#the trial of the spirit beast

[askthepsychic]

As they fly towards Rey’s first effort, Rey looks at Aaron “out of curiosity, do you know what it could look like if all goes well?”

Aaron looks at her “sort of. Spirit beasts have an exceedingly wide range of appearances they could manifest as, but one can get an idea of some common attributes based on the kind of spirit the one who hatches them possesses. In the case of a true guardian soul, like what you have presented over the course of your life thus far, there tend to be some angelic elements to their appearance.”

Rey smiles “I see. But aside from that, there’s a lot of things that are up to chance, right?”

Aaron nods, then looks down “I believe I know the answer, but I’ll ask anyways. Do you know that house?”

Rey blinks, looking at it “yes. A good friend of mine lives there. She’s going through college right now and I must say, based on things she’s told me about her ambitions, I’m looking forward to seeing what she does in the future.”

Aaron nods “as am I. Right now though, she could use some help. Let’s go in and check on her.” He then flies through a wall directly into the bedroom of Rey’s friend.

When Rey follows, she finds her friend, a unicorn named Stellar Heart, asleep at her desk. She comes closer and sees a textbook open under her. Rey looks at Aaron and he tells her to try to grasp one side of the book. When she does, a spiritual copy of it manifests in her hand which she looks at. “This is one of the more difficult courses she’s studying.” She says, looking at Aaron.

Aaron nods. “Yes. She was reviewing to prepare for a big test tomorrow. If she doesn’t complete her review, she’s likely to do poorly on the test. That will be a blow to her confidence. She’ll start to wonder if she’s really good enough to accomplish her long term goals. Up until now she’s been a straight A student if I don’t miss my guess. Even one score lower than an A at this point could compromise her so badly that she might give up on what we’re both looking forward to.”

Rey looks at Stellar. “I can’t accept that possibility. Her goal could help countless people have better, and healthier lives. Tell me what I can do to help her.”

Aaron nods “dream manifestation. It’s similar to the dream walking skill Luna and Nyx command. Not as potent, but it would still allow you to manipulate her dream. You could bring an image of that textbook into her dream, along with a desk and notebook. A quill wouldn’t be a problem either. All the things needed for her to complete her review and let you test her while still getting a full night’s sleep so she’ll be studied and rested for the test tomorrow. However, beyond these things, you would only be allowed to bear witness to the results. You can influence a reminder to remember her dream once, and only once.”

Rey nods “so I can help her finish her revision, but the only help I can give her during the actual test is a single reminder of the dream study session. Good enough.” She says, looking at Stellar as she prepares to delve into her dream.

As she manifests, she finds the manipulation of the dream to be highly intuitive, and thus she sets to work. In just a short moment, she’s smiling at Stellar as she blinks in confusion, looking around.

Stellar Heart, a sky blue coated unicorn with purple eyes, mane and tail quickly realizes what’s happened and looks at Rey again to ask “when did you learn to dream walk?”

Rey chuckles. “I didn’t. Not really. This is something different. But that’s not important right now. What is important is that you fell asleep studying. How are you going to pass the test tomorrow if you stumble in the last leg of the race?”

Stellar blinks, then blushes, rubbing the back of her head embarrassedly “good question. Guess I better wake up and get back to it.”

Rey shakes her head “not so fast. Wouldn’t it be better if you were well studied and well rested for the test?”

Stellar nods “well sure. Wait. Can you help me with that?”

Rey nods “that’s the plan. I’ll manifest a desk, quill, notebook and textbook.” As she lists each item, they appear. “Once you’ve reviewed the test material, tell me which pages are involved and I’ll quiz you. Then it’ll just be a matter of remembering this dream and you should pass your test with flying colors.”

Stellar smiles, nodding “sounds like a plan. Alright.” She says, picking up her textbook and starting to review the necessary pages.

A few moments later, Rey closes the textbook after quizzing Stellar “full marks. Remember this dream tomorrow and you’ll be set.”

Stellar nods “if you stick around, I’ll treat you to breakfast as a show of gratitude.”

At this, Rey’s smile falls “I’ll have to take a rain check on that one, Stellar. I’m afraid I’m in no condition to share breakfast with you at this time.”

Stellar blinks, tilting her head “why not? Got something going on? Are you sick? What’s up? I’d like to help if I can.”

Rey smiles ruefully “I’m sure you would help if you could, and I’m absolutely grateful for the sentiment, but… I’m afraid I’m a bit more than sick. Look. I’ll stick around till morning. That’ll give you a better understanding of what’s going on. But I want to make one thing clear right now. The condition I’m in right now? Temporary. Absolutely temporary. There are ways to get me back to full health from the state I’m in. It’ll just take time, that’s all.”

Stellar looks down. “I see. Rey… you’re dead, aren’t you?”

Rey blinks “I… um… how… did you guess?”

Stellar sighs “I’ve hung out with Ambrosia on more than one occasion. I’ve been around when she was working. When you started this dream, I noticed something felt off. Something about you. Your energy felt wrong. And with what you said after I asked if I could help you… I finally made the connection. Rey? Is this really a temporary thing for you?”

Rey nods “I swear it is so. Just you watch, Stellar, I’ll be back in my body before the year’s out. I… I still have things to do. People to protect. I’m not going to leave them or you. I’m coming back.”

Stellar gives a small smile and nods. The next day, she passes her test with her typical perfect score. As she heads home from school she can sense Rey nearby. She whispers a word of gratitude.

Rey smiles, watching Stellar a moment more before looking at Aaron “a perfect resolution. But… Aaron, is she… aware of me?”

Aaron nods “she is. Spending time with Ambrosia as she said she has. That can have a unique effect on someone. Stellar’s abilities are just beginning to form, but at this point, further time spent in Ambrosia’s company is unnecessary to further development. It would accelerate development to be sure, but at this point Stellar will steadily grow more aware of psychic phenomenon all on her own. And if she takes the right approach to this process, she could even unlock some special abilities for herself. If that happens, her current ambitions could prove to be only one of the great impacts she could have on the world.”

Rey nods “I see. Could I be of any help guiding her through this process?”

Aaron nods “you could indeed. Now, as for your score in this first effort. I’d say it’s a perfect score. Even when you spoke of your current situation, your intentions never veered away from helping Stellar. Good work.”

Rey chuckles “are you going to be reporting on my score every time? I’d prefer you didn’t. It could be distracting.”

Aaron smiles and nods “very well. Let’s find another place you can help someone, shall we?”

Rey nods, and the two of them head off to continue her work.

[sammakesart]

Solavellan, or the Tale of the Dread Bridegroom

The reason I have always been drawn to the Solas and Lavellan romance in the Dragon Age series (besides having a deep love for villains and dramatic cheekbones) is because it brings to mind my favorite type of fairytale: the animal (or monster) bridegroom. The most famous of these would probably be Beauty and the Beast. However, the Solavellan romance felt more similar to my favorite iteration of this type: East of the Sun and West of the Moon. 

In the tale, a young woman is married to a monster… or so she thinks. He is keeping his true identity a secret from her. He brings her to an enchanted castle, and everything is actually pretty great for a time. Then she grows too curious. She discovers his true identity—he’s an attractive man! And a prince! He is forced to leave her and return to his evil witch-queen stepmother. Our heroine, who has fallen in love with her revealed prince, sets out to find him and save him from his wicked stepmother. She has to make a perilous journey. She faces trials and tribulations. She frees her prince, breaks the curse, and they leave together to live happily ever after.

There is also another tale that has many parallels to the Solavellan romance. The myth of Eros and Psyche, which is the blueprint for the animal bridegroom tales. It follows the same general plot, but I’d like to highlight a few differences. This is a myth about a god falling in love with a mortal, and that mortal becoming a goddess herself in the end after proving herself and winning her god-husband back.

In the myth, Eros is sent by his mother, Aphrodite, to trick Psyche into falling in love with something hideous for a perceived infraction against the goddess. Basically, Psyche had too many admirers who were worshiping her as the second coming of Aphrodite. Eros falls in love with Psyche instead, and spirits her away to a castle. She discovers his true identity. He flees. She faces trials. Etc and so forth. Eros and Psyche are reunited. She is given the drink of immortality, and joins her husband in the realm of the gods as a goddess in her own right so they can be together as equals.

It was the kind of ending I wanted for Solas and Lavellan. A heroine falls in love with a cursed prince and saves him. A mortal falls in love with a god, a doomed by the narrative pairing if there ever was one, but in the end, she triumphs, and she joins him as his equal.

Those are very simplified synopses, but you can see the parallels. Solas, in a reversal of the beast-husband trope, is keeping half of his identity secret from Lavellan, but it’s the beast (the Dread Wolf) side of himself he is keeping a secret. He takes Lavellan to his castle, Skyhold. They begin to fall in love. They kiss in a dream. They kiss on a balcony. They dance at a ball. Very fairy tale romance. They’re happy. Until they’re not.

When our heroine discovers Solas’s true identity, that he is Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf himself (who does indeed turn into a giant wolf monster as we see in Veilguard), he must leave our heroine, and she cannot join him. What can Lavellan do? Well, swear to save him, of course! And if that is what she chooses, she sets out on her own journey of trials and tribulations to rescue her monstrous prince. But he is not just the prince or the monster, he’s the villain as well. Delicious.

Lavellan is Solas’s heroine, his knight in shining armor. Funnily enough, you can make a joke about “riding in on a shining steed” to Solas during an early conversation with him. She can also flirt with him later during this conversation. What is that flirt option? “You can trust me.” She tells him she will protect him… however she has to. Solas here is the damsel in distress, the prince who needs saving, and she will save her prince from his tower (or his regret prison) however she has to.

What trials does our heroine have to face, you ask? Besides the tracking him down, of course. Well, let’s see. Trials always come in threes.

Three times Lavellan reaches out to him, and asks him to stop. She tells him that whatever he is facing, they can face it together. “Whatever you need, we can find together.” “Let me help you, Solas.” “I am walking the dinan’shiral with you.” And it’s like he’s under a curse to reject her, but every time he reminds her he loves her, because he wants to be saved. He wants to be with her. “I cannot do that.” He does love her. “I wish it could, vhenan.” He wants their love to triumph. “Ir abelas, vhenan. I cannot.” One more time, my heart. Ask me one more time. He is under a geas, but screaming as loud as it will let him: Save me! I love you!

(I do not think he is under a literal geas in the story. It is more of a psychological one, one he has put himself under to justify his wrongdoings to himself.)

It also is very fitting that the rule of three is what it takes to stop him: Mythal, Rook, and Lavellan. Past, present, and future. Though it was Lavellan who found the first statue which kicked off the quest, the spark of hope that he could be saved still.

It also appears that Solas reaches out to Lavellan three times on his own. He orchestrates a meeting in Crossroads to explain. He visits her in dreams, though from an endless distance. He sends her a letter, reaffirming his love for her and telling her he wanted to be with her, and that his feelings will never change.

So the fourth time she reaches out, after the (metaphorical) curse has been lifted, there is no rejection. She’s won. He only offers a warning. She must choose him freely and with full knowledge of what is to come. She does. They perform a wedding ceremony of their own making and share a bloody kiss. Peak cinema.

It’s a darker fairytale, where the heroine falls for the prince, the monster, and the evil sorcerer all in one. And she wins. She gets everything she wants.

I’m just very passionate about fairytales. I wrote many a paper on them in college. Nothing pleases me more than a good retelling that captures the essence of what fairytales are truly about.

I think too many critics are trying to view Solas and Lavellan’s romance through the lens of a real life, modern day relationship. But fairytales are the realm of allegory, not reality.

We are in the realm of the mythic. Here be gods and monsters, princes and evil sorcerers. And Solas is all of those things. Lavellan is the heroine of all time who ends the story having saved the world (again), and is now ascending to godhood (there is an Andraste and the Maker parallel here, I swear), and she’s rescued her true love to top it all off.

I see a modern trend of no longer giving heroines love stories, and I dislike it. Because love stories in fiction are rarely ever about just finding a man. It’s about accepting the whole of yourself. I think of the heroine’s journey. The reconciliation with the masculine and the darker aspects of yourself. Women are told they must always be good. Make the right choices. Nah, let her fall in love with the villain and be selfish. Let her make out with her monster covered in blood as a treat.

I think monster romance has become so popular lately because, subconsciously, women feel like there is a monster inside of themselves that they have to hide from the world, lest you be judged for being imperfect, ugly, monstrous. Monster, and by extension villain, romance lets you fall in love with the dark other as the ultimate form of self-acceptance. (This is not an experience exclusive to women by any means, but I can only speak to my personal experience as one.)

Our heroine didn’t make the polite, respectable choice. She fell for the monster, the villain, and chose herself in the end. She didn’t choose a man. She wasn’t chasing after him, begging him to love her, in the hope of getting him back. She was pursuing him in her quest to stop him in order to save the world. She was just also in love with him and hoped he could be saved. Hope is a powerful thing, but this age has made people cynical. Let her have a little hope. Sometimes it’s all we have.

I do believe she would have killed him if she had to. And he would have killed her if given absolutely no other choice, or perhaps let her kill him for an extra layer of angst. Interestingly, I think Lavellan would have been able to live with that choice, but I don’t think Solas would have been able to. It would have destroyed him, fully twisted him into Pride, and he would have lost any hope of being able to “come back.”

I am fascinated by the fact that Lavellan and Solas are quintessential hero archetypes. The type that will not sacrifice the fate of world for their love, but will sacrifice their love for the world and for the “greater good”—as they see it. Only Solas has twisted himself into the villain. He’s a dark mirror of the hero. He is the hero, reversed. Thus, he dooms the world in attempting to save it. Repeatedly. (“He’s a tragic deuteragonist!” I scream, as they drag me away.)

Lavellan is the upright hero. She will save the day, or die trying. She will sacrifice her love, which is why I think it’s incorrect to say she gave everything up for him. She says in her second conversation with Rook that she would not join him in his Fade Prison. “To give up the world for him? No. We’ve got to save it first.” She will not give up everything for him. She will not doom the world to be with him. But after the world is saved… well, then. That’s a different story. She wants to be with him. And together, they can find balance.

They were both made and shaped into figureheads. Weapons. Legends. A hero and a villain. They’ve had the fate of the world on their shoulders multiple times over. There *is* no place for them in this world. But in another world... they can find their true selves away from well-meant misunderstanding and mindless worship. 

This is an apotheosis of Lavellan’s own choosing. I will not be your Herald. I will be a god on my own terms.

Solas never saw Lavellan as anyone other than who she is. He knew she was not the Herald, and he never treated her as such. He was uniquely able to understand her plight. He too had been given a title once and was later consumed by it. Dread Wolf.

Where else can two people like them go? Especially where they can be together in peace?

However, I don’t see this as the end for them. They are just onto the next adventure, this time together. And they’ll be unstoppable. The narrative had to make them exit stage left. No enemy could possibly win against them. They are too powerful. Lavellan is stronger than the narrative itself. The narrative had doomed her love, and she went: “No, I don’t accept that. I will save the world, win my prince/monster/villain, and now we’re leaving. Thanks!”

And Solas? We saw how devoted he was to Mythal. But Mythal never chose him. She twisted him into Pride. Used him as a weapon… and he destroyed the world for her. Twice. And was trying for a third. Just imagine what he could accomplish now with Lavellan, who chose him. Who encouraged him to be Wisdom. Who does not stand above him, as his goddess—but beside him, as his wife. Yeah, the writers had to put them in the Fade Prison. Their combined power was just too strong.

And I don’t believe for a minute they’ll be trapped in that regret prison forever. Solas tells us how to escape, and now he is in the right state of mind to accomplish it. Solas will do his court-ordered therapy. Lavellan will get a much needed vacation in dream land… then they’re going to heal the blight with the power of love. Or something. They just needed to be nerfed long enough for BioWare to squeeze a few more games out of the franchise. Then Solas and Lavellan will be set free to find a secret third option for the Veil, remove it safely, and Sandal’s prophecy will finally come true: “One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.”

This is not to say I don’t have plenty of critiques for how Solas and Lavellan’s romance was written and concluded in Veilguard. But I think it was always going to be disappointing in some regards because it’s very difficult to conclude your heroine’s story from a new hero’s point of view in a new hero’s story. She will lack the agency she needs in this kind of tale because she has been relegated to a minor NPC, and she (and we) can hardly get a peak into Solas’s state of mind. How I wish we could have asked him endless insightful questions, instead of just pointing fingers. How I wish while Rook was in the prison, we could have controlled our Inquisitor for a quest or two and had a private conversation with Solas. The writing overall was a huge letdown for me. But I still love my once doomed couple, now together forever. I always will. 

[snakeflower-cottage]

Witches and the Genius Loci: Folkloric Methods of Contact and Communion

The witches of old knew how to speak with the land. They didn’t just live in the wild, they wove themselves into its fabric, calling on the hidden ones in the earth, water, and wind. How did they do it? The answers would be as varied as the forests and fields they walked. But there are patterns we can see in all of them. Here are some of the ways I have discovered witches (in European folklore) reached out to the spirits of the land.

𖤐 Offerings at Spirit Dwellings

A witch rarely arrived empty-handed. Milk poured at the base of an ancient tree, ale left at the mouth of a cave, a bit of bread crumbled into a stream, these were ways to invite the unseen to draw near. Scottish folklore describes the gruagach, a guardian spirit, receiving libations of milk at stones and riverbanks (Campbell, Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, 1900). In Belgium and the Netherlands, witches were accused of offering beer and bread to the duivel, a local spirit often conflated with the Devil in later Christianized accounts (De Blécourt, Het Duivelspact, 1993).

𖤐 By Bone and Blood

In Scandinavian folklore, the practice of bjarmic magic involved burying bones to anchor spirits to the land, while Livonian witches were said to whisper their desires into a skull before placing it in the earth (Rääbis, Eesti Rahvapärimus ja Nõiakunst, 1926). In the 17th-century Scottish witch trials, accused witches described sealing pacts with land spirits by pricking their fingers and pressing the blood into soil or stone (Pitcairn, Ancient Criminal Trials in Scotland, 1833).

𖤐 Spirit-Flight and Dreamwalking

Witches didn’t always wait for spirits to come to them. Many traveled in spectral form, slipping into trance states with the help of charms or salves to reach spirits. The Trollenfrauen of German folklore and the Heks of Scandinavian folklore were said to enter deep sleep while holding a stone, allowing them to fly in spirit to the places where land spirits dwelled (Müller, Sagen aus Westfalen, 1857). In 17th-century witch trials from Flanders, accused witches claimed to lie still in darkness, feeling themselves lifted away to converse with spirits at crossroads and hollow hills (Proces tegen Tanneken Sconincx, 1606).

𖤐 Bone Charms & Rattles

A witch’s tools were often made from the dead. Flemish folklore mentions witches carrying duivelsfluitjes—small bone whistles said to call spirits when blown at twilight (De Meyer, Volksverhalen uit Vlaanderen, 1970). The bohnenzauber of Germanic folklore involved threading small bones together to create a rattling charm that stirred spirits of the wild (Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, 1835).

𖤐 Turning Up the Soil

Some witches were accused of whispering into the ground, digging their fingers into the soil as they spoke. In Swedish folk belief, jordfastan involved burying a charm/offering (usually a piece of cloth or a coin) under a tree to call on spirits of the land (Hylten-Cavallius, Wärend och Wirdarne, 1863). Scottish trial records mention witches placing coal or burned bones in the earth as a form of spirit-binding magic (Pitcairn, Ancient Criminal Trials in Scotland, 1833).

𖤐 Skin-Turning and Familiars

In Breton folklore, witches who wished to meet the hidden spirits of the woods were said to transform into black dogs or other beasts before travelling into the deep forest (Sébillot, Le Folklore de la Bretagne, 1904). In Scotland, it was believed that witches who took the form of hares or crows could cross into the spirit world more easily (Popular Tales of the West Highlands, Campbell, 1860).

𖤐 Betwixt Earth and Water

The land’s voice is loudest in the places where two worlds meet. Marshes, riverbanks, and tidal flats; these places belonged to neither land nor water, making them perfect for spirit-calling (my favourite method). In English and Welsh folklore, witches were said to stand barefoot in water at night, calling on spirits with secret words (Henderson, Folklore of the Northern Counties of England, 1866). In Estonia, it was believed that standing in a bog at sunset allowed one to hear the voices of spirits whispering in the wind (Loorits, Eesti Rahvausund, 1949).

Seeking out the spirits of the land is integral to building a foundational practice in witchcraft and connecting to your landscape. It is these spirits that grant you access to the powers of the land that you require to make your works work.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Home || Ares ||

A/n: Part 2 of please wake up, got asked to write it so I did.

Ares stood at the threshold of the Underworld, the weight of his grief pressing heavily upon him. The loss of his beloved had carved a void within him, a chasm that only your presence could fill. Determined to defy the boundaries between life and death, he resolved to journey into Hades’ realm to reclaim your soul.

The River Styx loomed before him, its dark waters whispering ancient secrets. Charon, the ferryman, regarded Ares with hollow eyes, recognizing the god but unmoved by his divine stature. Ares extended a gold coin, an offering for passage, which Charon accepted with a silent nod. The boat ride was eerily silent, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of water against the vessel and the distant wails of lost souls.

Upon reaching the shores of the Underworld, Ares was met by Cerberus, the formidable three-headed guardian. The beast growled, each head fixated on the intruder. Drawing upon his authority as the God of War, Ares met Cerberus’s gaze unflinchingly, projecting dominance. Recognizing the god’s power, the creature stepped aside, allowing him passage. 

Navigating the shadowed corridors, Ares finally stood before the throne of Hades and Persephone. The Lord of the Dead observed him with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Ares,” Hades intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber, “what brings you to my domain unbidden?”  

Ares’s voice, usually commanding, now held a note of desperation. “I come to retrieve the soul of my beloved. She was taken from the mortal realm unjustly, and I seek to return her to the world of the living.” 

Persephone’s gaze softened with empathy, but Hades remained stoic. “You know the laws, Ares. The dead are not to return to the realm of the living. To do so would disrupt the natural order.” 

Undeterred, Ares stepped forward. “I am willing to face any trial, pay any price. Please, grant me this boon.”

Hades regarded him silently for a moment before speaking. “Very well. If you can retrieve her soul from the depths of Tartarus without the use of your divine powers, she may return with you. But know this: should you fail, you will remain here for eternity.”

Without hesitation, Ares agreed. Stripped of his godly abilities, he ventured into Tartarus, the prison of the damned. The journey was treacherous, with tormented souls reaching out, trying to drag him into their eternal suffering. Yet, his love for you fueled his resolve, guiding him through the darkness. 

After what felt like an eternity, he found you, your spirit dimmed but still recognizable. With gentle words and a promise of reunion, he led you back through the perilous path, overcoming obstacles through sheer will and determination.

Emerging from Tartarus, Ares presented her soul to Hades. The god nodded, honoring his word. Persephone, moved by their devotion, placed a hand over the soul, restoring its vitality. “May your love be a beacon,” she whispered, “guiding others through the darkest of times.”   

With gratitude, Ares departed the Underworld, his beloved’s soul cradled close to his heart, ready to restore you to the realm of the living and cherish the renewed bond for all eternity.

As Ares emerged from the Underworld, the air of the mortal realm felt starkly different—lighter, almost foreign after the suffocating darkness of Hades’ domain. He cradled your soul carefully, feeling its warmth, its flickering pulse of life that still clung to existence. Now came the most delicate part of his journey—returning you to your body.

He wasted no time. With a powerful step, he transported you both to the halls where you had fallen. The place was eerily still, abandoned since the moment of your death. The ground was stained with dried blood, and the scent of war lingered. But Ares had no mind for the remnants of what happened—his focus was solely on you.

Your body lay undisturbed where he had left it, preserved by his divine influence, unwilling to let nature take you from him. He knelt beside you, gently lowering your soul to hover above your still form.

“I’ve come back for you,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “You are not meant for the Underworld, not yet. I will not allow it.”

Drawing on the last remnants of power he had held in reserve, he pressed his hands against your chest, channeling the essence of your soul back into your body. A golden glow surrounded them, crackling like lightning as he willed you to return.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

A breath.

Your chest rose in a sharp, sudden inhale, your lips parting as air rushed into your lungs. Color flooded back into your cheeks, your fingers twitching before curling into fists.

Ares felt his heart lurch. “Come back to me,” he whispered.

Your eyelids fluttered, and then—your eyes, confused and dazed, met his.

“Ares?” Your voice was hoarse, disbelieving.

Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave. He gathered you into his arms, crushing you against his chest as if he could never let go again. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath uneven as he clung to you

“You died,” he choked, pressing his forehead to yours. “I—I held you as you slipped away. But I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t.”

Your hands, still weak, found his face, tracing the sharp lines, the warmth of his skin. “You… You went to the Underworld for me?”

“I would tear down the heavens and the earth for you,” he admitted, voice raw. “Nothing—not even Hades himself—could keep me from bringing you back.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning into him, as if grounding yourself. “I—I saw the Underworld. I thought… I thought I was lost forever.”

“Never,” Ares vowed. “You are mine, and I will never let you be taken from me again.”

A soft laugh bubbled from your lips, still weak but filled with life. “I think Persephone might have something to say about that.”

Ares smirked, pressing a fierce, reverent kiss to your forehead. “Let her try.”

Then, gently, he helped you sit up, his arms steady around you. “Come,” he murmured. “We’re going home.”

And as he lifted you into his arms, the battlefield now nothing more than a distant memory, he knew one truth—he had defied fate itself for you. And he would do it again.

As many times as it took.

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₅

This is Chapter 5 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 9.4k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 5

There, you stood—pressed shoulder to shoulder with the others, breaths rising in sharp, white plumes against the biting afternoon chill—before the gate's jagged maw of grim lattice-splintered wood and rusted iron groaned opened and shivered under the restless force stirring beyond it. The air hung heavy, laced with the faint tang of salt and the low, guttural hum of something lurking—something impatient—its presence so poised to break free.

Today, Gobber declared this trial a test of teamwork—a word that sank over you all with a groan—like the weight of an ancestral feud, pressing hard against your clashing spirits. The group had been cleaved into teams with all the subtlety of an axe splitting timber: the girls—you, Astrid, and Ruffnut were together in one bristling trio.

While the boys were scattered into pairs, Hiccup tethered to Fishlegs in a match that sank the fragile plan you'd pieced together in your head like a ship crashing against sea rocks, leaving you clutching the water filled bucket in your hands as the only hope unraveled faster than you could knot them.

"Trust him," you told yourself.

You'd caught Hiccup's eye earlier, just as you all emerged from the mist before the first call of crying seagulls, when you'd dragged him aside before the arenas mouth—your voice low, urgent, spilling the unease that had gnawed at you since Toothless's luminous gaze had softened under your trembling hand.

"We can't hurt this dragon, Hiccup—what do we do?" you'd asked, voice spilling out in a breathless surge as your fingers tightened around his sleeve, the wool coarse and fraying under your grasp. 

"It's not what they think—we've seen it now, you showed me. What if it's like Toothless—scared, trapped, just clawing for a way out?" The wind keened through the arenas cage, carrying the faint musk of the all the beast's inside, their low, trembling growl echoing your own racing pulse.

His green eyes had flickered, wide and searching, tracing your face as if mapping a path through your worry, and he'd leaned in close so no one else could listen—too close, his breath warm against your cheek—his voice a conspiratorial murmur that sent a shiver racing down your spine despite the morning's bite. 

"I've got something," he'd said, his tone threaded with that reckless spark as he showed the slimy eel wrapped around his shoulder under his gilet, "just wait for it—trust me, okay?" 

You had gone to question it but then, the others' footsteps crunched nearer, their voices a dull hum against the archway of the arena, he'd dipped lower, looking at you with a glint in his eye and whispered, "Stick with me." A quiet vow before Gobber's bellow split the air and shattered the moment.

Gobber's gruff decree had torn you from Hiccup's side, planting you firmly with Astrid and Ruffnut, and planting buckets in your arms. So, now, that promise felt like a fraying lifeline as you stood in the arena's clouded ring beside Ruffnut, the gate's teeth to the Zippleback's cage looming overhead wide open after the explosion, the air already thickening with the acrid sting of smoke that poured from the twin-headed dragon's unseen jaws—its presence a rumble you felt more than heard, a low tremor that vibrated through the chains above you.

"Now remember, a wet dragon head, can't light its fire," Gobber went on. "The hideous Zippleback is extra tricky. One head breathes gas, the other head lights it. Your job is to know which is which."

The air thrummed with unease, the faint clanks of their buckets and the low mutter of the others underscoring the weight of what awaited made you lift your head higher as you prepared—focused. The smoke hit you first, a choking, hideous shroud that billowed from the Zippleback's unseen jaws and swallowed you whole, its acrid bite clawing at your throat as you stumbled forward, the arena's stone floor gritty beneath your boots, every instinct screaming to hold your ground even as the haze stung your eyes and blurred the world into a gray-green, suffocating veil. 

You trusted Hiccups plan through and through—but even so, you both tread on an edge different from Toothless right now. This was no fleeting moment of cove-bound wonder, no gentle dragon sniffing fish from your palm, no sweet gentle Toothless awaiting head pats no—this was Berk's brutal ring, and lives teetering on the edge of those twin heads' mercy.

So, the weight of Gobber's barked orders went rattling through your mind: find the right head, douse it with water, back off, then track down Hiccup before the beast could bite you, water wouldn't hurt it. 

Now, pressed back-to-back with Astrid and Ruffnut, their shoulders a tense knot against yours, you squinted into the murk, your breath shallow and ragged, the bucket in your grip strained yet ready to splash at whatever crawled forward.

The dragon was out there, lurking, its presence sinister pulsing through the haze, and the sounds it made slithered through the smoke from two directions at once, a disorienting chorus that toyed with your senses and set your nerves alight. From your left came a low, guttural rasp, a hiss that scraped the air like a blade on stone, rising and falling as if the gas head were tasting the arena's edges, probing for weakness. 

From your right, sharper and erratic, a series of staccato clicks and faint, sparking pops crackled—you listened—marking the spark head's restless prowl, its rhythm jagged and unpredictable, as though it danced with you guys, waiting to ignite the chaos. 

"You hear that?" Astrid muttered at your side, her voice taut but steady, cutting through the murk as she shifted her weight, bucket haft creaking in her grip, her breath a controlled huff against the smoke's assault. You nodded, barely—a quick jerk of your chin—your eyes watering from the sting as you twisted toward the rasping hiss, then back to the sparking pops that took turns moving, the twin echoes bouncing off the arena's walls until they seemed to coil around you, a noose of sound tightening with every step the Zippleback didn't yet take. 

"It's everywhere," Ruffnut grumbled behind you, her tone half-annoyed, half-thrilled, her braid brushing your shoulder as she craned her neck, "like it's laughing at us—creepy, right?" And it was, that lurking duet of menace—two heads, two threats, weaving through the smoke—leaving you clutching the bucket tighter, your pulse hammering as you waited for Hiccup's unseen signal, the dragon's unseen shapes still holding their strike.

"There!" Snotlout's shout pierced the air, sharp and sudden, yanking your head toward the sound as it ricocheted off the arena's walls, and you spun on your heel, boots skidding the smooth yet gritty stone, squinting through the haze to catch a glimpse of his stocky silhouette—only to realize, too late, that the idiot had zeroed in on the wrong target. 

Before you could brace yourself, a frigid wave crashed over you, drenching you head to toe as Snotlout and Tuffnut, in a spectacular display of misfired teamwork, hurled their buckets' contents straight at you, Astrid, and Ruffnut, the water sluicing down your face and soaking your clothes, its icy bite snatching the breath from your lungs as you stood there, dripping, caught between shock and a flicker of grim annoyance at their sheer stupidity. 

"Hey!" Ruffnut bellowed beside you, her voice a raw snarl of outrage as she shook water from her braids like a sodden dog, her fists clenched tight, "It's us, you idiots!" 

Tuffnut's cackle cut through the murk, high and unhinged, his lanky frame doubling over as he jabbed a finger at the three of you, water still glistening on his knuckles. 

"Your butts are getting bigger—we thought you were a dragon!" he crowed, his grin wide and wicked, and Snotlout joined in, his guffaw rumbling until it snagged on a cough, his dark eyes locking onto Astrid's with a nervous flicker. 

"Not that there's anything wrong with a dragonesque figure—" he started, his voice pitching up in a clumsy backpedal, but Astrid's fist was faster, slamming square into his jaw with a crack that echoed over the Zippleback's distant hiss, sending him staggering back, clutching his face as his bravado crumpled.

Ruffnut didn't hesitate either, her own retaliation swift and messy—she snatched her still-full bucket and heaved it at Tuffnuts' face, the water arcing through the air in a glittering spray before it slammed into his head, dousing him as he yelped and flailed, laughter dying in his throat. 

"Why'd you just waste your water?" you snapped at her, annoyance flaring hot in your chest as you wiped a soaked strand of hair from your eyes, the bucket in your own grip feeling heavier now, its sloshing weight a lifeline you couldn't afford to lose—but her retort was cut short, swallowed by a sudden, guttural roar as the Zippleback struck, its claws snagging Tuffnut in a blur of scales and smoke, yanking him into the clouds unseen with a startled shout that pierced the haze and jolted you upright, every nerve snapping taut. 

You froze for a heartbeat, alert, scanning the shifting clouds until your eyes locked onto Hiccup's lean frame in the distance—his auburn hair a faint beacon through the murk—and you edged toward him, stepping away from Astrid and Ruffnut just in time as the dragon's tail lashed out, a whip of muscle and menace that caught them both off-guard, knocking them sprawling down with twin grunts of surprise, their figures scrambling upright as they all bolted in opposite directions, the arena erupting into a frantic tangle of shouts and running feet.

Another plume of smoke rolled over you then before you could sneak to Hiccups side, thick and blinding, severing you from the others as it coiled around your frame like a living snare, and your breath shallowed, rasping in your chest as the world shrank to a gray-green void. 

The Zippleback's twin echoes—hiss and spark—circling tighter, closer, until you forced your eyes shut for a fleeting second, willing the panic to ebb, exhaling slow and deliberate as your fingers tightened around the bucket's handle, its cold metal grounding you in the chaos.

When you opened them, the smoke parted just enough, and there it was—one of the beast's heads looming before you, its scales glinting brilliant green, yellow and red in the weak light, its jaws parted to reveal the spark head, embers flickering at the edges of its maw like tiny, malevolent stars—and you didn't hesitate, hurling the water from your bucket in a desperate arc, the splash catching half its face, dousing the sparks on one side with a hiss of steam. 

But the dragon recoiled, its head jerking back with a snarl, and before you could retreat, it lunged, its snout slamming into your chest with a force that ripped a yelp from your throat and sent you crashing to the ground hard, the bucket tumbling from your grip as pain flared sharp and bright across your ribs, the hard, wet stone cold and unyielding beneath you.

Gobber's voice boomed through the haze then, raw and urgent—"Get up, lass!"—his shout slicing through the din as your name rang out from several directions, and you scrambled to your feet, lungs burning, just in time to see the spark head swivel away from you, its attention snagged by Hiccup's sudden movement with its other head, the gas head now rearing into view beside it, twin threats converging as the beast's growl deepened into a rumble that shook you. 

Hiccup fumbled with his own bucket, his lanky frame darting to one side as he flung the water upwards—missing poorly, the splash missed the spark head entirely, and the dragon screeched—a furious, guttural sound that rattled your skull—before lunging at him, jaws snapping shut inches from his arm as he stumbled back, barely dodging the strike.

"Hiccup!" you shouted, your voice cracking with panic, mirroring Gobber's own bellowed cry—"Hiccup, move yer scrawny arse!"—as you staggered forward, heart hammering, the smoke swirling clearer now, the Zippleback's heads weaving through the haze, poised for another strike as this trial seemed to teeter on the edge of disaster.

You and Gobber bolted toward Hiccup, your boots pounding in unison from different directions, a frantic rhythm driven by the raw edge of fear that still clung to your ribs from the Zippleback's lunge, the smoke parting in ragged wisps around you as Gobber's heavy gait thundered beside yours, his hammer-hand glinting in the dim light—until you both skidded to a halt, frozen mid-stride, breath snagging in your throat as something unfolded that defied every scrap of Viking instinct you'd ever forged in Berk's brutal crucible. 

There, in the transparent swirling haze that began to lift, Hiccup rose slowly—slight, scrawny Hiccup, the boy who'd tripped over his own feet dodging—well, everything—the Gronckle, messing up with the Deadly Nadder and unable to slay the unholy offspring of lightning and death—facing down the Hideous Zippleback with a fire in his stance you'd never seen.

His hands thrust out before him like a shield, and the beast, that twin-headed terror of gas and spark, cowered—its massive heads ducking inward toward its coiled body, scales trembling as it let out a piercing screech, not of rage but of fear, a whimpering, guttural sound that shivered through the arena and turned your blood cold. This wasn't the Hiccup you knew, not the one who'd fumbled buckets and dodged tails, but something else entirely, something untamed and sure.

His hands still extended as he took a step forward, voice ringing out sharp and defiant—"Back! Back—back!"—and the Zippleback obeyed, its heads recoiling with every barked command, screeching again, high and terrified, their slit eyes squinting shut as they shuffled backward, claws scraping the stone in a reluctant retreat toward the gaping maw of their cage, tails lashing feebly against the ground. 

"Now, don't you make me tell you again!" Hiccup bellowed, his voice cracking with a fierce edge that echoed off the arena's walls. 

The corners of your mouth twitched upwards as the weight of his secret he'd spilled to you was working, and the beast flinched, its massive frame shrinking as he pressed on, unrelenting. 

"Yeah! That's right! Back into your cage—now, think about what you've done," he said, his tone dropping to a stern finality as he strode forward, slamming the gate shut with a clang that rang out, the Zippleback vanishing into the corner of its prison, its whimpers fading into a stunned, hollow quiet that swallowed the arena whole.

The world held its breath then, an eerie stillness settling over the ring as you stood there, mouth agape, the empty bucket dangling forgotten in your slack grip, your eyes locked on Hiccup's back—his narrow shoulders squared, his auburn hair wild from the scuffle—while the others mirrored you, statues carved from shock.

Astrid's arms limp at her side, her sharp gaze wide and unblinking; Ruffnut standing wide-side-eyed, her braid askew, staring as if Thor himself had descended; Snotlout clutching his bruised jaw, his bravado drowned in disbelief; Tuffnut, still half-tangled from the dragon's snatch, gaping mutely; and Gobber, his hammer-hand frozen mid-air, his weathered face slack with something between pride and bewilderment. 

Hiccup turned then, spinning on his heel to face you all, and his green eyes widened, flickering with a sudden, awkward panic as they swept over the sea of stunned faces, the weight of what he'd done crashing over him like a rogue wave, and the silence stretched taut, unbroken until hulking, trembling Fishlegs—dropped his bucket with a dull thud, the clatter slicing through the hush as water spilled around his boots, his jaw hanging loose in astonishment.

Hiccup shifted on his feet, his hands wiping his hard work on his fur gilet before flapping uselessly at his sides, caught in the spotlight of your collective stares.

"Okay, so—are we done?" he said, his voice climbing an octave as he waved his arms in a flailing arc, trying to shrug off the moment like it was just another botched training drill. 

"'Cause I've got some things to do, uh—yep, I'll see you tomorrow!" And with that, he bolted, his lanky frame darting for the arena's exit.

Boots kicking up dust as he fled the weight of your eyes, leaving you all rooted there, watching his retreat until he vanished beyond the gate—only for every head to swivel back in unison, a slow, synchronized turn toward the Zippleback's cage, its iron doors glinting dully with a subdued rustle within.

The silence stretched out a beat longer, teetering on the edge of awkward, until Tuffnut's voice sliced through—half croak, half cackle, tinged with awe and pure, unfiltered bewilderment. "What in Thor's mighty sweaty armpits did I just come to witness with my own two eyeballs?" he hollered, his pitch lurching upward as if he'd accidentally swallowed a live eel. 

The arena jolted back to life like a beehive kicked awake with Gobbers rambling and a chaotic hum swelling after Tuffnut's bleary outburst still dangling in the air like a half-cooked riddle. Astrid's furious muttering spilled out in a garbled snarl, something between a war cry and a tongue-twisted curse, while Snotlout pawed at his jaw, scowling as if the Zippleback had personally insulted his lineage. 

The cage rattled faintly in the corner, its twin heads whimpering—a pitiful, squeaky duet that almost made you feel sorry for the beast, if your own pulse weren't hammering too loud to care. The Nadder scar on your arm pulsed under its soggy bandage, a dull ache gnawing through the damp chill as your soaked clothes slapped against your thighs, heavy with the weight of the water spilled onto you.

Gobber's voice thundered across the ring, the blacksmith's bellow that could wake a coma-drunk yak, his heavy steps thudding closer like a storm rolling in. 

"Oi, lass! Now where are ye scamperin' off to so fast?" he roared, his tone a rough-hewn mix of indignation and that gruff, forge-hardened bluster that demanded you stay put—likely for a round of discipline ramblings and sharp jabs at Hiccup's latest stunt—the man had questions.

His stump clacked quickly against the arena ground, punctuating his march as he zeroed in on you edging toward the gate, your muddy fur boots slipping just enough to make your escape less than graceful.

You didn't slow, tossing back a brisk, "Need some air, Gobber—catch you later!"—your voice steady, a grin plastered on to cloak the frantic tug in your chest, the kind that screamed find him, now. You ducked through the gate, weaving past a splintered post as his gruff retort chased you—"Bah, ye're as bad as the lad, slippin' off like a greased eel!"—his words fading into the smoky haze, swallowed by the noises of the arena and the squelch. 

Your heart thumps a fierce tempo, out pacing even Gobber's bellowing boasts, fueled by an urgent need to find Hiccup—his wild, maddening genius still flickering in your thoughts, a puzzle you couldn't grasp. You'd hauled yourself toward his house, where he lingered.

The squat silhouette of your own home rises into view as if trying to tempt you inside and to your bed. Yet the urge to unraveling Hiccup's latest feat—overrides it, wet clothes or not. You'd agreed last night to meet him, and now your boots pivot, scraping the earth as you angle toward his place.

Approaching his door, the crisp afternoon air bites at your lungs, your breath puffing out in quick bursts. Then Hiccup strikes—darting from the side of his weathered house with the agility of a coiled spring. Auburn hair flops across his forehead as his boots skid on the hard-packed dirt, kicking up a faint haze of dust. 

His hands clamp around your wrists, firm yet surprisingly gentle and warm, cutting through the chill that had settled into your skin. You stagger back a half-step, a sharp bark of laughter slipping out before you can rein it in. 

"Hiccup, you'll be the death of me with these ambushes," you quip. His eyes flare with mischief, a swift, crooked smile tugging at his lips. 

"Come on, let's go see him—he's waiting," he says, voice low but humming with excitement. His grip eases, fingers lingering for a fleeting second before dropping away, already motioning you forward. 

You freeze mid-step, eyes locked on Hiccup's retreating figure as he rounds the weathered corner of his house, his lanky frame moving with that effortless, slightly reckless stride. You blink a few times with a sigh knowing well he was avoiding the topic, and now this—two worn sacks slumped against the wall come into view, their contents hinted at by the faint bulge of fish in one and the jumble of clothes and gear in the other. The sight jolts you, a mix of disbelief and exasperation bubbling up as you plant your hands on your hips, staring after him. 

"Are you just going to ignore the giant dragon in the room?" you call out in a nod to the absurdity. Your voice teeters between irritation and a reluctant chuckle, the words hanging in the crisp afternoon air like a challenge. You shift your weight, boots crunching faintly on the gravel-strewn path, waiting for him to turn. 

Hiccup pauses, one hand resting on the fish sack, and glances back over his shoulder. That grin—wide, unapologetic, and brimming with a smug pride—spreads across his face, catching the sunlight in a way that makes his freckles stand out like scattered embers. It's infuriatingly contagious. Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitches upward, a slow bloom of amusement breaking through the annoyance you'd tried to hold onto as your brow arched at him. 

He straightens, brushing a speck of dirt off his tunic with exaggerated nonchalance, and quirks an eyebrow of his own with a tilt of his shoulder. "What dragon?" he teases, voice lilting with mock innocence as he hoists the fish sack over his shoulder, the burlap rustling softly. 

The gleam in his green eyes dares you to press the point, but there's a warmth there too, a quiet thrill that pulls you in despite the chaos he drags behind him all the time. You shake your head, a huff of laughter escaping as you step forward to grab the second sack, the rough patches scratching against your palms.

It's lighter than expected—due to the soft bulk of spare clothes and a jumble of small tools clinking faintly inside. The weight of it settles into your arms, grounding you even as your mind races with the unspoken question—how does he do it? 

How does he weave madness and brilliance into something that feels so inevitable? Hiccup's already moving again, boots scuffing the dirt as he heads toward the open wood, and you follow, the faint tang of fish and leather mingling in the breeze, your smile lingering despite waiting.

"First the Night Fury, now the Zippleback—Hiccup, it's unreal what you're pulling off," you went on again.

He ducks his head, a flush creeping up his neck. He slings to adjust his own sack over his shoulder for better comfort, the sour whiff of fresh cod and salmon wafting as he nods toward the woods. You fall into step beside him, the path to Toothless' cove unrolling ahead an hour journey with the fresh pine-scented air cutting through the day's lingering dampness welcoming you again.

The village fades behind you—torchlight swallowed by the trees—and you can't hold the question back any longer. "That Zippleback in the arena," you say, glancing at him sidelong, "it was charging, heads snapping, and then it just—froze. What did you do? It was that fish?" 

Hiccup's stride falters for a half-step, then steadies, his mouth twitching into a faint, knowing smirk. "Yep, that eel," he says, voice quiet but carrying that undercurrent of pride he tries to bury. "Slipped it out of my gilet near them when it backed fully in the cage." He adjusts the sack again, eyes fixed ahead, but you catch the glint of satisfaction in them. 

You blink, boots scuffing the dirt as the words sink in. "An eel?" you repeat, incredulous. "You stopped a two-headed dragon with a fish?" The memory flares—the Zippleback's twin necks thrashing, gas hissing from one maw to the other, until Hiccup darted in.

"Not just any fish," he corrects, shooting you a quick look, sharp and earnest. "Dragons hate eels—panic at the sight of them. I figured it out with Toothless." He pauses, kicking a pebble that skitters down the path. 

"First time I brought one near him, he reared up, wings flailing, and nearly took off out the cove—if he could. Took me a minute to coax him down." His tone dips, heavy with the weight of trial and error. "Turns out—I was correct, it's not just him. That Zippleback proved it—instinct kicks in, and they're terrified." 

You let out a low whistle, the damp chill of the woods turning forest seeping through your tunic as you process it. "So, you've been testing this—watching Toothless, piecing it together—and then you walk into the arena with an eel up your sleeve—knowing it could go wrong?" Your voice rises, caught between admiration and disbelief. "Hiccup, that's either brilliant or mad—maybe both." 

He shrugs, but the flush deepens, creeping to his ears. "Had to try it sometime," he mutters, then adds, quieter, "Figured if it worked on Toothless, it'd work there. Didn't expect everyone to stare like I'd grown a second head." 

The path dips, roots jutting underfoot, and you steady yourself, the weight of his words settling in—how he's been unraveling the dragons' mysteries, one quiet discovery at a time, while Berk still sees him as the oddity. You couldn't be prouder of him.

Following the hour-and-a-half trek to reach the Night Fury. Toothless lay sleeping atop the smooth, weathered stone in the cove, his obsidian scales catching the rays of sun like shards of polished glass. The instant your boots scuff against the gravel, his coiled sleepy form stirs with a yawn and stretch. Claws clack lightly against the rock as he sways to get down, a fidgety dance of wings and tail, his bright emerald eyes darting with barely contained anticipation.

Then Hiccup lets the sack fall—a soft thud—and Toothless pounces, a low, rumbling chirr vibrating from his throat. The burlap splits under his eager swipes, fish tumbling in a glistening cascade across the stone, his snout nudging through the pile with an almost comical zeal. The quiet of the cove shatters, replaced by the lively chaos of his delight. 

A grin tugs at your lips as you watch him, his graceful—stumpy tail wagging like a pup's, little hops punctuating each snuffle through the scattered catch. The air fills with the briny tang of fish and the faint rustle of his wings as he flops onto his back, clutching a fat cod between his paws. 

He gnaws at it with a contented gurgle, those wide, gummy jaws working in a way that's equal parts absurd and endearing, a flicker of warmth blooming in your chest at the sight. The moment settles into a gentle rhythm for you three, the cove's jagged outlines softening as Toothless's playful energy threads a spark of delight through the warm afternoon glow.

And his fish-fueled delight had settled into a lazy sprawl across the cove's sand, his obsidian scales glinting like wet ink as he gnawed the last cod's tail, a contented gurgle rumbling from his throat while the briny tang of his feast hung thick in the air, mingling with the damp moss and faint freshwater bite drifting up from the pond below. 

You leaned back against the boulder, legs stretched out, the day's damp chill seeping through your tunic as your boots scuffed the gravel, a grin still tugging at your lips from watching him flop and hop through the scattered pile—his tail still swaying happily as his gummy jaws made short work of Hiccup's offering. 

Hiccup sat cross-legged beside you, the empty fish sack crumpled close to his feet, his green eyes bright with that quiet thrill he always carried after pulling off something mad—and he rummaged through the second sack, the one you'd hauled, pulling out a charred stick-pencil then twirling it between his fingers, a smirk curling his mouth as he glanced at the flat rock slab you lounged on.

"Watch this," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, like he was about to unveil another dragon-whispering trick, and he scooted forward, the stick scratching against the stone as he began to doodle—a quick, jagged outline of Toothless, all wings and tail fin and that big, goofy grin, the lines wobbly but unmistakable. 

You leaned in, elbow brushing his, a laugh bubbling up as he added a flourish to the tail, muttering, "Perfect likeness, right?"—but Toothless stirred then invading between you both, his emerald eyes narrowing as he sniffed the air, craning his neck to peer at the sketch, and with a huff that puffed dust across the rock, he swiped his claws over it, smudging the whole thing into a streaky blur before flopping back with a smug little chirr, like an art critic dismissing a novice's work. 

"He hates your art!" you crowed, doubling over as the laughter spilled out, raw and bright, the sound bouncing off the cove's jagged walls while Hiccup gaped, mock-offended, his free hand clutching his chest as if wounded. 

"Hates it? That's a masterpiece—he's just jealous he can't draw," he shot back, his grin widening, and he nudged the stick toward you, daring, "Go on, you try—bet you can't do better.

You snatched the stick from his hand, your fingers brushing his warm knuckles for a fleeting second that sent a flicker of heat up your arm, and you knelt beside the rock, the damp stone cool against your knees as you scratched out a lopsided Hiccup—big, wide eyes, a mop of messy hair, arms flapping like they had in the arena, all gangly and chaotic.

"There—that's you, mid-panic," you said, sitting back with a smirk.

And Hiccup leaned over, his shoulder pressing against yours as he squinted at it, a snort escaping him before he grabbed the stick back, his voice teasing, "Ohhh—that's how it is?" Hiccup said, his tone pitching up with mock indignation, his shoulders moving wildly with each word and his free hand clutching his chest as if struck.

You grinned wider, holding both your hands up in surrender. "That's how it is," you shot back, the words lilting with amusement, and Hiccup gaped, his smirk twitching as he shook his head, muttering, "That's rich—let me fix this," before snatching the stick tighter and leaning back in.

He scratched in a hasty version of you beside it—bucket in hand, hair wild from the trial, a little too many teeth in your grin—and you yelped, "That's not me, that's a troll!" lunging for the stick as he yanked it away, laughing, his eyes glinting with that infuriating, oblivious spark that always unraveled you.

Toothless perked up then, his ears twitching at the scuffle, and bounded over, his claws skidding on the rock as he nosed between you, his muddy paw slamming down right on the sketch, smearing your troll-self and Hiccup's flapping arms into a single, glorious mess of streaks and dirt.

"Hey—no fair!" you laughed, shoving softly at Toothless's snout as he crooned, delighted, his tail flicking mud across your tunic while Hiccup cackled, dropping the stick to clutch his sides, his laughter ringing high and wild through the cove. 

You lunged for it again, tackling Hiccup in a tangle of limbs and dirt-streaked grins, your hands grappling for the charred prize as he squirmed beneath you, still giggling, "You're worse than he is!"—and Toothless dove in, his gummy jaws nipping playfully at the stick, yanking it free and sending you both sprawling backward into a heap against the boulder, breathless and tangled, the dragon flopping across your legs with a triumphant chirr.

Mud smeared your cheek, Hiccup's tunic was a wreck, and Toothless's paw pinned the stick between you, his big green eyes gleaming with mischief as he smiled, tongue lolling. You caught Hiccup's gaze then, his face inches from yours, flushed and grinning, that spark flickering in his eyes—unaware, as always, of how it lit something deep in your chest—and you let the laughter fade into a quiet, shared breath, the moment settling warm and messy and perfect, Toothless's weight a steady anchor between you.

The cove's soft laughter and fishy soaked mess lingered in your mind long after you and Hiccup hauled yourselves back to Berk that evening, Toothless's smug chirr echoing in your ears as the golden dusk faded to a star-pricked night, and you couldn't help yourselves after that—couldn't shake the pull of it, the wild, reckless joy that had sparked between you three. 

The next day, you snuck off again, slipping through Berk's sleepy morning sprawl as the sun rose, the village's torches flickering like distant embers while you darted past the Great Hall's smoky hum and the bleating sheep on the hills, your boots crunching pine needles as you met Hiccup at the forest's edge, his grin flashing in the sun, a silent pact sealed with a nod toward the cove.

And then the next day, and the next, and the next—each trek a little bolder—until it wasn't just you covering for Hiccup's odd absences anymore, no, you were both covering for each other, weaving excuses like a pair of conspirators drunk on the thrill of it.

"She's just fetching flour. Pftt—" 

"He's tinkering with something useless—" 

The lies rolling off your tongues as easy as breathing, fooling Gobber's gruff squints and Astrid's sharp glances. It was madness, pure and intoxicating, that drove you both deeper into its claws—when nightfall covered Berk and the wind howled soft through the cliffs as everyone snored, you'd creep to Hiccup's house, tapping the door gently until his tousled head popped out.

Eyes glinting with that restless spark as he hissed, "It's ready?"

You'd both sneak into the forge to make the gear, your footsteps muffled on the muddy paths, the cold air biting your face as you slipped through the shadowed doorway, the familiar clang of tools and the faint reek of charred wood. It was freezing and the wind wrapped around you both like a cloak—but despite the shivers—the hearth of the fire you had prepared warmed you both to spring into action.

The glow painting his freckled face in sharp relief—his jaw set, his grin half-hidden as he muttered, "This is it; this'll work." 

And you'd nod, heart thudding with something fiercer than fear, something that thrilled you to your core. He'd had this idea brewing since the cove—a saddle for Toothless, a real one, leather and steel to bind him to the sky—and you dove in beside him, the forge's heat prickling your skin as you hauled strips of cured hide from Gobber's stash to hurry and get this done.

Your fingers tracing the rough grain—shaping it—while Hiccup hammered rivets, his strikes ringing out sharp and steady, the rhythm syncing with your pulse as you cut, molded, and stitched layers, threading sinew through punched holes with a needle that pricked your thumb more than once, a hiss escaping you each time.

He'd glance over, teasing, "You're bleeding for the cause now."

The saddle took shape under both your hands, a patchwork of necessity and genius as you took turns helping—Hiccup sketching quick adjustments on a scrap of parchment, then you holding the leather taut as he pounded it flat, the two of you shoulder to shoulder over the anvil, sweat beading on your brow as the fire roared, casting long shadows that danced across the forge's cluttered walls. 

You'd pass him tools without a word—tongs, hammer, awl—your movements fluid, instinctive, like you'd been forging together since the day you were born, and he'd mutter thanks under his breath, his voice soft but alive with that relentless drive, "Needs a strap here—see? For balance," while you'd nod, tugging a length of leather from a coil, testing its give first, your fingers brushing his again as you handed it over.

The contact brief but electric, stoking that ember in your chest you couldn't name—but it kept on growing. One night, as the hearth flickered low, he held up the half-finished frame—crude steel rings in the straps curved perfect to fit Toothless's back, leather pads stitched rough but firm and soft for the night fury—and you both grinned, wide and wild, the exhaustion forgotten in the glow of it. You both had finished it in just two nights together.

Hiccup's laugh spilling out as he said, "Imagine Gobber's face if he saw this," and you shot back, "He'd think we've lost it—two lunatics building dragon gear," the shared madness binding you tighter than the sinew in your hands.

When the time came to test it, he hauled the saddle to the cove, the leather creaking in his arms with you lugging some fish, both of you breathless with anticipation as Toothless perked up from his perch, his emerald eyes glinting curious in the dark. The giant baby didn't reject it—not a snarl or a flinch—only made Hiccup chase him around.

He'd finally settled down—tilting his head, sniffing the contraption as Hiccup adjusted it, his hands steady but gentle, cooing, "Easy, bud—let's see how this feels," while you held the straps aloft, your fingers brushing Toothless's scales as you buckled them tight, the dragon's warmth seeping into your palms. 

"How cute. . ." you murmured, voice a soft hush as your fingers glided over the smooth, warm scales crowning Toothless's head to his nose, their faint stippling sparking a memory of Hiccup's freckles—those familiar, sun-dusted flecks that scattered across Hiccups face. 

The dragon leaned into your touch, a low, contented rumble thrumming beneath your palm, his warmth seeping through craving the quiet bond you offered as he put his head on your lap purring in his way.

"It looks like he's got freckles like you, Hiccup—right here on his nose. How cute," you repeated, a smile tugging at your lips as you glanced up, the words slipping out before you could catch them. 

Hiccup's head tilted, a playful smirk curling his mouth. "You think my freckles are cute?" he teased, his green eyes glinting with mischief, the light catching the scatter of dots across his nose and cheeks in that same moment. 

Heat flooded your cheeks, a fierce blush blooming as you ducked your head, pressing your face against Toothless's warm, leathery neck to shield your fluster—making the dragon look at you with beady knowing eyes.

"You know what I mean," you mumbled, voice muffled against the dragon's scales, your heart tripping over itself in the quiet. 

Hiccup, oblivious to the flush you hid, let out a light laugh, the sound bright and unguarded. "I'm just messing with you," he said, waving a hand dismissively, his grin lingering as he turned to adjust a strap on Toothless's saddle. The moment slipped past him, but the air still thrummed with the echo of your unspoken flicker he hadn't yet caught, and something hovering just beyond his reach.

When Hiccup was done, Toothless shifted, playful—waiting, then bounding back with a chirr, wings flapping once as he tested the weight, and Hiccup laughed, "He's showing off now!"

And sure enough, Toothless pranced, a goofy hop-step that sent mud flying, his tail smacking your leg as he spun, nosing Hiccup's chest like a kid demanding praise. You stepped back, grinning, "He loves it—look at him strut."

Hiccup shot you that lopsided smile, mud-streaked and glowing, "Told you it'd work," his voice soft but sure, and you nodded. The cove's mist curling around you three as Toothless flopped beside you.

That whole day after that unfurled in the cove like a jumping fish in the water, the sun climbing high as you stood rooted on the gravelly shore, your boots sinking into the damp earth, watching—and panicking—while Hiccup threw himself into the sky atop Toothless over and over, the saddle's leather creaking under his weight, the straps you'd knotted tight holding perfectly. 

The first flight started with a whoop—Hiccup's voice ringing out sharp and wild, "Here we go, bud!"

As Toothless launched, wings snapping wide, the rush of wind tugging at your hair while you shielded your eyes against the sun's glare, heart lurching into your throat as they soared upward, a black streak against the endless blue. But the climb faltered fast—Toothless wobbled, Hiccup's hands fumbling at the tail straps, and they plummeted, a graceless spiral that ended with a splash in the cove's pond, water erupting in a glittering arc.

You yelped, "Hiccup!"—only for his head to bob up, drenched and grinning, waving off your worry with a sodden, "I'm fine—fine!" while Toothless paddled beside him, crooning annoyed with a roll of his eyes.

He didn't stop—climbed right back on, soaked, water dripping, and tried again, the saddle slick with pond muck as Toothless shook himself dry, spraying you both with a flick of his wings before leaping skyward once more, Hiccup's laugh trailing behind like a comet's tail. 

The second fall came quicker—mid-turn, the fin snagged, and down they went, another splash swallowing them as you paced the shore, hands clenched, muttering, "Gods, he's going to drown himself." 

While the third had you shouting, "Slow down!" as they veered too sharp, clipping a pine before crashing into the shallows, Hiccup's lanky frame tumbling free with a grunt, Toothless flopping beside him, tail thrashing waves that soaked your boots as you waded in, hauling him up by the arm, his grin unshakeable even as you snapped, "You're pushing it!"

He just laughed, breathless, "Almost had it that time—did you see?"—and you shoved him with a sigh and a hand rubbing down your face, exasperation warring with the warmth his reckless spark always stirred in you, his wet hair plastered to his forehead making him look wilder, impossibly alive.

The fourth fall was a mess—Toothless overshot, wings flaring too late, and they both belly-flopped hard—Hiccup sinking face first, unmoving from the pain—while water exploded around them as you winced from the sound of the slap.

The fifth following fast when Hiccup leaned too far, the saddle tilting, sending him skidding across the pond's surface like a skipped stone before sinking with a gurgle, Toothless's head popping up first, then Hiccup's, coughing but still grinning like a fool as he slogged to shore, the dragon paddling behind with a playful chirr.

And there you stood, a statue carved from the moment—face blank, eyes shut, spine rigid, one arm hanging loose at your side—the other hand pinching the bridge of your nose as you let out a slow, heavy sigh that seemed to drift into the stillness.

Five times—five heart-stopping plunges into the water, thankfully soft enough to spare them no broken bones—and you'd had enough, the sun dipping low now, casting long shadows across the cove as you stomped over, grabbing his soggy sleeve, your voice firm but cracking with the panic you'd swallowed all day. 

"Alright buddy—stop trying your luck, Hiccup, you're done," you said, hands on his shoulders, holding him still as water dripped from his nose, his green eyes wide and bright, caught between defiance and that sheepish flicker he got when he knew he'd gone too far.

Toothless flopped onto the shore beside you, shaking out his wings with a spray that doused you both again, and Hiccup laughed—soft, winded—muttering, "Okay, okay—guess we'll call it a day," before slumping against the boulder, breathless, his smile lingering as he caught your gaze, oblivious to how your heart still raced, not just from fear but from the way he glowed, soaked and stubborn and yours in a way he'd never see. The way no one got to see this Hiccup but you.

When the village slept, you'd steal away to Hiccup's room too, the pair of you hunched over his creaky table, shoulders brushing as you pored over sprawled blueprints—his charcoal-smudged fingers tracing lines for stirrups, harnesses, gear to tweak the saddle's fit, your own hands adding hasty scrawls for padding or straps, the parchment crinkling under your elbows as you argued in whispers, voices low to dodge any possible passerby outside.

"Needs more give here," you'd say, tapping a finger on parchment, and Hiccup would squint, nodding slow, "Yeah—don't want it pinching him," before scratching in a curve. 

His knee knocking yours under the table, a casual touch that lingered in your skin long after he pulled away, oblivious as ever to the way it unraveled you. The plans grew wild—strings for his tail fin for easy adjustment, a latch for quick release—each idea a spark between you, fueled by the hours and nights in the forge and his home.

And you'd catch his grin in the candlelight, that flicker of brilliance he hid from Berk, and feel it settle deep, a quiet ache blooming beside your pride as you murmured, "This'll change everything," and he'd nod, eyes locked on the page, "Yeah—it will," not seeing how you meant for him, too.

The trials didn't relent even after the Zippleback's chaos subsided. Despite yours and Hiccups retreat to the seclusion of the hidden cove, the training never ceased—honed not for slaying dragons, but for something sharper, quieter. In those stolen hours, you forged more daggers, the ring of hammer on metal echoing faintly against the stone walls. 

Each throw of your dagger toward the target on the tree grew surer, the blades slicing through the air with a satisfying thunk into makeshift targets, your aim tightening with every flick of your wrist. All the while, you kept up appearances—sweating over the forge under Gobber's watchful eye, proving your diligence, ensuring he'd see nothing but a dedicated apprentice and suspect nothing of the truth simmering beneath. 

Berk's brutal rhythm marched on, unrelenting, and the next beast hauled into the arena was the Gronckle, its squat, boulder-like bulk rumbling the earth as it rolled out from the gate's doors, its stubby wings buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps, jaws snapping with a lazy menace that belied the chaos it could unleash.

Gobber had switched the game this time—duo trials, he'd barked, pairing everyone off to face the dragon together, a test of grit and trust you'd all grumbled through as the wind whipped sharp across the ring, some of the village crowding the stands with their usual mix of cheers and jeers for Astrid—and this time to see Hiccups' improvement.

But you'd pulled the short stick, literally, your fingers closing around the splintered stub in the draw while the others smirked or shrugged, leaving you to stand alone, no partner, just your wits and a battered shield Gobber tossed your way with a gruff, "Ye'll manage, lass—always do." 

The first day out of two for the duo trials was only team Ruffnut and Snotlout, then Astrid and Fishlegs so the beast wouldn't be too tired for you all in one day. That given—it kicked off with Ruffnut and Snotlout as they stumbled in, a mess of bravado and bickering—Snotlout swinging wild, Ruffnut cackling as she dodged a tail swipe, the Gronckle belching fire that nearly took Snotlout's pants before they got help in shoving the beast down.

Next and in a blur of shouted facts and axe swings you barely tracked from the sidelines—Fishlegs yelping dragon stats as Astrid's blade nicked the Gronckle's hide, the beast snorting lava that singed the shield before they wrestled it back into its cage, sweat-soaked and triumphant, their part over quick as the crowd roared. Their turn fading into the day's haze.

The second day broke with a sharper chill, the arena cloaked in a haze of smoke that stung your nose as it thickened around the ring. From your perch at the edge, you watched Hiccup and Tuffnut stride forward—an odd duo that tugged a smirk to your lips despite your best efforts to hide it. 

Hiccup's wiry frame darted with purpose, while Tuffnut swaggered beside him, all lanky bravado and long-wild hair. Then the Gronckle emerged, its guttural growl rumbling through the chains and buzzing up into your boots. Chaos erupted fast. Tuffnut, roaring some garbled war cry about "GLORY TO ODIN!," and barreled headlong at the beast—only to meet its beefy head with a meaty thwack. 

The blow launched him backward, limbs flailing, until he hit the ground in a crumpled heap, out cold. The crowd sucked in a collective breath, then dissolved into muffled laughter—Ruffnut being the loudest. 

Gobber's exasperated groan cutting through, "Odin's beard, not again." 

Hiccup didn't falter. While the dust still swirled, he slid a hand into his tunic with the calm of someone who'd planned every heartbeat of this mess. Out came that sprig of dragon nip—its faint, earthy scent a secret you'd glimpsed him tucking away earlier. 

His gaze flicked to yours, a fleeting spark of conspiratorial light passing between you, unnoticed by the roaring throng. The Gronckle charged head on until its snout twitched, nostrils flaring as it caught the whiff—then, with a bewildered snort, it flopped onto its belly, rolling to it's side like an overgrown hound, belly exposed and snuffling contentedly.

The arena exploded with what cheers were given by the dozen people who had witnessed it. Their cheers bouncing off the wooden beams as Hiccup hooked his arms under Tuffnut's limp shoulders, dragging him clear with a quick heave. He brushed off his hands, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips as he straightened. 

You alone clocked the sleight of hand, the quiet brilliance threading through his every move. The village, oblivious, swallowed it whole—their shouts coalescing into a rhythmic roar, "Hiccup the Viking! Hiccup the Viking!"

It was a title sparked by the Zippleback's defeat and now forged anew in this smoky pit, their pride thundering for him in the stands. He gave an awkward wave, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something brighter, the weight of their adoration settling onto his narrow shoulders like ash dusting a smith's apron. 

Then it was your turn, last of the lot, the crowd's buzz dimming as you stepped into the ring alone, the Gronckle snorting awake from its nip-induced doze, its beady eyes locking onto you as the gate slammed shut behind, triggering the giant as it huffed—the air heavy with the sour reek of its breath. 

You gripped the shield tight, heart hammering as it lumbered forward, slow but relentless, its stubby legs and wings churning while you dodged—a quick sidestep as its jaws snapped, a duck when its tail swung wide, the tail splintering against your shield with a crack that jolted the same recovering arm. 

The beast huffed, lava bubbling in its maw, and you rolled, the heat singeing your sleeve as you sprang up, weaving through its charges—left, right, back—your boots skidding on slick stone, breath burning in your chest as you kept moving, kept breathing, the Gronckle's growls turning sluggish, its swings wilder but weaker. 

It lunged once more, a tired bellow rattling out, and you darted aside, cracked-shield raised, letting it crash snout-first into the wall, a dull thud echoing as it slumped, panting, its fight drained—tired out, not beaten, but enough for Gobber's whistle to pierce the air, signaling your win as you staggered back, sweat-streaked and shaky, the crowd's half-hearted claps fading fast. 

You'd done it—solo, steady, no tricks—just raw grit and quick thinking—use it's own energy against itself—but when you turned, wiping dirt from your face grinning from ear-to-ear, the stands were thinning, Hiccup's name still on their lips as they trickled out, his triumph overshadowing yours. . .and he was gone too, the ring emptying slowly besides a few, leaving you almost alone in the smoke, shield dangling, searching for his familiar mop of hair and finding only shadows. 

They'd wandered off, you found out later, meandering across the ancient bridge that stretched over Berk's jagged ravine—a creaking spine of worn planks that dipped and swayed beneath their steps. It wasn't until after, amid the echo of their fading voices, that Hiccup jolted, the realization hitting him like a gust off the cliffs: it had been your turn to face the dragon. He'd let the moment—the swell of cheers, the rush of his own triumph—sweep him away, leaving your fight to unfold without him.

He'd excused it quick, brushing past Astrid with a muttered, "Left my axe behind." 

Before doubling back—not for the axe, but for you—and being overwhelmed, his steps crunching the path as he jogged to the arena's edge, finding you slumped against a post, catching your breath. 

"Hey—I'm still here—I," Hiccup murmured, his voice airy yet scattered, that fresh moniker—" Hiccup the Viking"—still echoing in the villagers' chants rolling through the distance. 

He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, his gaze drifting sideways to the bridge where the others' laughter spilled into the air, sharp and carefree. Then his eyes slid back to the arena, now hollowed out save for you and Gobber, the place still scuffed from the day's mayhem. 

"I missed it already?" he asked, a quiet sadness threading through his tone, his brows pinching as he glanced at you. 

You summoned a grin, though it felt like hauling up a weight from the sea floor, your chest constricting with a sting he'd never see—his absence during your own trial cutting deeper than you'd let on. But you brushed past it, smoothing over the ache with something brighter, something new. 

Pride flared for him, fierce and real, yet tangled with a silent jab of something else—loss, maybe, or the first faint unraveling of a bond you'd thought ironclad. He stood there, half-turned toward the fading cheers, caught in the tide of his rising name, oblivious to the fact that while you'd poured your grit into the ring, seeking his nod and Gobber's gruff approval, he'd been swept elsewhere. 

The realization settled in your palms like a cold, heavy stone, but you tipped your head with a shrug. "Yeah—don't even worry about it. Today was about you Hiccup. Let's go home and celebrate," you said happily but tired, voice steady as you fell into step beside him and Gobber. 

The three of you ambled back, the bridge's weathered planks groaning underfoot, your chatter about the day weaving into the lengthening evening. His words and Gobber's gravelly quips filled the air with you behind them, but that thread of distance lingered, faint yet stubborn, trailing behind you as you walked in your own silence swallowed by the dusk.

This is Chapter 5 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

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

[majosullivan]

Nevermore Dashboard Simulator

🌷 many-coloured-grass Follow

Can we all agree to stop making jokes about each other’s deaths? Making light of someone’s death even as a joke is really gross

🪦 deadgirlwalking Follow

No I was murdered so I can reclaim it

85,958 notes

⏳ dream-within-a-dream Follow

Okay but can someone tell me how posts here are getting so many notes? There’s like around 100 people at the academy and I’m frequently seeing posts with well over 1,000 notes. Like, it would be one thing if these posts were years old but some of them are from 2 days ago. Did I just miss the memo and everyone here has at least 10+ accounts, like WHERE are you guys coming from?

👻 hourofsecrecy Follow

Can the spirits not show their appreciation for people’s commentery? Can the creatures of the night not find humour in wits and gists of others? What is the difference from the newly departed and the Unseen Ones?

⏳ dream-within-a-dream Follow

Absolutely horrific answer, thank you for your time

26,496 notes

🪱 conqueror-of-worms Follow

Tell me why it’s around eight in the morning and the first thing I see while heading to the dining hall is Lenore PINING Annabel Lee AGAINST A WALL

☠️ spookyxskeletons Follow

🪱 conqueror-of-worms Follow

Care to clarify who the hell you were referring to in this post?

☠️ spookyxskeletons Follow

Yes

3,270 notes

🎈 floatinghoax Follow

After everything the afterlife could have been, you’re telling me that I have to go to SCHOOL and have CLASSES that start at 9AM? Truly tempted to walk straight into the wasteland, there’s only so much a second chance at life is worth

#not to mention with have fucking ROOMMATES #this academy is MASSIVE #you’re telling me there isn’t enough room for single rooms in this place?

7,984 notes

🥀 wilted-rose Follow

I’m curious, who do you guys think you could take in their spectre forms?

🥀 wilted-rose Follow

IN A FIGHT

69,285 notes

🎶 decomposingmusic Follow

You’re not about to manifest your spectre, you’re just dehydrated

🩰 ghosting-giselle Follow

out of the way gay boy i’m boutta separate myself from my remaining mortal ties and embrace the abilites of my spiritual form

🩰 ghosting-giselle Follow

nures rom

173,032 notes

🌙 voyage-to-the-moon Follow

do you think the Deans wake up every day, take one look at us before telling Ms. Poppet ‘PUT THOSE BEASTS IN SITUATIONS!’

2,396 notes

🌃 eveningstar Follow

Does anyone know if Duke and Pluto (the two boys friends with Lenore) are an item or not? Cause any time I’ve seen them interact, Duke has consistently referred to Pluto as Mon Minou (my kitten in french) and I’m not sure if the two of them are together or if they’re just…Like That

🌃 eveningstar Follow

UPDATE: SO IT TURNS OUT PLUTO DIDN’T KNOW WHAT MON MINOU MEANT AND FOUND OUT THROUGH MY POST. HIM AND DUKE HAVE BEEN BICKERING ABOUT IT ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE DORM ROOMS

🌃 eveningstar Follow

Despite what you would think would occur from this development, none of this has answered by original question

#I was just curious if these two were gay or just European #by all accounts they might be both

6,974 notes

🍋 gives-you-lemons Follow

I think I’m about half with through the manor right now? Honestly this lesson is going much better than I expected!

🍋 gives-you-lemons Follow

RATS RATS RATS RATS RATS RATS R&)26?83@/$

5,052 notes

☔️ dew-dropped-nights Follow

[about to be eaten by one of the monsters in the Teraphobia trial] okay but do you think I’m cute? Be honest

4,824 notes

🪐 eureka Follow

Do you think that Annabel Lee and Lenore have ever explored each others bodies

🌷 many-coloured-grass Follow

Can you fucking not do this? Not only are they real people, they’re our classmates and clearly can’t stand each other. Stuff like this is weird and gross

🔮 sorcery-sorcery-sorcery Follow

I bet they fucked nasty up at the widow’s watch

🥂 drinking-into-the-grave Follow

This is actually how Lenore won the Mystery Manor lesson

☠️ spookyxskeletons Follow

Sometimes that butch pussy gets you acting unwise

🏵️ pendulum-in-the-pit Follow

THAT

WHAT

🪦 deadgirlwalking Follow

What’s not clicking

29,496 notes

[tk-duveraun]

Qijiu aus continue

Yue Qi dies shortly after leaving Shen Jiu behind to become a cultivator. It happens so fast, he only realizes WHAT happened when he's a spirit looking over his body.

He's not surprised to be a ghost, it's not as if he ever got a soul calming ceremony, but how is he supposed to save Xiao Jiu like this?

Regrettably, he journeys to the demon realm first. After all, if any righteous cultivator senses him, he'll be exorcised without hesitation. In the demon realm he learns a lot about demons, demonic beasts and spiritual creatures, more than enough to pass on to Xiao Jiu to give him a leg up as a cultivator, but he still has no ability to really interact with the world.

As time passes, he makes a decision. It's a bad one, but he can't wait any longer trying and failing to cultivate himself as a ghost.

Instead, he feeds himself to an abandoned runt from a litter of Soul-Devouring Dusk Hyena cubs. As he'd hoped, despite being unable to do anything else thus far, he manages to win against the cub's animal soul in the merger and take over the body.

He immediately starts his return journey. He arrives to the Qiu ruins still smoking, but finds Xiao Jiu's scent leading away. He's leveled up quite a bit from his trials on the path from the demon realm and doesn't hesitate to bite out Wu Yanzi's throat on sight.

SJ is still in shock from his qi deviation and murders, so he just stares at the hyena as it comes up and bloodily nuzzles his thigh. He pets its head and is rewarded with a happy whine and enough pressure from the thing leaning on him that he nearly topples over.

When the hyena is still there the next morning, he tells it, "Okay but when we find qige you only bite him a little. Maim one limb at most."

He takes the whine to mean the hyena is blood thirsty.

He doesn't question his assumption that it's intelligent enough to understand him.

[lordcaptains]

theodora von valancius' reactions to the player character's origin

astra militarum commander -

"Service in the Astra Militarum is a trial from which very few people emerge with their life. That you have risen through the ranks of the Imperial Guard and assumed command of an army is a testament to your astuteness, both on the battlefield and in the tangled net of officer intrigues. I assure you, the company that a Rogue Trader keeps will offer you plenty of chances to demonstrate both your diplomatic skills and your combat prowess."

commissar -

"Once, you were a Commissar of the Imperial Guard. A political officer who was not afraid to face their own death or to send their underlings to theirs. Resolve, faith, implacability — all of it gives one a unique perspective when presented with a situation where a less steadfast individual could falter. Trust me, your future holds plenty of situations where your commitment to your duty — or your house's interests — will be one of your strengths."

crime lord -

"One could not in good faith describe your background as one of exemplary service to the Imperium. However… I am intrigued by you and your past. To have survived and prospered between the letters of the law is a rare achievement among those in our circle. You are skilled in the art of taking risks and cutting corners. Trust me when I say that you will have sufficient opportunity to apply this talent for the good of the house."

ministorum priest -

"A priest of the Adeptus Ministorum… I never would have thought that someone of my house would become one. Spare me the recital of your dogmas on humility and service — I am well aware that the Ecclesiarchy is no less versed in matters of logistics than the hairsplitters from the Administratum. When your commercial interests are hidden behind a facade of concern for Humanity's souls, any action you take will raise far fewer questions than it would otherwise."

naval officer -

"You were once a Lord Captain yourself — aboard your own ship. You know everything there is to know about the life of this gargantuan beast and its thousands of crew members. You know how fickle machine spirits can be, how weak-willed are the rabble from the lower decks, how a single tactical decision can turn the tide of a battle. Few people can claim to have such priceless experience that is so highly sought after in my calling."

noble -

"Your noble descent is a sign that power lives in your very flesh and blood. You would never doubt your words or actions, never show weakness, never let an involuntary gesture or a careless word betray your fears or agitation — at least if your upbringing was as thorough as mine was in my time. Many will grovel at your feet — governors, commanders, highborn Navigators, conceited lords — and you cannot allow them to sense weakness in the one who stands above them."

sanctioned psyker -

"It says in your profile that you bear the brand of sorcery… albeit sanctioned sorcery that is permitted in the service of the Imperium. I am accustomed to the presence of psykers at my side. More than that, I value their unique abilities highly. Perhaps that is why I am so intrigued by Edelthrad's candidacy — a Rogue Trader psyker could achieve great things indeed. However, psykers are fragile creatures, and as such I would rather have a replacement standing ready in the event that something happens to Edelthrad."

[dgrailwar]

Round 13, Day 5 - A Wish for the Future

It seemed like the majority of you were willing to side with the goddesses. The tensions seemed high for just a moment, before the Ancient God's anger seemed to subside briefly, an expression resembling gratitude slowly forming on her face.

' I thank you. This future… '

There wasn't a moment for the Mother of Monsters to fully indicate her own gratitude, as another voice rumbled.

' I'VE HEARD YOUR WISH… A WORLD DEVOID OF HUMANS AND MONSTERS… '

The ground rumbled.

A massive beam shot towards Echidna, aiming straight for the core of the 'Grail'.

"...!"

The Ancient God's eyes widened, her own mystic eyes flaring with immense magical energy in defense of the Mother of Monsters as her curse flared outward, meeting the sudden attack head on and the resulting clash causing the chamber to rumble. Even then, the Ancient God's attack didn't seem to be enough, as two more waves of energy spewed outward, the cascade of magical power slamming into her massive form and causing her to stumble back with an agonizing roar.

"He's awake…?"

' Typhon… that is not my Typhon… '

While it did look almost identical to the dragon that Avenger and his Masters had seen, the pulsating purple growth on its chest was new. A small shape circled around the behemoth, white wings fluttering as dark ooze began to drip from the beast. Each dark puddle formed into a creature, as the three-headed dragon let out a massive bellow, the ground shaking once more as the Servants stumbled, quickly trying to catch their balance.

' I WILL GRANT YOUR WISH. '

The voice, that seemed to rumble like thunder and quake the earth itself spoke again.

"Hrm. So, the moth carrying Pretender's curse still lives, and it has begun piloting the Father of Monsters instead. How… vexing."

"Wait, a Pretender-Typhon? Not to steal MoonCancer's thunder as the worrier, but Pretender was already an incredibly powerful dragon… hooking up a fragment of him to one of dragonkind's progenitors is both way too compatible, and way too dangerous."

"Wait… why'd he talk about the wish being 'a world without humans or monsters', rather than a 'world of humans and monsters'…? Do you think that whatever Pretender's 'infection' is, it's like… twisting wishes around?"

The Gunner shrugged, before focusing his gaze on the Ruler and the MoonCancer.

"So, seems like the dragon doesn't want our world either. Plan on joining its team, or are we putting grudges aside?"

"...At least your wish considers humanity. Even if I don't agree with the principle… I'm not going to abandon my Masters or mankind! We're fighting together! To the end!"

"As if I'd turn down the chance to fight a final boss like this! I mean, I'm still super scared, but I've got to show off my god's divine might, right?"

"Hahaha! Glad that we're in agreement, then!"

The Avenger boldly stepped forward, throwing his arm outward. His mana, flames of vengeance and disaster, flared violently around him as you felt his Spirit Origin expand and grow in might, pushing his manifestation to the absolute brink.

"Kuhahaha-- KUHAHAHAHAHAAA! Behold, the giant Typhon! Beyond mortal, beyond dragons, beyond gods! Birthed of the Earth and the Abyss, his might was not meant to be overcome by humanity, nor his own kind! However, this serves as our final trial! A world of human and monsterkind, this is the path that our Masters have chosen!"

"I am Avenger! My True Name is the Count of Monte Cristo! Let us burn our spirits to the limit, and push on to a bright future!"

One by one, you felt as your Servants began to push their own Saint Graphs to the brink. Magical energy, prana surging like rapid rivers as they prepared to throw everything they had against the massive godkiller.

"Masters, let's prepare for battle! Show me the faith in the world you want, and I will respond in kind! You have Jeanne d'Arc's banner, so let it fly in the name of victory!"

"C'est la dernière danse! One last performance before it ends! I hope you're prepared, Masters, because there's no time to get cold feet now!"

"Alright, here goes nothing… Shree Vakratunda Mahakaya Suryakoti Samaprabha… Nirvighnam Kuru Me Deva Sarva-Kaaryeshu Sarvada…!"

"Go! Kiheitai! Come forth, Proto-Arahabaki! We're sparing no expense, we're pushing with everything we've got, so let's put on a show that'll make even the gods tremble!"

The Gunner pointed his hand outward, the space on the ground being filled with a swath of armed and ready soldiers, his mana burning alongside the others as he leapt upwards, landing on the shoulder of a massive pseudo-divine machine.

"This is it… one more battle, and we'll have done it…!"

The massive form before them let out an echoing, terrifying roar.

The six remaining Servants readied their skills and weapons, preparing for the fight of their lives.

Behold, the ancient weapon that struck fear into the heart of the king of gods. A god-killer, world-shaker, he who could rip asunder the cosmos. Behold, the ancient ephemera that struck him down in the short time of its manifestation. A being that holds no desire for wishes, but only a desire to see one's hopes laid low and their hubris brought crashing down.

The Progenitor Dragon, corrupted by the Mors King's curse! Typhon-Ephemeros!

The Extra Class of Twisted Wishes, Pretender!

[penny-anna]

hi everyone guess what time it is THATS RIGHT its fic rec time

Slowly but Also Like All at Once by putaposyinyourhair

"Any sign of Knuckles?” He huffs out a soft breath of air, mentally cycling through the answers that are starting to feel almost programmed by this point. Kris, he ain’t coming back. Kris, he’s gone, man. Kris, stop asking me shit I don’t have the answers to, dude. Instead he goes with something a little more sensitive. “Negative.”

AU based on the ending of Rise of the Beasts. tragically not updated for over a year but MUCH to chew on here & i must share this excerpt:

“Look, man, I can explain—” “Noah,” Reek begins again, tentatively— like he’s about to ask something that even he can’t quite believe he’s going to ask. “Did you fuck that car?” Noah damn nearly chokes on his own tongue.

Personal Space by Neon_Honeycomb

“Are you okay?” Cool, smooth metal presses against his face before he can even register Mirage moving, shattering the memory that’s slowly engulfing him until it dissipates entirely. He’s left staring again at the metal beams above, the backdrop of yellow clouds far behind them, and the movement of a single tree branch swaying just within sight. “Only you would have a roof fall on you and then ask if I’m the one that’s okay.” Noah and Mirage get trapped under a pile of rubble together. While waiting for someone to come free them, they get... comfortable.

its ur classic premise <3

lose my mind by Donts

“Do I turn you on, Noah?” Mirage murmurs lowly. Noah sucks in a breath, dropping his hands and opening his eyes, gazing at Mirage’s optics with surprise. Mirage is looking at him with a smug grin, and oh fuck. or 5 times Noah masturbates because of Mirage, and 1 time Mirage helps him out.

ohhh thats the good filth!!

A flickering spark, his unwavering spirit by caelleth

“We were… friends, weren’t we?” The words left his vocals before he could quell them, and Noah considered them before he could regain his wits enough to take them back. “...Yeah. We were friends.” His head turned, and he tore his gaze away from the mech, leaving Mirage to stare at his dust-fettered curls, struggling to find any words in this planet’s limited language that could ever hope to describe the unbearable mix of guilt and yearning and grief and above all that, unyielding hope that bubbled through his chassis. But it seemed no amount of words ever could, Cybertronian or otherwise. “I can see why,” was all he said to the human. (Or, the trials and tribulations of repairing a Cybertronian.)

another AU based on the ending of the movie. ohh this was a great time. the first Mirage POV chapter is a particular highlight.

Manhandled by SadVibez

Mirage picks Noah up to grab something on a shelf. Things quickly turn not so PG-13.

manhandling :)

An Old Mech Worries For A Human by SadVibez

During the fight in Peru, Noah was hurt after being dropped by Scourge. He hasn't told anyone and with Mirage to not fret over him, no one has noticed. Well, almost no one. Optimus notices Noah in pain and the two have a small talk.

a rare non-shippy fic. ohh i love a 'this character should have been injured let's talk about that' fic

Tactile Intimacy by BunnyFair

When Mirage makes an expected engine noise, Noah has to investigate and give his friend a thorough check up. Popping his hood, he soon discovers the world of tactile interfacing.

tactile interfacing for u!!!

human junk by Secretkept (KaiNinjagoo)

After a few nights of Noah sleeping in the garage, Mirage notices something he hasn’t seen before (PENIS)

firstly can i just say, summary of all time, i've been thinking about (PENIS) for weeks. secondly: great series feat. sexless robot Mirage & Noah navigating their relationship. love the realism of this one. great time.

Exposure Therapy by Neon_Honeycomb

“You’re not made of metal. I— I don’t know the limits of what you’re made of. I don’t know how much is safe contact, and when it turns into— when you— when I—” This is the part where Noah is supposed to get it. The part where he’s supposed to understand the depth of what Mirage has just told him, where he realizes the danger he’s in if Mirage so much as simply moves wrong at the wrong moment, the moment where he lets go and never comes near him again. He waits; waits for it all to click into place in that biological processor of his, waits for the moment he pulls his hands back to himself, waits for his face to morph into entirely justified fear. “I could break you, Noah, I could…” He’s not prepared for Noah’s expression to go soft. There's only one way for someone to learn how much strength to use when handling something, and that's through experience.

screaming yelling throwing up wailing sobbing:

Noah doesn’t break. He doesn’t immediately start leaking red, his face doesn’t even pinch like Mirage has seen him do when he gets hurt. And somehow that makes it so much worse when Noah looks up at him, looking just as good as he had a moment ago, completely fine, only for him to say, “Right there. That’s how hard it takes to start hurting.” like it’s no big deal at all.

[callsigns-haze]

The ACOTAR Masterlist

- WARNING - please understand that some of my stories contain, gore, smut and other adult topic.

Rhysand

Prison for life..

Summary: Amidst the eerie shadows of the dark woods, YN faces a terrifying encounter with a malevolent beast, only to be rescued by the timely intervention of Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, whose camaraderie and laughter serve as a beacon of light in the midst of darkness.

You love letters in jail...(part two of prison for life)

Summary: In a moment of passion and vulnerability, Rhysand implores YN to stay with him, but she grapples with the weight of her responsibilities as High Lady of the Court of the Lost Gods.

Light into darkness (series)

In a moment of passion and vulnerability, Rhysand implores YN to stay with him, but she grapples with the weight of her responsibilities as High Lady of the Court of the Lost Gods.

Azriel

Bad Idea, right???

Summary: After a frantic search, Cassian and his companions discover YN and Azriel's hidden rendezvous, realizing that love finds a way even in the most unexpected of places.

Shadows blade (series)

Azriel, finds himself unexpectedly entangled in the throes of love with a formidable Illryian soldier, who happens to serve as Cassian's right hand. As their paths intertwine amidst the chaos of war and the complexities of courtly intrigue, Azriel discovers an undeniable connection with this fiercely independent warrior, whose strength and loyalty captivate him. As they navigate the perilous landscape of their feelings and the demands of their duties, Azriel and his Illryian love embark on a journey of passion, sacrifice, and ultimately, a love that transcends boundaries and defies destiny.

Forbidden whispers

Summary: In the midst of Solstice festivities, Y/N, a spirited Illyrian soldier and Cassian's younger sister, finds herself entangled in a clandestine affair with Azriel, the shadowy spymaster of the Night Court. As their passion ignites, they navigate the dangers of their forbidden love, all while concealing their affair from prying eyes.

His Shadow

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Darkest Whispers

After the tragic loss of their parents, Y/N, Rhysand's younger sister and the newly titled Princess of the Night, falls into a quiet grief, withdrawing from those around her. As her brother and the Inner Circle try to reach her, only Azriel seems to break through her walls, offering her the solace and understanding she so desperately needs.

You're mine

Azriel pins you against the wall, shadows tight around your body as he tears down every defense you’ve built, forcing you to confront your hatred—and the way your body betrays you. With every teasing touch and whispered command, he drags you into a ruthless, possessive storm of desire you can’t escape. You tell yourself you hate him, but as he claims you, body and soul, you know you’ve already surrendered.

Cassian

Say something...

Summary: In the midst of chaos and despair, YN and Cassian's unbreakable bond and unwavering love illuminate the darkest of nights, guiding them through trials of grief and uncertainty towards a future filled with hope and redemption.

Warrior's heart (series)

Cassian, a formidable commander in the Night Court's army, finds his life forever altered when he meets YN, a skilled navigator and trusted advisor to High Lord Rhysand. Despite their differing roles, Cassian is drawn to YN's intelligence, strength, and unwavering determination. Their professional relationship soon evolves into something deeper when Cassian discovers that YN is his destined mate, chosen by fate to be his other half.

Bat Boys

Oh, How She's Changed...

Summary: YN, the immortal descendant of gods, reunites with her friends Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel at a lavish gathering in the Night Court's grand ballroom. As they reminisce about past adventures and observe the antics of other courtiers, they marvel at YN's transformation from an innocent girl into a captivating woman. However, their reunion is cut short when one of YN's guards arrives to escort her away, leaving Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel with lingering thoughts and a sense of longing as they watch her depart into the night.

Eris

Memories Fade (Series)

Summary: Not so long back Rhysand lost his sister. Years after Helion and Elain can raise her memories from the past to see what truly happened to Y/n.

Loves Haze (memories fade sequel)

Summary: When the finally memory hit, the acknowledge of Eris and Y/N being alive only started a new legacy.

All high (2nd memories fade continuation)

Summary: When there's an forced entry in the Beyonds woods is this the last time the Phoenii are protected?

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@kmc1989

@djs8891

@hardballoonlove

@callsign-dexter

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@rosiahills22

@lilah-asteria

[nyaskitten]

Hmm in My head I think the Overlord isn't the only of his kind, that there were others, and he just got lucky.

I'm gonna yap like A LOT . Be forewarned.

They were a species of parasitic spirits conjured by powerful sorcerers and brought by the Oni Warlords to corrupt Ninjago, and after Mystake killled the other two Warlords, she kinda had to help FSM hunt down and exterminate the parasites.

Unfortunately for them, one of these parasites found his way into the body of a dying Patriarch, the Patriarch of the Central Flatlands (which would one day become Ninjago City, and this specific area is quite literally the area within which Borg Tower was made, hence why the Overlord always returns to that area, it's where he's most powerful) and merged with the untouched power that lay in his weakening body.

This resulted in the birth of the Patriarch of the Eternal Shadow, who would soon be known as the Overlord. FSM felt the departure of the Patriarch of the Central Flatlands, but just as well he felt a great corruption had entered his soul, and with Mystake, he sought to find what happened.

When they arrived, they found this new Patriarch wearing the corpse of the previous Patriarch, and FSM was enraged at the sight. He instantly went for the kill, much to the dismay of Mystake.

Though FSM managed to obliterate the body, he only weakened the spirit, and worse yet, now the Patriarch of Eternal Shadow had tasted the FSM's power, he bore some of it within him, and it just made him stronger, hungrier... it made him sentient...

The spirit's energy seeped into the ground, slowly draining the surrounding life and the very power upon which Ninjago was founded upon, and using it to strengthen himself. This would have HORRIFIC consequences (the creation the Balance, a power which ties the spirit eternally to Ninjago,) Soon was born the Overlord, and he tore the world open as he rose.

Terror and panic spread across the people of Ninjago. The FSM quickly returned to the sight of his prior conflict to find things had gotten way worse. Suddenly the parasite-spirit had grown, he had grown larger than the Patriarch he once embodied, he was something New.

The something New was way too powerful for the FSM, he created a species of beasts meant specifically to hunt elemental powers (grundles,) an untouchable fortress, an army of indestructable stone warriors, and a corrupted serpent whose sole mission was to devour everything in her sight.

The FSM was at a loss, and could only retreat, he had no way to stop anything the Overlord was throwing at him. He and Mystake had no idea what to even DO about this, that is until they started to look through the information compiled of the realms, and saw a stand-out realm. They were in awe, it was said to be a realm which housed a kingdom run by dragon energy, a realm of extreme advancements and unique design, Imperium.

With no other option, FSM went to Imperium alone (as Mystake, a full-blooded oni, would no doubt rile the dragons up more than he, a half-blood.) He went to the Empress of Imperium at the time and sought her aid in creating for him a suit of great power, one which relied on dragon and elemental energy.

It was kind of awkward though, because he swore he recognized at least one or two dragons there from the war, and now he was getting them to power a weapon of war? Whoopsies. (Ofc while he was there, he found a way to implement vehicles from Imperium into his Golden Weapon which is my explanation for the random-ass Golden Weapon vehicles.)

Anyways while the Empress' top scientists were very busy at work with this mech, the FSM took the time to study fighting techniques from the dragons, and developed from them the Art of the Golden Dragon.

After a few days of trial and error, the FSM's new battle armor, the Golden Mech, charged with both his own power and the combined energies of several other dragons, was finally ready to help him take on the Overlord.

When he returned, he was bombarded with a horrific sight, his once gorgeous realm was now in ruin, darkness growing all around, where he stood was one of the few lands of sanctuary left within his world. He had to act fast. He called out to the Overlord, who near-immediately arrived through the shadows, his legions in tow.

The FSM quickly summoned the Golden Weapons and used them for one last boost on his mech, and prepared for battle. What the Overlord WASN'T ready for was the FSM grabbing him by the snout, slicing off one of his wings, dropping him to the floor, stomping on his snout, and charging up his blade in order to decapitate him.

To combat this, the Overlord quickly summoned shadows to restrain the Golden Mech, then he was able to get up and blast the FSM back so hard he probably would've felt that for a week. Or three. FSM was lucky enough to land on his mech feet and continue to clash with the Overlord. Soon, he realized the battle was getting a Bit too futile, and he came to a realization.

Too much of the land had fallen to the Overlord, he couldn't expel him from this world, but he could seal him from the land... with that, the FSM charged his blade one final time, this time with all of the energy and strength of his mech and himself. He leaped upwards and he drove his blade straight into the ground.

The resulting shockwave was so powerful, it tore the island in two and knocked the Helmet of Shadows (or the Overlord's Crown of Horns,) clean off, and into the hands of the FSM. The Overlord's spirit was torn away from his body, and his spirit was stuck on the half of the island slowly drifting away, while his army was left on the FSM's side.

In order to do a clean-up, the FSM had to seal the Overlord's destroyed physical vessel in a realm beyond and between realms, a sort of pocket-realm akin to the Grasslands or Nether-Space (which only the Golden Weapons could open.)

Then he constructed an indestructable tomb and used the Helmet of Shadows to force the Stone Warriors down there. Some were stuck submerged in the sea or FAR in the wilderness where no one would find them (well except for Misako several thousands of years later but she's an outlier and should not be counted.

Eventually, FSM did have to trek back to the Dark Island in order to seal the Golden Mech within the Temple of Light, and then submerge the island as much as possible to ensure the Overlord would not return.

Then he had one last task to perform, removing the darkness from Ninjago. It was... difficult. At one point he considered just eating the Dark Matter and their crystalline remnants, but very quickly decided against that. Eventually, he and Mystake were able to get enough gold from the Golden Peaks to erase the Dark Matter from the land forever... he also had to reseal the grounds that the Overlord tore apart which was. A pain in the ass.

Ehhh one problem after ALL of that though... the Overlord's serpent was nowhere to be found, and his element-hunting dinosaurs were still running loose somewhere in the vast lands of Ninjago... but I'm sure it'll be fine... what's the worst thing that a snake with corruptive powers could even DO psht I'm sure it's Fine. FSM will be FINE nothing bad'll happen

[gingerbredman1989]

The Legend of Saint Maximus Fortis

Patron Saint of Strength, Discipline, and the Pursuit of Physical Perfection

In the ancient days, when kingdoms rose and fell by the might of their champions, there was born a man unlike any before him — Maximus Fortis, whose name would echo through the marble halls of time. It is said that from his youth, Maximus was blessed by the gods with a body of impossible strength and beauty, each muscle formed as though by divine sculptors.

But Maximus was not a vain man. Knowing his gifts were sacred, he devoted his life to the discipline of the body, purification of the spirit, and the uplifting of others. He constructed great sanctuaries where the arts of strength, endurance, and perseverance were taught not as means of domination, but as paths to enlightenment. To Maximus, the body was the Cathedral of the Soul — a vessel of divine light made strong to bear life's burdens.

Legends say he could hoist boulders heavier than ten men, wrestle the wildest beasts without harm, and leap across chasms as if borne on wings. Yet, his true strength was in his heart — lifting the spirits of the weary, fortifying the weak, and inspiring generations to reach their fullest potential.

Upon his death, it is said the very earth trembled, and a cathedral of stained glass and golden arches sprang forth from the soil where he had knelt in prayer — the Cathedral of Muscle, where to this day, his sacred image stands immortalized in radiant light.

Worshippers pray to Saint Maximus Fortis to find strength when their bodies tire, discipline when their spirits waver, and courage when the trials of life seem too great to bear.

His sacred emblem: a radiant double-biceps pose encircled by a halo of golden sunbursts. His motto: "Fortitudo Corporis, Lux Animae" — Strength of the Body, Light of the Soul.

[bestiarium]

The Tsenahale, the ancient giant eagles [Navajo mythology]!

In the distant past, humans were hunted by a group of giant, terrifying monsters collectively known as the Naye’i. Though mankind persevered, they were spread thin and had to live in hiding and in fear. The Naye’i were a diverse group of strange monsters, all of which enjoyed hunting and eating humans. Among them were the Tsenahale, a pair of colossal bird monsters somewhat resembling giant eagles.

They were born from a pile of eagle feathers and they enjoyed grabbing people with their enormous talons and carrying them to the nest, where their unfortunate victims would be eaten by their young. The Tsenahale employed ravens as spies, and these minions told them the hiding spots of humans.

One day, a group of gods and humans came together on a mountaintop and performed a ritual upon two small images of a woman: one made of turquoise, the other made out of a white shell. The group sang a magic song and turned these two small images into real women, fashioning a body for both out of deer skin, corn and magic. These two women were named Estsánatlehi and Yolkaí Estsán, meaning ‘changing woman’ and ‘white shell woman’ respectively. They were left on the mountain, clueless and lonely, but after four days they began to explore their surroundings.

Estsánatlehi, the elder sister, was impregnated by the sun while her sister was impregnated by a waterfall. Four days later, both siblings realized they were pregnant, and another four days later they gave birth to two baby boys, which would later be called the Hero Twins of the Navajo people. As the sisters were not human, neither were their sons, and in only four days they had reached the age of twelve.

As the boys grew older, they longed to meet their father and set out on a journey to find him. Along their travels, they met the spider spirit, a kind old lady who told them that they were fathered by the sun. Spider gave the two young men a magic charm made from eagle feathers, which were potent because they were plucked from living eagles. She also taught them magic to prepare them for their quest, and so they set out to find the sun. This journey is an important story in Navajo religion: the hero twins overcome many challenges and strange creatures using wit (rather than strength), Spider’s magic and the protection from the wind, which had grown fond of them.

Eventually they reached the house of Tsohanoai, the sun god. They found his wife and told him that they were fathered by the sun.

When Tsohanoai came home (and hung the sun on a rack on his wall), he was angry at the intruders, who were too afraid to say anything. This silence was then broken by his wife, who was furious at her solar spouse. After all, if these two young men were indeed his sons then it meant he had been unfaithful to her. So Tsohanoai made them pass a series of deadly trials to prove that they were indeed children of the sun god, and they succeeded using the help of the wind and their eagle feather charms. Tsohanoai admitted defeat, these two lads were indeed his children, and so he armed them with magical weapons so that they could set out and slay the Naye’i. The boys received armor made from flint, an enchanted stone knife, and a series of powerful magical arrows. Upon returning to the world of mortals, one of the twins shot a lightning arrow at the Tsoodzil (which is called Mount Taylor today) and made a large cleft which is still visible to this day. And so, the two heroes set out to fight the Naye’i.

After successfully killing two of the giant beasts, the older brother left to fight the giant eagles, the Tsenahale, which made their nest on a tall black mountain which was shaped like a bird. He had received the name Nayenezgani from his brother, meaning ‘slayer of the Naye’i’. Before arriving at the nest, however, he heard the mighty sound of the monster’s wings, which sounded like a whirlwind, and the beast grabbed the boy in its talons. The Tsenahale dropped its prey from a great height, and the fall would surely have killed Nayenezgani if he didn’t have Spider’s magic feather charm.

Clever as always, the hero decided to play dead until the monster’s children approached him and tried to eat him. Nayenezgani hissed and the giant chicks recoiled, telling their father that this human was still alive and had hissed at them. The monster ignored it and told them that no human could survive a fall like that, so they probably just heard the sound of air escaping from the corpse.

Then the Tsenahale left and Nayenezgani immediately got up and pointed his magical arrows at the chicks. He demanded to know when their parents would return, and where they usually landed. The young birds told him everything he wanted to know, and so Nayenezgani set up an ambush. When the male and female Tsenahale returned, he knew exactly where they would land and shot them with lightning bolt arrows.

Upon seeing their parents dead, the chicks were terrified, but Nayenezgani was wise and thought it would be unjust to kill them too. Instead, he used his magic to turn one of them into an eagle and told it ‘You will provide bones for humans to craft whistles, and feathers to use in their ceremonies. The other chick was turned into an owl and Nayenezgani said to him ‘your hooting will be used by the humans for divination’. And so, instead of growing up to be man-hunting monsters, the chicks were turned into animals that were useful for mankind.

Now the beasts had been slain, but the slayer was stuck in the giant nest with no way to reach the ground below. As luck would have it, the bat spirit happened to pass by and offered to help the young man down in exchange for the feathers of the Tsenahale. Bat put these feathers in her basket, and Nayenezgani warned her not to enter the nearby sunflower field while carrying the monster feathers. Bat ignored his warnings, however, and as soon as she set foot among the sunflowers, all the feathers turned into birds and a large variety of birds suddenly flew out of her basket and dispersed among the world. And that is why there are so many bird species today.

Bat, having no feathers left to embellish herself, was so ashamed of her appearance and decided to never go out during the day. And that is why bats are nocturnal animals.

Sources:

Whitman, W., 1925, Navaho tales, Houghton Mifflin, 217 pp.

Locke, R.F., 2001, The Book of the Navajo, 496 pp., p.102-120.

Feltes-Strigler, M., 2023, A la découverte de la terre sacrée des Navajo – Histoire, légendes et paysages de la Terre-Mère au Ciel-Père, Tredaniel, 249 pp.

(Image source 1: The Giant Eagle by Hurcem Kucukdogan)

(image 2: the hero twins, source: Melvin Bainbridge)

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Dead By Daylight

Character: The Oni

Pairing: Romantic

Type of Fic: Concept (HCs)

Sure! Let me see what I can do for him....

Yandere! The Oni/Kazan Yamaoka Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Possessive behavior, Violence, Murder, Blood, Sadism, Delusional behavior, Mild gore, Forced "relationship".

Kazan was once a very prideful man.

Too prideful, honestly.

Kazan was so prideful it turned him into a monster.

He's more akin to a manchild having a tantrum than an honorable samurai.

He slaughtered countless before The Entity took him in as a pawn.

They were most likely innocents, but not in his eyes.

They were pretenders, people unworthy of considering themselves samurai.

Kazan even killed his own father and tried to justify that to himself.

To Kazan, he kills out of pride, it's something he must do for honor.

In reality, even as The Entity manipulates him, he's killing those who can't fight back.

Kazan had shown mercy occasionally through his personal crusade.

Yet most now know him as a rage filled monster, completely unable to calm himself.

Kazan was never really known for love.

History mostly knows him as a man who became a demon.

Hell, there's no way he doesn't look like a monster to you on trials.

To you, he's a rampaging demon who lost himself long ago.

It's hard to imagine the hallucinations make Kazan able to give mercy or soothe his anger.

Truthfully he never can soothe his anger.

Although... Imagine this...

Imagine being the only one Kazan seems soothed by.

Perhaps you remind him of a past lover he once had.

After all, he's related to The Spirit.

That must mean he's had a lover once, one he managed to have at least one child with (If I got this one wrong lore-wise, my bad...).

Within his delusions due to The Entity, he experiences brief moments of clarity around you.

The demon temporarily pauses his onslaught when he sees you, club raised in the air as he looks you over.

He doesn't remember how long it's been since he was actually... loving?

He had a family once, right?

It's so hard to remember.

It almost frustrates him that he can't bring himself to kill you.

He's probably managed to get rid of you before... but the longer he goes, the more he hesitates.

There's times he'll chase you, but he never swings.

It's just like he's following you, chasing delusions of a lover he once had.

In reality you're a different person he's chosen to project onto.

It's easy to imagine Kazan as a possessive beast.

But imagine him being oddly... gentle towards an obsession he sees as his lover?

It's strange how he changes around you.

Even other survivors around you are baffled when they see the beast calm around you, reaching out to you with what seems to be muttered apologies?

You don't understand what he's apologizing before... because you aren't who he thinks you are.

Even when he realizes you aren't, he may still try to remain hopeful that you'll reciprocate.

Other survivors shouldn't mistake this state as passive though.

If Kazan sees another survivor around you, the rage immediately comes back.

It doesn't take long before that survivor is chased down with animalistic fervor.

By the end of it they've met Kazan's sword or club, the weapons he wields coated in a thick coat of blood and viscera.

Kazan is a demon transformed by his rage.

Which is why it's weird he follows you around trials, giving chase but never pouncing.

When he does go for you, he prefers to grapple you to his chest.

It's more like a crushing embrace than anything else....

It's much different behavior compared to how he usually is.

You tense when he caresses your face and plays with your hair.

He observes you like you're a doll that's easy to break.

Honestly, due to his strength, that isn't entirely off.

While I can see Kazan harming his obsession in a blind rage... I want to think of a different take.

I like to think you're the only thing that's managed to soothe him.

The only reason The Entity allows this is because Kazan is more aggressive towards other survivors afterwards.

He sees them as people trying to take you from him.

If we assume The Entity is feeding him hallucinations, it's no doubt doing this to pressure Kazan into entertaining it more.

In return, Kazan is allowed an outlet.

He's allowed to keep you to himself, to hold you and play pretend....

You may be shuddering, tears pricking your eyes as you force yourself to stay still for the demon...

But this was never about you.

The Entity needs its killers to serve it well, which means sacrifices must be made to keep their loyalty.

If allowing this killer to keep you to himself garners more bloodshed...

That is what will happen.

Kazan has no doubt killed you in previous trials...

Yet now he confuses you by treating you as though you're precious.

At some point you may accept this treatment, it's better than nothing, isn't it?

You've seen and occasionally even felt what he can do....

The blood and sickening crunch of bones is hard to ignore or forget.

You feel it's better to placate the beast when it comes to being trapped in a place like this.

You allow yourself to be dwarfed by his size, to feel borderline claustrophobic in his tight strong hold.

It's not like there's any other option, right?

Certainly not in this realm where not even death allows you to escape the horrors this place holds... compared to that... this is a mercy.

[englishotomegames]

Ten Trials of Babel -The Doppelganger Maze- (巴别十书：如何逃离二重迷宫)

Release dates (Steam) Chinese: March 13th, 2022 English and Japanese: November 15th, 2023

"You have been drawn into a game of racial survival, the 'Babel Cross'. Humans, Mekas, Spirits, Ghosts, Yaos, Beasts, Relics, Phantoms, and two unrevealed races, together explore the world within the book, climbing the mysterious Babel Tower. At the top of the tower, after passing through ten worlds, the victor gains glory and the hope of evolution, while the defeated are erased along with their entire race.

——And so far, the number of StoryDivers who have passed through the tenth world remains zero.

In the 'Doppelganger', the Story World you enter for the first time as a newcomer, you meet StoryDivers assigned to the same world: Saint, Victor, and Kruger. If the Doppelganger is triggered, you will face instant death; and the team, seemingly harmonious and friendly, also harbors restlessness and ominous signs.

Is the heart of those not of our kind different? The Babel Tower has taken away the 'language' of communication between the ten races, In the face of allies and enemies, what will you do?

■4-8 hours of gameplay (varies with puzzle-solving speed) ■6 characters to pursue (including 2 hidden characters) ■7 BEs, 1 HE, 6 individual character endings, and 1 grand finale ending, 15 endings in total to unlock ■18 pixel CGs for cutscenes and endings ■30+ puzzle maps ■Mild horror elements"

This is a game now available in English on Steam! It seems to have RPG, puzzle and horror elements in addition to the standard visual novel format. You can buy it here!