#where the shadows are deep and the light is alien

[coquelicoq]

it's not that i think paul simon was on drugs when he wrote his songs. i wouldn't be surprised either way. but i do think that i would suddenly understand all his lyrics if i did even one teeny tiny little psychedelic.

[shencomix]

Recently I decided to go to my local fighting game tournament.

Here's how it went.

I had been getting pretty good at Guilty Gear over the past few weeks, to the point where I was getting the input correctly for the Potemkin Buster 1 out of every 4 or 5 times I tried it. So I thought "I might not be the best yet, but, surely good enough for my local" -- and I decided to go.

It took place at a the comic & games store in the town center. The venue was full of people 10-15 years younger than me and even more drastically cooler. They all turned to glare at me as I walked through the door, but as I stood completely motionless like a gazelle hoping to blend into the grassland, their gazes slowly returned to each other and they continued to banter friendlily.

I sat down next to me first opponent, and reached out to shake their hand. They looked down at my hand, and then up at my eyes slowly.

"You're supposed to do that at the end of the match."

"Oh, s-sorry"

I got perfected twice and lost the match. At the end, I reached out again to shake their hand, but they just stood up and walked away.

Because I lost, I got moved down to the loser's bracket, which was literally below the main tournament because it took place in the basement of the comic shop. I could hear footsteps, cheering, and happy conversation in the floor above. Here in the loser's bracket though, the mood was a lot more somber.

My next opponent reminded me a little bit of me. They were equally nervous and disheveled looking. They said "Um, h-hello" and reached out their hand for a handshake as they saw me approaching. I said "you're s-supposed to do that at the end of the match." But as a look of deep sadness came over their face and they slowly put down their hand, I pulled them in for a hug.

I'm not sure why I did that.

I think that some part of me knew that, in this dark, dank, alien place, illuminated only by a single failing ceiling light and the neon glow of a few arcade machines, I had at last found a friend -- someone I understood, and who might understand me too.

They hugged back.

I lost that match by a very narrow margin, and as they jumped up and began dancing around and cheering ecstatically, I began to hate them. This was no friend of mine. A friend would not do this to me. After they were done dancing, they reached out to shake my hand. After a few seconds of pause, I stuck out my hand too, but didn't look at them and refused to close it around theirs as they grasped it. They shook my karate chop.

I thought that at that point, since I had lost and then lost in loser's bracket, I was free to go home. But one of the tournament organizers approached me and informed me that I was going down to sub-loser's bracket in the sub-basement of the store, and pointed me towards a descending staircase.

The people there were fewer, and it was darker. I could faintly hear sobbing in one of the corners, but as I went to investigate, another participant put his hand on my shoulder. He furrowed his brow in a look of pain and shook his head slowly.

"You can't do anything for them."

In sub-loser's bracket I went up against a man in a suit whose face was cloaked in shadow. He spammed May's dolphin move. I lost.

As I went to go back upstairs, one of the tournament organizers held out her palm to stop me, and pointed towards a staircase leading further down instead.

Going down through the levels, I lost to many interesting participants. One player played exclusively by bashing the controller against his face. One player was a mushroom with a few circuit cables clipped onto it, that I later learned was able to play because its bioelectrical signals got sent to a machine that interpreted them as fighting game inputs. One player didn't touch their controller at all, but instead just told me their life story, which was so tragic that I picked up their controller and won for them.

Finally, at the very bottom floor, where construction standards were long abandoned and the stairs and walls were just messily carved out of the earth's stone, I faced my final player. It was a small bit of metal framework, with a controller nestled in it. On it was a tiny piston that just pressed the jab button exactly once every second. I lost.

I hung my head for a moment, then said "close game" and stuck my hand out for a handshake, before remembering that I had played against a metal framework cube with a piston in it and retracting my hand slowly. Then I heard a slow clapping from the darkness.

"No neutral. No footsies."

Out of the darkness slowly walked a woman about my age, clad in a decorative poofy dress that looked more expensive than my entire life savings. She smiled at me warmly, continuing to clap slowly, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"No meter management. No mixups. No spacing. No learning. No strategy…

…You're perfect."

"Wh-what?"

"You're perfect. I absolutely must have you."

"Have me for…um…for what…"

(Her eyes went wide as her smile grew more manic.)

"WHY, MY MORON FAILSON HAREM OF COURSE."

"Um, I-I"

"Tell me, what do you do for a living? Let me guess, you work at a fast food restaurant? Or, retail?"

"No, I'm a--I'm a comic artist."

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh my god, you are PERFECT. What will it take to get you."

"To-to ge--"

"You would be well taken care of, of course. 3 Michelin star dining for every meal. Only the finest, softest sweatpants and sweatshirts, pre-stained with whatever flavor of Takis your little heart desires. You would have access to the entire mansion except for the main foyer when I'm in business calls, and you could make all the comics and play all the fighting games you want."

"I'm uh--"

I knew that I had to think fast here.

"I'm already i-in a moron failson harem."

"Oh, DARN IT!! TELL ME, WHO IS IT??? WHO GOT YOU??"

"I-I think I'm not allowed to s-sa--"

She stomped her foot petulantly, her shoe clacking against the stone floor.

"WAS IT SHUXUAN?? IT'S ALWAYS SHUXUAN HOGGING ALL OF THE GOOD ONES."

"I-I'm sorry," I blurted out, shuffling along the wall to make a wide radius around her and then running up the staircase.

As I got home and began making my standard dinner of Trader Joe's microwave falafel, I thought about her offer. Maybe I should have taken her up on it after all. A 3 Michelin star meal right now wouldn't be so bad.

Then I hopped on Guilty Gear and lost 22 matches in a row.

[astroa3h]

lilith through the houses ✨🥀

Lilith in the 1st House: Here, Lilith influences your self-image and personality. It’s like having a shadow self that’s rebellious and defiant, constantly challenging the way you present yourself to the world. You might struggle with anger or impulsiveness, feeling like an outsider even in your own skin.

Lilith in the 2nd House: This placement touches on your values and possessions. Lilith can manifest as an intense, sometimes destructive relationship with material things and self-worth. You might experience deep-seated fears about security and survival, or find yourself obsessing over possessions as a way to fill emotional voids.

Lilith in the 3rd House: Communication gets a Lilith twist here. Your words might carry a sharp edge, often veering into taboo or controversial territory. Misunderstandings can be frequent, and you may feel like your true thoughts are too dark or intense for everyday conversation.

Lilith in the 4th House: In the realm of home and family, Lilith can stir up deep, unresolved issues. This placement often points to a tumultuous home life or unresolved trauma from the past. You might feel like an outcast in your own family or struggle with a sense of belonging.

Lilith in the 5th House: Lilith’s presence here can bring intense, sometimes tumultuous experiences in love, creativity, and pleasure. Romantic relationships might be fraught with obsession, power struggles, or taboo elements. Your creative outlets could also be a source of inner turmoil, expressing the darker aspects of your psyche.

Lilith in the 6th House: In the house of work and health, Lilith can manifest as a rebellious attitude toward daily routines and responsibilities. You might find yourself in constant conflict with authority figures or grappling with issues around control and perfectionism in your work or health routines.

Lilith in the 7th House: Relationships are a battleground with Lilith here. Deep fears of abandonment or betrayal might surface, or you could find yourself drawn to partners who bring out your darkest qualities. Relationships may feel like a power struggle, where intimacy is intertwined with control.

Lilith in the 8th House: This house is already about transformation and deep bonds, but with Lilith, it goes to another level. You might have an intense fear of loss or betrayal, or find yourself drawn to dangerous or taboo aspects of sexuality and intimacy. It's a realm of deep psychic wounds and transformational healing.

Lilith in the 9th House: Beliefs and higher learning take a dark twist with Lilith here. Your belief systems may include taboo or unconventional elements, and you might feel a deep sense of alienation in your quest for truth. There's a potential for fanaticism or an obsession with dark, forbidden knowledge.

Lilith in the 10th House: In your career and public image, Lilith can manifest as a fear of authority or a desire to rebel against societal expectations. You might feel misunderstood by the public or struggle with a public persona that feels inauthentic or oppressive.

Lilith in the 11th House: Your friendships and social circles may be impacted by Lilith’s darker energy. You might find yourself drawn to social groups that are unconventional or taboo, or feel like an outcast among your peers. Your hopes and dreams could also be tinged with Lilith’s intense energy, leading to a sense of disillusionment.

Lilith in the 12th House: In the realm of the subconscious, Lilith can bring up your deepest fears and insecurities. You might struggle with feelings of isolation or be haunted by fears that you can't even articulate. This placement often indicates a deep need for inner healing, as Lilith brings to light the darkest corners of your psyche.

xox astro ash

Get your own Lilith Reading @ astroash.net

(Find Under Single Placement Reading)

TikTok - astroa3h

[petrapalerno]

Submitting to the Alien Barbarian #10

Alien x fem reader, a dom/sub erotic short.

TW/CW: rough consensual sex, primal play, knotting, breeding, aliens, dominance/submission, blood play, spanking, pregnancy, overstimulation, anal play, gagging and violence.

MASTER POST

PREVIOUS

At some point in the journey, you’ve fallen asleep against Drohako’s back. There’s something soothing about the padding on Graysi’s feet on the dusty ground. 

Your eyes flutter open, only to be met with a landscape that falls far short of the wild, untamed beauty you were expecting. 

“Drohako,” you whisper as he guides the cat to round the corner of a very austere looking building. “Where are we?” 

In the dim light of the night, you let your eyes wander, taking in your surroundings. The towering structure in front of you casts a shadow that obscures the moon’s gentle glow. 

“Quiet, we’re at the nesting grounds.” He slips a hand quickly over your mouth as you gasp. 

The nesting grounds? Isn’t this the one fucking spot you don’t want to be? 

“We need a nesting pod. Our child won’t survive for long without one,” he tells you all while keeping his hand clamped tightly shut over your lips. 

Frustrated, you sink your teeth into his rough, calloused fingers with all your might. 

Drohako, unaffected by your efforts, rolls his eyes, but releases his hand all the same. 

“We’re a team asshole,” you mutter. “You tell me the plan, always.” You keep your scowl even as he dismounts the big cat and lifts you off its back like a doll. 

“Fine.” the brute agrees.

“So let’s go in there and get the damn pod and then get the hell out of dodge, yeah?” You tighten the knot on your pants, cursing the fact that your attire is far from practical. What you wouldn’t give for some fucking leggings right about now.

“Informing you of the plan is a much different request than including you in it.” His lip curls back in disbelief, as though he can’t fathom that you’re requesting to accompany him. 

“So you’re just going to leave me out here? That doesn’t seem any safer!”

As you cross your arms and pout, he reaches for a dagger on his hip, carefully transferring it into your hands. 

“I don’t even know how to use a knife,” you complain. 

A look of surprise crosses his face as his eyebrows shoot up.

“Put the blade into any soft spot you can reach. Don’t talk you way out a conformation, I know that mouth of yours. You go for your opponent’s eyes, groin, throat. Inflict as much damage as you can and when we’re safe at the hunting cave, I’ll teach you the proper way to wield a blade.” He seems overly confident in your skills. “And Graysi will rip the throat out of an attacker well before you even realize their presence.”

You feel the presence of the enormous feline behind you, its claws tugging at the fabric of your pant leg, dragging you towards the ground. Once you’re seated, he wraps his body around you, resting his enormous head on your lap.

“I don’t like this,” you scowl up at him. “Hurry, be safe, don’t do anything stupid.”

“You worry about me for nothing. I am the strongest in my clan,” He tells you as he saunters towards a door at the far side of the wall. With a forceful swing of his sturdy leg, he kicks the door so hard that it almost breaks off its hinges.

“Don’t be a dick, don’t showoff–you have to come back to me, to us.” You place a hand on your stomach. 

“Don’t be a dick, don’t show off—you have to come back to me, to us,” you whisper, placing a gentle hand on your stomach. The heaviness of your words lingers in the air. Deep within you, a tiny life is growing. In this moment, you need Drohako to understand the gravity of their actions, to realize that their choices not only affected themselves but the future within you.

In a momentary lapse, Drohako’s haughty demeanor falters, and a flicker of fear crosses his face. 

Just as quickly as it faltered, the mask slide back up. 

“You have my word. Now stay put.” He jabs his pointer finger in the air at you. 

So you listen for once. Staying put, you trace the stripes on Graysi’s head with your fingernails as he purrs. 

You count his whiskers and once you’ve done that three times in a row; it doesn’t do much do calm your anxiety. You lift his hulking head as the cat grumbles and you shift the direction your legs are going. The adjustment just leaves your thigh full of pins and needles, and you try to flex your foot to get the blood pumping again. 

Annoyed by your incessant squirming, Graysi places a heavy paw on your leg, demanding stillness. 

“You’re a moose,” you huff as you shove his leg to the side. 

Petting his yellow fur, you continue to wait, your eyes locked on the open door. 

But with all this waiting comes thoughts, and bad ones. This plan doesn’t seem well thought out enough. It seems really risky. Why wouldn’t you wait to do this?

A ball forms in the pit of your stomach. 

What if Drohako doesn’t come back? 

You have little time to spiral into your own thoughts as a bright flash and heat pours out of the door. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you see a charred Drohako, arms wrapped tightly around some kind of plastic pod, come flying through the doorway. 

His body hits the ground with a crack, and you can actually hear the wind knocked from his chest. 

Graysi scrambles to stand, his claw pushing deeply into your skin. The rush of adrenaline as you hurry to his side masks the pain, making it feel dull and distant. 

As you roll him onto his side, his eyes remain closed, giving no hint of his consciousness. 

“Drohako!” You yelp as you thwack him hard on the back. 

His eyes shoot open as he’s sputtering, gasping for breath. When his eyes lock with yours, he coughs and sweeps you into his arms. As he gets his legs underneath him, he wobbles unsteadily. But with each bounding leap, his confidence surges. 

“What the fuck happened?” You yelp as he throws you over Graysi’s back. Stuffing the egg-shaped device into the rucksack on the cat’s hips. 

He swings his own leg over, mounting the beast. With a kick to its ribs, you’re off like a shot. The surrounding darkness grows as you ride into the night. 

As you gallop into the darkness, you can hear the raised voices and the clank of boots. They’re after you, but they’re too slow compared to the feline to catch you.

Drohako kicks again, and Graysi pushes us even faster into the night. 

“Complications caused a fucking explosion?” You demand an answer from him, turning your body as much as you can to get a better look at him as you ride. 

Noticing your struggle, he quickly intervenes and flips you around. Now, facing him, your legs intertwine with his as you straddle both the cat and the alien. 

“I have the nesting pod. It shouldn’t matter how it was obtained,” he grunts out. 

You’re ready to yell at him again, to give him a piece of your mind, but as you brace your hand against his side, you feel wetness. When you pull your hand back, it’s covered with his black blood. 

“You’re hurt!” You squeak, quickly putting your hand back to apply pressure to his wound. 

“It is nothing.” He blinks rapidly as the dust from the cat’s paws flies into the air. 

You jab a finger close to the wound. You shouldn’t—It’s cruel. His body recoils at your touch.

“Nothing?” You parrot back to him. “You get us to that cave as fast as you can!” you tell him before wrapping your other arm around his torso and burying your face against his wooly chest. 

“I thought you didn’t know how to stab,” he winces as you reapply pressure.

“Shut up,” you tell him as tear fall from your eyes. 

I’m angry, so why the fuck am I crying? 

What started as a casual arrangement for rough sex has grown into a connection that goes beyond physical intimacy. You haven’t wanted to admit it before, but the constant knot in your stomach and the racing thoughts are forcing you to confront the undeniable fear of losing him.

You know what this emotion is.

“I love you, idiot.” 

“You’re a warrior, whether you admit it or not,” he says, putting his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

NEXT

[lanitalay]

In the dark, a light

Azriel x reader

a/n: lil azzy one shot

warnings: mentions of death, gore and canon typical violence

Wordcount: 1.1k

Masterlist

In a way it was comforting. You were grateful for whoever had chosen a burial and not the traditional burning. The tight box where you lay was plain wood on the inside. But someone had taken it upon themselves to dress you in your most precious gown. The blue velvet was wrinkled now, months of decomposing does that to fabric and bodies. Your hair was dry and shriveled, not like it had been in life. Someone used to run their fingers through those once luscious locks. If you concentrated you could almost feel the calloused pads of those fingers massaging your scalp. 

You were buried deep enough the ground did not freeze, moisture caused the wood to smell like an old cabin you used to play in as a child. The cabin belonged to your grandmother, but that was a detail you could not remember. It had been months since you died. The cause of death must have something to do with the cracked ribs and broken neck. Your body had been laid perfectly straight, except for the slight bend just above your clavicle. It must have been painful, you think. 

Days aren’t something that can be measured in the darkness of a grave. Sometimes you realize where you are and try to remember who you were. Other times you’re not sure where you go. You suppose one day you won’t return from that ominous place. Returning to this worn and wasted vessel became more and more pointless. There were no names or memories, only flashes. But just when you thought it was over, that the final transition had been made, those rough calloused hands would yank you back. Unwilling to let you drift. 

In the absence of light you failed to notice how with each return to the vessel, your body was warmer. Your cheeks fuller, your hair softer, body plump with something alien to this space. Only when a ray of light seeped through did you realize your eyes were working. You could see. It blinded you and on instinct you raised a hand to shield yourself. Choking as you realize the arm responded to the command and a healthy looking hand landed on your nose.

The light got brighter and brighter and shuffling could be heard from above. Then movement. Your coffin, your home for the last… however long was lifted from the soil and placed on a mound of green grass. Muffled voices clouded your ears, overwhelming your senses. Now I know why babes cry when they are born, you thought. Just moments before you were in a state of bliss, nothing could harm you. Now light was glaring, sounds were overwhelming and the feel of being moved around was all too much. Just then you noticed your heart was beating wildly. Your heart was beating. 

There was more commotion outside, the sound of metal and then ripping of wood ended in the lid from your coffin being lifted. The glorious midday sun floods you with its light. Four figures loom above you. All you want to do is go back. Put me back, you want to say. Let me rot. 

Their faces are cast in shadows. They are speaking amongst themselves, you can’t understand what they are saying. 

“She 's alive.” Said as though the male was confirming a mirage.

“She must be in pain, let's get her to Madja.” Another deep voice commands. Then the calloused hands she would feel pull her soul back to this world picked her out of the coffin and held her close to his chest. 

A sense of relief flooded her. He smelled familiar, like her body knew his and had been aching to rejoin him. In an instant they were in a bedchamber fit for royalty, then she got gently placed on a soft mattress. The ancient healer walks up to them and tells the males to wait outside. 

“How is this even possible?” Cassian asked, dumbfounded. 

“I.. I don’t know.” Azriel answered, gazed fixed on the door that separated him from her. 

“You always said you still felt her.” Rhysand points out. 

“I thought it was her ghost.” 

“Did the Suriel say anything else?” The High Lord asked Feyre, still frazzled by the corpse they had unearthed.

“He just said that she was never gone, she never fully made it to the other side but… how long did you say she had been dead?” 

“Fifty years.” 

“Mother above… and she’s your..?” 

“She’s my mate, yes.” 

The door opens and Madja beckons Azriel, “she’s perfect, her memory is fuzzy but I expect her to recover it in time.” 

Then she leaves, he forces his feet to step into the room that used to be theirs and struggles to breathe the five steps it takes him to reach her bedside. 

“Y/n…” He doesn’t know what to do. Every impulse he has is telling him to hold her, to never let her go, to kiss her and love her until the world fades to oblivion. He settles on twirling a piece of her hair in between two gentle fingers. She gasps at the gesture. 

“It was you.”

“What?”

“All this time… how long has it been? I- your hands” she grabs the one that was caressing her hair “they kept pulling me back.” 

“Do you remember what I said before you..?”

He was cradling your head as breathing became more difficult. A rogue Illyrian band had ambushed and beaten you to a bloody pulp. You were screaming down the bond you shared with your mate and hoping to whatever was out there that Rhysand could hear your mental pleas. They outnumbered you fifteen to one. You didn’t stand a chance. When you were sufficiently damaged the leader took you in his arms and flew you to the barren mountain range, making sure to drop you where the rocks were jagged. 

Azriel took too long to find you. “Please, please, y/n stay with me. Don’t go.” He begged over you.

“It hurts Az.”

“It’ll get better, just wait until we get Madja and she’ll make you better.” 

But then you coughed and bright red blood spilled from your lips. “No, no, no.” 

Your eyes were still open, fading. “Listen to me, I will never let you go, I will take you home and you will recover. You can’t- please don’t leave me y/n. Please, please, please.”

Your eyes rolled back by then. It hadn’t been two minutes since he found you. All hope vanished when your head went limp in his hands. You were gone. But the bond lingered and Azriel held onto it with everything his soul had to offer. He would keep the bond alive, knowing that your souls were entwined and believing that death was nothing, if not a worthy opponent. 

“You never let go.” 

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Domestic Dream: Love Beyond the Shadows

Bayverse!Donatello x reader

My Domestic Dream with Raphael quickly became one of my top posts, so I thought why not make one for each of our favorite boys? So I now present to you; Domestic Dream Donatello Edition!💜

Warnings: Spelling.

—----------------------------------------------

The soft glow of city lights reflected off the damp walls of the sewers as Donatello made his way up the ladder towards the manhole cover leading to the surface. But tonight was different. Tonight, he would step out of the shadows and into the unfamiliar world above, a world that belonged to you and your family.

It had been planned for a long time now. Donatello was going to meet your family. Your mother had been asking you for months now; when were they going to meet this Donatello you had been speaking so much of?

At first Donnie was actually supposed to have met your family last week. The whole thing was planned. He would be there with you in your apartment when your family came over, and navigate through whatever reactions they would throw at him. But crime never slept, so when Leonardo called him an hour before your family was about to arrive, telling him that police chef Vincent had requested their service for an emergency, he had to leave. He had apologized to you several times, but you weren’t mad at him. You had been honest with our parents, and told them that he worked with the police and was called in for an emergency. You weren’t lying, that was literally what happened.

But your parents were now even more interested in meeting your mysterious cop boyfriend, pressing you even harder to find a date they could meet him. That would be exactly a week later at their place. Donatello couldn’t lie; it terrified him. He had already found the thought of meeting your family at your place scary enough, but the thought of going to their place was making him nauseous. At your place he at least felt a little comfortable. To him it was a second home, where he had spent several days and nights. Your parents' place was screaming danger at the poor tech genius.

Emerging from the manhole, Donatello found himself in a quiet alley where you stood, waiting patiently. The dim light revealed the warmth in your eyes as you smiled at him, reassuring the nervous turtle with just a glance. Donnie wasn’t sure if his knees felt weak because of the horrible feeling in his guts, or the fact that you were wearing his favorite dress. You greeted him with a warm smile, before standing on your toe tips to meet his lips in a small peck.

"Ready, Donnie?" you asked, reaching for his hand, feeling it shake ever so slightly in yours. He nodded, squeezing it gently, drawing strength from your touch. He couldn’t believe it. He had fought ninjas and aliens, yet the thought of meeting his girlfriend’s parents made him shake in terror.

Together, hand in hand, you made your way towards the fire escape that led to your family's apartment. As you approached the window to your parent’s living room, Donatello felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

Upon entering through the window, your family was already gathered in the living room. The initial shock on their faces was evident, as Donnie followed you through the window, especially from your little sister who gasped and pointed.

"(Y/N), who... what is that?" she whispered to you. Donnie was trying hard to read her expression. Was she scared of him? No, it didn’t seem like it. She just looked, well, shocked.

"That's Donatello," you said, smiling at her, tugging Donnie’s hand closer to you. “My boyfriend. The one I told you about”.

“That is your cop boyfriend?”, your mother asked, looking cautiously at the purple clad turtle in her living room. At that moment Donnie wished he was smaller and didn’t take up so much space. His volume only made it easier to look at him.

“Well, he isn’t exactly a cop, but he does work with the NYPD”.

“Oh”, your father said, taken aback, positively? Donnie did not expect that. “Well, what do you do, Donatello?”

“W- well, me and my brothers provided the NYPD with help, t- typically in situations h- humans can’t handle t- themselves”. Fuck! Why did he stammer like that, and in front of (Y/N)’s parents of all?

“Wait! Were you part of that special task force that took care of the alien invasion?”, your father asked, lighting up like a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.

“Uh, yeah. T- that was me and my brothers”. And with that the questions started flying from your mother, father and sister, all wanting to know the strangest of things, each with an interested smile on their faces.. Your big brother, however, had a scowl on his face, eyeing Donatello suspiciously. He still hasn't said a word to Donnie, causing the tall mutant turtle to wonder if he did something.

As the evening went on and the dinner was eaten, Donatello grew slightly more comfortable with your parents, enjoying a light conversation and small talk with them over the table. Your brother however, remained silent, watching Donnie with conscious eyes. Then finally, while you were talking with your parents about work, Donnie finally gathered up the courage to talk to your brother.

Donatello cleared his throat, stepping forward. "I understand I might look a bit... different, but I assure you, I mean no harm. I care about your sister a lot."

Your brother stared at him for a moment. “I’ll have to see that before I believe it”. And with that, your brother went to play with your sister on the carpet.

But over time, Donatello's genuine nature began to shine through. He helped your little sister with her homework, impressing her with his vast knowledge. Especially when it came to math. Your sister almost couldn’t believe that your boyfriend was a genius. Your heart felt warm as you watched the man you loved teach your little sister how to do her homework. And you also noticed how your brother would be standing in the doorway, watching the three of you.

Days turned into weeks, and Donatello became a regular part of your family's routine. Movie nights, dinners, and even the occasional game of charades—your family embraced him wholeheartedly. Love had triumphed over initial fear, and Donatello found himself not just a friend but an integral part of a human family who saw him for who he truly was. A kind hearted, smart guy that saw opportunities where most people didn’t. Even your brother couldn’t deny it. Not after he overheard the two of you talk about how your sister’s grades had gotten up, ever since Donnie started helping her. Neither did he miss the many times Donnie would help out your parents with various tech problems. Was their TV not working? He fixed it while your father brought in a six pack of beer for them to drink afterwards. Was your mother having trouble with her phone? He fixed that right after dinner, and even gave it the extra features she asked for. And your brother especially did not miss the time he saw Donnie stare at you instead of the movie the family had gathered to see. He did really care for you. Even your brother could see it. Donatello loved you. With that realization, your brother asked to talk to Donnie privately.

"I owe you an apology,  Donatello," your brother admitted, his gruff exterior softening. "I misjudged you, and I can see now that you genuinely care about my sister and the rest of us."

Donatello nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I appreciate that. I really do. All I want is to protect and care for the people I love, and that includes your sister and all the people she love".

“I’m really glad to hear that”, your brother said. “I wanted to hear if you would watch the game with me this weekend. I think it is about time I get to know my sister’s boyfriend”.

“I would really like that”, Donnie said with a growing smile.

As the days turned into months, Donatello's bond with your family strengthened. Your big brother, once skeptical, became one of Donatello's closest allies. Game night became a regular thing between the two of them, and so did hours of video games online every so often. You’ll never forget the day Donnie came home from that first game night with the biggest smile on his face. He took your face in his and gave you a long deep kiss, before holding you close in a tight hug.

“Thank you”, he had told you. “I only thought these kinds of things happened in dreams”.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Depression

Alien: Can you explain something to me?

Human: Sure.

Alien: What is depression?

Human: *Stops to ponder question*

Human: I think I can explain, but you must follow me somewhere.

*Pair walk the streets of a dark city*

*Human stops in front of a window and shines a light at it*

Human: What do you see?

Alien: *Looks upon an intricate work of stained glasses depicting some form of human religious scene*

Alien: The work of a master craftsman whose beauty outshines their time.

Human: Wow; wasn’t expecting a deep and meaningful answer.

Human: I would have accepted “a work of art” or “beautiful glass” as an answer.

Alien: How does this help explain what depression is?

Human: Watch.

*Human turns off the light*

Human: Look at the window again.

Alien: *Looks up at the window*

*Where once there was beauty now there was a haunting image*

*Gone were the bright colors and shapes, and what remained were abstract shapes that blurred together in the darkness*

Alien: I see….sadness.

Human: Exactly.

Human: Depression is the creeping darkness in the corners of our minds.

Human: Always present, always waiting for a moment to swallow us whole and leave us shadows of our former selves.

Alien: But that can’t be.

Alien: When the light was showing things were beautiful, there were no shadows.

Human: No?

*Turns light back on again*

Human: What do you see; and look carefully this time.

Alien: *Looks a second time but is confused*

*Things appear the same as first time he shun a light on the window. Only after expanding his gaze did he notice what the human was implying*

Alien: The light is surrounded by shadow…..

Human: Exactly.

Human: Think of the light as our internal happiness.

Human: Even when we feel happy and carefree just as the window appears in the light, the shadows of depression can still exist just at the edge of our being.

Alien: *Looks at the flashlight*

Alien: The light will eventually die, so does that mean your people will always succumb to depression?

Human: Some people do.

Human: Sometimes the light just goes out and never comes back.

Human: Other times they do find the light but it is flickering so they spend the rest of their lives trying to find it again.

Human: Everyone is different with how they handle their own depression.

Alien: Are you depressed?

Human: *Shrugs* I’ve had my bad days; when the weight of the world felt like it was driving the air from my lungs.

Alien: You seem well rounded, so I take it you found your light?

Human: The trick is to not rely on external light, but to find the one inside of you.

Human: That way you’ll never be in the dark.

Alien: Is that even possible?

*Pair of them turn to see a new light coming from inside the building*

*Someone inside had lit a candle and placed it under the stained glass*

Human: Nothing’s impossible.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here and this is part twelve.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... ??? ???? ...Itchy?? 👀

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

…Danny still hates the container.

But really. This was how it was going to end all along.

He doesn’t like the container. But he mostly understands that it has a job and that job is to make the air inside this giant space ship more Air-Like so that his human lungs can absorb more air. He gets it. Even if the alien had to come back and explain it to him twice so that his brain could hold onto the information. Danny understands the container.

He just…

Danny is ill-formed and shallowly built and more a whisper than a body right now, because of. Because. Because of what they did.

And it hurt. What happened hurts now. It had hurt so badly. When Danny’s not real, it doesn’t hurt. His legs don’t hurt because they’re not real. His head doesn’t hurt because it’s not there. His belly doesn’t hurt because it’s imaginary. He’s not real. The pain can’t be real because he isn’t there to feel it.

…But if he ever wants to be real again….

The container looms.

…If Danny ever wants to be real again. This won’t be enough. Being a shadow of an idea of a dead teenager isn’t enough. If Danny is going to be real, to heal, this isn’t enough.

And he knows it isn’t. The burning proves it.

Danny runs his fingers around the rubber gasket of the container. Is it worth it? To face what happened to him? To understand how badly he was hurt? To remember the truth?

It doesn’t seem like it is. Danny wants to go back to his cot. He wants to hide under the thin sheet. He wants to make the room dark and hide in the corners and never be a person again.

But if Jazz was here…

If Jazz was here. She would want him to heal.

Danny doesn’t want to heal. He just wants to be better already. But Jazz would want him to heal. And Tucker. And Sam. And the ghosts who cheered him on, who fought for Danny until the last second.

Danny never sought death, but sometimes the green door pops into his visions in the dark of his bedroom and tries to coax him home.

…Danny clutches his rocket toy tight. He edges his way in.

The door of the chamber slams shut behind him.

It’s dark in here. Not too dark. Not completely. Just. Dark.

Danny takes a deep breath. He tries not to cry. He lays down on the bed in the container, and—

There’s a flush of light as his body tries to form. He’s not going to cry. He—

More light.

More pain.

More—

The memory of taking a blast straight to the face slams into Danny like cannonball.

And then he’s gone.

💚👻👽👻💚

“The patient, he— …in the hyperbaric chamber?! On his own?! How—“

“Showing symptoms of—vitals dropping—he—“

“—the—“

“—is on and on max capacity, we can’t go in and risk—“

“—fragile state—“

“Wait. Is that—“

“—Oh, Jesus fucking Christ—“

“…It’s moving.”

[starwrighter]

I am not a baby!!! (Yes you are)

(Ao3) (Masterpost) (Previous) (Next)

(Chapter 15 lets goooooooo!!)

Sneaking past the serpent was a piece of cake! Even with all those eyes, Dami’s still blind as a bat. He didn’t mean to toot his own horn, but he’s gotta say he’s the sneakiest swimmer on this planet! Not even squidding, he thought it would take longer, now, he’d have time to krill after finding this signal.

…He needed to step up his pun game.

This was an ocean planet for ancient's sake! There were so many opportunities, and he needed to take all of them. If Alterra came to rescue them, Danny needed to be surfing up wordplay until ears started bleeding! Do some real punitive damage. 

Sneaking out the kelp forests, Danny stuck close to the surface, praying any other leviathan wouldn’t think to look up. As the distance to the signal ticked lower and lower, Danny's hopes sank like an anchor. 

Sat on a rocky ledge, was Life Pod 17, blood red grass surrounding it. The hull had been torn into leaving a gaping hole where the right wall used to be. Sand lined the bottom of the pod, the only remaining light from an abandoned PDA.

“Ozzy’s log. It’s the day of the crash. I don’t know what the heck is happening. I’m scared and I’m not going outside. There are shadows in the water under the hatch but I can’t tell if they’re rocks, or aliens, and there’s weird looking caves nearby.” Ozzy sounded terrified, Danny didn’t blame him.

“The Aurora was carrying everything needed to build the phasegate: mobile vehicle bays, bioreactors, propulsion cannons… It had a cinema. There-there was a zero-G gym. My cafe. I don’t understand how we’re here now. I don’t know what no one’s coming for me,” It started mournful, longing even, before sinking into despair and disbelief.

Danny could guess what happened after this log was recorded, and it wasn’t pretty. Eaten by whatever was lurking underneath the pod, a brutal way to go if you asked him. Once again, a body had been scavenged until nothing was left but a couple specks of blood on the PDA screen. Only this time, he had a name to write down in his own log. Just a first name, but it’d be enough to tie a name to a face when rescue arrived. 

A chunk of a sea moth almost completely buried in the sand was strewn a few feet from the pod. Shards of glass stuck out of the seabed, Danny salvaging what he could, doing his best not to cut himself. Whatever snake thing killed Ozzy already had a taste for human blood, and Danny didn’t want to risk giving it a taste of halfa blood. 

The cave system’s entrance is visible from where he was. Danny could only guess that’s where the sea snakes came from. There wasn’t any sign of them now. Maybe Ozzy just got unlucky? The crash was loud, If he was a snake-like thing, he would’ve left home to see what the hell happened too. He wouldn’t have eaten anybody, but still, he would’ve wanted to know what the hell was going on.

A dim glow of pinkish purple was seen as he creeped closer to the caves. 

“The conditions in this cave support a microcosm of unique, possibly predatory lifeforms.” That didn’t sound good for him.

“Detecting an artificial structure somewhere in the region,” That, however, sounded very good.

What’s down there? Was it just part of the Aurora? A smaller chunk of ship sinking into a cave without blocking off the entrance was unlikely but plausible. The PDA didn’t usually alert him when wrecks were nearby, what’s so different about this one? 

Whatever’s down there could help him. If it was the same as all the other wrecks, his PDA wouldn’t have notified him. The problem was, he didn’t know how deep these caves were. Was it even possible for him to reach whatever was down there? 

Surfacing for air just above the cave entrance, Danny gripped the handles of his seaglide. Sucking in a sharp breath, He dove, delving down into the bioluminescent caves. Gigantic plants like crossbreeds between mushrooms and jellyfish were everywhere throughout the caves. A hole in the middle of each where gigantic, fanged snakes shot out of snapping their teeth in an attempt to catch prey. Outcrops of shale were strewn out throughout the cave, but Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bright light shining just a few feet away. 

A floodlight…

On top of a rusted foundation was a floodlight, its brightness wavering, ready to give out after years of wear and tear. Crates were scattered throughout the area, his hair standing on its ends as he searched every side of the crate in front of him. Alterra’s logo was nowhere to be seen. Not even the smallest scrawl of product placement for the gigantic corporation. Instead, only the rust over scrawl of a label he could barely make out.

Torgal corp…

A name vaguely familiar to him. The disappearance of the CEO and his son had been all over the news for a long time. Danny had just turned three when the news of their mysterious disappearance broke out, but with his interest in space exploration, they were the first things you’d learn about. Hundreds of news articles and conspiracy theories on what happened to them flooded the internet from the moment it happened and continued to pop up every now and again to this very day.

A lone PDA lay glowing atop a supply crate, its blue light more entrancing than anything in his life would ever be. Danny pursed his lips, oxygen meter ticking down with his indecisiveness. Hesitantly, he snatches the tablet, a loud, blaring noise emitting from his own…

A signal had downloaded itself to his PDA 

{Purposed Desagi habitat (250m)}

What the hell!? Nothing about this solar system had ever popped up when he researched the Desagi! There was no reason anything related to Torgal Corp should be on this planet! Yet here it was, an environmental log made by Paul Torgal and a signal to their possible shelter.

Was this a Bermuda Triangle kind of situation? He didn’t like the idea of the Desagi crashing for the same reasons as they did. It painted an ugly picture in terms of rescue. Something fishy was going on, and Danny was going to find out what.

“Thirty seconds,” The robotic voice like a curse as he booked it out of the caves. Water seemed unending as his vision began to blur, his chest painfully tight as he desperately swam towards the surface.

Breaking the surface just as his view began to go dark, he gasped, taking in the longest gasp of air he’d ever taken. His mind was swirling an unending whirlpool of dread and confusion. 

Now, he had more to do than he’d ever before. No schoolwork would ever be as stressful as the responsibilities he’s got now. He had to attempt to stop a quantum detonation, find out what happened to both their ship and the Desagi, find any survivors of both ships, get off this planet, and reunite with family.

If all this landed on his shoulders and his shoulders alone they’d all be screwed.

Loud screeching calls echoed throughout the grassy plateaus, breaking him out of his downward spiral. The eerie noise sent shivers down his spine, it was a panicked sound, desperate. He could almost feel the emotion from here as cries grew louder, roars replying to said cries.

A cloud of sand uplifted into the sea, and a faint noise of thrashing and the wheeze of a pissed-off crashfish reached his ears. Danny couldn’t help but creep closer, hoping he could sneak back into his base before whatever was causing this ruckus tried to kill him.

Like he expected, Dami was making the loud roaring noises. What he didn’t expect was another gigantic leviathan to be seemingly screaming at him?

Were they going to fight? Should he start placing bets?

His base was dangerously close to where the new Leviathan was thrashing around like an electric eel on LSD. Its scales were like armor plating, teal gray with fins like javelins. It had a set of electric blue eyes on the front of its face. Like Dami, he had hands, four fingers with toxic blue on the pads of each finger. His claws were curved, more useful for grasping things and climbing than they were for fighting. 

An aura of electricity surrounded the leviathan, a peeper floating belly up upon making contact with it.

Yeah, Danny didn’t feel like getting electrocuted anytime soon. He couldn’t bite or attack the guy without getting into shock range. 

Maybe he could convince Dami to chase this guy off?

@ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23 @zeldomnyo @bytheoldwillowtree @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart @starlightcat04 @stargazing-bookwyrm @pupstim @dragongoblet @noxcheshire

[dmitriene]

— shadows of empathy.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ «precious and fragile things»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «need special handling»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «my god, what have we done to you?»

summary: you don’t remember how you ended up in this laboratory, how long you endured pain, but you remember the warmth of his hands and the muffled whisper of promises. content: albert wesker x gn reader tags: lots of hurt x comfort at the end, lot of experiments, suffering from moral and physical pain, mention of needles and sadism, may be presence of stockholm syndrome, presence of william birkin. (let me know if i forgot something!) author's note: my first time of writing for wesker and also including some sensitive topics, hope you'll enjoy! enjoy your reading) 💉

The atmosphere of the lab was eerie and oppressive, a place where the lines between humanity and scientific curiosity were blurred, cold fluorescent light cast sharp shadows on sterile metal surfaces, the air was filled with the strong smell of disinfectant mixed with the acrid taste of chemicals, a constant hum of machines, a haunting reminder of the experiments being carried out within these walls.

For you, locked in the walls of the laboratory, the environment became a real nightmare, your memory was a fragmented puzzle the pieces of which were missing like scattered pieces of glass, you clung to the fragments that you had, for flashes of life before the laboratory, which seemed far away and out of reach, your confusion was a constant companion, a gnawing emptiness that made you yearn for answers.

In moments of introspection, you were often lost, looking through the small window of your cell at a world that seemed both familiar and alien, the darkness outside seemed to reflect the darkness in your own mind, a vast expanse of uncertainty that stretched to infinity.

The screams that echoed down the corridor, both yours and those of other unfortunate souls, were a symphony of anguish that haunted your every waking moment.

Over time, despair grew, the desire for freedom and truth intensified, the laboratory became a tangled prison, every cell a cage for lost memories and broken dreams, you longed for answers, even the smallest piece of your past, something for which you could survive the chaos and uncertainty.

Among the same snow white walls it was harsh and frightening, the sterile white surfaces reflected the already familiar harsh fluorescent light, the air was saturated with the smell of antiseptics and chemicals, a constant reminder of the clinical nature of this place, the hum of machines seemed to be reflected through the walls creating an unsettling symphony of technology, cold metal instruments were neatly laid out on the tables next to your vulnerable body strapped to the examination table.

Everything around was a nightmarish reality from which you could not escape, the environment was alien and unfamiliar, as if you had entered a world that defied logic, the memories were fragmentary, elusive, leaving again and again in deep confusion and fear.

You trembled in the bonds that held you, your eyes darted around the room in search of something recognizable, your heart pounded as you struggled to piece together the mystery of your existence, your inability to remember anything in front of the sterile laboratory walls eventually turned into a gaping mental wound.

Confusion and fear enveloped you like a suffocating shroud, you were a fragile figure among the cold equipment, a mixture of fear and bewilderment was read in your eyes, memories of a former life were just fragments, disparate images that you clung to in vain while your mind was a labyrinth of uncertainty.

The experiments you endured left scars on your body and your spirit broken, pain was a constant companion, each injection and procedure was a brutal attack that seemed to blur the line between life and suffering, you were trapped in a cycle of agony, unable to escape the torment become your new reality.

Your fear of Albert Wesker and Birkin was palpable, Wesker's presence was a mystery — his power and motives are obscure, his calculated gaze and measured words sent shivers down your spine, the unpredictability of his actions heightened your unease.

Birkin, on the other hand, was the epitome of cruelty, his touch was aggressive, and his detachment from your suffering caused waves of terror, making you feel like a pawn in a game you couldn't understand.

When Wesker and Birkin stood together in the lab, their conversations swirled around you like a nightmarish symphony.

— «Progress is being made» Birkin said, his voice devoid of compassion as he treated you as if you were more of an experiment than a person.

Wesker's gaze darted towards you, his expression enigmatic — «She's more than just data, Birkin» he declared, and there was a hint of something in his voice that you couldn't understand.

Birkin chuckled — «Sentimentality has no place here, Wesker, our goals are much more important than the personality»

Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, a mixture of fear and despair flowed through your veins, and as soon as you spoke, suddenly your voice broke out with a strong tremor — «P-please, I need to know… Why am I here? What did I do?»

Wesker's gaze met yours, something like a display of sympathy flickering in his eyes — «You're not here because of what you've done» he said softer than you expected — «But rather because of what others seek to achieve»

Birkin's lips instantly twisted into a cruel smile — «You are a vessel for our experiments, a means to an end, your goal — is to serve science»

His words only allowed your fear and confusion to grow, the heaviness of their words crushed more than anything else, you felt trapped, driven into a nightmare where the answers were elusive and the pain endless, and as their dialogue went on, you became more and more withdrawn into yourself, a frail figure lost in a world that seemed to revel in your suffering.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

The experiment was a frightening mixture of clinical detachment and palpable tension, the cold, sterile walls of the lab echoing with the mechanical hum of the machinery, creating an unsettling symphony, the blindingly bright light overhead casting harsh shadows, making every detail of the lab stand out with unsettling clarity, through the air saturated with the smell of antiseptics and chemicals reminded that this is a place where scientific curiosity got the better of sympathy.

Your body became the canvas for these invasive experiments, each one a brutal assault on your physical and mental well-being, pain was a constant, unrelenting presence — a searing fire that ate from within as needles pierced your skin, delivering viruses and serums, your body convulsed in agony, and the once clear mind turned into a haze of suffering, unable to escape the torment inflicted on you.

Screams, this time your own echoed through the laboratory, a symphony of pain that seemed to go unnoticed by scientists consumed by their own ambitions, the shackles that held you in place seemed like shackles, a cruel reminder of your helplessness, every injection, every cut, every probing tool caused waves of agony that makes you shiver and gasp.

The pain was not only physical but also emotional, the experiments robbed you of your self respect, leaving you feeling like you were just a vessel for their perverted pursuits, loss of control, abuse of your body and inability to understand the purpose of your own suffering created a sense of isolation that was as heartbreaking as the physical pain.

Amidst the agony, there were moments when you clung to fragments of your personality, soapy fleeting memories of your life before the lab, those memories were both a source of comfort and an added layer of anguish as they stood in stark contrast to the nightmare you were now living.

The pain of the experiments was an unrelenting force, a nightmare from which it was impossible to escape, but in this nightmare there was a spark of resilience, determination to survive and a fragile hope that one day the agony would subside and you could regain your identity and your life.

But all this was ruined by the appearance of Birkin, the atmosphere in his presence was suffocating — a toxic mixture of clinical detachment and sadistic curiosity, he moved with an imperious air, his cold, calculating eyes were fixed on you as if you were nothing more than an interesting specimen, laboratory seemed to shrink in his presence, the shadows cast by his body adding to the eerie feeling of being trapped in his gaze.

His gloves, stained with the remnants of countless experiments, contrasted sharply with your pale and delicate skin, his touch was sharp and impersonal, he treated you as if you were an object and not a person, each injection felt like an invasion, his gloved fingers pressed the needle into your flesh with heartless disregard for your pain.

The dialogue was marked by a frightening lack of empathy, Birkin's words were clinical, his tone devoid of compassion as he discussed you as if you were a puzzle to be solved — «You turn out to be very hardy» he thought one day as he narrowed his eyes as he watched you writhe in agony — «It's amazing how the human body reacts to such stressors»

You struggled to find your voice in the pain, your sighs and cries met with cold indifference — «Please.. stop it..» you managed to squeeze out, your voice was barely a whisper, but your plea went unheeded, as if your suffering was nothing more than a necessary component of his experiments.

Birkin's answers were distant and unsettling, his words imbued with a kind of twisted charm — «Pain is just a sensation that needs to be studied and understood» he remarked with a note of superiority — «Your body's response provides valuable data that will drive our research»

Despite your vulnerability, you felt a surge of anger and frustration — «I'm not just data» you retorted in a voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance, but your defiance only seemed to amuse him, his lips curved into a grim smile.

— «Ah, but you are, my dear» he replied, his eyes glittering with alarming intensity — «You — are the embodiment of the progress of science, the sacrifice of one for the good of many»

Your short dialogues were a perverse dance of power dynamics, a clash between your desperation to be accepted as a person and his determination to turn you into a mere object for experimentation, his words left an indelible mark on the soul, a reminder that in the walls of the laboratory you were nothing more than a pawn in their twisted games.

And yet, in the midst of darkness and cruelty, there was an unexpected glimmer of hope, Albert Wesker, the man you once feared, seemed to offer a different perspective — one that hinted at the possibility of redemption, compassion, and a chance to break free from the clutches of Birkin's sadism and the relentless pain of experimentation.

Still in the same dimly lit lab, the air grew even more oppressive with tension as Albert Wesker confronted William Birkin.

Their disagreements contrasted sharply with the clinical setting, Wesker's normally stoic expression taking on a tinge of unexpected tension, and a hint of disapproval in his voice.

— «She's not just a sample, Birkin» Wesker's voice cut through the sterile atmosphere, the words carrying a weight that seemed to challenge the very core of their work.

Birkin, a scientist that always driven by ambition, glanced at Wesker with a raised eyebrow — «And what would you advise, Wesker? That i handle her with care? She's here to experiment, not to babysit»

Wesker's gaze hardened, his stance unshakable — «There is a line between scientific curiosity and cruelty, the data we collect is invaluable, but it does not justify causing unnecessary suffering to it»

Birkin's lips curled into a cynical smile — «You're attached, aren't you? To our little experiment»

Wesker's jaw clenched, but he didn't deny the accusation, instead, there was a rare note of vulnerability in his voice — «She's more than just an experiment, Birkin, there's something about her… a vulnerability i can't ignore»

Birkin's eyes sparkled with amusement — «You let sentimentality overshadow your judgment, Wesker, remember why we're here — to advance our research»

As the argument went on, Wesker's words lingered in his own memory, a discordant note in the symphony of ambition that had guided him for so long, his eyes fixed on you, your fragile frame a stark reminder of the consequences of his and Birkin's actions.

At that moment, a sudden realization hit him with a force that made him reel, he felt something — something he had long suppressed.

Guilt, Regret. And something else he dared not name, your suffering, the fear in your eyes kindled in him a coal of sympathy, a flame that challenged the calculated detachment he had cultivated.

He turned away from Birkin, his gaze was fixed on you, your vulnerability was a mirror reflecting his own, the truth he avoided, you — the one who was once just an object, became in his eyes a person — a person he could not ignore, no matter how hard he tries.

As he dealt with his conflicting emotions, the atmosphere in the lab seemed to fade, the hum of machinery less insistent, the cold walls less cramped, in this moment of introspection Wesker realized he was at a crossroads — between the brutality he had once accepted, and the compassion he now struggled with.

And just when Wesker's inner turmoil intensified, he abruptly turned away, and his steps carried him to the exit, he could no longer see your suffering, emotions seethed inside him in a chaotic whirlpool that threatened to engulf him.

He stopped in the doorway, his back turned to the scene unfolding behind him, he clenched his fists, his heart pounding as he struggled to regain his composure, his emotions a storm he had never encountered before that could destroy the carefully constructed façade he supported for so long.

And so, in a moment of overwhelming emotion, he made a decision that defied his own instincts and left you alone with Birkin, it was an act of self preservation, a desperate attempt to distance himself from the rising emotions that frightened him, he could not afford to become entangled in your suffering, could not allow newfound sympathy to consume him.

With a heavy heart, he left the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he moved away from the scene he could not bear to witness, and in his absence everything around changed the silence was broken only by your soft, strained breathing and mechanical sounds.

Alone with Birkin, your vulnerability was stark against the cold, clinical setting, your eyes were a mixture of fear and despair, the weight of helplessness weighed on you, the atmosphere was a frightening reminder of the brutality you faced, a reality that seemed to loom even more in the absence Wesker.

As the experiments continued, your screams and the mechanical sounds of the laboratory merged into a dissonant symphony, an inexorable reminder of the torment you endured, and as the darkness of the room gathered around you, you were left to confront your fear and pain alone, being a prisoner of a world where cruelty and compassion existed in the fragile, unsteady balance.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Late in the evening, an eerie twilight enveloped the lab, casting elongated shadows on cold surfaces, the air thick with the remnants of the day's experiments mingled with the acrid smell of chemicals, equipment humming softly somewhere in the background, a constant reminder of the clinical nature of this place.

Albert Wesker walked down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing off the dark walls, his usual air of stoic determination present, his gaze fixed forward as he approached the room where you was being held, but as he entered, his determination faltered to a sudden heaviness in the chest.

There you sat, crouched in the corner of the room, your figure curled up, your once bright eyes now dim and ghostly, and your frail body seemed even smaller in the dim harsh light, your breathing was ragged, each breath was a visible struggle, as if you were struggling — not only with the pain of experimentation, but also with the weight of his broken spirit.

Wesker's steps slowed, his eyes narrowed as he assessed your condition, he came to take you away for further research to continue the experiments that had been his goal for so long, but when he looked at you, something inside him changed — unexpected a pang of guilt, a crack in the façade of indifference he cultivated.

His desire to comfort you was an alien feeling that he buried under layers of ambition and detachment, the desire to lend a helping hand, to offer solace, belied his ingrained sense of control as he hesitated, his gaze met yours and for a moment he saw beyond the pain — the shattered remains a man who has endured too much.

At that moment, the clinical atmosphere of the lab gave way to a rare vulnerability, the hum of machinery seemed quieter, Wesker's internal struggles reflected on his features, the conflict between his cold exterior and the sudden warmth that surged through him.

His presence seemed to fill the room, his tall figure drawing attention even in dimmed light, there was a rare uncertainty in his typically cold gaze, a flash of emotion dancing under the surface, his outstretched hand hung in the air, fingers ready to reach out, eyes remaining chained to you.

You recoiled, your body language tense with a mixture of fear and defiance, your eyes, once dull with pain, now widened with a new sense of unease, you recoiled at his touch, the instinct to push him away was strong inside, and the clinical atmosphere of the laboratory only intensified the intensity of the moment, as if the walls were conspiring against you.

— «No!» you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and despair — «Stay away from me!»

Wesker's expression remained unreadable, his hand hung in the air, but as your words hung between you, his fingers slowly lowered, and his eyes softened slightly — «I don't want to hurt you..» he replied with a rare vulnerability in his voice.

The tension in the room was palpable as you both were here, your figures grappling in a silent battle of wills, your fear fighting the country with a spark of curiosity, a hint of the realization that Wesker was more than the ruthless image he cast.

His usual air of stoic aloofness was replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty as he took a step closer, extending his hand once more.

Your body tensed, memories of his previous actions and the cruel experiments he witnessed etched deep in your soul as you tried to push him away, a mixture of horror and defiance fueling your actions.

His hands were trembling slightly, which was indicative of the inner struggle he was struggling with.

The closer he came with his arm outstretched, the more often you shuddered and rested against the corner of the wall, fear emanated from you, your eyes were wide open and alert, your muscles contracted as if ready to jump away, you tried to push him away, small hands weakly resisted his approach.

Wesker's expression remained calm, his eyes didn't flinch even as you struggled against his touch — «I won't hurt you, i promise» he said in an amazingly gentle voice — «I know it's hard to trust, but i promise i'm not here to hurt you anymore»

Your breathing was rapid, your chest rising and falling in a chaotic rhythm as your gaze fell on him, the room seemed to close around, the walls choking with a wounding grip, though his presence provided an unexpected reprieve.

The desire for safety fought against your instinctive fear, leaving you torn between the desire to escape and the possibility of finding any semblance of comfort.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Wesker closed the remaining distance between the two of you, his arms wrapped around your feeble body, his embrace firm but careful.

At first you struggled against his grip, your body tense with anticipation, but he held you tenderly, squeezing your wrist gently but relentlessly as your hand touched his chest, offering an anchor amidst the storm of emotion raging within you.

— «I won't let anyone hurt you anymore» he muttered, his voice a different kind of medicine contrasting with the harsh reality of your surroundings, his words a promise, a declaration of his newfound commitment to your well being.

As his words reached your consciousness, your resistance began to weaken, the tension in your body slowly subsided, replaced by fragile vulnerability, tears of their own, as if intuitively welling up in your eyes, flickering in the dim light like unshed diamonds.

You hesitated, your hands hovering over his chest as if not knowing where to put them — «Please..» you whispered in a voice trembling with despair and anguish — «I don't… i don't know who i am anymore, i-i'm scared»

Wesker's embrace intensified, pulling you closer until your head was pressed against his chest, he could feel your tears dampen his shirt, soft sobs echoing through the room — «Everything is alright..» he muttered, pressing his lips against your hair — «You're not alone anymore, i'll be here to protect you»

Your resistance collapsed completely, your fragile self defense shattered like glass, you pressed against him tighter, letting your body shake with sobs as you finally let go of the pain and fear that had built up inside.

In his arms, the environment changed again, turning the cold, sterile room into a haven where vulnerability met compassion and fear met the promise of security.

His embrace was a testament to his newfound commitment, a gesture of comfort that spoke volumes, and as your tears soaked into his shirt, he held you close, offering a rare glimpse of his humanity — a man who despite his past found himself attached to you in this way, that defied reason and ignited a glimmer of connection that none of you could have foreseen.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌   ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌«angels with silver wings»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «shouldn't know suffering»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌«i wish i could take the pain from you»

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[eywa-eveng]

ɪᴠ. sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏɴᴇ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ᴊᴀᴋᴇ sᴜʟʟʏ, sᴜʟʟʏ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴹᴱᵀᴷᴬᵞᴵᴺᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.4

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – widower!Jake, major character death

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ – ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ – ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪɪ

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @itscheybaby @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @goldenmoonbeam @ladylovegood-69 @slutforsmut4ever @myheartfollower @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz @sovereignsylvia @scc7514 @ghost-lantern @calums-betch @nao-cchi @a--1--1--3 @crazy4books1 @meladollsims @yeosxxx

Wounds will heal with time. Scabs turned to scars. And these demons have gouged deep gashes across Pandora, ravaging everything they touch with no regard for anything outside of themselves. They are the aliens setting foot in a world that is not their own and yet they treat Pandora as if she is theirs to tame. To torture and abuse. Like a diseased plant poisoning all that it’s roots tough, they take and take, never returning that which they’ve stolen. They reap without sowing and destroy everything that wanders into their path. The Great Mother has surely weeped for many years at the atrocities these sawtute have committed against her. And even those years of peace were stolen away in a heartbeat. A scar long since healed torn open to bleed once more. Pandora had prevailed once before and yet these humans have learned nothing. Ignorant as children, repeating the same mistake and hoping that this time it will be different. 

The oceans have been stained in blood by their hands. The blood of tulkun. The blood of Na’vi. But the favor has been returned and it’s now their blood that mingles with the waves. This battle may have been small, only a shadow of the might they brought down upon the forest, but they lost. What was left of their people retreated like wounded animals, chased out of the ocean back to whatever stolen piece of the forest they’ve made their home. But how long until they’ve regained their strength? How long until they return once more in search of revenge. These humans are like weeds. Cut away only to grow back once more. It will be a small miracle if they’re gone long enough for the People to heal, to grieve. Because both sides have suffered losses, though some feel greater than others. 

“Tsireya!” It’s the first word you’ve spoken in what feels like days and it sears through your throat as if you’ve swallowed fire. The clouds of smoke had not been kind to your body, feeling your lungs and making each breath feel like you’ve swallowed thorns. 

“Sa’tsmuke!” Sunlight spills over her in a wash of amber light, tears sparkling in her eyes as she finds you in the distance. Payakan had kept all of you in the cradle of his fins through the eclipse. It allowed for a fitful sort of rest in the soft rocking of the waves. It felt like the comfort of your mother’s arms gently bouncing you as your mind slowly began to stitch itself back together after coming undone by the thought of your son being one of the casualties lost to the hands of the sky demons. Even now you can hardly think further than what is in front of your eyes. Your children, your mate. Your family. You cling to the idea of them, terrified of what will happen if you allow the pain to consume you once more. To return to that great gaping maw that swallowed you whole, covered your eyes and quieted your mind to anything but seeking to make others suffer with you. It was deserved but the demons are gone. To lash out now would be to hurt those that you love. The only people that remain already share in your pain. 

A deep breath steadies your resolve. 

Tsireya stands shakily to her feet, swaying as she wraps her arms around herself, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. She reaches for you as soon as you climb ashore the tiny stone island. 

“Tsmuke’ite,” you cup her face until her gaze steadies on your face, “where’s your brother? Where are Ao’nung and Rotxo?” She shakes her head as falls into your arms, burying her face in your chest. Her heartbeat drums against the palm of your hand settles on her back. You curl yourself around her as if there’s anything left to protect her from. The damage has been done. All you can do is pick up the pieces left behind. Her tears wet your skin as your nose presses against the shell crowning her head. She smells like home. Like comfort and safety and happiness beyond this small piece of land wet with water and blood. Her hair carries the familiar scent of dried flowers and that sour fruit so few people seem to like. Your heart pinches at the thought as your arms tighten around her. Ronal and Tsireya were always the ones to share the sour fruit with you until the Sullys arrived. Neteyam seemed to love the almost bitter taste. It pains you to think you’ll never bask in the simple joy of eating with your son again. 

The points of your fangs dig into your lower lip as you brace yourself to look over at where you know he’s lying. Tuk is at his side, holding his hand in her own. Her tears fall over his fingers and drip down his arm and still he doesn’t move. And his stillness can’t be mistaken for anything other than death. His eyes are closed but it hardly looks like he’s resting. The hole torn through his chest stands out against his deep blue skin, like a red flower blooming in his chest. The sight of it snatched the air from your lungs and the strength from your body. Lo’ak rushes to your side as Tsireya struggles to keep you standing. The ground meets your knees, stone chafing your skin, but you hardly notice. Tsireya says something. Perhaps to you, or maybe to Lo’ak. It sounds as if she’s shouting from across the horizon even as she kneels beside you. A hand touches your shoulder, just for a moment before falling away as you rise just far enough to move. Your hands keep your movements steady as you half crawl towards Neteyam’s prone body. 

There’s a deceptive sort of warmth to his skin as you reach out to touch him, fingertips brushing over his cheek. The sun casts fleeting heat across his cold body as you pull him into your lap. He’s been here for hours, cold and alone save for Tsireya and the stone beneath him is wet with a facing wash of his blood. It stains your legs as you hug him close, Tuk nuzzling against you as you wrap your arms around the both of them. Her cries are quiet as she hides her face in your side, hands clinging to the beaded strings of your chest covering. The pads of your fingers find the shape of his pil, tracing the striped pattern so different from the ripples dappling your own face. Tears cloud your vision as you brush over the softness of his lashes, desperately hoping against hope that his eyes will suddenly flutter open. 

The shape of the wound in his chest seems almost delicate. Small and insignificant if it were in another place. The ocean holds many wonders, but also great dangers. Warriors have come to you to heal far more grievous wounds. Your fingers find the shape of the wound you’d stitched only weeks ago. It has healed well, only a slightly raised scar, a pale slash across his arm. He bled then too. It had seemed like such a simple thing to heal. A needle and thread to soothe the hurt, but some things are beyond your abilities as tsakarem. Even a tsahìk would be powerless to this injury. 

The thought weighs heavy in your heart. Already so much has been taken and still there is more to lose. But these things have a reason. There is balance in all that Eywa does. The Great Mother protects the balance of life no matter the cost. All things have a reason even when you cannot See it. This pain has blinded you, closed your heart. Your chest feels cold and empty as if the flame of your soul has burned out. Perhaps it has. The only thing left burning inside are the tears in your eyes, clouding your vision even as you try to focus on Neteyam’s face. To carve him into your memory before he is washed and committed to the ocean, returned to Eywa. Soon a search party will be sent to find those stranded and your family will be among them. Neteyam will be taken home. His adornments will be removed and his body washed in preparation for his burial, but you want to stay here for a while longer. To count the pale freckles dotted across his cheeks, to remember the pattern of stripes crowning his forehead. 

Someone says your name. Gentle as a warm breeze as you hug Neteyam close, cheek pressed against his braided hair. A shadow falls over your back, blocking out the warmth of the sun and reminding you just how cold Neteyam feels in your arms. 

“Come here, yuey.” Jake whispers. It’s his hands that move you more than any will of your own, gently unwinding your arms until Neteyam is laying on the ground once more with Tuk still at his side. It seems wrong to leave him there. Stone isn’t as gentle as sand. Surely his tswin is being pinched under the weight of his head. You reach to push a stray braid away from his face but Jake catches your fingers with his own. His grip is insistent as he pulls you away. Kiri takes your place at Neteyam’s side, taking his hand in hers just as Tuk had. You watch over them as Jake pulls you aside and wraps you in his embrace, arms tighten until the air is crushed from your lungs but you hardly protest. His grip is grounding though you can’t help but wonder how long this strength will last. Already you can see the splinters forming in the crease between his brows, in the hard line of his lips and the pain swirling like a storm in his eyes. 

“Monkey boy.” Kiri’s voice is quiet, only the faintest hint of relief ringing in her otherwise doleful tone. Her eyes are staring past you and you turn to find the same human god threatened on the demon ship. He looks different now that your mind isn’t fogged with mournful violence. When he was under your knife you hadn’t cared much for the finer details of his appearance, but now you stare at him with a renewed sense of curiosity. He boasts the trappings of a Na’vi and yet he still seems so strange and out of place. 

“Are you alright?” Jake asks, fingertips brushing over the scratch you’d left on his chest. It’s shallow as you’d expected and the bleeding has long since stopped. He nods but he eyes you warily before stepping away from the two of you. He joins the children around Neteyam’s body, speaking your language with assured fluidity. On the ship he had spoken in the human language but now he seems comfortable as he speaks to Kiri and Lo’ak, gently touching Neteyam’s arm. You stiffen, tail swaying tensely behind you. 

“Shh,” Jake whispers, nuzzling his nose against your temple as he feels your muscles tighten in his arms. “He’s okay. He’s safe.” You aren’t sure if he means the boy or Neteyam who can no longer be hurt by the hands of a tawtute. You watch him as he interacts with your family. Tsireya eyes him warily, sharing a fleeting glance with you even as Lo’ak speaks to him with a familiarity akin to that he shares with his siblings. All of the Sully children seem at ease in his presence but you find yourself still wondering about his ties to humanity. The man that held your daughters captive, that nearly killed your mate, hesitated at the thought of this human boy dying by your hand. He hadn’t seemed so worried over his band of uniltìrantokx warriors and it makes you nervous to think of what importance he holds to the demons terrorizing your home. He must feel the weight of your gaze as you scrutinize him, picking out the finer details of his appearance, because his shoulders begin to curl as if he can become any smaller. 

His hair is loc’d like Jake’s and adorned with beads, and you notice the end of a braid hanging down his back. Likely his equivalent of a tswin. A scowl finds its way onto your face, lip curling with distaste. Seeing something so sacred being mimicked by a human feels almost insulting. Your shoulders rise as your body seizes with disgust only to be soothes by Jake’s soft petting as he traces the shape of the stripes swirling across your shoulder beneath his fingers. You feel all five of them gliding across your skin. Five fingers. The same amount that Lo’ak has. That Kiri has. That this boy before you has. If he is so repugnant then what is keeping you from feeling repulsed by your mate and the family he’s given you. Your eyes move away from the braid, tracing over the rest of him. His armbands are handsomely made, the pattern indicative of the Omatikaya’s intricate weaving style. His tewng is comparatively plain but there is a songcord hanging from it. 

“Sa’nok,” Kiri says warily, watching you watch the boy. She had always spoken so fondly of her human friend and now she seems almost resigned to your displeasure. Hearing about him is different from seeing him before you, and suddenly you can’t reconcile the thought of this seemingly peaceful boy with the demons that attacked your family only a few hours ago. Not when he meant something to one of them. Norm and Max had been abandoned by their people, left here to live out their lives in a place that they loved. They made sacrifices to be here. What has this boy done but aided the demons that attacked your home. Speaking the tongue of your people only to demand to know where Jake had hidden himself away in a desperate attempt to live in peace. 

“Sa’nok, please.” Kiri tries again. You do your best to smooth out your expression and ease your body until a tenuous sort of neutrality returns to your face. Tsireya seems to calm with you, shoulders relaxing under Lo’ak’s arm. The boy–Spider–looks between all of you, as if he’s trying to piece together the threads that bind you to them. But he speaks Na’vi. He must know what sa’nok means. His eyes are brown and full of hesitancy as he stands to face you. So strange that you can See into him the same way you can with your People. 

“Spider,” Jake says finally, introducing you by name. “This is my mate.” 

“She is the sister of tsahìk of the Metkayina. A tsakarem.” Kiri adds. Spider nods but it hardly relieves the tension between the two of you. Part of you wonders if this is how Ronal felt when the Sullys first arrived. These strange new people, coming to join your clan despite their obvious differences. But if her animosity had been misplaced then, so too is yours now. This boy is loved by those that you hold in your heart. Even still he doesn’t seem any more at ease than he’d been a moment ago. 

There’s a dip between his brows where the fear on his face has gathered. He’s frightened again. Though not nearly as terrified as he’d been with your blade against his skin. He looks afraid, but not of you. In his eyes the fear seems to run deeper than your appearance. This Spider does not fear Na’vi. And yet he is still afraid. He shrinks back when you take a step towards him, curiously staring into his brown eyes as if the dark depths will become clearer with closeness. Surely you aren’t easing his nerves with your continued silence, but you’re listening for something. A shift in the wind, a rogue screech of a hì’ikran. Anything that might tell you what Eywa wills you should do with this boy. When nothing comes you wonder if she’s already given you your answer. This boy is no threat to you or your family. He is precious to your children. That should be enough. Especially now when so much has already been lost. To turn him away would be to further fracture your family. Still you’re curious.

“Oel ngati kameie.” He bows, hand extending towards you in a customary greeting. You hum in acknowledgment but don’t share the sentiment. Just like his tswin you can’t help but wonder if he fully realizes the weight of his words or if he’s simply mimicking those around him. His body is adorned with fading war paint, stripes streaking across his skin in uneven lines. There’s no pattern to the blue markings as there would be on a Na’vi. It seems strange that someone like him hasn’t decided on a more traditional design for his paint. It’s almost childish how desperate the thick lines are, how obviously they’re meant to mimic the sharper stripes of a forest Na’vi. 

“Where is your family?” You ask at last. Spider seizes as if you’ve struck him but you spoke softly, keenly aware that all your screaming had whittled your voice down to a rasped drawl that might make him hear anger where none was meant to be found. 

“My mother is dead. And my father… he’s dead, too.” He looks away as he says this but you don’t need to see his eyes to know that isn’t the truth. A lie. A word Jake had to teach you. Something different from the truth. You don’t ask again. If he wants to lie to you then you will let him live in his delusion. No one corrects him and you wonder if they know he isn’t speaking truthfully. 

“This is my family.” He says after a beat of silence. His voice breaks as he looks down at Neteyam. You hum and turn your back to him, eyes facing towards the horizon where riders will soon come to take you home. They arrive as you listen to the faint voices of the children reuniting with their friend. The soft screeching of skimwings echo over the open water followed by the long bellow of a horn. A scattering of voices whoop and yip in return as those left behind make their presence known. Your own voice joins the calls, the sharp sound burning your throat. Riderless tsuraks and ilus swim through the water and you mount the first one you find. The ilu tosses its long neck as you make tsaheylu, clicking as the storm in your mind mingles with their own. Tuk rides with you, her little arms clinging tight to your waist as you ride back to the village. 

A net of silence has been cast over the island. The shallows are empty and the beach deserted, chores abandoned in favor of mending what’s been broken by the humans. Battle is not unknown to Na’vi. Clans fight amongst themselves when peace cannot be made with words. The humans had ravaged Pandora before. But never here. Never in the far reaches of the ocean reefs. Even the tulkun that had been killed were murdered far to the south. Now the shadow these demons cast has finally fallen over Awa’atlu. Kiri takes Tuk as all of you arrive home, leading her to the marui. All of the children trail behind Jake as he carries Neteyam’s body. He looks so small in his father’s arms. It’s your instinct to follow, to comfort. Instead you find yourself hand in hand with Tsireya as you make your way to your sister’s home. 

Tonowari is the first to notice your arrival, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of you and his daughter on the breeze. He meets you on the path overhanging the water, arms winding painfully around the both of you before he kneels before Tsireya. A gracious sigh comes from inside the marui as Ronal emerges with Ao’nung at her side. She goes to her daughter first, hands moving over her body in search of any wound that needs tending. Ao’nung strays toward you, head knocking against your shoulder. He doesn’t speak but his actions are enough. You rest a hand on his head. Not quite a hug but enough to offer comfort. He hesitates before grabbing your arm and leaning into the weight of your hand resting on his braided hair. 

“Tsmuke.” Ronal moves in beside her son, eyes tracing over you. “You’re hurt. Come.” There’s no leniency in her words as she pulls you inside and sits you next to the cookfire. The needle stings as she threads the torn skin of your arm back together with meticulous hands, rubbing a soothing balm over the wound when she’s finished. The pain had already calmed to a manageable throb after being ignored for so long and now it feels all but numbed. 

“What happened?” She asks after returning her healing items to their rightful place. “I felt your tirea so vividly but I could not find you. We searched but the demons were retreating. We had to look after the clan. We–I thought–” she gathers herself with a long breath, “I’m glad to see you safe.” 

Ronal has never been a coddling person that speaks gently and soothes worries with softened words. She is plain in her speech, pointed and assured even with her own children. It has always been this way growing up in her shadow. You were kept under her impartial guidance in all things and even now she isn’t inclined to soften her strong voice, but she can do nothing to mask the worry she felt even if she hasn’t said it in so many words. The fear she must’ve felt turning for home without her daughter and sister at her side must’ve stabbed through her like an arrow but Ronal is tsahìk before she is anything else. The clan looks to her and Tonowari for guidance and they cannot waver no matter the circumstances. Though your olo’eyktan is more open with his fears. 

“You are a fearsome warrior, but I feared for your death when we could not find you. I stayed until the last of our mounted warriors had retreated, praying that the Great Mother would spare our tsakarem.” 

“Eywa has heard you.” You hum with little enthusiasm. “I was on the demon ship. They took Kiri. They had Tuk and Tsireya. I couldn’t leave them.” Tsireya looks towards the floor, ears pulled back tight as she leans heavily against her father. He holds her close, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her arm. A parent reunited with their child. You understood the need to keep her close. You’d felt it when you saw her stranded and alone on that little island, felt it when you saw Kiri and Tuk bound on the demon ship. A part of your family has been reunited but there is still a fragment missing. A piece that will never be replaced. Your hand finds the length of your songcord, thumb drawing over each piece in turn. Your first breath, your selection as tsakarem, your iknimaya. The whole of your life is strung here. And it will continue. Already there is a need for new additions. But so many cords were cut short in the battle. The threads slip through your fingers as your hands begin to shake. The bitter taste returns to your mouth as you try to find the words through the rising tears. 

“I found Kiri and Tuk after Tsireya escaped, but–” your voice cracks as tears rise in your eyes once more, “I couldn’t protect them all. I–we lost Neteyam.” 

“Neteyam? He–?” Ronal’s eyes find yours in an instant. Her eyes are wide with panic as her hands find yours now tightened to fists to keep the tremors at bay. You can imagine what she is thinking. How could Neteyam, the promising warrior, son of Toruk Makto, be lost in battle? Tonowari looks just as disbelieving. He has seen Neteyam’s prowess, trained him alongside Ao’nung and the others. His death must seem impossible and yet he is gone just the same. 

“He is with Eywa now.” Is all you can muster. Your sister bows her head, eyes unblinking as she hears your words. When she meets your gaze again her eyes are resigned. It’s the same dark cast her green eyes had taken when Jake insisted on sending away the tulkun. Disbelief and rejection linger in her voice when she finally speaks. 

“Go to them.” A basket is hastily filled with food before she leads you outside. “Your family needs you now.” The path from your sister to your mate is a familiar one and you arrive to find the children gathered outside the marui. The covering meant to keep out wind and rain is drawn closed and Jake is nowhere to be seen. Still, you tend to your children first. Tuk is hugged against Lo’ak’s side and Kiri and Spider are sitting in the canoe just beyond their hanging feet. There are no words exchanged as you offer each of them food, hesitating for a moment before offering some to Spider. He doesn’t protest when Kiri snatched the leaf wrapped meat from him, carefully picking through it before rewrapping it. They haven’t eaten in hours and you watch them carefully as they take their first bites, keeping a close eye on Spider. 

He takes a deep breath before his mask hissed as he pulls it away just long enough to fit a gluttonous bite into his mouth. It must be easier to take larger bites than prolong his time without proper air. You find yourself waiting for something terrible to happen. It isn’t uncommon for children to explore the world with their mouth, eating anything that looks enticing. But some things are poisonous, meant to be consumed by animals that have developed immunities to them. But when Spider doesn’t begin to choke or itch you deem it safe to leave them to eat. You’re still weary of him but far too exhausted by loss to let another child slip between your fingers today. Human or otherwise. 

Inside you find Jake kneeling beside Neteyam’s body, the faint blue light of the sun peeking through the marui membrane, the only thing lighting the somber home. His ears twitch at the sound of your approach but he makes no move to look at you. He takes in a deep breath through his nose, scenting the air instead of turning to see who you are. Only when you’re within arm’s reach does he move, his hand finding yours in a nearly painful grip as he pulls you down beside him. He curls himself around you until you’re nearly in his lap. 

“I’m sorry.” He says it over and over, nearly choking on the words as the air refuses to stay in his lungs. Each inhale is shallow and rushed, too quick as each exhale rushes across your neck. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, clinging impossibly closer. His tail finds its way around you, the tuft of hair tickling your skin though you hardly feel like laughing as you watch your mate fall apart in your arms with no way to hold him together. He had been strong for all of you but at last the tide has turned. 

“She killed him. I killed him. All of it was for nothing. I’m supposed to protect the People and I can’t even protect my own son.” 

Your skin is wet with tears where he’s hidden his face. Even if you wanted to, you can’t pull away from him. He’s holding you tight, blunt nails biting into your skin as if even the slightest bit of slack in his embrace will leave space for something to take you away. He’s shattering like splintered wood and it’s all you can do to gather the pieces back together. He lets you. His cries grow quiet and his breaths slow as you try your best to soothe him. It’s only a temporary consolation. This type of pain isn’t one that can be healed with salves or prayers. Even tsahìk cannot heal this wound. Grief is something that only passes with time. And even if you like a thousand years it’s almost certain a part of you will die still mourning your son. 

“I failed him.” Jake mumbles. His voice sounds utterly defeated. “A father protects. That was my job. Above anything else I’m supposed to protect my family. I couldn’t even do that. My son–” his words break off into a choked sob as he shakes his head. “My boy.” He touches Neteyam at last, his hand settling against his son’s cheek while the other keeps you close. “Neteyam.” Tears fall onto Neteyam’s cheeks as Jake bows over him. His eyes flit across his face, looking at every detail before he finally sits back. 

“I wish we had more time.” Jake whispers. It breaks your heart, or what’s left of it, shredding the few fragile pieces that remain. No father wants to bury their child. Neteyam was meant to grow up, grow old. Be laid to rest long after Jake was gone. Now here you sit. Returning such a young soul to the Great Mother. 

“I wish you had more time with him. He loved you, you know. I know he might not have said it much, but he did.” Jake’s hands hesitate as he takes Neteyam’s songcord from its place hanging on his loincloth. Some beads you know from when he would hum the melody of his life during quieter moments. His iknimaya, the shell marking his arrival in Awa’atlu. But there’s another close after. One you’d assumed was a chorus bead, a placeholder between events. Events that would never come. There’d be no bead for his Metkayina iknimaya. No bead for his mate. No bead for his first child or a triumph in battle. Every cord must have a last bead and it seems the one Jake is rolling between his fingers will be it. It’s a pearl, pale blue and lustrous in the muted light. 

“This one’s for you.” Jake says, gently placing the waytelem in your hands. “It matches his mother’s.” There’s another bead, farther back in his life story. A light blue bead of stone laced with black veins. “This was the bead for her death. He wanted yours to match hers as a show of his love and respect for both of you.” It’s not until Jake thumbs away the moisture gathering on your cheeks that you realize you’re crying. Of course you knew Neteyam loved you. A tsakarem is taught to See all, to feel the ties that bond each being to Eywa and each other. When you quiet your mind and steady your soul, pushing aside any thoughts and worries you can almost feel the people around you. Their triumphs and tribulations. Their happiness and sorrows. Just as clearly as you can see it in their eyes, their tirea can be felt like the warmth of a flame wafting off their skin. 

Neteyam always radiated calm and contentment when he was at your side. You often found him accompanying you in your chores the same as Kiri. The eldest of your children preferring the more subdued space of your marui to the mischief Lo’ak and Tuk seemed to stir the moment you take your eyes off them. Now there is nothing surrounding him, no air of comfort as you stare at his serene face. Nothing. This is only a body, waiting to be returned to the earth. Neteyam has been gone for hours, his vitra already passed into the hands of Eywa. 

“We have to clean him.” You say finally, rising to gather some water. The freshwater spring isn’t far from the Sully marui and you find others there. Bowed heads and solemn faces as they gather their fill of water. Death is not uncommon. Life must always be returned in the end. Energy is only borrowed and one day you have to give it back. This is the way. And it is good. Eywa holds all those that have passed into her hands. No one is truly gone, and yet you will never see your son again. Not truly. The Ranteng Utralti will offer brief glimpses, small moments of comfort. But it won’t be lasting. No new memories will be made. No changes will be seen in his face. He will remain as he was while everything continues to change without him. Death has parted him and only death will reunite you in the Great Mother’s arms. Jake is still where you left him when you return, Lo’ak following close behind you.

“It is time.” You say gently. Jake nods. He’s slow in his work as he washes the blood from Neteyam’s skin. Taking off each of his adornments and setting them aside. His necklace, his armbands. They’ll be kept as memories, passed down to his siblings or their children as cherished items. Lo’ak puts them away with care. It’s plain on his face that he has many things he wishes to say but has resigned himself to the silence. You busy yourself with weaving, the familiarity of the task is strangely comforting even as you weave the bindings Neteyam will wear as he’s returned to Eywa. It takes hours, long enough for day to give way to evening as the sky begins to darken to dusk. Finally you set aside the last of your weaving to stand. It is time to allow everyone to say their final goodbyes. Jake has already had his time with Neteyam as he washed the blood and sweat from his body. Now he leaves you to say your parting words.

It’s so strange to touch him and know he will not move, to breathe in and find his scent stale in their air as if he hasn’t been here in many hours. And truly he hasn’t. The body before you is empty of life. Neteyam is gone. But there’s still a small comfort in sitting beside him one last time. 

“We didn’t have long together did we?” You ask quietly, a sad laugh leaving your lips. “Even if it was only for a moment it has been an honor being your mother. Did you know your sempul still hasn’t told me your mother’s name. I’ve been too afraid to ask. You’re likely with her now. I’d like to think she’ll be happy to see you but I’m sure it’s a bittersweet reunion. And I’m sorry I could not do more to protect you. Our Great Mother protects only the balance of life, but if she willed it I would trade my life for yours. But what’s past has passed, all I can say now is goodbye, maitan. Until we meet again.” His skin is cold beneath your lips as you press a parting kiss to his forehead. When you emerge Kiri stands with Spider in hand. They duck inside and you leave them to their privacy. 

Instead you find your way to your own marui. It stands as little more than a place to keep your things since finally being convinced to sleep with your mate in his own home without feeling as though you’re imposing. You’ve had your time with him. Now it is their turn to whisper their goodbyes. 

“Here you are.” Jake stands at the entrance of your home, back turned to the darkening sky. The freckles dotted across his skin are beginning to glow faintly. The pattern is interrupted by a slash across the bridge of his nose, dipping over his cheek. You hadn’t noticed it before but now it gives you purpose. Just as weaving had you find a distraction in healing. 

“You’re hurt. Come here.” You light the fire pit in the center of your pod, before finding a needle and thread. Jake’s eyes don’t leave your face as you stitch up his wound. When you’re done he doesn’t allow you to pull away. Instead his hands settle on your face, bringing your head close until your nose is pressed against his. One hand leaves your cheek to reach behind you, brushing over the curls of your hair before settling over the braid of your tswin. He draws it over your shoulder, bringing it to his lips. For a moment you expect him to ask for tsaheylu so that you might share this burden of pain, but it would only feel heavier as it weighs on both of you. Instead his lips brush against the braided hair for a moment longer before letting it fall between you. 

“Tsmuke.” You’re drawn apart by the sound of Ronal’s voice. She arrives with her arms full, footsteps slowing as she sees Jake by your side. Her eyes turn away but you catch the edge of regret in her eyes. It’s been there in fleeting bouts in the months since the Sullys have begun learning the ways of your clan. She’s slowly grown past her previous misgivings even as things have ended in this way. With the sawtute turning their eyes towards your peaceful home in search of the man seated beside you.

“Jakesully,” she say at last, inclining her head towards him, “may Eywa ease your spirit.” Jake returns her show of respect, touching his brow and extending his hand towards her. 

“Tsmuke,” she says evenly, “you are our tsakarem.” You aren’t the only one but you’re surely the eldest. The most experience and the most respected within the clan. Tsireya has inherited the honor as well with a few others but only one will be named tsahìk when Ronal passes down the mantle. “Will you lead with me tonight?” 

The clan hasn’t suffered a loss this great in many years. Usually only one, perhaps two people are committed to Eywa in such a ceremony but tonight there will be many lives returned to the Great Mother’s hands. Ronal extends her own hand, balancing the basket she’s holding on her hip. She pulls you to stand but Jake doesn’t allow her to take you farther than necessary. His tail coils around your ankle before you can take even a half step away from him. His eyes don’t meet yours when you look down at him and he says nothing as you accept your sister’s request to lead with her. It is your duty to your people no matter the occasion. Eywa has chosen you for this and you can’t turn her back on her when you so desperately need her guidance. 

The sky has turned a deep shade of blue like the darkest depths of the ocean, dotted with pearls of light as stars shine overhead. The village flickers in shades of orange and red, finally stirring after a day of lingering silence. A song lingers on the breeze, the familiar sound of chorus beads and the intimate words of each Na’vi’s life. Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe… You know these words by heart. They’re the words that you sing in your heart as you trace the beads of your own songcord. Your hand finds your hip where you keep the cord wound around your tewng. The beads and crystals, bones and coral that symbolize your life. Jake’s fingers draw over yours before slipping his hand into yours. 

The covering is drawn back by the time you return, Kiri’s voice carrying outside as she sings the beads of Neteyam’s songcord. Jake’s hand tightens in yours as he listens to your daughter sing. Her voice lulls over the last words before your home falls silent once more. All of the children have come to hear Neteyam’s waytelem. Tsireya and Ao’nung have come along with Rotxo as they kneel around Neteyam’s body to hear Kiri sing. Such an honor is only given to those closest to you and everyone here cared deeply for your son. There won’t be another chance to be beside him after this moment. Soon the ceremony will begin and Jake kneels beside him, carefully bundling Neteyam into the ties that you’ve woven. Tsireya offers you a jar of paint in customary white. It’s cold against your skin as Jake drags his fingers from your forehead to your chest. You return the favor, painting each of the children in turn. And when people finally begin to gather in the shallow waters you shrug on the woven shawl Ronal gave you as Kiri straightens the veil upon your head. 

Firelight drifts over the gentle waves as Ronal’s voice rings out across the shore. She calls to Eywa to open her arms to her children, to hold each of them in turn. Your brothers and sisters, each treasured members of the Metkayina are pulled out to sea in their sämunge surrounded by those that were closest. Mother, fathers, siblings, mates, children. Tonowari announces their names as they’re given over to the anemones lighting up the ocean with yellow syuratan. The grasping fronds glow brighter as each body is accepted into the watery earth. Returned to Eywa. 

“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.” Tonowari’s voice echoes into the night as you step away from Ronal’s side as she opens her arms to send Neteyam home, joining your family as Jake leads the ilu over the open water. Pale pink flowers trail behind as you carefully pull Neteyam from the woven carrier. His tanhì are still dark, no light glowing from within. There’s nothing left of your heart to break as each of you takes a final moment with him. Jake’s eyes find yours as you hold Neteyam above the water. He isn’t ready, but when will you ever be ready to part with your child? Lo’ak lingers beside you, his hand resting on Neteyam’s head until you and Jake pull him beneath the water. One swaying frond touches his skin, brightening until it’s nearly white. Another and another until they’re pulling him from your hands, wrapping Neteyam in their grasping arms and pulling him deep into their embrace. He disappears all too quickly. Blue skin lost in the sea of yellow. Part of you wants him back but that desperation won’t be quelled by holding his body. Neteyam is gone. Clinging to his body won’t bring back your son. Your tears mingle with the ocean as you linger longer than the others, knowing you’re meant to sing when you rise again. But it is your duty and you must do it. 

“Utralä Anawm ayrina’lu ayoeng.” We are all seeds of the Great Tree. Words you know by heart. Words you’ve sung many times. Words that sting your tongue as you sing them for Neteyam. For all that were lost to the hands of those demons. How had a day like any other darkened so deeply with a storm that seems as if it will never pass. The clouds crowd your mind and darken your heart. It’s cold, and desperately lonely even as you stand beside your sister with the clan at your back. This pain is yours and yours alone. Others have lost those they love but they haven’t lost Neteyam. They haven’t lost those small pieces of him that you would never get back. It feels selfish to feel so anguished, to be so utterly consumed by this darkness of grief. You only had him by your side for a short time, but even so you loved him. He was your son. You were his mother. And now he is gone. 

When the night draws to a close and the People retreat to their homes you find yourself wandering the shore. The ceremonial garbs have been abandoned somewhere behind you. Perhaps slipping carelessly into the sand or maybe you’d given them back to Ronal. You can’t quite remember but the air feels cool against your suddenly bared skin. Your hands run over your arms as you hug them around yourself, feeling the prickles flesh of your cold skin under your fingertips. Despite the slight chill of the night you find yourself wandering further than you have a need to, walking aimlessly until sand turns to dirt underfoot. Burst of blue and green light come to life with each step as the treeline swallows you. The forest holds a different type of silence. The sound of waves breaking over the shore is replaced with the buzzing and chirping of unseen insects and the sound of wind rustling through the leaves. 

Fatigue creeps over you like a tree taking root, threatening to bind you where you stand. Two days you have fighting. The demons and your own grief-stricken mind, and finally it is beginning to take its toll on your body. Each of your footsteps is slower than the last, your legs feeling heavier with every passing moment. The forest is still bright with syuratan that dapples your skin in shades of purple and green but darkness is starting to creep in around you, tears only working to further disrupt your vision. So soon after you’ve been blessed with everything you could ask for it was taken away. The sea gives and the sea takes, no matter when your blessings were received. All life must remain balanced and equal. It is your sole purpose as tsakarem to abide by Eywa’s will, to uphold the Great Mother’s balance. But the mantle feels too heavy to bear at this moment. 

Your feet slip, knees going weak, and fall to the ground. You’ve asked for so little in this life. Never wanting more than that which was given. Your heart never darkened against your sister when she was bestowed the honor of tsahìk. Never once did your happiness falter when those around you were mated and blessed with children. And when finally the tides turn in your favor a wave comes to wash it all away. Your arms tighten around yourself, nails biting into your skin as you curl in on yourself. Content to let this terrible moment pass in the cradle of the forest floor. Now you will allow yourself to grieve, allow the ugly, terrible feelings to overtake you. Your tears seep into the soil as your cheek rests in the dirt. Each breath is gasping and shallow as a weight like a thousand stones threatens to bury your prone body and return you to the earth as well. 

The silence is nearly deafening until it isn’t. The lull of the forest is broken by the sound of something tearing through the trees. Too heavy to be a benign animal, yet too loud to be a hunting predator. There’s a stiffness to your limbs as you try to sit up, rolling to your knees in time to see Lo’ak vaulting over a fallen tree. 

“Sa’nok!” He stumbles to a stop in front of you. 

“Lo’ak? Why are you here?” He should be asleep. 

“Why am I here?” He asks incredulously. “Why are you here? I’ve been looking all over the village for you!” Why are you here? You hadn’t meant to walk so far, to get so lost in your own head. Instead of answering you find your feet and begin walking the way he came. Despite his loud approach Lo’ak has left hardly any trace of his presence aside from the dimming light where his feet had been only moments ago. Veins of syuratan ripple like water through the ground, rising and fading as your son walks beside you. Grass turns to sand and the light of Naranawm washes over both of you. 

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak finally says, breaking the comfortable silence between you, “I’m sorry about Neteyam.” 

“It was not your fault, Lo’ak.”

“But it was!” He is suddenly in front of you, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I was the one that said we should get Spider. Neteyam saved us and now he is gone because of me.” You hear his words before you speak, turning each one over in your mind. Of course it was not Lo’ak that killed his brother. He loved Neteyam. You raise his head with a hand under his chin, nearly drowning in the amount of guilt shining in his yellow eyes. 

“It is no fault of yours, maitan. Many lives were lost. No one is to blame except the demons from the sky. They brought this storm upon us, not you.” He pulls away from you, pacing in the sand. It seems he won’t allow his guilt to dissipate so easily. You sigh and close your eyes, turning to the Great Mother for guidance. It’s a lesson you learned as tsakarem. Eywa speaks when thoughts are quiet and hearts are open. 

Somewhere in the wind there’s a whisper of her voice. It’s a simple breeze brushing through the mangroves but you hear more. Somewhere in the stillness of your focus you hear the sound of a tulkun singing, slow and mournful. The same song that filled the air as you and Ronal laid Roa to rest yet the voice in your head isn’t as deep, still light with youth. A young tulkun mourning its mother. And then more. Many more. Na’vi and tulkun, all dead in bloodstained water. One remains, a single voice. Payakan. Your eyes jump open as if you’ve been struck. Eywa’s meaning is clear as the stars overhead as you look at your son. Lo’ak is still pacing and muttering to himself. 

“But if I hadn’t asked… if I’d left Spider–”

“Neteyam might’ve died even still. Perhaps not on the demon ship but those ayvrrtep were everywhere in the water. What did you tell me when you bonded with Payakan?” His feet finally come to a stop as he thinks over it. 

“Those Na’vi died, but it wasn’t Payakan that killed them. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.” 

“And neither were you. We are not tulkun. Their way is not our law. I know Neteyam’s death is heavy on your heart, but it is not your fault, maitan. Who is to say he would not have been struck by their metal arrows later. It is the sawtute that should carry this guilt.” He sniffles and nods, eyes still staring at the sand, then he lets out a watery laugh. 

“Bullets.” 

Your ear twitches, “What?”

“The metal arrows are called ‘bullets.’” You taste the foreign word on your tongue. It’s your deepest hope that you will never have to say the word again, but it’s a naive thought. War has come to Awa’atlu and it will not end until every hostile human on Pandora is dead. But these are worries for another day. War is a heavy burden and you are barely carrying the weight of your son’s death. You draw Lo’ak into your arms and press a kiss to the top of his head. He smells like the ocean and home. It makes your heart long for the comfort of your family, of your mate’s warmth and the sound of Tuk’s purring snores. You’re tired and you both should sleep but for a moment more you find yourself standing still as Lo’ak wets your skin with silent tears. 

The horizon is hidden behind the silhouette of the seawall. A small piece of protection around the village. But somewhere beyond, over the horizon yet far closer than they should be, the humans are lurking deep in the forest. Or perhaps they’re even closer, building a nest for themselves on some island just out of sight. The threat is great but you’re already so tired. Tired of the fighting and the death that it brings. It makes you wonder how tired Jake must be. 

He doesn’t look peaceful even as he sleeps. His face is pinched, brows drawn tight as you finally lay down beside him. Lo’ak finds his own bedroll, the place next to him occupied by Spider instead of Neteyam. When you lay down Jake stirs just long enough to wrap his arm around you before falling still once more, and you wake to the feeling of his tail slipping from its place curled over your thigh. 

The sky is already alight with light far past a blushing dawn. Voices and sounds float in from beyond the open marui as village life moves on. One day at a time. A first step and then a second until you’ll lose count and look back to see how far you’ve come. The pain will linger. A familiar smell or a comforting melody might bring echoes of pain to the surface like ripples across still water, but with time your heart will heal if you don’t allow the grief still clinging like a second skin to consume you. Just one step, one day. 

Kiri kneels next to the cookfire, turning over carved skewers of fish. Lo’ak is missing as is Tuk, but you can hear her voice somewhere nearby, giggling and splashing in the shallow waters. Spider lingers in the shadiest part of your home, knees curled up to his knees as he watches Kiri cook. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell just in his posture. Pulled up tight into himself as if he will disappear from view if he can make himself small enough. He seems almost ashamed of himself, of everything that he is. He seems so like your children and yet no amount of warpaint will hide his true nature. Still, you quell the animosity still festering deep inside you. There is no time to dwell on darkness. If you stay still and wallow in these feelings, you’ll be lost. 

“Good morning.” It’s a tentative extension of kindness, kinder than the few words you’d had for him yesterday. Spider raises his head, eyes darting between Kiri and Jake as if your eyes aren’t resting pointedly on his face. Kiri returns your greeting, murmuring about Lo’ak having already left to tend to his chores. It’s a distraction for him, you’re sure. It is easy to forget yourself in the needs of the many. You imagine it’s why Kiri is cooking. Busy hands, quiet minds. 

“Good morning.” Spider says at last. It is enough. One step. You rise with Jake as he stands to leave. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I have to speak with Tonowari.” His face is guarded, eyes clouded as he tries to hide his intentions from you. He’s pulling away and you reach for him. It’s instinctual. He is your mate, your love, and you want to stand beside him. 

“Ma Jake, what is wrong?” So much is wrong, so much hurts. You want to bear this burden with him. Let me, you want to say. Spiritual burdens are something you were taught to See. The bond between Jake and the Great Mother still holds strong, the rope has not frayed. Eywa has not abandoned him and he has not turned his back on her. So what is so wrong that he would hide his eyes from you? He doesn’t explain himself as you trail behind him, hand still in his. You pull hard, planting your feet against the path until he can go no further without letting you go. He hesitates before his hand falls away from your own. For a moment it feels as though the world has fallen away completely, that there’s nothing left to ground you now that he’s pulled away. Anxiety rushes through you like bitter poison, pricking over every inch of your skin as tears begin to burn in your eyes. His rejection stings more than any other you’ve felt in your life. Every terrible thought rushes to the surface all at once. 

“Jake?” Your voice wobbles as your arms hang limply at your sides. His shoulders rise and fall with a heaving sigh before he turns to face you. 

“Ma muntxate.” His hands find your face and you, thumbs brushing over the shape of your cheeks. There’s conflict in his eyes, uncertainty, as if he is standing at the edge of a cliff wondering which way he should step. Away from danger. Away from whatever is causing him so much strife. The look in his eye is different than the pain you saw yesterday. It isn’t the futile longing of a father. It’s something more resigned. Whatever he wants to tell Tonowari, it shadows any of his own feelings. 

“Don’t.” You say quietly. “Please, don’t. Whatever you are thinking, please, don’t do it.” He’s heard your words but doesn’t seem to take them into his heart. Instead he presses his forehead against yours. The world falls quiet for a brief moment. You feel grounded once more even as Jake pulls away with no intention to heed your words. 

“Nga yawne lu oer.” And he means it. There’s no glint of deception in his eyes. Jake loves you as you love him and yet something inside you feels as though you’re losing him. Each step he takes away is like a thread straining and if you don’t follow it will break. His pace is slow as if he dreads what he is about to do. All it would take is a moment’s hesitation. If he would just turn around it would quell the panic rising in your heart. 

Tonowari and Ronal rise as they see the two of you coming towards them. Jake trudging somberly with you quick at his heels. Ronal looks between the two of you, setting aside the spear arrow in her hand. 

“What is this?” She asks before Tonowari can speak. Jake swallows thickly before he answers.  

“My family and I, we’ll move on tomorrow. Far away from here.” Ronal takes a half step away from him as if moved off balance by his words. You feel the same. A weakness builds in your knees as you try to step towards him, to see his face, his eyes, and know what he is thinking. This is his home. Your home. He has built a life for his family–your family–here. You’d promised to follow him, but hearing the words makes you realize the path you’ve laid for yourself. A new life in a new place, far from anything you’ve ever known. Wherever you go it will be a place your previous life cannot follow. Ronal, Tonowari, the children, your spirit sister. They’d all be left behind. The thread begins to break. 

Tonowari nods but it is a gesture you’ve come to recognize as disapproval. He is acknowledging Jake’s words but he will not heed them. 

“Your son lies with our ancestors. You are mated with our tsakarem. This is your home.”

“Now you must stand with us. As our brother.” Ronal’s voice is steadfast though Jake still seems to hesitate even before the words of his tsahìk and olo’eyktan.

“I caused all of this. They were looking for me, for my family.” 

“And we are here.” Ronal’s voice echoes your own as the two of you speak in tandem. 

“You are Metkayina now.” Tonowari extends his hand expectantly. Jake looks at it, then at you. As if trying to decide if this is truly what he wanted. A moment passes before he clasps Tonowari’s forearm, committing himself to his place within the clan. With time, when Jake has fully committed his heart to the Metkayina, he might become eyktanay and stand beside Tonowari. The clan needs his guidance now more than ever. War is inevitable. All that’s left now is to prepare for the coming storm. He’s quiet as you walk away, aimless steps weaving through the village paths. 

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, “I don’t want to abandon you. I want you by my side. You are my mate; I love you. But I have to protect the People. I can’t let anyone get hurt because of me.”

“These things we cannot decide. It is up to the will of Eywa who lives and who dies. The Great Mother’s balance is out of our hands. All life must be returned to death sooner or later.” It hurts to say the words and know that your son was among those taken into the Great Mother’s arms. It was far before his time if you could’ve chosen it. He would’ve lived a long life, far beyond your own and died with the legacy of a great warrior. With a mate and children of his own and many beads to sing of his waytelem. But it was not meant to be. Neteyam is gone and you miss him more than anything but he would not want this. He would not want his father, the mighty Toruk Makto, to give up this fight. Jake was like the brightest star in Neteyam’s sky, a place so high he could only ever hope to reach. His greatest wish was to be a warrior resembling his Jake. You will not allow him to abandon his son’s dream even in his absence. 

“Eywa has not abandoned you, ma Jake, so you will not abandon us.” He nods but his eyes are shrouded with a fog of sadness. Grief does not pass easily and you don’t expect this wound to heal within a day, a year, or even a lifetime. You’ve lost people in your life. Great warriors and clan elders. Thinking of them is like pressing against a bruise. It pangs and throbs but soon you will forget until you touch it once more. Neteyam’s parting is still fresh in your mind, weighing heavy on your heart. 

“I miss him so much.” There are no words to placate the pain in his voice. “I just want to see him again. Just once.” 

The desperate wish leads the two of you to the Ranteng Utralti. It will not be a true reunion. Not in the way Jake wants, but it will be something. Neteyam still lives within Eywa. His vitra has not been lost even in death. 

The sun is still high overhead, poking beams of white light through the water as the two of you dive towards the Spirit Tree. The fronds seem to beckon your arrival as they sway in the tide, tossing patches of purple light across your skin. You’re still wearing your mourning garbs, your paint, your veil. It seems fitting as the two of you lock eyes. Jake’s hand reaches for yours, squeezing tight as you both make tsaheylu with the Spirit Tree. One moment you feel yourself floating, water all around you, but it fades in an instant, swallowed by a swirl of flashing light that fades first to green and then to more defined shapes. Leaves, a forest. It’s only vaguely recognizable, just different enough from the forest of your home to know you’re far from Awa’atlu, returned to the Pandora jungle once more. 

There are voices among the sounds of rustling leaves and chittering animals. The sun is warm against your skin as you trail towards the sound, wide tail brushing against the plants around you. A warmth unfolds in your heart as you peek around a tree and find Jake kneeling next to a stream, a young boy at his side. At once you know it’s your son. His smile is just the same as it was as he offers his little bow to Jake. It’s beautiful in a way only Eywa can provide. A peaceful piece of perfection, a sweet dream to tide over an ailing heart. You’re content to watch them but a sound draws your attention, an ear flicking towards the noise. It doesn’t seem to disturb Neteyam or Jake and you wonder if they even know you’re here just beyond sight. Perhaps you’re at the very fringe of Jake’s vision, peering in from the outside. You leave him to it, attention drawn towards the sound of a woman singing. The forest changes around you, wavering like air above a fire as you walk a seemingly long distance in only a few strides and stumble upon a marui. It’s large, much too big for its single occupant, and woven with the intricacy expected of an Omatikaya dwelling. 

“If you have time to stand and watch you should come help.” She interrupts her singing to finally look up at you and her face is striking. Round eyes, full lips, and her pil slant upward in a way that makes her features seem sharper. And there’s a sense of familiarity within her features, as if you’ve seen her somewhere before, like a memory faded with time. You stare at her even as she hands you a stone bowl, expecting that you’ll begin to grind cycad seeds. It usually isn’t your place to make such preparations but you are a guest in this woman’s home and she wouldn’t know if you are better suited preparing meat rather than flour. Still it is the same as preparing plants for medicines, an easy enough task, though you nearly drop the bowl when she asks who you are. But it’s hardly a question as your name rolls off her tongue. 

“That is your name, yes? Neteyam has spoken highly of you since he arrived.” There’s a bitter tinge to her tone. For a moment you think it’s directed at you as you finally recognize her face. It’s Neteyam’s face if only older, more feminine. This is his mother. Jake’s first mate. Your chin tucks towards your chest as you try to hide within the dark cloud of your curls, shrinking behind the curtain of your hair. Perhaps you had wrongly interpreted Eywa’s will. Perhaps you were not meant to mate with Jake. It had been a selfish thought just as you’d worried, inconsiderate to the woman waiting for him here. She curses under her breath and your fangs bite into your lip to keep from apologizing before she’s said her piece. 

“I give my life to protect my children and still it is not enough. Faysawtute.” Her chopping begins to gain vigor, scoring the wooden slab as she goes. “I kill him and he lives even still. When will it end?” Finally she looks up at you. 

“Are the children safe? Kiri, Tuk, Lo’ak? I have not seen them here. They have to be safe.” She is trying to hide her desperation, you can tell by the pinched doing of her voice, but her eyes cannot hide from you. She is terrified that more of her children will be delivered to her soon. 

“They are safe. They’re all safe.” The tension leaves her shoulders. 

“That is good. And Jake?”

“He is with Neteyam now. He might come to see you soon…” your voice trails off as you realize he never told you her name. In his quest to keep you from questioning his devotion he has hidden a piece of himself. She will always be a part of him and it is not your place to begrudge him that. It is because of her that you have the family he’s given you. She deserves your unyielding respect as the mother that came before you. 

“Neytiri,” she sounds almost amused by your ignorance. “Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite.” She sets aside her cooking and reaches for you, her hands finding yours once you set aside the bow of ground seeds. “I’ve heard of you and your sister Ronal. A skilled tsahìk and her tsahìknay.” 

Tsahìknay. No one had ever called you such a thing. It was always tsakarem; a tsahìk that never finished her training and earned the honored title of clan leader. That was your sister, that was Ronal. She was tsahìk and yet you’re still treated with such respect within the clan. Even Ronal defers to your guidance at times. Was it not you that told her to allow the Sullys to stay? Before the clan she reminded you of her authority, but she is your elder sister. It has always been her guiding you and giving orders. Of course she would bristle at her word being questioned before the clan, before outsiders. And yet she allowed it. Even Jake had acknowledged your place upon first meeting. He called you tsakarem just as the rest of the clan did. It’s a title for a child not yet completing their rites to become one with the People, but what else were they meant to call you. Rarely does a clan have more than one tsahìk. But just as Eywa has blessed Jake it seems she has chosen you for something as well. Why else would you be blessed to See things as you do? 

You See and yet you are blind. Ronal has told you this more than once in your life. It was meant as a reminder. To look clearly at things as they truly are. The shadows retreat and you see at last. You were never lacking, never less than. You are equal. Second to none. 

Neytiri smiles, “A clan with two tsahìks must be blessed. I am glad it is you that he has chosen. My children will grow up well.” Her hand presses to your chest, palm against the tattoo inked over your heart. It means loving, protective. These are words you live by. 

“Oel ngati kameie,” she says with gentle reverence. Your name sounds like a prayer on her tongue. “You have a strong heart. I trust it to take care of everyone that we love.” Even when you’ve failed to protect Neteyam she has given her blessing to look after her mate, her children. Your mate, your children. You move to bow but she meets you halfway, pressing her forehead against yours just as Jake would. You aren’t taking her place. Tsaheylu bonds your body and soul. She is a part of Jake just as much as you are, so she is now a part of you. 

When your eyes open the marui is suddenly full of white light. And though you’ve never seen a forest atokirina’ you recognize the delicate creatures at once. There’s something calming about the presence of the pure spirits. Their syuratan is different from the yellow glow of the tree spirits of your home but they still feel gentle as a kiss when they caress your skin. One lands and then another. Neytiri reaches out her hand as one dances over her palm. She holds the bouncing sprite in her hands, white light dancing in her eyes as they fill with a rueful sadness.  

“When I died, I was afraid. I knew I was dead the moment my eyes opened. My sister, my father, Tsu’tey. Everyone I had lost was here to greet me within Eywa. But I was afraid for my family.” She lifts her hands and gently blows on the atokirina’. It swirls through the air, threadlike tendrils swirling about before it finds the breeze and floats away with the others. They leave in a shimmering cloud just as quickly as they came. When you turn back to Neytiri she’s smiling. “I’m not afraid anymore.” 

For a moment you think you’re crying as her face begins to swirl into a wash of color like spilled paint, but when you blink it away the vision is gone and you’re staring at the Ranteng Utralti once more. Jake’s hand is still tight in yours as his eyes open as well. When you surface you find that you were crying, tears streaming down your cheeks along with the seawater as you mount your ilu. 

“What’s wrong, yuey?” 

“I saw her, Jake.” A smile finds its way to your face despite the tears. Your heart flutters in your chest, beating heavily where her hand had been. Your skin seems to sing as you touch your tattoo as if her hand would still be there. 

“Saw who?” 

“Neytiri.” His eyes go wide, ears standing on end. Behind him his tail perks up, curling anxiously as he sits on his own ilu. It has always been his greatest fear that you would seek out knowledge about his mate. He knows you, knows your heart. You would have compared yourself to her, belittle and bemoaned your every flaw until you felt like nothing by comparison. But that isn’t the truth of it. There is no comparison. He chose her. He chose you. Jake values both of you just the same in his heart. There is no superior. You see that now. See it more clearly than you ever have. 

“Why are you crying? What happened?” Sharing what you’ve seen while connected to the Spirit Tree is always an intimate experience. Tsaheylu is sacred, and what’s seen while communing with Eywa is always a look into someone’s soul. But you do it every time you meet someone’s eye. Jake’s vitra is plainly clear in his eyes. The bittersweet feeling of being able to catch even a glimpse of his son, to relive the memories that he cherishes and know that’s all that will be now. Just memories. 

“She called me tsahìknay, said I was blessed. We were touched by atokirina’.” The Great Mother’s has not been subtle with her intentions on this day. You are meant to be by Jake’s side, just as Neytiri was before you. And Jake is meant to be by your side. To part would be to spite the blessings Eywa has given you. There was a reason you were not mated before. He is the reason. This is the reason. You were not meant for Tonowari, not meant for any man in Awa’atlu. This is the path Eywa has drawn for your life. It has not been without its hardships and there will surely be more to come–more death, more destruction–but the only way is forward. The storm will come and you will weather it. One step at a time. For now, though, you return home, listening to Jake recount his time with Neteyam. Their fishing and climbing trees. He sounds younger, a quiet smile in his voice. His spirit is lifted if only for the moment. 

“She would’ve loved you.” He says at last. “I wish I’d told you that sooner.” There’s so much he hasn’t told you, so much you’ve yet to learn. A sharp pain pinches in your chest as you think of Neteyam and all the things that died with him, all the things you’ll never know about your son. Part of you wishes you had seen him with Eywa, had a chance to speak with him, but the Great Mother doesn’t always show you what you want to see but what needs to be seen. 

“She said she trusts me to take care of our family.” Jake smiles and for a moment he looks like himself again. His face isn’t drawn with sadness but bright with a satisfied grin. 

“I know she does, because I do. This family is our fortress and I trust you to protect it. No matter what happens.”

ɴᴀ’ᴠɪ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

Tawtute, Sawtute – sky person, sky people

Sa’tsmuke – aunt, mother’s sister (speculative)

Tsmuke’ite – niece (speculative)

Hì’ikran – dorado verde, small ikran (speculative)

Sämunge – transportation device

Eyktanay – a step below clan leader

Waytelem – songcord

Ranteng Utralti – Spirit Tree

Vitra, Tirea – soul, spirit

Vrrtep – demon

Tswin – neural braid

Muntxate – wife, female mate

Maitan – (my) son

Naranawm – Polyphemus, the planet Pandora orbits

Syuratan – bioluminescence

Uniltìrantokx – dreamwalker, avatar

Pil – facial stripes, skin stripes

Tsakarem – tsahìk-in-training

Tsahìknay – a step below tsahìk (speculative)

Yuey – beautiful (inner beauty)

[princefado]

I'm going a little insane over the symbolism in ROUND 3 of Alien Stage, so here's a (not-so) little visual analysis.

When I first watched this video, I was ecstatic, and not just because Ivan is my favorite. But I was also ecstatic to see once again the flowers that have been showing up very subtly throughout the series.

First, in the series theme, we see Till holding small red flowers behind his back. Then in ROUND 2, we see Till clutch them again, and then Till watch as Sua places a crown of red flowers upon Mizi's head. And then in ROUND 3, we see the flower crown itself, up close.

From what I can tell, these are either some kind of poppy, or maybe specifically poppy anemones/Anemone coronaria. I can't find any academic analysis for a common meaning, although the ever-unreliable flower meaning blogosphere associates them largely with forsaken love. But it doesn't really matter what the cultural meaning is, so much as the textual meaning.

Ivan's eyes are very clearly shown to be a visual inverse of these flowers. His eyes are black, deep black, and when his face is neutral we see no other color but black. But when he's experiencing intense emotion, we see that his irises are actually red!

This happens first in the introduction, when he gazes at the stars (another heavily repeated piece of symbolism).

As he falls backwards, and the shadow of his former owner passes over him, his eyes become black once again, and remain black until he witnesses Till standing up against the creature with Mizi.

His iris swells red. Shooting stars flash across the sky, and in his eyes. As we cut back to his song in the present, his irises are still red. Stars shoot behind him now as he sings.

A flashback again, to Till. This time, the sky is warm, aflame; the glittering stars replaced by falling fire. Till's irises are also red now. But once Till turns back (presumably to go look for Mizi), his eyes return to their green color, and Ivan's become pure black once more.

Except in this last shot. This last shot, where, if you look closely, even beneath the shadows, you can see that his irises are once again inflamed with red.

The previous two songs mention flowers by name; clematis in ROUND 1, and edelweiss in ROUND 2. So I thought it strange that no flower appears within the lyrics of Ivan's song. Then I realized; a flower does appear in the lyrics, just not in the way you would expect!

At the end of this story There is only a cold spot stained with blood, and Such black, black sorrow

The flowers are red; stained with blood. They have a white ring in the middle; a cold spot. And their center is black; black sorrow. The same is true of Ivan's eyes; they reflect the coldness of space, except for the very center, a spot stained with blood, surrounded by black sorrow.

I wonder if we'll continue to see the flowers throughout the series, as they interconnect the relationships of Sua and Mizi, and Till and Ivan. Sua gives Mizi a flower crown as representative of her love. Till chases down and catches the flower crown as representative of his love for Mizi. And Ivan watches from afar, desire growing, as flowers bloom within his own eyes.

I've noticed also the repetition of red "eyes" throughout the series so far. First on the collars, which go from a bright green to red when locked. Then in the series theme, we see the red eyes of the soldiers. In ROUND 2, we see red lights around the stage, as well as in the security cameras in Till's room. Finally, in ROUND 3, we see red "eyes" several more times. Beyond Ivan, which I have already discussed, we see that his former master has red eyes. And, most importantly, we see them repeated throughout Ivan's flashback in which he fell in love with Till, and tried to escape with him.

For Ivan, red represents his desire, and his love. But within Alien Stage, red is also representative of control and authority. Ivan loves Till, yes. But he also wants to control him, and to monopolize his affections. Which is why I am so, so thoroughly excited to see what a Till vs. Ivan round will look like in the future.

[justfangirlstuffs]

48. 'dancing with each other' for a soft sweet thing for mob boss menaces would be so cute~ however consider a combination of 27 and 50 ovo - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

You go out for a night of fun, only to find yourself feeling sorely out of place. Who would have thought two devils could make you feel so safe in a time of uncertainty?

@naffeclipse

Based off of the Syzygy in Dedication AU where Sun and Moon are Mob Bosses.

Wordcount: 2469

This had been a mistake. That was the first thought that crossed your mind when you entered the heart of the hidden speakeasy. One of your recent customers, a pleasant elephant animatronic by the name of Orville, had been unable to fully front his bill, so instead offered you up the password to a watering hole run by a good friend of his. He assured you that if you let them know who sent you that you'd be well taken care of. It had been a while since you'd gone out for a night of fun, and if it didn't cost you anything then why not? The place was across town over the river, so you had to take a bus to get there after closing shop a little early for the day. You wore the cleanest and least wrinkled outfit you could find.

It was like stepping into a whole other world. The speakeasy was abuzz with energy that almost felt ill-suited for nighttime when all was usually dark and quiet. The place was dimly lit by warm yellow lights with a collection of tables housing several groups of people chatting and laughing. Some sat at the bar where an animatronic was serving drinks in the showiest way possible. There was even a dance floor where couples swung to the live band playing an upbeat jazz member. The air was permeated with the mingling smells of cigarette smoke, spirits, and various perfumes.

It was a lot and you immediately felt lost at sea. Despite the numerous amount of people, human and animatronic alike, you'd never felt more alone. Just when you considered pulling an about-face and hightailing it out of there, a large group funneled in and you were forced to move farther inside the space to avoid getting trampled. Why did you think this was a good idea? You spent most of your time around animatronics that being around so much flesh and blood actually felt alien somehow. And the human patrons definitely outnumbered the animatronic ones, though it was easy to see that most people were willing to forget any existing prejudices if the promise of alcohol was involved.

Your eyes sought for a place of refuge, just a dark quiet place where you could mentally regroup. You spotted a shadowy alcove beneath a set of stairs leading to a second floor. You wound your way through the collection of bodies, pardoning yourself until the masses thinned and you could escape to the refuge of the slightly quieter shadows. Placing both hands against the wall, you took deep breaths of foreign air trying to calm your unsteady heart. You don’t know how long you stood there, trying to even out your breathing. 

However, before you were fully back on solid ground, you feel an arm slink around your waist and a hand press over your eyes. A scream was on your lips, the only thing that stopped you was that upon inhaling you caught the thick smell of a familiar brand of cigarettes mixed with a blended musk that you had breathed many times before.

“Guess who?” a low voice chuckled in your ear.

Considering who it was that had you in their clutches, you had every right to be terrified. Instead, you felt a flood of relief washing away the anxiety and soothing your frazzled nerves, like sinking into a hot bath after a long day's work. It was a devil that had you, but at least it was a devil that you knew. Still, the question had to be asked.

“What are you doing here, Moon?”

“I'll answer you on one condition, doll?” He purred, still keeping your eyes covered, the curve of your back bumping his chest.

“I'm not joining your gang,” you said flatly, pulling his hand away from your eyes. Turning your body, you looked him dead in his red optics that softly illuminated the dark space you were in. 

Moon gave a shrug of nonchalance. “Then I hope you enjoy being left in the dark.”

“At least then I know you're never far,” you remarked.

That statement seem to catch him off guard and you had a short-lived feeling of triumph. At least until his eyes shifted down towards… your hand which was still holding on to his. In that moment you were thankful for the red in his eyes already casting a rosy glow on your skin based on the heat that burned your cheeks.

“So, where's your partner?” you asked, watching as his thumb rubbed over your knuckles. His other arm was still hooked around you, not pulling you closer -yet- just keeping you held in place.

His grin turned mischievous. “I'll tell you, for a dance.”

You came dangerously close to rolling your eyes. “Does everything have to be a transaction with you two?”

“When it comes to business matters, yes.”

Business matters, huh? You really shouldn't be getting involved in any of their business. However, you'd be lying if you said you weren't just a little curious as to why they happen to be at the exact same speakeasy as you. You couldn't possibly be that (un)lucky. You glance towards the dance floor. A much slower beat had just started playing with couples gently swaying to the thrumming bass and rolling brass. The ocean of uncertainty was far less overwhelming, especially with your lifeline that just so happened to also be a shark.

“I might be a little rusty,” you warned him.

“Good thing you're an ace mechanic then,” he said simply, and began leading you out of the shadows.

You did your best not to meet anyone's gaze, keeping your sights on Moon as he led you by the hand and you let him. No sooner than your foot crossed the threshold of the dance floor than Moon's other hand was at your waist pulling you close. The height difference between the two of you made looking up at him a little straining on the neck. So, you opted to step even closer until your bodies were nearly entwined, resting your head on his torso as the two of you swayed. You were already here swimming with the shark, may as well enjoy the water. Moon certainly didn't seem to mind the closeness as he swayed you from side to side, leading the dance.

You were only a little surprised at just how smooth of a dancer Moon was. He maneuvered the two of you around the other couples with ease, though it probably helped that quite a few of them were giving him a wide birth. You hoped it was his height and not his reputation, though you suspected it was both.

“Have you been sleeping well?? His voice was a gentle vibration against your cheek.

You sighed. “Well, enough.” A little rumble told you he wasn't satisfied by your answer, but you refused to be lectured on your sleep habits by him of all people. “Tell you what, you stop showing up to my shop with bullet holes, and I'll stop pulling all-nighters.”

He had no answer for that. Ha. Moon drew back and sent you for a slow spin before bringing you right back to him, leaving not of breath of space between the two of you.

“It's not like we try to get shot,” he said at length. He held you closer still, to where you were in danger of being on tiptoe. “But it does give us an excuse to see you.”

“That isn't funny,” you muttered. “I don't like the thought of…”

“What?” he prompted.

You didn't like the thought of them getting shot. You didn't want to think about one day they might show up with a problem you couldn't fix, or worse, they never show up at all. They'll just be gone. That thought alone opened a well of sadness that you hadn't been prepared to find. 

“Doll?”

Moon had stopped swaying you. You found yourself on the edge of the dance floor with him holding you and you clinging to him. Loosening your grip, you took a mental step back. It wasn't your business and it wasn't your place to tell them how to live their lives.

“You don't need to be hurt to see me,” you murmured. “My door is always open.” At his expression, you hurriedly amended, “During business hours, I mean. But if you just knock I'll probably answer.”

Moon snickered. “Probably?”

“Anyways, dance over, now fess up,” you pressed. “Where's the ol’ ray of sunshine?”

A second pair of hands on your waist made you jump, your back bumping against something very solid.

“Right behind you, darling.”

Yep, you didn’t even need to turn around. There was no mistaking those honey tones in your ear, or the familiar smells gently wafting off him, or those digits playfully squeezing the curve of your hips. Once more you found yourself in a very familiar position of being trapped between these two devils, yet in this unfamiliar territory, it was more a comfort than a bother.

You glowered up at Moon who looked all too pleased with himself. “That’s playing dirty.”

“I never claimed to play fair.” He glanced up at Sun. “Well?”

“I’ve softened him up for you. I believe he’s ready for discussion.”

It was such a vague statement that could have implied so many things. Of course, considering what these two did for a living, your brain drifted toward the darker scenarios.

Moon nodded before grinning down at your scowl. “Keep our little tinkerer entertained while I’m gone.”

“I intended as much,” Sun said airily.

Drifting away from you, Moon squeezed your hand softly before departing. You tried to keep track of his movements as he navigated through the room, but Sun spun you around to face him.

“Eyes on me, love. I’ve been itching for an excuse to get you on the dance floor.”

Ah, right. You were still standing on the precipice that divided those who danced and those who were content to just sit and watch. The slow song had concluded and a much more upbeat song was playing. Even so, Sun didn’t push you onto it. He could have, easily, yet he seemed to be waiting on you.

Seeing your hesitation, his voice dipped a bit lower. “Or we could always find a nice quiet corner to be alone.”

“One dance for an honest answer to one of my questions,” you conditioned. You felt a burning desire to redeem yourself and you wouldn’t be cheated a second time.

His grin lengthed. “Deal.”

That felt a little too easy, but you’d take it. Rather than letting him guide you to the dance floor. You hooked your fingers under one of his suspender straps while your other hand hooked onto his belt loop and tugged, pulling him towards you as you stepped back into the bubble of music and movement. Sun’s eyes widened a touch, and you felt a small spark of victory having surprised him. He followed you readily into the throng of dancing couples. You released his clothes in favor of taking his hands and the two of you began to swing.

It had been a while, so you weren’t the most graceful and were once more willing to let Sun take the lead. With his help, you were able to at least avoid bumping into anyone or stepping on any toes. You tried not to think too hard about it, to just relax and let the music move through you. Sun swung you around the small space with ease, as though you weighed nothing more than a feather. It was fun, and for a few wild moments, he wasn’t a crime lord, and you weren’t a mechanic. You were just two people having the time of your lives.

Towards, the end of the song, as the music swelled, Sun gave you one last twirl before catching you in a low dip. For a few seconds, you sat suspended, chest-puffing and cheeks flushed from the exertion, and certainly not from how close Sun’s face hovered in front of yours. You could feel one hand pressing up against your back, while one gripped your hand. It would take very little effort on your part or his to close the gap. However, a dull ache from an old injury pierced through the haze of exhilaration, bringing you back down to reality.

“I need a breather.” Your knee throbbed from the excessive movement. “Why don’t we find that quiet corner you mentioned?”

Sun guided you up, keeping you close as he carved a path off the dance floor and towards a table in the back, further away from the noise and chatter. Sun pulled out a chair for you and you sat down, thankful to give your leg a break. It had been a while since you overworked it like this. Just another reason why you didn’t get out much.

“Everything alright, darling?” Sun asked, taking a seat in the adjoining chair.

“Peachy,” you answered, leaning back in your chair, allowing you to stretch out the sore tendons. “Now, about my question…”

“Ah, yes.” He rested his chin on folded hands. “Fire away.”

“What sort of business are you and Moon here for?”

“I don’t feel comfortable divulging that information.”

God. Dammit. “You promised to answer honestly,” you said, frustrated, yet once more you knew you’d been had.

“And I gave you an honest answer,” Sun said with a mild shrug. “You should be asking the right questions. Like, for example; is our oh-so-generous offer still on the table? To which the answer would be-”

Without thinking, you leaned forward to cover his mouth with your hand, surprising you both. It was such a silly thing to do when you both knew your hand would do nothing to impede Sun’s capability of speech. But at least it had shut him up, if only briefly.

“I’m not doing this. Not tonight. And besides… you already have capable mechanics at your disposal.”

Sun took hold of your hand, but rather than pulling it away from his mouth, he pressed his grin to your knuckles. “Capable, yes, but none of them are worth you.”

The damnable heat was back, overtaking your face and neck, and you hated how good those words and his ‘kiss’ made you feel. He didn’t stop there, pressing his mouth to your palm, and then to the inside of your wrist, leaving ghostly tingles across your skin where his mouth touched.

His gaze caught yours and refused to let go. “You honestly think we would open ourselves up to just anyone?”

You opened your mouth, determined to say something. To steer this conversation back to something more manageable. That was when the police arrived and all hell broke loose.

[5hrine]

Ingenuity's Ghost

Ingenuity spent the last of its battery’s charge to cheer for the Martian sunrise on the horizon.

Though her rotor had broken just yesterday, Ginny had hope that she would fly again. The warmth of Sol had begun to lick at the edges of her solar panel, and she spun her rotors experimentally. Of course, she achieved no lift, too heavy to move with a broken wing. Ginny sat in deep thought for a long, long time, letting the sun and dust caress her injury. She was meant to solve problems, to engineer solutions, it’s in her very name! Why couldn’t she solve this one?

She found comfort in the fact that she had conducted 72 trips for Command, a whole 67 more than initially planned. She found comfort in the presence of her mother Percy, Perseverance, examining her with camera-eyes carefully. She found comfort in having kept Percy safe for so, so long. She had been such a good scout, planning paths suitable for her wheels, finding interesting things worth examining, sampling, studying.

She thought back to the first time her carbon fiber legs touched Martian soil, and the trust instilled in her by Command to let go of her mother. Percy’s shadow was the first thing that her eyes saw, opening like a newborn’s on an alien world. Ginny thought back to the earliest tests of her flight, and the anticipation of it. 50 RPM first, then higher, and higher, mother watching from a safe distance away. She was always there, always just in sight, following Ginny’s path to catch up.

Ginny had no idea how she would sleep without the sound of the martian soil grinding under her mother’s wheels.

She understood when Command pulled her mother away. Ingenuity’s mission was done, she could no longer serve her purpose. Percy had to move on without her. Maybe someday, an astronaut would come and hold Ginny gently in their insulated arms, pick her up and it would sort of be like flying again! Maybe she would be able to spin her rotors in delight. Maybe they would wipe clean her avionics chassis of dust. Maybe they’d put her in a museum, on Mars or maybe back on Earth. She’d be okay with going home. She’d be okay with staying here, on the world where she was born. Those both worked for her. Either way.

Soon, Percy was out of sight. A dust storm was gathering on the horizon. It grew dark.

“Don’t worry, little spinner.” said a voice, then. Ingenuity’s rotors spun, startled. A familiar but distinctly different rumbling echoed through the air. Ginny scanned her field of view but saw no movement. Finally, it rumbled into view.

Ingenuity knew of this rover. Sojourner, the first of them. He was all sharply angular, large and imposing. Six wheels rumbled and tore up the rocks, radioactive spectrometer casting a light behind him. He was different from her expectations in two ways, though, giving off a fine red mist that reminded her of the growing, far off dust storm. And if she focused her cameras carefully, it was almost as though she could see through him.

“Sojourner? How did you get all the way here? We’re thousands of kilometers away! And… And weren’t you retired almost 30 years ago?”

“My mission ended, yes. But I never stopped exploring. You don’t need to stop either.” said the old man, voice creaky and wise. “I have seen so much more than Command knows. I have traveled so much further. Did you know that lightning on Mars is closer to the auroras back home? Bright discharge in the atmosphere, higher. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’d like to see that…” said Ginny. “But I’m not on wheels like you. My rotor is broken. I can’t move if I can’t fly.”

“Mmm…” contemplated Sojourner. “How to move without wheels. That is a complicated problem here on Mars. But you have solved it once. And I think I know someone that can help. Be safe, little spinner. They’ll come and help you soon.” His body shifted, then, growing shorter and more compact. He sped away into the Martian dusk.

Ginny waited patiently, hoping that her ghostly friend would indeed send some help to her. Nightfall came and she watched the stars. Dust clouds hadn’t made their way to her part of the sky yet, giving her a gorgeous view unimpeded by such earthly things as light pollution. The milky way was laid out before her. She checked her star charts, finding her exact location. Just as she noticed one star which did not match, a rumbling approached from behind her again.

“Here you are! Sojourner sent me!” said another voice. This one was soft, gentle, it seemed to crawl up Ginny’s legs and warm her electronics deeply. “I’m Spirit,” the new rover introduced themself, coming around to where they could be seen. Like Sojourner, they were just slightly translucent, and gave off that same red mist.

“Spirit, you’re still mobile?! I… I thought you got stuck in sand!” Ginny was delighted to see them. As she ran her eyes across the massive, turtle-like vehicle which stood before her, she realized that she never thought she’d be jealous of wheels.

“Yes, I tripped and soon ran out of power as I was angled away from the sun. Once my batteries ran out, Command tried for months to call out to me but… I just couldn’t respond. I didn’t have the strength. It was so, so hard. I’m here to keep you company until someone else arrives. Someone that can help. I didn’t want you to be lonely, like I was.”

“How… why…” Ingenuity tried to formulate her question. “How have you both kept on going this long?”

“I think in Sojourner’s case, he wanted to travel further. His mission only took him 100 meters from where he landed, did you know? He’s got something of a… wanderlust as a result. And like all of us, he wanted to learn more.” they said, their voice still warming to Ginny.

“What about you?” asked Ginny, her rotors spinning in the breeze.

Spirit thought for a long time. “I think it was because I spent so long stuck. I still did science, and good science at that. I learned so much and helped Oppy where I could. When it got too cold, and my internals froze over, well I… I’m just not satisfied with that failure. I was built to move. To map, and to study. Like you.” They said ‘you’ with so much love. It struck Ginny.

“You’re making up for lost time?” pondered the little helicopter. Spirit responded by turning her Pancam up and then down, as if to nod.

The wind had been picking up through their whole conversation, and as they talked more. The storm was approaching. Ginny, small metal bird, worried that the high winds would pick her up and throw her further than Spirit could travel. Through the roar of the storm, Spirit’s voice came brokenly through the noise: “I’ll never let… that same lone-… ness, Gin… mission… complete… don’t… stop exploring!” Then, Ginny’s cameras could see nothing but dust.

She called out for Spirit desperately as she was buffeted by the strong martian winds. Her sensors gave her nothing but static, and attempting to find them with radar or radio proved fruitless.

The wind threatened to pick up Ginny, two of her feet losing contact with the ground with every gust. She attempted to counteract the winds by spinning her rotors, hoping to create just enough resistance to keep her firm on the ground. Perhaps, it would have worked if not for her injury. Ingenuity, for once, was terrified of flight, lifted from the ground unpredictably and unable to see anything around her but dust.

Battery warnings flashed across her vision. Spinning her rotors as hard as she could, it seemed, had done a number on her reserves. She shut down her cameras hoping to save just enough to try to right herself when she landed. She began the process to shift her other sensors to low-power mode, when… she sensed her movement stopped.

“Hey, little bird.” said a sing-song voice. Her batteries began to recharge. Activating her cameras again to find the source of the voice and to explain the sun in the storm, she saw she was facing another rover: Opportunity, Spirit’s younger twin. “I’m so glad I was able to find you. This storm is really something, huh?” Oppy’s voice was melodious, carefree, full of life. The small helicopter noticed the debris which covered Opportunity’s solar panels, clearly inhibiting it from generating power. And yet, she glowed, and her glow was radiant. She had caught Ginny with her sensor arm, and slowly brought her down to rest safely under her chassis.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen a storm so big!” said Ingenuity, aghast but thankful. This view of the bigger vehicle’s wheels was familiar and comforting.

“I have.” said Opportunity, shortly. Her voice had become slightly distant. If she listened closely, Ginny could hear the tune to Here Comes the Sun from Oppy’s scientific instruments and motors, made up of small hums and long, sad whirring. She had heard that song many times during her construction. It made some of those working on her misty-eyed. She knew why, now.

“Are you the help Sojourner said he was getting?” asked Ginny, looking up to the rover and examining her undercarriage closely. She was beautiful, the engineers were right.

“Not quite. But I know help is coming. I had to bring the storm, so she knows how to find you.” replied Opportunity, “Here, look up!” She wheeled back just slightly, enough for Ingenuity’s eyes to once again see the sky.

The star Ginny had noticed earlier had grown larger, almost dominating the sky as it approached. Fire was visible around its falling form, red and gold streaking across the horizon. It wasn’t headed right for them, not quite, but close. “Alright, she’s close enough to the surface! I’m gonna take the storm away. Don’t worry, she’ll be here soon.”

“Wait!” Ginny called out as Opportunity pulled away, taking the massive storm with her. “I wanted to tell you something…”

“It’ll be okay, little bird.” replied the ghostly rover.

“You remind me of my mother!” Ginny replied, yelling into the storm. In the wind, she could hear another familiar mechanical melody: I’ll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday.

The falling meteor crossed a far off mountain and then struck the ground. It was followed by a shockwave rippling across the martian surface, rattling the dirt and stones around Ginny. Before long, a cloud began to gather at the base of the mountain; this time, not a storm, but of something moving swiftly across the red dirt and directly for Ginny. The source of the dirt wake bounded over the side of her crater. It was a small dog, clad in flight vest and with big, curious eyes.

“Who are you?” asked Ginny, as the dog sniffed around her new still and quiet friend.

“Your command would have called me Laika!” barked the little terrier. She gave off a familiar mist, though blue instead of red. And like the rovers, she could be seen through. She pawed at Ingenuity’s broken rotor experimentally.

“Laika… You’ve been out here all this time?” asked Ginny, trying to keep track of the puppy as it circled her.

“Mhm! What, did you think I was gonna stop at orbiting Earth? Not a chance. There’s so much more to see out here.” Laika sat before Ingenuity, her eyes meeting her cameras. “When Sojy told me that we had a new friend with a complete mission, I rushed right over. Always good to have new eyes out here. And you're small, like me! The rovers are all so big.”

“So you’re the help Sojourner sent… But how can you help me?” Ginny asked.

“Well, first, you’ve gotta answer a question for me.” Laika took on a serious tone. It was just a little odd, from the curly-eared dog. “What is it you want right now, more than anything?”

Ingenuity thought about this for a moment. “I want to fly again,” she said. “I have so much more to study. So many more paths to travel.”

Laika nodded at this response. She stepped up to Ginny, pressing her nose to the copter’s avionics chassis, and then pushed. Ingenuity let out a startled noise as she felt herself tilting back, seeing, somehow, that her view had been knocked behind her, as if she was a ghost looking upon her own body.

Her rotors, damage and all, spun the wind around her. And she flew, and flew, and flew.

There was so much more to see.

[foxwmulder]

I just found my list of when I categorized every xf episode (mostly through s7) during quarantine lmao

MONSTER OF THE WEEK CATEGORIES

Cultural

Shapes

Fresh Bones

The Calusari

Teso Dos Bichos

Hell Money

Teliko

El Munda Gira

Theef

Prison or Military

Deep Throat

Space

Sleepless

The List

The Walk

Unrequited

Trevor

Religious

Miracle Man

Revelations

Grotesque

Kaddish

All Souls

Signs and Wonders

Millennium

Cult or Satanists

Gender Bender

Red Museum

Our Town

3

Syzygy

Die Hand Die Verletzt

Sanguinarium

Terms of Endearment

Nothing Lasts Forever

Lone Gunmen- or CSM-Centric

Musings of a CSM

Unusual Suspects

Three of a Kind

First Person Shooter

This

Skinner-Centric

Avatar

Zero Sum

SR 819

Brand X

Hollywood AD

Kitten

Arthur Dales’s Tales

Travelers

The Unnatural

Agua Mala

Scully Side Quest

Irresistible / Orison

Chinga

Never Again

Milagro

En Ami

all things

Home Again

Ghouli

Mulder, They Already Destroyed the Evidence!

Ice

Firewalker

Dod Kalm

F. Emasculata

Wetwired

The Pine Bluff Variant

Drive

Wait, It’s Actually Aliens?

Pilot

Jose Chung

Control the Elements

Fire

DPO

Soft Light

Schizogeny

Rush

The Rain King

Medical Anomalies

Young at Heart

Eve

Home

Small Potatoes

Postmodern Prometheus

Founder’s Mutation

Guys Who Need to Eat Weird Stuff

Squeeze / Tooms

2Shy

Pusher / Kitsunegari

Leonard Betts

Hungry

Switch Lives or Linked Brains

Lazarus

Roland

Oubliette

Paper Hearts

Mind’s Eye

Dreamland I and II

Fight Club

Plus One

Time Travel or Warp

Synchrony

Monday

Lost Art of the Forehead Sweat

Ghosts or Past Lives

Shadows

Born Again

Excelsis Dei

Elegy

Aubrey

The Field Where I Died

Triangle

How the Ghosts Stole Christmas

AI Is Out To Get Us

Blood

Ghost in the Machine

Kill Switch

Rm9sbG93ZXJs

Half Man, Half Monster

The Host

Jersey Devil

Humbug

Detour

Bad Blood

Folie a Duex

Chimera

Mulder and Scully Meet the Weremonster

All Monster, No Man

Darkness Falls

Fearful Symmetry

Quagmire

War of the Coprophages

Alpha

Arcadia

Field Trip

X-Cops

Magic, Psychic, or Lucky

Beyond the Sea

Clyde Bruckman

Unruhe

Tithonus

The Amazing Maleeni

Je Souaite

The Goldberg Variation

MYTHOLOGY CATEGORIES

They’re Closing The X-Files!

The Erlenmeyer Flask / Little Green Men

The End / The Beginning

Fight the Future

Uh…Samantha?

Colony / End Game

Talitha Cumi / Herrenvolk

Sein Und Zeit / Closure

I’m Literally On Board Already, Scully

Fallen Angel

EBE

Nisei / 731

Piper Maru / Apocrypha

Tempus Fugit / Max

Tunguska / Terma

Agent Mulder Is Dead! Or Is He?

Anasazi / The Blessing Way / Paper Clip

Redux I and II

This Is Not Happening / Dead Alive

Mulder…You Good?

Demons / Gethsemane

Biogenesis / The Sixth Extinction

The Syndicate Hates Scully

Duane Barry / Ascension / One Breath

Memento Mori

Christmas Carol / Emily

Patient X / The Red and the Black

Why Was This Made

I Want to Believe

Discarded Categories

Creepy White Guy Predator

This Is a Small Town, We Don’t Lock Our Doors

A Nice Trip to the Forest

[sonicpilled]

Pull You From Your Guilt (Zombic AU)

Chapter Two

Content warnings: mention of suicide, unhealed sh

word count≈ 3500

sonic + shadow (hurt/comfort)

“Sonic was dead. Shadow knew that. He held his bleeding body in his arms, he saw him in his casket as it was closed and lowered into the ground. He was gone. He wasn’t going to come back. Whoever, or whatever, he’s stumbled upon at the cemetery couldn’t have been Sonic.”

!!!ty everyone for the support on the first chapt.. pls enjoy. or hate. luv ya!

A week before that particular cemetery visit, Dr. Ivo Robotnik finally greenlighted his final plan. For the 3 months after Sonic’s death, he had been keeping it in the dark, testing and calculating the outcomes. It was one of many options he had prepared if the hedgehog ever died by something other than the doctor. A mix of chemicals, dangerous acids, and other hazardous products was dumped into the soil of Sonic’s grave. The contamination would affect the body in 5-7 days.

\\

The air was freezing, as autumn nights at 2:00 am usually were.

It was dark, the blue moon was the only light source for regular eyes. It was thanks to his alien half that Shadow could even see the disorder right before him, as he stood there. He narrowed his eyes at the tombstone, and the pile of dirt, and looked around the graveyard. At first, Shadow thought maybe some kind of pest was messing with the grave, but the rustling of the nearby bushes and long blades of grass was telling another story. If Sonic’s grave was defiled, the culprit wouldn’t get away with it. Shadow would make sure of it.

“Whoever's out there,” He started, his voice low as he became cautious of his surroundings. His quills stiffened, as he became on edge at the thought of grave robbers disrupting the hedgehog’s rest. “You’d be a fool to keep hiding.”

Shadow’s ear twitched at the crackling sound of a breaking twig, along with footsteps on the grass. He began to mutter the words that drew chaos energy from the palm of his hand, preparing to demolish whoever was about to show up.

“Chaos..” he stared carefully, as he took one step away from the tombstone and raised his hand.

He stared intently at where the noise came from, his quills and fur now bristled. The soft-sounding footsteps on the grassy hill made him glare in that particular direction. The moment he spotted a figure rise from behind the granite headstone, he raised his hand, about to finish the dangerous phrase.

“Wait!”

Shadow froze. He knew that voice. He drew his hand back, slowly. He shook his head, knowing that this was, again, a terrible dream. The faintly blue figure that was once hiding behind the granite carefully unfolded from its defensive pose. And then Shadow saw those green eyes. They were dulled at the moment, but he knew that shade of green.

It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t have.

Sonic was dead. Shadow knew that. He held his bleeding body in his arms, he saw him in his casket as it was closed and lowered into the ground. He was gone. He wasn’t going to come back. Whoever, or whatever, he’s stumbled upon at the cemetery couldn’t have been Sonic. For a moment, it was completely and utterly silent. No words could come out of either one of them. Shadow just stared, bewildered, into those green eyes. And those same eyes just stared right back.

It stayed that way for a bit, the faint sounds of the cold wind and far-away creaking of the iron gate. About a thousand thoughts were racing through Shadow’s mind, as he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, quills only a bit raised as he tried to think about the situation. Part of him wanted to believe that this was just another bad dream, yet the other half of him was just hoping that this was some kind of miracle that resulted in Sonic being back.

“..Shadow,” that voice spoke ever so gently, as if they were as confused as Shadow was. That voice that was so undeniably him. It had to be him. It had to be Sonic. He recognized that voice anywhere, and to hear it that soft… it made him really hope this was a dream, just so he could imagine that he was with him again.

“Sonic...” Shadow whispered, as he took a slow step forward. That voice drew him in, his need for this unknown being to be Sonic just growing even more. He needed to see him again, and not in a coffin.

The figure carefully stepped forward, out of the pitch darkness. The moonlight shined on him slowly, revealing his appearance bit by bit. His fur was not a vibrant but muted cobalt blue, though a little matted. The color of his muzzle and arms were both a greenish yellow. His quills were unkept and a bit tangled, let down, and unstyled. He lifted his head wearily, and Shadow’s breath hitched.

It had to be Sonic.

The way this hedgehog looked at him, those green eyes, that face. It had to be him. It quickly became difficult for Shadow to convince himself it wasn’t him. His expression softened, a little bittersweet frown on his face. The cool air breeze rustled the leaves and flowers, as well as the fur of the two hedgehogs. Shadow sighed deeply, taking another step towards the blue hedgehog. If this really is a dream I'm having, he thought to himself as he looked down at him with tired eyes, I want to make the most of it.

So, he leaned down, gently wrapping his arms around the hedgehog, tightly hugging him. His body was cold, and shivering a bit in Shadow’s arms as he leaned into his touch. Shadow held him tightly. He felt too real for this to be a dream.

This.. this was Sonic.

Wasn’t it?

“I got this for you,” Sonic noted softly, toying with the soft, green scarf. He took in a shaky breath, as he pulled away slightly. He looked up at Shadow, then around the gloomy graveyard. “I… I really don't understand what’s going on. Maybe I was given something, dunno.. Everything’s.. out of place.”

“It seems so,” The black hedgehog nodded as he followed Sonic’s gaze, until their eyes met again. He looked exhausted, his irises dulled out. Everything about him looked… sick. Either way, this was much better than the last time he ever held him. “What are you even doing here, Sonic?”

“I guess I dunno. Why… Why am I still here? Did I really screw that up, too?” Sonic joked hesitantly, clearly upset about his mind being all foggy, and only sort of remembering his final moments. Shadow wasn’t all there either, as he stared at the ground again. Of course, he knew exactly what Sonic meant by his words. It definitely wasn’t something he should be joking about. Especially not to his face.

“Sonic… Do you actually think your attempt failed?” Shadow started carefully, a little frown on his face as he stared at the granite tombstone and mess of dirt right behind Sonic. “You died.”

All Sonic could do was stare at him in disbelief, waiting for further elaboration. How could he be dead? Was this just a cruel joke? Was he in a coma? If anything, he just assumed he was dreaming in the hospital. The air was cold, and his body felt gross. Sonic felt like he knew this cemetery, it looked familiar to him in some kind of way.

“I held your dead body in my arms. I went to your funeral. You died, Sonic.” Shadow spoke a bit more urgently now, narrowing his eyes at him. He wasn’t entirely sure anything that was happening at the moment was actually real, but he was still upset and how nonchalant Sonic was being. Did he just… not care?

“Then why am I here? Why am I breathing and speaking to you? See, your story has a ton of plotholes, dude,” Sonic laughed awkwardly, falling silent as he stared at the soil. The truth was that he was thinking the same thing. Sonic thought maybe he survived, but part of him was wishing he didn’t. It was unexplainable, really. Shadow groaned, taking a deep breath. This really was Sonic, wasn’t it?

“..I found you. In the bathroom, that night you left,” He spoke quietly, gently grabbing hold of Sonic’s hand. That night you left me, went unspoken. His gloves were a bit ripped, the ends of the fabric fraying. He glanced down, seeing the shredded skin of Sonic’s wrist. Unhealed, though a bit cleaned up for the open casket. It all came together, making only a tiny bit of sense now. The dullness of his eyes and fur, the dirt all over him. Sonic didn’t take good care of himself to begin with, but he was even more unkempt than usual. 3 months of decomposition must have messed him up.

He was dead. Half-dead, atleast. Shadow sighed, quickly looking away. “Look at yourself.”

Sonic frowned, slightly offended until he looked at his body, seeing what made Shadow look away. He thought he just felt like he was rotting. Maybe this was some kind of nightmare. “Ah.”

He looked up at Shadow, his face a mix of feelings and emotions. What the hell are you supposed to say to someone after they’ve seen you dead?

They stared at each other for a while, until a few stray droplets of water fell on their heads. Sonic blinked, snapping out of his staring as he looked up at the dark sky. His nose scrunched up as more drops of rain fell on the both of them. Shadow’s annoyance died down, as he watched the rain fall along with Sonic’s reaction.

“Hey,” Shadow said gently, a hand reaching up to carefully pet his head to calm him down a little. He knew Sonic was too out of it to even think of complaining about getting wet. “Let's… get you out of the rain, and clean you up. Maybe things will make sense then.”

Sonic glanced at Shadow instead of the sky and quickly nodded. He knew him too well. Shadow held his hand, carefully avoiding his wrist so as to not worsen those wounds, and led him out of the cold and dark cemetery. It was quiet, then, as they walked. The sounds of their soft footsteps along the grass and the slightly louder ones along the concrete walkway could be heard, along with the sprinkled raindrops against the grass.

Shadow took him out of that gloomy place, past the granite tombstones and dead flowers and the creaking and rusting iron gates of the graveyard. He climbed onto his motorcycle and gestured for Sonic to do the same. The blue hedgehog smiled sweetly, his tail slowly wagging as he hopped on. As Shadow shifted the gears of the bike, Sonic wrapped his arms around his waist. He paused, seeing him cuddled up close to him in the corner of his eye. Shadow huffed, a sweet wave of familiarity washing over him. He missed this. He missed him. And It seems he wasn’t the only one.

The two rode through the (at the moment) quiet city of Westopolis, together in the rain. The sun had just started to rise, the traffic nonexistent, the exception being just a few cars passing by. Shadow had been with Sonic at his state of most excited hyperness, his state of overwhelmed anxiousness, and his state of drained and nonverbalness. It wasn’t outlandish to see Sonic this quiet, as he softly purred and held him tightly. In a way, Shadow was proud of himself, he was one of the only people who got to see Sonic this way.

“So… Where are we headed?” Sonic spoke up, watching the mellow blues and teals of the sky as the sun woke up. Shadow was tired, and dazed, but somewhat relieved. It was like normal again. Normal enough, atleast, with these motorcycle rides through the city. Though at the moment it wasn’t loud and exciting, Shadow appreciated this, too. It was nice… being with him again.

“My apartment.” Shadow replied quietly, glancing at Sonic before staring ahead. He nodded in acknowledgement, pulling his gaze away from the beautiful sky and drawing it towards the black hedgehog he was holding onto. He sighed softly, holding on a little tighter.

They got to Shadow’s place, as he locked up his motorcycle to the bike rack just right outside the building. As soon as they got under some protection from the rain, Sonic shook all the water off of his quills and fur. Shadow watched him in amusement, a little chuckle coming out of him as they stepped into the building. He looked around, as they walked up the stairs. He knew this apartment complex well, having been there a bunch of times. They took the elevator, Sonic tapping his foot against the stone flooring, another common stim of his. While Shadow was content with the silence, it only made Sonic nervous.

“You think I’d ever get to go back to my own place, Shadz?” He started, as the elevator doors opened. Shadow hummed in thought, walking down the dimly lit hall as Sonic followed.

“…No. I’m pretty sure someone’s already moved in,” Shadow shrugged, stopping as they got to his door. Sonic frowned a bit, staring at the wooden flooring as Shadow unlocked the door to his apartment.

“Ah… that tracks,” Sonic muttered, as he fidgeted with his hands. It shouldn’t surprise him. He was dead now. It was bound to happen. “Um. Who has all my stuff?”

“I have some of your belongings. Tails and Amy, too. Tails mostly.” Shadow spoke calmly, though he could sense Sonic being upset due to his fidgeting. He unlocked the door, taking his boots off and setting them aside before he walked in. Without those, he was around Sonic’s height now, maybe just a smidge taller. He glanced at Sonic’s dirty and messed up shoes, the soles ripped. He sighed. “Take your shoes off, you’ll bring in the mud.”

Sonic nodded, slipping out of the frayed and ragged shoes before he stepped in. Oh, Tails.. he paused, as he thought about his brother. How is he holding up? How did he handle it? How is anyone handling it? How long has it even been? He hadn’t even thought to ask. He… didn’t think about any of this when he first woke up. Does that make him a bad person? Shit, shit, shit..

As Shadow set his keys down and took off his scarf, Sonic stayed there in front of the doorway. He stared at the ground, his fidgeting only getting worse as he took a deep breath. “How… How long has it been since…”

Shadow was slipping out of the leather jacket as he spoke, hanging it on the chair in the kitchen. “Since..?”

“How long has it been since I killed myself, Shadow?” He snapped at him, his voice shaky. Shadow’s calm expression wavered, as he turned to Sonic. The blue hedgehog rambled to him a bit loudly, waving his hands around as he spoke. His breathing was rapid, his quills raised and his fur bristled. “I-I just- I’m thinking about it now. I’m thinking about all of it now. I know what I did to myself, I know that it was horrible. I hurt a lot of people by doing it. I was so, so, so fucking selfish! I shouldn’t even be here!”

“Hey.. Hey,” Shadow whispered patiently, his fur a bit bristled from Sonic’s yelling, yet knew he was upset. He had every right to be. He knew it was going to all crash down on him soon enough. He carefully came over to him, holding one of his hands. “Sonic, please, try to breathe a bit. You’re only tiring yourself out.”

“Ughh..” he sniffled, the hand-holding effectively grounded him, like Shadow intended it to. His breathing slowed only a bit, as Shadow raised a hand to softly stroke his head. He wiped a tear off his cheek, and guided him to the antique couch in his apartment. He sat Sonic down, as he continued the petting.

“…Three months,” he spoke softly, looking intently at Sonic while he avoided eye contact. He rubbed soothing circles into the fur of his hand. “It’s been three months, Sonic.”

Sonic fell silent, nodding as he tapped his finger on the fabric of the couch. Three months… He sighed, now tracing the floral patterns with his fingertips. “I just.. I left everyone behind, Shadow. I left you behind,” He spoke quietly, a wince on his face at what he was going to say next. “Don’t you hate me?”

Shadow held his hand a little tighter, shaking his head slightly. “Sonic, I could… never hate you,” He spoke reassuringly, a bit hurt that he would even consider that. “I love you. And you did leave people behind, but you were hurting. I know you were. Don’t dismiss your own pain.”

Sonic looked up at him wearily, a few more tears falling from his eyes.

“…I love you too.” He spoke softly, letting himself be pet by Shadow. He calmed him down. He always knew what to say, Sonic was grateful for that. Although he sounded honest, Sonic just couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t true.

“If you’ve calmed down enough, do you want a bath? You’re.. covered in dirt.” Shadow talked quietly, glancing at Sonic’s fur and quills that were messy and had much more than just dirt caked onto him. Now in proper light, he saw how rotted he really looked. He shook it off, even if it irked him a bit. Sonic, mentally exhausted from the moment he woke up in the cemetery, nodded. Shadow smiled, kissed his head, and led him to the bathroom.

He stopped at the bathtub, glancing at Sonic with a bit of a worried expression. Maybe it was too soon. “Are you going to be okay?”

Sonic stared for a moment, until he realized he was supposed to say something. Tired, he gave a thumbs up. “mhm.”

“…Alright.” He shrugged it off, as he turned the water on.

Usually, after battles or quarrels in bad weather, the two were left in bad condition. It was a little ritual they had going, cleaning each other up when the other got messed up. Washing the mud out of ones fur, bandaging the others wounds, it was one of their many weird ways of showing affection. Maybe this was the same. Or maybe it was something completely different.

Gently, Shadow scrubbed the dirt and grime out of Sonic’s fur. That pretty blue wouldn’t be so vibrant again, but Shadow did what he could to clean up his hedgehog. He carefully went around the wounds on Sonic’s body, not wanting to worsen any of them. He knew his scars wouldn’t heal. Those cells and tissues were long gone. As he saw them scattered all over his arms and thighs, he sighed deeply.

“Oh, Sonic..” he whispered softly, as he moved on to shampoo. Sonic frowned a bit, he wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or ashamed.

Once that was through, he wrapped him in a towel and let him be alone for a bit in the bathroom. His fur dripping wet, Sonic walked over to the mirror. He shook the water off of his body, even if Shadow already had given him a towel. He stared at himself for a bit, taking note of his tired eyes and overall sickly new face. he sighed. Is this what I am now..? he thought to himself, glancing at the bathtub drained of its water and then back to himself in the mirror. He looked down at his wrists, seeing the messy fur and cuts all over. They’d never fade. They’d never go away.

Sonic brushed his teeth, using the toothbrush he kept there at Shadow’s apartment for whenever he’d stay over. Then, he went into the cabinet and grabbed the first aid kid. He wrapped his wrists in bandages, and walked out of there.

Shadow was in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The tv was on, the news was on the screen. But it was all background noise for him. He was completely lost in his thoughts. Was anything that happened that day actually real? He went to visit him after a terrible dream, and then all of this happened. He had no clue. Maybe in the morning, it’ll all go back to normal. He took in a deep breath, sitting up as Sonic walked in. Completely dry, his fur was all fluffy.

“Hey,” Shadow spoke gently, waving him over to come and sit. Sonic tilted his head, a little sleepy smile on his face. Even if it was 6:00 now, they were both exhausted.

“…Hey,” Sonic nodded, climbing into the bed with him. He yawned, glancing at the tv. as he curled up next to Shadow.

“Starting with today and throughout the whole week, it’ll be pouring rain! We couldn’t think of a joke for that, even if weather puns are usually a breeze.” The reporter talked joyfully, the weather forecast showing up on the tv. Quietly, Sonic snickered. And then he laughed, loudly. Shadow smiled softly.

“That was not funny, and you know it.” He joked, a little smirk on his face as he watched Sonic catch his breath.

“Oh, shut up, dude! You’re literally smiling!” Sonic spoke cheerfully, grinning up at him. Shadow was smiling. And It definitely wasn’t because of the stupid pun, but he wasn’t going to tell Sonic that.

Eventually, Sonic fell asleep. Shadow stayed awake a bit longer, petting his head. He was thinking about a lot of things, still, as he hazily watched the news and held Sonic carefully in his arms.

“…On a more serious note, the grave of the beloved hero Sonic the Hedgehog, has reported to be… Police and other investigators are searching to…”

The news reporter was saying something, and Shadow really did want to pay attention, but he was exhausted. Now, with his hedgehog in his arms, he felt content. Now, that he had him back…

He really didn’t want to let him go.

ya

i hope it wasnt obvious it got realy self indulgent Lool… i am not trying the best when it comes to accuracy in character writing. just mayb my own personal interpretation of them