mononoke yōsei lupai

---

like fragile tiny shells, drifting in the foam

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL IDEATION, DECEASED CHILD, SELF HARM

@Gawain's party had been a lovely idea, and Momo wishes she could've enjoyed it more fully. It isn't his fault the timing is so bad for Momo - it isn't his fault her son isn't here with her. Pushing aside the vines covering the entrance of her den, she makes it to her nest in the corner before she collapses, shaking so hard she feels as if she might fall utterly apart. Tears stream in silence down her face, and she can only hope that @Elijah hadn't noticed anything off with her.

Much as she loves him, much as she knows he cares for her in turn, she doesn't want him to find her like this again. He's always coming to her rescue, and she hates that he has to. Hates that she needs to be saved - that she's always too weak to do the saving. Burying her face in her furs, she releases a jagged moan of anguish, knowing that the reason she can't let go of her son's loss is that she still blames herself for it. If she'd just been stronger, if she'd just been better, he'd still be here.

She can manage, most times, but the couple of months before and after his birth and death days are the worst for her. Guilt and pain shred her heart with unmerciful claws, leaving her broken and battered and aching for a surcease from the anguish. Aching to hold him again, just one more time. She still remembers his scent, still remembers the downy baby fur against her nose. Still remembers his sweet little smile. Ichirō, she whispers, claws flexing with the force of her agony and burying themselves in her chest.

She gasps, the damage unintentional but also entirely un-hideable, and panic floods her brain for a moment before her sorrow overwhelms it. She can deal with the punctures later, she thinks, sheathing her claws with a whimper as they peel out of her wounded flesh. Blood stains her fur crimson, and drips down onto the furs of her nest, but she can't bring herself to care. She watches it, hardly able to breathe as her tears continue flowing, and part of her wishes the blood would never stop.

It's a thought she's only ever had one other time in her life - the day she watched her son pass into the next life. She'd lost her mind that day, for a while, and had contemplated joining her son so that he wouldn't have to pass on without a mother. Sonni's presence had been the only thing that kept her from doing it; without her sister and nieces and nephews, Momo would never have met Elijah because she wouldn't have outlived her son. Today, though, as she watches her blood pool against her chest, her mind wavers dangerously close to that edge again.

She's spent two years without her son, and for what? She has only one friend, who she's fallen in love with and needs to distance herself from so as to avoid making everything awkward. She has no family anymore - she's alone here in Amaryllis, no parents, no siblings, no nieces, no nephews. No nothing, except for a bad case of unrequited love that she needs to try and cure for the sake of the friendship.

Not that Elijah isn't worth living for - he's worth the world - but she's spiraling right now, badly, her brain latching onto her pain and leaving no room for anything else. Tomorrow she'll remember how devastated Elijah and her family would be, but tonight? Tonight, all she can think of is that she can't bear feeling alone anymore, can't bear another moment without her baby by her side. Can't bear feeling so empty without him snuggled against her.

Tears mingle with blood, and white claws flex from whiter paws.

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It had been a good day, and Gawain was exhausted and utterly fishy. He had spent more time than he'd needed to catching far more fish than had been necessary, because what was the beach without seafood? He was quite certain he'd be picking sand from his paws for weeks. No matter how tired he was, though, the smell of blood in his camp was something he would never miss. Suddenly, he was more alert than he had been even when he'd accidentally angered a crab, and it didn't take him long to find the source. He didn't want to barge in, privacy was important and he didn't want to violate that. He also didn't want to leave her alone, especially if she was injured, and especially if he didn't know how she'd been injured. So instead, he sat outside her den. Surely, she'd heard his pawsteps. "Mononoke?" His voice was soft, as gentle as he could muster. "Can I come in, please?" Perhaps if he'd known her better, if she'd been @Elijah or Nazonal, he would have just walked in and curled up around her- held her until she felt more like herself. But right now, he wasn't sure if that was something they were close enough for him to do.

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tired and sun-warmed, elijah had... a good day. and, oh, those were so few and far between. returning home to the jungle seems to be the cherry on top. though he loves the beach and sand and everything it all entailed, there is something so nice about this jungle. he's become terribly fond of it in the short time he's been living here, though maybe it has more to do with the people here than the actual rainforest itself. imagine the look on his face, then, when he catches scent of blood. at first he thinks it's just him, imagining things. his brows furrow as his paws stop, scenting the air curiously. he's... caught the stray, vague scent of darkstone before, brought home by @Gawain, but those were fleeting things. barely there and half-imagined. but this seems more... pressing. his brows bunch together as he does his best to find it and follows it to... @Mononoke's den? he chirrups softly as he approaches, nervously, seeing gawain standing in front of her den. ears pitching forward as he arrives, the concern plain on his face. is everything okay? he asks to both of them, and couldn't quite ignore how strong the metallic scent is here. maybe she's just caught herself a snack, and maybe there was no need for the panic thrumming in his chest.

code by irish

mononoke yōsei lupai

---

like fragile tiny shells, drifting in the foam

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL IDEATION, DECEASED CHILD, SELF HARM

Their voices reach out, and a choked sob escapes from within the confines of the den. Go away, she pleads, her voice ragged and broken. You shouldn't see me like this. You shouldn't have to save me over and over again. Helpless rage and pain build and intertwine until a scream vibrates in her throat, held back by the barest threads of control. Oh, she wants to scream, wants to shred something, wants to lash out for all the pain she's carried these last couple of years.

Elijah's voice, especially, is what has those flexed claws curl slowly back into their sheaths - but the urge to lash out is still there. Not at them ( it isn't their fault; it isn't her fault ) but at something. Anything. It roars louder and louder, climbs higher and higher, until her body shakes and vibrates with the force of the need, and with a strangled sound of agony she leaps to little paws and swipes snow-clad claws through the furs she'd so carefully tended and kept for all these months.

The scream she's held back finally rips its way out of her throat - a short, sharp, broken-glass sound that is rage and hurt in equal measure. She shreds her nest with a level of fury and violence that is entirely unlike her, wishing it were her own body - wishing it were her ex's body. The fury drains as quickly as it rose, leaving her heaving and broken in the middle of her den, shredded pelts strewn around her like bodies. Save one pelt in particular, which her rage did not touch - an exquisite thing, made of the softest hide she'd been able to find.

This pelt is what sends her crashing to the floor with an alarming thump, tender paws reaching out to cradle the undamaged pelt with infinite gentleness. It's my fault, she says, to herself but loud enough for @Gawain and @Elijah to hear. You'd still be here if I were stronger. This, she whispers, crushing the pelt to her muzzle and inhaling deeply. It had been her son's birthing pelt, had been what he'd slept on every night he'd been alive, and she'd kept it for two years.

It doesn't smell like him anymore, but still she breathes it in, desperate for even a hint of her son's scent to be lingering in the fur. Happy early birthday, Ichirō, she whispers, tears slipping down onto the fur she holds against her cheek. I'm so sorry you aren't here to see it. I'm so sorry that I couldn't save you. She could have been a mother in law by now, she thinks; maybe a grandma in a few months from now. It's a strange thought, wondering what he'd have been like all grown up.

Bigger than her, certainly, but it wouldn't have stopped her from holding him. The hollow ache in her chest grows worse, and she gives herself up to the grief, eyelids lowering and tears pouring down her soft face. Leaves from the vine, falling so slow... Interspersed with thick pauses where she has to catch her breath between tears, her soft voice lilts out the song she has kept in her heart since she lost her little boy, sniffling quietly to herself. She forgets, in this moment, that @Elijah understands what the song means to her.

She forgets that he knows.

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@Elijah's arrival brought him instant relief. Eli would know what to do, they were friends after all. Gawain shrugged helplessly at his question, though @Mononoke's answer came swiftly enough. And that answer was a firm no. Gawain considered what to do for perhaps a few seconds too long, torn in that terrible place between wanting to help and wanting to allow privacy. He didn't know how close they were, he didn't know how she would take it. The sound of ripping pelts, though, was deeply concerning, though not as concerning as the silence that followed. It's all my fault. Those words were the last straw. Gawain shouldered aside the vines. Those words did not carry a good connotation. Survivor's guilt was a horrific beast. How many lions had he talked down from that particular ledge? He didn't know what she was talking about- he desperately hoped Elijah did- but that didn't stop him from curling in a half-circle a couple inches from her and, if she would allow, putting an arm over her shaking shoulders. "We're here for you, we aren't going anywhere." His voice was just above a whisper, and he hoped it was gentle enough for times like these.

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he is hoping that @Gawain can shed some light on the matter at hand -- he is hoping that gawain can put this matter to rest. elijah is happy to realize he is being crazy, that he is simply imagining things -- because that will always be better than the alternative. it's easy to assume the worst when he's used to seeing the worst, but that's not what he wants to find here. @Mononoke, of all people, deserved more than that. deserved better than that. he frowns at the way gawain simply rolls his shoulders, clearly oblivious, too. the sound of ripping pelts is nerve wracking and strange ( as he cannot place the sound ), but the scream has him scrambling forward. gawain beats him to it, of course, and the little medic squeezes in after his friend -- eyes widening, almost immediately, at the sight of shredded fur and red-against-white. momo, he says softly, delicately -- voice catching in his throat. oh, momo. gawain moves in, dark fur contrasting against her white fur ( once pristine, now stained ), and elijah, too, moves in. slowly, carefully -- the same way you'd approach a wild animal, gaze focused on her, ears disappearing into tousled curls. gawain's comforting voice is a low baritone, and elijah nods -- shaky, uncertain. her song is his real only clue (having missed her words in the mess of it all ), and he hums softly -- the melody a bit rushed and broken, but it's the same song she is singing, the same one she taught him months ago.

code by irish

mononoke yōsei lupai

---

like fragile tiny shells, drifting in the foam

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL IDEATION, DECEASED CHILD, SELF HARM

She jerks, as gentle hands and voices press against her skin; @Elijah joining in with her song has the tears flowing faster. After a long moment, and several deep breaths, she looks up at the two men on either side of her with heartbreak etched into her features. He'd be two years old next month, she whispers, tears spilling down her cheek all over again. Gaze finds @Elijah again, clinging helplessly to his face. Ichirō, and the name is a whispered prayer wrapped in anguish and longing.

@Gawain isn't familiar with this sad story, but surely the context clues aren't hard to put together. I'm sorry, she whispers, clutching her son's sleeping pelt closer. I'm so sorry. It's so hard to be happy this time of year. Pale paws knead the soft fur gently, and she presses her nose to it again, inhaling desperately. I miss him so much. She's not sure this time of year will ever not hurt like this, and god, she half wants to end everything so she never has to hurt like this again. But then her eyes find @Elijah again, and she knows she cannot leave him.

No matter how she's drowning in grief, she cannot leave him.

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In this moment, Gawain knows he won't be much help. @Elijah was who she needed, not him. He had no words of wisdom, and being comforting wasn't his forté. But he could be here, now. He could care. And hopefully, that could be enough. "Momo, you don't have to put on a face for us. You have nothing to apologize for." He hoped the nickname Eli used would be acceptable, he figured by this point they were past formalities. He didn't know what else to say, he would leave the comforting to Elijah. For now, he would just stay by her side and listen. That was something he was good at. @Mononoke

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two years old. he can hardly imagine it — this little youngster with momo's face, a cub much older than naz. no wonder she was hurting, and elijah feels like a fool for not realizing sooner. of course spending the afternoon with a few little ones wouldn't be easy, and it'd be a stark reminder of all she's lost. @Gawain speaks first and elijah nods earnestly in agreement. you have nothing to apologize for, he murmurs, quick and easy as anything. that much was clear — there is no blame to be placed here. his paws squeeze hers, offering @Mononoke a small smile as their eyes meet. it is flimsy and fragile, but warm; he hopes it is enough. would you like to... tell us about him? he offers, head tilting slightly — glancing towards gawain before looking back to momo again. i've always found that sharing memories was a good way to remember someone. this is said slowly, and it's clear he's speaking from experience — he might not have ever lost a child, but he has certainly lost many. memories might be the only thing she has left of her son, but that didn't mean she needed to shoulder this grief alone. they were friends ( maybe even a family ), after all, and ichiro's loss was a loss to them all. whatever she needed, she had it; tucked this close together in her den, even with the coppery smell of blood lingering, she was safe. and more importantly, she was not alone anymore.

code by irish

mononoke yōsei lupai

---

like fragile tiny shells, drifting in the foam

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL IDEATION, DECEASED CHILD, SELF HARM, MENTION OF SLAVERY

It's strange to feel so comforted by people who aren't Sonni or Caspian, or her precious nieces and nephews. Strange to find new family in arms that aren't red and pink and purple. Still though, she needs this, and these two men are willing to hold her and help her through the pain, and if that isn't family she doesn't know what is. He was so happy, his whole month of life. Her voice is a husky murmur as her gaze falls back to her paws - where Eli's hand holds hers, giving her strength to speak of her son.

His father abandoned me before I even knew I was pregnant. I was so stressed and upset that I failed to notice the signs and didn't take care of myself properly. This is why she blames herself - why she has always blamed herself. If she'd known, if she'd taken care of herself, he'd still be alive. My sister said... said it was for the best, because the father had reminded her of the people who enslaved her when she was young. She pauses, still troubled by that - what had Sonni noticed that Mononoke had not?

I don't know what she saw in him that made her think of that. It was years ago, but she was taken and made into a gladiator. They called her the White Lotus, and when she adopted my oldest niece and nephews, they were used as pawns to keep her under control. A shudder runs through her body, relief and horror all in one, because what if her son's father had been such a person? What if he'd planned on taking Momo back to some such hellhole and keeping her prisoner? It makes her sick to think about, and even sicker to think that her son could've been born into captivity.

My baby, though... the stress caused a premature birth, I think. I was so upset that his father had simply left, without a single word. Ichirō was so tiny - you could've held him in a single paw, @Gawain. A soft half-laugh escapes at the thought of him gently holding Ichirō's little figure in his large paws, dwarfing her baby son entirely. I fought to keep him alive, but it wasn't enough. He was born in September, and passed in his sleep in October. The only saving grace was that he'd gone peacefully, with a soft little smile on his precious face. She couldn't have been saved if he'd gone in some horrific manner, she doesn't think.

He was smiling. That and my sister and her children were the only things that kept me from... she trails off, sniffling and taking a shaking breath. I didn't want him to be without a mother. He was so little, so young, and I... I lost my mind, for a while, after I buried him. And then she'd repressed her wild grief in favor of taking care of her nieces and nephews, refusing to talk about any of it and being so aggressively cheerful that the family dropped the subject, not wanting to force her into a conversation she couldn't handle.

He looked exactly like me, but with stripes all over his body like my sister has. Just... in pink, because he was albino like me. Her gentle hands keep his sleeping pelt close, and she leans her head down to nuzzle at that downy fur again. It isn't his - but it's almost as soft, and it's the only thing she has left aside from memories. This was the pelt that I made for him to sleep wrapped up in. He struggled to stay warm even with him in my arms, so I got him this. It was the softest, warmest fur I could find. A hiccuping little sob escapes her, and she presses her nose into the soft pelt with a sad little sound.

I miss him so much, she whispers, looking up at the two men who have chosen to be here for her instead of running. I feel so very empty this time of year, without him in my arms. It's... it's been so... she trails off, shaking her head helplessly. Finally, in a quiet tone, she admits, The guilt and the grief feel like they'll eat me alive sometimes. Tears still drip down her face, but slowly, her breathing improves a little bit so that she's no longer struggling quite as much to draw air. I don't know how anyone copes with losing a child. It rips the heart right out of your chest, and I don't know how to get mine back.

Her gaze finds @Elijah again, and she wonders how he keeps moving after all he's been through. How can he keep smiling after such pain? She tries to remain upbeat and positive, but this time of year is so much worse than all the other months. It's so much harder to cope when the cooling air reminds her of what she's lost, and while her conversation with Elijah from before had helped her to smile about her son, it hadn't been a magic cure for the pain that beats in her chest where a heart ought to be. I'm hollow, she whispers, and in this moment she truly means it.

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