#ghosts have gender set to optional

[hughmanbean]

New in Town

Jason is... worried. Somewhat. There's a new group in Gotham.

The first indication of this when he'd encountered a towering man in armor, his face shrouded in shadows. The man had introduced himself as Fright Knight, proudly declaring to be the Royal Knight of the High Queen.

A group of royals? He asks.

The most powerful! The Knight replies.

A girl is seen flitting around Gotham, mischievous grin on her face. She calls Jason stinky.

A man lurks behind her, grumbling to himself. He calls Jason unimpressive.

A couple zoom the streets on a motorbike, followed by an unnaturally dark shadow.

A new soup kitchen opens up. The moving truck with it donates lunch boxes to the less fortunate.

---

Fright Knight strolls the streets, humming to himself about a job well done. The High Queen had been muttering about how the Prince and Princess may have been getting bored, so he'd taken the initiative to find something interesting for both of them.

His Queen would be pleased. Now to tell her.

[prismit]

the next monster hunter game better let you change your gender whenever you want for free

[whatawaitsus]

It's your final year at Killian Argent's School for the Supernatural; a prestigious boarding school for supernatural beings. In theory this doesn't mean much. Your future has been set since you were a child: graduate from a prestigious boarding school, get into an equally prestigious college that your parents will pay for, and then get a prestigious well-paying job with your father's connections. It is what is, you're past the point of complaining at this point in your life.

Despite being one of the most expensive schools in the nation, nothing particularly interesting has happened at the school in the nine years you've been here— aside from the occasional accidental possession caused by a ghost or the common room getting flooded after a nixie gets too frustrated over their homework.

That is until students start to go missing.

Oh, and you start having prophetic dreams of your missing brother. But, that's probably better to unpack later, in all honesty.

What Awaits Us is upcoming choicescript interactive fiction project. The game is rated 16+ for violence, manipulation, kidnapping, strong language, drug use, religious imagery and trauma and optional suggestive content.

Choose what kind of witch you are; customize your gender, pronouns, sexuality, physical appearance, personality, magic class, uniform style, dorm decor, familiar, and more.

Balance trying to solve the disappearances of your peers and your performance as a student.

Establish your relationships with your parents and older brother by playing through flashbacks.

Deicide on your class schedule and extracurricular activity that will have the ability to affect your stats.

Choose one out of five romantic options; a moody kitsune, an expressive siren, a bubbly godling, or a quiet godling, or an apathetic arachne.

Solve the mystery of the missing kids and potentially get a lead on your runaway brother.

Unwillingly gain a weird almost mentor figure in the form of one of your teachers.

Rei Nakamura [they/them, kitsune]: C's roommate. Rei has been at this school as long as you, though your interactions are next to none. You always spot their name at the top of all the classes you share. They generally keep to themselves, only interacting with C and the kids they tutor. When they do talk it's usually an insult or a refusal to do something. It's not a surprise that they're generally disliked by most of the school. How they happened to befriend an outgoing siren is beyond you.

Cleo/Cyrus Valtameri [gender selectable, siren]: Rei's roommate. C is.. a lot. They transferred during your ninth term; originally from Drialia, which is clear from their accent. They joined the theater club nearly as soon as they were enrolled and have landed nearly every lead since then. The two of you don't interact much, but when you do happen to cross paths they're always animatedly nice to you; they're like that to everyone except Rei, really. You almost swear you've seen the two of them point at you and laugh.

Lydia Taylor* [she/her, godling]: Lukas's twin sister. You've been partnered up with Lydia a few times for projects and she's always a diligent student. She's in the boxing club, which is honestly kind of intimidating, especially after what happened between her and Stephan Kim in your sixth term. But, she's always been plenty nice to you too, not fake nice like you've realized most of your classmates are. She and her brother are never apart from eachother, either.

Lukas Taylor [he/him, godling]: Lydia's twin brother. Lukas Taylor has been going through an 'emo phase' about as long as you've known him. You vaguely remember the mop of strawberry blond hair that was on his head when he first came here, though you have a suspicion he bribed a mage to wipe it from the yearbooks. Lukas is quiet; the polar opposite of his sister. You don't think he's in any clubs, though he is always carrying around a weathered sketchbook.

Nico/Nadia Ruiz-Estrada [gender selectable, arachne]: Your roommate. N and you have shared a dorm for the past five years, and they're possibly your best friend. Despite constantly skipping all of their classes, barring the ones the two of you share, their grades remain high. Even after knowing them for six years you still don't know if they care about anything besides displeasing their older sister. They started a band in your ninth year; Bite The Bullet. Half of the kids in your term are convinced they were formerly in prison, something that makes N laugh hysterically whenever you bring it up.

Polyamorous routes available with Rei & Cleo/Cyrus and Lukas & Nico/Nadia.

*Lydia is only romancable by female and nonbinary MC's.*

[thelonelyshore-if]

Meet me at the cabin. Please.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. A cryptic late night text sent from your younger sibling, begging you to meet up at your family’s old lake home. The plea for help was as concerning as it was confusing. As far as you knew, neither of you had set foot in the cabin in a decade. You had your hesitations, but Willow seemed desperate. You couldn’t help but oblige.

Everything goes downhill fast when Willow's research into childhood ghost stories lands you in a town that doesn't exist. A town where people go missing at an alarming rate, where things that aren't quite human run businesses with hungry eyes, where time runs differently.

A town you can't leave. 

Something about Easthaven is wrong. A supernatural fog permeates the town, so thick you could choke…but you’re one of the only people who seems to notice it. You’re quick to realize the fog keeps the residents ignorant, keeps them passive, keeps them trapped. When people who have long since gone missing start coming back home, you realize Easthaven’s mysteries go deeper than you could have ever imagined.

Explore the magic and the horrors of the small town of Easthaven, team up with the few others who can see through the fog, and do everything you can to make your way back home.

The Lonely Shore is an 18+ supernatural horror story (and mystery) inspired by works such as Midnight Mass, The Mist, Scarlet Hollow, and Gravity Falls. A story about how sometimes places can feel like people, how easy it is to do terrible things for those we love, and how small towns have a way of eating you alive.

FEATURES:

Play as male, female, or nonbinary; trans or cis. Choose up to two sets of pronouns or input your own. Customize your appearance and develop your personality throughout the game. 

Romance or befriend a cast of characters. Options for ace and aro routes, as well as three polyamorous paths.

Customize Willow, your younger sibling. Select their gender and determine what your relationship with them is. Will you rebuild a broken relationship? Or let a good one go down in flames?

Explore the world of Easthaven, a town that exists outside of time, separated completely from the rest of the world. A place where tragedy is mundane and death is around every corner. Encounter the Fog, the source of all of Easthaven’s horrors.

Build up to one of five distinct magic styles as your character comes to life; including necromancy, clairvoyance, manipulating the Fog, becoming something monstrous–or suppressing your magic instead, having it come out in uncontrollable bursts.

Solve the mystery of the Returned: citizens who have been missing for months, years, decades but who have recently started coming back home.

CHARACTERS:

Jaylen 'Jay' Jones (M/F)

A veterinarian-in-training and member of the town's Search & Rescue team who has seen Easthaven's horrors firsthand. A kindhearted but wary person who cares more about keeping people safe than they do about solving the town's mysteries. They're tired of losing people.

Yasmin Bakir-King (F)

The local librarian, a fiercely clever widow with very little patience for nonsense. Very outgoing, she's one of the most well-known figures in town. She starts the story unaware of Easthaven's dangers but very quickly gets thrust into the middle of the town's latest mystery.

Amir/Amara "Croft" (M/F)

A reclusive, ill-tempered horror author who just so happens to be the town's latest newcomer…until you show up. Croft came to town with their share of secrets, and there's nothing in the world they want more than to escape Easthaven.

Beck Dawn (genderfluid)

Fun-loving and reckless, Beck is an adrenaline junkie who can't seem to stay out of danger…despite being completely unaware of the town's secrets. A magnet for trouble, it's no surprise Beck lands right in the middle of Easthaven's latest mystery.

Ravi Singh (M)

Easthaven's local mortician. Ravi is easygoing and quick to laugh; though sometimes his humor leans towards the macabre. But his easy smiles don't cover up his almost chilling comfort with the Fog; nor do they get rid of the pile of skeletons in his closet.

Perri Loveless (M/F/NB)

Runs one of Easthaven's three radio stations. In the day they play music, and at night they host a supernatural-themed call in radio show, The Lonely Shore. Perri is an enthusiastic (if a bit awkward) person whose theories tend towards the unbelievable. It's unfortunate that, despite all of their theories, Perri has no idea what's actually going on in Easthaven.

And…

"Willow" (M/F/NB)

Your little sibling. Flighty, impulsive, and outgoing; their fascination with the occult is what lands you in Easthaven. Your relationship can range from best friends to sworn enemies. Will they be able to save you from the mess they've made?

LINKS:

DEMO | ROs | Content Warnings

( current wordcount : 114,296 without code )

[scyllas-revenge]

A Shield Against the Snow

yet another only one bed scenario, because I’m obsessed with them

Boromir/Reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 1,472

Rating: T

Here’s my next installment of How to Cope with a Middle Earth Bed Shortage, this time with our beloved Boromir! (previous chapters include Eomer/Reader and Legolas/Reader).

Read on AO3!

���We’ll have to share.”

Boromir turned to look at you incredulously as you held your bedroll out to him, and for a moment you feared that your suppressed longing had revealed itself in your shaking voice. But your whole body was shaking with cold as it was, and it seemed you were safe.

“It’s our only option,” you added weakly.

Boromir had lost half his supplies in the snow hours earlier, nearly tumbling into a ravine in the treacherous climb up Caradhras. The two of you had gone scouting ahead for a safer path, but were now facing a night in a snowstorm alone, lost, freezing, and with a single bedroll between you.

“Nonsense.” He turned away, looking irritated. “Go to sleep, and I will keep watch.”

“Keep watch for what?” You gestured to the forest of boulders and ice, ominous in the dying evening light. Too inhospitable even for a campfire. “There’s nothing out here but snow.”

Boromir pulled his cloak tighter around himself and didn’t answer.

“If you’re not going to sleep, we might as well keep walking,” you went on, raising your voice over the biting wind. “We might be able to catch up with the Fellowship by dawn.”

“So late, and in this blizzard? The sun is setting, and soon we will be utterly blind!”

You jabbed a gloved finger at him in triumph. “Then how do you expect to keep watch?”

“I—” But you had bested him, and he scowled. “Just go to sleep.”  

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“The Men of Gondor can outlast a little snow.”

“Boromir, you’ll freeze—”

“I cannot share your bed!” He was breathing hard. “I cannot. I beg you, do not ask me again.”

You had expected a show of protest—Boromir always was a stickler for propriety—but the vehemence of his refusal stung. All these weeks the Fellowship had traveled together, he had never spoken so coldly to you. Always he had been kind, warm, talkative, seeking to walk by your side or offer you extra food at mealtimes. There had even been moments when his hand had rested on your shoulder, his eyes fairly glowing with what you had thought—what you had hoped was…

“I thought you were more practical than this.” Bitterness sharpened your voice to a swordpoint. “Would you truly rather freeze than lie beside me for a night? Just to stay warm?”

“Yes.”

He may as well have slapped you. Valar, he hadn’t even hesitated. But the shock of pain subsided quickly, fury taking its place. “Yes?” You stormed toward him, the bedroll shaking in your gloved fists. But the snow had frozen slick on the rocks at your feet, and Boromir’s hand darted out to steady you as you slipped.

Your eyes locked. He was all tension, jaw clenched, fingers tightening on your arm. Something desperate warred behind his eyes.

“Yes?” The word ghosted from your lips in a puff of white, a furious challenge.

“Yes.” His grip tightened, tightened, nearly painful. “For your warmth would burn me.”

“What?”

His breath billowed out in uneven clouds before him, anguish roughening his voice. “To lie beside you, to feel you pressed against me all through the night, to feign indifference all the while—” He released you and stepped away, shaking his head. “It would destroy me utterly.”

You stopped feeling the cold at once. 

Boromir must have seen the shock in your eyes and stepped back again. “Forgive me. I had hardly wished to burden you with my desires, least of all now, here.”

“Desires? But how—how long have you…”

He lowered his eyes. “You will think me a barbarian, for I have wished to share your bed since first we met. Though I admit, I had imagined rather different circumstances than this. I am sorry to bring you discomfort,” he added, misreading your stunned silence. “Sorrier still to threaten our friendship. But you understand now why you must sleep alone.”

The bitter wind whipped at Boromir’s hair. Squaring his shoulders against the cold, he turned away into the darkness to begin his watch.

“Wait.” You shook your head breathlessly, finding your voice at last. “No. Share with me. Please.”

You set down your bedroll in the shelter of a little rocky outcropping, in as much shelter as could be found from the wind, and turned back to him.

But the desire in your voice had been lost in the freezing wind. “I cannot…” His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Misery twisted his features, and he stepped back once more.

You came to him instead, reaching out a gloved hand to sweep the snow from his broad shoulders, your fingers lingering on his collar in a gesture he couldn’t possibly misunderstand. “It’s so cold, Boromir,” you whispered. “Let me keep you warm.”

A shudder ran the length of his body, and he pulled you into his arms so urgently that he stumbled in the snow, gathering you to his chest with a breathless laugh. “Yes,” was all he managed to say. “Yes, love.” 

And you kissed him.

Boromir’s lips were cold and chapped, but so were yours, and it was a sweeter kiss by far than any you'd conjured up during your long journey together. You melted into his embrace, heedless of the wind biting at your skin, and you clung to each other tighter even than the snow clung to your hair and cloaks.

Already you were warmer than you’d been in weeks. That wasn’t saying much, of course, considering how long the Fellowship had been hiking in the snow. And while Boromir’s mouth was invitingly warm, you felt no heat from his gloved hands, nor the snow-encrusted cloaks and furs between your bodies.

You shivered in his arms. Without speaking, you both trudged, still clinging to one another, to your bedroll, climbing hurriedly inside and draping your snow-encrusted coats and cloaks over the covers for extra warmth. It was more cramped than you’d anticipated, but you found you didn’t mind. The length of Boromir’s body was pressed tight to yours, and you grinned, nuzzling even closer to him.

Boromir wrapped his arms around you, drawing the covers as far over your heads as you could to shelter you from the wind. And without wasting a moment he slanted his lips over yours again, his fingers carding through your hair. He still wore his bulky gloves, making the gesture more uncomfortable than romantic. You laughed fondly and drew away.

“Let me.” You untangled your hair from his glove and took his hands in yours. Inch by inch you slipped the worn leather from his fingers, first one hand and then the other. His eyes were locked on your movements, his breath hushed.

You removed your own gloves next, and the warmth of his bare skin against yours was more welcome than a roaring fire. You gathered his fingers in your smaller ones, heating them against your lips with a long breath. Gently, you massaged his heavy palms, his calloused fingers, his broad fingertips.

“Had I known what sharing a bed with you would be like,” Boromir whispered, eyes slipping shut contentedly, “I would have mislaid my bedroll days ago.”

You laughed, withdrawing one hand slowly to trace the side of his face with your fingertips—the unkempt beard, the weathered skin, the little lines at the sides of his mouth where his smile widened. You had never touched his face before, and you wondered how you’d managed to go so long without doing so.

Boromir mirrored your gesture, cupping your face in his hand. With his other he propped himself above you—protecting you from the worst of the elements even now—and kissed you as though he’d been thinking of nothing else all those weeks you’d traveled together.

He drew away only to press a kiss below your ear, his lips parting hot against your racing pulse. You gasped, arching into him—and the covers above you shifted, sending a flurry of snowflakes cascading into your faces.

The next minutes were spent spluttering, coughing, shivering, knocking knees and elbows as you hurried to readjust the blankets above your heads.

Peace fell again at last, and your breathing calmed.

The wind was quieter now, as though it regretted its former cruelty, and the sun was nearly gone—Boromir’s face was little more than a warm silhouette under the blankets.

“Is this better?” you whispered, the last of the snow finally brushed away.

Boromir swept a strand of your now-mussed hair from your forehead. “No. I wish I could feel more of you tonight.” His voice was soft, the words ghosting warm over your lips.

“So do I.” Your fingers played at the hem of his tunic. “Perhaps, if we were very careful…”

For a moment he looked tempted, but you both knew it was a foolish idea, and he drew your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “There will be time for that later, my love. I would hardly have you freeze to death now.”

“No, nor I you.”

He laughed softly. “You return my affection, dearest—how could anything harm me now?”

[mochimooon]

oooh from the nonsexual acts of intimacy list could we get “accidentally falling asleep together” for Jean pretty please

Hi there! Thank you for the prompt! 🤗 Of course, that's a cute one!! Anything for you and Jean 🥹 ♡: Accidentally falling asleep together word count: 1k fluff, gender neutral reader Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy Prompts

You unwrap another piece of candy, not stopping to think it over as it disappears behind your lips. The chocolate melts along your taste buds in a way that is unimaginable. “I can’t stop. I’m in love.”

Jean peers up from his phone, blinking a few times to catch you reach over to the coffee table again for another helping. 

You hum, relishing the taste. “Please.” You point at the candy dish. “For my birthday—"

Jean sets his phone down, tapping at his temple. “Stored away in the archives.”

You nod, giving him a thumbs up as you swallow your mouthful. “Appreciate you, Woody.”

You bite back a smirk, reaching for the last piece of candy that escapes your grasp. The humor drains from your face, whipping a glare in Jean’s direction. 

He brandishes the candy with a cocksure smile. “Sorry, did you want this?”

You deadpan, stretching along the couch to seize it. 

But Jean rears back, a long arm dangling the sweet far from your reach. “You didn’t say anything, so I guess you don’t want this.”

You scoff, dropping your hand. It’s not your fault he came dressed as a cowboy to the Halloween party. And it definitely wasn’t your fault that Eren gave him the moniker ‘Woody’, which was then tossed around the whole evening. 

In your opinion, the costume suited Jean perfectly. More than once you couldn’t stop yourself from gawking at him during the party, looking like he leapt off the screen of a classic western. 

Gun holsters, a suede vest, a bandana that hung loose over his neck, the hat—it was a crime not to appreciate the costume.  

And apparently, it was also criminal to call him ‘Woody’. 

“Jean,” you say. “You don’t even like sweets.”

He lowers his arm, unwrapping the candy with a tilt of his head. “Who says?”

Your eyes narrow at the sweet in his hand, watching it ghost his lips. “Quit playing.”

“Play what?” Jean feigns innocence, amused with your irritation as he slips the candy between his teeth.

It’s a lost cause then, and you roll your eyes in defeat. You’re too tired anyways. Had you more energy, you would have put up a fight, which would include you pouting up at him because despite the bravado, Jean also liked to spoil you. 

Not tonight. 

You yawn, falling back into the couch cushion. “Well, there goes my reason for staying.”

Jean tuts. “All that candy and for what? You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“It’s the alcohol,” you yawn a second time, longer and more exaggerated. 

“It’s late,” Jean supplies. “Pretty sure Connie and Reiner have already passed out in their rooms.”

“Did they?” You smirk at him. “Look at us. We outdid the party hosts. No one knows how to stay awake.”

“We’re not in college anymore.” Jean grunts as he straightens on the couch. He rubs at his eye. “Sleep was optional back then.”

You pull out your phone, scrolling aimlessly. “Sleep’s for the weak.” 

Jean breathes out a tired laugh. “Nothing about that sounded convincing."

“I’m a night owl.”

But Jean’s right; there was no convincing him. From the way you sink deeper into the couch, eyes growing heavy, and back-to-back yawns bursting forth, there’s no denying it: you're ready to pass out.

However, you're hanging in there, rebelling against your body’s call for sleep, especially when you feel the weight of Jean’s eyes. “It’s rude to stare.”

Shifting in your spot, you turn to him, lying against the back cushions. Your head nestles beneath where Jean's arm rests atop the couch.

Jean shrugs, a tired smile spreading across his face. “Nothing else to stare at.”

Despite how drowsy you feel, Jean’s words and tender gaze are like shots of espresso, flooding your face with warmth. 

A beat passes as you both stare at each other. No pressure to look away or fill the silence. Maybe it’s the alcohol from earlier. Maybe it’s the stillness of the night, but it’s like time slows down. 

You inhale deeply, shuffling along the couch, scooting a little closer without meaning to. “Woody…”

Jean clicks his tongue lightheartedly, flitting his eyes elsewhere for a moment before they find their way back to you. “You just had to kill the mood.”

You snort, unable to resist yourself. “I’m kidding… So what, Eren called you Woody? He came to the party dressed like a dog.”

“Werewolf,” Jean supplies. 

You yawn yet again, blinking to stay awake. “Same thing. I like this.” You motion a lazy hand towards his costume. “I can get used to seeing you in this…” You muse the last part, unaware that you’ve said it aloud, sleep stroking your consciousness.  

The corner of Jean’s mouth curves and he turns away to hide his blush. Unless that was your imagination.

Blinking again, your vision swims, everything warps except for Jean’s face. 

He’s talking, but the words escape you no matter how hard you strain your ears to listen. 

You don’t realize your head droops, sliding down the cushion below his arm. 

Your eyes flutter, nose filled with the scent of cedarwood, the scent of Jean. 

As much as you’d like to spend the rest of the night talking, you’re powerless as your mind drifts, gently pulling you away from the waking world. You surrender, sliding forward, a faint smile on your lips. Your head rests on something solid, lulled to sleep by the sound Jean’s beating heart. 

Jean’s not surprised that you fell asleep. Rather he’s taken aback that you fell asleep on his chest, hoping that you don’t stir awake from his frantic heartbeat.

A minute passes and you’re still sound asleep. 

He smiles. He knew you wouldn’t last the rest of the night. Normally Jean would feel smug, but instead he's endeared. 

Your fingers clutch onto his vest and for a moment Jean thinks you’ve woken up. At the weight of your head on his chest, he knows that you’re knocked out. And he’s content letting you sleep. Wrapping an arm around you, Jean breathes deeply, and drifts in bliss. 

[btnclmrttn]

02. Bondage/Ghost (Simon Riley)

((cw: 18+, oral f.recieving, fingering, dirty talk, vaginal sex, afab gender neutral reader, 2.7k word count my bad, a shitty innuendo pun))

(Ghost gives you a private training lesson in escape tactics. He didn't expect failure to be on his own behalf...)

💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡

“Now remember while you’re being timed,” Ghost says to you, “only one other person was able to get out of this their first attempt. Don’t get on your own nerves over a practice run.”

“Was it you, L.T?”

You question the man behind you, securing your wrists together against the thick post you rest your back on as you’re sitting on the floor. Despite being unable to see, you can feel how sturdy this knot is getting with how Ghost takes his time with it. Not quite cutting circulation, but damn close.

“No. That’s why I’m showing you.”

As far as you know, he’s given this particular lesson to a few people. You wonder if you can figure out who it could’ve been. That’s if he even means this specific squad. Still, in an odd way this is how he seems to be looking out for his team.

He seems finished with your wrists as he stands, walking around to the front of you with his remaining rope and kneeling in front of your feet. You watch how quick he works with his large hands wrapping the rope around your ankles and securing a tight knot. This one doesn’t seem to be as complex as the one around your wrists.

“Right. All set?”He walks off to the wall in front of you to lean himself against it.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Start.”

By instruction, you’re off to a start by getting a feel for what you’re working with. The binds on your wrists are tight, sturdy enough to question its material. You can hardly even twist your wrist in them without your skin rubbing harshly against it. It does feel like your ankles aren’t as secure as your wrist. Might be for practice sake.

If that’s as easy as he’s going at you, you’re feeling a rough time coming on. You’re putting your focus on your ankles; winding your legs about to stretch and loosen the rope. Hardly can you even shift an ankle higher than the other with how tight it is.

Your ear manages to catch an amused grunt from Ghost as he watches on. Does he find this funny? Possibly. It would fit his strange humor. You probably are looking like some amature that forgot all their previous training.

“What, am I taking too long?” You joke.

Ghost turns his wrist up to look at the watch he’s using to keep your time.

“Gettin’ close to dead,” he replies before folding his arm back in with the other and refocusing on you.

You can appreciate his little humor in this. It makes you a little less irritated with yourself. It’s starting to feel a bit embarrassing how much you're struggling vainly to kick just one boot off to get just the bind at your ankle.

Ghost, on the other hand, isn’t seeing it that way at all. He knows he has skill in this department of tying people up for interrogation and other means. Another use of this is starting to creep into his mind as he watches you struggle. Oh, this is shit timing. While he can consciously force himself to think otherwise, it isn't preventing the building heat in his stomach just watching you this way.

“Shallow grave been dug about now,” his voice breaks the silence again as he attempts more humor for his own sake. At least it gets a little laugh out of you.

Finally, the ankle of your boot is loose enough to kick off. Thank god for the small favors. You work on shoving your other boot off your heel to make more slack on the rope. As your other boot kicks off your foot, it takes most of the rope down with it, leaving you able to kick it off and start pushing yourself to stand up against the post.

“Halfway there,” He nods approvingly as he sits up from the wall he once leaned on.

A position like that wouldn’t leave you much option but to just take it, huh? Could you take Ghost like that, with a rough and merciless force? Or would you have to beg him to take it easy? You couldn’t even-Fucking hell, Simon, cut it out.

He creeps around you in a slow pace while he examines all angles of you. Yet progress isn't the thing on his mind anymore. It's wandering around the things he could do to you. The things that he could make you feel. It cycles around his head like a broken record.

Jesus Christ.

You wouldn't even be able to hide your face from him. Or cover your mouth if you start whining too loudly. Just all in his mercy...

You can feel his gaze raising the hairs of your neck as you attempt to focus on getting free. The twisting and tugging of your wrists don’t feel like they’re making them any more loose. He sure can tie a damn knot. You're still trying to focus on the task at hand despite feeling how Ghost's gaze burns into you. His undivided attention is making you feel a bit intimidated. Not necessarily bad...but nerve wrecking.

Fuck. He can feel his dick start getting harder from his gutter mind. This is an awful time for this. He remains out of your sight as clears his throat to speak up, his possible last attempt to regain himself.

“Need a tip?”

A grunt of irritation slips from you, “If you’re offering, Sir…”

“Well you’re already on the right track. Not much I can say other than remaining patient.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your nose as you let your head fall back, sort of relaxing your tenseness. It was a strangely calm tone coming from your Lieutenant. You’re unable to see the kind of look he has in his eyes as he watches you from behind, but you know he’s watching. After a pause of thought, you start trying a different move to loosen the tight bond from your wrists.

Ghost can hardly stand watching you like this anymore. You really are struggling. He knows he might have to end up letting you loose himself. It would be an awful shame letting such a good knot get cut up and wasted.

“I might have another tip for ya,” he mutters. Ghost circles around from behind to stand directly in front of you, and rather close.

“Do you, L.T?”

To your surprise, his left hand wraps its fingers around the buckle of your belt. It lifts you up off your feet and lifts you higher on the post before his pelvis pins you in place. His hands are now free to grab your legs and lift them to the sides of his hips. You feel a defined bump in the crotch of Ghost’s pants that press against you.

He looks down into your eyes, speaking in a hushed tone, “Would you like it?”

You feel a dryness in your throat as you swallow while looking up at your lieutenant, your mind going completely blank. This is what his mind was getting at? You can clearly see the arousal in his eyes now that he's up close. The same eyes that currently are studying you face for any sign of rejection here. The only thing you’re clearly able to process is the feeling of heat swimming rapidly through your body and a rock hard cock pressing against your cunt.

Without a thought in your head to go by, you speak for your body.“I would…”

One of his hands releases a thigh to pull his mask over his face and drop it to the floor, “That’s what I thought.”

Simon leans in close, letting his lips gently brush against yours as his thumb hooks around the tongue of your belt and pulls it free, snaking it from around your waist and dropping it to the floor as well. You take the initiative and lock your lips with his. He’s more than just eager to taste you. Simon follows your motions as best as he’s able with his stronger excitement, only growing as your slow and soft lips tease the thoughts brewing in his head.

While he continues to keep up with your kissing, his hips start to roll and grind his hard-on into your crotch. A groan buzzes against your lips as Simon takes pleasure in the friction he’s been growing a need for. The kiss breaks when he goes in for your neck.

Saliva hits your skin before his lips do. He couldn’t stop himself from drooling over the scent of you before he got to you. You feel yourself lowered back down to your feet with Simon kneeling to your level. Teeth graze up along the side of your neck with sloppy kisses as his hands roam, sliding under your shirt and tracing patterns on your sides with his fingertips. One of his hands decides to tease your chest with feather touches on your nipple.

He acts as if you’re slipping away from him with the way he keeps you so close, even when you’re restrained like this. Hips grinding roughly into you as he marks your tender skin with love. The sensations building together are making soft sighs slip your lips while a throbbing grows between your legs. Simon's hands are sliding lower, lower, his lips moving to your stomach to scatter more marks. The button of your pants is undone.

He doesn’t have the patience to take your pants off completely. Simon is already on his knees lapping the sticky trail pooling juices up from your folds before your underwear fully drops to your knees. His eager tongue grazes your entrance slowly, slathering your clit in your own cream. A growl of satisfaction rumbles in the throat of the man between your legs as he repeats the motion. He shoves tongue deeper between your folds, then sucks your lingering sweetness off your throbbing bud. Your thighs jolt in response, making his grip around them more firm.

Simon starts taking your clit in his mouth, swirling and flicking around it before letting it slip from his lips with a pop. His tongue dives back in again to your hole, back up to your clit and again;desperate to keep you satisfied enough to quench his growing thirst for your pussy. He’s not shy about his shameless and greedy behavior. There’s an undoubtable look of hunger in his focused gaze.

“God, you taste amazing,” Simon groans under his breath. Your pants are tugged down to your ankles and removed, getting tossed to the side somewhere while the hand gripping your thigh lifts it onto his shoulder for better access.

He maneuvers his other hand between your legs, tracing your dripping cunt with two fingers as he keeps your clit in his mouth. Your breathing picks up as one of his thick fingers slides in and immediately starts working in deep circular motions. A swelling feeling begind to build in your lower stomach as Simon keeps his tongue working. By reflex your arms start to tug at your restraints to no avail as your whining becomes harder to just let out in quiet sighs.

“Mm…what a fucking mess you’re making…”

A second finger slips into your cunt. Simon watches you with an amused gaze as you shake under the pleasure, moaning and squirming with your eyes shut tight before he goes back in with his mouth. His fingers shove themselves deep in your slick hole and curl upwards as they drag back out all while his tongue flicks against your clit. The shaking from your legs is making them buckle underneath the pleasure of the pressure in your stomach. Simon’s grip on your thigh holds your steady enough to stand for his tongue torture.

The fingers suddenly slowing to a stop halt the building pressure. Your eyes fully open to Simon sucking your juices from his fingers as he lets your thigh down.

“Simon–” you whimper out.

He keeps eye contact as he stands while pulling the tongue of his belt out, tugging it off his waist and popping the button of his pants open. His thick cock springs up as soon as his pants drop lower, unrestricted from any underwear. It's aching for relief.

“I want you to cum on my dick, _____.”

You keep your eyes on him as his hands grab hold of your ass and lift you up to level him better. The anticipation in your chest swells as his tip grazes your wet cunt while you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer to you. That thick cock of his takes its time stuffing itself into your throbbing pussy that greedily swallows him to the hilt. Simon’s grip on your ass tightens as the hot sensation sucks him in with a low growl.

“You alright?” He asks for your permission to move.

At your given signal, an eager nod, that once faded pressure in your stomach starts to build again with Simon’s slow grinding. It’s just perfect to adjust yourself to his thick girth, but god, is it almost torture for Simon. He’s still much more excited than you. His thoughts are swirling around how you would look taking a real pounding from his cock. All this potential to just ruin you right in his hands is almost too much.

The only thing keeping him is how sweet your little sounds are from his slow, sensual movement. He keeps himself close enough to bump noses, warm your face with his deep sighs, and occasionally lips catching for a quick embrace. Between your mewling, Simon’s name slips from your lips, making the man’s stomach flutter with the way it sounds from you.

“Fuck me…” he curses to himself as he dips his head into the crook of your neck, taking his lips against your skin once more to leave darker love marks, “you look so good takin’ my cock like this…”

Simon readjusts the position to hold you up better by pushing your knees up to your chest and letting the post support your back more as he holds you up. The new angle makes his cock drive deeper, grinding just right into your spot and ramming into your cervix. That first thrust hits so good it makes you yelp.

Oh, is Simon just starving for just that sound.

"Yeah? You like that?"Simon draws out his pace, but starts slamming his hips into you harder, "Just like that?"

He relishes in watching your face wash over with more pleasure as he fucks those beautiful sounds out of your mouth. He doesn’t give a shit if you’re getting so loud. The sounds of you echoing off the walls of the room are driving him insane.

“Mmhm…tell me how you like it,” he growls in your ear, pressing his cheek against yours to listen to your needy whimpers as close as he can.

“s-so good, Simon–”

The sound of your stutter slurring over itself pushes Simon to pick up a rougher pace with you. It’s just what he wanted to hear. You getting fucked so close into an incohearant mess. He wants more. He wants his ears filled with nothing but the loud sounds of slapping, wet skin and your whorish cries. He can feel your pussy getting tighter around him, sucking him back in more and more.

“You’re gonna cum on this dick for me, love? That what I'm hearin'?”

Between your quivering screams of pleasure, you can’t give Simon a verbal answer. The pressure inside your stomach pops like a balloon, with each of Simon’s thrusts milking a mess of sap that spills all between your legs. The scent of your messy juices is enough to make his mouth water. It pushes him completely overboard.

“F-Fuck–yeah, that’s it—fuck—”

He shuts his eyes tight as he allows himself a few more seconds inside your throbbing pussy before he pulls himself out. Ropes of cum shoot on your inner thigh and on your lower stomach while groans of ecstasy rumble in his throat. Your shaking legs are held up just barely by Simon’s own trembling hands. His cock slowly rubs against your soaked pussy to draw your orgasms out.

“Christ…____…you still stuck?"

Through your attempts to catch your breath, you manage to say, “Take a wild guess, Simon.”

“Oh, real shame…” he responds, “I’ll let you have your own wild guess on what will happen when I choose not to cut ya loose…”

💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡

[max1461]

I have this notion of "horror", by which I mean something like "badness which is inscrutable or not quite explicable; wrongness which can be experienced but not truly articulated, even in principle". In a horror movie, what do you think happens when a character is dragged away by the ghost? I think most of us do not just feel that they are killed. If we did, movies about ghost would not be much scarier than actuarial tables. I think we feel, on some level, that something worse happens. Something worse than any particular thing we can imagine. It's not death, it's not torture, it's something else. Something inexplicable whose badness cannot even be spoken or imagined. This is "horror".

One of my very core beliefs is the non-existence of true horror. I believe that all actually existing harms can, with enough thought, be put straightforwardly and mundanely. I believe that whenever something bad really happens, we can speak it, we can imagine it, and we can denounce it in plain terms, if we really try.

I don't like horror because I think it robs us of our power and of our basic dignity in the face of struggle. If we are suffering, we must be able if absolutely nothing else to say "here is what is hurting me, and setting aside all other factors, that fact qua that fact is an injustice". The existence of true horrors would, on a metaphysical level, rob us of the ability to do that.

I imagine this discussion will seem like pure navel gazing (in the derogatory sense) to some, but to me it's quite important. People invoke horrors all the time. I think it's a pretty frequent throughline in gender/relationship discourse. People see a bit of horror in sex, romance, gender dynamics and so on.

If faced with a true horror, very few lines of recourse (practical or metaphysical) are available to you. You must run and keep running forever or you must kill it. I think large swaths of gender discourse are mediated by this principle; I think both incels and radfems (wrong as they are about many particular issues of fact) are at some level both motivated by the belief in horrors, the belief that the injustices they have genuinely been faced with are horrors and not plain things, and therefore that they have only the options to run or to kill. Why this is bad for them and bad for the rest of us is clear enough.

I say: horrors do not exist. All harms are mundane harms, even the most heinous. All harms can be spoken, named, laid bare for any sober mind to see. We may be vulnerable to physical attack, but we are invulnerable to metaphysical attack.

[shu-box-puns]

 I would never have given you to them; not for anything.

(Tsu’tey x Reader)

Last Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter 

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Summary: The na'vi say, every person is born twice.

Word Count: 9035

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

NOTE: The term 'Zaza' is a gender neutral way to address a parental figure.

Mo’at allowed Tsu’tey to stew in her tent until eclipse. And for that, he was grateful.

He couldn’t stomach the idea of facing the clan right now. Or Jake for that matter. Eywa, he hadn’t lost his temper that badly in years. And now he was drained. His eyes stung and his shoulders heavy. All his thrashing had upset the carefully applied mourning paint weaving down his body, which he would have to fix soon. But only when he had the strength to move.

The demon wearing a warped replica of his mate’s face still taunted his most recent memories. Anger still curdled his stomach, but it was not as hot now. More subdued. More aimed at whatever unnatural methods the Sky People had used to create it. 

Groaning to himself, the Olo’eyktan dropped his head back into his hands, fingers pushing at the pain between his eyes. Failing to relieve the ache. 

Why was this happening to him? To his People? Had they not suffered enough the first time the Sky People had invaded?

First the stars fell and the Sky People returned, forcing the Omaticaya clan to leave their new village and retreat to the floating mountains. And now long dead ghosts were appearing in the forests, attempting to steal his son. The bastards.

Mo’at cleared her throat, the rustle of the curtain signalling her return from dinner. Jerking his head out of his hands, Tsu’tey frowned at the flakes of mourning paint that had come off from the rubbing. Absently, he wiped the evidence on his thigh, eyes straying to Mo’at as she strutted over to him. His ears pinned guiltily at the leaf of food she presented like a peace offering.

<”Thank you, Tsahik.”> He whispered, taking the food from her with shaking hands. Even that was draining. 

The woman merely dipper her head in acknowledgement, choosing not to comment when he obediently lowered the food into his lap but did not dig in. Even the thought of eating at a time like this turned his stomach. He felt too raw to act like nothing had happened. 

Mo’at seemed to know, she always did, and turned her back to him, relieving him of her usually piercing gaze. With the wisdom of her station, she kept her options to herself as Tsu’tey stewed, instead choosing to kneel beside the low fire. Sparks spat and hissed as she added more kindling, watching the tongues of fire leap and grow before she added some larger twigs.  

There was that set to her shoulders, the tell she had passed down to Neytiri when she wanted to voice her opinion but did not want to force someone’s hand. When she wanted to allow them to figure it out first, or start the conversation. Mo’at was a good Tsahik because of it. 

She had been kind in the years following his mate’s death. Supportive of Tsu’tey’s grief whilst practically taking over leading the people when he found it took hard to roll out of his hammock during those earlier days. She had practically adopted Spider on sight, and had taken to babysitting him whilst Tsu’tey got himself together. He knew he would not be where he was today without her guidance.

<”What is it?”> Tsu’tey finally asked, when Mo’at remained steady in her silence.

The Tsahik peered at him over her shoulder, her expression neutral even if her eyes swam with an untold grief and uncertainty. 

<”Speak your mind Mo’at.”> Tsu’tey encouraged. She had never held her tongue before, he would hate for her to do it now.

Mo’at’s tail jumped, before she turned back to the fire, appearing busy. <”Eywa has blessed you with a beautiful gift, you know.”> She stated simply in a tone Tsu’tey could not decipher. A weight clutched Tsu’tey’s lungs in its unforgiving grasp, punching a sad snort from him. He could not disagree more.

Mo’at was not discouraged.  <”The Great Mother has returned your mate to you. She is not usually so generous.”> <”That is NOT my mate!”> Tsu’tey growled through gritted teeth, the declaration punching through him with renewed fury. <”That is a puppet. Made unnaturally by the Sky People, not by Eywa!”>

Mo’at turned to him slowly, her knees still facing the fire, but her eyes glowing with a look that mirrored how Tsu’tey felt. <”Perhaps you are right.”> The Tsahik said in a tone that indicated she did not believe he was right at all. <”Or perhaps, this situation is not so black and white. Perhaps not every is as it seems.”> 

<”It does not matter.”> Tsu’tey told her dismissively, <”the People would not welcome a Demon back into their ranks.”> He knew he was deflecting, trying to use the clan as an excuse instead of his won turmoil. Somehow, it felt safer; even if lying had always been a foreign concept to him.

<”The People thought they would never welcome a human into their ranks either.”> Mo’at narrated, eyes wistful with memories of a simpler time. <”But now we share camp with scientists. You yourself took a human mate and Jake-Sully walks freely among us. As a clan, we have changed.”>

<”What are you trying to say? Speak plainly.”>

There was a moment of stillness, only disrupted by the unpredictable sway of the flames. 

<”I would kill to be in your position right now, Tsu’tey.”> 

Any retort that might have been brewing on his tongue was immediately dashed. He could not respond. The tight vice of emotion in his throat choked the words from him. 

Mo’at seemed to deflate, her usual spark dwindling. The beads of her shawl clinked softly as she picked up a stick and stoked the fire. 

<”Eytukan, has been with the ancestors for fifteen years now.”> She said, and Tsu’tey listened as he always had. Like they always listened to one another when reminiscing on the people that had been lost or stolen from them. <”Eywa allows me time to hold and hear him, but he does not walk beside us. I miss him with everything I am.”>

Tsu’tey winced sympathetically. He shared this pain. And until a few hours ago, he had been in a similar mindset. 

Carefully, he set his leaf down to the side and shuffled closer. Resting his hand lightly on Mo’at’s shoulder. She raised her face to the tent ceiling, leaning into his touch and gathering herself. Her back jumped under Tsu’tey’s fingers at her shaky inhale.

Then she turned to him, fully. Her expression was determined. Those wizened old hands clutching his own in their strong grasp. 

<”The Great Mother has a reason for everything she does.”> Right now, it was the Tsahik addressing him, not Mo’at who had always been like a mother to him. <”She does not guide without reason. She does not create without intent. For whatever reason your mate walks again, it is of Her doing, and we must honour it.”> <”How?”> <”Return them to High Camp.”> The Tsahik instructed him. <”By whatever means, return them to us. Set aside your grief and be the hunter I know you to be.”>

Tsu’tey could feel himself nodding. It wasn’t acceptance of the situation, but it was an attempt at internal peace. A moment of reprieve, in which he could push aside his personal feelings and hide behind the mantle of Olo’eyktan again.

<”One step at a time, child. You have been angry for so long, it is time to start healing.”> 

He was far from a child. The world had taken too much for him to be considered as such. Pandora had sculpted him into one of the best hunters of his clan, had supported him through his grief and grown him into a strong Olo’eyktan.

And yet, it still hurt. The dull pain that used to be background static in his mind had been yanked forward. The battle worn scar harshly slashed open to allow fresh waves of pain to hurt him as if nothing had changed. As if time had not dulled the pain and made him more resistant to it.

It felt like a betrayal when his eyes flickered down to his wrist. To the brown beaded bracelet that had once been worn as a choker, partially hidden by his wrist guard. 

Tsu’tey’s ears rose tall as hurried footsteps rapidly approached the entrance to the Tsahik’s tent. The woman in question perked as Jake-Sully shoved his way into the tent, Neytiri piling in not a moment afterwards.

<”What is it?”> Mo’at demanded, rising to her feet before Tsu’tey could gather his barings.

<”It’s Neteyam.”> Jake-Sully blurted, his hand hovering at the communications collar as he swallowed loudly. <”The kids. All of them went with him to deliver the recom to a safe location-”> <”Spit it out!”>

<”The kids lost them. They slipped away.”> 

Mo’at shifted uneasily, all earlier tenderness swept away in her agitation. <”And? Quickly now, I know that is not all. We know the recom did not intend the children harm.”> Jake-Sully was breathing too hard to continue, so Neytiri jumped in, her panic evident. <”There are more Demons in the forest. Sweeping the undergrowth.”>

Tsu’tey was on his feet before she had finished, in a heartbeat, his bow was in hand and he stepped out from behind Mo’at. His previously dormant anger was bubbling again, making it hard to speak as he rounded the fire and strode confidently for the tent’s entrance.

The Tsahik grabbed his arm before he could leave. <”I See your pain, child.”> She reassured him, <”but do not allow it to blind you. I trust you will return with everyone in one piece.”>

He nodded, words beyond his grasp, and she let him go. 

Jake-Sully fell into step with him, Neytiri falling into a brief conversation with her mother before following them to the ikrans.

<”Is Spider with them?”> Tsu’tey croaked, to which Jake-Sully nodded glumly as he paused to check his ammunition for the gun slung off his shoulder. 

<”What is the plan Olo’eyktan?”> <”Retrieve our children. Kill any of them that try to stop us.”> Judging by the dangerous grin Neytiri shot him, she whole-heartedly agreed with his plan. 

>_<

The moment you got an opportunity, you slipped away. 

With the shock of what had just transpired turning you numb, it was easy to slip into marine-mode as your old comrades used to refer to it. 

Tuning out the bickering of the children - the children being all of Jake and Neytiri’s brood who had stealthily followed Neteyam’s ikran, much to the older boy’s annoyance and Spider - you made a swift and clean escape. Or at least, as clean as an escape can be when your wrists are bound and you’re trying to abseil down the side of a very tall tree using nothing but a vine and core strength.

<”I told you three to remain with the clan!”> Neteyam groaned in exasperation, to which Lo’ak immediately responded with something sarcastic and whitty that earned him another growl from Neteyam.

Their voices quickly grew muffled the lower you got, only their ikran paying you any attention with their weirdly intelligent eyes. Thankfully, none of the kids were still bonded to them, so the mounts noticing you didn’t automatically make the children notice you.

Within moments, your toes were touching down on soft grass, and you were another step free. Your chest twinged at the thought, as you reluctantly recalled the expressions of the People. The same People you had thought to be your salvation, only this morning. Many of their faces you recognised, despite the clear ways time had changed them, but many you did not. Regardless of all your training, your ears still rang from the volume of Tsu’tey’s tortured screams, your heart still hurt from the hatred in which he looked upon your new form. Stomach twisting, you thought of Neytiri’s harsh treatment, starkly contrasted by Mo’at’s weary questioning. 

It was clear, they were not the people you had fought and died alongside, but mere phantoms of a past that felt like only yesterday. Despite having been back on Pandora for a little under a week, the events that led up to the burning of HomeTree felt vivid and recent. You could still see the colossal structure burning as your colleagues held their breaths. Could still feel the horrible ache for what the clan had lost.

The rage that had awakened in you only burned brighter as Quaritch threw Grace, Norm and Jake in jail, before turning his sights on the Tree of Souls. It festered behind your ribs as you helped Trudy free the trio. It clawed at the back of your throat as you watched their helicopter tear across the tarmac before soaring high into the stars and disappearing from view. The rage turned cold as you had turned your back and slipped back into the building and back into Quaritch’s good graces.

There, you had been called into the Colonel’s office and told - alongside your squad - about Project Phoenix. You had been hungry for knowledge that could aid the People then, and you had gladly signed the contract and slipped into the link unit, already planning on which coordinates to send Trudy to pick you up from.

And that was where your previous memories ceased. 

The evidence of that decision manifested itself in your blue skin and sudden growth spurt. It reflected back at you from the anguished expressions of your loved ones. 

What remained of that rage had finally spluttered and died between your ribs when Tsu’tey had raised his knife to you. Whatever spite had fueled your actions and encouraged you to flee Bridgehead had evaporated. Leaving your eyes vacant and your limbs heavy. 

That was no longer your home. They were no longer your friends. Tsu’tey was not your mate. And whatever relationship you had had with Spider was not long dead and gone. 

You were not the person they grieved, but a living phantom. A sick figure of the past who should have remained there. 

<”Oi, you!”> Lo’ak’s voice echoed between the tree, startling you from your spiral. Stupidly, you turned your head skywards, to find all five children staring down at you in confusion. <”When did you get down there?”> <”Climbed.”> You very helpfully replied, whilst kicking yourself for getting caught in your head instead of running away.

Oh yeah, you were supposed to be escaping. 

In a matter of breaths, you turned on your heels and threw yourself into a run.

<”Hey! Wait!”> One of the children yelled after you, but you were done waiting. You were finished with biding your time. In plotting and scheming just to live. Just this once, you were going to be obvious. You were going to put yourself first and get as much distance from the clan as you physically could.

You could hear them following you in the trees. Cursing and yelling to one another as you wove around plants and chose random intervals to change direction in an attempt to shake them off your trail. The uneven ground was hard to navigate, but your adrenaline high didn’t seem to care. Your body on autopilot.

Every panicked stride taking your cursed existence further and further from the hearts and minds of the Omaticaya. With any luck, you would disappear from their lives entirely. 

Their reactions flashed behind your eyelids now, your stomach twisting into tight knots at their expressions. It had been foolish to expect acceptance. To think that you could salvage the wreckage of your old life as if time hadn’t marched on in your absence. These were not the people you once knew.

Jake and Neytiri had a family now. Kids you had never had the chance to watch grow.

Tsu’tey had adopted a child. A human child. He had moved on. Any interactions you had with him from here on out would only reopen old wounds. Best to get away now, before you become a permanent memory instead of a phantom of the past. 

You didn’t know where you were going. Just that you couldn’t afford to stay here. For all you knew, you were blindly stumbling into the jaws of your second demise. Perhaps Eywa had a palulukan with your name on it.

You had no knife. No survival gear. No squad. 

Even if you wanted to return to the RDA for some stupid reason, you couldn’t. You had seen too much. Walking back into that prison with the knowledge you possessed was as bad as storming into General Ardmore’s office and drawing her a detailed map with one of her fancy pens.

The Omaticaya may not be your family anymore, but you would not throw them to the wolves-

The ground abruptly disappeared from beneath your foot. Your stomach lurched as you pitched forward. Hands straining against their cuffs, you uselessly tore at thin ferns as the ground rolled out from under you and you found yourself hurtling down a cliff face. Grabbing at the undergrowth was futile. The roots were either too weak or the leafed vines slipping painfully through your fingers. It was futile, trying to grasp an overhanging vine or catch yourself on a rock, but you tried anyway, only for the ground to catch you before you could effectively slow your descent.

The impact knocked the wind from your lungs, leaving you to groan breathlessly as you stared blankly up at a cloudy sky. 

God, what a day. What a horribly emotional, nightmare of a day. What you would give to go back a week and start over. Better yet, what would you give to go back fifteen years and never sign that <i>stupid</i> contract?

At least your bones were reinforced now, or you would surely have broken several ribs or at least the arm you landed weirdly on. Head thumping back into the moss, you stilled as your eyes caught on an unnatural purple glow emitting from the centre of the bowl of cliffs. Tilting your head back, your throat tightened at the sight of the Tree of Souls standing proudly on its earthy throne, its glowing, willow like vines swaying on a soft breeze.

You had never seen the Tree in person as a human. Only ever in images taken from the skies. Or on the screens of scientists greedily trying to learn everything they could about the tree that lay at the centre of na’vi culture. A site that was sacred to the People. And very much not somewhere you would want to be found, with a pissed off Olo’eyktan intent on landing you a fatal blow.

The thought of Tsu’tey somehow finding you and becoming even <i>more</i> murderous had you clumsily rolling onto your stomach and pushing yourself to your feet. The moss was spongy beneath your sore toes, glowing a magnificent turquoise when you relieved it of your weight.

Heart in your throat, you turned your back to the tree in hopes of finding the entrance to the Well of Souls. If you recall correctly, there was a sloped trail that meandered down into the bowl. Stumbling along the walls of the cliffs, you tried to ignore the unspoken beckoning of the tree. Your kuru tingled at the base of your skull. A current of electricity travelling down the sensitive cord as if someone were trailing a finger down the skin beneath the braided hair. 

Some instinct that wasn’t your own, knew the sensation would be elevated if you connected to the Tree. 

Of course, because you had common sense and knew nothing about what that would do to your mind, you continued to scan the cliff faces for an exit.

The tingling abruptly cut off when you stumbled across an uneven patch of earth dotted in blooming flowers. Your toes thrummed with something unnatural where they touched the disturbed earth, the moss thinner here, as if it had been disturbed some time ago but hadn’t quite managed to heal. 

It was a grave, you realised with a tight bob of your throat.

No, it was a pair of graves. One fresher than the other. Too small to be the resting places of na’vi. 

They were human graves. Neatly dug rectangles that the Well of Souls had begun to reclaim and conceal.

There were no headstones. Only names carved into the cliff face at the head of each plot of disturbed earth. The older one carried an inscription that was weather worn, with lichen growing in the grooves formed by a sharp blade.

<i>‘Jake Sully’</i> 

Heart hammering, your gaze flicked to the fresher carving. Though old, it looked to have been cleaned recently, unlike Jake’s grave which was on the verge of disappearing like a bad memory. 

Your name stared back at you. 

It was odd really, to be looking down at your own grave. Knowing that beneath your feet lay the skeletal remains of your human form on a bed of soft brown earth with sun lilies waving about its head. It was weird to know that that version of you lay resting within Eywa’s embrace, finally at peace with no goal for tomorrow and no pinch of regret for yesterday. Ignorant to the fact that everything beyond laying down in the link unit fifteen years ago, every adventure and your glorious demise, was not lost to you. 

Who had brought you here? Who had tended to your wound or ailment? Who had prepared your vulnerable body to return be sent Eywa, uncertain if the Great Mother would even take you? Had they laid you to rest beside Jake’s soulless form, under the false hope that it would keep you company even whilst in the cold embrace of death. 

More importantly, what had put you here? What had killed you? It had not yet been long enough for time to have dealt you a mortal blow, nor did the diseases of Pandora threaten human forms. 

Had your death been dramatic? Cradled in the loving embrace of someone who begged you not to depart. Or had you been alone? Gasping for breath but finding no relief, wishing for the pain to stop and for Eywa to take you already.

The snap of a twig had your ears perking and your mind snapping out of its self-pitying spiral. You stepped away from the graves, tail straightening as you became painfully aware of your vulnerable situation. Booted footsteps echoed around the bowl of cliffs as a lone figure messily descended the concealed slope that led into the heart of the Well of Souls. You expected one of Pandora’s horrors or an RDA machine to explode across the open space.

Instead, a single Recom stepped out from behind a wall of cliff, moving methodically across the moss, his gun loaded and angled in front of him. Your gaze caught on the sunglasses firmly sat upon his nose, leaving you to stare dumbly at him as pure relief washed over his expression. Mansk’s face lit up, ears wiggling as he unleashed a hysterical laugh. 

You jumped as the sound echoed around the Well of Souls.

“We thought we lost you!” He exclaimed, picking up his pace as he approached. You tried your best to return his enthusiasm, forcing your tail to stiffly begin wagging as the man approached.

“I got lost.” You chuckled dryly. “Ended up losing half my gear on the way.”

He grinned, wide and toothy. “We thought the na’vi got you.” 

“Almost.” You joked, lifting your bound wrists for him to focus on.

Mansk shook his head fondly. “You always were a slippery one.” He mused, allowing his gun to swing back on his strap as he pulled a utility knife from his belt. His movements were confident as his large, five fingered hand gripped your forearm before he effortlessly cut the vines binding you.

You nodded gratefully, immediately moving to rub the sensation back into them. Mansk’s expression was unreadable when his hand fell to your shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. “Let's get you home. I’ll radio the chopper and we’ll get you back to Bridgehead in time for dinner.” Mansk promised as he pulled back, expression still bright. It made your stomach twist with unimaginable guilt. “You’re filthy. Bet you can’t wait for a warm shower.”

You forced a laugh as your stomach twisted with indescribably guilt. 

Your disloyalty towards the RDA had never been because of your colleagues, and strongly towards the company itself. Which only served to cover your tongue in something sour at Mansk’s easy acceptance of your presence. Unknowingly, he was attempting to lead a hornet straight back into the beehive, and you were half tempted to let him.

Anger was reigniting low in your belly. Similar to the rage you’d felt when HomeTree fell. The kind of fury that made you want to watch the world burn. To lead the facility to ruin from the inside before letting yourself join it in its destruction. 

In truth, you didn’t want to return to Bridgehead with its low ceilings and loud equipment. But what choice did you have?

Na’vi lived in clans to survive. You were a marine, but you doubted you’d last long out here on your own, whereas the other forest clans would no doubt shoot you on sight for your attire. 

Mansk unexpectedly went rigid in front of you, hand frozen on his ear piece. Your gaze snapped up to him, reading the tension in his face, the widening of his eyes behind his glasses.

“Na’vi.” He whispered.

“Mansk?” 

“Na’vi!” He blurted, abruptly sweeping you aside with one enormous arch of his arm, effectively shoving you behind him before he dropped his utility knife and scrambled for his gun.

Instinctively, you snatched up his fallen knife, but fell short of plunging it into his turned back, by the sight of Lo’ak standing threateningly by the sloped entrance to the Well of Souls. The kid was tense, eyes snapping from Mansk to you, whilst he held his knife by his side, concealing it with his body. 

“At ease.” You soothed, hoping to discourage the marine from firing on sight, but Mansk was already shaking his head.

“Fuck no. These things travel in packs, if there’s one, there’s bound to be a whole squad nearby.”

From the undergrowth, you heard Neteyam yell, <”LO’AK GET BACK HERE!”> 

Mansk lurched at the order but did not fire. His hands shook but he tried to school his face into something more neutral as he stared down Lo’ak.

Lo’ak who easily said, <”no,”> to his older brother and took another, slow menacing step towards the armed recom. God, all you could see was Jake’s childish defiance in his every movement. The naivety of a child believing they were invincible. “The hell is it saying?” Mansk demanded, his hands shaking on his weapon.

Lo’ak tipped his head up defiantly at his words, before saying in broken English, “you should not be here.” 

Mansk jumped at his accented words, body tensing further as he instinctively pressed down on the trigger. Lo’ak barely managed to duck back behind the wall of rock as bullets tore up the moss he’d previously been standing on.

Heart pounding in your chest, you instinctively swung your knife hand up, slamming the hilt hard into Mansk’s temple. He cried out, losing his balance from the strike and falling heavily to his knees and elbows. His gun remained close to his body by the strap over his shoulder.

“Are you out of your mind?” Mansk shrieked, voice kicking up several octaves. “They’re na’vi!” He yelled, as if that was supposed to make you falter. “They killed us.” 

“You should not instigate violence here!” You snapped, bending at the waist with all your teeth bared. “This place is sacred.” Mansk opened and closed his mouth several times. His shades had slipped down his nose, revealing large, accusatory eyes. They flickered from your wild expression to the Tree of Souls looming over your shoulder.

“You can’t be serious.” He scoffed. “We thought you’d left all this treehugger crap behind.” “You assumed wrong.” You corrected him, “now put the gun down. Pandora will not take kindly to more ruin of its sacred sites.”

Mansk spluttered at that. “Are you even hearing yourself right now?” He demanded, “they’ve killed hundreds of us. Good soldiers. Good people. I’ve lost so many friends to these fuckers.” “And the na’vi have lost families, homes, territory. The humans aren’t the victims here!”

“Why do you say it like that?” “Like what?” “Like you’re something else.” Mansk blurted, “we’re still human Private.” He argued, tone bordering on hysterical. “Turning blue didn’t change that.” It was your turn to scoff. “Stop being delusional. We signed our humanity away the moment we touched pens to that blasted contract.”

Something seemed to click for him. “You’re one of them.” It didn’t sound like an accusation.

You straightened, knife still clutched tightly in your dominant hand. No words sprang to mind to protect yourself as you glared down at the marine sprawled in the moss at your bare feet. Even decked out in full military attire, he looked more na’vi than human. And you looked even more like one of the People, but not enough. Not enough to blend in with them. To be accepted. 

“I am not.” You told him truthfully. “Well you’re sure as hell not one of us.” 

“Is that so?” “You’re a traitor.” “Perhaps.”

He barked a short laugh. High pitched and hysterical. He was already shaking his head as he scrambled backwards, putting distance between you, as if your feeble knife would do anything against the monster of a gun currently nestled in his lap. 

“How long?” He demanded. You tilted her head in confusion and he sucked in a desperate breath. “How long have you been working for them?” Against your better judgement, the corner of your mouth kicked up. “It was nothing personal.” “How long!” He cut in, still backing away, still trembling. “Have you been lying to me? To our entire squad? To the people who have laid down their lives to watch your back.” You breathed out a long breath. “Don’t think I can count back that far.” You admitted, watching the hope drain out of him at the admission. “I mean.” Another stolen moment to do the maths. “Since before Jake even set foot on Pandora.”

Mansk’s expression shuttered as his fear abruptly melted away. You were familiar with the sight of a neutral mask shutting off his emotions. You knew your own expression mirrored the marine in the dirt.

“Did you get that Colonel?” He asked the air.

You immediately tensed, expecting a bullet between the eyes or for Lo’ak to cry out in pain from where he was still cowering behind the rocks.  But instead, Mansk waited in silence, the buzz of a voice over the comms. Jake’s kid was no doubt long gone by now, his curiosity sated by the danger of the situation.

Your gaze snapped to the ear piece still blinking a steady red. Still recording. The marine nodded, expression solemn. Then he reached up and turned the earpiece off.

Movement flickered by the entrance to the Well, but you dared not glance away from the dangerously calm marine. Your slick grip clutched tightly at the hilt of your stolen utility knife as the man adjusted his grip on his weapon.

“Well done on getting this far. You had us fooled” He praised you, voice tight. “I’m sorry.” He said, and you knew he meant it.

“Nothing personal.” You repeated. “I just found something much better beyond the compound.” “I understand.” Mansk promised as he swung the gun up so the mouth glared at your unprotected torso. “But I’m still pissed at you.”

And then he opened fire. 

Pain ripped through your right side. Long fingers of liquid fire dragged their nails across your torso, tearing up your dirty tank top, splitting skin. Expression twisted in pain, you gasped as more bullets whizzed passed. You staggered in place, knife dropping uselessly from your hand as Mansk emptied a cartridge of bullets into your abdomen.

Every sound of pain that punched past your lips could not convey the fire that laced your side. It stole the breath from your lungs, causing you to crumble to your knees even as the marine paused to reload. 

You hit the dirt hard, knees buckling and slamming down into the moss. 

Distantly, you realised that this would be your finally resting place for both your human and recom bodies. Although you doubted anyone would bother to bury this one, you were internally grateful that someone had cared enough to carve your name into the stone of Pandora. A tiny fragment of yourself would remain. 

The gun went off again. Firing one, two more bullets before the sound spluttered and died. There was a curse in English. Closely followed by a gurgling sound, as if someone was choking on blood. Then a second twang of a bowstring and the wet thud of an arrow landing. 

>_<

Sunlight slid off of your face as you lay on your back, arms limp at your sides and your head lolled back. You could feel vines wrapped under your armpits, securing you to whatever you were leaning against whilst your shoeless feet dragged against damp moss. 

<”Eywa, they’re fucking heavy.”> Lo’ak complained.

<”We wouldn’t have to be dragging them if Neteyam had let me kill the bastard earlier!”> Spider snipped harshly, to which Neteyam quickly reprimanded him.

<”We had to make sure they weren’t going to hand over High Camp’s location.”> Spider muttered wordlessly under his breath, whilst Kiri jumped in. <”Stop whining Lo’ak and pull.”> <”I am pulling!”>

Neteyam spoke up, <”Spider is clearly pulling more than you are.”>

<”He is not!”> Lo’ak insisted, and whatever was dragging you along the forest floor abruptly jumped, sending your body into a world of pain. 

You groaned. Low and guttural. Everything below your arms screaming in pain.

<”Shit.”> Lo’ak cursed, swiftly followed by the sound of a smack. 

<”Idiot.”> Kiri spat, earning herself a half-hearted growl. <”I cannot effectively treat wounds that you continue to reopen.”>

<”It wasn’t on purpose.”>

“God, you kids are bloody loud.” You grumbled, vision swimming as you tried to rouse yourself further.

The sliding motion abruptly stopped as your words crawled their way out of your mouth. Gently, you were laid flat against the forest floor, and a shadow fell over your eyelids.

”You’re okay Zaza.” Spider soothed softly, and small hands pressed down on your forehead. <”They’re burning up.”> The boy reported, anxiety curdling his earlier reassurance.

<”They’ll never make it to the village like this.”> Neteyam whispered, to which Kiri jumped in.

<”We’ll get them stabilised using the Tree of Souls and I’ll clot those wounds.”> <”Can’t you call Dad? He’ll want to know if they’re dying.”> Spider asked.

<”Or help them pass faster.”> Lo’ak muttered, earning himself another smack.

Their bickering allowed you to drift for a while. Mind fluctuating between hearing the sound of your surroundings, to feeling like you had been submerged in a river. Time continued on as it had a tendency to do, even if you were not awake to appreciate it.

<”I’ve let Dad know we’re safe now.”> Neteyam said some time later, bringing you up from the tranquil bubble in which you had been floating. Distantly, you could feel little hands pushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead as pressure upset the wounds in your torso. <”But I think we should give Tsu’tey more time.”> Spider groaned. <”If he takes any longer-”> You drifted off again at Spider’s annoyed tone. The pain yanking you down beneath a sea of endless throbbing. Vaguely, you felt delicate hands fumbling with your kuru. The sensation was odd, ticklish almost as the braid was carefully attached to something that felt alive but not. You felt the tendrils wrap around something warm and pulsing as if it were your fingers knotting into a fist.

Then there was a bright tunnel of pulsing purple light behind your eyes, and you slipped away from Pandora, sinking into a comforting presence. It felt almost motherly, the way your sub conscience held you. 

>_<

Slowly, a scene faded into view. In the back of your mind, you recognised it as the compound tucked in the Hallelujah Mountains. The one you’d spent three months sharing with Trudy whilst the three avatar drivers frollicked around the forest.

The compound was the same, but different somehow. The light pouring into the room was dappled instead of blinding like it was at that time of day perched upon the mountain. Grace’s belongings were missing, alongside Jake’s wheelchair and Trudy’s bunk was stripped, her jacket carefully folded and dusty at the foot of the elevated bed. 

The scientific equipment had been rolled out to make room for kids toys and a cot. The link units had been ripped out, and in their place, a hammock as long as the room had been set up. 

Curiously, you slid a hand along the material, stomach clenching at the sight of large, blue hands instead of the small, human ones you’d been expecting. 

Behind you, there was a soft noise. 

You turned, only for your stomach to drop at the sight of Tsu’tey sitting cross-legged against the far wall, a respirator hanging around his neck. He looked relaxed, almost content as he leaned against the wall, looking much too big for the small space and the streak of white paint running from his forehead to his chin. The hunter did not notice you watching him.

Smiling softly, he instead watched someone at his side. 

You followed his gaze to a child happily messing around with the hunter’s tail. You recognised the kid immediately as Spider from his big eyes and shock of curly blond hair. He couldn’t have been any older than two, sitting beside Tsu’tey without an ounce of fear as he raked stubby little fingers through the hair adorning the tip of the tail.

Neither spoke as they sat in companionable silence. Tsu’tey watched the boy with a bittersweet expression of pure adoration, whilst Spider tested how far the tail could curl and stretch. 

You took half a step closer and the scene evaporated.

>_<

This time, human you sat before you with their back to you. You were still in the compound, but it was decorated how you remembered, with the link beds all set out and your military jacket hung on the back of your door. Jake’s wheelchair was still missing, but some of Grace’s decorations still lingered. You could almost smell that ridiculously strong cherry blossom perfume she used to cake herself in, because she forgot to shower between driving her avatar and noting down her observations.

Human you was sat at their desk, pouring over a notebook in which they scribbled furiously. Curious, you inched closer. It was odd how you had to stoop in the familiar space to keep from hitting your head, but you pushed the thought away as you peered closer.

‘I see you.’

The page said. And written next to the English was Na’vi in bold italics. 

‘Oel ngati kameie.’

Tsu’tey ducked into the room without warning, startling human you who immediately yanked another notebook over the page they were just writing on.

The hunter chuckled softly at their hurried motions, as he took his time approaching. 

You stepped aside as he got closer, eyes catching on the lack of white painted down his face. How the bullet scars adoring his chest appeared more raw; newer. Which inevitably led your eyes to the baby shawl slung across his chest and a wiggling Spider cuddled up to his chest. 

<”Your son is being difficult.”> Tsu’tey complained as he lowered himself to his knees beside human you’s chair. What little breath you had was abruptly punched from you, whilst human you simply turned in their seat to smile up at him. Tsu’tey was very clearly pouting, ears lowered playfully.

<”Defeated by a baby.”> Human you joked, leaning in to cup his cheek. <”I never thought I’d see the day.”> Tsu’tey tsked softly, large hands falling to their thighs and holding gently. <”You’re warmer than me.”> He said simply. <”And he sleeps better with you.”>

And that seemed to be that, because Tsu’tey withdrew his hands to carefully pull Spider from the baby shawl. The infant did not go easily. Clinging to everything within reach, from the shawl to Tsu’tey’s braids, which only served to make human you laugh at the pair, as Tsu’tey pouted whilst carefully untangling Spider’s little fists from him. But before long, they had Spider cradled in their arms, his little eyes drooping comically. 

<”Lets go to bed.”> Tsu’tey suggested. Human you made to complain, but the hunter was already pulling them from the chair and against his chest.

>_<

The scene shifted to a na’vi village you had never visited before. Instinctively, you knew it was the new clan home, based on the familiar faces milling around. Hidden amongst the trees, you made out various tree houses nestled in the branches, with children swinging from home to home, whilst adults carried out their daily tasks.

Your attention was drawn by a hush that fell over the clan, and several heads turned towards the shadow of the trees at the far end of the clearing. As tall as you were in your recom body, you still had to strain to see na’vi you did not recognise emerging from the undergrowth.

Judging by their attire and spears instead of bows, you recognised them as a clan from a neighbouring territory. The small entourage was led by an older na’vi male adorned in vines of fiery red and gold. Clearly the Olo’eyktan, the man walked through the Omaticaya clan who parted easily for him. He nodded to any who met his gaze, speaking soft greetings.

Tsu’tey and Mo’at stepped forward to greet him, both decked out in their ceremonial attire. They touched their hands to their foreheads in greeting as the visiting Olo’eyktan mirrored the gesture. You noted the lack of white painted down Tsu’tey’s forehead as he greeted the man with an award winning smile. He stepped forward, Mo’at at his elbow as the visiting Olo’eyktan introduced himself.

The man tripped over his tongue as he caught sight of Spider wrapped securely in a shawl across Tsu’tey’s chest. Your eyes bugged at the sight of how small the child was in the open world of Pandora. How his exo-mask looked comically big over his little face, as he absently played with Tsu’tey’s kuru, which the man had pulled over his shoulder for the toddler to entertain himself with. 

The visiting Olo’eyktan’s expression was pinched as he found his voice. <”You did not send word that you had adopted.”>

Tsu’tey took the poorly concealed accusation in his stride. <”I apologise, with rebuilding, many things have escaped my notice.”> The visiting Olo’eyktan nodded his head good naturedly, a sliver of his tension easing at Tsu’tey’s explanation. <”This is my son, Spider.”> He proudly explained, grinning when Spider glanced up at the mention of his name.

<”He is one of them.”> The visiting Olo’eyktan commented.

<”He is mine.”> Tsu’tey corrected simply, before stepping back and motioning to a fire that had been set up for the meeting. <”Come, you must be tired.”> The visiting Olo’eyktan nodded his head gratefully. <”It has been a long trip.”>

It was then that Spider began to fuss. Angrily, the toddler pushed away the kuru and began demanding to be held with grabby hands. His fussing picked up as Tsu’tey tried to keep a pleasant conversation going, whilst soothing the child with a hand rubbing up and down his back. 

Spider was not amused.

Mo’at, seeing Tsu’tey struggle, decided to chip in with asking the visiting Olo’eyktan about his Tsahik. The man easily followed her change of conversation, explaining how his mate had fallen ill and wouldn’t have comfortably completed the journey in his current state. 

Whilst the pair walked ahead to the fire and the clan and visitors disbursed to continue with their duties, your attention remained on Tsu’tey who was struggling to get Spider to settle. His tail thrashed in unease, hands checking the exo-mask to ensure it wasn’t rubbing. 

His ears pricked cutely at the approach of someone half his size. Human you was dressed in a simple shirt and camo shorts to combat the heat, they wore a beaded choker at their neck. They padded barefoot across the clearing, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of their lips as they approached Tsu’tey, who was quick to drop to his knee and twist so that Spider could clearly see his other parent. 

The effect was immediate as the toddler threw himself away from Tsu’tey, arms outstretched towards you. He only stopped fussing when human you lifted him out of the shawl and into their arms. 

Tsu’tey remained on his knee for several more moments, softly watching his mate and child with a look that could melt even the hardest of hearts. Human you noticed him looking and were quick to press a kiss to his cheek and urge him back to his feet.

Dazed, Tsu’tey went willingly, but not before offering adorable words of endearment as a final parting gift.

>_<

The scene that followed was blurry as if someone had wiped grease across a camera lens.

This time, you were not experiencing the event from an out of body perspective, but instead, you appeared to be back in your human form. Every movement the body made was not your own. They were sluggish as if you were drunk or disconnected from your motions.

Beyond the warmth of a tea clutched between your hands, you could not figure out where your human body was. Whether you were in the compound, or within the new village. There was someone with you. A na’vi.

Their voice was smooth as honey, laced with the undertone of something malicious.

Every muscle in your body screamed danger as a large, four fingered hand took the tea from your grasp and helped you to your feet.

<”Why don’t we go on a walk?”> The voice suggested, to which the body you were in nodded jerkily. There was an amused huff, another hand on your shoulder; steering you.

You wanted to wiggle free. Every instinct you possessed screamed that this person meant you harm. 

<”Very good.”> The voice cooed, <”Eywa, this will be easy.”>

>_<

The scene shifted. The world was still murky, but this time, your chest hurt. There was someone stood over you. That same honeyed tone. The glint of a blade. 

Somehow, you knew you had been stabbed. 

<”Now my brother can finally be free.”> Your murderer muttered.

Even as the world darkened before your eyes, your consciousness stalled. A name floated to the forefront of your mind. Knowledge that had seemed irrelevant at the time offered you a face to put to the statement.

>_<

For this memory, you were once again outside of a body. You stood back at your recom height, watching Tsu’tey stumble across your bloodied human form.

He wore no white paint, and was adorned in the ceremonial attire he’d welcomed the visiting Olo’eyktan in. Thankfully, Spider was nowhere in sight.

The hunter unleashed a gut wrenchingly, wounded sound as he collapsed to his knees before your dying form. His hands shook as he bundled them up in his arms, cradling them close. His hair braided with the red beads you remembered from before the war, and his Olo’eyktan necklace curled around his throat. You watched as he cradled the tiny form close to his chest, whispering in na’vi. His voice too low to hear.

Distracted, he unsteadily rose to his feet before taking off in the direction of the clan. Your phantom form easily kept pace, watching him weave through the trees. His head snapping down to human you every few paces.

<”We’re almost there Yawne.”> He promised, clutching them impossibly tighter.

They bled from a wound to their ribs. Not a bullet wound, but a long, deadly slice, deep and angry as it wept. Not the clean kill. 

<”Did you kill him?”> They asked weakly.

Tsu’tey frowned, <”who Yawne?”> 

Their brow furrowed at the question, but you could see the clarity slipping from their half lidded eyes. They were practically limp in his desperate grasp. 

<”Slippery bastard.”> They said bitterly. <”Make sure you take good care of Spider. Gonna miss him.”>

Tsu’tey looked at them tightly. <”He will be back at the compound. You will see him shortly.”> <”Do not let him see me like this.”> They whispered. <”I don’t want him to remember me like this.”> By this, they meant bloody. Broken. A weak voice and a severe lack of strength in their arms. Tsu’tey seemed to understand.

<”Fine. I will wait until I have washed you of the blood.”>

<”Tsu’tey.”> They reprimanded weakly and the man bristled.

<”I am not going to lose you!”> He abruptly declared with the wrath of an Olo’eyktan fueling his words. <”I am going to take you home and you will be healed. And Spider and I will cuddle you until you are well again.”> <”That sounds nice.”> They whispered, voice somehow fainter. <”Can you keep holding me? Please?”> <”I am.”> Tsu’tey insisted, <”I’m holding you, Yawne. I’ve got you.”>

<”Can’t feel you.”> They told him, and Tsu’tey face twisted into something painful. <”Hurts.”> <“I know. I know.”> A sharp hiss through their teeth as a particularly unexpected jerk. <”Hurts!”> <”I know. I know. I know.”> Tsu’tey chanted, working himself up again to the point where panic laced his voice and brought tears to his eyes. He was still running, still returning to the clan with his dying mate in his arms. And even so, he called to Eywa for help. For some miracle. <”Please Great Mother, HELP ME!”>

No response.

Human you had gone deathly pale in his arms. Their fingers shaking as they tried to grab onto his arm guard to bring his attention back to them. Their voice was small when they next spoke. <”Thank you. For everything.”> <”Stop talking like this. You’re going to be fine. Mo’at will patch you up, and you will be running around giving me headaches like usual.”> They hummed and fell still. 

Tsu’tey grew distraught before your eyes. Lower lip quivering as he shook them, ears falling flat when they didn’t hiss in pain. His hands shook as he crushed them to him, tail smacking against the nearby trees and he fell painfully to his knees.

The sound he let out shook the heavens. The grief that tore its way up his throat, bursting out of him as he clutched the corpse incredibly closer. Rocking them. Praying to Eywa. Begging her to give them back.

Before you could stop yourself, you moved towards him. He either didn’t notice your presence or didn’t care as the grief consumed him. It tore at your insides to watch him break. To listen to him bargain with a force beyond your understanding.

All you wanted was for the crying to stop. Your hand found his head, fingers slipping through immaculately kept braids. He fell still. Teary eyes slid up your form, catching on your face the most.

“Yawne?” He whispered, sounding distraught and broken.

“You’re okay.” You promise, and his face crumbled. Your human form has disappeared from his hands but the blood remained. And those bloodstained hands reached for you now, twisting into your torn shirt, clawing at you. He looked at you like you were a miracle. Like you were something precious. A stark contrast to the hatred and rage from before. He wound his arms around your thighs now, holding impossibly tight as he buried his tear stained face into your stomach. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered brokenly, hands clutching tighter. As if you’d disappear if he loosened his grip for even a heartbeat. Your hands remained in his braids, soothingly petting through them as he repeated it over and over again.

“Wasn’t your fault.” You assured him. He shook his head, pushing his nose hard into your stomach. Denying your forgiveness.

You urged him out of his hiding spot. Hands falling to cup his cheeks and rub away the tears that spilled down them. You stilled at the white paint that had suddenly appeared down his nose. It was a simple stroke, stretching from brow to chin.

“What does this mean?” You asked.

“It is how I show my grief.” He explained. “How I honour your spirit.”

“I thought the mourning period lasted for a season.” You wondered aloud, recalling the Tsu’tey of the current time, who wore his white line proudly. 

“It does.” He confirmed, vulnerable and raw. It made you pull him into you again. Up off of his knees so he towered over you. His eyes were still shining, blood still all over him, but you didn’t care as you pulled him down so his face could tuck itself into the slope of your neck. He went willingly, pulling you to him, holding on tightly. 

“I’m sorry.” “You do not need to be sorry.” “Couldn’t protect you.” “You did everything you could have.”

“Spider will be stuck with me. I cannot make him stop crying like you do.” The quiet admission has you pulling back in an instant. “That boy loves you with every fibre of his being. He looks up to and cherishes everything you do for him. He does not blame you for what happened to me. And nor do I.”

“But-” “Stop punishing yourself, Love.” You told him, “please. You can’t keep living like this.”

He stared at you. Blankly. Before suddenly coming back to life. His white paint was chipping before your eyes, flaking away to reveal shining little dots along his brow that trailed down the slope of his nose.

“I will find you.” He promised. And you believed that it wasn’t a threat, but a vow.

​Last Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

[genderful-ghoul]

So this happened… (Important petition for the Ghost fandom!!)

REBLOGS NEEDED!!

AO3 now includes fics where lead guitar ghoul’s character is called “Sodo” in searches for fics where they’re called “Dewdrop”.

For fans that call the character “Dewdrop”, this now means the “Sodo” fics are unavoidable. For those that call the character “Sodo”, this now means the “Dewdrop” fics are unavoidable.

To be honest, grouping the tags is just uncomfortable and clumsy for everyone. You ever search for a fic and the results show fics where a character you know by one name goes by another name, and you can’t easily just filter those out? And when you try to read them, the flow of reading is disturbed if you’re not used to it? AO3’s tagging system is revolutionary and very widely used by most users on the platform. By combining these tags, it renders the tagging of this character useless for those who are looking for a specific name.

For those that feel uncomfortable hearing the character called “Sodo”, these fics aren’t only annoying to see, they’re disturbing. A good number of ghesties feel uncomfortable calling the character they write/read about (often in intimate settings) a name the person playing them goes by in their personal life. They feel this breaks the widely accepted ghestie code of keeping the nameless ghoul characters and their headcanons separate from the people who perform onstage.

Personally, I am uncomfortable. For one, the idea of having to scroll past a bunch of fics that are too clumsy for me to read is a stressful thought. And, more importantly to me, I am a person who finds it uncomfortable when a ghoul character is referred to by their performer’s real name. I personally do not want these tags to be grouped, and I know I am definitely not the only ghestie who wants them to be separate tags.

Here is a poll petition. I am going to make an appeal to AO3 get these tags separated. The people who keep AO3 running for us are busy, and we understand that there are more pressing matters that must be dealt with. Our request may take a minute to get to, and we are okay with staying patient; but we do want our request to be taken seriously. One person writing to AO3 making the request is not going to be taken as seriously in this case. We need proof that the ghestie community as a whole wants this change for the management of our fandom’s fics. Please vote in the poll to show AO3 that the Ghost (Sweden Band) fandom wants the character tags “Dewdrop|Fire Ghoul” and “Sodo|Fire Ghoul” and any congruent tags to be separated from what is currently “Dewdrop|Sodo” to their original separate tags of “Dewdrop|Fire Ghoul” and “Sodo|Fire Ghoul”. By voting for either of the two options, you are signing a petition to enact the request bolded above. The poll ends in one week, but if we can get a good couple hundred votes before then, it will be sent earlier. Please spread this post as far as the internet can reach. We need the Ghost fandom to speak on this matter. We need everyone to work together to make change.

Formally written request:

The Ghost (Sweden Band) fandom wants the character tags “Dewdrop|Fire Ghoul” and “Sodo|Fire Ghoul” and any congruent tags to be separated from what is currently “Dewdrop|Sodo” to their original separate tags of “Dewdrop|Fire Ghoul” and “Sodo|Fire Ghoul”.

The tumblr post made by user @genderful-ghoul tiled “So this happened… (Important petition for the Ghost fandom!!)” details the current AO3 conditions which prompted the fandom to make this request, as well as an explanation of why the fandom wants this change.

A transcript of the email request I will send to AO3 will be posted here the day it is sent for full transparency to the fandom. Everything is so fancily worded because it is a formal business request, and AO3 needs to be able to fully understand the situation from an outside-of-the-fandom perspective, as well as be able to accurately locate the tags we want changed out of the millions of tags on the platform and accurately understand the specific changes we’re asking for so that they can get it right for us. I hope we all collectively agree that there are bigger problems in the world that need their petitions to thrive so that they can make change. Even AO3 has bigger problems than our tagging issues right now, so let’s be polite and understanding to AO3. This is a frustrating matter, but I guarantee that the reason the two character tags were combined was because someone outside of the fandom recognized that the two separate names were being used to refer to the same character, and assumed there was no significant difference between the two tags and believed that combining them would only make tag organization more efficient.

[hughmanbean]

Are You Not Entertained?

The High Queen has a problem. Boredom! Just a tad. But boredom can lead to many things, like mischief and meddling. And the Ancients know what happens when the High Queen is bored.

So Ghost Writer has teamed up with some other the other playwright and novelist ghosts to find something to entertain her.

With a little advice from Clockwork, they find the perfect dimension to amuse the Queen. So they all draft up a plot and set off, influencing various events to lead to a way for the Queen to come along and watch as every little plan unfolds.

They're done now, so it's time to bring the Queen to watch something interesting.

---

Constantine inspects the various runes, glowing items, and green smudges on the table, the rest of the JL watching him expectantly.

"Well, what are they?" Flash speaks out nervously, fidgeting. He'd found several traces of this stuff in Central city, from cars to buildings to even people. The rest of the JL members had reported the same.

"Nothing good. From what I could gather these things are the work of the subjects of the High Queen."

"The High Queen?"

"Well Bats, officially it's the High Queen of the Infinite Realms. Ruler of All and whatnot. I'd say that this is the work of some of the Realms Beings that she controls. Though none of it is her directly doing anything from what I can tell."

The rest of the JL look at him for more explanation, Zatanna gives him a look that he's on his own for this one, and John inwardly curses at the fact he's the one that has to explain this.

"The Infinite Realms are the In-between. They're also The Beginning and The End at the same time. Anything is, was, or will be has at one point been there. The High Queen, as a result, controls all of this."

"What does that mean, Constantine?"

"Well dark and broody, that means that we're royally screwed."

[celepom]

More Great Reads for Pride!

Beetle and the Hollow Bones by Aliza Layne

In the eerie town of ‘Allows, some people get to be magical sorceresses, while other people have their spirits trapped in the mall for all ghastly eternity. Then there’s twelve-year-old goblin-witch Beetle, who’s caught in between. She’d rather skip being homeschooled completely and spend time with her best friend, Blob Glost. But the mall is getting boring, and B.G. is cursed to haunt it, tethered there by some unseen force. And now Beetle’s old best friend, Kat, is back in town for a sorcery apprenticeship with her Aunt Hollowbone. Kat is everything Beetle wants to be: beautiful, cool, great at magic, and kind of famous online. Beetle’s quickly being left in the dust. But Kat’s mentor has set her own vile scheme in motion. If Blob Ghost doesn’t escape the mall soon, their afterlife might be coming to a very sticky end. Now, Beetle has less than a week to rescue her best ghost, encourage Kat to stand up for herself, and confront the magic she’s been avoiding for far too long. And hopefully ride a broom without crashing.

Mooncakes by Wendy Xu

A story of love and demons, family and witchcraft. Nova Huang knows more about magic than your average teen witch. She works at her grandmothers’ bookshop, where she helps them loan out spell books and investigate any supernatural occurrences in their New England town. One fateful night, she follows reports of a white wolf into the woods, and she comes across the unexpected: her childhood crush, Tam Lang, battling a horse demon in the woods. As a werewolf, Tam has been wandering from place to place for years, unable to call any townhome. Pursued by dark forces eager to claim the magic of wolves and out of options, Tam turns to Nova for help. Their latent feelings are rekindled against the backdrop of witchcraft, untested magic, occult rituals, and family ties both new and old in this enchanting tale of self-discovery.

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me by Mariko Tamaki

All Freddy Riley wants is for Laura Dean to stop breaking up with her. The day they got back together was the best one of Freddy’s life, but nothing’s made sense since. Laura Dean is popular, funny and SO CUTE … but she can be really thoughtless, even mean. Their on-again, off-again relationship has Freddy’s head spinning — and Freddy’s friends can’t understand why she keeps going back.

When Freddy consults the services of a local mystic, the mysterious Seek-Her, she isn’t thrilled with the advice she receives. But something’s got to give: Freddy’s heart is breaking in slow motion, and she may be about to lose her very best friend as well as her last shred of self-respect. Fortunately for Freddy, there are new friends, and the insight of advice columnist Anna Vice, to help her through being a teenager in love.

Mariko Tamaki and Rosemary Valero-O’Connell bring to life a sweet and spirited tale of young love that asks us to consider what happens when we ditch the toxic relationships we crave to embrace the healthy ones we need.

The Bride Was a Boy by Chii

A heartwarming transgender love story, based on true events!  A diary comic with an upbeat, adorable flair that tells the charming tale of Chii, a woman assigned male at birth. Her story starts with her childhood and follows the ups and downs of exploring her sexuality, gender, and transition–as well as falling in love with a man who’s head over heels for her. Now, Chii is about to embark on a new adventure: becoming a bride!

Nimona by N. Stevenson

Nimona is an impulsive young shapeshifter with a knack for villainy. Lord Ballister Blackheart is a villain with a vendetta. As sidekick and supervillain, Nimona and Lord Blackheart are about to wreak some serious havoc. Their mission: prove to the kingdom that Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin and his buddies at the Institution of Law Enforcement and Heroics aren't the heroes everyone thinks they are.

But as small acts of mischief escalate into a vicious battle, Lord Blackheart realizes that Nimona's powers are as murky and mysterious as her past. And her unpredictable wild side might be more dangerous than he is willing to admit.

Space Battle Lunchtime by Natalie Riess

Earth baker Peony gets the deal of a lifetime when she agrees to be a contestant on the Universe's hottest reality TV show, Space Battle Lunchtime! But that was before she knew that it shoots on location... on a spaceship... and her alien competitors don't play nice! Does Peony really have what it takes to be the best cook in the Galaxy? Tune in and find out!

I Hear the Sunspot by Yuki Fumino

Because of a hearing disability, Kohei is often misunderstood and has trouble integrating into life on campus, so he learns to keep his distance. That is until he meets the outspoken and cheerful Taichi. He tells Kohei that his hearing loss is not his fault. Taichi's words cut through Kohei's usual defense mechanisms and open his heart. More than friends, less than lovers, their relationship changes Kohei forever.

Secret XXX by Meguru Hinohara

Shohei loves bunnies! He loves them so much he’s even taken to volunteering at a local pet shop. Store owner Mito is as sweet and kind as the fuzzy critters he cares for, and it’s not long before Shohei finds himself wanting to cuddle with him as much as the bunnies! But Shohei is hiding a dangerous secret, one that makes this dream an unlikely reality.

Thirsty Mermaids by Kat Leyh

Fresh out of shipwreck wine, three tipsy mermaids decide to magically masquerade as humans and sneak onto land to indulge in much more drinking and a whole lot of fun in the heart of a local seaside tourist trap. But the good times abruptly end the next morning as, through the haze of killer hangovers, the trio realizes they never actually learned how to break the spell, and are now stuck on land for the foreseeable future. Which means everything from: enlisting the aid of their I-know-we-just-met-can-we-crash-with-you bartender friend, struggling to make sense of the world around them, and even trying to get a job with no skill set…all while attempting to somehow return to the sea and making the most of their current situation with tenacity and camaraderie (especially if someone else is buying).

Jem and the Holograms by Kelly Thompson & Sophie Campbell

Meet Jerrica Benton—a girl with a secret. She and her sister Kimber team with two friends to become... JEM AND THE HOLOGRAMS! But what does it mean to be JEM today? Fashion, art, action, and style collide in Jem and the Holograms: Showtime!

[wits-writing]

“A Wonderful Experience”: Why Transformers: EarthSpark and Nightshade Matter

I’ve been a Transformers fan to one degree or another for as long as I can remember. Whether it’s early memories of watching Beast Wars, renting the G1 animated film on VHS from Blockbuster, or reading the numerous excellent comics that have come over the years, I’ve always found something to love about this franchise. So, I was probably going to find time to check out the 2022 CGI animated series Transformers: EarthSpark eventually no matter what. But one little bird changed that from an “I’ll get around to it eventually” to “I need to make watching this show a priority.”

A little bird by the name of Nightshade (voiced by Z Infante)!

I’d already heard from people I trust about EarthSpark’s quality as a series, but finding out about the franchise’s first prominent, explicitly nonbinary Transformer got me eager to dive in. I’ve discussed characters I relate to and read nonbinary themes into in the past, but getting a chance to see a show in a franchise I love feature that kind of representation with intent was exciting. Given the fact I’ve written 3000 words analyzing the character of Nightshade now, it’s easy to say I wasn’t disappointed!

The topic of gender and how it relates to the Transformers as characters has been one of many long, exhausting fandom debates over the franchise’s nearly four decade history. I’m not here to relitigate any of that, so take it as read from here on out that the Transformers as characters do have and express gendered identities throughout the history of all its incarnations. 

To give a quick primer on EarthSpark as a whole (and why it’s great) before digging into Nightshade’s character in specific:

The series is set fifteen years after the end of the Autobot/Decepticon War. The bots that managed to survive the fighting and remain on Earth are presumed to be the last of their species. All of them are stuck in a holding pattern where the only options currently viable are a life in hiding or working alongside the government-funded alien threat detection/response agency GHOST. Optimus Prime and Megatron head up the latter efforts, in the hope of finding some peaceful balance between humans and Transformers going into the future (though neither of them are fully at ease with the situation, as GHOST clearly has ulterior motives of their own.)

The grim outlook for the Cybertronians takes a turn for the better with the birth of two new Transformers. The Earth-sparks of the show’s title (called “Terrans” throughout the series), Twitch and Thrash, who are bonded to the human children Robby and Mo Malto. Helped by Optimus, Megatron, and the Malto kids’ parents, GHOST agent Dot and her husband Alex, the decision is made to keep the Terrans a secret until the extent of what their existence could mean for the Transformers future as a species is fully understood. The Terrans become an official part of the Malto Family (lovingly referred to as “Malto-bots” by the other characters.) At the halfway point of the first season, in the episode “Age of Evolution”, this unconventional family unit expands further with the birth of three more Terrans, including Nightshade.

Between puzzling out the Terrans’ existence, hiding from GHOST, and fighting threats like the human mad scientist Mandroid, there’s a lot of thematic meat on the bone of this series’ setup. The main one I’m interested in digging into through the lens of Nightshade’s characterization is how the Terrans are written to feel like kids figuring out who they want to be as they grow up. Transformers has a history of designating one or more bots in its series central casts as the rookie/kid character, not insignificantly the Terrans’ primary mentor, Bumblebee, has been traditionally positioned as that very rookie. EarthSpark adding the narrative weight of representing a potential for all Transformers, particularly in how they’ll relate to humans while living on Earth, onto these characters gives more meaning to them being under that role.

The Terrans learn lessons about who they want to be and who they can/can’t trust (not always determined by old alliances like Autobot/Decepticon) from the older Transformers and humans alike. Also proving through their actions everything new they’ll have to offer the world they call home through the gift of their existence. Each Terran has been given the appropriate space so far to have their characters develop, each in their own directions, through this theme. 

Nightshade is exemplary of this, best understood through looking at how they’re characterized before/after their first focus episode “Missed Connection”, about them forming a bond with Decepticon scientist Tarantulas.

[SPOILERS for EarthSpark beyond this point]

Before “Missed Connection”

Something that genuinely impressed me going back through EarthSpark for the sake of writing this piece is how immediately Nightshade is fully themself from their earliest bits of screentime in “Age of Evolution.” While the other two members of the second batch of Terran Transformers, Hashtag and Jawbreaker, have their names confirmed upon them by their connection to Robby and Mo, Nightshade actively introduces themself with a bow and a flourish (“It is a delight and a surprise to meet you all!”) This beat quickly establishes their self-assuredness in their identity and that, while they’re later shown to have occasional introverted tendencies, they are anything but shy. I’m also fond of how the scene establishing their pronouns as Optimus lays out their plan of attack also foreshadows their eventual alt-mode, since they ask to be represented by an owl-bobblehead during the planning. The one scene serving as a contrast to their outgoing demeanor, as they recoil at the sight of Mandroid’s cruelty, gives the first hint towards their eventual desire to protect those in need.

There’s only two episodes between Nightshade’s debut in “Age of Evolution” and their first focus episode; “Hashtag: Oops” and “Outtakes.” Since neither is their focus episode, there’s not much to say about how they’re portrayed in either one (in fact, Nightshade’s entirely absent from “Outtakes” as anything but a brief visual cameo.) “Hashtag: Oops” does still manage to establish some key parts of Nightshade’s personality. Firstly, their comfort in themselves as they proclaim they don’t need an alt-mode (“I like who I am as I am.”) Secondly, their inclination towards tech and engineering as they secretly build a new underground base to surprise their family and give everyone more room to operate within. The latter also indicates their “better to ask forgiveness than permission” approach to their tinkering and scientific work. Which comes back around in a big way during “Missed Connection.”

Which finally brings us to the episode that’s the primary reason I’m writing this piece at all!

“Missed Connection”

Being Nightshade’s first proper focus episode in the series, their current state as part of the ensemble cast gets reestablished in short order. Namely, how they feel out of place around their siblings. Their affinity for science and technology leads to them making their own fun separate from the rest of the family. A pattern that gets highlighted by Nightshade working to perfect a new training drone while the rest of their siblings are playing a game of tag outdoors in celebration of Robby and Mo having the day off school. When later questioned by Alex and Dot about why they don’t spend more time with the rest of the family, Nightshade says it feels like their siblings treat them like they’re “speaking another language.”

This sense of isolation informs why Nightshade is so eager later in the episode when they find a connection with Tarantulas’ own work with tech. Simultaneously providing an opportunity for Alex to offer them something they can connect with while trying to figure out how to connect with others. Like any good nerdy dad, he does it through the magic of reading. He offers Nightshade a copy of his favorite book from when he was growing up, “Winged Sentinel”, an in-universe fantasy/sci-fi series they immediately connect with and find new aspirations. Which we hear as they repeatedly call back to the books like about its hero “protecting those in need.” Their connection to this book quickly leads to the one they find working with Tarantulas, as they were in the local cemetery since it was the “last known address” of Winged Sentinel’s author.

(Quick aside: First time I watched this episode, that detail had me thinking the show was going to do a “Nightshade learns about mortality” type of story. I was relieved when not only did Nightshade grok what happened to the author pretty fast, but the episode in turn swiftly shifted to the dynamic between Tarantulas and them.)

“Missed Connection” finds its central theme in Nightshade and Tarantulas’ discussions on identity and finding one’s place within that world rife with conflict that can be directly hostile to those like them. There’s a recurrent motif in the dialogue of Tarantulas’ cynicism born from eons of experience and Nightshade’s youthful enthusiasm. Though cynicism is far from all the elder Transformer has to offer, as he also provides Nightshade with a new perspective on alt-modes they hadn’t considered and ultimately guides them to their choice.

Nightshade: Aren’t I sufficient as I am? Tarantulas: Alt-forms aren’t meant to complete you, as though you have a missing part, they further express who you already are.

Combining that with Tarantulas’ frustration at the “constrictive labels” of Autobot/Decepticon adds to the resonance this episode has with the nonbinary experience. The concept of “passing” gets explicitly evoked by him while discussing his plan to create a hard-light hologram projector so he can live freely as a human while evading GHOST’s forces. Which is the first proper disguise Tarantulas has taken in his life. While his giant spider alt-mode may provide plenty of utility, it’s anything but discreet.

His plan and attitude informing on it connects back to the broader central theme of EarthSpark as a series of the Transformers finding a new way to live on Earth among humanity with the Terrans representing the way forward. He can’t see a way forward besides hiding who he is and the only safety he can think to offer Nightshade is to join him in that life of discretion. His outlook’s best emphasized by his assuredness that the Autobot/Decepticon War resuming is inevitable, alongside that eventuality dragging him out of whatever peace he does find.

However, cracks in Tarantulas’ bleak worldview show as he begins to admire Nightshade’s exuberant demeanor and determination to be a protector. That admiration for a Transformer with the potential to live unburdened by all the hardships he’s seen leads to him delivering the best, most resonant line in the episode:

“It is a gift to know yourself so well, so young. Take pride in that.”

A beautiful sentiment aimed directly at members of EarthSpark’s target demographic on their own journeys to express their identities.

Unfortunately, the bond these characters have found can’t last. When Tarantulas recognizes Dot as an agent of GHOST, he acts rashly under the assumption that she’s holding Nightshade prisoner. He kidnaps Alex and her, planning to erase Nightshade from their memories so they can go into hiding with him. As a fight between the bots eventually breaks out, Nightshade commits to acting like the protector they aspire to be and chooses the alt-mode of a green armored owl, based on the hero of Winged Sentinel. (Alex’s proud declaration of “You read the book!” while witnessing this is great.) A form that isn’t a disguise but expresses themself as they are and what they want to be going forward.

Nightshade and Tarantulas’ conflict has grown intense enough by this point that the elder Transformer’s admiration for the young bot doesn’t come through in his reaction. Rather he flips it into an insult providing Nightshade their opportunity for a sharp, direct retort (and other best line in the episode):

Tarantulas: You’re still just the lost protoform I first met! Nightshade: You’ve just proven you don’t really know me, because I was never lost!

When the fight ends with Tarantulas’ hologram projector destroyed in the skirmish, Nightshade reflects on words Dot offered them earlier about how everyone deserves a second chance and convinces their family not to hurt Tarantulas any further. However, it seems to be a decision out of their hands as GHOST is drawn to their location by the fight. Tarantulas, finally understanding Nightshade’s situation as well as who they are, offers himself up as bait to lure GHOST away from the Maltos. Running off into the forest as Nightshade reflects on the broken hologram projector the two of them made.

Multiple rewatches of this episode, as well as the first season of EarthSpark as a whole, has reaffirmed it as my favorite episode of the show so far. The tight focus of the dynamic between Nightshade and Tarantulas, alongside the deeper meaning that can be taken from pretty much every exchange between the two, is exemplary of what makes this series standout wonderfully as part of the vast Transformers canon.

After “Missed Connection”

Since there’s not that much of the first season left after “Missed Connection”, Nightshade’s once again mostly off to the side doing their own thing. But there are small bits that show how their experiences in that episode have changed them. They actively spend more time around the rest of the Malto Family, like helping Bumblebee train for an upcoming race and showing that they’ve formed a bond built on mutual tech-obsession with their sister, Hashtag, as they work together to further upgrade the underground headquarters. 

We also get a fun minor bit of their “better to ask forgiveness…” way of operating when they add some high tech bells and whistles to Dot’s prosthetic leg as a Mother’s Day present in the episode “Bear Necessities.” A plot point that later gives the show an opportunity for Dot and Nightshade to have a nice mother-child bonding moment as she explains to them why she liked her leg the way it was in terms they can understand (“something like this is personal”) while not completely shutting them down over it (“I’m open to some small changes, but they’ll have to be ones we come up with together.”)

Though the biggest moment post “Missed Connection” moment for the character, as well as my personal favorite single scene in EarthSpark so far, comes from their subplot in the season 1 two-parter episode “Home.” As the Malto kids and the Terrans go into Philadelphia to see more of the wider world, we get to see Nightshade continue acting as a protector for those in need as they save a young person named Sam from getting mugged in an alley. Nightshade notices a pin that says “SHE/THEY” on Sam’s handbag and tells her their pronouns in return. The two end up having a conversation about how the things that make them who they are can also make them targets for intolerantly minded people. This interaction ends with Sam affirming they feel safe around Nightshade and giving the young Transformer a simple but effective explanation of what being nonbinary means.

This not only gives Nightshade further context to understand themself, but also has the important touch from a metaperspective of having a human character be the one to explain the concept. An effective dodge of what’s frequently cited as a pitfall of using aliens/robots to explore these facets of human identity, making it as clear as possible for anyone watching (especially the target demographic of kids) that Nightshade’s nonbinary identity is in no way just a product of their being an alien robot. Rather, it's an identity that simply feels right for some people living in the world. One that people who identify with it and explore their connections to it can find immensely fulfilling. 

Or, as Nightshade puts it at the end of this conversation:

“What a wonderful word, for a wonderful experience.”

(Before I dive into my conclusion, I want to say I deeply hope this isn’t the last we see of Sam in the series. Both for representation’s sake and because I like seeing the Terrans bond with humans outside of their immediate family circle.)

It would feel wrong to end this look at Nightshade’s character and how that reflects on the best qualities of EarthSpark as a series without giving proper credit to the creative voices involved in bringing them to life. Namely, writer Mae Catt (she/they) who wrote the episode “Missed Connection” and one of the three writers on “Home”, the other two being showrunners Nicole Dubuc and Dale Malinkowski. While fundamentally I believe anyone could write any kind of story, authenticity comes through stronger when writers from the same background are involved. Catt’s passion for writing this show comes through beautifully in these episodes and in how they’ve discussed the show on social media.

Her understanding for what these characters and stories can mean to the young people watching gets clearly reflected in recurrent elements of EarthSpark’s story. Aside from Nightshade’s admiration for the main character of the Winged Sentinel novels, we also see moments in other episodes of their siblings trying to figure out what being a Transformers means through in-universe Transformers comic books telling the story of the Autobot/Decepticon War. 

It’s also what drove me to write this piece. I see Nightshade in all their creative, expressive glory and it makes me happy for the kids watching Transformers: EarthSpark, seeing them, and relating to them. Every story has the potential to be a guide someone out there can use to move closer to their heart. Nightshade’s being that guide to nonbinary kids now in a way I never could’ve dreamed of growing up is, simply put, wonderful.

Happy Pride! 💛🤍💜🖤

If you like what you’ve read here, please like/reblog or share elsewhere online, follow me on Twitter (@WC_WIT), and consider throwing some support my way at either Ko-Fi.com or Patreon.com at the extension “/witswriting”

[jellymeduza]

September, October and November updates

2nd of September 2023: scholarship for having a parent in Education - added two more versions to make this mod compatible with @picknmixsims’ Driving Licence: Meduza_CJ-djsbadgescholarships_Education_Driving and Meduza_CJ-djsbadgescholarships_Education_Driving_5Points. You can read more about the update here.

12th of September 2023: scholarship for having a parent in Education - fixed dialogs in “DrivingLicence” versions

24th of September 2023: swimmable boats - added boats that let your Sims catch @sunmoon-starfactory​ salt water fish. They require their Gone Fishin’ 2.0 set. They can be used with boats that let Sims catch EAxis fish. However, fishing system is different from Sun&Moon’s fishing system. Chances of catching fish are based on fishing badge instead of body skill. Additionally, Sims use EAxis lures instead of Sun&Moon’s ones.

1st of October 2023: medieval shopping racks - now shopping racks (both slaved and standalone versions) have got proper empty state

17th of October 2023: useable ghost grave, useable ghost urn - this update was supposed to get rid of ghosts appearing like a bats while in the grave. It turned out the person who reported the error, was missing Midge's fairyglowball file.

24th of October 2023: ask to WooHoo in Walk-In Closet, Sims can WooHoo in vampire coffin, flyable TS4 rocket, TS3 fairy houses with more options - updated to support public woohoo wants and memories. Social plug-in (Meduza_AskToWooHoo_social) also recognises new woohoo spot (on a pirate ship).

2nd of November 2023: witches can gain energy by meditating, witches can practise magic - now menus are gender-sensitive: women have these actions under Witch.../, while men have them under Wizard.../

5th of November 2023: scholarship for having a parent in Education - improved code to avoid more errors

22nd of November 2023: Doctor Strange’s rotating orb - now the orb rotates exactly around its axis, so it doesn’t spin in circles anymore

26th of November 2023: custom skinned werewolf fix - added 2 new versions of the custom overlay. These versions will let your custom skinned Sims’ skintone show on their palms, ears and feet. They won’t pick up defaults you have. CHOOSE ONE version of the overlay: 1) S3 werewolf skintone with transparent ears, palms and feet using EAxis eyes; 2) S3 werewolf skintone with transparent ears, palms and feet using Phobia’s eyes (based on my default); 3) S3 werewolf skintone (texture-referenced).

[ahamkara-apologist]

Been having Transgender Thoughts(tm) about the Destiny 2 universe, and I think that in terms of being rezzed as a guardian, you've got one of two options: either the Light rezzes you in the body that fits you the best (as your 'truest form' in a sense) OR your Ghost is capable of slowly reconstructing your body to match that of your gender, by using Light paired with your genetics- and no, chromosomes don't matter, the SRY gene only indicates that the masculinizing developmental pathway should be initiated vs carrying the 'man' or 'woman' instructions- to essentially rebuild you from the inside-out. Guardians who transitioned before their deaths and were comfortable in their own flesh will almost always be rezzed in those bodies, but can also have their Ghosts tweak things if they want. Like, if a guy who got top surgery before his death but no phallo wanted a fully functional set of cock 'n balls, his Ghost could use their Light to tinker with some gene activation and stem cells and literally grow him a pair. Or, if someone who was rezzed pre-Golden Age pre-trans healthcare learned they were trans AFTER being rezzed, then their Ghosts can fiddle with fixing their endocrine system to have the right hormones, start lysing cells from body parts that shouldn't be there, and developing what should be. If they can regrow limbs with their Light and heal horrific wounds, then why couldn't they grow some tits? If you wanted to have the body of a cis man then you can be a cis man. If your womanhood is inherent to your transness then you can have that as well. It would be so simple...at least until the transition happens. Then good fucking luck with feeling your flesh wither away and entire new body parts regrow in between deaths, and with having sudden jumps towards a new body everytime you die and your Ghost squeaks in a lil bit of rebuilding while they're piecing you back together.

For non-guardians* post-Collapse, they'd have it a little rougher, but I also think that the fact that they fell after a Golden Age meant that the trans folks of the Dark Ages could at least socially transition, and that being able to medically transition would come later on in the City Age when medicine could somewhat catch back up to where it was prior. I can also see the fact that Guardians resurrect being an inspiration to trans folk and them calling themselves 'reborn man/reborn woman' or something similar, to really drive home that who they were previously is not who they are now (much like Guardians are no longer the people they were before they died).

*Exos, of course, are inherently transgender by nature. I don't even have to say it.

(Also please note that these are the ramblings of a trans man, and that my trans experience/desires are gonna shape how I want to explore it in stories I love. For me, personally, something like what Oryx got- where he could totally change sex via space magic- is ideal, so that's what I'm inclined towards. But there's many other ways to interpret the Light and transness that is just as valid and as interesting, and I'd love to hear about it!)

[emeritus-moon]

{ENGLISH} Sodo (Dewdrop) x Male!Reader

Request : WattPad Request

Gender : Male

Who : Sodo (DewDrop)

A/N : Here you go with this Sodo x Male!Reader! I'm really sorry, I made you wait... I was expecting something better from me but I managed to make something pretty nice! I didn't know what to choose for a fight with Sodo, so I chose a funny thing with Copia and then, the idea was built little by little! I hope you enjoyed <33

- - - : Timeskip

~ ~ ~ : Flashback

- - -

A new day begins in the abbey. The whole building is pretty quiet, only the footsteps of the sisters are heard with a few chatters here and there.

Only, this usual calm is cut by the sound of mud breaking. This noise resonates in the corridors and surprises all people passing near the room from which the sound source comes.

Inside this room are the Ghouls. Usually the band is having fun or training for the various Ghost Band Tours. But today, a completely different atmosphere takes place.

DewDrop finds himself crouched on the oak table in the hall, exposing his sharp teeth menacingly towards you, ready to pounce on you at any moment.

On your side, you turn to him again, leaving the vase, which he tried to throw at you earlier, with his eyes. Your gaze illustrates the bitter anger that has awakened in you. This anger that you have always felt towards Sodo.

Why were you mad at the Ghoul? Well... The male actually always hated you. And this, since your arrival in the abbey. You never knew why he couldn't stand you, and you still don't know today...

You and DewDrop can't take their eyes off each other. The other Ghouls then notice the momentum Sodo begins to build, ready to strike.

Instantly, as the Ghoul prepares to attack you, Mountain and Aether lunge at him, holding him back from doing more damage than before.

"- Enough, Sodo! You both have done too much!

- Don't complain about having problems with Sister Imperator or Papa..."

You mock the words of Aether and Mountain, staring at them with an annoyed expression :

"- Papa won't say much... He's not Primo, Secundo or even Terzo. Not even Papa Nihil! I remind you that it's Copia."

The female Ghouls, who from the beginning stay in the back of the room, look at each other and nod when they then turn to you as Cirrus validates your words :

"- Y/N is not wrong... We will say that... Copia is a little more open than the previous Dads.

- That doesn't prevent him from getting angry whenever he wants. There Dew, you smashed his favorite stupid vase he set up three days ago."

Everyone turns to Swiss who shrugs before throwing his hands up innocently :

"- All I want to say is that you're in deep shit Sodo. And you too Y/N.

- Me!?

- Dewdrop wasn't fighting alone."

You sigh in defeat and turn your back on Swiss. You know he's right, but you don't want to own it. After all, it was Sodo who had been looking for him!

Aether and Mountain bring Sodo down from the table and as calm slowly begins to return, the front door slams open, taking all of the Ghouls by surprise a bit except for Swiss, who raises his finger and stands. from :

"Five, four...

- What happened here?

- Three, two... One...

- My vase!!"

Everyone stops doing anything in the room, never knowing how Copia will react. Knowing that he is very attached to his strange business that only he loves under this roof.

The former Cardinal rushes towards the shattered object before turning to his Ghouls, the larger pieces of the vase in his gloved hands.

"- Who is responsible for this mess, finally?"

Swiss comes out with his hands in his pockets and quickly the girls follow him. Then the other Ghouls come out. It's just you and Sodo with Copia. You stand there staring at Papa IV's vase.

You walk hesitantly towards him. Not knowing what to say, you chose the option: to apologize. You kneel in front of Dad and pick up the few remaining pieces on the ground:

"- I'm sorry Papa... It wasn't voluntary. If necessary, we'll give you another one.

- Aaaah, Amico! You know I cared about that vase! It was unique and more... I had it done!

- I know.. And again, I'm sorry. The next one will surely not replace him, but we will take one back."

Seeing that Copia remains rather calm about the situation despite his disappointment, Sodo begins to back away, telling himself that the former Cardinal thinks it's only your fault.

Unfortunately for him, the last Dad turns in his direction without really looking at him :

"-DewDrop?"

Copia's voice causes the Ghoul to stop instantly. He looks again at the man crouching in front of the debris before advancing a few slow steps towards him.

"- Papa..?

- I guess if Y/N broke my vase, it's not alone?

- Are you accusing me?

- Oh please... Don't take me for a uomo stupido. You fight regularly and it's not the first time that such a mess has been made."

Sodo sighs, dropping his arms to his sides as he stares away from you and Copia, annoyed at the situation.

Papa IV gets up, still with the debris of the vase in his hands. He grabs an empty fruit basket which is placed on the table of the room to deposit the broken pieces there.

Having picked up the remains on your side, you do the same as Copia as the man speaks again :

"- Know that even if I care about you, even if I am less severe than your previous Dads, you will not come out unscathed from this stupidity."

You and Sodo exchange eye contact, eyes widening, as you wonder what lies ahead. You both turn to Papa, who raises a finger in the air, like a parent scolding his children.

"- I want you to clean this whole room for me. And when I say everything, it's not to be taken lightly! Floor, furniture, windows, everything! And you're lucky that I don't ask you not the whole Abbey!"

While you sigh like sulky children, Copia moves away from you before stopping at the doorstep. He looks in your direction again while he makes strange, exaggerated signs with his hands.

"- Now I'm going back to work. And I want this room to be clean when I get back! Hop hop hop!"

With these last words, the former Cardinal leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Sodo turns to you, a dark look fixed on your silhouette.

"Don't look at me like that. We've got something to clean up, Dewy."

The Ghoul grunts as you walk past him, running out of the room to get some cleaning supplies from the saddler in the kitchen.

Dewdrop follows you anyway, muttering incomprehensible words under his breath.

- - -

Once back in the big room, you approach the windows, a bucket of water with glass cleaner in your hands and a dishcloth holding on your forearm.

Sodo just watches you do it, holding a dustpan and a classic broom in his hands in addition to a packet of wipes.

You sit on the edge of one of the windows after opening it before turning to Sodo :

"- Well... as agreed, I take care of the windows and you take care of the floor and the furniture.

- "As agreed"? You agreed that alone! You didn't even ask my opinion!

- Do you want to clean the windows which are tricky to do? You want to clean the windows so that when the next rain comes they'll be horribly dirty and you'll be frustrated? I think you'd rather skip it, right? Say I'm doing you a favor.

- A favor, hmpf..."

Dewdrop turns his back to you, going across the room to start getting rid of the dust. As for you, you roll your eyes before starting your window cleaning.

- - -

A few hours have passed.

After Dewdrop finished dusting and cleaning the furniture and you finished washing the windows, you made the floor more clean with soap and water.

Now you are seated on the benches around the table, patiently awaiting Copia's return.

Finally... "patiently". It's a big word because it's been a while since you finished your cleaning. The ground has had time to dry, and Papa Emeritus IV is still not there. You start to lose patience.

Refusing to get upset easily, you decide to try a simple conversation with Sodo, trying to lighten the mood and keep you busy until Papa arrives.

"- Uhm... It wasn't so bad cleaning up with you.

- What?

- I mean... Did you see it? We didn't argue, we didn't fight. It's not so bad?"

Sodo just shrugs. At least he didn't pull a nasty head, nor insulted or yelled at you. You take that as a good point.

"- The furniture is clean... You did a good job there.

- Of course... I didn't want to stay there very long so- I had to do it right."

You nod. You lay your head on the palm of your hand, searching for a new topic of discussion but to no avail.

A small start takes you when the Ghoul speaks again :

"- It wasn't bad on your part either...

- Are you paying me a compliment?

- Y-you made me one too technically!

- A-a compliment!? For you!? No way!

- You're lying to yourself!

- So are you!"

You point fingers at each other like kids. Realizing you were starting an argument and on top of that for something stupid again, you turn away from each other, deciding not to say anything more and not even look at each other.

Several minutes have passed and Copia is still not there.

You turn towards the door, wondering if it will open with a Copia crossing its threshold or not.

"- Papa really takes his time."

This time, you don't get an answer from Sodo.

You turn to him again and look at him curiously. The Ghoul crossed her arms on the table and rested her head on them. One could almost say that he can fall asleep at any time.

"- Sodo?

- Hmm...

- I have a question..

- If it's too boring, don't look, then think carefully about what you're going to ask me, Y/N."

You take a long but discreet breath before exhaling and asking :

"- Why do you hate me?"

At these words, Sodo freezes.

His hands gripped his arms forcefully. You're pretty sure he could sink his claws into it, even through his black shirt.

"I told you to think carefully about your question.

- Excuse me if this upsets you. But I really need to know...

- That much?

- You hate me and I don't know why, the others don't tell me anything when I ask them when they seem to know! It concerns me, I have the right to know, right?

Dewdrop doesn't look at you.

In fact, he looks at the wall to his left, preferring to observe the paintings that are hung there rather than the person sitting in front of him.

With a sigh, you stand up. Sodo turns to you, looking at you with furrowed brows and also with a hint of curiosity.

"- What the hell are you doing?

- I go out. You can see that Papa isn't coming back. He must have forgotten us. And I can't stay with someone like you who can't even sympathize or even explain to me what's wrong!"

Fists clenched, you lose patience and start heading for the exit.

As you reach for the door, your wrists are gripped by two strong hands. You don't have time to realize what's going on until your body is pinned against the wall.

By realizing, you meet the gaze of the Ghoul present in the same room as you. You swallow hard as you try to struggle.

"- Get off me! Damn, what do you think you're doing!?

- Do you want to know why I hate you!?

- Why!?"

Dewdrop pins your wrists above your head with one hand as he grabs your chin between two fingers with another. While doing all this, his piercing eyes never leave yours.

You breathe heavily as you stare at him as well.

"- You are a man, that's all."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

Your breathing calms down as you try to figure out what's wrong with you being a man.

"Because I'm human, don't you like me?

- You don't understand..."

His grip on your wrists loosens, but he won't let you go. His hand that held your chin a few moments ago rests on your hip.

Sodo lets out a sigh.

"- By man, I'm not talking about your species... You're a male, Y/N.

- A-and...? There are "male" ones in this Abbey, so I don't see where the problem comes from-

- The problem is that I'm attracted to you, idiot."

A heavy calm sets in and you don't know what to say.

You stare at the Ghoul in front of you, speechless and the creature is still staring at you. Only this time, shame and guilt are reflected in his gaze.

However, Dew' gathers his courage in both hands and continues :

"- You attract me a lot... And it's so bad...

- What's wrong with loving the same sex, Sodo..? You know it's not forbidden here, and Papa is completely open about it.

- But Sister Imperator, and our reputation... Plus- the fact that you are a male human too... We would be too badly seen...

- Dewdrop, don't you dare repeat those sentences to me. In Hell either.

- If I were to love you as I wish, I would break you!"

As Sodo's grip on your wrists is weaker, you manage to free them. You then cup his face in your hands and stare deeper into his eyes.

"- So with all this anger and so-called 'hate'... you just wanted to protect me?

- If you want to understand it like that...

- That's how I understand it, Sodo. And know that it doesn't matter what other people think, it's what you feel... It's your emotions, not anyone else's, so it's up to you."

Dewdrop hardly swallows his saliva. His eyes close as he mutters a simple "shit". Raising his gaze to you, he grabs your face as you hold his and presses his lips to yours.

His cold mask makes contact with your face, but you don't mind that much.

Sodo writes down what you told him a few moments ago and quickly, he doesn't hold back anymore. He presses you against the wall a little more, kissing you more passionately and not wanting to be separated from you for even a second.

Only, Satan decided otherwise.

As you lose yourself in your ecstasy, the door opens and a cry of surprise snaps you out of your reverie :

"- Oh, Satana, my apologies!!"

You look in the direction of the entrance to the room to find Copia hiding his eyes. The man searches for the doorknob and once he grabs it, he gives you a few hand signals before saying :

"- I-I'll check tomorrow for the room! I hope it's well cleaned! In the meantime, go and find a room!"

With these words, Papa leaves the room, leaving you both alone again.

You turn to Sodo and he does the same. You both stare at each other for a moment before laughing. Dewdrop stops his laugh and straightens up, still staring straight at you.

"- Where were we?"

A bead of sweat runs down your temple as you laugh again, but nervously this time.

You're gone for a long night with your Ghoul, dear!