#weasel writes

[weaselchild]

A Late Night Hunt

This is set before after Laque has managed to cap his leaking flow and adapted from an rp with a good friend of mine

There were shadows all around him. In the dim lighting of his bedroom, figures illuminated by the moonlight that streams through his open window danced at the corners of his eye as he so desperately tried to focus on the blueprints before him. His vision swam, eye wanting to chase those shadows further into the bedroom, beckoning his gaze towards sharp teeth and wide eyes; unnatural grins and spindly, dripping fingers that wanted to graze ever so lovingly over his face. But he kept his gaze on the paper, vision blurring ever so slightly with fatigue.

Something dripped onto his page. Iridescent and glowing. Flow splattered like tears on his papers. It was getting worse again. It always got worse before it gets better again. His body needed a break from the heavy restrictions he used to cap the ebb and flow of the world’s magic through him.

Letting out a groan of frustration, Laque let his head fall and forehead thump lightly against his desk. Whispering, chittering, laughing, roaring, the cacophony in his head continued, playfully echoing about the room, following figures out of his imagination, black shadows leaving a glowing magenta trail after them as they moved.

Sitting up again, he swivelled in his chair. Pink smeared across his cheek and on his sleeves as he considered what he’s about to ask.

“Did you want them for the night?”

And in the darkness, two eyes blinked back, torn from their simple thoughts of observing.

She was his shadow. A corporeal creature given existence by his acknowledgement, following wherever he goes.

Perhaps that was a little dramatic. She was her own person, after all. She just didn't care much about what that meant. Laque just was the only thing she cared about in this world, her overprotective tendencies never wavering at the sight of that living glass bottle of flow; that she could see the cracks claim more of every day. She knew she'd lost him once. Or was it twice? Between them, their memories of the past were still nonexistent and likely would never exist again. Three was a magic number, but not for the better in this grim fairytale.

She was his shadow. Her existence defined by his. She was one of Them. The Ones he created with the magic of his hallucinogenic-flow dreams. The only one sitting between his dreams and his reality without hurting him. Glowing flow splinters scattered from her jaws as his voice echoed through the dimly lit room. Like a panther she slid from the shadows to his presence, one fingertip trailing off an inky blackness in her shadow along the wall. It seems to shudder.

"Want what? Your furniture?" she whispers, voice low but scratchy. The urges were strong tonight. She’d have to slink out once he was asleep.

She watched a tired smile crack across his face at the perceived joke, the rough edges of his face softening. Her presence always brought him comfort, a familiar lower energy to complement his own. They had been companions since they both could remember (not long at all), perhaps longer.

"Them," he clarified, jerking his head to the corners of the room where the shadows felt most alive, writhing in an endless void, perhaps an amalgamation of various things he saw in his general day to day, making them a terror to behold. She isn’t sure. He isn’t too descriptive when he does see them.

And then one of them blinked at him, its emaciated body breaking from the mass to wind forward as its lidless eyes gaze upon the two of them. He saw its horrible face contort in what might have been the grin of a rotting corpse. More flow splattered across his clothing as he makes to remove his glass eye as distraction, lips curled back in a half snarl at the thought of how he was going to get the stain out of the carpet.

"They're restless. Their voices pound at my skull such that I think they may crack it open."

The emaciated figure knocked its head playfully, much to his annoyance. As if mocking him. Like an asshole. And then it crawled, spider-like, to rest its spiny fingers over Someone’s shoulder where she pulled its lips apart in a gruesome smile in a pathetic attempt to make it presentable.She dared a glance at her disfigured friend, a sweatdrop forming behind her neck. The chapaa hat she's wearing wasn't alive, but sometimes it seemed to move with the flow….like how it was drooping now a little, as if she was in trouble with a parent. And his followed, little ears twitching as if to show their connection.

"You know," she chanced a meek reply, just a little guilty.

The creatures had made their presence known to her not long before Laque's eye started bleeding flow, but she knew only Laque should be able to see them - or at least used to. Not eager to make him doubt his own sanity further, she took them away on regular hunts if only so that her dear friend could have some peace from their haunting presence. She had learned that the creatures cared for their unknowing master as well, much to both party's misery.

"I know… And I'm grateful. I probably would have lost my sanity having to deal with them on my own. I just didn't want to acknowledge them…"

The light thud of his eye on the table got her attention once more and she watched as he reached out to the oversaturated silks that have seen much use already. She frowned as she watched flow trickle down his neck, like blood from a dying body. Another minute or two, and they would have to be out of there. Tonight looked bad, and Laque was pale even under the moonlight.

With the wrap secured, he stood up, brushing his dirty hands off on his hoodie before removing it to clean up the rest like a rag. Without looking, he easily slotted up against her side, followed by two or three more blinking faces slowly coming into focus proper.

"They don't hurt you, right?"

"They hurt you," Someone replied quickly, leaning back against him, "and they know it. They don't want to. When did you notice?"

“I mean… It’s not hard to equate their and your disappearances when they happen at the same time. And they are far from my least favourite part of my symptoms." He gently knocked his head against her a second affectionately, bringing the stained hoodie to reinforce the cloth on his face before repeating his original question once more. "They don't hurt you, right?"

"They…don't. They uh. They make me more powerful? It's great. I don't even need arrows to hunt."

Powerful was an understatement. The flow energy transformed her entirely. She was much more akin to a beast than any human or Majiri in that form.

And she liked it. She was just not sure how Laque would react to it. What if it shocked his mental state enough that it affected the flow? She couldn't risk that right now. Absolutely not. She couldn't lose Laque again. Even if she couldn't remember how she'd lost him the first time.

But he snuggles against her more, hiding his head like a bunny as if to hide from the pounding in his skull. There was something hauntingly familiar about that look of pain. As if it wasn't just something she saw regularly, but before their life here together. She knew as much as he the effect that the hallucinations had on his dwindling sanity on nights like this, when the flow was too rough and restless enough that it gave his demons corporeal form. He wouldn't be able to sleep through it.

"Could you take them for tonight? They're too much."

"Was just about to."

Someone changed into her tank top before throwing a worn out cloak on top. No one needed to recognize her out there with Them. Nights like these were conflicting. She looked forward to the hunt, but the conditions for it hurt Laque.

But if he knew and he was actively asking her…

Maybe not so conflicting then. A small sigh escaped her as she puts their foreheads together in a moment of peace.

"Stay safe. I'll bring back some ingredients for breakfast."

Before Laque could say anything else, she slid off the sheets and silently stalked outside. Claws of neon violet protruded from her hands, connected to magical swirls that slither up her arm. The squeals of terror and calling voices were like a symphony of cacophony in her ears.

An eye in the midst of a swirling portal of magenta, disembodied.

She could feel the power behind her closed sockets now; the snap of pink electricity at her fingertips. They had to go.

"Prey," she hissed, voice like a snake. The shadows around her seemed to echo her statement, contorting in back breaking forms as they manifest from the ground. A small army of repulsive black bleeding upwards in a blasphemous act against the laws of physics. Not a moment later, they're gone.

Never does she feel closer to the feral violence of the land than in this form. With the wind in her hair and blood across her body, she threw her head back and howled’ joined by her friends of the night in a chorus of strangled pleas like the flow in her ears. The impressions of teeth and eyes swirled forth occasionally, the distinct shape of a creature showing through in the light of the two moons, otherwise shrouding her form in an almost protective darkness in the night.

There was always a comfort in the flow that supports her with the shadow creatures, like a gentle touch of Laque's presence. Then again it probably was, the shadow creatures that grant her these abilities were of his power, after all. They clung to Someone, melding around her form and acting as an extension to help track her prey. Instances like these where roles were almost reversed, in which she became the dominant and a part of him her shadow. A snare, an arrow, a boost of speed, whatever she needs to take down her prey, whatever would expend energy and work it off into the bay to join the ambient flow of the air.

She spat out a piece of flow wood, swiped before the small pack of humans descended upon the grove tonight. There was always plenty for everyone, so no one ever cared much about the strange break marks caused by her violent harvesting.

Sometimes she wondered if Laque could make flow wood himself by sleeping on a pile of logs. The creatures behind her begin to dissipate, making a series of sounds rsembling the hacking of flow trees. The energy around them had stabilized, meaning by extension, Laque must be in better shape. She could tell through the flow around her as well. By the time she returned, the creatures were all but thin air. She stood alone next to a large pile of neatly wrapped carcasses.

Blood and liquid Flow smeared her sides, coating her hands and teeth like a thick red glue. A curious expression settled on her face as she internally debates. Laque must be tired tonight, she'll wash up.

Ten minutes later she slipped into Laque's bed, still damp and bare from their pond. Snuggling her young companion is like her wolf's cozy den at the end of a long hunt as he turns over like a bunny looking for affection. He looked a lot better, the color having returned to his cheeks. The leak had already slowed to an almost drip, manageable now even by the oversaturated cloths he used as a makeshift eyepatch though the excess still smeared across her pale flesh. Maybe if she hugged him tight enough, he wouldn't see her friends for the night. Come morning they'll bathe and have breakfast with whatever she's brought back. Life as normal.

[musingweasel]

Heyyy guess who actually started the teen wolf fic they were thinking about writing??

[mamawasatesttube]

the whole "jason rules crime alley and none of the other bats are allowed there!!1!" thing is so funny like. tim LITERALLY lives in the theater where bruce's parents died,

[fanged-fanfics]

Ummm…… Weasel x child turned weasel reader?

Hear me out…

An alternative universe where the Weasel managed save one of the kid and evade custody, but he accidentally bite the kid and the kid transformed into a weasel-creature like him

☆ Two Of A Kind — Weasel & Child! Gn Reader HCs ☆

Genres: Platonic, Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || Warnings for mild angst

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 From the very millisecond you got dropped off at the jail and entered his sight, Weasel didn't let you out of his vision. He could tell who you were by your scent, and he didn't leave your side since that first flicker of recognition entering his damaged mind

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He did everything with you— walking, playing, eating, anything he could do to stick by your side. If you wandered off he'd gently nudge you with his head or snout in the right direction, or simply pick you up by your scruff

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He can't really comprehend that he's what caused this to happen to you, but he knows you're different now. In occasional moments of clarity he may gently nudge at you while whining, trying to communicate worry and remorse

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The wardens have tried to separate you two before, but Weasel nearly took a whole hand off of someone's arm before that could happen. Not even the other monsters could pry him back. You were his kit, and you weren't going anywhere

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He'd occasionally drag you over to the other Commandos to get them to pay attention to you in a 'look! Look at my kit! This one's my kid!' kind of way

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You started seeing the same therapist as him, and you soon began having some sessions together since you seemed to give him some mental clarity, more than any picture or scrap of newspaper had

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He shares everything with you. Every bit of food, item, anything. You immediately become the center of his world, no matter how small or disorienting that perspective may be

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You tried to occasionally engage in play with him, the typical friendly roughhousing. You were confused when he didn't seem to reciprocate and would instead nudge you off or disengage entirely. Really it was more that he kept having flashes of memories to back then, when this all started, when you were just a friendly face that wanted to welcome a monster. He can't bear to feel like he's making the same mistakes

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He always sleeps curled around you, or he tries to. He usually ends up in some insane twisted napping shape eventually, but he never strays far from your side regardless

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Any dangerous situation he senses, you're the first one he's picking up to safety. Sure he's mauled people in front of you before, but he still makes sure when he can think properly that your safety is top priority. Be expected to be grabbed by the scruff immediately

[rustyarcade]

✨A Dream?✨

My first fishbride fic!!! So excited to share more of this ship with you guys cuz I love it sooo much!!!!

Summary: Khalis revives Nina! Her and the Bride have a long talk.

Read it on Ao3 or below the cut!

…

…

…

And suddenly there was light.

Nina sat up quickly in the bed she was placed in. Her vision was blurry as the bright fluorescent lights reflected greatly against the white walls. Her body plugged in with several wires.

The lab… she was back in that damn lab… In a panic, she thrashed about the bed. “DADDY!” She called out. To her this was a flashback. Some sick cruel nightmare about the night she became her slimy aquatic self. “DADDY!” She yelled out again violently. She was about to rip the wires off of her body and run before a gentle bandaged hand stopped her. And a voice, “Whoa…! Easy there…”

This bandaged hand was connected to a bandaged man. Underneath the bandages was a corpse, much like the bride, but dried out, with a golden Egyptian crown on his head. He smiled warmly at the girl. “Ha! I’ve still got it!” He laughed quietly to himself.

Nina looked around the room. Several doctors in stark white lab coats stared in awe. But for once, not at her jarring appearance. It was a different kind of awe. Like they had discovered something grand.

“What… What am I doing here? Who are you? Where am I?” Nina began her barrage of questions.

“Ms. Mazursky,” a doctor spoke out and walked towards her. “My name is Doctor Alandy. You were attacked during you and your comrades’ mission in Pokolistan-“

“Don’t sugarcoat it, doc,” the mummy interrupted. “She died.”

Nina’s eyes widened. “What…?”

“Do you remember what happened to you when you ambushed Princess Ilana?” The doctor continued.

Nina did remember slightly. It felt like a blur. She remembered the princess’s swift evasion of her attack. She remembered the blade slashing into her stomach repeatedly. She remembered the world fading to black.

She simply nodded.

“You were killed, Ms. Mazursky. But, with Khalis’s magical powers, we were able to bring you back.”

Nina didn’t know what to say. She… died? And now she’s back? With the power of this mummy’s magic? She touched her face with her hand. But something was missing. She hastily searched for her water suit. She began to hyperventilate which caused her to panic even more.

“No worries, Ms. Mazursky. For whatever reason, Khalis’s powers took away your need to breathe oxygen through water,” Doctor Alandy assured her.

Nina took a deep breath. And breathed out. She couldn’t believe it.

“I’ve… I’ve been cured,” she squeaked out. Tears stung her eyes. If only her father could see her… breathing without the need for a suit.

“Cured as much as possible, my girl. There’s no cure for that fish face of yours!” Khalis chuckled. Alandy gave him a dirty look. She turned to her fellow medical staff. “Please give Ms. Mazursky some clothing and food. Khalis, follow me. She needs to be well rested for her visitors later today,” Alandy said as she marched out of the room. “An honor to finally meet you, Ms. Nina. Our comrades told me a lot about you. They will be overjoyed to see you again,” Khalis bowed to Nina. Nina bowed her head to him, “Thank you.” He slowly walked out of the room as the nurses and doctors began to feel and clothe Nina.

———

Nina sat nervously in her bed. She ran her hands across her arms, amazed at the sensation of dry skin touching her own dry skin. She was given some bread and water. Bread tasted so much better dry. And drinking water felt strange to her. It’d have to take some getting used to.

The door clicked open and she whipped her head. Alandy peeked her head in. “Ms. Mazursky, you have visitors,” she announced as she opened the door. Weasel was the first to scurry in. He quickly ran up to her and began sniffing her. Nina giggled at the sight of her old friend. Weasel licked her face in greeting which caused her to laugh harder. “Hi Weasel!!! How’ve you been, buddy?” She smiled as she held his face in her hands. He panted and wagged in his tail in response.

“Down, boy,” a familiar voice chimed in. Weasel obliged, still ever so happy. A limping Rick Flag with a cane and Phosphorus walked in. Phosphorus got close to her bedside and looked deeply into her eyes in awe. “You’re… you’re here… you’re really here… you’re back…” he whispered softly. “Are you smiling because you’re happy to see me again or because you always just look like you’re smiling?” Nina responded playfully. Phosphorus chuckled. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you again, kid,” he muttered as his voice cracked. He quickly turned away and coughed to try to cover up his emotion.

“Nina,” Rick caught her attention. “The team told me about your excursion. Great job, soldier.” He saluted. She saluted back.

A large clanking came from the door. A, now huge, GI robot marched into the room. Nina gasped. “GI!!!” She cheered. “Friend Nina!!!” GI Robot called back. Nina reached her hand to him. GI stared her hand and grabbed it awkwardly. “Hello!” He replied. “He was easy to rebuild, it just took a while for his upgrades. Unlike you, young lady,” Flag chimed in. “Now instead of being able to kill 120 nazis in one battle, the scientists say I may be able to kill up to 598 nazis in one battle! Perhaps even 599,” GI informed. “Oh, friend Nina, will you accompany me again to kill Nazis once again? As we did in Pokolistan?” Nina nodded. “I’d love to, GI.”

The slow clacking of heels emerged. Everyone turned to see who had arrived. The Bride stood with her eyes widened in shock at Nina in the bed. Her legs, visibly trembling. “Bride!” Nina called out. Tears instantly streamed down Nina’s face. The Bride remained still. “It’s so glad to see you again!” The Bride slowly walked to her. Nina felt a wave of guilt creep into her. “I’m… really sorry I messed up the mission… I tried to kill the princess. I really did try… I just-“ The Bride finally arrived at the side of her bed. She reached a hand out to cup Nina’s face. Her touch was… soft. She rubbed her thumb against her cheek. Nina leaned into her hand. “You’re… here…” was all the Bride was able to mutter out. Nina nodded with a soft smile. “I missed you most of all, scarecrow,” Nina whispered playfully. Suddenly, the Bride pulled her into a tight hug. Loud messy sobs slowly erupted from the Bride. Nina could feel her shaking.

“Oh, my Nina… I’m so sorry…” The bride whined out in between cries. Tears sprinkled into Nina’s neck. “I should have never made you try to kill her. You weren’t prepared…” Nina didn’t know what to say, but she hugged her back. “Bride… it’s ok… I forgive you-“

“NO!” The bride yelled which startled everyone around her. “I sent you out to die… I killed you.” Nina replied sternly, “No, you didn’t, Bride. Ilana did. You were just doing what was best for the mission.”

“You didn’t deserve to die. You’re the kindest one out of all of us. The kindest being in the universe,” the Bride mumbled. “Guess it’s good I’m back then, huh softie?” Nina replied. The Bride chuckled ever so softly. “My friend…” Bride breathed out. “My best friend…” Nina answered as she held her even tighter.

———

The commandos stayed in that hospital room chatting for hours, that to them passed like minutes.

Soon enough, Dr. Alandy asked the Commandos to leave. Nina pleaded that they’d stay longer, but they all assured her that they needed to rest.

“Wait!” Nina grabbed the Bride’s arm. “Can the Bride at least stay?” She asked Alandy. “I'd rather not be alone here.”

“As long as the Bride agrees and promises not to become violent, then she may stay,” Alandy affirmed. The Bride nodded in agreement which made Nina giddy.

The Bride sat in a chair next to Nina as they continued their talk.

“Wait, so you killed the princess?”

“Yeah, it's a bit complicated though. We thought she was evil. Then they called off the attack too late. Then it turns out she was evil. It’s really weird,” the Bride explained.

“I’ll say… But why did you kill her? I mean you saw the tapes and caught her with Clayface, but… if Waller didn’t have a directive to eliminate her anymore, why did you do it? Surely, you didn’t have some kind of moral shift.”

The Bride smiled at her comment, but quickly changed her expression to one that was serious.

“No… not exactly a moral shift, I suppose. After my father’s death, I never cared for much. I wanted to be alone. Away from that filthy creature that claimed I was his to own. Away from the entire world around me. I never held onto anything… anyone… I could care less if the princess was going to destroy the world. But… she took you away from me. My only friend. The one thing I’ve cared about in hundreds of years. It enraged me. I had to do something. Not just because of our relationship, but because you truly didn’t deserve to die. I meant it when I said you were the kindest being in the universe. I didn’t care for justice. I just wanted vengeance.”

Nina’s heart tugged at the Bride’s words. “Oh Bride… you…” The Bride wiped tears away from her eyes. “Goodness me, I haven’t cried like this since you… since you left.”

“What… What did I look like? When I died?”

“A body floated up to the surface and with blood leaking all around. I ran to see who it was. I… I have no words to describe the emotion I felt when I saw it was you. Shock, horror, despair… Those words can’t even begin to explain how I felt when I saw your lifeless body. I was the one that carried you out of the water. You were limp in my arms. Blood gushing out of your stomach. I’ve carried much heavier things in my times, but… when I held onto you… it felt like I couldn’t move. There was a weight holding me down inside of you.”

Bride’s voice trembled. Nina grabbed her hand, reminding her she was here again.

“We held a service for you in Pokolistan. The princess’s ‘gift’ as an apology for killing you. I wanted to tear the place apart, kill everyone there, rip you from your coffin, and wake you up.”

Nina leaned onto the Bride’s shoulder. “That’s so sweet of you, Bride.” The Bride leaned into her as well. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

“”I’m glad to be back too. What’s the new team like?”

“They’re all a bunch of brutish, morally gray losers. Like us.” Nina giggled at her response.

“You’ve met Khalis. He’s an old geezer, but a solid magic user. Then there’s Nosferata. That bitch who knocked your food out of your plate with that stupid ape friend we broke the jaw of. I still haven’t fully forgiven her, but she’s fine for the most part. And then there’s Nanawe. I have a feeling you’re gonna like him.”

“They all sound nice,” Nina yawned as she rubbed her tired eyes. “Someone looks sleepy,” The Bride smirked as she stood up from her chair. “I’ll leave you to rest, Nina. Being alive takes a lot of energy.” Nina’s hand grabbed her arm again. “Wait! Stay!” She cried.

The Bride stopped.

“I… I don’t like being in hospitals. Can you stay the night with me? Please?” Her voice littered with desperation.

The Bride shrugged. “Why not? Not like I got anything better to do. I’ll ask the nurses if they got an extra chair around here somewhere so I can prop my feet up.”

“You can stay in my bed… if you’d like. You’ll fit!” Nina chimed.

The Bride hesitated. “Are you sure? I want you to sleep well.”

“Cmon, Bride! It’ll be like a sleepover! I’ve never been to one, but I heard they’re fun.” Nina smiled. The Bride still looked hesitant.

“Please… I don’t want to be alone again,” Nina pleaded. She trembled slightly. She remembered the long lonely nights at hospitals from her childhood.

The Bride signed softly, “Alright. But just because it’s been a while since I didn’t sleep in those shitty cardboard beds at Belle Reve.”

Nina squealed in excitement. She scooted over to allow space for the Bride, who took off her shoes and jacket.

They nestled into the bed, fitting together perfectly like puzzle pieces. They positioned themselves facing away from each other.

“Rest well, Nina,” the Bride whispered as she turned the lights off from the bedside control.

Several minutes had passed. There was still an air of restlessness. Nina kept staring at the clock on the wall. 11:54 pm. They turned off the lights twenty minutes ago. But as tired as her body was, her brain kept racing, unable to let her rest. She squirmed and moved around. She nudged at the Bride who grumbled in response.

“Mmmm… what’s going on? Are you okay?” She mumbled annoyed.

“I don’t want to fall asleep,” she whispered in response:

“Oh for fucks sake-“ she moaned.

“I just… I’m worried this is all a dream. A sick beautiful dream. Or worse, I’m still dead… And I’m in heaven and I’ll never see you or the rest of the commandos again. What if I fall asleep and never wake up?” Nina’s voice shook which caused the Bride to go full alert.

“Nina… shhhhh…” she shushed, wrapping her arm around her and pulling her in close. “I promise you’re not dreaming. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere else.”

“Can we keep talking? Just until I fall asleep?”

“Sure,” The bride shrugged.

“So we’re both zombies now?”

“I beg your damn pardon?”

Nina elaborated, “Well you know… we’re both reanimated corpses. Doomed to walk this Earth for the rest of time and space. An affront to God and humanity.”

The Bride scoffed sarcastically. “Ok drama queen, if anything is an ‘affront’ to God, it’s Weasel’s existence. This life is not as existential as you might think it is. You’re just sort of… there. Your heart beats but almost too rhythmically.

“Like someone else is pumping it, not you,” Nina finished.

“Exactly.”

A pregnant pause filled the air.

“Can we be zombies together?” Nina suggested.

“Is that not what we’re doing currently?”

“You know what I mean…” Nina gently elbowed the Bride’s side. ��forever. I want to be your best friend forever. I want to be with you forever. Kicking bad guy butts and taking Weasel out for walks and making fun of Flag…” Nina yawned yet again. She rested her head on the Bride.

“I hope you know I have a stalker that has been following me around for hundreds of years now and he’s shown no signs of stopping,” she reminded her.

“And I’ll fight him. I’ll kick his ass every time. He’ll scurry away like a dog with a tail between his legs. And I’ll be just as ready for him the next time he rears his ugly head.”

The Bride laughed at Nina’s offer. “No, no… remember the last time we tried making you fight?”

“I’d do it again,” she sleepily assured her. “If it meant saving my friends, I’d die a million times to make sure you’re ok.”

“You’re too good for this world, Nina,” she sighed.

“You’re good too. You just don’t realize it yet,” Nina replied, barely making any coherent words as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

Nina picked herself up for a brief second and placed a quick kiss on the Bride’s cheek. She then settled back into her sleeping position up against her. “Goodnight, softie,” she murmured.

The Bride felt taken aback by her friend’s action for a second. For once, her heartbeat felt like her own, as it picked up its speed exponentially. She stared at Nina, who was fast asleep. The last time she saw her close her eyes, she believed she’d never see them open ever again. But here she was. Back with her. The Bride placed a soft and tender kiss on Nina’s head. She pulled her even closer.

“Goodnight, fish,” she whispered.

———

Nina woke up. She quickly looked around.

The sunrise shone beautifully into the hospital room. It cast beams illuminating her freed, dry skin. She turned to find the Bride slowly waking up as well. The light shone magnificently onto the Bride’s face, casting shadows from the hard edges of her chiseled face. Her black hair, messy from sleep with strands of her white stripes peeking around. She gave a big stretch and yawned as she sat up. She too looked at the sunrise and gave a faint smile as she noticed Nina sitting up in front of her.

“So it wasn’t a dream…” they said at the same time. They laughed at themselves for it.

Nina leaned into the Bride as they watched the sunrise. Together. Again. For good.

[cheese-water]

Watching Tubbo interact with people is so interesting. Every conversation he has is a information game that for some reason he keeps winning while making the other person think they won. Even today with his convos with Fred And Foolish, it’s like he knows all the right buttons to press to get someone to talk, literally.

Like, I would have never guessed fighting back on Fred’s robotic answers would get him to speak. Friendship and politeness and compassion, yes but calling out the bullshit responses he gives? I haven’t even mentioned the absolute gall Tubbo has to pull a “let’s run that back bucko” and continue questioning him. And he was right too. Tubbo treated Fred like anyone else on the server, demanding him to just talk to him like a normal person, and that’s what made the worker crack. And now he has a personal appointment at 1 pm pst all from two conversations (we still don’t know if it’s a positive or negative but it’s still a fuck ton of information).

Not even an hour later, we get Tubbo and Foolish’s discussion about the order which was incredible on Tubbo’s part. He instantly twists Foolish’s question about his opinions on The Order back on him and when he doesn’t get a satisfactory response (“I mean, they’re my friends!”), his approach changes.

“Do you think I should join The Order? Disregarding what’s in my best self interest of course.”

The speed at which Foolish responded no is astounding to witness. And Tubbo didn’t even answer his question. He just tweaked it ever so slightly to make Foolish think he was offering the newcomer advice instead of being forced to show most of his cards. To y’know, the guy he’s supposed to arrest in the future.

Makes me wish Tubbo was here for when Foolish arrested Pac and Mike. That interrogation probably would’ve gone a lot better lmao

[awanderingtortoise]

Did anyone say zoyalai fake dating Hollywood au, where they fall for eachother while simultaneously taking down morozova's abusive directing career?? No?? Well here it is anyway!

[carlyraejepsans]

Out of curiosity what instantly ruins a soriel fic for you? I promise this isn't for my own fic 😁

Sans remembering resets. Not even a Soriel specific thing, I catch one whiff of it in any UT fic and it immediately kills any interest I might have had in it. Same with Sans being suicidal (he is not. lmfao)

But let's see, Soriel specific... hm. It's hard to explain what it is that they do wrong specifically. But there's a brand of h/c fics with sans being the comforted where you can tell the author has not taken into account everything that is also wrong with Toriel. She's just there to offer comfort, which I'd argue is something Sans would do more often with how evasive and private he is about his own issues (and how we have literal in canon examples of him comforting her instead, even before they officially met each other)

[serenadeofsunshine]

get yourself a friend that throws you around like a ragdoll

[endermen-impasta]

Memes for the meme demons

I love this

[deuxcherise]

Collar Crimes: Weasel In

C/w: Unhealthy behavior, yandere OC, yandere male, whiny yandere, gender neutral reader, comfort (?), fluff (?), mentions violent action, cute image of stoat for reference A/n: So I watched a video about a stoat, a type of weasel, and oml it's adorable as heck. And vicious. And we can’t deny a cute yandere, can we? Enjoy~ Masterlist | Part 0, Part 1 (you're here!), Part 2

The stoat is a very lovely creature. Quite small, halfway tameable, and very weasel-like. A long-shaped living doll of a creature. However, it is… less cute in its mannerisms. You've seen it, with its tiny form, take down a rabbit twice its size and thickness. You were a child back then when you first witnessed this shocking event in a documentary, and have long since accepted that not all cute things are gentle and innocent.

Perhaps that is why you haven't called the police yet, though you definitely keep your phone on hand. Just in case…

“(Y-Y/n)... I… This is not what it looks like!”

Really? Then what the heck am I looking at? 

The very large trash bag he is dragging away in the alleyway next to your apartment has a very suspiciously human shape, with a defined head, armed-bound torso, and bound legs. Sure, an idiot could chalk it up to Eris's strange tying technique, but you are no idiot.

Not to mention, the bag starts to squirm and make a muffled noise.

“Quiet,” Eris spit before he stomps on the bag so hard you hear a crack. The bag immediately stills. He then turns to you with a bashful smile, like the kind of smile you’d find on a person who accidentally made a mess in the kitchen because they were trying to make a cake for you.

…..

Yeah, that’s the same exact smile he had when the one time you found him in your kitchen at 3AM, in the middle of baking a cake for your birthday. Sweet as the gesture was, you’re pretty sure you’ve never given him a key to your apartment.

You sigh. “Listen, could you please be more…” You gesture to this whole scene with circular motions of both of your hands. “Inconspicuous about your crimes?”

Eris's eyes sparkle. “Of course, my love! I made sure there aren't any cameras or witnesses here to catch me!”

There were many cameras set up by your landlord just a few days ago, as a result of an uptick of crimes in the area recently. Knowing Eris… that landlord wasted quite a sum.

“Actually, the area here is pretty dangerous,” he adds. “You should come live with me!”

“I've said this before, and I'll say it again. No, thank you.”

His pleasant expression falls for a second before he pipes up, “Mm, okay! Then let me install some cameras!”

“No. No, thank you.”

“But (Y/n)! How else am I going to wat- protect you?” he whines, his arms flailing the trash bag like a child throwing a tantrum.

You sigh as you turn around and start walking back to your apartment. You ignore his cries for your name, unwilling to deal with people in general after finishing your 9-to-5 customer service job. That's how you found him actually, or rather how he found you. Funny, isn’t it? You don't understand why he's so… obsessed over you to this point. 

Why haven't you taken any real action so far? It’s because he’s been pretty harmless overall—aside from a few kisses on the cheek and head and hand. He really likes planting kisses on you, doesn't he? At least he doesn't kiss you on the lips… as far as you're aware…

Still in your work uniform, you collapse on your couch and take a nap for at least an hour. When you wake up again, you find Eris on top of you, staring intensely at your face with a very blank, doll-like expression. Realizing you're awake, his doll-like face breaks into a smile.

“(Y/n)~” he sweetly calls out to you, like a puppy greeting his owner. It would’ve been cute, but his history of creepy antics pollutes his image.

You don't question how he gets into your apartment without a key anymore. “Get off,” you command.

“Noooo… Don't wannaaaa.”

You sigh. He's being difficult again. You take a hand and push against his shoulder, expecting to push him off your bed as usual. This time, however, he's too solid and stable. Drowsiness is keeping you weak.

“Eris…”

“Yes, love?”

“Please get off… you're crushing me.”

“Eh?? No, I'm not!”

He really isn't, bearing his weight on his elbows and knees and not at all on your body. How long has he kept this pose?

Seeing his face about to whine again, you say, “Ugh, fine.” You roll over onto your stomach and close your eyes again.

“(Y/n)? Are you going back to sleep? You haven't had dinner yeeet.”

“.....”

“(Y/nnn).”

“Don't feel like eating,” you mumble.

“Uh… But (Y/n), you have to take care of your health. Or let me take care of your health.”

“Don't need you to. Leave me alone.”

“Hmphhhhh.”

“.....”

You hear him lower himself down onto your body to wrap his arms around you. His lips trace the back of your neck, much to your discomfort.

“(Y/n),” he whispers.

“.....”

“You're lonely, right?”

“.....”

“I am too, so I know. You don't have to tell me.”

“.....”

“Since we're both alone… I was thinking… we should become a family together… Isn't that a good idea?”

“.....”

“I can wait for you at home… cook for you… do the laundry… take out the trash… take care of our children…”

“I don't want any children,” you murmur.

He gently kisses the back of your head. “Of course, of course. I’m okay if it’s just you and me too~ Would you like a summer wedding or a winter wedding? Personally, I prefer winter-”

“I'm not… marrying you.”

“Mm… That's okay too! We can… elope, if that's what you want. As long as we're together.”

“I don't… like you that way.”

“Oh… does that mean you like me in other ways?”

What part of– You sigh. “Shut up… trying to sleep…”

You hear him giggle as he hugs you tighter and plants some more kisses on the back of your head. “Okay, okay, my love. I'm just… so happy. Being with you. I really am. I'll make you fall in love with me… someday, (Y/n).”

“Mm hmm… Sure…”

“Just need to… get rid of some more… pests… so we can be together… always…”

And the both of you head off to dreamland together on the couch~

[sasster]

Power

This is the longest week of these guys' lives, huh? [doc]

--

“How are you gonna get ‘im to help?” Archie finally asked as they trudged on. The cafe they’d set out for appearing in the distance, peppered among a string of other small businesses along the otherwise desolate road, must have shaken the thought loose.

And, truthfully, it was a simple and warranted question; one that he probably should have asked before setting out to random cafes with a guy that he should hate. This fact did not stop Cylion from being, on some level, annoyed. He’d been enjoying the peace and quiet that they spent so long walking in and the sound of Archie’s voice just reminded him of the drain his life was sent spiraling down. The yellow blood clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“By asking him to help.” He said as he adjusted the hood and jacket that he wore to conceal his wings. They fluttered against the bondage in protest. “Like a normal person.”

That was when Archie stopped walking and Cylion did the same a few paces ahead, turning to look at him in the same movement. The purple blood had a look of confusion draped over his features, a grimace that didn’t fit quite right on his otherwise smooth face and his eyebrows arched high. The knife he’d been spinning in his hand went still.

“You’re going to treat Dorili Duxile like a normal person.”

“I am,” Cylion stated simply, decided that staying still was more uncomfortable for his anxious wings, and turned to continue walking. “Drives him crazy.”

Archie did not let the distance between them grow any larger, crossing it in a few short skips before he resumed keeping an easy pace. “Pissin’im off will make ‘im wanna help?”

“More or less. If not that, then the potential for pissing Persep off.”

A breathless laugh escaped Archie and Cylion felt that the man must have been walking closer to him than when they left his father’s territory for the likes of the lands governed by His Indomitable Rhetoric and His Unshakable Presence, because the laugh rang louder in his ear than expected. “You guys have a weird ass friendship.”

“Friends is a word.”

“Right, right,” he was twirling the knife around his fingers again. “You’re too good for friends, I forgot.”

Cylion did not bother concealing the eyeroll that comment earned him as they advanced on the cafe.

—

Maybe no one really knew what to expect when walking into an establishment that was not on the House of Restoration’s home turf. What could be expected of a place that might keep a descendant of Remora Ofidis gleefully employed? Or maybe, more likely, Cylion just needed to get out more, because what he wasn’t expecting was for the place to be so damn cute.

The walls were not the industrial dark grey that he’d come to associate with the architecture of greater Alternia, but a softer shade that almost offended the eye in its lightness, with splashes of pastel colors here and there that brought a taste of nostalgia to his mouth.

He had not entered Nymira’s room since the day she left. Tried very hard not to think about it, even. He cleared his throat to dispel the guilt that started to build up.

Incidentally, the sound drew the attention of the barista that’d been chatting with an, admittedly, intimidatingly large blue blood that was showing off way too much chest hair near where food gets served.

The barista moved back to the register and adjusted their glasses before speaking. “What can I get you—” Arsami glanced between them and stopped. After a few solid seconds, they sighed and their tail flicked behind them irritably. “Weasel sits at a booth in the back.”

“What if we were just on a date?” Archie asked, feigning insult and bumping a shoulder against Cylion for emphasis. Cylion only groaned.

“Are you?” They asked dismissively, with their attention already turned back to their hairy friend.

“Nah.”

“That’s what I thought. Weasel’s somewhere over there.” They pointed to the other side of the cafe and reabsorbed themself in their conversation.

Cylion let his gaze follow the direction they pointed in, allowing the task to pull his mind off of the uncomfortable proximity that he’d been sharing with Archie as of late. It took even more energy to will away the idea that the pair at the counter were now likely gossiping about them and their alleged coupledom. He tried to focus on whether or not he could see his quarry from where he stood instead.

“Y’believe that?” Archie bemoaned, “Won’t even take our date seriously.”

“Maybe it has something to do with me being out of your league.”

“Doubt that—” He’d started to protest, but Cyllion was already walking toward one of the larger corner booths at the back of the cafe. It was being rattled by some commotion that seemed to go ignored by the barista.

“C’mon, Magpie! Look at what you did to my danish!” Weasel’s whine could be heard above the sound of the scuffling. “I was really looking forward to it.”

Walking up to the table, Cylion was not surprised to see that the source of the noise violation was Weasel stretched across it, using one hand to pin a deranged looking violet blood to the wooden surface. With his other hand, he grasped at the man’s wrist. A knife thrashed wildly between them. There was also the flattened dessert in question, smeared across the table in a pinkish smudged mush.

Archie whistled at the sight. “Man, Cylion, why don’t we ever do knife play like that?”

The two struggled in the booth against each other for a moment longer and watching them like that made Cylion’s wings twitch uncomfortably in their restraints.

“Yeah, Cy, you gotta,” Weasel grunted, trying and failing to grab at the knife, the attempt resulted in his friend nearly wiggling free only to be slammed down again. “You gotta keep it sexy.”

“In public,” Cylion criticized, stomaching the uneasiness that the display of Weasel’s strength stirred within him. Something about it felt unnatural. “I’ll pass.”

“That’s part of the sexiness— Ah, shit! Fuck!”

A spurt of green shot out across his hand, Magpie having taken his distraction as an opportunity to squeeze out of his grip and sink his teeth right into him. Then, when Weasel retreated to nurse the wound, the violet blood swung the hand that held the knife and plunged it practically to the handle into his arm.

Weasel grunted and reeled, but on the whole seemed to regard it as little more than an inconvenience. He made a face, twisted the knife out with a sickening squelch, and with little ceremony drove it through his friend’s hand, effectively pinning him back to the table.

“You’ll scare our company away.” Weasel chided, giving his own wounds a look of indifference. “Magpie, this is Cylion and…” He finally paid full attention to who was standing before him. “His new boytoy, Archie Roatus?” He grinned.

“Yep!” Archie said at the same time that Cylion said, “God, no.”

Seemingly cured of the aggression that previously gripped him, Magpie waved with a chipper flourish and chirped, “Hello!” in polite greeting and pulled on the knife to free himself. “I am going to go replace Weasel’s danish now. Can I treat the two of you to anything?”

Cylion shook his head and slid past him to move into the booth just as he was getting out of it, severely uninterested in the sort of transactions these freaks have going on.

“All good, next time.” Archie declined and scooted in beside Cylion.

Magpie shrugged, “Okay. Do let me know if you change your mind!” And then he was gone in the direction of the front counter, a pep in his step.

“Are you two about to ask me to be your third?” Weasel asked when his friend disappeared from view, giving his new arm wound an inquisitive poke. 

“God, what is it with everyone today? No.”

“Shame. I’d make a hell of a third.”

Cylion stared at his stupid grinning face long and hard, the temper he worked to swallow fighting its way to the surface in the form of a scowl he could not keep away. No one was taking him as seriously as he was used to and he could feel the frustration bubbling into a fist the longer he thought about it. “Find that satisfaction elsewhere.” He said so low it may as well have been a growl.

For whatever it was worth, Archie didn’t say anything to prod at the idea further, maybe sensing the irritation that was no doubt roiling off of him in waves.

Weasel got the idea soon after and raised both hands up with a smile, already drying blood made a steady trail down the side of the wounded one. “I’m just kidding. Lighten up, buddy.”

Cylion narrowed his eyes.

“Right, right. This is still about Persep, is it?” He glanced between the unlikely duo, no doubt doing his own mental math on the match up. “Abductions aren’t out of character for him. Nor is the disappearing act. He always turns up to gloat when he succeeds though.”

The unuseful exposition must have been for Archie’s sake, because he did not say anything that Cylion was not intimately aware of.

“I am not happy to wait around for him this time, Dorili. I need your help to track him down.”

“I’m honored, real touched, that you have so much faith in me. I already told you, though, I haven’t been able to sniff the guy out for some time now.” He plucked something imaginary from the air for added emphasis. “The thread is just gone. Poof.”

“Yes, but I’ve been thinking—”

“I bet you have. Let me stop you there; there’s nothing to exploit. No holes.”

Weasel’s smugness rubbed roughly against Cylion’s skin. He snapped his mouth shut and ground his teeth. There was a way to word his next thought, something to force the bastard’s hand.

Somewhere in his pride.

Of course there was something to exploit.

“I read somewhere,” he started again, suddenly levelling his own smug grin at the jade blood. “That the Gracious Provider—”

“Oh, don’t start on that man.

“—Once tracked down an abducted grub by following such impossible threads.” 

“Dude, don’t.”

“It’s just what I heard, Dorili. Rather impressive. No one’d seen or heard of the thing for so long. Whatever they did to scrub the kid from the face of Alternia was potent. Maybe someone like Arkiro here might’ve been able to get to them,” He nodded his head in Archie’s direction. “But they didn’t have that. You know, in their desperation they finally asked the Provider for his help,”

A pang of satisfaction surged through the former prophet as he watched Weasel start to squirm in front of him. It had not been so long since he last used that silver tongue of his to bend the world around him to his will, but god he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. The powerlessness of the evening fell away as he shrugged into his old clothes.

Weasel mumbled something noncommittal under his breath, Cylion hardly registered it. He carried on his sermon.

“And the Provider provides, does he not? He may not have been able to get to the kid immediately—”

“But he was able to follow traces back to people that were recently in touch with it. Eventually forcing the information out of the parties involved.” Weasel finished the thought with a roll of the eyes. “This isn’t the same thing.”

Cylion paused, perked up in a way that made his wings flutter as best they could in their current conditions. Dorili Duxile was an easy one to get around the finger. “Because you’re not as good as Persep or because you’re not as good as Redivi?”

A sneer peeled Weasel’s lips back, baring his fangs in threat.

Archie shifted slightly, nearly imperceptibly, beside him. Protective?

“You know perfectly well—”

“Yes, yes. I understand your philosophy on generational excellence, Dorili. I’d like to see it in action.”

“You’re such an ass.” Weasel growled.

“What would you do if it were Rosira?”

Weasel said nothing, though Cylion could tell he'd acquiesced to the favor, tossing his gaze to the side as Magpie returned with the promised pastry.

Archie relaxed again and Cylion let out a sigh.

There wasn’t a damn thing in the world the three of them wouldn’t do for their sisters.

[fanged-fanfics]

Can I request a platonic weasel (creature commandos) x reader where weasel, for one reason or another, gets really attached to the reader. Maybe here, reader is a witch that’s in jail with him and the others for killing a bunch of bad rich people and was forced to join the creature commando squad

☆ Following Like A Lost Dog — Weasel & Witch!GN Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff, Platonic || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 At first, you didn't really think anything of Weasel above what everyone else did. He just seemed like a mangy, likely-rabies-powered monster stuck in there with the rest of you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Over some time, you began to kinda pity the thing. Nobody was ever really pleased to be anywhere near him, he barely seemed conscious of himself, and he was very often completely written off

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Slowly, you got kinder to Weasel. Offering him leftovers of your food, sharing your space, and even occasionally finding ways to engage in games with him. It felt a little strange still, but at least the mutant was appreciating your efforts

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Weasel began looking out for you. He tugs you back when he can sense something dangerous is ahead and brings you back some scraps whenever he fetches food, even getting defensive when someone he doesn't trust gets too close

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You become someone Weasel responds to very well when it comes to telling orders or explaining details. He's still a few fuses short of a fully conscious mind, but he at least tries to listen to you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Fetches anything he can to bring it to you for play, even during missions. Sometimes it's something as harmless as a stick, and other times it's a whole arm or dangerous weapon. Best to keep an eye out whenever he starts wandering too far

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Notices whenever you're in need of emotional support and tends to offer it by placing his head on your lap or atop your shoulder, whimpering in concern for his closest friend

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Very excited to introduce you to his caseworker, and she's very grateful for you helping Weasel feel less outcasted while stuck in penitentiary, as his behavior genuinely began improving a lot after meeting you

[fatehbaz]

Because tuatara are very long lived - between 100 and 200 years by most estimates […] - the founding of Aotearoa/New Zealand as a modern nation and the unfolding of settler-wrought changes to its environment have transpired over the course of the lives of perhaps just two tuatara [...].

---

[T]he tuatara (Sphenodon punctatus) [...] [is] the sole surviving representative of an order of reptiles that pre-dates the dinosaurs. [...] [T]he tuatara is of immense global and local significance and its story is pre-eminently one of deep timescales, of life-in-place [...]. Epithets abound for the unique and ancient biodiversity found in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Prized as “Ghosts of Gondwana” (Gibbs 2008), or as denizens of “Moa’s Ark” (Bellamy et al. 1990) or “The Southern Ark” (Andrews 1986), the country’s faunal species invoke fascination and inspire strong language [...]. In rounded terms, it [has been] [...] just 250 years since James Cook made landfall; just 200 years since the founding of the handful of [...] settlements that instigated agricultural transformation of the land [...]. European newcomers [...] were disconcerted by the biota [...]: the country was seen to “lack” terrestrial mammals; many of its birds were flightless and/or songless; its bats crawled through leaf-litter; its penguins inhabited forests; its parrots were mountain-dwellers; its frogs laid eggs that hatched miniature frogs rather than tadpoles [...].

---

Despite having met a reassuringly temperate climate [mild, oceanic, comparable to western Europe], too, the newcomers nevertheless sought to make adjustments to that climate, and it was clear to them that profits beckoned. Surveying the towering lowland forests from the deck of HMS Endeavour in 1769, and perceiving scope for expansion of the fenland drainage schemes being undertaken at that time in England and across swathes of Europe, Joseph Banks [botanist on Cook's voyage] reported on “swamps which might doubtless Easily be drained” [...]. Almost a century later, in New Zealand or Zealandia, the Britain of the South, [...] Hursthouse offered a fuller explication of this ethos: The cultivation of a new country materially improves its climate. Damp and dripping forests, exhaling pestilent vapours from rank and rotten vegetation, fall before the axe [...]. Fen and march and swamp, the bittern’s dank domain, fertile only in miasma, are drained; and the plough converts them into wholesome plains of fruit, and grain, and grass. [...]

[The British administrators] duly set about felling the ancient forests of Aotearoa/New Zealand, draining the country’s swamps [...]. They also began importing and acclimatising a vast array of exotic (predominantly northern-world) species [sheep, cattle, rodents, weasels, cats, crops, English pasture grasses, etc.] [...]. [T]hey constructed the seemingly ordinary agronomic patchwork of Aotearoa/New Zealand's productive, workaday landscapes [...]. This is effected through and/or accompanied by drastic deforestation, alteration of the water table and the flow of waterways, displacement and decline of endemic species, re-organisation of predation chains and pollination sequences and so on [...]. Aotearoa/New Zealand was founded in and through climate crisis [...]. Climate crisis is not a disastrous event waiting to happen in the future in this part of the world; rather, it has been with us for two centuries already [...].

---

[T]he crest formed by the twinned themes of absence and exceptionalism [...] has shaped this creature's niche in the western imagination. As one of the very oldest species on earth, tuatara have come to be recognised [in Euro-American scientific schemas] [...] as an evolutionary and biodiversity treasure [...]. In 1867, [...] Gunther [...] pronounced that it was not a lizard at all [...] [and] placed the tuatara [...] in a new order, Rhynchocephalia, [...] igniting a frenzy of scientific interest worldwide. Specifically, the tuatara was seen to afford opportunities for "astonished witnessing" [...], for "the excitement of having the chance to see, to study, to observe a true saurian of Mesozoic times in the flesh, still living, but only on this tiny speck of the earth [...], while all its ancestors [...] died about one hundred and thirty-five million years ago" [...]. Tuatara have, however, long held special status as a taonga or treasured species in Māori epistemologies, featuring in a range of [...] stories where [...] [they] are described by different climates and archaeologies of knowledge [...] (see Waitangi Tribunal 2011, p. 134). [...]

While unconfirmed sightings in the Wellington district were reported in the nineteenth century, tuatara currently survive only in actively managed - that is, monitored and pest-controlled - areas on scattered offshore islands, as well as in mainland zoo and sanctuary populations. As this confinement suggests, tuatara are functionally “extinct” in almost all of their former wild ranges. [...] [Italicized text in the heading of this post originally situated here in Boswell's article.] [...] In the remaining areas of Aotearoa/New Zealand where this species does now live [...], tuatara may in some cases be the oldest living inhabitants. Yet [...] if the tuatara is a creature of long memory, this memory is at risk of elimination or erasure. [...] [T]uatara expose and complicate the [...] machineries of public memory [...] and attendant environmental ideologies and management paradigms [...].

---

All text above by: Anna Boswell. "Climates of Change: A Tuatara's-Eye View". Humanities, 2020, Volume 9, Issue 2, 38. Published 1 May 2020. This article belongs to the Special Issue Environmental Humanities Approaches to Climate Change. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity. The first paragraph/heading in this post, with text in italics, are also the words of Boswell from this same article. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[randomwriteronline]

It was Nokama's fault. Of course it was Nokama's fault. It had to be Nokama's fault, because Nokama always got him to do what she asked.

Because they were friends, and he could never deny Nokama anything she asked.

So there he was. Standing before a big, stupid something that he recognized but refused to address as it should have been, perfectly frozen, glaring at what little he could see of a Ruru and Mahiki and Komau as they peeked through the barrier in their work.

His friend nudged him forward, saying nothing. He gave her a tired look; she squeezed his hand in her own with a small sad smile and crawled into the structure to help, leaving him to decide what to do on his own.

He felt so exhausted.

Whenua's head perked up beyond the barrier to look him in the eye.

"We're working for you too, you know," he said simply. "I don't think anybody would complain if you got up here. Maybe even lent us a hand with that Matatu of yours."

"Whenua," Nokama murmured.

"I know. I know."

Matau just leaned over and extended a hand towards him invitingly without a saying single word. Nuju took it, allowing himself to be hefted into the structure by his fellow Turaga.

It felt comfortable and enveloping in the best of ways, like a light embrace draped over one's shoulders. The flooring was soft yet perfectly solid under his feet; considering the rocky outcrop on which it was perched did not have a shape that could have been considered pleasant to lay or even just stand on, they must have been hard at work for quite some time now.

He watched them as they went back to their business while he could not move an inch.

His limbs seemed filled with molten lead. No matter how much he told himself to at least do the bare minimum, even just get out of the way so he could allow them to work on the spot he was occupying, his body simply did not register his demands. He was stuck in it like a pebble fallen deep into a too thin vein, blocking the until then streaming flow behind as it struggles in vain to push through, only managing to clog it further.

Steady hands grasped him and dragged his unmoving form back - both to reality, and towards an edge of the structure that evidently the others had deemed complete.

He was sat down with little force on the soft pavement; a lukewarm palm pressed slightly on his back to force his posture straight before he hunched miserably towards the floor. Something about the action reached into his entrails to unlock something, an uncomfortable feeling of resignation he had been trying to crush between his gears for days: weakly, he shut his eyes hard and leaned back as far into Onewa's chest as the other allowed him.

His fellow Turaga said nothing, grazing the back of Nuju's head with his mask.

The silence was unpleasant.

He couldn't bring himself to break it.

Fingers covered in scars, that had been broken many times, caressed his arm - he found his eyelids flying open all of a sudden, caught by surprise despite swearing he had been aware and alert. Had he dozed off? While they'd been working? Some useful member of the team he was, at a time like this nonetheless. Matau met his gaze without accusing him of anything: he offered the colder being half of an embrace that he accepted wholly despite a tired dullness dampening any display of appreciation with a lack of enthusiasm, eyes sinking into the greenish shoulder.

Nuju felt the two press against him as they leaned further onto him, as though they were the ones in dire need of support; it wasn't long before Nokama and Whenua's rustling stopped, and their weights too gently added themselves to those already pinning the Turaga of Ice to his seat.

His whole frame shuddered, wrecked by a sudden chill.

Arms tangled around him to trap him within their loving web. The other four swayed his body gently alongside their own, pushing and pulling him with a magnificent tenderness to lay him down, down with them, in their embrace, in their nest, falling into place against each other like puzzle pieces of a still incomplete enigma, haunted by the void they could not fill but trying, at the very least, to bring one another a glimmer of solace despite the absence cutting into their limbs and chests.

Nuju curled tighter into the affection surrounding him to try and stave off the lack of heat.

-

The firespitter was dragged away from the Agori healers who discharged him with feverish vigor and many hurried thanks that Whenua forgot to speak out loud and Onewa had to relay for him - they would compare the frenzy of the Turaga who came to pick him up to that of many mice, or bugs, scuttling about as fast as they could to grab all sorts of crumbs with their quick little fingers before anybody could chase them out of the room.

He was weak, still, during the first few days, and so the others had agreed that nobody was allowed to see him. If any of the Toa wanted to catch a glimpse of him they would either have to wait or seek audience at the foot of the nest he'd been hushered into, only being allowed any closer by a unanimous vote.

There was no need to fear for his condition anyways: he was being cared for in more ways than the healers could have provided, and they knew that.

Vakama had no intention of removing himself from his kin's embrace, either.

No matter who asked to see him he remained willingly lodged between them, kept warm by their presence around him as his body struggled to heat up in the way his element demanded he be able to, safely tucked within Nuju's arms; he clung to the Turaga of Ice in his sleep as hard as the other clung to him, and surrounded by friends in one another's grasp they slept better than they had in weeks.

[elleryhart]

Implications, announcements, and overwhelming joy

A few drinks in with the Lieutenant --just a few? more than a few, surely, but it's hard to keep track when some are directly from the bottle --he makes half an insinuation.

Hell, not even half. It's an off-hand implication buried in other words as part of a tiff of sorts, but in that span of seconds it holds immense meaning for Ellery. It's an implication they haven't dared allowed to cross their own lips, let alone think someone else might accept. And there it is, thrown out casually. A given.

Instead of pointing it out directly and giving him space to challenge it, they instead tell him they're growing out their hair, and, to repeat the implication, say that one of the reasons they're doing it is because he seems to like men with long hair.

He doesn't challenge it. He says Ellery would look good.

They take a final swig of the drink and set the bottle down —carefully, deliberately— before they ball both of their hands into the fabric of his shirt and pull him to them— to him— for a kiss.

-

Jin, their roommate, starts calling their shared space a bachelor pad. Merry calls him handsome. Lyra calls him her boyfriend. The Scrimshander feels his bursts of joy before he can even tell it.

He hasn't gotten to everyone yet, but each time the words come out of his mouth, Ellery feels a brand new wave of euphoria and gains a little more confidence.