#this will get a proper post once i make up my mind to actually continue it KDKJSJKBSFJ

[hansluvs]

close to you — itoshi s.

i burn for you, and you don't even know my name - in which you make your debut into the ton expecting to find true love, and instead catch the attention of piercing teal eyes belonging to the man you swore to never acquaint yourself with.

wc: 3.1k+ (ongoing)

tags: regency au, itoshi sae x f!reader, strangers to lovers, (eventual) mutual pining, slow burn, sae is a little shit in every universe i will die on this hill

notes: took me a few months to get back to this but here it finally is! very excited for this idea it's been fermenting in my brain for a while

masterlist | next part

Your debut into the ton was certainly an anti-climactic one. Being the youngest of your five sisters, who had all been whisked away and married by the time you were of-age, everyone's attention had already moved on from your family's matches and preyed on the newer debutantes that had come in from further districts.

However, a debut that had certainly shocked the ton was that of the oldest Itoshi brother, who was the son of the King's advisor and had been close friends with the crown prince along with his brother since they were children. The entire society had been waiting for him to pursue a marriage match since his younger brother, Rin, had tied the knot with a very fortunate debutante the previous season.

Itoshi Sae had the reputation of being quite the rake, and was notorious for never taking the same woman to bed twice. He was very easily bored, as he put it, always looking for a new source of entertainment. Which consequently swiped marriage right off the table, as words from the mamas claim he's never so much as considered it.

Yet there he is now, standing beside his mother and younger brother, nursing a glass of lemonade. His teal eyes are carefully flitting around the room, seemingly cold and calculated. You hoped they would not meet yours.

As much as the alluring man across you had piqued your interest, you were determined to achieve your one and only goal for this season: to find a love match, and ultimately decided that Itoshi Sae was certainly not the man for the job.

A gentle hand had rested on your shoulder and you turn around to find Mikage Reo, the only son of the Viscount Mikage, and your dearest friend.

"Nervous?" he asked, a cheeky grin on his charming face usually reserved for poking fun at you.

"Hardly. I find it's quite boring, you promised me more fun than this," huffing out a sigh, you take another sip from your lemonade. 

Reo lets out an amused chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way you've always admired. You've harbored an unrequited crush on him for quite some time now, ever since their family had moved in across the street from yours and he had introduced himself with that same toothy grin he now flashed at you.

"It is uncharacteristically dull tonight, I suppose. Would you fancy a dance instead?"

Reo would have been the perfect match for you; attractive, intelligent, humorous, and not to mention from one of the most well-off families in town. You two got along well, and it was no question your shared affection for one another.

"And risk Seishiro shooting another rude remark at me? Thank you, but I'll pass."

If only he had not been in love with your older brother, Seishiro - who had returned his feelings, which you only found out this summer. Reo shoots you a scolding look, as if to warn you about someone overhearing your conversation. It was, after all, inappropriate for two men to be involved romantically within the ton.

Which was why your brother was standing a few feet away from the pair of you, a bored expression on his face as he pretended to listen to whatever Mr. Bachira was talking excitedly to him about.

Reo hurriedly scribbles down his name into your dance card then gently pulls you onto the large ballroom floor. "Don't worry about him, he's not the one making their debut. Besides, someone needs to dance with you in order to gain the attention of other suitors."

As the orchestra plays another lively tune, you scoff at your friend. "I don't need you to attract suitors! I can do that perfectly by myself, thank you very much."

"Really?" Reo smiles, lilac eyes not pointed at you but at somewhere, someone in the crowd instead. "So, do you reckon that Mr. Itoshi Sae would have noticed you had I not intervened?"

"What are you on about?"

As the pair of you turn, you finally see what Reo had meant.

Itoshi Sae, with his piercing teal eyes and indifferent expression, had been watching you move across the dance floor the entire time. Like a hawk.

The two of you meet each other's gaze and a shudder runs through you as Reo twirls you away from him. A sudden, awful feeling sinks into the pit of your stomach, and it seems that you were entirely incorrect.

This season would be far from boring, as you'd come to find out.

[daydreamingatnight209]

Me actually writing and posting? What??? 😱😱😱

Enjoy some Colson content my lovelies 🥰

As usual Feedback is welcome, HATE is not ; if you don’t like it, don’t read it. ✨💕

“I’m Here, Go Back to Sleep”

MGK x Female Reader

Warnings - None. Just pure fluff!

——————————————————————————

Waking up to an empty bed these days wasn’t unusual these days, with the album deadline slowly creeping up day by day, Colson spent almost all of his hours in the studio, working himself to the bone to produce an album everyone can enjoy.

With your own workplace continuously overworking you, sleep or time didn’t come easily to you either. You couldn’t remember the last time both you and Colson had actually spent more than a few minutes at a time together in the same room and it was starting to become very lonely.

Leaving the cold and empty bed, after another night of hopeless tossing and turning, you sigh and drag yourself downstairs to the kitchen. Preparing for another day to survive on coffee you make one for both yourself and your boyfriend who didn’t even leave the studio last night. It was most likely he fell asleep there in the very early hours of the morning.

While the lack of sleep wasn’t new for Colson, it certainly was for you and you could feel it slowly starting to affect your mind and body.

You grab him a change of clothes, a blanket for yourself and his favourite aftershave before crossing over from the house into the converted studio space.

With the band already in session, you slipped in almost undetected, but as always, your eyes caught Colson’s immediately. You give him a small smile and walk over to give him what you had brought over.

“Babe, what are you doing up so early? You look exhausted” he whispers as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You let out a small laugh and set yourself down on the closest chair.

“Gee, thanks Col”

After a quick clothes change and the others leaving in search for food, Colson calls you over to the desk he’s working at.

“Come, let me hold you” he mumbles, stretching his long arms out in your direction.

Wrapping the blanket tightly around you, you walk over to your lover and wrap yourself around him so you were straddling him. He holds you tightly and sways gently.

“You need to get some proper rest, baby, you are going to make yourself ill” he tells you softly.

You giggle to yourself at his concern for you, knowing full well he wouldn’t take his own advice even if you begged him.

“I’ll rest when you do” is your answer and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you, despite not actually being able to see him as you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

The two of you sit there quietly, as colson continues to sway you and hum a track from the new album into your ear.

Despite not being able to sleep properly, something about being in colson’s arms after so long, settles you and you cannot fight the call of sleep that beckons you. Your eyes close slowly and without protest as you rest against the frame of your man, the feeling of safely enveloping you.

Colson smiles down at you, tenderly, the look of frustration and stress leaving your features as you snore lightly.

He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t missed these small intimate moments with you and did feel quite guilty for not making more time for you while in the process of doing this next album. You never once complained and took everything in your stride which is on of the many things he loved about you.

He couldn’t wait to look after you and treat you to something special as a way of thanks for all your support when the album was complete.

His train of thought was interrupted as he heard everyone coming back to continue the session. He panicked slightly as they all barged through the door and glared at them in an effort to silence the rowdiness they were currently displaying.

“Shhh! She hasn’t slept properly in weeks and I swear if any one of you wake her up! …” Colson hisses at his friends, before looking down at you to ensure you were still peacefully sleeping.

Slim is the first to put his hands up in mock surrender, a smirk plastered on his face as he leads the group back out the door, but he was secretly glad that this would mean Colson would be forced to take a break, even if it was just an hour or so. He knew he definitely needed one.

Once alone again, Colson lifts you up with ease and carries you over to the sofa, laying you down and climbing in beside you. He wraps his arms back around you settles in. The movement causes you to stir slightly, your eyes still closed you mumble for your boyfriend not to leave you.

“Shh baby, I’m here, go back to sleep”

[petriwriting]

Vero Amore - Theodore Nott X Reader (Part 4)

Summary: Theodore is on trial for being associated with voldemort due to his father and family history, His odds arent looking so good. Luckily for him you are called to the stand to testify on his behalf, and you just might be the key to his innocence.

Fluff, established previous relationship, Exbf!Theo, Older!Theo and others. Post hogwarts.

Previous part here

The prosecution had painted Theodore as a greedy criminal, despite his previously spotless record. It was all about the chatter, and breaking away from the path his father had paved for him would have proven to be difficult. You were ushered back to your seat, away from the center of the courtroom. a mixture of skeptical and sympathetic faces passed you by, if these people wanted a love story, they got one. there was not a single ounce of dishonesty in either you or Theodore, or any of his witnesses'.

During closing arguments, Your escort gave an impassioned plea about Theodore's outstanding character and the complete lack of real evidence against him. The prosecution tried its best to poke holes, but their arguments rang hollow after everything. and it was now in the hands of the jury, you hoped and prayed they would be forgiving. After just an hour of deliberation, the jury returned with a verdict of not guilty on all charges and accounts. You finally let out the breath that felt like you had been holding for months. His life and reputation had been salvaged, he was no longer tied to his past. and he would not have to be sent away to suffer for his fathers wrongdoings. you were overjoyed, elated to be able to see him one day do all of the things he always dreamt of. Once the court was dismissed, you scurried over to Theodore to embrace him, he picked you up into the embrace, holding you closely with a huge breath of relief and fresh air. Blaise appeared, he had been sitting quietly somewhere in the courtroom, though you hadn't noticed. "I told you it wouldn't be so bad." he assured Theodore with a stern pat on the back. Theodore was practically in tears, happiness. "I'm so shocked," Theodore says, the courtroom is now being emptied. you are all being ushered to leave.

As the three of you continue forward into the lobby, Theodore lets out a heavy sigh. He says your name, gently. "I'm so happy you are here," he begins. "Thank you, so much. I am indebted to you." he says. You smile softly. "You don't have to thank me," you say. "I'm glad I could be here." you say. 

After a sentimental moment between the two of you, Blaise is quick to leave. "I do have to get work now, but I'll leave you two to have a more proper reunion." he says. "It was great to see you again," you say politely. Blaise was never super close to you, although you were cordial since he was friends with theo. "Thanks, for everything. We'll celebrate at my place later, yeah?" he says, Blaise nods, and then is off. 

"I don't suppose you have plans after this?" Theodore asks you as you both walk, exiting the ministry building spilling onto the busy street. "No, actually, my calendar is clear for the day." you explain. "Would you like to come to my place? we can catch up- I'd just like to properly thank you for being there today." he says, his hands reaching for his pockets. "That sounds really nice actually." you agree. 

Before too long you are at Theo's small flat. It's messy and lived in. "Sorry it's a mess." he says. "But it's home." for someone that grew up a pureblood slytherin who was well off financially, it was quite modest. "It's fine. I don't mind it." you say, sitting at the kitchen island. Theo is standing on the other side. "Would you like a drink?" he offers. "sure" you say. Although you are both happy that he is now a free man, there is still a slight tension from spending so many years apart after school. you are both attempting to make up for the lost years. Theo offers you a glass with some tea, your favorite kind. He's incredibly thoughtful. "What happened to your father?" you ask, after some contemplation. "After the war, he realized he would be prosecuted. He attempted to flee to America, but he was caught and he passed shortly after." Theo says. 

"I'm sorry to hear that." you say. "It's alright, I don't miss him. but he's the only family I ever had." he says sadly. "That isn't true," you retort. "You have draco, pansy, and blaise." you thought. "and me." you say softly. Theodore gives a grateful smile. there's a special exchange between you. His mother passed away when he was young and his father was awful...  "The past few years have been rough," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "with the trial dragging on for so long, and with everyone busy moving on with their lives I always felt like I was stuck back in time... It's been really lonely." he says. "Sometimes I think back," you begin. "and I remember all the things we did, all the fun we had. Laughter, Tears, all of it. I'm sad it's gone now, but I'm grateful that it happened. Those are my best memories." you admit. "Seeing us in those memories kind of changed me." Theodore admits, biting his lip slightly. there is uncertainty. "What do you mean?" you question."I just meant that," he begins, but he back tracks, his hands resting on the counter behind him as he leaned back, his arms stiff. "I've been really lonely and part of that has to do with missing you." he exclaims. "For a long time I absolutely hated myself for leaving you there like that without an explanation, knowing that I ruined one of the best things I've ever had in my life. For a while I couldn't get out of bed, It was so heavy. But I asked you here today so that I could just let you know I'm sorry for that." His head is low, he's ashamed of himself. "Theodore, you don't have to apologize for that." He shook his head. "I do when I've thought about it almost everyday for years." he manages to say softly. "We all did things we aren't proud of, there was a war happening," you say. "That doesn't matter, but I am sorry," he says. 

You shift in your seat, taking a sip of your tea and placing the cup on the counter. you swing your feet over the edge, and you are now standing in front of Theodore. "I know that you had to do that," you comfort. "You had no other choice to survive. and that's okay." you comfort the man in front of you. "And by the way, I thought about you too. a lot. an embarrassing amount. But I wanted you to grow, even if that meant leaving me to do so." you say. Theodore is speechless, he feels like the same teenager he was all those years ago, scared to say anything. so he didn't, he pulled himself forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips. 

[hannigramislife]

for my own gratification bc i just ran into nie mingjue hate in the wild, would you mind making a post that defends my poor good boy? he worked so hard and got gaslit to shit before getting murdered terribly ;; literally everyone sat there telling him "youre being too harsh" and he's just responding appropriately. like yeah, if you witness a murder, ya kinda got to do something about that as a clan leader. its kinda your responsibility, even when you care about the person who did the murdering. he was also a really young when he took on the role of clan leader and idk, it just made me rlly sad to see people dunk on him cuz wtf he's literally just trying his best in an impossible situation WHILE being perpetually fucked over by his clan's own traditional cultivation cuz now the stronger he is as a leader, the closer he is to going literally insane and dying bc of it. (mingjue did nothing wrong i will die on this hill) ((sorry for going on a tirade, im just sad and defensive of my good boy rn))

Oh no! I'm so sorry you had to go through Nie Mingjue hate! Truly tragic. I went through that once when in the beginning of me reading the books, when I still had no proper opinions, and never again.

I'm more than willing to make a post about Nie Mingjue! I'm always down to talk about Nie Mingjue tbh, he's my heart and love and if I were to have been given the opportunity to be his right hand person, I would have simply never betrayed his trust and married him. Rip Jin Guangyao but I'm different.

Anyways, I, huhhh, actually think you?? Covered it all??? Pretty much?? Yet I will talk about it. This will be long and non-coherent, because I don't have the books rn to find quotes in them and honestly, I could write essays on Nie Mingjue either way.

Nie Mingjue is a central piece of the narrative, despite the limited amount of appearances he made, and the fact that he wasn't close to the main characters at all. The entire second part of the plot revolves around him- it happened because of him. His murder is a tragedy; literally, by greek standards, man has Cassandra Curse all over him, so I don't get how people can tell me, confidently, that his death was warranted. I've been told the man had asked for it, and this has mostly been by Jin Guangyao apologists.

So let me make something real fucking clear.

Nie Mingjue did not deserve to die. Let's get that out of the way, anyone can fight me on that. Nie Mingjue had more good qualities than half the people in this fucking story, despite his flaws. After his father was brutally murdered when Mingjue was only in his teens, Nie Mingjue stepped up as clan leader. We can only speculate the hardships that await someone leading a clan at such an early age. Yet, political challenges weren't the only thing he had to battle; Nie Mingjue knew about his clan's harmful cultivation, and he knew he was going to die young. So what did he do? His best. Literally his best, always. He was always giving 100% of his abilities, because that's who he was.

Let's talk about who Nie Mingjue was, shall we?

When Jin Guangyao, still Meng Yao then, describes Nie Mingjue, he finds himself perplexed, because Nie Mingjue isn't like other men. He is not frivolous, and he has no vices; Meng Yao describes how Nie Mingjue never showed an interest in arts, or alcohol, or women. All he did was train, and fight the Wens during the war. It shows that he had a one-track mind from the start, and has got a strict discipline; yet this strictly disciplined man, leader of a clan that prizes strength, continuously indulges his lazy and undisciplined half-brother, his one and only heir, despite not understanding his interests. We gather, pretty quickly, that Nie Mingjue is a bleeding heart for his brother, and for the ones he loves in general. We see the same softer side displayed in the presence of Lan Xichen, and of course, for some time, Meng Yao.

People seem to think Nie Mingjue took Meng Yao's betrayal too harshly. As if somehow seeing a man he thought to have been just and honest commit premeditated murder, then cover it up, was something he was just supposed to get over. To this day, I can't believe how Lan Xichen was so understanding of it. But not only did Nie Mingjue catch him in a cowardly act - Meng Yao proceeds to manipulate him, using the fact that Nie Mingjue cared about him, to stab him in the back. Or front, however it happened. I get that Meng Yao was in a difficult position, that he suffered at the Jins, that he felt backed in a corner; but Nie Mingjue was a man that had extended his help to Meng Yao before, and even then, he went to find Meng Yao in righteous fury, ready to help him again. To Nie Mingjue, the idea that Meng Yao "had no other choice" but to kill - to kill in the manner he did - it could have been nothing but a betrayal.

One thing that I personally highly respected Nie Mingjue for was the fact that he did not judge Meng Yao for his background. This is not up for debate; Nie Mingjue stood up for him, quite publicly, quite vocally, when Meng Yao was being insulted over it. And not only that, but he promoted Meng Yao to be his right hand man, just like that. Because he's impulsive, and to prove a point, but it was still huge of him to do. Not even Lan Xichen would have done that - In a society built on power dynamics between social classes, Nie Mingjue was one of the few characters who did not let that define his actions. It wasn't because he was born privileged (though he was) but because he he didn't let anything other than his judgment direct his actions. Nie Mingjue also never shied away from anything; if it had to be done, he did it, no matter the cost.

Nie Mingjue was decisive, and had an iron will. When Meng Yao killed the Nie disciples in Qishan, he wanted to kill Meng Yao. Meng Yao told him, paraphrasing, that "don't you understand that if I hadn't done that, it would have been your corpse up there?" and Wei Wuxian takes it to mean "Translation: I saved you so you can't kill me, because that would mean you're in the wrong." So Nie Mingjue hesitated for a second, then said: "Fine! I'll kill you, and then take my own life!" And the only reason he didn't, was because Lan Xichen was there. Otherwise, Nie Mingjue would have killed his former friend, then followed him to whatever afterlife awaited.

Nie Mingjue is often portrayed like he doesn't understand stuff, like he's stupid, simply because of his black and white sense of morality. That's not correct: Nie Mingjue understands motive, but he doesn't accept the ends justifying the means. Scratch that, he doesn't accept or justify either, if they're unjust. The murder of the Jin commander, the murder of the Nie disciples, not executing Xue Yang - how can Nie Mingjue possibly understand Meng Yao's decisions, when Nie Mingjue would rather die, any day, than live thanks to vile actions?

And then, Nie Mingjue starts falling into qi-deviation. We know that it affected his temper the most, and his judgement. I don't understand how it works, really, so I don't know by the end how much was Nie Mingjue and how much was the mess that the spirit made of him - maybe a combination of the two. But what is certain, is that the rapid qi deviation changed him.

But I could write a hundred more pages on him, meticulously going over every single scene he has ever appeared in, because I find him that interesting. I find him the most interesting, and the most appealing character, because in a story where the navigation of the cultivation world's complex politics and hierarchies with tact and diplomacy is crucial, Nie Mingjue stands uncompromising in his principles, choosing duty and honor over anything else, even when it's hard.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I remember you mentioning A court of Thorns and roses in your posts once when talking about malleus character archetype. Have you read acotar series? If so I really want to know what you think about it. Your post is how I found out this series. It's pretty meh 😕 to me but I would really like to read your thoughts on it 😊. Also are non twst related ask allowed? If not I'm truly sorry😥. You can just ignore this ask

Oh god 😅 That was such a long time ago that I can’t even locate the original post where I made that comment…

To summarize what I said then, I had expressed that the way Malleus is presented to us reminds me of the bad boy supernatural love interests in romantasy novels.I believe the online book community colloquially refers to these characters as “Shadow Daddies” and I find that hilarious. To clarify, I do NOT mean to say that Malleus is Yuu’s “canon” love interest or anything like that. When I say that Malleus is “like” a Shadow Daddy, it’s just in the tropes they share. (For example, being overpowered, brooding, and misunderstood as a “bad guy” when, in actuality, he has a heart of gold and is just lonely.)

… I’ve actually seen multiple posts comparing Malleus and Rhysand, if you can believe that 💀

The rest of my response isn’t really TWST related, so I’ll put it under the cut for ya ^^ I tried to keep my thoughts concise and free of spoilers.

But to your question! Yes, I actually have read the first three books of ACOTAR but not the novella (A Court of Frost and Starlight) or the sequel, A Court of Silver Flames. I got into the series because it was highly recommended within its genre, but I came out of it really disappointed. I continued reading hoping that it would get better, but it really did not.

Maas has this really melodramatic and yet simultaneously juvenile way of writing dialogue that does not mesh well with what I’m looking for in a romantasy read. She’ll have characters give exposition or speeches that go on for like 10 pages straight and also have supposedly wise ancient fae cracking potty jokes like a middle schooler trying to impress their friends. It makes the books a lot longer than they have to be. In actuality, the plot involves a lot of running around and having all the right questions answered by conveniently placed chess pieces. I also did not enjoy the vague world building (like several side characters are never given proper names and instead are always referred to by title) and the near-constant mention of mating bonds. What I did like was how Maas wrote action scenes and descriptions (even if they often veer into purple prose). She also comes up with some unique concepts—but the execution of those concepts isn’t great, so the ideas are left sort of shallow and floating there waiting to be fully realized.

Romantasy and fairy tale retellings are some of my favorite things to read, so I was sad that I didn’t think that highly of this beloved series. It’s been a while since I’ve read a book I’ve been able to seriously get immersed in 😔 ACOTAR’s explosive popularity has led to many other authors trying to replicate Maas’s success, which has flooded the market with horni fae books and even similar titles (“A [noun] of [nouns] and [nouns]”). (And as someone who does NOT find Malleus attractive at all, you can imagine I’m not thrilled.) I have really mixed feelings about that… While of course I don’t mind if people enjoy ACOTAR or ACOTAR-adjacent books, I dislike that it makes up the bulk of what is marketed to me. It makes it a lot harder to find something that’s more suited to my tastes.

If anyone seeing this post is interested in trying out ACOTAR, I caution you that it is a “new adult” book, meaning it is intended for older teens (I would recommend 18+, honestly). There is a lot of violence and… explicit intimate scenes… in the series.

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Fear of Falling

CHAPTER TWO [Masterlist]

Pairing: Hiccup x ftm!reader

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

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

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

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

Words: 12552

“So where’s your dragon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come flying with me.”

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

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

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

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

“I did try it once.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hiccup,”

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

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

“Afraid of heights? But-”

“Afraid of falling, mind you.”

“You won’t fall!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hiccup!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is he?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

“Then why don’t you have a dragon?”

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

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

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

“Gobber knows you?”

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

“Look, if you hurt him-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think that’s him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep telling yourself that, troll snot.”

“Ow, hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What was his name again, [y/n]?”

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

“I told you you were too loud-”

“Shut it!”

“Ow-”

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

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

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

“Someone’s been talking about me?”

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

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

“Which we didn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, well it's been great, but-”

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

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

What in Odin’s name just happened…?

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

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

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

FIRE

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

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

“You think you're tough, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You owe me an arm wrestle!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a sheep…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So does anyone else know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAG LIST: @lecoindetobi , @yakosobaboba ,

[vexedallay]

I have so many thoughts abt epsilon guys, so it's analysis post time-

Warning: long post below cut

So, they're not human, right? Their body is that of a robot, so presumably their mind is some sort of computer or AI (and here I mean an actual goddamn artificial intelligence, not a "generative ai" or some bs). So their entire fucking mind is made of code, and things like "variability" doesn't really exist. In order for someone like epsilon to function, they need to break down the complexity of human nature into sets of rules that govern how social interaction, society, and the world in general works. They can then follow these rules and be fine. (This is how my brain works, btw. Computers make more sense than people to me) Epsilon can understand that their rules might not be complete, and is flexible enough to add more when encountering new scenarios, but they do expect their rules to be accurate. They are very much a person of logic rather than emotion. As they have mostly only interacted with other robots and artificial beings, who function in much the same way, this works for them. However, when interacting with actual people, this doesn't work as well. People are notably often governed by emotion, not logic, and are incredibly prone to spontaneity. As such, Epsilon really has no idea how to interact with them sometimes, especially with little kids.

Epsilon also refers to living people as "organics" and robotic things as "artificials" because that is how they separate those two groups mentally. There's too many types of people, too many types of robots, so Epsilon refers to the makeup of their bodies instead. This isn't necessarily an insult, it simply is. But it is a fun detail about Epsilon habits.

Also since epsilon is a robot, they can do things like be rebuilt. This is a massive thing in the actual portal storyline - being able to rebuild these robots over and over again to continue testing. Even if Epsilon wasn't programmed initially to feel pain, they are a learning system (that's what makes them so good) so there isn't a reason they couldn't have *learned* to feel pain, or at least some facsimile of it. Additionally, them watching their body get destroyed and rebuilt it bound to be traumatizing anyways, which means I just gave this robot ptsd. Oops.

Anyhow, how does epsilon actually *survive* being destroyed, much less *watch*. First off, Epsilon only exists in their memory files. They can be *completely* disconnected from their body, lose access to *all* of their sensory systems, yet still be *alive*. (This is also bound to be incredibly traumatizing since they are basically completely at the mercy of whoever happens to find them, completely unable to defend themself.) And, if they needed to watch, glados is there and watching anyways. Since epsilon only exists in their memory files, they could be hooked up to other sensory systems, through network connections and whatnot. I'd imagine glados does this on purpose as a sort of threat to epsilon.

I do want to mention glados at least briefly. She definitely had some level of control over at least Epsilons body and sensory systems, which in general is rough (complete understatement). She also put Epsilon through all of these tests, making Epsilon a lab rat. Which means Epsilon likely has the *mentality* of a lab rat. So high levels of obedience, no real purpose to life (currently they want to find rho-13, but once they find him they won't have a purpose at all), etc. Which is just fun to play with.

Also, I like to think Epsilon uses they/them pronouns because they never got a gender module installed, and learned that they/them was the default. So they're a they/them guy with no actual preference.

Fibally, Epsilon definitely thinks of themself as EP-511ON56. They're a robot, and that is their serial number. The same way they think of RHO-13 as his serial number rather than a proper name. The reason they *use* this nickname is because organics don't like listing serial numbers constantly, so Epsilon.

Anyhow, long af ramble about epsilons character? Complete.

[the7thheroine]

Treech x mentor reader part 3/5

PART 5 IN THE WORKS READ THE REST OF MY BOOK 🤬🤬

HEY SO URM 3 PARTS ONE NIGJT?? ALSOOO THIS IS THIS IS THE SECOND TO LASF PART AND WILL BE SUPER LONG.

Once the academy ended the amount of food you bought was, small. Barely even a meal. Stuff stolen from the academy and off your own plate, which snow, had given you that idea as you watched him do the same, pocketing food for Lucy gray.

“This is stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

Snow answers back amused by your expression.

“We can’t just bring them scraps! They need proper food.” You snark holding up the tissue wrapped sandwich. As you approached you could see some students already at the zoo muttering and giggling amusedly over the tributes.

As you approached you spotted treech, sat next to lamina on a bench in the far corner.

“Treech?” You call moving closer to the zoo kneeling down.

He turns his attention to you, before turning to lamina checking if she’d be ok, as she gave no response, he sighs standing up coming over to you.

“What are you doing down there?” He says amusedly

“Getting you water and food.” You roll your eyes standing up handing him the flask and the wrapped food.

“There’s barely enough for one.”

“So?”

“What about Lamina?” He says frowning.

“I’ll bring more later I promise, but that’s all I could get for now.” You say looking over to Lamina as she sits solemnly.

“So.. how good at you with an axe” you say shifting back and forth on your feet.

“What? Oh.. for the games?.. I’m ok, never used it on a person, only on wood.” He shrugs continually chugging the water in the flask.

“Hm.. so… would you say your-”

Immediately a crash, and bloody screams were heard as one of the tributes grabbed her mentor and started attacking her.

Immediately three peace keepers stood up from their posts raising their guns and firing at the tribute, bullets ricochet off the bars firing widely everywhere.

You couldn’t help the scream you let out backing away in fear, Treech turns to you reaching a hand through the cage grabbing your arm.

“It’s ok! Your ok! It’s fine.. you’re fine.” He cries out slowly down your steps before you fall.

He immediately grabs your arm in a funny way through the bar turning you away from the sight.

“I’d.. go home.. ok? Go home rest and come back later when this is all done. When.. the bodies are gone.. you’re gonna be fine y/n..” he nods worriedly letting go of your arm.

You nod gently, taking a few steps back trying not to look at the body. Snow however appears next to you grabbing your arm.

“Cmon. Let’s go y/n.” He says exhausted as he pulls you away from the zoo.

You turn back trying to see treech but he’s returned to his seat beside lamina looking even more worn out then before.

It was late in the evening when you came back, the zoo had no visitors and most of the tributes had sat down looking exhausted, apart from the occasional cough from Dill, there was not a single sound.

In your arms were two bags of food, and three bottles of water, enough to get treech, and Lamina through the night and morning.

“Treech?… treech come on!” I hiss out.

“My arms are hurting…” you hear movement and suddenly there’s Treech stood in front of you by the cage.

“You actually bought us stuff?” He whispers stunned at the sight of large amounts of food.

“It’s for you and lamina, I thought you both could use some and I did promise didn’t I?” You smile pushing it through the gates to them. Treech slowly reaches out, taking them from your hands carefully as if scared you’d change your mind and snap at him.

He quickly takes it handing a bottle to Lamina and a pack of food, she looks up at you slowly, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

“Thank you…” she whispers out before choking up again.

You smile back turning to treech. “Listen, tomorrow you’re all getting rounded up and taken to the arena to look at it and discuss strategy. Whilst you’re here, discuss strategy, do what you have to do. Make friends..” you whisper grasping the bars of the zoo.

“You’re sure.. it’s hard, there’s no one here who seems even interested in me.”

“They are, I’m sure of it, there just.. nervous maybe?” You offer out an answer only to get a scoff back.

It’s silent for a moment, your gaze goes to where wovey is sat leaning against her tribute partner, Bobbin.

“I do feel bad.. I mean.. wovey is so young..” you mutter looking in defeat at the small girl.

“You never know, she might pull through, tiny but mighty.” You chuckle as Treech makes a large hand gesture.

“Well I’m hoping you pull through and win.” You smile at him nodding your head.

“Thanks I guess. Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow? Don’t try and sneak in the cage again. They were going to kill you” he says looking into your eyes with a frown.

“I won’t! Promise.” You smile taking your hands from the cages bars. “Try and get some sleep treech,.” You mutter as you move away giving him a silent wave which, surprisingly he returns it.

As you approach the arena running up the steps the first thing you saw was the tributes, all lined up based on there district and gender. District, then Male and female. You spot snow leaning close to Lucy Gray whispering in her ear, you hadn’t seen him since the last afternoon when the tribute was shot.

You spot treech stood nervously adjusting his hat looking around solemnly as more mentors arrive.

“Miss me?” You joke moving to stand next to him. You look him up and down noticing he’s much less tired today and has gained colour back in his cheeks.

“No.” He answers shortly. He nods to Reaper.

“Where’s that girl? His mentor?”

“Who clemensia? I.. huh. I actually don’t know.” You say curiously looking around at everyone.

Suddenly the gates open and peacekeepers guide everyone into the arena, as you begin to move in, you turn back to look at snow only to see Lucy Gray clutching tightly onto his hand.

‘Not bad snow, not bad..’ you think as you glance to Treech who’s shoulders immediately tense up.

Immediately the arena is scene, and it’s huge. The first thing you notice, is there’s not a single place to hide. Not one.

“Here, cmon let’s go look around.” You say to treech grabbing his hand pulling him into the arena properly.

“Don’t drag me..” he snaps but, he doesn’t pull away though, as you continue to drag him through the arena.

You stop pointing at a large rock.

“That’s the cornocopia. It’s where there will be weapons, and all kinds of stuff.” You say simply. “There will most likely be an axe too so there’s something you’re familiar with.”

“Oh.. right.. there’s no where to hide though?” He thinks allowed looking around.

“You can climb right? Look, up there. If you can-”

There’s a load boom before you can get your final sentence out.

“Oh fuck!” You cry pulling treech backwards as rubble and the arenas roof begins to fall.

“What the hells happening!” Treech shouts over the noise wrapping an arm around you pulling you away from a piece of rubble.

A plane, an enemy ship, falls through the sky and crashing into the centre of the arena, Treech pulls your hand dragging you from the rubble, but not fast enough. Before you can even blink, a piece of brick smashes into your head knocking you to your knees.

“Shit y/n! Y/n oh my god your bleeding… your head.” He gasps as he tilts your head up pressing his hand onto the wound.

“I’m.. I’m fine. I’m fine..” you try and utter feeling your brain because to mix and become fuzzled.

“Treech you need to get out of here.. you need to run…” you choke out.

“No no way! And leave you?” Treech pulls you up wrapping your arm around his neck. As he begins to manoeuvre you out of the arena.

Within a few minutes you could feel fresh air on your face as you make it out of the arena, many tributes and mentors stood outside staring shocked at the rubble falling.

Before you can blink, a peacekeeper has grabbed you and is supporting you as two begin to drag treech into the transportation van.

“Y/n?! Help her god damn it!” He shouts as he’s slammed into the van.

Time begins to blur and warp as you open your eyes again only to see your apartment walls.

Erm so next part will be out soon but I may or may not have accidentally deleted a chunk of it 😌 @ch8mpion

[joshhutchersonseggsalad]

Tw: long opinion post:)

at this point I'm having a hard time believing these rp accounts are "not minors." Its rlly fucking ridiculous as someone who's an ACTUAL adult looking to interact with other ppl in my fandom and then having to worry if someone is lying about their age right to my face (which has happend to me over 5 times on this app now). There's nothing wrong with interacting with certain ages, I'm talking about the folks who have balls to continue to lie and then try to interact very nsfw with me and my friends who don't appreciate that. There's a fine like between talking about certain topics and being silly (cool idc I was ur age once and made c8 jokes) and then being absolutely gross. We all make mistakes and yes ig it's common for young ppl to lie about their age especially these days, but keep in mind what ur saying to these ppl..imagine how an adult feels when finding out they were actually messaging a 14 year old the whole time. I'm a very forgiving person and don't usually cut ppl out of my life unless they've done me wrong, it's possible others r the same, so there's no reason to be afraid and just be open and honest about ur age at this point, especially if u are role-playing characters and interacting nsfw on a public page. But itd be very valid if an adult mutual were to block u for lying to them and crossing the line multiple times. Honesty, especially about your age, is a mature trait. If u wanna act like an adult, it'd be nice if u atleast had that trait too. Even if u aren't a rp and just a normal account, this applies to u too. Nobody HAS to put their age in their intro/bio but it's def well appreciated by a lot of ppl. Bc also a 15 year old doesn't always want to be talking to a 30 year old (applies to both parties). I understand tumblr is a platform open to anyone, but I think it's important for ppl to realize their spaces and boundaries as well. There are LOTS of young teens on this app who'd love to be friends with other young teens..same goes for adults. If you are under 18 purposely coming on this app to "get freaky" with someone over 18, that's a bit of a problem imo🫤 when it comes to being friends with ppl, it depends on others personal morals and beliefs. For example, I know some 20 year olds who don't mind being friends with a 17 year old, and others who absolutely would not dare to..but it's VERY IMPORTANT to not force a friendship and go against some of those ppls morals by lying about ur age and fooling them when ur actually 16. I've appreciated the very few who have given me proper apologies about the matter privately and proven they'd grow from their mistakes. What bothers me is the rise of young folks putting adult in their bio and thinking they can do as they please with actual adults. We were ur age once. It's not cool having to worry about if one of ur fav mutuals is actually secretly a 15 year old:( if ur gunna sit here and tell me that ppl lying about their age on this app is none of my fucking business, well ig in a way ur right technically, but when it comes to them interacting with me on my accounts, it's hard for me not to have trust issues. Ik it's easy to block but again personally I'm not one to block often, as this app is open to everyone and I'd feel awful if I ended up blocking an ACTUAL adult bc I misunderstood their vibe for a minor:/ and just want to clarify I'm not making this post with like super ill intent and shit. Yes the topic at hand is annoying and stressful when it comes to having trust issues, but there's no need for any negativity. Just know, if ur a minor seeing this post and u r a mutual of mine and u are lying about ur age, u should step up.

thank u for reading.

[waitingandwishing]

Army Dreamers pt. 7

(Cross posted on tumblr and AO3)

Prev - Next Chapter

"The first 200 floors of Heavens Arena are divided into classes, 10 floors per class," A lady told the three.

They were on their way to the fiftieth floor and had to turn in their tickets, when she started explaining everything. While they were waiting in an elevator, a small kid was standing behind them.

 "Which means a fighter who wins on the fiftieth floor goes on to fight on the sixtieth. If they should lose, they automatically drop down to the fortieth floor.”

"But Killua, why're you starting on the fiftieth floor? Aren't you stronger than us?" Y/N asked him curiously.

"They were originally going to place me on the 180th floor, but I wanted to start off slow," He told her, answering her question.

“I heard that once you get to the hundredth floor, they comp you your very own room!" The kid behind them said, his voice full of excitement.

He had bushy eyebrows and a more buzzed haircut, and he wore a traditional martial arts uniform. A black turtleneck was underneath his uniform and a red belt tied around. How was he not sweating? It was surely stuffy and overwhelmingly musty in the arena.

“I'm sorry, that was impolite of me," The kid spoke again. He seemed young, but that was just based on his height. Getting into a more firm stance, the boy shouted, "Osu! My name is Zushi, and you are?”

"I'm Killua."

"My names Gon."

"Y/N," Y/N smiled, introducing herself as the elevator dinged soon after and the guide ushered them out quickly.

Walking on the tiled floor, Zushi continued talking. "I watched your fights earlier. You guys are really amazing!"

“What're you talking about?" Killua asked, looking at the kid. "You're here with only one match as well.”

“He's right!" Gon said.

"No, no," Zushi held up his hand. "I still have a long way to go. By the way, what discipline do you practice?" He asked. "I study the Shingen-Ryu technique," he brought his fists up to his chin, before forcing them to his lower side.

“A discipline? Don't have one,” Killua told him.

“Yeah, don’t really practice discipline.” Y/N shrugged.

"Nope," Gon said.

"You're kidding!" Zushi jumped back, apparently surprised. "You three are that strong without any training? I am humbled to be in your presence.”

“No need to be humbled by a couple of kids.” Y/N smiled awkwardly.

After that, Y/N heard a quick clapping from behind him. Looking up at who was making it, she saw a man with jet black hair, glasses, and an untucked button up shirt. "Zushi," he said to the boy, "You did well.”

“Thank you, master,” Zushi said, looking back at him.

“I'm very happy to see that you stuck to my teachings,” the man said, giving a close-eyed smile.

“Osu! I am honored,” Zushi said, doing the previous action with his hands. "But master, your shirt's untucked,” he pointed out.

The man awkwardly laughed while tucking his shirt in, "Sorry about that," he looked up to you three, "Who are they?" He asked.

"Oh," Zushi looked at them, holding his hand out. "This is Killua, Gon, and… Y/N."

"Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my name is Wing," Wing said.

"Osu!" All three of them said, copying Zushi's actions. It was the proper way to greet a master.

Wing smiled, "I really wasn't expecting to see any kids here, other than Zushi. So, what brings you here?" He asked.

"Uh, we- Well, we want to become stronger,” Killua answered. "But, we're also broke so it seemed to make sense to come here."

“Why are we here if your family is rich, Killua? Why didn’t you just steal money from them?” Y/N ask.

“Well… it never really crossed my mind, y’know?”

“Wait, so you knew we needed money and the chance we actually have to get money you just… forget?” Y/N sighed, “Maybe we should’ve listened to Leorio and sold your face for millions.”

“Wait, what?”

"Nothing!"

“Oh yeah, Killua has been here before sir," Gon told him, looking up at the man.

"Is that so? You must be quite talented,” Wing complimented. "Or else you wouldn't have made it to this level. Even so," Wing held up his index finger, "Be mindful of your opponent's body and your own."

"Osu!" The three of them said again.

Once Wing had walked up, Y/N walked to the registration desk to enter the fiftieth floor. "Killua, Gon, Y/N, and Zushi," the lady typed into the computer, "There you are. Hand me your tickets please." 

All four of them laid out their tickets in front of her. Her hands grabbed them and typed something into the computer again, before handing back four envelopes. "Here, this is your prize money from your fight earlier.

Thanking her and walking away, Y/N opened up the packages. A hundred coin, fifty coin, and two one coins fell out. "152 Jenny," She said, counting it up.

Y/N looked up and saw Killua working the vending machine nearby, "On this floor, you make just enough for a juice, whether you win or lose," he cracked it open, "But on the other floors, a loss gets you nothing. Winning on the fiftieth floor will earn you fifty thousand.”

"That's a lot of money!" Gon yelled, a smile on his face.

“I actually don’t think my wallet is prepared for that much money.” Y/N joked with a smile.

“I think you earn a million on the hundredth floor,” Killua said, taking a sip from the can. "And past the 150th floor, you get ten million.” 

"Ten million?!" Zushi and Gon both exclaimed.

“Maybe I should’ve gone here when I was younger…” Y/N muttered to herself before realizing something, "Um, but Killua, didn't you make it to the 200th floor?"

"Really? The 200th floor?!" Zushi asked.

"How much do you get for winning on the 200th floor?" Gon asked, as Killua was taking a long sip from his drink

"To tell you the truth, I don't actually know," Killua asked, when he was done. "Because I quit just as soon as I qualified for it," he told them. "But when I won on the 190th floor, I had about 200 million in total.

“Where's that money now?" Gon asked as Zushi went into shock.

“That was four years ago so it's long gone by now. I spent all of it on snacks," Killua casually admitted.

“That much on snacks for four years?" Y/N asked.

Zushi looked at Gon and her and asked, "What kinda snacks were they?"

“Chocolate probably.” Y/N snorted.

Instead of answering Zushi’s question, Killua threw away his can. Pointing an index finger to the ceiling, He said, "We should go up to the waiting area now. We got through our matches unscathed on the first floor, so they'll probably give us another match today.”

The three of them nodded and started to go to the waiting room. When Killua opened the door, there were a few intimidating figures that were in the room. One of them had weapons similar to Kurapika's wooden swords.

Y/N felt a pair of eyes staring at her, she stared back at the figure before he turned away before quickly following after Killua, Gon behind her, and Zushi behind him.

"Well, if these guys are our opponents," Killua sat down on the bench, his legs crossed, "Then this'll be a cinch."

"Really?" Gon asked.

“Killua, quiet they can hear you," Zushi said, uncomfortable with sitting next to a stranger.

“It's fine Zushi, Killua was just reassuring us that we would win," Y/N gave him a small smile, “At least, I think so.”

"2054, Mister Killua," the intercom went off.

"Looks like you're up," Y/N looked over at him.

"And 1963, Mister Zushi. Please head to Arena A on floor 57," the intercom finished. If Zushi wasn't uncomfortable before, he definitely was now.

"Okay," Killua said, not worried at all.

Zushi stood up and did the sign of respect from before, "Osu! I am honored to face you!"

"I bet," He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. Killua seemed rather confident that he could win. "Well, you can't win ‘em all... Better luck next time, alright?" Walking past Y/N and Gon, "See you later guys.”

"Best of luck to both of you guys," Gon said, his hands resting on the seat in between his legs.

"Don’t get too cocky, Killua! Try not to hurt ‘em too bad.” Y/N said, shooting him a smile.

“I’ll just quickly knock him out, he might end up with a headache but that's about it," Killua waved me off, "I'll meet you guys on the floor above, yeah?"

"Kay!" Gon yelled. Killua gave a goodbye and you and Gon returned it, before he and Zushi left. "Jeez, he didn't have to act like it was such a done deal,” he turned to me, a bashful smile on his face.

"Yeah, he definitely could've said it softer," I sighed, a small smile on my face from it, “He’s cocky. But I guess confidence is key?”

About half an hour later, Y/N was called up to fight. "2056, Miss Y/N and 2011, Mister Itami, please proceed to Arena B on floor 58," the intercom said.

Breathing in a deep breath, she stood up. Waving a goodbye to Gon and with him wishing her luck, she walked down the hall to the elevator.

‘I got this,’ Y/N thought before slightly frowning, ‘Do I though?’

[hebuiltfive]

The Five Mistakes of Virgil Tracy

HAPPY BIRTHDAY VIRGIL!

I posted an actual happy story for one of their birthdays? I am in shock.

This is part of a wider alternate universe set in the Regency era that I'm developing... with a twist. You may have a hundred questions regarding a certain scene in this story, but I promise it will all make sense once the actual Regency AU story is published (which will be soon, I hope!)

For now, enjoy Virgil getting up to some mischief.

There is no explicit smut or sex in this, but it is implied. If you do not like romance, this one might not be for you.

For those who prefer to read on AO3.

Mister Reeves's private art collection is not quite what Virgil had been expecting to visit. What happens at the Reeves's family estate, stays at the Reeves's family estate.

March, 1816. London.

It had been a stroke of luck — of good or bad was still to be determined — when John noticed Lord Tycho Reeves contemplating one particular landscape. He had soon introduced him to Virgil as a friend and colleague at the Novatores club. Virgil had been overly keen in meeting one of John’s friends. Most of the time, his studious brother kept his club and its members far away from the rest of the family. Virgil did not mind, although making a good impression had been paramount.

Art seemed to be the topic of choice, given their location. Virgil had turned to the painting Lord Reeves had been assessing and began to critique it earnestly. Surely any smart man who was a member of John’s club, and who possessed an interest in art, would too be able to see the imperfections of the piece.

“It lacks imagination,” Virgil had so boldly claimed. “The shadows are all wrong for one thing. Even a novice would be able to see that those shades are entirely incorrect. It gives the painting an inauthentic feel, and then, of course, there is the case of the sky.”

“What is wrong with the sky?” Another voice had asked. If Virgil had been paying proper attention to his surrounding company, he would have noticed that, while this new man sounded like Lord Reeves, it was not he who had spoken.

“It’s grey.”

“The skies of England are usually grey, are they not? Perhaps, as an American, you would not recognise this.”

Offended, Virgil finally returned his attention to the group. Though Lord Reeves had humoured his inital critique, he was now standing a little further back with his arms behind him. His grin looked suspiciously like a smirk. Next to him, John had a twinkle in his own eye.

That was when Virgil had realised they had been joined by another man. Slightly taller than Lord Reeves, with similar features, but identifiably a very different man.

“Please,” this new addition to the group continued, “carry on. What is wrong with the sky being grey?”

Virgil, suitably uncomfortable and feeling like he was missing part of the puzzle that made it all so amusing to Lord Reeves and his brother, had meekly explained. “… Everything else in this landscape suggests… a happy memory. The lake twinkles as the sunlight catches it, though I cannot fathom where the sunlight is coming from, which suggests a magic spark.”

“Could it not be simply the light refracting the surface of the water?”

“That would be too literal.”

“And art cannot be literal?”

“Of course it can, but this is obviously not.”

“How so?”

Virgil sighed with a hint of irritation. “Metaphors in art are curated in the palettes, designed in the brushstrokes, admired by the viewer. Imagination is what drives art forward. Creative, human spirit!”

“The sunlight could pierce the clouds.”

“It does not represent that.”

“Imagine that it does then.”

Before Virgil could further dig himself into a hole, Lord Reeves stepped forward. “Mister Tracy, please allow me to introduce to you my younger brother, Percival… the artist of the piece you are currently observing.”

The blood had drained from Virgil’s features as the situation slowly sunk in.

He was thankful that Mister Reeves had not been insulted by Virgil’s strong critiques. Instead of turning away from him in anger, he had invited Virgil to tour the rest of the gallery with him and, once they had finished, invited him to visit his own private studio back at his family seat in Kent. This invitation had been solidified when, two days later, Virgil had received a letter from Reeves once again inviting him to his family home. Feeling as though he could not decline such a kind request, Virgil organised his schedules for his trip and set off the following week.

The long journey south had filled Virgil with anxiety. Every couple of hours he’d contemplate whether visiting would be a good idea. The last thing he wanted to do was put his foot in it again. When his carriage rolled up to the Reeves’s Estate at noon, Virgil had still not reached a definitive conclusion on what was best. He noticed Reeves all but skipping down the steps to greet him and quickly decided it was too late to do anything but stay.

April, 1816. Kent.

As Virgil stepped out of his carriage and the man drew closer, Virgil could make out the intricate pattern on Mister Reeves’s waistcoat. A design of dark, swirling lines, blooming in flowery explosions. The colours complimented the rest of his attire well and Virgil instantly realised two things: the first was that this was a man who knew how to present himself. Of course, he was hosting a guest for the next couple of days, however the clothing he wore suggested to Virgil that was ostentatious. The second realisation was that Reeves was a man who prided himself in being that way. If Virgil hadn’t already known better, he wouldn’t have been shocked to hear of Reeves’s love of art. He used himself as a canvas, and Virgil unexpectedly found himself appreciating that.

The first item of their agenda, according to Reeves once Virgil’s luggage had been seen to be a footman, was a guided tour of the country estate. His brother was apparently out for the weekend with their mother and Mister Reeves had expressed great relief at having the estate to himself (minus the obvious staff that flitted in and out of rooms as they passed through them).

Before arriving, Virgil had done thorough research on the man he was about to visit. He had asked John for tidbits of information from what he’d heard from Lord Reeves regarding his younger brother, and had surreptitiously inquired about the man at various events and social gatherings in the week leading up to his journey. He hadn’t been expecting Reeves to share as much as he currently was during their stroll, but had listened intently, as he would with a close friend, pretending he hadn’t heard half the story already.

Unlike his brother, Lord Reeves’s imagination had led him down a path of academia. He favoured turning to science and mathematics in order to understand the world around him. Percival's passions had always been more fanciful, decreed by the arts and a far cry from the world of equations and physics.

With his freedoms as the second-born son, it meant that Reeves had spent the better half of his youth creating. While his brother conducted his technological tests up in his study, Mister Reeves had dared to study the various crafts of art. First, the childish abstract art that a muddy puddle in the grounds of their vast country estate, then, as he grew older, so did his interests. Sculptures and poetry fascinated him, but it was in painting where his true passions dwelled.

Virgil could relate to most of that. He, too, was called to a different path than his brothers. It was refreshing to hear Mister Reeves’s brief story, though when he asked questions regarding Virgil’s own family in the process, Virgil was a much more closed book. He was thankful when the topic of conversation changed to the varieties of plants in Tycho’s greenhouses, even if neither of them were particularly knowledgeable on the subject.

Drizzle began and they made the decision to start back up to the house. They passed a lake that appeared very similar to the painting Virgil had critiqued when they had first met, and then various flower beds before ending the tour by the stables just as the rain began to pick up.

It had been fascinating, taking a walk through the gardens of the Reeves’s estate, but Virgil was far more at home once he was given the tour of the interior. The paintings that hung on the walls of the house were more familiar to Virgil than plants and trees. They strolled further into the grand manor, passing through halls and rooms so elaborate they would no doubt rival the Royal Palaces themselves, until they eventually came to the private art gallery.

Most of the artwork that lined the first room was very similar to those that Mister Reeves had already displayed at the gallery where they’d first been introduced: a couple of watercolour landscape pieces that had been inspired by his home in Kent; a portrait of his older brother painted with oils; a few commissioned pieces that had never been paid in full and so Reeves had kept them as payment.

“An unfortunately common occurrence.” He had sadly claimed.

All had been what Virgil was expecting to see upon arriving. No bold, critiquing comments were made on any of the pieces he saw, however. He had learned his lesson the first time around and the shame he felt in the aftermath… Virgil hadn’t forgiven himself for days. If that had been him on the receiving end, he wouldn’t have recovered for a while. Not that his self-esteem was bad, that is. The case with Virgil came down to his sensibilities; out of the five Tracy brothers, Virgil was undoubtedly the most sensitive.

Mister Reeves guided him through to the second room of the studio. It was low lit and more crowded than the first chamber. As they entered, Reeves pulled back the covers that had been blocking the windows and the afternoon sun streamed in. Light lit up the area, the canvases that were haphazardly strewn across various work surfaces…

And Virgil stopped dead in his tracks.

The previous landscape images and average portraits were the paintings he had been expecting to view.

The image of the scantly clad woman, however, was not.

Virgil blushed.

And Percival Reeves liked that. His smile turned devilish.

“Is this imaginative enough for you, Mister Tracy?” Reeves asked as he sidled up beside his new friend.

Virgil observed the painting. It was certainly suggestive and Reeves’s alluring demeanour and tone only amplified it.

He convinced himself that he was only interested in the brushstrokes, in the colour palette that had been used. It only half-worked.

The ivory dress the model wore had slipped down substantially, leaving bare shoulders on display. Delicately painted hands held up the gown which remained covering her more intimate parts, but the suggestion was enough. Soft ringlets of her brunette hair fell from her fancy up-do.

Whoever this woman was, she was exquisite. Virgil wasn’t sure whether she was real or merely a figment of Reeves’s imagination, and he dared not ask for her identity. The last thing he wanted to appear as was indecent.

Then again, it had been Reeves who had invited him to his private studio, who had guided him into this second chamber, who had revealed to him these secret paintings.

To further his point, Reeves did not seem to care for indecency. As if reading Virgil’s mind, he traced his fingers lightly over the woman’s painted features. “Her name was Clara. She was a model down at the club I frequent.” His index finger reached the rouged lips of the model. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”

A variety of questions inundated Virgil’s mind. He kept them at bay and simply — meekly — nodded. “You said ‘was’?”

“Clara no longer models for us.” Mister Reeves explained, dropping his hand back down to his side. “Rumours claim that one of our members became ‘involved’ with her and, when their relationship ended unpleasantly, Clara left and never looked back.”

So entranced as he was by such a scandalous image, that was now additionally paired with a scandalous story, Virgil found he could not take his eyes off the painting.

When Mister Reeves’s gaze drifted over to him, he felt the man’s eyes on him rather than saw them.

“Gossip can be such an obstacle.” Reeves continued. “The Ton seem to thrive on tittle-tattle. Have you ever read that damned gossip sheet that makes it’s rounds now and then? Utter poppycock! Drivel! I believe it to be a vulgar practice. In fact, I think spreading frivolous gossip is far more vulgar than showcasing a painting of natural beauty. Would you not agree, Mister Tracy?”

Beside him, Virgil felt Mister Reeves inch closer.

“Yet, while the gossip rags are allowed to be published and distributed, my paintings are prohibited from being shown in public art galleries. Tell me, do you believe that to be a fair practice?”

Virgil’s collar suddenly felt too tight. The question posed by Reeves sounded like a test of some kind and Virgil found himself not wanting to fail. He could see how such an illustration could be deemed “too promiscuous” to display, no matter the natural beauty it showcased, but made no comment. He continued to stare at the painting, unblinking.

Reeves went on. “I do not think you are the sort of man who enjoys listening to mindless gossip. You appear to be a man who prefers thoughtful conversation.”

His host’s words became more emphasised, more accentuated, more connotative.

“You come across as someone who would rather indulge in more stimulating dialogue, no?”

Virgil grew hotter. Mister Reeve’s arm now brushed against his own and Virgil’s heart-rate quickened. He blamed it easily on the portrait that he still stared directly at.

If Reeves was testing him, Virgil thought that is was a rather unfair test.

“How do you like to be captivated, Mister Tracy?”

His host was being wilfully provocative. Mister Reeves’s arm again brushed up against his own sleeve. It was a momentary touch, fleeting and possibly accidental… No, not accidental. Paired with the words and the images and the previous touch, Mister Reeves had intentionally moved closer a second time.

Still Virgil said nothing. Still he did nothing. He allowed the feelings, so unfamiliar to him they almost frightened him, to swell and infect every part of his body and mind.

He began to wonder if this was the sort of thrill his brother sought when he visited her. If that was the case then Virgil was on the path of understanding what the appeal was.

Mister Reeves had grown quiet, and Virgil realised he had yet to answer his question.

Nervously he cleared his throat, his words seeming foreign on his tongue as he spoke. “I, uh, do partake in poetry.”

He dared a glance towards his host. That was his first mistake —

No, it was his second.

Virgil’s first mistake had been accepting Mister Reeves’ invitation, though, of course, despite his initial hesitations, he had not known back then what would transpire.

This second mistake of his — turning to face Reeves — could have been far more avoidable. Upon seeing the portraits, Virgil could have upped-and-left. That would have been the proper thing to do.

But he had been so transfixed by the images he had seen, marvelled by their beauty, that Virgil simply could not leave. Never mind the fact that it would have been a rather rude gesture towards the man who had essentially given him a second chance with that kind invite.

Just as the painting was easy to get lost in, Mister Reeves’s eyes, Virgil realised, were the sort one could drown in. Without a second thought, he imagined how he could possibly paint them. Bold and daring, with a touch of tawny in the hazel iris. Perfectly opulent…

Dear Lord, he was staring! Straight into the other man’s eyes and—

Virgil’s blush returned with vengeance. His cheeks grew warm and there was nothing he could do to stop them from reddening.

Perhaps the invite had not been kind at all. Perhaps it had been an elaborate scheme that Mister Reeves had concocted to further embarrass him after he had made those comments!

Reeves chuckled, however. It was not the sort of vicious or malicious laughter that came at the expense of another, but one that was reassuring. Gentle and understanding, Mister Reeves reached out.

Despite the fabric of his shirt separating their skin, a thrilling tingle was still sent up Virgil’s arm upon his touch.

…

Oh, this was ridiculous!

Virgil cleared his throat, attempting to compose himself in the face of Mister Reeves. He inhaled deeply, which proved to be his third mistake. The scent of rich orange and bergamot coming from the man standing beside him drowned his senses completely.

“One shade the more, one ray the less, / Had half impaired the nameless grace / Which waves in every raven tress, / Or softly lightens o’er her face; / Where thoughts serenely sweet express, / How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.”

“Byron.” Virgil instantly recognised the piece.

“I, too, partake in some poetry from time to time.” Mister Reeves admitted.

“It is a beautiful poem.”

“It is. I have a variety of poetry books in my private library.”

Virgil cracked an amused smile. “Is this private library as solicitous as this private art collection is?”

Mister Reeves simply stared at him and, for a moment, Virgil wondered if he’d been too bold.

Before he could backtrack and offer an apology, however, Mister Reeves’s smile curled. “Would you think poorly of me if they were?”

Virgil did not think poorly of any man or woman, with the exception of a couple who were truly, under Virgil’s terms, despicable. Mister Reeves, in the short amount of time he had known him, did not seem to be that sort of man.

“Art is not to be thought poorly of.” He diplomatically decreed. “It should be subjective, not discredited due to themes or images alone.”

“Unless it is an unimaginative piece down at the Royal Art Gallery?” Mister Reeves chuckled, the twinkle in his eye suggesting he was glad Virgil was being more direct.

“Am I ever to live that down?”

“It is looking more and more unlikely, Mister Tracy.”

That was fair enough, he thought to himself. “I see. Well, in that case, I shall have to work hard to regain your trust in my judgement.”

“I do not distrust your judgement in the slightest, Mister Tracy.”

Virgil could feel the blush return to his cheeks. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mister Reeves.”

“Please, call me Percival. If we are to be friends, it feels only right.”

The offered hand that Mister Reeves — Percival — had extended was met halfway by Virgil, who had been expecting a handshake from the man. There was no handshake, however, and instead Percival enclosed his fingers around Virgil’s hand, squeezed gently and then pulled him back through the doorway of his art studio. Virgil did not stop him, which proved to be his fourth mistake, and they retraced their steps through the hallway, turning in the opposition direction to lead down a new staircase Virgil had not yet seen. The steps were lined with a beautifully soft red runner and, eventually, Percival came to a stop outside another room, this time locked.

Percival made short work of unlocking the door, opening it to a view of his private library, if the lines and lines of shelving were any clue. Percival pulled Virgil inside, only letting go of his hand once the door behind them was shut.

“This is my second home.” He announced rather proudly. “Or my third, if you were to count the actual house as a home.”

“You do not?”

Virgil’s question was asked half-distractedly. He began to inspect the rows and rows of books that sat upon the nearest shelf.

On the Origin of Species

Believing Is Seeing: Is There Life on Mars?

Relativity: The Special and General Theory

Dark Matter and Dark Energy: The Hidden 95% of the Unknown

A Brief History of Time

Challenging Technology

Sustainable Transport Innovations

The Voyage of the Beagle

Beyond the Horizon: Exploring Breakthroughs in Modern Science

Whatever answer Percival had given to his question, Virgil did not hear. He ran a finger along one of the books worn spines, feeling the groove of the embossed titles that made no sense. After all Percival had said regarding the differences between his brother and himself, Virgil had half-expected a library full of books on the arts. This library looked more like a trove fit for Tycho instead.

His eyes scanned over the titles again.

A Brief History of Time… The Voyage of the Beagle… On the Origin of Species…

Virgil’s mouth grew dry. Beneath the layers of his clothing, goosebumps rose.

Something was wrong.

Fog descended on his mind, skewing his thoughts from questioning any further. The hair on the back of his neck rose and static noise drowned out whatever Percival was currently speaking about. There was a steady beeping sound that was barely audible amongst the crackling disturbance.

Virgil glanced back to the row of books, impossible books, books that seemed wrong. They didn’t belong here, and not because he thought they were Tycho’s books instead. There was something Virgil couldn’t quite put his finger on, something very obvious that was staring him right in the face… but that damned hissing wasn’t helping him think! He resisted the urge to lift up his hands and cover his ears; it wouldn’t have helped.

Virgil jumped when Percival’s hand landed on his arm. The fog instantly lifted, the noise dissipating until he could hear his host’s words clearly once again.

“Are you feeling well, Tracy?”

Without missing a beat, Virgil nodded his assurance. “Yes! Yes, I am… I am well. My apologies.”

“Are you quite sure? You seemed…” Percival trailed off, his eyes searching Virgil’s cautiously. “… distant. Like you were—”

“I assure you, I am fine!”

Despite the confidence with which Virgil had declared his health, the truth was much more different. His heart was still thundering away behind his chest, his head swimming, not only from confusion but from some sort of after effect. He held onto the shelving for support, disguising the fact by gesturing to the line of books. “You have a wonderful collection here, Percival.”

It was only once he complimented the books that Virgil dared to look at the titles again.

The Analysis of Beauty

A Treatise on Painting

The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects

Bile rose up Virgil’s throat. He was certain those same books held different titles only moments ago. He frowned, tearing his eyes away from the books that had caused his funny turn; he did not wish to go down that rabbit hole again.

“Thank you.” Percival bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Whether he could sense Virgil’s unease or not, Virgil did not know. All he knew was that his host was guiding him by the arm to sit upon one of the leather couches in the centre of the library. Virgil allowed himself to be seated, forcing himself to offer Percival a weak smile. It did nothing to quell Percival’s look of scepticism.

Nevertheless, Percival continued. “As I was saying, I count this as a home away from home.”

“Yes, you said you did not class your house as a home.” Virgil recalled, tracing his mind back to their conversation before he’d been swept up in… whatever that had been. “Is the house not naturally your home?”

“No.” Percival had been nothing but confident since Virgil arrived. He had stood tall, spoke relatively freely and without concern. Yet, with that small, one-worded confession, the man had changed. His tone became quieter, his shoulder hunched making his appearance seem smaller than normal.

“I find the house is less of a home and more of a place where one resides.” He explained carefully. “My studio, this library, feel more homely to me than the house at large does. Oftentimes, the bottom of my liquor bottle is more conversational than my brother or anyone else in this damned household.” Percival’s eyes met Virgil’s. “Do you not feel that way too sometimes, Mister Tracy?”

He took the seat beside him on the couch, his arm stretching out across the back cushions behind Virgil. “Do you not feel encased or entrapped by the house in which you reside?”

Virgil shook his head, though in truth, he had never once given it a thought. His family were the kindest, most welcoming people he knew. They made his house a home. He refrained from sharing that, however. The last thing he wanted to do was sound as though he was boasting, even if Percival had asked him the question in the first place.

Percival grinned with a subtle touch of jealousy. “How lucky you are to not understand first-hand what the pain is like.”

“But surely your brother—”

“I told you, Tycho is less interesting than my bottles of liquor on a good day. He rarely cares for what I do, being too busy tinkering away in his little laboratory or polishing himself up in order to appear just as our father did, a pillar of society. He does not care what I do or who I have become.”

“He was at your art show the other month.” Virgil carefully pointed out. “Surely that means he still must care in some capacity?”

“Everything Tycho does is for show, Mister Tracy.” Percival met Virgil’s eyes again and the vulnerability was clear. This was a man who had turned to his creative pursuits to escape his own reality. Virgil could relate to that, even if he couldn’t entirely empathise with the exact reasons why.

“You must be lonely.”

“Sometimes.” He smiled weakly. “But I am glad I have found a friend in you, Mister Tracy.”

“Please, if I am to call you Percival, you must call me Virgil.”

Percival’s smile grew, softening the hurt in his eyes. “Well, I am glad to have found a friend in you, Virgil Tracy.”

“And I with you.”

“Do not tell me a man such as yourself is without friends?”

“I am afraid all my friends are back home in America.”

Any trace of Percival’s vulnerability was shed. He welcomed the change in topic gladly, lifting one leg up to tuck underneath himself as he turned to face Virgil, his arm still outstretched behind him. Virgil felt relief when Percival did not retrieve that hand, and then batted away his feeling once he’d realised it.

“Tell me about home. My father visited once but he rarely spoke about it.”

“Probably because there isn’t a lot to say.”

“Nonsense! Do not be modest with me now, Virgil. I showed you my most secret collections.”

Virgil grinned. “Perhaps do not call them ‘secret collections’.”

“Why not?”

“It gives the impression that you are a secretive man.”

“Is there a problem with secretive men, Tracy?”

“No, not at all, but it usually begs the question as to what the man is keeping secret.”

“I have laid pretty much all bare with you. What possible questions might you still have?”

“If everything is a secret, Reeves, I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what else I might be wondering about.”

“In that case, allow me to wonder about you. You may not have private art collections, Virgil Tracy, — or maybe you do, who am I to judge? — but you are quite the enigma yourself. Tell me, compared to myself, how deeply have you answered my questions this afternoon?”

Virgil felt slightly guilty. “Perhaps I am simply not as deep as you might think I am.”

“I would have to disagree with you there. I think that you’re extremely deep and meaningful. You just don’t trust very easily, which I understand entirely, but…”

Percival trailed off, shuffling a little closer to Virgil. The hand outstretched behind him gently brushing against Virgil’s shoulder. He tried not to elicit a reaction, tried to ignore the sweet tingle that was left once Percival’s hand left him again, but it was harder to hide than it had been in the art studio.

“But you don’t have to worry here.” He continued, so close his whisper breezed Virgil’s cheeks.

Virgil Tracy’s fifth mistake was not standing up and leaving the library in that very moment, though mistake might have been too harsh a word. The word ‘mistake’ is commonly left with connotations of regret, and Virgil did not regret what happened next in the slightest. Percival’s rich scent of orange and bergamot clouded Virgil’s senses. It enveloped him, ensnared him. He noticed now how Percival’s eyes were more tawny than they were green, citing the different in lighting in the library being the primary reason. He’d have to remember that when he painted the man… if he painted the man.

His muse quite often struck at odd moments. On one occasion, while stuck at the dinner table of one of Lord Clingsdale’s banquets, Virgil had composed an entire symphony in his mind. On another occasion he had written the most beautiful poem whilst playing a round of ninepins with his family. He transcribed it later that evening before he could forget it entirely.

But this sudden surge of creative passion was different. It was stronger. This time his inspiration did not arrive due to boredom or having a lovely afternoon on the green with his family. This time his inspiration came from the very handsome man who had invited him into his home and bared his soul to him.

Virgil reigned himself in.

There was never a logical or calculated moment for when his muse would strike, but he just couldn’t be thinking about that, not now.

Not when Percival was this close to him.

Not when Percival inched his face toward him.

Not when Percival’s lips, so soft, experimentally pressed against his own.

It was over within a second. Percival pulled his lips away and stared at Virgil, assessing his reaction. The kiss had been so fast, Virgil hadn’t been able to process it fully. His confused blinking had Percival frowning, his cheeks warming up.

“Was that…? Oh, God, that was too much, wasn’t it?” Percival jumped up from his position, clearly embarrassed, but all Virgil felt was his absence the moment he left. Beside him, the couch still had a Percival-shaped dent from where he’d been seated.

Distraught, Percival clamped a palm over his forehead. “I’ve ruined it all now, haven’t I? Please, Mister Tracy, accept my thorough apologies! I do not know what came over me…”

The buttons on his waistcoat, unique in its periwinkle shade, were fiddled around with. That vulnerability Percival had displayed earlier, of which Virgil was sure he’d only barely glimpsed, only scratched the surface of witnessing, had returned.

Virgil stood immediately and strolled over to the pacing man. He caught Percival’s hands before he could do any damage to his waistcoat buttons and, to his surprise, Percival ceased his fidgeting. Virgil knew he had a calming quality, an aura that was tranquil, but he rarely didn’t surprise himself with his abilities. His father had once claimed that he was a lot like his mother in that regard and Virgil had held that compliment close to his chest ever since.

The not-quite-tawny-not-quite-hazel eyes glanced at him with hesitance, but Virgil didn’t allow him to back away. If Scott was allowed to have his fun, then why couldn’t he? After all, one more kiss was harmless enough, wasn’t it?

Gently, for he did not want to ruin Percival’s intricately designed waistcoat, Virgil’s fingers wrapped around the lapels and drew him nearer. Their slight difference in height had Virgil leaning forward and up, but he wasted no time in reassuring Percival that he hadn’t ruined anything.

This time, Virgil made sure that their kiss wasn’t so light and experimental. Their brief few hours together had enticed both of them, and Virgil wanted Percival to know that he wasn't the only one who felt that way. Whether it was love or lust, or maybe a mixture of both, Virgil did not know. All he knew was he craved more of Percival’s attention, more of his touch.

Percival seemed stunned when Virgil went in for his less delicate kiss but, once he got over his initial shock that yes he hadn’t ruined his new friendship — could it be deemed such now? — with this man, gave as good as he got. Hands trailed clothed bodies, tables were bumped into and enamoured giggles were exchanged in short bursts of breath, until they found themselves back at the couch once again.

When Virgil had first arrived earlier that afternoon, he had not known what to expect. If he had been able to cast his mind’s eye to the future to envision this current scenario, he might have turned away out of fear. Now that he was here, however, living in the moment and cherishing every second, he was glad humans did not possess that impossible ability.

‘One more kiss’ turned into a cascade of them. Lips began to explore more areas — cheeks and necks and chests. They almost missed dinner, too wrapped up in themselves and their desires to care for the time. When society deems something as taboo for too long, one is more inclined to take a bite out of the denied apple.

In between their fits of passion, Percival assured Virgil that what happened during his stay would remain within the walls of the manor… or the greenhouse, or the confines of the lake area, wherever they wished to adventure next. Silly little love affairs were not something to be ashamed of, Reeves had claimed, but something that deserved to be experienced every now and then, and Virgil had to agree.

He was almost sad to leave the following afternoon. Percival had been disappointed that Virgil did not accept his offer to stay longer, but after promising him he’d return as soon as he could, Percival had lightened up a little again. He waved him off as his carriage departed and Virgil found himself looking back through the cab’s windows, watching the small speck that was the Reeves Estate slowly disappear over the horizon.

When John had inquired about his trip the morning after he’d returned back home, Virgil had kept the details minimal. If his brother had seen through some of his more reserved statements, he did not let on, nor did he question Virgil when he spent more time in his studio painting over the subsequent month. Virgil was grateful for that. Inspired by Percival’s private art studio, Virgil had installed a small lock on the door to his own. The portrait he was currently working on was for his eyes only. He didn’t want to make the mistake of allowing one of his brothers to accidentally stumble across it. He was on a running streak of not feeling guilty over the last five mistakes he’d made, and, high on life, Virgil had no intention of breaking that streak just yet.

[compassionatereminders]

I'd say to just reblog the ones with the vetting in their ask sent or pinned post as you see them, or perhaps dedicate a few min at a specific moment in the day/week/etc for going through the ones in your inbox/saved from your dash (via drafting maybe?) with said vetting.

generally you dont need to do the vetting yourself as many of the people doing outreach asks will include their vetting sources with a link to show its real, and the majority of them are very legit vetting processes. there is undoubtedly also a list out there of the legit vetting orgs and individuals to verify the vetting source linked in the ask/post is legitimate

otherwise if you cannot do that, with each individual donation post, a compromise can be to add the links to the official google docs etc in a pinned or regularly queued post where vetted fundraisers continually get added to, including ones of congo sudan etc

↳ this post would be an option for that; (insert tumblr period com part here since if i do my ask doesnt deliver)/soft-zawa-png/753900486558695424/fundraisers-gazasudancongo-more-google

and perhaps since people will undoubtedly complain at you like crazy about how it i'd say to do it with another one of your personalised post distinguishing tags (like your getting personal/asks/serious etc ones) that doesn't as clearly end up filtered out automatically (as many people prefer to not have it tagged as just donation/boost etc for various reasons w the filtering and spam stuff of the site)

sidenote; i also dont doubt you'll get a crazy amt of zionists and racist people using the "everyone is a scammer dont risk it" interactions abt this discussion so do make sure to keep in mind that yknow, lotta racism and zionism abt it all n to not believe the UMMM ITS ALL SPAM!!!!! things nor give them the time of day with spewing bigoted ideology etc

I absolutely get that "doing some work to check which campaigns are real/properly vetted" would be the ideal approach here. But I am not exaggerating or just being stubborn when I say I can't do that work, and that this lack of skill also includes figuring out who to trust to do accurate vetting. I am not capable of doing any kind of work and research associated with prioritizing between campaigns and checking for proper vetting. I am not saying this means that I shouldn't share any campaigns ever, but please stop suggesting "checking if a campaign is verified/checking people's vetting sources" as the solution here. I can't do that. I already said I can't do that work. And that includes doing it sometimes/once a day and checking people's sources to see if other people are actually doing their vetting correctly. When I ask "what should I do if I can't do any of the research work associated with vetting campaigns" telling me to "just do some of it sometimes" misses the point quite a bit.

[jacksgreysays]

"soldier, poet, king" + POV of team 7 from someone in the far future, maybe through the lens of a distant descendant build off surviving myths and historical texts

Dear anon, I hope you don’t mind, but I took a gentle step sideways and backwards with this prompt. In my search for all of the royalty!AU posts, I refreshed my memory about Foundation of Yesterday in which DoS/the Elemental Nations is the extremely distant past of FFVII. Coupled with the SOLDIERs of FFVII and my assigning of which member of Team Seven corresponds to which character of FFVII, I think it all combines well with your prompt. Additionally, I couldn’t tell which members of Team Seven I would assign soldier, poet, and king. But it was easy for me to assign solider, poet, and king to their FFVII descendants and then reverse engineer from there. So we get Cloud, obvious Soldier, descendant of blue-eyed blonde, storm and strife. Yuffie as King, inheriting a pendant that summons a sleeping goddess in times of need. And Vincent is less obvious as Poet, but you can probably get into a sort of meditative philosophizing of working for tyrants and falling in love with a scientist only for her to betray you and then going into hibernation and maybe meeting your distant ancestor who is Chaos? Unfortunately, I don’t actually know that much about FFVII—as I’ve never played it, nor the remake—except for what I’ve gleaned from fanfiction and cultural osmosis, lol. And then this does get into the problem, similar to the Fear to Tread (a world unseen) post in that the primary setting/POV of the fic WOULD be the world/characters that I am less accustomed to writing and then making up the history of the world between the events of DoS and FFVII. So I’m going to continue with my gentle sideways and backwards steps and give you this, instead:

~

(king)

When Yuffie finally activates the strange summon materia she inherited from her father, everything goes dark. At first she panics—maybe something went wrong? did she not have enough mana? was she cursed with blindness?—but then little pin pricks of light appear, like distant stars coming ever closer.

She doesn’t see what the summon does exactly, the battle ends so quickly after that, but that doesn’t matter too much considering the summon just… doesn’t leave.

The Shikabane-hime—once the tendrils of star-filled shadows have done their damage and tucked themselves away out of existence—looks human. Like one of Yuffie’s people, a girl far from home, displaced from Wutai, just like her.

But as the other members of the party shift and stare, uncertain as to what it happening, she remembers who exactly she’s looking at. What she is looking at, that is: a summon, inherited from her father, who only showed up now after her homeland has been ruined by ShinRa.

Later, when they have made camp for the night, when the Shikabane-hime has still not disappeared, even though Yuffie’s original mana offering should have long run out, she confronts the summon.

“Where were you?” Yuffie asks in Wutaian so the others can’t understand her. She tries to make it accusatory, tries to sound authoritative, like a proper Princess of Wutai, but she’s afraid it comes out more hurt, plaintive, like a child who realizes that legends are nothing more than stories, than lies. Like the legend that the Shikabane-hime would come in Wutai’s time of need.

The Shikabane-hime tilts its head, gaze sharp but not unkind. Yuffie thinks for a moment, perhaps it can’t understand her, what language do summons speak? Please not Midgarish.

But then the Shikabane-hime answers, “Your father never called for me.” Its gaze, somehow, becoming sharper but also more kind. Concerned, maybe. “Perhaps he did not believe. Perhaps it was not enough of a threat.”

“Not enough of a threat?” Yuffie shouts.

The rest of the party turn their way, hands on their weapons, except for Vincent whose attention had been on the Shikabane-hime the whole time. He waves them off and the others, with reluctance, stand down.

“What do you mean not enough of a threat? ShinRa invaded our homeland. It is a shell of itself! My father—” she cuts herself off before she can say anything else. Before she can realize what else in her childhood is a story, a lie.

“In the future, you will reclaim it, rebuild it,” the Shikabane-hime says, too casual for a command, too simple for a prophecy. “But first, we must ensure there is a future.”

—

(poet)

When Shikako meets the almost familiar red eyes of Vincent Valentine, she does not say the following:

Is he doing okay in there? How did he manage to survive so long? If you could let him know I’m sorry, I miss him. Tell him thank you from me for holding on so long. Too long. Tell him he can let go, that he doesn’t have to stay if it hurts. If he needs to move on, it’s okay. I’ll meet him there when I’m done. And I’ll bring Naruto with me. You can rest now, Sasuke, I’m here now. I’ll see you soon.

When Vincent looks at the Shikabane-hime—

(Kako, Yuffie introduces it as, trying to play it off as just a late coming fellow Wutaian. If the other members of the party make the connection between the godly manifestation of starlit shadows and the normal looking woman following them blandly, they aren’t making a fuss about it, so neither will Vincent.)

—the Chaos inside of him settles into peace.

—

(soldier)

“You resemble your ancestor quite a bit,” Kako says to Cloud during a quiet stretch of their travels. It is the first thing she says to him.

Cloud nods, because what else can he do in response to that—

(Of course nobody believes that Kako is just a normal Wutaian woman, but they’re up against the biggest superpower in the world and also an ancient evil and also an undying Sephiroth while the Planet riots in its attempt to save itself, like a fever willing to burn everything up to stave off the infection.

They’ll take any help they can get, imposter or no. And it’s not as if he has room to talk about that anyway.)

—but he does notice that her eyes are closed as she says this, implying her remark isn’t about a visual resemblance but something else, something deeper.

“He was named after a storm,” she says, and for once her tone changes, the apathy gently flavored with fondness, “but he was truly more like the sun.” Her expression, too, shifts: a small, sad smile gracing her face.

And because Cloud knows what it’s like to lose someone you admired—in both ways, the aching grief of losing an admired person, and the sharp lance of a hero no longer being admirable—he asks her, stumbling “Were you—did you know them well?”

Her eyes open at this, an assessing glance sent his way. Her smile melts away, as if it had never been.

“Yes,” she says, tone flattened once more. “He was a good man and the Planet turned him into a WEAPON.”

Cloud startles. He looks to Aerith as he does whenever Planet and Cetra stuff are brought up, but he finds her face turned away, as if guilty, not wanting to meet his or Kako’s eyes.

“But no need to worry,” Kako says, voice not so much reassuring as it is grimly determined. “I will ensure you do not follow his path too closely.”

[lisbeth-kk]

Continuing the May prompts with a letter story. Thanks for the tag @calaisreno

Healing letters

After grieving Sherlock for months, John decides to write down his feelings, just like his therapist, Ella, advised him to. First he tries to actually write. Physically. It’s too strenuous. He’s not used to writing by hand anymore. Besides the pages more often than not, gets soaked from his dripping tears, and the ink gets smeared all over the paper.

He'll use the blog, but he’ll disable comments. Although he does it for his own sanity, it may help the few friends he’s got to understand what he’s going through. He hasn’t exactly been socialising since Sherlock jumped off that roof, and he rarely answers his phone. 

He wants it to be a system to this. Each blog post will have its own topic. If not, John’s confident it’ll be just him babbling, not even making sense to himself. Today he feels a bit less depressed, and he can start with the anger.

I’m so angry with you, Sherlock. How could you kill yourself in front of me? Making me witness my best friend jump off a building to his death. Did you think I wouldn’t mind? That I wouldn’t grieve you just because I was pissed with you when I left you? You, the most observant man who’s ever walked the earth. How could you not know, you meant the world to me? What do you think it was like talking to you when you stood up there? I heard the tears in your voice, and you must’ve heard my despair as well. When I saw you lying at the pavement, my life ended too, you know. My whole world shattered. You were taken away before I could say a proper goodbye. How do you think that made me feel, Sherlock? Damn, you!

John’s mentally exhausted after posting the entry. He’s shaking with anger against Sherlock. Without giving it a second thought, he grabs his jacket and heads out to get some air. He walks quickly wherever his feet carries him. He doesn’t care much, and he must look quite intimidating, because other pedestrians are clearly avoiding him.

He makes tea and toast when he gets back. The anger has dissipated a bit. It’s actually liberating to feel something again. For weeks he’s just been numb. Haven’t cared about anything. He startles when his phone buzzes. A text from Molly. He deletes it without looking. She has most likely read the blog entry and wants to comfort him or something. Mike and Greg texts him a few hours later. John deletes those texts too. 

***

A few days later the anger is long gone. Another feeling has emerged in his mind the last couple of hours. His faith in Sherlock. It’s always been there, but never as strong as it is now. Curious, that.

From the first day I met you, I had faith in you, Sherlock. That drug bust at 221B told you that much. Perhaps I put you on a pedestal for a while, come to think of it. Nevertheless, despite all your odd habits, sulks and annoying behaviour, I always believed in who you were. The core of you. Not to flatter myself, but I think I knew you quite well. Perhaps not as well as Mycroft, although he once said that I knew you best of all. All that’s been said about you after you died, makes me believe in you even more. Because I know, Sherlock, that you never were a fraud. You may have shammed and tricked people for a case, but you were never a fake. To the day I die myself, I’ll deny that with everything I’ve got.

Again, John’s mentally exhausted after posting the new entry, but in another sort of way. The adrenaline doesn’t zing through his veins. It’s more like he’s poured out his soul. And in a way he has. He’s never uttered those words to anyone. 

Before the day is over, his phone buzzes with texts from Molly, Greg and Mike. He deletes all of them without reading. This quest is something he wants to execute without input from anyone.

***

A week passes without the urge to write. When the familiar nightmare appears one night, John knows it’s time for another blog post. He had waked screaming Sherlock’s name, seeing him fall from that roof again. His heart pounded like he’d run a marathon and his face was wet from crying, sobbing really.

How did I fail to see that something was amiss, Sherlock? I loathe myself for not observing you more thoroughly. Moriarty clouded my vision. You were so absorbed in his endeavours to get your attention. Flattered maybe, that another genius wanted to play with you. I should’ve seen that his only goal was to destroy you. He said so the first time. At the pool. “I’ll burn the heart out of you.” Whatever he meant by that. He certainly burned the heart out of me, if he had anything to do with your suicide. It must’ve been that. You would never do what you did unless you had no other choice. Am I right, Sherlock? I think I am, which makes it even harder to bear. The thought that if I’d been just a little bit smarter, more alert, less stubborn and angry with you....I might’ve saved you.

John shuts his phone off and drinks half a bottle of whisky after posting that entry, or letter as he’s started to call them. 

***

This will be his last letter. John knows that this also will be the hardest one, and maybe it’ll be the one that starts his healing properly. His grief’s still raw. Some days are better, other worse. This one tip more in favour of the latter.

How much can a man grieve before it destroys him, Sherlock? All I know is that I’ve grieved enough to last a lifetime. That said, I’ll never stop grieving you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. Being in your orbit, saved my life. I was so lost back then, and now I’m even more lost. Because now I know what it’s like to be whole, to have a purpose, to wake every day, feeling excited about what may await me. A new case, a severed head in the fridge, listening to beautiful music from your violin, having takeaway from our favourite places, or dinner at Angelo’s, bantering with you about the lack of milk, or nagging you to eat something. There are so many things that vanished from my life when you died, Sherlock. Are you aware of that? I’m just existing nowadays. The amount of tears I’ve shed could fill the pond in Regent’s Park. I’ve hid them here at Baker Street. Out and about I put on a mask. Motionless. Stony. Speaking of. I’ve only been to your grave once since the funeral. The stone fits you. Polished, black with golden letters. Only your name. No dates or quotes. I talked to you when I stood in front of that stone. Asked you for a favour. To do one last magic trick. For me.

For an unknown reason, John enables comments after this entry, but hours go by, and the comment sections are still empty. Maybe he’d miscalculated people’s interest in him. After all, the readers of his blog were all interested in Sherlock, not in him, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise.

He takes a shower and heads for the bedroom when he hears a sound he hasn’t heard for ages. Someone’s commented on the blog. Probably Molly or Mike. His curiosity gets the better of him, though. The comment is on the last entry.

I heard you. SH

A bit angsty. I can reveal that I shed my share of tears throughout alongside with John...

@totallysilvergirl @notjustamumj @raina-at @meetinginsamarra @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear

[alivingmel]

Apologies, reasons, c-c-cancer?!?, future plans, etc.

HELLO FRIENDS, it's Mel. It's been a very long time since I've posted here, and I feel I owe all you lovely folks who supported me in years past an explanation (whether or not you even remember me because it has been years now) SO, let me tell you what's been going on (under the cut):

Back in 2017, my mental health hit an all-time low that resulted a suicide attempt and subsequent hospitalization. Thankfully, my time in the hospital set me on a path that led me to receiving the care and medication I needed! I started on a mood stabilizer that truly changed my life around. . .

But, because my period of positive self-growth coincided with staying offline and not drawing as frequently as I used to, a misguided part of my brain began associating these things with that awful mental state that almost killed me. I never, ever wanted to feel that awful again, so I started to shy away from sharing and making art until avoiding it completely.

Furthermore, many of my pieces had been fueled by pure mental anguish and, once that pain was alleviated by the proper medication, I found myself struggling to find the motivation to create anything. . . My mind was so much clearer and I could come up with concepts for stories and characters better than ever, but actually getting these ideas down on paper became difficult. For most of my life, I had overrelied on frantic emotions and the idea that my life was not worth anything beyond what I created whenever I made art.

Now that I've realized that yes, my life is valuable and yes, I want to live it, my old approach to art was rendered defunct. I became distracted by new hobbies, since I was able to actually Enjoy Things properly for the first time in my adult life. . . And also because I was avoiding art, which had become a source of frustration and embarrassment for me. I felt like I was a different person than I was before, and the old me was a mess but DAMN they could draw.

I believe it's possible for me to rekindle my passion for creating stuff and discover a reason to draw that isn't unhealthy! But it will require a LOT of focus and energy from me, involving a lot of aggravation and disappointment because FUN FACT when you don't draw for months at a time, you get rusty as hell.

Thus far, I haven't been able to manage the sustained effort required to remember how to draw because, despite being far more mentally stable nowadays, the the last six years have been very. . . Unstable. . . I've lost beloved pets and family members, had to support both parents with major surgeries on several occasions, deal with multiple drawn out court cases (one involving a police officer with a vendetta against my brother trying to get him put in jail, LONG STORY. . .), keep my house from falling apart without having nearly enough money to properly fix the staggering amount of things wrong with it, the persistent cold (and sometimes very hot) war between my immediate family members, and so on. . . My minds been so preoccupied with a constant stream of disasters in my household that it's been VERY EASY to justify a continuing avoidance of art.

I was hoping this year would be the one where I'd get back on track, but instead it turned out to be the year where the old track violently explodes and now I have to build a WHOLE NEW TRACK. So, for now, I have to focus on preventing the derailed train that is my life from jettisoning off a cliff.

Back in December 2022, I discovered a lump in one of my breasts. Considering my age and the fact that it was actually causing me discomfort, I figured it was a benign cyst. Got a mammogram and a biopsy to make sure! IT WAS NOT A CYST. I was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer, which tends to be the type of breast cancer that folks under 40 get. It's often connected to genetics, but I tested negative for all relevant gene mutations and no one else in my family has even had breast cancer. IT FELT LIKE A VERY SOAP OPERA-ESQUE TURN OF EVENTS AFTER EVERYTHING ELSE THAT'S HAPPENED, not very realistic plot progression on Life's part, 0/5 stars.

Triple negative is unfortunately one of the most aggressive types of breast cancer and, since the "triple negative" refers to the tumors lack of hormone receptors and the HER2 protein, it does not respond to most targeted breast cancer treatments. But because triple negative tumors are nasty, fast-growing little fuckers, Classic™ chemotherapy works wonders on 'em!

Thankfully, despite all the doctors suspecting otherwise, my nearest lymph node tested negative! Makes a huge difference in treatment, likelihood of recurrence and metastasis, and my chance of surviving this ordeal. The amount of chemo I have had to endure has sucked hardcore and will continue to suck. I finished 12 weekly infusions at the end of May, and I started the last 4 bi-weekly infusions in June. The last four doses include a very friendly, fun-loving drug nicknamed "the red devil". :’)

The silver lining of this whole mess is that I FINALLY GET THESE TITS TAKEN OFF AND I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO PAY OUT OF POCKET. . . As you may or may not know, I'm nonbinary. I've never had any desire for HRT, but god, GOD, my boobs have given me hardcore dysphoria since puberty willed them into existence. I'm not very comfortable talking about my identity with family and acquaintances irl, so the fact that I don't have to explain myself to nosy relatives now is a relief. WOULD HAVE DEFINITELY PREFERRED HAVING SOME AWKWARD CONVERSATIONS INSTEAD OF FUCKING CANCER, but at least I get some kind of reward at the end of all this.

As someone that's been (physically lol) healthy their whole life, this has been a difficult journey. And, this is wicked cheesy, but the amount of strength I've been able to scrounge up? SHOCKING. I'm proud of how I've managed to grow as a person since 2017. Back then, I could've never pulled this shit off. 2023 MEL IS THE MOST POWERFUL MEL YET, BUT. . . THIS MEL NEEDS TO CHANNEL THEIR NEWFOUND TEMPERANCE INTO THEIR ART AFTER GETTING THROUGH THIS. . .

I actually had this fairytale idea that I'd draw during my chemo sessions and ~rediscover my passion~. . . But I qualified for a cooling cap program (helps with the hair loss, trying to retain as many follicles as I can cuz they play the lead role in my physical presence ok!!!) and the headache you get from encasing your skull with ice is not exactly conducive to productivity.

SO, for now, I need to focus on beating the shit out of cancer and recovering from the treatment beating the shit out of me. But because this experience has made me hyper aware of the fact that we do not get an infinite amount of years to do all the things that we want to do in life, I WILL RETURN. . . Because I have stories to tell! With shitty characters that have shittier lives! I didn't devote 30% of my grey matter to this stuff just to take it with me to the grave, man!!!

ALSO, A REMINDER: if you ever feel like there's something off with yourself, health-wise, do not hesitate to get yourself checked out by a doctor. Whether it's a tiny lump, a persistent dull pain, or anything else. . . Find out what, exactly, it is. I caught this cancer right in time! At this stage, the survival rate for triple negative breast cancer is a little over 90%. Had I waited to get checked out, had I given it enough time to matastize to a distant part of my body. . . My chances of surviving would've dipped to about 12%. That period where I was waiting on tests to confirm whether the cancer had gone anyplace else was absolutely terrifying. SO PLEASE, DON'T FUCK AROUND WITH YOUR HEALTH (OR YOU MIGHT FIND OUT).

[kairoot]

NOT YOUR FAULT: feelings not mutual..

masterlist.

it had been about 2 weeks since you and jay decided to “take things slow”. it hadn’t been a good 2 weeks, though.

sunghoon had been ignoring you and jay, keeping a distance and staying to himself. you tried starting conversations with him, making jokes, asking him to eat with you; none of it seemed to work.

if only you hadn’t posted that screenshot, none of this would happen.. maybe, just maybe, he would be a little bit more understanding..

Jay had been in his room all day, lying down and pacing. He’d racked his brain, stressing over the tiny things and he’d only been in a relationship for 2 weeks. He was dating his best friend’s little sister and now he won’t even look Jay’s way. He’d even gotten to the point where he started to doubt everything. ‘What if this is a mistake?’ ‘What if she doesn’t even like me?’

Thoughts flooded his head all at once. He didn’t eat today.. He didn’t even say hello to Y/n.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the bottom of his messages.

He took the ‘read’ as a yes, and listened to Nari’s instructions. It’s been ages since these two have even spoke.

He grabbed his black windbreaker and slipped on some sneakers. Jay walked out of his room and into the living room where most of the members were scattered. Some on the couch.

He was almost to the door when one of them called out. “Hey, Jay? You okay? Where are you going?”

It was Y/n. The one person Jay had been stressing over. He wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to see her right now, due to all the thoughts flooding his mind.

“Oh, uh yeah. Listen, don’t worry, I’m just going—“ Jay began to wrap an arm around her as he spoke, but caught a glimpse of Sunghoon in the kitchen, glaring at them both. Not directly, but from the corner of his eye. Jay patted Y/n’s arm, glancing up at the blonde in the kitchen. “— to the music store. I think one of my favorite bands dropped..”

Y/n nodded as Jay placed a piece of hair behind her ear. He acted carefully, though. Not wanting to cause any more trouble with his friend.

“Okay, well, be back soon? Eat something..” She sounded worried. Concerned. Jay thought for a minute, maybe she did care for him. Maybe she did like him. Or was that all in his head too?

Jay stood in the January winter, looking around for any sign of a brunette. He shivered, shoving his hands in his pockets, going to take his phone out.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise.” A voice spoke from his right. His gaze met with just the person he was looking for. Her lips turned in a smug smirk.

“Nari,” Jay let out a breath, leaping to engulf her. She wrapped her arms around his small frame, smiling completely this time.

“Jongseong,” Nari stepped away from the hug. Her face more soft, but serious now. “Haven’t seen you since the breakup. Only messages here and there.”

“For the last time Nari, that was not a breakup. We were never together.” He sighed, sitting on the wooden bench. Nari scoffed, bundling herself into her coat, taking a seat next to him.

“Hm. The way you held me said different.” Her voice rasped, recalling the way Jay would hold her when times were rough. When she couldn’t even fix a proper meal for her and her mother.

Jay didn’t speak, staring down at his shoes. He knew him and Nari had their moments. They were never official, though.

She cleared her throat, “So, what’s the deal? Manager scolding you again?” Nari snorted.

Jay scoffed in annoyance, he shook his head. “Uh, nah, it’s actually real serious this time. I’m in a relationship.”

Nari made a surprised noise, waiting for him to continue. “Well, who‘s the lucky gal?”

Jay hesitated for a moment. He recalled Nari hating Y/n so much, during his survival show. She went as far as threatening to run away from Jay. She truly liked him so much but couldn’t stand the thought of someone else getting in the way.

“It’s—“ He started, but his phone lit up with a message notification. The contact read ‘Y/n 💓’.

Nari glanced down at his phone, only to do a double take with her eyes. She felt her heart sink. Not necessarily in a sad way. More in a jealous, angry way. She would never admit that she did actually feel sad at some point. Now it all just felt like rage.

“So, it’s her, huh?” Her tongue poked at the inside of her cheek, her leg bouncing slightly.

“Yeah, uh, two weeks.” Jay flipped his phone over, turning it on silent. He felt the air tense up, causing him to sweat. Even in the cold.

He knew how angry Nari got when the topic of Y/n came up. Even the sound of her name irritated Nari.

She hummed, looking out at the white covering the grass.

“I’m sorry, it’s just.. I feel like, maybe she doesn’t even like me. Her brother hates me now. My own best friend.” Jay put his arm on the back of the bench. He stared down at the white ground.

Nari stared at him, her legs curled up on the bench. She would never say it, but she secretly hoped it was true. That Y/n didn’t like him. And that she could be with the one she wanted.

“Well..” She chuckled, shrugging. She didn’t really know how to respond to him since that’s actually what she wanted.

“Well?”

“Well, what do you want me to say? I mean, it’s a possibility..” She mumbled the last part under her breath.

Jay huffed, shaking his head. He stood up to leave but Nari stopped him.

“Before you get mad, let’s go shop for a few vinyls.” Nari shoved his side playfully. She stood up heading towards the small music store.

Jay sighed, eventually getting up to follow her.

—

milan’s notes: AFTER A YEAR AND A HALF IM FINALLY POSTING THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE EXCUSE THE POOR EDITING AND WRITING, AS A SAID I WROTE THIS A YEAR AGO.

taglist: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura (message or comment to be added)