#most of these people are from the Archipelago

[nightrose-if]

City of Thorns - Chapter 1 is available for free on Itch.io!

Link: Itch.io Page

City of Thorns is an interactive fiction and amare game project in which you are an oracle tasked with solving a mystery that shakes the whole city - the murder of the beloved Prince Mikhail. Summoned to the palace by the Sovereign Princess, you'll meet several members of the Royal Court, all of whom are interested in the case. Choose a courtier to aid your investigation, and figure out exactly what's going on in this place.

Romance Options:

A cold and stoic type at first glance, there is more to Koré than most of her people think. Her rule of the city and command of the palace is strict, and her court is divided in their opinions of her. She may be slow to warm up to you, but there's a good heart in her...if you choose to bring it out.

A princess and mage from the neighbouring archipelago of Capri, Morgaine remains a bit of an outsider in the court. She's more than willing to help you on your quest, and your acceptance means everything to her. With your magic combined, solving the case could be a piece of cake - but is she really as innocent as she looks?

A sweet and soft-spoken person, Ariel keeps the palace and the royal family running smoothly. But the loss of their lover hangs heavy over their head, and their grief threatens to consume them. Still, they want to help you by any means necessary, and are eternally grateful for your work.

Captain of the Royal Guard and the city's police force, Dimitri is hot-headed and hard to hold on to. Prince Mikhail was his oldest and dearest friend, and losing him has only exacerbated his problems. He'll be leading the non-magical side of the investigation, so playing nicely with him will be critical.

Simultaneously ambitious and carefree, Anatole doesn't let the distrust of the court get to his head...most of the time. He's all too eager to help you investigate, and to get to know a fellow mage in a city where magic is rare, but as one of only two known mages in the court, he's under heavy suspicion.

A quiet and private soul, Jasmin finds the murder more concerning than most of her peers do. She can certainly offer help, but getting any personal information out of her will be difficult. And you might find you do need personal information from her; she holds more secrets than most, which could provide more details to the case.

Cheerful and always eager to help, Nocturne is your right-hand at the Temple of Pythia where you both grew up. You've known them for as long as you can remember. They're your best friend, and would do anything - or almost anything - for you. But how well do you know them, really?

Features and Disclaimers:

This game is meant for an 18+ audience due to sexual content and violence.

With the ability to choose a name, pronouns, and body type (in the full game, body types are not available in the demo), City of Thorns aims to be as inclusive to all gender and sexual orientations as possible.

Seven different romance routes, which will be released episodically.

Each route features a character-driven story with multiple endings based on your choices and how you influence your RO.

[neurotica-tales]

What He Never Saw (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) [Part 1]

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You met Hiccup when he was still just a gangly boy with too-big eyes and too many dreams. Through fish stew accidents, quiet hours in the forge, and unspoken glances across crowded halls, your friendship grew into something deeper—something sacred.

But then came Toothless. Then came Astrid. Then came glory, and with it… distance.

Now, as the boy you loved rises into legend, you're left behind in silence, watching from the shadows while someone else takes your place beside him. You never told him how you felt. You thought you had time.

But Hiccup never noticed when you started fading—until you were already gone.

And now, he will.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Up Next:

A Visit to Berk (Yandere Hiccup x Berserker!Reader x Yandere Toothless)

Forged in Obsession (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) [Part 1]

Marked By the Chief (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) [Part 2]

To find my main masterlist, click HERE.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You met Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III when you were both barely tall enough to peek over the table in the Great Hall.

He was smaller than most boys your age, gangly and awkward, with a mop of brown hair that stuck out in strange directions and a voice that cracked when he got nervous. You’d only been on Berk for a few weeks—your family had moved from a storm-battered fishing village on the edge of the archipelago, where dragons were feared, not trained. Berk was strange, colder, louder. Everything about it felt like it was meant for people who were bolder than you. Sharper.

You were still adjusting, still unsure of where you belonged. You tried to make yourself small, invisible. Speak when spoken to. Keep your head down and your expectations lower.

And then Hiccup spilled fish stew in your lap.

It happened in front of the forge, one gusty afternoon. You were sitting on the steps, alone, nursing a bruised wrist from an unfortunate run-in with a stubborn market cart. You were minding your own business when a blur of frantic motion collided with the corner of your bench—and an entire bowl of steaming stew sloshed into your lap.

You gasped at the sudden heat. The shock. The absolute fishiness of it all.

“Oh no—oh no, I’m—I’m so sorry!” Hiccup squeaked. His arms flailed like he was trying to reverse time. “I didn’t mean to throw soup on you, I swear—I tripped, and then the wind—and the bowl just kind of… launched itself?”

You blinked at him, your lap now soaked in fish and carrots, and let out a stunned laugh.

“It’s fine. Really. Just a typical Tuesday, right?”

He stared at you like he’d never heard someone joke about soup before.

“I’ll get a cloth. Or a new tunic. Or move to another island in shame. That’s an option, right?”

That made you laugh again—so hard that you snorted, which made him laugh too. It was the kind of ridiculous moment that could only end in friendship.

From that day on, he followed you around. Or maybe you followed him. You were never quite sure. But a rhythm started to form—a sense that your days were somehow incomplete without each other.

You began to crave his voice like a campfire in winter. Even his chaos had a strange comfort to it, like the world wouldn’t be quite right if he wasn’t tripping over something at least once a day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Being Hiccup’s friend meant accepting chaos as a constant. And not just the "oops, I set fire to Gobber’s beard again" kind of chaos, but the kind that came from constantly questioning how the world worked and refusing to believe it had to stay that way.

He was always building things, tinkering with things, muttering under his breath about gear ratios and counterweights and propulsion theory that made no sense to anyone but him. He wasn’t like the other Viking boys. Where they were brawn, he was all nervous energy and intellect, constantly sketching ideas in the dirt with a stick or staring at catapults during practice, lost in thought.

The village barely tolerated him. They rolled their eyes, scoffed at his inventions, and made snide comments about how Chief Stoick’s son couldn’t even hold an axe properly. He was the punchline to jokes he never got to laugh at.

But you—you found him fascinating.

He was funny in a way that caught you off guard. Not loud or brash, but sharp-witted. Clever. He spoke softly, but when he got excited about something, his hands would fly around, and his voice would rise, and you could practically see his thoughts spilling out faster than he could shape them.

At first, you just liked being around him. He never made you feel like you had to prove yourself. He accepted you exactly as you were, no matter how odd, quiet, or clumsy you felt. You'd sit on opposite ends of a workshop table, him sketching plans and mumbling calculations while you quietly sorted nails or sanded boards. There was no pressure to perform, only a kind of unspoken understanding that in each other’s company, you didn’t have to be anything except yourselves.

And slowly, somewhere between bruised shins, botched inventions, and shared grins across the training yard, fascination turned into something else.

You began noticing things you hadn’t before. The way he bit his lower lip when he was thinking. The way he always seemed surprised when someone said his name kindly. The way he looked at the sky, like he wanted to be part of it.

You started lingering after you'd finished helping him. You made excuses to pass by the forge even when you didn't need to. You stayed quiet when he talked, just so you could watch him move his hands.

And then you started dreaming about him.

It was never anything grand. Just the two of you, laughing in the meadows, sitting on rooftops at night, lying beside a dragon’s warm side, whispering about things that only mattered to you.

It wasn’t until one day, when he looked up and said your name like it meant something, that you realized the truth.

You were in love with him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

But then came Astrid.

And at first, she didn’t care about Hiccup. Not even a little.

You remember how she used to roll her eyes when he spoke, how she sighed whenever he fumbled a weapon in training. She mocked his inventions, openly scoffed when he tried to explain his ideas. The others laughed along with her. Hiccup tried not to let it show, but you always saw the way his shoulders tensed when she dismissed him.

It was you who defended him. You who listened. You who stood beside him even when the world laughed. You who held the pieces when he fell apart.

For years, that never changed. You were there for every failure, every wince of embarrassment. You were the one picking up the pieces he didn’t show anyone else.

And then, everything changed.

He found Toothless.

You didn’t know. Not for days. Not until everything exploded into fire and ash and glory.

That morning, you were pacing nervously in the training ring. The final trial was about to begin—the one every trainee feared. The monstrous nightmare. It had been looming over the entire academy for weeks. Everyone knew what it meant.

You looked for Hiccup. He wasn’t there.

It wasn’t surprising. He had been slipping away for weeks—disappearing for hours, skipping drills, returning with a strange gleam in his eyes and no explanation. You had asked him more than once what he was doing. He always brushed you off.

“Just working on something,” he’d muttered. “You’ll see.”

But you hadn’t seen. You weren’t part of it. And that should have told you everything.

The arena was packed by the time Stoick began the trial. You stood near the edge of the crowd, heart pounding, watching the gate creak open. The monstrous nightmare prowled forward, snarling, its scales flickering with pre-ignition heat.

And then Hiccup stepped into the ring.

He threw away his weapons and even his viking helmet.

You remember the gasps. The way Stoick barked at him to pick up a blade. The way Astrid reached forward like she might stop him. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Because there was something different in Hiccup’s eyes.

Not fear. Not pride.

Conviction.

And then the dragon lunged—and the sky cracked.

A black shape tore through the clouds, wings wide, eyes narrowed. It slammed into the monstrous nightmare with a roar, sending fire and debris flying. People screamed. Chaos erupted.

And when the dust settled—

Hiccup stood there, unharmed.

Beside him was a Night Fury.

Toothless.

He placed a hand on the dragon’s head like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this hadn’t been the greatest secret of his life.

And you stood there frozen, breath caught in your chest, as he turned to the crowd and began to speak.

That was how you found out.

Not in a quiet moment. Not with the trust you thought you’d earned.

But with the rest of the village. As just another face in the crowd.

That night, everything changed again.

The Red Death attacked.

One moment the village was still reeling from the shock of the arena; the next, you were surrounded by fire, wings, and terror. Dragons poured through the skies, frenzied, afraid. Screams echoed across the cliffs as fire rained from above. You grabbed a bucket, a weapon, anything—and then you saw it.

The massive shape of the Red Death rising above the sea mist just across the horizon where all able-bodied Berk warriors went to destroy the Dragon's Nest once and for all. The Red Death was massive, bigger than any dragon you’d ever imagined, eyes like molten stone.

Everything should’ve ended right then.

But it didn’t.

Because Hiccup left to go after the Red Death.

And he wasn’t alone.

Astrid. Fishlegs. Snotlout. The twins. All of them on dragons, soaring into battle with Hiccup leading the charge. A plan—his plan—unfolded right before your eyes. You watched in numb awe as he coordinated the skies, dodging death, luring the Red Death higher and higher, risking everything.

You barely breathed.

And then you saw it.

The explosion. The collapsing wing. The fire.

You saw Toothless dive after him. Saw them disappear into the smoke and vanish behind a wall of flame.

Your knees gave out.

For hours, no one in the village knew what was going on. 

But then everyone came back. Injured but still alive. And in Stoick's arms was Hiccup.

Unconscious.

His leg—gone. Burned. Bloodied.

But alive.

He didn’t wake for days.

You visited the hut where Gobber and the healers kept him. You never went inside. Just stood by the door, heart aching, while Astrid paced inside like she belonged there.

When he finally stirred, they said his first words were about Toothless.

And from that day forward, Toothless was always there.

At his side. At the forge. At the docks. Watching you with bright, unreadable eyes.

The boy who once only had you—had the world now. A dragon. A partner. A destiny.

And you?

You had silence.

And an ache that never truly went away.

Gasps echoed through the village as a black blur swooped over the cliffs, fast and sleek, casting a shadow over the rooftops. A Night Fury.

And riding it—was Hiccup.

He landed like he was born for it. The reins were taut in his hands. The dragon was calm. Tamed. And for the first time in your life, you heard the entire village fall silent when Hiccup opened his mouth.

Suddenly, everything he said mattered.

The boy who was once a punchline had become the village’s pride. They listened now—Stoick, Gobber, even Astrid. Everyone who once rolled their eyes was hanging on his every word.

And Astrid—

She started looking at him. Really looking.

She lingered during flight drills. Asked questions. Stood closer than she used to. Laughed at things he said that weren’t even funny.

You wanted to believe it was innocent.

But the way she touched his arm, the way she smirked when he blushed—you knew.

You felt it. A cold pit in your stomach.

And worst of all?

He didn’t tell you.

He told everyone else about Toothless before you. He showed Gobber. He took Astrid on a ride. He shared his triumph with the same people who used to mock him.

And you—

You stood there, clapping, smiling with the crowd. Pretending your heart wasn’t breaking.

Because you’d always thought—

No. Known.

That when something important happened, you would be the first to know.

But you weren’t.

You were an afterthought.

You told yourself it was fine. That maybe he just got caught up in it all. That he’d pull you aside later, explain everything, laugh sheepishly and say of course he meant to include you.

But the moment never came.

Instead, you watched him rise.

Astrid started flying with him more. You saw them practicing together. You saw her ruffle his hair once, and he didn’t even flinch. He smiled.

You saw her take his hand.

And you felt something inside you crack.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You tried to be happy for him.

You really, really did.

You told yourself it was fine. That you never told him how you felt, so this wasn’t a betrayal. That she was strong, and beautiful, and worthy of love.

But when you saw them walking hand-in-hand by the cliffs—his eyes on her like she was the only star in the sky—your chest caved in.

And that night, you dreamed she fell.

Off Stormfly. Off a cliff. Into the sea. You dreamed of Hiccup’s screams, his grief. And of you, standing there with open arms.

And you hated yourself for it.

You weren’t cruel. You weren’t that kind of person.

But the thoughts kept coming.

And so did the pain.

So you did the only thing you could.

You left.

Quietly.

No scenes. No accusations.

You simply stopped showing up.

You stopped going to the forge. Stopped passing by the training field. You skipped the village dinners where he used to sit beside you.

You threw yourself into your work with Gothi. You weren’t a warrior—you’d never had a dragon of your own. While the others trained to wield axes and fly into battle, you learned medicine and bone-setting, the language of fevers and pain. You’d always felt a bit removed from the chaos of the training ring, preferring the quiet logic of healing.

Still, you had been there—on the sidelines of the arena, tending scrapes and sprains, handing off clean cloths and cold compresses. You had always been close enough to cheer for him, to catch his smile in the quiet afterward.

But now, even that felt distant.

You kept to the healer’s hut. You made yourself useful in the only way you could—checking bandages, grinding herbs, whispering to elders who feared their lungs wouldn’t last another winter. You did not belong to the world of dragons, and Hiccup… Hiccup had become its center. You chose silence. Distance.

And for a while, he didn’t notice.

Not really.

Astrid had his attention. His time. His joy.

And you? You became something like a shadow.

A name on the wind.

You told yourself this was what you wanted. That it would get easier.

But it didn’t.

Because every time you saw him laugh with her, every time you heard her voice drift from the forge, a little more of your heart crumbled.

And the worst part wasn’t even the love.

It was the grief.

You hadn’t just lost a dream.

You lost your best friend and your first love.

And he hadn’t even noticed.

But he would.

He would.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @itsshazaa

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[headfullof-ideas]

Introducing more characters for my HTTYD/The Deep story! Only this time it’s supporting cast! I’ve decided there’s three overall casts in the story. The main cast (the dragon riders and their dragons, whose story and travels this lengthy project follows), the secondary cast (all their allies and enemies; Eret, Dagur, Heather, the Berkians, the Nektons, etc, etc.) who are there through most of the story, but not all of it. They’re pretty involved, but not every character is there for every episode. And then there’s the supporting cast. Minor characters. Characters a step up from background characters. They show up for a few episodes every once in a while, not near as often as everyone else, and they’re not as important to the overall story as the main and secondary casts, but they have names. They’re involved in certain arcs and episodes, but don’t repeatedly show up throughout the story like say, Dagur, Eret, Heather, the Berkian teens, and the Defenders and Wingmaidens.

But without further ado, here’s who I’ve got so far

And some closeups of each person, cause I like doing so

[thereweredragonshere]

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Gobber must be so fucking fed up with Hiccup and Stoick at all times. Like he grew up with Stoick being a stubborn ass and then Stoick had a child who grew up and is also a stubborn ass.

I cannot imagine having to deal with one Haddock let alone two. Especially httyd1 era where they could barely even be in the same room as each other without there being audible cricket noises oh my fucking god. He would have been a permanent mediator between the two. Constantly listening to them complain about eachother (Which we do actually see in httyd1 funnily enough).

Them two actually beginning to fix their relationship after the red death must have been so great for him. Because yes his best friend and his sort of adoptive son thing are now actually engaging in healthy father son activities with one another but he also no longer has to deal with being sandwiched between two fucking donkeys that can't properly communicate.

But hahaha Gobber your torment doesn't end there. No no no you then have to deal with two of the most dramatic people in the archipelago (why does no one mention how dramatic Stoick is???) constantly wittering in your ear about different plans or inventions or wars and dragons and blah blah blah. You can never escape the incessant rambling of the two idiots you got cast to hell with. You will be forced to listen to a father and son that don't see any reasonable value in agreeing about things like 34% of the time and you will have to either pick a side or attempt to deescalate the awkward glances and frustrated sighs when they are forced to be around each other after a particularly bad episode of being unable to affectively have a conversation about their thoughts and feelings because they're both emotionally repressed and could both use some therapy.

Gobber has seen every single side of the relationship between Hiccup and Stoick and the whiplash from witnessing a heated argument about the meaning of existence itself in the morning and then watching as they joke and laugh about some random crap literally no one understands in the evening will probably end up breaking Gobber's psyche at some point.

That man's life was pain and suffering incarnate and it was purely the fault of the Haddock family.

[shadowlucario778]

I'm... Wh- what?!

That's terrifying!! And also awesome as hell! But aaaaaaaaaa!!! Just... the moon crashing? And I literally just watched Grian's Episode 3 where they launch people with fishing rods, and I was so confused why Grian's comment of "Is the moon big?" activated the fight or flight response of people in the comments. This is hilarious that this is how I find out about the context. Though it makes sense, given what further context is given in the post's comments. Wicked way to end a season early.

Also, if I had a dime for every time the moon has crashed and caused massive destruction in a video game, I'd actually have 3 dimes. Which still isn't a lot, but it's so weird that it's happened three times now XD. Majora's Mask, FF14, and now Hermitcraft. That's so funny. Thank you @salamencerobot for at-ing me, and also being the push to finally watch Hermitcraft. I'm having a blast watching it.

okay so:

the year is 2021. the month is june. the new season of hermitcraft, season 8, has just started, and everything is great! the hermits are all messing around, having fun, building insane things within the first week of the server being active, and generally having a good time. everyone's collected themselves into little factions, pranking each other, and it's all the fun, lighthearted, mostly-vanilla content hermitcraft is known for.

and then the split between minecraft versions 1.18 and 1.19 is announced. the delay of new terrain, and especially of new mobs like the warden, considerably disrupt several of the hermits' plans. but it's fine, they'll figure something out, they're professionals, and it mostly goes unnoticed.

about two weeks later, on november 9th, grian turns to mumbo jumbo in one of his episodes, and asks the famous question that would seal hermitcraft season 8's fate:

"mumbo, is the moon... big?"

suddenly, the fans panic. they search back through videos and streams, and realize that the moon had been abnormally large and stuck in a full-moon phase since october 30th. the Moon Big event has begun.

this is where the roleplay really starts. once the moon's size has been brought up, the hermits start a weird combination of scrambling to figure out why the moon's growing, and how to stop it- but also of ignoring it, hoping it won't be a problem, hoping someone else will deal with it. the moon keeps getting bigger, more hermits start realizing it's going on, and a creeping sense of dread starts to grow. but it's fine. it's fine, right? they do little plotlines like this all the time. they'll figure something out, the moon will go back to normal, and we'll laugh about it when this is all over. it's fine.

and then, blocks start flying away. just floating up out of the ground, and falling right back down! like for a moment, a square meter chunk of dirt has decided it's a ballerina and leaped out of the ground! but it's fine, right? the blocks are coming back. no lasting harm is done. they're going to fix it all... right?

the moon gets bigger. it's growing every day- local hermit weirdguy joe hills measures it every stream. the blocks start flying higher. gravity starts getting... weird, with players getting the slow falling effect at random, and being lifted off of the earth themselves. the players form cults and rituals and whatnot to try and appease the moon, convince it to leave them alone, making plans to escape. nothing works. things keep getting worse, and the moon keeps getting bigger. but it'll be fine. these storylines never leave lasting harm, or at least they never have before. they'll be fine.

and then the blocks stop coming back, just floating into the sky forever. the players have the slow falling effect more than they don't now. the moon is now so big it's visible even during the day, and fills the entire sky at night. they start planning their escapes in earnest, and say their goodbyes. some hermits jump into a void hole in the overworld (it was the centerpiece of their village). some flee to the End, some to the nether, some just fly with elytras and hope they can get far enough away in time. one brave hermit, tango, flies himself to the moon in a futile attempt to blow the whole thing up before it can crash.

but in the end, the moon crashes into the server, and everything they'd built was destroyed. and the whole time, there'd been nothing any of them could've done. season eight was over, a full six months before anyone had expected it to end, and season nine wouldn't start until about three months later. and im still not okay about it.

(here's a cool animatic of the moon's crash! honestly i dont think you need too much hermitcraft knowledge to get the gist)

(also the moon crash happened on the day before my birthday lmao.)

….

holy shit

[parasolemn]

X7 Acts 4-5 Summaries Transcription

Acts 4 and 5 (mostly 4) are the most likely to have errors since they're never completely clear, so please take this with a grain of salt! Suggested edits are appreciated.

I've already transcribed acts 1-3 here. Double check that the version you're reading is the most up-to-date one. :-)

(Updated as at 13/04/2025 at 2PM AEST)

Act 4 - The Doubt

Summary

Size: Large Playtime: ~5 hours Energy: Medium Emotional tone: Creeping doubt & feeling like an Outsider 70% Talking; 30% Action 50% Comedy; 50% Darkness

"Arriving in the Fourth Act, Cuno is officially furthest from his home that he's ever been, while Cunoesse is coming nearer to hers than she has been in the years after she escaped, and this [distinction?] is starting to get difficult to ignore. The presence of Hämärä Maa looms over them both, as the fabled archipelago lies just across the bay, across the [...]. Having disembarked from the Train virtually in the middle of nowhere, Cuno and Cunoesse come upon the Rhöne-Tréville (Royal) Penal Colony or the Tréville, but most people call it: a [...] centred around a former Royalist prison-labor camp. Being that geographically [...] to Hämärä Maa, the small community represents the closest point of contact between the archipelago and the world, participating in the trade of goods, legends and the profitable psychedelic marrow of an endemic cave fish. Meeting the locals, the kids will learn about the impending relocation of the surprisingly harmonious community-sustaining prison complex, and the complicated [...] between the coordinate [...] of freedom, imprisonment, community and [reunion? tension?]. They will also begin on their [...] is a growing sense of dread that Cunoesse got herself into something that is much darker and more morbid than he could have expected. In order to progress to Hämärä Maa to find out for themselves, the kids must [...]. [...] they must [...] Cunoesse's half remembered [...] family connections among the marrow traders, some of whom are now in the prison, or they might win their way forward with [...] and sneers, stealing a toy raft from a gang of violent girl children."

Player experience

[...] begin to suspect we are approaching a sinister [...] with the things we've been avoiding all along.

[...] more and more about Hämärä Maa [...] borders of a bad neighbourhood, like walking alone at [...] realising your GPS is leading you in the direction of [...] you've realised way too late to do anything about it.

[...] are more frightening if they are unseen. Hearing [...] tales about Hämärä Maa before we've had [...] establish what's there will build up the sense of dread [...] for the game's climax location.

[...] for the later endgame where Cuno breaks free of the bond.

The power balance between Cuno, Cunoesse and the player's conscience will again be tested as Cunoesse urges Cuno to brutally fight one of the Tréville girls in order to steal her raft.

The small self-sustaining community will present the player with the opportunity to engage with the full set of game systems, including game economy, Thoughts, substances, exploration and multiple-approach problem-solving.

Act 5 - The Arrival

Summary

Size: Medium Playtime: ~2 hrs Energy: High Emotional tone: [...] & Reality-Twisting 60% Talking; 40% Action 30% Comedy; 70% Darkness

"After all the fear and the mayhem, Cuno and Cunoesse are finally there: landing on the shores of Hämärä Maa, their promised shadow-land. Greeted with the sounds of shamanic singing and solemn drums, the kids will catch the locals in the midst of a funeral ceremony, gaining a glimpse into both the cultural practices of the Näkki and the strange and colorful faces of the island's population. The island has changed since Cunoesse has last called it home. Only her impossibly old grandfather remains, and her [sins?]. She knows she must do one last thing before she can plead to be readmitted into her tribe. Under the pretense of a Hämärän naming ceremony, Cunoesse pressures Cuno into ingesting the bone marrow of the psychedelic cave fish. As Cunoesse takes on the role of his fucked-up trip shaman, Cuno grapples with the growing clarity that her goal is deeply sinister: to bind him to herself, or kill them both trying. Cunoesse embraces him and throws them both off a pier, pulling him deep under water, triggering the stylish climax sequence of the game: the Underwater Psychedelic Trip. Reality will [...] as you seemingly sink for an eternity, fighting for your life and your identity as Cunoesse's true intentions come to light - to use the drug to manipulate Cuno into total and irrevocable ego death, and make him believe that he is Jaakko, the boy Cunoesse killed in the caves three years prior. That was her plan all along: to bring Cuno all the way from Martinaise to buy herself passage back into her community by replacing what she has broken. All she needs him to do now in order for her plan to work is to play along, *really* play along, so deeply that he will never recall being someone else ever again. Their showdown under water will determine whether Cuno will let go of his identity in one [...], or if he is willing to kill his other half in order to remain who he is. The Act spins off into up to five possible endings, depending on which one of the kids lives, dies or is brainwashed."

Player experience

We want a sense of culmination in every way -- the culmination the journey, of finally getting to see what Hämärä Maa is truly like and what Cunoesse truly is.

This should be a streamlined sequence, funneling the player [seamlessly] towards the end. We want the player to be unable to [...] the game once they've landed on Hämärä Maa, similarly to how Harry's story spirals tighter and tighter towards its resolution from the moment he steps onto the Deserter's Island.

We want the player to feel as if they are performing cultural [contact?] with an ominous insular community, something like Midsommar but with degenerate alcoholics instead of tradwives.

This is where everything we've tried to do over the course of the game comes to count. All the dual-character systems that make the player roleplay as both Cuno & Cunoesse, all the story beats that make the player internalise their respective stakes, all the emotional connection to this feral superorganism, if we can make the player feel like we're making them choose between two halves of themselves, we've achieved what we set out to do. If they feel torn apart, agonized over their choices, we've won.

[umbralstars]

I think one of my favorite things about FF7 is how genuinely alien Gaia is. I think people gloss over how different this world is compared to ours and I don't just mean magic. Gaia doesn't have plate tectonics, or if it does it doesn't work the same as our world. The Lifestream isn't just a metaphysical space, it's a physical ocean under the crust of the Planet that acts of in a similar fashion to the mantle of Earth. The Lifestream can flow to the surface and tear apart the land or piece it back together in whatever way it sees fit. It can sink or create entire landmasses at random.

It can flow in ways to create a lush paradise or concentrate so heavily in areas they become borderline toxic. The Nibel Mountains (while I know part of their problem is there's been a reactor there for 40+ years; do remember Nibel is facing the same problem of ecological collapse the Midgar Wastes are, so that's why it looks Like That. Nibel is just lucky it had one little town instead of a giant city) are essentially Gaia's version of active volcanoes, just without the heat of magma and lava. The Lifestream is also so close that those mountains were intimately tied with the cycle of life and death in Nibel probably for generations. Rhadore, similarly, was a volcanic archipelago, and her people knew that well. Shinra? They refused to listen as they always do.

The Lifestream itself is also one of the most animist concepts I've ever seen in fiction. It is All Life. Everything upon Gaia is intimately woven into the fabric of the Lifestream; plants, animals, rocks, rivers, oceans, Everything. It contains all memories that have ever existed and will ever exist upon Gaia. The Lifestream is the movement of the waves, the rushing course of rivers, the memories of materia, the slopes of the mountains, the rustling of plants and leaves, it is the souls of all things, it is mortal and gods alike.

The world we see in FF7 proper is a fantasy world that is slowly being consumed by capitalism and a cyberpunk hellscpe (those are often the same things). It is a fantasy world that has forgotten what it once was, what it still is. It is about a people who have been utterly disconnected from the very river of life that created and sustains them.

And I just think that's neat.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Grist:

The day I was supposed to join a group of young women to map Gros Islet, an old fishing village on the Caribbean Island of St. Lucia, I got lost. Proann Francis, who was helping lead the expedition, had told me to meet everyone at Care Growell School, which Google Maps informed me was some 8,500 miles away, in Uttar Pradesh, India. “Where?” I asked. She instructed me to wait outside my hotel for a ride because it would be impossible to find the place on my own. An hour later, I found myself standing at the side of a dusty St. Lucian highway as a vintage red Toyota van pulled up. I squeezed in, between Francis and the driver. Behind us, a group of young women sat wearing matching light blue shirts that read “Women Mappers.” 

“We have some heavy mapping to do today!” Francis announced, breaking into a toothy smile, her dark hair pulled back neatly into a bun. 

Most of St. Lucia, which sits at the southern end of an archipelago stretching from Trinidad and Tobago to the Bahamas, is poorly mapped. Aside from strips of sandy white beaches that hug the coastline, the island is draped with dense rainforest. A few green signs hang limp and faded from utility poles like an afterthought, identifying streets named during more than a century of dueling British and French colonial rule. One major road, Micoud Highway, runs like a vein from north to south, carting tourists from the airport to beachfront resorts. Little of this is accurately represented on Google Maps. Almost nobody uses, or has, a conventional address. Locals orient one another with landmarks: the red house on the hill, the cottage next to the church, the park across from Care Growell School.

Our van wound off Micoud Highway into an empty lot beneath the shade of a banana tree. A dog panted, belly up, under the hot November sun. The group had been recruited by the Humanitarian OpenStreetMap Team, or HOT, a nonprofit that uses an open-source data platform called OpenStreetMap to create a map of the world that resembles Google’s with one key exception: Anyone can edit it, making it a sort of Wikipedia for cartographers.

The organization has an ambitious goal: Map the world’s unmapped places to help relief workers reach people when the next hurricane, fire, or other crisis strikes. Since its founding in 2010, some 340,000 volunteers around the world have been remotely editing OpenStreetMap to better represent the Caribbean, Southeast Asia, parts of Africa and other regions prone to natural disasters or humanitarian emergencies. In that time, they have mapped more than 2.1 million miles of roads and 156 million buildings. They use aerial imagery captured by drones, aircraft, or satellites to help trace unmarked roads, waterways, buildings, and critical infrastructure. Once this digital chart is more clearly defined, field-mapping expeditions like the one we were taking add the names of every road, house, church, or business represented by gray silhouettes on their paper maps. The effort fine-tunes the places that bigger players like Google Maps get wrong — or don’t get at all.

[inseobts]

Worse than him

eustass kid x fem!reader

a/n: reader is inspired by jinx from arcane

words count: 3k

tags: fluff, fight, b0mbs

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Sabaody Archipelago is where pirates running wild, marines scrambling to keep up, and an air of pure anarchy hovering over the island. For most, it’s a place to lay low, but for Eustass Kid and his crew? It’s a playground.

“You call this a challenge?” Kid’s voice booms, echoing across the street. A wrecked marine battleship lies behind him, its parts floating mid-air in a cyclone of metal. He glares at the remaining marines, daring them to make a move “Pathetic. Bring me someone who can actually fight!”

“Captain, you’re so commanding today!” you call out, standing on a pile of rubble nearby. Your hands are full of homemade explosives, and your face is lit up like a child on a sugar high “It’s so hot when you yell at people.”

Kid glances at you, half smirking “Shut it, y/n, and start pulling your weight.”

“Pull my weight?” you pout, tossing one of the grenades into a crowd of panicked marines. The explosion sends them flying, and you beam at Kidd “I’m pulling my weight and yours. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Killer groans from the sidelines, wiping blood off his scythe “Can you two flirt after we’re done here?”

Nearby, the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates are watching from the shadows, having accidentally stumbled upon the chaos.

“Who the hell is that?” Zoro mutters, squinting at you as you blow a kiss toward Kidd mid-explosion.

“She’s with Eustass Kid” Law replies, adjusting his hat with a smirk. “Looks like his kind of crazy.”

“They’re terrifying” Usopp whispers, clutching his slingshot like a lifeline “She’s scarier than him! Did you see her laughing just now?!”

“She’s… kind of adorable” Sanji says, hearts in his eyes “A beautiful woman with a fiery spirit.”

“Fiery spirit?” Nami huffs, crossing her arms “She just threw a grenade at a group of people!”

“She’s like a wild animal” Robin muses, smiling faintly “Completely unpredictable.”

“And completely insane” Franky adds, adjusting his sunglasses. “That’s some SUPER chaos over there.”

"That Kidd is like a monster anyway, we should run and leave" Usopp says trying to convince everyone to move.

Back in the fray, you’re causing a spectacle as usual. A group of marines rushes toward you, and instead of running, you grin and pull out a smoke bomb, throwing it at your feet. When the smoke clears, you’ve vanished, only to reappear seconds later behind Usopp.

“A monster?” you echo, your voice sweet and dangerous, making Usopp jump and hide behind Robin. Then your eyes drift to Kidd, who’s stomping toward a group of bounty hunters with a murderous look on his face “No… He’s perfect.”

They all blink, and Nami takes courage for one sacond to say “Perfect? He’s...he’s a lunatic!” before hiding behind Robin with Usopp.

“Oh, I know” You sigh, clutching your chest dramatically “But don’t worry... I can fix him”

You whisper the last part but somehow Killer could overhear from a few feet away and he doesn’t even hesitate to yell at you “Girl, you’re worse than him!”

The Strawhats and Heart Pirates, except for Law, collectively flinch, while you scratch your head with a shy smile, "don't believe him, he's a just a big liar" But then your smile drops and you start to run towards Killer screming "I'm gonna make him pay!"

“She’s worse?!” Usopp squeaks after you are far enough “Worse than him?!”

“That’s impressive” Robin says, watching you with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Disturbing” Nami mutters.

“I like her!” Luffy announces with a laugh.

“Of course you do” Zoro grumbles.

Sanji, meanwhile, is practically swooning “She’s an untamed goddess. A true queen of destruction.”

On the battlefield, you saunter back to Kidd, who just finished throwing a group of marines into the horizon “Captain, I scared away an entire squad! Aren’t you proud of me?”

Kidd snorts but doesn’t hide the smirk tugging at his lips. Instead of answering, he grabs a twisted hunk of metal from the debris and hurls it without looking, nailing a marine who was creeping up behind you. Then, his gaze snaps back to yours, intense and full of something unspoken, “You’re lucky I don’t throw you next.”

“You’d miss me too much” you reply, sticking out your tongue.

Kidd’s smirk widens, and for a second, the battlefield feels miles away. His fingers twitch at his side like he wants to reach for you, but instead, he scoffs and turns away with a huff.

The banter makes the onlookers cringe.

“They’re flirting...” Brook says.

“Flirting?” Franky shudders “That’s what you call flirting?”

“Whatever it is, it’s terrifying” Usopp mutters.

“It’s romantic! It should have been me…” Sanji protests, clasping his hands together.

Meanwhile, Kidd and the rest of his crew decide it’s time to leave before more reinforcements arrive. As they retreat, you blow a kiss toward the Strawhats and Heart Pirates, who are still standing there in the shadows.

“See you around!” you call out, laughing as you skip after Kidd.

Just as you reach him, Kidd grabs your wrist—firm, possessive. He tugs you closer until your bodies almost touch, the heat between you as electrified as the air after one of his attacks.

“Quit messin’ around” he grumbles, but his thumb brushes your skin before he lets go.

You only smirk, eyes glinting. “Admit it. You like it when I do.”

Kidd doesn’t respond, but the way he doesn’t let you stray too far speaks volumes.

“They’re insane” Nami says finally, shaking her head.

“They’re perfect for each other” Robin adds with a small smile.

“Perfectly awful” Zoro mutters.

Sanji sighs, hearts still in his eyes “She’s the woman of my dreams.”

The prison gates of Udon slam shut behind Eustass Kid, and for the first time in a long time, you are completely and utterly… alone.

Killer is missing. The rest of the crew is scattered. And Kidd, your fiery, angry anchor, is gone, dragged away.

The empty wasteland around Udon stretches for miles, but you don’t even notice. You're sitting cross-legged on a large boulder, twirling a dagger between your fingers. Your usual manic grin missing, replaced by a scowl.

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek, staring at the horizon where Kidd disappeared. He’s stubborn, he’s infuriating, and he’s not supposed to get caught. Not without you.

“Idiots” you mutter, flicking the blade into the dirt “They just had to get caught, didn’t they? Now I’m stuck out here, babysitting myself.”

Your voice echoes in the silence, and for once, you don’t find it funny. The loneliness itches at the edges of your mind, and for a brief moment, your manic energy dims.

Then you hear footsteps crunching through the dirt.

Your head snaps up, and the grin is back instantly, sharp, wild, and unpredictable. You grab your dagger and hop to your feet.

“Who’s there?” you call, your voice lilting with mock sweetness. “Friend? Foe? Someone dumb enough to get too close?”

Out of the shadows steps Sanji.

He freezes mid-step, blinking. For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

“Oh,” you say, tilting your head “A pretty boy. What are you doing all the way out here, handsome?”

Sanji’s initial shock fades instantly, replaced by his usual swooning expression “A goddess like you shouldn’t be out here all alone!” he says, bowing dramatically “Allow me to escort you to safety!”

You blink at him, and then, unexpectedly, you laugh. It’s not the sharp, chaotic laugh that usually leaves people unsettled, but something softer, more genuine.

“Safety?” you echo, wiping a tear from your eye “Oh, pretty boy, that’s cute. But I like it out here. No rules, no captain yelling at me to ‘stop blowing things up.’ It’s perfect!”

Sanji straightens, clearly unsure how to handle you “You’re… not scared?”

“Scared?” You smirk, twirling your dagger “Of what? The big scary Beast Pirates? Please. I could handle them in my sleep.”

Sanji scratches the back of his head, glancing around nervously “You’re, uh… not with Kaido, are you?”

The question makes you laugh again, this time the unhinged, unsettling kind “Kaido? Oh, no, no, no. I’m with me. And sometimes I’m with my captain. But right now?” You spread your arms wide, spinning in a slow circle “It’s just little old me against the world.”

Sanji doesn’t know what to make of you. On the one hand, you’re clearly dangerous. On the other hand…

“Little old you, huh?” he says, smirking slightly.

Your grin widens “You catch on quick, pretty boy. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Sanji. Cook of the Straw Hat Pirates.”

“Straw Hat…?” You narrow your eyes, thinking “Oh! You mean that idiot who got himself thrown in prison with my captain?”

Sanji stiffens “Your captain? Wait...how could I forget a beauty like you!! You are part of Kid’s crew!”

“Ding, ding, ding!” you sing, clapping your hands “Give the man a prize!”

Sanji’s instinct is to back away slowly, but before he can, you lean in closer, examining him like a scientist studying a specimen.

“You’re funny” you say, tilting your head “And kinda cute. Maybe if I met you before Kidd, you’d stand a chance.”

Sanji swallows hard. “Uh… Really???? thanks?”

Your smirk falters, just for a moment. You glance toward the prison again, shoulders tensing before you quickly mask it with your usual bravado. But Sanji doesn’t miss the way your fingers tighten around the hilt of your dagger, like it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

“Have you… heard anything about them?” you ask softly, almost too quietly for Sanji to hear “Kid or Killer?”

The question catches him off guard. He’s not sure how to respond to this version of you, the one that isn’t grinning or threatening or tossing explosives.

“I’m not sure” he says finally “But… if they’re as stubborn as you, I’m sure they’re fine.”

You stare at him for a beat too long, and for once, Sanji doesn’t see wild amusement in your eyes but just raw, unspoken worry. Then, just like that, you snap back into place, a smirk tugging at your lips as you punch him lightly on the shoulder.

“Good answer” you say, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “I guess I won’t use you for target practice.”

Sanji smiles nervously, lighting a cigarette “Glad to hear it.”

“Come on,” you say, turning on your heel and motioning for him to follow. “Let’s find somewhere less boring to be.”

“Wait—what?”

“You’re with me now, pretty boy! Let’s make some chaos!”

Sanji sighs, but there’s a small, resigned smile on his face “This is going to be a nightmare, or a dream?”

You glance back at him with a knowing grin, your eyes glinting in the dim light.

“Oh, absolutely” you reply cheerfully, not really answering his question.

Sanji brings you back to the others after realizing you’re a magnet for chaos, and that leaving you alone in Wano might cause more problems for everyone.

When you meet the rest of the Strawhats, their reactions range from mild amusement to outright terror.

“Sanji. Explain” Nami demands, rubbing her temples. “Why did you bring her here?”

Sanji straightens his tie, trying to look nonchalant “Well, my dear Nami-swan, leaving a breathtaking lady like her alone in this dangerous place would be unforgivable!” He clears his throat. “And, uh… she might set something on fire.”

“That crazy one from Kid’s crew?” Zoro’s voice is flat, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“She’s not dangerous!” Sanji insists, trying to look calm, though sweat is running down his temple “Well, not to us. Probably.”

“Not dangerous?” Usopp squeaks, hiding behind Nami “Did you see the explosives? She’s definitely dangerous!”

You ignore their bickering, tilting your head as you survey the group. “So you’re the Straw Hats, huh? You don’t look as dumb as your captain.”

“Luffy’s not dumb!” Chopper snaps, puffing up his chest.

“Chopper, don’t provoke her!” Usopp hisses.

You crouch to Chopper’s eye level, grinning “Aww, look at you. You’re adorable. Maybe I won’t blow you up, either.”

Chopper freezes, torn between pride at being called adorable and terror at the implied threat.

“Anyway” Nami cuts in, arms crossed “why are you here, exactly? Shouldn’t you be off with your own crew?”

The question wipes the grin off your face. For a moment, you look almost lost “Kidd got himself thrown in prison, with your Captain” you admit “Killer’s missing. I don't know about the others. I’m the only one left.”

Robin watches you closely, her eyes narrowing in thought “And what about you?” she asks “What’s your plan?”

Your grin returns, sharper than ever. “Oh you're really beautiful! You sure you don’t want to run away with me instead? Anyway I don’t need a plan. I’ll just wing it.”

“That explains a lot,” Zoro mutters.

“Wait, wait, wait” Usopp interrupts, waving his arms “She doesn't seem that bad right now but why is she here? She's still from Kid’s crew? That guy’s a psychopath how can we trust her!”

At that, your entire demeanor shifts. You straighten, your grin turning into a challenging smirk “Careful what you say about my Captain” you warn, your voice low.

“Oh no” Usopp whispers, shrinking behind Franky.

“He’s not wrong, though” Zoro says casually.

You look at him, tilting your head, and then grin wider “Oh, I know. He’s terrible, but he’s my kind of terrible.”

“Wait,” Nami says, holding up a hand “Let me get this straight because I love myself some gossip. He yells constantly, gets into fights every five minutes, and has the worst temper imaginable… and you like him?”

You laugh, twirling a knife in your fingers “Like him? Sweetheart, I’d set the world on fire for him.”

The group collectively recoils.

“She’s insane” Zoro says flatly.

“She’s so romantic” Sanji argues.

“She’s going to kill us all” Usopp wails.

"She's funny" Robin says smiling at her and you smile back.

The group groans collectively, but secretly, some of them are starting to like you. A little. Maybe.

The sun is barely starting to set when you finally find them.

Kidd and Killer, both still recovering from what happened in prison, stand on the outskirts of the battlefield. The war in Wano is about to kick off, and you’re not one to miss a front-row seat to the chaos. The Strawhats and Heart Pirates are already preparing for the inevitable, but you have something else on your mind: your boys.

“Kid! Killer!” you yell, rushing forward, a wild grin spreading across your face.

Kidd looks up first, his cold gaze piercing through the chaos around him. For a second, he just stares, as if making sure you’re really there. When he spots you, his lips twitch upward into an almost imperceptible smirk.

Something in your chest loosens.

“I thought you’d have blown something up by now” Killer remarks, crossing his arms with a smirk that, despite the mask, you can tell is amused.

“Not yet, but I’m working on it!” You hold up your knife, a wicked gleam in your eyes “Wanna make things more interesting?”

Kidd grunts, clearly still in his “don’t give a damn” mood, but there’s an edge of relief in his voice “I see you’re still the same.”

“Of course! What did you expect? I’m not the kind of girl who changes just because of a little alone time.” You flash them a mischievous wink “Besides, I wasn’t really alone”

Killer laughs dryly, clearly not sure whether he should be worried “that’s good”

Kidd’s eyes narrow slightly “What do you mean?”

You smirk, stepping closer, knowing exactly what you’re doing “I made some… interesting friends while you were locked up.”

“Tch.” Kidd scoffs, but there’s something sharp in his gaze. “You’re trouble.”

You lean in just slightly, voice dropping into something more teasing “And you love that about me.”

For once, Kidd doesn’t fire back. He just exhales through his nose, tilting his head at you, eyes dark and unreadable.

You clap Killer on the shoulder, causing him to stiffen “Anyway, let’s get to the good stuff. I can’t wait to see all the destruction.”

At this point, the rest of the group catches up to you, Zoro, Nami, and the rest of the Strawhats, along with the Heart Pirates, have gathered, watching the reunion with a mix of surprise, curiosity, and a little bit of fear.

Nami grins at you “You found them!”

“Of course I did. You didn’t think I’d leave my poor Captain behind, did you?” You turn back to Kid and Killer “These are the Straw Hats. You’re gonna love them. Probably.”

“Love them?” Zoro snorts, rolling his eyes.

“She’s already trying to make us all blow up” Usopp adds, gesturing vaguely to the chaos around you.

“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.” You wink at Usopp. “Unless you want to make things fun. Then, we can talk about explosions, I saw you use a similar technique anyway”

“You’re insane” Franky says, his robotic eye narrowing at you.

“Well, someone has to be. Might as well be me.” You grin widely.

Luffy suddenly hops forward “Hey, hey! We’re gonna be awesome together! So fun!!”

You nod enthusiastically, your eyes glinting with excitement. “Absolutely” you look at Kid, then back at Luffy “Though, I think your idea of fun might be a little different from mine.”

Zoro, trying to stay focused, huffs “Can we stop with the chit-chat? The war’s about to begin.”

“Right!” You clap your hands, finally taking a step back and getting into the serious mood “Let’s do this. Just remember, I’m not responsible for any ‘accidental’ explosions.”

Kid rolls his eyes but finally speaks up. “Don’t blow me up.”

You place a hand on your chest, feigning innocence “Oh, Kid, you wound me.” Then, after a beat, your voice drops, and you flash him a sly smile “I always make sure you walk away in one piece.”

Kidd doesn’t reply immediately, but his jaw clenches slightly, his smirk lingering just a little too long.

And then, the war begins.

It’s pure chaos from the start. The clash of swords, the explosions, the screams, and the shouts of warriors all around you, it’s the kind of battlefield you thrive in. It’s almost as if the chaos is where you truly come alive.

You find yourself charging headfirst into the fray, with Kidd and Killer close behind. The Strawhats and Heart Pirates are close by, taking on their own foes. You’re all part of the same fight now. There’s an undeniable bond forming between you and your new allies.

As you duck beneath a swing of a blade, you roll to the side, barely avoiding being cleaved in two. You throw a knife, hitting the enemy square in the chest, and grin as they fall to the ground.

“Oh, you’re all so predictable.” You say, practically skipping over their bodies. “You’ve got to mix it up more, or this’ll be over too quickly.”

Your laughter rings out, and in the midst of the battle, your eyes lock with Kidd’s for a split second. His lip curls into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but something shifts in the air between you two. You feel a spark.

Robin, on the other side of the battlefield, has been watching you, her calm demeanor contrasting yours. She tilts her head thoughtfully and smirks.

You throw a playful wink her way.

Zoro is the next to speak, though his tone is oddly respectful. “You’re… not the worst, I guess. I mean, you seem perfect for him—chaotic, dangerous, and a little insane. Maybe more than a little.”

You laugh, twirling another knife in your hand. “You have no idea, sweetheart. But we make it work.” You glance over to Kidd, who’s taking down a group of enemies with brutal efficiency. “He’s like a wild storm, and I’m the lightning that follows him.”

You throw a glance at Kidd, and for just a moment, the two of you share a silent, knowing look—a fleeting exchange that’s heavier than it seems.

Killer, walking beside you, shakes his head in amusement “I'm actually impressed by this metaphor, it's perfect”

“You know I'm smart” you say with a grin, your voice a mix of affection and madness “Hey, if we survive this, maybe we can all have a drink after. I like the strawhats”

“Just don’t blow the bar up” Kidd grumbles, his eyes narrowing at you.

“Promises, promises” you sing back, dodging another strike and lunging forward with a wild, chaotic laugh. “Come on, guys! Let’s make sure we leave our mark on Wano!”

The battle rages on, but you and Kidd seem to gravitate toward each other. A few more waves of enemies fall under your combined onslaught. Every time you find yourself near him, his eyes catch yours, a brief, almost tender moment between the chaos.

As the last of the forces retreat and the dust settles, you stand side by side, both covered in sweat and grime, but your smiles say it all.

You turn to Kidd, eyes glinting mischievously “Well, we did it. I guess you could say we’re... unstoppable together.”

He looks at you, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. His voice is quieter now, softer than it’s been all day “You’re more trouble than you’re worth... but yeah. Maybe we are.”

Without warning, you step closer, your heart pounding as your fingers brush against his arm. Kidd doesn’t step back. Instead, he leans in just enough that the distance between you is minimal, your breath mingling. The battlefield seems to disappear, leaving only the two of you in the midst of a storm of emotions.

“You know,” you whisper, “I think I’m starting to like you even more than the explosions.”

Kidd’s eyes narrow, but there's something different in his gaze now. “Then you’ll love this,” he mutters, and before you can say another word, his lips crash against yours.

For a moment, everything else fades. The noise of the battle, the world around you—it’s all gone. The kiss is fierce, hungry, as though it’s been a long time coming, and the chaos of the battlefield now feels like a distant memory.

When he pulls away, both of you are breathless.

“Never a dull moment with you,” he says with a smirk.

You grin back, your heart racing “Not a chance.”

[namism]

Request: Heyyy!

I saw that you were requesting some fics, I was wondering if you could do a Trafalagr Law fic where Y/n or You has a flavored lipgloss gloss (any flavor), you could take it any direction you want!

Thank you and have a nice holiday!! ❤️

citrus | trafalgar law

➳ categories: canonverse, gender neutral reader, established relationship

➳ warnings: slight nsfw (detailed kissing)

➳ word count: 1.1k

➳ summary: Law isn't a fan of your flavored lipsticks and glosses when he tastes the flavor of Japanese plums, but you think you just found an alternative.

➳ notes: thanks for the request! ❤️ law canonically doesn't like umeboshi (pickled japanese plums), but for the sake of the fic, i made him a fruit hater ☠️ happy holidays, everyone!

➳ cross-posted on ao3

Before you began dating Law, you didn't expect him to be the many things that he currently is to you. To start, Law presents himself differently in front of many people that his attitude in dealings pretty much boils down to who he's talking to. As once a stranger to his crew, you saw a side of Law that was meant for business, a side of him so serious and monotonous that over time, became bothersome to deal with.

Yet you persisted through his seemingly dull personality until one piece fit into the other and you decided to date.

A relationship so sweet yet so unexpected, you learned many things about Law that he never would have thought of telling you, things about him that he always kept secret, locked inside his heart or his thoughts. Things that he could only say to his closest friends, others only for the ears of his lover.

That is to say, before you began dating Law, you didn't expect him to be a kisser.

He kisses you all the time, but the depth and length of his kisses vary. On some days, he would peck your lips. On others, he would peck your cheek. On most days, he would take his time kissing your lips. He can't help it—he scored a goal by dating you, and it gives him the peace of mind that he's the only one who can kiss you the way he does.

As much as he loves kissing you, however, there is one thing that deters him from doing so on rare occasions.

Your lipgloss.

He can explain—he generally has no problem with you and your cosmetics, secretly even liking it when you kiss him on the cheek and your lipstick leaves a faint mark on his tan skin, but he does have a problem when he kisses your glossed lips and tastes the faint flavor of fruit, some of them which he likes, some not so much. You love wearing different pigments on your lips, different products and brands that make your face look much more colorful, more full, so you often rotate among your collection of lipsticks and glosses, each one surprising your boyfriend whenever you greet him with a sweet and colorful kiss.

Law loves that you feel beautiful in your own skin to wear all of the makeup that you do, but he has a great distaste for some of your lip products. The flavored ones, to be exact. He's not a big fan of fruit (ironic, he knows, since he's literally a doctor), so he freezes up whenever he kisses you and tastes the flavor on your lips. You always make sure to tease him whenever he does so, calling him a big baby for not liking the taste.

"Oh? What's with the long face?" You once picked on your boyfriend as his lips flattened into a tight line after a short kiss. Law usually smiled afterward.

"You taste like plum," he said. Your eyebrows furrowed.

"Sad about it, are we? You hate my lipgloss?"

"It reminds me of that pickled snack Bepo eats." He shrugged, a chill running down his spine upon remembering the taste of Bepo's strange snack. Umeboshi, Bepo called it. Law could never get past its sour and salty flavor.

From that day onward, you would dodge Law's kisses whenever you happen to be wearing the ume-flavored gloss on your lips, often choosing to send a flying kiss toward his way as an alternative. When you visit Sabaody Archipelago, however, an idea comes to mind.

With the Polar Tang docked somewhere in the outer groves, you bid them goodbye as you make your way to Grove 30 for the island's shopping mall, where you stumble upon a vast selection of cosmetics. Eyes shining brightly, you indulge yourself in retail therapy as you blow your money out on the finest products you could find. When you walk past a stall vending a particular item, you halt in your tracks and come running back.

A lady sits behind the stand, her features telling of her youthful age. She smiles as you point at the array of lipgloss on the table, and urges you to swatch them out on your hand.

"That one's flavored," she says matter-of-factly as you hold a yellow tube in one hand. You read the printed label. Lemon.

"Do you have anything else?" you ask.

"I've got a lot to show you!"

As the lady disappears under the stand to rack for the new line of glosses, a smirk forms on your lips, the pit of your stomach turning in excitement.

When you come back to the Polar Tang, your excitement is apparent to your crewmates who wonder where you've been. You provide them with a giggle in response before you skip happily to your Captain's quarters.

You knock on the door. Law grants you entry a few seconds later.

"Miss me?" you tease him as he steps aside to let you in. You drop your bags to the ground, while he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Where have you been?" he asks.

"Just went shopping, like I told you."

He shrugs. He doesn't think much of it, assuming that you just had a few hours of fun to yourself before you set sail again. His hands drop to the side when you approach him for a kiss, your hands gliding across his chest before encircling his neck.

Before you can kiss him, however, he stops you abruptly.

"I smell something," he notes. He sniffs the air and looks at you questioningly. "It smells good."

You bite down on your lip discreetly to keep yourself from laughing. "How does it smell?"

"Like citrus," he answers. "Is that... you?"

Standing on your tippy toes, you move your face closer to his.

"Find out for yourself."

Law leans into you when you successfully catch his lips, his eyebrows jumping upon tasting yours. He notes the citrus flavor that he detected just a few seconds ago and almost scoffs at your little ruse. Expecting him to pull away, you sigh in relief when he leans further down to deepen the kiss, his hands coming to rest on the small of your back.

Law tugs on your upper lip slowly, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat. He swipes his tongue on your lower lip to taste the flavor of lemon, and repeats it so often until you're losing your breath.

Pushing away, you gasp for air.

"So? Do you hate it?" you ask breathlessly.

"No, I'm into it," he mumbles, pulling you in closer. "Another one, please."

The pit of your stomach stirs in need as he holds you intimately close. You peck his lips and pull him to the other side of his quarters, laughing to yourself at the turn of events.

You guess you just found your default lip combo. Law liked it more than expected, after all.

[merkabatraindepot]

Cold Islanders/Shvuumh

An introductory primer to a new birg culture under the cut. Project done in collaboration with @iguanodont

Across the lashing grey waves of the Messenian strait, and south of the great equatorial ice belt lies a land once thought as little more than myth. Suhurmv vi Hmascah, or as it is known by people of the West, The Cold Islands. Despite the name of the archipelago, the Islands are just as affected by Hyperborea's extreme seasonality as the rest of the planet.

Inland temperatures during summer on larger Islands will often soar to 45C°, while winter temperatures plunge to -64C°. The fauna, and flora (inso much as such terms are applicable, on Hyperborea Adult Sedentary vs Adult Motile are more useful) native to the archipelago are adapted to these extremes. Currents flowing from the ice belts in conjunction with warmer waters from the East keep oceanic temperatures in a range from 12C° to 5C°. The nutrient rich upwellings mean the waters surrounding the Islands are particularly fertile, and home to some of Hyperborea's largest marine life. Inland likewise represents high endemism, the rugged topography somewhat reminiscent of Earth's Aotearoa- including several large flightless distant relatives of the velocifalcons. In the mind of outsiders The Cold Islands are, perhaps not undeservedly, a Burroughsesque primordial lost world.

(Rest of entry under cut)

Suhurmv vi Hmascah is not a land without people. Indeed, the largest island of Ksmah susc (lit; Honored Sma's toe bones) supports a population of almost five million across seventeen distinct polities, and over sixty spoken languages. As a people, every Shvuumh culture has ties to the sea, being the only region on Hyperborea to successfully domesticated fully semiaquatic predators as a kind of damp hunting hound. The attached image of a Shvihiim canoe depicts the less glamorous above water aspects of a hunt.

The Shvuumh (Most common blanket term for the Cold Islanders, taken from the Susmahk language word for "people". All Northwestern Ksmah group languages use a derivative of a common root for this word) are generally considered the most isolated population of on Hyperborea. Historically this had them interpreted as almost mythical, a race of sea wizards during the early days of infrequent Ss'wassoum contacts. Modern science has confirmed their isolation, if provided no clarification on their collective wizarding capacity. Shvuumh are characterized by several cold resistant adaptations found in no other Hyperborean people, including ice belt nomads. Their peleage is dense, but the outer layers rapidly detach in summer heat. Similarly, their facial ruffs are famously expansive. The only true beards on the planet, and are styled a dizzying number of ways. They also exhibit extensive feathering on their limbs, though during the warm season this is often trimmed to fit inside traditionally leather leggings. Their physical colors tend towards paleness, with some piebaldism present in specific ethnicities.

Perhaps the most interesting trait found in indigenous islanders is their incredible internal filtration system. The Cold Islands are the site of Hyperborea's longest ongoing chemical arms race. Nearly every native plant being minimally unpalatable to outsiders, to abjectly toxic. Perhaps curiously, this has also resulted in a society for which hard narcotics are roughly as damaging as tea or coffee in their preferred dosages. Most Twowi heartland street drugs (especially dream stings) would be metabolized by a Shvuumh before any effects set in. Conversely a mild smoke on the Cold Islands would have the most hardened Ss'wassoum glimmerbeak fiend convulsing on the ground within a single hit.

All peoples of the islands practice aquaculture to an exceptionally sophisticated degree, though only cultures on the larger islands have a dedicated land based agricultural system. These land crops are the result of independent plant domestication disconnected from any other agrarian development. Some can be seen in the above illustration, such as the tuberous looking kskhid, which has both rhizome and leaf focused cultivars. Several cultures on the main island are also seminomadic pastoralists who migrate seasonally from different villages (see Kikram long house for the most common form of multi-family summer home) who graze a mixture of indigenous livestock mixed in with introduced animals from both East and West. Shvuumh notably lack the sex segregation which is the norm for most of their world's cultures. Rather large fusional family groups work with almost no separation of roles beyond some ritual acts in various religious events. Even in the more Sedentary cultures, the notion of a gifter or receiver exclusive town is bizarre to say the least- that would be akin to only using one specific color of feathervane log to build a long house.

It is generally believed the ancestors of the Shvuumh arrived to their homeland via island hopping roughly 45k years ago during an unusual warm era (out of the normal long cycle). Their ancestors were from a Southwestern population referred to as Paleo-Masakkid people, who left no genetic trace on any modern ethnicity of the Eastern Continent. For roughly half of their history, they have hugged the coasts, only establishing static inland populations approximately 10k years ago (based off of archeological evidence). Their histories and diversity have been vast, and only began contacting the outside world some 700 years before the present day with global current shifts allowed for outside sailors to visit them.

By 300 years ago, these interactions increased. Some even resulting in interested Shvuumh spending years away from home as itinerate specialists, or in more sinister cases victims of the slave trade akin to the scourge of Pacific blackbirding. 200 years ago, the spectre of colonialism began to rear is head over Suhurmv vi Hmascah. Suddenly every nascent empire found itself interested in a land full of mineral wealth, virgin forests, and valuable botanicals populated by a people without firearms. In most cases, this would mark the beginning of a tragedy- the first act in a sordid drama of subjugation and genocide.

Curiously, it was drugs which saved the day. The very same compounds which attracted attention to their home also gave the Shvuumh an incredible collective bargaining chip against invaders, as early exports of what were to the islanders mild stimulants resulted in an explosion of addicts. This massive demand combined with invaluable pharmaceuticals have safeguarded Suhurmv vi Hmascah from being truly invaded beyond a handful of port towns. Well, that and the fact that it would take roughly fifteen minutes to poison the entire food supply of colonial armies with crushed leaves. Or just leave them alone for the high summer biting gnat swarms. Truly, living in what most of Hyperborea considers a hell has worked out wonderfully for the Shvuumh.

-Excerpt from Bulakul's Reference Encyclopedia of Extraterrestrial Cultures, 20 year anniversary edition, volume three

[vanilleandclove]

galapogos; michael berzatto x f!reader

your therapist deters you into describing how you came to fall in love with mikey. slowly but surely breaking your shell into understanding how you feel in the aftermath by retelling your life with the enigma that was michael berzatto. your mutual shared love for the smashing pumpkins and dad rock brings you closer than you’d like to admit.

warnings: the bar exam is offered during the last tuesday of february in chicago FOR CONTINUITY PURPOSES: it has changed to beginning of february, reader is midwestern (i'll forgive you), im mexican not italian so butchered italian-american terms of endearment, they have sex to radiohead (sorry), protected sex via birth control!!, grief— a whole lot of it. the interchanging of "michael" and "mikey" is very much intentional, posting this at 5 am!! word count: 4.6k notes: listen to galapogos by the smashing pumpkins because this is very much how i would perceive mikey & the reader — even though it’s a breakup song. the metaphorical usage of archipelagos (galapagos islands) as isolation is perfect, but it also is the connection between our familial connections & childhood being conflated to our ways of romance. it’s about evolution and adapting. 

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“Let’s start from the beginning” your therapist breathed out, sitting comfortably in their armchair. 

“The beginning?” you quirked a brow, “When we met or started dating?”.

“Whichever you prefer. Personally, I celebrate meeting my spouse as an anniversary rather than us starting the relationship, it varies”. 

“Well we met Superbowl 2014” you told them, looking into their eyes as you smiled slightly from the extremely distant memory. 

“Yo! Richie and I placing bets, y’wanna join in?” you heard an obnoxious voice next to you as you sat nursing an extremely expensive glass of scotch. “You okay sweetheart?” you heard the voice ask, in your peripheral you saw the man’s body shift towards you.

Sammy had a quaint, hole-in-the-wall, pub in southeast Chicago, he was an old friend of your father’s therefore, he protected you fiercely. 

“Aye! I don’t want either of you around angioletta, let her be, sweetie just took the Bar” Sammy scolded, pointing at the mystery guy next to you and someone behind him with his dishrag. 

“Which is?”.

“You serious? Y/n over here is gonna be a big shot lawyer dumbass, THE BAR!” Sammy emphasized both dumbfounded and proud. “Again neither of you, be damned if she ends up with a fucking Berzatto. Now Carmy is sweet, be more like Carm, Mikey”. 

“Carmy is a kid for one” the man joked, making a mockery with his voice, “Two, you her father or something?”. 

“No. He’s friends with mine” you interjected, looking towards Sammy to wave him off as he looked at the TV screen, it was the first quarter and the Seahawks were leading 8 to 0. “Who do you think is going to win?”.

“You always speak like that?”.

“Like what?”.

“Like you’re a teacher sweetie” he batted his eyelashes to mock you, “Loosen up you’re not taking ‘the Bar’ now— What’d you even score on that thing anyway?” he shrugged with his beer in hand, taking a swig before you. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged back.

“Whadda’ mean?” he furrowed his brows, missing a tackle shot that led his friend to yelp out in excitement and curse about how someone named Jimmy owes him money. 

“Illinois takes around two months to release scores, pretty big test a lot of people wanna be attorneys in Chicago in general” you educated him, “I’m not worried, I maxed out on my LSAT, and my practice exam scores were all— Fuck, I sound like a dickhead” you groaned, proceeding to down the scotch in front of him. The alcohol burned your throat before going down smoothly, this was the most you’ve drank in months; only due to a promise you made to your family as to not cloud your brain before the Bar. “So what’re you betting on with me?”.

“Denver wins 48-27” he spoke up without hesitation, “I’ll put fifty on it”.

“Hm. I raise you, Seahawks win 40-7” you betted, “I’ll put fifty-five”.

“You’re on sweetheart” he winked, his eyes telling the story of being interested in you, “I’ve never seen you around here, y’from Chicago?”.

“Yeah, born and raised” you cleared your throat as you both remained fixated on the TV, “I went to school in California for my undergrad, then UChicago for law school— you?”.

“You’re a smart woman” he stated in awe, “Didn’t go to college, went straight to work”. 

“You’re a resourceful man” you quipped, “If my parents didn’t pay for my college I would be severely down in the dumps”. 

The night continued on, one dirty martini followed by an espresso martini and then simplified lastly by a Dos Equis beer, Michael got you talking on and on about public policy and Bruno Mars. Pridefully giving you the fifty-five dollars and accepting his fate as a sore loser, he walked you home in the middle of the night— strongly reiterating to Sammy that he’d just make sure you got home safe. 

“Y’know, normally, I never let men walk me home— ever, it’s a safety hazard” you spoke up in the cold air, keeping close to Michael and his body warmth. 

“If it’s any consolation, my phone has location pinging” he breathed out, easing tension with humor, “I don’t think you’re a dickhead” he told you, the title flying past your head. 

“Thanks?”.

“Earlier, when you were talking about your TSAT-“.

“LSAT… sorry” you corrected before feeling like you shot yourself in the foot. 

“Anyways, earlier. I’m no defense attorney- law expert- whatever the fuck but it sounds fucking hard” he continued, “I know food, not juris-prejudice”. 

“Jurisprudence” you corrected yet again before, a smile crossing over your face as you made it to your apartment, “Wanna go up?”.

He looked you dead in the eye, his glassy irises telling you more than what his lips did, “Nah, another day”. 

“Another day?” you bobbed your head, smile growing bigger, “Quite presumptuous Berzatto”.

“You don’t think we’d see each other another day?”.

“Chicago’s a big city” you shrugged.

“Leave it in fate's hands then” he smiled, waving you off as he walked towards the pub, with both a smile and a way with his eyes, it’d be hard to miss him in public. 

Then you met again, in April after getting your Bar score, a shining 310. Therefore scotch was needed to celebrate with your dad as the Red and White Sox game 2 played on Sammy’s TV, the pub noticeably more crowded.

“Ay Sammy who’s this fucker in the Red Sox jersey!” your dad seeming insulted, “We’re in Chicago, leave that pansy ass shit in New England”. 

“You don’t even like the White Sox’s dad” you rolled your eyes as your dad almost picked a fight.

“They’re from Chicago, anyone from Chicago, is a brother of mine”. 

“Who’s winning?” you asked, back to the TV. 

“Whites 2-0”.

The night raged on more and more, only for your dad to realize the Red Sox dude was Mister Berzatto’s eldest son, Michael. So when a Cubs fan inserted himself into the mix, tried to square up on Mikey, your dad was quick to defend him.

“It’s just a game boys, leave it” your dad put space in between the two, “You are two of one, you from Chicago and you from Chicago, stop being a dickhead and fight for real reasons”.

“Sweetie, you want water? That’s your fifth glass of Scotch” Sammy spoke up as the Cubs fan and your father began to increasingly argue. 

You nodded to Sammy as you heard the argument get even more aggravating behind you, hearing Michael shout a string of curses and a loud smack, the body of your father colliding with your back. The act led you to whip your head around quickly in anger, the Cubs dickrider having clocked your father’s jaw unannounced, only for Michael to immediately fight back and beat him down to the ground. 

The man’s whole face was covered in blood as Michael threw punch after punch- blow after blow, only for his friend, whom you’ve come to acknowledge as Richie, to have to pull him off, knuckles bloody and jaw tight with anger.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you okay?” you cursed out, making sure your father took a seat to balance himself before attending to Michael, the blood that laid on his body was not his, therefore he did not care.

“Sonny, get this asshole outta here” Sammy told the de facto bouncer, setting aside ice for Michael, “Nice one kid but Jesus, we have cameras”.

That is when you fell in love with Michael, bloodied knuckles, prickly stubble and a buzz-cut adjacent set of hair. He wouldn’t fall in love with you until a month later, well, at least acknowledge his feelings for you. 

“You listen to The Smashing Pumpkins?” you queried after seeing the band tee Mikey donned, worn and faded— noticeably loved and used. 

“Yeah” Mikey quickly answered, watching the Red Sox game that he had to beg Sammy to put on. It was Monday night and Chicago was tiring out, preparing for summer to reach the city. He groaned as a player was struck out, “You?” he asked several minutes later. 

“They’re one of my favorites- yeah” you nodded. 

You had volunteered to help out with Sammy over the summer break you had specifically forced yourself to take as a way of having some alone time before work. Four years of undergrad, followed by three years of law school and one year for the Bar exam, you needed a break. Luckily the District Attorney’s office does rolling applications and you were confident enough to know it was a guaranteed spot as being an UChicago alumni. So Sammy seemed like the logical choice, free booze and the occasional Mikey and Richie. 

“What else do you listen to?” Mikey immediately asked afterward, removing his attention from the TV screen and back to you. 

“I'm a huge Radiohead fan, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains—“.

“You had me at Radiohead” he chuckled, “Richie and I plus some of our cousins go to shows every now and then, y’should join one day”.

“Bunch of Italian-American men at a rock concert?” you quirked your brows, “Sounds pretty intrusive but tempting”. 

When Michael realized he included you into his familial life, talked your ear off with his relationship with food, loved to brag about Natalie and Carmen, spoke about his father to you, he knew. He knew you were special, not just special but a pivotal structure he yearned for— home was rough, life was rough, seemingly crumbling. You weren’t. You were structure, strength, and integrity, a promise for a better life than what he was afforded. 

“We started dating that summer” you smiled from the memory, “I had just gotten back from my cousin’s wedding upstate, he had been waiting on my porch for a couple hours with a bouquet of poinsettias, he knew I loved them when they were in season”. 

It was the one day out of the summer where it rained down, the peak of July, yet pouring rain. Despite the near three sideswipes you almost got into, you made it to your apartment safely. Whilst swiftly grabbing your overnight bags and almost ripping your nail completely clean off from the trunk of your car, nearly slipping in a puddle that formed just shy of the gutter and drainage, you spotted Mikey. 

You squinted, wondering if you were just imagining things from the lack of sleep, “Hey” you simply spoke up, quite dumbfounded by his presence on the steps leading to your apartment.

“I uh—“ Mikey tried to begin to speak, words catching his tongue as he stuck out the bouquet, “Went to three different farmer’s markets and had to beg a florist to try— they’re fake but-“.

“You got me poinsettias?” you cut off, caught off guard by the intimacy of him trying.

“Fake poinset- yes, I got you poinsettias”.

You bit your lip as a way to try and hide your smile that instinctively grew on your face, “I don’t know Berzatto… I might just think you like me” you joked, taking the bouquet from his hands. “I’m sorry I’ve been dry, it's just the wedding, work, and-“.

“Let me make you dinner,” he proposed, breathing unevenly and shaking simultaneously. You were making Michael Berzattto nervous. The notion made you smile, biting your lip yet again to hide it. 

“Gnocchi” you replied, “We could make it together… at my place… Friday night”.

“Friday night?”.

“Friday night”. 

“Do you find yourself nostalgic about these memories often? Relying on them or avoiding them?”.

“Avoiding” you nodded, looking down at your feet, “I haven’t been able to talk to people who knew him like I did”.

“Do you know the reason or is it a bodily response?”. 

“Carmy has his smile— when he gets extremely excited, lets his teeth show, he has the smile that Mikey got from his dad. I can’t be around Nat and Pete because I miss that. I miss being with him in public and in private, with friends, with family. He is so heavily ingrained in my life”. 

“Let’s do an exercise, I do this with most patients who've lost someone they were rather intimate with” they cross their legs and fix their posture, “Where would you see your relationship in 5 to 10 years from now if this never happened?”.

“Married, maybe a kid or two, sober and somewhere on the East Coast because he wanted to move there while taking care of the Beef during the summer” you instantly told them, “Two Boston Terriers and one Pitbull, all girls because Mikey said they’re more protective”.

“Do you think the circumstances you had while in the relationship, that would be achievable?”.

“He tried, he kept trying even when it got ugly, when it got worse” you furrowed your brows, “He never stopped trying”. 

“You reiterated Michael had never left drugs at your home and self-medicated, where would he seek solace for his addiction?”.

“The Beef,” you confessed, sighing lightly, “He’d keep them in his desk, he said since they were out of sight it made him stop from using as much”. 

“What happened to them?”.

“Richie threw all of it out,” you told her. 

“Tell me about the Michael no one else knew, not the addict or someone’s best friend— him as an intimate partner”. 

Michael was a pleaser when it came to you. Cooked you dinner without fail, when he was sick, when he was stressed, even the night he passed. Combed through your hair after you showered, would shampoo and condition it when you took showers together. He’d massage your lower abdomen when you were cramping, made soup when you were sick, kissed your forehead before going to sleep no matter the day or time. He was a pleaser, in all forms of the word.

“I just don’t think that changes anything— mom is still going to be mom” it was Christmas, 2019, the Christmas that Donna accepted you as a constant in Mikey’s nonlinear life. “Where’s Y/n?”.

“She got swamped at work, got stuck interviewing” Mikey breathed out to his sister as they stood inside, “Where’s Carm?”.

“He went out to run some errands for mom— last minute Christmas presents probably” Natalie theorized, “Must suck, you’d think lawyers would have the day off”.

“Mikey, is Sarah coming?” Donna asked, red wine attached to her hand. 

Michael could only sigh and walk back into the house, “It’s Y/n ma, I haven’t dated Sarah since high school”. 

“Beats me, I loved Sarah”.

“Yeah you’ve loved anyone but Y/n”. 

“Can you blame her? She makes more money than you” Lee put in his two cents.

“I’m sorry? Was anyone fucking talking to you?” Mikey got annoyed, Lee and Donna were fighting again— already on the verge of their fifth break up. 

As if the universe had spoken, you had emerged, knocking on the front door, seemingly freezing from the snow. The knit red sweater dress hugged your body in ways that Mikey could only gulp as his mouth went dry upon seeing you, your coat being held into your arms as your hands carried the box of pastries you had picked up before heading over. 

Instinctively, Mikey opened the door, immediately walking out to seek some alone time with you, even with the cold air biting your skin, making your nose slightly leak from the frost.

“Hey— Sorry I’m late, there was way too much traffic downtown” you breathed, smiling from seeing the man in front of you, “You would not believe the day I had, six fucking cocaine charges from teenagers! Why can’t people just do weed like normal people?”.

“Thank god you’re here” Mikey sighed of relief, the worry and stress lines seemingly diminishing from his face, he could breathe again.

“C’mon it couldn’t be that bad” you eased, opening the box of pastries, “A bunch of chocolate puff pastries for my man… chocolate tart for Carmy, eclairs for Nat, a couple of crepes for Lee and your mother”. 

“You really know how to make me want to fu—“.

“Carmy, I got you chocolate tarts” you interrupted, looking over at the boy as he parked his mom’s car. 

“Lee and mom are fighting by the way, just— let mom deal with it, please? I don’t wanna have to talk to the fucker about respect today”. 

“Ight, when’s Richie coming?” Carmy shrugged, grocery bags in hand.

“In two hours probably, why?” Mikey answered, his arm instinctively wrapping your lower waist.

“So you don’t have to tell the fucker about respect” Carmy quipped before going into the house.

Hearing the door shut behind him, Mikey wasted no time to give your lips a kiss laced in fervidity. His hand found a light purchase on your neck, not pressing down, but holding your head in a position to not leave, sending waves of electricity throughout your nerves. 

“We have to go inside” you whispered as you pulled your lips painfully from his. Small pecks followed as you both tore yourselves apart from ravaging each other in the front yard. Mikey’s lips found themself on the pulse point of your neck, lightly suckling just before your hand pushed him off smoothly, “It’s Christmas baby, family time”. 

“Whatever” he groaned, kissing the base of your forehead before leading the way inside. 

“Ah, your escort’s here!” Lee joked, catching the attention of Michelle, Donna’s sisters and their kids she invited over, Carmen and Natalie— the loud Italian home now rang quiet.

Your blood began to boil, just as much as you figured Mikey’s was, his jaw tense and teeth beginning to grind against each other. Lee has made his fair few jokes catered as a dig to Michael, which Michael would undoubtedly have the sense to shrug off, but you? The woman who showed and gave him nothing but respect despite it all, that let him talk more words than the Berzatto’s would allow, the woman that is standing in front of him with pastries in hand on Christmas. 

“You motherfucking son of a bi-“ Michael began, his grip on your immediately leaving once the words lingered in the air. 

“Lee, can I have a word with you— outside?” you smiled, your head tilting with curiosity as your eyes bore holes into his soul, he was on complete display, “Baby take the desserts to your mom please, I’ll be right back” you handed the box to Mikey who was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of your stare. 

Back outside, you met with the likeness— dislikeness— of Lee. “I just saved you from getting your brain caved into your skull, a thank you would be appreciated” you joked, basking in the silence that ensued after. “You know, with being with Michael and all, I know he cares about what his family thinks. Even if they don’t dictate his life, I know Donna’s opinion holds more weight than I could even put money on” you let the cold air and wind occupy space in the silence you let him think in, “I also know Michael’s opinions of you are not great— neither are Carmy’s or Nat’s. But that shit you just pulled? Demeaning me in front of a family that at most tolerates you because Donna cares for you meanwhile you’re just some good-for-nothing prick with a superiority complex? You have balls so far up your ass I can’t even begin to describe how much that must make your ass sore” you joked, humiliating the man. Scoffing before turning on your heels and leaving him in the cold.

“He’s gonna drag you out of his life like he does the rest of them” Lee spoke up, voice stern and stagnant. 

You could only scoff again, your breath shaky from the cold, “You think you know him when you don’t. You don’t know jack shit about him, or Carmy- or Nat” you objected, “Merry Christmas, you fucking asshole”. 

“I’m telling you this now, your relationship is not gonna end where you’re walking down the aisle in a white dress— hell he might even baby trap you before you make it to engagement” he snarky added, “Tell Donna she can call me tomorrow”. 

You made your way inside, beelining straight to the kitchen where Michael stood there tense as Donna cooked, his foot tapping rabidly just before you eased his worried with caressing his flexed arms. 

“Where’d Lee go?” Donna exasperated as she wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead.

“Fucking pri-“.

“He said you can call him tomorrow, h’just left” you told her, gripping Mikey’s bicep in order to shut him up.

“Fucking asshole” Donna breathed out, “Y/n you’re drinking with me tonight” she declared, that is when you knew Donna accepted you as part of the family. 

Michael was a pleaser, on all accounts. 

“Baby, can we please change the song?” you tight lippedly moaned as Mikey found himself holding you down by your thighs as his tongue circled your clit. Your clit vehemently ignored your pleas of changing the song to something more sensual at least. 

All I Need by Radiohead was the song that got you through breakups and filled you with dread and oddly, a newfound sense of excitement as the piano riff played, but now you’re on the brink of an orgasm to it. 

The strings of curses leaving your mouth upon instinct as Mikey didn’t let up, his arms holding you down as your eyes and head lulled back, your hands clenching and unclenching from the sheer ecstasy the man gave you. Your stomach rolled, Mikey’s fingers finding the way to toyed with the bud as he held you down and controlled your bottom half. 

“Baby stop” you regretfully moaned as you almost cummed, to your surprise in the middle of the piano riff of the song. Mikey’s arms loosened and he stood there sitting as your pussy pulsed, red, and throbbing— you stood up as well, sitting tilted up as your nether regions decided to make you a villain as you stopped the pure magic Mikey was performing with his tongue. “I just—“ your voice faltered and hitched, you were crying?

“Hey baby girl?” he soothed his voice, immediately wrapping his arms around you, “What’s wrong?”, he kissed the top of your head.

“Cum in me” you whispered, smacking yourself in your head as you wondered if the pleasure is what was making you emotional, “I wanna feel it”. 

“Baby that’s risky” you knew the risks, you also knew you were always on time for your pill every single day and even made a habit to carry with you everywhere you went, “Are you sure?”.

“Please baby?” you pleaded, sniffling lightly.

Michael was a giver, a pleaser, by all accounts, he could never deny you. Need it be your nails digging in his back as he groaned, the way your legs recoiled each thrust- he had his own selfish reasons- but the look you gave him whilst pleasing you, that was the biggest one of all. The twinkle in your eye as they welled with tears from the way the man made sex feel like an art form— the way you knew he was all yours. His cum seeping out of you nevertheless he still picked you up and showered you alongside him, despite the sensitive nature of you, you wanted more, and more. 

As the night winded down, Michael stood holding you securely, watching Criminal Minds as it played on the TV, your feet caressing his calves as his hands caressed the curvature of your hips— sensually but not teetering upon the guise of going another round. 

“So no sex to Radiohead?” Mikey posed the question, both as a joke and genuine curiosity. 

“As much as I loved that— fuck no” you giggled lightly, moving your head to face him and kiss his lips, “R&B is a very popular genre you know” you proposed.

He smiled before kissing your lips once more, “Whatever you want baby”. 

“I miss him” you breathed, the inhale rattling in your chest, “I miss him. People keep asking if they can talk about him to me like he’s some taboo subject— I want to remember all I can of him” your chest ached, “One day I’m going to wake up and forget his scent— I read somewhere that you forget specifics first. Then it’s the sayings and-“ your breath hitched as your body began to give up, it felt like jolts of anguish. “Personality and sayings stick”. 

“What are you most afraid of forgetting?”.

“His voice” you began to sob, coughing out months of pain and resentment towards him leaving, “There are days that I can’t even— all I have is a fucking voicemail!” you wailed, “Why did he have to go? Why would he just leave huh? To the fucking bridge— I could’ve stopped him!” your voice rang and bounced off the sterile walls, throat hurting and feeling constricted. 

“Y/n, you said it yourself— he was sick, he never got help—“.

“I was there!” you broke down, “How could I not know? We shared a bed together, I kissed him every morning and night- every chance I got. I lived and breathed him… how could I let him—“.

“You will not blame yourself over something you lacked control over” a stern voice came through your therapist, “People suffer silent battles internally for years and ages, not everyone can have or be willing to have a second sense to acknowledge it. You were his lover— a near wife of his, not a healthcare provider or therapist,”.

Your bottom lip quivered as a shiver ran down your spine. Whenever you were stressed you swore you could feel him. Feel his fingers tantalizing cascade down your spine, easing your worries. You could imagine him sitting next to you, trying to hold you together and to prevent you from shattering. Your jaw tensed and it felt like your teeth were going to crack against each other. 

“Why?”. 

Why did he stay true to his promise and not write you a goodbye, an explanation? Did he feel you were not owed one? That you’d be okay? Returning back to the apartment that didn’t have a soul, didn’t have him, you could only drop to your knees against the floorboards. The guttural and wrathful sobs and screams that left your body almost made your neighbors want to call for a welfare check. Mustering up enough strength to grab your phone from your pocket.  “Can you come over, please?” you spoke against your phone.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[neurotica-tales]

Forged in Obsession (Yandere Hiccup x Reader)

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

When you first arrive in Berk, you're captivated by dragons and drawn into the fascinating world of their gentle and ingenious rider, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. His kindness, awkward charm, and inventive brilliance quickly make him your closest friend—but beneath his sweet smiles and thoughtful gestures lies a quiet, growing obsession. Unbeknownst to you, every compliment and smile fuels Hiccup’s desperate desire to keep you close. As he carefully hides the intensity of his feelings, the line between friendship and possession begins to blur. Soon, you realize the gentle inventor who stole your heart may never let you leave.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

TW: Obsessive behavior, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, stalking.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Part 2 now up! Click HERE!

Companion Piece: Caught in the Net (Tuffnut's POV)

Next: Yandere Hiccup Headcanon, The First Kindness (Yandere Tuffnut x Reader)

To find my master list, click HERE.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The journey to Berk was harsh -- incredibly so -- and many times, you thought about giving up. You weren’t used to cold air biting at your cheeks or snow crunching under your boots. It was so cold you wondered if you'd even make it to Berk before you froze to death. You ask yourself several times about what on earth was it that possessed you to travel to a place in which you've never been before, somewhere that is freezing 12 months of the year. But whenever the thought passed your mind, you'd console yourself with one word.

Dragons.

You were from a place where dragons were myths, legends spoken about in hushed tones or embellished stories told over fires. But Berk? Berk had dragons like trees had leaves. Living, breathing, majestic creatures that soared overhead and curled beside Viking homes like overgrown, scaly cats. The first time you saw a Nadder swoop across the sky, golden spikes glittering like fire in the sun, your breath caught in your throat. This place was everything you'd ever dreamed of—and more. You desperately wanted to see any other dragons the world had to offer with your own eyes, and this yearning gave you the strength to endure every fierce snowstorm and punishing hailstorm.

You arrived in Berk by ship, cloaked and hooded against the biting wind, your pack strapped to your back and your boots worn from travel. Most people paid you no mind. You were just another stranger come to gawk at dragons or seek wisdom from the famous Dragon Riders. Your eyes, however, were wide with wonder, not awe. You weren’t here for stories or fame. You were here because you believed dragons were more than beasts—you believed they were beautiful

So when you arrived—a stranger with no name recognized and no clan claimed—the Berkians didn't give you a second glance. They were used to wanderers by now. Ever since dragons became allies rather than enemies, Berk had gained a reputation across the archipelago.

You kept to yourself, mostly. Wandered the village. Watched the dragons from afar. But there was one that caught your eye the very first day.

He was sleek, black as obsidian with wide green eyes that shimmered like the sea. He had a broken tail fin—one that had clearly been patched and tinkered with, a mechanical hinge enabling flight. His movements were silent, like shadows on silk, but he had a youthful curiosity to him too. Playful, intelligent.

You didn’t know his name.

Only that you saw him first at dawn, perched on a roof with his tail curled like a cat’s, and ever since… you couldn’t help but follow. Just to catch another glimpse.

You weren’t stupid. You knew he had a rider. Some lanky Viking guy with brown hair and a face full of freckles. People always swarmed around him—called him “Chief,” “Dragon Master,” “Hiccup.” But he never caught your interest.

At least, not at first.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It took a week.

A full week of tailing Toothless like some lovesick puppy, sketching him, whispering excited nothings to yourself whenever he soared overhead, crouching behind barrels to observe him interact with other dragons. You never meant to be subtle—just quiet. You didn’t want to scare him off. He was just so… beautiful.

Then one morning, you turned the corner by Gobber’s forge and ran smack into a chest.

“Oof—sorry—!”

“You.”

You blinked.

The voice was flat. Not angry… but definitely not thrilled either. You tilted your head and looked up.

Freckles. Green eyes. Leather armor. Slight scowl.

“Uh… Hiccup, right?”

His arms were crossed. “So, are you gonna tell me why you’ve been following me for days?”

The words hit you like a bucket of cold water.

“Excuse me?”

He squinted. “I’ve seen you. Don’t pretend I haven’t. First the market, then the docks, then yesterday by the edge of the cove. Always behind something, always looking like you’re trying not to look.”

Your cheeks burned. “I—I wasn’t following you!”

“Oh, really?”

“I was following… your dragon!”

There was a pause.

“What.”

You pointed past him. “The black one. Toothless, right? He’s… he’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like him. I wasn’t watching you, I was watching him.”

Hiccup blinked.

Then blinked again.

Toothless peeked out from behind the forge, tail twitching curiously. As if on cue, he gave a small purr-like sound and nosed at Hiccup’s hand. Immediately, you pursed your lips as you try to not coo at the sight of something so adorable. This was the closest you had ever been to Toothless, and you honestly admitted that he was even more majestic and cute up close, especially with that sleek body of his and the round curious eyes.

The Chief stared at you in dumbfounded silence, mouth slightly open as he witnessed you gushing over his best friend first hand.

“…Oh.”

You shrugged awkwardly, smile embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry. If I creeped you out, that wasn’t my intention. I just… I love dragons. I came here hoping to see some, and he’s just so—”

“No, no! It’s fine!” he cut in quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “That makes… sense. Wow. I feel stupid now.”

You giggled. “You really thought I was stalking you?”

“I mean,” he muttered, “it’s not like it hasn’t happened before…”

You gave him a look. He immediately went red.

“I didn’t mean—! Ugh, never mind. I’m sorry for confronting you like that. Just… wasn’t sure what was going on.”

You smiled, holding out a hand. “I’m (Y/N) , by the way.”

His fingers hesitated before closing around yours. Warm. Calloused. Surprising strength for someone so wiry.

“Hiccup.”

“I know,” you teased gently.

He smiled, sheepish.

And just like that, something between you clicked.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It became routine after that.

You’d drop by the forge in the late mornings, when the air was still laced with frost and the smell of soot and steel drifted from the chimney. The place was warm—cozy in its own rugged, metallic way. Gobber would usually bark orders or wander off on errands, leaving you alone with Hiccup in the belly of the forge where the dragon fire kept the shadows at bay.

He was always there, hammering at metal, sleeves rolled up, soot on his cheeks and grease on his fingers. And when he saw you? His entire face lit up. Not dramatically—but in that soft, quiet way that felt real. Honest. He would glance up from his work, his mouth twitching into a crooked smile, and greet you like you were the only person who mattered in that moment.

And you began to linger.

At first, it was innocent curiosity. You asked about the tools, the gears, the strange contraptions that lay scattered across the tables like discarded puzzle pieces. Hiccup answered with enthusiasm that made you smile—his voice speeding up, his hands moving rapidly to show you how something worked, why it failed, or how Toothless had inspired it.

Sometimes, Toothless would rest nearby, lazily curled up on a bed of furs, purring softly when you ran your fingers across his snout. The dragon’s presence was a comfort to both of you. To him, you were a kindred spirit—gentle, patient, genuine.

But Hiccup... Hiccup began watching you more closely.

At first, it was subtle. You’d catch him glancing up while you were talking, his green eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. Then his gaze would drop to your lips, your hands, the sway of your expression as you talked about home or dragons or life beyond Berk.

One afternoon, after a long explanation about a new gliding saddle he was prototyping, you burst into applause, your eyes sparkling. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

Hiccup’s breath caught.

No one said that to him. Not like that. Not with sincerity that made his chest ache.

He laughed it off—at least, he tried to. “Brilliant’s a strong word. More like… stubborn with a hammer.”

But you stepped closer, taking the prototype in your hands. “No. You see things others can’t. You think differently, and that’s what makes you special.”

He was silent.

And in that silence, his fingers accidentally brushed yours.

Neither of you moved away.

His hand lingered, the calloused pads of his fingers grazing the side of your knuckle. His gaze dropped to the contact and stayed there. You heard the forge fire crackle behind you. Felt the heat of it on your back—and the warmth of his presence in front of you.

“I… I’m really glad you’re here,” he said quietly.

You looked up, surprised.

“Berk doesn’t get many people like you,” he added, eyes flicking to yours, the barest tremble in his voice. “People who… look at dragons and see friends. Who look at me and don’t just see the Chief.”

You smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought of you as just a chief.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Hiccup,” you continued. “You can just be you.”

Something broke open in him then—some soft, fragile part that had been locked up for years.

He didn’t say anything else. He only smiled.

But after that, the way he looked at you changed.

Each morning, he seemed to sense your arrival before you reached the door. He started keeping little things aside for you—small trinkets, unfinished carvings of dragons, bits of metal shaped like flowers or stars. He told you they were scraps. You knew better.

You caught him one evening, staring at a new piece he was working on. A delicate pendant shaped like a Night Fury’s wing.

He didn’t offer it to you.

Not yet.

But when you left that night, you felt his eyes on your back.

And when you turned to wave, he was still there—standing in the warm glow of the forge, that same crooked smile on his lips.

And something else in his eyes.

Something that made your heart flutter.

You didn’t know it yet.

But that was the moment Hiccup Haddock truly began to fall in love.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

After that night, something shifted.

It wasn’t just that you visited the forge more often—it was that Hiccup began needing you to. He started watching the door before you even arrived, finding himself distracted, irritable when you were late or didn’t come at all. On the days you couldn’t visit, a part of him wilted.

He never said anything about it. Not directly.

But the next day, he would be quieter. Less focused. He’d burn metal or misalign a gear or forget to feed Toothless. He brushed it off when Gobber commented, but Toothless wasn’t so easily fooled. The dragon’s eyes would flick between him and the door, a quiet rumble forming in his throat when he sensed his rider’s unease.

“She’ll be back,” Hiccup would whisper under his breath. “She always comes back.”

And when you did? The light returned to his eyes as if you’d carried the sun in with you.

He started inventing reasons to keep you close. Small repairs he “needed help with.” Dragon anatomy sketches he wanted your opinion on. Flights that just happened to coincide with your daily errands. He never asked directly for your time, but it was clear—he didn’t want to share it.

He didn’t want to share you.

It started with little things.

One afternoon, you were laughing with Fishlegs in the dragon stables. You’d both been admiring Meatlug’s newly polished armor—Fishlegs was animated, nerdy, and incredibly sweet. You admired his knowledge and patience, and the two of you often shared harmless banter.

Hiccup had come looking for you.

He paused in the doorway, hearing your laughter echo against the stone walls.

His eyes narrowed. Not in anger—yet—but in something like confusion. Curiosity. A tightness in his chest he couldn’t quite name.

You turned and waved. “Hey, Hiccup!”

He smiled back, but it was thinner than usual. Forced.

Fishlegs noticed it too. “We were just talking about Gronkles’ eating habits. Did you know they can digest rocks better than any other dragon?”

“I know,” Hiccup said. Then added, quickly, “Can I borrow you for a moment?”

You blinked. “Sure.”

He didn’t touch your arm, didn’t tug you away. But the look in his eyes was heavy. He didn’t glance at Fishlegs again.

Once you were out of the stables, you smiled up at him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, too fast. Then, “I just… missed you at the forge today.”

“I was helping Gothi gather herbs,” you explained. “She asked for help translating some old runes too.”

“I know,” he murmured, gaze flicking to the side. “I looked for you.”

The words settled between you.

“Oh,” you said softly.

He glanced at you, then quickly looked away. “It’s nothing. I just… I like it better when you’re around. That’s all.”

Your smile was warm. “I like being around you too.”

That should’ve reassured him.

It didn’t.

The next day, you mentioned you’d promised Astrid you’d help her sharpen weapons for the upcoming patrol.

Hiccup nodded. “Of course. That’s great.”

But he lingered longer at the forge that afternoon. Stared at the table even after you left. Toothless whined once and nudged his elbow, prompting him to snap out of it.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

But he wasn’t.

That evening, Astrid found him on the cliffs with Toothless. He was sketching furiously, wind tousling his hair, eyes red-rimmed from too many hours without rest.

“You okay?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just thinking,” he mumbled.

“About her?”

His pencil stilled.

“I’m not blind, Hiccup,” Astrid said softly.

He didn’t respond.

“She’s good for you. Just… don’t forget to breathe, alright?”

Hiccup smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Breathing’s never been the problem. It’s what happens when she’s not around that worries me.”

You were becoming his entire world.

And he would do anything to keep you in it.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

At first, Hiccup didn’t let himself think about it.

The possibility that you might one day leave Berk.

But it crept into his mind like a slow-growing rot—subtle, silent, until he could no longer ignore it.

You were a traveler. A wanderer. You didn’t belong to any clan or holdfast. You spoke of distant lands and strange creatures with a wistfulness that tugged at something deep inside him. At first, he’d loved that about you—how your voice lit up when you talked about your adventures, your eyes shining with memories he wasn’t part of.

But then he began to realize: you had a life before Berk. A whole world that didn’t include him.

And what if—after all this—you decided to return to it?

The thought made his stomach twist.

He tried to be logical. You liked it here. You were getting along well with the other villagers. The dragons adored you. And you spent more time with him than anyone else.

But logic didn’t quiet the ache in his chest.

It only made it worse.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

One evening, after the forge had grown quiet and the air outside was painted with the pale gold of sunset, you told him about a storm you once survived at sea.

“It was the worst weather I’d ever seen,” you said, legs curled beneath you on a bench near the fire. “I thought the boat would split in two. But the morning after, the sky was so clear. Like the storm had never even happened.”

Hiccup listened, jaw resting on his hand, eyes fixed on your lips.

You continued, “Part of me misses that—traveling, waking up in a new place each week. Seeing what’s out there. It’s… freeing.”

Something flickered in his expression. His fingers tensed against the edge of the table.

“You miss it?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded absently. “Sometimes. Not as much lately, though. Berk’s grown on me. People are kind. The dragons… well, you know.” You smiled.

He tried to smile back.

But the warmth had drained from his chest, replaced by a cold anxiety that gnawed at his ribs.

You weren’t from here.

And no matter how much he loved seeing you curled up by his forge, laughing with the dragons, brushing soot off your clothes with that little huff you always did—none of it guaranteed you’d stay.

He didn’t sleep well that night.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next day, he was quieter. Focused—but not on his work. He kept glancing at you, watching the way you moved through the village, laughing with Astrid or feeding a Terrible Terror with one hand as you scribbled notes with the other.

He started imagining things.

You packing your bag.

You waving goodbye.

You boarding a ship that sailed over the horizon and never returned.

And it terrified him.

He’d lost things before. People. Places. The feeling of being understood.

He couldn’t lose you too.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

That evening, as the village lights dimmed and the dragons nestled into their nightly roosts, Hiccup approached you.

Toothless followed silently behind him, watchful.

“Hey,” Hiccup said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Do you have a moment?”

You looked up from the saddle you’d been adjusting. “Of course.”

He hesitated. Then motioned for you to walk with him.

The two of you wandered past the edge of the village, where the cliffs opened up to the sea and the wind tasted like salt. The sky was deep indigo, scattered with stars. Toothless walked a short distance behind, giving you space.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Hiccup said finally, eyes fixed on the waves below. “Do you… do you think you’ll stay in Berk?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean—eventually. Not now, not tomorrow. But long term. Do you think this place could be home?”

You studied him. “That’s a big question.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just… I’ve been thinking. You’re not from here. And people who aren’t from here usually don’t stay. They see the dragons, they marvel at the village, and then they leave.”

You took a step closer, your voice softer. “I’m not planning to leave anytime soon.”

“But that’s not a no.”

He wasn’t accusing. Not quite. But his eyes searched yours like he was trying to read a decision you hadn’t made yet.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” you admitted. “I didn’t expect to come to Berk in the first place. But I’ve grown attached to this place. To the people. To you.”

His breath hitched.

“To me?”

You smiled. “Of course to you. You’ve been nothing but patient and generous. I feel safe with you.”

That should have reassured him.

But it only made him more afraid.

Because even love could be temporary.

Even warmth could fade.

And he didn’t want to live in a world where your voice was just a memory.

“I made something,” he said suddenly.

You looked up. “Oh?”

He reached into his vest and pulled out a pendant—smooth, dark metal shaped into the silhouette of a dragon wing, not unlike Toothless’s.

“It’s Gronkle Iron,” he said, voice hushed. “Lightweight. Stronger than normal iron. I carved the runes myself.”

He didn’t mention that some of those runes were ancient tracking sigils that he got from Gothi by bribing her with Gobber's famous yak noodle soup. It's for protective purposes, he’d tell himself. Not invasive. Not possessive.

He held it out to you. “I thought… maybe it could remind you of here. Of us. In case you ever…”

He trailed off.

You took it gently, touched by the gift. “It’s beautiful.”

He didn’t respond.

Just watched you slip the chain around your neck, the metal glinting faintly in the moonlight.

And in that moment, Hiccup made a quiet vow to himself.

If you ever tried to leave—if the winds of wanderlust called you away—he would find a way to bring you back.

Because you weren’t just someone passing through his life.

You were home.

And he would never let home slip through his fingers again.

[headfullof-ideas]

Doing a separate post for the tags i added at the end of my last one about Mildew. I also need to fix some of Stoick’s lines, because at first I didn’t have much of a plan for him, but after outlining the story more and winging some later scenes, I’ve built a character arc for him, and also fleshed out more of his opinions and views on the raids as Chief of one of the tribes most affected by them. And after re-reading some chapters to figure out where to shove Mildew and his complaining in, I realized some lines might be a bit more antagonistic than they need to be, or entirely out of character for the character i have planned. I think I’ll write a character study for him after I’ve finished writing and posting the first film, about the character I’ve written for my story, and his mindset on everything and why he’s the way he is at the start of the story. But I need to fix some of his lines as they don’t exactly fit the character I’ve been building now

[timothysnyder]

With the passage of Trump's death bill, we face the prospect of many great harms, including an archipelago of concentration camps across the United States.

What happens next in the U.S.? Workers who are presented as "undocumented" will be taken to the camps. Perhaps they will work in the camps themselves, as slaves to government projects. But more likely they will be offered to American companies on special terms: a one-time payment to the government, for example, with no need for wages or benefits. In the simplest version, and perhaps the most likely, detained people will be offered back to the companies for which they were just working. Their stay in the concentration camp will be presented as a purge or a legalization for which companies should be grateful. Trump has already said that this is the idea, calling it "owner responsibility." We should remember what drew I.G Farben into Auschwitz: profit. But there are of course precedents for extreme exploitation in American history, including but not limited to the history of chattel slavery. And slavery is not entirely illegal in the United States. The Thirteenth Amendment allows slavery if only as punishment for a crime. The people described as "undocumented" or "denaturalized" (and other categories sure to be invented soon) are portrayed as criminals. If the Trump regime tries to enslave such people on a large scale, there will be a court case. But waiting for the Supreme Court to do the right thing is, to put it gently, no substitute for action. It would be good if there were explicit legislation banning slave labor in all circumstances. But such a law is unlikely without a movement behind it. The government is putting before us the temptation to cooperate in fascist dehumanization on a grand scale. But that does not mean we must do so. This is an area where actions by individuals, by civil society, by the professions, and by companies can be decisive. The first action is simple. CEOs should now, this summer, this month, next week, sign a pledge not to use labor from concentration camps. It could be as simple as that: "On behalf of my firm I promise not to use labor from concentration camps nor to cooperate with any firm that does."

These policies should be named for what they are. And they should be protested for what they are. But aside from the naming and the protesting, we must exercise our awareness of how people and companies are drawn by profit and silence into the normalization of horror. Just signing a petition might seem like a disproportionately small reaction to huge funding for American concentration camps. But it is the small choices now that open the broad, bright terrain of action later. If we miss these opportunities, that terrain closes and darkens.

[vellazx]

Reincarnated!Roger Luffy x Reincarnated!Rouge Reader — a small drabble of mine!

It was hard working for the Navy, whenever the man whom you adored so dearly was bound to be your enemy for life.

How it happened? It was a long story… And you couldn’t quite put it all into words.

It started two years ago, all the way back in Alabasta, when you were sent out for a job with your coworker, Smoker.

The two of you could be considered as ‘friends’. He rambled to you the whole way there about a wanted pirate who went by the name of ‘Straw Hat Luffy’, at the time bearing a 30 million Berry bounty.

He was just a rookie. It would be easy for someone of your rank to take him down. You were respected by even the three Admirals themselves, probably only a level below them in terms of power.

So why was it that when you did come face to face with him, the two of you just locked eyes, as if entranced by each other.

Your heart skipped a beat in that very moment. And for some reason, he smiled at you, making your sudden jittery behavior and nervousness a thousand times worse.

You were so ashamed of yourself. You allowed him to simply run past you with that toothy grin of his, beaming with confidence and recklessness.

Smoker didn’t let you off lightly after watching that scene. But you didn’t argue against him, no. You fully believed you deserved it.

But why did that happen in the first place? He was a pirate, and you didn’t take yourself as the type to fall in love at first sight. You’ve never done that.

You couldn’t continue to help Smoker and the swordswoman always by his side, Tashigi, in capturing the Straw Hats. Especially their captain.

It was like your body acted on its own, forcing you to leave. After that encounter, you endured a mental crisis for nearly an entire month.

He just felt so… familiar. It unsettled you.

Why did it feel like you had met him before?

After Alabasta, you somehow ended getting tied up in his daily pirate schemes, as if you just couldn’t escape him.

Sabaody Archipelago, the Navy Headquarters, Punk Hazard… You could name even more times that you’ve met with him in abnormal circumstances.

And every time you fought him, every accidental brush of hands that made your cheeks heat up, your feelings got worse, and worse, and worse…

Why him?

Of all people, why him?

To make things worse, you could feel yourself… distancing from your duty. Your job. Like he was influencing you.

You started thinking weird things, strange things.

‘The World Government? I don’t trust them.’

You didn’t trust them? Yes you did. They wanted justice for the world, and you did, too.

‘They’re corrupted.’

No they aren’t.

‘In the name of justice? Don’t make me laugh. They don’t care about justice… They only want power.’

It was like there was a second voice in your head. An alter ego, almost…

All the while, in the midst of those thoughts… Your mind always reeled back to him. His stupid face that made your heart flutter. That smile of his, that was so infectious you couldn’t help but return a smile, which you didn’t realize most of the time.

He would point it out mid-fight, too.

“Hey, you’re smiling!”

“You’re seeing things, Straw Hat!”

You also couldn’t help but realize that during your meaningless duels, all his attention would be solely on you. Of course, when fighting someone, that was normal. But the way he looked at you… Did enemies look at each other like that?

His eyes shone, full of adoration. He always smiled at you, even if you wanted him to take you seriously. He didn’t gaze at you like he did his other opponents. He always stared them down with anger, or irritation.

He hardly knew anything about you, other than how well you fought when you clashed on the battlefield. But at the same time, he felt like he knew everything about you.

It took you by surprise one day, when he opened up his own confusion to you.

“It feels like I’ve met you before. Before Vivi’s country!”

Before Alabasta? That was where you first met two years ago.

And he was saying that he felt like he knew you before your meeting in the country?

“You must be crazy, Straw Hat…”

You said that, but you felt the same. And… he said he felt the same. You would’ve never expected him to be on the road of confusion, as you were.

You hated to admit it, but Straw Hat Luffy was the center of your thoughts ever since your first meeting. He indirectly influenced you, resulting in you slowly developing a distasteful attitude toward the World Government and all your coworkers.

He’s never even said anything to you about hating the World Government, yet your thoughts of him were changing you.

For better, or for worse? You had no idea.

It was impossible for you to deny the way your eyes softened, and the way your muscles became less tense when he was around.

In battle, you’d have to be the one to fight him if you were present. No one else. Not even if an Admiral offered to assist you in taking him down.

Because for some reason… For some odd, odd reason…

…You were paranoid that they’d be able to defeat him, and he’d die on an execution platform, leaving you alone with your feelings until your own death.

Why did it feel like… that’s already happened before?

You couldn’t let it happen again.