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serenefreakgeekao3 · 8 months

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Fear of Falling

CHAPTER TWO [Masterlist]

Pairing: Hiccup x ftm!reader

Summary: You and Hiccup have begun to get closer- to something even resembling friendship. What happens, then, when complications get thrown into the mix? Complications namely being Hiccup’s close acquaintances, who seem a little too invested in getting to know you.

Tags: carpenter!reader, awkward!Hiccup, meeting friends, mutual pining

Warnings: slight bullying, mention of transphobia at the end of the chapter, tales of a bad family life (for reader)

Author’s Note: This is when the whole ftm thing comes into play! At the end of the chapter, reader tells Hiccup his life story, essentially, where reader was disowned by his family. If this will hurt you in any way, feel free to not read, or skip the final part after Hiccup receives his gift! Sorry for the sad backstory, but it’s only for a small section! (Also, sorry it took so long for me to post this part, but if you notice its literally like twice as long as my first part. Unintentional, but it felt weird to try to split it up into two chapters. It flows easier this way!)

Words: 12552

“So where’s your dragon?”

The question catches you off guard, startling and turning to look at Hiccup’s curious face. It’s been a month since you claimed this land, and with the help of Hiccup and Skullgar your home is finally standing and all in one piece. You were settling in, moving furniture around until you felt comfortable with the positions and placing your few belongings in their proper places. It was a small hut, one story and one bedroom. A fireplace crackled on one side of the room, half of the building made into a nice living area while the other half almost resembled a shop. You had a long bar with stools, shelves for your tools, and currently sitting on the edge of the bar was the first piece you finished whittling. It wasn’t bad, actually. A little rough around the edges, but a small dragon- not based on any that you’ve seen for yourself, just carved from your imagination- that is big enough to fit in your hand sat there and watched over the whole proceeding.

“What?” You took too long to answer, but you didn’t know exactly what to say. You avoided the topic of the dragons for a long while- impressively, might you add, since dragons are apparently Hiccup’s lifeblood. You didn’t mind talking about them in a general sense, or hearing whatever happened in town. But if he was to ask about you flying, or where your dragon was, you were able to deftly change the subject. Maybe that’s why he decided to catch you off guard. He almost had a smug look about him, the kind of face that made you want to smush his cheeks together until he laughed.

“Your dragon. I sort of assumed that once your home was finished and the rest of the builders moved on- I don’t know, that maybe they’d be willing to settle down? I tried to make a nice nest outside for them, but I wasn’t sure about their size. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen them before.” Hiccup continued as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, to claim a dragon. To have a lifelong companion such as that. As if the thought of not having one was unimaginable.

“I don’t have one,” You mumbled, turning back toward the shelf to unnecessarily fidget with a vase you were given by Gobber. You spun it a few times, then realizing that did nothing you began to push it a tad to the left, then back to the right.

“What?” You have a talent for confusing Hiccup, that tone in his voice is practically familiar to you now. “What do you mean you don’t have one?”

“I mean that I don’t have one.” You nod, turning to look at him, eyebrows raised. “It’s not that uncommon you know.”

“No, but-” Hiccup breaks off, holding out a hand toward you. His confusion began to mix with worry. “What do you mean- but you live all the way out here?” You hadn’t heard anything more about this location being unsafe from Hiccup since that first day, and you had figured he’d just drop it. It’s not like it should matter much to him anyway.

“Yes, I know. I chose the spot.” You tried to laugh, but it came out more as an awkward chuckle. “You were there, y’know.”

“No- I mean, yes I know I was there but-” Hiccup turns frustrated, looking away from you and scanning the air as if it held an answer for him. He runs a hand through his hair, flopping it around on his head before he throws his hand back outward. “You live all the way on the outskirts! If something happened to you, no one in town would be able to know. No one would hear, there wouldn’t be anyone to- to come and-” He huffed again, grabbing his hair roughly. The entire time he speaks he seems almost to be arguing with himself in his head. “I know you can take care of yourself, but against a dragon?” He finally turns his face to you, with almost a look of desperation. “What if they tame a dragon and attack from above? Pick off the people on the outside first, you can’t fight a dragon and their rider by yourself! You can’t outrun a dragon! What would-”

“Hiccup,” You try to interrupt, having moved close enough to reach a hand out to press lightly against his arm. It still, miraculously, works somehow. “I’ll be okay.”

“But you need a dragon,” Hiccup whines out, practically pouting at you. “They- they mean so much-”

“I know you love all of the dragons here, Hiccup,” You begin, your voice quieting, “But not everyone feels so intrinsically tied to dragons like you. Not everyone can bond with them as easily as you.” You shrug, trying for a smile but probably missing the mark, “There hasn’t been one to find me yet.”

“Well, if they can’t find you then we can find them, come on!” He takes your hand and immediately tries to pull you to the door. In the few times he’s taken your hand, you’ve always followed. This is the first time that you hold your ground, unmoving. Hiccup doesn’t pull, or tug. He turns, confused at your reluctance.

“I don’t-” You take a breath, shaking your head, “If I go out looking for one and can’t find one I’ll just be disappointed and heartbroken. I’ve met every single dragon on this island at least once, whether they had a rider or not. None of them have taken to me, Hiccup.” You turn bashful, pulling your hand away and crossing your arms, pulling them close to you. “If there’s a dragon out there for me, they’ll find me.”

“That seems like a fantasy, [y/n]” Hiccup begins, shaking his head and closing the gap once more. “We can try.”

“It’s fine, Hiccup.” You repeat, looking up at him with a sad smile. “I’m used to being alone.”

You turn away after this, missing the complete devastation that crosses Hiccup’s face. He shakes his head, mouth working with nothing to come out. He doesn’t know what to say to that, unable to voice how he feels. He’s never been the best with words, always sketching or trying to express his feelings through flying. At that thought he calms, brain working a mile a minute as his eyes flicker back and forth, unseeing.

“Come flying with me.”

You turn, confused at the sudden outburst. By the time you see his face again, his attention is still focused entirely on you, a wide smile stretching across his face. He bounds the few feet toward you that you had moved away, taking both of your hands with glee. “Hiccup, I-” You begin, shaking your head, but he just interrupts.

“Come flying with me, [y/n]! It’ll be great! I know you don’t have a dragon to fly on, but we can both be on Toothless. It’s so amazing, please, you have to experience it!” You laugh at his enthusiasm, almost blown away by the force of it. With your laugh coloured in disbelief, you begin to shake your head.

“Hiccup, I just said I don’t want to go looking for a dragon-”

“This isn’t about that!” Hiccup tries to convince you, shaking your hands slightly. “Flying is-” His mouth works as he tries to find the words, shaking his head, “You just have to try it, at least once!” You laugh again, shaking your head.

“I did try it once.”

“What?” Hiccup ducks closer, and you feel your brain malfunction for a split second. Why does he have to be so close? Was he always this physical?

“I’ve flown once.” Hiccup looks adorably confused, so you continue your point. “During the move. I told you, I’m not new here, but I was new to the old Berk. I lived there a month before suddenly everyone was packing house and moving on their dragons. I was apprenticing under Skullgar and, once he found out I had no dragon and was planning to just sail away to find somewhere else to live, offered up Grimrar as a ride. His family planned to ride his wife’s dragon and use Grimrar to transport their possessions. There was a bit of room for me to squeeze in.”

Hiccup’s confused face was adorably scrunchy, you decided. “But, wait,” He leans back slightly, shaking his head. “Transporting things and transporting people require completely different saddles. That would’ve been extremely dangerous…” Hiccup trailed off, refusing to believe your story.

“No, that’s true. Grimrar had the transport saddle on his back, I was squeezed between a couple of boxes and kind of held on for dear life. It was the longest day of my life, actually. Felt like it, anyway.” You smile, able to laugh about it now that the soul-crushing fear is no longer gripping your heart.

“That-” Hiccup scoffs, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true flying.”

“Well, I was technically on a dragon, and that dragon was in the air. Very, very high in the air-”

“No, that’s just dangerous- anyone would be scared of that!” Hiccup pulled on your still-connected hands, looking into your eyes earnestly. “Let me take you flying. Toothless will be so gentle-”

“Hiccup,”

“No, listen! It’s fantastic, [y/n]! It’s- it’s indescribable!”

“Hiccup, I’m afraid of it!” You sigh, shaking your head and pulling your hands back.

“Afraid of heights? But-”

“Afraid of falling, mind you.”

“You won’t fall!”

“You can’t promise that.” You turn once again, taking a new block of wood and the whittling knife that Hiccup gave you two months ago. Was it really only two months? You sat down on a stool in a huff, striking the first notch into the wood. Hiccup was quiet again, which honestly rarely happened now. You glance back up to see disappointment across his face, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest at the sight. “I’m sorry, Hiccup.”

“I can promise that if you fall we’ll catch you.” Hiccup’s voice was so serious, meaning every word he said. He took a step closer to you on your stool but maintained a proper distance still. The open window behind him framed him in an almost ethereal sunset-orange light. “Either Toothless, or me. We’ll catch you.” You felt hard-pressed not to believe him.

“That’d still require me to fall. Which is the part I’m scared of.” His shoulders fell at your insistence, glancing away from you and staring off into space. The room is filled with the sounds of your whittling and the fire crackling to the side, a comfortable silence only bellied by the discomfort of having to disappoint the guy you’re falling for. Hiccup turns and leans against the bar next to you, tapping his hands along it. The taps stop and you look up to see him fiddling with something in his hands just out of sight.

“Well,” He begins quietly, and you quickly lower your gaze back to your project. “If you ever change your mind, I’m always here.”

“You really are,” You begin to joke, smirking down at the slowly dwindling wood block in your hand. “Almost like I can’t get rid of you.” Hiccup laughs, thankfully, at your joke, not taking it too seriously.

“Well, just trying to shirk my chiefly duties, as you always say. Hide away from the clamouring.”

“Well, keep it up and they’ll know exactly where to find you. Then your point would be moot.”

“Not if we went flying together. Then they’d never be able to find us.” You feel your smile slipping, lifting your eyes once more to him. He was already staring back at you, determination set in his eyes. You’d only seen that once before, two months ago, and now you have a proper house to thank him for.

“They have tracking dragons,” You try to counter, smirking at him gently, “You trained them yourself, you know.” Hiccup lets the moment settle, half a minute of comforting silence between the two of you before turning away and sighing dramatically, throwing his arms out to the side.

“Woe be me! Forever and always, stuck as Chief and-”

“Hiccup!”

The feminine yell startles you, jumping hard and turning to face your front door. You try to calm your racing heart, turning and placing the sharp knife down before you accidentally hurt yourself. Your door flies open with a slam, Astrid striding into your home with an air of determination and aggravation. She glares at you before stalking around your home, in search of the man who has suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from your side. “Where is he?”

“Who?” You play dumb, visibly roaming your eyes around the room. “I assume you’re not asking after me?”

“You know who I’m talking about,” Astrid grumbles, lifting a couch cushion and looking under it as if Hiccup could’ve possibly hidden there. She places it back down, pressing it back into place before moving on. Just as forcefully she yells his name again, causing you to jump once more before sighing loudly.

“Look, I can honestly say I have no clue where Hiccup is.” You raise your hands in defence, raising your eyebrows and shrugging toward her. She turns to you with the full force of her glare, one hand on her cocked hip.

“Uh-huh. And can you ‘honestly say’ you didn’t know where he was ten seconds before I marched into your house?” You hesitate, then shrug at this. “Yeah, thought so.” She starts looking up at the rafters, twisting around in search of him. “Where’s your stairs? Or ladder?”

“It’s one story, Astrid. You see everything-” You are cut off by her throwing open your bedroom door, sighing loudly. You place your elbows against the bar behind you, leaning back and waiting. By the time she comes back, closing the door behind her, she marches directly up to you.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, Astrid.” You repeat, sighing. “What’s wrong anyway?”

“Where could he have gone, if he was just here a second ago, hm? He has to be hiding somewhere.” She doesn’t bother to answer your question, looking around once more as if he’d suddenly spring into existence behind the potted plant you were given by Skullgar’s wife.

“I honestly don’t know Astrid, alright? We were talking one second, then you screamed louder than a Thunderdrum and by the time I turned around he was gone.” You huff, motioning toward the window, “If anything he could’ve just dove through the window and been halfway back to New Berk by now.” At this Astrid turns, inspecting the window as if it offended her before she sighs, turning to you with her hands on her hips.

“What do you want with Hiccup?” You raise your eyebrows, glancing around the room in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why do you keep hanging around Hiccup all the time? I’ve had to come pull him away from you fifty times in the last month! I don’t even think I’ve seen you before in my entire life until I found you with him.” She walks closer, narrowing her eyes. “I swear to Thor if you’re a spy for those damn hunters, I’ll rip your throat out myself.” Your eyebrows continue to raise as she speaks, finally raising your hands up in defence.

“Hey, what? I don’t want anything from him! I just wanted to live my life peacefully, he’s the one who decided to take an interest in me.” She points at your chest, gearing up for another round, but you cut in quickly. “And I’m not a hunter! I swear it, I would never harm a dragon unless it was self-defence. And I never have! Hurt one before, I mean.”

“Then why don’t you have a dragon?”

“Because none of them chose me? I don’t know, ask them!” You huff an angry sigh, crossing your arms. “I’m not trying to go out and force them into liking me! Seems a bit inhumane.” She glares at you for a moment longer before backing up a few steps and crossing her arms in a mimic of you.

“Oh yeah? Then why does no one know who you are? Why hasn’t anyone heard of you before?”

“I don’t know?” You fold in on yourself, shaking your head. “Maybe you’re asking the wrong people? I don’t talk much and I keep to myself, usually. If you asked your little rider buddies, that’d be why none of them know me.” Astrid quietly takes this in, seeming to at least believe your words for the time being. “If you want someone likely to know me then ask any of the other carpenters; Odin willing, even ask Gobber! The man’s known me since my first steps onto the docks of the old Berk.”

“Gobber knows you?”

“Yes, Gobber knows me. He knows my whole story. I tried to apprentice under him, but he said he was full up. Introduced me to Skullgar instead.” Astrid remains quiet, eyeing me up. Eventually, she takes a step forward, threateningly pointing a finger toward you.

“Look, if you hurt him-”

“I’m not gonna’ hurt your boyfriend, Astrid.” You interrupt her, shaking your head as you turn away to grab your knife and whittling project once more, angrily taking a swipe at it. “I’d never do anything against my own Chief.” You miss the look of confusion on Astrid’s face, only hearing it in her reply.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You glance up toward her with disbelief, taking another angry slice of wood. “Is that what he said?”

“Sorry then, your ‘husband’ I guess. We don’t talk about you. Or any of his Chief stuff. He just comes to me to-” You huff, shaking your head and looking up at her. “I don’t know why he comes here, ok? Ask him. I’m sorry if it pokes a hole in all of your little plans, but-”

“He’s not mine in any way,” Astrid repeats, crossing her arms. “And if he’s given you that impression then that’s another reason to kick his ass.”

“There’s been no impression-giving of any kind, at least not from him.” You look back to your project, swiping again. “I don’t know anything that happens around here, I just hear rumours.”

“Who-” Astrid is interrupted by three sharp knocks on your front door, and you glance up to see Hiccup standing in the still-open doorway, leaning slightly more to one side and giving an awful impression of a smile.

“Wow! Astrid! Didn’t expect to see you here!” He laughs awkwardly, as if forcing the sound out of his mouth is a struggle. “I was just coming to ask [y/n] here a couple of construction questions. For tomorrow’s workload. You know, Chief things.” He does that awkward laugh again, his eyes bouncing to you for a few seconds before forcing himself to look directly at Astrid. She’s now turned toward him with her glare and her crossed arms, unimpressed.

“Uh-huh. And just where were you, then?”

“I was out. Y’know, in Berk. Wandering around. Doing… Chiefly things.” He stumbles over his answer, shifting his weight from foot to foot. You felt your shoulders slowly relaxing with the spotlight no longer being on you.

“Oh, really? So you talked to Gobber then?”

“Oh, yeah! Of course! I totally did that!”

“So what did he need done then, Hiccup?” You look up to see Hiccup’s eyes widen in fright, his mouth working for an answer that his brain wasn’t providing.

“Look,” You call out to them, feeling uneasy with both sets of eyes suddenly turning toward you. “Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy the company, but if you’re going to argue about things I shouldn’t be privy to know, perhaps you should take this back to Berk?”

“Good idea,” Astrid mumbles, striding forward and roughly taking hold of Hiccup by the bicep, beginning to pull him out. He leaves his attention on you, even as he’s dragged backwards, and he throws a smile your way that shocks the breath out of you. He mouths out the words ‘Thank you’ before bumping his head against the door accidentally. He turns with a yelp of pain, rubbing the back of his head before remembering to grab your door and close it behind the both of them.

It takes a while of sitting on that stool, whittling to your heart's content, before you finally manage to unwind the knot that Astrid had wound up inside of you. You always figured Hiccup’s constant attention on you would lead to some bad news, but you weren’t prepared for his girlfriend- or, rather, his second-in-command to charge into your new home demanding answers you didn’t have. And what was about that? Why was she so adamant that they weren’t together? You thought it was a known thing, something inarguably certain among the Vikings here. Wasn’t Hiccup being pressured to marry before the whole town decided to pack up and move?

You shake your head, trying your best to dispel the thoughts of Astrid and Hiccup from your brain. Surely there’s something here to distract yourself with. You turn toward the bar, reaching to grab your little whittled dragon when you notice instead its disappearance. Checking the floor around the bar, you can't seem to find it. Well, it's gotta be around here somewhere, right?

“You think that’s him?”

You pulled back your hammer, taking in a breath and letting it fly down onto the nail. You were currently helping build the leatherworking shop that Hiccup would most likely take over, nailing boards to the floor. You hadn’t bent a single nail yet this day- a new record! You just hope you can keep it that way.

“Shh, your obnoxious voice is gonna’ give us away!”

“If anyone’s voice is obnoxious it’s yours!”

You could hear some whispered bickering behind you, but you knew it wasn’t aimed toward you. The voices sounded eerily similar, though differing slightly in pitch. You couldn’t quite place them. You pull another nail from the collection hanging between your lips for easy access, holding it in place and taking another swing downward. Another success.

“But how do we know it’s actually him, though?”

“I don’t know, he’s our age and looks handsome enough. That’s what Hiccup said right?”

You almost drop the spare nails, saving yourself from choking on a surprise cough at the mention of Hiccup. Curiosity begins to burn in your stomach, but you can do this. Not everything you do has to be centered around that man. (As if you weren’t currently helping to build his shop- but that didn’t count, you were assigned to be here… Out of the three choices that Skullgar gave you.)

“Is he handsome? I can’t really tell, nothing compares to my beauty.”

“Keep telling yourself that, troll snot.”

“Ow, hey!”

You heard a bit of a scuffle behind you, sucking in a deep breath through your nose and placing the second-to-last nail against the floorboard. Did these people really think they were being quiet? Who were they talking about, saying Hiccup found someone handsome?

“Shhh!” One whisper yelled toward the other, stumbling being heard as one fell to the floor. “You’re going to give away our position!”

“You’re the one who punched me first!”

“We’re on a mission, get it together!”

The last nail is held in place- just hammer this one in and you have the perfect excuse to turn around and peek at whoever is making a ruckus behind you. You lift the hammer, ready to slam it down-

“What was his name again, [y/n]?”

You miss your mark, slamming the hammer down onto the side of your hand instead of the nail, yelping out in pain and dropping the hammer in shock. You shake your hand out, turning immediately to look behind you for the source of your name. Unexpectedly, you spy a couple people around your age that you know to be of the same group of dragon riders that go out on rescue missions with Hiccup sometimes. They look similar- you were mostly sure they were twins- with blonde hair and blue eyes that were set wide and locked directly onto you. The three of you stared at each other for a few beats too long before they both ducked at the same time, trying to hide behind the foundation of the building you were currently kneeling on. You shake your head in confusion, calling out a soft, “Hello? Can I help you?”

“I told you you were too loud-”

“Shut it!”

“Ow-”

“Hey,” You call out again, raising your voice slightly to talk over their bickering, “I can hear you, you know.” You watch as they both slowly raise their heads back up, peaking at you over the floorboards. “You said my name?”

“Well,” The boy began, placing a hand on the floor and hoisting himself up to your level, “We’ve heard a lot about you.” He walks over to where you still knelt down, plopping down next to you and raising an arm to rest against your shoulder. “There’s only so much you can hear about a guy you don’t know before you go mad.”

“Mad with curiosity,” The girl huffed, climbing up onto the floor herself and plopping down in front of you. You lean away from the guy next to you, causing his arm to fall off your shoulder as you look uncertainly between them.

“Someone’s been talking about me?”

“Yeah, Hiccup can’t shut up about you,” The guy insists, and you slowly lower yourself to a sitting position instead of kneeling, getting a bit more comfortable. The girl chimes in, waving her hand around with emphasis.

“Well, technically Astrid brought you up first. She kept asking him about you, then asked us if we knew you-”

“Which we didn’t-”

“But once everyone began to find out that Hiccup’s little hideaway was with you-”

“We thought he kept going out flying with Toothless again-”

“Then he began to get a lot more vocal about you.”

“How skilful you are at carving, how you were homeless and that was just ‘unacceptable’!” The girl snorted a laugh at her brother mimicking Hiccup's voice on the last word, nodding along.

“At least he hadn’t lied about your looks though,” The girl continued, wiggling her eyebrows toward you. Unconsciously you began to lean slightly backward, tilting your head at the two. You finally found your voice, talking slowly and trying to understand the constant back-and-forth.

“I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Oh?” The guy begins with a grin, leaning close into your space, “Is there another carpenter around here that’s our age and goes by the name [y/n]?” You feel your cheeks begin to heat up, looking between the two.

“I feel like I’m at a disadvantage,” You begin, slowly once again. “You both seem to know so much about me and I don’t even know your names.”

“Tuffnut,” The guy blurted out, finally leaning back away from your personal space, placing his hands behind him to prop himself up.

“Ruffnut,” The girl followed up, pointing at herself. She still had a crazy sort of grin on, and you wondered if that was her attempt at being friendly? Or flirting? Either way, she completely missed the mark as you just grew more and more uncomfortable.

“Right,” You begin, looking uneasily between the two of them. “You are the dragon riders that Hiccup goes out with sometimes, right?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tuffnut interjects, pointing a finger at you. “We're security here. We take regular patrols, keep an eye out for the baddies.”

“Everyone keeps an eye out for baddies, Tuffnut,” Ruffnut sighs hopelessly at her brother, then turns her attention back to you with a grin, placing her hands in front of her and scooting herself closer. “We don't have big, strong jobs like yours.” She bats her eyelashes at you, and before you know it you feel yourself scrambling to stand, backing away from them both.

“Alright, well it's been great, but-”

“What? Where are you going so fast?” Ruffnut asks, trying to pout at you. You just shake your head, bending over to grab your hammer and place it in the loop on your apron.

“Work- Uh, carpentry things, y'know.” You take a few steps back, watching Tuffnut stroke his braids like a beard, and Ruffnut huff as if irritated. You throw a hand up, your thumb pointing behind you. “Gotta’ get the… The wood-” Unable to find any words to properly explain your exit, you just give up, turning and walking away from the two.

What in Odin’s name just happened…?

It's certainly peaceful here, you think to yourself. You're walking along the cliff's edge, but far enough away that the drop doesn't send you into a panic. You hear birds chirping, the trills of content dragons, and a low murmuring of people going about their daily lives. You aren't too close to the town, but you could still see it where you stood.

You hadn't seen Hiccup for about a week now, which felt a little weird. It had gotten to a point that he came to visit you daily, so now bereft of his company, you felt a pang of loneliness. It was fine though, you were sure he was doing something important.

You are taking one of your small daily breaks, just taking a peaceful stroll and people-watching. You turn to look at the horizon, water as far as the eye could see.

FIRE

You gasp loudly and stumble back as a ball of fire is suddenly hurtling at top speeds, upward from below the cliff. You fall onto your butt, looking up with wide eyes as the fire begins to hover in the air in front of you. Not a ball of fire- a dragon, coated completely in it. The dragon shakes violently and the fire subsides, leaving the bright red scales and long neck of a Monstrous Nightmare.

Then you notice the man sitting on its back, who suddenly calls down to you.

“You think you're tough, huh?”

You press a hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. You suck in a deep breath, shaking your head at him. You push yourself to stand just as the dragon flies over the cliff, landing down and lowering its head for the man to climb down. You look up- no, down, at this man. He was… kinda short?

“I heard you're a tough guy,” The man continues, taking a few steps forward to poke his finger at your chest. “Well, sucks to be you, ‘cause I'm the toughest guy here.”

“O-kay?” You say, or question, drawing out the vowels. You scrunch your eyebrows together, looking the man up and down. “I'm sorry, do I know you?”

“You should!” He calls out, pressing his fists against his sides. “‘Cause if Hiccup ever fails at being Chief, then I'm going to be the one stepping up to the plate!”

“But,” You hesitate, unsure if you want to argue your point.

“But what?” He shoots back immediately, eyes widened at you. “You think I can't do it?”

“It's not that,” You trail off, tilting your head curiously. “But, wouldn't Astrid step up to be Chief then? Or even Hiccup's mother? I've heard she's around here somewhere.”

“I'll let you know, Valka is actually one hundred percent on board with me being Chief! She loves me!” You purse your lips at this, feeling like it's inaccurate but unable to argue it.

“Alright, well.” You take a small step back, just trying to gain some distance between you and the small man. “It's a good thing I met you then if you'll be Chief someday.” You just play into his antics, hoping his aggression would die down.

“Snotlout!” He yells out, and you flinch at the volume so close to the man.

“Uh, bless you?” You scratch the back of your head, confused.

“No, it's- Ugh, it's my name!” He takes a step forward, closing the distance once again to poke your chest once more. “And you better remember it!” You raise your hands placatingly, nodding your head.

“Of course, yeah, no problem, big guy.” You watch a pleased grin stretch across his face before hearing your name called out behind you. You've never been so grateful for Skullgar than in that moment. “Oh, looks like I'm being called to work. I'll, uh, see you around?” Without waiting for a reply, you spin and start a light jog back to the work area. You hear one last thing from Snotlout, yelling as you gain distance.

“You owe me an arm wrestle!”

You approach slowly, both hands up and in front of you; one holding a sponge frothing with soap, the other a wet washcloth. You take careful steps- this time, anyway, since normal steps apparently didn't work last time- and try to close the distance between the sponge and Grimrar. The dragon eyed you suspiciously, his giant body coated in a purple dust that causes him to sneeze once more.

“Now, just hold still. This will only take a second…” You trail off, taking another step closer before Grimrar’s eyes widen, kicking off the ground and bucking around wildly. You try to dodge an errand wing, windmilling your arms to try to catch yourself before suddenly you fall onto your backside, groaning.

“Why did Skullgar think this was a good idea…?” You complain under your breath, inspecting your arms and wiping some of that purple dust off of you.

“I think you'll have a lot better luck if you approach from the front.” A kind voice startles you, so it takes a few moments for the words to sink in. You turn to see a rather portly Viking, blond-haired and smiling. He was currently leaning forward against Skullgar’s fenceline, looking between you and the dragon.

“Uh, sorry?” You ask, standing and holding the wet sponge and washcloth out, away from your clothes.

“Grimrar, there. If you wanna’ catch him by surprise, it'd be better to approach directly from the front. A blind spot, y'know? Because his eyes are on the side of his head.” The man moves his hands to either side of his head as an indication, and you turn to take a better look at the dragon for yourself.

“Huh,” You huff out, nodding back toward him. “That's really smart- and helpful. Thank you.” You nod toward him, looking back to Grimrar as you try to circle around. Unsurprisingly, he's grown wary and suspicious of you, turning his head to keep you in his eyeline. “Well, that can't be helped I guess.” You huff again, kneeling down into a crouch to take stock of the situation.

“By the way, the name's Fishlegs,” The kind man continues, hopping the fence and beginning to take slow but confident steps toward Grimrar. “I'm one of Hiccup's friends.” I groan, just barely catching myself from facepalming into the sponge in my hand. Huffing, I stand and look toward him warily.

“You're not here to threaten me, are you?” I ask hesitantly, moving back toward the bucket to dip the sponge back in. “Or flirt? One of them did that too.”

“Probably Ruffnut,” Fishlegs guessed accurately, “She's a bit of a wild card. I wouldn't be too worried about her, though, her main focus is on Eret, ‘son of Eret.’” He's now right next to Grimrar, and to your delight, the dragon hasn't bucked once. Fishlegs reaches up, petting the top of its snout before reaching under with the other hand to give scritches to its chin. You're unsure what you've just watched, but Grimrar enjoyed the petting so much that he shook himself down into a puddle on the ground, completely relaxed. “There you go should be good to go.” He dusts his hands of the purple powdered stuff, looking at you with another smile. “And no, not here to threaten. Just trying to help.”

You can't help the pleased smile that crosses your face, moving up next to Fishlegs. Grimrar doesn't move from his splayed-out position, even once you place the sponge against his scales. “Well thank you,” You nod to him with a genuine smile, taking up your task with renewed vigour. “What's with all of you dragon riders wanting to meet me so bad?”

“Oh, no,” Fishlegs tries to correct, raising his hands. “I wasn't trying to follow you around or anything. I live right across from Skullgar down that way,” He makes a gesture, and you take a quick glance before refocusing on the dragon. “I was heading down to the Hall when I saw you struggling, just figured I'd offer some friendly help.”

“Well it's certainly appreciated, thank you.” You smile back at him, moving away to grab your bucket of soapy water, heaving it over closer to the dragon. You dip the sponge, continuing your work on the other side.

“But,” Fishlegs continues, and you glance over with raised eyebrows. “I think the reason you're being hounded with all of us is likely Hiccup's fault.” I blush slightly, turning my attention back toward the dragon, trying to play it off. Fishlegs continues, but you swear you could hear a smile in his voice. “Once Astrid found out where he keeps running off to, Hiccup couldn't stop talking about you. House designs, carpentry ideas- he even gushed about the fact that you knew next to nothing about dragons. This would normally seem like a bad thing to someone as obsessed with dragons as Hiccup, but he enjoyed being able to teach you everything about them. Something about how your ‘curiosity is insatiable,’ and how your ‘eyes light up as bright as dragon’s fire' when you hear about something you like.”

By the end of his long tirade, you felt both embarrassed but strangely pleased. There was so much to unpack about everything you just heard- but not while covered in purple dust.

“That's… Very interesting,” You struggle to find the right words, settling just for that. You finish washing the face of the dragon gently, checking over him to make sure you got every scale. “I think the twins said something similar.”

“Well, that makes sense. They do complain the most when it comes to Hiccup’s raving.” You huff a laugh under your breath, finally dropping the sponge and washcloth into the bucket and taking a look at yourself.

“And as much as I'm enjoying this conversation, I should really go get cleaned up.” You smile toward Fishlegs, giving an awkward wave.

“Sure, see ya’ around!” He does a quick wave in return, turning to continue his way toward the Great Hall. You huff in frustration, looking back down at yourself. ‘This purple pollen is gonna’ take forever to get off of my clothes!’

Hiccup was back! He had been away for close to a month on some sort of scouting mission, according to the rumours. You could’ve just asked to make sure, but you felt hesitant in doing so. They would’ve asked why you wanted to know, and you didn’t have a good answer besides, ‘I miss him,’ so you decided to instead pretend as if everything was fine. And it was fine! You obviously could withstand a month away from your crush.

You only knew Hiccup was back because Toothless had flown right over your home as you were about to enter inside, finished with your day of work. They were a black blur above you, but the call of the Night Fury was unmistakable, and you turned to watch them fly toward the town before vanishing among the trees. You bite your lip, holding back a smile. If he was back, does that mean he would visit? You were excited to see him but didn’t know when that would be. If he was going into town, then it couldn’t hurt to visit him for once? He had always kept inviting you to the Great Hall anyway, what hurt could that do?

You leave your home without even entering it, turning and making your way back to the town. You jogged some of the distance, trying to tell yourself to temper your expectations. He might be busy, unavailable for you to pester. Or, he could be wandering around to tell everyone he was back and would be excited to see you. You pulled in a deep breath at that daydream, trying to push it away. Whatever happens, it’ll be fine. If Hiccup was busy, you could just go to the Great Hall for some dinner.

You finally exit the copse of trees between your house and the town, walking into the darkly lit area. Dragons mulled around in some places, casting large shadows across the ground and staring at you wearily. A few other people were walking through the town, though you expected they were all just trying to make it home themselves. You’re finally closing in on the Great Hall, hearing a ruckus of laughter and cheering from inside. Toothless sat outside the building, grooming himself before glancing up to look directly at you.

You freeze midstep, your eyes growing wider as Toothless stares at you. You’re unsure what to do, having never actually met the dragon before, personally. It was just the two of you out here- the sounds of your fellow Vikings just inside the big door, out of reach- and you felt more vulnerable than most other times in your life. This was one of, if not the, deadliest dragon known to man. And he was staring at you with wide green eyes as if determining your worth for himself. Finally, after a few minutes, Toothless turns away and resumes his previous task.

You couldn’t help the large sigh of relief you let out, slowly inching your way closer to the door. Toothless made no more moves to acknowledge you, and you felt relieved by it. Pushing into the Great Hall, you hadn’t seen everyone so lively in such a long time. Though granted, you hadn’t been here for every other end of the day, when the Vikings were finally able to let off a little steam. Most of the older ones were drinking, but you finally spied a table farther in the back, surrounded by all of Hiccup’s friends you had just recently met. The twins, Snoutlout, Fishlegs, and even Astrid sat in a circle around the table, laughing loudly and talking amongst themselves.

It is when Fishlegs stands, pushing away from the table and walking to a nearby buffet that you see him. Hiccup is sitting between Fishlegs’ empty seat and Astrid, laughing and shaking his head toward the twins as they begin to wrestle around, likely in some sort of disagreement. He is holding a cup out, moving to take a drink from it when his eyes scan the room, settling on you. You can see his eyes widen slightly before he slams his cup onto the table, the liquid inside splashing up and over the rim of the cup. You laugh and begin to approach as you watch him look down with surprise, then begin to stutter an apology toward Astrid, who had unfortunately been caught in the crossfire. That glare you knew so well was back on her face, though it seemed contrasted with a grudging familiarity and acceptance of Hiccup’s antics.

You hear a barely-there, “Excuse me one second,” From Hiccup before he spins and moves to make his way to you. Except, in the time it took him to clean his spill and apologize, you had closed most of the distance already. So, he spins and moves to step forward, then tries to catch himself as he notices you are already right behind him. His arms windmill, and you reach out to grasp his hip to keep him from falling over.

“Hey, there. Going somewhere?” You ask, with a smile, forgetting to remove your hand right away. You could see a blush lighting up his cheeks, but it was likely from the alcohol he was drinking, not anything you were doing. If he even was drinking alcohol.

“No,” Hiccup stutters out, clearing his throat and standing straighter. You realise where your hand is with his movement, and quickly pull it back to your side. He smiles, taking a small step forward to lean into your space. “I saw you come in! You’re finally here, you’re actually taking me up on my offer?”

“To have dinner in the public eating house?” You chuckle, trying to make a joke, and Hiccup shakes his head with his big smile.

“To eat here and share my table. I can introduce you-”

“Oh, he knows us!” You turn at the loud voice, finally noticing that every person at the table- including Fishlegs, who returned with a massive pile of food for the center of the table- was watching both you and Hiccup with varying emotions across their faces. Astrid and Ruffnut looked annoyed, Fishlegs pleased, meanwhile, Tuffnut and Snoutlout looked almost mischievous, with wide smiles. You realize it was Tuffnut who had called out, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“He does?” Hiccup asked slowly, his eyebrows raising, accompanying a look that almost portrayed fear. But why would he be afraid of that?

“Sure does!” Tuffnut answers and Ruffnut stands suddenly, pushing her brother’s head before moving to sit next to Astrid. The two girls lean in close together, whispering. Fishlegs continued to look on with a pleased expression, nodding as he reached for a large hunk of meat.

“Yeah, he met all of us over time while you were gone.” Fishlegs agreed, and you laughed nervously.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” You agree, turning your attention back toward Hiccup. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, so you proceed to explain. “There was Astrid that day that she was looking for you. But then Ruffnut and Tuffnut found me working a few days later. Snotlout was on the back of his dragon and was flying by when he noticed me.” I smile toward Fishlegs, waving my hand in his direction. “And Fishlegs actually helped out a lot with one of the tasks Skullgar gave me the other day.”

“Oh! That's,” Hiccup hesitates, looking between you and the table before nodding, “Yeah, that’s good.” He doesn’t sound too confident in his words, but you nod along anyway. “I was actually going to introduce them to you! At- uh, at some point.”

“Sure you were, Hiccup,” Tuffnut called out, much too loud in your opinion.

“Wha-” Hiccup hesitates, looking unsure of himself. “Why don’t you take a seat?” Hiccup moves toward the table quickly, pulling out the only chair left- between Fishlegs and Tuffnut. He gestures to it with a smile before hopping delicately over to his seat, on the other side of Fishlegs. You sit down, reaching toward the middle to grab something small you could pretend to eat, just for something to do. Tuffnut immediately leans in close to you, invading your personal space.

“So, tell us about yourself [y/n], we’re all dying to hear.” You hesitate, then look up to the rest of the table staring at you still. Hiccup also scans the table, noticing the same with a wince and a sympathetic look toward you.

“Oh, well,” You hesitate, placing your food down on the table gently. “I just moved to Berk recently- right before the whole town moved actually.”

“Well, we know that,” Snotlout complains, leaning forward over the table. With how much of his chest you could see hanging over the table, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was standing on his chair to appear taller. “Hiccup told us that one already. Tell us something new!”

“Yeah, where are you from, anyway?” Tuffnut asks, still leaning into your space. You look quickly toward Hiccup and Fishlegs, both of whom have their eyebrows pulled together, cringing at their friends’ questions.

“Oh, I’m from, uh,” You hesitate, moving your gaze toward the table and idly playing with your food. “Just, somewhere pretty far away. I rode on a boat- well, a few boats. It took weeks before I finally found somewhere I felt safe enough to call home.” The table around you was quiet, contrasted by the reverberating crowd surrounding the group of you in the Great Hall. Cheers and calls were being thrown around, too loud and too many to distinguish any of the crowd’s words in the background. It was Ruffnut who broke the silence of your table.

“Well, that’s extremely unspecific of you.” She crosses her arms, disappointment clear across her face. You could only shrug, picking your food back up. Astrid’s voice across the table startles you, unaware that she has been listening.

“She’s right. It was. Why don’t you tell us the name of where you’re from?”

“Astrid,” Hiccup interrupts quietly, raising a hand to her arm with an expression that was clearly asking her to stop. She only tugs her arm away from him, standing and placing her hands on the table in front of her, leaning closer to you.

“No, I want to know. Why won’t you tell anyone where you’re from? Got something to hide, [y/n]? Planning something you don’t want us to find out about?” Her glare is back, which really is the only expression you recognize on her now. Her laughter from earlier had seemed awkward to you, but you had preferred that over this. She was questioning you again, but now in front of all of her friends. And Hiccup. He looked horrified up at Astrid, but he wasn’t stopping her.

“I-” You begin before Fishlegs reaches out to press a hand to your arm. You look at him to see a hard expression on his face, looking directly at Astrid.

“Leave him alone,” His voice is so contrasted to what you are used to- that kind and soft voice replaced by something cold and hard. “You’re better than this, Astrid.”

“I’m just asking-” Astrid throws her hands out, changing the target of her glare.

“No, you're interrogating.” Fishlegs removes his hand from you, and you can’t help feeling a pounding in your chest similar to adrenaline. “He lives in Berk, with us. He’s not evil, he’s not plotting anything, and he certainly isn’t causing a scene like you are.” You are surprised at the strength he exhibits, watching him with new eyes. You could see Astrid’s shoulders slumping. It takes her a bit of incoherent stammering, but she eventually rests her eyes on you again.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” She sits back down slowly, Ruffnut reaching out to rub her back. Your heart was still hammering, but you felt like you had to say something.

“I ran away from home.” Well, that certainly was not something you should’ve said. Every single head turns toward you, everyone but Fishlegs leaning forward over the table to get closer, to hear anything else. “To, uh,” You stutter slightly at the attention, feeling a blush heat up your cheeks. “To answer your question. That’s why I don’t want to say where I’m from.”

The lot of them lean back slowly, realizing they aren’t going to get a story after all. You let out a soft breath as Astrid nods, and you can see her expression opening slightly as if she is beginning to finally trust you. You aren’t sure how you feel about that, but you figure it couldn’t hurt. You finally let your eyes roam back to Hiccup, who once again has a pinched expression and seems antsy, staring between you and the door to the Great Hall. You wondered if he wished the both of you were alone together once again- just like you were wishing for.

“Bet you wished you ran away from home,” Tuffnut called over the table toward his sister, a sinister smirk stretching across his face. Ruffnut groans, calling out her own answer back about how she’d rather he ran away so she could have their dragon for herself, and the rest of them broke into laughter. The conversation naturally progressed, and it was like you had a front-row seat to Hiccup interacting with his friends. It was different, seeing him in a setting that wasn’t just the two of you, or out in town performing as Chief. He was just a guy here, sitting with his friends and enjoying the night. It was nice, to see this side of him.

The common thread of every conversation was the same: dragons. Each one had their own dragon (although the twins shared one with differing names), and each dragon had its own behaviours and personalities that caused clashes with not just each other, but with other dragons and its own rider as well. You thought they all were living happily ever after with their dragon, but it was almost as if every single one of them had an oppressive roommate who treated them like pets instead of the other way around.

Currently, Astrid was going on about her dragon, Stormfly, who had been pouting in her backyard for the last two days, refusing to fly, all because Astrid had forbidden him from eating her next-door neighbour’s lamb. She’s whining, and the table is commiserating, trying to come up with some sort of plan to fix the situation.

“I still think you should just feed him a lamb.”

“Tuffnut!” Astrid called out, reaching over to smack him in the head, “I just said I don’t want to kill my neighbour’s lamb! He just got it, and I want to be a good neighbour!”

“Not his lamb!” Tuffnut argues, jumping up and away from the table, dancing out of reach. “Just any lamb! Buy one and feed her that!”

“No,” Hiccup warns, shaking his head with an amused smile, “That’s setting a dangerous precedent. Soon, all she’ll agree to eat will be lambs. Then the other dragons will get jealous, and before we know it we won’t have any of them left. That’s why I put those feeding rules in place, we have to be careful.” He explains this like it's only natural, the easiest thing in the world, and reaches down for another bite. You shift in your seat slightly, watching him. He seems so… adult. He’s not fumbling his words or awkwardly tripping over; he has a confidence with his friends that makes you almost jealous, but mainly just curious, like you couldn’t help but want to see more.

“Well, then I’m out of ideas!” Tuffnut threw his hands in the air in defeat, and everyone at the table laughed. You glanced around, feeling slightly out of place during these conversations. The only dragon info you really had was what Hiccup had supplied to you. Tuffnut plops back into his seat with a huff, shaking his head. “How do you get a dragon to stop eating lamb?”

“You spike it with something gross?” You throw out, causing both Astrid and Hiccup to whip their gazes onto you.

“What do you mean?” Astrid asks, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. You shrug, thinking out loud.

“I mean, if I had something I was eating, that suddenly tasted like the grossest thing in the world, then I don’t think I’d end up craving that food anymore.” You hesitate at their stares, shrugging again, “Personally, anyway.”

“Well, how would we even do that, though?” Astrid asks, genuinely curious. Hiccup puts his food down, watching you with intention. You can’t tell what’s running through his head, but you were just hoping not to make a fool of yourself.

“Well, do dragons eat dead things? Or just hunt for living creatures to eat?” You purse your lips in thought, looking up to escape the sight of everyone watching you. Tuffnut begins to laugh but stops once Ruffnut elbows him harshly.

“They eat dead creatures, yeah. We’ve been trying to train them out of hunting, at least while they’re at the village, so they mostly eat things we’ve prepared for them.” Hiccup answers, smiling toward you with encouragement. You nod, then pick up your food, gesturing with it as you speak.

“Well, then, stick an eel inside a sheep.” You take a bite, looking around at the confusion on everyone’s faces. “Like, chop it up and stuff the inside with it?”

“Stick an eel…” Ruffnut begins, with her twin following up,

“In a sheep…”

“That’s a brilliant idea!” Astrid calls out, and you watch in shock as a genuine smile spreads across her face, caused by you. You never thought you’d see the day.

“It really is,” Hiccup whispers breathlessly as he stares at you, so quiet you question whether he had actually said it or not. Fishlegs elbows Hiccup’s ribs, who in turn startles and looks down at the table, his face heating in a blush. You wondered what that was about, but felt pleased as the rest of the table began to congratulate you on your idea. Astrid shortly excused herself, calling out her need to execute this plan immediately.

No one else seemed ready to leave, even after they all finished eating. The Great Hall’s population was dwindling down slowly, but you felt warm, comfortable and safe among your new friends. And you couldn’t help it- you finally, truly believed they were your friends. They joked with you, including you in conversations even when you didn’t know most of the things they were talking about. Snotlout personally was a fan of telling you stories, gesturing largely with his hands and making a show of it. Fishlegs interrupted with corrections to the story or trivia bits, while the twins held responsibility for the comedic one-liners, inserting at points to make the table laugh again and again.

The fires were dying down and everyone seemed to be settling down, having quieter conversations with each other. No longer joining in, but enjoying their company, you pull out your little whittling project and set to work. It was Snotlout who noticed, bringing it up.

“You carving something over there, carpenter?” You look up to see all of them turn to look, Tuffnut leaning close to you to spy why you were holding under the table. You laugh, bringing it up for all of them to see. It was a sitting dragon, fashioned after Grimrar this time (as he was the one dragon you were most familiar with), with his front legs pulled together in front of him and wings spread out halfway. His details weren’t finished yet, but the general shape of the dragon was formed.

“Just a gift.” You smile, shrugging, setting the dragon on the table to test its weight. It took many tries to get it to stay upright and sitting evenly. But now it stood like a tiny idol or doll, staring blankly ahead.

“Oh,” Ruffnut drawls out, leaning her face close to the dragon to inspect it. “Which dragon is this?”

“It’s Grimrar!” Fishlegs calls out before you answer, reaching and snatching it off the table. “The wings are slightly smaller than his wingspan, and his snout is a little thinner, but you definitely have done a great job!” Fishlegs sets the dragon back on the table, looking at it again with a smile. You nod, agreeing that it was, as Fishlegs explains to the rest of them who exactly Grimrar was.

“Oh, you have to carve me one! Hookfang would be a perfect sculpture!” Snotloud called out, leaning across the table in excitement. “How big can you make it? As big as a house?”

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Ruffnut calls out, pushing Snotlout back down into his seat.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I could carve anything bigger than this,” You pick the project back up, waving it in emphasis. “But I’ll see what I can do? I can’t promise anything though.” At this, both of the twins begin scrambling toward you, begging for you to make one for them as well. They begin arguing with each other about the features that the idol should exhibit, both wanting emphasis on either head as the ‘better’ one. You just laugh, shaking your head and tuning them out as you move your attention back to your project. Now that they knew of it, you figured you’d better finish the details quickly and give it to Skullgar before he hears about it from someone else.

The night finally draws to a close as Snotlout begins snoring on the table, the rest of your friends finally standing and moving to the exit. Everyone seems tired, Hiccup especially, and you know you’re going to regret how long you stayed up when it comes to work tomorrow. Although, you were due for a day off at some point. Surely it’d be fine if you slept in tomorrow. Everyone said their goodbyes at the doors to the Great Hall, Toothless sleeping in a ball nearby. Hearing Hiccup’s voice, he begins to stretch and stand, leisurely making his way closer to Hiccup. As you turn to leave, a hand on your arm stops you.

“Hey, why don’t I walk you back?” You turn to see Hiccup’s eyes- a simmering juniper colour in this low lighting. The night was dark, and there was only one torch on the wall nearby. You hesitate, remembering how tired he was.

“I’ll be ok Hiccup, you go get some sleep.” He just shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“Please?” This causes you to pause, watching his eyes and wondering if you’re really reading desperation in them. “It’s a long walk through the forest, I don’t know if I’d be able to sleep without knowing you made it home safely.” Your eyes glance away from him, scanning his retreating friends in the distance.

“But what about the rest of your friends? Not worried about them?”

“They live in town,” Hiccup argues, sounding uninterested in them, “And they have dragons.”

“Sure,” You agree, unwilling to argue with him further. You knew you just craved more of his attention, having not seen him in so long and being surrounded by people when you finally did. As you both begin to walk, you hear Toothless following behind you. Your shoulders become stiff over time, uncomfortable with an unknown dragon so close to your defenceless back.

But nothing happens. It is a quiet walk, and you move to carry a torch but Hiccup took it before you could so he was holding it up between you. The circle of light it gives off was eerie, almost like you both had your own little bubble away from the world. Well- the three of you, as Toothless slunk low to the ground behind you both. It was only when your house was coming into view that Hiccup finally spoke up.

“I’ve been arguing with myself all night, but I have to ask.” You turn to look, your eyebrows raised as he tries to give you an imploring smile. “Will you carve a little Toothless idol for me?” You see Toothless raise his head out of the corner of your eye, looking at you and tilting his head sideways.

“Oh,” You begin, laughing at the unexpected request. “Speaking of, I actually have something for you.” You watch his face get overtaken by surprise, quickly raising your hands. “Uh, not Toothless though. I carved something else. From memory. It’s probably not very good, actually-”

“I’d love to see it,” Hiccup interrupts your rambling, smiling brightly at you. You suddenly become nervous, those nerves growing the closer you get to your house.

“Ok, just,” You huff out a nervous breath, trying to smile for him, “Temper your expectations, I probably got a lot of it wrong.” You push open your door, wandering inside your house. It's a bit more messy than the last time he was here, but in a way that shows it's lived-in now. You move directly toward the shelf beside the bar, picking up the idol you just finished carving the other day. It was supposed to be Stoick the Vast, carved from your memory of that giant statue that had stood on the old Berk island. He was a rather large man, with a long beard, a small bull-horned helmet, and holding the handle of an axe with the head on the ground in front of his feet. You’d added details- curves in his beard, decorated armour, and bulging muscles.

You’d heard a lot about the previous Chief. You never met the man, but still had fierce respect for him. The stories told of him were grand and awe-inspiring. He was the Chief who had protected his town from dragon attacks. He had killed so many and protected so many others, it was no wonder there were so many stories to tell. But just as well, there were stories of him being gentle. Caring for a baby Hiccup and touring him all around Berk. Accepting Hiccup’s love for dragons in the end, and helping implement this new lifestyle, surrounded and loved by dragons until the end.

You hold it out toward Hiccup, avoiding his eyes as you move behind the bar, emptying your pockets onto the counter. Hiccup approaches the bar slowly, staring at the figure in his hand silently. He taps the bar with his other hand, curled into a fist, and you wonder if this was a bad idea. Then you hear a sniff. Hiccup looks up, tears clear in his eyes, and smiles sadly toward you.

“I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Oh,” You begin, shaking your head, “You don’t have to. I just hope I remembered it correctly. He was your dad, wasn’t he?” Hiccup nods in response, looking back down to the figure and tracing the curves with his finger. He laughs softly, placing it on the bar upright.

“You should make one for yourself.” You tilt your head curiously, confused by his meaning. He continues, explaining, “You should carve your parents into one of these. So they can watch over you while you’re here.” Your face drops, immediately looking away from Hiccup. You feel restless and start walking around the bar and away from Hiccup.

“No,” You shake your head, moving to start tending to your fireplace. “That’s fine. I’d rather carve the dragons.”

“But,” Hiccup hesitates, looking between you and the gift he received. “I didn’t know how much I needed this until it was in my hand. Maybe you just don’t know-”

“Hiccup,” You interrupt, feeling your heart start to pound in your chest. “I’m so thankful you like the gift, but not everyone had close relations with their family like you did.” It is quiet behind you as Hiccup takes this in, and then you feel a hand touch your shoulder. It startles you since you hadn’t even heard him approach.

“I’m sorry,” He’s apologizing, and it sends a twinge of guilt through your stomach. You finally look away from the fire, up into his eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You sigh, taking his hand from your shoulder and pulling him toward a bench nearby. You sit down, and Hiccup quickly sits next to you. You could hear some sort of rustling outside, the bobbing head of Toothless out of the window seeming to have found something to entertain himself with.

“Don’t be sorry,” You whisper, pulling your attention away from the window and back to him. “You didn’t know.” He moves to interject, but you touch his hand again and he falls silent. “My relationship with my parents was never close, but,” You take a deep breath, staring into the fire. “They disowned me.”

“What?” You could spy Hiccup shaking his head in confusion out of the corner of your eye, but your attention was stuck to the fire, the image of those days playing out in your head. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t what they wanted me to be.” You take another deep breath, turning to look into his eyes. “I was born with a girl’s body.” You watch his confusion dip even further, and you feel panic rising in your chest with every word that spills out. “I am a boy, as you and everyone else have noticed. But I grew up with the expectations from my family that I’d be a woman because I was born in this body.” You sigh, shaking your head and looking back toward the flickering flames. “They trained me as they would any of their children, teaching me how to defend myself and fight with a battleaxe. They taught me where to slice a dragon open to kill it with one hit, and how to lay traps that would capture anything that walked over it. They trained me, sure, but they never loved or cared for me.”

Hiccup remains silent, and you don’t even notice as tears begin to spill onto your cheeks as you continue your distant stare into the fire. “When I came out to them,” You began, sucking in a breath and having to steel yourself to continue, “They thought it was a joke at first, laughed. Then they told me no, I couldn’t be a boy. That I wasn’t allowed. I don’t know what they thought, that I could just stop being who I am?” You sniff, finally closing your eyes and dropping your gaze, feeling tears splash down onto your hands in your lap. “I started dressing more masculine, and it just felt right. It didn’t take long for them to have had enough. They gave me an ultimatum. ‘Stop playing dress up, or leave.’” You huffed out a desperate laugh, but it wasn’t funny to you. You didn’t know what else to do. “So I left.”

“[y/n],” Hiccup whispers your name with so much emotion, that you finally raise your gaze back to him. You couldn’t read the mixture of emotions on his face, but he looked pretty. And concerned for you.

“It’s okay Hiccup,” You whisper out, shrugging. “I began binding my chest, packed all the masculine clothes that I owned, and took the next boat out.” Staring into Hiccup’s face, you hear yourself spew out, “I haven’t regretted a second of it.”

“Really?” Hiccup asks with feeling, leaning forward toward you.

“This Berk feels more like home than anywhere else ever has,” You finally admit, able to pull a real smile to the surface. Hiccup raises his hand, gently wiping the tear tracks from your cheeks. After, he lets out a long breath, looking at your fireplace and reaching to throw a log on top.

“So does anyone else know?”

“Well,” You begin, wagging your head from side to side in consideration. “Gobber knows. I don’t know if he told anyone, but I have a suspicion that Skullgar knows as well.” Hiccup’s eyebrows raise to comical heights.

“Gobber? Gobber knew this? For how long?”

“Since the moment I got to Berk.” You softly laugh at his expression, glad to have gotten that off of your chest and not have Hiccup leave you in the cold. You don’t think he realizes your immense gratitude for just accepting your story and not questioning your gender- he hadn’t even made a big deal of it. The only thing that mattered to him was your parents disowning you, like only that thought was unimaginable and not any of the rest. “Maybe not the second I stepped off of the boat, but I began to ask around for handiwork I could help with. Gobber found me, practically drowning in my own tears and fright, and calmed me down. I couldn’t help it, I spewed out my whole story for him to hear. He didn’t judge me or anything, even helped me get my apprenticeship under Skullgar.” You smile softly, tilting your head. “I owe him a lot.”

“Wow,” Hiccup whispers, sinking back onto the bench and looking at you with amazement. “You’ve been through so much just to end up here.”

“It’s okay, really,” You insist, reaching to take his hand with yours, holding it. “I’ve built myself a life here that I actually enjoy. I have friends now, people who actually enjoy my company. I don’t have to kill things on a weekly basis, and no one questions my outfit choices anymore.” You chuckle softly, thinking back. “Honestly, I was sort of suppressed and numb back then. I don’t remember ever feeling happy.”

“But you’re happy here?” Hiccup asks, leaning forward as if this meant the world to him, as if you hadn’t been already trying to convince him of this fact. You laugh, squeezing his hand and nodding.

“Yes, I’m happy here, Hiccup.” He lets out a breath of relief, his shoulders slumping along. You can’t help the smile that crosses your face, surprised about it after having just talked about your past life. “There’s so much more to this world than I could’ve imagined.”

“Well,” Hiccup begins, smirking and shrugging a shoulder, and you pull your hand back lest he think something ridiculous- like how you have a massive crush on him that’s getting harder to suppress. “It’s actually a lot more than even this.” He gestures around your house, but likely indicating the entire town of Berk. He has that smile on that usually means he’s thinking of dragons again. “When you go flying, you really can see how big this world is. Everything seems so small in comparison. Like, it’s not the end of the world if you end up making a mistake, y’know?”

You study his posture, wondering how often he went flying when he got anxious about his chiefly duties and responsibilities. Did he go flying to calm himself down, or did he get energized with the wind in his face? He had mentioned a map he was currently drawing out once before, and your curiosity burned to see how much of the world he has explored, how big the drawing had gotten. You begin to yearn to see him like that, in his element and happy. You wanted to feel that, while also seeing him at his happiest-

“I think I’m ready to go flying with you.”

Hiccup sits straight up, his hands reaching out to take both of yours with an overwhelmingly excited expression. “Wait, really? Seriously?” You laugh at his excitement, nodding your head.

“Yeah. I mean, Toothless doesn’t seem to mind me that much. And,” You shrug, chuckling again, “I have to admit, you’ve got me curious.”

“Yes!” Hiccup cheered, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air. “Yes, definitely! Tomorrow?” You tilt your head, consideringly, then nod.

“Sure. I’m due for a day off. Why not?”

His expression was almost more than you could take, so filled with excitement and hope and love. You wanted to grab him and hug him, wanted to take his face into your hands and press a kiss to those upturned lips, you wanted- You cut yourself off with a shake of your head, standing and facing him. He took your hands once more, staring deep into your eyes. “You won’t regret it.”

Hiccup was going to end up the death of you, you were sure of it.

TAG LIST: @lecoindetobi , @yakosobaboba ,

#how to train your dragon #fanfiction #hiccup x reader #hiccup x m!reader #hiccup x ftm!reader #astrid hofferson #snotlout jorgenson #fishlegs ingerman #tuffnut thorston #ruffnut thorston #carpenter!reader #awkward!Hiccup #meeting friends #mutual pining #fear of falling chapter two #tw: transphobia #tw: bad family life #sad backstory #sorry my guys

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manicpixiefelix · 8 months

Note

The Cattons and Reader were definitely in attendance for the wedding in Crazy Rich Asians 💍

Ooft the absolute role reversal tho, because I love the Cattons, but I don't think they're important enough outside of the UK to warrant an invite. Like yes they have land and a title, but the guest list includes billionaires and Princesses of entire countries, you know? Elspeth, James, and Venetia unfortunately do not get an invite, but are well aware of the event, of course.

Farleigh gets an invite because I believe that he genuinely became friends with Colin (the groom) and Araminta (the bride) during Oxford (despite his well known crush on Nick Young), and because of his tangential attachment to the reader. Felix gets an invite for a similar reason, but mostly because they want to skip the formality/possibly insult of just assuming he would be the reader's plus one. because the Reader is The Big Name to get invited from their Group. The kind of invite that makes their parents call them and tell them "if you don't go your grandfather will be rolling in his GRAVE" when they literally don't even call at holidays or birthdays.

Farleigh showing his own weird selfish kind of caring as he advises Reader and Felix not to bring Oliver along - "you think our family is bad? They will eat him fucking alive, and leave you lovesick bastards with only bones; if you love Oliver as much as you claim, you won't subject him to Colin and Araminta's wedding festivities bullshit" (Oliver is Right There when he says this btw; he's also very offended, you've all been together for ten years, he knows how to handle rich people bullshit by now)

Manifesting Farleigh & Rachel Chu friendship btw. He absolutely fucking adores her and does tell her about his crush on Nick from 10 years ago, but is genuinely so happy for them and stands with her against all the over the top Rich People bullshit and mind games.

Also Farleigh, Cousin Oliver, and Peik Lin power trio.

(also Cousin Oliver ends up l rather enamored with Your Oliver, thinks he's so charming and cute and novel. Everyone here calls your Oliver 'Ollie' to distinguish.)

Also this got SO MUCH LONGER than I intended holy shit I love this and I just wanted to talk about you and Ollie and Felix and the Crazy Rich Asians AU, so it's under the cut;

But again I just want to see that role reversal of absolutely everyone who's anyone who's part of the wedding knowing who Reader is but no-one knowing either of the boys on their arms (very occasionally someone will recognise Felix, but it's so rare). You prepare for parties back home, and often abroad if you have to, but you have always shrunk away from any kind of spotlight or acknowledgement of your true status. Felix has seen it once or twice when you were still teenagers, but it wasn't at big events. Never on this scale.

"Oh, surprised to see this," Cousin Oliver, with Rachel Chu's arm tucked in his by the bar in the Young's home, Farleigh practically draped over his shoulder while they're both drinking martinis and giving Rachel the family gossip, has spotted you, Felix, and Ollie. Farleigh snorts. Rachel, confused, asks what's surprising, "didn't think they'd show their face...s here."

"Who are they?" Rachel asks directly this time, watching Eleanor, Nick's mother approach you, and you give her a warm smile, which she barely returns with her handshake, though it's more than Rachel feels like she got.

"A representative of one of the family's oldest international friends and business partners, and our second biggest controversy of the events to come, of course behind you snagging the crown prince, dear," Oliver says with a wry smile, taking another sip of his drink before he pats Rachel's hand.

Across the way, all three of them watch Ollie grab Felix's attention to fix his bowtie, and both of them appear to talk quietly together for a moment, Felix's hand on Ollie's arm, who rests his free hand atop that in a fond familiarity. Every so often they glance at you, the way you're glowing with confidence as you speak so easily to the icy matriarch, both of them with such adoration and pride in their eyes.

"Tell me you're kidding," Farleigh rolls his eyes, finishing his own drink, but Cousin Oliver's insistent.

"The elusive sole heir to the Y/L/N multi-national media and technology empire? Who has managed to evade real publicity for decades until now," Oliver turns his head just barely to raise an expectant eyebrow at Farleigh's disbelief, "bringing two little boyfriends to the biggest event in our part of the world in recent history?"

Farleigh orders another, much stronger drink after that. Least of all because he's never in his life heard his cousin referred to so dismissively as the 'little boyfriend' of anyone.

Yeah.... Honestly apart from Elspeth and Sir James, obviously, you'd never made it entirely clear Exactly how big of a deal your family is.

So its the first proper time Farleigh, Felix, or Ollie has seen you embrace your true status and all that comes with it, allowing yourself to be confident and eye catching and flex your status and well honed event preparatory skills on a whole other level.

They got a little taste of it in the week before you all left, as you had pulled all three of them in at various times to talk about their wardrobe for the time that they were there. You'd hired a tailor to come to the house and ordered not only custom suits, but even tailored casual wear, an entire wardrobes worth of clothes for every single one of them that would be sent directly to the hotels you'd be staying at while there. They barely needed to pack a thing. Not only were the clothes of expensive material and quality, and fit perfectly, but you'd absolutely nailed each and every one of their styles and requests. The fact that you hadn't even mentioned money, simply said that all the clothes were theirs, for the event and forever if they wanted them, and Elspeth and Sir James seemed a little startled by the gesture when Farleigh and Felix told them, that gives a hint of not only what you're worth, but the expectations and eyes that will be on you at the event.

And they are. Everyone's eyes are on you, and you meet each and every gaze without flinching. You know everyone and their business. You are truly a sight to behold. This is the first time Felix genuinely understands what people mean when they say he's like the sun; the effortless charm and warmth and confidence you exude at all these events is Oxford!Felix but tenfold.

(however it does take a toll on you; after a lot of the big events you tend to get incredibly clingy and can become semi- or even entirely nonverbal, sometimes shutting down altogether. do I low-key headcanon the reader as neurodivergent because I am and can't really write neurotypical characters? YES. the point is Ollie and Felix learn very quickly that the minute other people can't see you all, usually once you're all in the car on the way back to the hotel, you'll be clinging to one or both of them. they understand how much this is effecting you, but very quietly are endeared and a bit amused by how much you clearly hate being seen as The Sun, the Most Important One in their relationship dynamic)

(also to make up for this, on days when you can just chill out and go sight seeing, or spend time with Nick and Rachel, or Colin and Araminta, in ways that are far more low-key, your real dynamic shines through. Felix and Oliver will take the lead (Oliver's grown much more confident and comfortable within your relationship and his place in this rich people's world to interact and form genuine bonds and connections with the people around you and Felix) and you're happy to just relax and trust them and enjoy genuine conversations.)

(Rachel Chu was incredibly intimidated by you when she first met you, but is shocked to meet you again in a low-key environment, and realises she enjoys your company far more there. Also she and Oliver have a weird fondness for each other. No-one quite knows how they get along so well despite their "common" upbringings, which are otherwise vastly different.)

But also the reader being able to properly let go and not give a shit about their reputation or how they're meant to act at Colin's bachelor party. Them being so ready to lose their mind, and them being so grateful to Nick's cousin Eddie for throwing it all together (and unfortunately not noticing that Colin and Nick aren't having a great time... But they get to have their little helicopter chill bros getaway, Ollie, Felix, and Reader get to enjoy the party barge with everyone else). Cousin Eddie being a creep but Reader matching his energy -

Eddie, drunk and definitely high: you guys actually all get freaky together? you gonna fuck on the party barge or what?

Reader, also drunk and definitely high, half draped on Felix who has an arm around them, his cheeky smile pressed against the crook of their neck, they also have one leg on the ground and the other kicked out over Ollie's lap, both his hands holding their thigh, giggling to himself: (faux offended) EDDIE! ... We obviously already have!

Ollie, leaning forward to grin conspiratorially, and pull your other leg into his lap: this is just an intermission, my man.

[reader and Felix burst into giggly laughter alongside Ollie but also the three of them are quickly becoming possibly too handsy for how many people are around..... Tho there's very few sober people, and even less who really care, anyways....]

cousin Eddie learning that the controversial threesome of the event is getting fucked up and kinky with each other on his party barge:

lmfao why do I think Cousin Eddie is unironically their biggest supporter. He's a little creep but he's not judgemental of them, that's for sure.

Also, for the record, Farleigh too is having the time of his life on the party barge. Good for him.

Oh my god how could I forget Astrid tho omg. Astrid is the other #1 Felix/Reader/Ollie champion. Also in the past decade she's kept in touch and genuinely very close with them, so she is well aware how much this is all overwhelming the reader. As much as they love Ollie and Felix, because of the stark difference in their standings, they have to constantly be On around the boys in these social settings, because it's what's expected of them. Astrid is the only person the reader feels like they can, for lack of a better phrase, hide behind in these settings, because she occupies a very similar space to them in the social hierarchy, but is so clearly more comfortable in her role within it. Well it's close enough that the reader tends to go semi-verbal around Astrid and defers to her if they're in a conversation together with other people. Ollie and Felix know it's a coping mechanism but they still feel kind of weird about it.

There's literal press outside of the wedding; flashing cameras, news reporters, paparazzi and everything. You kind of feel like you're going to be sick when they call your name. Your full name. Your only solace is that it's not your dead name. People desperate for your attention. People desperate to seperate you from Ollie and Felix - nobodies to them; lessers. But you hold your ground, even if your heads spinning and everything feels a bit too loud and fuzzy and bright -

"You don't print my name without theirs; you don't print my image alone," your voice holds firm, "Felix Catton and Oliver Quick." Oh fuck you're definitely on the verge of throwing up. There's so many faces and names around you that you know, that you've memorised in case it came to this; it seemed unnecessary at the time, but you were the heir to a multi-national media empire, you wanted to know local faces and talent could be linked back to you and your family.

"So you're making a statement?" a particularly nosy journalist with a cameraman in tow shoves a microphone into your face. Before making the statement, you confirm who she was filming for. Felix and Oliver both try defending you against the smug journalist, but she focuses back on you, hoping to have caught you in a moment of weakness, "so you and your family are happy with -"

"The fact that I love two people? That I have for years? Yes;" the sudden firmness of your voice genuinely surprises her, but before she can go, tail between her legs, you reach out for the microphone, "we're less happy with the thirty-two percent decrease in your viewership in the last quarter since your defamation lawsuit settled out of court. You have a prime-time spot; where's your damn integrity?"

The journalist looks like you kicked her dog in front of her. As you take both Ollie and Felix's hands and head inside, you hear her sulkily demand the camera turn off, that they're done for the day.

But oh man, the wedding itself -

Reader, Felix, Ollie, and Farleigh all sit in the back row, and are just awestruck by everything about the event. Because Christ it's beautiful. Also you all know there's been some upset with the Youngs surrounding Rachel Chu, but she shows up looking so beautiful, and she gives you all a warm smile when she glances back from her bold seat beside the princess to smile at you all.

"This what our wedding's going to be like?" Ollie whispers as you're all asked to rise for Araminta's entrance, and water begins to ripple down the aisle while you're all holding up the delicate firefly props you'd been given before the ceremony. Felix, on your other side, laughs softly, having caught the question, and you can't help but grin.

Also one last thing; please imagine the three of you slow dancing at the reception, but it's so stupid and cheesy, because it's all three of you at once, well aware that you all look silly, just swaying back and forth and trying not to step on each other's toes. Ollie is in the middle. None of you can stop giggling and talking about how lovely the wedding was.

"They look so happy together," Rachel murmurs, genuinely endeared by the sight of you three on the dance floor, despite others disparaging looks that you're clearly ignoring, to Farleigh, having run into him for just a moment.

Farleigh sighs, and bites back every single snide comment that rushes through his head at once, rolling his eyes, though Rachel doesn't see.

"They are."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #cra au #manic writer #it shouts back

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l4long-winded · 1 year

Text

iv. the distraction of rising temperature

summary: now that you and sherlock are at a friendlier standing, it's time to explore more of your friendship. or whatever it is (cavill!sherlock x afab!reader)

reflection: i am terribly sorry that this took so long. i just wanted everything to be how i envisioned it and of course, i ended up overdoing it. i have that nasty habit of rereading and editing until i have a singular part. then, i do it all again with the next and the next until it becomes far too much. i intended this series to be shorter, but alas, some things are not meant to be. please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated and encouraged!

warnings: seamstress!reader, conflicted!sherlock, reader has a nickname, flirting, fluff, close proximity, mystery brewing, cursing, longwinded descriptions, overthinking, sherlock is in deep denial, suggestive language, alcohol consumption, enola makes an appearance, off screen character death, somewhat slowburn, enemies to lovers, sherlock observes reader, a fitting with far too many boundaries crossed, sexual tension, victorian era, eventual smut (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 10,023

previously: mr. wright and jane austen

( this work has been cross posted on ao3 )

This is the second time you face the golden 221B in front of you and it’s definitely different than the first time, less animosity, about the same nerves, much more intrigue. After you received your book from Sherlock, he seemingly began to appear frequently around the building and around your shop. Only a couple of days passed by and you could recall seeing his recognizable frame through the window strolling by, through his voyages to and from his flat in which he would say nothing but give a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment. He certainly must know you found the book, but it’s clear he won’t approach unless you do so first out of respect for your boundaries. While his note conveyed his desire to restart fresh, it didn’t mean he would go out of his way to assume what you decided to do. Something about that sustained reverence is what pulled you to his door this afternoon, this being the sole amount of free time you’ve had in these troubling times. You’re steady as you breathe in and out for some extra confidence and to quite possibly shake some traveling nerves (it barely helps).

Once you dictate yourself as ready, you rap onto the door and take a single step backwards when you remember how much space Sherlock takes up on his lonesome. The last time, when he insulted you and disregarded your noise complaint, you felt rather small not just by his words, but by your stature compared to his. He loomed over you and narrowed his eyes in a way that caused you to lose hold of your convictions for just a moment, but the moment was enough for him to gain the upper hand, a shark smelling blood in the water. You’re convinced he’s not going to purposely agitate you this time around, but you also don’t want to accidentally toss him another opportunity. You’re hopeful he’ll be true to his word, not stupid enough to drop your guard. You still barely know anything about each other and strangers took advantage of people all the time.

The door comes open with a haste you’re not prepared for and you can’t help but take a half step back from it in reaction. Your hands capture themselves in front of your abdomen in efforts to balance yourself, as if the pull of the door would suction you inside and awkwardly leave you standing in Sherlock’s flat without invitation. It’s hardly a dramatized action since you feel the air surrounding whip around the rebellious strands of hair framing your face. Except, as you ground yourself and shuffle your feet, the person standing in front of you is very obviously not Sherlock, but a young woman with familiar features. Her eyes widen upon recognition of you, her head turning back to look into Sherlock’s flat for what appears to be answers.

“It’s a woman,” she calls back and it gives you the indication that you probably interrupted the two from some sort of discussion. It would explain her haste and why Sherlock’s marching over in what you surmise is in a mix of impatience and irritation. “Were you expecting a seamstress?” The girl asks as Sherlock gets closer and you can see him pause as he gains a better look at you, your eyes locking onto his despite the young woman sitting in between the two of you. From your peripheral vision, you could see her engaging in careful glances switching back and forth between you and Sherlock, an attempt present to decipher what the correlation to one another is since Sherlock’s offered silence. His gait’s suffered a stop enough for the girl to draw on her inspection and you’re not prepared for her scrutiny while seemingly under his.

“Give us a moment,” he finally utters, his eyebrows pinching together in the process of giving the young woman a simple, yet loaded, look. You may not know what’s going on here, but you’re aware of this look having been on the receiving end of one and having conjured it on your own. She seems to quickly catch on and she backs away with her hands up from the door and floats into the flat without further questions. Sherlock seems grateful for her lack of continued communication as he steps through the frame and shuts the door behind him.

“Excuse my sister… Enola’s fully prepared to insert herself into anyone’s business at any time if she becomes interested in any form.” Ah, his sister. That’s what looked so familiar about her. Well, you probably should have guessed it from how she quickly came to the conclusion that you were a seamstress. You suppose that such observational skills run in the family. That dynamic must be insufferable to be around, but you came from your own version of chaos in a family. There’s hardly room for judgment.

“She’s curious, huh? Sounds like she’s trying to mimic someone we both know.” You’re teasing, of course, teasing with an inkling of truth to your choice of words. To your amusement, you watch in real time as Sherlock exhales and musters a small smile.

“Trust me, she doesn’t want to be like me,” he replies and you ponder what he could possibly mean for a second since Enola’s enthusiasm proved to you in a shortened time frame of just how much she matches Sherlock. Your hesitation to ask about it warrants him to continue speaking. “You’re not at work at this hour?”

Somehow, he’s accounted for your schedule and you’re taken aback for an interlude. He doesn’t budge or comprehend how this information is not common knowledge so you have a feeling he’s not trying to be all knowing or superior. It’s perhaps something that just happens to him whether he’s in control of it or not. “No, I didn’t have too much to do today so I decided to take a break. I actually wanted to speak with you about something, but it seems as if I’ve arrived at a bad time.” You don’t want to interrupt him and his sister and could always return later, but Sherlock waves it off and crosses his arms.

“It’s not a bad time at all. Please,” he presses his arms forward into the air, “continue. I trust you received my informal letter?”

“That I did… Thank you for the book. I love it. I have my own copy back home, but I failed to bring it with me during the move. It’s already helped immensely.” You can’t stop yourself from beaming thinking about it. It’s been something to turn to when your brain’s overloaded or your hands are itching for relief from remaining in the same position for so long.

“I’m glad to hear it. Jane Austen’s work doesn’t get nearly enough attention. I assume it’s because people are too behind to understand.” He shrugs his shoulders because it really is an unfortunate circumstance. While she has some traction, much more than when she was alive, you and Sherlock both know why that traction isn’t grander or why she didn’t become acclaimed until later on. It’s a stark elephant in the hall, but you choose not to address it and shake your head to change the subject.

“Well, as much as I appreciate the gesture, I do hate how you’ve ruined the mystery of your name. I was going with Shoulders Holmes before you had to add your input.” Your hands come up to your hips in a mock scolding. It achieves the desired effect as Sherlock releases his arms from the hold against his chest and he stares at you with levity in his eyes. Him and his damn bluer-than-blue eyes.

“At least you had something to go off. I’ve referred to you as Lily for a while now.” The confession causes your hand to come up and grasp your charm out of habit and you want to release it the second you do, but you endure where you are as you try and study his face. It’s not the most terrible nickname since you enjoyed flowers, but it’s come out of left field.

“Not bad,” you exhale, “but my name is Y/N. Or… if you wish to call me Lily, I wouldn’t be opposed.” You grasp the charm tighter, though you’re not sure why you feel inclined to do so. You shouldn’t care so much what he would think of your name as even if he doesn’t, it’s not something you could change. His validation ought to mean nothing to you, and yet as you stare up at him, you feel relief flood your system as he repeats it to you. Warmth nuzzles across your back and shoulders and you could swear the same comes up to hug the apples of your cheeks, all because Sherlock saying your name is a new experience and sensation you didn’t know you could be so fond of. It eloquently rolls off his tongue and his tone is one of approval.

“So, we’re officially acquaintances, then? No longer mortal enemies who glare at each other from across the stairs?” You can’t help but laugh at the dramatics of the situation. But looking back, glaring at each other or refusing to acknowledge one another did seem to be the pattern you both fell into. You feel sheepish about how you acted, but from his body language, he also seems to be ashamed of his antics. His question was genuine as much as he intended it to sound as if he was joking.

“Correct, officially acquaintances. And I, your new acquaintance, have a proposal for you.” You watch as confusion flits over Sherlock’s face. The lines he does have are there from thinking, you can tell. “I want to help you with your investigation.”

This is not what Sherlock expects. His eyebrows raise in incredulity as he regards you. The movement in his shoulders tells you how he’s restraining himself, but you can’t tell if it’s from celebrating or expressing to you of his surprise. He persists in his stillness, quiet befalling the both of you as you look into the depths of his eyes and he traces them at different points of your facial structure and then different points of your body. Normally, a man gazing this intently at you would cause you to protect yourself and hide away, but you can almost see the cogs shifting inside of Sherlock’s head. He does what most don’t and that’s think before he speaks, analyze before jumping to conclusions that may be wrong. Considering how he’s done that before and it ended with you two disliking each other, you don’t say anything to properly give him his time of contemplation.

“I sense a condition of some sort incoming,” he decides on after a beat and you fidget with your hands because he’s right, you do have a condition. You didn’t come up here for just a friendly chat as you had days to mull over what you wanted to say to him and how you two could move forward from starting off on the wrong foot.

“Right,” you begin, and you know he hears that too often, “I want to help you with your investigation, but only if you come down to my shop and allow me to fit you for something. You don’t have to buy anything, I’m not trying to be bought,” you reassure him, “but I also could use some more business. What I’m implying here is that we could help each other out.”

Sherlock is still again. He doesn’t display to you much besides that recurring restraint. You don’t know how he could possibly read you and you could barely do the same to him, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. You stand taller to appear more confident in this and you wait for him to say something with bated breath. There are a number of ways he can respond and you lean more towards rejection than anything else. You wouldn’t be angry if he refused this altogether, there’s nothing obligating either of you to each other just because you’re now standing on common ground. He wants to say something, you can see it playing at his lips, but it’s difficult to dwell on because suddenly the both of you lightly startle hearing Enola’s voice through the door, “I have places to be, Sherlock!”

The impromptu rushing has you falter. You’re sure he’ll wave you away now, but he doesn’t create any rampant motions. He simply looks at you one last time before he speaks, “I’ll think about it.” That’s all you could ask of him since the task isn’t the most conventional of sorts. It came to fruition because of how you didn’t recognize his gift as a full reason to forgive him for his past behavior. There’s also something particularly sleazy about the idea of Sherlock presenting you with a gift of your liking solely to encourage your succor in his work, a light test behind asking him of this. By how he didn’t immediately leap at the opportunity, you’re guessing his heart was in the right place and cease those questions burdening you, the ones asking of his intentions and morals.

You depart thereafter with a polite dip of your head, one he mirrors before he watches you retreat to the stairs. It’s when you’re out of his sight that he enters his flat once more, his sister sitting comfortably in the chair at his desk. He needs to talk with her about areas being off limits because this is becoming ridiculous at this point.

“It’s about time,” Enola chimes, which in turn leads to Sherlock rolling his eyes. He resumes what he did before you knocked on his door and that’s tending to the map in front of him where Enola marked off new spots for him to travel to. They helped each other from time to time and she would soon be off embarking on another adventure he would wind up worrying over with the dangers of the world in his head. He’s examining the map with a comical magnifying glass, too busy immersing himself back into the work because he doesn’t want his mind to stray to you. Lately, it’s been doing that more than he could handle and such a detriment in focus must be tended to accordingly. While you hold the fabric he’s chased for ages now in your possession, he’s treading lightly since any interaction with you might further cloud his head. This is a phenomenon he’s not used to.

“You could use a new tie,” Enola says, breaking him free of his current task. He attempts to imagine she’s not sitting there to continue, at most shooting her an annoyed glare. Still, he can’t completely ignore her. There’s a reason she said what she said, why she chose those certain words, why she’s lying because she knows he has an impressive tie collection.

“I could’ve sworn I’ve talked with you about eavesdropping.” He doesn’t notice her stand until she reaches for the magnifying glass from him. He stands at his full height and looks down at her, again in agitation as he watches her continue on with his task. It’s like she knows he’s trying to corral his thoughts towards this subject to not stray away against his best wishes.

“I’m just making an observation. If you’re going to a fitting, why not?” Sherlock refrains from scoffing. He didn’t decide to attend yet and here Enola goes acting as if he has a plan set in stone to visit you at your shop. It confirms her eavesdropping, but he doesn’t want to give away any more information than that. Enola cannot know of how much you’re in his head, how he accidentally fell into a repetition of observing you from afar, how he wrote you a note and sent you his copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen. He knows his sister and she will just get the wrong idea. He knows what this may look like to her and that could be farther from the truth.

“... She’s pretty.”

It’s the last thing Sherlock anticipates for Enola to say. While she regularly institutes new ways to catch him off guard, this is not one he could have accounted for easily. His ego alerts him he could have prevented this had he just given more thought to what is lurking through her young mind, but alas, it’s too late for him. She’s said her piece and he now has no choice but to scrutinize it deeper than it needs to be. He doesn’t want to explore anything to do with that factor or anything relating, but Enola’s robbed him of his decorum and magnifying glass, left him a foreboding entity standing at his own desk with nothing to do but think back to how you stood before him just moments ago. You and your imperfect hair pinned to your head save for the defiant strands that love to dangle over your eyes, you and your fluttering lashes that you’re unaware almost whisp to your cheekbones from the length and fan, you and that cheeky smile adorning your lips when you say something teasing or sarcastic.

Enola’s observation is not unprecedented or incorrect. As much as he wants to declare to Enola that you’re indeed unpleasant to look at, he can’t bring himself to do so. You’re attractive, he’s known this already. He didn’t need Enola’s opinion on it. Especially not since such an opinion has led his head to recall the curves within your facial structure, the slope of your neck, how the lily of the valley rests right above your accentuated chest, how the corset cruelly punctuates your hips almost as if they’re beckoning in a pair of hands to rest upon them. These are the thoughts he wishes to avoid. They’re distractions to him and his work, they make his palms feel clammy, his fingers twitch on his desk as he imagines the pair of hands referred to on your hips as his own. This hasn’t happened to him before. He doesn’t know how to approach it or push the less than gentlemanly images beginning to flood his mind.

Thankfully, Enola passes him back his magnifying glass. “Earth to Sherlock,” she says and he’s centering himself back to this reality. He merely gives her a look before he returns to the map. He won’t dare say a thing. Enola’s too much like him and she would know something’s bothering him inside whether his comments were negative, agreeable, or neutral. It’s not worth fanning the flames of her active imagination.

You’re at the front desk busying yourself with checking off commissions and reworking invoices on parchment paper. Mrs. Thomas is there again at a nearby chair resting her feet before she goes home. She’s attended this shop often and you would regard her as a friend by how much you see her if it weren’t for how she’s a paying customer and how her closeness with your father wrote any of her actions off as mourning and pity in your eyes. You don’t want to necessarily see it this way, but it’s difficult not to with how she always seems to smile at you with sympathy lurking in her pupils. As much as you appreciate it, you’re tired of people looking at you with emotion rather than respect since you’re running this shop on your own. Even before, your father may have done a lot, but it’s you who’s created clothing under your former roof with your mother and sister. You don’t think that credit will ever be rightfully handed to you with how everyone cautiously addresses you.

The sad part is that each time it happens, you are hit with the painful reminder of how your father is gone. You’re already constantly thinking of that on your own and it follows you to your work since his last name is plastered on the building and sewed into the tags of the clothing you design. It’s bitter icing on top of the cake for your (his) remaining customers to come in here and talk to you about it or subconsciously bring the fact forth with how they maneuver their facial expressions towards you. Running on fumes is not easy at all and it’s harder with complex emotions involved.

The bell to your front door rings alerting you of a customer walking in. Their steps are heavy on your floorboards and there’s about three taken until you lift your head to view who’s entered your establishment. It’s those broad shoulders you’re sure you could recognize from kilometers away, his face a bit weary as he takes in the area of the shop for the first time inside instead of searching through the window. He walks to you slowly and instead of allowing this awkward gait to greet you at your desk, you round the obstruction and meet him halfway on the path. He pauses in front of you and you’re unable to suppress the grin forming on your features in surprise and disbelief that he came so soon. You thought he would take longer to think about what you offered, perhaps a few days, not mere hours.

“Pardon me,” he begins, “you wouldn’t happen to know where I could possibly be fitted for a tie around here, would you? My sister instructed me how I was in dire need of one.” Much like your own grin is growing by the second, as is his with his emboldened statement feigning cluelessness. You tap your chin in pretend thought as you look up at him, one arm tucking beneath your elbow across your chest.

“Ah, you have a wise sister. You’ve come to the right place. We have a large assortment of ties. Is there anything specific you’re searching for?”

“Whichever you deem best,” he responds almost instantly, his face leaning towards yours in the process for just you alone to hear. It’s a curious endeavor since there’s only you and him and Mrs. Thomas sitting in a chair. It’s then that Mrs. Thomas reminds you both of her presence, “I thought you wanted to commission more than that,” she booms out. She can be loud for an older woman.

You glance back and forth between Mrs. Thomas and Sherlock, then. You didn’t know that they knew each other and by the look on Sherlock’s face that crosses for a split second, he seems alarmed. It quickly passes through and then he’s impassive all over again.

“Yes, you’re right. I wanted to commission a, um…” his eyes scan momentarily, a sign that he’s trying to think fast that you know Mrs. Thomas won’t notice, but you do, “a vest” he decides. “A vest and a suit jacket.”

Not taking the hint that this is more than he’s bargained for, Mrs. Thomas laughs. “Might as well be fitted for the entire suit! Don’t you think so, Ms. Wright?”

Mrs. Thomas holds an unusual expression you haven’t seen before, a genuine and beaming smile that reaches her eyes and erases the sympathy from them that you consistently detect. You’re not sure what she’s doing, but instead of dwelling on her, you pivot to bring your full attention to Sherlock. It’s transparent to you that he’s hiding something, though you feel as if it’s more for Mrs. Thomas then it is for you. Still, you might as well have some fun with his visit. It’s not like you had a line of customers to dawdle on.

“Why, Mrs. Thomas, you are correct,” you can just see how Sherlock narrows his eyes at you in a warning, but despite this, you continue and hook one arm into his, now side by side, “Let’s do an entire fitting and then we can discuss that commission of yours, Mr. Shoulders.”

Sherlock fakes a smile at you, it’s tight lipped and you know this is not what he wanted, but he goes along and waves his goodbye to Mrs. Thomas who is finally standing from her chair to leave. She lingers watching you two disappear into a backroom.

“I did not agree to this,” Sherlock mutters, almost petulantly. It sounds foreign coming from such a deep voice.

“But here I am agreeing… Come on, it’ll be over before you know it. Remove the items on your torso besides the undershirt, please.” You half expect him not to listen, to put his foot down and ask for the tie again, but to your surprise, Sherlock blows a breath out through his nose and then he starts by ridding off his jacket sleeve by sleeve. You feel rather smug by his obedience, but you don’t wish to stop him through this, so you leave him to strip as you said as you go to retrieve your measuring tape and return with fresh paper for your pen and inkwell. When you return, you’re met with Sherlock undoing the current tie sitting at his neck. It slips free and the shirt is as poofy as a falling parachute through the sky.

“Erm… that shirt’s rather… large on you,” you don’t know if that’s the correct word. It seems as if it fits and yet it doesn’t, extra fabric bunching at his arms and waist. You tilt your head examining it and Sherlock takes a glance down to assess what you may mean.

“I’m aware,” he mutters. “I have trouble finding correct sizing and I don’t necessarily make the time to have actual appointments with tailors. Some things fit enough, nothing like a glove.” He shrugs his shoulders and it’s obvious to you he’s reserved himself to this way of dressing. For the most part, he didn’t do a bad job. He dressed elegantly and his other items seemed to fit him accordingly, but the bunched up fabric was for sure going to hinder you in taking his measurements. Because of this, you know what you have to do, and your fingers nervously wind the tape around your hands as you stare at him almost abashedly.

Noticing this, Sherlock looks at you quizzically. “What?”

“Sherlock, do you mind… removing your shirt? It’ll be easier to take your measurements that way, but if you don’t wish to, you aren’t obligated.” You’re already pushing him further out of his comfort zone and how he probably thought this would all go. You can see his hands flex at his sides, quiet as he stares forward and visibly ponders what he should do in this situation. You wouldn’t blame him if he rejected it entirely and put his tie and vest back on, strung his jacket along his arms and walked out of this invasive nature. It shouldn’t be this awkward, it never is with other male clients, but there’s a palpable energy between you that neither of you understand. Each step towards each other in any setting feels like a step too far, but always in the right direction.

He says nothing. You wish you could see past the flesh and skull in his head to truly capture what he may be thinking, but eventually, he whispers, “Very well, then,” and he starts at the cuffs. He unbuttons them gradually, and he glances at you once before he starts to tackle the buttons at his torso. One by one, they come undone, pectoral muscles displayed, a patch of hair on his chest that you had not expected to be there from how clean shaven he keeps his face. From every masculine element about him, it’s something you should’ve probably guessed. That and the swell of muscles in his arms that you didn’t regularly encounter on men around, such that bulge as he slips the white garment off of him completely. He turns away to discard the item with his other clothes, and then he’s left vulnerable standing in front of your full body mirror. He doesn’t look at himself. He keeps his eyes on you, waiting for another direction perhaps.

“Thank you. Let’s start with your arms.” You must carry this out as confidently as humanly possible even with the stature of Sherlock taking you a bit aback. Like a professional, you have him shift his arms out to measure his wingspan, the width of his back rather prominent to you at this moment since he is by no means a small man. You’re timorous as you measure around his biceps, as you catch the scent of his musk and tobacco standing this close by. You alternate between stretching your tape out at his limbs and then moving downward to write off the numbers each time. It’s an intimate affair as much as neither of you would like to admit it, and all that can be heard is the sound of each of your breathing. Not wanting this to be cumbersome, you try and find your voice literally kneeling before him while asking him to adjust his legs. Fortunately (and unfortunately) for you, his trousers are concealing him and it’s less inconvenient on you than when you tended to his torso.

“So, you spoke with Mrs. Thomas about a commission, hm?” You mark off the measurement with your thumbnail and then jot it down.

“Technically,” he admits. It bewilders you further. You stand so you can wrap the tape about his waist, one hand behind his back feeding it through. His warm skin touches your fingers. You’re face to face with his chest and neck here, but you ensure your eyes stay on the tape measure. You’re unaware of how he’s examining the top of your head.

“Technically? What’s technical about it?”

“Well, I wasn’t asking about a commission from you.” This is enough for your head to snap up. Your hands are still firmly on the tape measure around his waist, locking him in position to be this close to you, to be centimeters from this boulder of a man as he stares down at you with sincerity in his eyes. He’s literally so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. Those nerves from earlier are recollecting in your veins holding his steely gaze, but you don’t make any efforts to depart after his confession.

“You were asking… about my father? Why? Did you know him?” You should let go of the tape, but you don’t have the number yet to do so. Letting go just to wrap it back around him would be redundant. This isn’t any better since it’s trapping you practically against him, minimal distance between the two of you that any onlooker would confuse it as some kind of flirtatious bout, his naked torso feeding into the hypothetical guess. You stay where you are, blinking up at Sherlock who shakes his head back and forth.

“I did not. I just noticed that you were here alone so often. It made me question who Mr. Wright was. And so I came up with a bit of deception to tell Mrs. Thomas on her way out one day. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant conversation.” While honesty is easy for him to undergo, he does seem ashamed of his actions. The corner of his lips quirks for a second and it clicks for you that he knew about your father’s passing. And if he knew about your father’s passing, then it had you questioning his motives again. You want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you hate this kind of subject.

Slowly, you look down to mark the number and then write it onto the pad of paper below. Having that be his last measurement, you detach from him and sigh out in displeasure as you look over the other measurements you’ve taken thus far. “So you got me that book out of pity,” you note, the excitement in your voice drained out from yet another person giving you special treatment you never asked for. “You asked about him because you thought he would help with your investigation since I wouldn’t, didn’t you?” You’re disappointed and you don’t bother to hide it. His cold exterior melting away so abruptly suddenly makes sense now. For a moment, you feel like a fool.

But Sherlock doesn’t allow this to last long. “Yes and no,” he replies and it leaves you puzzled. You stare at him from the side. He’s grabbing his shirt and slipping it back over himself, but he’s still looking at you in the process. “I thought that Mr. Wright may help me with my investigation, yes, but I also wanted to know if you ran this establishment by yourself. I guess a part of me knew that already, but I’ve never been one to carry out without confirmation or evidence.” He leaves the shirt open, the hair on his chest trailing down still very much visible. He conceals more of what makes him a man underneath those professional clothes, the clothes of a proper gentleman and a proper detective, but it’s not any less distracting. “Now, I don’t wish to offend you, but I did not know your father. I had little reaction to the news that Mrs. Thomas broke to me. But I knew you. I didn’t get you that book out of pity. I did it because I misread you.”

He buttons his cuffs somehow without struggling. You’re used to watching men and women alike grapple with said buttons because of the transition between left hand and right hand. You don’t think he’s ambidextrous, but much like other things about him, he’s most likely perfected it in a way where there are less steps, where there is less of a scuffle. You pay attention to this because his words are different from what you’ve experienced during your time in the city with a plethora of people coming to and from your shop. They hold weight because they’re about you, not about anyone else, but you and how you feel. It’s strange to be so known in the eyes of someone you met more than three weeks ago, but it’s also paradoxically freeing to be seen in a light free of that shame that’s haunted you since your arrival.

“I’ll… I’ll bring you that tie.” You settle on, a bit overcome with emotion in this instance from your thoughts bouncing to your father, his passing, the overwhelming “support” everyone’s extended out to you, and how Sherlock has given you what you’ve been craving for a long while now, and that’s validation and transparency. You don’t want to face him with the sting of tears in your eyes so he does appear to be confused as you walk away from him, but in your movement, you take heavy breaths to pull yourself together. It’s only when you feel secure in your features that you move to pull a royal blue tie into your hands. You’re sure it’ll bring out his eyes and he hardly uses color from what you’ve seen in his attire.

Soon, you remerge into the room, and Sherlock’s hands are politely cupping one another behind the small of his back, his shirt now fully buttoned. He’s still not looking in the mirror, the floor his choice of perspective, but with your return, he shifts his eyes up to your face and a thoughtful expression forms. He extends a hand out to you, but you raise your own to stop him.

“May I?”

He falters. You can tell he’s juggling whether he should allow you to or not, but in due time, he lowers his hands back to where they were before behind his back. It’s the slight nod that permits you to walk to him, which you do and you upturn the collar of his now wrinkled shirt for the access necessary. His pupils follow your hands with every movement and they only shut when you lift the fabric over his head to lay it around his neck. You situate both ends and Sherlock involuntarily takes a single half step forward from the light tug, his abdomen brushing against yours. Both of you hear the hitches in your breaths, and you could swear his adam’s apple bobbed from a light gulp, but neither of you choose to comment on it. You busy yourself with maneuvering the tie into its correct loops. You try to ignore how awfully domestic it feels and how your heart thuds harder in your ribcage.

“Your heart’s beating fast,” he says, that matter-of-fact tone as present as the day you met him. You forgot that your chests are pressing together and you rectify it by stepping that half step backwards that Sherlock took forward. He’s sturdy this time and doesn’t budge.

“It’s the temperature here,” you lie. This seems to appease him since he doesn’t say anything else about it, to your relief. You slip the knot upwards, one hand holding the tail, the other not stopping until it reaches his neck. Normally, you’d pull away from the client and have them view themselves in the mirror. Since this is not a normal time, you stay there in that position, your fingers against the cloth against his neck. His pulse is resting right into them and by how his jaw sets, you know he’s aware of what you’ve discovered and what you’re about to say.

“Your pulse is—”

“It’s the temperature here,” he parrots and you can’t even fault him for it because you used the same line. His wit may just hold a candle to yours. The speeding pulse introducing itself with your digits remains this way as you gaze at Sherlock. He doesn’t make any efforts to push you away and you don’t stagger backwards even if you think you should. It’s obvious to the both of you that you’re riddled with nerves and this is not an ordinary encounter nor an ordinary fitting. Eventually, you release the tie and step off to the side to maneuver out of his way. His stare follows you, but he soon removes that to walk to the mirror and view how the tie looks on him.

“Not bad, Lily,” he says.

You hide your smile behind your hand as you meet his eyes in the mirror. You were right, the tie enhances his irises. “Blue’s your color, Shoulders.”

It’s late at night, Sherlock paces the length of his floor, cautious in each step since he did not wish to alert the tenants below of his confusion and distress. Or more so, he did not wish to alert you. He’s refrained from playing his violin at such late hours in consideration of you and it’s well past the time that you’ve arrived home from work. He chose not to discuss the fabric he needs for his investigation and opted for it to occur tomorrow. He didn’t want to put a dent in whatever it was that was going on between the two of you since he usually transformed into a different person in detective mode. He’s been told he’s a pain in the ass to work with and it all has to do with the fact that he’s not a team player whatsoever, but someone who does everything by himself. He plans to get that over with when the time comes in his efforts to not completely scare you off as he has done to others in the past. You’re new to getting along with each other and he would like to keep himself from ruining it, a prophecy he holds in his head as a possibility since he is the reason for his lack of approachability. For once, for reasons he doesn’t understand, he would prefer to maintain a friendly status with you rather than antagonistic, or worse, estranged. Don’t ask him why that would be worse, he won’t answer.

Although he will see you tomorrow and he will most likely receive another piece to aid him moving forward, it didn’t stop him from trying to think about the details of the murder. They’re swarming his head all over again and he’s reliving his arrival at the crime scene to see if there’s anything he missed. This would be easier on his brain if he could just return back to the area, but of course, the police force wouldn’t be too keen on letting him reenter. Many officers hold resentment towards him and his intellect because of spite and envy and they don’t appreciate the proud aspects of Sherlock’s personality. Details stand out to him, almost perfectly outlined in paintings of what others deem as muddled colors. A man like Lestrade may display his appreciation for Sherlock’s talents and inevitable solutions, but there’s always the matter of ego to contest. A man’s ego in the fit of the “game” is fragile, especially when another’s wit and ideas are involved, superiority pouncing on what already is insecurity and vulnerability. Men in positions of power such as these hold, in Sherlock’s eyes, the most amount of emotion because they allow their arrogance and pride to corrupt their performances. While they’re in competition with Sherlock, Sherlock is in competition with himself and therefore it ensures the progression of his self growth, a means to always expand on what is already extraordinary.

But the unnerving fact of all of this despite these truths is how Sherlock’s pride still gets in the way. He stubbornly avoids the veracity of his arrogance because even if he did accept the claims of others in terms of his self-conceit, it doesn’t erase the many accomplishments he’s done up to this point. There are more to be consummated, just like this case in particular that refuses to let him sleep and refuses to let him think about anything else in his life, the basic essentials to survival sometimes neglected as a result. Forgetting to eat and nourish himself is not the ideal way to go about everything and really, nutrients would surely help him think better, but it’s how his brain is wired. It will linger on a subject until he can carve a path to the answer, until he can properly close a case and contribute a difference to the world the best way he can. This is his benefaction. Where others still trace as their purpose, he knows he’s in the thick of his own and this slump will be hurdled over as he’s done to other slumps of yesterday.

A clumsy sort of sound disrupts his current brain’s thought cacophony, knocking out of rhythm drawing his focus to his door. He’s not expecting anyone at this hour, especially not this late, so he’s bewildered to say the least. He stares at the door with intrigue, hopeful he imagined the distorting noise as he did not wish to halt his growing examination and introspection, but soon enough, the knocking continues and he knows it won’t disappear unless he answers the door as the person behind intends the impromptu meeting. He sighs his displeasure, but ultimately adjusts his loosened tie for the sake of etiquette, saunters to the door and brings it open after counting to three in his head. Sherlock’s not sure what he expected or who he assumed would be standing across from him, but it certainly wasn’t your back covered in alabaster lace, soft knots of fabric at each arm dangling from where you’ve adjusted the ties accordingly. He swallows with difficulty, especially noticing how your hair isn’t in its usual condition shapened by various tools and pins. It’s loose and free and no longer haphazardly restrained, bold in movement as you turn your body towards him upon your recognition of the door being open. He swears there’s brilliance in your eyes as they widen at him, light up in a fashion he cannot fathom correctly from how they also appear to be bloodshot, almost as rosy as the tint currently coating your face and chest.

“Sherlock!” You beam, definitely with more excitement he’s ever been confronted with in your presence, “I thought I heard you pacing. I knew I wasn’t the only one in this building who couldn’t sleep.” As you lean towards him, your hands find the left and right sides of his door frame. Your cheek presses into your shoulder as you regard him with commendation in your glowing features, innocently acute joy settling in your smile and the crinkles around your eyes. He doesn’t understand how you could be so happy to see him nor why you’re even standing here before him this late, but he does catch how you’re swaying from one side to the next on his frame he feels an odd surge of resentment suddenly for.

“Pardon my asking, but what are you doing here at this time of night? Is something troubling you?” It would explain the time and lack of warning for this visit, and he almost furrows his brows in preparation for some kind of predicament to heed, but those inclinations soon fly out the window as your palm reaches out to lay on his chest in efforts to appease the situation and dull the severity he’s approximated. He’s aware of how his heart rate picks up at the contact, but it’s hardly a point of contention or even importance because it’s occurred to Sherlock how you’re leaning not for warmth or security, but because you’re off balance. The disturbance of your equilibrium leads him to watch your body language and hear your speech pattern which sounds oddly slurred now that he’s thinking on it.

“No, nothing, nothing is troubling me,” you reassure with a pregnant pause in the air. You knit your eyebrows together as your smile falls into a thin line. “I suppose the apparent absence of company is troubling, but other than that, everything else is swell. It’s just the loneliness.” Your hand comes off his chest to wave off the worry simultaneously as your other hand departs from Sherlock’s door frame. In doing so, you stumble forward and almost fall, but Sherlock’s stature does not allow for that to happen. Seeing that he’s a force in front of you, his arms piston out to hold underneath yours, and under another circumstance possibly coupled with deep embarrassment, you would most likely lean away and apologize. Instead, you linger into his touch, weight shifting into him that is both nothing to Sherlock and yet so critically eminent to him all the same. He can smell something florally sweet coming from you and something so distinct that his conclusion of your visit is strengthened and emboldened by it.

“You’re drunk,” he conjects aloud, having already deciphered it internally. It’s relevant and obvious and sure it took him little time to figure it out, much less than the average person would take, but there’s a small portion of him that feels foolish because for a split second, for a split second he believed you were overjoyed to see him simply because he was him. Your drunken stupor’s seeking another’s companionship and there’s nothing particularly special about it being Sherlock since he was clearly the closest nearby.

“It would seem that way, but nonetheless alone!” You protest and concurrently confirm his thoughts at the same time. “You’re aberrantly strong,” you continue, your hands grasping at his tight forearms without a hint of shame. He almost slips and grins, but he keeps his impassive nature and gestures towards the hall. If he takes a few steps out, he could see your flat’s door from here. There’s not much distance to cover to get you safely back into your home.

“I’ll walk you back to your flat.” Sherlock’s willing to help you back and is fully prepared to do so, but you’re quick to rip your arms from his hold. The motion almost sends you flying backwards which then prompts him to shoot his arms out to further guide and protect, but fortunately, you find your footing and attempt to stand taller, squaring off your shoulders and raising your chin.

“You can’t make me go back there. If I see that damned sewing machine again, I’ll… I’ll put it out of its misery!”

A threat of this sort should not bother Sherlock whatsoever, especially not one threatening an inanimate object that not only he does not use, but one that couldn’t affect him directly no matter its livelihood or destruction. Yet, as he takes in your stance, your folded arms over your chest in your sincerity, drunk or not, he knows you’re not at all bluffing. You’ll break it and your sober-self will experience the consequences of such, your work no longer able to be attended to unless you replace the item. It’ll greatly inconvenience you and you have quotas to fill, clients to attend to, a business to run that he cannot authorize to be blundered due to one night of overindulgence. You work too hard and he couldn’t let you throw that away just because you drank a bit too much in one sitting.

“I suppose I could see what our other neighbors are up to. There’s bound to be someone awake, right? Maybe Mrs. Hudson is having a late night tea,” you ponder audibly with one finger coming up to thoughtfully caress your chin. You solely take one step to venture further into the hall, but Sherlock’s arm captures your waist this time, firmly planting you in your spot in front of his door frame. Before you could kick your feet out and push him away (you do neither, and make no efforts to do so, really), he levels you with his gaze and tilts his head to his flat. He feels your hands lightly grasp his arm in place at your waist. If he didn’t know the context of this situation, he would’ve guessed your arms would then wind about his neck for some kind of intimate dance. This does not happen, his mouth dry from how close this contact is nonetheless. It’s almost as overwhelming as how he had to hold still as you prodded him for measurements earlier in the day, except it’s you who’s in a vulnerable position with an inebriated dilemma and an insufficiency of clothing. Such insufficiency that others would deem improper, and worse, take advantage of, your reputation around bound to be soured due to everyone’s perception of what it meant to be a gentleman and what it meant to be a lady. This behavior is in defiance of that perception and he couldn’t enable you to make a fool of yourself, he wouldn’t forgive himself. He does not trust people.

“I have tea,” he clarifies after he realizes that there was too long of a bout of you two just locking eyes. His arm slowly snakes from where it’s encircled about your waist, but a helpful hand maneuvers to your back to further help you steady yourself. Your smile soon returns and your walking continues, this time into Sherlock’s flat.

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

One arm lays over Sherlock’s broad shoulder, the other reaching out to touch trinkets that Sherlock gingerly pulls you away from. From what he can tell, you’re in awe of what you see the more you two explore the length of his floor. He gently deposits you onto his loveseat to sit down.

“Here you are,” he says and then stands towering over you. You’re gazing up at him with the same admiration and astonishment that you did when you first entered his home and he chooses to ignore it. “Stay here and try not to touch anything. I’ll get the tea brewing.”

He’s reluctant to leave you behind seeing as his work is in disarray, his own form of organization that could easily be misshapen by your currently all-too-curious hands, but he also fears that you’ll do something worth regretting if he doesn’t entertain you and keep your attention in some way.

“Sir, yes, Sir,” you nod, one hand saluting him. “I won’t touch anything.” Normally, he wouldn’t believe someone with sticky fingers under the influence, but it’s different with you. He finds it easier to trust you when you smile at him like that and the amusement from how you then sit on your hands certainly skews his judgment.

Despite the slight nerves urging him to stay here with you, he soon finds his kitchen and pours water into a pot. He drank tea earlier so there’s not any that he can grab for you at this time at his disposal. It’s not much of a hassle placing the pot onto heat, his teapot checked for the proper leaves he would soon pour boiling water into. He wonders what preference you may have, if you favor lavender, or perhaps peppermint, or maybe something simple like black tea. He wonders if you drink some in the early hours of the morning to properly wake up, if you brew some for the sake of having something warm to drink with a fresh muffin for breakfast, if you rely on it to calm your rapidly beating heart in the plight of increasing stress. Sherlock wonders if this what you drink when you’re reading, if it’s what you nurse with cautious sips in the midst of stitching pieces together, if it’s what you turn to when you cannot sleep and you decide that you might as well find some kind of warmth in it with blankets that aren’t doing their job, and dreams that won’t make slumber any more appetizing. He wonders if it’s stopped assisting like it used to and instead of taking distance from it to rebuild its charm and tease tolerance, he wonders if it was easier to turn to wine. If it was easier to drink more and more than to sit with thoughts that won’t dare to leave you alone, if each gulp of the alcohol silenced them and buried them until the consciousness of being alive is nothing but a ghost of a whisper you cannot hear unless you’re left without hobby, task, or another human being. If you become painfully aware of how you have no one but yourself in moments like these. Oh, he wonders, he wonders. He wonders if you’re just like him.

It’s the distant sound of a door opening and closing that stops him from wondering. His head snaps up from staring at the surface of the water and immediately, he attends where he left you. When he sees you’re no longer sitting at his loveseat, he pivots to the front door and then marches over to it. Swinging it open, he glances back and forth to see if you left. Knowing that you’re drunk, you couldn’t have possibly gone far, but you’re nowhere in his sight and the thrill of panic sets into his back. It’s the creaking floorboards in his flat that drive him to step back inside, the door shut behind him as he tries to follow the muffled sound for as long as it carries, which isn’t long. Still, it leads him into his bedroom and he cautiously infiltrates the area only to find his made bed now in disorder with you settled underneath his comforter. Your hair fans out in a halo on his pillow as you bury your head into it, your eyes lazily coming open to meet his gaze.

“I told you not to touch anything,” he says, his voice quiet. It’s lacking sternness, but he can’t really be upset since he brought you into his flat with little control in your hands. He’s taking in your size in comparison to the size of his bed.

“I know, but,” you yawn, your eyes shutting in the process, nose wrinkling, a cushiony soft sigh falling from in between your lips that he equates to the hymns he’s heard inside of churches, “I got tired waiting for you. Your bed’s awfully comfortable. I think I might actually fall asleep.”

He didn’t take long in the kitchen, he knows that. However, he’s been drunk before, he understands how those minutes alone must’ve felt like centuries to your own devices. He should be shooing you out and getting you downstairs to sleep in your bed, but something in him can’t seem to do so. You look so… peaceful. It’s not like he was going to make any use of his bed himself since he planned to think all night, at most falling into his sofa for an hour or two of rest. With how much you’ve been through and how you’re constantly working yourself to the bone, Sherlock’s long acquiesced to having you spend the night here before he’s rationalized it.

“Go ahead. You deserve repose.” Sherlock comes closer to adjust your/his pillow. He doesn’t want you to wake with an uncomfortable kink in your neck or aggravate the impending migraine you’ll certainly wake with. He’s in the middle of fluffing, his wrists above your head, when he feels your hands grasp at them. Your hold is dainty, barely there, but he could feel it scorching him. He restrains himself, from doing what he doesn’t know, as he looks down into the depths of your pleading eyes, as your right thumb maddeningly strokes the sliver of skin unprotected by his shirt’s cuff. He confronts the drought in his mouth again and it travels to his throat the longer you keep your hold on him. An onlooker would surely be apprehensive to this image. His brother would absolutely lose his mind if he knew about Sherlock’s abandonment of propriety with an unmarried, unbetrothed woman laying in his bed. He would absolutely lose his mind if he knew of the thoughts mashing together in Sherlock’s head, one after the other, of how he could climb in and join you.

“Lay with me,” you breathe, almost as if you could hear those pesky fantasies clouding his mind. He grips the pillow tighter as he considers it. The prospect, as much as he wants to deny it, is tempting. Something… something in him wants to accept it. Something in him wants to settle in beside you. It’s that something, whatever the hell it is, that causes him to release the pillow from his tightening vise. He brings his hands to himself, your hold physically easy to depart from, but the willpower to pull away is what he had to muster. He feels out of breath.

“I… I-I have to go get your tea.” He points to the door and thankfully, you don’t say anything else. You just watch as he leaves the room.

What you don’t see is how his back leans into the door after he closes it, a large hand coming up to scrub down the length of his face. He’s not sure what came over him or why he even dared to consider laying with you in such a state. It’s wrong. For many reasons. The main being how you’re not sober and unaware of what you were asking for. This is not something he can do. It’s against everything he stands for. Whatever this is, whatever realm of feelings you’ve awakened within him, they have to stop. It’s unknown, thought manipulating—a distraction. Before you came in, he was busy with work. Work he has to get back to now that you’re taken care of and out of his sight. His hands clench into fists and then stretch out at his sides as he ventures back to the kitchen and pours the hot water into the teapot. He picks out the black tea leaves at the end and stares at the door to his bedroom with a tray in his hands.

He’s ready to tell you how there will be no funny business and how this is purely a friend looking out for a friend, nothing more or less, as he brings the door open… only to find you asleep, one of his pillows firmly in your arms, half of your face pressing into it. He sighs and eventually brings the tray to his bedside table. You’ll need it when you wake up.

Maybe he’ll tell you tomorrow morning.

#henry cavill #henry!sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #enola holmes #l4l.writes #beyond answers #the distraction of rising temperature #henry cavill x reader

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thebibutterflyao3 · 1 month

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OK IDK IF YOU TAKE FIC PROMPTS BUT I LOVE UR WORK N THIS WON’T LEAVD MY HEAD BUT FEEL FREE TO IGNORE

let’s set the scene

a fic where james is at some form of school whether college or uni or whatever and he’s a football jock and super hot so everyone asks him out but he always rejects them BUTTT he wears a necklace with an R on it and everyone wonders who is that and THEN THE NEXT YEAR reg joins and ppl assume they’re dating because of how they act but theyre so oblivious and cute they think they’re just best friends but they’re in love

I do take prompts if they interest me! This is adorable and I definitely wanted to give it a go, but I have no chill. I said to myself, “you can write a cute one-shot with a few scenes, no problem!” I’m at 15k words in two days. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Here’s a peek:

——Unedited Opening Scene——

It had to be today. Of all days for his lucky necklace to break, it had to be today. James cursed under his breath as he hurried down the pavement, cradling the pieces of the gold chain carefully in his hand. He’d panicked when he felt the chain fall from its proper place at the hollow of his throat a minute earlier, and now the small pendant glared at him accusingly as if the intense boy who’d given it to him knew that it wasn’t where it belonged.

He rubbed his thumb over the gold script “R” and smiled fondly at the memory of Regulus’s eager grin when he insisted James open the gift from him first on Christmas morning, several years ago now. James was thrilled to find the charm nestled in a small blue satin gift box, and even happier to see the matching “J” that Regulus bought for himself. They had grown close in the previous year after the brothers moved in with him and his parents and this was a sign that their friendship was meant to last.

James also remembered how Regulus’s cheeks burned with embarrassment when he saw that his brother bought a similar set for him and his boyfriend the following year. Sirius had dismissed his concern and declared it was an equally appropriate gift for his “adopted brother,” but Regulus looked even more mortified. The term made James wince at the time. He never wanted to interject himself in Regulus and Sirius’s family bond, and remained content to be friends.

And now I’ve broken it, on the very first day he arrives at uni. Well done, you putz.

He searched the crowd gathered around the Square for a familiar dark head of wavy hair and anxious grey eyes. Regulus wasn’t tall enough to stand out among the throng of new students, but James’s gaze was drawn directly to him within seconds. Hurriedly, he waded through the crowd to reach him. When their eyes met, Regulus gasped and shoved his way past the handful of students standing between them.

“Jamie!” Regulus called out, leaping at James with his arms outstretched.

James rushed forward and caught him in a tight hug. “Hey Reg! You made it!”

“There’s so many people here,” Regulus whispered in his ear. “It’s a lot to take in.”

He nodded, then eased his hold a bit so that he could see his face. Regulus’s lips were bitten raw and his cheeks were pink with nervous excitement, but otherwise he looked exactly as James remembered. Their Facetime calls were the highlight of his week, every week, and his sole source of sanity when the stress of his summer sessions wore him thin.

“What dorm are you in? Did you request Gryffindor?” James asked, lowering his feet to the ground.

“I did, but they said it was full.” Regulus frowned as he pulled away. “Is Slytherin close?”

“Right across the street!”

James’s smile faltered when Regulus’s gaze fell to his chest. He held out his hand and quickly explained what happened with the clasp. Relief washed over Regulus’s sharp features as he carefully pieced the remaining tiny links back together. The little furrow between his brows when he was lost in concentration amused James and he was tempted to smooth it away with his thumb.

“There,” Regulus pronounced, holding up the necklace triumphantly. “Turn around and I’ll put it on.”

James swivelled on his heel and stooped a bit so that Regulus could reach his neck. “Thanks. I had a bit of a panic when it broke.”

“May be a tad tight now,” Regulus said. He deftly clasped the chain without issue, despite the fact that James hadn’t opened the clasp in years. When he turned around again, Regulus smiled and patted the charm approvingly as he reached for his own, untucking the silver “J” to rub it between his thumb and finger.

——Unedited Middle Scene——

James steadied himself with a hand on Sirius’s shoulder as the pain began to recede. “No one hurt me, alright? I crashed into the lockers during half-time trying to get my phone. I had to check on Regulus and–”

“Alright, enough,” Peter interrupted. He marched up to James and prodded his chest with one finger. “What’s it going to take, James? How much more proof do you need?”

James glared at Peter. “Leave it. There’s no reason to stir shite up when things are perfectly fine as they are.”

Peter glared right back, his hands propped on his hips like a disappointed mum. “James Fleamont Potter, have your bollocks fallen off? What happened to your self-respect? Has he scrambled your brain that much?”

“Who? What the hell are we talking about?” Sirius shook Peter’s shoulder roughly.

“Regulus! James is in love with Regulus!” Peter shouted.

A startled gasp whipped James’s head up with a loud crack. Shite. Regulus.

“No! Regulus, it’s not true,” James said, rushing forward. He made it a handful of steps before coming to a halt. “Why didn’t you come to the game?”

Regulus backed up slowly, unprepared for the rush of emotions that rolled through him at the sight of James. Particularly, a badly bruised and upset James. The same bloke that he’d spent the last hour and a half forcing himself to consider his feelings about, only to hear James assure him that he didn’t have any for Regulus in return.

Remus was right. I am pathetic. How did I miss it?

He swallowed past a lump in his throat and shook his head. “I had a project…the library…”

“You didn’t say anything about a project.”

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted. Regulus’s hands clenched into fists at his side. “It doesn’t matter anyway though, does it?”

James’s face contorted through a number of expressions before settling on frustration. “Of course it matters! I lost the game because I was too busy worrying about you! What the fuck, Reg? Why didn’t you come to the game like you said you would? I was looking everywhere for you. I couldn’t concentrate on the plays and–”

“So, it’s my fault you lost your game?” Regulus checked.

“Yes! Wait, no…I mean.” James huffed and stomped forward, grabbing the front of Regulus’s jumper. “Listen, Regulus, I need to hear you say it. Why didn’t you come to the game?”

Regulus tipped his head back and closed his eyes. This was not going the way he’d expected it to, which in some ways was a good thing. He wasn’t sure he could handle both of them being clingy saps right now. One of them needed to keep a clear head.

#thebibutterfly answers

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yamiiwaii · 2 years

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Do you have headcanons about macaque's recovering process from bpd and his copying skills (like about holding back extreme emotions or apathy, how does he regularly motivates himself to keep healing and so on)?

thats honestly a really good question...strap in, its a long one

macaque is definitely prone to bad spirals and bad episodes, as evident in the show, and he tends to internalize a lot of it and lash out in aggression. because of that i feel like starting the healing process was really hard for him. with lbd off his back and a lot more free time, im sure he thought alot about the things he did in the last few centuries. he probably stayed holed up in his dojo for a good while after the lbd stuff and just...thought. all that thinking led to spirals and breakdowns and he spent that time crying more than hes ever cried in his life. but afterwards i think he felt fine, stagnant even, and thats when he finally decided he could move on.

its hard giving up your fp and if hes anything like me im sure he didnt want to let go. he didnt want to break off those ties he had with wukong because those were familiar, safe. he fell back onto bad habits a lot, (i headcanon that he has s/h stims and he pulls on his fur when hes really stressed which adds to his bald spots), and found himself in spots where he felt the urge to go and fight wukong again, like before. during times like these his shadows are actually really helpful ! they help ground him and im sure rumble and savage help talk him through his breakdowns when theyre alone together. they help drive him to keep going, i think, because they know as well as he does that he needs this.

i think mk is another big motivator for macaque too, if not the biggest. he cares about mk so much, way more than he was ever expecting to, and i think he does hold some guilt and remorse about the way he treated mk. he wants to repair their relationship and actually become friends in the genuine way that mks friends with everyone else. and mac knows he cant get that if hes still holding onto the past, ya know. he wants to be someone mk could go to when wukong isn't available (he makes that...very very clear its honestly a little endearing) so i think he always thinks about mk while hes going through the process of healing.

and honestly, repairing his friendship with wukong could be something of a motivator too. he wants them to have something thats normal, im assuming, and maybe thats why he hangs around ffm still. but its also a little bit of a bittersweet memory of sorts, to see everything still as it was. to see bits of him still there.

with the holding back extreme emotions, macaque is the type to bottle everything up util he explodes. which isnt...healthy AJVKSKCJ i think overtime and mk exposure showed him its okay to feel those things...its okay to cry and to be upset and to just. be a person...obviously he only ever lets himself feel those things in the privacy of his dojo but hey, at least its something !

he does have set backs, as everyone does because healing isnt linear, and he still has days where its almost like hes back to being that hard-headed smartass trying to kill everyone...but i think now its a bit easier to deal with those days because he has a support system. he has people to rely on that wont shun him away, even if things are rocky between them all. but hes trying and he'll keep trying because as much as he lets it on, i dont think he actually enjoys being alone as much.

#🏮#shadow talks #I HOPE THIS ANSWERED YOUR QUESTION ANON #alot of my headcanons and thoughts about bpd macaque are big big projections so if you squint reeeeeeally hard #youll figure out how /i/ deal with my bpd #its hard on macaque i think. to deal with this #its a lot of baggage to carry but hes getting there #its all in the baby steps #i dont think he cut off his fp relationship with wukong until the very end actually...i think he works on finding himself first #because cutting that kind of relationship even if in order to replace it with something else is so so hard and so so soul crushing #i think macaque wanted to keep wukong as close as possible even if it was one sided just in case he didnt like who he found in place #of himself #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk macaque #lmk mk #lmk wukong #the six eared macaque

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treeba-rk · 7 months

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Yh i agree about people s obsession with new duos. And don t get me wrong, sometimes new and unexpected duos are great, i m talking to the treebark burner account! Ranchers were also great, and totally out of nowhere. But i think people are a bit too obsessed with 1 creating new duos and names in order to portray new narratives and theories and 2 making every close relationship romantic or familiar, as if close friendships, qprs or just good ol' rivalries did not exist 3 ignoring female ccs, even more so when it gets in the middle of a ship (this happens with women in every single piece of media btw).

Male-female friendships (or ships) are often ignored bc i feel a lot of fans feel as if these fanon relationships are somehow more "real" and not roleplay bc they are a "straight couple" (c'mon people, most of us are queer what are you doing with this mentality?), and are more likely to assume you ship the creators and not the characters, or worst, to actually assume the ccs are together irl (which was the reason some female ccs were against shipping in the 1st place). Re: this point, I will give an special mention to bee duo though, the fans really assumed they liked each other irl, which was very creepy considering they were underage at the time.

F/F ships are also often snubbed, although lately i ve seen them become a lot more popular, such as nature wives and more recently Gem & Pearl (ik the ship has a name, but i ve decided to ignore it bc we are better than that), which has been satisfactory to see. Still a long way to go though.

Hope i have explained myself correctly 👉👈 english s not my 1st language so i m kind of nervous about dping such a long post about such a complex issue. Feel free to correct me

no you're all good! thanks for the ask 🫶

also sorry to anyone who's here for tree bark only bc this acc is basically my alt now lmaoo (due to me keeping anon off on main)

you're right that ppl want to create new duos and narratives but sometimes... those ppl aren't that close. or had three interactions in a series. that isn't to say they're not friends or friends can't become close in a short amount of time. but the fandomisation and trying to come up with an incomprehensible name instead of saying their names is kinda ?? to me personally. not that's bad, it's just... i don't really get why you won't use their names. especially when it's not a long established group that frequently collabs.

you're so right about male-female friendships and especially in this fandom. i feel like m/f shipping in this sphere (outside of the obvious lizzie/joel) is seen as taboo bc it could leak into m/f irl shipping. at least that's why i was squicked out for like two years. esp bc m/f irl shipping was / is a problem (for example, i still see ppl asking in their public yt comments if stress and iskall are together. during hc2 people thought mumbo and false were dating when he was like 17 and she was in her early twenties and it's just fucking weird to truth in people's comments).

(unrelated to this discussion but i will always be salty that the antihcshippers never bring up the point of REAL AND ANNOYING M/F IRL SHIPPING IN COMMENTS and instead bully scar/grian shippers on twitter or whatever. really shows that they never cared about cc's "boundaries" or feelings and just want that fandom moral superiority. quick have you been to comment sections of eps posted by the women in like 2017. have you seen the random twitch chatters.)

the fanon side of m-f friendships/ships in hc is interesting bc pre gem and pearl, the three women had their "designated guy bestie that they always collab with" and it's quite obvious who: stress-iskall, cleo-joe, false-ren (to a lesser extent cub). former two are basically the only prominent m/f ships (iskall in particular plays into it). i had talked to ppl in dms about why false/ren isn't prominent and my main theory is what i call the yaoi shield bc ren is shipped with a lot of men LMFAO (also something something about ren/iskall and false/stress being complements to avoid the "boring" m/f shipping).

but i still wish m-f friendships get more recognition 😔 like if you're not shipping them in the character sense, there's no risk of being seen as irl shipping, so technically it's no different from same gender friendships, right? 🤡 and i do not like the instant "siblingification" to create a fanon familiar bond to avoid shipping. like sometimes it works. a lot of the time it doesn't. people can just be friends. and they all are actually friends.

ok, more of a tangent here, but dug up an old ass convo from 2021 in which there was a point like "sometimes romantic relationships can happen between ccs and it is definitely more feasible than ccs becoming family via marriage/adoption" and i said "so technically 'shipping hcs' are less weird than 'same family hcs'. hm". soooo 🤡🤡🤡 it's totally fine if you don't wanna ship, but it is also TOTALLY fine to keep them as friends instead of siblings / family hcs. i think this fandom has enough awareness now to know you mean friends when you portray them as friends.

i'm happy to see more yuri bc yuri is almost always the least popular in fandoms. but i think m/m and f/f also has the vibes of "less likely to be perceived as irl shipping so we can go wild" while m/f character shipping is still treated with caution? and people really don't want ccs to misinterpret it as irl shipping? tbh i feel like the modern day fandom has gone into "god forbid a man and a woman are friends" that m/f is seen as the "boring" "cop-out" and it goes all the way around. like yeah sometimes it's boring. but not the point of it being nonexistent lmfao like m/f could be funnnnn!!!!!! and they can be queer too!! bi4bi, t4t!!!! or they can just be hetero idk!!

anyways. as a m&f / m/f main i have Thoughts. but yeah 👍

#ask box #answered #shipping

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a-mag-a-day · 2 years

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So many things this ep, wow!

Thinking back to when I first listened and oh wow yep. Everything Jon says about him as a child is Self Recognition Through The Blorbo for me and this was the ep when I went "ah fuck. I would have also opened the Leitner and been marked forever wouldn't I". Relate to Jon here to an uncomfortable degree here cause this sure was a Jon ep

Lots of wonderful people have already made great analyses of Jon's character based on what he gives us here, so I won't ramble, but holy shit. There's so much. The fact that he feels he needs to hold himself accountable when he was a literal child. And all of it just makes me want to wrap him up safely in a blanket and protect him from the Horror Protagonist Curse 😭Actually said "mi amor..." to him out loud this ep that's how you KNOW it's bad. Blorbo of all time

Keeping up with the Jon feelings this is my first relisten so only now do I truly Get It with everything the Web did to him. I remember crying way towards the end when Anabelle said "we marked him young" out of sheer anger cause I was thinking back to this and fuck. Everything he doesn't really do out of his own free will here but he assumes he does, everything he marks as coincidence, everything he tries to excuse. Fuck. A literal child. The way the Web groomed him into ending the world will never not fuck me up. What the hell man

To end on a higher note tho GEORGIE. GEORGIE BELOVED WIFE MAKER OF PODCASTS LOVE OF MY LIFE. So glad we've gotten to her, her intro here and her easy friendship with Jon (insane in itself given the circumstances) and just her kindness and humor I love her I love her. On a meta note it's really cute to hear how well the familiarity between Sasha and Jonny carries on into their performances to give us characters that, despite all, are comfortable with one another and deeply care for each other.

Also the Admiral is here!!! 10/10 ep

God Jon went through so much T_T

And yes the Admiral! We love to hear it

#a mag a day #tma #the magnus archives #episode asks #mod ashes #tma spoilers #Mag 81 #gilgamushroom

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revui · 1 year

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Friend !!! how are the silly little guys in your head doin. what have they been up to

buddy they are doing so well. hyacinth just made a deal with a ghost and if she doesn't get a girl to fall in love with her by the end of the day then she'll have to give up her body. that'll be fine i'm sure

OK I actually want to ramble about this part because Hyacinth's arc in the narrative has so much ghost shit going on and it's extremely fun for me to write. This whole plotline heavily involves two different artifacts, one being an orb that holds the souls of all Hyacinth's ancestors from the past ~400 years and the other being a necklace capable of acting as a vessel for the Corruption, allowing whoever wears it to wield the curse. There's a lot of stuff I'll skip over in order to stay on the main point, but here's the important summary:

Skyler shows up in Hyacinth's family's casino wearing an illusion stone that disguises her as Colum, and she intends to steal the Corruption necklace

Hyacinth almost loses the necklace but is able to leverage the fact that Skyler is honor-bound to NOT kill her (since Sky is buds with Hyacinth's older brother) and Skyler gets captured

While trying to find out where to put an assassin who keeps trying to bite her fingers, Hyacinth finds the aforementioned orb and gets to chat with the soul of her grandmother, a talented singer who died decades ago when the casino caught on fire

Her grandmother, Gloria, manages to pick out a ton of Hyacinth's insecurities during this conversation and gently exploits the fuck out of them in order to convince Hyacinth to make the deal

The long and short of it is: "Hey, Hyacinth, you're an incompetent person, I need you to prove that the family can depend on you by doing something super easy—just confess your love to Delilah and get her to reciprocate those feelings. If you don't, then I'll just take your body and live your life for you because clearly you can't be trusted to do it if you can't manage a task that simple."

Gloria recognizes that Hyacinth is generally socially inept and assumes that Delilah probably doesn't like her back, while also knowing that Hyacinth is very desperate for approval, so it's a perfect storm of promising precisely what Hyacinth's wants more than anything while hinging that on her greatest weakness—social emotions.

Hyacinth takes this deal immediately. She's scientifically minded and figures that it'll be easy enough to just solve love—she just needs to study how love works and she'll be good to go. Once she understands the theory, it'll be easy enough to put it into practice.

(I don't think I need to tell you, but that's not how it works.)

Unsurprisingly, she fumbles hard and completely blows up her already volatile friendship with Delilah, and Gloria comes to collect her end of the deal.

So, Hyacinth's soul is trapped in the nightmare orb, but remember Skyler? Remember how he was captured and he's just been hanging around for a while, and how he was left in the same spot Hyacinth found the orb? When Gloria takes Hyacinth's body, she leaves the orb there again. Skyler frees himself with relative ease and investigates the nightmare orb, and Hyacinth's soul pops out to be like "Sunset—(by the way Skyler's alias in Thistle is Sunset)—I know we've done nothing but try to murder each other for the past couple weeks, but Gloria's fucking up the casino and she might kill my older brother for being in Thistle, and I know you're pals with him so I have a horrible idea."

The horrible idea in question functionally being "let's split our souls in half."

This is to solve two problems.

Skyler is an unrefined caster. They don't have the natural reserve of magic that sorcerers do and can only draw on the land's latent, "wild" magic, which is difficult for anyone to control and especially for someone who spent 15 years of their life in a world with zero magic; Hyacinth happens to be an incredible sorcerer who's already familiarized herself with wild magic and would be able to use it competently.

Hyacinth is not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination. She's a nerd familiar with only the basics of self-defense and would be incapable of surviving in combat with no magic; Skyler fights pretty exclusively without magic and also happens to be extraordinarily competent in combat thanks to the whole assassin training thing.

So in order to get Gloria's soul out and take Hyacinth's body back, these two socially incompetent near-strangers whose only major interactions have been physical fights, have to enter what may be the most hilariously intimate scenario possible, which is to physically share a body and mind. They each halve their souls; half of Skyler's soul goes into the orb and half of Hyacinth's soul enters Skyler's body, irreversibly changing their relationship and creating the most literal interpretation of the phrase "platonic soulmates."

It's very fun to write. Anyway, in summary, they triumph, the orb is destroyed, the trapped souls are allowed to pass on, Gloria is defeated, Hyacinth gets her body back, Skyler gets the other half of their soul back, Hyacinth reunites with her older brother for the first time in four years, and then... Skyler just fucking takes the Corruption necklace and leaves. He just goes "well this has permanently transformed our bond with each other. yoink. bye."

#blorboposting

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wahlpaper · 1 year

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Radio Silence Review

Radio Silence by Alice Oseman

CW: Suicidal Thoughts, Abusive Parent, Animal Death, Underage Drinking, School Stress, Depression, Arson, Death Theeats, Toxic Internet Culture, Stalking, Unhealthy Weight Loss, Positive References to Harry Potter and Scott Pilgrim, Anxiety, Racism, Queerphobia, Classism, Fire Injury

5/5

I've wanted to read Alice Oseman's Radio Silence for quite a while, but it was the most recent season of Heartstopper that motivated me to read it now. If you're familiar with Oseman, you might know that all of their stories are set in the same universe. You may also know that they don't always connect to each other. I had assumed that Aled (a character in the Heartstopper comic and Radio Silence) was renamed Issac for the show. When I realized his story was very different, I looked into why. Aled was left out in hopes that Radio Silence will get an adaptation. So, if you were wondering, you do not need to be familiar with Heartstopper to understand and enjoy Radio Silence. The story takes place after and is very much its own thing!

In Radio Silence, Frances Janvier is head girl of her school and achieving top grades. She's on track to go to Cambridge, but she's been missing out on a fulfilling social life because of it. The only two things she does in her free time are art and listen to a podcast called "Universe City". When she accidentally finds out that she knows the anonymous creator of the podcast, she starts to help with the show and get close to him. This is Aled Last, a depressed boy with an abusive mother and a missing twin sister. Time spent with Frances allowed both of them to embrace their true selves. Unfortunately, the problems in Aled's life may be too much for their friendship.

Being used to Heartstopper and Loveless, both by Oseman, I was unprepared for how dark Radio Silence was. While no main characters die, there are feelings of hopelessness and fear that can affect a reader. It's the first book I've needed a reading break from since Jennette McCurdy's memoir. In addition to the topics I've already mentioned, this book covers racism, single parent-hood, mental illness, flaws in the education system, suicidal thoughts, toxic internet culture, and stalking. The topics are all handled quite well, I just wish I had read a content warning going into it. For me, it helps to prepare for what I'm about to read instead of going in blind. All reading needs are valid!

The thing that drew me to Oseman in the first place was their inclusion of asexuality. While you do not need to be ace yourself to write ace characters, I do see it as a nice bonus. Being ace, Oseman tends to include that rep in most of their books. Over the course of Radio Silence, Aled discovers that he is on the asexual spectrum. It's something he's afraid to share as he doesn't know how others will react. I've had this same fear every time I've started being interested in someone new. Seeing realistic representation of my identity will always feel rewarding.

Oseman is great at writing varied and authentic queer identities. Aled is also into guys and potentially gender fluid. The podcast he creates often pulls from his own life and the main character of it is gender fluid. Frances knows she's bisexual before the book starts. She doesn't get a romance arc in this book, so it's not a big part of the plot, it's just a part of who she is. There's also a gay character and a lesbian character. Queer people flock together and it's clear that Oseman knows this.

I think that Radio Silence is mostly written very well! The pacing allowed the book to take up many months and feel like it. Every mysterious part of the story was revealed at the right time. The characters were all complex and interesting. The messages all got across. What I struggled with was how Frances was telling the story. Though it's all from her point of view at some time in the future, this feels uncertain and inconsistent. It's as if sometimes she was just describing it in the moment. She was also annoyingly repetitive at times. I think it would have worked better if she was either an unreliable narrator or if it was all in the present. It wouldn't need to be present tense, but lines like "I would always" or "I never saw [person] again" could be left out. There's always going to be something a book struggles with and that's okay.

Radio Silence is not just a must-read for Alice Oseman fans, but a great book for anyone upset with the school system, wanting a friendship love story, or looking for a serious read that turns out okay. If you decide to read it you'll be treated to bits of the fictional podcast, fashion ideas from the characters, and lots of queer rep! If this sounds like a book for you, trust your gut and pick it up!

#alice oseman #radio silence #aled last #frances janvier #heartstopper #book blog #bookblogger #queer books #queer characters #ace representation #queer friendship #contemporary ya #books about tumblr #queer teen characters #asexuality #bisexual biracial

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2n2n · 2 years

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Entertain my curiosity for a moment! If Tsukasa had any friends when he was alive, how would he treat them? Similar to how he treats the broadcasting club members now?

I feel like there would be a slight difference in how he would treat a female friend and a male friend but I want the grand master 2n2n’s opinion!

Living Tsukasa? Well…! We honestly don't know enough. I actually think we're in for a surprise with whatever the living (especially older) Tsukasa came to be like…. I don't know that he'll completely resemble his modern, carefree self, at all. The circumstances their family, or he himself, were in, might have, itself, completely necessitated being alone/isolated (when I'm talking with Bird, I'm always joking about, "and Tsukasa, locked in the shed out back"). Generally no, I don't think it'd be like the Broadcast Club, because… I think his modern behavior is highly influenced by the euphoria of being Amane's sacred object, and, maybe some other thing which we don't know yet.

After all, the current 'Hanako' is a self-possessed confident little shit, fondling a girl and forcing dirty talk on random boys, and pulling a knife on whoever …………………. which isn't what the living Amane we saw was like, at all. Plus, the living Amane at 8, and 13, are vastly different. At 4, Amane is a polite boy who will say thank-you and sorry to his parents, bow. At 8, he's a little bit of a flirtacious beast, but he's still relatively polite, if a little surprisingly confident for his age. At 13, he's either completely sullen, closed-off, aloof, or he's smiling from ear to ear in a disconcerting way and waxing poetics.

At age 4, Tsukasa is energetic and lively, if oddly easily discouraged and with a low sense of self-worth. Coming back, we see him pretty perky as he talks to Kunishige (he also uses very friendly, familiar honorifics with Nene and Kunishige … while Amane uses the polite "Onee-san" and "Nene Onee-san", Tsukasa uses "Nene-chan" and "Kunishige-kun"… kinda referring to everyone like a peer I guess? Kunishige seems caught off-guard by this).

For probably an important reason, we haven't gotten to see Tsukasa at age 8 or 13 while alive. Aida has drawn more snapshots of Aoi or the Minamoto family at various ages…. obviously, for Tsukasa, however he may look or act at these ages, is a spoiler. It can't be drawn in a header image, or in a random funny side comic or doodle. It's a 'drop' waiting to spring on us... to bust our kneecaps, probably.

I think analyzing Tsukasa's living behavior based off of his extremely particular current circumstance would be a fool's errand honestly. As much as you'd be foolish to assume the living Amane was an infamous egomaniacal knife-wielding maniac everyone hates, when alive. You couldn't use the way he treats Nene like a guide to how he treats women, or Kou for boys.... the circumstances of these friendships are way too particular, and loaded in their own unreplicable ways.

Tsukasa is free from a lot of burdens and consequences, now, just like Amane. Amane can act as capriciously as he wants, because he's a superpowered ruler of a system who will only be hammered down on if he like, kills someone; there's 0 reason to not sexually harass a girl, read ero mags, and put his shoes on desks. He can use no honorifics for everyone and nobody can do shit about it.

Tsukasa is now intrinsically bound to Amane in every sense, though unlike Hanako, he's in a vulnerable position as Amane's yorishiro, and oughtn't create unnecessary risk for Amane by putting himself anywhere, and is being very cautious about his plans.

Honestly nobody saw it coming that the living Tsukasa would be a passive martyr, convinced he's unloved, trying to keep himself away for other's sakes, and capable only barely of dreaming to spend Tanabata with his brother. About the only thing they have in common is… loving Amane, and being oddly grateful Amane would kill him+himself.

If I had to just guess out of nowhere though, I'd think the living Tsukasa would not devote a minute of his focused attention to other people, as the walls start closing in towards the murder, I imagine that's all-consuming…. Tsukasa's character in general has a trend of being isolated (he spends an unknown amount of untethered time in the Red House, he spends possibly 50 years in Amane's deepest boundary, now he spends 99% of his time in the Broadcast Club because he's a liability).......... so, ah I dunno, something feels really completely 'wrong' and 'off' about trying to imagine him with friends? Mostly I think he'd be absent-minded and distractable to anyone.

#avvy's JSHK

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sloanesallow · 1 year

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So It Goes: CH8: Acromantulas, Always

“So It Goes” : The new school year has started, and Siobhan Sloane’s fifth-year is behind her. But she still has unfinished business: find a way to control her unstable ancient magic and discover the truth behind the Keepers’ secrets. That, and to fix the fractured friendship between her and Sebastian Sallow. Despite everything, she feels selfishly heartbroken over what could’ve been, but never was. Even though she's facing her sixth-year filled with new adventures and new assignments, she’ll stop at nothing to ensure their relationship is mended, possibly into something more.

In this chapter: Sebastian and Sloane decipher Isidora’s journals, duel as a form of flirtation, and track down ‘Rookwood’s Remnants’. Also, spiders.

You can read chapters 1-7 on Ao3 or Wattpad | I’d love to hear what you think! 🥰

Keepers…meant to be shared…allowing fear to dictate their choices…I am not afraid—I am in control…not to be trusted…suspect…want the power for themselves, locked away to never be found…the key…wield the power through emotions, control the…remove the pain…keep my own secrets, safe…not dead…one day to be rediscovered…ancestor…ancient magic is key…what is dead, does not stay dead. Sebastian squinted at the faded words, frowning at the smudged ink and illegible script. The pages had been practically destroyed by time and overgrown Devil’s snare, and smelt worse than any ancient text he’d read from the Restricted Section. It was as if he even looked at the parchment the wrong way, it would fall apart in his hands. What did it all mean? After returning from Feldcroft, he’d been spending all his free time in the Undercroft, slowly deciphering Isidora Morganach’s journals and trying to make sense of what remained.

Feldcroft —what a mess that had been, for more reasons than just the Ashwinder ambush. Sebastian couldn’t help but blame himself for being so distracted by the emotions returning home conjured up. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with navel-gazing, he would’ve been more prepared, or had anticipated the attack in the first place. Not that returning to the hamlet was a complete mistake, or didn’t serve its purpose, but he wished they would’ve been able to retrieve Isidora’s journals without running into trouble. His guilt was compounded by the memory of Sloane, and how she’d been paralyzed with fear, trembling in his arms on the coastline after he flung them into the ocean. That, and the week-long colds they suffered through after returning to Hogwarts.

Sebastian would’ve done anything to protect her—to save her—and that’s what frightened him the most. For a split second, when facing off against the brood of Ashwinders, he felt a familiar, chilling desire to defeat them by any means necessary. He hadn’t felt the urge to use the Dark Arts since Solomon’s death at his hands, and the mere thought of succumbing to it again chilled him to the bone. The whole ordeal had made him realize something else, too—there was no doubt now, how irreversibly, head-over-heels he’d fallen in love with Sloane.

Sebastian’s vision blurred as another memory crept up, flashes of wet clothes clinging to Sloane’s body, and the curves he’d memorized with one untoward glance. He’d seen enough that it plagued his waking thoughts, and invaded the already tawdry and embarrassing dreams he had of her. The temptation to simply take what he wanted was a constant battle between his conscious and more baser instincts. As eager as he’d been to share his feelings with her before , he was hesitant now, worried that baring his heart and soul to her would only cause unnecessary distress, and provide an unneeded distraction. A small part of him was also terrified that he’d been wrong in assuming she might possibly feel the same way, and would reject him completely. Merlin’s beard —if he didn’t get a grip on his emotions, he’d end up falling to his knees at her feet to plead for mercy.

“It can’t be that bad,” Sloane said, suddenly at his side.

Sebastian flinched, swallowing the yelp that got stuck in his throat. When did she sneak into the Undercroft? He nearly dropped the journal he was holding, placing it down on the table as gently as he could before leaning against it with one hand. Smooth. He faced her, praying she couldn’t actually read his thoughts, lest she smite him into the afterlife.

“What’s bad?” he asked, hoping his smile didn’t look as awkward as it felt.

Sloane arched up an eyebrow as she looked at him, amused by his peculiar behavior. “The journal. You were making quite the face at it, as if it stole your socks.”

“It certainly smells like it,” he quickly followed up with, “not that my feet smell like they’ve been underground for two-hundred years!”

She was covering her mouth with a hand to suppress her laughter, in the cute way she always did, captivating him anew. Before he could stop himself, he was reaching out to grasp her wrist, turning her hand over in his. After a week, the burns from the Devil’s snare were still outlined on her skin, but were healing nicely thanks to Matron Blainey’s intervention. Just another thing for him to feel bad about.

“I’m sorry,” he hushed, tracing his thumb across the faint red lines.

“Don’t be,” she replied, voice just as quiet. “It was my own foolish decision. At least it wasn’t venomous tentacula, then I might not have a hand left for you to hold!”

The two exchanged a small smile, and Sebastian resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. All he wanted to do was hold her, and never let go. Instead, he slowly brought her hand to his lips, brushing a faint kiss along her knuckles. Sloane stared on in wonder, grey-blue eyes sparkling as they scanned his face. He could feel his heart echoing in his ears, realizing very quickly that they were alone —there was nothing stopping him from wrapping her up and kissing her anywhere he pleased.

“I was hoping you’d do me a favor—”

“Anything.”

Sloane blushed, as did he at his own eagerness. He was just grateful she was filling the silence, preventing him from making some love-blind mistake. She continued, flicking her gaze away for a moment. “I need a competent dueling partner. The others refuse to practice with me.”

“Perhaps they’re afraid of a concussion,” he teased with a cheeky smile, recalling the last time they dueled. She’d been rightfully angry with him then, but that didn’t mean the chances of being absolutely throttled by her magic again were zero.

Sloane rolled her eyes before her expression shifted into a more serious one. “What happened in Feldcroft—I won’t allow myself to be so defenseless ever again. I’m determined to not let the ancient magic control me, and even if it takes all the concentration I can muster, I will regain control of my magic. Otherwise, I have no place here at Hogwarts, and everything that happened last year will be for naught.”

“You’ve always been so patient with me, Sebastian, even when I’m undeserving of it,” she said, squeezing his hand. He’d almost forgotten he was still holding hers. “You’re the only person I can trust to help me through this.”

Momentarily awestruck, Sebastian wondered what he’d ever done in his life to be so deserving of her friendship. Was it luck, or fate that brought them together? He found his voice, “I’m always here for you, Sloane.”

“I hope you’ll still be saying that after I’ve accidentally set you on fire, or turned you into a chicken,” she joked, flatly. They moved away from the table, finding an acceptable stretch of space in which they could cast spells.

“I might enjoy being a chicken,” he laughed in reply. “You wouldn’t eat me up, now would you?”

Sloane glanced at him with a small flush to her cheeks. “Perhaps if you were a dessert, instead.”

He hadn’t expected such a flirtatious response, standing gobsmacked as he quickly shook the inappropriate thoughts from his mind. It didn’t help that she was readying herself now, tying up her sandy-blonde hair and exposing the soft skin of her neck. She discarded her Hufflepuff blazer, rolling up her sleeves before summoning her wand.

“Ready?” Sloane asked with a bright grin. She was going to be the death of him.

Sebastian took a moment to toss his own jacket over hers, loosening the tie beneath his vest and adjusting his shirtsleeves. For a moment, she focused on the small band of yellow silk tied to his right wrist—of course he hadn’t taken off the ‘good luck’ charm she’d gifted him. He flashed her a sideways smirk, and winked. “Ready.”

Her bashful expression shifted as she produced a tiny vial from her pockets. “Garreth was finally able to brew an enhanced focus potion based on that recipe we found.”

“I get to be your test subject? How thrilling .”

Sloane appeared a little more mischievous now, eyes alert. “Don’t go too easy on me, like you did that first day in Professor Hecat’s class.”

“Oh, is that so?” Sebastian shot off a basic cast, one she easily deflected with a near-perfect protego . “I assure you, sweetheart, it isn’t that easy to get me on my back.”

“And yet I’ve managed to do it twice .”

They exchanged a flurry of spells, each blocking them in stride. Sebastian was surprised at how much fun he was having, struggling to remember the last time he’d used his magic with such natural ease. He’d nearly forgotten how bloody brilliant she was at dueling, one of the reasons he’d become so smitten with her in the first place. It had been love at first levioso .

The spark of her magic filled the room, tingling his skin even through his shield. It was always something he noticed when in the same room as her, but it was stronger now, and she moved fluidly, flawlessly, from one spell to the next.

“I meant to ask,” she spoke, breathless as she paused in her casting. “Why weren’t you with the others in the Room of Requirement? Even Ominis didn’t know where you were.”

Sebastian took the short reprieve to roll his shoulders, flexing his fingers as he swapped his wand from one hand to the other. It was rare for anyone to be an ambidextrous caster, but he’d always used it to his advantage. “The Undercroft was once used by Isidora, right? I thought her presence might make itself known as I read through the journals.”

“Well?” Sloane prompted, and he reflected her confringo to the nearby brazier. “Did she have anything interesting to say?”

“No more than we already know from the pensive memories,” he said. “The Keepers did not trust her, and wanted to control the ancient magic for themselves. You said she died protecting the reservoir…it seems most of her secrets died with her.”

“I can’t believe I ever trusted them,” she muttered with a scowl.

Sebastian had never had the courtesy of meeting the so-called Keepers, but he doubted he would’ve had anything kind to say to them if he had. He’d been so cruel to Sloane during that time, emotionally manipulating her to use her newfound connection to ancient magic to cure Anne. What he didn’t realize at the time was how demanding the Keepers had been, sending her through deadly trials before completely abandoning her when she needed them most.

“If only I could speak to Isidora directly,” Sloane said mournfully.

“Maybe you still can,” Sebastian offered, thinking about the words he’d been reading over before she arrived. “ Ancient magic is the key. What is dead, does not stay dead. ”

“I’ve seen that before, in her other journals,” she furrowed her brows in thought. “She was trying to find a way to preserve her magic, even after death.”

“We need to find Isidora’s portrait,” he stated, knowing how asinine the idea sounded. “Damaged as it was, I think there might be a way for you to talk to her, if you used your ancient magic.”

“You’re so certain?”

“Sloane, I have literally watched you fight off hordes of loyalists, poachers, and trolls ,” he softly chuckled at all the memories of fighting by her side. “If there’s anyone who could communicate with the dead, it’d be you.”

She nodded, taking his compliment as graciously as she could. “Even if they were the ones who took it, who’s to say the Ashwinders haven’t already destroyed it? We don’t even know why they want it in the first place!”

“Well then it’s a good thing we have something they don’t,” he grinned, lifting his hand to show off the charm. “ Luck .”

“You truly are the most fearless person I’ve ever met. Every once in a while you actually have a good idea,” she teased. Before he could retort, or offer mock offense, she surprised him, levitating him a few feet off the ground with ease.

She let out a breezy chuckle, “what’re you doing up there?”

She released her hold, allowing him to drop back to the floor. He found his balance quickly, laughing as he cut through her protego to transfigure her tie into a yellow-colored snake. Sloane shrieked, grabbing at it and tossing it from her neck in a panic. “ Sebastian !”

Sloane quickly returned the favor, transfiguring his left boot so it was four sizes too big. He kicked it off his foot, nearly falling over in the process. That’s all it took for the two to dissolve into a fit of belly-aching laughter. When he eventually regained his composure, he regarded her with an expectant look.

“When do we leave?”

As careful as they thought they’d been before, Sebastian and Sloane took even more precautions on their return trip to the Feldcroft region. While not the biggest fan of flying, she recognized the fact they’d need a quick getaway just in case and took Highwing from the vivarium, hiding her amusement as the Hippogriff nearly snapped Sebastian’s head off before allowing him to climb up. As confident as he was when flying a broom , Sebastian was a mix of terrified and amazed as he clung to Sloane’s waist, chin resting against her shoulder so he wouldn’t look down.

High above the clouds, the dark sky provided them enough cover to survey the lands, looking for any signs of recent Ashwinder activity. There were several abandoned camps along the coastline, but it wasn’t until they were close to Irondale when she spotted smoke rising above the trees in the mountain. She carefully guided Highwing to land in a nearby secluded field before scooping him up into the magical beast bag.

Sebastian adjusted his scarf to combat the chilly night air. Sloane did the same, tugging up her gloves and flexing her hands—the cold was irritating the burns, but for now there was little she could do about it. In the distance, the faint glow of a campfire could be seen. “We’ll have to be extra sneaky this time.”

“I’m good at sneaky,” he retorted with a grin.

Sloane tried to ignore it, still reminiscing on their flirtatious practice duel, and everything else that had happened earlier that day. Or what had not happened, for that matter. She was very sure that at any moment, he was going to grab her by the cheeks and just kiss her. But time and time again she’d been left hanging, wondering silently what his lips tasted like. Probably mint , she reminded herself with a blush. If she wasn’t so much of a coward when it came to these types of things, she would just do it herself.

Sebastian pulled her out from her distracting thoughts. “Shall we perform an old-fashioned haunting?”

“They’ll never know what hit them.”

Under the sheen of their disillusionment spells, the two snuck through the pine trees, and eventually found themselves on the edge of the bandit camp. Sloane lowered herself until she was crouched behind a stack of crates, craning her neck to get a better view. “I count seven.”

“I count five,” Sebastian whispered back. “Are you sure about this?”

“No turning back now.”

She wasn’t sure if it was her own confidence returning, or whatever it was Garreth had added to the focus potion, but she wanted nothing more than to use the magic coursing through her veins. And what better way for her to use it than on a handful of Ashwinders that wanted her dead?

“I’ll go around,” Sebastian explained, shuffling away.

Sloane grabbed at the shimmering line of his coat, stopping him. “ Wait , how will I know to advance?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

With a sigh, she let him go and continued to wait patiently, wand at the ready for whatever it is Sebastian planned to do. Closest to the fire, three men were gathered, laughing about their recent exploits, and how they’d tortured their latest victim to death. It sickened her—beyond her racing heart, she could feel the pulse of ancient magic calling out, begging to be released. Before she could succumb to the blind rage, a barrel of explosives shot across the field and made contact with the fire, sending the men flying, immediately knocking them unconscious as they hit the ground. One, two, three down.

“Guess that’s my cue,” she mumbled to herself before hurdling over the barrier to find a dark wizard already running in her direction. “ Expelliarmus !” she snatched his wand out of the air, sending it back with such velocity that when it hit the side of his head, the man fell to his knees with a groan. Not dead, from what she could tell, but incapacitated nonetheless. Four down.

“ Stupify !” Sebastian’s shout alerted her and she scrambled to make her way to where he had just knocked out two more Ashwinders. “Five, and six.”

Catching her breath, Sloane surveyed the area. “Where’s seven?”

A low rumble shook the ground beneath their feet, the two jumping back with a startled yell as a spider broke through the earth’s surface. Not just any spider, but an overgrown Acromantula.

“How nice of them to leave the giant spider behind,” Sebastian said sarcastically, preparing himself to fight the beast. But Sloane had a better idea. She took a deep breath and harnessed the power she had once been so familiar with, calling upon it with the help of her wand. With one powerful and precision hit, the spider was encompassed in a blue shimmer of magic, freezing before shrinking rapidly in size. The now regular sized spider scurried in a frenzy manner until Sebastian squished it beneath his boot. “Well, that was easier than I thought it was going to be.”

The bubble of gleeful laughter escaped Sloane’s throat before she could help herself. Deep down, she knew there was likely to be more trouble, but that wouldn’t stop herself from celebrating the tiny victory. She had done that, and with as much ease as she had done before. She practically skipped to meet Sebastian, who happily gathered her in his arms and spun her around in a tight hug. Just as her feet were planted back on the ground and she pulled back to look at him, he’d angled his head down to press his lips against hers.

Oh .

Before she had a chance to shake away the surprise and react—to kiss him back —he had already pulled away with a nervous and breathless smile. Sloane just stared at him, as if she’d forgotten how to speak. She wanted him to do it again. She wanted him to kiss her, and never stop kissing her.

That is, until she spotted exactly what they had come for out of the corner of her eye. The fire was starting to spread, threatening to consume the tents and everything within it. Sloane reluctantly pulled away, running towards the pile of stolen goods. “The painting!”

Sebastian rushed to follow, casting Glacius to extinguish the flames. Sloane grabbed the frame, momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden and very powerful sensation she felt emanating from it. For a brief moment, she swore she could hear Isidora’s voice calling to her, but it vanished in the blink of an eye. Before it could be further destroyed, she aparated it away to be summoned later when they were back in the Undercroft. She turned to face Sebastian, heart still pounding in her ears from the fight and the kiss.

He nervously rubbed at the back of his neck as he looked up at the night sky. “Should we head back to the castle before more men or spiders show up?”

Sloane softly chuckled, reaching out to grasp his hand. She smiled when his eyes instantly found hers again, pupils blown wide and the brown of his irises sparkling with what could only be described as hope . “As long as you’ll escort me back to my common-room.” His lips quirked to the side in one of the goofiest grins she’d ever seen him make. “ Gladly .”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #let me know what you think :)#sebastian sallow x f!mc

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gwaaaaar · 2 years

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So, remember that long ass post i made abt noah thy creature characterization bc i was ill. Here to back up on my claims btw. Spoilers below, this is info i gathered from regis altares stream as i cannot play the game </3

I... i kind of miss early access thy creature. The story and the flow was just, so much more natural and endearing and calm. Like you had time to savor the residents and get to know them. There wasn't a rush. This isn't to say the new version is bad, I just enjoyed the early access much more. Specifically the introduction. The way Noah is introduced first makes him feel more personal to the creature. In the final version you meet Noah, El and Justine all together. And oh my god El.

Where do I begin. He is not a bad character, on the contrary I think hes ok. But it feels as if he took Noahs more positive traits like the kindness and selflessness. And he feels ever so slightly shoehorned in, BUT he does have an important role. Afaik he is the nepe of madness, mazm spoiled that in like previous material and shit like im assuming its supposed to be a surprise but its so obvious theyre related. But to a newcomer it would be a surprise so i wont riff on mazm too much.

So yeah we meet El in the beginning as opposed to later on. This is important because madness is the third floor boss, if they wanted the twist with El to hit, the player would have to know him since the beginning. Since early access didnt have El then, they'd have to change up the approach.

Tbh how I'd write the new version would be keeping the EA plot, BUT, introduce El in the beginning with Noah, and also develop their interpersonal relationship because it seems Noah does trust El. It would be good to develop a reason why he trusts El and also El can convince him to help the creature. It would hopefully keep the same effect as the final version where you still get to meet El in the beginning.

While we are at change, Noah feels ever so slightly flanderized from early access, its hilarious. HE LITERALLY MAKES CASH REGISTER NOISES THATS HIS SFX!!!! Its so funny it makes me laugh, mori calliopes mickey voice for him is priceless. BUT, in a story sense, flanderization is kinda, not good. Its not good to reduce characters to a singular trait as that is how they become one dimensional.

However, I am making these assumptions based on the 3 hours of gameplay i have seen, and I am not saying this is Noah in entirety. For all i know he may get development and grow as a character. I applaud mazm for their characters as that is what they mainly focus on when it comes to writing. They want memorable characters, I just dont think flanderization is the way to go.

Noah in the new version is a man that lives by the sigma grindset. He cracks a lot more mortician jokes which is rlly funny that can stay. There is also a flyer for a "evans funeral service" which gives a two in one coffin deal, sounds familiar doesnt it? If Noah's last name is "Evans" then thats a pretty clever way of revealing that. But hes far more transactional and light hearted compared to previous Noah who could be an absolute edgelord if he wanted to.

EA Noahs lines about beggars asking for free services and his more dry sarcasm conveyed a more adult vibe to him. Hes like 33 hes seen some shit. Thats not old but more like enough time for him to be thoroughly unamused by the world. His tired lines reveal just how little faith he has in anyone but himself and certain people. But then you get his memories, you see that sweeter side to him, and he gets more lighthearted and a friend to the creature. He makes jokes with the creature, he teaches it about life and new words, all sorta fun stuff.

Hes still using it, hes 100 transparent about it and he apologizes for lying to the creature about going up the tower. However, the friendship it builds with the creature feels more personal, more earned. He helped the creature not because of someone elses interference (El in the new version), but out of his own will, even if there was financial intent behind it. He was the one that tried breaking down the door and failed. He had far more of an independent role and felt like a character, not azul ashengrotto 2.0. I have joked abt Noah being an MLM salesman but I did not expect this.

When Noah got his memories back in EA, he had a strong reaction to them, and you got to learn just a bit more about him, adding depth to his character. In the new version it doesn't really feel like you're getting anything new from it. Sure the meat is in the memories, but I think the character's reactions to those memories also matters a lot. It shows how they've changed as a person, and its a subtle way of self reflection.

I feel as if because we don't know about new Noah that much yet, he does fall a bit flat. I hope that his arc does not end here! And I am sure it wont! I'm sure his story will continue even beyond floor one. Mazm is amazing at characters when it wants to be, and for a game like thy creature, i think it does want to be outstanding.

#mazm #mazm thy creature #Noah thy creature

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enchantedbrew · 2 years

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۞ Kohi's Rules for Roleplay ۞

۞ all fandoms/ocs are welcome, but responses might be iffy at best

I’ll do my best to get pertinent information for the fandom your muse is from or for, but if I’m not familiar with them I’m sure I’ll mess it up somehow. ^^;;; I will definitely put my utmost effort into responding, though. If you’d like to give me some information beforehand, feel free!

If you have an OC I would greatly appreciate an about page somewhere. Having something to look at will help me learn how to interact with that character and may even give me an idea of how to start plotting for them.

If you have a fandomless OC with their own universe, any kind of information you can give me about their world is very much desired. It’s also certainly not a requirement, but never feel like you are bogging me down with details if you wanna just go off about your world. I want to read about it! So please infodump on me or send me pages, I love that.

۞ shipping is okay!

I’m okay with any kind of shipping with all muses! Romantic, found family, friendship, etc. are all fine.

I will not romantically ship minors with adults, period. Platonic is fine, but minor muses will only romantically ship with age-appropriate characters. The same goes for adult muses.

I will happily multiship/multiverse with any muse. Romantic ships will take place in different universes separate from each other. However, platonic shipping can be done with multiple parties in the same universe. Friend groups are encouraged.

I have no problem with pre-establishing ships for a rp, as long as they are platonic. Just shoot me a message and we can talk about it at length. As for romantic ships, I will always prefer for those to occur naturally during the roleplay. Discussing a future romantic ship that you would like to see develop is fine, however!

That being said, I think it’s fairly clear now but let me say it again just in case. I do not and will not autoship, and I won’t continue a thread if you come out of the gate assuming a pre-est. relationship, even platonic ones. Please please please talk to me about it. The only exception to this rule is for muses that knew my own in canon beforehand (ex. Kotone, Mikado, ect.).

۞ duplicates are okay!

I have absolutely zero problems with interacting with duplicates. As a matter of fact, I encourage it! Especially since Cafe Enchante’s world encourages the idea of multiple worlds and universes, I don’t think it’s too far fetched to imagine there are worlds like parallel universes.

۞ about connections:

I do have mains on this blog, however I will not be doing exclusives whatsoever. By mains/exclusives I am referring to characters which will be the specific version of that character that is canon for my muse (for example, I may rp with multiple Ils, but only one will be the one to affect the growth and development of my Rindo). All of my mains are listed in the “Connections” page on my blog.

I do not do mains calls, ever. If you want to set it up that your specific version of your muse is the main one to my Souan’s and Rindo’s universe, please come talk to me about it. I may want to get more experience between the characters under my belt first if you’re fairly new to my blog, but as long as that slot is free I’m more than willing to talk about it. OCs may also have a position on the Connections page as well. I certainly don’t mind setting that up, but you do have to come talk to me about it.

As you do have to come talk to me about setting this up, I ask that you please do not come out of the gate assuming you are the main canon muse for my universe. Nor should you assume exclusivity, especially since I don’t do exclusives anyway. This essentially boils down to me asking you to please please do not harass other muns that are portraying the same muse as you for interacting with me. I’ve seen that this sometimes becomes a problem and I don’t want that to ever happen to anyone trying to write with me. Please don’t do it, we can all have fun here.

۞ asks, submit, and reblogs are all okay, save rp replies

The only thing I ask you not to reblog are rp replies (unless the reply is for you, of course). This is purely to keep things tidy. Otherwise, I love interaction with both myself and my muses.

I have no problem with personals following me, just as long as you follow the above rule. Anonymous asks are also welcomed and encouraged.

If we’re mutuals, please don’t hesitate to send me starters, prompts, and memes through the askbox! If we’re not, be sure to follow me or send me a DM letting me know you want to rp! Odds are I’ll happily follow back.

If I follow you, I probably want to roleplay with you at some point, so don’t be afraid to follow back and jump right in.

۞ battle scenes or opposition must be decided for the benefit of the story

When doing scenes for battle I hate to run into that problem where no one wants to lose and it gets drawn out unnecessarily. Instead I would rather write for what works best for the story, so in cases of battle or opposition I would like the winner to be decided beforehand.

This also means that I may ask to defy logic from time to time. Maybe your character can technically win every battle against my muse, but it wouldn’t be very fun if doing so immediately ends the thread. The narrative will always come first for me, therefore it must be discussed.

This also doesn’t mean your muse will be forced to lose every battle either. I will still always hold the narrative in the highest regard and if he has to lose he has to lose. Don’t be afraid to work it out with me.

۞ no killing off/controlling characters that aren’t yours

I don’t want my muse’s decisions to be made by anyone other than myself. My characters should not think or feel anything unless I am the one who decided they should.

I will offer you the same courtesy, so if I do something off putting and just didn’t realize, please let me know. I will never knowingly attempt to control your character

Sometimes I understand that this is necessary for the narrative, so if there’s something you’re not sure about, it’s fine to come talk to me about it. There are instances in which I’ll allow this sort of thing for a more interesting story.

If I’m inviting you to do something to my muse, then of course it is okay to do so. Just be sure that if you plan on doing something I have in some way granted permission.

۞ give me time to respond

It’s difficult for me to stick with a roleplay in which several actions occurs without me having the chance to react to any of them. Such as deciding that your character has snuck into my character’s house and stolen every valuable item before leaving again. I would want the chance for my character to wake up and notice an interloper in this situation, and unless an agreement has been made that they would not, I would like to have that option.

This is another one of those things that may change if the situation calls for it. Again, if you want to do something to this effect, all you have to do is come talk to me, and I will be more than happy to discuss it with you. Especially if I openly invite you to do so, just please get my permission when doing things like this.

۞ have patience

I disappear for very very long stretches of time with no prior warning or anything, so I ask that you be extremely patient with me. Please wait for me to respond without getting angry or upset about it. I promise I will get back to you. This also means that if you have to go on hiatus I will wait patiently forever and never ask questions.

I try very hard to keep track of everything, but I may forget things from time to time. If you have been waiting for a while and I haven’t responded to you, I don’t mind you sending me a reminder. You can even spam me with reminders if you’d like, it really won’t bother me. My only concern is if you’re short or angry about it. I’m incredibly sensitive and going off on me for not answering will likely result in me not talking to you ever again. I’m very afraid of people, so sometimes it can be frustratingly easy to run me off. Just be kind. ;v; Please.

۞ nsfw is extremely limited

Please keep in mind that the mun is apothisexual and actively repulsed by sexually explicit scenes. I can write nsfw, but there has got to be a very good reason. I will never post or respond to nsfw memes, and as far as shipping is concerned all of that has to be worked out carefully. Some muses are more promiscuous than others, but please take both their and the mun’s sexualities into consideration when responding.

That being said, I absolutely will not write nsfw with a minor muse, regardless of any lack of age difference. As a legal adult I am very uncomfortable with the concept and just refuse to do it. Only adult-aged muses will ever even have the opportunity for such a thing.

Please also keep any and all nsfw writing under a cut. I don’t want to expose anyone to it that doesn’t want to be, so when I reblog a post I would greatly appreciate that writing not be out in the open. I feel like this is already pretty obvious, but just in case.

I’ll tag everything I can think of with “#trigger tw”, so feel free to blacklist all that. If there’s something that I’ve neglected that you want me to tag, please let me know!

۞ let me know if you’re ending the thread

You don’t have to explain anything to me when you go on hiatus. I will wait forever. And that is exactly why if you decide for whatever reason that you don’t want to respond to me anymore, please find some way to inform me that you are really not coming back. You don’t have to explain why you want to quit or talk about it at length at all. Just let me know it’s 100% over for good.

Some threads just drop off and I understand that. This is more or less just referring to if you want to stop rping with me entirely for whatever reason. You don’t have to explain what your problem with me is, and I won’t make it awkward if you decide that you just don’t want to write with me anymore. If you feel like you need to get me out of your life, I will not be offended, I just need you to let me know that you’re going for good so I’m not waiting and might even send an unwarranted reminder to you.

۞ mobile and cutting

I will not be cutting posts before I post them if I’ve already gone to mobile for the day. If you do not want me to post uncut posts, and you did not specifically list so in your rules, please come to me and tell me. Through IMs, Discord, a reply, it really does not matter to me. Just let me know so I don’t end up doing something that will upset you.

I will always come back to cut posts at the earliest chance I can get. This will usually be early in the morning for me from 5-6 ish. On days where I can be on all day, I will and I will cut posts accordingly then as well.

Posts will fail to be cut at any time after a goodbye announcement (any post that reads “I’ll be mobile from here on” or something to that effect). Please be aware in this shift.

Upon request I will attempt to cut posts on mobile via Firefox Nightly. However be aware that I have yet to get this method to work for me with any amount of consistency. I can usually get in about two to three posts before Xkit Rewritten stops giving me the option entirely. From there I can either go back to posting uncut posts, or I can continue from a new thread. Please tell me which you would prefer.

۞ following, blocking, and selectivity

Anyone is free to follow me. Personals, underage, etc. I will not roleplay with every individual that follows me, but you are certainly free to follow my content if you enjoy it. I am happy to have you all here.

If you are a personal, you are free to like my content and send asks to me, the mun, or my muses. I will happily answer any questions sent my way, either ic or ooc. I will not continue threads from personals, however. If you want to write a thread with me, please do so through a muse/rp blog. I also ask that you do not share my content through reblogs, with some art being an exception. That exception being, art not tagged with “do not reblog”.

If you are an underage blog, the same rules apply to you as personals. I will not respond to your muses, but as the mun you may send in asks, like my content, etc. I will not roleplay with underaged muns period. I am an adult and the concept makes me uncomfortable. I will gladly talk ooc with you, however.

If you are a rp blog, odds are I will immediately follow you back, but there are some things which will make me hesitate in doing so, so if you want a better chance at roleplaying with me, please include the following on your page somewhere where I can find it:

Your age Your rules for roleplay Your DNI Any important info about you as the mun

Odds are, if you don’t at least have your age listed I won’t follow back or attempt to rp with you. You stand a better chance if you’re someone that interacts with my other mutuals as I trust them, but in general not listing your age is a very good way to get me to avoid following you back.

Generally speaking, most of my interaction will be exclusive to my mutuals. This will be especially true for sentence prompts, starter calls, etc. However, that does not mean you are not allowed to send something in. Especially headcanon memes, random asks, plotting dms, etc. etc., all of those things are free for anyone to respond to. If you’re not sure about something but you’re interested, send it in. The worst that can happen is that I won’t respond to it or feel comfortable doing so. As long as you are following the previously listed rules (i.e. “no rping with minors”, etc.) I will not take any offense to it whatsoever.

I will try to tag things as “open to mutuals”, “open to everyone”, etc., but I am also just really really bad about tagging things. I’m really bad at it, I just can’t seem to get used to it. If you have a question and don’t want to bank on it, its a-okay to ask me to clarify and I’ll probably fix the tags then. XD

If you need to block me, you don’t have to give me a reason why or try to justify it. If you’re just softblocking me, however, I would like for you to just send me something to let me know you’re doing that so I don’t try to follow you again. Again, you don’t have to explain yourself or try to justify it, just let me know so I don’t do something to offend you. Hardblocking me is fine, too. You take care of yourself and your experience as you see fit. I will not become offended by your doing so.

۞ drama

I will not avoid you if you post drama. I don’t particularly enjoy an excessive amount of it, but I am not a drama free blog (when it comes to my personal dash). Do not feel like you can’t interact with me if you post a lot of it or tend to get into situations you need to talk about from time to time. It won’t bother me for you to do so.

However, I myself will not post drama. I won’t even talk about drama over DMs. If you feel like you need to come to me to vent, you are absolutely free to do so, but I will not be participating myself. Generally speaking you are free to say what you want to on your own blog, but please do not expect me to react accordingly.

If you send me drama over asks, I will not answer or publish them. I will not actively participate in any drama that comes across me no matter what the source is.

If you find that I am actively interacting with someone that is legitimately dangerous or toxic, it is fine to let me know so over a private conversation. However, I will not just take your word for it. I will not halt interaction with someone simply because I am told not to interact with them. If there is a legitimate threat with the person that I am interacting with, please come to me with solid evidence to support the fact. In general my policy is not to do anything to anyone which might hurt or offend them, and therefore I will not simply ostracize someone based on rumor.

This list may be updated and altered as I learn more about roleplaying through this format. Please have patience with me and check back often.

#۞ i recognize my voice ⌱ ooc #۞ i begin to vocalize the conclusion i had already come to in my mind ⌱ psa #۞ exactly according to those cold‚ sad words ⌱ rules

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sweetlesson · 2 years

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✿ Rules for Roleplay ✿

Aku’s Rules for Roleplay

✿ All fandoms/OCs are welcome, but responses might be iffy at best

✿ Shipping is okay!

I’m okay with any kind of shipping with all muses! Romantic, found family, friendship, etc. are all fine.

I will not romantically ship minors with adults, period. Platonic is fine, but minor muses will only romantically ship with age-appropriate characters. The same goes for adult muses.

✿ Duplicates are okay!

I have absolutely zero problems with interacting with duplicates. As a matter of fact, I encourage it! There is a lot of zany fun that can be had with duplicates, and I’m sure we can figure something out with a bit of plotting.

✿ About connections:

I do have mains on this blog, however I will not be doing exclusives whatsoever. By mains/exclusives I am referring to characters which will be the specific version of that character that is canon for my muse (for example, I may rp with multiple Jacqs, but only one will be the one to affect the growth and development of my Saguaro). All of my mains are listed in the “Connections” page on my blog.

I do not do mains calls, ever. If you want to set it up that your specific version of your muse is the main one to my Saguaro’s universe, please come talk to me about it. I may want to get more experience between the characters under my belt first if you’re fairly new to my blog, but as long as that slot is free I’m more than willing to talk about it. OCs may also have a position on the Connections page as well. I certainly don’t mind setting that up, but you do have to come talk to me about it.

✿Asks, submit, and reblogs are all okay, save rp replies

The only thing I ask you not to reblog are rp replies (unless the reply is for you, of course). This is purely to keep things tidy. Otherwise, I love interaction with both myself and my muses.

I have no problem with personals following me, just as long as you follow the above rule. Anonymous asks are also welcomed and encouraged.

If I follow you, I probably want to roleplay with you at some point, so don’t be afraid to follow back and jump right in.

✿ Battle scenes or opposition must be decided for the benefit of the story

✿ No killing off/controlling characters that aren’t yours

I don’t want my muse’s decisions to be made by anyone other than myself. My characters should not think or feel anything unless I am the one who decided they should.

I will offer you the same courtesy, so if I do something off putting and just didn’t realize, please let me know. I will never knowingly attempt to control your character

If I’m inviting you to do something to my muse, then of course it is okay to do so. Just be sure that if you plan on doing something I have in some way granted permission.

✿ Give me time to respond

✿ Have patience

✿NSFW is extremely limited

I’ll tag everything I can think of with “#trigger tw”, so feel free to blacklist all that. If there’s something that I’ve neglected that you want me to tag, please let me know!

✿Let me know if you’re ending the thread

✿Mobile and cutting

Posts will fail to be cut at any time after a goodbye announcement (any post that reads “I’ll be mobile from here on” or something to that effect). Please be aware in this shift.

✿Following, blocking, and selectivity

Your age Your rules for roleplay Your DNI Any important info about you as the mun

✿Drama

If you send me drama over asks, I will not answer or publish them. I will not actively participate in any drama that comes across me no matter what the source is.

This list may be updated and altered as I learn more about roleplaying through this format. Please have patience with me and check back often.

#✿ no need concern yourself with me ┊ ooc #✿ your time here with me will be spent obtaining knowledge and skills indispensable for daily life ┊ psa #✿ i pray that the knowledge i impart to you will improve the quality of your lives and the necessities thereof ┊ rules

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