#or that I’d otherwise done something odd

[everythingisarabbithole]

[ozzgin]

Hi!! Your writing it truly lovely 😭<33 If i could request anything with Zzy? Thank youuu

Yandere! Demon x Gloomy! Reader (II)

Featuring the goat-legged boy Zzy and a gloomy, newly employed detective Reader! By the way, his name is a little tribute to a series I like. Can you guess who inspired it? Hint: it's Jhonen Vasquez's first comic :D

Content: female reader, perverted goat demon yandere, dark/crass humor!, monster romance, mildly NSFW

[Part 1] [Monster masterlist]

The detective man, at the very least, kept his word. The pay is good, and you barely have any work to do. The jobs themselves are similarly not too challenging: so far you haven’t had to deal with any murder mystery out of an Agatha Christie novel. Rather, most of the time, it’s someone asking you to investigate their cheating partner, or sending you to do a background check for an employee. Every now and then you’ll get the odd client, but that’s something for another day.

Your boss isn’t all that bad either. You were initially quite hesitant to be alone in the room with him. He always seems to be surrounded by an eerie, dark aura, and you’ve only seen him smile in a menacing, villainous way. Now you’ve gotten used to his strangeness. In fact, it’s almost comforting. There’s something refreshing about another human being honest about their misery. He seems to be just as uninterested in this job as you are, spending most of his time reading at his desk. Despite his unkempt, scary appearance, he's pleasant enough and looks after you. Which, now that you think about it, is a little suspicious. You've seen him act around other people: curt and to the point, disinterested, even potentially rude. With demons, he's ruthless.

"Have you had lunch yet?" the man asks, standing up and dusting his knees. "I can get us something."

You nod and flash him a flaccid smile, although you can't help but ask:

"Listen, aren't you being a little too nice? I mean, I'm not complaining...but I've seen how you behave in general, and I have a hard time coming up with a reason for my special treatment."

He ponders your question for a moment, before his sunken eyes look ahead, somewhere behind you.

"Well…If I’m being honest, you’re kind of pathetic, aren't you? I’m just a little worried that if I’m too harsh, I’ll find out you hanged yourself in your apartment or something. Not that I’d care, but if you’re gone, I’m the one stuck with…that thing.”

Ah. That’s what it was. Almost immediately, a shiver runs across your spine.

“(Y/N)! Are you done yet? I’m booooooored”, a prolonged whine erupts from the neighboring chamber.

“I’m about to have lunch, actually. Do you want any-”

“You know I do! Spread those legs and I can start”, the goat demon declares with a grin, clacking his hooves in your direction.

You sigh.

Of course. Months ago, you were tricked into signing a lifelong contract with Zzy. It was the detective’s way of washing his hands off the matter and warmly welcoming you into the agency. It makes sense that he'd treat you with utmost care, otherwise he'd have to deal with this pest from Hell once again.

How's your life with Zzy going?

You've since found a way to seal your bedroom, in order to avoid waking up with his groping hands under your sheets. Sadly, the stubborn creature keeps finding ways to bypass your safety measurements. Who would’ve thought that lust is such a powerful driving force?

On top of the nightly shenanigans, you obviously have to deal with him during the day, at the agency. “Listen, it’s like…one of those fidget toys. It helps with stress”, he explains fervently while pointing at your chest. “You want me to do my work properly, don’t you?” He concludes theatrically. “You’re not holding my boobs. This is the end of the conversation.”

If you’re having a bad day, it won’t go unnoticed. “Boy, what a smell, what a delicacy. You’re even more miserable than usual”, Zzy will exclaim, throwing his hands together in a graceful prayer. “You know what the best medicine is? A quick fuck. Let me pound that sadness out of you, eh?”

Despite his constant clowning, the demon does have moments of clarity. He becomes particularly serious when jealous. “What have you done?” You shout in despair, gawking at the client - now morphed into a pig - foaming at the mouth and running around the room. “He was staring at your ass. Only I can do that.” The horned man stands proud, arms crossed, nodding at his own courageous act. His most treasured belonging has been defended once more.

As expected, the jealous curse has gotten both of you into time-out. Zzy because he cursed the client in the first place, and you - despite your protests - because you didn't stop him in time. "Can't you wear something easier to take off? It takes two business days to unbutton this crap", the demon complains as he fiddles with your shirt. You're laying on the sofa, hands behind your head, gazing at the clock on the wall and counting the minutes passing. Unbothered, compliant. The peacefulness of someone who's given up. "Zipper is to the left", you add, aiding the process.

Another irritating detail is that the damned beast can detect the slightest arousal coming from you, and will make sure to announce it loudly, regardless of who is around. "Someone's horny! Whew, getting me all worked up, too." You slap a hand over his mouth, a deep red blush rapidly spreading across your cheeks. You turn to the detective and apologize profusely, but he remains unconcerned, flipping another page. "Let me take care of her first, Mr. Detective", Zzy manages to mumble through your pressed fingers. "As long as you get the task done", your boss responds plainly, never bothering to look up from his book.

"You should visit me down there sometimes", the horned creature suddenly mentions, his head resting in your lap as you idly browse your phone. You stop to glance down at him. "In Hell, you mean?" He snickers at the thought. "No one believes me when I tell them I have a human girlfriend. I need concrete proof, ya feel me?" You raise an eyebrow. "Girlfriend?" He disregards your inquiry and continues: "At least give me a pair of your panties to take back home." Absolutely not.

"Were you this much of a menace before I showed up?"

"What's that supposed to mean?! You can't blame a demon for being in love."

You sigh once more and roll over.

"Does that mean we can go for round two~?" Zzy is grinning at his own suggestion.

"Just go to sleep. Or something."

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Tangled”

Jinx x GN!Reader

WARNINGS:None

WC:775

NOTE: Braiding Jinx’s hair. Established Relationship!!

The dim light of the workshop cast long shadows across the walls, the faint hum of electricity the only sound between you and Jinx. Her hair was wild today—wilder than usual. Loose strands stuck out at odd angles, the electric blue a tangled mess from whatever she’d been up to earlier.

“Hold still,” you murmured, your fingers carefully parting the chaos into sections.

Jinx was sitting cross-legged on the floor, knees bouncing impatiently. “I am holding still,” she grumbled, though the way she kept twisting her head every time a spark caught her eye said otherwise.

“You’re literally moving right now.”

“Am not.”

“Jinx.”

She groaned dramatically, throwing her head back before finally giving in. “Fine, fine. Geez, you’re bossy.”

You smiled, your fingers deftly weaving her hair into a braid. “Someone has to be.”

Jinx huffed, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she rested her chin on her palm, letting the silence stretch between you. For once, she wasn’t filling it with nervous chatter or some wild story about how she’d blow something up. Her body felt lighter, less tense, as if your touch smoothed out more than just her hair.

“Why do you do this?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter than usual.

“Do what?”

“This.” She tilted her head slightly, motioning toward your hands. “The whole… touching my hair thing. Doesn’t it get boring?”

You paused, fingers still in her hair as you thought about how to answer. “It’s not boring,” you said finally. “I like it. I like being close to you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a second, she didn’t say anything. Then, in true Jinx fashion, she snorted. “Pfft. You’re so sappy.”

“You asked,” you teased, tugging lightly on a strand of hair.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand dismissively, but you caught the faint pink dusting her cheeks.

You kept braiding, the rhythm soothing for both of you. Jinx stayed quiet, which was rare, and you wondered if she was lost in her head. You didn’t push, though. Jinx’s mind was a wild place, and sometimes it needed room to run.

When you finished the first braid, you secured it with a small band before starting on the next section.

“You’re really good at this,” she muttered after a while, her tone almost shy.

“Thanks. You’ve got great hair to work with.”

“Duh.” She grinned, finally turning her head to look at you. “Think I’d look good with, like, a thousand braids?”

“I think you’d look good with anything.”

That earned you a genuine laugh, light and carefree. The sound warmed your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

When you finished the last braid, you gently tilted her chin up so she’d look at you. “There. All done.”

Jinx blinked up at you, her pink eyes wide and curious. “Do I look badass?”

“You always look badass.”

She smirked, but there was a softness behind it, her usual sharp edges dulled by your presence. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Just stared at you like you were something rare, something she couldn’t quite figure out.

Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “You’re different, you know that?”

“Different how?”

“You don’t treat me like I’m…” Her words trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Like I’m broken.”

You reached out, brushing your thumb gently over her cheek. “You’re not broken, Jinx. Not to me.”

Her breath caught, and for once, she didn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, she leaned into your touch, her pink eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or just a moment of peace.

You didn’t think. You just moved closer, your hand sliding to the back of her neck as you pressed your lips to hers.

Jinx stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, but then she melted into the kiss, her hands clutching the front of your shirt like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

It wasn’t wild or rushed. It was soft, tentative, like the two of you were afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing you’d just created.

When you finally pulled back, Jinx stared at you with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly parted.

“Wow,” she whispered, a grin slowly creeping onto her face. “You kiss like a sap, too.”

You laughed, brushing a strand of blue hair from her face. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“Yeah, well…” She smirked, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Guess you’re not completely boring.”

And in that quiet, tangled moment, it felt like the whole world had fallen away. Just you and Jinx, and the small, fleeting peace you’d created together.

Hii!!

I randomly thought of this soooo I hope you enjoy!

I want food

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

would love to request a "friends to lovers" story between Hiccup and the reader.

They could have been friends since childhood, but I’m not sure what you think about the idea where, as they grow up, it becomes completely normal for them to hold hands or even share more intimate moments, like a kiss. (Don’t let it show how much I love this dynamic).

I’d love to see how you would develop this story (only if you feel like it, of course). I seriously ADORE your writing! Blessings and kisses, MUAK! ❤💗

One of These Days

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,740

You didn’t know when it started; maybe it had been when he’d smiled at you for the first time, or he’d held your hand, or leaned his head over yours. 

Tags:  httyd 1, httyd 2, friends to lovers

It was growing darker outside. 

Frigid air licked at the frame of your back, slithering and scraping past cracks in the walls and shutters. It tasted just as cool as it smelt.

You didn’t know when it started, nor were you sure how to feel about it, what with that odd thing sitting between the two of you. You could tell he expected something, what with the way he often shuffled closer than was necessary and fumbled over his own words in an effort to impress.

“Pass me the hammer?” He asked you without looking, lanky shoulders square, hands pressed against parchment, fingers sliding absentmindedly over scrawled-out charcoal and past thick-handled tools.

You snuffled, blinking from where you sat just beside him.

It was just to the right of you on one slightly uneven workbench, closer to the forge’s main window than away. You grabbed at it with slightly wobbly fingers, grimacing as it nearly fell from your hands.

At twelve winters, you still had some time left before you’d really be expected to bloody your hands, and by bloody your hands, you meant to be able to take down a full-grown dragon on your own.’ Of course, most children by now had done their fair share of slaughtering, both animals and otherwise, but none had been able to make it during a raid without help. While you hadn’t done any of it, putting you sorely behind, you were still fine.

For Hiccup, son of Stoick the Vast, feared dragon-killer, the deadlines were a little bit tighter.

You placed the hammer firmly, determinedly into Hiccup’s open palm, the tips of your fingers dragging against slightly sweaty skin.

Gobber had been generous enough to let you in. He didn’t often or ever stop the two of you from doing things. Even still, this was the first time you’d been invited into the forge, and he hadn’t said anything.

Hiccup had also been generous enough to invite you in. You hadn’t quite recognized the invitation for what it was, nor did you think Hiccup did, either. Really, the experience was proving to be rather close. It was the first time you’d ever seen him so enraptured in his work, though, to be fair, you hadn’t known him for long. He’d hardly talked about it.

You doubted he’d told anyone else- it was going to be a larger machine. He definitely didn’t have everything he needed to make it. Not the wood, which would make up a frame large enough to swarf half your body, or all the metals and ores he’d need to make all the levers and rods.

He wasn’t wearing any fur coat, just an apron and his green tunic. He scribbled notes down like the world might be swallowed if he didn’t. You could tell he’d never done that before- made such detailed instructions, thought up such an elaborate contraction.

You liked him happy. You’d seen him frustrated and you thought that was alright too, puzzling over his own work, tongue peeking out slightly from between two teeth, not comically. It was more a subtle, awkward thing.

With his back to you, he worked with a dedicated, single-minded focus, almost tireless. He worked from the moment he sat down to the moment he finished his task with a passion usually only meant for the battlefield, spotted in the eyes of the hungry past floating ashes and spraying gore. It was a passion that said that nothing had ever come natural to him.

He taught himself how to try.

You thought that he must be daring, more than any Viking warrior.

Maybe he wasn’t yet a man, but you could see the shadow of the man he would be-mature, confident, skilled, focused. The way he worked in the forge- his need to shoot down a dragon paled in comparison.

You wondered if anyone else would ever get to see him the way you did, red-and-orange firelight warming his cheeks.

He caught you looking and he smiled, something almost half-toothless and completely crooked, revealing brown-auburn hair made to glow in the light of the fires, spotted gaps in rows of teeth, freckles dusting over a nose’s bridge like speckles on bird’s feathers.

He spoke almost hesitantly, confusedly, as if he’d just realized he’d forgotten to respond, and hadn’t realized it was that important, or that you would have been expecting it, though that didn’t matter to you, because he’d hardly needed to, “Thanks.”

Even unsure, he was much more at home here than out in the open world.

You felt your head perk, shoulders dropping as a soft, gawky thing curled and writhed bashfully in your stomach, not unlike the way a worm reveled in soft, blooming dirt.

Wow.

It hadn’t occurred to you that during all of a fortnight, you hadn’t seen him smile. Now that you’d seen it, you weren’t sure how you’d ever lived without it. 

You thought you could feel the heat radiating from his body as you shuffled closer to him, your fingers curling around his bicep, slightly damp through thick cloth. Your legs were nearly brushing then, leather smock teasing against cloth trouser as you pondered what it might feel like to be handed back soft, honeyed flowers by those very same sooted hands.

You shifted, the grass beneath you wet, dew clinging to the sides of your skirt like a few shiny glass beads. You felt the warm sun against your face, tickling against small hairs and soft skin. Your journal was to your front, scratched up leather cover pressed to your hands, a charcoal stick laying abandoned across empty parchment.

Nearby was a trickling stream, water weaving past water, spraying hollowly against rocks and moss- you could have likened it to yourself and the feeling in your soul, knotting up your chest and mixing up all kinds of squishy insides.

The last you’d seen, Hiccup had been walking. Now, he was nearly falling over himself, legs jerking as his saddle’s straps and reins restricted the movement of his ankles. His shouts echoed around the whole cove, sound bouncing off cold, stone-basin walls.

His dragon slunk off in the distance, still apprehensive and avoidant. It hadn’t quite gotten used to you yet, which was fine, because you were alright with keeping your distance.

Even after you’d had your hand on its slightly-sticky snout, whenever you saw it, you thought of wide, razor-sharp maws and torsos torn from small bodies. A dragon was always going to be a dragon and they were very much deadly creatures- his reassurances of the fact that the Night Fury was just as harmless as any man did you no favors. After all, the only creatures as deadly as a dragon were, in fact, bears… and men. It made you nervous.

It had large, slitted serpent’s eyes, though its scales were flatter and its skin more leathery than warted or slimy as you’d expected from such a fearsome beast. Its face was oddly symmetrical and squat in an abhorrently off-putting way, its horns or fins or whatever else that came sproutings from its skull sort of floppy and bashful and sort of too-big and not-grown-into-yet, just like it’s bulky, soft-looking paws, sort of like Hiccup.

“T-Toothless!” Hiccup practically yowled, distressed and scolding as he fell over, face-planting into dirt and short grass, half helped-along by the wet nose of his dragon. The difference- you felt almost enraptured by it.

He was awful and very often sort of standoffish and sarcastic though not often crude. He was picky and sort of insensitive and he often trampled over boundaries like he was dancing hand-in-hand with trouble, except he didn’t know how to dance, and the hall’s fires hadn’t been lit in a while- not for a celebration, at the very least. 

In that moment, though, you remembered the way it felt to have his folded knuckle digging slightly into your shoulders as he nudged against you distractedly,  just out of view behind the wooden barricade as he was scolded by Gobber. There was something about it that you thought might be either meaningful or accidental that turned over something in your stomach, most particularly because -and not in spite of- the fact that it had come from such a scrawny, lanky, often very, very clumsy-footed boy. 

The way he’d seemed, looking off reminded you of his father a little bit. You saw it, really- all the good and awful parts of the Chief that he’d most definitely inherited, even when most others couldn’t see it. You were scared of it somewhat; of how confident it made him, how distracted and sort of brave-like he could be, even if it only ever ended up making things work for the worst.

Past all your yearning, aching, wanting, and needing-to-have-ings, it scared you just as much as you thought you could watch forever. Did he ever feel the same way about you?

You hadn’t noticed as Hiccup had untangled himself from his trappings. He must have though, and quickly, as during the time you’d spent thinking, he’d walked up close enough to you to cast a long shadow over your face, pulling you out of your own reverie. 

You blinked aimlessly as he settled down next to you. You spoke hesitantly, “So, uhm, how did the saddle…?”

“He didn’t let me put it on.” Hiccup grumbled petulantly. While nothing more or less than sort of scrawny, with the way you were slumping and the way he was sitting with his back straight, he looked sort of tall. It did nothing to erase the pout from his face or the nasal from his voice.

You started, squeaking as his dragon -for the dragon was most definitely his, now- stepped out from the shadows, melded to its back like a fresh set of armor as it stalked its way around the clearing, eternally predatory. 

Hiccup seemed to relax some as you leaned against him, sort of using his shoulder as a shield, scooting behind it as the Night Fury grew closer. You felt particularly offended, even as he let you drape his arm over your middle, leaving his hand dangling awkwardly in the air. Protect me!

“Wow. What did I do?” Hiccup asked, half-smiling, shifting where he sat, unintentionally pressing your shoulder into slightly jagged rock as he got comfortable.

Sometimes you caught him looking, eyes agonizingly blank though the rest of his expression looked to be somewhat soft, the corners of his mouth pressing into a sweeter-looking half-smile. 

You grumbled incomprehensibly as you felt yourself once again eclipsed by shadow, much bigger this time. 

You leaned harder against his shoulder, one hand coming to tangle in his sleeve. You eyed it apprehensively, feeling thin twine catch against the place nail met skin. He didn’t get it.

“Don’t leave me behind.” You said suddenly, abruptly. “Ever.”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, freckles and thin fingers easily losing themselves under the mop of your hair.

“I-ah, yeah, okay.” Hiccup said, brows crinkled, slight confusion evident in his voice, though it didn’t seem any less calm or comfortable for it. He especially didn’t seem to mind as you clung closer to him, something in his face glowing a blotchy, raw pink. “Alright.”

You were in danger. Really, if enjoyment was all he could bother to feel for your predicament, then you took back all of your praises.

You scoffed miffed-ly at a brown, quirked, knowing brow. The devil- He was such a boy. 

It didn’t matter what configuration of the face you had or your height or size of hair color. That wasn’t what he thought of when he thought of you, at least not at first. 

He looked back at you, sitting in the grass, leaning behind him and he couldn’t help but to think about how pretty your smile was, the way the sun lay over the side of your face and made you look as if you were glowing. Something in his neck twinged as he did, probably sprung or pulled earlier while he was trying to wrestle the saddle onto Toothless.

You were smart- a lot smarter than him on a lot of fronts, though he was pretty ingenious on his own, something anyone, even you, was hard-pressed to match.

Now, he realized, you were just as squirrely as you were cynical.

He’d never really thought of you as someone that needed shielding. You were just as capable and incapable as him in equal measure… mostly. But  in that moment, the realization came to him that maybe you… wanted to be?

He looked at you as you muttered something foul under your breath, feeling the same way he did trying to figure out a puzzle and the same way he felt piecing axles, barrels, ropes and wheels together to make up something interesting.

There really wasn’t much else to it, was there?

Really, if that was what you wanted, Hiccup was anyone but the right man for the job, but, well, if you wanted him… Hiccup winced as you dug your nails into his arm, leaving what was probably a deep set of crescent-shaped imprints in his arm, even through his tunic.

Yeah, he still wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“It’s cold,” You mumbled absentmindedly, eyes shutting some as a breeze brushed over your cheeks and past your ears. 

You were right. It was chilly, of course, so high up in the watchtower. It was only your second time up there.

“Yeah…” Hiccup said, leaning closer to the fire.

The two of you bumped shoulders, using a spare piece of kindling like a chair. Your ankles were hooked together, tied like a knot in a rope. The sides of your legs were so closely pressed together that they were nearly flush, despite the fact that no one else was there besides the two of you, everyone else having long since packed up their things and left. He wasn’t sure what they’d talked about. He couldn’t remember.

Hiccup kept his eyes exactly where he shouldn’t, watching you.

Your eyes were half-lidded. You leaned over your knees more than not as you turned over a small, split spit, a chunk of lamb speared over one end, his fur coat draped over your shoulders, one hand clutching at the opposite, empty sleeve. You looked very pretty like that, contented.

“They’ve got to add some walls up here, you know,” You said, your head tilting upwards as you examined a particularly soft bit of meat, thumb sliding up your skewer as you tilted it slightly downwards. 

Wow. Hiccup’s eyes were half-lidded, even as he poked at the fires with a stick, nudging the ends of charred logs closer to the fire half-heartedly.

He could hold you by the waist and sway with you and touch your foreheads together and you could play-wrestle and fight in the grass but he couldn’t kiss you and tug his hands through your hair unless he was braiding it and it was driving him crazy. He didn’t want to or have to but now that he knew he could, he thought about it pretty often. He was a teenage boy and you were a teenage girl and he’d always been curious, so of course he’d considered it.

He needed to. He had for years with all the force of a child who’d just learned how to dream. It was- It was… The feeling was surprisingly moral, but no less impassioned.

“One of these days…” HIccup mumbled distractedly. 

One of these days. He thought that every morning, now.

Hiccup blinked, the two of you standing in front of each other, curling your fingers around each other, with your fingers still relaxed. It was comfortable, warm… easy. He turned it over in his head, again and again. 

The cheering of the arena was nearly deafening to his back, the sound of metal weapons crashing against cage bars grating to his ears. They wanted him, blood, the Nightmare… Astrid was waiting behind you, eyes burning holes into him with all the conflicted feelings of a lost warrior. Even past all that, it wasn’t hard, he found, to focus on you; the lines of your face, the soft and hard curves, each and every blemish and soft patch of skin.

Huh. He thought.

He leaned forward and pressed his face against your bowed head, your forehead touching his shoulder dully past thick brown furs. He felt the split of your hairline against the tip of his nose. His eyes were closed tightly shut.

He reveled in the feeling for the moment, taking in the way your hair felt against his cheeks and the way the leftover grasses and burnt wood and juniper left a scent that laid thick over your scalp, both dusty and spiced, a lot like pine.

Ultimately, he was doing this for Toothless, but now, today, he thought that he might be doing it a little for you, too.

The whistling of Toothless' -no, the Fury’s- wings nearly stunned him, loud enough to make it more difficult to think.

Hiccup nearly choked on wind as he gripped onto the handles he’d built into Toothless’ saddle. For a moment, he thought they wouldn’t hold. After all, one small strap of leather was nearly nothing against the full force of the Gods’ cursed offspring.

They had never gone this fast before, his body felt hollow, both as if he was being nailed to the back of his dragon and as if he might just float off at any moment. The feeling It made him cautious just as much as he was focused.

Even past all of that, the space to his back felt abhorrently empty, and not just because of the way they pierced through the sky. Your tears staining the back of his shirt as he and Toothless dived and shot… He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you cry before. He still hadn’t- it was silent for the most part, and he’d just felt it, really. If he ever had, it hadn’t been like this.

He couldn’t bring you up with him. He couldn’t. Just as he’d almost died in the ring, you had too.

It wasn’t merely a roar, more of a phenomenon, something that shook even the air around him. It was all-consuming and nearly inescapable. The Queen had followed.

Hiccup furrowed his brows and kept urging his dragon upwards.

Rain beat heavily against the roof of the Chief’s hut, making the world around you feel even more cold, weak and hollow. Thunder roared violently outside as the storm raged on.

“Hiccup,” You choked on air and spit and half a sob as you stared down at a sickly, freckled face, sweat running down both too-pale and blotchy red cheeks, staining his shirt dark. Freshly-changed bandages bled a deep crimson, changing with the color of hot blood and foul puss as his knees, one foot-less and the other not, jerked reflexively against the sheets of his blanket.

He’d been consistently out between long bouts of delirium and fever, his eyes rolling beneath his lids, just barely visible under the flickering light of a single, dying candle, twitching viciously. You clutched at Hiccup’s slick palm with both hands as he fitfully fought his way past conscious dreams.

You’d stayed- you’d stayed all night and day.

If dedication had ever really meant anything, if worship and hope and work had ever really meant a damn, if the Gods had ever been real and if their decree had ever meant anything, you hoped your will reached the heavens.

“Lass,” The Chief rumbled deeply from behind you, his heavy weight causing old floorboards to creak deeply as he shifted. 

You didn’t even have the energy to shake off the nearly unbearable heat of his father’s palm on your shoulder as you cried yourself nearly sick with tears and snot and spit gathering at every orifice. It was an ugly cry, an undignified, ungainly one, followed with all your fears and hopes and despairs.

You had your own injuries to tend to, yet you felt as if you couldn’t, not in that moment, not even if it meant that you’d have to be fighting off your own pains and fevers later, if you hadn’t already fallen under their grasp. The only thing you could do was watch and feel a need for Hiccup to be okay so deep it rendered you helpless. Ultimately, though, you knew his recovery had nothing to do with you.  

Hiccup’s dragon had left to cauterwal outside, to wail and wreak havoc and feast on the latest fisherman’s catch. He seemed less worried than you and the Chief but more worried than everyone else, and rightly so.

Suddenly, you started.

With a voice both intensely raspy and wet, Hiccup mumbled your name. It hadn’t been anything special, more a simple expression of his recognition, yet you sniveled as Hiccup clutched back at your hand, his grip weak compared to yours, his eyes dull with the force of his fever. For a very long moment, he held it.

“Hiccup.” You tried again.

The Chief’s hand tightened over your shoulder, squeezing already stiff and sore muscles.

The last time you’d seen his eyes, he’d been staring you in the face, mouth opening and closing pointedly and yet no words had come out. He’d dropped you then, right before rushing up into the sky on Toothless’ back.

Parts of you had been pinned by the rubble after and you had nearly been left behind. You could barely think past the pain, yet you still remembered how it felt to be left on the ground, hands clutched to your chest, mind completely fogged with pain and fear, hoping and hoping and hoping, cringing and in pain as the sky flashed. The terrifying outline of the dragon queen in the sky, smoke and fog larger than life, everyone certain Hiccup was going to die, himself most certainly… It seared a painful picture into your mind.

Part of you had been in danger, then. You weren’t anymore. Now, you really loved Hiccup Haddock, and you needed him to be okay.

He hoped you were safe. He didn’t know what he would do otherwise.

He couldn’t ever let you go. Never. Not until- Not unless he died, even if it hurt and his forehead felt weighted with the pressure of all the world’s fires.

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) IV

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya, they have history (iykyk), angst no comfort, not proofread

Note: final part!

Part 3

—

(You) About Alhaitham: Other ways

Avoiding him is easier said than done.

I tell myself I’m just too busy—too caught up in work, too preoccupied to engage. But I know better. This isn’t about work. It’s about him. It’s about the way he looks at me, the way he always seems to be two steps ahead, the way I feel like I’m losing control of something I never meant to start in the first place.

So I take a different approach. I keep my responses short, my tone indifferent. I take the long way around Akademiya halls, conveniently slip out of rooms the moment he enters.

But knowing Alhaitham… I doubt he’ll let me go that easily.

(Alhaitham) About you: Other ways

Avoidance is a predictable tactic—one that requires effort. Which begs the question: why go through all that trouble for something they claim is insignificant? If they think distance will put an end to this, they clearly haven’t thought it through.

(You) About Alhaitham: Persistence

You would think he’d give up by now, but he hasn’t. I’m giving him a clear answer, aren’t I? He mentioned that if I found him insignificant or something, I would’ve gotten rid of him by now; so here I am—getting rid of him. Yet he still mingles around me like a fruit fly!

Do I really want him gone? Oh, of course I do! I could finally go back to minding my own business, and he can do the same. It’s for the best.

(Alhaitham) About you: Persistence

I do it for the sake of the experiment—which now includes a new variable: me. As unbecoming as it may seem, I find myself affected by their behavior. I still haven’t found a solid reason for that—why they’re avoiding me; but I have found a senseless supposition why my emotions are influenced by it.

According to Kaveh, my attention has been titled in their direction lately, and he teased that I had feelings for them. How ridiculous.

This is an experiment—analyzing their reactions, testing their limits. And yet… their absence is noticeable. Their avoidance, intentional.

If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be thinking about it. If they truly wanted distance, they would’ve said so instead of running around all day trying hard to keep me at arm’s length.

Hmph. I’ll adjust my approach. See how long they can keep running.

(You) About Alhaitham: Honest opinions

We have a history that I partly regret. If I could do it all over again… I don’t know if I would. It was a good experience, but if that’s the reason why he keeps pursuing me, I would have to decline. I have so much to lose now—my job, my peers’ respect, my dignity. I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve grown, changed, become more cautious. And yet, every time I think I have it all under control, he does something that rattles me. A look, a comment, a gesture that makes it impossible to forget the past—and somehow pulls me back into something I thought I’d left behind.

I’m not sure if I can trust him. He’s too calculating, too deliberate in his actions. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely interested or just trying to prove a point. Either way, I know better than to fall for whatever game he’s playing.

(Alhaitham) About you: Honest opinions

They occupy more of my thoughts than I care to admit. Not in any sentimental way, of course. It’s simply that their behavior is… intriguing. Inconsistent. At odds with the image they project. They claim disinterest, yet every reaction—every calculated silence or clipped remark—suggests otherwise.

And perhaps what unsettles me most is how easily they affect me. I’ve never cared to seek out another’s company. Yet I’ve found myself adjusting my schedule, taking detours through certain halls, lingering in conversations just a little longer. All for what? To observe? To test a theory?

Kaveh seems to think this is “obvious”—that I’m interested. Emotionally. Romantically. Irrational. I dismissed him, of course… but the thought stayed with me longer than it should have.

If this were truly about research, I wouldn’t feel this frustration when they avoid me. I wouldn’t notice the absence in the room before I even look.

…No, this isn’t research anymore.

But I haven’t decided what it is either.

(You) Character story: What can’t become

After classes, the Akademiya courtyard shimmered under the late afternoon sun, golden light bleeding over the marble and spilling between the arches. Laughter echoed in faint bursts, students scattering in clumps—papers in hand, minds half-elsewhere. You slipped past the gates with quick, practiced steps, hoping to disappear before—

“Hey… hey!”

You flinched.

His voice was unmistakable—calm yet commanding, always too close even when it came from behind.

“You know,” Alhaitham called out, “avoiding me won’t make this situation any easier. It won’t resolve anything either.”

You stopped halfway down the steps and turned, arms folding instinctively across your chest. “Really?” The word left your mouth sharper than you intended—more telling. “And what is this ‘situation’ exactly?”

Alhaitham closed the distance between you with his usual measured ease, his gaze steady, unreadable. “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he said. “I’ve seen the way you react—even the slightest brush of our shoulders. The way your eyes brighten with every snarky remark we exchange—”

You rolled your eyes, the gesture sharp enough to cut the tension for half a breath. You turned again, walking off, heart pounding faster than your feet would allow.

He followed, undeterred. Of course he did.

“You’re only delaying what we both know is bound to happen.”

You spun around before he could take another step, breath pushing past your lips in a rush of frustration. “‘Both,’ ‘our,’ ‘us’—Archons above, Alhaitham! What even are we?! You talk about us like we’re some academic constant—as if you already solved the equation, and I’m just catching up. But I don’t even know what this is! What you want.”

You paused, the next words freezing on your tongue. You would not—could not—bring up that night. Not now. Not when the memory of his breath ghosting against your skin still lingered like a sunburn you couldn’t soothe.

His voice came softer this time. “I’ve never claimed to be simple,” he said. “But I’ve never lied either. You felt it too, didn’t you?”

Your stomach twisted.

You hated how easy it was for his words to find the sore parts of you. You hated even more how much truth you found in them.

“That’s exactly the problem,” you said, voice quieter now, raw at the edges. “You know what you’re doing—how easily you get under my skin. You corner me in crowded halls, you leave me thinking about words you didn’t even say… and then you walk off like none of it matters.”

He stayed silent. That silence—never awkward with him—was somehow worse than any rebuttal.

You took a breath, letting your shoulders fall slightly. “And the Akademiya?” you continued. “They see it—the glances, the whispers. Even the other professors have started asking questions.”

Alhaitham frowned, a faint crease between his brows. “That’s absurd—”

“Maybe for you,” you cut in, “but for me, perception is everything. I don’t have your title or your immunity. One wrong assumption, and I’m no longer the professor who earned their place—I’m just a rumor with a name.”

The weight of it all settled between you—words spoken not in anger, but necessity. The breeze passed again, brushing between you like a boundary neither of you could step over.

Alhaitham looked at you then—not with irritation, not even disappointment, but something quieter. Contained. Perhaps even regret.

“…Then what do you want me to do?” he asked, voice barely above the breeze. “Pretend none of it was real? That I didn’t feel something when I looked at you?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, forcing the ache back down. His words lodged themselves deeper than you wanted them to.

“I want you to understand,” you said, carefully. “This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about what I have to protect.”

A pause. You looked up and met his eyes—clear, unwavering, resolved.

“I can’t risk everything for something that might not survive the scrutiny. My reputation, my work… I’ve fought too hard to be seen for my mind, not whispered about for who I might be seen with. Even if that someone is you.”

For the first time, Alhaitham looked away. His jaw tightened slightly. The silence between you wasn’t cruel—it simply was. Like gravity or time. Unforgiving, but fair.

He nodded once. No protest. No plea. Just a flicker of something behind his eyes—acknowledgement, perhaps. Or acceptance.

“I won’t stand in your way,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

You let out a breath that trembled at the edges, the ache blooming somewhere deep beneath your ribs.

“…Thank you,” you said, voice steady at last. “For not making it harder than it already is.”

You turned before he could say anything else. The sun dipped beneath the buildings as you walked away, shadows spilling across the marble in your wake. Behind you, Alhaitham stayed where he was—still, composed, watching.

He didn’t call after you.

Not this time.

(Alhaitham) Character story: What won’t become

Alhaitham had never been fond of hypotheticals.

They were inefficient—rooted in speculation, mired in abstraction. What-ifs served little use in the real world, where causality and consequence reigned. A scholar deals in truth, not fantasy.

And yet, lately, he found himself entertaining one particular what-if more than he’d like to admit.

What if they hadn’t walked away?

He can still recall the look in their eyes—clear, unflinching, and devastatingly resolute. They had chosen themselves. And Alhaitham, for all his conviction, could do nothing but step aside.

Perhaps that’s why he respected them so deeply.

They were precise in their logic, unwavering in their principles. Not unlike him. But where he wielded detachment as armor, they wielded choice. They understood sacrifice—and made it anyway.

He remembers their words as clearly as any scholarly quote.

“This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about what I have to protect.”

There had been no malice in their voice, only truth. It was never a question of affection—of course they had felt it. That tension, the friction of minds colliding like flint, the conversations that lingered long after the echo faded. No one else challenged him quite like they did. No one else made silence feel that loud.

Still, affection alone was never going to be enough. Not when the Akademiya, with all its scrutiny and hierarchy, watched them more closely than it ever watched him.

They were right.

He was the Scribe. Acting Grand Sage, even. He could afford to be indifferent to perception. But they? A young professor, barely past their appointment, climbing uphill in a world built to doubt them.

Their choice made sense.

And so, he said nothing. Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask them to stay. What good would persuasion do, when they had already done the calculus themselves?

Alhaitham never believed in fate. But he believed in outcomes—inevitable, weighted, measurable. And this? This was an outcome both of them saw coming from the moment things began to blur.

He still sees them sometimes. In lectures. Passing through the colonnades. Sitting alone in the House of Daena, pen tapping lightly against a page. The world spins as it always does.

They do not look away.

Neither does he.

And that is the truth of what won’t become: not a tragedy, not a regret.

Just a possibility… acknowledged and left behind.

(You) About Alhaitham II

He never asked me to stay, and I suppose I should thank him for that. It made walking away cleaner—easier, even. But sometimes I wonder… if he had just said one thing differently. If I had turned back just once…

Still, I made my choice. And I’ll live with it, even if part of me still hears his voice when the halls go quiet.

(Alhaitham) About you II

They made the right choice. Personal feelings should never outweigh one’s principles—especially in a place like the Akademiya. I respect that… deeply. Though, if I find myself walking a little slower near their classes… it’s purely coincidental. Obviously.

Or so I keep telling myself.

—the end—

[gay-dorito-dust]

I came from your Saltburn post, I will do anything to read some Oliver quick fluff. Wether the reader is sick or how they’d get along at a party and be drunk together 🫶

Oliver, upon overhearing from your friends that you had come down with a common cold, immediately decides to take advantage of the situation in hopes of getting closer to you; by proving to you that he would be there for you in your time of need. Sick or otherwise.

Oliver would act overly sympathetic towards you during your recovery period, considering how vulnerable and susceptible you looked, especially as you took respite within the comfort of your bed; in hopes to evade going through yet another violent episode of cold shivers as you stared at him through bleary eyes.

‘Oliver.’ You asked, voice raspy from the continuous coughing you’ve been doing since this morning. ‘What’re you doing here, didn’t nobody tell you I was sick?’ You add, not wanting him nor your worst enemy to experience what you were currently going through. It was hell, pure, genuine hell. You couldn’t even stick one limb out of bed before immeditly retreating back under the covers.

It also didn’t help that your favourite pair of fluffy slippers were halfway across the room…

‘Oh, I overheard from a few of your friends that you weren’t well, and took it upon myself to bring a couple of things that I’d think would help.’ Oliver replied as he then awkwardly lifted the bag full of snacks, medication, amongst many other things with a sheepish shrug of the shoulder. You smiled softly. How sweet. You thought to yourself as you watched Oliver begin to unload the contents of the bag onto your bed. ‘You didn’t have to do this all for me Ollie, I don’t want you getting sick or anything because of me.’ You told him but Oliver only gave you a smile in response as his beautiful eyes stared at you intently with an expression you couldn’t quite place your finger on…

Oliver on the other hand was thriving, sure he wanted you to get better in due time, but until then he’ll engrave your dependency on him so deeply and so intricately into the depths of his mind forevermore; acting more or less as a delusional self serving reminder to himself that you needed him to function in this life filled with vapid cunts and losers.

He was all you needed in life and he was more than willing to risk catching your sickness if it meant furthering his ambitions of further integrating himself into your life fully. If anything Oliver hopes he catches your sickness so that you would feel the need to pay the kindness he had displayed towards you forward.

‘It’s alright y/n, honestly.’ Oliver said with a chuckle as he made sure you were tightly tucked in and your pillows were fluffed for extra comfort, making sure that you see the effort he puts in just for you and only you, just like he always has done before seating himself comfortably on the edge of your bed, always conscious of being fully within your line of sight as his body acted as a blockade for your sight of the doorway; forcing you to look at solely him.

‘I’m not scared of getting a little sick if it meant helping you back to full health, isn’t that what friends are for? Helping each other?’ Oliver adds in an odd tone, but you were adamant it was the cold talking, and only continue to smile at his seemingly sweet and caring actions. ‘You’re the best Ollie, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.’ You uttered whilst biting back a yawn, the need for sleep having begun to take over once more as your eyelids began to grow heavy and harder to keep open with each blink. ‘You’re truly a lifesaver Oliver Quick and I love you for that.’ You added on in a sleepy daze.

To Oliver on the other hand, you might as well have been cohesive and clear as day, with how intently he hung onto those words, feeling a strong fluttering sensation within his chest; something he always got whenever you said anything that remotely encouraged his obsessive and suffocating behaviour. Slowly but surely he was getting what he wanted and he wasn’t about to rush the process now, not with how much meticulous planning he had put into every chance encounter he got with you.

Oliver had to practice his patience more but you were too tempting of a person for him not to lunge towards. A forbidden fruit laid within the garden of Eden in every sense of the word.

‘I love you too.’ He said in a low murmur before running his hand across your forehead, collecting the accumulated sweat there. ‘Get some rest, it’s fine,’ Oliver utters as he watched your eyes close and your body settles in for sleep, ‘ for I’ll be here when you wake up.’ He finishes, eyes never once leaving you for a single second.

[abnormal-vacuum]

A closer look at Simon "Ghost" Riley's interpersonal guilt

1 + chapter 2 + 3

ghost/soap 1,338 words - ao3 tags: nothing bad. shitty dialog? idk johnny is actually in this chapter :)

It's one of those nights. The ones filled with Simon staring up at the ceiling, praying for sleep. Tossing, turning, making his bed, counting sheep. At this point It's about… 3:45am, and he’s tried everything. Clearly it's shaping up to become one of those times in which sleep escapes. Before he might have gone and done some pushups, or even had a wank. But he quickly realized that he disliked climbing into his sheets after getting sweaty, and the barrack showers aren’t the most inviting place to be in the wee hours of the morning. At least that's what he tells himself. In reality he just doesn’t want to find the Scot rinsing off, all alone in the dark. He’s not sure he'd be able to control himself in that situation. This night is uniquely worse than usual. Instead of being kept awake by memories of being buried, burned and bitten all he can think about is Soap. Johnny. His sergeant. His warm smile and shitty jokes. That stupid bastard. 

Simon sighs, sitting up in bed. He’s fed up with lying around, eyes burning a hole in the ceiling.

So, instead of continuing to stew in his thoughts, he peels his covers off and begins to take a walk around the base. It’s not like this is odd, he’s done it before. He wears his slippers and quietly pads through the halls until his feet feel like lead and he's barely able to keep his eyelids propped open. Then he drags himself back to his quarters and sleeps for the remaining two hours until 5am. 

Tonight he’s walked his way through nearly every hall. He’s counted up to 300 and back down again. He kind of feels like his brain is melting. All of his thoughts are jumbled together and his ever present alertness was discarded back at floor 2. That is until he finds himself standing in the doorway of the rec room, staring down at the very bastard that caused this sleepless night. MacTavish. Simon straightens himself up, his shoulders squaring. He hopes Johnny doesn't notice. Soap is bent over the pool table, cue situated for the perfect shot. Then, as if sensing the Brits' presence, he looks up in surprise. They stand, frozen in time for a few moments before Johnny cracks a slightly awkward smile. His eyebags look extra pronounced beneath the poor, singular overhead light. 

“Garrick’s been getting a little too good. Had to get in some practice to make sure I stayed on top.” He chuckles. It sounds forced. When Simon doesn't acknowledge his joke he sighs, head falling a little. His mohawk is ungelled, ruffled. Ghost wonders how many people have seen him like this, in his too big t-shirt and navy sweats. 

“Can’t sleep.”

Ghost is quiet for a few moments before responding, his voice a little hoarse.

 “Me neither.”

There's another long moment of silence, then soap gestures to the pool table.

“Wannae play?”

Surprisingly, Ghost isn't good at pool. You’d think a sniper would be proficient at things like that, but he's not. He most likely just hasn't had enough practice, although he doesn't really care to try. 

“Sure.”

Soap wins in seven turns, eleven less than it typically takes to beat Gaz. 

“Are those baffies?”

“What?”

Soap nods down to Simon’s feet. 

Ghost can’t help but snort, “My slippers, you mean?” 

Johnny scoffs. His gaze drags from Simon’s slippers up to the top of his head. Something about his gaze makes him uncomfortable. He suddenly wishes he was wearing a mask, and can feel his cheeks burning. Simon, at the ripe age of 30, is blushing. He should just end himself now, he thinks. 

“Never thought I’d catch The Ghost wearing’ just his jammies. I oughta take a picture, nobody’ll believe me otherwise.”

This is one of the rare occasions that Ghost doesn’t have a quip to return. He feels… weird. No one has ever caught him during one of his late night roundabouts. He honestly never considered it an option, so he hasn’t prepared a viable excuse for why he's sluggishly wandering the halls. He wonders why Johnny can't sleep. Nightmares, maybe. Perhaps anxiety. Simon thinks about this for a beat too long and Soap, probably uncomfortable with the silence, goes to hang up his pool cue. It knocks against the wall and he cringes, apologizing.

“Sorry--”

“Why can't you sleep?” Simon suddenly interjects, his mind too focused on the topic to stop himself from blurting it out. It takes the Scot a few seconds to reply.

“Oh, you know…”

“I don’t know, actually.”

Soap frowns, as if surprised at the pushback. He leans on the wall, his gaze going back to Ghost’s feet. 

“Just thinking.”

He takes a breath.

“How was school for you, when you were a lad?” 

Simon's eyebrows furrow. What an odd question.

“It was… fine. Didn’t get the best grades, but… didn’t matter much in the long run.” If he was being completely honest, he would admit to not remembering much of school. But he's not honest, so he doesn’t. Besides, that's not something the Sergeant needs to know.

“I was never good at school. Couldn’t focus on what the teacher was saying, had too much energy. I was never dumb, but it felt like all the adults thought I was.”  

“...Yeah?” Seems like Johnny needs to get this off his chest. Maybe he's been thinking about this for a while. 

“That’s probably why I joined so young. The army, I mean. Wanted to prove I could do something right for a change.” 

Simon is quiet for a second, waiting to see if Johnny will continue. The Scot chews on his lip a little, looking off to the side. But he doesn’t speak.

“Why’d they think that?”

“What, that I was dumb?” He’s back to looking at Ghost, although not towards his eyes. Just below them, at his nose. 

Simon nods.

“I didn’t pay much attention. Always forgot to turn my work in on time, too. The only thing I was really good at was chemistry, and even then I only liked it because I could light shit on fire.”

Simon doesn't remember ever learning chemistry. The next few hours go on like this. By the end of it they’ve each settled onto one of the several ratty chairs in the rec room, Soaps legs stretched out far enough that his foot bumps up against Simon's ankle every once in a while. Maybe Ghost shifts closer, maybe he doesn’t. Hard to say—he’s not the type of man to indulge. The sergeant looks close to nodding off. Ghost watches him for several moments before he sighs, standing up and patting him firmly on the shoulder. 

“Off to bed with you.”

Soap seems to startle at this. He stands.

“Wait--”

Ghost stops, but doesn’t turn.

“Next time you can’t sleep…”, Johnny trails off, considering his next words carefully, 

“My rooms open.”

There's a pause, then he adds on, tone quieter.

“Chances are I'll be awake too.” 

Ghost stands in place for a moment, considering his offer, then manages to shuffle his way back up to his quarters shortly after, mulling the night over in his head. He’s sure Johnny gave the invitation in case he ever wanted to talk, but it's hard to stop his mind from wandering to slightly less savory places. He climbs into bed, tucking himself in tightly. He wriggles around beneath the covers, restless. He goes from lying on his back to his left side, then to his right. Then back to his left. He wonders what position Johnny sleeps in. Back, side. Stomach. Finally, slightly exasperated, he grabs the extra blanket at the end of his bed and bunches it up to hug it in his arms. He lies like this for a few minutes before sitting up and twisting it to sort of resemble an arm. He then wraps that around himself, frowning at how pathetic this action is. 

He falls asleep a few minutes later.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours in the Moonlight: Somnolent Gloaming - 2. A Strange One

Summary: As if his horns weren’t strange enough, the way Malleus behaved was odd. Especially since he seemed to have taken a rather rapid interest in you. And that was on top of the fact that this clan already seemed to have walls of its own that were likely going to create difficulties for your evaluation.

Series Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ series/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 1654

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

I stepped forward, bracing myself as those almost acidic green eyes rested on me. A smile still curving off across this man, Malleus’s, face as he awaited my answer.

 “I’ve been sent here to evaluate the Diasomnia Clan,” I spoke carefully, taking the lead this time instead of letting Sam explain for me. But there was no doubting that Malleus’s question had most certainly been directed at me.

Sam’s eyebrows rose slightly at my words, but he remained silent as the already stiff-looking one somehow managed to straighten even further. A deep frown marring his otherwise handsome face, “WHY DOES OUR CLAN NEED TO BE EVALUATED, HUMAN? WE HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG.”

I blinked in surprise, almost flinching at the yelled words only for the other young man, Silver, as Vil had called him, spoke in a calmer tone, “Don’t yell, Sebek. They haven’t accused us of anything.”

The short one, who’d been our guide, piped up. His bright red eyes narrowing with unconcealed amusement that reminded me of how a cat might look at a mouse as he looked at me from where he now stood by his clan leader’s chair, “Indeed. They're just here under orders.”

I nodded slowly and quietly at the man’s words, glancing towards the one who’d yelled. Sebek was what he’d been called.

 He met my gaze unflinchingly, a frown on his face that was not improved in the slightest by my words, “Yes… The head-vampire has requested that I evaluate all of the clans.”

Malleus tilted his head, causing me to look back his way as he looked thoughtfully at me, “But why send a Hunter?”

Sam stepped forward, an easy smile slipping onto his face that had me suddenly realizing why it was always Sam who brought me a new clan. It was because he was charming and very capable of handling any situation. No matter what sort of characters might be present. Be they innately ominous or rather aggressive in nature.

I didn’t know what it was, but something about this clan in particular was more tense than the others had been.

Savanaclaw hadn’t been exactly welcoming at the start, and Scarabia had been a risky place from the first day, even if it might not have initially seemed like it. 

But this clan, the Diasomnia clan, seemed different.

Not more powerful, malevolent, or anything like that. But different. Like its age gave it a quality that the others simply could not possess.

In both the Savanaclaw and Scarabia clans, I had been evaluated by the vampires even as I’d evaluated the clans themselves, but they hadn’t held such high walls from the start. Or, perhaps, it was that the walls themselves were different.

“In the interest of solving and correcting the situation with the increasing numbers of insane vampires, head-vampire Crowley has requested the Hunter’s assistance. They are evaluating the clans to try and find the source of the problem and, while at the Scarabia clan, found that they needed access to records that dated back further than those found in other clans.”

At Sam’s words, our guide nodded, clapping his hands together and nodding with a suddenly amicable smile. A stark contrast from the expression he’d been wearing before, “I see! You came here to check the history of this area to see if there are any historic traces of this problem.”

I nodded, relieved by the change from the previous tense atmosphere, and Sam nodded agreeably, “Yes, that’s why they came here. It is not that we particularly suspect the Diasomnia clan of anything. After all, you have been here for so long.”

I faltered slightly at Sam’s words. They sounded distinctly placating and had me looking towards this clan’s leader once more. 

Outside of the fact he was horned for unknown reasons that I preferred not to consider, he didn’t look any more dangerous than other vampires had.

 It was true that he had an impressive presence that certainly had stopped me in my tracks when I’d first seen him. But right now he looked more like he was idly pondering the situation with cold interest. Like he was unimpressed with Sam’s behavior.

But still not someone I would expect a person who worked directly under this district's head-vampire to worry about placating. Especially since Sam always seemed so in control of any and every situation.

“STILL! It is MOST rude for the head-vampire to send a Hunter, of all things, to evaluate Lord Malleus’s clan!” The green-haired one spoke again. His voice booming through the room and startling me slightly.

Again, I did not have to respond though, since Sam spoke once more. Ever calm with that same smile on his face that had me wondering for the umpteenth time if anything could phase him, “Yes, well, we of course mean no disrespect, but in the interest of not showing favoritism…”

He trailed off, and our guide nodded again, “Of course, we understand.” The short man looked my way, a smile on his face as he all but flitted across the room to where I stood.

“I must say, it is odd that he chose someone such as you for his Hunter, though….” I watched as those wide red eyes narrowed with something that sent a shiver crawling its way down my spine until he looked away. Turning towards his clan head once more, “What do you think, Malleus?”

At the sound of his name, clan head straightened, his gaze shifting back towards where I stood smoothly. 

I straightened under the weight of his gaze, finding that I refused to quail at his stare despite the fact it had given me pause when I’d first stepped into this room.

I’d already dealt with Leona and Jamil. One a vampire whom I had an odd sort of alliance with and one that I’d built a wary trust with. Neither of which had come easy. But I’d dealt with them both.

And while Sam had done a lot to soothe the atmosphere, there was still something about both Malleus and the shorter young man that had some small part of me whispering for me to be careful. That they were stronger than one might expect.

Vil had once told me that the older a vampire was, the stronger they were and the more skills they knew. 

That, paired with the fact that Rook and Sam had each asserted that both Malleus and Lilia were ancient, was enough to have me paying attention to the more wary side of me. After all, it was quite likely that with the way our guide was behaving, he was the clan head’s second, Lilia.

I’d learned a long time ago that when it came to vampires, showing fear was seldom a good idea, though. If anything, it only seemed to excite them.

As I held Malleus’ stare determinedly, a smile began to spread smoothly across the young man’s face. 

First, a mere stretching of his lips, and then his fangs appeared. It was an expression of amused, smug pleasure and was wholly opposite of the cold expression he’d worn when Sam had been speaking. 

I swallowed thickly as I came to a sudden realization of what that expression meant. Somehow, in some way, I’d caused this vampire to be interested in me. 

Both Leona’s disgusted expression and Vil’s frown flashed through my mind even as I continued to stand firm.

Perhaps this was what they’d meant about me needing to be cautious. A vampire being interested in me was hardly anything new, though.

I watched as he leaned forward, that smile staying on his face as he gazed back at me, utterly delighted by something he saw even though I doubted I’d ever know what it was that pleased him so. 

But perhaps more worryingly, the longer he gazed at me, the better I could see his pupils, which I suddenly realized were slit, shifting. They dilated in the same way a cat’s did when they were hunting, and I felt myself bracing for something. Though for what, I didn’t know.

“So you wish for my… our, assistance with your troubles, little Hunter?” The amusement in his voice was obvious, and I barely kept my eyebrows from lifting.

He was a strange one. That was for certain. But I nodded nonetheless, because it was true. I did need their help. I needed their records to see if there was any historical basis for what was happening now.

I really didn’t know why everyone else stayed so quiet as I responded silently to Malleus, but if anything, the young man seemed delighted by my admission.

His eyes glinted slightly as he spoke again, causing me to frown slightly even despite his words, as strangely phrased as they were, “Very well then. I shall grant your wish.”

The silence that spread through the room after Malleus’s words was shattered by our guide abruptly clapping his hands together. Causing me to jump slightly as he looked between the two young men who flanked Malleus’s throne.

“Splendid! It will be a good experience for the entire clan if another human is here! Sebek, Silver, you should show them around so they don’t get lost,” He slipped away from where he’d been next to me. Trotting over happily to the two young men who now abandoned their posts so that he could urge them on their way. Giggling all the way, “Young folks should flock together after all. Me and Malleus have more to discuss with Sam anyway, don’t we?”

The short man’s voice dropped to a lower octave as he finished, looking towards Sam, who only nodded. Smiling my way as I glanced his way worriedly and waving me on, “I’ll see you later, Little Imp. And good luck.”

As he spoke, the two other men, Sebek and Silver, bowed slightly with the green-haired one speaking, “Of course, Master Lilia.”

If you would like to read more:

Previous

Next

[frootiest-loopdee-doo]

Fop Peri fic concept incoming

I’m just gonna start posting the fic ideas I get bc 80% of the time I don’t write them, and I don’t mind letting other people have and use them. Hell, you don’t even have to credit me. I’m stalking all the FOP tags so if you write it I’ll see it. I won’t ask for credit, I’ll fucking SAVOR reading it.

Fic idea #1 Dale/Peri

“Peri’s Master Plan” or “I Can Fix Him” is what I’d call this.

First, Peri becomes dev’s babysitter. This can be set before the finale, or it can be au where dev never lost peri, or it can actually be after dev left peri. It just changes the setup a bit. If Peri is still Dev’s godparent he’ll have to be extra careful when hiding all of this from him. If he’s no longer dev’s godparent, this is his way of staying in dev’s life bc he cares abt the little shit!

His reason for becoming dev’s official babysitter even if he’s still dev’s godparent probably would so that he doesn’t have to hide whenever he’s with dev and also because Dale doesn’t screen the sitters ever so Dev probably has had some pretty awful ones.

Basically, dale starts hitting on the “babysitter”. Peri is initially disgusted, as you’d probably expect. He puts up with it though, for Dev.

Peri remembers a romance book about a beautiful female protagonist falling in love with and “fixing” an evil older man, and gets an idea about how he can help dev! If it’s in a human book it has to be something that could actually work with humans right? Why would it say it’s written by a bestselling author otherwise? This is a great idea!

Peri starts to go along with it, flirting with Dale, doing whatever it takes to make the guy fall in love. Peri overtime uses this as leverage to try and teach Dale why child neglect is bad (crazy idea). Dale does fall in love. Does peri? It can go either way. I’d say yes, I think that’s the most interesting way this can go.

Different routes this story could ultimately take, options A. B. and C.:

A. Dale changes for the better, though slowly. Maybe Dev Dale and peri do sort of family bonding. The huge conflict here though is that Peri definitely isn’t allowed to be in a relationship with a human, much less his (former or current) godchild’s dad. Will love prevail? Find out next time on dragon ball z ass fic here.

B. Dale’s treatment of dev seems to improve, and Peri is feeling pretty awesome about that. However, when talking to Dev, Peri realizes that Dale is only being a better dad when Peri is around- basically faking it to keep seeing Peri. Big angst. Peri confronts Dale- and honestly you can go as light or dark on the angst in this confrontation scene. Me personally, I’m depraved so if I ever write this it will probably be as dark as possible (I’m mentally unstable friends!).

C. Peri succeeds for the most part, but he doesn’t love Dale truly. This is eating away at him. He stays for Dev. He’d planned to leave when Dale got better, but as he understands the human condition more he realizes that the odds of Dale continuing to be a better dad are very low if he leaves. Angst, angst, angst.

Obviously Peri would try to hide the relationship from Dev at least at first in pretty much all of these. Dev would probably find out by accident. This could be done differently though, maybe dev knows early on. Maybe peri doesn’t hide it well.

Also, obviously you can take a different route than A. B. or C.

Feel free to be inspired by this rant. Feel free to steal the ideas here. Again, if you do, I’ll probably find it. I’ll probably read it. I’ll probably be very happy. Don’t worry about credit. Actually, don’t credit me even if you want to 😭😭😭

[awwfur]

Something, something, six art styles challenge!

this was super fun, especially because unlike what I’d done with different style challenges in the past I tried to mimic the line art to the best of my abilities.

rant about how hard each style was and design choices under the cut!

Okay! I’ll start ranting about the sonic one first because it was HARD to translate Aviator into that style.

It was mostly her face that was hard, I really wanted to keep her markings and keep her a dragon. In the end her face is slightly different from normal as I took inspiration from how Sally Acorn’s face looks. And as for her frills, they were merged together with the ears as it was kinda cluttered otherwise.

MLP G4 next! Besides the line art, this one was fairly easy. As a kid I took heavy inspiration from G4, so it wasn’t hard to mimic the style. I was also delighted to find that some of the dragons that bullied spike had both horns and ears! So once more I combined her frill with her ears.

the Pokémon one was super hard. Another thing that absolutely influenced my art style but with how different each Pokémon looks it was kinda hard to figure out how to translate Aviator. At first I tried Frankenstein-ing Pokémon together, Charizard’s head Reshiram’s wings. In the end it looked super weird. So I scrapped that and went about it like I was making a single stage fakemon. I still used Charizard for reference but that was with the flames. I also used other fire types for this reason. Anyway I’m the end I’m way happier with how she looks, even if I sacrifice her ears in favor of her frills this time.

Next is Wings of Fire! More specifically Joy Ang’s dragon designs for the books. This was easy and hard all at one once. Easy because Aviator originally was from a fan tribe of mine that took heavy inspiration from the Rainwings and Skywings. And not to mention my first Nightwing OC I heavily referenced the Nightwing pose, so I had a Indra to what I was doing. But it was hard as I would consider this style more realistic than what I draw, AND none of the WoF dragons have feathers. Although I know the beta rainwing design did so I tried to use that as reference. In the end I think it looks good I just wish I knew where my WoF coloring book was so I could have tried to pose her differently. And not have to heavily reference as much as I did.

Next is the Smiling Critters from Poppy playtime. This one was easy, there’s a nightmare critter who’s a dragon I used as main reference and I’ve got some smiling critter OCs I’ve recently started making so I’m kinda use to the style.

Now lastly Cult of the Lamb’s style. This one was odd, only drawing did I realize how meany squares and rectangles make up this style, and those are not shapes I use often. In the end it wasn’t too hard, but I did decide to invert the eyes, due to Aviator not having eye whites haha ^^”

[dailyadventureprompts]

do you have any advice for running and/or adapting prewritten modules?

DM Tip: Coloring outside the lines. 

A piece of advice that’s vitally important for DMs, especially newer DMs to recognize is that presenting our party with a fleshed out, vibrant world is a magic trick mostly reliant on us having enough easily adaptable world-pieces laying around. It’s a matter of building the track as they go, and though modules provide a box full of pre-selected track pieces that can be useful building that backlog, the process is still reliant on YOU to fill in the blank space and account for the odd directions your party might end up in. 

As such, it’s important for us to look at modules not as a recipe that must be followed to have a good time, but as a concentrated dollop of inspiration/jumping off point upon which we can create our own adventures. There’s a similar philosophy behind my own adventure prompts, as I seldom expect people to be able to use them 1:1. Even I have to adjust things and change details when turning a series of individual prompts into the material of a campaign. 

The first step when you’re thinking of adapting an existing work  (whether it be a module or a narrative you want to turn into an adventure)  is to ask yourself and your players if this is the right fit for what they want to play.  There’s no point in adapting an adventure focused around a heist if your party wants to be out exploring the wilderness, and there’s no point in adapting a wilderness exploration adventure if your party wants to do a political thriller/urban mystery.  Just like with creating a homebrew campaign, you want to match the story to the expectations of your players. Trying to build a machine without knowing what it’s for is an exercise in frustration, as is trying to build a story without knowing the general direction you want it to be going.  

Next is to read the work back to front, making notes as you go, specifically looking for: 

Interesting ways the narrative could spin off from this, and what adventures might occur if your party make different decisions than what the story allows. 

What emotional work you need to build into the party’s backstory/previous adventures/to have them make the decisions you NEED them to. 

What happens if the party fail at each major step of the journey. 

Ways you think you could do X thing better. 

After you’re done with that, read another work with similar themes/subject matter with an eye of salvaging it for ideas to improve the first. Most modules have a direct path in mind with a few major branching points. What you want is raw material for when your party zigs when the original writers expected them to zag, as well as extraneous details that can make otherwise thin plot beats into sturdy pillars of your story. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve averted disaster or disinterest in my games by importing an npc or worldbuilding detail from something I’d recently read/watched into a narrative I’d thought was fully planned out but was just failing to fire

Finally, sit down with a notebook and try writing out the adventure step by step. Any time you get fuzzy on the details, it means you haven’t internalized the story you want to tell, and would end up running things by the book. This isn’t bad necessarily, but it’s the difference between a musician who has to go slow and follow along with the sheet music vs one who’s practiced enough to be confident in their performance. Recreating it like this might also let you see narrative potential that wasn’t necessarily evident in your first attempts.

Art

[ghcstao3]

for @snootlestheangel — body swap

-

For a trained sniper, demolitions expert, and SAS soldier, it takes an embarrassingly long time for Soap to notice that something is wrong.

He climbs out of an empty bed (as per usual), drags his feet to the common room for some shitty coffee (again, as per usual), sits down, bleary-eyed, rethinks his decisions until he finally fully wakes up (as per usual!).

It’s not until Gaz wanders in and does a double-take upon seeing him that Soap begins to suspect… something.

The pinch in the other sergeant’s brow has Soap shifting nervously in his seat.

“You feelin’ alright, mate?” Gaz asks. He keeps his voice steady enough to hide whatever else he’s thinking.

But even still, Soap relaxes. He just grunts and returns to staring at his coffee, accepting Gaz’s question as a way of pointing out just how awful Soap is looking this morning in particular.

“…Right,” Gaz says slowly. Soap peers back up at him. “And what about the…?” He gestures vaguely to his own face.

Soap frowns. “What d’ye—“

Soap snaps his mouth shut. That’s not his voice.

Keeping his lips firmly sealed as he stands and swipes his styrofoam cup off the table, Soap (Soap?) leaves the room in a hurry. He doesn’t stop even when Gaz calls after him, not pausing until he’s safely locked behind the door of his room.

Ghost—at least, Soap presumes, hopes, prays it’s Ghost in Soap’s body—is already waiting for him.

“Took you long enough,” Ghost remarks. It’s too odd, hearing his intonation from the wrong accent, the wrong voice, the wrong body.

“Well, so-rry.” Soap folds his—Ghost’s—arms across his chest. “You happen to know something, then?”

Ghost scowls. Soap takes that as a very clear no.

Soap sighs. “Then let’s figure it out together, aye?”

Ghost offers a reluctant nod. Soap supposes that’s good enough.

*

They mull over just about every possibility they can think of, between avoiding the unnecessary responsibilities, public spaces, and sneaking back to Ghost’s room to get a spare mask. They pore over recent missions, things that may have been said, done. But no pieces connect enough to create a reasonable enough picture.

The day ends, frustratingly, without answers. And with nothing else to try or think up, they resign to gradually falling asleep in Soap’s room, tangled together as was still normal enough.

Except for the fact that Soap is hardly used to being the little spoon. But alas.

A thought springs into Soap’s mind( before sleep is able to grab ahold of him.

“Ghost?”

A quite hum into the fabric of Soap’s shirt.

“I just… I wanted t’say something, before we find out whether this whole thing is permanent or not.”

“What’s’it?” Ghost mumbles.

Soap squeezes his eyes shut. Takes a deep breathe, reassured by the weight of an arm around him, even if it is technically his own.

“The thing we have—had? Have, between us,” Soap starts. “The sleeping together, whatever else. I never… I never wanted that to only be casual.”

There’s a long pause. Distantly, Soap’s ears ring, and when Ghost swallows it seems far too loud in the dark and quiet.

Then, in a mere whisper Ghost admits, “I never did either.”

That confession weighs heavy. But it’s a good presence, otherwise underlined by their current issue.

Soap nods to himself. “Awrite. Well, when we get this fixed—when, not if, because fuck if I’m gonna be stuck with your mug the rest of my life—what d’ye say we try something… real.”

Ghost’s breath is almost silent, the hitch in his throat nearly undetectable. He pulls Soap closer.

“I’d like that,” he says. “When.”

“When,” Soap agrees.

They fall asleep.

*

Soap wakes the next morning with his arms wrapped around a solid presence, bed warm and full. He breathes in Ghost’s scent, runs his fingers through blond curls.

“When,” Soap murmurs to himself. His own voice.

What a fuckin’ day.

[merrymagicalmenagerie]

Oh look, I actually wrote something! Harry/Ginny Incognito Elf Exchange 2024 for Macknificent101

More under the cut, or check out the link to my AO3

Like Her Paper Chains 

It’s Christmastime at the Burrow and Harry can’t sleep as usual. The cozy home was quiet, despite the many guests filling the rooms. Harry stared up at the violently orange ceiling for yet another night. His mind still raced over the comings and goings of Snape and Malfoy. The previous night’s dream of a particular ginger-haired girl didn’t help much either. Resigning himself to make something to drink, Harry quietly slipped out of bed. Moving around in Ron’s room wasn’t a difficult task, but he did worry about the landing and that one odd step that needed to be skipped.

As Harry quietly descended the stairs toward the kitchen, he heard an odd shuffling and crinkling sound coming from the living room. Ever the detective, he put his back against the wall and silently moved toward the sound, wand at the ready just in case. What greeted him was quite a sight–the room was covered in cut-up strips of paper of every color. Harry had never seen such a vast amount of paper in one place, let alone so many different varieties of color and patterns. He scanned the room for a moment before he spotted her.

Ginny was sitting in the middle of the vast crafting project, her back to him. He was awestruck by the way her hair glittered under the candlelight. He watched as she reached to the left and, without looking, snatched up a small handful of colorful strips. She let out an exasperated sigh and mumbled something that he couldn’t quite make out. Harry knew, of course, that Ginny liked making paper chains. But he always assumed it was something she did over time, like a quiet task to wind down for the night. But this—this was insanity.

He tempted fate and quietly called to her. “Ginny?” She jerked her head similar to a cat caught being naughty, eyes wide. Harry couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight. “How come you’re up so late doing…this?” he gestured to the paper forest on the floor.

“What? You expect Father Christmas had House Elves decorate every home before Christmas morning?” Her nose scrunched up as she giggled at him causing his heart to skip a beat. “You’re up late too, you know. Come help.” She shoved a small pile of multi-colored striped cuts on her left further aside and patted the floor.

Caught like a mouse, he obliged. Grabbing a pillow from the sofa on his way, he sat down next to her—too closely, but it was the amount of space she allowed him. Ginny looked at him expectantly. “Can’t sleep, pretty normal for me. You don’t need to worry; ’m fine.” He felt his face growing warm as he struggled to look directly in her eyes, but something told him that it was important to do so.

“If you say so,” she hummed. She finished her current link of the paper chain and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Help me get through this then. I’d be up for ages if you didn’t. Phlegm has totally taken over my room; otherwise, I’d normally be already done.” She handed him a Pritt Stick from her box of supplies and grinned widely.

“Hadn’t used this in a while. Didn’t think wizards would have glue sticks like Muggles do,” Harry replied as he reached for some strips of paper in front of him, returning her smile.

“Oh no! Daddy actually just got me a bunch of these for my birthday and some other muggle stationery. Before, I’d just use a sticky paste that I had to make myself. This is so much more handy!” Harry took a mental note to buy her crafting supplies for any upcoming gift-giving. By the way she smiled, he would spend all his gold in Gringotts getting her every paint, paper, glue, and glitter known to wizard and muggle alike.

Waving a few strips in the air between them, Harry spoke earnestly, “Well, Ms. Paper Chain Queen, you will have to show me how you do these ‘cause I have no clue.”

In response, Ginny brought her hand to her upper chest and gasped, “Nonsense! How can you not know how?” She dramatically sighed as she leaned over Harry’s lap to grab a glittery green strip, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear as she went. “Let me show you…”

He didn’t dare move an inch, didn’t dare breathe until she was upright again.

He tried, honestly. He tried to pay attention as she twisted the strip of paper through the existing red link and glued it together. But her hands…her soft hands that held remarkably few calluses despite playing Quidditch with such fervor. Small, delicate fingers weaving paper as if it were nothing. Were they warm or a little cold? How would they feel—

"See? Easy! Surely you can manage,” she interrupted his thoughts, holding her addition in the air proudly.

He couldn’t recall if she did anything in particular. Harry was far too preoccupied with staring at her hands to watch what she was doing with them. Certainly nothing that wouldn’t haunt his dreams later. “I think so? Does color matter...?” He looked away, shuffling through the nearest strips of paper to hide the red that he knew was spreading across his face. “...this deep blue is my favorite…” he mumbled, hoping to escape the hell he was creating for himself.

“I’ve got you. I’m always here for you, Harry.” Ginny spoke solemnly as she squeezed his upper thigh. Alarms rang in his ears. Before he could fully turn his head, the moment passed as quickly as it appeared. Harry couldn't help but stare as she pulled her silky tresses through a hair band with ease as if she said nothing remarkable at all.

After a beat, Harry quietly said, “You look pretty good with your hair up like that.” Realizing what he said, he hastily went back to trying to glue up the blue bit of paper he was holding in his hands to a mustard yellow one.

“Didn’t know you were so into fashion. Maybe we should set up a meeting with Witch Weekly?” Ginny teased, bumping his shoulder again, seemingly oblivious to his heart beating out of his chest.

“Ha! You’d love to take the mickey out of me on that one.” Harry chuckled as he bumped her shoulder back, silently hoping to transfer the energy of his pounding heart to her. “Let’s get these done. I’ll make some hot chocolate when we’ve finished.”

“What a gent!” Ginny flicked her hair, long even in a ponytail, dramatically over her shoulder.

She had to know what she was doing to him, surely. How much more could he take before he said or did something stupid? He was certain that she could hear the frantic beating of his heart. Perhaps this is the moment to say something, he thought before reminding himself but she's still with Dean. At this moment though, it didn’t matter really. Nothing but sitting next to her did. Harry shook his head and smirked before returning to his feeble chain.

A few hours passed in glorious small talk. They made crude jokes about Ron and Lavender, gossiped about Hermione’s scandalous date with McLaggen (he would most definitely need to talk to her when they return to Hogwarts), talked shop about Quidditch strategies—anything and everything that came to their minds. It was as if no one else existed; Harry’s whole world was in the living room with Ginny alone. He could stay in this moment forever and be content.

The dark sky was giving way to an inky blue when all of the colorful paper chains were put together and the pair was finishing draping them across every surface in the room. Ginny was standing next to Harry, hands on her hips, as he secured the last link over the entryway to the kitchen. “How about that hot chocolate then?”

The next evening, the Weasley's and their guests were sitting in the living room, which everyone assumed Ginny had decorated so lavishly in a paper chain explosion alone as she always did. No one knew that Harry helped into the dawn hours. She discreetly winked at him when he came down the stairs for dinner, and he smiled in return. It was their little secret.

Despite his misgivings about his feelings toward Ginny and the eternal debate in his mind, Harry felt as if they grew a little closer the previous night. Something seems to have shifted between them, moving them forward toward some unknown goal, as if they were linked together like her paper chains.

[luvvpsh]

౨ৎ A night to Remember

pairing: sunghoon x gn!reader ⋆ genre: fluff ⋆ warnings: none

⤷ i recommend listening to “A night to remember” by Laufey and Beabadoobee !

¡ requests: open !

Spending your birthday at a club on the other side of the city wasn’t ideal but your friends insisted. Sighing to yourself for the 30th time as you watch your finger twirl around your cup, you looked up and allowed your eyes to roam around the place for the first time.

You spot your friends having the time of their lives on the dance floor causing a small chuckle to fall out before your curious eyes darted to the door. A group of boys walked in but the tall pale caught your attention the most.

He must’ve felt your eyes on him cause he made direct eye contact with you and you looked away quickly. His eyes, where have you seen them before? For some odd reason it reminded you of a person you once knew.

You stood up and spotted him once again, his brown eyes already watching you. Your eyes darted towards the dance floor and then back at him praying he got the message, otherwise you just embarrassed yourself.

Making your way towards the floor, in the corner of your eyes you see him speaking to his friends before walking over to you.

You offered a smile which he returned and you took noticed of his fangs peaking out. “May I have the pleasure of a dance?” he asked and you felt like you were on cloud9.

The way he carried himself and spoke was so attractive to you. He touched your lower back as you took his hand into yours, his touch felt shockingly familiar.

“I swore I’d seen you before..” you spoke with furrowed eyebrows as your eyes scanned his face.

He hummed, “I was just thinking the same thing, pretty. Have we met before?” and you gave him a shrug with a small squeal as he twirled you around.

He had his hands on your waist and pulled you closer. He noticed your small pin that read “it’s my birthday” and gave you a big smile.

“It’s your birthday? Why are you spending it in a place like this?”

You nodded your head towards your friends who payed no mind to you, “it was their idea to come here to celebrate and to be honest.. i wasn’t having fun til you showed up.”

You shared a glance with him and it’s like something switched inside of him. “Let’s get out of here, yea?”

As soon as you agreed, he grabbed your hand and dragged you outside. The stars twinkled in the sky while you two ran in the streets. The streetlights were dimly lit up, the night being filled with giggles and sweet nothings that would be whispered between you two.

“You’re such a dork!” you managed out after calming down. He gave you a lopsided grin before taking out his polaroid camera and you watched him curiously.

“Just continue standing there please..” he whispered and you complied. It felt so unreal to you, spending the quiet night and getting photographed by a handsome stranger while you still don’t know his name.

When he was done, you saw him admire the photos he took of you. He was so confiscated by your beauty that he almost missed you walking away.

He hurriedly grabbed your hand and you turned to look at him with an eyebrow raised. “Where are you going?” he asked as his brows scrunched together.

“I have to get going, my friends—”

“Stay?” he pleaded out.

The look he was giving you made you feel something new. How could you possibly ignore his wish when he looked like that. “What’s your name?” you finally asked and he gave you that pretty smile you grew to adore.

“It’s Sunghoon.”

Oh how it was definitely going to be a night to remember.

[hangesfavles]

Kitties and Compromises

4.3k words. nonbinary hange x fem reader, but readers gender is only mentioned twice.

Summary: Hange really wants a cat, and you don’t. On your way to work one day, you hear a distant meowing in a sewer drain.

No warnings btw! This is sfw and just fluffy <3

a/n!: hi! i don’t usually write fanfics. this is actually my first time seriously sitting down and trying to write a fic, but i was inspired by an experience that happened to me fairly recently!! i’m not sure if i’ll write any more fanfiction, but if y’all like my writing you can send in a request, but i can’t promise it’ll be done quickly 😓 i’ll probably only write wlw, nblw, or nblnb! as for characters, i’d be interested in writing for hange, yelena (from aot), moira o’deorain, junker queen, chloe price, or hazel callahan! also ik not that many people will probably see this, but if you like hange fanfics puh LEASE check out @abbyslev on tumblr and @sweetgirl_r on ao3! bc i love their works and they’ve both indirectly inspired me so much! pls read their work its amazing <3 cross posted on tumblr and ao3, pls don’t steal my writing btw :3

What were the odds of something like this happening to you? ​​Hange simply must’ve been manifesting this into the universe. The day started just like any other, waking up in the morning next to your spouse, Hange. You always wake up before them, reluctant to leave the warm comfort of Hange’s embrace. Even when they’re asleep they find ways to be clingy, whether that be trapping your body against their own as they cage you with their arms or simply latching onto your back and nuzzling your hair, it always makes mornings that much harder. You always admire their sleeping face before leaving your shared bed; Their peaceful expression and lack of their usual eyepatch reminds you how much they trust you. You groggily slip out of their arms, eliciting their normal whimpers and sleepy pleas for you to rejoin them. You kiss their cheek, not even bothering to respond to their words. You know they won’t remember their words or your own regardless. You get yourself dressed in your boring, formal work attire required for your office job. After fixing your hair in the mirror, you head to the bathroom first. You grab your toothbrush from the holder, smiling as you do so. The sight of Hange’s toothbrush next to your own always makes your heart flutter. Despite having lived with them for quite some time, you always fall victim to the butterflies in your stomach when you see your items mixed with their own. Simple things, like their “Best teacher” mug gifted to them by one of their students next to your plastic and faded Hello Kitty cup you’ve had since childhood, or your coat hanging on the same rack as theirs.

Your next stop is the kitchen. You always make lunch for yourself as well as Hange the night before, otherwise they’ll skip lunch entirely or on rare occasion buy fast food. It never bothers you, though. You love being able to do nice things for them. You know they appreciate it, because they send sweet ‘thank you’ messages along with a photo of them eating it every day without fail. Seeing their smile while eating the food you prepared specifically for them makes your effort completely worth it. You grab your food, placing it into your bag.

The third and final place you head towards is the living room. You grab your laptop- previously discarded- from the coffee table and place it in your bag as well. You groan softly with annoyance as you remember how Hange had distracted you last night from finishing a particularly long assignment from your boss. You had been working diligently for a few hours before Hange arrived home, demanding attention from you. You can’t even blame yourself, because how could you say no to your loving spouse’s puppy eyes? Not to mention the fact they had also enticed you by offering to watch a new movie with you until it was time to make dinner. That’s another action that never fails to make your heart beat faster in your chest. They make dinner while you prepare tomorrow’s lunch, always on the counter closest to them. You sigh as you think about the fact you’ll have a little bit of extra work to do while you leave the house and enter your car to drive to work.

Hange loves you. Everything about you, and anything that comes with you. They love your day-to-day routine, never growing bored even when doing monotonous tasks and chores. Things they had hated previously have magically become more interesting, like grocery shopping or doing laundry. But even so, something felt… missing. They were 100% sure this feeling has nothing to do with the love they have for you, or the love you have for them. They undeniably and unconditionally love you, otherwise they wouldn’t have proposed to you. They knew early on into your relationship that they wanted to spend the rest of their life with you by their side. Because of this, they want to have a family with you. Neither of you had been particularly fond of the idea of having children- at least, not yet. Having a child is a lot of work, as well as an incredibly big time and financial commitment. They want a cat. They knew that they wanted a pet cat before they had even moved out of their parents’ house… However, they also knew that you were against the idea. They’ve been begging for the past few months about how badly they want to adopt one, only to be shut down by you, saying how expensive it would be to buy one, as well as the essentials for it: a collar, carrier, grooming supplies, litter box, litter, a scooper, toys, food bowls, food in general, as well as occasional vet visits. Between both of your jobs, you and Hange live comfortably. If the two of you agreed to cut back on recreational spending, they were sure buying a pet was within reason, but they knew you didn’t want to. You enjoyed being able to go on nice dates with them on occasion, to the movies, aquarium, dinner, art museums, and sometimes you even do escape rooms together. They also savor the dates you go on together, but that doesn’t stop them from asking you at least twice a week if you’ve warmed up to the idea of owning a cat. Spoiler alert, you haven’t. So imagine their surprise when they receive a video call from you in the middle of class, revealing you holding a dirty, gray kitten with one hand.

Really, what were the odds of this happening? After getting out of your car when you arrived at the office building, you hear loud, high-pitched cries coming out of a nearby sewer. Your kind heart wouldn’t and couldn’t ignore it. You follow the sound, crouching in front of the drain, that’s when you see it. The tiniest kitten you’ve ever laid eyes on, seemingly trapped at the bottom of a sewer drain. You jog as fast as your heels can take you, alerting your boss about the situation, telling him you’ll clock in as soon as you can help the poor thing. He graciously allows you to do so, a perk of being a dedicated manager. You jog back towards the drain, kneeling down to look at the kitten again. You were sure if you called the cops that they would take hours to show up, if at all. Instead, you search for the phone number of your local fire department.

Saving this goddamn cat was a long process. Who knew removing the cover of a drain would take so long? It had taken over two hours to remove the cover, and then another forty five minutes to lure the kitten close enough for the firefighter to grab. The kitten was left in your care after it was safely removed from the drain. Luckily, it was dry except for its paws. You were considering what you should do at this moment. The kitten doesn’t seem to have a collar, and you can see a few fleas crawling around on its back. You realize that you simply can’t place it on the ground to roam free once more, what if it’s hungry? What if it gets hurt or stuck again? You’re not sure you would be able to sleep at night knowing you abandoned the cat. You figure you should first and foremost take it to the vet to see if it possibly has an owner who microchipped it. Before doing so, you decide to do what any rational person would do, call Hange. You feel bad for bothering Hange when you know that they’re working, but you wanted to tell them what you’ve dealt with for the past three hours.

When Hange feels the vibration of their phone in their pocket, illuminating from your call, they know that they should answer. They hold their phone in their hand before glancing around their classroom, the eyes of their students peering at them curiously. They chuckle nervously. “...Ah, pardon me for a minute! My wife is calling me. Feel free to chatter while I’m away, just be sure to keep it down, okay?” They give the class an awkward thumbs up and a matching smile. They aren’t sure if you’ve ever called them while they were working, and they feel a pang of worry as they step out of their classroom and into the hallway to answer the call.

The look on their face was priceless. Their eye widens a little with confusion, their lips parting as if they wanted to say something, but they clearly have trouble finding the words. You speak before they do, explaining briefly how you heard the kitten crying, the amount of time it took to save the small creature, and how you plan to take it to a vet to see if it has an owner. After you’re finished speaking, Hange is quick to ask you “Can we keep it if it doesn’t have a chip? C’mon, pretty please? This opportunity is perfect! We won’t have to pay hundreds of dollars to adopt one, we just gotta cover the essentials!” They beg you, barely even stopping for breath as they plead quickly. “I don’t know, Han… Let me take it to the vet first. I’ll let you know what happens from there.”

Hange has been on the edge of their seat all day. You’ve been sending them updates, albeit slowly, considering the kitten is being tested for multiple things, like parasites, ear and eye infections, and other long term health conditions like feline leukemia. What they know so far is that the kitten is- according to the vet- probably a girl, not microchipped, and the poor thing is infested with fleas. You had mentioned to Hange that the vet said it’s a little bit early to tell if she’s really a girl, but that she currently looks like one. Hange has never been so attached to their phone at work before. They can’t help but glance at it between sentences, hoping to see their screen lit up by a message from you.

Today has been tiring, despite not even truly having gone into work. You’re stressed, nervous, and worst of all, bored. Your boredom doesn’t help your running thoughts. Instagram can only distract your brain so much when all you can think about is this kitten you’ve unwillingly bonded with. The longer you sit in the waiting room, the more you realize how worried you really are about being able to keep the kitten, despite your initial reservations about keeping a stray animal. She was just that cute. Throughout the whole car ride to the vet, she sat in your lap obediently, even curling up into a ball and purring. Not once did she cry or try to escape your lap. She had only started crying once you left her alone with the vet, and that broke your heart more than you’re willing to admit. You already feel like you have a bond with her, and it would be devastating if she happened to be sick or injured. What you’re waiting for right now is for her to use the bathroom. Number two is preferable, but they would work with number one if that’s all she could do. You silently thank yourself for stopping by a grocery store to get her some canned cat food, which she had eaten in the car on the way here. After waiting in the vet for a whopping 4 more hours, they had concluded all of the proper tests. The vet calls you back into the exam room, ready to talk about the results. Apparently, she ended up doing number 2 when she was left alone in a kennel. “Hello Mrs. Zoe!” He says with a friendly smile. “So, I’ll start with the bad news. Our little friend here has plenty of fleas, which I’m sure you saw already, and after running tests on her stool, I found that she does indeed have a parasite.” After hearing his words, you feel your nervousness festering more than ever. You nod at his words, urging him to continue. “But, there’s plenty of good news. The parasite is nothing life-threatening. She just needs to be medicated every day for a week. Other than that, she is entirely healthy. Do you plan on keeping her?” You think about your answer for a moment, but inside, you knew your mind was already made up. You had plenty of time to think about it in the waiting room, and you can’t deny the fact you’re already smitten with the small animal. You nod at him, a small smile appearing on your face as well. “Well, that’s great! You’ll have to come back tomorrow or the day after to pick up her medicine. We’ll give you a call when it’s ready to be picked up.” He flashes you another award-winning smile before leaving the room to retrieve the kitten. “Congratulations, she’s very well behaved.” He comments as he hands her back to you carefully. “Thank you, doctor. My spouse is going to be absolutely over the moon.” You giggle softly as you hold her once more and leave the office. You hold the kitten in one hand, and reach into your pocket to check the time on your phone. By now, it was almost time for Hange to get off of work. You sit in the car, the kitten once more making herself comfortable on your lap. You try not to think about her fleas as you take a moment to video call Hange once more.

Hange had just finished their last class of the day when you called. They were sitting at their desk, grading some old assignments before they officially left school. This was typical for them, because they absolutely hated dealing with the traffic caused by all of the other teachers, as well as students and school buses leaving the area at once. They see your call and immediately answer with a huge, dopey smile on their face. “Hi, love!” They exclaim, evidently excited for whatever updates you’re going to give them. When the video loads, they aren’t met with your dazzling beauty, but another small, adorable face. You can’t help but giggle as you look down at your phone, the angle making the kitten look funny. She paws the screen in front of her. “D'aww!! She’s so cuteee!” Hange squeals with excitement at the view. You giggle lightheartedly at Hange’s childish excitement. Their enthusiasm for the world around them was something that drew you in immediately about them, and it is still a trait that you adore. “Isn’t she? She’s so sweet and well behaved.” You move the phone away from the kitty, instead showing Hange your face. “Has she melted your cold heart already?” They tease with a soft chuckle. “Oh, shut up Hange!” You giggle at their joke anyways. “I’m just teasing, love. Soooo… Is she ours? Is she healthy?” They ask excitedly, but they already assume that the answer is yes, considering how happy you seem to be. “I just got done speaking with the vet, apparently she has a parasite.” You notice Hange’s lips part into an ‘o’ shape as you say this. You can also notice the concern morphing its way into their features. “But he said that after being medicated for… like… a week or so, she should be perfectly fine.” Hange’s earlier excitement makes a comeback, the worry melting off their features as they squeal a bit. “C’mon, we have to keep her!” They whine and plead. “You love her already, it’s obvious. Stop avoiding the question.” A pout forms on Hange’s lips as they try to convince you for the umpteenth time to have a pet. You sigh softly at their cute expression, giggling breathily at their antics. “I do love her. And you’re right, this is a perfect chance for us to have a pet since we didn’t have to buy her. I guess love is about compromise, or whatever… And since I know how much you’ve always wanted a cat, we can keep her.”

Hange had rushed home in record speed. It’s shocking that they got home in one piece without any tickets or crashes. You were right in the assumption that they would be over the moon about this perfect coincidence, Hange wanted to meet her more than anything. You have been home for a bit by the time Hange arrives at your shared home. They practically launch through the door, before realizing their excitement might startle the kitten. When you hear the door opening, you greet them at the door with your arms open wide. They quickly rush into your embrace, lifting you up and enthusiastically shaking you around. They place a chaste kiss on your lips before putting you on the floor once more. “Not that I’m not excited to see you, but where is she?” They ask with childlike excitement. They’re practically bouncing off the walls. As if on cue, a high pitched cry emits from the bathroom. “I have her in the bathroom right now and I put a blanket in there with her. We’re-” Your sentence is cut off by Hange making their way to the bathroom, carefully opening the door. You smile at their excitement, following after them. “Make sure she doesn’t get out. We’re gonna need to give her a flea bath before she can leave the bathroom.” Hange mumbles out a ‘mhm’ before kneeling beside the bathtub. The kitten is looking up at them with big doe eyes. Hange is doing all they can not to squeal and shout from how utterly adorable she is. You decide to take a seat on top of the closed toilet, simply content to see your partner so lively. Hange carefully outstretches their hand to the animal, who seems to back away the tiniest bit. “Heeeeyyyyyyy baby…” They whisper quietly. “Pspspsp…” The kitten sniffs Hange’s finger skeptically, but doesn’t react otherwise. They take this as a sign that it’s okay to pet her. Two of their lithe fingers scratch at the top of the kitten's head, much to her content. Hange mumbles sweet, hushed words to the animal that you can’t really hear. The world around you seems to grow blurry, as you tune out everything else that isn’t your partner and your newfound pet. There wasn’t anything else worth caring about at the moment. The tenderness Hange displays, a stark contrast from their typical erraticism, has your heart thumping in your chest. Hange has always been equally caring as they are observant. While Hange will probably always be excitable, they’re very aware of other’s emotions. They know when someone is overwhelmed or tired, or maybe shy and nervous, meaning they always know when they should turn it down a notch. Quiet moments with them were always your favorite moments. Moments where you two could simply be, without the need for conversation or action. Moments like this morning, where you can stare at their tired face without any ounce of uncomfort. Hange scoops up the kitten into their arms, holding her near their chest, seemingly unbothered by the fleas littering her body. They look up at you, smiling with their teeth and giggling. Their eyes are squinted shut by how much they’re smiling. Even as you’re lost in thought, not fully aware, you smile back at them unconsciously because it’s second nature. You snap out of your trance when you see a flea jump off of her body. “Yuck.” You say, squishing the bug with your shoe and picking it up with a piece of toilet paper. “I picked up some flea shampoo when I went to get her something to eat.” You say, holding up a purple bottle. “She won’t like this, but put her in the sink.”

The two of you have spent the better part of an hour picking the rest of the bugs out of the kitten's fur. The flea bath helped substantially, but there were still some that crawled around. Neither of you have spotted bugs for a few minutes, so you retire from your task, wrapping the small animal in a towel as Hange holds her, trying to transfer their own warmth to her. “She’s such a sweetie.” They coo softly, bouncing the kitty as if she’s a small child. “We should feed her soon. Did you get anything else from the pet store?” They ask, tilting their head at you as they ask. “No, she got really antsy when she was alone for too long, so I tried to run in and out as fast as possible. We’re gonna have to go back.” “Oh, but we can’t leave her to go out, what if she thinks we abandoned her!?” They ask you with puppy eyes. “We can’t take her out, she could still have fleas. I can ask someone to watch her while we go out.” You say, pulling out your phone to text one of your and Hange’s shared friends.

Levi and Erwin step into your home, the former appearing to be intensely displeased. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this on a weekday.” Levi grumbles, while Erwin smiles politely at you and Hange. “He’s being dramatic, it’s no trouble. You two will only be gone for an hour before we head home again.” Erwin chuckles, walking to the living room, where the now dried kitten sits on the couch. She runs and hides at the sight of so many people. “Thank you guys for doing this, I know it’s last minute.” You chuckle nervously at Levi’s obvious irritation. “We didn’t exactly have the luxury to give you notice, Shorty.” Hange teases, grinning as Levi rolls his eyes. “Whatever, three eyes. Get going so we can get home already.” Hange pouts, not only from the nickname, but also at the fact they’re being rushed out of their own home. You try not to burst out laughing at the nickname. “Three eyes is diabolical.” You choke out, opting to take their hand and head out, hopefully so Hange doesn’t feel embarrassed. “We’ll be back soon, thank you again!” You wave, before hopping in the car with a pouting Hange to get supplies for your currently unnamed pet.

Who knew shopping with Hange would take so long? You knew, actually. You were vaguely aware of the fact that Hange’s erraticism isn’t the best trait when trying to go shopping quickly. You’ve only been shopping with them a few times, and after an hour of bouncing around the store, it becomes a little bit tiring. This doesn’t even account for the many different random items they tend to pick up and insist they need. A similar thing happens when you attempt to shop for your cat. You asked Hange to find a decently sized litter box, and they come back to beg you for toys they think look funny, a bed shaped like a ramen cup, a hat for the kitten, and a matching onesie for her. You have to refrain from twitching your eye as they entirely forgot to get the litter box you tasked them to find. You end up putting the toys, bed, and hat in the basket, since you planned on buying her these things anyway. “Han... My beloved... You forgot the litter box.” You watch as they chuckle nervously, rubbing the back of their neck. “Right... Be right back.” They turn away, determined to get the litter box, (and only the litter box,) while you decide between two bundles of kitten food.

Hange finds you once more, looping their arms around your waist. You’re momentarily shocked, but you quickly recognize the scent of them surrounding you. They place their head on your shoulder, proud of the fact they managed not to pick up anything except the litter box. They poke your cheek, giving you a grin. When you turn your head towards them, they tap their finger against their cheek, silently asking to be rewarded for completing the task you gave them. You roll your eyes playfully and give them a soft peck.

You return home after an hour and a half, being slightly delayed by Hange’s typical short and ever-changing attention span. Erwin helps you and Hange bring in the bags of cat necessities. You and Hange tiredly plop down on your couch once you’ve finished, feeling tired from all the events of the day. Levi sighs from beside you. You and Hange look at him, seeing the cat curled up and sleeping on his lap. “This damn cat wouldn't leave me alone. Always craving attention, like it can't survive without constant petting. Needy little furball.” He grumbles. Despite his attitude, he still allows her to sleep in his lap, which you and Hange are both grateful for. He carefully picks her up, shifting her into Hange’s lap instead. They both try their best to ensure she isn’t disturbed by the transfer. You stand up as Levi does, seeing the couple out. “Thank you both again for doing this. We’ll see you guys on Sunday for dinner. It’s our turn to cook this week!” You giggle. Erwin pats your shoulder in a dad-like fashion. “Don’t mention it. Levi was loving the attention she gave him. See you Sunday.” He smiles. To this, Levi rolls his eyes, elbowing his lover lightly as you see them out.

Once again, you plop on the couch beside your own lover. They look at you with worry. “What are we going to do with her? She’s gonna be so scared if we leave her at home, all alone...” You raise your eyebrow, wondering where this conversation is leading. “I’m sure she’ll get used to it. It’s impossible for us to have someone watch her every day while we’re at work.” In response to your words, they cover the kitten's ears. “You’re evil! How could you talk about our daughter that way?” They pout, giving you puppy eyes. You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully at their joke. “You know...” They start. You look at them tiredly, knowing you probably won't like whatever comes next. “We could always get another to keep her company.”

[spineless-lobster]

Wip wednesday!!! Thank you @rowanisawriter for tagging me! This is a scene from chapter 4 of Katabasis that I am currently working on!

A familiar warrior greeted him placidly, a tame and neutral smile laid on his face. Long, pitch black locks framed his bronze visage—his shoulders were draped with neither Greek nor Trojan armour.

“Achilles?” His voice was curious in the way an old dog perks up at the sound of its name.

“Sarpedon?” Achilles crouched next to the stump that the Lycian was sitting on. Sarpedon’s stately legs crossed over each other with ease, he let out a gravelly chuckle.

“Fancy seeing you here, did Hector put up much of a fight?” Something seemed to stab Achilles, a spark triggering a slow-boiling rage inside him. “I wouldn’t know, once I’ve finished my pursuit here I’ll have to return to Troy and find out.”

“Hm, I thought something was off with you, you seem so… solid. What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?” He rested his chin on his hand in interest.

It was Achilles’ turn to let out a laugh. “Fates be merciful, I think you’ll be displeased to learn that I am here to retrieve Patroclus and return him to the living world. Though, I don’t mean to spite you.”

Sarpedon waved him off. “Oh I never held any ill will towards the Greeks, not even Patroclus. The Achaeans were at war with Troy, not Lycia. I only wished to help my Trojan allies; were it up to me I’d settle this dispute in a less bloody manner.”

Achilles hummed in response, settling in the grass. It was slightly damp beneath him. “You don’t seem to be in a rush.” The Lycian drawled, his rich voice echoing throughout the woods. Achilles stared at a candle tucked away in a bush—its blue light flickering unnaturally.

“I am, I just… It’s odd, I haven’t felt hunger or thirst or any other urge since arriving. Perhaps slightly winded after running, but otherwise I feel completely neutral. I’m trying to get accustomed to such an offputting sensation—or lack thereof.”

“And here I was thinking that was a symptom of being dead. It seems that all is quite still in the Underworld. Don’t let it hinder you, alright? This land, it’s of the gods, and you understand how they are. I think if Hades really wanted you gone, he would’ve done so by now. He’s giving you a chance, so seize it. You are not meant to be here. Do not forget that.”

No pressure tags: @purpleopossum @pearlofyoureye @haventacluewhatimdoing @marithefriendlyghost @baynton @ghosts-of-love and anyone else who writes fics because there’s a lot of you and I keep forgetting lol