand. “And my voice sounds pretty normal, right? You’d never guess I have a hole in my cheek! And my throat.”

“ True, I would not have guessed that at all, ” Ford says faintly. “ Well, I suppose I’ll have to investigate in person. Where are you located ?”

“Huh?” Stan grunts. “No, you don’t need to come all the way out here, Poindexter! Just… point me in the right direction or something. Gimme a hint.”

“ No, this is something I must see for myself ,” Ford says. “ Where are you ?”

“Really, you don’t need to—“

“Stanley. Tell me where you are,” Ford says firmly. After a moment, he continues, “please.”

Shiiit.

“Denver, Colorado. Just outside of downtown,” Stan admits. “But really, you don’t—“

Click.

God damnit. As if speaking to him over the phone wasn’t hard enough, now Stan’s gonna have to see his brother face to hole-filled face.

[wistfulenchantress]

i, currently still on haitus, just hit 150 followers (which is insane ilysm)

here is what i've learned over my depression acting up recently.

healing isn't linear. that's hard for me to accept. just because you are fine one day doesn't mean you will be the next.

take breaks. i might lose everyone here if i keep leaving, and i hate that, but i can't take the stress. EX: i'm writing a fic rn that i love sm and am so proud of, but the content started negatively affecting me so i've stopped righting it until i am in a better place of mind.

just meet yourself where you are at. if you need to squeeze ice cubes and watch cartoons, do it. whatever brings you joy.

reach out to your friends. i reached out to someone irl last night when i was struggling and they really came through.

hug yourself. i do not have a perfect best friend, like in stories. i don't have someone next door to hug me when things get rough. so i hug myself. or a stuffed animal. or my parents (without context).

talk. be open. be free. be as happy as you can be and if you can't be, just try to be ok. ok enough is ok for now.

don't give up. i am over 50 days sh clean and i am proud of it. we can fight this.

some people have reached out to me, and that means the world. please. i won't force anyone to do anything, but i'm checking tumblr (without activity) enough that just a funny fact about your day, or a kind word, would make me smile. and i could use them. i am not telling anyone to do anything, of course. but if you have a moment, spare it for me. i... that sounds awful but i am posting it anyway what the heck.

please, take care of yourselves. and know that my dog loves you all. (and so do i, but she is much cuter)

still not active, but still trying to be happy,

witch.