maaeveeee

[maaeveeee]

Rip Anne Shirley— Cuthbert you would've HATED ChatGPT

[maaeveeee]

Secretly have a weak spot for these two

[maaeveeee]

Hi guys! Just a quick update on this fanfic. Since I'm already on chapter 5 (I think?) I already regret the plot I've been trying to make.

So, the backstory for Seraphyne stays the same but everything else changes! I might just unprivate them so I can peacefully start from scratch and once I finish the whole fanfic I will update it all.

Tags: @kneelforloki, @n-ae-vis, @astrlape

Hello everyone! Just wanted to share a quick update with you all — my requests are temporarily closed as I decided to waste my summer time on a bigger fanfic.

I have noticed my blog getting more attention from LA Snotlout one—shot fics and I couldn't be more grateful, but Ive decided to move a little forward and try to make something bigger for a fanfic with Hiccup. (not live action)

I'm not sure it would be pleasing to read since it would be… unorthodox.

violent intimacy, obsessed tension, burning softness, bone—deep angst, knife—to—throat romance and, of course, enemies to lovers trope.

(comments with opinions would help :3)

[maaeveeee]

[maaeveeee]

gabrielhowell_ I'm not crying you're crying and also YOU had the time of YOUR life making YOUR favourite childhood movie SHUT UP.

[maaeveeee]

𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

[maaeveeee]

Once I finish my hiccup fanfic I will be rewriting most of the Snotlout fics!!

[maaeveeee]

𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

[maaeveeee]

Part 1 -> currently in drafts for rewriting

Pairing: Hiccup Haddock x female oc

Trope: enemies to lovers

Warnings: graphic violence, child death, death imagery, mutilation, animal cruelty, trauma response, dissociation, psychological deterioration, vengeance obsession, Implied PTSD, and emotional repression, threats of future violence & last but not least, deep angst.

Author’s note: well… that's a lot of warnings. I may have overdone with her backstory but I tried my best to balance it.

Winterfjord's winds shrieked like dragons in their death throes at night while Seraphyne Velari arrived into the world.

Her first breath was not air but thick, acrid smoke, drawn from the massive pyres where her kin torched the corpses of vanquished beasts.

The midwives, their hands still tacky with Monstrous Nightmare poison from that morning's kill, wrapped her in a cloak lined with the scales of a Deadly Nadder, its shimmering barbs etching angry red furrows into her fresh skin.

“Another one who seeks the long darkness.” her father had snarled, pressing a thumb stained with dragon blood onto her forehead.

The burning liquid stung sharply, etching the spiral mark of her clan onto her skin—a painful vow carved into her that she would one day fulfill.

Winterfjord differed from other Viking settlements.

Where Berk had green hills rolling and protected harbors, Winterfjord clung to the biting black teeth of the northernmost chain of islands like lichen to stone.

Six of twelve months, the sea froze hard, locking them in perpetual twilight where the sole light was torches on their dragon—proof walls.

All of the structures had been constructed from bones—rib cages arching doorways, spinal columns for fence posts, and the doors to the great hall made from the outstretched wings of a Stormcutter killed three generations ago.

Seraphyne learned to walk on dragon hide floors, her little boots sliding on the smooth scales until she had the distinctive wide—legged gait of all Winterfjord warriors.

She could recognize a dragon's weak points by the rhythm of its wings at four winters of age. At six, she skinned her first Terrible Terror, its awful shrieks music to her ears as her mother directed her blade.

“You never hesitate.” Mother had instructed, her breath frosting in the cold air as she wrapped Seraphyne's small hands around the hilt. "The moment you go soft is the moment you die."

And Kael.

Kael Frost—Song, his stupid laughter and his stupid blue eyes and his stupid manner of sneaking honey cakes into her training pack.

The sole child of Winterfjord who did not flinch at Seraphyne's bared teeth. The lad who taught her how to blow a whistle on a hollowed—out dragon fang, who lifted her up to watch the auroras, who pressed his forehead against hers when the elder were particularly cruel about her one—track rage.

The day the Razorwhip took him, Seraphyne's world collapsed.

They'd gone ice fishing outside the protection of the walls—a stupid, rebellious excursion that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Kael balanced on the broken ice, his nerdy red scarf flapping absurdly as he struck a pose as a mighty hunter.

"Behold me, Sera! I, slayer of—

The yell was out of the blue. A thousand unsheathed swords.

The elders would afterward tell of it as the first Razorwhip ever seen this far north—a freak migration, an omen.

But to Seraphyne, in that instant, there was only the searing spatter of Kael's blood across her face as the dragon's tail speared his chest.

His form came crashing into the ice with a soggy slap.

For a single impossible moment, Kael's eyes locked on hers—gleaming with confusion, then pain, then something horribly like regret as his mouth shaped her name around a bubble of blood.

Something within Seraphyne broke.

When the Razorwhip lunged at her, she did not flee. She jumped.

The force slammed them both into the ice, then out into the dark water below. The cold was alive, tearing at her lungs, as she struggled with the shrieking creature, her small hands clenching the yielding sheet of its wings and breaking it.

Blood clouded the water—hers, the dragon's, Kael's still wet on the spikes of the creature's tail.

She drowned it.

Held the thrashing underwater until its struggles ceased, until its radiant eyes dimmed, until her own eyes became vision—spot from lack of breath.

When she finally broke the surface, dragging the animal’s corpse up onto the ice with raw, icy hands, Kael's body had begun to freeze to the surface.

The elders came upon her three days later, hunched over Kael's corpse, the Razorwhip's head on her knees.

She hadn't slept anywhere nor eaten anything. Just sat there sharpening her blades with deliberate purpose, her eyes gleaming in the firelight like some animal.

They named her Dragonbane thereafter. Dragon slayer.

It was not meant to be a compliment.

Years went by, and Seraphyne's anger became larger.

At the age of thirteen, she tracked a hive of Speed Stingers for six days running, then came back with a whip made from twelve braided tails.

At fifteen, she slew a single Stormcutter, at the cost of a scar above her left eyebrow, one which reminded her always to make the first strike.

But Winterfjord's leaders became uneasy. Where others killed in service, Seraphyne butchered with a zeal close to worship.

Where most warriors dealt instant death, she worked hard for the dragon to feel every bit of its suffering.

The final straw was when she skinned a Gronckle alive, its shrieking ringing across the fjord for hours as she slid its skin off slowly to make a new cloak.

"You've lost your way," the elders said to her, their faces implacable in the torchlight. "The hunt is for survival, not sport."

Banishment should have destroyed her. It freed her instead.

She heard his name for the first time in the Outcast camps — banished, alone, blood on her boots and too much fire in her chest.

They were dirty people. Bitter people. But even they were whispering about Berk’s miracle boy.

Hiccup Haddock.

A runt. A reject. A chief’s son who lost a leg and gained the trust of a godsdamn dragon.

And suddenly, he was a hero?

He was a peacebringer?

She remembers the cold in her lungs, the sting of wind in her eyes as she held the dragon underwater and screamed into the black until her throat bled.

She remembers digging Kael’s body out of the ice with her nails.

She remembers snapping his fingers just to take back the scarf she gave him.

And what was he doing?

Building saddles? Throwing fish? Naming a Night Fury like it was a newborn puppy?

She could’ve slit his throat just for existing.

She didn’t tame her grief. She became it.

So no—

She wouldn’t call it jealousy. She called it hatred.

Pure. Simple. Deserved.

Let him ride his scaled pet like some wide—eyed fool. Let him scratch its chin and pretend he changed the world.

She knows the truth.

Dragons don’t change.

They just wait until you’re weak enough to burn.

And one day she’ll make him see that.

From behind the smoke and the fire and the ruins of his perfect little lie.

[maaeveeee]

Hello everyone! Just wanted to share a quick update with you all — my requests are temporarily closed as I decided to waste my summer time on a bigger fanfic.

I have noticed my blog getting more attention from LA Snotlout one—shot fics and I couldn't be more grateful, but Ive decided to move a little forward and try to make something bigger for a fanfic with Hiccup. (not live action)

I'm not sure it would be pleasing to read since it would be… unorthodox.

violent intimacy, obsessed tension, burning softness, bone—deep angst, knife—to—throat romance and, of course, enemies to lovers trope.

(comments with opinions would help :3)

[maaeveeee]

Are your requests still open? If so; Snot but he becomes self aware and is smitten with the person watching? Think Angel Hare (analog horror) and/or Static (Hatsune Miku song)! 👉👈

Hi! The requests will be closed after I finish your request which is the last one I have.

But just to make sure i understand it righ:

are you asking for a fic where snotlout becomes self—aware (kind of fourth—wall—break—y?) and realizes someone (the reader) is watching him, and instead of being freaked out, he’s like… into it?

kind of angel hare / analog horror style like you said?

[maaeveeee]

heyyyyyyy

been reading ur last couples of fics and i love love love themm!!

just wondering if i could make a request for LA! snotlout x reader?

in like a reverse comfort where the reader finds snotlout after he maybe had a fight with spitelout or smth like that and reader has to like reassure him that spitelout is 100% wrong and undo some of his bad parenting etc etc

okii thank uuu

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒

Pairing: Live action Snotlout x female reader

Author’s note: Im so, so glad that you loved my work. I hope this is what you asked for! Sorry it took so long.

The rain earlier today had turned the training grounds to mud hours ago, but the outline slump next to the arms racks still existed as you walked across the square. Even in the rain, you'd know that stubborn slump anywhere.

Snotlout stood among the wooden supports, knees—high with fear like any scared child that dreaded thunder.

His clothes or armor or both were gone - likely stripped off where Spitelout had seen fit to administer yet another "lesson" — and the raw bruises shone hot under his splayed arms.

You didn't say anything initially. Merely sat down in the mud by his side and pulled out the small bottle of ale that you'd been waiting to use on the occasion.

“Drink.” you instructed.

He didn't look up. “Not in the mood.”

“Too bad.” You push it into his chest with force, and he grunted. “You're shivering.”

The bottle shook in his hand when he finally took it to his lips. The initial swallow brought a cough: the second was more considered, tasting the burn.

Drops of rain fell from his hair, carving neat little lines between the dirt on his face.

"He's wrong, you know."

Snotlout's laughter was disjointed. “About which part? That I'm a disgrace? That I'll never be half the chief he is?” He stumbled on the final one. “Face it, even Hiccup looks at me like I'm some—”

You kept the hold on his chin, rotating him to face you. “I said he's wrong.” You traced the developing bruise along the length of his jaw with your thumb. “Each and every word.”

For a moment, he just sat there— eyes hurt and wide in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with physical injury. Then he took in a ragged breath and stood up to walk away.

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“You survived him. You live with him.” You tug on his wrist, keeping him immobile. “That makes you stronger than he'll ever be.”

Snotlout was perfectly motionless. Rain dropped about the both of you, drowning the world and making it cool and dull and blurry, yet his body was hot under your palms.

“Prove it.” he whispered.

You proved him not with words — never your strong suit — but with your forehead pressed against his, with making him realize the firmness of your breathing until that too slowed to keep pace with his own.

His hands on your sleeves, clenched as if you were the only tangible thing remaining in Berk.

When he finally did return, “You're a pain in my ass, you know that?”

You smiled. “You love it.”

[maaeveeee]

L/A Snotlout with an S/O that’s a prophet like Gothi.. Like they’re shadowing her and stuff, just getting ready to take over her job someday as Medical Personnel / Village Prophet

Pairing: Live action Snotlout x female S/O (oc, reader)

Author’s note: I'm trying to complete all requests then work on something bigger I have in mind

You didn't know whether Snotlout liked you better because you were strange — or in spite of that.

He never said that, but you weren’t blind to the fact. They spoke to you differently once you’d begun to train under Gothi.

Even before she’d formally adopted you, even before the readings from bones and ash—markings and moon—blood rites, you experienced the difference.

They didn’t regard you with terror, per se — just circumspection. As though you’d erupt and speak tongues or pull a tooth from your sleeve on a whim.

But Snotlout never winced when you spoke of treating the wounds with beetle wax. He never became uncomfortable when you stopped mid—sentence and listened to something that everyone else was not listening to.

He wondered about things. Stupid things, occasionally — like, I suppose, whether or not prophecy reminded you of smoke — but, still, he wondered things.

And recently, he remained.

That was new there.

He’d begun to loiter near the healer's hut on training days, and always uses the word “just passing through” that didn’t quite work since he walked the opposite direction from the rest of them.

You pretended not to see. That was the dance. And yet, whenever he showed up — by the corner—jamb, juggling a knife, asking you still “worked weird magic on insects” — you were just that much more unable to help not to take note of how frequent your hands sought excuses to touch against his when you handed stuff back to him.

It was subtle. And not that much.

You knelt by the fence just one corner from the forge when you saw him again.

The twilight was seeping into the grass, and that good gray moss that you’d only learned to gather once — when the wind was dry, and the fireflies not yet abroad.

You’d spent hours there, motionless, bent, coaxing pieces of root from the earth.

You heard him before you saw him — boots on damp earth, staccato strides as though he didn't know to go full—blast or make an introduction.

He was behind you.

"Do you know that you’re scary?" he said.

You smiled to yourself. “Frequently.”

“just saying, you’ve been kneeling in the dirt in complete silence for… what, an hour? I’ve been watching. You haven’t moved.”

"I'm collecting."

“Your’re conjuring a demon.”

"I'm not."

He approached further. “If you were, you’d tell me?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

You didn't bother to look up. Merely grabbed another clump of moss, stashed it into your pouch, and stood up at last.

He backed up, surprised—not by your motion, but by how near you’d approached. You stood by him now, and that he backed up indicated that he’d not expected that.

You didn’t step back.

“You think I’m scary,” you said, voice soft, “but you keep showing up.”

He shrugged. “You keep letting me.”

You looked at him then — properly looked — and it knocked something loose in your chest, because he didn’t look smug. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I like being around you,” he said, and for once, it wasn’t performative. “Even when you’re being creepy. Especially when you’re being creepy, actually. It’s like a… thing.”

You blinked at him.

“Not a weird thing!” he added quickly. “I mean, it is. But like… a cool—weird thing.”

Your hand was up before you even noticed that you'd put your hand up — not a grab, not a full stretch, just your fingers outlining the edge of his shirt where the fabric was twisted on his shoulder.

You tugged the seam back straight on a careful, gentle pull on it. His eyes followed your hand like he was stunned by it.

You didn't restrain yourself when done. Your hand stayed there one second too long on its rest.

“I like you too,” you replied back.

He was speechless. “You do?”

You leaned your head to one side. “I’ve liked you long enough.”

There was a pause. His breath hitched like he was about to say something dramatic, something ridiculous, something very Snotlout — but then he didn’t.

He just stood there, still and blinking, like the idea of you saying that out loud had broken some part of his brain.

The corner of your lip was upturned. “You alright?”

"No."

"Too bad."

[maaeveeee]

hiiii!! i love ur work and i was just wondering if you could make a fic of LA!snotlout x reader (preferable gn! or fem!) where snotlout has been hanging out with this other girl (for like work-related reasons or smth) and she's clearly into him and reader gets jealous and becomes like more touchy or trying to spend more time with him without 100% realizing it. And when snotlout like finally sees that reader is jealous, he just kinda teases them and thinks its like super hot cause the usually hes the jealous one. thank youuu!!

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘

Pairing: Live action Snotlout x female reader

Author’s note: thank you for your kind words! I hope u like it!

You reminded yourself that you won't watch them again.

You were not going to sneak looks over towards the stables while you were swapping equipment like you were some lovesick oaf who was unable to take your pal flirting with another girl. That was not you. That was not your thing.

You glanced at them, however, in spite of yourself — an eye-glance that was more bitter than you’d meant.

There she was, again — what's—her—name — bending over Hookfang's front strap, saying something you didn't catch.

Her hand was on Snotlout's arm when she stood up, and she didn't take it off quickly enough.

You walked without realizing that you walked. Your hand on the handle on the saddle bag gripped tighter.

It was fine.

They were working.

You’d heard Gothi assign her the job herself—help Snotlout stabilize the secondary latch system after the flame—backfire.

She was not doing anything wrong. She was assisting. And yes, perhaps she was too near, perhaps her laugh was bitter and honeyed and false to hell, but Snotlout didn't seem interested.

Still. He wasn’t exactly stepping away, either.

You tossed the gear against the wall more forcefully than was needed.

You stayed closer than you needed to all afternoon.

Almost not a man to criticize, and yet just enough that he observed.

He always noticed. That was the worst part.

You weren’t usually clingy. You weren’t physical. But every time he moved near you that day, your hand found its way to him — a light touch on his shoulder as you passed behind him, a lean—in during a group discussion just slightly too far into his space.

At one point, you reached past him for a water flask and your arm brushed his chest, and he looked at you like he wanted to say something.

He didn't, though.

You played it cool. Sat on the edge of the bench beside him when the group took a break. Leaned back a little, leg angled toward his without touching. Just nearby.

She was still hovering. Discussing rigging systems. Asking him things that you knew the answer to yourself already.

You hadn't noticed you were staring until his voice broke through:

“Your very still today.”

You winced. “Tired.”

He titled his head slightly. “Hm.”

You just didn't look at him. You looked at her.

She was still staring at him. Not working anymore — just… lingering.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

When dinner came, and you came to a decision.

You didn't sit where you always sit.

You used to sit beside him. Close enough so that your knee was alongside his under the table and you didn't shift it.

Close enough so that when someone put a bowl into your hand, your hand was on top of his and remained longer than was necessary.

He came up to you with a humming sound from inside his throat.

Not teasing. Not confused.

Amused.

You didn't look into his eyes.

Until he leaned in and said — voice low, just above the clatter of plates — “Ah. You’re jealous?”

You looked over then. Slowly. Sharp.

His mouth twitched. Just a little. His eyes were locked on yours, and he didn’t look away. “That’s hot.”

You didn't respond.

Didn't need to.

Because your hand was beside his, close enough to touch, though not quite. And he shifted his thumb — just slightly — so that its edge was against yours.

The touch was fleeting. Nearly unrecognized. Not hard enough to be noticed. Not hard enough to matter to anyone else.

But enough for you.

Hard enough to cause your heart to thump once against your ribs, too quickly, too hard.

He settled back again as though nothing had occurred.

You stood there, face humming, jaws clamped, to pretend that he just hadn’t just called you out and take in the view.

And worst of all?

You’d do it again.

You wanted him to notice.

You wanted him to look.

And now he wouldn’t stop.

[maaeveeee]

Hi! I was wondering if u could do first kiss with Snotlout? Thx!!!

Pairing: Live Action x female!reader

Author’s note: I'm not sure how I feel about writing anything with kissing or just mild intimacy. But it was fun to try! No title for this one lol

You were busily getting the training equipment ready when you noticed him behind you again.

He never was quiet — never was — but the steps had some odd rhythmic quality to them, snappy and expressive, as if he was running over to make some kind of point and already was frustrated with himself.

You did not turn around. Not yet. He would speak or he would not.

He stopped a couple of steps away. You couldn’t help but feel him gazing at you, his weight moving from one leg to the other.

It was like you were by a fire that couldn’t quite decide whether it would warm you up or burn the entire arm off.

“I don’t know you,” he stated.

You breathed from your nose, grabbed the next spool of rope, and never said one word. He despised that. You knew he did.

"I mean it," he replied. "You're sitting next to me one minute – you know, not even saying anything, but you're just sitting next to me. Then the next day you're acting like I'm just some dude yellin' at space."

You did the eyebrow thing. “You do yell quite a bit.”

“I'm ready to talk.”

You gazed at him over your shoulder. Already he regretted bringing the topic up, his jaw clenched, his arms folded, bracing for the impact.

You unwound the rope and stood before him to confront him in the face.

"Did you come over to say I confuse you?" you asked.

He didn’t blink, but some of him yielded. Less covered, more worn down. Like in he’s been trying to think this one out by himself and just couldn’t.

“I came over here because I don’t know if to keep at it or to just leave it be,” he explained in softer tone now. “I’m not good at this kind of thing, okay? I make poor jokes. I pretend as if it’s all funny because if I’m not being more rowdy, I don’t know how to be.”

“I’m not going to mess it up,” he growled. “Whatever… this is.”

You were silent. Not because you lacked words, but because you were observing the manner in which he was gazing at you — trapped between defending himself and fleeing from him.

The gaze you had seen before, only never focused at you. Not this close. Not like this.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looked away. “You're just difficult to understand at times. And I would assume you think you're full of yourself. Like this is just one more thing you're trying to win.”

You adjusted your weight, your jaw snapping shut just briefly. “You don’t understand.”

He sprang back to you. “Then explain it.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. And just looked at him — not because you couldn’t think of what to say, but because he was at it again. Whirling.

Spouting nonsense in circles. He did this whenever he dipped in close to the truth. Got muddled and twisted and messed it around before anything would happen to it.

You advanced towards him.

He froze, blinked, waited. “I’m just saying—if this is nothing, that’s cool, but if it’s not, maybe just—”

You kissed him.

You just reached out your hand, grasped him by the front of the shirt, and shut him down.

It was not desperate. Not sentimental. Just clean, blunt contact. His lips on yours, rigid and immobile for one moment — long enough you would think he would pull back — and then he didn't.

His hands cringed as though he did not quite know where to place them. You noted the skepticism in his breath, the stiffening for just one moment, the pulling back — as though he just affirmed it to be so.

He kissed you back with abandon. Too harsh at first, not enough later, as if he was re—tuning by the second. You didn’t worry. Perfect was the last thing you needed. All you desired was for it to happen at last.

When you pulled back, it was only a few inches. You didn’t let go of his shirt.

His eyes were still half closed. Lips parted. Face flushed like someone had just landed a hit that actually rattled him.

He gazed at you as if he must say something to you — possibly some ridiculous thing, some counter—indicated thing — and you halted him before he did.

“Be quiet.” you added.

His lips parted once more. You lifted your eyebrow.

He closed it.

good.

[maaeveeee]

Guys pls I was joking now its too much 😭

I'm joking, I can't express my happiness and how grateful I am that you guys enjoy what I write.

Taking a short break since yesterday I wrote like 4 short fics and my eyes hurt.

I will complete every single request that I have received but pls be patient.

Goodnight!!

Hey guys.. Why is my inbox empty???

[maaeveeee]

Hi I was wondering if I can maybe make a request for LA Snotlout. Where (fem if it's ok) reader is like, reacting like how he'd want to his flirting and showing off? Idk how to say it. Like they absolutely start freaking out swooning over him. Sorry this is a really weird request, if you aren't comfortable doing it its okay!!

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒

Pairing: Live Action Snotlout x female reader

Author’s note: not weird at all, are you kidding?? this request was so fun — i knew exactly what you meant! thank you for sending it in (and being so sweet about it too) — i hope you like what came out of it❤️

The sun had been no lower than a few moments below the western ridge, sending long shafts of gold through the training ring.

Hookfang was outstretched on the ground like a cat that owned the place — wing flicking slowly, tail lashing if someone came a little too near — and Snotlout?

Snotlout was absolutely thriving.

He was standing atop a pyramidal pile of crates, his shirt half—unbuttoned and loose in a manner that would have been accident if it weren’t for how carefully it showed off the shape of his arms.

His hips were braced by his hands — naturally, as always — and his head leaning slightly enough to have the wind pull at his hair as if it were rented for the shoot. Hookfang stood behind him, the jaws opening and spewing a blast of fire.

You could not have anticipated what exactly he was crowing about this time either. Something ridiculous about "whispering dragons" and that he had managed to dismount Hookfang without shrieking.

It didn’t matter. What did matter was how he talked — loudly, strutting, utterly unbasisded, and so maddeningly charming that you almost wanted to throw him down just to restore cosmic balance or something.

"I'm just saying," he explained, to no one and to everyone, "we don't all have to attempt to be impressive. We're some of us just naturally born that sort."

“Clearly you were provided a mirror and a great deal of time to yourself,” Astrid growled next to you, unwrapping an apple with her knife.

Tuffnut breathed deeply. "Six minutes, going on and on and on."

“Six?” Ruffnut blinked. “Feels like twenty.”

Fishlegs, bless him, had tried to do something helpful. "Perhaps we should leave him be—"

"No," interrupted Astrid. "If we don't do something, he'll begin choreographing entrances."

You were half—heard. You never once looked away from him. Not because you're awestruck — not exactly — but because you were distracted considering something silly. Something ridiculous. Maybe planet—destroying.

He had been braced for eye—rolling. It was his life: he scorned and others rolled their eyes. He dominated center—stage, they laughed. It was his rhythm of life. It promoted his energy.

So what would become of— you asked yourself— if he received exactly what he was after?

What if you never laughed? What if you never made fun?

What if you just acted as if you were totally, genuinely impressed?

You got up slowly, extended what remained of your apple to Astrid and never broke eye contact, and walked over to the ring.

"Wait," she said in a neutral tone.

Ruffnut crept a little closer and whispered like you would near a living creature. "She's doing it. Oh my gods."

Fishlegs mid—bite. "Don't encourage this."

It was, though, already too late.

You strolled through dense land, your arms loose at your sides, your posture calm, unruffled.

And you did not speak, either — you simply let Snotlout catch you walking, to observe in your stride the unspoken intention, the raise to your brow, the sparkle of your eye as if you were sizing him up for something specific.

He interrupted himself midsentence and glared at you from behind his mountain of crates. His hands dropped a quarter inch. His sneer wavered.

You regarded him slowly and contemplatively once, and then you allowed your head to tilt a little.

You told me once, as if you were reciting a cosmic principle:

“That was… absolutely amazing.”

He opened his mouth. Closed. Opened.

You kept going.

“The way you rode Hookfang? So nice. Like, literally nice. You landings are always like a body was flung out of a cart, but this—” you slowly made a circlewith your hand “—this was chic. Confident. A little bit reckless.”

Snotlout grunted in his throat. No single word. A small soft, dazed grunt as if a finger had been poked into the wrong spot in his soul.

"And you looked good doing it," you said, as near as you came to carelessness. "Which is honestly unfair. Nobody can land like that and still have hair that falls like a story."

Behind her, Astrid gasped for air.

Ruffnut proceeded to sit on the ground.

Tuffnut whispered, "It's happening. She's letting go the prophecy."

You dismissed them.

Snotlout, to his credit, was standing on his feet — though both his feet were now a little apart as if he had forgotten his standing and his sense of center.

He struggled to re—assemble himself, but his attempt was jerky. His hands quivered at his hips.

“Are you… are you being serious?” he asked, voice cracked and so much higher than usual.

You smiled. "Very."

He looked at Hookfang as if the dragon could confirm it for him. Hookfang blinked and snorted, seeming unfazed.

You advanced a single step nearer and on this occasion, reduced your voice by a single grade.

“I don’t say what I don’t mean,” you said. “And I meant everything.”

You could see it in real time — the development. His chest burst as if he was about to make some kind of epic one—liner, but the moment was lost.

His shoulders twitched. His jaw clenched. His whole expression collapsed into something flustered and confused and completely betrayed by the light pink rising in his ears.

And then, away from the gravity and the earth of his life, he turned his gaze away.

"Oh," he replied.

Oh.

Behind you, someone - probably Fishlegs - breathed quietly with the sense that they had just seen a miracle.

Snotlout cleared his throat. Twice. Then he laughed — fake, tight, a little broken. “Wow. I mean, yeah, obviously. Thanks. I guess. Not a big deal or anything. I do this kind of stuff all the time.”

“of course you do,” I replied, gravely nodding, deadpan.

He laughed again, grasping. “Yeah. Totally. No big deal. I mean—what? You impressed? You—” His voice broke. He coughed coarsely. “You impressed?” he stammered, stumbling.

You got in his face, hard enough to really spoil him.

“Completely.”

Then you just spun around and departed as if that never happened.

The swish of Hookfang's tail on the ground silenced the chorus of wheezing that arose behind you.

You never looked over your shoulder — but you knew he was following you everywhere. You also knew that he would probably fall off of these crates once you were out of his view.