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[vmantras]

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[demoralised]

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Treatment Plan

Last night was supposed to be harmless New Year’s Eve fun, partying with friends, dancing with strangers, and maybe finding someone to ring in the new year with. I remember dancing and taking shots with a really hot guy at some club where we'd shared a new year kiss. There's nothing else in my memory and I don’t remember when I passed out but I wake up alone in a medical examination room, naked, gagged, and strapped down to a bed with my arms above my head and legs spread wide.

The door opens and four men walk in. The first one I recognize is the hot guy I'd made out with. Except now, he has the look of a doctor, dressed in a white coat, wearing a stethoscope and holding a clipboard. The other three men are wearing nurses scrubs and not a single one acknowledges me as they step into the room and close the door behind them.

The doctor glances down at his clipboard and looks at me, smirking slightly. “It says here you’ve been admitted due to your issues with obedience and self-control. I promise we deliver the best results here, so you, darling, will be in tip-top shape in no time,” his voice is tinged with mockery and I try to shake my head and explain that this is all a mistake, that I have no idea what is going on, and I’m not supposed to be here.

“Day one of this treatment regimen helps us establish a baseline of what we’re working with and involves some sensory deprivation just to enhance the effectiveness but I promise, you’ll enjoy it,” he purrs, coming to stand next to my head before sliding a piece of fabric over my eyes. I struggle uselessly against the bindings, trying to dislodge the blindfold but it’s too secure to move. I feel hands hold my head in place before someone else slides headphones over my ears and suddenly, I’m blind and deaf to the world.

There is nothing to prepare me for what comes next, and no way that I can have any ability to sense what they plan to do to me. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, absorbing into the blindfold when suddenly, I feel fingers trail along my ribs.

I let out a muted whimper, my body instinctively lurching in response. The feeling is so overwhelming and I’m absolutely senseless and helpless. The fingers linger around my hips and dig in gently, making me jerk uselessly in my bindings. It’s almost too much for my body to handle, the unknown touches, the horrible anticipation and suspense of not knowing anything at all.

Without warning, the fingers dig harder into my ribs, tickling me harshly and mercilessly. I wail behind the gag and thrash desperately, begging for it to stop to no avail. The fingers don’t let up and my entire world has narrowed to the unbearable sensations those fingers are drawing out of my bound body. There’s nothing I can do except endure it.

My wails have died down to little mindless whimpers as the tickling continues to ravage my ribs and hips when I feel the fingers pull away finally. I gasp for air, hoping that this torture is finally going to be over. Suddenly, I feel fingers brush against my underarms and I scream so hard my throat feels raw. I’m yanking and pulling at the straps holding me down but I’m bound too tightly. Tears are flowing freely into the blindfold as my body jerks. The fingers dig devastatingly into my underarms and I’m inconsolable. The tickling feels like electricity going straight into my nerves and it makes my mind hazy.

There’s no mercy and no stopping. The fingers find every vulnerable spot on my body and there’s nothing to stop the wretched tickling that’s making me want to curl into myself and disappear. There’s no acclimation to the feeling or becoming desensitized to it all. Every single movement feels like my body is dancing on a live wire and I have no choice but to experience every devastating feeling.

Another set of fingers finds their way to my hard nipples and I can barely draw in enough air to scream as the stimulation adds to the overwhelming feelings crashing through my body. Flicks against my nipples make me squirm and moan.

Then, my world lights up behind my blindfold when I feel fingers on my clit.

The combination of tickling at every sensitive spot on my body and the focus on my clit shatters me. Every single nerve is pulled open and vulnerable to unforgiving, relentless stimulation and I know I’m dripping wet onto the bed under me. It’s all too much for my brain to process. Every force on my body pushes me closer and closer to an orgasm and it’s unbearable.

A sudden flash of pain hits my clit as someone’s fingers sharply pinch my throbbing button and I wail as my orgasm barrels through my body. None of the stimulation lets up and the fingers on my clit continue to force waves of pleasure through my body while fingers everywhere else drive my orgasm even higher. I’m delirious and barely coherent between all of the different assaults of stimulation that wrack my body.

I feel the fingers on my clit pull away and I’m gasping and shaking. The tickling at my ribs and underarms doesn’t relent and I can barely catch my breath enough to sustain my sobs. Fingers brush against my inner thighs and I can’t help but whine, hearing only my wild heartbeat thudding in my ears.

Suddenly, there’s a vibrator slammed against my clit and my mind breaks. There are too many things going on but my whole being is driven to focus on the horrible vibrator pillaging my clit with no mercy. My next orgasm shoots through me with no warning, no build up, no gentle waves of pleasure. Just pure ecstasy shooting deep through my body, so hard that I can feel it in my bones and it renders me completely broken.

I have no concept of time or place as the torture continues. My body moves on its own accord as it struggles and trembles, futilely trying to avoid every touch. It could have been ten minutes or ten hours when everything finally fades away and all of the hands touching me are gone. I lie there, limp, unmoving, unthinking, barely conscious. It takes me an immeasurable amount of time to catch my breath, my body still feeling phantom aftershocks of pleasure and torment. I vaguely register the feeling of someone pulling the headphones off of my head and I’m able to hear again.

“Oh darling,” his voice is the first thing I recognize, “I suppose I forgot to mention, this treatment regimen has ten levels. And we can’t move on from level one until you learn to control your body and keep still during your treatments. Clearly we’re not going to get there today, but perhaps you’ll do better tomorrow. Otherwise, you’re in for a very long stay here…”

[peachesvanilla]

Synopsis: Seungchoel just wants to see his crush once more, or maybe dare to initiate a conversation. Genre: fluff

Seungcheol enters the bookstore, the smell of books and the musty cupboards surrounds him. His eyes rove around the store hoping to see her again. He pulls the scarf from his neck, folding it around his arm as he saunters into the long rows of bookshelves. 

The snow is heavy outside, driving to his hometown has been no short of adventure especially when the sun was already setting down. The roads were slippery and busy due to being a new year’s eve, he had to drive slowly. He did think of backing off but he couldn’t easily get a long holiday. And the thoughts of her are plaguing him, yearning to look at her once more. If he is lucky, maybe talk with her. 

His fingers slide across the spines of the books, his eyes looking through the gaps of the shelves. If the information given by his friend turns out to be false, he will nail his friend’s head into the wall. 

“Are you looking for anything?” Her soft voice asks from behind. 

Seungcheol’s heart pitter patters in his chest. She is here. He turns around slowly, her flowery scent overwhelming his senses. She is standing a foot away from him, his attention immediately drawn to the fact she is tinier compared to the first time he saw her. 

Her gaze flicks up from his neck to his eyes. She blinks rapidly, her lips parting slightly. Seongcheol runs his hand through his icy cold hair, running a hundred simulations in his mind on what to answer and how the situation will pan out based upon his answers. 

“I’m,” he scratches his eyebrow, “looking for,” his eyes fleeting momentarily to the mystery books next to him. He grimaces, “actually I’m new to books. I would be happy to receive some recommendations.” 

Her entire being beams up at his words. “Of course. Which genre do you prefer to read? Mystery? Thriller?” Her fingers are already in a hurry going over the spines of mystery section books. 

“Uhm,” he hesitates, leaning on the book shelf, “I don’t necessarily enjoy mystery or suspense thriller movies. I’m not sure I’ll enjoy the books.” 

Her fingers freezes, her ears turning red. “I’m so sorry!” She bows her head slightly, “I just assumed everything, not giving you space to talk.” Her tinted cheeks make him smile, popping out his dimple. 

He runs his hand through his hair, ducking down his head to hide the grin. Why is she so cute? Pulling his lips back, he tries to control his smile. “That’s fine.” He waves it off, his eyes jumping from poster to poster hanging on the walls. “I’m the one who is,” he searches for a word that categorises him and also makes him look not so sappy, “slightly different. As I usually prefer to watch romance movies.” 

“Oh.” 

Seungcheol just wants to walk out from the store without looking back and drive far away. Preferably off the earth. Dramatic. “I know,” he looks down at his boots, still avoiding looking at her, “it’s just,” his hands start waving in the air trying to explain his stance on their own, “I don’t..” 

His ears twitch listening to her laugh, one of her hands holding the book shelf and another her stomach. If he can squint he can see tears in her eyes. He pokes his tongue in his cheek, holding the bookshelf inches away from her hand, leaning in, “what kind of service is this? Laughing at a customer?” 

She covers her mouth, blinking her eyes several times. “I’m..” she inhales deeply, catching her breath, “sorry.” Her eyes shining like a sky filled with stars, he swears he saw a twinkle. She leans in a little, her face a few inches away from his, and his eyes greedily takes in every feature of hers. Freckles sprinkled all over her right cheek. The slight curve of her mouth, and the subtle hints of her perfume. 

She whispers, “I love romance too. I’m glad you came in,” she smiles at him, signaling him to follow her. She swivels around disappearing into the next aisle. 

Seungcheol groans into his outstretched arm. Why is she so adorable? If only he can pocket her and carry around. He slides his palm across his face, following her to the next aisle. 

“…men always trash romance.” She looks over her shoulder making sure he is listening. “That’s why I assumed you were looking for suspense thrillers.” 

He nods. “What do you read?” 

He notices the subtle raise of her shoulders and the deep breath. “I read everything, except suspense thrillers.” She looks away sheepishly, her fingers trailing over the books under the romance section. “Memoirs, self help, comfort, and even cookbooks.” 

“Ah.” Seungcheol leans on the books, “when you said you could recommend a suspense thriller..?” He quirks his eyebrow. 

“I don’t read it,” she stands on her tiptoes, pulling out a book off the top shelf. “But I do look into trend, recommendations from trusted sources.” She plucks out another book from the middle, and another from the bottom row. “Here you go.” 

Seungcheol accepts the books from her, flipping it over and scanning through the summaries. He chews on his bottom lip, contemplating over which one to choose. He gives up, jutting his lower lip, “can you decide for me please.” 

Her eyes flicker to his lips, and then to his eyes. “Uhm..” she clutches her hands, “if I have to choose,” she stares at the three books in his hands, “I would go for this one.” She taps on the middle book. “I just couldn’t get over the couple for a few days after completing the book.” 

Seungcheol’s heart skips a beat when she looks in his eyes straight, unwavering. He nods in reply, “then it’s decided.” 

She beams at him, guiding him to the counter. He looks at the empty store while she punches on the machine. “The store is empty.” He remarks. 

“Ah,” she smiles, “the closing hour was at 6:00 pm due to the new year.” 

He checks the time on his phone, 7:03 pm. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath, “I’m so sorry! The door was open and I thought..”

“No.. no..” she cuts in, “it’s my fault I should have hung the board but no one visited since afternoon and I didn’t think anyone would. Especially when the event starts at 7:00 pm.” 

 “Event?” He tilts his head to the side, lost in thought. He doesn’t remember his friend mentioning any event. 

“New year countdown.” She frowns at him, “are you not from here?” 

“I’m just visiting. This is my hometown but I live in Seoul.” 

“Ah.” She nods in understanding. “That’s what I thought. The town heads have been advertising like crazy for the past few days that it’s hard to miss the posters and flyers around the town.” She dips her head, checking the computer, “it’s 17.7.” 

Seungcheol taps the card, “are you planning on attending this event?” 

She curls her hair behind her ear, printing his bill. “I don’t have anything to do except roll up in my comforter and watch Netflix. So why not just go and watch the firecrackers.” She shrugs. 

He nods, tapping his fingers on the wooden counter. The guilt gnaws at his chest, he is the reason she stayed back and she isn’t even annoyed at him. 

“Thank you.” She hands him the cover, turning off her system. “Happy new year!”

He picks up the cover, and just braves up, “as an apology can I take you to the event? I can give you the ride and,” he notices the crease between her eyebrows, “I will give you all my details and you can send it to your family just as a precaution. I don’t bite or kill anyone.” 

“That’s too much,” she smiles tentatively, “trust me I’m really fine. I need to close the store and walk a mile.” 

“A mile?!” 

“Or two.” She adds hesitantly. 

“It's freezing! Please,” he leans in, “consider this as my gratitude for not judging and suggesting a romance book.” He still sees the hesitation in her, his pout comes out involuntarily, “please.” 

Her eyes flick to his lips, she parts her lips and closes it back a few times. “I.. am not..” she stops her words, noticing he is halfway to sulking. “Alright.” She sighs, pressing her nose in distress. 

He grins widely, his phone out in seconds and already sharing his information to her. She shakes her head in disbelief, noting it down on her phone. After turning off the lights, and cross checking the doors they leave for the event under her direction. 

“What are your plans for tonight?” She asks as they slowly approach the parking garage. 

He shrugs. “Probably go home and read the book?” Driving his car into the parking slot after roaming around the lot for an empty space. He didn’t expect this event to be this crowded. 

“Oh.” She replies. “If.. you don’t mind..,” Seungcheol looks at her, “you can join me. We can watch the fireworks and the food from a few stalls will blow your mind.” 

He should take up on this offer. If not now then when will he be able to get this opportunity again? Hesitation creeps up in his mind, the event probably has hundreds of people and he feels suffocated in large groups. 

She is watching him with hopeful puppy eyes. Her hands intertwined and resting on her lap. God, how can he say no to her? Maybe… maybe he can handle the crowd. One can try. 

“I.. can..,” he runs his hand through his hair ruffling it. Her shoulders perk up again. “Yeah, I definitely can.” He turns off the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt. She follows the pursuit and the two are strolling towards the entrance of the event. 

“What’s your name?” She scratches her cheek, squeamishly. “It’s just that I even have your number and address but not your name.” 

Seungcheol laughs. “Seungcheol.” He moves closer to her noticing people crowding in. There isn’t much space for people to walk freely unless you crash into someone’s back or arms. He looks over his shoulder noticing kids walking closer to them. 

He snaps his head to her, listening to his name in her melodic calm tone. “Seung,” she pauses, “Cheol. Seungcheol.” His heart skips a beat, he leans in hoping to catch her say his name once more. “Seungcheol.” Her whispers, drives him insane. 

She faces him, muttering her name in his ear as the crowd gets louder and rowdier. His arm possessively hover on her shoulder, not touching. His lips curl up watching her bounce on her feet before rushing to a food stall. He follows her close behind, her back crashing into his front whenever she abruptly stops as people cut in her way.  

As they near the stall, she holds her hand behind her, Seungcheol grabs hesitantly as she drags him (or tries to as he lets her) to the line. She turns around her face no short of the bright sun. “You have to try this!” She is on her tiptoes again, shouting over the loud music playing on the stage nearby. “You’ll love it. The best you can find in the whole country.” 

He leans in to catch her words. She grabs onto his shoulder, “this is the reason I want to come in.” 

Seungcheol really wants to listen to her words but the hand on his shoulder, her grip on him malfunctions his brain’s wiring. He keeps nodding as her words go over his head and her hand slides down his jacket. 

The line moves forward, she slips her hand off him excited that they are only two customers away. There’s that hop again. Seungcheol turns away his hand sliding down his face, his insides screaming. He can’t do this anymore. She is fucking cute. 

She quickly orders the food as soon as she greets the owner. He is surprised that the owner recognises her and also gives extra food. He searches for an empty spot to sit but couldn’t. 

She is also looking around, shuffling the plastic plate from one hand to another. He swiftly grabs the plate from her, leading her to the less crowded corner. She leans on the wall, her entire attention on the food in his hands. Cheekiness creeps inside him as he moves the plate to left watching her face turn to left and he moves it to the right chuckling at her parted lips and hungry stare. 

She shoves his chest, he doesn’t even budge an inch. She grabs a fork, picking up a small piece blowing it on it. Her eyes flit to his watching one’s, she extends the fork to him. He crouches down accepting the food. He hums in agreement, the flavours burst out on his tongue. 

She quickly eats the hot food, watching the crowd wandering around. She talks about the specialities the event is offering and asks if he is interested in any. They continue to chat and eat as the time passes by quickly. 

Dumping the empty plates in the dustbin Seungcheol jogs back to her. “So should we try some games?”

They wait in line for a shooting game, chatting about anything and everything. “I don’t know if I mentioned this already but I’m planning to visit Seoul soon.” She informs him. 

“Oh.” He perks up at her words. “That’s nice. Maybe I can take you to my favourite food stalls.” 

She scrunches her nose, “I don’t know if I’ll have time. I'm the maid of honour for my friend’s wedding. I am not sure if she allows me out of her sight during the bridal party.” 

“Ah,” he nods, moving up the line for their turn. He picks up a gun, looking over the targets. “That’s disappointing. Was hoping to meet you again.” He mutters more to himself. 

She nods. “I know right.” She shoots the first balloon, and next another blue one. 

“Woah.” He exclaims, his lips forming an ‘o’. “You are good at this.” 

She giggles, popping an entire row of balloons. The owner gives them a stinky eye, visibly stressed. Seungcheol hears kids screaming in delight at her skills. And she misses all of her shots. He quirks his eyebrow at her. She just shrugs, stepping aside for him to shoot his shot.

He knows he is good at this game and single handedly can pop all the balloons. He misses his shots, making a dramatic play on how pissed he is to miss an easy shot. She gives him a side eye, shaking her head with a smile. He grins lopsidedly, setting his gun down. He mimics her shrug and they leave accepting a teddy bear as a prize. 

“So you are horrible at games.” She chimes, hugging the teddy bear. 

He is offended, “there were kids. I need to let them have their fun.” He checks the time, in 30 minutes the clock will strike midnight. 

“Mmhmm.” She hums, nuzzling her cheek on the plushie gazing at him. “I appreciate it.” 

Here his heart goes again. He just wants to scream into the void. He folds his arms across his chest or else he isn’t sure what they will do on their own. He exhales through his mouth stabilising his mind and heart. “We only have 20 minutes until the new year.” 

“Follow me. I know a place.”

“You know this is an ideal murderer's words, right?” He tilts his head, following her. 

She huffs. “Even if I wanna murder you, you can take me out with just one swing of your arm.” She points at his biceps. He swears he saw her eyes scan his entire body. 

He rolls his eyes. “Then you wouldn’t be doing anything funny to me.” 

She shoves him, he just nudges her in return. She stumbles sideways, her mouth hanging open. “See!” 

He laughs, grabbing her wrist pulling her back to his side. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“Seungcheol.” She shakes her head in mock disappointment. “Is this how you treat girls?” 

“Should I princess carry you instead?” 

His smile widens seeing her blush deepen on her cheeks. “Let’s just go.” 

They settle on a rock in a secluded area. Seungcheol moves in closer, pressing his body to her, seeing her shiver in the cold. 

“What are your resolutions for next year?” He asks. 

“Get a boyfriend.” She slips and probably realises a little late. She steals a glance at him and goes back to staring at the sky. “uhm, you know it gets pretty lonely in the bookstore.” Her hands start waving around in the air explaining herself. “And I don’t mean I’m not happy by myself, I am. It’s just that.” She groans. 

“My resolution is also to get a girlfriend.” Seungcheol offers. “I know what you are saying.” 

Silence ensues. No one squeaks a letter. What did he do? Did he really imply wanting her to be his girlfriend? Wait a minute, did she imply wanting him to be her boyfriend? God, it’s driving him nuts. 

The firecrackers startle them both. They face each other at the same time. 

“Happy new year!” He wishes her.

She extends her arm unsurely. He mirrors her, pulling her in a hug. She mumbles in his ear, “happy new year, Seungcheol.” 

His heart just dives in, crashing. He doesn’t want this to end. He can’t even crank up any ideas to meet her again. He holds her little tighter. She chuckles, resting her chin on his broad shoulder.

If only he can make her his girlfriend.  

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₉

This is Chapter 9 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 5.7k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 9

The rhythmic thunder of mighty drums reverberated through Berk, a sound so deep and resonant it seemed to summon the spirits of Viking warriors long past. It was a cadence fit for legends, each beat pulsing through the frost-kissed air, stirring the blood of every soul gathered for the final challenge.

The village, draped in the first melting snows of winter, shimmered with an unusual festive fervor, its rugged edges softened by a rare swell of anticipation. Torches flared against the gathering daybreak, their flames licking the cold, casting a golden glow over the arena where half of Berk had crammed to witness the slaying of a dragon in the pit.

The space couldn't hold the entire island, but those who fit pressed shoulder to shoulder, loud and bulky as ever with their breaths fogging in the chill, eyes alight with the promise of glory by none other than their chiefs' son.

High above the throng, Stoick the Vast emerged from the shadowed stands, flanked by the village elders, their fur-lined cloaks billowing as they took their seats. Behind them hung tapestries of past chiefs, woven with threads of crimson and gold, each one a silent testament to their own triumphs over dragons in this very pit—faded faces staring down, unyielding and stern.

The drums swelled as Stoick rose, a towering figure against the flickering light, and then—abruptly—they fell silent, the cheers of the crowd snuffing out like a candle in the wind. He strode to the cage's edge, his boots thudding against the wooden platform, his face carved from stone until a proud smile cracked its surface, warm and unrestrained.

"Well!" he boomed, his voice rolling over the arena like a wave, "I can show my face in public again!"

Laughter erupted from the stands, a raucous burst that shook the chains lining the pit, and Stoick's own chuckle joined it, deep and hearty. He waved a hand to quiet them, the mirth fading into an eager hush.

"If someone had told me that in a few short weeks Hiccup would go from being—well. . .Hiccup—to placing first in dragon training, I'd have tied him to a mast and shipped him off for fear he'd gone mad!"

The crowd roared again, a tidal wave of amusement, and Stoick grinned, jabbing a finger toward them. "And you know it!"

He paused, letting the noise settle, his expression softening as he continued. "But here we are. . .and no one is more surprised—or prouder—than I am."

Below, in the shadowed tunnel leading to the arena, Hiccup stood apart, his gaze fixed on the packed dirt on the stone at his feet. The weight of his father's words pressed against him, mingling with the tumult of his own mind—Toothless hidden in the cove, the dragon he couldn't kill from the beginning, and now this Nightmare he had to face, and above all, you.

His eyes darted through the crowd from his vantage point, searching for your familiar figure among the sea of fur and leather, but you were nowhere to be found. His brows knit together, a pang of heartbreak slicing through him, sharp and cold.

He'd failed you—pushed you away with words he couldn't unsay—and now, on the eve of his greatest test, your absence was a wound that pulsed with every beat of those drums. His thoughts flickered back to your solo Gronckle trial weeks ago, a day he'd missed, too caught up in his own world to be there when you'd needed him. The guilt had never left, and now it festered anew as the feeling struck him hard.

Stoick's voice carried on in the background, a distant rumble. "Today, my boy becomes a Viking." Hiccup clutched the Viking helmet tighter against his chest, the metal biting into his skin, leaving a faint, red imprint. He exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that clouded in the damp air, wishing you were here.

A soft shuffle of footsteps broke his reverie, and Astrid appeared at his side, her blond hair catching the torchlight as she leaned against the tunnel wall—for a moment his heart had skipped thinking it was you.

"I couldn't spot her anywhere," she said, her voice low with concern. "No one's seen her—not even Gobber," she had said, meaning you.

Hiccup nodded, a sad, mechanical motion, his eyes lifting to scan the stands one last time. Astrid sighed, tracing a finger along the rough stone beside her.

"She'll show up," she offered, though her tone wavered with doubt. He nodded again, mute, his throat tight.

"Be careful with that dragon," she added, her gaze flicking to the arena beyond.

"It's not the dragon I'm worried about. . ." Hiccup murmured, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the crowd.

Astrid tilted her head, studying him. "What are you going to do?"

He bit his lower lip, brows furrowing as his mind churned—Toothless, his father, the trial, and you, always you. He had to end this, had to try, for the dragons and for the friendship he'd let slip through his fingers. If you were out there, he'd find a way to make it right, to offer the apology you deserved.

"Put an end to this," he said at last, resolve hardening in his chest. "I have to try." The words carried a dual weight—to stop the cycle of Viking and dragon bloodshed, and to salvage what he could with you.

He turned to face Astrid, his green eyes locking onto hers with a seriousness she hadn't seen before, a gravity that made her straighten. "Astrid, if something goes wrong, just make sure they don't find Toothless."

His plea hung heavy, his gaze imploring, and in his heart, he ached to say it to you too—to beg you both to protect the dragon he'd bound his fate to.

She nodded, firm and steady. "I will. Just promise it won't go wrong. . ."

Hiccup's lips pressed into a thin line, a faint shake of his head his only reply. "I can't make any promises. After all, I can't keep the ones I've already made."

His voice lowered, the weight of you—unspoken, unknown to Astrid—lacing the words with a sorrow she couldn't place. Before she could press further, Gobber rounded the corner, his wooden leg clunking against the stone.

"It's time Hiccup, knock 'em dead," he says, jerking his head toward the arena.

Astrid gave Hiccup a final, searching look before following Gobber out, the gate clanging shut behind them with a hollow ring. Alone now, Hiccup held his helmet before him, its horns glinting dully in the light. He exhaled slowly, the breath trembling as it left him, and slid the helmet onto his head, the cold metal settling against his scalp like a crown he wasn't sure he'd earned.

The roar of the crowd hit him as he stepped into the pit, a wall of sound that crashed over him—boisterous cheers, chants of his name, the clanging of fists and boots against the iron bars. It was louder than he'd ever heard it, a cacophony that throbbed in his skull, threatening to split it open.

He felt smaller than ever, dwarfed by the towering stands, like a boy lost in the great forest once more—eyes boring into him from every angle, waiting, watching, preying—anticipating his every stumble.

His breath came shallow, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill, the world slowing around him as if time itself thickened. The whispers of old failures crept in—weak, embarrassment, failure—their voices hissing through the din, clawing at the edges of his resolve.

He shut his eyes, boots scuffing as he moved forward on instinct, drawn to the weapon stand like a moth to flame. His breath hitched, nerves spiking, a tremor running through his hands—then your voice broke through the haze, soft and clear in the back of his mind.

"I'm proud of you," you'd said once, followed by the echo of your laughter, bright and unshakable.

His eyes snapped open, his pulse syncing with the drums' of Valors' mighty rhythm, a fire igniting in his chest. He was ready.

He seized a shield first, its weight grounding him, then a knife, its blade catching the sunlight with a wicked gleam.

"I'm ready," he declared, his voice steady now, gaze fixed on the iron doors that caged the beast beyond. He nodded sharply, the signal given, and the gates groaned open.

The Monstrous Nightmare exploded forth, wreathed in flame, a snarling inferno of scales and fury. It surged into the arena, circling high, spitting torrents of fire that sent the crowd scrambling with shouts of awe and fear.

The beast's eyes scanned the chains, seeking a flaw, a weakness—until it stilled, its blazing gaze locking onto Hiccup. He stood there, shield raised, knife in hand, the air between them crackling with challenge, the drums fading into a distant heartbeat as the trial began. 

The cliff stretched out beneath you, a jagged lip of stone perched high above Berk's harbor, where the sea churned in restless waves that glittered under a rare, defiant sun. Yesterday's snow had melted into a slick sheen of wet grass and mud, the ground glistening as if the island itself wept for what was to come.

You sat atop a weathered plank of wood, a makeshift barrier against the damp that seeped through the earth, your fingers idly turning a dagger in your hand—its blade catching the sunlight in fleeting, silver flashes. The air carried a faint warmth, a cruel tease against the cold that had settled into your bones, not from the weather but from the hollow ache within.

Beyond the cliff's edge, the harbor sprawled, its waters a restless expanse of deep blue, crashing against the rocks below with a rhythm that mirrored the tumult in your chest. The wind tugged at your hair, sharp with the scent of salt and wet wood, and from afar, the thunderous applause of the arena rolled up the hillside, a faint roar dancing on the breeze.

Your stomach twisted with every pulse of that sound, each cheer a needle threading through your thoughts—Hiccup, alone in the pit, facing the Monstrous Nightmare. How was he holding up? Could he weave his way through this trial without bloodshed, or would it spiral into chaos, into Hel itself? Would he emerge whole, or broken?

The questions gnawed at you, relentless as a pack of wolves tearing at a carcass, and yet your eyes remained dry, the tears you'd shed at dawn now hardened into faint, salty streaks that stung your cheeks.

You traced a thumb along the dagger's dull chipped edge—your gaze distant, lost in the waves that crashed far below. This was the first time you'd ever missed something vital in Hiccup's life, a trial that could redefine him, and the absence clawed at you, a guilt so fierce it left your chest raw.

But you couldn't go. Wouldn't. The cliff—your shared refuge with Hiccup, where you'd once laughed over half-formed dreams and watched the aurora paint the sky—held you fast, its solitude a shield against the arena's clamor and the words from yesterday that echoed in the recesses of your mind, sharp and unyielding, a blade he'd swung without mercy.

They festered there, entwined with the cruel jabs made by those who had sat with him—their voices a chorus that had convinced you he didn't need you now. He'd clawed his way into Berk's favor, surrounded by the cheers he'd once prayed to Odin for, the acknowledgment he'd craved since he was a boy tripping over his own feet.

Those people had planted their poison deep, and you'd let it take root, believing he'd be fine in that pit, that he'd thrive without you trailing behind. Your fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt, the leather grip creaking under your grip, and a bitter taste coated your tongue as you stared out at the sunlit sea, its beauty a mockery of the maelstrom stirring within.

The applause swelled again, a distant thunder that rumbled through the cliffs, and your heart lurched, a pang of longing cutting through the numbness. You pictured him—his lanky frame dwarfed by the arena's iron walls, his auburn hair catching the sun, his green eyes flickering with that mix of fear and resolve you knew so well.

Was he scanning the stands for you, even now, as you'd once done for him? The thought tightened your throat, but you pressed it down, your jaw clenching as you flipped the dagger again, its weight a cold comfort in your palm. The sun climbed higher, its rays spilling over the harbor in a golden flood, warming your skin and creating a glow unknown to you.

You'd always been there—through every stumble, every wild idea of his, every quiet moment when he'd needed you most—and now, the space you'd left felt like a betrayal, a wound you'd inflicted on yourself as much as him. Yet his words held you here, a chain forged of hurt and doubt, binding you to this cliff as the arena's roar faded into the wind, leaving you alone with the waves and the ghosts of what you've lost.

Your thoughts continued to churn like the tide until a distant roar of the arena had faded to a dull hum, a sound you tried to ignore—until a sudden, jarring bang shattered the stillness, echoing from the pit like the crack of a felled tree.

It jolted you upright, the dagger slipping from your fingers to thud into the damp earth and over the cliff, your breath catching as a piercing screech—the Monstrous Nightmare's guttural cry—tore through the air. The crowd's cheers twisted into a cacophony of panic, a discordant wave that rolled up the hillside and slammed into you, raw and unfiltered.

Your heart lurched, hammering against your ribs with a force that drowned out your surroundings. You were on your feet before you realized it, the plank tipping behind you as instinct seized control. The arena—so far across the rugged sprawl of Berk—beckoned like a beacon through the haze of your fear, and your legs moved of their own accord, propelling you down the cliff's uneven path—faster than you'd ever gone.

Wet grass slicked beneath your boots, and halfway down, the ground betrayed you—your foot skidded, sending you sprawling into the mud with a dull splash. Pain flared in your palms as you caught yourself, the cold, thick muck seeping through your tunic, but you scarcely felt it.

You scrambled up, breath ragged, mud streaking your hands and knees, when a sound sliced through the chaos—a familiar, keening wail, sharp and unmistakable—Toothless. The Night Fury's cry ignited a fresh surge of dread, your eyes snapping toward the arena just as a blast of violet plasma erupted, punching a jagged hole through the pit's iron chains. Smoke billowed upward, thick and acrid, as Toothless soared in like a blur, his black wings cutting the air like a blade. 

You froze, rooted to the hillside, your pulse thundering in your skull, eyes wide as the scene before you unfolded in a haze of fire and fury. The arena loomed ahead, its stone walls trembling under the weight of the chaos all around, and you stumbled forward, drawn irresistibly toward it. The crowd surged around the pit's perimeter, a tide of shouting, shoving bodies, their panic a living thing that pulsed through the air. You pushed through them, elbows jabbing, your breath hitching as you fought to reach the blasted breach Toothless had carved. Mud clung to your boots, slowing each step, but you pressed on, the sting of ash in your eyes blurring the world into smears of gray. 

At the hole's edge, you stopped dead, heart in your throat, squinting through the choking veil of smoke that roiled within. Your gaze darted frantically, as you leaned in whilst grabbing the bars chain careful not to fall, careful not to burn your hands—searching the haze for Hiccup—his lanky frame, his auburn hair, anything to anchor you in the madness. 

A gust from the dragon's wings swept through, parting the smoke like a curtain torn asunder, and there he was—Hiccup, crouched low, shield raised, his face taut with fear. Toothless stood before him, scales gleaming like polished obsidian, his snarls reverberating as he squared off against the Monstrous Nightmare.

The larger dragon thrashed, its fiery hide crackling, claws raking stone as it lunged, but Toothless met it with a ferocity that shook the arena's bones—teeth bared, wings flared, a dominance of protection for his boy that made the other dragon growl in disbelief.

The crowd gasped, some scrambling back, others leaning forward, their shouts a jagged chorus of awe and terror. Your chest tightened, relief warring with dread as you watched Toothless drive the Nightmare back, its flames sputtering under the Night Fury's relentless assault. At last, with a final, resentful screech, the Monstrous Nightmare retreated, crawling into its cage, the iron gate slamming against the stone with a clang that echoed like a death knell.

But the reprieve shattered in an instant. Vikings leapt into the pit, their war cries rising as they descended upon Toothless—axes glinting, ropes swinging, a swarm of fury turned on the dragon who'd dared to defy them as he fought back fiercely. You lunged forward, desperation clawing at your throat while you pulled on their furs.

"Stop!" you shouted, your voice raw and cracking, but it was swallowed by the din.

A burly shoulder slammed into you, knocking you to the ground, your palms scraping the stone as you hit.

You pushed up, shouting again, "Leave him alone!" But the crowd surged past, heedless, their boots trampling the just inches from your hands.

Through the chaos, you saw Stoick plunge into the fray, his massive frame cutting through the melee, his face a mask of rage as he wrestled with the Night Fury. Toothless reared, jaws wide, a blast of plasma igniting the air—aimed straight for Stoick's head.

Hiccup's voice broke through, a desperate, piercing "No!" that halted the dragon mid-strike, the flame fizzling into a harmless sputter. The Vikings seized their chance, one by one pinning the dragon to the ground before ropes snapped tight around Toothless' wings, chains clanking as they forced a neck brace onto him soon after, his struggles muffled by the iron grip that dragged him out of sight.

You sank to your hands and knees, the stone cold and unyielding beneath you, tears spilling hot and unchecked down your face. Sobs racked your frame, each one a jagged shard of grief—for Toothless, for Hiccup, for the world falling apart right in front of this boy.

Vikings streamed past, their muttered curses and shaking heads a blur—disgust aimed at the dragon, at Hiccup, at you sprawled on the ground, at the whole unraveling—disappointing—mess this all turned out to be. You staggered to your feet, swaying as the crowd buffeted you, their bodies a relentless current pushing you back.

You fought against it, weaving through the press of fur and leather, your eyes locked on Hiccup—still in the pit, his helmet askew, his face pale with shock. But before you could ever reach him, Stoick's hand clamped onto his arm, rough and unyielding, dragging him toward the tunnel with a force that brooked no resistance.

Hiccup stumbled the entire time, his gaze darting wildly—searching for Toothless, for you—but the crowd swallowed them, their figures shrinking into the throng as they moved toward the Great Hall.

You stood there, breath heaving trying to catch your breath but for a moment, the arena's dust settling around you like ash from before. The sun blazed overhead, its light harsh and unforgiving, glinting off the broken chains and the scorch marks left by dragon fire.

Your legs trembled, but you forced them into motion, following the tide of Vikings at a distance, their murmurs a low growl in your ears—traitor, fool, dragon-lover. The words stung, but they couldn't drown out the panic driving you forward. When the crowd thinned near the village's heart, you broke into a run, boots pounding the muddy path, your tunic flapping as the wind whipped past. 

The Great Hall's towering doors loomed before you as you finally made your way up, their carved snarls glaring down as if to judge your every faltering step. The sun blazed overhead, its light spilling across the muddy yard in harsh, golden streaks, just perfect enough to give light from the outside within as the doors stood ajar, voices spilling out—Stoick's booming timbre, Hiccup's strained replies—and you pressed a hand to the rough-hewn frame, peering into the shadowed interior.

Inside, the hall was a cauldron of tension. Vikings clustered in knots far into the dark corners typically near the kitchen to prepare the feast coming, their faces hard with anger and confusion, while Stoick towered at the center, his fist bawled up—white—with fury as his voice boomed.

You retreated down the weathered steps again, each one a quiet thud beneath your boots, pulling back into the shadows behind a pillar before either of them could spot you. The air thrummed with tension even outside the empty yard, Stoick's voice splintering everywhere.

You didn't need to be closer to catch their sting; they carried on the wind, sharp and heavy with accusation, a father's wrath unleashed in a way that made your stomach twist. Then, silence—a beat of stillness so profound it felt like the world held its breath—before Stoick staggered out, his broad frame filling the doorway.

His face, usually a mask of iron resolve, crumpled briefly, washed pale with guilt as the weight of what he'd done settled into his bones. He didn't see you, didn't glance your way as he stormed down the steps, his cloak snapping behind him like a tattered banner, his fury driving him toward the harbor's docks with a purpose you couldn't fathom.

You lingered there, rooted to the spot behind the pillar—frozen to see Hiccup—the damp moss on the stone freezing under your gentle touch as you opted to wait. The villages' murmurs faded into a low drone, the the small crowd dispersing from within, their voices a muted echo as they left the Great Hall angrily. Minutes crawled by, each second a slow drip of dread pooling in your chest. You had stood straight, about to go in until the doors creaked open again.

Hiccup emerged, his lanky figure hunched, one arm shielding his face as silent tears streaked down his cheeks. The sight hit you like a blow—his shoulders trembling, his steps unsteady as he walked past and down the stone stairs—The boy who'd faced a dragon now broken by something far worse. Something in you snapped, a switch flipping deep within, shoving down the hurt, the words he'd flung at you, the venom that had kept you away. None of it mattered now—not when he looked like this, lost and unraveling under Berks' cruel glare.

He hadn't made it far, barely crossing the yard beyond the hall's shadow, when you moved. Your boots skipped steps and pounded the earth, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the harbor's distant crash, and you caught his arm, yanking him around with a force that surprised even you.

He stumbled, caught off guard, his arm dropping as he wiped at his red eyes with a sleeve already damp with grief. Then he saw you—really saw you—and froze, blinking through the blur of tears as if you might dissolve like a mirage. You didn't hesitate, didn't give him time to doubt any further as you let out a shaky breath leaning in.

Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, a fierce, unyielding embrace that refused to let go this time. His breath hitched, a shudder running through him, and for a moment, his hands hovered, uncertain—until the tears broke free again, hot and unchecked, and he buried his face in your shoulder, his arms finally closing around you in a desperate, clinging hold.

You stood there, locked together in the yard's muddy sprawl, the world shrinking to the space between you. His quiet sobs shook his frame, muffled against your tunic, a flood of years' worth of pent-up pain spilling out in ragged gasps all at once.

You tightened your grip, fingers threading through his hair, patting gently as you whispered, "It's going to be alright."

The words felt fragile, a threadbare promise against the wreckage of the day, but you said them anyway, willing them to hold. Your own tears came then, silent and steady, tracing new warm paths down your face as you clung to him, the salt mingling with the dirt streaked across your cheeks.

His hands fisted in the back of your tunic, wrinkling the fabric in tight, desperate bunches, but you didn't care—couldn't care—not when he was breaking like this, and you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.

Hiccup couldn't speak, couldn't find the words through the waves of his tears. They'd been dammed up too long—years of failure, of being less, of chasing his fathers' footsteps he'd never catch up to, and so much more—until now, with Toothless torn from him and you standing here, these emotions that taunted him finally broke free.

He'd thought he'd lost you—your love and friendship, that his sharp words in the forge had severed the tether between you for good. And now, with Toothless chained and gone, dragged off to gods-knew-where by his own tribe, he'd felt truly adrift—until your arms found him, grounding him in a way he hadn't realized he'd needed until it was almost too late.

His breath hitched again, a sob catching in his throat as he pressed his forehead harder into your shoulder, the damp of his tears soaking through to your skin. You held him steady, your hand resting against his hair, the familiar scent of him—leather, pine, smoke, and something faintly metallic—mingling with the mud and salt in the air.

The yard stretched empty around you, the sun climbing to its peak, its light glinting off the wet grass in a shimmer that felt too bright for the moment—but as if finally smiling at you two after a sad week of forecast between you both. The harbor's waves rumbled along with shouts in the distance, a steady counterpoint to the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

But here, in this fragile pocket of time, it was just you and him—locked in a quiet, weeping embrace, the weight of the day—of the past two months really—pressing down and yet somehow lifting, if only for a breath. He'd thought he'd lost everything—But your arms around him, was like a blanket of comfort, shifting the ground beneath him.

He'd been so utterly wrong—about you, about needing space—and the realization sank deep, a quiet ache beneath the relief. You were here, despite it all, and as his tears stained your clothes, he knew he'd fight to mend this, to reclaim what he'd nearly thrown away.

Time stretched thin, the minutes blurring into a quiet eternity where neither of you moved to break the hold. You stood there for as long as he needed, locked in Hiccup's trembling embrace, until his tears had finally slowed, the sobs that had wracked his frame tapering into shallow, uneven breaths, but his arms remained tight around you, like his life depended on it, like he would break if he let go again.

You still didn't pull away, didn't flinch under the weight of his grip; instead, your fingers continued their gentle rhythm, threading through his auburn hair, tracing soothing paths against his scalp. The strands were damp with sweat and debris, tangled from the chaos of the arena, but you cared not—the motion steadied him—his breathing softened, his shoulders easing your touch alone could unravel the knots of grief coiled within him.

You could feel the tremor in his fingers, the faint shudder of his chest against yours, and it stirred a deep, aching tenderness in you—an understanding forged through years of shared stumbles and silent loyalties. The air hung heavy with the scent of Berk, the faint tang of smoke still clinging to him from the pit, and you breathed it in relieved, grounding yourself in the reality of him here, alive, in your arms—to you that is all that mattered.

At last, the tension in his grip eased, and you both drew back, a slow unraveling that left a hollow ache where his warmth had been. No words passed between you; none were needed. You'd seen each other cry before—over scraped knees as children, over failures whispered in the dark over again, over losses too big to name—and this was no different, yet infinitely more raw. Your eyes met his, tear-streaked faces mirroring one another—cheeks flushed, red-rimmed eyes swollen from the flood, noses damp and glistening in the sunlight.

But beneath the mess, there was something unspoken, a quiet language etched in the lines of your expressions. His gaze carried an, "I'm sorry," so deep it seemed to tremble in the green of his irises, a plea for forgiveness he didn't know how to voice. Yours answered in kind, soft and unguarded, a mirror of regret for the distance you'd let grow, for the cliff you'd retreated to when he'd needed you most. In that shared look, a certainty settled—bruised and battered as you were, it really was going to be alright.

You glanced down, your eyes catching on his hand—pale, calloused, still trembling faintly with anxiety from the mess he'd weathered. Without a word, you reached for it, your fingers sliding into his, interlacing with a quiet firmness that felt like a vow. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm a familiar map you'd traced a thousand times, and you gave a gentle tug, pulling him with you into a slow, deliberate walk.

He followed, his steps hesitant at first, lingering close as if testing the ground beneath him, afraid you might slip away again. But you leaned in, your shoulder and arm brushing his, the fabric of your tunics catching faintly as you pressed closer—a reassurance woven into the contact, a promise that you weren't going anywhere.

His hand tightened around yours, a squeeze that echoed your own, and you felt the warmth of it seep into you, a lifeline threading through the cold that had gripped you both. The walk was unhurried, each step a soft crunch against the wet earth, the mud sucking at your boots as you moved away from the hall's shadow.

The sun beat down, glinting off the damp grass in tiny, fleeting sparks, painting the world in a light that felt almost tender after the day's brutality. Hiccup stayed near, his arm brushing yours with every stride, his breath still hitching faintly as he adjusted to the quiet between you.

You could sense the weight he carried—Toothless torn from him, his father's words a fresh scar, the village's judgment a looming specter—and it mirrored your own: the sting of his outburst, the teen's barbs, the guilt of your absence in the arena. Yet here, in the slow rhythm of your steps, those burdens felt lighter, shared in the silence that wrapped around you like a worn cloak.

You passed the edge of the yard, the harbor unfolding below in a sprawl of sparkling blue and silver, its waves whispering secrets against the docks where Stoick and the others began loading boats for whatever reason you'd both find out later. The wind stirred, cool and sharp, tugging at your hair and drying the last traces of tears from your faces.

Hiccup's head dipped slightly, his free hand brushing at his eyes as if to erase the evidence of his breaking, but you squeezed his hand again, a silent tether that said he didn't need to hide—not from you. He glanced over, a flicker of something soft crossing his face—gratitude, relief, a shadow of the boy who'd once rambled under tables to chase your fears away—and you returned it with a small, steady nod.

The village loomed ahead, its thatched roofs and smoke trails a faint promise of little peace if only for a moment, but neither of you rushed toward it. This walk, this quiet, was enough—a mending stitched not with words but with presence, with the simple act of holding on.

Hiccup's thoughts, glimpsed through that omniscient veil again without wanting to, where a tangled weave of loss and dawning loss bloomed. He'd stood in the hall, flayed by Stoick's fury, certain he'd lost everything. The tears had come unbidden—without control, a flood he couldn't stem, and he'd braced for a solitude he'd brought upon himself.

But then you were there—Of course you were there. . .His heart of berk—Your arms a lifeline he hadn't dared hope for, your touch a balm to wounds he couldn't fathom on his own. As your fingers laced with his, he felt the ground shift beneath him again—not steady yet, but closer to it than he'd been in days. And it made his heart flutter to life again.

He'd been wrong, so wrong, and the ache of that realization pulsed with every step, tempered only by the warmth of your hand in his. Toothless. . .was gone, his father's trust shattered into pieces, but you—You were here. . .Thank Odin, Hiccup sighed—And that was a thread he'd cling to, a chance to rebuild what he'd nearly broken beyond repair.

The path went on, winding ever closer toward the forge your shoulders stayed pressed together—so close—a quiet defiance against what was waiting, and the silence between you deepened—not empty, but full, heavy with the weight of tears shed and promises remade.

This is Chapter 9 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

Lovely tag list ~ @kikikittykis | @icantcryicantstopcrying | @teeesthings | @ph4nt0m19

[rreidsdream]

Halloween surprise

Summary: Spencer loves Halloween and today on Halloweens eve you decided to finally tell him about your pregnancy and make this a special Halloween.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

CW/Tags: pregnancy, just fluff, Spencer is your bf

WC: 1k

The crisp autumn air swirled around outside, rustling the golden and crimson leaves that had fallen in the yard. Inside, everything was cozy and warm. You and Spencer had spent most of the afternoon carving pumpkins, each of you trying to outdo the other with creative designs. His intricate patterns were, unsurprisingly, more geometric and scientific, while yours were playful and spontaneous. Laughter filled the air as Spencer’s focused expression broke into a grin when he finally finished his masterpiece.

“Okay, okay, yours wins,” you said, playfully nudging him.

He smiled softly, his hazel eyes lighting up as they always did when he looked at you. “I don’t know, I think yours has more… charm,” he teased.

You both stepped back to admire the glowing pumpkins that now sat on the porch, the flickering candlelight giving them an eerie yet festive vibe. The evening sky was deepening, the stars beginning to dot the darkening canvas overhead. Spencer pulled you close, wrapping his long arms around your waist as you leaned into his warmth.

“I love this time of year,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I know,” you whispered, feeling the flutter in your chest, knowing tonight was going to be special.

After a few more moments outside, you both retreated into the house, the cozy atmosphere welcoming you. The living room was bathed in the warm glow of candles, their orange light flickering against the walls. The scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice lingered in the air, mixing with the slight chill that clung to your sweaters from being outside. Spencer had already set up your favorite Halloween horror movies, and as you both nestled on the couch, he pulled a blanket over the two of you.

You leaned into his embrace, feeling his steady heartbeat against your cheek as you rested your head on his chest. His arm tightened around you, and every now and then, he pressed soft kisses to your forehead or your temple, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your shoulder.

“I don’t know how you can enjoy these movies,” he said, as the opening scenes of a particularly suspenseful horror flick began.

“You don’t?” you teased, turning to catch his gaze, your eyes twinkling. “I seem to recall someone rambling about the statistical improbabilities of supernatural events last year while we watched this exact movie.”

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to intertwine with yours. “I just like watching them with you.”

You smiled, a surge of warmth filling your chest. You knew he wasn’t usually a fan of horror, but he always made an effort because he knew how much you loved it. It was one of the many things that made him so special to you.

As the movie progressed, the room felt even cozier. You both cuddled closer, sharing quiet laughter, stolen kisses, and little whispered comments about the ridiculousness of the characters’ decisions. His laughter would rumble in his chest, vibrating softly against you, and each time you looked up at him, his eyes were filled with such tenderness, it made your heart ache in the best way.

But through all of this, you were waiting for the perfect moment. The surprise.

You’d been holding this secret for a few weeks now, waiting for the right time to tell him. And as the candles flickered and you sat in the comfort of his arms, you realized that this—right here, right now—was the moment.

During a quieter part of the movie, you shifted slightly, sitting up so you could face him. Spencer immediately noticed the change in your expression, his brow furrowing slightly with concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly, his hand still resting on yours.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your chest. “I have something I want to tell you,” you said, your voice quieter than usual, almost shaky.

His eyes softened as he looked at you, his concern quickly replaced by curiosity. “What is it?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You took a deep breath, your heart racing in your chest. “Spencer…” you began, feeling the words stick to your throat for a moment. But then you smiled, unable to contain the joy that bubbled up inside you. “I’m pregnant.”

For a second, the room seemed to freeze. His eyes widened slightly, and you could see the gears turning in his mind as he processed the news. Then, slowly, his face broke into the most genuine, radiant smile you’d ever seen.

“You’re… pregnant?” he repeated, his voice filled with awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You nodded, feeling tears of happiness well up in your eyes. “Yes,” you whispered, your hand instinctively moving to your stomach.

Without hesitation, Spencer leaned in, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you deeply, softly. It was as though all the love he’d ever felt for you was pouring into that single kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“I… I can’t believe it,” he said, his voice shaky with emotion. “We’re going to be parents?”

You nodded again, your heart soaring. “We are.”

Spencer laughed softly, a sound of pure joy, and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it felt like he’d never let go. He kissed the top of your head, your forehead, your cheeks, before finally meeting your lips again in another tender kiss. “I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, resting your forehead against his.

The movie forgotten, the two of you spent the rest of the evening cuddling on the couch, talking about the future, about the baby, and about how perfect this moment was. Spencer kept his hand on your stomach, as if trying to feel some connection already, his thumb gently tracing circles there. The excitement in his eyes never faded, and you could see the wonder in his expression every time he looked at you.

Candles flickered softly, the warmth of the room wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The night was filled with love, happiness, and the promise of an incredible new chapter together. Spencer kissed you again, a smile lingering on his lips as he whispered, “This is the best Halloween ever.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A year in illustration (2024), Part four

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/07/great-kepplers-ghost/art-adjacent

Part one

Part two

Part three

The US Copyright Office frees the McFlurry

Figuring out how to illustrate the problems of DRM in McFlurry machines took some doing, but I'm super happy with how the HAL 9000-eyed poop emoji inside a spattered McFlurry cup (fair use of a McDonald's promo image) worked out.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Keeping a suspense file gives you superpowers

Another Keppler classic: originally, this was FDR being offered a helping hand to cut through his paperwork. I added in one of the elephant heads I'd cropped out for election illustrations, and used it to represent "not forgetting."

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

The housing crisis considered as an income crisis

The underlying image is another Keppler, showing death flamboyantly dicing with a millionaire. I added in an official (hence public domain) Reagan portrait, some monopoly houses, and a vintage aerial photo of Levittown, halftoned to disguise scaling artifacts.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/24/i-dream-of-gini/#mean-ole-mr-median

Retiring the US debt would retire the US dollar

More of Keppler's outstanding Uncle Sams! Add in a super-rezzed-up US $100 (all that intanglio looks great at high mag) and you've got an instantly arresting image.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/21/we-can-have-nice-things/#public-funds-not-taxpayer-dollars

Penguin Random House, AI, and writers' rights

The impatient guy makes another appearance in this WPA image of an adult literacy class; he's joined by another "business man" type, this one from a midcentury ad for a multi-level marketing scheme selling…business suits! The pupils' heads are all HAL 9000 eyes, natch, but don't miss all the little Easter Eggs, like the reeve and peasants in the frames on the walls.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/19/gander-sauce/#just-because-youre-on-their-side-it-doesnt-mean-theyre-on-your-side

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

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The guerrilla fighter is back, this time standing atop some mainframe equipment ganked from a Univac ad. The halftoned RSS logo in the background really works, especially with a partially blended GIMP "supernova" effect behind the rebel.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

Dirty words are politically potent

I spent a bunch of time experimenting with different ways of making emphatic speech bubbles and it paid off here; that poop emoji's gawlix is in a good home. Halftoning the foreground element (the poop) works surprising well here. I should do more of that.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/14/pearl-clutching/#this-toilet-has-no-central-nervous-system

Lina Khan's future is the future of the Democratic Party – and America

Keppler's Uncle Sam Cop is back, along with another Keppler – a carpetbagger flying through the air after getting a kick in the pants. I got good use out of one of my Democratic Party donkeys here. The background is a half-tones WPA travel poster for Montana.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/11/democracys-antitrust-paradox/#there-will-be-an-out-and-out-brawl

Cars bricked by bankrupt EV company will stay bricked

I actually made this brick by hand: first I rescaled a box image until it had the right proportions, then I found a public domain texture that was the right kind of brick and used the perspective tool to put it over each face of the box. I told you public domain bricks are hard to find.

It was very satisfying overlaying all the elements of the Fisker car I cropped out onto the brick.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/10/software-based-car/#based

Prime's enshittified advertising

Nothing exceeds like excess! The flayed face with eyeballs comes from a 19th century book of French anatomical drawings. The calipers' handles just didn't look right (I referred to stills from Clockwork Orange to try and get 'em to work), but then I hit on the idea of using the "As Seen on TV" logo, which worked perfectly. The halftoned K-Tel ad-card background doesn't quite work, I think.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/03/mother-may-i/#minmax

"That Makes Me Smart"

This is actually two Kepplers; the original guy in the leg-hold trap is some lost-to-history politician embroiled in a lost-to-history scandal. But once I added (yet another!) of Keppler's Uncle Sam heads to his body (recoloring his coat and converting his trousers to red stripes), it became a perfect visual representation of America, trapped. The halftoned US flag is my favorite background yet.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

The far right grows through "disaster fantasies"

When it came to finding heavily armored and armed weirdos, I was spoilt for choice; same goes for grainy photos of vintage malls that look good after halftoning. Add in the goofy, grinning newsie's head and overlay his hat in camou, and it's perfect.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/24/mall-ninja-prophecy/#mano-a-mano

Boss politics antitrust

Finally, I got a chance to use Keppler's "Capital Controls the Senate!" I agonized over which corporate logos to use. Boss Tweed is back, with a Trump wig and MAGA hat.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/12/the-enemy-of-your-enemy/#is-your-enemy

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

A diptych! Both sides' backgrounds come from Bosch's "Garden of Earthly Delights" – hell on the left, heaven on the right. The happy gas-jockey's old-fashioned ethyl pump divides the scene. The head-devouring dragon (with HAL 9000's eye) is a delightfully gory detail from Goltzius's 1183 painting of a couple guys having a hard time indeed.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Bluesky and enshittification

I know, canonically the sirens who tempted Ulysses were merfolk, not half-woman/half-birds, but all the merwoman versions have a ton of naked breasts in them, and frankly, Waterhouses's 1891 "Ulysses and the Sirens" just rips. It took a lot of fiddling with the perspective tool and the clone brush to swap their bodies for the Bluesky butterfly wings, but it still looked weird until I mapped in a kind of scaly, butterfly wing texture.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/02/ulysses-pact/#tie-yourself-to-a-federated-mast

Shifting $677m from the banks to the people, every year, forever

I replaced Moses parting the Red Sea with Keppler's Uncle Sam Cop, but something still wasn't right. Then I figured out how to turn the Red Sea into a giant, aquatic US $100 bill (loooove that intaglio!) and it was awesome.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

[vmantras]

Lotus Eletre S: The Ultimate Luxury Electric SUV

₹2.75 Cr Design and Styling The Eletre S stands out with its futuristic and aerodynamic design. Exterior: The flush illuminated door handles, frameless doors, and gloss black aluminum roof give the SUV a sleek, minimalist look. The LED headlamps with high beam assist and sharp daytime running lights (DRLs) enhance visibility and style. With features like a touch-activated electric charging…

[supercorpkid]

New Year's Eve

Supergirl. Kara Danvers x Reader!, Alex Danvers, Nia Nal, Lena Luthor, Sam Arias.

Word Count: 2300.

Notes: Happy New Year guys!!

The regular alien bar is transformed tonight, a kaleidoscope of shimmering lights and metallic streamers draped across every surface. Music pounds against the walls, a steady rhythm that matches the buzz of celebration in the air. It’s New Year’s Eve, and you’re already regretting being late.

When you walk in, the scene hits you like a tidal wave: Nia is doubled over in laughter at Brainy, who’s gesturing wildly while explaining some incomprehensible science; Alex and Sam are in the middle of the dance floor, kissing like they’re starring in a rom-com; and Kara—beautiful, sweet, perfect Kara—is throwing back a shot with a determination you’d expect from her saving the world, not drinking alien liquor.

“What do you mean Kara is drunk?” you blurt, catching Nia at the bar.

“Drunk.” Nia spreads her arms with a dramatic flourish. “Ya girl is turnt.”

“Okay, try to keep it in your pants, Nia,” you joke, smirking at her giggles. But your eyes drift back to Kara, who just took two extra shots in the sheer second you took to evaluate the whole situation.

This is chaos.

You weave through the crowd, dodging a tipsy Brainy and narrowly avoiding Alex dragging Sam to get another drink. When you finally reach Kara, she’s beaming at you with that smile—so bright, so pure, it almost makes you forget she’s been downing shots like water.

“Hey, you!” she exclaims, her voice louder than usual. She lurches forward, throwing her arms around you with surprising precision. “You’re here! Finally!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Having fun, aren’t we?” You steady her with a hand on her shoulder, your other hand ready to reach for a glass of water.

“I was, but now you’re here,” she hiccups, “and I’ll have even more!” Her grin is so wide it’s contagious, and her hands settle firmly on your waist, holding you close like she’s afraid you might disappear.

“How about we get you some water?” you suggest, trying to pull away, but her grip tightens—not painfully, just... insistently.

“No, no,” she protests, shaking her head with alarming seriousness. “That’ll make the alcohol go away!”

“That’s kind of the point, Kara.”

She pouts at you, those puppy-dog eyes nearly breaking your resolve. You almost cave—almost—but then Alex and Sam stumble past, laughing so hard they nearly take you out in the process. You sigh. Someone has to be the responsible one tonight.

“Well, I’d say all of you could use a little sobering up.” You turn to head to the bar for water, but Kara’s hands slide to your stomach, pulling you back. She looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. While the hand in your stomach explores the very little strip of skin she can see. You shiver under her touch.

“I need to be drunk,” she whispers, like it’s the most serious thing in the world.

“What?” You blink, leaning closer to hear her over the noise. “Why?”

“It’s a secret.” Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, her touch sending an unexpected coil down your stomach. “Can’t tell you yet.”

“Yet?”

She nods solemnly, then breaks into a hiccup-laden giggle. “Midnight.”

You stare at her, exasperated and intrigued in equal measure. “You’re waiting until midnight to tell me this big secret?”

Kara nods again, her face lighting up like she’s just solved a complex equation. “Yup. Midnight. You’ll see.”

“Fine,” you relent, though you have no idea what’s going on. “But you’re drinking water until then.”

She groans but doesn’t argue as you guide her to the bar. You’re determined to keep her coherent enough to survive the countdown. Whatever her secret is, it better be worth the suspense—and the chaos.

Just as you’re starting to wonder what on Earth—or any other planet—could justify this level of mystery, Lena strides into the bar. She’s immaculate as always, her tailored white dress glinting faintly in the club’s neon lights. She scans the room briefly before her eyes land on you and Kara. There’s a flash of recognition, and then Lena’s lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“Alright, alright, I’m here. Please don’t tell me I missed it,” she says as she approaches, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.

“Missed what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued. Kara, currently sitting down, clinging to your waist, face nuzzled on your stomach, separates her face long enough just to look up at Lena with a sheepish grin, her cheeks flushed—though you suspect it’s not just the alcohol.

Lena’s gaze flickers between the two of you, and for a moment, you’re sure she knows exactly what’s going on. “Missed what, Lena?” you press, frustration seeping into your voice.

Lena shrugs elegantly, then tilts her head toward the bar. “I need a drink,” she declares, clearly dodging your question. Before you can press further, she’s already turning away, leaving you simmering with unanswered questions.

You glance around the room, noticing how everyone seems to share these little glances, smirks, and half-hidden smiles whenever they look at you and Kara. Even Nia, now leaning heavily against Brainy, gives you a wink when she catches your eye.

They all know.

“Okay, seriously,” you mutter, leaning down so your face is level with Kara’s. “What’s the big secret? Everyone knows but me, and it’s driving me insane.”

Kara just grins up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something softer, something warmer. “Midnight,” she repeats firmly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. Her hands tighten briefly on your sides, grounding you in the moment. “You’ll see.”

But she keeps acting strange—even by her usual standards. At first, it was small things: the way her gaze darted to you and lingered a fraction too long before she’d quickly look away, like you’d catch her in the act of thinking something she shouldn’t. Or the way she kept fumbling through her words whenever someone brought up New Year’s resolutions, shifting uncomfortably in her chair like she had something on the tip of her tongue but couldn’t bring herself to say it.

As the night progresses, though, it becomes more intense. There's a charged energy in the way she's been hovering around you, close enough that the warmth of her presence starts to cloud your thoughts, leaving you unable to think about anything except her. Her fingers trace patterns on your skin, and her hands seem unwilling to be away from your body, even for a minute.

She’s been like that all night—dodging questions, throwing out half-smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes, and looking at you like you’re some kind of puzzle she’s too afraid to solve.

As midnight approaches, you’ve basically given up on sobering any of these buffoons up. Alex literally called you a party pooper when you handed her water instead of plain vodka. Lena, with her impeccable timing and sharp wit, whined dramatically about her whiskey, claiming she had to make up for lost time since she got here late. And Kara—well, Kara and her stupid secret and her stubborn insistence on staying drunk have made it clear that no amount of coaxing will change her mind tonight.

Your resolve to play babysitter dissolves entirely when J’onn and M’gann arrive, stepping into the bar with their calm, composed presence. J’onn gives you a subtle nod, like he already knows the chaos he’s walking into and is ready to take over, and M’gann seems to dive straight into the party spirit, grabbing Nia for a dance. Relief floods through you. They can take over as the responsible adults in the room now.

You decide to let go, just a little. Maybe this doesn’t have to be your problem. The countdown looms close and Kara even closer, and while part of you itches to storm out in protest of the sheer ridiculousness of it all, another part of you wonders if this night might hold something you didn’t expect.

It’s Kara’s drunken laugh that pulls your focus back to her. As she laughs—tipsy and exuberant—it reverberates against your chest, the sound warm and unrestrained, like a soft hum that seems to echo through you. The sensation catches you off guard, grounding you even as the world spins chaotically around you.

She’s been watching you, her expression somewhere between guilty and hopeful. Her hand brushes yours, lingering for a second longer than necessary before she pulls away, her smile frustratingly sweet—the kind that makes your heart lurch even when you want to be mad at her.

“Almost time!” Sam sing-songs while passing you and Kara on her way to the bar.

You let out a frustrated sigh, stepping back to put some space between you and that infuriatingly adorable grin. “No more games,” you say firmly, pressing a finger onto her chest. “If you don’t tell me right now, I’m walking out that door, and I won’t even stick around for the countdown.”

Her smile wavers, panic flashing across her face. “What? You have to stay for the countdown! It’s— It's important!”

"Why?” 

“Cause it's New Year’s tradition!”

You fold your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Tradition can take a back seat to my sanity. Spill it, Danvers, or I’m as good as gone.”

Kara’s gaze flickers to Lena, who is sitting at the bar, perfectly composed with a glass of whiskey in hand. Lena raises an eyebrow at Kara, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Don’t look at me,” Lena says, swirling her drink. “It’s your secret. You're going to tell her later, anyway.”

Kara groans, dragging her hands down her face dramatically before glancing back at you. “Fine. Fine!” she relents, her voice muffled through her hands. Then she drops them, looking at you with a mix of sheepishness and determination. “But you have to promise you won’t laugh.”

You roll your eyes. “No promises.”

She hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Her eyes dart nervously around the room, as if she’s considering bolting. Finally, she steps closer, her voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip. “I needed to get drunk because…”

She glances at Lena one more time, and Lena’s smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Just say it! You're killing us all with this secret, Kara.” Lena says, tipping her glass in a mock toast.

Kara takes a deep breath, clearly bracing herself. “Because I was trying to work up the courage to tell you something.”

Your arms drop to your sides, confusion knitting your brow. “That’s it? You needed liquid courage? Kara, I thought you were invincible.”

“I am invincible!” she insists, puffing her chest out for half a second before slumping again. “Except when it comes to this.”

Her gaze locks onto yours, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close she’s standing.

“This what?” you ask, your voice softening as the rest of the room seems to fade into the background.

“This,” she says, her hands finding your waist again, but this time, her touch is different—steadier, more deliberate. “You.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. “Me?”

“I like you,” Kara blurts, her voice trembling with vulnerability. “Not just as a friend—I mean, like like you. I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it, and I thought… Maybe tonight, with a little help, I’d finally find the courage.”

The music around you swells, signaling that the countdown is about to start. Ten seconds. The room erupts into a chorus of voices, counting down in unison, but all you can hear is Kara’s confession echoing in your ears.

Ten.

You blink at her, your brain scrambling to catch up. “Kara…”

“I get it if you don’t feel the same,” she says quickly, her words tumbling over each other. “I just— I'm just so in love with you.”

Nine.

Her hands drop from your waist, and for a second, you see the flash of panic in her eyes, like she thinks she’s ruined everything.

Eight.

You’re not entirely sure what happens next—it’s instinct, pure and overwhelming. You grab her by the collar of her shirt, pulling her down to meet your lips in a kiss that’s both clumsy and warm, dizzying — perfect in all its imperfections.

Seven.

Six.

Five

Four.

The room explodes into cheers, the countdown forgotten as people whistle and clap around you.

Three.

Kara pulls back, her face lit up like the New Year’s fireworks outside. “Wait, does this mean you're in love with me too?”

You laugh, resting your forehead against hers. “You’re ridiculous.”

Two.

“Is that a yes?” she teases, grinning so wide it feels like the entire room is brighter.

“Yes, Kara,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “It’s a yes.”

One.

The clock strikes midnight, and while everyone else celebrates the New Year, Kara kisses you again—soft, sweet, and full of promise.

"Happy New Year, baby."

“This is going to be the best year of my life!” 

“Of our lives.”

Behind you, someone—probably Alex—lets out a loud whoop, followed by a round of teasing catcalls. “About time!” Nia shouts, raising her glass in a toast.

You pull back, cheeks burning, but Kara doesn’t let you go far. Her arms loop around you, holding you close as she beams at the room, entirely unbothered by the attention. “Happy New Year, everyone!” she calls, her voice cutting through the noise like a ray of sunshine.

You laugh, burying your face in her shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me now.” she replies, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. 

“And for evermore.”

As the celebration carries on around you, you let yourself relax into her embrace. The night might have started in chaos, but it’s ending in a way you never expected—wrapped in Kara’s arms, her confession still echoing in your mind, and the promise of something wonderful ahead.

[sparkleswap]

Well, it would seem the time of reckoning is finally upon us!

I will say, it’s almost unfair that the question falls to me, I just know so much already, that the question will obviously be regarding something I don’t know, rather than something I do that everyone else wants to know as well.

But alas, there’s no time for rumination on such a joyous day! The time of All Hallow’s Eve is nearly upon us, and I’d hate to keep you waiting any longer than I already have. (Still, I can’t say I’m too regretful— the suspense is what makes the payoff all the sweeter, no? Is what makes the horror all the more terrifying.)

I’m sure you already know who I want to ask about. Even after all my theories, even after all my guesses, there is one character in particular who you have been so reluctant to talk about. Really, my friend, you should almost feel ashamed— that kind of secret will drive one insane!

But, no more distractions.

On this blessed day of fear and fright, I ask to you—

What happened to Puppy.

as i devour the sweet treat with fevor, i find my mouth bound to speak.

this is the truth i have, even if it is not the truth you seek...

as simply as is possible from me, this is the answer i keep;

Lovella Puppy has had two very terrible things happen to her medically.

In an attempt to make her holy like the rest of her community, they began injecting unicorn blood into her body. First by feeding, then other means.

When she grew ill from this invasive procedure, her parents realized the obvious solution.

How could a dog's heart process unicorn blood?

...It was not a very professional procedure. They were not skilled. Instead of accepting this failure, as Puppy writhed and gasped for air, they blamed her for not being holy enough to accept this divine gift.

They dragged her to Sparklecare. Gave no explanation. And left, never to return.

(and that, my friend, is how you get a ritual done! i hope you are satisfied with what you got~)

[stormyjane7]

A Hope For Tomorrow: Ch 6 Tomorrow Starts Today

Summary: The future calls with wedding bells.

Pairing: Astarion x AFAB Reader,

Warnings: Sex. 18+ only readers

Word Count: 911

Rating: If you are under 18, please do not read.

Read on Ao3 Final chapter guys! i really hope you've enjoyed reading. Going to start doing some one shots now. <3

Time felt it had finally sped up as you and your vampire lover were putting the final touches to your outdoor wedding. You had made it back to Baldur’s Gate about a month ago after spending time with Gale in Waterdeep to rest. The adventure of finding the ring had exhausted both of you and definitely needed the respite. 

As soon as you landed in Baldur’s Gate, you and your lover went straight to work. Astarion focused on selling the rest of the Szarr estate and lands. It thankfully brought in so much gold you wouldn’t have to worry for a long long time. You went around finding a nice cottage just outside the Gate to use as a new home. 

Between all that you also both worked to get your outfits ready and let your friends know where to come for the nuptials. And as the eve approached, your friends started to show up with much merriment in their hearts. 

Gale was one of the first to arrive. Being able to teleport anywhere had its advantages. He hugged and spoke briefly to both of you before excusing himself and Astarion off to the side. You didn’t have time to listen in as Shadowheart showed up next and was wrapping you in a big hug. She was starting to go over the details of what she was going to do as officiant when you notice Astarion being super excited over a box Gale was handing him. You were sure you’d find out later what it was. 

The rest of your guests arrived and the feast you were having catered was ready. Everyone sat down to enjoy the night before the wedding and each other’s presence. Stories from everyone’s time since the Nether brain filled the air with much laughter and praise. You ended the night giving a toast to your friends and to your vampire lover. You ushered everyone in so they could rest for the next day.

*************************

“Beloved friends who are more like family now, we are gathered here to celebrate a part of this family tying their lives together forevermore.” Shadowheart spoke softly but loud for everyone to hear. “The battles of the past were hard fought, but nothing compares to the fight to live a good marriage.”

She turned towards Astarion as she continued speaking, “While most brides and grooms exchange rings, our friends have decided to use the Sunwalker’s ring for Astarion’s band. I think you can all understand why he won’t remove it during such a strong sunlit day.” A few chuckles were had between the group.

“I do have a ring, however, for my love to wear and I hope she appreciates it as much as I do.” You see him pull the box out that Gale gave him yesterday. He opens it before you, and in the box was a ring with a stone matching his Sunwalker ring. Your face lit up at how the thought behind this was so lovely and special. He takes it out and slides it onto your ring finger. A sudden magical shift in your body takes place, one that normally happens when you attune to a new magical item. You look at your love with a surprised and confused look on your face. He leans in closer to you. 

“Don’t worry about that right now, darling. I’ll tell you everything once we are alone tonight.” You smile and nod.

“And with the rings exchanged, the vows said, you may now kiss your bride!” Shadowheart said with much love.

Everyone stood up and cheered as Astarion dipped you into a kiss. You were fully flushed by the time he stood you back up straight. 

*******************************

It was a day or so before the last of your friends left and you were finally alone with your now husband. You were both sitting on the couch curled up together. 

“Now that we are finally alone dear husband, I cannot take the suspense any longer! Please tell me what this ring does before I use one of our last detect items on it.”  He chuckles at your aggressive nature. 

He puts his hand under your chin and turns you to face him. He plants a small kiss to your lips. 

“Well, my dearest wife, I found this ring while we were in Waterdeep. Besides us only Gale will know it’s power as I do not wish anyone to hunt us down for it. Gale called in a favor to get a wish scroll to use for you.”

“This is not helping me feel any better about this…dearest.”

“While you wear this ring, you will never age nor die to old age. You are as eternal as I am. Just without the vampire nature.”

Your eyes switch between looking at your love and at the ring. 

“What an amazing gift you have given me Astarion!”

“Now we should generally not worry about losing one another. And should we tire of this world, all we have to do is have you take your ring off and let time start again for you. Whenever you go I’ll be right behind. We can leave the rings for another besotted vampire and mortal.”

“You don’t think you’ll tire of me? We could live for eons!”

“That sounds delightful, darling. Till the world falls down around us!” He brings you in to a deep kiss and you feel the truth of his words. Till the world falls down indeed. 

[forgedroyalseal]

Song Fic Drabbles Part 4

When all you wanted was to be wanted

Will had always known he wasn’t enough. He wasn’t smart enough to be a diplomat or disciplined enough to be a scribe. And despite it being his one goal in life, the thing that kept him going through the cold, lonely years in the ward, he wasn’t tall or strong enough for battleschool. Will remembered the way his heart sank on his choosing day. How he was forced to stand in front of his peers, the Baron, the craft masters, and be told he wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t wanted. That he was destined to a pitiful and meaningless life. But then, like a miracle from the heavens, Halt found him. He told him he could be enough, that he was wanted. So Will worked and trained harder then he thought possible, determined to prove to Halt he was enough, that he deserved to be wanted. And it worked. He was able to overcome every test and trial thrown his way. He made a name for himself. He had the potential to go down in history. He was enough. He was wanted.

Until he wasn’t.

“How could you be so stupid? So selfish? Do you have any idea what a disaster you’ve made Will?”

Will didn’t know how Halt still had the energy or the voice to continue yelling at him. He and Crowley had been at it for over an hour and were showing no signs of stopping.

“I know, I’m sorry. If you’d just let me explain-“ Will repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, and just like every time before, he was shot down.

Crowley huffed out a mocking laugh. “We don’t want your apologies or excuses Will! We want you to-“

“Leave.” Halt was no longer shouting and Will would have done anything to go back to being yelled at. Because that single, cold, level word cut Will deeper than any amount of yelling could do.

“What?” He whispered.

“We want you to leave. Now.”

“But, Halt please-“

“Get out of here Will. Crowley and I need to clean up your mess. As of now, you are on suspension. Once we get this sorted, we’ll figure out what to do with you.”

Will nodded slowly, blinking back the stinging behind his eyes. Just as he had one foot out of the door, Crowley called out to him. For a moment, his hope flickered. But then it was blown out just as quickly.

“Will, we’ll need to hang on to your oak leaf for the time being.”

When Will dropped the chain and pendent into Crowley’s open palm, he felt as though he was leaving his entire heart behind.

On shaking legs he made his way back to the guest room he was staying in. He tried not to cry. He did anyways. He fell to his knees and sobbed, body curling into itself. His chest burned and his head ached and he felt as if he was coming apart at the seams. Everything he had done, had worked for, was going to be torn away from him because of one stupid, selfish mistake. He hadn’t done enough and soon everyone would know and no one would want him. Will groped around his neck for his pendent, the one thing that could ground him in moments like these, but then he remembered that it was gone, discarded on Crowley’s desk as if it wasn’t the one thing, the only thing, that proved Will had been wanted. That someone had decided he was good enough. As he spiraled, his nails dug into his arms, clawing at his biceps until hot pools of blood bubbled up. A sob got caught in his throat and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The knot in his chest was being pulled tighter and tighter and-

“Will! Will it’s ok, please just breathe.” A faceless voice called out but Will couldn’t make sense of the words.

Warm hands fell on his, gently guiding them away from his torn skin and onto a steady beating heart. “Breathe Will, just like me. Follow my breath.” Will tried, and after every failed attempt, the voice reassured him then asked him again. “Just keep trying Will. It’s going to be ok. Just keep trying.”

Will wanted to scream that all he ever did was try, but he didn’t have the air or the strength so instead he just let out a pathetic whimper. “I know it’s hard, I’m sorry. You’re doing so good.”

Eventually, slowly, oxygen found its way back into Will’s lungs. Will inhaled greedily, desperately trying to fill his burning lungs.

“There you go, deep breaths, it’s ok. You’re ok.” The oxygen made its way up to his head and he was finally able to place the comforting voice and steady hands.

“Gil.” He gasped.

“I’m right here Will.” One of his hands came around to Will’s back and began rubbing circles between his shoulders. “What happened? Tell me who I need to go beat up?”

“They don’t want me. It’s all gonna go away.” Will cried as he buried his face into Gilan’s chest.

“Who? What’s going away?”

“The Corps. What am I if not a ranger? I can’t do anything else. No one will want me.”

“Ok, I don’t know what happened, but I promise you, the Corps want you. They need you.”

“Not after this.”

Gilan pulled back just enough to look Will in the eye. “Tell what happened.”

[spicywarl0ck]

hello and happy friday! maybe "it seems like the end of the world right now, I know," for solas/male lavellan if that picques your interest. 💖

Happy Friday! Thank you for this prompt, took me a while for inspiration to hit, but here we are <3 (Also I received this prompt multiple times, and I can only say to the others: I will do the others too x3 You just have to be a bit patient) I might have made myself cry a bit with this, anyway: @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Solas/mLavellan Length: 689 Rating: G The world was a whirl of green and grey, the air filled with pure electricity.

It was the stillness before the storm and the last night before the biggest battle he’d ever fought. He felt the quietness of the Keep as everyone kept talking in hushed whispers, each of them under suspense, holding the one hope that he might be able to save them all.

It made the pressure on his shoulders almost unbearable. 

Revassan had never been a leader before. He had been a capable hunter under the Dalish maybe, resourceful enough to be sent as a spy to the conclave. But he’d never been more than that before the fateful events at the temple of sacred ashes and he never wanted to be.

He hadn’t asked to become the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor, but here he was, preparing to lead them all to battle.

Revassan wasn’t ready for this and he probably never would be. He’d lived a quiet life with the Dalish; his sister had been the magical prodigy and his father’s pride. All that had been left for him was to make himself useful somehow.

It hadn’t been her fault and he never blamed her for it. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if their interactions would have been different if things had been different.

Well, it was too late for that now, he supposed as he took a deep breath. Even that was hard with the heaviness of the air that left a bitter taste on his tongue. He could just hope they succeeded; That he succeeded.

“Ah, there you are. I was searching for you.” Solas’s voice made his lips twitch into a half-smile. 

Revassan might have had a few regrets and saw some unpleasant things during his time in the Inquisition, but Solas had made it worthwhile. He wouldn’t miss the man in his life for anything, in the world.

“I just needed fresh air.” His forest green eyes looked tired as they looked at the mage approaching him, his grey eyes expressing sadness and compassion.

“It seems like the end of the world right now, I know.” His hand cupped Revassan’s cheek, making him feel the warmth of it pressing against his skin. He could have melted into the touch right away, the fear in his heart eased just for a few seconds.

“But, I have seen many endings, and the world is still there, as it will be for a while.” 

There was something unreadable in Solas’s expression when he said those words, his hand swiftly retreating so he could clasp them behind his back in thought. His gaze wandered to the Breach, watching the whirling and brewing storm with an almost unsettling calmness.

And all of a sudden, he seemed to be very far away until he pulled back.

“It’s so quiet.” Revassan pointed out as he kept one ear listening for any movement in Skyhold.

“Not all of them. Can you hear the Chargers drink and celebrate?” Solas asked, giving him a moment to listen to the distant chatter echoing from the Herald’s rest and reaching his balcony. 

“They have seen many battles and drink to the next. Determined to emerge victorious.” 

“Will they though?” The younger elf asked quietly. He sometimes felt there was something Solas wasn’t telling him but he also couldn’t say what. But ever since the Well of Sorrow, he felt Solas might have been older than he let on, just like the sentinels they met.

“Who knows.” Solas’s eyes were still focused on the distance before he looked away, the dimples showing when he smiled patiently. “I’m afraid that’s not for me or you to know,” he added quietly. “But, I am content that you will succeed. You might not see it yourself, but you have become a leader everyone looks up to. And quite a capable one.”

His hand moved to tilt his chin softly as he locked eyes with him before he continued in elven.

“Do not worry, Vhenan. You are a stronger force than you think. And no matter what will come. Don’t forget that I love you.” 

[e-carlease]

For purveyors of the fine small electric cars, there will be 3 options in the Alpine hatch including:  

GT - this will include a F1 steering wheel, 10” touchscreen, sports suspension, heated seats, 19” alloys and automatic air conditioning;

GTS - this will include Nappa 2-tone leather, premium audio, sports tyres, black monograms, lumbar adjust for the driver seat and telemetric; and

Premiere Edition - this will include a numbered plate, distinct floor mats, safety pack and driving pack.

This FWD hatchback supermini  will have a 52 kWh usable battery which will offer 0 – 62 times of 6.4 seconds, 106 mph top speeds and 160kW (or 215hp). Expect a combined winter range of 155 miles with warmer weather allowing for 215 miles – a 185 mile combined. On charging, the 11 kW AC max will allow 5 hour and 45 min 0 – 100% charging times with the 100 kW DC maximum allowing 33 minute 10 – 80% times. A cargo volume of 326L is available with this car. It has a vehicle fuel equivalent of 144 mpg. You can tow with this EV – 500kg (Unbraked) and 500kg (Braked). It also has Bidirectional Charging - V2L via an exterior outlet capable of 3.7kW AC plus V2H and V2G functionality. The Heat Pump is standard

[hamdank77]

The Ultimate Guide to Electric Cars: Best Choices, Affordable Options, and Everything You Need to Know

Top Picks for Electric Vehicles in 2024

A number of variables need to be taken into account while selecting the best electric car, including performance, design, technology, and range. Here are some of the standout models for 2024:

1. Tesla Model S Plaid

The Tesla Model S Plaid is a benchmark in the electric car market. With a range of over 390 miles and a 0-60 mph time of just 1.99 seconds, it sets the standard for luxury and performance in the EV segment.

Range: 390+ miles

Top Speed: 200 mph

Key Features: Autopilot, Full Self-Driving capability, 1,020 horsepower

2. Lucid Air

The Lucid Air is a luxury electric sedan that combines futuristic design with remarkable performance. With a range of up to 520 miles, it currently offers the longest range of any EV on the market.

Range: Up to 520 miles

Top Speed: 168 mph

Key Features: Lucid DreamDrive, spacious interior, 1,111 horsepower in the Dream Edition

3. Porsche Taycan

For those seeking a sports car experience, the Porsche Taycan delivers with its iconic handling and design. Available in several variants, the Taycan offers an exhilarating driving experience with rapid acceleration.

Range: Up to 256 miles

Top Speed: 161 mph

Key Features: Porsche Electric Sport Sound, 800-volt architecture, advanced regenerative braking

Cheapest Electric Cars: Affordable EV Options

Electric cars are becoming increasingly affordable, making them accessible to a broader audience. Here are some of the best budget-friendly electric cars:

1. Nissan Leaf

The Nissan Leaf is one of the most popular and affordable electric cars on the market. It’s ideal for city driving and offers a solid range for daily commutes.

Range: Up to 149 miles

Starting Price: ,800

Key Features: ProPILOT Assist, e-Pedal, affordable maintenance costs

2. Chevrolet Bolt EV

The Chevrolet Bolt EV is a compact electric car that offers a surprising amount of range and features for its price point.

Range: Up to 259 miles

Starting Price: ,000

Key Features: DC fast charging capability, roomy interior, high safety ratings

3. Hyundai Kona Electric

The Hyundai Kona Electric is a subcompact SUV that blends affordability with functionality, offering an impressive range for its class.

Range: Up to 258 miles

Starting Price: ,000

Key Features: 8-inch touchscreen, regenerative braking, adaptive cruise control

Best Electric SUVs: Top Performers in the SUV Segment

SUVs remain one of the most popular vehicle types, and the electric SUV segment is growing rapidly. Here are the best electric SUVs to consider:

1. Tesla Model Y

The Tesla Model Y is a versatile electric SUV that combines the performance and technology of the Model 3 with more cargo space and an elevated driving position.

Range: Up to 330 miles

Top Speed: 135 mph

Key Features: Dual motor all-wheel drive, panoramic glass roof, Autopilot

2. Ford Mustang Mach-E

The Ford Mustang Mach-E is a bold new entry into the electric SUV market, blending the iconic Mustang design with modern electric performance.

Range: Up to 300 miles

Top Speed: 124 mph

Key Features: Ford Co-Pilot360, 15.5-inch touchscreen, Mustang-inspired design

3. Audi e-tron

The Audi e-tron is a premium electric SUV that offers a luxurious interior and smooth, quiet driving experience.

Range: Up to 222 miles

Top Speed: 124 mph

Key Features: Quattro all-wheel drive, Virtual Cockpit, adaptive air suspension

Electric Cars for Sale: Where to Find the Best Deals

Finding the right electric car at the best price requires a bit of research. Here are some top places to look for electric cars for sale:

1. Certified Pre-Owned (CPO) Programs

Many automakers offer certified pre-owned programs for their electric vehicles. These programs typically include a thorough inspection and warranty coverage, making them an excellent choice for budget-conscious buyers.

2. Online Marketplaces

Websites like Autotrader, Cars.com, and Carvana offer a wide selection of new and used electric vehicles. These platforms allow you to compare prices, read reviews, and even purchase vehicles online.

3. Dealerships

Local dealerships often have a selection of electric cars, especially in areas where EVs are more popular. Visiting a dealership allows you to test drive the vehicle and speak with a salesperson about available incentives.

Electric Vehicle Charging Stations: Powering Your EV

One of the most critical aspects of owning an electric car is understanding how and where to charge it. Electric vehicle charging stations are becoming more prevalent, but it’s essential to know the types and locations of these stations.

1. Types of Charging Stations

Level 1 Charging: Uses a standard 120-volt outlet. It’s the slowest option, providing about 2-5 miles of range per hour of charging.

Level 2 Charging: Requires a 240-volt outlet, similar to what is used for large appliances like dryers. It provides about 10-60 miles of range per hour.

DC Fast Charging: These stations provide the fastest charge, delivering 60-100 miles of range in about 20 minutes.

2. Finding Charging Stations

Apps like PlugShare, ChargePoint, and Tesla’s own Supercharger network can help you locate charging stations near you. Many modern EVs also have built-in navigation systems that display nearby charging stations.

3. Home Charging Solutions

Installing a home charging station is a convenient option for many EV owners. Level 2 home chargers are the most popular and can be installed in your garage or driveway, allowing you to charge your vehicle overnight.

Electric Vehicles' Future

With developments in battery technology, autonomous driving features, and sustainable materials, the electric vehicle market is growing quickly.

1. Technology of Batteries

Electric vehicle (EV) range, charging times, and overall efficiency may all be significantly increased by further research into solid-state batteries and other cutting-edge technology.

2. Self-Driving Cars

Automakers are making significant investments in autonomous driving technology. The prospect of autonomous vehicles is growing because to initiatives like Tesla's Full Self-Driving Package and other comparable technologies.

3. Ecological viability

There is a growing emphasis on recycling materials and lowering the carbon footprint of manufacturing processes in the creation of electric vehicles, making the process more sustainable. Manufacturers who are spearheading the development of more environmentally friendly production techniques are Tesla and Rivian.