Best Way To Show Affection, Mlem

I've seen a lot of fics disappear from my bookmarks, some 10+ years old, because they were added to an unrevealed collection. It makes me wonder if people realize what your fic being added to a collection actually means and if the authors approved it automatically without realizing what would happen.

If someone adds your fic to their collection, they can hide it! They can mark the collection as unrevealed and your fic will be unreadable to anyone other than them! If you're writing works for a surprise event, like a Secret Santa, this is really nice.

But if you're just writing and someone adds your fic to a collection for their own personal use and marks it as unrevealed, that. . . really sucks.

I bookmarked this fic in 2017, almost 5 years ago. Knowing me, the fic itself was probably at least a couple years old at the time I bookmarked it.

This is a 5+ year old fic that is completely inaccessible now because it was added to a collection that, as far as I can tell, is literally just for the collection owner's own reference. There's almost 30 fics in the collection, all of them unrevealed.

Please don't blindly accept collection requests and if your works ARE in a collection, make sure that they aren't being hidden without your knowledge or consent.

Froglet

Hey People, firstly sorry for the delay. As you might have heard, my country (Turkey) ain't doing so hot at the moment. Between the storms and more importantly the earthquake it has been a little hard here. luckily we weren't hit by the earthquake where I live, but we got our fair share of unpleasantness from the storm. Anyway other than that there is not much I want to say, I hope you all enjoy this one. More regular uploads will continue when I can manage. Trying work without a stable internet and cold fingers is kind of hard sadly and there is only so much a candle can heat up.

She drummed her fingers against the arm of her throne. Each tap trying to rise above the cacophony that has overtaken her temple. Each tap trying and failing to silence the clattering steel and shouts of warriors getting ready for what was to come. Tap, tap, tap, tap her four fingers went with her thumb pushing against the side of the throne, digging into the wood. She was calm, really she was. She was so calm indeed that she was barely even thinking of what was to come, it was simply off from her mind as she calmly waited… and waited… waited. Her eyes were closed, all four shut against the world and the temple she called her own. To the cut stone beneath her throne to the rustic walls that kept her cult sheltered. To the ones she used to call her patrons, now divisions and warriors that were meant to march. Really calm, really, truly calm… No, she wasn’t. She was not calm, not in the slightest. She couldn’t do this to herself. She was many things, a Goddess, a Bishop of the old faith, a sister and not a liar. Besides, she was not really someone to believe in her own lies. Though was she? Was she really not a liar? Even in that sentence there were lies if not some half truths at least. It was true she was a Goddess, Lady of Famine, the one over the domain of sate and hunger in their dance that only ended with the release of death. Then again, if she were the Lady famine then why were her patrons armed in weapons instead of scythes and buckets? Why were they getting ready for what was to come, instead of fasting in their homes? She knew the answer, but really it was better that she kept the answer away from herself. It was also true that she was a bishop of the old faith, she was the new right hand of Shamura, the first one to establish the faith. Then again, was she really? She did not really feel like she was a bishop as much as a commander for her armies now or some odd figurehead at times. She was not really preaching the perseverance that came with the abstinence of what was most vital to life and the release and euphoria that came with the feast. The dance of gorge and the fast. No, these days she was preaching the righteousness of what was to come. Of how one can only find themselves true in war and not by the release of a hot meal after a long day of work toiling in one's lot. It was true, she was a sister. Sister to Leshy, the fifth in the roster of the old faith. God of Chaos that stood over the realms of green and brown. The one that has been with them the least. The hardest to contain amongst the old faith. The one that had brought nothing but a headache to her since his lowly beginnings as a mewling worm. From the days he saw fit to set ablaze her temple in his many ‘pranks’ to his inability to listen to her heeds and warnings. Choosing to ignore where she tried to reason, to use his domain against the criticism he needed to improve. A child she could never see sitting on a throne. Sister to Kalamar, The fourth to come to their coven of Gods. God of Pestilence that stood over the blue and yellow. The one that had done nothing but cower behind her, never setting right where he erred. The one that threw the blame when her honest words came too much. The leach that took all love and gave but disloyalty, a snake she had to trust in what was to come. A coward she never wanted to see ruling. Sister to Shamura, her oldest sibling who was the leader of their quartet. The one that has given her the weapons and arms to wage the war they assured her was necessary. The sibling that has taken the honest work of her patrons in her tavern and has transformed them all to warrior kin only they could assemble. The one that has only taken when her dance was of gift and forfeit. A dance she came to break with their steel and bronze where once there was only wood and clay. A mad tyrant with a vision that may as well have been for their ruin rather than salvation. She was lastly, the sister to Narinder. The second to come in the pantheon of the old faith. The one she was to meet soon, in what was to come. The pompous prick that dared to defile the word of the old faith, dare go against Shamura’s wishes, dared to take his lot away… dared to leave her alone, dare to leave her in charge where he was meant to stay and lead with Shamura, dare to push this responsibility to her. The one that caused all of this… did he though? The traitorous thought snaked its way into her mind. Did he truly cause this all? No, well yes but… half truth she supposed, it could only be called that. He was the one that left, the one that took his followers with him away from them. Into lands they were to march in what's to come. He was the one that made his temple there, on the misty mountains where white met against white with the snow and clouds. A temple he built of marble and stone of the unforgiving silver mountains where his realm was closest to. But, she knew he didn’t want to. She knew he didn’t mean to defile a faith he helped to create in its infancy, if it hadn’t forgotten his name. He was the one that went against the creator of the old faith, their eldest sibling, Master of War, Shamura. To fight against their gospel when it stopped suiting him instead of accepting them as law as must all in the lands of the old faith, be they mortal or God. But she knew. She knew he wouldn’t have went against Shamura’s wishes if they weren’t so unreasonable as to demand him to reduce his own cult to nothing. To waste his days away from them in solitude. Though she supposed, that part did come to be eventually. He was the one that took what was left of his lot away. The pitiful bunch that stuck with him even after what had happened… She knew they had no other choice as much as he. He was the one to leave her alone. To fend for herself in this complicated dance of politics she was thrusted into from her humble patrons and tavern, to the halls of the spider. To the insolent and egotistical court of lies. To make her a moth to the webs of affairs and intrigue, she had to learn from. She knew a lot, but she still didn’t know how he could have done such a thing when he was the one that embraced her for the first time when she was but a tadpole, swimming in the unknown depths of her soon to be realm. Again came the taps; tap, tap, tap, tap as she remembered the faithful day. She was alone on those days. So long ago she could barely remember the way stars have shone when she came crashing down from the heavens above. Alone and with no purpose, wading through the swamps of her now land. She was fierce, she was strong, she was the second inevitability of the world. Hunger. She hunted as she jumped from pond to pond, letting her hunger guide her in the murky waters. Alas, she was not the strongest nor the fiercest for she met one mightier. A dark God she could best in but a moment now, but back then a foe she withered against. However, even with the odds against her, she did not meet death that day. At least not in the way she thought she would while struggling in the dark God’s grasp. A slice and a broken body in the pond where she thought she would see the last of the stars. Finding herself in the arms of the cat clad in black black with three kind eyes and a mouth full of gentle but sharp teeth. She met him then, God of Death, her second eldest. The one they would slaughter soon.   Her eyes opened, slowly as she drummed her fingers faster and faster. Tap, tap, tap, tap they went as she accepted the truth, she was a liar. A true liar. Truth was, she was none of those things. She failed in all of those or at least she was about to. With  the blood of her brother spilled over the marble of his temple, her fate would forever be sealed as a liar. In those misty towering behemoths of white would he be waiting, for what was to come. So what was to come, came. Here she was, waiting for her fate just as much as the cat clad in white with three eyes and a not so kind sharp teeth had. Tap, tap, tap, tap came the noise out her axe as her claws met the handle. She waited, she waited for something she knew was not going to happen. She waited for him to give up, to let them take him back, to let them exact punishment against him and his ilk. A miracle. But she knew, he would never give up. He would fight, now and always as he had all those faithful years ago against the Dark God. With vain hope she looked around, to see her own ilk. All discarded like toy soldiers, strewn about like mere dolls. Their sorrowful faces drowned amidst the warriors of Shamura with their proud eyes. Another thing she was to blame him for, but she knew she couldn’t. From seeing her ilk to seeing her kin. She saw Kalmar first, terrified as ever. He wore a face of nervousness, his ears hung low as his eyes peered around as if he looked all as an enemy to fear. His followers did not share their master’s fear however, all brave faces. Not proud, but brave. All holding their heads high even if their very Lord couldn’t. She held off her sneer as she looked to see Leshy. Bored eyes met hers, he looked all around lazily like it was just a game. Just some sightseeing tour he was barely paying attention to as he twirled his hammer. Unmoved by the soulless eyes that gazed back at him from the ground. His own followers now gone and dust, looking at them with emotions even she didn’t know. She held her tongue as she gazed once more which landed on them, the one that brought them here, Master of War that looked sorrowful where they were to be in delight. The crest of their brow low, hiding all that was going on behind that old decrepit mind of theirs. Looking straight at the one they came to slaughter with eyes that spoke of only regret. She felt the blood in her veins boil as her fingers went TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP. She held her venom as she looked to see him. He held himself high, ears following afoot. His brow high and eyes that shone with purpose and commitment. There wasn’t much left of his followers, but they held the same look as their master even in the end, and most likely beyond. Waiting for him to join them in his rightful domain. ‘So he is the whom I am to slaughter, one that stayed one with his ilk when the rest of his kin had not’ she thought. One that looked not apart from the bodies that once fought against the invader in his name. Shame, she thought. Shame to the ones on the ground, the ones who are about to meet it and to the rest who are still above it. So it began, after a couple of pretty words uttered by their sibling. First tap, she swung first and true. If she was to be damned, it was to be done with grace to match the one that dodged her attack. He fought with elegance she had only seen from their eldest, one that had not fought for long years even before this. He would vault over the haphazard attacks of Leshy that at times felt like they were meant for her. Just as he would vault he would dodge the opportunistic attacks of Kalamar in the same breath. He would complete the dance with a counter to her own attack that would have hit if he had waited but a moment more. Second tap, she changed tactics. Now she would try to push him instead of hitting him, trying to force him into the attacks of Leshy who lacked the cohesion to understand her idea or just didn’t care. Just as she would push him off Kalamar would be there to give him back the space she so hardly fought to take. Running and dodging where he was meant to stay and deliver. After the third tap of the scythe against the axe she realized she was not just outmatched but she was also very much alone. It didn’t matter what she did, what tactic she implored. All it did was to give her a fool's hope that would be dashed into pieces when put into practice. Her tactics were like the speeches she delivered in court, ignored without the input of their sibling who still hadn’t joined them. Before the fourth tap she saw her brother, this time fully. His brother stood above the three, like the dark God that was to take her to his realm from all those years ago. For one terrible moment she realized, she was going to die. Maybe not a liar like she thought but dead nonetheless for his brother was death, the killer of Gods fore and now. At the fifth tap that she sounded with the drop of her knee she could see. She saw the still figure of Shamura who watched the slaughter. She saw the sibling that brought them here, to the place where his kind brother became the nightmare from her long lost nightmares. The one that watched with pity as they were cut down. The one that still looked from above as their brother breathed death against them. She saw her enemy. She saw the real traitor. There was no sixth tap, it was more of a clang that reverbated across the halls of the temple. The clang that came to be by her axe which saw the claw of Shamura. At that moment as all of her family looked at her, she knew she was dead. For a moment silence and in the next ‘’Traitors’’ came the hiss of Shamura, then came her claw that with grace that could only be matched by their second eldest. Proven with his scythe came between her and the cold claw of their eldest. She didn’t know what compelled her to block the hit that came from Kalamar that was meant for Narinder. She didn’t know and would most likely never know, but at the moment she couldn’t think much about that. So they continued, a froglet and a kitten against three dark Gods. Scythe and axe matching claw, sword and hammer. It was a dance now, one that somehow felt comforting as she sliced the ears of their cowardly brother. It felt like the ones they shared when it was just the two of them when the traitor had gone to tend to their court. When the cold of the night and the mist of the temple reminded her of the day she met the monster that almost made her its prey. So when he took the eyes of Leshy she couldn’t help but tap, tap, tap, tap. Then came tap, tap, tap, tap from his scythe to the ground as they were pushed back by the enraged Master of War, who now only saw red as their two siblings met the stone of the temple. Slice to cut, out came the ichor that danced in the air. For a moment she had a lip barring no scar that sang away those awful nights with his brother’s kind eyes watching. Now scarred they were, with a split that came from the claws of the traitor. The kind eyes looked at her once more as she lost her footing. Shining with determination she wished she could match before the three were now two as the traitor took more off of them. She found herself on the ground as his brother found himself pushed to the ground as the traitor took him apart, slice after slice as they cursed him. His weapon broken and away where he could not reach. For as many things she knew she didn’t know many yet. But she knew one thing, the traitor had to meet their end. She didn’t know how she matched the grace of the spider for that moment, but for a moment she truly felt like she danced maybe for the first time with Shamura before she met the cold claws once more. This time she would gain not a scar but lose a tooth and maybe two. But there came no more slice nor cut for the Traitor met his end with the sharper claws of their brother. With the same claws that gently took her up from the pond to a home, he took apart the brow that hid many and the mind that was behind this terribleness. Tap, tap, tap, tap. She heard, against her palm as she lay. She held his gaze as her four met the last two eyes of a cat clad in white and much red, with a mouth full of kind razor sharp teeth that gave her a smile. She closed her eyes as she heard ‘’Tap, tap, tap, tap froglet of mine’’ His hand found her lip as she felt his soothing cold claws, healing the damage of the traitor. ‘’Tap, tap, tap, tap cry not for I am here. Forever and more, with you.’’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44580424/chapters/112140313

Puppers, a doggy even

Some real life stuff

I GOT A DOG

Look at this girl I'm crying

Cotl Prompts Eyyyy

Alright, I am not sure if this is how I am supposed to be doing this but who cares. I wish for prompts to write about. I am not sure how many of them I can make a story out of or how long the said stories would be, (it all sort of depends on the prompt I guess) but I will do my best to deliver something good out of the ones I can make a story out of. 

To send them just use the ask box thingy, it should be in working condition so it should be fine.

Heh, red panda. I like the way you made the eyes btw, it looks rather nice.

I really like these a dog fallower form if i could i would have floppy ears there so cute

And the red panda is so stinking cute you guys have good tast~♡

I really had fun with these thank you so much

You made mine day alot more fun in trying things out~♡

Ejoy the piece~♡

Guess who is back, with more fluffffffynesss!

I AM ALIVE

The job's taking too much of my energy, I was not able to even do my college homework

But Now I'm having a day off so I brought you a little sketch yaaay

It's not much but....Alhena is here once more hehe

Heh, I can remember my own first chapter, all the excitement, all the plans for the future.

Anyhow, glad to hear you want to write more of it! I shall readddd em as you writttte em.

I finally did it!! I can't believe I wrote this by myself, honestly. I'm still new to writing stuff so I'm not sure of this text is enough readable but I already like the beginning of the story.

Also, I was planning to make it...bigger. Like, a lot bigger. But I guess that this chapter wasn't in need of too much details

Just some sketches I have been working on, I do not like how some of em turned out but really, it had been a long time since I had done any really drawing so I say it is fine... Ish.

Anyhow I was thinking of chess when I was making these and yes Narinder is the King while Lamb is the pawn. I thought it was fitting with how Narinder means "king of man" and how pawns are always underestimated until they reach the end of their journey.

Little Leaf

Alright, this is a chapter from my fic ‘The Five Traitors’, the first one in fact. It is about what would have happened if one of the siblings joined Narinder’s rebellion, what would have led them to it and what would come out of it.

I will post this here and the rest when I am done with them all. But I will also add a link to the Ao3 down there if you all wanna read it there instead.

I hope you all enjoy this one (:

His temple was silent. Only wind spoke through it for there were none within. All his once whimsical critters waited outside, orderly assembled and ready, all awaiting their Lord. He tried to laugh, something he hadn’t done in a while, at the irony of it all. He was to lead and order an army. He, Lord of Chaos, was to order his army to fight alongside that of his siblings. An army he had assembled at the order’s of his sibling. However he couldn’t, not even a mirthless chuckle punch through the bottomless perfect melancholy.

No, no he just sat there. A silent lord for a silent temple, neither which were ever so before. Not before their eldest came to him and the rest of his siblings, telling them of the supposed treachery of their brother. Not before they gave the order to form an army to bring him to justice. Not before they took command of each of their cults to train and supply them, to mold them into the same zealots they bred. not before they brought order to his chaos.

Treachery, he thought. He was thinking the way his soon to be punished brother was thinking. He was asking questions where he was to obey, he was trying to reason where he was supposed to show fealty, he was showing chaos where he needed to prove his order. To betray to self to conform.

He ran his fingers through his face, avoiding his eyes from the sharpness of his claws as he drew in a breath. It was the smell of the pines, the ancient stone and the smell of ichor that ran through his eyes that greeted him.

‘’That explains the wet hands’’ he murmured to himself, as he looked down on his hand to see his tear soaked hand. All crimson like the blood of his followers but with an undeniable dark tinge that betrayed its true nature.

He ran his thumb over the rest of his fingers as he felt the sticky liquid of the holy void. As the droplets fell to the stone of his temple, there came new life. Blades of grass with many odd flowers, all in the colours of the stars birthed them all amidst the lifeless stone. But Just as they came to be, they died. All returning back to his brother's domain.

To oblivion, Narinder’s domain. He smiled as he thought of him, the one they were to march to meet in battle today. His smile fell just as quickly as he remembered where he stood in this conflict, this schism. He would be in the ranks of his sister Heket, the Lady of Famine; his brother Kalamar, the Lord of Disease; his sibling Shamura, the Master of War.

All four leaders of the Old Faith would march against their brother Narinder, Lord of Death.

He was to march together with the one who would ridicule him for his very nature, chastise him for the very thing he was gifted to this world to do. The one who would cast all blame for the things she failed to realize in this world as uncertain. The one whose logic would shatter at the mere mention of his chaos.

He was to march alongside a coward. One who he knew for certain would stab them all in the back if they were to fail in the upcoming madness. He who would cast disease amidst them all if it would give him one more moment to escape his fate.

He was to march alongside a sibling he barely knew. One who he had only met a few times before they were taken by their duty, away from him. Sibling who has accused their brother of treachery on a mere premonition, one that rested on an old mind that had been rotting for a milenia. The one who has brought ugly order to his beautiful domain of chaos. The one that has tried  to replace his very nature with their own.

He was to march against his brother. The one that had been by his side since his coming to this earth. The one that has teached him all he knew and all that he wished to know till this very moment. The one that cradled him to his chest in the nights where he found no respite amidst the order of the world. The one he seeked mere days ago, to see if they still carried the same faith for each other deep within them. The one that indeed has, proven by his cold but yet warm embrace that carried no pulse but a true heart that sang with his own. In the days before this one, where he stood in his temple as a brother rather than an enemy as he showed him the true beauty of his nature. No ridicule for what he is, no fear for what he was and no portent for what he will be.

He remembered his erratic heart matching his dead one, as they embraced as if he didn’t know they were to attack his domain soon. He held no contempt for him even then. Just acceptance, as was expected from the kind guide to the afterlife, the shepherd of beyond.

Sounds of water splashing on the hallowed ground shook him away from these holy heretical thoughts. ‘Was that the rain?’ he thought as he looked down on the ground through a haze to see more flowers. He was lucky that his cloak was black he thought as he wiped away the ichor off his face.

He got up, standing tall amidst the silent temple he no longer recognized. Amidst soldiers that were no longer his whimsical cohort. Amidst the sanctified gates of his brother's temple. Amidst the quartet of traitors he dared not call siblings.

Shamura spoke first ‘’Narinder, please understand wh-’’ They were cut by a laugh that reverberated across the defiled temple of his brother. Narinder shook his head as he brought his hand to his face to run it across.

He looked back slowly as his hand went back limb to his side ‘’Please spare us all that, we all know how this is going to go’’ Heket took a step forward with her axe firmly within their hands. He looked at her out of curiosity, to see if she held anything other than contempt. He was given but a moment too be disappointed as Shamura stopped her in her tracks with just one claw.

Shamura wore a tired face, one laced with guilt and shame. He wanted to laugh at that but just like before he couldn’t find enough humor in that. They were the one who has driven them into this, to this very moment. Yet they stood there ashamed, he would ask why if they were so pained could they have just not brought them here?

His hands tightened on the helm of his warhammer as he tried to contain the indignity within his capricious heart. He felt the traitorous tears try to force their way off all five of his eyes, but no. No, he would not shed a single one.

The cry of war took his mind away from his thoughts as the Queen of Anura broke away from the grasp of her sibling’s claw. Away to war she rose, her axe swung over Narinder who swatted it away. Blow for blow they came to each other, strike to strike they tried to best one another. Witnessing the call of battle he tried to move but he couldn’t, he stood there with his hammer still in his hands as both his siblings tried to rip each other to pieces.

Then came the cry of Kallamar who joined the fray. adding his own to the fight that saw siblings spill the blood of one another. With much skill he still swung his swords, each cutting fabric and nothing more as he tried and failed to match their brother’s grace. He tried to look away from the awe inspiring battle that was unfolding in front of him. He couldn’t bear it for he knew, he knew the two would lose.

He looked away to the one hope they still held, to the old spider. He looked at them with scorn he had not felt before, he wanted to shout at them to ask them is this what they have wanted. But more so he wanted them to join so their siblings at least stood a chance against the whirlwind of destruction their brother had always been.

But he was disappointed yet again, for they stood still. As the carnage took place all around they stood still as the pillars of stone around. Looking at the fight with cold dead pity. He felt his claws puncture his hands as he clutched his hammer more firm as he marched into the fray too.

He swung his hammer, not to his brother nor to his siblings, but to all of them at once. For he was chaos, he bore no allegiance that could last with obedience alone. He struck the earth where Heket stood for he was chaos, he cared not for safe logic. He casted bolts of lighting almost at random that were dodged by Kallamar for he was chaos, for he was untamable.

All became a haze as the fight grew to an odd free for all, the chaos in which he thrived. Alliances were formed; where one struck, where the other deflected just to switch. Where one who came to kill, fought alongside the one they came to kill. Where one protected just to stab in the back, where one howled in rage just to bellow a laughter, where all blended together with the ichor of all. All in the colours of the night sky, as they danced together, against; for, spite; with, without one another.

Through each strike he stood true however, he never stayed with an ‘ally’ for long. Always switching at a whim, one moment he saw the teary eyes of Kallamar to then just see the enraged snarl of Heket. Then at the last moment he saw Narinder fighting with a grace he had never seen from another being, be they God or mortal. In that moment he understood, as they carved the ears off of Kallamar, as they tore his sister’s throat. Only he and himself were true to themselves, not to the faith or to their siblings but to themselves. Only he and Narinder stood true as they pummeled and were pelted, striked as they were slashed, dodge as they blocked. He as the harbinger of chaos and his brother as the reaper of souls. True Gods of their domain, not just some bishop to a rigid Faith made by a coward.

Here he stood, facing his brother as the two of his siblings stayed imobile on the ground, both spilling their holy ichor to the temple meant for the true lord of death. He stared down his ally, his enemy, his Lord and his servant. He saw his smile as he held onto his scythe, his smile bloomed into a laugh that warmed him from within.

As he stood with his broken arm, no doubt a gift he himself had given him just a moment ago. He beckoned him with open arms, one lowered slightly from the pain no doubt. He moved to meet him even with his slashed leg, leaking rot and ichor, a gift in kind given to him by his dearest.

It was cold and silent, his fur covered in ichor that smelled of disease, rot and much much more. His heart was quiet but it felt like it beat with fervor they both held for each other, he smiled into his fur as his hands moved to the back of his head. Each of his bony fingers combed against his leaves. There was no need for words as his deep purr talked where words would have failed. He was accepted, just as he accepted him. Chaos and Death held each other as Gods amidst bled.

It was not to last, as it was the nature of both chaos and death. A cry of war came from its master, one that bellowed across the temple, reverberated across the halls just to echo right back at them.

Both took their spots as the dance began again. They were met with grace that made Narinder look like a beetle amidst butterflies. They danced and danced, two beetles trying to outfly a butterfly as it carved them apart. This butterfly wore a mask of anger and indignation however, one that did a poor job of masking their anguish. This butterfly called them ‘traitors’ and ‘heretics’ but they themselves were a traitor to their very nature, a reluctant warrior that carried the crown of war.

They were tired, they were injured, they were losing. It was just a simple fact really, they were going to lose. Narinder blocked a strike just to get cut by the other, his ichor wetting the holy stone. He slashed in return, for it to not bother their sibling. It was like a dance between a blooming rose and a butterfly; so futile, so meaningless, so chaotic and so, so beautiful.

In the end he fell to his knees, and as he watched their sibling sob as they reddied their claws to make their brother meet their end. He could only chuckle. It was not painful, not really. Their sibling’s claws tore his eyes, all two perfect orderly slashes that cut through his eyes meant to gut their brother. He didn’t know how he ran that fast, or how he got up from the ground with his slashed legs. But he did know what he saw in his brother's eyes as he saw him taking the hit for him. Anger and much anguish.

Opposed to their sibling's cut, Narinder’s cuts were haphazard. Many smaller ones riddled their now perished sibling’s body. He kept on cutting it, cursing it as he continued his onslaught.

For eternity it felt like it continued, slash after slash but eventually he returned to him, Like he always would. Cradling his body to their own, his cold fur soothing the pain as he truly laughed for the first time in a long time at the irony of the God of Death healing him. Taking him away further from his own domain as he whispered ‘'I am here little leaf’' soft lips found their way to his forehead as he continued ‘'I am with you’'

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44580424/chapters/112140313

Having Fluffffffffy wool is a perfectly adequate reason for being chosen as a vessel.

there are two kinds of cult of the lamb fanart, probablycanon!cotl and fluffy!cotl. there is no in-between. look at this baby, honestly take a look at fluffy!lambert and tell me that you wouldn't (platonically) plant a kiss on his forehead.

also, yes, I know, I committed the cardinal sin of sticking down text bubbles, but I was running out of time to draw yesterday and I haven't posted anything in a really long time.

also, have an extra no text version!