#how they all held so much fear - in some shape or form - of losing the others. of being left behind

[jaekaicx]

i just finished playing in stars and time the other day, and because everything has to come back to amphibia, im thinking about the calamity trio and timeloops.....

[earlgreydream]

gods, I’m so sorry. this has been in my drafts since APRIL 2023…. I’m finally getting to it, thanks so much for this sweet request ♥️

requested: bucky needing to have a hand on you (stroking ur hair, hand on ur knee, etc) at all times after he nearly loses u ���� to reassure u that ure safe and he's there but mostly to reassure himself

The silence was deafening, and it was so dark. Had it always been this way? James couldn’t remember. The Brooklyn apartment didn’t feel like a home anymore. It was empty without you, your absence ripping the essence of life from his home.

He sighed, not bothering to turn on the light. James didn’t have any intention to stay, the emptiness held an eerie feeling that he just couldn’t shake. He almost forgot what he’d gone home for — to get a change of clothes before heading back to the Tower, to wait for you.

James felt like he should have been out looking. You’d been missing for weeks — disappearing on a mission with Sam, to gather intel. There wasn’t supposed to be any real danger, he would never have let you go if he was worried about a threat to your safety.

“We need to go back, they found her,” Steve’s voice cut through the silence, and Bucky’s heart seized at his words.

“Is she alive?”

.

The first thing your mind registered was pain. There was a dull, heavy throbbing in every part of your body. When you tried to open your eyes, everything was too bright, and a terrible beeping worsened your splitting headache.

You blinked away the fog in your vision, a hospital room slowly coming into focus. James stood up from a chair in the corner and ran to your side, speaking frantically. You couldn’t understand him, it sounded like his voice was underwater, unclear and garbled.

Panic surged through your chest when you looked down to see an IV in your arm, and you registered the tubes on your face that were meant to help you breathe. You clawed at the IV in your arm, nails scratching your skin as you attempted to rip the needle out.

“Stop, please, baby,” James begged, grabbing your wrist to keep you from accidentally hurting yourself.

“James?” You rasped, the fear in your voice breaking his heart.

“I’m here. You’re safe, you’re in the hospital at Stark Tower. Nothing can hurt you anymore,” he promised, the words sounding clearer in your head this time.

Your chest heaved and tears started to leak down your cheeks, whimpering as a nurse emptied a sedative into your system.

James held your hand, so the nurse didn’t cuff your wrists to the bed. Your memory was foggy, but your body remembered what you’d been through — your heart rate monitor beginning to scream as the nurse talked about restraining you.

“Get out. Just get out!” James shouted, one of the few times you’d ever seen him with tears running down his face.

You began to fade as the sedative kicked in, the room quieting once it was just you and James. He listened to your shallow breathing, gently rubbing his thumb across your forearm, needing to touch you as he sat next to the bed. He had to have his hands on you, to remind himself you were there, safe.

“Don’t leave me,” you begged softly, your trembling hand laying over his.

“I won’t leave you, I promise… just get some rest, okay?” He kissed your knuckles, gazing at you with wet blue eyes.

.

“I can stay with her, so you can go home, change, sleep in your own bed?” Steve offered, coming in while you were asleep.

“I'm not leaving,” James murmured, barely looking up at his best friend.

“Has she told you anything about what happened?” Steve took a seat on the other side of your bed, an action that James was grateful for, even if he didn’t say so.

“No. She’s barely coherent, they’ve got her on some pretty intense medication…. Steve, she’s in rough shape. How was she when you found her?”

James was afraid to ask, but had to know. Steve shifted his weight, looking down at the floor before finally looking back at your sleeping form, bruised and battered.

"Bad, James. Hydra had her tied up, suspended from the ceiling."

James rubbed his fingers over the raw, red rings around your wrists from the restraints, stopping as you winced in your sleep.

You opened your eyes, looking over at him, reaching out to trail your fingertips over the scruff on his cheek.

"Steve, thank you," you spoke hoarsely, turning to the blond who stood at the end of the hospital bed.

"Of course. How are you feeling?" he approached and gently took your outstretched hand.

"Everything hurts," you groaned, shaking as you tried to sit up.

"Here," James helped you, supporting your weight as you settled into a seated position.

.

Two weeks later, you'd recovered enough to be discharged.

"I don't want to stay at the tower, I want to go home," you insisted to James, anxious to be back in the shared Brooklyn apartment.

You held his hand as he drove you to the brownstone, flinching at car horns and loud noises. As much as you ached to be home, the trauma still exhausted your nervous system, and kept James on edge.

Your friends had been kind enough to clean your place for you, warm and smelling of the dinner that was in the oven, waiting for you and James. He followed you to the kitchen, smiling softly as you eagerly dug into the first real food you’d got since your return.

Despite have the whole table to yourself, you sat on Bucky’s knee as you ate, his arm around your waist. He was quieter than usual, his face pressed into your shoulder, needing to be as close as possible. He was unable to let you go, afraid you’d slip through his fingers.

.

Later that night, Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, helping rinse your hair. He had all but gotten in the water with you, his sleeves rolled up as he tenderly washed your skin. Candles flickered on the counters, dimly lighting the fragrant room.

“I’m okay,” you whispered to James, your hand going to his jaw as he kissed you. His lips were soft against yours, parting just enough to catch your small gasp. You chased his mouth when he pulled away, only briefly satisfied as he planted another firm kiss to your lips. He stood to get you a towel, wrapping you up as you rose from the water.

“Let’s go to bed,” he urged, unable to hide his anxiety.

“You won’t sleep,” you accused, knowing he’d be up all night, just as he had for days.

“We can put on a movie. I just need to hold you,” his big eyes were framed by dark lashes, eyes that were impossible to say no to.

You slipped into one of his tee shirts before following him, letting yourself snuggle against his side, his arms tightly wrapping around your middle. The rhythm of his heartbeat and soft sounds of the television lulled you to sleep, resting safely in his embrace.

[lvmoure]

Jump Then Fall CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x childhoodbff!reader

Summary: In which you loved him the moment you turned 7 years old. In which she fell first but he fell harder.

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Part 2 Part 3

You were only seven when it hit you for the first time: a fluttery feeling, soft and strange, but warm like a summer breeze. The source of this unexpected feeling was none other than Carlos Sainz, your best friend since you could remember. He was the boy who sat next to you in class, the one who chased you around the playground, and the one who always let you have the last cookie at lunch.

It was a sunny afternoon, the kind where the sunlight spilled across the playground in warm, lazy beams, illuminating everything in a golden hue. You and Carlos were at your favorite spot by the swings, taking turns seeing who could go the highest. Carlos grinned at you, his cheeks flushed from the thrill of the game, his laughter bright and unrestrained. You felt your heart race, pounding in a way that seemed strange and exciting all at once.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Carlos called out, waving his hand in front of your face. He was laughing, his eyes squinting with joy as the wind tossed his dark hair in every direction.

You snapped out of your thoughts, cheeks heating up as you stammered, "Of course I am! You were saying… uh, something about soccer?"

Carlos groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I was talking about how we should form a team, and I was going to ask you to be my teammate. But now I'm not so sure, since you're off in dreamland!"

You felt your face warm even more, but you managed to laugh. "Fine, I'll be your teammate, but only if you promise to pass the ball sometimes!"

He laughed, pretending to consider your terms. "Deal," he said, reaching out his pinky. You linked yours with his, feeling a spark—a small, inexplicable jolt that made you freeze for just a second. But Carlos didn't seem to notice; he was already excitedly planning your imaginary soccer team's strategy.

As the two of you chattered away, you realized how much you loved moments like this. Little did you know, these small, simple moments would be the foundation of a love that would grow with you, one that would shape your every feeling for years to come.

Years passed, and the innocent feelings you had as a child grew complicated, layered with insecurities and fear of change. By the time you reached high school, Carlos was no longer just "that boy next to you." He had grown into someone everyone noticed, with his easy charm, his passion for sports, and the same unfiltered laugh that always made you feel like the only person in the room. It wasn't just the small things that made you realize you were in love with him; it was everything about him, the way he treated people, the way he never held back.

You watched him from across the cafeteria, trying not to be obvious. Carlos was surrounded by his friends, laughing and animated, and you could see why everyone liked him so much. But you kept your feelings locked away, never daring to say a word. You were terrified of what would happen if he knew—terrified of losing him, of the awkwardness that might come with a confession.

"Are you staring at Carlos again?" your friend teased, nudging you playfully.

You jolted, quickly looking down at your food, cheeks flaming. "No, I was… I was just lost in thought."

"Yeah, sure," she said with a smirk. "You've got it bad, and you know it."

You groaned, hiding your face. "I can’t tell him. It’d ruin everything."

"He’d probably be flattered," she said gently. "But I get it. Some things are scarier when it comes to best friends."

A part of you wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same way. But you couldn't risk it. So you kept quiet, holding your feelings close and letting them simmer in silence. There were moments when he looked at you, really looked, and you'd find yourself wondering if he could see the way you felt. But every time, he'd just flash you a grin or make a joke, and you’d brush it off, convincing yourself that he couldn’t possibly feel the same.

You told yourself that being close to him as his friend was enough, even if it hurt sometimes to keep the truth hidden.

The day he introduced his girlfriend to you, it felt like the world was crashing down around you. You plastered on a smile, trying to ignore the way your heart seemed to shatter into a million pieces.

"Hey, this is Isabela," Carlos said with a bright smile, his arm slung casually around her shoulders. "Isn't she amazing?"

You forced a laugh, pushing down the wave of jealousy and sadness that threatened to spill out. "Yeah, she seems great," you managed, feeling like every word you spoke was a lie.

Isabela was everything you weren’t—confident, beautiful, and effortlessly charming. She seemed to know Carlos in ways that you didn’t, ways that you wished you could. You watched them together, the way he looked at her, and it tore you apart. But you stayed by his side, putting on a brave face and pretending that you were fine.

"Are you okay?" Carlos asked one day, noticing the sadness in your eyes.

You forced a smile. "Of course, I’m just tired."

He gave you a long, searching look, as if he could see through your mask. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

But you couldn’t tell him this, not now. So you just nodded, hoping he’d never find out how deeply you were hurting.

Years passed, and one day, Carlos showed up at your door, his face pale and eyes rimmed red. Before he could even speak, you wrapped him in a hug, sensing the heartbreak he was carrying. Isabella had broken up with him, and he was devastated.

"I thought we had something real," he said, his voice breaking. "But she said she couldn’t handle it."

You held him close, soothing him with gentle words, even as your heart ached at the sight of his pain. Part of you felt relief—relief that he was no longer with her, that there might be a chance for you. But mostly, you just wanted to be there for him, to be the shoulder he could lean on.

"I’m here for you," you whispered, your hand running comfortingly over his back. "You’re going to get through this, Carlos. I promise."

He looked at you then, and for a moment, something seemed to shift in his gaze. But he was hurting too much to notice it, and you were too afraid to hope.

Months after the breakup, Carlos found himself looking at you in a way he hadn’t before. It was small things—like the way you laughed at his jokes, the way you always knew when he needed comfort, or the way you were just there, unwavering in your support. He began to realize that maybe, all this time, the person he was looking for had been right beside him.

He wanted to tell you. Wanted to confess that he felt something he couldn’t quite explain, something warm and soft that made his heart beat a little faster. But he held back, afraid that maybe he’d missed his chance, that his feelings would only complicate things.

For now, he decided, he’d admire you from afar, letting his feelings settle and hoping that one day, he’d find the courage to tell you.

Because love, he realized, was worth waiting for.

[swanimagines]

READY TO DIE | KAZ BREKKER

Summary: You lose your sister when a corrupted lawyer kills her, who kidnapped you two in hopes to get information about your boyfriend Kaz Brekker. What the poor lawyer didn't think, was that it was a huge mistake from him and he, Hendrik Marting, would never see the light of day again.

Warnings: Kaz is a major Dirtyhands in this, so this includes graphic descriptions of violence and torture.

"Stop! Stop it!"

Your scream echoed around the cellar and Hendrik Marting stilled, slowly turning to look at you. Your eyes were unable to focus on him properly due to so much pain, but you knew he took some steps towards you.

"What's wrong, love?" he cooed mockingly. "Can't watch your precious sister suffer anymore?"

"Fuck you!" you snarled and he sighed.

"And I thought you would be more creative with your insults," he said, before you felt his hand in your hair, yanking your head back. "Ready to answer my questions about Brekker?"

You stared into his eyes and said nothing, willing yourself not to look away.

"I've had enough of you," Marting snarled, his hand tightening in your hair.

"No," you whispered. "I will never betray him."

He gave a sharp yank, forcing your head back further.

"No?"

"No."

Marting froze, his grip loosening for a second before he gripped your hair tighter again.

"You will tell me what I want to know," he hissed. "You just have an option to choose whether you'll have your sister suffer longer."

You shivered as he started to drag his other hand down your body, leaving you gasping in disgust.

"Or," he said, his eyes burning into yours, "you could tell me the truth and make it all go away."

You swallowed and your body was trembling with the pain you were feeling, but you still refused to look away.

"I will never tell you anything."

"What good has Dirtyhands ever done for you?" Marting hissed. "How can you stay so loyal for a man like him? He'd sell you out for enough kruge. He has no care for you at all."

"You know nothing about him," you spat, struggling in his grip.

"You're so naive," he laughed and then nodded at his men. "Give her sister some more punches, maybe that will loosen her tongue."

Your body trembled with rage and you closed your eyes, holding back your fear. You had to stay strong, to stay strong for your sister, for your friends. You held back your will to cry out for her, just so you'd know she's still alive. She had stopped screaming, whimpering and groaning some moments back, and you knew she was in a bad shape. She had been hit so many times, so hard, that her ribs were probably cracked and she couldn't even cry out anymore.

Then, a blast was heard and you felt Marting slump against your chair, and then being pushed away.

"Are you awake, love?"

Jesper.

"Jesper?" you whispered, blinking as you felt someone fiddling with the rope tied around your hands and ankles, and then the rope was gone.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes," you nodded, your eyes widening as he took your hands in his.

"Can you walk?"

"I... I think so."

Jesper smiled and then glared at Marting, who was still lying on the ground.

"I should put a bullet in his head."

"Veta," you choked out. "Is she okay?"

"Don't worry about it now, love. Let's just get you out of here."

You looked down and saw blood dripping down your arms. You could feel it soaking your clothes and your legs were trembling with the pain, and then you noticed that Veta's chair was empty.

"Where's my sister?"

"We have her," Jesper said, pulling you up. "Matthias has her."

You looked around and then your eyes widened as you saw the cellar door. You stumbled towards it, almost falling, but Jesper was there to catch you. He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you towards the door.

Kaz stood there, just behind the door, and you sighed in relief at the sight of him. He took a look at your beaten up form, and clenched his jaw, before glancing at the door. "Get her out of here, Jesper. Take her to the Slat, she needs rest."

Jesper nodded, and took a better hold of your body. "Come on," he said, helping you towards the door.

---

You had lost your memory of how you got to the Slat, but when you woke up, bandages were covering your body.

Inej was perched on your window, immediately standing up when you opened your eyes and groaned. She sat down next to you, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Considering the situation, yes," you replied, smiling weakly. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Two weeks," she replied. "For a moment there we thought we'd lose you."

"I thought I'm going to die, too. But we won't go down so easily, we are too tough to give up with Veta," you chuckled but winced as it caused your ribs to ache.

Inej didn't reply.

"Where's Kaz?" You asked, looking at Inej.

"Oh, he has been unbearable, as he always is if he's worried about you. I'll let him know you're awake." She stood up from your bed and the next moment, she was already gone.

And not even five minutes passed, before you heard a cane clicking behind your door and then, a knock.

"Come in," you said.

Kaz entered, looking like he hadn't slept or eaten in days.

"You look like hell, Kaz," you smiled weakly at him, trying to ignore the pain in your chest.

Kaz didn't reply, didn't show any emotion when he pulled up your desk chair and sat on it. You frowned, wondering what was wrong.

"Has something happened?" You asked. Kaz still didn't reply. "Kaz?"

His eyes looked down, his hands squeezing his cane with little more force than necessary. Then, a thought filled your head. A horrible thought, a question you knew the answer for before you even asked.

"Kaz?" You said, your voice breaking. "Where is my sister?"

Kaz sighed, and then finally looked up at you. "I'm sorry, darling. Nina did everything she could, but she's... she's gone."

It was like you had become deaf all of the sudden. You were numb. You felt like you were floating, your head felt too heavy and your chest too empty.

"She... she's dead?" you heard your voice say. Faintly, it sounded like you heard yourself from behind a wall. Your head was spinning, but you felt like you were looking at a dream, a nightmare. For a moment, you felt as though you were still in the cellar. You remembered Veta's body, bloody, beaten up, full of cuts and bruises. You remembered the moment she stopped making noises, when she fell numb.

Kaz looked at you, not saying anything.

"No." You shook your head. "This isn't funny, Kaz. Stop playing around, she's in her room, she's still unconscious or you're just playing some cruel joke on me. She can't be dead."

Kaz shook his head. "Marting killed her."

Hendrik Marting's face flashed before you, and you felt like you had been punched in the stomach. "Killed her?"

Kaz nodded, his voice heavy. "She hadn't had a heartbeat for at least fifteen minutes. Nina was unable to resurrect her."

You fell silent, your mind processing the information. And after a few minutes, you looked at Kaz again, this time your eyes full of fire. "I'm going to kill him," you said, your voice firm, your words filled with determination. "I'll rip Hendrik Marting apart, I'll make him beg for mercy. Then, I'll make him beg to kill him already. Then I'll rip his limbs off while he's still alive. I'll cut him to pieces. I'll feed his flesh to his own dogs."

Kaz was looking at you, still no emotion on his face but he knew those feelings. He had gone through them after Jordie had died. He knew what you were thinking, what you were feeling. He knew how hard it was to go on. How hard it was to live.

"I know you will, darling," he whispered. "And I will help you."

You didn't say anything, but you looked at him with a ghost of a smirk. You had lost your sister, but you would avenge her death in a way Marting wouldn't see coming.

---

Ten months had passed from the day Veta had died and you had finally fully healed. During that time, you, Kaz and the rest of the Crows had whipped up a plan for how to kidnap and kill Hendrik Marting.

"Inej, you will stay on rooftops and make sure Marting is going where he's supposed to go. And when he's alone in here," Kaz tapped Marting's office, "Nina will go in and slow his heartbeat so he falls asleep. After that, Matthias will take him out. We will take him to the old warehouse near the Slat. I've got everything set there. The warehouse has everything we need to make Marting suffer."

Kaz glanced up at you, but you kept your eyes on the map.

"We have to be careful," you said. "If we do even one mistake, some of us could be taken into that cellar, and suffer the same fate as my sister. We have to make sure we do everything right."

Kaz nodded. "And we will. I know we won't make any mistakes, not when Marting took one of us."

You took in a long breath through your nose, before looking up at Kaz again. "His suffering will last for hours." You said, your voice a bit hollow. "It won't be quick, I will relish in his pain, just like she relished killing my sister."

Kaz nodded again, a small smirk playing on his lips.

---

You were peeking around the dark alley just in line with Marting's office, his neatly sorted law books in his shelf and a pile of papers on his desk. From the outside, he looked like a decent lawyer, maybe even honest - but you should have known that even the lawyers of Ketterdam were corrupted. A handsome bribe, and they would do almost anything, using their power to get anything.

You paid attention on how Marting's arm was moving funnily, stiffly. Like it had been badly broken just some time before. You smirked, either the man had fell down from somewhere high or he had more enemies than just you. Either way, his death would be a gift for all of Ketterdam.

You saw Nina's shadow entering the office, and Marting didn't even have time to react before he was already under.

Matthias' huge shadow entered the office next, and just on cue, a wagon was parked under the office window. Matthias threw Marting out from the window straight on the hay pile on the back of the wagon, and Jesper covered Marting with hay before he gestured you to come along and together, you continued on towards the warehouse.

The warehouse wasn't very big building, it had a few cages with stuff Kaz had yet to sell, and then it had slightly larger space - and that space had a chair in the middle, a few ropes lying beside it and a bag full of bandages. On the other side, there was a small shelf full of knives and a few pairs of pliers of different sizes at least, but you'd take a better look on them later. Matthias and Nina arrived soon after you, and the Fjerdan lifted Marting from the wagon, carrying him over to the chair.

Nina walked up to one of the ropes and lifted it, starting to tie Marting up, Jesper helping her with another rope.

"Make sure he'll stay in place," Kaz rasped suddenly from the shadows, having appeared from nowhere - or maybe he was already waiting there. "We don't want him to escape."

"Oh don't worry. He should be almost as strong as Matthias to get loose from this." Jesper said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "And fortunately we have Matthias keeping guard at the door while you and your Queen do the thing."

Nina and Jesper spent a moment longer tightening the rope, before you all stared at the sleeping man for a moment.

"Wake him up," you then said, your eyes on Marting. Nina lifted his hands, making some quick motions and soon, Marting groaned as he stirred awake. He looked around, his eyes widening when he saw you and Kaz.

"Ah, so this is it?" Marting mumbled, his eyes shifting on Kaz. "For your information, your little gift for me cost me thousands of kruge to fix. And my arm will still never be the same, you broke the bone from twelve different places. I didn't even know that was possible. I was told I'm lucky my arm wasn't amputated."

Kaz nodded at the five of his Crows and they went outside, shutting the heavy door behind them. You stepped forward, looking at the ropes binding Marting's hands and feet to the chair.

"It's your turn to pay, Marting," you said. "It's my sister's revenge."

Marting only smiled at that, a mocking smile that made your blood boil even more, if possible.

"So, you plan to kill me? Adorable." Marting chuckled. "And that will help with bringing back your sister?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Nothing will bring her back, but she deserves justice. I will make you beg for death. I will make you scream for me to just kill you."

Marting chuckled again, looking at you as if you were some kind of a joke. "Oh, really? A sweet girl like you torturing me?"

You glanced at Kaz, who took a step forward. "We will make you beg, Marting."

Marting's smile was still full of derision, clearly not believing you're serious. So you took one of the smaller knives from the shelf and stabbed him right on the knee. Marting grunted, tears of pain prickling in his eyes. But he still smiled.

"That's all you got?" he asked, looking at the knife in your hand.

"May I?" Kaz asked you and you smiled at him, pulling the knife out from Marting's knee. Kaz nodded, taking the largest knife from the counter. He turned it around, showing it to Marting. "Didn't you just say you were lucky your arm wasn't amputated after I broke it?"

Marting raised his eyebrows at Kaz, and after a blink, Kaz had swung the knife and Marting's hand was on the floor. Blood gushed out of Marting's severed wrist and finally, the man howled in pain, trying to wriggle the rest of his arm free from his restraints. Kaz looked entirely unfazed and picked up some bandages from the bag and handed them to you.

"Bandage his wrist. We don't want him to bleed out too quickly."

You didn't need any more of an explanation, and quickly tied a bandage around Marting's wrist, securing the cloth with a tight knot. Marting whimpered, but then made a pathetic attempt to compose himself and smirked at you again.

"It was your sister who I killed, and your boyfriend does a better job than you in punishing me. Pathetic."

You smirked back, walking over to the shelf and taking a pair of large pliers. "Oh, I can think of a few ways to punish you, you arrogant fuck."

Marting looked at you walk over to him with pliers in your hand. He looked at you until you grabbed his blond hair and forced his head back. Kaz seemed to know what you were going to do, so he took a hold of Marting's hair as you forced his mouth open and closed the pliers on his tongue. You then took the small knife from earlier and made a large slash on the underside. Marting let out another, satisfying howl of pain as he started to bleed from the wound, blood pouring down his chin.

"Should we remove some of your teeth?" you asked him, the knife dripping with blood. "You're a pretty man, you could look even prettier with only one or two teeth. It could give you a nice smile in your funeral."

Marting didn't even say anything this time, though it might have been because his mouth was full of blood.

"Maybe later with the teeth, then." You sighed, walking over to the shelf again and lying the pliers down. You grabbed another knife and a few more bandages, and took a deep breath.

"Alright," you said. "I'll make sure to take the time to enjoy this, Marting. But first, it's Kaz's turn. Maybe one tooth could be taken out now, just to give him a little taste on that."

Kaz smirked, taking slightly smaller pliers from the shelf and walked over to the man. He placed them on Marting's mouth and turned them, this time with you holding his hair back. You heard Marting's teeth clack together, and he started to squirm as one of his teeth started to crack. Kaz looked up at you, a slight smirk on his face.

"It's been a long time since I've gotten to do this." he said before another crack was heard.

Marting let out another howl, and you held him tighter as he thrashed his head around. Kaz held the the pliers tighter and twisted them, this time getting the tooth out. Marting howled and then Kaz placed a large cloth of bandage inside his mouth.

"Hold his head up," you told Kaz, who nodded. You walked over to the shelf again, taking the largest knife from earlier and walking back over to Marting. He was still whimpering and moaning, but not screaming. You wanted to hear him scream after every single thing you'd do to him with Kaz.

You walked back over to him, pushing your face close to his. "You'll pay for your sins, Marting. You'll beg me to kill you."

Marting's eyes widened as you lifted the knife and placed the tip on the back of his head. He flinched at the knife, and you chuckled, placing your other hand on his cheek. "Beg, Marting. Beg me to kill you, or I'll make this last for a lot longer."

Marting didn't even have a chance to say anything before you cut him while laughing, almost cutting his ear off. You then walked over to the counter, taking a small jar of something from the shelf and placing it in your hand. You walked back to Marting, and with your free hand, you placed a rag over the wound.

"Do we have matches?" you asked Kaz.

He smirked, probably knowing what you were wanting to do. "Yes, in the drawer. We also have alcohol in the cabinet."

"Let's start with those," you said, soon returning to Marting and taking a deep breath. "I won't lie, this is going to hurt."

You soaked a rag with alcohol and plopped it on his hair, and then lit the match. Marting howled as the flames spread over his head, his eyes wide and his body trembling. He screamed, trying to find a way to out out the flames, but you just laughed, watching the flames burn through his hair and make a small patch of his head look like a burnt cookie.

You took another rag and placed it on the wound, smothering the flames. Marting whimpered and looked at you with teary eyes, and you smirked at him.

"Ready to die?"

"I will never beg anything from anyone, especially not from a woman," Marting snarled, his voice trembling.

"Good." You grabbed a small knife from the shelf and walked back over to him. "I still have a lot to do with you." you said, holding the knife in front of him, and now, for the first time this evening, you saw a flash of genuine fear and regret in his eyes.

---

It had taken six hours before Marting stopped responding to the pain, and soon after that his heart had stopped. He never once begged you to just kill him, which disappointed you - but knowing that his last hours were nothing but torture made you believe he wanted to give in, but his pride outweighed his desire for the pain to just stop. After you were done, you and Kaz both covered in blood and all of Marting's fingers, hands, teeth and his left leg severed on the floor, you dragged the man who had destroyed your only biological family from the back door and threw him to the Reaper's Barge, watching him go under the surface.

The way back to the Slat had felt surreal - for so many months, you had fantasised this to happen, but you hadn't actually believed it would happen. You had thought it would only exist in your fantasies. Maybe Kaz would get him dead if you asked, but to get a revenge on your sister yourself?

You had done it.

It was a feeling that filled you with so much pride, you had never felt anything like it. The way you felt when you were doing something right. Feeling pride from something like that would have been sick and deranged anywhere else, but in Ketterdam it was normal - you would never forget this day.

In the Slat, everyone fell silent the moment you and Kaz stepped in, your faces and clothes covered in blood. It was clear whose blood it was to everyone there - and some people cheered for it. Veta was loved within the Dregs, she was the sunshine among everything grim in Ketterdam, and many Dregs did miss her and wanted revenge to Marting. You both went upstairs to wash yourselves off the blood, and as you watched the red pour down the drain, you felt like you could finally say goodbye to Veta. 

You just felt she was in peace now, and you could live your life knowing you avenged her.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[yandere-sins]

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just the friend who’s been pushed aside for someone new.”

His smile was weak, pained, his eyes reflecting all the sadness that every word he spoke dripped with. You hated the gut-wrenching feeling in your stomach, even though you wanted nothing more than to turn around and return to camp. Return to the people that had kept you sane for the last few months. 

You once thought Gale was one of them. 

“You know that’s not true. I’m not pushing you aside for anyone!”

You two still had to travel together, fight the evils that awaited you. Even if you wished for some distance from his… suffocating presence and constant need of your attention, he still was your companion—one you thought you shared more than just this journey with. 

But not anymore. You didn’t recognize your Gale in the flicker of jealousy dashing through his gaze and the doubt in every wrinkle on his forehead. You didn’t recognize the man that kindled a feeling of love inside you when he stood before you, menacing, threatening, too close for either of your comforts. Needy, greedy, desperate Gale, who didn’t want you to return in fear of losing you forever. Losing you, too. 

“Then why the hurry? Stay a little. Let’s watch the stars.”

You used to love the romantic, albeit sometimes goofy, Gale. When you looked up and searched for him in the depths of his eyes, sometimes, you thought to still see him there, your heart aching for the man you loved. But subconsciously, you lifted your hand to your arm, feeling the burn of the bruises beneath your clothes as you rubbed along the skin. Bruises in the shape of his fingers from the many times he held you back, kept you by his side. And yet, how could you abandon the man you loved, knowing how much it hurt him? How could you traumatize him in the way he had suffered before? 

“Okay, but let’s not keep them waiting too long.”

“Of course!”

And there, smiling, eyes shimmering with joy, he was your Gale again.

When really, judging by the new bruise forming on your arm as he pulled you away from the others, unwilling to share, he was no longer who you wanted him to be.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Just a really short story about some manipulative Gale ♥

I'm just trying to get myself out of my writing slump so I'm doing some prompts and hopefully that will help!

Promptlist here! Please don't request from this list!

[olympialogy]

Finally finished my Fourth Wing Birthday Bash fic! It's called A Letter A Day (Keeps You Ready To Mingle), which is a play on both An apple a day keeps the doctor away and I'm single and ready to mingle. The ending is open-ended, though ;)

Here's a snippet:

“I’ll remain standing, thank you very much,” she snipes back, and I cringe back.  (Sloane Mairi collapsed with quiet wails by her boyfriend’s deception. He’d told her that she was his first love. It wasn’t true. He had lied.  He had loved Liam Mairi, her older—and now dead—brother.)   I’m not an inntinnsic—  “Thank Dunne for that,” Cuir snorts.  —but even I can tell what kind of thoughts are running rampant in her head.

Read Here On AO3, below on tumblr! x

More information: thank you to Alli @justallihere and Amy/Hurricane @skyfallscotland for hosting the Birthday Bash!

the prompt "Do you care at all?" came from @creativepromptsforwriting, so thank you Jana!

roughly 3.7k words of angst; please pretend that Eya died at Resson instead of in the bathroom!

I’ve figured out my life, somewhat. 

Mostly. 

It’s kind of hard, right after losing the love of my life, but I’m making due. I don’t even have anything of his to keep—except for the little, white lotus carved from wood we found in his pocket—due to Basgiath’s tradition of burning a cadet’s items. 

It’s been less than a year, and I’ve been tossed right into war school—Basgiath. 

And everyday, I watch people I feel responsible or I care for in some shape, way, or form, die—during school or in my nightmares. 

I’m separated from Xaden, Garrick…Garrick, who’s my best friend, a close confidant; Xaden, who’s my literal cousin; and even Eya, who is practically my sister due to our years being fostering together. 

This isn’t even mentioning the nightly weapon runs I do. 

It’s all unfair to Sloane, but…but there’s nothing I can do. Poromiel needs to help and Xaden’s gone, meaning the responsibility has fallen to me. I get to my room most nights past midnight, and fall asleep, wishing I could hold Sloane in my arms. 

The nights I don’t go on runs are spent with Sloane, normally. We rarely fuck anymore—not that we don’t give in to our “guilty pleasures,” as Cuir calls it, as if she doesn’t still have an occasional escapade with a random dragon—but we stay in one of our beds, curled around each other, her back arched into my stomach, her hair spread over the pillow and smells heavenly, her arm bent to rest over my back, a comforting weight. She says that my arms around her stomach are comforting. 

I’ve learned that love is complicated. 

And it requires effort—it cannot be done from will alone. 

Less than a year ago, I would imagine my future with Liam Mairi—tall, muscular, blonde, blue eyes, and the sweetest heart. Less than a year ago, I was riding the love boat, clinging onto the distant dream of happiness. Less than a year ago, I knew myself less than I know now. 

It doesn’t mean that part of my heart won’t forever be held by Liam. He’s part of me, a part that won’t—can’t—go. 

I’ve accepted that. 

At least, I think I have. I hope. 

I really fucking hope. 

Unfortunately, today isn’t one of those days I get to fall asleep with my head buried in Sloane’s hair. It isn’t a night I can fall asleep without Cuir’s pestering. 

I’ve just gotten back from a weapon run, and along with the blood staining my leather jacket (dammit), my eyes are fluttering with exhaustion. Cuir’s presence is a gentle breeze in my mind. My conversations with Syrena and Catriona are barely tolerable and there’s no denying the fear that was pounding through my veins hours earlier—fear I can’t be as good as Xaden. 

“I wouldn’t have chosen you if you were weak,” Cuir scoffs. 

I don’t thank Cuir, but still, she chuffs easily as if he knows what I’m thinking—well, she should, considering we basically share a mind. 

“Though with how you act with the girl…” I can imagine Cuir’s eyes narrowing in her cave in the Vale. 

“Not now,” I fling back, shrugging my flying coat from my shoulders and tossing it onto my chair, trying not to wince, knowing that if any blood got onto it, it would stain the wood. My eyes try to close again, and I have to forcibly pull them open with my fingers to keep from falling asleep. 

I’d like nothing more than to take a soothing, warm shower, but it’s multiple hours past midnight and I have, A) important classes tomorrow; and B) Sloane is still gone with her squad training. I won’t be able to relax anyways, and there’s a higher chance of me falling asleep than actually getting clean. 

“Not my fault all humans are weak,” Cuir scoffs in my mind as I strip down to my boxers. “But you.” 

I can’t stop the response that I don’t speak but he understands. “Yet you bonded one.” 

“For reasons humans wouldn’t understand. Besides, I said, ‘but you’.” Cuir doesn’t hold a high opinion on humans—and riders—and she’s reassured me multiple times that other dragons think the same. I wouldn’t know. As she thinks, I’m a measly human, the only one worthy of bonding with her. Me and some random female rider decades ago.  

That’s always her response when we get to dragon stuff. Humans can’t know. Apparently Sgaeyl and Chradh say the same thing, so it’s not exclusively a Cuir-doesn’t-want-to-tell-her-rider event. The Empyrean is hidden, I know, so I never push. 

I close my eyes as I curl under the uncomfortable black blanket, wishing, not for the first time, that I could go back six years to when we were younger, things were simpler, and everyone was alive. But those wishes are fucking futile. 

There are people we won’t get back. 

Eya. 

Her name echoes in my head, the stunning reminder that even if something seems secure, it’s gone. 

Liam. 

Xaden’s brother. He had a connection to Xaden that even I didn’t have. 

Ciaran. 

A marked one all the same, even if I didn’t know him well. 

“You are being self-deprecating again,” Cuir chuffs, as if it doesn’t bother her. It does, though—evident by her notion—but I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily, but it comes calling. 

It comes calling like Garrick did when I first stepped off Parapet, how Eya, behind a tree, had thrown her arms around me. 

It comes calling like a friend I can’t see, but it’s not a nice friend. 

Lately, it’s been wrapped in nightmares—nightmares filling the gap of dreams. The dreams had been soothing; new memories taking over the burning fire of General Melgren’s dragon that swallowed my mother and uncle. The memories were good ones of Basgiath: surviving the Gauntlet, seeing Xaden and Eya and Garrick again, teasing Imogen about Garrick…meeting Liam. But the nightmares overtake it, again and again and again. 

Resson and Athebyne have been on my mind more than ever. 

Like tonight. 

When the cascade of sleep finally washes over me, it isn’t pleasant. My eyes are flooded with memories of Resson, flashing behind my eyes so quickly that it merges with the wood landscape from so little months ago. 

Resson, Resson, Resson. 

Deigh to my right, the thunderous red daggertail flying, his winds pounding the air. Compressions, I remember from some useless class I’d had to attend back in Aretia. My own hair is ruffling back in the wind, floating just over my eyes as the quick air we fly through presses it back, far, far behind my eyesight. 

“No one yet,” Cuir reports, though, if you’d ask, she would say that she was simply scouting. 

I love my dragon. 

The dream is the same every time. 

I hear the yell before it happens. Soleil is the first one down. Always. Fuil falls and then Soleil dies, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing to stop the gut-wrenching pain that I know has overtaken Xaden. 

The 107 scars on his back. They don’t go away when one of us dies—and plenty of us have. Each one remains, as if to remind Xaden of a failure that doesn’t exist. Sometimes, I wish they’d disappear—but then I wonder: 

Would it hurt Xaden more to see each one disappear, to know each one of us is failing and dying…or does it hurt more to have our souls, our names, carved onto his back? 

I won’t ask him, but the question lingers in the nooks and crannies of my mind. 

“Wyvern incoming!” Cuir’s screech is off. I don’t even blink as dream-me goes into battle, fighting the wyvern. The venin will come soon, I know. Cuir’s voice is like a whisper of her true power. That was the only way I knew it was a nightmare, the first time around. 

But…something was off. 

Normally, by this time, another wyvern would come, trying to knock me off of Cuir. I knew this. I knew it well. Then Xaden would come, trying to help me. 

Where is it? When is it? 

Xaden should be coming to my rescue, but—Liam and Deigh touch the ground. They’re touching too early. They only drop later, not now. Liam leaps off of Deigh’s spine with such a well-practiced maneuver that my brain can’t help but think, that’s second year stuff. 

“Hey, Bodhi!” he yells. Something about his smile is off, but I’ve never been in this dream before. Ever. I don’t know what to say or do or react. “The ground is safe!” if this was what had actually happened in Resson…I’d be confused out of my mind. 

It was only after Liam died that we understood that the venin sucked from the Earth, like Soleil and Fuil when they’d landed. 

“I…” 

Cuir’s voice has gone silent in dream!Me’s head. Obviously, she can’t respond…I’m alone. 

Fuck. 

The dream version of me climbs off of Cuir. I—the real me—doesn’t exist here. I’m just a soul, watching from the corner. 

Liam is smiling and when I finally reach the ground, the “wrongness” clicks in my brain. 

There’s a red ring around Liam’s eyes. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

I haven’t had this dream, ever, and no dream similarly like it. 

Liam’s gone venin. How? How, how, how? 

Xaden lands behind me. I don’t see him, but I feel the familiar, gusty exhale that Sgaeyl gives when she lands. Dream her is a good imitation of the real her. 

He’s also the first to speak again, reaching forward to mess with my hair as he walks around to stand next to Liam. Maybe Sorrengail and Imogen are still in the air. I don’t know. 

“Hey brother,” Liam says, and the two of them shake hands. I stand awkwardly in front of them, mind racing at the lack of Cuir’s presence. 

Xaden turns to me. Something in his eyes is sharp, so sharp that it hurts more than the dagger I was stabbed with on the first-ever day of Challenges. “You,” he hisses out. It’s cold. Freezing cold. Just like his shadows, I distantly think as I stare at him. 

“Me.” My voice is shaky. I’m scared…and I’m willing to admit it. Not to this Xaden’s face, though; only to mine, the one who doesn’t judge me. 

Or, at least, I hope he doesn’t judge me. There’s no guarantee, but Xaden keeps his promises, and he promised to protect me. 

“You,” he repeats, walking closer. And closer. And closer. And closer, until he stands just in front of me. His skin is surprisingly chocolate-y in the beating sun. Why, why, why. 

This wasn’t what happened. 

This isn’t what’s supposed to happen! 

“Me,” I say yet again, my voice shaking even more. 

Xaden raises his hand as if to cup my face, and that should’ve been my first sign that something was wrong. He doesn’t cup anyone’s face but Sorrengail’s. His hand falls on my face, a backhanded slap. 

Fucking Malek. 

My eyes well up with tiny tears that I push backwards. My cheek stings with the remnants of Xaden’s hit, and as he backs away, I see the palms of his hands are surprisingly light, lighter than even my skin. 

My skin is described as a toasted coconut, and Xaden’s is more chocolate-like—the only person that I’m related to with that skin tone is…my heart jumps into my throat, clogging it. My goddamned dead father.  

And Xaden knows how I feel about my father—fuck it, that’s why my brain chose to depict Xaden like this. It’s all one bad dream, getting longer and longer. Cuir! 

It’s not fucking fair, is all I can think as I realize that in this fucking terrifying dream, my own dragon can’t respond to me. I try to reach out to her, pushing deep, but there’s no sign of Cuir. 

Please. 

“You are a disappointment,” Xaden hisses out, eyes narrowing. 

No. 

No. 

I’m not. 

Right? 

This time Liam approaches, swinging his arm around Xaden’s shoulder. Xaden doesn’t look bothered—no, in fact, his eyes light up with love. 

“You suck the oxygen out of the air with your attempts at jokes; you make people feel worse, not better.” His lip curls upwards distastefully. “Loving you was a mistake.”  

No. 

Garrick, this time, joins in. He stands over Xaden and Liam, and he looks so “part of the family” that the tears threaten in my eyes again. 

“You just copy Xaden,” he says. His lips move; his eyes are hollow when he looks at me. “You try to mimic him in every way and everyone knows it. No one appreciates it, too, because you aren’t nearly as close to his power as you think you are.” 

No. No. No.  

I don’t mimic Xaden. 

Imogen and Masen both say something, but I’m too caught up in Garrick’s words and the tears falling down my cheeks in free-flowing rivers. 

Next is Soleil, who I used to be close to. She swings her arms over Imogen and Masen’s shoulders so she’s hugging both of them at the same time, as if to say, you’re not welcome. 

“We all know you're trying to walk into shoes that are too big for you—Xaden’s, Auntie’s, your dad’s…we all know you’re failing at it, too,” Soleil says. 

Soleil—I want to yell out her name, demand she take it back, because she knows it’s not true. 

Right? 

Eya’s hollow eyes stare into mine, the piercing in her eyebrow glinting in the sun. I can barely make her out, my tears bubbling up and gliding down my rough cheeks, dropping from my chin to the edge of my ripped shirt collar. “You…” she starts. It’s so close to what Xaden said earlier that I flinch, expecting a physical blow, but none comes and Eya acts like nothing happened. “You are failing,” Eya delivers the final blow. “You… 

“You are failing so badly, and everyone around you is too polite because you make everyone feel awkward with your horrendous jokes—” I can’t resist the part of my brain that says, you don’t complain about Garrick’s jokes. I’m the polite one “—and we all see you drowning in responsibilities you aren’t ready for.” 

Eya. Please. 

I can hear soft footsteps behind me, but I don’t turn around, figuring it’s just someone’s dragon…until a pale hand lands on my tensed arm. 

Violet’s sweet voice rings in the air, apposing, clear and loud. 

“He’s none of that,” she declares…and I feel a flare of appreciation for Violet Sorrengail. Xaden really did pick well with his girl. She’s gusty, I give her that. But she’s only a dream. Would she stand up to Xaden if he was actually hurting me? 

Xaden’s lips curl, as if it’s all amusing to him. 

Something is amusing to him, something about Sorrengail defending me. 

“Really,” he purrs out. He himself doesn’t span the small distance to us, but his shadows reach out to Violet and I can see her heart tugging to be closer to him. “Really, Violet? After what he’s done?” 

What did I do? 

But Violet steps forward as if Xaden struck a blow, and I can see Xaden’s cockiness spread over his face, even if no one else can see it. I slip a glance to Liam; nevermind. I’m not the only one. 

Fucking Liam Mairi can also see it. 

Something warm spreads in my chest—warm and uncomfortable. 

Welcome, Jealousy, the green-eyed monster. 

Or maybe it’s not jealousy, I can imagine Cuir’s chuff so realistically that for a moment I imagine she’s back, but when I reach out, she’s not. 

Violet still looks stricken. “I—” she seems to choke, as if not talking, not confessing, will help both of us. “You’re—” 

No. 

If she tells Xaden “you’re right,” this dream is going to go to shit real quickly. Xaden has an ego, something we all know, and we also know that we’re the ones who have spent time pulling it down. He gets too cocky. But Violet strokes his ego. Too much. 

She doesn’t say the words, but she still steps to Xaden, standing between him and Garrick, declaring her alliance loud and clearly: she’s not with me. Sweetly, full of genuine meaning I can’t comprehend, she says, “Sorry.” 

My only hope of allegiance in this dream is gone, crumbling away into a chasm beneath my touch. 

“Bodhi.” The yell slams into my dreamscape. I ignore it. 

“BODHI.” Now it thunders, and it sounds like Cuir in a way I can't describe. 

“WAKE UP!”  

My eyes flutter open with the final call of my dragon. I’m hesitant to leave the dream, as down-putting as it was, because it meant I could see the people I loved. 

“Cuir?” even in my head, the question sounds too unconfident, as if I’m completely, utterly lost. 

“Bodhi.” I can imagine the way Cuir purrs the sound, a deep rumbling filling her chest as her tail sways just a bit. “There’s someone at your door.” her tone means he knows who it is, but I’m too focused on a different part: it’s probably five in the morning, an hour before we have to be in formation, but also half an hour after curfew ends. Who in the world would want to talk to me at this time of day? 

I only register the fact that the only clothing I’m wearing is black boxers when I open the door. Then I realize my hair is a mess, my breath probably smells bad, and I’m in a horrible mood—but the person who decided to open my door better have a good fucking reason. 

I don’t see anyone. 

What…Oh.  

Realization comes a bit slowly. 

I tilt my head down. 

When I make eye contact with the person there, my heart stops. 

Fuck. 

“So,” Sloane Mairi says, “when were you going to tell me you loved my brother?” 

No, no, no. 

No, she’s just joking. I wait for it to come, but it doesn’t—Sloane keeps standing there, hands on her hips, right fingers crushing small slivers of paper. 

Papers that… 

“Uh…” my response is not, in fact, eloquent. “Sloane—” 

“Shut up,” she barks out, stomping the four steps forward and placing a firm hand on my chest, as if trying to physically stop me. Or maybe she’s feeling my muscles. 

Her eyes close, as if she’s trying to count to ten. 

Fine, maybe twenty. 

It doesn’t work, though, and she opens her eyes with just as much fury in them as before. “Why did I have to find out from letters?” her voice cracks. 

There’s nothing I can say. I can only remember that Sorrengail had rescued Liam’s letters for Sloane from his room before they burned all his belongings. Some of my letters to him had been…obviously kept in the same pile. 

The tears have started, small, slick pearls running down her face. “W—why,” she gasps out. 

“Sloane—” I cut myself off. There’s no easy way to approach this, not with the memories that are pounding through my head as I remember. 

Me and Liam, Liam and I. 

Fuck, Liam. 

Sloane forms fists, scrunching the papers even more. “Why, Bodhi?!” and this time it’s more of a howl. 

I bite my bottom lip anxiously. “In,” I ordered, moving out of the doorframe so she could enter. With a glare, she does, and I close and lock the door behind us. 

“Why.” 

“Because…” my gaze wanders to the window. There’s so much I can’t tell her, so I say nothing. 

Sloane takes it personally. Not only do her fists bawl even more—I doubt the paper is even readable, now—but she draws a sharp breath in, pouting her cheeks adorably. 

“Was I just a replacement?” She beats me with the questions, each one hammering into me harder than the last. “Do you care at all?” 

Fuck. 

The thing is, I do care. And I always thought she knew this. But if she really thought I was just using her as a replacement for Liam, then I’ve been doing stuff seriously wrong. 

Like, seriously seriously. 

“Sloane—” Her eyes burn bright, as if she’s daring me to contradict her. “Sloane, of course I care.” 

“Really?” she fires back, “Because the letters give the impression that you don’t.” 

Unfortunately, Cuir takes Sloane’s side, the massive fucking green she is. “She isn’t wrong,” Cuir is too amused for my liking. 

“Shut up,” I fire back. 

“Sloane…” my eyes close. “Those letters feel like that for a reason. They were written while I was riding on the waves of love.” 

“And you aren’t now?” She challenges. 

She’s got me there. I sit down on my hastily-made bed. I pat the space next to me— “Sit.” 

“I’ll remain standing, thank you very much,” she snipes back, and I cringe back. 

(Sloane Mairi collapsed with quiet wails by her boyfriend’s deception. He’d told her that she was his first love. It wasn’t true. He had lied. 

He had loved Liam Mairi, her older—and now dead—brother.)  

I’m not an inntinnsic— 

“Thank Dunne for that,” Cuir snorts. 

—but even I can tell what kind of thoughts are running rampant in her head.

 “Sorry.” It’s probably the fakest apology I’ve ever uttered. 

“Right,” she raises her eyebrow. 

“Look, Sloane—” I try, but she cuts me off. 

“Look, Bodhi,” she states clearly. “I love you. I fucking love you. But you’ve literally rocked my world upside down, denying that you love me—” No! That’s not true… I want to yell. But she’s on a roll. “…and I don’t know what else you’ve lied to me about. About Ar—home, about here, about your position. This isn’t a right-now thing, but I need you to know that most of my trust in you has completely evaporated.” 

My heart stops. 

Trust. Evaporated. 

Everything is going by so fast I can’t register the words except two: trust. Evaporated. 

Sloane, Sloane, Sloane, my heart calls. 

Sloane turns around, hiding her furious face from me. Sloane. 

“I’m going,” she tosses over her shoulder. “When you figure your shit out, come to me.”  The door slams shut and Cuir’s voice fills my head, her voice short and sweet. “I am sorry, Gentle One.”

[liv-andletdie]

Zelink Week 2024 - Fading

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Relationship: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda) @zelinkcommunity

Summary: To become an immortal dragon is to loose oneself. Zelda struggles with holding on as the years go by. Ao3 Link [x]

---

For a moment there is nothing. A moment of stillness as the inevitable draws near, where fear takes root. The stone lodged in your throat burns you from the inside out. You take a breath and in this moment, you remember the ones you love. The reasons you are here. 

And in the blink of an eye, you forget. 

The transformation isn’t as painful as you mortal self had once feared. Warmth and light take over as you begin to twist and change. Soon enough you will forget this too. Memories of what it felt like to first take flight, how natural it felt, how new, will fade like footprints in the sand.

Gentle Beast, why are you crying? 

Your tears stain the earth below. Did they do that before? You can almost remember the feeling of it. Water running down too small cheeks. Someone brushed them away. Who is that? Do you remember who she was? 

Was her hair golden? Or platinum? Or crimson? Was her skin painted? Or bare? When she spoke, was she kind? You can almost remember her being kind, can’t you?

She isn’t here to wipe your tears now, Great Dragon. And still they fall, crashing to the ground hard enough to leave craters - painting the land around them in shades of white. Those glyphs 

Dagger, Slate, King

Why do you know these shapes? Why are they familiar to you? 

Why can’t you remember?

Ancient Creature, how long have you been flying? You launched from the humble earth and never set foot on it again. The wind has been flowing through your mane for as long as you have existed in this state. But just how long was that? You know, Wise Beast, that you have not always held this shape. You know that there was a time before this endless flight. You know you were something else altogether. 

You once knew what that something was. 

Dagger, Slate, King

The past stares up at you from so far below, so far away and long ago. Calling. Begging. Can you hear me?

The King

Who is he? You are frightened of him, for him, of losing him. The grief you once held close to your heart is nothing now. Faded from days, months, centuries of flight. But the man… the men… the names are still somewhere in you. Tucked up and under your chin like a garrote wire or a nesting bird. 

Were you ever small enough to hold a bird that close? 

The thought surprises you. Surely you have always been this size? Always ancient and bestial. Six legs, sharp teeth, weeping eyes. Ah, Being of Light, you have surely always been you. 

In one form or another. 

If only you could remember

The land below you has grown and shifted so much since you first started on this journey. And you have watched, unchanged, all the while. 

Buildings and mountains come and go - so familiar and yet so alien. Longing fills your chest for some forgotten life. A life that is not your. Cannot be yours anymore. 

Little ones sat all in a row, planted like the vegetables in your garden. A silent laugh, a soft smile, rough yet gentle hands. Flashes of the being you once were. Freezing springs, endless prayer, those tears wiped from your cheeks. 

You do not remember, Mournful Creature, but you know that you long to. And you long to long for it - for the emotions trapped in your gullet. You cannot bring yourself to claim it - each rise and fall of the moon makes the fading worse. You were once frightened of the fading. Frightened to lose who you were. 

You cannot remember to be frightened now. 

Dagger, Slate, King

These glyphs used to mean something to you. 

Why can’t you remember? 

It’s as you’re passing over the scars you’ve inflicted that you feel him. Footsteps across your brow, barely there, barely stable. You can feel the air as it passes through your mane, your talons carve trails in the clouds around you, and He clings on. He braces himself along your snout, garlands of blue and white petals adorn you like a crown. There is a part of you that 

would have once cried out at the sight - but she has long since gone. Slipping from your careful grasp like the sands in the hour glass. 

Yes, Lost Creature, in another lifetime those flowers would have meant something to you. 

“There you are,” he says. His voice is quiet and careful. Rough around the edges from under use. He speaks to you like one would speak to a lover… was that what you were to each other? “I’m sorry I took so long.” 

It hurts. It hurts to hear him. His words beg for a response that you cannot give. Your mouth is too large now, tongue unwieldy, you cannot wrap your lips around the sounds that you wish to make. Comforting words become twisted into low grumbles and high shrieks. It is pointless to try. To talk to the man resting against your horns, weaving flowers into your golden hair. 

But you still try. You still want to try. 

A long lost part of yourself demands to speak, to call his name, to whisper adorations against skin and teeth and bruised knuckles. And while your memories evade you like shadows in the night, a part of your soul still remembers. It still cries out. 

I’m here, I’m still here. I know who we are.

He is leaning against you now, the warm line of his body right between your eyes. You can almost see him at the edge of your vision. He’s got his hair tied up, the well worn fabric holding it back is bleached white. Images, snippets, try and break free to ambush you. Blue fabric wrapped around a wrist, sword worn hands scooping blond strands back. The steam of a cooking pot billowing into the air, cheeks flushed red. 

“Karin’s missing you,” he sighs “Aster too. Symin’s doing a great job with them but… it’s your school.” His hands run over your fur. There is a heartbreak in his voice - halting and painful. “You should be there.” 

Tears well up in your eyes once more. For this man. For these children. All sat in a row. Flowers in your garden. 

Forgetful Beast, please say that you remember. Remember being more that you are now, remember being less. Remember crayons on paper, dirt under fingernails, the sound of chalk against a black board. The life that you left behind. The love. 

Why did you do this? You knew once. The people, your reasons. You cannot let this fade claim any more of you!

“I’m going to fix this.” The man, so determined, so steady. Who is he? You know him! A part of you needs him. A part of you loves him. Do you love him still? Can you love him? Has time stripped you of that mortal need? Has your new shape made you so different?

“I promise, I will find a way to fix this.” There is a torment here. This part of your past, a man you have waited millenia for, is so close to you. And yet you cannot grasp it. 

What is his name? 

What is your name? Have you ever had one?

He stands upright on your brow and you hear him heave a heavy sigh. He is shaking, as if he is holding back sobs. Blue and white petals flit in and out of your vision. You know these flowers. 

Silence… Silent, something silent. 

“I’m sorry. I took too long.” His words are quiet, swallowed up by the wind as it blows through him. “I will find a way to get you back. I promise. Please forgive me, Zelda.” 

Zelda. 

Zelda

Zelda

Dagger

                 Slate

                              King

                                          The school house

                                                                           Your Garden

Oh. 

Poor Creature. 

I am so sorry. 

You feel a scream build in the back of your throat. Hundred and thousands of years spent in silent, patient flight. Hundreds and thousands of words you cannot say. Hundreds and thousands of apologies turn to snarls against your teeth. It hurts. The transformation hurt more than you expected it too. The weight of your losses begin to crush you, guilt at broken promises lay like stones against your shoulders. It is too painful to go on like this. The fading is mercy. 

In the blink of an eye, you will forget, my sweet. 

You use this last moment to remember, to speak. Of course you have still been robbed of your voice but you have to try. His name, lodged in your throat, burns you from the inside out. And as he launches himself from your snout, you let out a mournful cry. 

It means “Link.”

It means “I miss you.”

It means “I remember. Find me” 

Fin

[hakugreenfinch]

Iggy the Stray Dog - ch2 (2/2)

Author: Otsuichi

Original concept: Araki Hirohiko

Originally published: JOJO Magazine 2022 Spring

*** This is a fan translation made purely for entertainment. Please do not repost/reuse/etc without my permission and credit! ***

Note: Whew guess who's finally done with their thesis! I can't say how much faster I'll be able to post updates but as always, thank you for your patience and support! Chapter 3 will also be divided into two parts, the next two chapters are Long.

We narrow down our search net to the direction Iggy made his escape in, coordinating with the team via the transceivers. Their plan is to corner him, attacking from both sides from some alleyways. I think as I run.

A dog with car wheels. The Stand itself isn’t visible to regular people but the sand it is manipulating is without a doubt real. Apparently this Stand is able to collect and freely move around sand that has mass. The taxi driver said that for the past half year, sand has been passing around Manhattan island – so much sand it even covers the skyscrapers in a haze. The source of it might have been Iggy’s Stand. The collected sand likely wanders off into the sky on the wind after it is abandoned.

Beyond the rusty, crooked fences the „project’s” mansions stand, that is where our team meets up.

From the street running along the riverside, we hear the sound of a hard brake and the echo of a honk. A Boston Terrier crosses the road, ignoring the car.

„There he is! Get him!”, the Spaniard’s voice rings as he runs. He rushes across the road, showering in curses coming from the cars he has to stop. Before us, the Harlem river lies roughly 300 meters wide. The coast across from us is Wards Island. It once served as a place to collect and dispose of the waste of Manhattan, but now it gives place to football fields, tennis courts and a caretaking institution for psychiatric patients.

Iggy is atop of a concrete pier installed on the coast. He is restlessly searching for a place to hide, watching us almost terrified. It seems as if he has run out of places to go when he escaped onto the pier reaching out to the river.

The men following the Spaniard’s lead gather near the pier. Things are in the favour of the stray dog hunting team. It looks like Iggy is cornered in a dead-end.

I watch the team from the pier. The Spaniard holds up his tranquilizer gun to aim. All he needs to do was to fire it. If it hits, the Boston Terrier will fall asleep immediately.

At the very end of the pier, Iggy stops moving around. Did he give up? No, he didn’t. He stretches out, yawning. He seems bored of playing around with humans. He lifts a hind leg, scratching his ear loudly, and he shakes the flabs of his muzzle. It is a humorous look, not betraying any intelligence.

The Spaniard clicks his tongue. „It’s taking us for fools!”

I get a bad feeling. Just until a little ago, he seemed to be scared of the stray dog hunters, but now he acts like he has all the time in the world. Something is off.

The Spaniard aims and pulls the trigger. In that moment, something strange occurrs beneath his feet. The concrete pier slowly starts to sink into Harlem river, and it isn’t just the pier either. The foothold resting on the riverside is losing its shape, crumbling as the water swallows it.

„What’s going on?!” the team cries out in unison. I only realize when I get to them that what we are standing on isn’t a pier made of concrete. It is hardened sand imitating a pier. It only held onto its form and stayed atop the water with great power without sinking because of the control Iggy has over it.

„We’re sinking! Run!”

The team falls into a state of fear, trying to get back onto shore, but we find ourselves unable to move just before we could. Our feet sink into the mix of sand and water and the more we struggle the deeper we get stuck.

Only the tip of the pier where Iggy stands kept its shape. He secured himself a place to watch the chaos among the men and now stretches out. I had no idea where he kept it, but he takes out some coffee flavoured chewing gum and bites down on it loudly – munch munch munch. It looks like he’s having fun watching humans in trouble.

The pier is crumbling, and we are left behind on top of the soft water-sand mixture. We couldn’t move in any direction. If I try to pull out one leg, the other starts sinking again as it holds my body weight. I recognize this phenomenon. It was quicksand.

„Everyone, calm down! If you struggle you’ll only sink deeper!” I yell. Quicksand is particles of sand, mud and clay mixed into water and saturating it. They also call it „bottomless swamp”. Due to its pseudoplastic fluid traits, it picks up vibrations and increases liquidity. The more one tries to escape it, the deeper they sink. „Keep your postures upright and stay still! If you don’t move you won’t sink! You mustn’t lean any direction! If you don’t stand up straight it will close up your respiratory tracks!”

The Spaniard, the rugby player and everyone else on the team stop squirming around in response to my voice. That’s it, this is all. Quicksand has a high density, it is possible to basically float in it. If we only manage to calm down, we should be able to swim freely soon as Harlem river diffuses the sand. Iggy provided it with his Stand power and it is possible that he can maintain its quicksand state, but I know that wouldn’t happen –

For I summon my Stand.

„Magician’s Red!” I call out. That is the name of my Stand.

White vapour erupts from under my feet. The water mixed into the sand begins to evaporate with a noise from the heat. A shining red blinds my sight. It appears as if it was born from flames. The shape of my soul, the guardian spirit accompanying me. Iggy’s Stand takes the form of a dog with wheels, but mine’s is that of a human with the head of a bird of prey. His upper body is naked and toned, just like a man fighting in an arena. His skin is tan as copper. Down from his waist, he is burning bright with flames reminiscent of ruffled fur.

Iggy forgets about his chewing gum and stands up on all fours – he looks surprised.

„You can see it, right, Iggy? The form of Magician’s Red, appearing from flames and vapour. You’re not the only one here possessing special abilities.”

We Stand users move our Stands as if they were our own limbs. I have Magician’s Red take a single step forward. As his flame-covered feet touch the quicksand, the water evaporates from it, blowing off hot steam. The pest control team behind me probably has no idea what is going on.

Iggy lowers his body to guard himself. He shifts his posture forward, threateningly lifting up his behind. As if it was oozing from thin air, his Stand manifests, a giant dog equipped with wheels. This is the guardian by Iggy’s side.

I don’t suppose he understands any human language, but I call out to him anyway.

„Wouldn’t you be nice and let us capture you? If I have to pin you down by force, we would just end up injuring each other. I don’t want to hurt you. Iggy, it would be dangerous to leave you alone in Manhattan. A scary man might come and try take you away.”

The man I met in Cairo...

He is searching the world for those with power, taking the freedom of their souls and making them his followers.

„I can grant you anything you wish. Coffee flavoured chewing gum, or a warm bed. So why don’t you surrender? We can guarantee your safety. A place with no illness or injury, the Speedwagon Foundation’s research facilities. Even if you get badly hurt, they can treat you with the most advanced medical technology.”

Even then, Iggy’s stance does not loosen. Of course it doesn’t. As far as he’s concerned, I am no different from the stray dog hunting team. I have to capture him first.

„We’ll negotiate later. Go, Magician’s Red!” I yell. Magician’s Red’s wrists are constantly wrapped in flames. These now swell up with a red radiance. This ferocious, savage fire expands the air with its extreme heat and extends into the entire area with a shock wave. Vapour blows up from the quicksand.

Magician’s Red’s fiery fists strike down, and swing out into Iggy’s direction in a gouging motion. The flames race like a runaway locomotive, boiling the sand-water mixture into magmalike red-hot substance as they pass by.

„...?!” Iggy watches Magician’s Red in shock.

The sand grains melt where his attack struck. The melted sand becomes glasslike, the grains surrounding it stick to it and as the water cools it down, it forms fragile, porous clumps. I wish it had more time to cool, but I have no choice at the moment. The water surrounding the magmalike straight path cools and solidifies it with a cracking noise.

Holding onto Magician’s Red, I pull my feet out of the quicksand. I try to stand on the solid, glasslike path and find it is more or less able to withhold my weight. I run in Iggy’s direction. In some spots it cracks under my feet, but it doesn’t pose a problem.

First, I have to get closer to Iggy. Magician’s Red is only able to move as far as a couple meters away from me. It changes from Stand to Stand how far they’re able to move away from their users. The stronger the Stand the smaller their range, the weaker it is the farther it can go. In the case of Magician’s Red, he can attack faraway objectives by releasing his flames, but to strike or make someone surrender by force he has to get closer.

I dash across the foothold of melted quicksand, getting him just a little outside Magician’s Red’s range. Behind Iggy is Harlem river, he has nowhere to run to. He will probably face me with his own Stand, I speculate.

However, all of a sudden he relaxes his threatening posture. He throws a glance at me as if he just came to his senses, and exhales sharply.

He lightly sweeps around with his front paw, to which countless grains of sand obscure my surroundings.

„Magician’s Red!” I yell. He is within my range. My Stand’s bird head opens his beak wide, letting out a shriek worthy of a wicked beast as he swings his fist. The swirling sand vanishes in his heat. My sight is clear again – but Iggy is no longer at the end of the pier. He disappeared. The tip of the pier crumbles, sinking into the river. It is proof that whoever  has been controlling the sand is no longer here.

So he chose to escape, possibly jumped into Harlem river itself.

I look over my surroundings, trying to find the Boston Terrier but see nothing. He must have dived into the water. I wait to see if he is going to come to the surface for air, but he doesn’t show up anywhere. There is a chance he figured out a way to stay underwater for a long time by manipulating sand, but this is nothing but speculation.

The river swipes away all the sand, and the stray dog hunters have already swum back to shore. The excursion boats circling around Manhattan pass by at leasure a little farther away. The tourists on board stare at me standing on top of the water with wonder.

***

We all get back in our cars completely drenched and return to the office. Neither the Spaniard nor the rugby player hide their resentment towards the Boston Terrier. As I am listening to their angry voices, I summon Magician’s Red’s power just a little to dry my dripping clothes. Since they don’t see my Stand, they must be certain that I escaped the Boston Terrier by skillfully running atop the quicksand.

„I thought it was the second coming Moses, I was sure you parted the water and ran on top of it,” the Spaniard says as he pats my shoulder.

I inform them I would come again tomorrow, and leave the office.

In the afternoon, I take the subway and go on a walk in Central Park. The giant park in the heart of Manhattan has a long, narrow shape that measures 4 kilometers from north to south and 0.8 kilometers from east to west. In the center of its eastern side stands the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and pinched between its western side and the road resides the American Museum of Natural History.

As I walk, breathing in the scent of the trees, a group of small dogs is lurking in the bushes. None of them wear collars. They probably live in the park, snatching whatever the people eating sandwiches on the benches drop.

Stray dogs, or wild dogs as some call them, can be seen a lot less frequently in the urban districts. If the city is further developped, there will probably be even less of them. Unvaccinated, they pose a threat to humans – people infected with rabies can rarely be saved. Not to mention that even now, stray dogs are attacking and mauling people to death all over the world. If one were to think about human lives, their numbers have to be decreased.

If Iggy were to prioritize the happiness of these stray dogs above all else, he could become their king and take them to a resting place free of human involvement. Just like the prophet Moses from the Bible.

But in reality, Iggy is likely not doing that. He prioritizes nothing but his own survival and living in freedom. He avoided the battle with Magician’s Red and fled the scene because he was not willing to fight.

I sit down on a bench next to a pond. The bench is lightly covered in sand. I wipe it down, pale yellow grains sticking to my hand. It reminds me of the deserts of my homeland Egypt. The red-hot sun, the endless hills of sand, the rising heat haze...

I pull out my tarot pack. I use it for fortune telling. I shuffle the cards, calling Iggy’s Stand to mind. A Stand needs a name. In my case, I used the tarot to name mine. „Magician’s Red” comes from „The Magician”, the first card of the Major Arcana. What tarot card will symbolize Iggy’s Stand?

A dog with wheels. Feathers resembling the Native American’s. Controlling sand, toying with humans, protecting Iggy.

I pull a single card while keeping all that in mind. The number on the card was 0. The number zero card of the Major Arcana, „The Fool”. Its meanings in upright position are freedom, not fitting the mould, simple-mindedness, genuineness, naïveté, probability, imagination, a genius.

The Fool’s card has the image of a man on it walking with a wooden stick. He wears tattered clothing and a small package hangs at the end of his stick. Depending on the tarot deck, there are cases where the figure of a jester is drawn on this card, they even say it originated from the joker of playing cards. The Fool card is also famous for usually having a dog drawn in its corner.

„The Fool”. That shall be the name of his Stand.

[see-arcane]

nosferatu 2024 !! robert eggers’ mind !! i loved it so much, i was so happy to see ellen and thomas so deeply in love, so deeply rooted in each other’s worlds. all the dynamics were so good, i think the love every character had for each other and the way so much of their own fears drew from the fear of losing them - that’s what really got me. because despite the big terrifying vampire count, to me, at its core - be it original dracula or any such interpretation of it, nisferatyu or otherwise - it is always a story about how normal people deal with something so monstrous, and how the ties that bind us can shape our actions, the risks we are willing to take. anyways, sorry, i needed to get out some initial thoughts before i sleep on it and form coherent analysis. but yes !! what a film !!

Agree 10000%, friend. The threat of the Count, in any iteration only ever starts as 'I am a threat to you.' The full weight of his menace comes in with 'I am a threat to those you care about.' Whether it's a beloved on the chopping block or a homeland held hostage, so much of the influence comes in from fear not just of personal attack, but the danger posed to loved ones and innocents. Beautifully, horrifyingly portrayed in this film <3

[bri-the-nautilus]

Blorbo Headcanon: Lucatiel of Mirrah

So I've been doing some theorycrafting recently. And one of the results is this: Lucatiel of Mirrah is trans. Aslatiel of Mirrah doesn't exist. But that's a ways off. To start, let's review some basic information about them.

Lucatiel is a swordswoman from Mirrah, a land of knights built on pride and tradition. She is slowly Hollowing and losing her memory as she searches Drangleic for her long-lost brother. Her greatest fear is that her name and life will be forgotten, reiterating her name like a mantra and begging the Bearer of the Curse not to forget her. She wears a silver mask shaped like the face of a goateed, mustachioed man. The description of her mask in Dark Souls III even remarks that it's strange how the mask has a woman's name attached to it when it's styled after a man's face.

Aslatiel is a phantom who invades the player in Aldia's Keep (after their final meeting with Lucatiel if her quest was followed). He wears the same equipment as Lucatiel, including her mask (granted, the obtainable maskless Mirrah hat is a dlc item) and weapons. In her dialogue, Lucatiel mentions that they learned to fence together, but that Aslatiel was much better and she (despite the competence she displays in DSII and the fact that Aslatiel is a really easy invader) was never held to be anywhere near as good as him.

Now headcanon time. My personal headcanon is that Lucatiel is an only child. She was assigned male at birth and named Aslatiel. He grew up and became the most decorated swordsman in all Mirrah, issued a mask styled after his face as part of his knight's armor. But Aslatiel always felt like something was missing. Eventually, he realized that he was always meant to be someone else. And thus, Aslatiel of Mirrah disappeared and Lucatiel of Mirrah was born.

Those in her life didn't react well. In Mirrah, skill in battle and familial heritage are the only things of value. Lucatiel was and still is their greatest warrior, but the honor Aslatiel won for his nameless, penniless family is now detached from her in the eyes of the people. Lucatiel continues to wear the mask in the hopes that people will see she's still the same knight, but her family and fellow knights don't see it that way. "Aslatiel was better than you," they say. "Aslatiel was on a whole other level. You will never meet his measure. If only he were still here."

Eventually, Lucatiel leaves Mirrah and ends up in Drangleic. During this time, she becomes Undead and begins Hollowing. She says that she has started to lose her memories, oldest first. She forgets the part of her life where she transitioned. She thinks she was always the swordswoman Lucatiel and Aslatiel was a separate person entirely. A greater warrior than she, beloved by their family and people. A warrior whose measure she could never meet in all the time "they" spent training. If I could find Aslatiel, if I could bring him back to Mirrah, I can earn back the respect of my family, she thinks. The brother and hero we all miss dearly will be returned and all will be well. So she searches. She knows on some level that she will find Aslatiel in Drangleic, because Aslatiel is wherever she is. She was/is Aslatiel. She knows on some level that she was something before she was Lucatiel, and that her loved ones will be loath to remember her as Lucatiel, but she can't quite articulate it. As her memory fades further, all that remains is a fear that her hard-won truth of self will be lost. When she begs the BoTC to "remember her name," she isn't asking for the name and deeds of Lucatiel the warrior to be remembered. She's asking for the name and memory of Lucatiel the girl to be remembered. When she goes hollow, and the last memories of herself are gone, her spirit manifests in its most basal form, drained of all of the experience and memory and introspection that Lucatiel gained. Everything that made her Lucatiel. Aslatiel of Mirrah, clutching a tarnished blade, arises not far from where Lucatiel finally faded. A mindless Hollow who has truly, in every way, lost herself.

Now why am I telling you all this? Let's just say I have something in the works.

[flayote]

You're the only one I know to ask, I lost my cat a few months ago and she was only about a year and a half. Because of my grief I couldn't let her go, I was so devastated that I held onto her for a week before finally putting her in the freezer. She and I both stunk by the end and I worry shes not taxidermiable. She didn't have hair slippage? Or like any fluids coming out of her orifices' ..but idk Is a week too long in warmer climates/my arms? I fear I messed up and never get to hold her again

oh, i'm so sorry 💔 it sounds like you had a very strong connection with her, and i can only imagine how devastating it was to lose her so soon. it's understandable how difficult it was to say goodbye and let her go unexpectedly, and how completely paralyzing that can be.

i really wish i could assure you that there's a chance her pelt could still be in good enough shape for taxidermy, but unfortunately after a week at room temperature the chances are slim to none 😞 in my experience with animals getting delayed in the mail, even one or two days after thawing with no refrigeration leads to severe fur slippage. there is a chance, however low, that a small patch of the pelt might be salvageable; i've had some pelts that were slipping all over but just one small patch of the fur still held on tight, but there is no guarantee.

there are still some options for having her preserved, though. i once had a dog unfortunately get so delayed in shipment that there were no parts of his skin that were tannable, but i took some of the loose fur and washed it to return to the family. and no matter the state of her pelt, you could still have her bones cleaned. it's definitely not the same as having her familiar face and coat to pet, but it is a piece of her that you can hold, and you could also have the skeleton articulated in a pose where her personality shines through. plus there are also different ways to preserve certain features such as the paws, nose, and face through prints and casts. shinerskulls offers a variety of options like this, and does beautiful work.

again i'm so sorry. be gentle with yourself; you held on out of love. despite her short time here she was a lucky kitty to have spent it with someone who loved her so much. i'm sure that she will return that love to you no matter what form she takes now, and i hope it brings you peace and comfort

[dr-lizortecho]

Alright so I held back on my farewell to Roswell New Mexico this long for a slew of reasons. For anyone still following me post 4x13 you probably have a small hint as to why. But now I’m at peace with how the show went out (not happy, obviously. I’ll still maintain my views on pretty much the entire season and the writers involved). But I have been able to come to a place where my love for Liz and a lot of her supporting characters have surpassed all of that negativity. Cause though the writing felt like a knife specifically curated to cut into my heart it failed to tarnish the characters and relationships. The rest of this will be under the cut for being overly sappy and cringe <3

Roswell New Mexico came into my life not once but three times (coincidentally the same amount of times Liz came into Max’s), and each time it gave me something I can’t ever be grateful enough for. The cast and crew truly created a gift, one built with love and so much thoughtfulness (barring certain aspects as it continued on). Jeanine’s love and passion for her character shinning through flawlessly in all her scenes, even when the script she was working with was sub par.

First, I discovered the show with my brother through seeing a trailer during one of the arrowverse shows. And then we decided to watch. It was a wild ride, as season one was. Both of us having alternating theories and discussions about the show and the characters. This was at a time when my life felt empty and broken (I was a highschooler, lol). My brother -one of my best friends- was graduating and probably leaving my life in some way shape or form, creating a complicated mess of emotions. Through all of that we had forgotten how to interact and just be, without something external to bring us together. And RNM became that. More than that the characters dynamics reminded me of how my childhood felt, Max and Isobel’s dynamic reminiscent of how we’d been when we were little. Creating a firm nostalgia that helped me try harder and push the limits in reconnecting. Just seeing Max’s fear of losing Isobel was enough to make me certain I didn’t want that. All while Maria and Liz’s friendship making me homesick for the same thing with my best friend. Who I’d made the terrible mistake of attempting to date (cause highschool and questioning my sexuality), which had fractured our dynamic in a strange way. Not only that but struggling through that relationship being ‘outed’ to my conservative/religious family, and watching the way my mother distanced herself. Having her tell me it was something my father didn’t need to know about, because it was over and I’d never fall down that path again. So for two seasons RNM saved my two most important relationships to date, helped me reconnect with my two best friends. Because I was reminded by Alex in 1x07 to get out of my own head and talk to my best friend, reminded time in and time out by Max that it’s in the trying to communicate. If you love something you don’t let go, unless you’re asked to.

The second time RNM saved me is probably the most meaningful to me in some strange way. Though it took the longest, and seemed to stretch out for an eternity. All of season three and the entire lead up to season four (and half of it, though the current season wasn’t really part of it). Somehow between all the life events of starting college, losing my dog, and falling into a depressive state, I’d forgotten the show existed. Then while skipping a class (Chemistry, lol), because the anxiety was too much for me to handle, I opened Netflix and it was suggested for me. It was like a million memories crashed into me and they were warm and safe and comforting. So I turned it on and rewatched and relearned all the characters who had once meant so much to me, then when that was over I opened ao3 and tumblr (for the first time since the Supernatural obsession). Somehow I let my depression and anxiety get the best of me, flunking classes and moving from job to job. Whatever it took to stop the cold feeling of inadequacy and anxiety every time it seemed to take over. Long story short this continued for at least a year, one in which I fell so hard into the depression I stopped reaching out to my best friend, almost lost her honestly it was so bad. But along that line, getting to watch Liz struggle with similar things -though vastly different- was a lifesaver. It gave me that small bit of strength to push through and understand myself. By being able to examine her traumas and reasons for running so fast and so forcefully I was able to examine myself. Not just what I was running from but running too, like 3x08 tore my heart out and showed it to me. Not only that, but being able to watch how Max saw Liz, seeing her faults. How she was loud and took up space, how she ran from people, how she built armor around her like a cage. To be able to watch him love her unconditionally, to see him not only love her positive traits but the negative ones. It all helped break the cage around my own heart, helped me face myself and the people I loved. Not only that but being able to watch Liz Ortecho be loud and take up space- as a woman who’s spent my whole life being told by the people closest to me that I’m too loud and too opinionated. It just, she means so much to me. Her and Max’s relationship as well. Because in some convoluted way I am lovable cause they exist.

Like, it’s so hard to express it. But I’m finally in a place where I’m living my life instead of being a passenger in my body. Finally made it to a place where I’m at peace with who I am and what I want. And am actively building towards that, with my recent admission into a new college for my new major. For a career I want (not the one I was told I wanted). With my chosen family around me and knowing who I am for the first time ever.

The third time RNM saved me occurred during the second time, but in a very different way. It saved me through the fandom, the people who spent time reading what I created and commenting and engaging with me. (It was a big part in my realization I wanted to go into the arts not the sciences). But mostly it helped me learn how to engage with people on a social level on my time. And to anyone who’s taken the time to read this, that includes you. All of the people in the fandom space have been so lovely and welcoming and kind. And have by proxy of sharing their own content and engaging with mine, helped me smile a little more through some difficult times. Helped me fully come to terms with my own identity. So thank you all for making this show and it’s content impossibly more meaningful.

So though the show won’t be airing anymore, know my love for it will always exist. And for the fact someone in a room somewhere let these characters and their stories exist in my screen, I am forever grateful (even when I’m being salty about the show, I never will regret it). And as always the mandatory I will be here churning out Echo content till I die <3

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

👎😫⚰️ for stasia!

Thank you my friend! I apologize for rambling on the last one but like family……brain has been rotating them around for a while. Anyway! Spoiler warnings for Shadowbringers onwards (post endwalker raids quite a lot in the last question) essentially so it’s under a cut

👎 = Is there anyone in your muse’s family they dislike, why?

All of her parents, though she forgets she even has a mother so how much that counts depends on you. She dislikes/hates them for different reasons. She hates her father because he wanted to use her, a child at the time, in his big plans as a pawn and when she couldn’t do what he wanted after non-stop training and working on the spell until she finally collapsed he left her calling her a disappointment and never came back. When she was working along side him as an adult she hated and loathed how he dismissed her and belittled her ideas and plans. With Emet-Selch this was a man that she actually let herself believe cared for her in some capacity and he turns around and basically lumps her in with the other sundered people (or so she perceives) meaning that she never did have a proper place among them and even had their plan come to fruition would never have been accepted by her own people. Part of her held out some kind of hope within that man and he crushed it without blinking an eye. So she retaliated by bringing on his death by letting free his grandpa nemesis. Her mother just stopped caring for her after her powers manifested and more of the truth on just who her father was came out, this was worsened by the fear her daughter created since she was still prone to unknowingly opening portals to the Void and letting free a monster or two. Her mother didn’t even look up from her coffee or say anything when Stasia left when she turned 14.

😫 = How does your muse handle a family member being stressed out? What about sick?

This woman is so detached from her family that if they get sick she’s just leaving the medicine and a single glass of water if she’s feeling generous. If she’s feeling extra generous she’ll send someone to go check on them. Frankly you being sick sounds like a you problem.

In terms of stressed out, this mostly was Emet’s domain and the simple solution was to just do what needed to be done that he had on a list essentially. Like less he had to worry about doing since he could be so uptight and meticulous about it all the less stressed he was which meant she had to listen to less of his dramatics.

⚰️ = How would the loss of a family member affect them? Does it vary based on type of family member?

See Stasia doesn’t like to have her emotions effect her in any way shape or form. This is proven by the fact that her biological father Lahabrea was killed and her first thought was “Good riddance.” It can also be seen in the fact that her father figure (that she will never admit to) Emet-Selch was killed and she had a hand in making that happen. She really just kind of just pushes it all down and turns to very black and white thinking to cope, ie. Lahabrea was a shit dad that abandoned her because at ten she couldn’t do magic that required a lot of power and training, and Emet-Selch betrayed her by saying he doesn’t consider sundered souls as truly alive which pointed out that she was seen as another pawn and she would not stand to be a pawn, she was at minimum the knight or bishop. This thinking drives harder even when meeting their past selves and how an unknown anger flares up in that she could have had better. These men had so much and could have passed on so much more knowledge, taught her more, found more of their strengths to absorb, but they didn’t and therefore their deaths were warranted and not worth much more thought.

However! There are two exceptions to this notion. The first in that found family (mostly Carly and Sib is becoming that cousin she never asked for) will effect her more internally. Losing Carly would devastate her and she would absolutely want to murder whoever it was that killed her and would then grow cold and even more heartless than before. There’s all her hope for humanity gone right there! Sib is just still on the more useful side so losing her would be a crushing blow to future plans A-T.

The second exception is her (half) brother, Erichthonios. Now it’s a little complicated but she met him in the past and there was an instant empathy and connection to him as they both got the same feelings from their father in that he was distant, cold, duty above all else, emotionless, etc. and she doesn’t want to care for him at all for a long long while because well he’s long dead in her time so why bother. As time goes on she grows to have a fondness for him in that she does what she can to keep him alive and safe beyond the necessary as she could almost as easily take his place for the role he has and feels the need to want to tell him their relation, which is unheard of for her. When it comes time to confront his mother she doesn’t want a memory version of him to sacrifice himself, though never stated (he can tell though), and when she now knows the identity of his sundered version she keeps an eye on him but still very distant and steals keeps the memory stone with his memories in it. She hadn’t planned on doing either but the last message he had pulled on her thin heart strings because he acknowledged her as his sister (guy figured it out and got confirmation when he asked Hyth about his familiar and got a haunted look in his eye that the man couldn’t place because gotta love memory wipes am I right?) and wished her the best, that he hoped they’d meet again in the future, and he never once denounced her and her attitude/actions even long after their initial meeting as the sundered version claimed that what was said was true. Like he basically says that yeah people will want her to be nicer and sure she could stand to be but nice wasn’t always going to get what needed to get done, she’s willing to do what’s needed even if it makes her look like a terrible person and that’s what’s needed from time to time so that in and of itself doesn’t make her a terrible or monstrous person like others would claim.

At the current moment she’s still a bit conflicted on how far to let this person into her life because there’s a lot to account for and letting people in means letting more emotions in and that just doesn’t vibe with her. All this to say that she would care about his death and doesn’t really look forward to when his time does come to an end as she’ll still be living and even possibly without Carly by then and well we saw what happened to her father figure after millennia of feeling like he was all alone and she doesn’t want that for herself. If and when he dies she will at least see him buried and leave a parting gift on his grave before never returning.

Well that was a lot. If you made it this far I reward you with family bbq time because I’m still not over this:

[toshkakoshka]

6/29/2024 - some contemplations about tristan

"did you force the 'i love you' in the letter too?" i asked him.

his eyes met mine. "no."

i love my friend. i've been in love with him since the day i saw him. it'd never been in the romantic sense, but it sure felt like it to everybody including me back in the day. a solid fucking 7 years back and suddenly i realize how much i've just... wanted him. the closeness. the intimacy. a beautiful boy with a face an artist could only carve.

a friend. a brother.

i don't know if it'd be appropriate to say that, really. but i keep it in my mind. tucked away at the back where i realize, beyond the insanity and idiocy of our friendship, that i always kept it in high regard and as much love as i could give it.

it's really the most i've ever talked about with him today.

i'm leaving for singapore in two weeks, it's the most unreal thing i've ever thought about. i'll be away from friends, be made to have a new set of friends in school in that country for a year, but i'll come back and... then what? will my friends forget me too?

it's... difficult. it's difficult to love. to see a relationship grow and wither away as time passes by. that's a fear i've always had with people i've wanted to be close to me.

a boy i've fallen in love with in such a strange way told me he loved me too.

there's something so inexplicable about this nature of care. between friends, it's something that he's always been new to. the familial pain that he's gone through, the surroundings of masculinity, his importance for such a romance was all melted down and pouring into his being. it was slowly chipping away, forming some kind of shape in his barriers with the way i held onto him.

today was weird. but we annoyed him into coming over, and he wrestled me into the ground where that familiar teenage lust was boiling back up when he had me pinned to the ground.

but the change, despite it being hours later, was whiplash.

our other friends left and it was just us now. i sat next to him and we started talking up another therapy session for him.

he was still in love despite the heartbreak. he was still in pain. he just needed comfort, so i gave it to him.

i held him as i started to sink down next to him. he talked, i talked.

i tucked myself under his arm when i started talking, finally thinking what i was realizing. my friends were going to leave me. i was going to leave them, too.

my friends were going to leave me. sooner or later, in the future but not so far from now, they will disappear.

and then, after a year of numbness, a year of broken psyches and repression and emptiness and desperation, i broke.

my fears were clawing upwards into me. the first noise that shattered the air, that screwed my eyes shut in the unreal catch of my throat was a sob.

and then he shifted, and as i cried, he said, "come here."

he held me. i tucked my face into his neck while i started to cry my eyes out. laying half my body on top of his, i was wailing all my fears and all my pain and all everything that felt so wrong in this reality.

i had no real thoughts behind these actions. it was almost like it was instinct, an unusual development. i was terrified of losing friends, forgetting if they ever loved me. i babbled into his neck crying about how much i loved him.

i said it so many times, and each time he told me he loved me back.

i've never felt so safe like that. this kindness was alien to him as much as it was to me. its intimacy was something i'd been so starved on, something he never knew could be possible between friends.

but now that he's gone home, and i'm finally in a silent room, there's still something so... unreal about it. the aspect of safety. security. hesitance, but comfortability. i'm going to sleep with the memory of his warmth on my body. his arms around me, his mutterings of 'letting it all out'.

and i was thinking, in the middle of it all, how much he'd grown from his fears of me, of friendship's love, of closeness at all.

i told him i loved him.

he told me he loved me back.

and i remember thinking, in the middle of tears and a tightening cling, "what a strange thing."

[llamagoddessofficial]

Did you start recently dating your local cryptid, because he kept (somehow) breaking into your home just to make you dinner and do your laundry, and you decided 'fuck it lets just make it official'? Does he appear humanoid at first glance, but his limbs and fingers are just a little too long, and his cute smile is just a little too wide? Does he audibly purr when you hold his hand, does his skin sometimes turn into undulating black spines when he showers? Not to fear! Here's your guide to having a cryptid boyfriend.

The number of teeth he has in his mouth (also their size and shape) will regularly change. This is normal, especially if he's smiling at you a lot.

He has teeth in his throat. Again, normal.

If he yawns, don't look too far into his mouth- you might see more eyes than you anticipated.

Be sure to remind him that you appreciate the effort he puts into shapeshifting. You have no idea what he might be hiding to make sure you don't lose your appetite

Don't worry if his eyes start drifting down his face. He's concentrating so hard on keeping eye contact with you (because he knows eye contact shows you he's listening!) that sometimes he forgets where his eyes actually are

Occasionally he might forget how to eat human food. He may need to go out and hunt, be sure he brushes his teeth when he gets back. He may have eaten wild pigeons.

Purring is always good. It's 'I love you' in the purest form.

He will eat home invaders.

Contrary to popular belief, cryptids are actually very adept at assimilating with humans, and your boyfriend will get along very well with your human friends. But that doesn't mean it's easy for him. He might need time to recharge, when you get home. For a few hours, his expressions won't match his real moods, and his words will sound garbled and nightmarish.

When he sleeps, he may gradually return to his true form. Especially when cuddling you. Don't panic if you take a nap, and wake up being held by something much bigger than you fell asleep next to. You're safe.

Some of his methods of showing affection may be bizarre, overwhelming, or frightening. Just remember he loves you- and whatever he's doing, he's not eating you. All you have to do (if he's scaring you) is let him know.

... He doesn't expect you to be comfortable with his true form. But... if you are... he'd like to have some true form cuddles. They're nice.

Cryptid boyfriends brainrot

[dantakeyoman]

pls part 2 to neteyam defending you 🫡🤍 but this time i'd love a continuation to motherly neytiri tending to reader!! and her hinting at the fact she had seen them and their son share a kiss after trying to find out all the commotion once hearing overprotective jake lose his cool at ao'nung!

Jake Is Pissed At Ao'nung, and Neytiri Talks To You About Your Kiss With Neteyam After All the Commotion (SFW)

Part 2 of "Neteyam Defending You"

CW: my dude Jake goes crazy, starts talking really freely to the Olo'eyktan, Neytiri is so nice and caring, best wing-woman ever, jake x reader (platonic; father-daughter-ish)

"What the hell is the matter with you, boy?! I oughta fight you right now!" Jake shouted as his eyebrows furrowed, the boy doing his best to try and understand the angry, English words.

Jake always switched to English when he was mad.

It was instinct, and English had more expressive cuss words than Na'vi anyway.

"Mawhey, My Jake," Neytiri whispered, quietly stepping in front of her husband and resting her hands on his chest, her eyes flicking to the crowd of village people that started to form.

"Please. The people are watching."

The entire Sully family stood behind you and Jake, on one side of the walkway, while Ao'nung, his friends, and the rest of the Metkayina stood on the other.

It looked as if both sides were warring.

"Let 'em watch. This shit needs to be dealt with," Jake growled, carefully moving her out the way and getting ready to scream at Ao'nung some more.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Tonowari asked calmly, him and Ronal breaking through the crowd and stepping to the front.

His tone was calm, but you could see on his face that he was clearly angered with the fact that his on was injured, and the outsiders shouting at him.

"The problem here? I'll show you the problem," Jake whipped his head over to you, giving a firm nod.

You nodded back with a sigh, stepping in the middle of the clan divide and lifting your arms, putting all of your injuries on display.

The Metkayina gasped, and Neteyam had to be held back by Lo'ak and Kiri.

He hadn't realized the extent of the damage when he was carrying you, but looking at it now, he should've hit Ao'nung twice as hard.

You had hand-shaped bruises all over your arms, and one on your ankle from Ao'nung's demonstration.

Your face had a large bruise on it's right cheek, and a bloody nose from being dropped on your face.

And the statement piece of it all, the nasty, pillow-sized bruise on your side, which was leaking blood from Ao'nung's toenails.

"Your words. Treat these Forest people like brothers and sisters. I don't see this shit as very familial," Jake spat, pointing roughly at Rotxo.

"That little shit managed to squeal about everything done to (y/n). The grabbing! The kicking! THE KIDS DROPPED HER ON HER FACE FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Your breath hitched, silently thanking Eywa that the Metkayina did not have good English.

Ronal and Tonowari quickly turning to their son in anger, their gaze practically burning holes into the boy.

"Is this true?" the two hissed, no longer masking their rage.

And the look of absolute fear on his face was the icing on the cake.

It almost made you feel sorry for him.

....Almost.

"ANSWER!" Tonowari shouted.

"YES! It's true!" He admitted, hanging his head.

The entire crowd gasped, and Tsireya did her best to hold back tears as she looked at your injured form.

You were a very nice girl, and an incredible friend. You didn't deserve this in the slightest.

She could not believe her brother for doing such a horrible thing.

"My kids come back to me nearly everyday talking about how this kid is constantly harassing them-." "He calls us all freaks," Tuk sadly chimed, glassy eyed as she tucked her face into her mother's side, Neytiri taking deep, full breaths to keep her composure.

"But for the sake of peace, I let it slide. Well all that stops tonight! I want it to be made perfectly clear that if your son, or ANY of his little friends so much as lift a finger to ANY of my children, they will have to answer to me!" Jake finalized, resting a hand on your shoulder at the word children.

It almost brought you to tears.

You felt so loved, and protected, and safe. It me your heart swell with joy.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Rotxo and the other boys frantically agreed, terrified that, not only did they witness Toruk Makto's anger, but were the direct cause of it.

Everyone turned to Ao'nung to hear his response, but he stayed silent, dazed.

"SPEAK, BOY!" Tonowari shouted once again, pushing the boy forward with his staff.

"Understood!" he cried, turning his gaze down to the floor.

"Good," Jake huffed, un-puffing his chest.

"You have brought shame to this family. Go to the marui. You are grounded," Tonowari glared at his son, pointing his staff back to their home.

Ao'nung nodded, quickly turning around and speed-walking over, Tsireya following behind, ashamed.

Jake scoffed at the display, before turning to you with a softened face. "Now you. Are you okay? Wanna go get patched up?"

"Yes, sir," you nodded with a smile, quietly wincing from the pain of your bruised cheek.

"If you would accept, I could heal your daughter for you," Ronal stepped forward, apologetically bowing.

"I believe your family has done enough for tonight. I will handle this," Neytiri glared, stepping in front of you.

Ronal clenched her jaw, but nodded, turning around to follow her husband home.

"Come, child," Neytiri smiled at you, carefully taking your hand and leading you to the marui, Tuk and Kiri following close behind.

They entered, and the boys tried coming in after, but Neytiri stopped them.

"We must talk. Alone," Neytiri knowingly looked up at Jake, who nodded.

"That's alright. I gotta talk to these two, anyway," he agreed, resting his hands on the brothers' shoulders and leading them to a more secluded part of the island.

When Neytiri turned around, you were already sitting down, Kiri preparing the salves for your bruises.

She walked over and sat criss-crossed in front of you, picking up a special leaf to clean off your blood.

"My (y/n), are you alright?" she calmly asked, lightly swiping the blood from your nose.

"Yes. It looks worse than it feels. Truly," you assured, the loud wince you let out when Kiri touched a bruise quickly debunking your statement.

Neytiri sighed, carefully lifting your arm to wipe the blood from your side.

She needed to lift your spirits.

"You know," she started, a smile growing on her lips. "You and Neteyam remind me of me and his father when we were young."

You practically choked on the air you were breathing, the coughing fit you were sent into not feeling the best on your ribs.

Though it seemed like perfect entertainment for Kiri and Tuk, whose uproarious laughter could be heard from the next marui.

"I am serious," Neytiri politely laughed, halting her swipes on your side with a smile so you could catch your breath.

"He may not act like it, but your father used to be just as reckless as Lo'ak, maybe a little more."

"Really?!" Tuk asked, amazed.

"No way," Kiri scoffed with a smile.

Out of all the times he had scolded that boy, he was just as bad.

"But he was strong. He had a strong heart. No fear. Almost never hesitating to fight if needed," Neytiri continued, starting to smooth the salve over your rib.

"I see this in Neteyam."

She glanced up from her work, looking you in the eyes.

"For me, I was always calm. I wasn't as quick to fight as he, but I was still strong, and determined."

She looked back down.

"I see this in you."

Your cheeks turned a dark blue hue, despite the splashes of purple and red alredy there.

"The Great Mother knows all, and I feel she did not make this resemblance for no reason."

Was she saying what you think she's saying?

"Neytiri, what are you-?" "I am saying you and Neteyam have my blessing," she smiled.

Your breath hitched.

"Oh! I didn't....we weren't.....I wasn't-!" "No sense in denying it, (y/n). The whole clan saw you swapping spit with the boy as you came over," Kiri shrugged with a smile, teasingly poking you in the cheek, wary of your injuries.

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, embarrassed.

"Oh, stop," Neytiri chuckled, tucking a stray braid behind your ear. "I think it is cute."

bonus !!

Jake sat down on the sandy shore, Neteyam and Lo'ak sitting on either side of him, concerned.

"You two listen, and listen good," he started seriously, his tone leaving no room for games.

The two nodded, and the man continued.

"I want you two to watch that Ao'nung kid, and his little group of friends, too. Be nice for the sake of peace, but keep your heads on a swivel. If they say anything to your sisters or (y/n), you tell me, I'll sort it out."

Jake did a quick perimeter check, making sure no one was listening in.

"But if any of those little shits so much as touch a hair on their head, I give both of you full permission to beat the living shit out of each and every one of them. Don't worry about the repercussions, I'll take the heat. But that's gonna be the new protocol from now on."

The two boys nodded firmly, giving their father a serious look.

"Understood," Neteyam agreed.

He was glad his dad was giving him permission, but to be honest, he was going to end up doing this anyway.

Today, he made a silent oath that he was never going to let you get hurt on his watch ever again.

"Alright," Lo'ak smirked, cracking his knuckles with his fist.

"And as for you," Jake started up again, turning to Neteyam.

The boy gulped, bracing himself for a scolding of some sort.

"Who taught you how to kiss like that?" his father smiled, giving his son a proud pat on the back.

"Oh, yeah! Those two were going at it! They were like-." Lo'ak jumped up from his seat, hugging himself and making kissing noises.

"Aye!" Neteyam waved off with a smile, that familiar heat rising to his cheeks.

Jake chuckled at his boys' antics, throwing his arms around each one and pulling them into a hug.

This was what a family was for. Protecting one another, caring for one another, healing one another.

Jake had no doubt in his mind that his family was, and truly is, his fortress.