#"blood rust"
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theamazingstories · 2 years ago
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RETRO REVIEW – SPACE MASTER X-7
RETRO REVIEW – SPACE MASTER X-7
Figure 1 – Space Master X-7 Poster For the past several days, we (I and my wife, the Beautiful & Talented Lynne Taylor Fahnestalk) have been looking for old black-and-white SF movies (well, mostly any SF/F genre film that’s over 50 years old), and have been having some success in the late 1950s era. I was in particular looking for British B/W SF films on the order of Quatermass; I remember…
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sonnendeathiccur · 7 months ago
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Oh Rust Cohle.... for you alone, I will be weak.
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bobdylan-n-jonimitchell · 1 year ago
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"MR: "Diamonds And Rust" was another magic moment. You've said when you began writing the song, it started as something else until Dylan phoned you. Then it became about him. That must have been one helluva call.
JB: He read me the entire lyrics to "Lily, Rosemary, And The Jack Of Hearts" that he'd just finished from a phone booth in the Midwest.
MR: What was the song about originally?
JB: I don't remember what I'd been writing about, but it had nothing to do with what it ended up as."
—Joan Baez in an interview with Mike Rogogna for HuffPost, 2010.
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forhappysake · 2 months ago
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Never Forget a Face
A/N - Why is titling fics so hard? I used a Hunger Games quote because it fit so well so lmk if you can pick it out. Nearly 5K words, not proofread.
Summary - After the end of a bloody case, Emily tasks a begrudging Spencer with checking in on the newbie. Warnings - Spencer x fem!reader, typical BAU-level violence, murder, kn!ves, season 12/13 spoilers, extensive handwashing (?), a bitter post-prison reid with a grumpy x sunshine plot
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My hands are stained red.
That was your first coherent thought as you stared in the bathroom mirror. The fluorescent lighting cast a pale glow over your face, making you look more ghostly than you already did. Your once blue shirt was covered in splotches. Your hands, dangling over the sink, were the color of burnt rust. 
As you turned on the faucet and applied soap to your hands, your brain replayed the events that brought you here. 
This was only your second case with the team. Hell, it was only your fourth case with the bureau. All you wanted to do was fit in. You’d heard great things about the BAU: the highly decorated Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, the face of the FBI - Jennifer Jareau, and the sought-after genius of Dr. Spencer Reid. 
The first case with the BAU had gone well. You’d done a lot of the grunt work, putting in an intense number of hours in a dingy police precinct pouring over paperwork with Dr. Reid, who kept telling you to call him Spencer. Despite this faux friendliness, you couldn’t help but get the feeling he was tired of working with you. 
Not that you could blame him. You were, by all definitions, a newbie. He had over a decade of experience and a serious reputation. A genius to boot, his sighs and looks often made you feel like you were in his way more than you were actually helping. Hence why, when Emily had asked for two volunteers to tail a suspect for the day, you’d quickly volunteered to go with the charming Luke Alvez. 
Six hours later, Luke, along with yourself, had tracked an unsub while he was taking his latest victim back to his home in a rural area. Back-up, which was supposed to be on the way, wouldn’t be there for at least twenty minutes. When the first blood-curdling scream rang out from the house, the two of you knew you had no choice but to act alone. 
Luke went in through the front door, making his presence known as you tiptoed around the side of the house to enter undetected. When you found a cracked window, you were able to slip inside without much issue. 
In that moment, you remembered hearing Luke attempting to talk down the unsub. You approached their voices, careful not to let anyone know you were inside. 
“How do you think this is going to end?” Luke asked the unsub, his voice firm. 
The unsub had laughed and the muffled cries of his victim could be heard from your spot. You tucked yourself quietly behind a hallway entrance into the room Luke was in. You peeked around the corner to let him know you were there. His only acknowledgment of you was a brief glance, but that was all you needed to know that he wanted you to stay in place. 
“I think,” the unsub started, with more cries coming from his captive, “that she’ll probably die before this is all over.” 
You tried to recall the profile. Emily’s voice replayed in your mind. 
“He kills with a knife and dumps the body in a secondary location, meaning he gets the women alone and gets close to them before he kills them. Based on the demographics of this region, he’s probably a white man. Likely in his 30s. Attractive but single, most definitely living alone. That’s his selling point. That’s how he’s managed to lure all these women into his vehicle.”
Nothing stuck out to you about him. There was nothing you could think to do to help in this situation besides hide behind the wall. You were waiting for a signal from Luke or the sound of backup approaching. 
Luke cleared his throat and you could picture him shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this, man. Let her go and I can help you.”
The unsub laughed again and you cringed. There was something so unsettling about his voice and his laughter. 
The unsub started to speak, but his voice was cut off by the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. This was your moment. 
You whirled around the corner, gun drawn. “FBI, don’t move,” you warned. The unsub turned to look at you. His cold blue eyes bore a hole in your head. A shiver ran through your spine. “Drop the knife.” 
He appeared irritated, rolling his neck as if trying to work out a kink. He glanced down at his victim. Her eyes were wide and frantic, tears streaming down her face. She was bound and a piece of cloth was tied around her face as a makeshift gag. He pulled her up to his height by her hair, eliciting more cries.
 “Well sweetheart, this isn’t how I pictured this ending for us. I hope you’ll forgive me,” he said as he raised the knife to her throat. 
“Wait!” Luke shouted. 
It was too late. What followed next was nothing short of chaos. 
Luke let off two shots, both of which connected with the unsub. His body cascaded to the floor. You lunged forward at the poor victim. Her throat, now cut, was bleeding at an alarming rate. However, her eyes remained open and the gasps coming from her mouth told you she was still breathing. 
You threw yourself on the floor next to her, removing the gag from her mouth and placing it over her neck as a makeshift tourniquet. 
“Do you hear that?” you asked, the sirens were right outside the house. “Help is almost here, okay? You have to keep your eyes on me.” Her glassy eyes were locked on yours, but the panic was fading from them with the little life she had left. The cloth in your hands was soaked with blood and your hands were turning a deep shade of crimson. 
You shook your head. “No, no. Come on. Look at me,” you tried to encourage her to hold on just for another moment. 
In the midst of your mumbling, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around to see Luke crouched behind you. 
“She’s gone, Y/N,” he said gently. His eyes were locked on her lifeless body. You furrowed your brow, denial coursing through your veins. 
Just as you were about to protest, the EMTs burst through the door with Emily and Dr. Reid in tow. Luke pulled you out of the way as they tended to both the victim and the unsub. 
The four of you watched helplessly from the corner of the room. You felt your body shake gently, adrenaline getting the best of you. You could feel Reid’s eyes on you. His judgement making you more anxious. 
You watched as one of the EMTs working on the victim turned to look at you. He shook his head gently, a sign that she really was gone. 
You'd never forget her face.
A sigh of defeat left your lips and tears welled up in your eyes. In a moment driven by pure emotion, you shot out of the house and back towards the SUV.
Luke sprinted out the front door after you. “Where are you going?” he shouted, clearly confused by your sudden burst of determination. 
“Back to the hotel,” you said matter-of-factly, sliding into the driver’s seat of the car. He rushed over to the driver’s door, holding it open so you couldn’t slam it shut. 
He looked incredulous. “And who am I supposed to ride with?”
You rolled your eyes. “Luke, two people just died and you’re worried about who your chauffeur is going to be.” 
Luke seemed to get the message he pulled back from the door, allowing you to shut it. You started the SUV, cracking the window just enough to shout, “Catch a ride with Reid and Emily.”
You pulled out onto the highway, foot heavy on the pedal as adrenaline still run through you. 
Nearly half an hour later and still covered in blood, you stumbled into the hotel lobby. The desk lady, panicked, quickly rushed in front of you. The lady, presumably Linda based on her nametag, asked you if she needed to call the police. You’d shown her your badge with a bitter laugh, explaining that you were the police. The smell of her floral perfume was making your head spin more than it already was. Thankfully, with a sympathetic smile, she’d moved out of your way and allowed you to proceed to your room. 
Which was how you ended up here, trying to scrub blood off of your still-shaky hands. You weren’t sure how long you’d been at this, but you couldn’t quit now. The dark evidence was still embedded deep beneath your fingernails. 
-SPENCER’S POV-
Walking into the house behind Emily, I could already see the mess that had unraveled. There was blood on the wall, where the unsub lay propped up but clearly dead as if he’d landed sitting up. There was blood on the floor, covering the lifeless body of the last victim. 
And there was blood all over her, the new girl, who was standing in the corner. Her eyes stared off into the distance, and she looked like she could faint at any moment. 
She was nice. Too innocent for the job, clearly. If I hadn’t been sure about that from the other case we worked together, it was evident now. 
Emily and I walked over to the corner, standing beside Y/N and Luke as the EMTs worked on both the unsub and the victim on the other side of the room. Despite the gory scene before us, I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off Y/N yet. Thoughts laced with sympathy crept into my mind and I resisted the urge to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. 
Just as I was about to do just that, the closest EMT turned to her and shook his head. The victim, as the unsub, was dead. She let out a sound that I could only describe as a shudder before she raced out the front door. 
“What the hell?” Luke asked, following her out. 
Emily sighed, staring at the two bodies before us as the EMTs packed up their things. “Kind of a harsh second case for the kid, huh?” she asked. 
I thought for a moment and shrugged, pushing sympathy away. “It’s not like it gets any easier from here on out, she might as well get used to it now.” I turned and started to walk out of the house, just in time to watch the new girl whip the SUV out of the driveway and hightail it back towards town. Though I wasn’t looking at her, I felt Emily shoot me a look. 
“You’d have never said a thing like that before you went away, Spencer,” she scolded. 
I took a deep breath. She was probably right. “No, I wouldn’t have, but things are different now,” I said plainly. 
I walked down the front porch steps and out on to the lawn where Luke was waiting for us, impatiently resting a hand on the handle of the SUV’s door. 
“Where’s your ride?” I quipped sarcastically. 
He shook his head. “Don’t start. It’s been a long day for all of us.” 
Emily caught up to me, pulling the SUV keys out of her pocket and unlocking the door so Luke could climb inside. As he did, she turned to me. 
“When we get back to the hotel, I want you to go check on Y/N.”
I felt my face contort in a scoff. “Why would I be the one to do that?” 
“Because,” Emily said, staring at the SUV before us, “someone needs to.” 
“So why don’t you?” I challenged, growing more exasperated by the second. 
Emily snapped her head to the side, her eyes shooting daggers at me. “Spencer,” she said sharply. I looked at her, trying to read her microexpressions. “I worry about you. Do you get that?” 
That wasn’t the reply I was expecting. 
I averted my eyes to the ground, somewhat ashamed of my previous attitude. “Yeah, I know.” 
“I want you to check on her because she needs someone who has seen bad things to explain to her that those bad things are survivable,” she started, eyes still locked on my face. I glanced up at her as she continued. 
“And, I want you to check on her because I think it would be good for you,” she finished. 
“Good for me?” I asked, with less attitude and more curiosity this time. 
Emily sensed the shift in my demeanor and I could see her shoulders relax. “Yes, good for you. Ever since you came back, you never stay out after cases anymore. Remember how we all used to go out together? Have a couple drinks? Relax?” 
I nodded because I did remember.  Those were some of the best memories of my life. 
“All you do anymore is go home or back to the hotels and hide in your room until the next morning, reading Vigotsky or Tarkovsky or whatever you do.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was reading the works of Dostoyevsky, so I let her continue uninterrupted. 
“It’s time for you to do some socializing. I think talking about yourself might do you some good for once. Besides, Y/N really is a ray of sunshine once you get to know her. I think her company will be good for you.” 
I thought about what she said for a moment. She wasn’t entirely wrong. “Alright,” I said, “I’ll stop by her room before I go to bed for the night.”
Satisfied with my answer, Emily proceeded to the SUV. 
Soon enough, we were back at the hotel. I thought about how to proceed. Should I go to her room immediately? Should I wait and change out of my work clothes first? 
Absolutely not. Talking is one thing. Wearing my pajamas in front of her? That’s too personal. 
I decided to head straight to her room. Ripping the bandaid off seemed like the best option. 
I strolled down the hall and stopped in front of her door. I placed three quick knocks on the door and waited. And waited. I knocked again. Nothing. 
Maybe she’d gone out for the evening, I reasoned. Or, maybe she was asleep. Regardless, I was ready to turn and go back to my room when I heard the faintest sound of running water coming from inside. 
My mind raced. She was surely just in the shower, right? Or maybe running a bath? The FBI agent in me freaked out. What if she’d went off the deep end and was trying to drown herself? Or what if-
I tried to run through my options, the first obvious one being to try the door handle, which was miraculously unlocked. Who the hell leaves their door unlocked in a cheap hotel like this?
“Y/N?” I called out as I stepped into the room. The bathroom door was wide open to the left of the main door I just entered, and I peered around the corner. 
She stood before the sink, eyes locked on her hands which appeared to be scrubbed nearly raw. I walked inside, concern building by the moment. “What are you doing?” I asked. 
She didn’t hear me - or she ignored me if she did. She continued scrubbing her hands diligently. I leaned forward to get a better look. A few red streaks ran off her hand and down the sink, but I wasn’t so sure what she was washing off was the victim’s blood anymore. 
“Y/N, stop. You’re hurting yourself,” I scolded. Her motions continued. She seemed dazed and unaware of my presence. She was surely in some kind of shock. 
As I stood behind her, I felt as though the scrubbing intensified. I made a snap decision. Stepping forward, I placed my arms on either side of her body, caging her in around the sink as I firmly grabbed her forearms and separated her hands. 
She jumped violently, enough for me to release her arms from my grip and back away quickly. 
“My god, Dr. Reid. How long have you been here?” she asked as her voice shook. She looked exhausted and her hands were bright red. Red lines where she’d repeatedly used her nails to scrape at the skin caught my eye. I pulled my gaze away from her hands, making eye contact with her for the first time. “I came to check on you, after everything. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
She looked down at her hands, the realization of what she had done became apparent as she flexed her fingers and winced. 
“Looks like I came at the right time,” I said quietly, more to myself than to her. 
She shook her head incredulously before she began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid. I have no idea why I was doing that. You shouldn’t have had to-” 
I shrugged. “It happens.”
Silence filled the room as I noticed she was still in her blood-soaked clothes. Thoughts whirled through my mind, but I couldn’t form a coherent thought. Words were pouring out of my mouth without my approval. 
 “Here’s what I purpose,” I said before I could stop myself. “Take a shower, get changed, and meet me in my room for a few minutes. I just want to talk to you about a some things.”
 She stared at the floor. I almost thought she was going to say no. 
“Okay,” she whispered. 
I nodded, heading for the bathroom door. “Room 91A. And please, call me Spencer,” I stated. Not waiting for her response, I shut the bathroom door behind me and locked her hotel door on my way out.
-READER POV-
You felt like you were in trouble. 
You know when you’re merely a child and you get in trouble in the middle of class? You know the feeling of your stomach sinking as you walk to the principal’s office?
That was the only way you could describe walking to Dr. Reid’s - Spencer’s - room. 
After a shower that stung your hands and brought tears to your eyes, you slipped into some comfy clothes and wrapped gauze around the rawest parts of your palms, before heading to his room. 
Room 91A. You tapped your knuckles on the door twice. You heard shuffling from inside the room. Spencer stood before you, also showered, also in his pajamas. 
This caught you by surprise. He could tell by the way your eyebrows shot up at his appearance. “I figured we might as well be comfortable with one another,” he said before stepping out of the way. “Come in.”
You brushed past him as you walked inside. Though it was just a hotel room, something about the stack of books on the side table and paperwork scattered on the desk brought a small smile to your face. 
One book in particular laid face up on the edge of the bed. “Dostoyevsky?” you asked. 
Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your question. “Yes. Have you read his work?” 
You nodded, glancing up at him as you ran your hand over the cover of the book, tracing the engraving on the cover of the antique copy. “Everybody knows Crime and Punishment, but I prefer White Nights.” 
You’d caught him off guard. “I didn’t know you were interested in Russian literature,” he said, walking to the other side of the room and taking a seat in one of the two armchairs positioned in the corner, “or any literature, for that matter.” 
You shrugged. “We’ve only known each other for two weeks. I’m not sure why you’d have any idea.” 
His stare faltered, and you caught him averting his eyes to the floor as he leaned back in the chair. “I should have asked. I haven’t been very kind to you. I haven’t done a very good job of making you feel welcome here,” he started cautiously. 
That caught your attention. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, but your first response was to reassure him. “It’s no problem, Spencer. It’s been so busy that I haven’t had time to get to know anyone very well.” You perched yourself on the edge of the bed, watching him carefully. 
“That isn’t true,” he said matter of factly. 
“Excuse me?” you asked, genuinely confused as to if you heard him right. 
Spencer cleared his throat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the tops of his thighs. His hands folded and he used them as a rest for his chin. You could see the gears turning in his head. 
“I said that it isn’t true. You have gotten to know everyone quite well, from what I gather,” Spencer said. 
Before you could respond, he started in again. “I’ve seen pictures of you with Luke and Penelope at the club after the last case. I know you went to lunch with Will and JJ. She says you’re fantastic with Henry and Michael. Tara told me you helped Rossi finish the thousand piece puzzle he’s had splayed out on his office table for two months. All this while Emily claims you’re a ray of sunshine.” 
Your mouth had fallen open a bit in the midst of his confession. You tried to think of an appropriate response. “Well, yes. That’s all true. But I don’t expect you to go out of your way to get to know me. I’m a people person.” You pointed to the books on his side table. “You, on the other hand, seem to prefer quiet time alone. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
The room was silent for a moment. The sound of Spencer’s foot tapping quietly against the floor kept the time. One, two, three… 
“I didn’t used to be this way,” he said frankly. 
You glanced at him, trying to read his expression. His face was stoic. He didn’t look particularly upset, though he surely wasn’t happy either. He ran a lone hand through his hair and brushed a few solitary curls from his eyes. 
“I know,” you responded. 
He furrowed his brow at you, confusion written all over his face. You rose from the bed and approached him before plopping down in the armchair next to his. 
“You know how, for us normal people, we spend a few years in training before we actually get a real assignment?” you asked. 
He nodded. 
“I’ve been with the Bureau in that capacity going on four years,” you started, eyes locked on the wall across from you. “My third year, there were rumors about an FBI agent spending time in prison for some high-level crime. People theorized it was connected to drug running, treason, even murder.”
Spencer cringed. 
“For the longest time, I thought it was a rumor. I forgot about it and I got an internship in Internal Affairs,” you continued. “One day, my boss handed me this huge file, full of reports going back over a decade.”
He was curious now, staring at you intensely as you did your best not to melt under his gaze. 
“If you haven’t figured it out yet, that was your file. One section was full of every report you’d ever written. The other section was what the Department of Justice had collected in an attempt to convict you in the fall.” 
This was new information to Spencer, who felt himself let out a bitter laugh. You paused to look at him. 
“I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that,” he said sourly. “I knew then they would want to be as far away from the case as possible. No wonder it was easier for them to try to keep me in there.” 
You shrugged, continuing. “I guess Emily had called in a favor with Internal Affairs. I was tasked with finding proof of innocence.” 
“And?” Spencer asked. 
“I couldn’t find any,” you stated simply. He nodded. “But I never forgot the file, especially the pictures inside. I never forget a face. Reading through your life with the Bureau, seeing the sequence of ID images each year as you got older, maybe even colder. That stuck with me for some reason.”
He appeared intrigued and was clearly doing his best not to interrupt. 
“When I woke up one morning and saw this huge CBS headline about the DOJ dropping the charges against a wrongly accused agent, I felt a strange kind of vindication,” you admitted. “Nine months later I got a call from Emily, asking me to come in for an interview. Two months later, now we’re here.”  
“Now we’re here,” he repeated. 
You cleared your throat. “What I didn’t bank on when I joined the BAU, was the same face from that file would be across from me at the table every day.”
You turned to him to find he was already looking at you, and you offered him a small smile. “All this to say,” you whispered, “I think you have every reason not to be friendly with the new hire.” 
The room was silent once more, the two of you sneaking glances at each other. Spencer was the first to break the silence. 
“Emily sent me to check on you because she thought it would be good for both of us,” he confessed. “She said you should see me as an example that people can get through bad things, and that I needed to get out of my head and into the real world.” 
You were quiet for a moment before shifting in the chair. You thought of everything you’d seen over the last twelve hours.
“I never forget a face,” you whispered again, thinking back to the victim on the floor. Her glassy eyes staring up at your own. 
Spencer nodded. “Me either.” 
“So how do you do it?” you asked him. 
He turned to you. You swore you could see tears forming in his eyes. 
“I find that there's always that little moment right when you wake up in the morning, when everything's good, because your mind has temporarily forgotten the bad stuff.”
You smiled as he continued. “At night, when I can’t sleep, I make a list in my head of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game.”
You tried to think about every good thing you’d ever seen someone do and tears welled in your eyes. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” you said. 
“It works sometimes,” Spencer smiled. He moved forward, placing a hand on your knee. You looked up at him. The two of you stared at each other. 
“You have to know that you’ll never fully forget these things, but we get through it as a team,” he finished. 
The tears welled up in your eyes spilled over, and you noticed that a few of his own had to. The hand on your knee moved up, wiping the fallen tears from your cheeks.
After a moment of letting the tears dry, you rose from the chair. “I really appreciate this, Spencer. I’m sorry that you had to go out of your way to help me, but I am very grateful.” 
He stood, towering over you. “It’s not a problem. I enjoyed talking to you.” 
“I enjoyed talking to you too,” you said with a smile. You stood next to him for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his close proximity before you snapped out of it. “Well, I should probably go back to my room and let you get back to your work.”
You turned from him and walked towards the door, pausing only when you heard his voice call after you. 
“Y/N,” he said, taking a few steps in your direction to where you’d crossed the room. 
“Yeah, Spencer?” you said, turning to face him. 
He faltered, his eyes finding the floor again. “I just,” Spencer stuttered for a moment, trying to regain his cool. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay. Stay and talk, of course. I-” he paused a moment more. Spencer took a deep breath. “I think Emily was right. I do enjoy your company and I’d like you to stay for a while,” he said firmly. 
You couldn’t hide the surprise on your face. Spencer saw it, too, quickly rushing to give you an out. 
“You don’t have to, of course,” he rushed. His cheeks burned red. 
“No, I don’t have to,” you said. “But I’d like to.” 
You saw his shoulders relax as the tension left his body. 
“Great,” Spencer nodded. He sounded relieved. 
You walked over to the armchair, plopping back down next to him. “Right, so,” you started, “What’s your topic of choice, Spence?” 
The use of his nickname brought the blush back to his cheeks as he scurried back into the chair next to you. 
He glanced at the books on the side table, the topic of conversation coming to him quickly. “Tell me,” Spencer started, “What resonates with you about the White Lady?”
You smiled before diving into a summary that not only analyzed the text but connected it to your own life. You thought your heart skipped a beat when you caught a glimpse of Spencer smiling warmly at you as you rambled. 
It was a long, interesting, conversation-filled night. 
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Body Horror Week Prompts Are Live!
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Welcome to Trigun Body Horror Week 2024!
We’ve set up a week of fantastic flavors of bodily horrors for you, and here is our official post sharing the prompts for you to cook with.
Body Horror Week is going to run from Feb 11th, 2024 until Feb 17th, 2024
For each set of prompts, we have an organ, two different songs, and a quote to inspire you into making the best horrors you’ve got.
The official hashtag for the week is #trigunbodyhorrorweek, and we’ll do our best to reblog your submissions the day of and whatever we may have missed during the week, we’ll reblog after. Feel free to tag us as well!
An AO3 collection is forthcoming.
There’s a copy of the prompts list below the cut, as well as links to the A-Sides and B-Sides for the music.
The art for the graphic was done by the wonderful @hashtagcaneven
Link for the music A-Sides and the B-Sides as playlists. Spotify playlist here.
Feb 11th: Eyes | Mama – My Chemical Romance | Mask of My Own Face – Lemon Demon | I hate it when humans and augmented humans ruin things for no reason. Maybe because I was a thing before I was a person, and if I’m not careful, I could be a thing again. - Network Effect, Martha Wells (Murderbot Diaries)
Feb 12th: Skin | This Body – The Dear Hunter | Hurt – Johnny Cash | Skin against skin, blood and bone / You’re all by yourself, but you’re not alone / You wanted in, and now you’re here / Driven by hate, consumed by fear – “Bodies”, Drowning Pool
Feb 13th: Lungs | Sin Eater – Penelope Scott | Between Two Lungs – Florence + the Machine | I remember seeing myself splayed across the floor of the kennel, a chimera split along a hundred seams, taking communion with a handful of dogs. - The Things, Peter Watts
Feb 14th: Heart | Love Me Dead – Ludo | Your Body, My Temple – Will Wood | The heart wants what it wants. What it wants is blood. - Welcome to Night Vale Twitter
Feb 15th: Limbs | Blood – My Chemical Romance | Body – Mother Mother | Pluck that crimson orb rusted package from the branches mother’s arms our tree you’ve chopped away at for too long with your mouth-bright ax pretty-teethed boy. - “A Brother Named Gethsemane”, Natalie Diaz
Feb 16th: Intestines | Void – Melanie Martinez | Blood on My Name – The Brothers Bright | It is a corpse rotting slowly from within while maggots writhe in its belly. - Warhammer 40k
Feb 17th: Alien | Roots – In This Moment | sprorgnsm – superorganism | To be trapped, unmoving, within the body that has betrayed her so often, feeling every sensation as it grows and warps and sprouts, never knowing what new mutation it will visit on her next. - The Magnus Archives, Episode 171, "The Gardener"
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xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx · 8 months ago
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tw: mild description of blood (it's not that bad I swear)
Large info dump about Sims aliens and their biology and stuff (it's well past midnight and I got bored)
So I have my own ocs that I've been working on for a while but I've moved them into the brain basement for a while to fixate on these stupid little pixel guys from 2004. Anyway one of them has blue blood because I thought it would be funny, and now I'm a firm believer that the Sims 2 aliens have blue blood.
My only reasoning for this is that having red blood in a green character feels... weird? Like, your skin is not one solid thing. It's like a million translucent layers stacked on top of each other with stuff between them. Like a lasagna. That's why, when you put your hand over a flashlight, it glows red; the light is passing through your skin and all the stuff in it (notably, blood vessels).
Human skin, by default, is a yellow-ish white, like dandruff. It gets color from the blood vessels and pigmentations in the layers of the skin. This is why tattoos work, why melanin alters your skin color, and why your face can blush red, among other things. If alien skin is the same white, you'd need a shit ton of green pigment to balance the red from the blood, which would make them look kinda weird and muddy color-wise. If the blood is blue, though, everything runs smoothly. Yellow/white-ish skin + blue blood = mint green.
Though it only exists in weird animals like horseshoe crabs and some spiders (I think), there is a kind of blood that naturally comes in a sky blue color. This is because it contains hemocyanin instead of hemoglobin, using copper instead of iron. Hemoglobin uses iron to bond with oxygen and move it somewhere, and turns red in the process (like rust). When copper is oxidized, though, it turns that bright, Statue of Liberty ass turquoise color. This makes the hemocyanin blood into this blue raspberry looking concoction.
(Hemocyanin also completely messes with the biology of a creature; it is not interchangeable with hemoglobin but let's suspend disbelief for a second. For the vine.)
Anyway, enough rambling. I think the aliens are blue blooded. This makes them look more natural when I draw them, and it makes the hybrid Sim-aliens more unique and less "normal guy but green". This also affects everything that your normal blood would affect though, so I have to keep in mind that their everything is blue. Veins in the eyes, eye bags, injuries and scars, body tissues (like the mouth), blushes, sunburns, bruises, basically anything that would normally be purple/red/pink in a normal human is teal/blue.
Hope y'all enjoyed the autism thought slop I just dumped on you. Most of this info is stuff I read on Wikipedia or just a surface level understanding of human anatomy. Don't quote me on it + feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.
Also, all of this is headcanon nonsense, there's no objectively right or wrong answer. I'm just a nerd and love having really excessive lore explanations for the creative liberties I take. If you like your aliens red-blooded, I dig it. I just find it personally less of a headache on my end to go this route.
I really need to go to bed have a great night folks
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Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]
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A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜
Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.
Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.
Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”
Word count: 6.2k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
Taglist: ​​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ @seabasscevans​ @tsujifreya​ 
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜
You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?
You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.
“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.
“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”
“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”
Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.
You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.
You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.
Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.
“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”
“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”
“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”
“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.
“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”
“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don’t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”
They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.
You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.
Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.
“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”
You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”
“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.
“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.
“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”
“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”
“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”
Jace is intrigued. “No?”
“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.
Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.
The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.
Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.
You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”
“A rum and Coke?”
“No.”
“Like…white powder coke?”
“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”
“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.
The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.
I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.
One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.
“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”
“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”
He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”
“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”
You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.
Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”
“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”
You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.
“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.
“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.
“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”
Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.
You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”
The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.
“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”
“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”
You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”
“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.
And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.
You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”
Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”
You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”
“You’ve been gone.”
He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”
“You know what I meant.”
Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”
Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not���” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”
You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.
“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”
“No,” you answer immediately.
“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”
“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”
“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”
You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”
“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”
“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”
“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”
“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”
“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”
“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”
Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”
“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”
Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”
“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.
Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”
“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.
There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”
People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”
“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”
“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.
“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”
“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”
And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”
You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”
“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”
Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”
“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.
“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”
“No,” he says again instantly.
“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”
“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”
“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”
He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.
As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.
Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”
“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”
Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”
“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”
“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.
Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.
At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”
“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”
On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.
While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.
It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.
You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.
It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.
You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?
There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.
And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.
You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.
You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.
The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.
“Make me.”
She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”
You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”
“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”
You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”
“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”
“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”
“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”
“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”
“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”
“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.
You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.
At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.
As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.
You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.
“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”
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optionalwarninglabels · 2 months ago
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Bookbinding: Corrie Red by musicmillenia
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Finished my first quatro! Corrie Red by musicmillennia (@wreathedinscales) is an excellent fic for anyone who enjoys Clone Wars and Lovecraftian horror. I had a really fun time designing the cover on this one - trees and blood play a heavy role to the plot so I found a branch pattern I could cut up that also looked similar to veins. I discovered by accident a while back that if you don't let leather dye sit for 24+ hours before sealing, it will bleed into the sealant and give you a rust-like look. This time I tried to do it on purpose and it turned out pretty much exactly like I wanted! Could have bled a bit more, but I'm happy with the results.
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Some folks have made some amazing fanart for this series, so I made sure to incorporate it when possible. What I couldn't match to scenes is in a gallery section.
Fonts used in this project include:
FStein (title and chapter headings)
Minion Pro (body)
R'lyehian (linebreaks - yes, it spells Corrie Red because I wasn't feeling inventive)
Courier New (medical logs later on in the story)
This was also a great project learning how printers translate different colors of black and white and what they do with that when printing. If anyone knows how to convince my printer it didn't need to give a very gentle highlight to the quotes at the beginning of each chapter, I would love to hear about it.
A big thank you to musicmillennia/@wreathedinscales for writing such a fantastic story! This series has been so fun to follow and see what it inspires.
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devrreader · 4 months ago
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even though i think cardigan is the most taylor swift sizzy coded song, i also find maroon veeery fitting. it’s also my favorite taylor song in general so i might be biased lmao but yeah! thought i’d do this :p
sizzy and maroon by taylor swift song analysis <3 lyrics here
the first verse reminds me of when they were dating in city of lost souls. i always thought that the vinyl shelf could be easily associated with simon's apartment because he would have lots of vinyls. and with how much time he and izzy were spending together, they fit into the "like you were my closest friend" box. and simon lived with his roommate, jordan, at this point. “your roommate’s cheap ass screw top rosé”: that scene in cols where jordan offers izzy his (cheap) tequila and she starts going on a rant on how she drunkenly realizes how much she likes simon. also, with the whole sebastian deal going on, they were together every day, "i see you every day now."
i think the second verse would be more fitting with the tales from the shadowhunters academy timeline. with taylor hinting at a conflict/fight, this would be simon and izzy during the first half of the book, where, quoting, "Every time she showed up on campus, they fought; every time, he was sorry to see her go." during their very first fight isabelle was almost crying, "sobbing with your head in your hands". i also have found two other interesting (?) associations. "carnations you had thought were roses, that's us." in city of heavenly fire, when the whole tmi gang had visions while entering the demon realm, simon felt odd throughout all of his. his mother sends him flowers, he initially sees hydrangeas, and finds it weird. then his, i'm assuming, conscience, makes him see roses (which, fun note, are also izzy’s favorite flowers). and it happens again, when he tells clary (physically present in the vision) that he loves her, he doesn't tell it to clary. he tells it to isabelle. "It snapped me out of the vision, when I said your name. Because I knew the vision was wrong. It wasn't what I really wanted." and then, "the rubies that i gave up" would be him "giving up" on his relationship with isabelle (ruby necklace) at the start of tftsa because he felt that he wasn't good enough for her.
now, the bridge is definitely isabelle. it's isabelle after simon sacrificed his memories and she realizes she doesn't even know how to move on. "It's even worse than if he were dead. If he were dead, I could grieve […] I should be happy. But I'm not happy." she continuously wakes up alone knowing what they had and that it doesn’t exist anymore, (at least, that’s what she thought.)
the chorus. it’s important to note how taylor writes “chose” in the first chorus and “lost” in the second. after they started dating, izzy kept choosing simon every time. chose to forgive him after the maia thing. chose to spend time with him. chose to stick with him in whatever plan the mission required. chose him over and over again even after she effectively lost him in cohf. and i think she realized she lost him in the first few chapters of tftsa, after they danced in new york at the wedding in the epilogue.
then red/maroon is a recurring color in their whole relationship. blood, roses, lipstick, rubies, bar lights, hearts. “the blood rushed into my cheeks” izzy’s cheeks were always betraying her, even when she wanted to look tough. rereading some scenes she was really blushing all the time when around simon it was almost hilarious. “the mark they saw on my collarbone” she still has the vampire bite scar on her neck, and the moment she got it was probably one of the most important ones in her (and their) development. “the rust that grew between telephones” im assuming izzy still had his number memorized on her phone during the gap between tftsa-cohf and it was useless. simon remained unreachable. “the lips i used to call home so scarlet” when they reconcile during pale kings and princes, simon realized the home he’d been looking for for months was really just izzy. izzy with the scarlet lips <3. “Losing himself to Izzy—could it be that this was the only way to really find himself? Could it be that this, here, was home?”
maroon (the color) is used as a metaphor for the rush of memories, memories both simon and izzy had, even in different ways. the sky being maroon is seeing those memories clearly even with eyes closed. and it’s definitely something both of them went through, during the end of cohf-first tftsa chapters.
i really wanted this to be longer but tumblr wouldn’t let me lol. enjoy me going insane in real time ! <3
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fairy-writes · 1 year ago
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congrats on your milestone!! <3 can I ask dialogue prompt 15 for dazai please?
HANDSOME STRANGER
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Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!
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Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs
Pairing(s): Dazai Osamu x Female!Reader
Prompt: “I don’t have any interest in fraternizing with handsome strangers.” (Dialogue Prompt #15)
Notes: Female!Reader, Dazai-Typical Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Torture, Mentions of Injuries
I literally have no idea how to tag this… 
ALSO CATCH MY DOCTOR WHO QUOTE (again, lol)
TW for depictions of injuries received from torture.
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Dazai Osamu was an enigma to you. 
Former Port Mafia Executive. 
Current Armed Detective Agency Member. 
And the man currently being interrogated (tortured) by your boss. 
You remained in your office, stitching up a lower-level gang member who had brought a knife to a gunfight. Literally. He had brought a switchblade to a fight with revolvers and pistols. Shaking your head, you clipped and tied off the end of the thread. How stupid could one person be?
Dazai made a noise of pain in the other room. Just on the edge of your hearing as if he was trying to stifle it, but it was there nonetheless. Your heart twanged in sympathy. Whatever information they were trying to get out of him, it sounded like it wasn’t going well. 
He was brought to you nearly four hours later. 
You had been mindlessly organizing your medical supplies in your various cabinets in your makeshift office the entire time. 
Perhaps “office” was too kind a word. It was more of a closet in the run-down building. There was an examination table in one corner, cabinets for supplies along the other, and a rusted sink in the final corner that didn’t have a door. 
The door to said office banged open, and Dazai was dragged in with arms hooked under his armpits. His head lolled to the side, and blood dripped from a head wound at his temple.
In a split second, you were on your feet, helping the tall and lanky man onto your examination table. His tan coat is missing, and he is mumbling something incoherent under his breath. His skin was pale, and you were certain at least two of his fingers were broken, the nails missing from six of them.
“Fix him.” Your boss huffed, and you gritted your teeth. You hated it when they did this. Tortured people and then expected you to magically fix them up. You weren’t the famed Armed Detective Agency’s doctor. You didn’t even have an ability. You were just an ordinary doctor trying to pay off a debt your father had left you with when he died. 
“I’ll do my best.” You reply, and your head is whipped to the side with a painful slap to the face. Your boss’s hand is still raised, and you look back in shock as you cradle your already swelling cheek.
“Your best isn’t good enough. You will fix him. We still have plans for him yet.” He growls and leaves with a flourish of his trench coat. 
You turn back to your patient, who is slowly coming to. You wash your hands in the sink, slide on nitrile gloves, grab some disinfectant for his injuries, and lastly, some bandages to fix him up. You’d have to replace the rest of the wrappings already on his person. They were soiled with dirt and blood, and you could see where the restraints used on him had frayed the bandages around his wrists. 
Just as you began to stitch close the head wound, his right hand shot out and gripped your wrist, effectively stopping what you were doing. The grip is tight, almost painful. 
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His voice is dark and dangerous. His eyes aren’t even open yet. You huff,
“I’m trying to patch you up, jackass. Now lay back down before you tear the stitches I’m slaving away for.” You snap, already fed up with his attitude. Former Port Mafia Executive or not, he was still your patient. 
Dazai does indeed lay down and let you work after that. 
You finish stitching up his head and move on to his missing fingernails. They are still bleeding, so you assume it must have been one of the more recent torture techniques they utilized. You leave his side momentarily to grab some petroleum jelly and some nonstick bandages to apply to his fingers. 
That turned out to be a mistake. 
You are spun around to face Dazai, and a scalpel is held to your carotid artery, his hand at the base of your throat. 
“Why are you helping me?” He demands, eyes calculating and analyzing your every move. You inhale, panicked, and more than a little scared. 
You couldn’t die here. 
“Like I said before. I’m in charge of patching you up.” You blurt, and he narrows his eyes.
“So they can torture me again?” He asks, and you nod, wincing as the scalpel starts to bite into your skin. He cocks his head, taking in your answer before abruptly letting go, and you slide down the wall to sit on the floor. 
You had almost died at his hand. And that thought terrified you. 
You didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not until you fulfilled your goals as rudimentary and simple as they were. 
Dazai sat on the examination table and flourished his arms, splattering crimson against the wall from his bloody fingers. 
“Well then, patch me up, Doc.” He says with a sardonic grin, and you get to your feet, change gloves, and get back to work.
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The next time you see Dazai is two days later. They had allowed him a day to recuperate, keeping him under lock and key with multiple thugs stationed outside his room.
How kind of them. 
He looks worse than before when he is dragged in. His left eye is swollen shut and bruised, and his right flutters as he stares at the ceiling. He has eyelashes that any woman would be jealous of. 
Stop getting distracted. Now isn’t the time. 
“Why haven’t you escaped yet? I know you can.” You ask as Dazai sits in silence. He’s unexpectedly solemn, not at all like the womanizer you had heard of through the grapevine of criminals. He was known for being an expert at information gathering, going to any lengths to recover said information, and even sleeping with people to get what he wanted. 
Was he doing that here? Not sleeping with people. But getting information.
“I suppose I’m waiting for my knight in shining armor.” He muses, stiffening when you apply petroleum jelly to his fingers. They must still be tender. You lighten your touch, and as soon as you’re done, you change gloves and check his stitches. An icepack is retrieved next. You crack it and let the chemical reaction cool down the packaging. You gently place it over his eye, and he hisses. 
“You don’t need a knight in shining armor. You’re too cool for that.” You mumble, more to yourself than anything else. But he hears it and perks up.
“You think I’m cool?” He asks, and you blink at the sudden change in personality. But then, a thought occurs to you. Was he trying to get you to spill intel on your boss? Would you even be willing to give him those details?
“If you’re trying to get information out of me, it won’t work. I’m not privy to that kind of knowledge.” You say simply, and he cocks his head. 
He does that a lot. 
“But you’re a very likable person Doc. I can see a lot of people telling you just about anything you want to know.” He says, and you bark out a laugh,
“About as likable as a cactus, maybe. I’ve been told I’m particularly prickly.” You reply, and it’s his turn to chuckle.
You try to ignore the stuttering of your heart at the sound.
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The third time you talk to Dazai, it’s in his cell. 
You had convinced (bribed and threatened) the thugs outside to leave you alone with him for a few moments so you could check on his injuries without being judged. If they had their way, Dazai would have been dead and buried a long time ago. That was the only intel you had gathered. 
When you told Dazai, he frowned,
“What a terrible way to die.” He spat, and you look on in confusion,
“What’s your ideal way to die, then?” You find yourself asking, genuinely curious. Dazai hums, leaning his head back against the wall.
“I suppose to commit double suicide with a beautiful woman.” He muses, turning to look you directly in the eye. 
You stiffen and lean back, but part of what he said caught your attention.
“You think I’m beautiful?” You whisper, and he grins,
“The most beautiful thing in here, Doc. Now, what do you say?” He asks, and you shake your head.
“I don’t have any interest in fraternizing with handsome strangers.” You reply cheekily, and his smile turns almost warm,
“You think I’m handsome?” He teases, and you nod,
“The most handsome thing in here, Dazai.” You reply, and his smile falls, blinking in surprise as if not expecting the answer.
He doesn’t say another word to you the rest of the time you’re there with him. 
And you don’t see him again until three days later.
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The sound of gunshots makes you jump, knocking over your jar of cotton swabs and falling to the ground as your office door bursts open. You pull out your pistol from the waistband of your trousers as someone appears. 
A man with a long blond ponytail stands in the doorway. His glasses and suit are immaculate, not stained by dust or blood as you expected in a gunfight. He catches your eye and turns,
“Dazai! She’s in here!” He bellows, and there are quick footsteps before Dazai appears.
“Come with me.” He says, holding a bandaged hand out to you. You loosened your hold on your pistol, almost dropping it before flinching at the sound of shouting down the hall. 
Then… without any doubt… you grabbed his hand, and he led you out of the hellhole that had been your life for the last seven years.
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monsterblogging · 10 months ago
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Quotes from the Pacific Rim commentary re: Guillermo del Toro's aesthetic decisions
"You cannot do world creation without filling in with texture and detail."
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"People think that world creation - movie, for example - is the big gestures. But it isn't. It's all this small details. Look at the markings. Look at the vehicles that open the doors. Look at the banners and the markings in the crawler that moves the robot. Everything is full of detail. We designed this."
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"We going to what I call gothic tech, or goth tech. Which is to go right away into a world that is rusting, that is in decay, where you have the concrete is cheap, the paint is chipping off, the armors in the robots is dented, it's sort of pitted and they feel like knights, like these ancient knights, and we start accumulating, for example, atmosphere."
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"I wanted the movie to be very romantic, but not romantic in the Harlequin novel sense or the romance novel sense of the word. I wanted it to be romantic in its epicness. You know, I wanted it to feel like an opera. I wanted it to feel dramatic. So instead of doing this in a well-lit street in New York I wanted this first fight to happen in an almost like, the middle of a romantic painting, like Caspar David Friedrich is a romantic painter I adore. And I wanted very much for it to happen in the rain in the middle of a tempest in an ocean where the waves are crashing into them. And the water throughout the movie becomes an incredibly complex expressive element."
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"We're going to go from the biggest, the widest, to the little bug of a pilot crawling out of the helmet. Isolate Raleigh. You know, we isolate Raleigh. I'm telling the story: Look at the markings on his suit, the burn marks on his skin, those are going to become scars that he's going to carry for the rest of the movie. And I'm telling you this is when we started losing. This was the price for arrogance, this was the price for youth, and we're staining the white with red. I'm trying to build a character not just by the work of the actor, but by the storytelling with audiovisual elements."
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"And look at this, Raleigh's all introduced in this one color, he'd golden, gold colors, and he's all coated in warm greens and earth tones and the light that is bathing him is always golden, and it's about that color coming together with Mako's dominant color, and Pentecost in this case, which is connected with Mako, which are blue."
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"So this, we come to the scene where they meet for the first time. And I have color-coded this scene entirely in those two colors, in the blue and the ambers. You know, the bright ambers and the blue, the sort of cyan blue. And this is Mako meeting Raleigh, so the entire thing needs to be color-coded like that. And Mako's blue, because I'm making her origin to the kaiju, the kaiju blue, the blood of the kaiju - but also you will see in a few minutes a memory. A memory that is all color-coded in blue and splashes of red in her past as a child. And that blue has stained her hair. Even her hair has this strands of blue because she cannot get rid of that memory. She carries it in her."
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"We color-coded, for example, the Chinese robot, we color-coded it red and gold and is patterned after medieval armor, and it needs to feel Chinese in essence, it needs to respond to martial arts movements; its musical theme is very strong."
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"And here again we have now a robot, a Jaeger, that is designed, a mech that is designed to resemble a T-series Russian tank, color-coded like that, with like a cooling tower from a nuclear reactor on top."
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"And we introduce Striker Eureka, the Australian Jaeger, which is designed a little bit like an all-terrain vehicle and color-coded with the outback camouflage colors and is the most masculine of the robots, of the Jaegers, of the mech, and is very much testosterone-driven."
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"We talked about the color red; well, here it becomes very important. We have these characters fighting that is very very color-coded to be warm; we have a lot of reddish art direction here. We color-coded this arena in black and red. The stakes, the wood, the machines, the color of the light hitting the machines, the symbols on the wall, everything is permeated with red. Because again, I wanted red to symbolize sort of the heart. And Mako's going to find her heart and Raleigh's going to find his heart, or life, by connecting with Mako. We saw him bleeding - the last time we saw red with any importance other than the Chinese robot was when he was bleeding in the beach."
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"And again, red coming in and linking these three characters; these three characters are the heart of the movie, you know. And blood for nobility and mortality is what makes us human. And Pentecost and Raleigh and Mako are the heart of the film."
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"And now we start bringing, literally, bringing the crazy colors into the film. I wanted to color code this movie, bring it as close as possible to a living anime, or a living incarnation of a magazine that was very important for me growing up, which is Heavy Metal with Angus McKie, Richard Corben, Chris Foss, all these guys working with super primary colors, and I wanted to bring that saturation of colors to this, and for that I needed Hannibal Chau to meet Newt in Hong Kong."
...
"In shooting the film, we then came to the final moment and again, these three characters, Mako, Raleigh, and Pentecost, which have existed in a blue-amber world start to come to a red space, you know? This is the first time we used this red space properly in this film. Other than the Chinese robot, we were very careful with not coding anything in red. But now, at the end of the adventure, everybody's coming away. And at the end of the life, at the end of their life, that is Mako, Raleigh, everybody's gonna find this light is red. And now I can talk to you about the way I sort of organized the three fights for Raleigh. I wanted one fight with the kaiju to be the fight where he loses someone. He loses his brother in the beginning. That's where he bleeds red, you know? Then the second fight in Hong Kong is where he gains a partner. He loses a partner in the first fight, he gains a partner on the second fight. And in this final fight, he saves that partner. So, it's a full circle. I show him in the construction area in the beginning sitting in a sort of throne of concrete, if you remember, when he meets Pentecost; he made an incomplete circle. And here he completes that circle."
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distinguishedwitchparadise · 9 months ago
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✨More WTTT incorrect quote✨
Massachusetts: I have one brain cell and it bounces around in my skull like a windows screen saver. 
Massachusetts: When it hits a corner perfect, I’m allowed one good idea.
pennsylvania: *hiding something in their coat* I think we should adopt another kid! 
Gov: No. 
pennsylvania: Why not? 
Gov: Because when you say “kid”, you mean “cat”, and we already have fifteen of those. 
pennsylvania: *unzips coat* Sixteen.
louisiana: What did you get on your shirt? 
New York: Rust. 
louisiana: From what? 
New York: Weapons. 
Massachusetts: Time for more adult supervision.
pennsylvania: Are you okay? 
Gov, crying: Yeah, it was just the onions. 
pennsylvania: *Picks up an onion* What the fuck did you say to Gov?
New York: I am an expert at identifying birds. 
Florida: Okay, what about those ones flying over there? 
New York: Yeah, they're all birds.
California, rushing into the room: It’s terrible, just terrible! I am so upset! 
New York: California, honey, sit down! Sweetheart, tell us all about it. Mass, would you get california some water? 
Massachusetts: What are they gonna do with water? Has water ever made you feel better when you were upset? Have you ever heard anyone say, “Thank God, the water’s here!”?
Massachusetts, gently nudging CDC aside with their foot: CDC, move out of the way so I don’t trip on you. 
CDC, their eyes enormous: You kick CDC? You kick their body like the football? Oh! Oh! Jail for Massachusetts! Jail for Massachusetts for one thousand years!
CDC, at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and and I'm not afraid to leave the same way.
Connecticut, to the Squad: The real secret to immortality? Not dying. You want to be immortal? Okay, that’s easy. Just don’t die. That’s it. Refuse to die. There you go. 
New York: But how- 
Connecticut, ignoring them: “But how”, you may ask. Well, easy. Just don’t do it. Refuse to. Say “no thanks”.
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relaxxattack · 6 months ago
Note
Do you have headcanon/ideas about cobalt/ceruleans as a class that you think hiveswap gets wrong?
you know, it may surprise you, but i actually don't have many.
i actually really like all the ceruleans in hiveswap. none of them are insanely interesting or anything, and obviously none of them cold even come close to holding a candle to vriska-- but who could, really? vriska is supposed to be a stand-out character. it makes total sense that other ceruleans would seem boring in comparison.
i like that most of them are just conniving bitches. that's about what i would expect from the blue-blooded caste. in fact, i wish more of the indigos were like that-- it's weird to me that the indigos seem so carefree and less cutthroat. maybe wealth will do that to you. but it's not as if they're seadwellers...
i think my one note would be that i hate this remark mallek makes in his route where he basically acts like a little pissbaby and tries to claim that ceruleans have it really hard compared to indigos.
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yeah of course indigos have it better than ceruleans-- they are on the rung above them. but ceruleans are not "barely blue". ceruleans ARE blue. ceruleans are bluebloods. they are well off little fuckers and it's so strange that hiveswap acts like bluebloods need to scrounge to get by... because they don't.
i mean, casual reminder that vriska lived in a fucking castle. one that was nearly equal to her neighbor equius next because they're both... bluebloods.
however did you know there's a caste that IS on the edge of blueness? who has to work hard in their field to be respected and treated well? because, while they are technically blueish, they sit on the line of it and will get a side eye about it?
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that's right, tealbloods. i mean teal is literally the fucking intersection between green and blue anyway so you'd think that would be more obvious.
as you can see in this quote terezi gets grouped in with bluebloods frequently because she counts as one (perhaps especially in the POV of rusts like aradia). aradia even has to clarify that she means no offense to terezi specifically when she calls bluebloods "hateful snobs".
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you can also see here that terezi literally uses blueblood slang and is mocked somewhat for that. this is because she does, again, technically count as a blueblood.
so yeah that's my one issue with the hiveswap ceruleans. it's weird that they try to go with the "ceruleans have it really hard within the blueblood group" when there was already a setup for that with tealbloods in homestuck proper. it just sort of makes it sound like mallek is a whiny little bitch lol.
making the eye mutations thing common is also a little silly to me personally, (yet another case of using the personality traits of the betas to account for the entire caste), but it's cute so whatever.
other than that though i'm a big fan of them, they're a really fun amount of awful when they aren't boring.
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ratsoh-writes · 5 months ago
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Ratsoh's weekly newsletter!
Characters in relationships:
Honey
Salt
Sparks
Mal
Cash
Pop
Rhythm
Pluto
Jupiter
Lilac
Coffee
Pretty much all the mafias except tempest
Moose
Peaches
Alden
Cricket
Compass
Pitch
Ram
Jasper
Artemis
Lush
Rust
Special exceptions
Red/oak: are soulbonded together but if someone’s brave enough to try and seduce both of them it could happen
Current kids in play:
Leo: lush and kei
Rosie Fran Bruno: rust and Ann
Theo Berlin: butch darlin snipe
Winnie: sugar
The quadruplets: kovu
Lacey: Marcelo and the harem lol
Swing: pop E
Akira: katana sparks
Ollie: Nicky honey salt
Current issues/drama
Recently butch has run into a skeleton monster who eerily reminds him of … well himself. He thinks he might have found another hidden child of roulette. Word has spread to the rest of the family now and don and madame are attempting to track the possible family down.
There’s been strange activity around the caverns of Ridgeside. Some claim to hear a strange humming some nights as well as the ground shaking! Some of the guard were previously sent to investigate and have discovered a secret MASSIVE nest of magical locusts. the outbreak has been contained, as the effect would have been devastating for farmers all over ebott if the nest had been allowed to grow and take flight. There are talks over what to do with the bugs now.
Two monsters and a mage were recently arrested for attempted robbery and murder. It was discovered they were part of a plot designed by another bitter drake monster to take out business rivals from her own au. The mastermind has since been apprehended although her identity is being kept secret from the public.
A publication by one of the royal scientists has monsters taking sides as it was discovered that monster lines who dont have human blood within a certain amount of generations magic will slowly dwindle causing the fertility problems that most aus struggle with. Racial tensions are high between monsters and humans as many deny the papers as a political move while others claim the papers invalidate the beliefs of the first.
charm has been practically in hiding these days as the recent papers published quoted his own studies from his scientist days several times. Thankfully he sugar and winnie were allowed to stay with lush and his family for the time being until all the attention on him dies down.
Positive news:
The venue for the freedom festival has taken tips from the previous golden festival and will once again take place in Portland to make it more hadal accessible. Due to some injuries last year, the official freedom matches will only allow professional dualists allowed. as this will shorten the matches by quite a lot, several different combat based competitions like wrestling, fencing, boxing and some agility courses will also be available to the public.
baby Lior, the child of the royals Asgore and Toriel will be making his first public appearance this freedom festival. security this year is said will be tighter than ever.
In light of the publications made about human and monster relationships, the royal Empress recently came out as having soulbonded to her human husband, ambassador Louis Du Hamel- now Louis Dreemur. It is the first recorded instance of a human being named a royal consort or taking on any sort of royl related role in history.
Baby ozzy is now a walking toddler! he's a bit clumsy but is loving the freedom of toddling around. adorable, simply adorable.
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askinkiskarma · 2 years ago
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The Archer | Chapter V: This Is Me Trying
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X
Summary: A vision Neteyam sees at the Spirit Tree puts a strain on your relationship and leaves more questions than answers. Another RDA atrocity leaves the Metkayina reeling and sets in motion events whose consequences will haunt you forever.
Pairings: Neteyam x Avatar!Reader
Word Count: 11.6k words
Warnings/notes: smut(18+, minors DNI!), angst, mentions of death, blood, violence, cursing, SPOILERS for ATWOW
A/N: This is it, the chapter where it all goes to shit! I am very excited to explore the second half of the movie and put my own little spin on it. I hope you enjoy where the story is going and are as excited as I am for what's in store. The song the reader sings to Tuk is important for the story, as are all the lyrics I put in it, and if you replace the river with Eywa, it all fitsss! Why am I seeing Eywa in Frozen 2 we'll never know, but here we are. Also, whilst the beginning quote usually speaks to the reader's feelings, this one I felt fit all of the three POV characters in the particular hardships each of them are going through. Ok I'll stop rambling enjoy thank you for asking to be tagged and liking and reblogging and replying ily byee
I've been having a hard time adjusting, I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting
And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad, I have a lot of regrets about that
And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound
It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you
You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town
And I just wanted you to know that this is me trying
The next day, the tension between Lo’ak and Ao’nung seemed to dissipate, and you knew whatever happened after Lo’ak took off was enough to mend a relationship you thought was too broken to ever recover. Boys, you rolled your eyes. They would almost kill each other, and it would all be forgotten the next day. You and the rest of the Sullys, as well as Rot’xo, Tsireya and Ao’nung were hanging out by the beach, as Lo’ak recounted his encounter with the tulkun that saved his life.
“I wish I’d been there. The ocean blessed you with a gift, brother.”
“The tulkun have not returned yet. And anyway, no tulkun is ever alone.”
“This one was. It had a…a missing fin, like a stump on the left side.” Lo’ak was looking only at Tsireya when he spoke, like she was the only one there. She was also enraptured by his presence, and fear flashed across her features as the realisation hit.
“Payakan. It’s Payakan.”
“Who’s Payakan?” Kiri asks, a concerned look on her face.
“A young bull who went rogue. He’s outcast, alone. And he has a missing fin.”
“They say he is a killer.” Tsireya looked at your brother almost in pain, pleading Lo’ak to hear her.
“He killed Na’vi, and other tulkun…not here, but far to the South.” 
You and Neteyam exchanged a look, worried for your baby brother who was in such proximity with an apparent monster. 
“No, he’s no killer.”
Tsireya reached for Lo’ak’s arm, and you watched as he wrapped his hand around her wrist, holding her intimately. 
“Lo’ak… you are lucky to be alive.”
“I’m telling you guys, he saved my life. He’s my friend.” 
You saw your mate get up from his spot to place his hands on his brother’s shoulder, a desperate attempt to defuse an increasingly tense situation. 
“My baby bro, the mighty warrior who faced the killer tulkun, and lived to tell about it.”
Lo’ak pushed himself away from Neteyam’s grasp, evident annoyance and frustration emanating from his whole body. 
“You guys aren’t listening.” 
Tuk, who was nestled in your lap, spoke in the cute voice that made you melt on the spot.“Lo’ak, I’m listening…” 
“Lo’ak, come back…” you tried to call after him, but it was too late.
“You skxawng.” You heard Kiri say as your brother walked away. 
You gently removed Tuk from your lap and got up, determined to not leave him alone. He was alone far too often, and you wanted him to know he didn’t have to do this by himself. Neteyam gave you a look, and you knew he felt hurt that you were leaving him for his brother, and hurt that he knew Lo’ak would much rather prefer your presence to his. He always had, ever since you were all children. 
You ran across the beach and caught him right as he was getting in the water. 
“Wait up, you irk.” He didn’t stop until he hit the water, and you had to physically arrest him with your hand around his arm. 
“Lo’ak!” 
“Why does nobody ever believe me? Why doesn’t she believe me?” 
Of course this was about Tsireya. You smiled a little at your oblivious baby brother. 
“She does believe you, you skxawng, she’s just worried about you.”
He turned instantly in his spot. 
“You think?” 
You rolled your eyes and huffed a frustrated exhale. You called for an ilu and motioned for him to get on his own. 
“Come, I want to meet this Payakan.” 
You could tell Lo’ak was annoyed he had to wait for you, as you were not as fast or experienced in the water as he was, and needed to come up for air a lot more, but he didn’t complain. As you reached Three Brothers Rocks, he called loudly for Payakan, and you felt like an earthquake engulfed you as the massive creature surfaced. You were still a little scared by the tulkun, holding on tightly to your ilu, but you believed your brother - you trusted him, and you wanted him to know that. 
Lo’ak immediately jumped from his ilu and onto the fin of the tulkun, which could comfortably fit a few Na’vi on it. He closed up on Payakan’s eye, and spoke looking closely into it.
“It’s good to see you.” Through sign language, Lo’ak continued speaking to his new friend. “Why are you outcast? What happened?”
You heard Payakan make a trilling sound you couldn’t understand, but you knew from the Metkayina they had their own complex language that you hoped in time you could master somehow. 
“I trust you. You can trust me.” 
The tulkun gave another trill that sounded quite content, and you smiled at the real connection that blossomed between these two. You saw Lo’ak smile a gummy, wide, genuine smile, and you couldn’t remember the last time you last saw it. The thought made you sad, but you pushed it aside. 
“I want to introduce you to someone.” Your brother motioned for you to dismount your ilu and follow him, which you did cautiously. 
As you reached his eye, you brought you fingers to your forehead and signalled an “I see you” to the mighty creature and smiled as it pushed its massive head a little closer to you. 
“This is my sister.” You saw Lo’ak signal. You were both hanging on the fin when you felt it being lowered, and your brother told you to take a deep breath and hold on. 
The next few hours were some of the most spectacular of your life, as you allowed Payakan to carry you around on his massive fin, feeling similar to how you did when flying at high speeds on top of your beautiful ikran. You mostly watched though, feeling as though Lo’ak deserves this moment for himself, deserves this connection that is his and his alone. 
Eventually, they returned and you both got on top of him, sunbathing on his back while he floated away peacefully. 
“So… Tsireya, huh?” 
You smiled as Lo’ak turned purple. 
“It’s ok, Lo’ak. You can talk to me.” 
“I feel weird talking about this with you.” 
“Oh…” you felt a little hurt at the comment, but decided not to push. “You don’t have to, I just thought you might like to. I don’t want you to feel alone, or like you can’t tell me things.” 
“I would like to, it’s just, I have loved you my whole life, and for so long I thought that there was a chance that you and I might…” he shook his head, like he was trying to push the idea out of his mind, before continuing. 
“It was weird between us, for a while, it was hard for me to watch you with my brother, knowing you were just one more thing he got that I didn’t… just one more thing he beat me at.” 
“I’m not a prize you win at a carnival, you know?” You raised your eyebrow in his direction, a little indignant at his comments.
“I know… what I’m saying is that it is just a little strange for me, in light of everything we have been through. But I want to talk to you, if you want to listen.” 
Neteyam decided there was no point in dwelling on his brother, or on you, both of whom were adults, and able to make your own decisions - and if that decision meant abandoning him and the rest of them on the day you were all supposed to go see the Cove of the Ancestors for the first time, then so be it. 
With a small sigh, he got up from the ground and helped his sister up. Kiri eyed him intently, trying to gauge how bad his mood was, and right now, he couldn’t tell. He just knew he wanted to go, and calm down before he even thought about it further. 
“Let’s go, it will be eclipse soon and I think you will really like it.” 
He was excited to see the spirit tree, excited to see how it would differ from Vitraya Ramunong. He was excited to see what Eywa had to show him, what vision or dream he would be transported to this time. He tried not to dwell on the last time, the one he saw Auntie Jo and how she told him you were almost dead, tried not to dwell on the memories of seeing you in that room, a small and frail human, tubes protruding in and out of you like a nightmare he couldn’t wait wake up from. 
They all got on their own ilu, except from Tuk who got on Kiri’s, and when they were all ready, they left. Neteyam was still amazed at the underwater beauty of this world, so unlike his own, but just as mesmerising, and he wondered if he would ever get used to it - ever not have his heart pick up speed in his chest at all the colours and the fish, at the coral and the reflections of the sun on the surface of the water, on his skin. When they resurfaced, Neteyam saw floating islands, that brought him back home a little, to the miracle of the Hallelujah mountains, although these were a little different, much smaller and flatter, and he thought with a swell of pride that although the beauty of this corner of the world was unparalleled, there still was nothing to top his own. 
He took it all in, feeling all the resentment and anger melt away at the sight, arcades reaching peaks he could barely see, and the shift in the air reminded him a lot of the Tree of Souls - he felt Eywa in it, knew she was here, with them, right now. His thoughts lingered on you, on the fact you were missing this, that his brother was missing this, and how much he knows you would have enjoyed it. He imagined your face, glowing in surprise and awe, mouth agape and eyes wide, your ears flickering animatedly and freckles glowing stronger than usual, and he felt the pang of jealousy and hurt return in full force, fighting with his conscious mind that was telling him to let it go. 
“This is the Cove of the Ancestors. Our most sacred place.“
Neteyam felt blinded by the sun as eclipse was starting to set in. He put a hand in front of his face to relieve some of the discomfort, and when he removed it, he was once again in unadulterated shock at the seascape beneath him. Bioluminescent glow brought light to the entire cove, purple and pink and blue. 
“This is it. This is the Spirit Tree.”
The tree was resting on the ocean floor, and unlike their own, it was adorned with enormous leaves, reminiscent of delicate sea anemone. They dove in, each of them choosing their own, and he reached for his queue, gently bringing it forward to form the Tsaheylu. He felt air fill his lungs as the tree was providing a way to maintain the bond for longer underwater, and he was grateful as he always was, for Eywa and the way this planet worked together to maintain balance and a sense of communion among all its inhabitants. 
He felt it instantly, being transported through space and time, through dimensions into a higher one, higher than his own, higher than he’ll ever know until his death. 
He woke up outside of the clearing, your clearing, back in the forest, and his heart constricted at the sight. The smell of the wood and wet ground, the moisture in the air from the morning dew, the constant buzzing and humming of life all around him, the feel of the grass on his feet that he wiggled, trying to memorise the sensations it evoked in him. 
He heard the unmistakable sound of a guitar, and a song he has never heard before playing, muffled voice breaking through the rest of the quiet sounds. He rushed to it, excited to see you, even in this universe, parallel to his own, you were still the only light guiding him. He was going to call for you, when the voice caught in his throat and his mouth remained agape, too surprised to remember to close it. It was you, but not as he has known you for a year now. It was human you, sick you, pale and skinny, wet from unshed rain, hair clinging to your bony back. You didn’t turn to face him, continuing to play the song that rang painful in his ears now, like it didn’t belong - like you didn’t belong. 
Our coming-of-age has come and gone
Suddenly this summer, it's clear
I never had the courage of my convictions
As long as danger is near
And it's just around the corner, darling
'Cause it lives in me
No, I could never give you peace
“Atan?”
You stopped playing and finally turned to him, and he hated seeing you like this, brittle and frail, so unlike the you he knows and loves, so unlike your soul, which shone brightly and stood tall. A kaleidoscope of emotions crossed your features as you took him in, a mix of fear, and happiness, wonder and anguish, all fighting for supremacy on your face. 
“How are you here?” 
“How am I here, how are you here, Atan? What is going on?” 
“It’s good to see you. I missed you.” 
Neteyam was so confused, his mind was mush trying to understand what was going on. He saw you slowly wander towards him, a soft smile on your face as you seemed to make up your mind about which feelings plagued you seeing him in front of you. 
As you approached him, he tried to not focus on your ghastly features that he still had nightmares thinking about at night before bed, and he thanked Eywa for bringing you back to him, healthy and strong again. 
You reached a hand for his face, that you stroke gently, and he couldn’t help lean into your touch, still familiar and necessary, even in this strange world, in this uneasy scenario. 
“You shouldn’t be here, Neteyam. I am so happy to see you again, but you need to go.” 
You were as tall as him, he mused. Even in your human body, you were as tall as you were in your Na’vi form, top of head reaching his chin, and he took you in his arms and into a hug, that he needed desperately. 
“I don’t understand, Atan. What is happening?” 
You hugged him back, as tightly as you could in this body that was falling apart in front of him, and pulled back, resting a hand above his heart, a soft tear falling down your cheek. 
“Neteyam, I don’t have a lot of time.” You looked panicked around you, and he knew your time together was quickly coming to an end. 
“Your life is fast approaching a crossroad and when it reaches, you will have a choice to make. Please, please choose right. And please, don’t think about me again, or about this. You can’t think of me again and you can’t tell anyone about this, you can’t tell me about this, do you understand?” 
Neteyam couldn’t speak, couldn’t process what was happening in front of him. He didn’t have to, though, as you brought your face to his and kissed him, salty tears falling all over your face and into the kiss, that he felt staining the taste of you, that he loved so much. The last thing he saw was you walking away, your hand that you were resting on his body dripping in red liquid down your arm and onto the ground, that he recognised faintly as blood. 
“I love you so much. I hope we never see each other again.” 
He was violently pulled out of his dream by a hand shaking him awake, and the world came bluntly into view once more, commotion happening all around him. He turned to face the cause, and almost drowned as he saw his baby sister shaking aggressively, the freckles all over her body flashing concurrently.
He immediately rushed to her side and pulled her out of the water, by which time she had completely lost consciousness, and called for an ilu. He didn’t even have time to think about his own stirring experience, as every thought was screaming in terror and fear for his sister, who was not responsive at all, and whose previously bright markings were now completely dim. 
Neteyam had to clear his mind and think. He’s seen seizures before, as they sometimes appeared in people who had the disease you helped cure. Kiri inhaled a lot of water as she was seizing, and her absent breath brought his own laboured one forward. He knew what to do.Thirty compressions, two breaths, thirty compressions, two breaths. As he continued the CPR, he saw with relief flooding his being that his baby sister gasped for air, now breathing on her own. 
“Get her to the village. Hurry.” He thinks that was Tsireya, he was too focused on Kiri to care. 
“Let’s go, let’s move.” He didn’t stop to see if any of them were following him, hurrying as much as he could to get her to safety. 
You were happy you came with Lo’ak, although guilt was starting to gnaw at you when you thought about Neteyam’s hurt expression as you took off. You blew him and the rest of your family off on one of the most important days here, the day you were supposed to see the Tree of Souls. You knew that, but you knew it in your heart that Lo’ak needed someone to talk to, outside of his new mammalian friend, someone to show him he’s not as alone as he feels every day. Unlike the rest of them, you knew all too well the deep ache that came with feeling all alone, and you couldn’t bear the thought of your baby brother going trough that. You smiled a little to yourself at your conversation, and your now better understanding of his feelings towards the kind Metakyina girl, and you were grateful you were able to overcome a barrier you felt has plagued your relationship for a while.
It was a little past eclipse as you returned to the village and you saw with some surprise commotion happening outside of your tent. Your ilu took you right there in no time, and you jumped onto the platform, where your family was, alongside the Metkayina kids. 
You hurried towards the entrance, where you saw Neteyam, and you gasped loudly when you looked inside and you saw Kiri laying on the floor, unconscious, Neytiri huddled on top of her, screaming for her to wake up. 
“What the hell happened?” 
Neteyam shot you a dirty look, which you recoiled at. Neteyam never looked at you that way, and you knew then he was a lot more upset about you leaving than you thought he would be. 
“Kiri had a seizure at the Tree of Souls. She hasn’t woken up since.” 
You ran inside and quickly got your medical bag out of hiding. “What have you guys done about it?” 
“I gave her CPR because she inhaled a lot of water and she wasn’t breathing. She started breathing on her own, but that was it, she hasn’t woken up.” 
“When was this?”
“Maybe 20 minutes ago?” 
“Shit. If it was a seizure, she should have woken up by now. This is serious. She shouldn’t still be unconscious.” 
“Can you do anything?” You heard Jake say, concern dripping from every word, tension thick in the air that was now hard to breathe. 
“I can give her some IV fluids, but I’m not sure, Jake. She might be in status epilepticus, which is when a person seizes for longer than 5 minutes, but I don’t know what to do about it. I’m not trained for this. She needs EEG scans, which I don’t have, and she might need to be put in a medically induced coma so her brain doesn’t get damaged.”
“A coma?” He looked at you like you grew another head.
“I’m not sure, Jake, this is just a guess. I don’t have the equipment to run these kinds of tests. You need to call Norm and Max.”
“It’s dangerous, they are watching the air space, they could find us.”
“If they can help her, we have to try.” Neytiri stood up and came to you, taking your hands in hers. “Please help her!” 
“I will, sa’nok. It will all be alright.” 
Neteyam was painfully aware of everything happening around him, aware of people going in and out, aware of your presence back in his, making his heart race and breath labour. He was mad at you, mad at Lo’ak, mad that you both were selfish and left them, mad that if you had stayed, with him, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened - maybe Kiri would have been fine. On top of everything, his own experience at the Tree of Souls left so many questions, so much lingering in his mind. Why were you there? What did you all mean? What crossroads? Why couldn’t he think of you? How was he supposed to know which choice was the right one?Why couldn’t he tell you? You were his best friend, the person he told everything to, and most importantly, the smartest person he knows. If anyone would have an answer for this whole surreal experience, it would be you. 
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Neteyam turned his head to see you standing there, looking up at him, a tired and pleading look in your eyes. He felt his anger melt, if only slightly, when looking in those eyes that still shone as brightly as the sun, and his mind flashed to your human eyes, that he saw for the first time in a year. He felt a little guilty for thinking of another pair of eyes than the ones currently staring at him, even if they were still your own. 
“How is she?” 
You sighed and turned towards Kiri’s unconscious form in the tent. “I don’t know. We won’t know until the morning, when Norm and Max get here.” 
Neteyam scowled, not looking at you, but at the tiny flickers of bioluminescent light coming from the water, where fish were peacefully swimming near the surface. Maybe if you had been there…
“Neteyam… there’s nothing I could have done either way. There’s nothing I could have done differently, even if I was there.” Neteyam’s scowl deepened, but mostly cause he was unnerved by your continuous ability to see through him. 
“I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t think I had a choice.” 
Neteyam let out a mocking laugh. “You did have a choice.” 
“I didn’t, Neteyam. Lo’ak needed me.” 
“I needed you. You’re never around anymore, you’re doing the exact same thing as you did when you were young. Pushing me away, isolating yourself in this marui while everyone else is trying their fucking best to adapt. Everyone but you.”
Neteyam knew he was being harsh, but his emotions were running high in light of the clusterfuck of a day he had, of frustrations that had built in him for months, that were coming out to the surface now, even if he tried to stop them. 
“Stop… you can’t do this. I know you are hurt that I left, and I know you feel annoyed at me, but I am trying my best. I’m sorry if it’s not good enough for you, but it’s the most I can handle right now. I am sorry about Kiri, Neteyam. I will do my best to help her, but right now, there is nothing else I can do. I am sorry about Lo’ak, but you guys always give him shit and you don’t take him seriously and I don’t want him to be alone. I know what it’s like to be alone, courtesy of my abandoning parents and you. You don’t get to blame me for not wanting someone, my brother, to go through what you put me through. I’m sorry I am not out as much as you guys, but unlike you, I didn’t grow up swimming and I am struggling, and I feel like a burden, and I feel like everyone is abandoning me for Tsireya, and I just need some time to deal, I need some time to figure out who I am now, in this new place, in this - yet again - new life, another one in a year. And a little bit of fucking understanding would be nice.” 
He was still angry, probably even angrier than he was, at you and at Lo’ak, at your knee-jerk reflex to bring back his leaving whenever you were hurt. But he also felt guilty, because in truth, he didn’t try to see things from your perspective, and understand how hard this must all be on you. Neteyam watched as you turned your back to him and went back into the tent, kneeling over Kiri. That could have gone better, Neteyam thought with a deep sigh.
It was the morning when you heard the unmistakable sounds of a helicopter approaching, and you knew then that Norm and Max have arrived. You felt happy to see them and relieved they were here, as you felt completely out of your depth in this situation where your sister was involved. You didn’t sleep a wink last night, monitoring her vitals and making sure she was getting all the nutrients through the IV. You haven’t talked to Neteyam since then, his harsh words still fresh in your mind. 
A swell of happiness enveloped you at the sight of the two men entering the tent, and you jumped up and hugged them, trying not to crush Max’s tiny body in the process. Norm was teary eyed when taking you in, and you found it hard letting go. 
“Good to see you, Ace.” 
You didn’t realise how much you missed that voice and that nickname until now, like a constant noise you don't realise is giving you a headache until it stops ringing in your ears.
“We missed you, guys. Sorry this is not under better circumstances.” 
You watched as the men took out equipment you didn’t have with you, such as a portable EEG, and looked at her brain activity.
“I gave her 5mg/ml of propofol every 3 hours to maintain the coma, but I stopped a few hours before you arrived so you could do this. I’ve been keeping her on IV fluids to maintain hydration and nutrient intake.” 
“Good job, Ace.”
You looked alongside the scientists at the scans of her brain. 
“There’s no bleed, there’s no fracture. No effects of hypoxia. Her brain looks good.” 
“You still have this interictal activity right here in her prefrontal.” 
“She’s definitely had a seizure.”
You went outside to discuss this further, while the Sully children and their mother looked over Kiri. 
“Look, I don’t think it was a seizure.”
“Ace, it was definitely a seizure. There’s nothing else it could have been.”
“Okay, let me rephrase. Maybe it was a seizure, but I don’t think it’s epilepsy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it, guys. It happened while she was plugged into the Tree of Souls.”
“I think the kid is right. I talked to her a couple nights ago. She says she could feel Eywa, she could hear her heartbeat.”
“That is classic frontal lobe epilepsy.”
“Epilepsy?” Jake looked out of his mind with concern, and you shook your head quietly, disagreeing with Norm, but not wanting to interrupt him.
“Yeah.. you see visions, you get states of religious ecstasy, like the kind she’s described. Plugging into the spirit tree is some sort of a trigger. You definitely can’t let her do that anymore.”
“What…? Ever?”
Max interjected softly, trying to be as understanding as empathetic as he could, given the situation at hand. "Jake… if she seizes underwater again, it could kill her.”
Jake turns to look at you, pleading, begging for you to disagree, to give him some sort of hope that this wasn’t as dire as it seemed. 
“What do you think, baby girl?” 
“I think Norm and Max are understandably looking at this the science, biological, human way… no offence.”
 
“I think everything you guys are saying makes sense, if you decide to forget who Kiri is. Kiri is not just anybody. She’s special, she is connected with Eywa in a way none of us can imagine. We have discussed about her parentage before and everyone has their theories,  but mine is a little different. I think Kiri is Eywa’s child, as much as she was Grace’s. I think Eywa communicates through her, I think Eywa has bigger plans for her than any of us know. When I died, I saw my mother.” At the shocked expressions all around you, you withdrew into yourself a little. You didn’t want to talk about this, but it was necessary. “She was there, in Eywa. Has been with her, in this higher plane, ever since she died. She’s been watching over me. She told me that Kiri was the answer to the virus, that she would know. And she did. She has gifts, guys. I agree that her plugging into the spirit tree is a trigger, but not the one that can be measured by an EEG or treated by some Carbamazepine.”
“I think in order to wake up, she needs the Tsahik.” 
You saw Neytiri thinking ahead of you, as she usually did, and closely behind her Ronal was making her way to your tent. You got up from next to the men, and all of you tracked back where Kiri was, and you watched as Ronal performed rituals you had no understanding of, but were fascinated by. Your gaze was fixated on Kiri’s face, as was the rest of your family’s, and all of you gasped loudly as you saw your sister’s eyes open slowly. 
“Oh, thank God!” Jake was almost in tears, but couldn’t hold a candle to Tuk, whose face was littered by them. 
“Kiri, you’re awake!” 
Neytiri took her daughter’s hand in both of hers, bringing it affectionately to her face, as her and Kiri’s pained cries filled the muffled sounds in the room. 
“Oh, Kiri, my sweet child. Oh, my sweet daughter.”
You were so happy, so relieved, and you couldn’t help gaze over to your mate, whose eyes were already on you. It was tense, the situation between you, and you wondered if it could be solved with one discussion, if this was really only about you leaving with Lo’ak. Your head moved minutely in the direction of the entrance to the tent, and he nodded at you, understanding instantly. 
You left quietly, so as to not disturb the jubilant reunion, and sat on the edge of the platform, dipping your feet in the warm, clear blue water. 
He sat next to you, and his body was turned towards yours, his thigh touching yours, his eyes staring down at the side of your face, that refused to look at him. 
“Atan…” 
“I’m sorry for what I said. It was hypocritical of me to hold your going after Lo’ak against you, when I have been doing that my whole life and getting injured as a result and coming close to dying a couple of times. I’m sorry for saying you are not trying. You obviously are, and I’m sorry I didn’t try to look at this from your perspective. You are doing amazing, you have had to overcome so much and you always come out stronger than you were, and every time I don’t understand how that’s even possible. I need you to know, that nobody is abandoning you. Tuk is still your biggest fan and she talks about you all the time when we are swimming. I think she chewed Tsireya’s ear off about you, and she misses you being around in the water with her. And Kiri, well, she just finds comfort in nature, and you know this, and right now the nature is… well, where you aren’t. You have nothing to be worried about.”
Your eyes lifted to meet his and you saw he looked… off, although he was being earnest in his apology. You couldn’t place what was wrong with him, what happened to him in the last couple of days, and it worried you, doubt eating at you mercilessly.
“I’m sorry for bringing up the fact you left. It was unfair of me.”
“Friends?” You smiled a little, still unconvinced that the situation was resolved, but cooing to yourself quietly when his hand caressed your cheek in the way that made you melt into him.
“Friends.”
Gideon stood behind as everyone was flying peacefully above the forest. He watched them all attentively, all of them, trying to think of everything he knew about them, everything he could use. He needed to figure out weaknesses, possible liabilities. He needed a plan to find you, talk to you on your own. He needed to know all the things he’s missed, needed you to know he would do anything in his power to protect you. This time, at least, he’d make sure he wasn’t too late. His mind flooded uncontrollably with images of his first daughter, Sarah, and how hard she had fought that cancer, how tiny she was, how he wasn’t even there when she died. He gave up everything, his integrity, and power, and life, his future, his family, his peace of mind, to come here and be paid the money that would save her life, but it was too late. It haunted him at night, the knowledge that she died alone. That her own dad wasn’t there to hold her as she gave her last breath. Further guilt brought shame deep in his soul as he realised he also abandoned you - willingly or not, you had to grow up alone. You were alone since you were ten, Spider mentioned, orphaned as a child. You were surrounded by Jake Sully’s kids, so he was hopeful that your life didn’t turn out as miserable as his nightmares painted it. You looked protective over them, they all thought you were all siblings. You had a family, one that he had no part in. It hurt him, the thought, it killed him like poison daggers, slowly, agonisingly. He hoped he could still see you, at least once. Could at least hear your voice, look into your eyes and apologise for all the mistake that lead to this, for all the time he has not loved and protected you the way he should have. 
“Boss, long range patrol picked up a radar hit. A rogue gunship.”
“Where?”
“Eastern Sea, 400 klicks North.” 
Turns out he was gonna get to see you sooner than he thought, and turns out he wouldn’t be alone. Fuck. 
Everybody was really happy that Kiri was awake, except herself, it seemed. Neteyam noted with concern that she ate much less that she normally did, and didn’t want to come swimming with everyone else, which used to be her favourite thing to do in this village. It was early morning when the whole Sully family was up and about, most of them already gone. Later in the day, you would go deepwater hunting and scavenging with the rest of the Metkayina, but for now, you had a free morning. Neteyam peered over at you, hunched over the fire, chatting with Kiri and preparing food for her, determined to get her to eat. You sensed his eyes on you, as you always did, and you looked up, eyebrows raised in the direction of the exit. As Kiri was absentmindedly turned around, in her own little world, you signed to him in the language you now knew fluently. Go. I want to chat to her. Go find your brother. He needs you. 
He did as he was told, walking through the village saying hello to all the people he has come to know in the past couple of months. The Metkayina were nice, he concluded. A little strange, but good, kind people once they got past his family’s… unique circumstances. It helped, he thought, that his dad was Toruk Makto, and he saw every day how people treated him almost like a deity, like a king among men. It was hard to think of his dad that way - he’s heard the stories, he’s seen the outcome of his war with the Aliens, he met other clans who he brought together during the time of Great Sorrow, but to him, he was just his dad. A little rough around the edges sometimes, particularly since the RDA came back, but still, just his dad, that used to carry him places and make him fly in his arms as a child, who carved wooden toys for them and taught him how to use a bow in a river near the village. 
He found Lo��ak on the beach, deep in thought as he looked somewhere in the distance. Neteyam traced his brother’s gaze to a few girls, having fun in the water, enjoying the sunny day. He smirked when he saw the girl that seemed to take most of his baby brother’s attention recently. A four-fingered hand on Lo’ak shoulder startled him, and the oldest Sully laughed a little at how focused the boy must have been on Tsireya to not even notice his brother approaching at all. 
“Bro, you scared the shit out of me.” 
“I can see. Poor Tsireya’s ears are going to flame up with the amount you are staring at her.”
Lo’ak’s own ears turned purple and twitched in chagrin. Neteyam took a seat next to his brother. 
“Lo’ak, I wanted to apologise.” 
That got his baby brother’s attention, who rose an eyebrow expectantly. You and Lo’ak and your fucking eyebrows. 
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you that Payakan is good. And that I got jealous after you left.” 
“You got jealous? Why?” 
“Because she followed you. Because you got to stay, a whole year I couldn’t. Because you were there to watch her grow up, look after her when I wasn’t. Because your presence in her life was always positive and filled with laughter and human things I can’t understand, but you seem to, things you like. I think I’ve held a grudge for a long time, and I shouldn’t have. Because it wasn’t your fault. And I am grateful you were there for her, and that she had you. You have a connection with her I never will, and while it pained me watching you give her the Avatar, ask her to be your mate, none of it was on you, and I shouldn’t have let it come between us. I am sorry, Ma’tsmukan (brother).”
Lo’ak was speechless and Neteyam revelled a little at the sight, which was as rare as a new Toruk Makto. He should have done this a long time ago. There were plenty more things Neteyam had to apologise to his baby brother for, but he didn’t want to overwhelm his already disheveled demeanour. 
“Bro, you’re going to make me emotional in front of the girl I like.” Neteyam laughed a little and opened his arms for his brother, who more than happily closed the gap and hugged him, just like they did when they were young. 
They lay on the soft sand, bathing in the warm sun rays that provided a welcome respite from the constant state of moisture they usually found themselves in. 
“Neteyam…?”
“Mmm?” 
“How did you know?…”
Neteyam propped himself up on his elbows to look at his brother, that was sitting again, staring again. 
“How did you know you were in love? 
It was Neteyam’s turn to be speechless. In love? He knew Lo’ak had a crush, but didn’t realise how deep it ran. He thought about it for a long while, mind wandering to you, to your currently messy situation.
“Hmm… that’s a heavy question, brother. It might be a little different for me than for you. You see, I have loved her my whole life. Loving her has always been as easy as the air I breathed - as necessary, too. I don’t actually know the moment I fell in love with her, because it was not sudden. Back when we were younger, every once in a while, she would say something, or look at me a certain way, and my breath hitched in my throat… she’d laugh or smile up and her eyes gleamed in a way I only saw the night stars do, and my mind went blank. But over time, it happened more and more, until one day every touch, every glance, every moment gave me the same sensation, until I couldn’t be around her without turning into a mess of musings and feelings. There was one moment, the first moment, when I remember thinking ‘Shit, I am in love with her, what I am going to do?’. I think we were about 16 at the time, and I had sneaked out of our tent to go spend the night with her. We used to do this a lot, but that night, she fell asleep earlier than she normally does, and she fell asleep on my chest. I could feel her ribcage go up and down every time she took a breath. I think she had a cold, because her nose was blocked and she was snoring a little, and I just watched her. And I had never been happier, than in that moment, just holding her in my arms, and feeling her sleeping on me… and then she said my name. She was dreaming, and she said my name. And it was with love, with yearning, and my whole heart just stopped. And I knew then, that I could no longer hide, I could no longer pretend that what I felt for her was anything less than everything. That I would give her everything I have, that I am, for as long as there is still breath in my lungs.” 
“Lo’ak, when you are in love, you will know. And if you are, then I am happy for you, little brother. Because despite the hurt, and the pain and the fights, there is no better feeling in the world. And if she’s the one, then she’s lucky to have someone like you.” 
You finish grilling some fresh fish on the fire pit in your Marui to feed Kiri, and if you could actually get her to eat it, you were going to celebrate. You couldn’t blame her, having been in her position one too many times. In fact, if anyone could understand what she was going through, it was you. 
“Please talk to me? I know you may not want to, but it’s me… you used to tell me everything. And whatever it is, we can work through it together. We always have, no? It’s always been you and me, the two girls with scientist human mothers and no dads? The two girls who used to watch endless hours of video logs and read through encyclopaedias, the girls who used to theorise about who our dads were, what they liked, what traits we got from them? I’m still the same person… just a little bluer, and a little taller, but still me.”
“I saw my mum… you know? The same way you did.”
Your mouth fell agape, but you tried to focus on being calm, so as to not startle her into silence once again.
“Did she say anything?”
“We hugged… it was so nice. It felt like home. We were back in the forest. I asked… I asked her why am I different. I asked her who my father was. But she didn’t answer. She was just taken from me, pulled from my arms and into the abyss. That’s all I remember.” Her eyes were leaking soft tears, and you went to her side and hugged her. She reciprocated, holding you close. “It was so scary…” 
“I know… I’m sorry.” 
“You said you had a whole conversation with your mother. Why did the Great Mother not allow me to do the same?”
You thought about it for a second, needing to choose your words carefully. 
“I think the Great Mother is very careful as to what escapes her, because the knowledge that our ancestors, the people who have reached that plane have is beyond us. It’s beyond what we’re supposed to know. I think when Grace was about to share something that could potentially change the course of your life, your future, Eywa stopped her. Because I don’t think we’re supposed to know, we are supposed to live our lives with no outside interference.”
“But what could she have told me about my dad that was so dangerous, so monumental that Eywa had to stop it?” 
You bit the inside of you lip aggressively and wondered if the Great Mother would strike you down if you opened your mouth in that moment. To be fair, all you had were theories, so maybe you should keep them to yourself. 
“I don’t know, Kiri… All I know is that you are special. And that’s something to be celebrated, not hidden.” 
A couple of hours later, you were ready to go diving, and a smile broke through as you watched Neteyam and Lo’ak walk back to your tent, laughing and pushing each other playfully. It was good to see them together again, it was good to see them be brothers again, like they used to be when you were all young. Neteyam’s face split in a dazzling smile, that took your breath away, when he spotted you, and your heartbeat rose as you took him in, those beaded braids flinging from side to side, his imposing yet boyish walk that you found so attractive, those piercing eyes and that beautiful smile, all there to make your tail swish furiously, a dead giveaway for your emotions. He didn’t say anything as he approached you, but took your face in his hands and kissed you, like nobody was there or watching, like the whole world was a mere void around you, like it was the first time. You were surprised and a little shy, knowing Lo’ak and Kiri were right there, but you reciprocated, melting into him, as you always did, and appreciating the very rare public display of affection. You were dizzy when he let you go, pressing his lips to yours gently one more time, and you laughed at the peculiarity of the act. 
“What was that for?” 
“I just really really love you. And I am very grateful to have you. And sometimes I feel I take for granted what we have, this meteor-strike, one-of-a-kind love that somehow beat all odds. I forget how you have been the only constant in my whole life, how you are the only one I have ever seen, in this whole world. I let frustrations get the best of me, and I am bad at communicating, and I am so so sorry.”
You looked at him incredulously, and then at Lo’ak. “What did you do to my mate?”
“Nothing, Angel. He got there all on his own, if you can believe that.”
You had no answer to that, as a loud horn was met with excited yelps and scream from all around you in the marui adjacent to yours. I think, whatever this was, it was safe to assume the deep water scavenging was cancelled. 
You saw Tsireya on her ilu, waving her hand with a big smile on her face, as every villager around her dove in and got on their own. 
“The tulkun have returned! Everybody, our brothers and sisters have returned!” 
You eyes locked with Neteyam’s, and a wave of enthusiasm washed over you, and you took his hand and called one of your new little aquatic friends, wishing secretly it was Neyn instead, so you could share this moment with her. You both got in the water and on top of the same ilu, hurrying towards the spot everyone else was. You felt his hand slide up your thigh to hold you better in place, and as you wrapped your arms around his abdomen and placed your hands flush against his abs, you knew you had more than one thing to celebrate tonight.
The return of the tulkun was a spectacle few words can do justice. The mammoth beings played and breached and barrel rolled in the water, and you watched as their Metkayina brothers and sisters joined them, talking and catching up, sharing secrets and anecdotes gathered in their time apart. Both you and your mate were in awe at the events unfolding all around you, smiling from ear to ear and holding your hands tightly together. This was love, and you knew it too well, you felt it around you and within you, you felt it in him.
This amazing rare encounter marked a time for celebration among the tribe, and festivities would be underway soon and last for a couple of days. Tsireya said it is the best time of the year, with dancing, and singing and communal dinners and communion with Eywa to give thanks for the safe return of their spiritual brothers and sisters. 
It was everything she promised and more, and once again you found yourself reminded of the beautiful customs of the Omatikaya, and how much all the celebrations nuzzled their way deep into your heart, to never be forgotten, to always be yearned for. It was unlike anything else, the feeling of community as you all danced together, girls courting their prospective mates, boys watching entranced at the beauty and grace of it all. The drums that beat in sync with your heart, and how your voice filled the void with music from your home planet that the people accepted and encouraged, and then later on, began joining in for. You wondered if these would also start feeling the same in time, the more the forest began feeling like a long forgotten dream.
You and Neteyam slipped by unnoticed in the midst of the seemingly unending celebration. You were chuckling as he was chasing you, tugging playfully at your tail and soon enough, you reached a deserted plot of land, hidden behind some shrubbery. You laid down on the hard surface of a big flat rock, and you both sighed as you positioned your head on his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat and settling breath. You had your fights, and being with him was frustrating sometimes, as you were sure it was for him too, but damn, nothing in the world could ever measure up to this feeling. The feeling of his hand slowly caressing your bare back was sending shivers down your spine, and you raised a leg on top of his, getting closer to being so intertwined no would would be able to untangle you. He turned his body to the side, facing you now, and smiled softly at you, a look of melancholy pushing his eyebrows together. You brought your hand to his forehead and smoothed it out, caressing his cheek when you were done, action met with a quiet, low purr.
“Atan… I need you, so much.” 
You kissed him, slowly at first, but as desire quickly overcame your senses, you were putty in the kiss, giving in to him as he deepened it, rolling you both until he was on top of you, one leg in between your own. 
Neteyam moaned, overwhelmed as his consciousness was flooded by your scent, your taste, your body. His mind was in shambles as it was trying to understand the intensity of all the emotions coursing through his veins, from the arousal and need for you, to the formidable love his heart was barely able to contain in his chest, to the fear and confusion of the vision of you he was met with at the spirit tree and finally the deep seeded hurt at the unresolved conflicts still plaguing you both, still plaguing his dreams, feeding his insecurities. 
As you were hurriedly tugging at his loincloth, trying to untie it without breaking the kiss, one emotion won by a landslide. His cock sprung free as you finally succeeded, slapping messily on your abdomen. Neteyam bent the leg that was in between yours, until it reached your core, and he felt a patch of wetness stain your cloth. You couldn’t help grinding on his leg, and the sight of you writhing underneath him, trying to get yourself off on him drove him mad. Whatever ounce of self-restraint went straight out the window, and he ripped your clothes swiftly away, plunging two digits into your wet core, twitching at your whimpering noises. 
“I need you. Fuck, I need you so bad, Atan.”
You reached for your queue, begging to feel him, for some reassurance that you, what you had was alright, that despite all the mess you both made of each other, he was still him, and you were still you, forever intertwined, forever one. He looked at you, slight panic displayed all over his features, but eventually he brings his forth and the connection makes you knees wobbly and your mind fuzzy. It pains you, feeling him, feeling all the contradicting emotions taking over his soul, feelings the hurt and pain, the dread and affection, need and yearning, and trying to make sense of them all. What was on his mind? What could possibly be plaguing him to such an unnerving extent? It couldn’t all come from the past couple days, could it? You hoped your emotions would put his at ease, at least a little. Sure, you were a little upset, and somewhat worried for him, but that always paled in comparison to the ever-growing love and desire that nested deep in you, that started years ago, that will never falter. 
You looked at his face, furrowed and pained, and you brought your hand up, caressing it slowly.
“Neteyam… what is wrong?” 
He kissed you, forcefully, taking your jaw and holding you in one place, and you were scared of him, for him, you weren’t sure. 
“Hey… stop.” 
You pushed him away and he rolled over with a frustrated growl. You straddled him and lowered your body until you were face to face. “What is eating at you, Yawne (beloved)?” 
He brought an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from you. You waited, knowing better than to push him. Eventually he removed his arm and you saw tears falling down the side of his face and onto the ground. Your heart broke at the sight, at the sight of your mate who was going through something you couldn’t understand, that he didn’t share with you.
“I feel like I’m losing you, like I’m going to lose you.” 
The feelings of confusion and fear were perfectly clear on your face that was contorting to accommodate the emotions electrifying your being, but you tried your best to remain calm, as to not hurt him further. 
“Neteyam… why would you say that? What happened at the Spirit Tree?” 
You were met with silence, deep, unsettling silence, that rang more painfully in your ears than all the music that has been loudly enveloping the village for hours at this point. 
“Hey, look at me. Look at me.” Eventually he did as he was told, and with blow after blow, you felt exhausted at his despairing look, that was mirroring the deep-seeded sadness in his soul, that you could feel through your still-intact bond.
You took his hands by the wrists and directed them to your body, on both sides of your abdomen. 
“I’m here.” 
You kissed him, softly and intensely, pouring your whole heart in it. 
“I’m here.” 
You took him, his whole impressive length in your hands and started pumping him, slowly, firmly, until he was moaning loudly beneath you.
“I’m not going anywhere. Ever again. Let me show you, that I am here, that I love you, that whatever this is, we will work through it, like we always do.” 
You never got to do this - be in control. You never felt the need for it, you loved being his, being owned, wholly and completely, but you needed this now, he needed this now. 
You continued pumping him and his look - parted lips, flushed cheeks, eyes tightly shot, ears pushed back, quick breaths and heart racing - drove you wild and the power you felt made liquid pool as you started grinding on him, looking for your own release. It felt good - too good, and sensing his worries melt away slowly only intensified it, and without being able to withstand it any longer, you got up and lined his cock to your sopping entrance and lowered yourself on him slowly, feeling every inch of him, allowing him to do the same. You both moaned in unison, and he got up, aligning your faces, looking deep into your eyes as you bottomed out, wobbly at how deep in you he was, at the maddening stretch that was almost too much to bear. 
“I’m here. Do you feel this, feel me? Do you feel what you do to me, how you make me feel? I love you, I will always love you, it’s just you and me. Just you and me, forever.” 
“Forever?”
You smiled and threw you head back, overwhelmed by all the sensations you were experiencing. 
“Forever.” 
You moaned, eyes tightly shut, hair tickling your lower back, that he grabbed and pulled on. You started moving, an agonising pace that didn’t last long as he grabbed your hips forcefully and lifted you off his dick and back on it, over and over, over and over, a ruthless back and forth that made you mewl and whimper, hysterical over how good it felt, how you knew this orgasm was going to rush over you like volcanic fire, leaving nothing in its wake but the ash of your trembling body. He knew you were close when you squeezed around him, and he increased the pace at which he was rutting upwards into you, animalistic desire overtaking his every conscious thought. 
“I need you to come in me. I need to feel you in me, feel you filling me up, please.” 
You were barely coherent, but he understood you amongst the moans and pleasured cries.
“Come for me, Atan. Let me feel you.”
You did just as you were told, as you always did - his words holding such power over you, and you felt your orgasm prolonging as thick spurts of his cum shot into you, filling you up and sliding down your ass. It was a holy experience, this feeling, this time with him, unlike anything else you have ever experienced, and you were happy to make out only positive emotions in his mind for now. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want this to end, and you stood like this, looking in each other’s eyes, kissing softly, filled to the brim, just like you loved to be. 
You came back from your outing and left for the tent, spent and in need of respite. You left Neteyam with his family, and you were surprised to see little Tuk still up. She got on her feet when she saw you and jumped in your arms, which you were happy about, having felt a little disconnected from her recently. 
“Hi, cutie, what are you still doing up?” 
“I cannot sleep when everybody is away. I want to be dancing, too!” 
“Oh, sweetie, you danced all night! It’s past your bedtime, you need to sleep a lot so you can get stronger. You want to be strong like your mummy and daddy, no?”
“I want to be strong like you!”
You let out a small cry at the words, a mantle of surprise engulfing you like a shroud. You needed this, you realise, needed her, needed to know you were still loved, you still had a family that would choose you, despite your many shortcomings, despite being different, despite being nothing new.
“I’m not that strong, baby. I need you to be stronger than me.” 
Tuk crossed her arms around her chest in a defying motion, shaking her head furiously, a small pout gracing her beautiful features. 
“No. You are strong. The strongest. You are smart, and kind and good with a bow, and a gun. You stand up to daddy even when Lo’ak and Neteyam don’t, and you’re the best ikran rider in the village!” 
You laughed loudly at her unbridled praise, and found it funny how unreliable of a judge she was, but appreciative and grateful to know how she saw you, in spite of all your insecurities. 
“Don’t say that in front of Neteyam!”
“So you don’t love Tsireya more than me?” 
She gasped and circled your neck in a tight hug. 
“Never. You’re my second mummy, you always will be.”
“That’s good to hear, baby.”
“Can you sing me to sleep?”
“Of course. Come on, scooch in.” Tuk made a temporary home in your lap, head propped in a comfortable position and legs sprawled all over her woven sleeping mat. You removed her hair out of her face and continued caressing her forehead in a calming motion, the same way your mum used to do for you when you were her age. You remembered a song from a movie you loved from back then, and you decided you needed to show it to Tuk one day, but for now, your singing would have to do.
Where the North wind meets the sea, there's a river full of memory
Sleep, my darling, safe and sound, for in this river, all is found
Yes, she will sing to those who'll hear, and in her song, all magic flows
But can you brave what you most fear, can you face what the river knows?
Come, my darling, homeward bound
When all is lost, then all is found
Gideon stood and watched as Quaritch was burning yet another village in his quest to find Jake Sully. He was sick to his stomach at the damage this was doing to these innocent people. Gideon had no problem with murder. He had no problem with intimidation, or hurting people, but at least back on Earth, it was to protect his country. It was against people who were a threat to the security of everyone who lived in it, a potential threat to his family, to his daughter. He could justify it, the atrocious acts, and it would help him sleep at night. But this, all the things he has done since coming to Pandora, no matter how badly he knew he did it to save his daughter, that he had no choice, it still haunted him, giving him nightmare after nightmare he would never outlive. 
“IT’S TORUK MAKTO! HAS HE BEEN HERE?” He winced as the rest of the crew was tasing villagers, as Quaritch pulled roughly on the queue of the Olo’eyktan, that he now knew how painful and connected to the rest of his being it was. He didn’t say anything - he couldn’t. Any intervention would be a risk he couldn’t take, not when his plan would warrant him instant death, not when he was so close to seeing you, to meeting you. 
Quaritch came close to him and pulled him to the side. 
“This shit ain’t working.”
“No,” Gideon said. “They’re stone-walling us.”
“If we turn up the heat, he’s just gonna keep running. We got to draw him out.” 
Gideon looked back from Ikran at the burning village, and felt his own self-hatred eat at him, like a parasite, like a virus that would kill him slowly, driven mad by his inaction, by the feeling is his gut that what he was doing was just as bad, if not worse. The Recoms reached the ship that has been doubling as a home for a while, while they navigated the Eastern Sea and this seemingly never-ending archipelago. Scoresby, the captain of this ship and a grade A asshole was waiting on the deck of the ship, a furious look on his face. 
“I’m over it. I’ve got quotas to meet.” 
“You want to hunt? Let’s hunt.”
Everyone turned, shocked at the words coming out the colonel’s mouth. Even Scoresby, that psycho, couldn’t believe his ears. 
“What? Here? Not here, there’s too many villages.”
“No, no no no.” the scientist, Dr. Ian Garvin interrupted, then hated himself for it, as dread clearly filled his eyes looking at the 10 foot tall solider in front of him. Gideon felt for the man, with whom he had a little more in common than he was willing to admit. A broken man, an alcoholic who came to Pandora with dreams and good intentions, his love for the planet and the science fueling his fire, a fire which was promptly snuffed out when he realised the never-ending depths of the depravity that surrounded this whole company that he was now working for. A marine biologist who had to watch as the beings he adulated were murdered brutally in front of him for profit, and he watched, like a coward, like Gideon. 
“Respectfully, sir, you do not understand the kinship bonds between the Tulkun and the Ocean Na’vi. It would be like murdering a member of their family.”
“If we start hunting here, the hostiles will come after us.”
“Exactly. One hostile in particular.”
Gideon prayed Jake Sully was smarter than to fall for this, and he prayed for whatever little remained of his soul after this whole endeavour. 
You woke up the next day sandwiched between your mate, who was snug behind you, snoring lightly in your ear, leg in between yours, and Tuk, whom you were keeping close to you, and whose hands you have been holding all night. You felt content, even despite the craziness of the past couple of days, and grateful for the people you were sharing a tent with. Things finally seemed to be looking up, you thought, as your swimming improved, and your relationship with Lo’ak mended, and your insecurities about Kiri and Tuk melted away a little. You were worried about Neteyam, but you hoped he would open up about whatever was eating at him soon, and you hoped you eased his mind a little last night. 
You had a pleasant family day, laughing and chatting idly by the fire, enjoying the calming sounds of the rain falling all around you and hitting the water right outside your home. It was a short-lived comfort, however, as Tonowari towered at the entrance, dark haunted look marring his features. You all quieted taking him in, and your mum and dad, as well as you and Neteyam went to check on whatever it was that made him this way. 
You were barely holding in tears as you neared the dreaded sight, the dead tulkun and her calf, both of them floating aimlessly, held up by orange floating bags with the RDA logo on it. You felt yourself hanging on tighter to your mate, squeezing your arms around his abdomen and letting out quiet sobs that were drowned out by Ronal’s. You watched as she dismounted her Tsurak and approached the departed pair, climbing so she could look in its now empty eyes. You look to your left at Jake and Neytiri, who had similar expressions to yours, and reached your hand for Neytiri’s, who squeezed it, both needing the comfort and the feeling of companionship in these trying times. 
Pained wails escaped Ronal’s mouth as she took in the dead calf accompanying the mother. 
“Her name is Ro’a.”
“She was my spirit sister. She was a composer of songs - much revered. We would sing together. She waited many breeding cycles to have this calf. The clan was so happy for her. What is this, Tonowari?”
“WHAT IS THIS?” 
“What is this?” Tonowari barked. “Why is she marked?” 
You were confused, but tapped Neteyam on the shoulder to take the ilu to where the chieftain was. 
“It is probably just a way to distinguish them. A cruel way, but that’s humanity for you.” 
You finally reached the other side of the tulkun, and looked at what everybody was appalled at. There was big, red, blinking rod, impaled deeply in her skin. Next to it, there was writing on the underside of the fin, carved with a knife. It was red, from the dry blood that spilled as it was drawn, and scarred slightly, meaning it wasn’t fresh. There wasn’t a lot of blood, or any drippings as gravity pushed it down, so you concluded it was done after the tulkun was killed. 
“Can you understand it?” Ronal said in a scathing voice, more a snarl than actual words.
“No, it’s not English.”
You looked at it, and stupor overcame you, but you tried your best to maintain your composure. Breathe… breathe… breathe.
To Jake this might mean nothing, but to you it did. It was a language you didn’t know well, but you knew enough to understand. Your mum taught you some of it when you were a baby, telling you it was the language her and your dad spoke to each other when they wanted to not be heard, when they wanted something for themselves. 
“Tonight. Midnight. 
10 km E of village, deserted island. 
Come alone.”
“Kid, can you understand it? You’re the smartest one here.” 
“No, Jake, I can’t. Sorry.”
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jordanstrophe · 1 year ago
Text
The Manor
CW: Mix of horror and whump, blood, creatures, panic attack, VERY creepy (yet human) whumper, taken captive
Whumpee swore they saw something move beyond the fog. Dread shivered down their back along with the cold. "Follow the path and you'll be safe." Whumpee quoted under their breath.
Footsteps stomped behind them. Right as whumpee turned, someone had a hand on the bag around their shoulder and attempted to rip it off them. It snapped off, and it felt like so did whumpee's shoulder along with it.
"OW- HEY!" Whumpee cried as the figure took off from the path. They gripped their arm and winced; the satchel's loss wasn't affordable, so whumpee took off after them deeper into the forest.
They felt the air notably change. It was thicker, colder, damp. The thief was never regained in sight; and neither was their precious satchel. Whumpee slowed to a stop and groaned a frustrated breath. They glanced around, realizing they may have just stranded themselves somewhere with bone-chilling rumors.
"Those who left the path rarely returned. The ones who did had a dead gaze behind their eyes. They never found the words to describe the horrors. So they were silent."
"Never again will I take this shortcut." Whumpee scolded themselves, dusting moisture off their coat. They started wandering back, keeping their teeth gritted as their shoulder pulsed. A twig snapping to their right as they jumped and clutched their arm.
Perhaps the thief didn't get as far as they thought.
"Hey, can I have my bag back? It's important!" Whumpee called. They heard a deep wet-like snap as whumpee stumbled and tore through branches. "Look neither of us want to be here, so please, just give me my-" .... !
Whumpee saw something white, textured like rough quartz. It had the figure of a man, distorted, crouched on all fours over another. A face was visible, the second figure was the thief: eyes wide and dull, crimson painting their face, the leaves, the dirt, the creature. Their arm was extended and the satchel was deathly clutched within their fingers.
Whumpee covered their mouth before they could gasp. The thief's blank eyes seemed to stare through them as whumpee began backing away.
*SNAP*
Their heel crushed a soaked-stick, letting loose a loud wet crunch. Whumpee swore their heart stopped. The creature didn't seem to notice, however; as it continued to delightfully consume and tear at the thief's body.
Whumpee found themselves turned and running. They regretted everything, the satchel meant nothing and they couldn't fathom what they saw. They noticed the fog starting to lift and spotted a dim light.
The more the fog cleared the more lights they saw, realizing it was all from a single building, a manor. Moss-covered brick walls, the gate was strangely wide open. Suddenly, whumpee heard a sound deep in the woods from where they came.
*Thump* *Thump* *Thump*
Footsteps prowling the forest, slow, with no desire to run. With nowhere else to go, whumpee ran through the gates and up the stairs. The manor was surely abandoned, but it would be shelter until whatever that... thing is passed.
They reached for the rusted-iron doorknob, expecting to have to fight their way in but the door opened like a warm welcome. Whumpee slammed the door shut behind them, sinking to their knees clutching their aching shoulder. They gasped for air, surprised to see a large decorated living room, primarily wine-red vintage. It was warm and glowed from several burning candles
-And all recently lit.
Whumpee's legs trembled as they rose to their feet; they could hear the footsteps through the door. Panic, horror, pain; it all caught up as they felt paralyzed. They couldn't tell what was worse, whatever could be in the manor with them, or what was outside waiting.
They whimpered when the footstep texture changed; from sopping wet dirt to hard stone, the very stairs they just ran up-
-The very stairs right behind them.
They could hear breathing.
Whumpee's hand was still clutching the doorknob. If anyone ever found their body, it would probably still be. Every candle in the manor suddenly flickered and snuffed into darkness.
Whumpee found themselves on the floor hugging their knees sobbing. The candles had flickered back on after a moment; Whumpee rose their head to someone standing over them with their hands folded behind their back.
Their face was pale, their eyes were dark. Their clothes were regal and their expression was calm. Aside from some peculiarities, they looked like a perfectly normal human. Whumpee stared silently through tears that had stopped flowing, pitifully, their body screamed terror, but they were unable to scream themselves.
"My dear, what are you doing on my floor?" Whumper asked, cocking their head to the side.
"I-....ah-...." Whumpee choked. A smile spread over the stranger's face as they held out their hand to them.
"Gracious, you look dreadful! What are you doing all the way out here? Come, up. Off my floor." They wiggled their fingers.
Whumpee felt compelled to take their hand, so they did. The stranger yanked them to their feet as whumpee was glad they offered their good arm.
"-Outs-s-side... so-something outside..." Whumpee gestured towards the door.
"Oh, is there?" The stranger asked with another tilt. "I'll take a look if it'll put you at ease." They smiled, scooting whumpee away from the door and grabbing the doorknob.
"NO DON'T DO THAT!" Whumpee cried, trying to grab their arm but it was too late. The stranger swung the door open without hesitated to the grand reveal: Of nothing.
Whumpee's shouting trailed into silence. The stranger couldn't help but laugh as they felt whumpee clinging to their arm for life.
"Oh sweetheart, you're fine! Everything's okay." They soothed, stroking a single finger down a tear stain. "The fog does play tricks on people. It's not the freshest air." They winked, shutting the door.
"I- I'm so sorry I must ha-have been... Mistaken...." Whumpee mumbled, dropped their arms and clutched their own shoulder. The strangers eyes fixated and seemed to note their pain.
"Of course you were. Happens more often than you think." They patted whumpee's cheek. "Come, sit down. We can talk later, let's take a look at that arm."
"Y-you noticed?" Whumpee sniffed.
"Hard not to, you can't hide pain from me." Whumper smiled.
Whumpee thought that was a rather odd way to put it.
"Oh, and is this yours by chance?" Whumper pulled out a satchel that was tucked behind the couch. It was rough and dripping with water and blood all over the floor. Whumper didn't seem to mind one bit.
But sure enough, it was their satchel.
.....
.....
"Actually..." Whumpee rocked on their heels, their eyes wide staring at the satchel. "I really must get going." Their voice quivered.
Whumper's smile and expression didn't change. They dangled the satchel with a single finger as it swayed side to side.
Whumpee heard the door behind them *click* as it locked.
(This. Was. Supposed. To. Be. SHORT! And a one shot, so perhaps a part 2 inc)
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