#toothless the long suffering

[soleilapproves]

Boxer!Sukuna often thinks about what his future would’ve looked like if he didn’t pick his career over you. (inspired by Sienna by The Marías) afab!reader

The idea of what could’ve been keeps burning in his mind. It’s been burning for years, ever since that day he left you behind with your eyes brimming with tears and heart torn in two.

But he had to move forward. He fell in love with the sport before he fell in love with you.

It was all too late to go back and contemplate over the decision again. Uraume had already popped the good champagne and his friends were busy dancing and boisterously laughing inside his penthouse, celebrating the biggest win of his career. All while the champion was standing in the empty balcony, gazing at the glittering streets as the sun set.

His rise to fame was a treacherous yet rewarding journey. He was proud but he was also empty. Maybe if he had just stuck around and suffered a little longer with you then you would’ve been standing next to him today, clinking your flute with his, and laughing at his romantic and flirtatious remarks. He probably could’ve kissed you right after winning the fight and flaunted your ring to the world to announce his retirement after his final win.

Maybe you both would even have a little one being carried around in his brother’s arms for the night. A child too spoilt and adorable for their own good. Maybe they’d have your eyes. Or his—he doesn’t really care. Simply knowing that the child was a product of the love you both shared was enough to fill him with the happiness of multiple lifetimes.

Much to his chagrin, there was no veracity to his dream.

On the other side of the world, you stared at the rising sun as you thought about the past and the upcoming years of your life. How different they were. You came so far. Made so many developments.

Yet your heart still quickens when you remember your first great love, Sukuna Ryomen.

Like most love stories, it was a whirlwind of a romance. A passion felt like no other. It consumed you till you blindly believed that you were a part of his existence. His existence revolved around making you happy. He even said so, often kissing you like you were going to fade away.

But all good things must end.

You thought your life was going to stop when he bid his final goodbye. You slowly learned to get back up on your feet again, picking up the pieces that he broke.

Your heart was bandaged, and a little guarded, but you still welcomed love for you were full of it and had so much to give. A pattern you were willing to repeat.

The diamond on your finger sparkles when the sunlight hits it, bringing your gaze down to where your hand was resting on the window pane.

You often felt guilty when your fiancé talked about children with an enthusiastic hilt in his voice. While he’d revel on about how he’ll spoil the child, you were busy concealing your true thoughts.

Thoughts that made you feel horribly guilty.

What would’ve happened if you had just fought for Sukuna’s love a little harder, latched on to his legs as your scabby knees dragged across the ground as he walked away?

Maybe you’d already have a child in your arms. Your heart often swells whenever you ponder over an imaginary child with Sukuna’s temper. Tiny lips forming a pout with the most expressive eyes ever.

Lately that child has been living in your mind more often than not, making you long for them with their haunting laugh and toothless smiles.

But you know you’ll never see them. Or him for that matter. You’ve put that part of reality away in a box and shoved it deep in the back of your mind so you’ll never forget it.

And so you can be fair to your fiancé who loves you more than you know.

The only thing that gives you solace is the possible existence of alternate universes—different microcosms of the life you could’ve shared with Sukuna Ryomen had he not given you up like you were a fickle thought.

—

I know I said I wanted to get out of the boxer!sukuna bubble but I was having major writer’s block with my sentient game character ghost fic and this drabble just pulled me out of it 👍

[burrowlvrr]

— HUDDLE OF LOVE, joe burrow.

PAIRING: Joe Burrow 𝔁 Black!Wife!Reader

GENRE: Husband & Dad Joe

SUMMARY: In which — Joe faces an injury that brings his season to an early end, and when he gets home his wife makes sure that he knows his injury doesn't define him.

NOTE: I honestly feel like I ate this one up. But I also didn't really proof-read it, so don't hold me to that lol! This has been sitting in the drafts since Joe was hurt so it's been a min. Please send in some suggestions because writing is so fun to me now. Enjoy!

UNIVERSE: Tenderhearts & Touchdowns!

"Y'know, football is a tough sport, and injuries are unfortunately a part of it. We'll regroup, support each other, and continue to fight through the rest of the season; but, as of now, it's looking like Joe will be out for the rest of the season." Coach Zac Taylor spoke into the microphone, Y/N's head fell into her hands as she exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding in. That was all Y/N needed to hear, picking up the remote before shutting the television off.

Y/N had to watch her husband suffer an injury during his game against the Ravens, and if it weren't for the huge mess her children were making — they probably would've seen it to. Thankfully, they were being too rowdy to hear anything that was said on the television. She directed Hudson to the playroom so he could distract himself, and she began running Elijah's bath water first.

She tried to distract herself with things to do, knowing the emotions she was feeling were just lesser versions of what her husband would be feeling once he got home. She was now nine months pregnant, and even though she walked with a very noticeable waddle, she got around pretty well. Not to mention, it's way easier to move around when there's only one baby inside you rather than two.

She finished washing Elijah's blonde curls and got him in his pajamas before sending him to the playroom with one job — "Tell your brother I said come on." She instructed, her son playfully giving her a soldier salute before running down their tiled hallway. Within one minute, Hudson stood right behind her as she finished running his warm water. "Can I get some bubbles, mama?"

Y/N smiled at her baby boy, "Yes, baby. You can get some bubbles." She replied, dumping a small cap full of vanilla scented bubbles in his warm water. She let her child play on his own while she sat on top of the toilet seat, watching him in adoration as he continuously pushed a small boat around in his water. "Okay, bub. It's time to get washed up now.

Hudson had no complaints, doing what he could on his own before asking his mother for help. She slowly got to her knees in front of the tub, being careful when she dumped cup fulls of water onto her son's head. Once she had his hair washed, she got him out and got him dressed in his matching pajamas with Elijah. Both of them being covered in orange and black tiger stripes, a large number nine on the back, along with the lettering "Baby Burrow".

"Can you tell bubba it's time to brush our teeth?" She asked Hudson, finishing up rubbing in the dollop of child's face lotion into his skin. Hudson nodded with a toothy, but pretty but toothless, smile before he took off running to grab his twin brother.

She grabbed their step stools from under the cabinet and got their tooth brushes ready, handing them each their own as they stepped up to the sink. "Hum your ABC's, remember? Mommy is in your room, yell if you need me!" She chirped, smiling at her boys in the mirror as they moved in an identical way.

She exited the bathroom, entering their shared bedroom and untucking their sheets for them. She clicked their LED light remote a few times, landing on the color blue for the evening. She always set an hour long timer; so that by the time the boys are knocked out, so were the lights.

She waddled back into the bathroom, seeing her twins already washing their hands as they knew they were supposed to. Her boys were already so smart and they were only three, she couldn't wait to see how intelligent they were in their classrooms. "All done!" Elijah turned around and exaggeratedly jumped from the step stool, of course Hudson mirrored his actions and did a hop of his own.

"It's time for bed, my loves." She smiled warmly, seeing their faces light up as they already knew what she was about to ask. "Who can get in their bed quicker?!" She asked, and both of her boys jumped off of their back leg and sprinted towards their shared bedroom. She giggled, turning off the bathroom lights before running a hand through her curly hair.

"Who won?" She asked, smirking at her boys as she entered their blue toned bedroom. Instant chatter filled the room, fingers pointed at themselves yelping about how they won, before turning their hand and accusing the other of being a cheater. Y/N couldn't help but laugh, no matter how many times they do this, it's always the exact same. "We can have a rematch tomorrow night, alright? We'll let daddy be the judge."

Both of them liked that idea, loving anything that had to do with their father. Y/N's stomach twisted at the reminder of Joe's injury, knowing he was no more than an hour and a half away now. With forehead, cheek and tummy kisses from both of the boys, Y/N sat on the floor between their beds and began reading their favorite bedtime stories.

As the stories unfolded, Y/N could feel the gentle kicks of her unborn baby, seemingly enjoying the bedtime tales. The connection between the growing family was palpable in these intimate moments.

The room, once echoing with lively laughter, now settled into a serene atmosphere as Y/N stood from her spot on the floor. "Sweet dreams, my little stars," she whispered, planting a kiss on each of their foreheads. The twins, eyelids growing heavy, whispered their sleepy goodnights. Y/N, with a content smile, left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Y/N decided to take a quick shower, using the bathroom down the hall from her boys' bedroom just in case they woke up needing her comfort. She stepped out, washing her face and brushing her teeth, making her way to her and Joe's bedroom to put some clothes on. She always found herself freezing in her sleep, so she decided on a figure-hugging black long sleeve and a pair of customized sweatpants, the choice of lettering being "BURROW" right on her bottom.

She replaced her contacts with glasses and her tall socks with slippers, she tied her hair up into a messy ponytail before taking a seat at her marble island. She had tons of lesson plans to catch up on, doing them before the birth of her baby seemed like a good plan — because obviously, once the baby was out and a little bit older, she would have to return to work. She was an elementary school teacher, having a love for all children, no matter if they were her's biologically or just because it was her job. From a young age, she knew that she wanted to have an impact on people's lives, what better time to start than when their brain is still freshly developing?

★

Y/N had just closed her MacBook with a sigh when she heard the lock on the front door beep, indicating that someone with the code had just unlocked it. She chose to stay seated, not wanting to immediately bombard Joe once he got through the door. She continued to organize her stack of lesson plans, going on as if she didn't hear the shuffling at the front door.

It was unusually quiet to Joe, he furrowed his eyebrows as he turned his head. He listened for some sort of greeting, his eyes scanned the view of the house that he had. Nothing. No pattering of his children's feet, no scolding from his wife about their running, no 60's record spinning from the living room. He finally called out, "Hello?"

Y/N took that as her cue, sliding off of the barstool before waddling into the living room. She watched as Joe's expression visually relaxed, his shoulders now slouched as she smiled at him. "Hi, handsome. I missed you." She said happily, taking her hands and placing one on each of his rosy cheeks.

Joe wrapped his good arm around her waist. "I missed you more." He replied, looking into her eyes as she rubbed circles under his puffy eyes. Y/N helped him remove the duffle bag from his shoulder, carefully placing it on the bench near the door. Joe slid his shoes off, using his one good arm to lean on the wall as a way to steady himself. Y/N watched from a few feet away, waiting for Joe to break the silence himself.

That was when she noticed the anxious look on his face, he walked up to her and she looked up at him in concern. "Are they sleepin' already?" He asked, chewing on his bottom lip as he searched his wife's eyes. She nodded.

"Yeah, they've been out for a little over an hour now." She reassured him, knowing why he was feeling anxious and worrying about his children. He had always expressed his fears of parenthood and how his career could possibly affect that. Tonight would be one of those nights, luckily, Y/N knew that she could reassure him that the boys were not watching when he suffered his injury.

"You wanna go see 'em?" She asked, placing a hand on his arm lovingly. Joe nodded, blinking rapidly as he pulled his beanie from his head.

She reached out for his hand, he took it and tried to give her a soft smile. There was an understanding of what Joe was feeling, so they didn't need to say a thing as they ventured off upstairs. They stopped at the boys' bedroom door, and Y/N twisted the door knob as quietly as she could. She opened the door just enough that Joe could poke his head in and see his sleeping twins, Y/N followed his actions and a warm smile grew on her face. A regular occurrence in their room was Elijah getting out of his bed, and finding his way to Hudson's so they could sleep together. No matter how many times Y/N and Joe exited their room with them in separate beds, they would always come back to them sharing one.

Joe's chest heaved slower than before, letting Y/N know he had calmed down even if it wasn't much. "They're alright, honey," She spoke softly, using a warm tone that reassured Joe easily. It was no secret that toddlers are a lot to handle, but Y/N was a strong woman and knew how to work with her children. Sure, they were a handful today — but she would much rather chase them around the house, than try to wrangle them in the football stands.

Her round belly brushed against Joe's flat one as they stood close to each other, his good arm around her waist and her hand on his chest. "Absolutely pooped from all the hell they raised today." She continued, earning a soft chuckle from her husband, but another wave of silence quickly washed over them.

A million thoughts swirled around in Joe's head, his eyes darting from each of his son's faces. He inhaled deeply, then turned to face his wife with tired eyes. "Did they se—" He started, his voice cracking before he could even finish his question. But there was no need, Y/N knew him like the back of her hand, and she already knew what he was about to ask.

She shook her head, moving her hand from his chest to run through his blonde hair. "No, they were being noisy with all their toys when it happened. And I got them ready for bed right after." She explained, her eyes searching his for some sort of response. All he could do was nod, nibbling on his lip as she looked at the walls around them instead of his wife. "Why don't we go lay down, huh?"

They traveled down the hall to their bedroom hand in hand, the low chatter of their bedroom tv was the only noise they heard as they entered. The news reports dimly lit their bedroom, casting shadows on the walls as it bounced from frame to frame. Y/N didn't want to poke the bear just yet, so she decided to let Joe do his own thing while she freshened up before bed. Once she turned the faucet off, she heard a faint sniffle from their connected bedroom. She quickly wiped her hands on her sweats before exiting the bathroom.

She came out to find Joe standing in their tall mirror. He used his sleeve to wipe his nose, noticing that Y/N had came out of the bathroom. The television mentioned his name for what seemed like the millionth time that night, Joe's eyes snapped to the floor hearing it. Y/N gave a sympathetic frown, watching as he took a seat at the foot of their bed. She sat down next to him, placing a hand on his thigh.

"What did they say?" She asked, looking toward him but he was focused on the television in front of them. He brought his good arm up, rubbing his ear as he always did when he was upset. He could the frustration building up once more, he sucked in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. "A torn ligament." He replied.

Y/N nodded her head, "I'm not gonna tell you you're gonna bounce back because I'm sure you've heard that plenty of times today." She began, "We both know you will. You'll just have another surgery to repair it."

"Another surgery." He repeated, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. He still hadn't faced her, feeling too defeated to look her in the eyes now.

"You'll play again." She assured him, her hand coming up to play with the hairs at the back of his neck. "I know you will." Joe sat with his shoulder's slumped, the loss of the game resting heavily on them.

"I know." He sighed, moving his gaze to stare at the floorboards now. Y/N felt as if nothing she would say could help him feel any better, so she chose to let the silence consume them once more. The low chatter of the television continued, it was beginning to annoy her with how many times they'd brought up Joe's injury. The game has been over for hours now, we get it. With that, she got up from her spot beside Joe and turned the television off completely. The sudden movement made Joe look up, from the ground, watching as his wife waddled back to her spot beside him.

The silence was broken by Joe this time, "I feel like I'm being dramatic." He spoke up, causing Y/N to turn to him with wide eyes. "Honey, you just faced a season ending injury — and you think you're being dramatic?" She asked him, he shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

"I think you've got a hell of a good reason to be "dramatic"." She used her two fingers to quote the word, earning a very dry chuckle from her husband. She dropped her hands to her lap, cocking her head to the side as she looked at him in concern.

He wiped his nose with his sleeve again, forcing a smile and another chuckle before he spoke. "I just hate how long it takes to recover from these things. It's takes a lot of work." He confessed, making Y/N feel like their communication was finally working.

"Yeah, I get that." She began, "But you're strong and you're dedicated to this sport. It'll come so easily to you after your surgery." A small smile grew on his face, but he began to shake his head once more.

"It just really sucks." He said bluntly, "The only thing I'm good at, I can't even do again for ten more months." He huffed, his words spinning a wheel in Y/N's mind. Her lips turned into a frown as he talked down on himself.

"Don't talk like that, Joe." She said, "Football is not the only thing you're good at." Her wedding ring shined as she reached for his right cheek, turning his head to face her. "You're an amazing daddy and an amazing husband. A torn ligament isn't stopping that at all. Nothing is ever going to stop that, you hear me?" She searched his face for an answer, he closed his eyes for a moment as he began to feel them burning with tears.

Joe had always struggled to be vulnerable, but Y/N always found a way to make him crawl out of that shell. He couldn't thank her enough for that. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to, either. "I hear you." He responded, his voice cracking as he spoke. He bit his bottom lip, and nodded his head as he dropped his gaze to his fingers. A silence fell over them once again, but this time it was comfortable.

"We should really get to bed." Joe said, wiping his face with his hoodie sleeve as he stood up from the bed. Y/N's gaze followed him as he held out his hands for her, her eyes grazing over his new cast and sling. He followed her gaze and, in an embarrassed manner, dropped his left arm. She held on tight as she struggled to lift two people's body weight off the edge of the bed, her arms absentmindedly wrapping around Joe's neck. He exhaled a deep breath at her touch, and she let out a breath of relief due to all the moving she'd just done.

"We love you either way." She whispered, grabbing Joe's left hand and placing it on her round stomach. "All of us. We love you, and thats with or without football." Joe let the tears fall from his eyes, and let his hand rest in his wife's stomach as she moved her hand to wipe his falling tears.

He rubbed her stomach in a loving manner, his shoulders bouncing with each quiet sob that he choked out. "Yeah, I know." He barely got out the three words, Y/N kept wiping the tears and rubbing his arms up and down.

"You're strong and you will overcome this. You always recover in a way that shows how truly remarkable you are, Joe. That's never gonna change. No matter how large the obstacle." She grabbed a hold of both of his forearms lightly, being mindful of his injury, making him look her in the eyes. "You're capable of recovering from this set back. And you have nothing to prove to anybody except those boys in there — but they already know their daddy is strong."

"I love you." He said, closing his eyes with a sigh as she placed a loving kiss on his cheek. "I love you more, baby." She then placed a kiss on his lips, pulling him in for one more tight embrace before bed. He walked her to her side of the bed, helping her get under the sheets, before making his way to his side and climbing in right beside her.

Although he let a few more tears fall while lying down, he couldn't help but feel as if he was stronger already. She fell asleep before him, but continued to whisper affirmations and play with his blonde locks in her sleep. She held him to her chest, and his arms wrapped around her very large bump. He looked up at her in admiration, she never failed to amaze him with how patient she was.

[the-midnight-blooms]

me and my husband | psh

pairing: CEO!park seonghwa x scientistwife!reader AU: modern au word count:  6.3k

masterlist

In the midst of a fragile soul dwindling under the aches of animosity, the married couple laid in bed with their backs facing each other. The husband, Park Seonghwa, an esteemed CEO of a pharmaceutical company ‘Park Pharmaceuticals.’ had the front board of the book lodged into the silk casing of his pillow with his other hand steadying it so he could still, quite painfully, scan his eyes over the text. Agitated, he got up with a grunt before sitting up to finish the chapter of his book. With his scientists publishing reports on the latest medicine they were developing, he immediately rushed back to his university textbooks to affirm he was still equipped with the necessary knowledge to understand the science. Meanwhile, Mrs Park- a research scientist at Park Pharmaceuticals' rival company, ‘Kim Pharma.’ was battling against her insomnia despite motherhood knocking her straight off her feet. Their daughter, Park Dami, was fast asleep in the room next door to Seonghwa’s study cuddling the little Toothless toy he had gifted her when she was still a cherub. It had seemed that Mrs Park was prone to falling asleep at the most odd times of day, whether it be during dinner or cleaning the home.

Perhaps it was the heartache she was suffering from. The love that she had held for her husband was a permanent fixture, a vow that she had promised not to break, and one she had not and never would for as long as she lived. However, the increasingly distant behaviour from her husband in light of his burgeoning role as CEO had her heart yearning for him. Being a mother was difficult and of course, so was Seonghwa’s job. Yet, he also had duties as husband and a father, which he seemed eager to abandon altogether.

“Why can’t you try to understand how difficult it is for me to do all of this? So much pressure at work, then I come to you going on about some stupid dinner with your parents!” He shouted, she flinched at the dissonance of his noxious tone reverberating off the walls of the small study- biting down at her lip.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave.”

“Sorry, my arse. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be fucking nagging in my ear all the time, would you?” He barked, as she sped out of the room. It had been three weeks since she had, politely and quietly, asked her husband if he was free to attend her mother’s dinner party. He refused, erratically, and despite having apologised with saccharine kisses and diligent promises, he didn’t turn up to dinner in the end.

“Oh he’s busy Mum. He’s seeing to some of the lab work, you know how stressful it was for me.” Her father complained light-heartedly, raising how unfair it was of him to neglect his family.

“Do you want to me have a chat with him? I can give him a good word.” Hastily, she steered her father away from that direction. The last thing she needed was Seonghwa to turn around and blame her for the earache her father would give.

With a relentless sigh, she sat up reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand. His eyes flickered at her movements, lips moving up and down to form the shape of the words as he silently committed them to memory, forming judicious links between the knowledge and application.

“Seonghwa.” She called out for him, he hummed in return, barely reeling his eyes off the page. Please look at me. “I was thinking about going back to work again. I contacted my manager about restarting and at the moment I would only need to go in for about two days or so.” Shutting his book close, he finally met her stare, deep in contemplative thought.

“Do you think you can work and take care of Dami at the same time?” He questioned. She had thought about this several times before she dialled in her manager’s number. As much as she had inherited her father's kind-hearted nature, stunning beauty, and soft-spoken voice in the end it was the passivity she had drawn from her mother naturally rendering herself subservient to prioritise ones needs over her own. Essentially, if she had told Dami to keep her lips on a tight seal and remain of the sofa the whole day: she would.

“I’m sure I can as long as she's in sight. She'll be in nursery from September, so I'll be able to start work.” He fell a little quiet, turning to drop his book onto the night stand.

“Ok, if that’s what you want. If you need me to come home earlier, I mean I can’t at the moment, but in a few weeks time if you need me to-then I will.” Nodding, she sent him a grateful smile before sliding back under the covers to turn her night light off.

Her heels clicked, exasperatedly, on the porcelain white floor dashing straight through the double doors; her heart pounded furiously against her chest, a violent ache gnawing at her arteries. With her body almost barging into a number of figures, her anxious apologies echoed into the swamped corridors, in which her colleagues shook their tired heads in annoyance. Finally, reaching the top floor she scuttled out of the elevator catching the eyes of Mrs Lee.

"Lab coat, darling, lab coat." Squealing, she unbuttoned the off-white coat, scowling at the permanent pen marks and splashes of iodine before handing it to Mr Kim's assistant. Mrs Lee, threw the coat onto her seat, gesticulating for the young scientist to follow her. After a short knock, the heavy glass door was pushed open; several pairs of eyes darting their way.

"Ah, Miss Cheong! How nice of you to join us!" Hongjoong exclaimed, a teasing glint in his eyes that wanted to make her wipe the smirk of his lips.

"My apologies, Mr Kim, we ran into a problem down at the lab." She explained, a blush forging on her cheeks as a grave set of eyes burned into her skin.

"No worries. This is Miss Cheong, she will be our project lead on the next Kim-Park program." The Kim-Park program was founded by Kim Hongjoong of Kim Pharma and Park Seonghwa of Park Pharmaceuticals. With both companies leading the pharmaceutical industry, both founders decided in order to produce a greater economic boom, and serve an excellent supply chain of mandatory medicine; both of their greatest minds could work together to create poignant breakthroughs in the scientific sector. After all, the two companies had the countries top scientists working for them but together they could very well improve the nature of modern medicine. Hence, today both CEO’s came together for a kick off meeting establishing the blueprint for their next, biggest projects.

"'No worries?'" A derisive voice arose from across the room, where she snapped her head to find a man with wide eyes and thin-rimmed square glasses that sat at the bridge of his long nose, staring back at her. His long, slicked back hair that fell past his ears as he, mockingly, cocked his head to the side in amusement. "I didn't know Kim Pharma tolerated tardiness, Mr Kim." Returning his stare back to Hongjoong, he raised an eyebrow anticipating his answer.

“What was the problem down at the lab?”

“House fire." She retorted, "And I had to assign interns some lab work. Kim Pharma doesn't tolerate tardiness Mr Park but your project manager doesn't seem to be here? We'd have valued him being present at the kick off meeting." His face heated red in embarrassment as he gritted his teeth.

Park Seonghwa was insufferable.

The worst thing about him wasn't even that he was pedantic and scrutinised her work with a keen eye, or that his sharp attention-to-detail left her wanting to force him to chug a beaker of concentrated hydrochloric acid. It was that under his strictly co-ordinated demeanour, he was a beautiful man blessed with an angel's aura. It was that he was tall and that his voice could hypnotise her; send her lunging over a precipice into the expanse of uncharted oceans. At times his allure had her wanting to excuse her pathetic hatred. They bickered at every meeting, every email was sent with 'Regards' rather than 'Kind Regards'. It wasn't long before the bickering had transgressed to shouting in the boardroom as he began to question her teachings, snickering at every intellectual point she made as if she had not graduated from university with the same degree as himself.

"You forgot to add that cisplatin is a cis isomer." He stated, as she sat across from her in his office. This time, she didn't bother to retain herself from rolling her eyes. "A problem, Miss Cheong?"

"Who's reading this report, Mr Park? A high school student or the manufacturer? Any man with common sense and college level chemistry knows that cisplatin is a cis isomer. Do you want me to also write down that it has a square planar shape with a bond angle of 90 degrees?" She snapped, leaning back in her chair with a disgusted look. He smirked taking off his glasses, cleaning the lens with the hem of his blazer sleeve. Dear god. Sedate me.

"No, but you do need to explain how cisplatin works in detail. It only works as cis isomer, not trans. You didn't specify that."

"You're incredibly pedantic." Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his perfectly defined nose, the smirk remained fixed on his lips. "I'm not surprised people are handing in resignations, at your company, every week."

"They can leave if they wish, lazy people don't contribute to Park Pharmaceuticals' success." Oh and he was cocky too. As well as being a pretty face full of wits, Park Seonghwa was also wrought with egotism that made her want to wrangle his gorgeous, slender neck. "Have you ever considered joining our company?" A snicker escaped from her lips which eventually transcended into a laughter that wholly baffled him.

"I'm afraid I'd be a part of that sorry statist-,"

"I'm sorry for being an arsehole, Miss Cheong. Can I make it up to you?" And when she questioned him how he would make it up to her, he proposed the idea of a date. All he wanted was her, regardless of her much she was everything he was not. “Go on a date with me, please.” He blurted, with her feet rooted to the ground and lips falling into a thin line his heart palpitated within his chest. He sought the way her hair fell over her shoulders in light waves having ripped it from its knot after she walked out of the lab. Her pink lips were practically begging to be touched by his, he wanted to soothe the symphony of weary sighs that dispersed from her, and the headache that wracked her brain from his abstruse behaviour. Above all, he was falling in love with Miss Cheong because he despised her in such a paradoxical way. He hated the way she was smarter than him and beautiful in the way that she must have been carved from the clouds of heaven.

It often made her giggle at Hongjoong's astonishment when she handed him the wedding invitation. His excitement when he ripped open the seal to read Seonghwa's name as the groom, dropped the smile from his face as he looked at his college friend.

"You're marrying the enemy?" She shook her head at him, almost scolding him for deeming Seonghwa the 'enemy'. "This isn't what I meant when I said 'Fuck Park Seonghwa." Lobbing the pillow at his head, he dramatically sunk into his sofa as their childlike laughter eructed into the blithe atmosphere.

It had felt like a distant dream now, to be loved and adored in the ways that he once did. To be held as if every touch was their last, to be kissed as if their lips would never meet again and they were lovers in the midst of an age-old war that would tear their nimble hearts apart. To have her husband again and not a dispassionate demon who tore past the gates of hell and inflict all the condemned’s curses on her.

Giving you my all, giving you my everything. Laying my life down at your feet, stripping myself of my own honour just to feel something by you. A glance, a breath, a sigh. You tell me to leave- I don’t mean anything to you anymore.

"Hwa, you could have at least told me you weren't going to go in the first place. Then I wouldn't have gone to the company party." Sat at the foot of the bed, he pulled the jumper over his torso, pulling his trapped hair out from the neck hole. He bit his tongue as his wife rebuked him for his absence, once again. "Do you know how humiliating it was for me to be the only one sat without her husband there?"

"I told you I was going to run late."

"You were four hours late, and you're a half an hour drive to the office! Why didn't you say no, in the first place?" Tearing the earring out from her lobe, she sunk into the chair trying her hardest to not slip into tears; the sympathetic stares of hundreds etched into her memory. How stupid did she look for being dressed so ostentatiously, when the real jewel was not even in her possession? The clatter of pearls emptied into the drawers, hands buried into palm of her hands closing her eyes to relive the myriad of dejection. They never said marriage was this painful. Hard, yes. But not painful. "Hwa, do you love me?" She inquired, turning around in her seat.

"What?"

"It's as simple as you think. Do. You. Love. Me?" Her voice wavered as she asked him, the distant stare in his eyes revealed answers to the questions that she did not want answered.

“If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have married you. Or given you a beautiful daughter. I miss one, silly, company event and you start throwing a tantrum.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve completely abandoned me!” Her shout restituted off the thin light blue walls, jumping from her seat at his petty arguments. “You are such a terrible husband and you make me feel trapped in this marriage!”

“And you fucking suffocate me! You suffocate me!” He roared across the room, his strident tone penetrating through her, grazing down the surface of her heart. Rupturing the weak seams that held it together. Stumbling backwards, her palms gripped onto the mahogany table; shaking, biting down her lip to prevent a sob from escaping. "The only time I felt like I could ever breathe, in this marriage, was when I was not with you. When I was at work, or with the others, or just anywhere else. But never with you." Dipping her head, away from him, she shut her eyes as tight as she could.

"Please stop." she whispered, a plead so quiet it almost went unspoken. Yet Seonghwa heard it anyway because no matter how angry he was, their souls were still intertwined. Their hearts beat as one, they were uniform, one whole being. Slowly, he treaded towards her, mimicking the dip of head.

"Why? Can't you take the truth?" he mocked. Full tears pooled in her eyes, her chest burning from holding in her breath. "I should divorce you." He proclaimed, without a stutter. That was enough to break her. An obnoxious wail infiltrated into the void of the room. Was that what he wanted? To provoke some sort of emotion from her to satisfy his ego? He scoffed, before darting from the room-slamming the door shut behind him. Wrought with tears she trudged to her bed, slipping under the covers; sobbing herself unconscious.

"Mummm. Ammiii. Ammaaa." A small voice whispered, the softness soothing the persisting ache in her chest. Holding back the smile ready to break through, she fixed her eyes shut waiting to see what her daughter would do next.

"Dami, let your mother sleep. Come on." The urge to smile had dropped instantaneously, the familiar sense of forlorn gushing into her again; his sweet, addictive voice puncturing holes into her heart.

"I'm hungry." She could hear the pout on her daughter's lips. Huffing, she groaned loudly snapping at her daughters attention, who jumped up and down in excitement of her mother awaking. Reaching out for her child, she picked her up settling her down on her laps. "Mama, I'm hungry." She squeaked.

"Have you washed up yet?" She shook her head. "Ok, let me go to the bathroom first. Then I'll help you."

"I'll help her wash up." Seonghwa offered. Refusing to look at him, she simply gave him a curt nod, the sight of his face wanting to make her erupt into a fit of sobs.

"I promise I'll never make you cry." He had promised, before their marriage. They sat under the stars, the cool wind brushing at their cheeks. Astronomy books sat scattered around her as she attempted to map out constellations in the beaming night.

"And if you do?" She challenged, playfully smirking. With a cute frown he gave her a nudge.

"I promise I won't but in the 0.00001 percent chance that I do, then you should leave me. You’re worth more than the moon to me, and to hurt you is the deadliest sin I can commit." He immediately leaned forward to swoop her into a deep kiss- both of them smiling as they did. The memory of his now-broken promise brought tears to her eyes again. Tightly pressing her palm to her mouth, to hold back her cries, she sucked in yet another breath. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Gripping onto the bathroom sink until her knuckles bled white, her knees hit the floor. Nicking the handle of the tap- tears freely flowed down her cheeks as the water rushed through the basin at rapid speed. I want my baby back.

Feeling the heavy burden of a collapsing marriage, her shoulders sunk as she chopped at the onions, preparing their dinner. Dami sat on the stool by the kitchen island, with her mini crayons scribbling over the pictures in the colouring book.

“Mama, why did Appa sleep in my room yesterday?” Scraping the onions into the pan, she grabbed the wooden spoon to stir it.

“He was missing his little princess. He wasn’t causing you trouble, was he?” She teased, sending her a forced smile. God, it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay happy. To smile was to pain her cheeks, they felt more contented relaxed than to uplift and radiate an aura of joy that didn’t seem to exist within her anymore.

“He’s so big, I fell off bed.” She snorted, laughing at her child’s proclamation. It was not long before a thought occurred to her that whenever they slept in the same bed- it was always her that took up the most room-rather than him. A fond memory occurred to her, specifically a night where her body was plastered to his.

“Ah, jagi, can you move a little? I’m up against the window?” Her body shuffled slightly to the left, giving him room to breathe a little bit more. “Thank god.” He huffed out a sigh of relief, her lips fell into a pout- as she rolled further away from him towards the edge of the bed. If space was what he wanted, then she was going to give it to him. Seonghwa’s arm outstretched for her, the cold air battering his skin was no comfort, he wanted her again. A tantalising laugher infiltrated the air, he shuffled closer to her pressing his lips to the top of her head.

“Never mind I need my cuddly bunny.” He sang, nestling his face into the crook of her neck. Now, she couldn’t remember the last time he had held her so close to himself. If anything, he needed the space now and rested just less than a metre apart from her each night.

“It was nice! Appa is a teddy bear.”

“Am I, my princess?” Turning away from the doorway, she opened the cupboard to reach for the spices, shielding her melancholic face away from him. The sweet dissonance of giggling entered her ears, if he had no love to spare for her at least he had enough to spare for his daughter. “Ahem, I’m going on a business dinner tonight.”

“Ok.” Seonghwa watched her, resting his hand on the top of his daughter’s head who went straight back to colouring in the flowers in her book-switching to a pink crayon at that. “What time will you be home?” He shrugged, then quickly noticed that with her back to him she wouldn’t see.

“I don’t know. Don’t wait up.” How could he say that knowing that there wasn’t a night in their marriage where she didn’t sit patiently on the sofa, waiting for him to come back home. Even on the days where he warned her he’d be back a lot later than usual. Regardless, she’d stay plastered to the sofa switching from the tv, to her phone, to a random book-eyes continuously flickering to clock- skipping to the kitchen to shove snacks into her mouth, as she’d never eat without him.

The urge to erupt into a fit of sobs inclined, chewing on her lip violently provided her with enough solace to finish making dinner, feed her daughter and put her to bed. Then at last, when she closed the curtains to her bedroom, a hushed cry escaped her; spending the rest of her night as she did prior, wailing and wailing until fatigue had lulled her weary heart to sleep. The creak of the door went unnoticed to her, Seonghwa crept in; her sleeping figure rested in the bed, the comforter dragged over her head. He sighed, contemplating whether to slip beside her or retreat back to Dami’s room for the night.

This sequence continued for the next few weeks, every night she would cry herself to sleep and Seonghwa would sleep in Dami’s bed. It wasn’t even their room at this point, it was hers with Seonghwa’s things in it-just like her flat pre-marriage. Her room with Seonghwa’s books, few pieces of clothes and odd bits of trinkets. One morning she woke up to find a stack of papers on her nightstand. Fear coursed through her blood, were these the divorce papers that he had suggested to her? Rifling through the papers, her heart soothed as soon as she realised they were just Dami’s crayon drawings. Stick figures of Appa, Amma, and little Dami in the middle. Drawings of flowers, then one just of Amma and Appa, a big heart between them. If only that were true. If only his heart still beat for her the same way hers beat for him.

She heard his voice trail out of the study, as she almost raised her hands to knock and summon him downstairs for lunch. The rapid muttering halted her movements, instead she tentatively pressed her ears against the door to assess the situation.

“Yes, honey, I’ll be there soon…She’s pissing me off right now. I’m trying to get the papers set at the moment…I don’t know about a few more weeks?” Slapping her hand to her mouth, she squeezed her lips shut to prevent any pained sounds from releasing. Honey? There was another woman? And the papers? Was he really, truly, trying to divorce her? Rushing to the bathroom, she slammed the door shut, flipping the tap back open to relive the same endless cycle.

“I’m going on a work trip to Japan, for a week. We have an important business meeting. I might need you take care of Dami by yourself.” His head snapped from up Dami’s unfinished Lego project. She’d fallen asleep when playing, so her father took it upon herself to finish building the set.

“You should have asked me beforehand. You can’t just accept to go offshore, and then give me a week’s notice.” He scolded, playing with the pink block between his fingers.

“I only got told today. I tried to call you whilst I was still in office, but I couldn’t get through to you.” Sighing, his shoulders slumped as he shook his head in disappointment. It appeared that Mrs Park was also refraining important matters from her husband; making decisions of her own that they promised they’d always make together. An uncomfortable silence remained suspended in the tense air, shifting uncomfortably in her spot as she awaited for him to say something else. Even if it was to belittle her, she urged to hear the sound of his voice.

“If you cared enough about me, you’d know I’m busy too.” Chewing down on her lip, she held back a painful sigh. There it is. “We’ll be with my parents for a week while you’re gone. When’s your flight?”

“Sunday night.” Nodding, he scooped up the remaining pieces on the floor pouring them back into the packet before getting up himself. “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

The work trip to Japan was just as tranquil as she anticipated, the host company was as hospitable as they could be. The days were cut short, the air silent subsiding one into deep thought, even if they denied themselves the pleasures of having to think. With her knees tucked up to her chest, she stared out onto the vast market of skyscrapers, the teeming arena beneath contributing the noises that fell deaf at her ears. She needed to leave the home, its confining airs strangling the lumen of her windpipe. She didn't exactly know what to do now that it was confirmed: Seonghwa did not love her. The declaration was enough to send her into delirium, enough to have her jolting up at night; drowning in cold sweats, preaching his name like a mantra. The flight home did not come soon enough, she boarded the plane with such eagerness and drenched even further in pain when she was assigned the seat next to her colleague and her husband.

Nervously, she dialled in his number once more hurriedly, tapping her feet against the cobbled footpath; her free hand latched onto the sweaty handle of the suitcase. Pick up, pick up, pick up. Being met by the voicemail service was disheartening, wrapping her arms around herself as the wind blew harsh against her skin sending a ripple of goosebumps over her.

"Mrs Park, is your taxi late?" Whipping her head around to find her colleague, she shook her head in dismay. "Do you need a lift? We don't live too far from each other."

Pushing through the large wooden gates of his childhood home, she adjusted the straps of her back pack lifting her head to find the blaring of orange lights through the slits between the window blinds. A small bustle of activity could be heard from the other end, tentatively, her fingers rose to provoke the silver door knocker.

"I'll get the door!" His voice floated through the surface, reaching out to caress the aches on her skin bruised wholly by him. As soon as their eyes met across the doorway, the smile was wiped clean from his lips. “Oh god, I’m sorry, it had completely slipped my mind-,”

“You don’t forget things, Hwa. The truth is: it didn’t slip from your mind, you just didn’t care.” You haven’t cared about me for a very long time. You haven’t loved me in a long time. I am no longer your wife but just Dami’s mother, to you. Though some sort of vile emotion named fear had prevented her from saying those words, becoming lodged at the crux of her throat, floating on the tip of her tongue.

The worst thing was, he didn’t say anything. He was silent, unwilling to reckon against her and fight for their marriage again. When did he become so passive? Up until now, when was there a day in their relationship when he didn’t fight to keep her at his side? Trudging into the household, the warmth lacerated her skin, taking off her shoes as the pattering of small feet came her way. A small body engulfed her larger frame, the delightful giggles of her daughter infiltrated her ears as her mother finally came home to her.

"We ate sooo much food. We had tteokbokki, dakgalbi, ramen. Halmeoni tried to make me eat yaksik but it was nasty." Letting out a tired moan she fell onto the floorboard, Dami crawling on top of her, as her mother-in-law stuffed her with enough food to last her a century.

"Ugh, Dami. Please get off Amma, my tummy is going to explode."

"Halmeoni! Amma ate too much!"

"Your Amma didn't eat enough!" Eomeonim shouted back from the kitchen. Seonghwa ambled into the room settling a cup of green tea in front of her, whilst simultaneously lifting Dami from her stomach. There was an uncomfortable silence amongst them as their daughter, oblivious to the obvious tension between her parents, entertained them nevertheless by dancing around the room and singing. He left the room in between to see to his mother in the kitchen. Feeling terrible for leaving her to tend to the mound of dishes, she carried behind walking straight into the enemy's territory.

“Are you stupid, boy? How could you even suggest a divorce?” She hissed. “It was only yesterday when you came running to me, with your eyes so full of love. Where is that love now?”

“People change.” He deadpanned, hot tears fulfilled her eyes, blurring her vision as she rushed back to the front room.

“We’re going, now!” She ordered, a pout on her daughter’s face grazed the surface of her heart. She couldn’t stand here, and hear her husband declare that he didn’t love her anymore. She couldn’t watch the love of her life slip from the tips of her fingers, whilst she sunk beneath the earth under her feet. She grabbed his car keys, from his jacket. “We’re going home, eomeonim. I need to go into the office, tomorrow. Thank you so much for taking care of Dami.” Kissing the top of her mother’s head, she slipped on her shoes before carrying Dami out of the home. Seonghwa followed hot on her heels.

“Where do you think you’re going at this time of night?”

“Home, Hwa.” The lock clicked out of the place, she jerked open the car door to fasten her daughter into the seat ignoring her cries and pleads to stay at her grandmother’s. “Dami! Quiet!” She roared, the same way Seonghwa would shout at her for nights on end for doing nothing other than being his wife.

“Stop acting like a child and come back inside right now!” He commanded.

“I won’t, Hwa. Because the next time I go back in and let myself be hurt by you, I’ll have no one to blame but me.” He fell quiet, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat. “I am the still the girl who would wait nights for her husband to come home to her. But you are no longer the boy that would walk straight into her arms.” Choking on her sobs, she jerked open the car door to slip inside, her daughter calling out for her father. After all, they were the same woman. Both so utterly in love with the same man that could not love them both in the ways one could dream of being in love. For being in love with him was asking for annihilation, his devotion unreachable like the stars studded in the midnight sky. Was he not made from the stars? An angel borne from light, whose banner was a celestial plane that would diminish the human essence in a heartbeat? Steering the car out of his driveway, Seonghwa stood plastered to the floor a single tear dropping from his eye as he felt his soul meander away from him.

That night, when they reached home, Dami was tight in her arms after having cried the whole journey home from missing her father. Eventually, exhaustion overpowered her and she reluctantly slept in her mother’s arms. She was so sure now that her daughter thought she was the villain for ripping her away from her father. Nuzzling her small face deeper into her mother’s neck, she felt her bottom lip tremble as she called out for her father.

There was no need to frantically run to the post box every time a letter slipped through, meeting the ground with a loud thud. Though, she did it anyway, with little Dami scuttling behind her as if she was expecting a letter herself though deep down Mrs Park knew that she wanted her Appa to come home. It had been a month having not heard back from him. No messages or calls. After work, she ventured over to his office only to be turned away by his assistant; catching a quick glance at his shadow through his window.

“I have to make an appointment to see my own husband?” She uttered through gritted teeth, though the woman in front merely nodded, disinterestedly. “When is Mr Park next available?” The jarring clatter against the keyboard gnawed at her ear drums, annoyance fulfilling her.

Fuck this. Rushing to the handle of his door, she keeled it open storming inside-the loud slam of the door jumping him up from where he sat in his seat. The assistant rushed behind, squawking about how she had to leave.

“Cilla, it’s ok. Go do your job.” He ordered, softly with his eyes fixated on his wife. She didn’t expect him to look this way, the clean, composed Seonghwa now with tousled hair and small dark circles under his eyes. Eyes bloodshot red as if he had been crying for weeks on end, exhaustion piling in them. His sunken face as if he had not eaten for weeks-Seonghwa, not eating? The same man who used to kiss her hands and go for seconds, claiming there must have been some magic in them for she made such delicious food?

“Dami is getting upset. She misses her Dad. The least you could is come home and see her, so she doesn’t think that her father abandoned her too.”

“I’ve been busy-,”

“You’ll always be busy, Hw-Seonghwa. But not busy enough that you can’t spare an hour or two to see your daughter.” She spat, storming straight out of his office, sending the assistant a dirty look on her way to the elevator.

“Appa!” Dami’s animated tone weighed down her father’s heart, his arms wide open as she jumped into them. Fixing her spot by the kitchen doorway she watched as her husband played with her daughter. After a few hours, when they had put Dami to sleep, they sat with each other in the front room Seonghwa pulling out an envelope from his work satchel.

“The-uh- papers. Divorce papers.” A pang struck through her, hands shaking as she reached out for them.

“As her mother, I’ll have custody over her. You should be allowed to see her every week, so maybe the weekend?” Her voice quivered, slightly as she opened up the seal of the envelope, its woody scent wafting up her nose. With little energy, to pull out the form- she settled it onto the coffee table. “We’ll move to my mother’s house…” She trailed off biting down on her lip as Seonghwa closed his eyes shut.

“That’s fine. You can just post it to the lawyer. I’d like to see Dami at my office next week, could you do that?” Nodding diligently, she owed him that much. He’d be counting down the days soon until he’d rarely see his daughter. How would they tell her Amma and Appa weren’t as happy as they were in the drawings?

Her eyes scoured over the woman sat in front of him, as she opened the door to his office. God, she was beautiful with her long, black, silky hair, siren eyes, her chic office look. Everything she was not, though she had managed to pick herself up and put a lot more effort than she usually did with her fitted suit, hair tied back into a sleek bun-held up by the closest pen she could find on her dressing table since her silver claw clip was nowhere in sight. Was she the woman he was going to leave her for? She couldn’t even blame him at this point, why keep something expired when you could throw it away and have something new? Gripping onto the straps of her handbag, she slowly let go of her daughter’s hand who ran to her father’s side.

“Gaeun, this is my wife Mrs Park.” Timidly, she shook her hand. Gaeun saw Mrs Park as an intimidating woman, with her silent face as she ambled into the room with her daughter, her neat hair, pointed heels and tailored skirt that accentuated her curves. She matched Mr Park’s daunting presence perfectly, and of course her intelligence was known to all as well as her insistence to remain at his rivals’ company. “Dear, this is Gaeun- she’s one of the project leads on the next Kim-Park collaboration.”

“I see.” Her head picked up, giving both parties a short nod before leaving the office. She reckoned there was enough to time to make it to her own company and break down in the toilets before beginning the work day.

The rain thundered down from the sky on a solemn afternoon, the clatter of dishes being returned to the cupboards entailing the home; followed the thundering knock at the door. Peeking into the peep hole, she swung the door open, she pulled her husband in immediately rushing around him as he jerked off his shoes.

“Into the shower now.” Without hesitation, he grabbed his clothes from her bedroom before soundlessly making his way into the shower. She only assumed he had come to their home for the signed papers, it had been a while since he’d given them to her; though all she could think about was the way her pen could not even touch the sheet. The door to the study creaked open, as she bit her lip with the unsigned line glaring back at her.

“I haven’t- I haven’t signed the paper, yet.” His breath hitched in his throat, inching closer and closer to her. With the tickle in her throat pervasive, the pen neared the line her heart shattering with every second that her hands rebuked the damned sheet in front. How did she even do her signature?

“I’m sorry that you fell in love with me. I’m sorry that you married me. I’m sorry that I’m not enough. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the perfect wife for you.” She blurted, the pen falling from her fingers onto the table. He called out her name, drawing forward arms outstretched to encircle her into him. To hold her as tight and as true as she deserved. To fulfil her of kisses that he had deprived her of, to ease her of her pain. Though she stopped him in his tracks, with a palm to censor his movements. “No, Hwa. I haven’t been enough for you for a very long time. I must have done something wrong for you to hurt me like this. I must have done something much worse than what you’ve done to me. I just wished you spoke to me than gave me this stupid sheet and trying to end us in a single heartbeat.” An agonising wail left her lips, as she dropped to the floor tucking up her knees to her chest. Her lungs burned, desperate for air running her fingers through her hair as she slowly breathed out to ease the throbbing sensation loitering at her temples. He sunk to the floor with her, engulfing her frame within his. His jumper so soft, drenched in the scent that she adored. The same scent that he wore when they first met. Her bottom lip quivered again.

“You did nothing, it was all me. I forgot who I was, I forgot it was you who gave me life.” Her tears stained his shirt, he held her closer to his body. “I came to here to change your mind. I didn’t want you to sign those papers. I was so scared you had.” Their bodies rocked back and forth as the painful sound of her sobbing gradually declined.

“I couldn’t do it.” She whispered, her throat sore from this prolonging nightmare. Kissing away her tears, his fingers gently tilted up her head so he could bore his eyes in her beautiful ones. “I just need to know if there’s another woman. If there is, and you love her the same way you loved me, you can have her.”

“There was never another woman. It was always you I swear.” He pledged, as his own tears rushed down his face tickling his jawline before pattering carefully on his sweater. “I was just a poor excuse of a man, a poor excuse of a husband. I admit that I felt like you’d never leave me, but when I realised you really could it hurt me so much.” Drawing lines over his sweatshirt she listened to the sweet sound of his voice whisper into her ears.

“I’ll be a better man. I’ll work on me, and you can just keep on being a great wife and mother.” Their lips met in a frenzy of emotions, their palpitating hearts enamouring their befallen entities as passionate kisses filled the wounds that penetrated through them. His hands snaked around her waist, as hers ran through his long hair emitting a husky groan out of him. “Do you think Dami would like a sibling?” He joked, before being met by whack to the back of his head, they deepened the kiss before she happily rested her head against his chest.

“Maybe, but not now. Right now, you need to come home to us.”

“It’s just you and me now. Nothing’s going to hurt you baby.”

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

cheong meaning 'quiet' 'eomeonim' means mother-in-law (husband's side) 'halmeoni' means grandma

A/N: i'm sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed, i'm going on some meds soon and i have no idea how shit i'm gonna feel while on them. wanted to update in case i have no energy to release something else for a while😖 Hope you guys liked this one! ✨✨

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

Save Me~Hiccup x Reader fluff for anon~

Hi! Could you write pov with hiccup and reader, where reader gets captured by Viggo Grimborn and tortures her and the dragon riders are only able to find her after a week or so. And she’s rlly hurt when hiccup sees her. Just a lot of angst and later on fluff. Have a Great Day!

TW: Torture, alcohol mention, some dark!Hiccup

You didn't know how long it had been, how long you had been here. You weren't sure if it had been one day or a whole year. All you knew was pain. Every time someone came in your cell, they brought pain with them. And you didn't know how much more you could take....

The mission had been so simple. Just a scouting mission. You were to stay out of sight and report back with any info on the dragon trappers that were circling a nearby island of Gronckles. You had assured Hiccup you didn't need any backup. 20 minutes tops. That's what you told him. You'd given him a quick kiss goodbye and taken off on your dragon. After 45 had gone by, he was off on Toothless trying to find you. He followed the same path you had and discovered the ships had disappeared, along with you.

That was a week ago. Half of Berk was now out searching for you after the Dragon Riders had failed at tracking you themselves. Hiccup was frantic and had done things he wasn't proud of to try and get a smidge of information on your whereabouts. He was in a dark place and the others worried if they didn't find you soon, they would lose the two of you forever.

~~~~

The torture was constant. The pain. You often blacked out from it but the Grimborns were a persistent duo. Ryker's methods were all about brute force and you were certain your ribs were dust from the amount of punches you'd taken. He must've not been using full strength however because you weren't dead...yet.

Viggo on the other hand loved small tortures. Nicks and cut here and there that stung. Mind games that messed with you and filled you with anxiety and despair. You didn't think you were ever getting rescued. Viggo made sure to tell you there was no hope for rescue. They were covering their tracks very well and even baiting the Berkians with false leads and misdirection. You were never getting found. You were never getting saved.

~~~~

Berk was in the 2nd week of searching. Everyone was becoming more frantic, more worried that they had run out of time. Hiccup was dealing with it the worst. No matter what anyone said, no matter how they tried to comfort him, nothing could be done to ease his pain. Every lead they had followed resulted in nothing. Every trail went cold. Hiccup was starting to fear he had lost you forever. He did not want to think of how you had suffered, if you were suffering still. All because he was too slow to catch up to Viggo.

He had never been drunk in his life but lately, mead was the only thing that could distract him from finding you. Stoick worried about his son but he knew nothing he did would help. Saving you was the only way he could save his son.

He ordered everyone to double their efforts, any man or woman that could be spared was put on a search party. As he gave the orders, Stoick wondered if this wasn't Viggo's plan the whole time. Distract Berk by kidnapping the betrothed of the next Chief, and then attack while the defenses were limited. Regardless, he knew he had to do this. For Hiccup and for you.

~~~~

After endless days of searching, Hiccup finally received a glimmer of hope by way of a Terrible Terror that found it's way to Berk. Around it's leg was a piece of cloth. He recognized it as fabric torn from your sleeve. His heartbeat quickened as he recognized your writing. It was messy and hard to read but he knew it was yours. The fabric was small so your message was brief but you'd provided him coordinates to the island where the dragon hunters were hiding. He felt so stupid as it was an island the Riders had already searched. The hunters must've left and circled back once they were gone. He rounded up as many warriors as he could find and set off immediately for Dragon Graveyard Island.

~~~~

The dragons hunters locked you in a crude cage from large, thick dragon bones. They had made short work of the Boneknapper lingering on the island, forcing you to watch as they destroyed and fashioned its armor into your holding cell. The men leered at you but Viggo made sure to keep them away. You spat at him as he neared your cage. "Why don't you just kill me already? I'm never telling you anything." You glared as he gave you a sinister grin. "Because my dear, I don't need you to tell me where Hiccup and your little friends are. They are going to come to me." He sneered. You paused at that. Viggo chuckled darkly at your puzzled expression. "Did you think I didn't notice the Terrible Terror leaving your cell? The little rag around its leg? I know you sent for help. Now Hiccup is going to fall right into my trap. Not only are you the bait...but you lead them right to me. Thank you very much for your help, dear. Less work for me."

You shouted out angrily as Viggo laughed, walking back to his plans. You felt hot tears sting your face as you prayed Hiccup and the others would be okay.

~~~~

Hiccup and the Riders landed on the island. He knew something was up because it was far too quiet. The dragons sniffed the air and growled lowly. The team formed a defensive circle and crept slowly through. They finally came upon the dragon hunter camp. It was empty, save for a figure chained to a large pole in the middle. Hiccup squinted and gasped when he recognized you. Your head shot up at the approaching noise. You struggled against your chains and tried to cry out but Viggo had gagged you, preventing you from alerting the Riders. You wildly shook your head and tried to motion for them to leave but it was too late. The hunters sprang from every corner, off every cliff, and from behind every rock. You cried out and yanked painfully against your chains but it didn't matter. Your friends were quickly overtaken, their dragons caught in nets and bound. Viggo grabbed you and hauled you to your feet. You grunted as he gripped your face and forced you to watch your friends being tied up and smacked around. "All thanks to you, Y/N. Very good." He taunted.

Suddenly loud roars filled the air. You all looked up to see Stoick leading the Berkians on dragons. The hunters began to panic and quickly started to retreat. Viggo yelled after them, calling them cowards and threatening them. You watched Stoick free your friends and then charge straight for Viggo, Hiccup right behind him. The others freed your dragons and quickly join in chasing away the hunters. Ryker ran up to Viggo and gripped his arm. "We're out numbered here, Viggo. Leave the little bitch and let's go!" He growled. Viggo cursed and shoved you towards Stoick before turning and taking off with his brother. Stoick caught you easily and sat you down. "Are you alright, lass?" He asked as he freed you, concern in his eyes. You nodded tiredly and collapsed against his large chest. Hiccup slid to the ground next to you as his father gently passed you into his arms. Stoick stood. "Take her back home, son. We have to follow Viggo." He ordered. Hiccup nodded as his father barked orders for a team to escort your friends back home and another team to follow him as they tracked the Grimborns.

Hiccup carried you and sat you gently on Toothless, sitting on his back behind you. Your own dragon, very weak and unable to fly, was carried on a makeshift hammock by two bigger dragons. You relaxed into Hiccup's chest as Toothless began to fly home. You felt him press a gentle kiss to your temple. "It's gonna be okay, Y/N. You're safe now. I promise I'll take care of you."

Your eyes grew heavy and you leaned into Hiccup's arms as you finally felt peace enough to sleep. You heard him say "I love you" before drifting off, finally safe.

[linberlyy]

Let's be honest: Criston's offense’s more than justified and well-reasoned. Another question is how much this very offense is, but everyone will judge this through their own internal compass. Let me explain Cole’s motivation and worldview, maybe I'll open someone's eyes.

Let’s simulate the situation: we have a son from a humble family (so low that his position was low even for an engagement), who, with sweat, blood, his skills and efforts, carved out a place for himself in the Kingsguard, taking into account that, thanks to the goodwill of a representative of the royal family, - who has a golden spoon in her mouth, we remember, was able to get a healthy assessment of her capabilities and skills without watered calculations.

- “I know what it’s like to fight for something that others don’t value.”

He owes his new position precisely to the favor of the princess, and we have no reason to refute Criston’s conscience, because BEFORE any traumatic and drastic changes/events, he manifests himself as a conscientious and devoted knight, with a clear worldview.

They spend a lot of time together, and already at Aegon’s name day we see that the level of trust between Rhaenyra and Criston is high, moreover, it is rapidly gaining momentum when she opens some part of her soul, shares things that can be called “personal”, laments his situation and outlines the problems he faces. Most notable:

— “My father is trying to sell me to Jason Lannister. I was named heir to the throne only to improve the position of Lord Casterly Rock.

— Should I kill him?”

This is literally a joke about killing the LORD that Criston makes in the presence of the princess, and it is remarkable that they both laugh without taking it seriously.

— “You can choose your own path, you are lucky. Many would gladly change places with you.

— “I am the princess of Dragonstone, but I am toothless.”

— “Once, not so long ago, you were able to write my name in the White Book. A position in the Kingsguard is the highest honor for the Cole family. I owe you everything. And I wouldn’t call it toothless.”

He provides her with sincere support, without greedy or hypocritical intent, and she accepts it with open arms.

The development of their relationship, on the initiative of the princess, follows immediately when, after some time, abandoned by Daemon (I condemn) in a brothel, she persuades Criston to have sex. Rhaenyra lures him into the room, plays with the helmet, kisses him, not allowing him to leave, and then tries to free the knight from his armor. Yes, Criston could more than experience romantic feelings towards his princess, but above all, it was a kind of admiration, sincere gratitude for what bestowed her favor on the rootless commoner. His representation of Rhaenyra may seem banal and naive, namely as “a poor princess, enslaved by her position,” we will note this in the future. But based on his pure motives, he faces a choice in which his feelings equally suffer, his vows and, of course, the wishes of his object of desire, in relation to whom Criston has never crossed the line before, are called into question. Many may underestimate the pressure that arises between the statuses and titles of total opposites, and only in the example of “maid - prince” do some realize the problematic nature of such a union, but not “princess - knight”. Please note: despite gender, it is still a class difference that breeds power with abuse. And, unfortunately, Cole cannot know and be sure that Rhaenyra’s need to get sex here and now has nothing to do with her love for him. He hesitantly follows the princess's lead, putting aside his white cloak.

Next we see and hear that Criston is ashamed of himself for violating his honor, neglecting his duty, although he listened to his heart, to his duty to Rhaenyra.

— “You occasionally confided in me... Over the years of acquaintance. And it seems to me that I know you. A little.

— “More than a little.”

Another imaginary confirmation in Christon’s eyes of reciprocity.

— “You have said many times how you despise your position. That you will be married off at the whim of your father, without thinking about the inclination of your heart. And this day has come."

He imbues her with the problem mentioned in the past; driven not only by his dilemma, but also by Rhaenyra's “confinement,” a literal shackle that equally binds and constrains them both.

— “I ask you to come with me. Away from all this, from the humiliations and burdens of your heritage. Let's leave all this and look at the world together. We will be free, nameless. We are free to go wherever we want, to love whoever we want. Will you marry me? Not for the crown. For love.

— “I’m the Crown, Ser Criston. Or I will be her. I can complain about my debt, but would I choose infamy in exchange for a barrel of oranges, or a ship to Asshai? It is my duty to marry a noble of a great house. But my marriage is not the end all be all. Ser Criston, Laenor and I have come to an understanding. I gave him the right to do what he wants. He granted me the same”.

— “Do you want to make me a whore?”

— “I want what started to continue.” You are my protector. My white knight”.

— “I made a vow, a vow of chastity. I have nothing but my white cloak, and I have stained it! I thought the wedding would cleanse him.”

Literally, Criston pours out not only his soul to Rhaenyra, but also to us, as viewers. He dictates the reality of his situation, assures that he can provide and protect the princess as much as possible. But, of course, for the blood of the dragon, for the heiress, for the father’s daughter, who was previously brought up in the conditions of “do you want it? Get it!” such a prospect is worthless. Naive of Cole? Yes, but not without reason.

After everything, he feels extremely vulnerable, as well as after a sincere confession to the Queen - which responds even more precariously and nervously to any conscience and confidence, despite her gratitude. Already at the wedding of Rhaenyra and Laenor, Cole, like a taut string, stands at the service, but restlessly and nervously looks at the princess.

— “I’m on duty, what’s your business?”

— “You don’t know me, Ser Criston, but this alliance is very important to both of us.”

— “If you have something to say, Ser Joffrey, speak.”

— “Ser Laenor is as dear to me as I know the princess is to you. We must swear to keep them and their secrets. We’re not in any danger yet... They are safe.”

Sounds like a threat to a pins and needles knight with a stained cloak and a sense of duty, don’t you think? Criston can only guess how Joffrey knows about his affair with the princess, and only one of the options may look convincing - Rhaenyra telling Laenor about this, who could notify his lover along the chain. Again, every possible inclination towards princess on his part is undermined when their secret is at stake. Yes, Criston succumbs to anger and panic, resentment and hopelessness, for which he commits a much more terrible act than calling a woman names. But even so, Cole feels guilt, boundless disappointment, and at the lynching he also feels remorse. He plans to voluntarily commit suicide and admits his every mistake. This scene is literally the rebirth of a knight in the rays of Alicent’s understanding and favor.

And as a result: people complain countless times and blame Criston for swearing towards Rhaenyra, for which he apologizes. Cool. Let's think critically and delve into the story and characters, and not spit hypocrisy.

[damneddamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part vii)

a/n: cutest dragon claiming ever istg, toothless and hiccup dynamics. a looooooong sexy chapter because I have no self-control

When dawn broke over Dragonstone, there came a time for mourning. Princess Rhaenyra's red ire upon hearing the news from the Red Keep brought forth her premature labours, a strained one at that. She had anticipated the stillborn through her screams and struggles, grieving before the birth of her second daughter, who was to be named Visenya. As the Black Queen stood over the funeral pyre, she pledged to the flames that this larceny shall be answered for in blood.

Her only daughter, Princess Aemma's arrival proved most significant among the Blacks. Her brothers welcomed her back with open arms, indifferent to her gloom. Even Jace believed that his once insouciant sister had discovered her husband and dear friend, Prince Aemond's, vile motives through adversity. Even as the Concilliator's golden crown came to rest upon Queen Rhaenyra's head, even as her daughter bent the knee, the bereft mother was aware of the black heartbreak the princess came carrying, seceding from the traitor's nest to affiliate with her blood and kin.

After an advantageous gathering of the Black Council, Aemma harboured Rhaenyra's silent suffering, holding her mother close to her as she relieved her outcries into her shoulders. Aemma mourned with her, for the loss of her little sister, for her indefinite adventures, for whatever the inklings of a fabled future Aemond had painted for her.

When silence descended between the mother and daughter, Rhaenyra settled in bringing Aemma to her chest and stroking her arm. She glimpsed at the hushed tears that rolled down her daughter's cheeks, her chest constricting at the sight. She could tell why, she couldn't partake in any queries when the reason was unmistakable. Her lovesick daughter longed to be reunited with her other half, fiercer than when they were friends.

Rhaenyra couldn't bring herself to bear hostility toward Aemond—her son-by-law had essentially salvaged her daughter by sending her away from him. No matter her allegiance, Aemma's life would've been in constant peril by her husband's side. For that overthink from Aemond's behest, she was grateful. But, it did not overshadow his disloyalties.

The queen littered kisses around the princess' crown. "I know I can count on you. But, on what is to come—I want your standing on my council."

Aemma smiled with quite an effort. "I couldn't."

"You are shrewd, Em. I require a little novelty at my table."

"Do not treat me as your heir." She pulled away from her mother to glare at her. "I have had enough of you wheedling me into it."

"You must understand—"

"I will not. Declare Jace as your successor and honour your vow to me. He is male, your first son, more willing to rule than I ever will be. I am not him or you. I am not so flawless."

"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra sighed. "I am anything but."

"I am simply not suited for such regency."

Moreover, Aemma could never hope to rival her dear friend without the assurance that he had truly turned against her. And if that day ever came, her fragmenting mind would split into a thousand pieces. Deep down, she knew Aemond's actions were driven by his desire to protect her, so harbouring any ill feelings toward him proved futile.

"No one is ever suited," Rhaenyra said sourly. "You are born with it. The Iron Throne is your birthright."

Aemma sensed her vision blur. "Then please relieve me of it, mother. You promised me."

"Such are the circumstances, Em. Once the war is over and I have taken what is mine, I will make sure that you are free to do as you please," her mother agreed with her. "But until then, you will carry the title of my heir."

Aemma considered this, swiping at her nose. "You would pit my brother against me in doing so."

Rhaenyra recovered with a smile. "Jace would lay down his life if you asked it."

"And I am to simply take your word for it? Like the last time?"

Her mother's violet gaze narrowed. "The word of your queen, to whom you bent the knee."

Aemma would merely be an auxiliary in this castle. Just another puppet at the queen's behest. She strode out the door in a temper, slamming into a smirking Daemon before making off into her chambers.

Aching for some relief, Aemma instinctively searched the little chest by her writing table where she had stored Aemond's old letters. She sat on her bed, wistfully reading them, one by one, and realizing how oblivious she had been to the unmistakable. Each word to her was affectionate, deep-rooted in a love that never seemed to sway. It was then that she realized what a mistake it was to simply leave Aemond behind without putting up a fight.

A mere two years ago, he had written to her: My love, Aemma. Recently, I have read about the late Good Queen Alysanne, and I imagine you bear semblance to her; both in beauty and aspirations. Her command at court, the love she shared with King Jaehaerys. Her peaceful but invincible steed, Silverwing, resides on Dragonstone. I envision it every night, you and I, on our dragonbacks, side by side. I long to see you again, have you, hold you. Make it real for me. Yours, Aemond.

My beloved, Aemma, he penned in another letter. Shall I fly to you tonight?

My darling, Aemma. I wish for the day we free ourselves of these burdens and leave the world behind.

My Aemma. You are all my hope.

Aemma held the little scrolls to her chest, staring unseeingly. How had this escaped her? Had she been so blind to Aemond's budding love all these years? So focused on hearing his tales, that she had not read between the lines? It was never a spurred decision on his part or one born from jealousy. He had longed to make her his from the beginning.

Despite Aemma's growing yearnings, she sat awake in front of the mirror, brushing her trimmed hair with overt care. Long for distraction, she recalled the day she had tried to claim Vermithor, how the gulf of dragon fire from the beast's gullet had rained down from the lair, how Daemon's armoured body had shielded her from a charred death, how she swore to herself that she had had enough of dragon power.

"There is no defeat except in no longer trying," Daemon had said to her reflection in the mirror when the handmaidens sadly snipped away at her once-luminous, long hair.

Aemma's hand fisted against the brush, the words echoing in her mind. She lacked in a lot in comparison to her other Targaryen kin; crowns, power, dragons; but not a conviction. She would rather lose all her hair twice over than abandon hope. If there was one thing that would grant her sufficient power before her mother or the realm, it was dragons.

Make it real for me, Aemond had written. And that was more than flesh and blood could stand.

X

Call it harebrained or temperament of self-destruction, Aemma grappled a blazing torch from her corridor and lurked down to the Dragonmont, where she was certain that more riderless dragons were being sheltered. Seasmoke, her dear father's dragon, was among them. It was long after the hour of the wolf, nobody would be awake to stop her. Except—

"Sister?" A surprised call emerged from behind a pillar. Decked in his riding vestments, Jacaerys had come down to see his dragon, Vermax, possibly to relieve his tension.

Aemma held her nervous stutter and faced her brother down. "I'm going to claim Seasmoke. You can try and stop me."

With that, she walked past him without a second glance but came into shock when Jace caught her forearm. His jaw hardened as he took in the determination in her eyes.

"If I don't come with you, Father's ghost will haunt me for the rest of my days," he weakly jested. When she tried to deny him, he smirked and seized the torch from her.

"You can try and stop me," he quoted her.

Hence, the siblings embarked on a descent into the hellacious caverns of the Dragonmont. Jace held his sister's hand like a rock, leading her down the meagre stairways and eventually onto sturdy gravel.

Their boots crunched as they progressed through a hot, dark passage, illuminated by the embers from their torch. Jace chuckled when he noticed the rash slits on Aemma's skirts that now hung in tatters at her knees then the tight knot of hair over her head.

"'Tis not an absurd look on you. I've seen worse," Jace teased.

She shoved him playfully. "If Aemond were here, he would've appreciated the effort."

Her heart clenched a little when she spoke of him, an old pain that persisted from years ago. Jace said nothing but rolled his eyes.

"You should be on that throne after our mother, Jace," Aemma said, suddenly weary. "You are more befitted to rule than me."

"That is a lie," he reassured. "I can think of no abler ruler; so compassionate, peaceful, loved by all. Although I would row on your selection of king consort."

She managed a grin. "Perhaps Baela would make a fine queen. She's fierce."

"I do not dissent." He smiled back at her, warmed. "When you are the law, who dares question your authority?"

A nearby bellowing growl—or a snore?—alerted them. Neither Jace nor Aemma had any idea of what dragon waited for them in the lair that lay beyond. Luck was on their side, as they witnessed a dozing Seasmoke, begin to blink awake at the bright glares. The young dragon's silver-grey scales which resembled her late father's hair dazzled in the darkness. He was as handsome and fierce as his late rider.

Jace quickly informed her of the tethers on her thorax and straightforward Valyrian words of command, such painstaking instructions to his impetuous sister. So distinct from Daemon's nonchalance before facing off with Vermithor: "Power and patience, sweetling. Go and do me proud."

Aemma gritted her jaw and steeled herself. She would rather go with Daemon's command; to simply trust in her blood and approach in confidence. How much ever she tried to quell her fears, once the dragon began to sniff at her, her hands began to shake. Her mind blanked, and her perseverance dwindled. She turned aside slightly.

"Say 'lykirī', sister! 'Dohaerās', 'rȳbās', 'lykirī'!" Jace hissed to her in a reminder.

Seasmoke snapped his beady gaze to her brother, wavering on its hind legs, and then back at Aemma when she raised her palm and commanded in her strongest voice—"Lykirī, Seasmoke. Lykirī."

The distempered dragon unhinged its powerful jaws, a tongue of flame ready to breathe forth on her. Aemma willed her feet in place, brazened out the beast and began to shout, more in alarm than valour. This had to work, it had to.

"Dohaerās, Seasmoke! Rȳbās! Lykirī, please!"

It was past oversight once more when her brother leapt at her with his cloak, putting his body before hers and hauling her to the ground. A noxious heat bowered by them, the rage and sound of a firestorm, but they narrowly escaped the lick of fire while they crawled out of the recess. The disappointment deferred as Jace urged her to her feet and rushed her onward.

"Go, Aemma. Run," he ordered.

Their path had gone dark as they had abandoned their torch at Seasmoke's lair. Blind on their trail to safety, they knocked into each other, the bumpy stones, held onto dear life and sprinted ahead. Once they made it to a clearing on the far side of Dragonmont, annularly illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, the siblings tumbled to their knees to catch their breath. They were swathed in plumes of smoke and soot, and scrapes on their knees, but nothing else mattered.

Jace fell about into wild laughter. "Insanity, Em. Gods, have I missed such fun with you!"

His laughs faded when he noticed Aemma with her head in her hands and her shoulders quivering with muffled weeps. Her devastation was evident—all the grief, rejection, lovelorn—and all he could offer her was his bare solace whilst she aired her grievances.

Jace gently put his arm around her as she bawled it out, like her very nerves were tearing asunder. It was mortifying to see Aemma break like this, no one truly had bore witness to her sorrow. She rarely ever did so in front of their parents or alone.

"Mother merely sees me as a pawn. My only friend forsakes me," she sniffled before another sob ripped out. "Now father, too. What have I done to deserve this, Jace?"

When Jace attempted to affirm her, a startling rumble stilled any movements. He risked a glance over his shoulder and something stirred in the darkness. Beyond a doubt, the tapered symmetry of a nimble, enormous beast emerged from within a hollow beyond. Its growling thrummed the very rocks around them until he realized that the dragon's leathern wing was straddled on their farthest side, still half-shrouded in shadow.

"Aemma," Jace murmured to get her attention. Alas, his good sister was lost to her woes.

He read between the lines as he weaved his gaze between the calmly vigilant dragon and his sister. It was ridiculous to even entertain the thought of leaving her defenceless, but he was inclined to believe the possibility of... a dragon claiming a rider. Who was he to question the magic of Old Valyria? Jace could only take an unwilling step away, keeping his eyes steady between his sister and the sharp-eyed beast. Not just any beast.

Once under the moon's rays, the she-dragon, Silverwing, rose in her lasting glories. Formerly the docile mount of the Good Queen Alysanne, the pale silvery-blue dragon unwound her neck, rattling the ground with her faint bellows, snaking herself closer toward Aemma's balled-up figure on the ground. There was a hesitance to the dragon, never seen before, going further than her curiosity allowed. She took one sniff and let out another faint rumble.

Jace watched on, disbelieving, as Silverwing nudged her snout against Aemma's back. Her growl pealed like a peaceful purr, seeking out Aemma's affection or perhaps even showing her comfort.

Aemma hardly shifted, preoccupied with troubles of her own.

Unrelenting, Silverwing repeated this twice, more intent to win a reaction now. It was obvious that the dragon had already bowed to the likes of Aemma and her desperation.

Finally, Aemma lifted her head and glimpsed over her shoulder, her lips parting at the sight of the massive beast. When familiarity flickered into her head, she looked at her brother with tears in her eyes, disoriented.

Jace encouraged her with a nod.

Wiping her face with her dirtied sleeves, Aemma pushed to her feet and misstepped when an intense pang needled into her head. Silverwing, perceptive of her ungainly movement, offered up her snout as balance and carefully stood her rider upright.

"Sliverwing," Aemma spoke, her voice a shaky rasp. Her fingers ran across the glistening cobalt scales, feeling her heat and strength. She glimpsed at the dragon's glinting orange eyes.

The she-dragon let out another undragonlike purr.

Aemma was riveted by her unique friend, who stared at her in wonder. Silverwing's arched horns resembled her mother's mount, Syrax, fashioning an elegant crown of spikes around her great head. She inclined her windborne body to the ground as if making her obeisance to Aemma.

"Kirimvose, gevie riña," she whispered to her dragon, laughing to herself. (Thank you, beautiful girl.)

Such was the peculiarity of dragons, no one could understand their ancient minds. Jace immediately ushered Aemma toward Silverwing's timeworn saddle and she began to climb up, finally mounting her steed. When Silverwing roared and flapped her strong wings, Aemma appeared before her brother as the incarnation of the Good Queen Alysanne herself, with her wild hair and radiant grin. It was no wonder the beast was so quick to take her under its wing.

"I'll find Vermax and follow you out," Jace shouted to her, raring to go. He had dreamed of the day he would fly side-by-side with his dear sister.

That gloaming morning, all of Dragonstone awoke to the sight of Princess Aemma emerging out of the mountain as a proud dragonrider and cementing her name in history as a trueborn heir of the House Targaryen.

X

Across Blackwater Bay, the information of Princess Aemma laying claim to Silverwing had arrived in King's Landing on a sour note. This would be a dire consequence to the Greens, outnumbered in dragons against their own mere three adult dragons, even if one of them was the queen of dragons. Eight to exceed their three.

King Aegon headed the High Council meeting with the dowager queen and his grandsire, the Hand. Ser Criston ranged behind the King's seat, mum to his treasons. And Prince Aemond, most dutiful to the throne, was seated by the King's side. Absently, he stroked the marital scar on his palm, a prisoner to his wandering mind.

"The Blackwoods continue to fly Rhaenyra's banners in the Riverlands. Further aid must be assured to the Brackens who have bent the knee to our king," Ser Otto devised in utmost composure.

"The Brackens and Blackwoods have been at each other's throats for centuries," Aemond mentioned passively. "Our focus should be to withdraw all backing to the princess."

Aegon interfered with a scoff, leaning back into his chair. He glanced at his pensive brother.

"Are we to ignore this endless litany of my bitch niece's claim to one of the largest dragons in Westeros?"

Aemond bit on his cheek, amused. Between blood rights and bravery, his Aemma had chosen the most sleepy and stately dragon as her mount. If he knew her at all, she would never fly that new friend of hers to a damned war.

It was Otto who spoke instead. "The princess surely lacks the skill, Your Grace. Silverwing is meek, yet to experience battle... unlike Vhagar."

"So you would send Aemond to snuff his wife from the skies?" Aegon seemed to draw pleasure from this. "I am quite inured to savagery and this compels me to consider."

A formidable silence fell over the room. Aemond eventually looked up from his hands and met Aegon's eyes, seething. To even spare this sordid idea made Aemond's flesh crawl. He would rather lay on a bed of nails rather than meet Aemma on opposite sides of a battlefield.

At the sight of his brother's sinister ire, Aegon doubled back.

"For the good of the realm, brother. Now what of our allies in the Reach?"

The doors to the council chambers opened and in came a gold cloak, bearing a scroll in his palm. "There's been a raven from Dragonstone, addressed to the prince."

Aemond's heart pulsed an uneven rhythm. All the eyes around the table watched him toughen and receive the letter.

"Time for the prince to kiss some traitor cunny," Aegon mused, taunting.

Only the glad tidings came especially to Prince Aemond in the princess's handwriting. He did not need to speak aloud for the members of the small council to grasp what laid within that letter. The moment his drifting eye gripped the words on the page, he hailed a hurried exit from the small council, thoughtless of his mother's refusals.

"You would risk your life and that of Vhagar's?" Alicent needled, hot on his heels through the Red Keep. "If you go to her now, Rhaenyra will be forced to assume your intent to bring the battle to her and make her reprisal."

Deaf to his mother's heeds, Aemond was halfway through twisting on his riding gloves, preparing himself to ride to and ascend on Vhagar. He was already overdue, she waited for him.

"Love renders you unsighted, you fool," Alicent warned.

Aemond's smirked at his mother. "Then I have been blind since I was a boy, mother."

Thus did Prince Aemond soar into the night airglow, Vhagar roaring out into the vast sea. He couldn't help the ardent smile that almost split his face as he urged his dragon forward, faster.

My dearest Aemond, a bygone dream has finally borne fruit. Silverwing has accepted me with good graces, and she is simply magnificent. I've made it real for you now. Will you come to me? Yours, Aemma.

X

In the watchtower overlooking Blackwater Bay, no guard had sighted Vhagar's black wings under the clouded eclipse of twilight. Yet her shadow swept across the posterior end of the island, landing on the coasts of black sand where the ocean raged on. Come what may, Aemond decided. If his half-sister's wrath bore the flames of his death, he would first see his dearest wife's dream fulfilled.

As if lying in wait for his arrival, Silverwing's call pealed out in trills, like a hymn rather than a roar, making herself known to her audience, thundering the night sky. Ser Otto was asinine to think Aemma lacked the knowledge—the lithesome agility she always carried was finally being played upon her skills in dragon-riding. Aemond swelled with pride at the sight of his wife, a gifted rider, swooping and parading for him.

Silverwing circled the coast once before her huge wings battered the air, to land far away from a growling Vhagar. Aemond lurched forward, halting only to notice Moondancer, Baela Targaryen's dragon, circling nearby. Keeping watch with her rider. So, he had been permitted to slip by unseen.

Scarcely had Silverwing grazed the sand then Aemma gracefully coasted off her back. She had traded her pretty skirts for black-and-red dragon-riding attire, bearing the red three-headed dragon sigil of their house. With his one good eye, he noticed that mischievous smile was not yet lost, and so was the delicate tenderness in her doe eyes.

She remained a good distance away, her sweet dulcet voice carried in the wind. "What have you come as, my prince? A delegate of the usurper?"

Aemond bared a slight smile at her, his restless hand gripping his dagger. None of those words held any significance in her mouth. Vhagar roared again behind him, sharing his fervour.

"A husband, I hope," she continued to wonder.

"My highest honour, princess," he agreed. "Even so, you would rather make me wait to hold my wife and celebrate her."

Her joy wilted to a sullen grimace. "A small penance."

He concealed all the misery that overwhelmed him. He hummed. "Hmm. On what charges?"

"Forfeiting me to my family when you swore," she emphasized, "that you would never part us. No matter the odds."

"You expect me to sustain my only light in this bleak world, within that shitpit where you were nearly slain in your sleep, well nigh after my discretion." Shock rattled into Aemma's eyes. "I will not gainsay that which you claim. But I would do it all the more if it means to have you alive before me."

Aemma looked at the waves, her eyes turning to glass with the onset of sorrow. Once she gained control over her expression, Aemond was robbed of his breath when she glanced back at him. He ached to touch her.

Behind her, Silverwing whistled another rumble when she asked, "Have you truly renounced my hand then? Has the dowager queen declared it so?"

"I won't amuse that farce with an answer," Aemond affirmed hotly. "We are bound together by blood. Cast me far away, Aemma, and I will still resist and crawl back to you while there's still air in my lungs and a beating heart."

A heartened smile arose on her lips. She hid it in the guise of scratching the scar near her eye. "Sweet talker," he almost heard her. Or perhaps an expletive.

Aemond frantically tugged off his gloves with his teeth and pocketed them, sighing aloud. "My love, this is living death. Have I been absolved yet or do you revel in my misery?"

"Both," she teased.

Aemma laughed as she swiftly strode forward, her cape snapping and kicking up sand. When she leapt up to swallow him in a generous embrace, Aemond shut off everything else, nestled her close, and pushed his face into her neck, inhaling her deeply: smoke and leather, just a lingering hint of lavender. He spun her about once before setting her down, drawing a soft squeal from her. Her sweet laugh resounded in his ear.

He smoothed hurried kisses wherever he could; her neck, jaw, cheek; and lips, exploring the world between them softly. It was endearing how she tried to imitate him with uncertainty, cupping his face and threading his silver tendril between her fingertips. He let a smile spread on his lips whilst a soft moan slipped out, bowing her into him, noticing how each finger of his pressed into each portion of her spine. He traced the suppleness of her throat, the sweet dimple over her lips, he could map ancient seas and lands on the divots of her scarring. This was his own little coming home.

She pulled away too soon, then laid her head against his neck to find the pace of her breathing. Aemond sketched soothing circles at the small of her back with a sharp eye on Silverwing, who was intently watching their exchange. Such an incredible girl taming a queen's steed.

"Is she not the most breathtaking creature?" Aemma asked him, looking at her dragon half in wonder and half in pride. "She came to me, showed me solace. Like you did."

"Has your new friend transcended me?"

She kissed his jaw. "Never."

Aemond trailed by her side and watched as she softly stroked at the blue dragon's enormous snout, laying her forehead against her scales. He admired how she forged bonds with all her steeds this way, with Seasmoke the direwolf and that horse, as if she were giving regard to what she would receive.

Silverwing gave off another leonine purr, gently bumping her head against Aemma submissively. Aemond could tell that this was going to be another animate doll of his wife's. Perhaps she'd train this one, too, to play fetch.

"Jaelan ao naejot rhaenagon ñuha valzȳrys," she said, her Valyrian tongue irresistibly smooth, and patted her dragon once. (I would like you to meet my husband.)

Aemond beamed at this. Aemma called him forward, took his cautious hand and rested it upon the heated scales of the she-dragon. As if thoroughly understanding what her rider had said, Silverwing patiently received his touch. He braved out her auburn-eyed stare.

"Jaqiarzus hae se dāria ao iderēptan," he praised under his breath. (Glorious as the queen you chose.)

Aemond did not really care if Aemma had heard him. Turned out, she was too fascinated by the bond between her husband and her dragon. Aemma knowingly darted between them, deliberating to herself.

She palmed Aemond's cheek and whispered, "Fly with me, my friend."

He shook up with laughter, a quiet, lighthearted sound that surprised the both of them.

"Six long years have I waited to hear those words," he said.

With one more kiss, Aemond and Aemma mounted their dragons and took to the air, going against the tide. They flew together, and their dragons danced, not in a battle for ranks, but as sworn friends in their springtime of life, immersed in their own world.

X

After having been apart from each other for nigh on two days, and flying their dragons to their heart's content, Aemond refused to let go of Aemma once the night started to unwind frigid winds their way. They withdrew from Dragonstone, and she followed him to Sharp Point where a thin strip of grassy beach was left untouched by the townspeople, a space of peace of quiet amidst the brewing tempest in both their homes.

Paying no heed to the openness, there in the shroud of the tall grass, completely persuaded by desire, Aemond gently urged Aemma closer, divested his thick coat to lay it on the ground as a rug, and held out his hand. She went all too willingly.

It was vulgar, of course. She was a princess; moreover, she had pledged him her virtue, but he couldn't help his fixations. His yearning has taken root in the neediest part of him. Neither did he have the heart to vent her absence to a nameless whore in a brothel. Why bother with the horses when he had a dragon to ride?

Aemond unlaced her bodice painstakingly and caressed the silhouette of her body, her skin warm against his palm. Her woodsy eyes met his, composed.

"I don't care. I want you, too," she comforted him. Then she reached to unfasten his breeches.

The air turned electric amidst the gathering gale—with her eyes fixed on him, she stroked the length of him under her, his hardness, and a shudder falling out of his lips. At her own pace, she hitched her leg up, sitting astride him while undoing her own hosieries. He ran his knuckles down her jaw and pushed his fingers into her hair, sharing another fond glimpse. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how lonely his mornings were without her laughter, how often he had frequented her chambers just to get a whiff of her presence.

She traced the skin of his scar, gradually slipping a finger through the fastening string and tugging it off. Then she smiled at him, "This is the face I love. My love."

That could've been his ultimate undoing. On the brink of losing himself, she had offered up her everything.

"My love," he echoed, breathy.

Aemma sunk down on him, stretching herself to the limit, her face straining. Aemond grunted, unfaltering to the sweet friction, and watched her get her fill of him and begin to ride him to the floor. He was simply there to catch her as she fell, and fell, and fell... blurring the lines between him and her. Quite physically branding each other for good. The noises she made into his ear were melodies, and her name was a whispered chant from his lips.

She brought his head to her chest, cradling it there. Everything around him was her—her scent, her heartbeat, her warmth. He let his tongue taste her sweetness, skin and sweat before sinking his teeth down, covetous to claim. She laughed, as if tickled by this, laying her nose against the top of his head, her pace getting prompter.

When he felt her go rigid around him, she plunged back on him, and his fingers clawed at her hips, tipping her over until she was on the cusp of falling apart. He lifted her chin from gauging their progress, meeting his hot stare. Her dark eyes clouded with lust, so fantastic to watch, as she blew to kingdom come. That sheer sight of her was enough to let himself go, but through the heady daze, he bore in mind the liabilities. Softly, he pulled her off him and released his spend into his breeches. He shut his eyes, letting the waves of pleasure wash over him, breathing hard.

Aemma wasted no time in settling back over him, all surfeited by sex, and pouring her silent, appreciative kisses into his tousled hair. He laughed, rubbing at her bare thighs, nipping kisses at her neck.

She opened her palm for him, and his eye patch was nestled there.

"Perhaps one day, I'll wear it for you," she jested, winking.

He playfully poked her waist and she giggled. He slid the eyepatch back on, shifting it into place. "So replete with wisecracks when it comes to my eye."

They lay there together on the bed of smoothed grass, with Aemma's head slackened off his shoulder, twisting little braids into his long hair, and Aemond's arm slumped behind his head, lost to remembering the exact planes and dips of her face with his fingers. Too many long years he had gone without seeing her.

The breeze whooshed around them, unable to humble them, the blood of the dragon was running hotter than usual.

"We should've left and never looked back," Aemond breathed out.

She watched him, her cheek pressing into the grass. "It's too late now."

"No," he said, shaking his head. He brought both her braiding hands to his lips for a kiss. "The east lies at our feet and our dragons lie in wait. We have nothing to lose, dearest. Only each other. This isn't our battle."

"Yet something stops you from leaving," she remarked quietly.

Your whore mother and her clan of bastards, he wanted to say. Your bastard brother still roving about, unavenged. The Iron Throne and the unbidden power to the Targaryen who wield it. It was bizarre to even think these thoughts in her presence.

And all this time, Aemma studied the turning cogs in his mind and his evident discontent. She attempted to bring him back to her by touching his cheek and faced commotion in his lone eye.

"You have strengthened to a warrior. A terrific sword. A spirited rider," she said. "Deep inside, you desire a good fight. Your intuitions cannot be helped."

He gritted his teeth. "You kindly withhold the bare truth: I am conditioned to blood thirst."

"You have an old score to settle," she murmured, unearthing his elusive motive. "With my brother. With your brother. This is an open path to their reckoning."

Aemond stared at her. The world stilled for a beat; it was a foregone conclusion. How could she still lay her eyes on him after learning of his intentions? Where was the hatred he had pictured in his agonies?

"Aemond, my love." Her voice got along his skin like a silken caress. He dreaded to endure her next words.

"I cannot atone for Lucerys' mistakes. But I can appeal to your humanity." Having anticipated this, Aemond's jaw clenched tight. "We were reckless children, callow to the coming times. Hotter blood conquered that night."

"And he remains an unpunished child," he differed.

"Once your debt is paid, you've won Luke's eye, then what?"

"Then he is acquitted and I am much obliged."

She frowned at him, unconvinced. "What of esteem and civility? Or would you prefer to be feared by the realm?"

"Better to be feared than scorned."

"Even by me?"

He pressed his lips tightly, his face tensing. He didn't have to say anything, she understood. A calm wroth simmered behind his lonely eye.

Aemma watched him for a beat, absorbing his words, and Aemond unshiftingly persisted. She witnessed a little boy mocked all his life; for his losses, his scars, his audacity; seeking his worth. The grimness in his stiff lips, the endurance in his words—this was the face of a stewing, dauntless man, lost to his vengeance. His scathing words struck her deeper when she realized his due reward was still unclaimed.

She shivered when he stroked a thumb across her bottom lip, his lone eye softening to fondness. "I know your insight of this now will harrow what we share. I have always known, I looked the other way. If you wish to never see me again—"

This jostled her world. She shook her head in defiance, holding his cheek in place. His face had twisted to reluctance once again. He didn't want it either, such a short distance had already left them helpless.

"I have had enough of broken vows," Aemma insisted. "I intend to keep mine to you, rooted, regardless. Let's not have the chances sour our time now."

He let a gratified smile spread out, leaning forward to catch her lips in a heated kiss, rolling her over, all urgent touches and knocking teeth. She didn't fight it, merely let it happen and allowed him to vent his gall. He gushed all his affirmations into her, his love, his fears, his hopes, and the significant one being that if he were to lose her, he would lose himself.

"Stay here with me tonight, please," he whispered into her neck.

She laughed when she heard his plea, disbelieving. "Are you to stand guard through the cold night?"

He let her go for a moment to skim the coat from under him and shroud it around her shoulders. The material drowned her stunted stature and he settled her back in his impenetrable hold. She muffled another laugh into his open-shirted chest, stroking her nose against him.

"Warm enough for you, my little dragon-rider?"

"Not that I care, but such is your spousal duty," she hummed, still playful on the hour.

He clicked his tongue. "I ought to fling you to the ocean floor. That should teach you."

"I ought to employ Silverwing's fire," she threatened.

"Spare my heart," he laughed quietly. "I'd be burning for you twice over."

And so Aemond maintained a vigil, inspecting Aemma as she slumbered soundly not soon after. He oh-so-softly touched her plump lips, the aquiline slope of her nose, her eyebrows, and the scar that dashed through one. Maddening how she continued to rest, unaware of the soul she refused to return to him.

His single eye flicked to something moving amidst the leafy plains beyond Aemma's shoulder. With one hand grasping Aemma tight, he edged a guarded hand to the dagger stowed above his breeches.

A viper, as black as the night, slithered across the golden sand. It wreathed a pattern toward Aemma's spine, hissing out a rattling tongue.

In a split second, his dagger was airborne and impaled the viper to the floor, gone in a painless death.

He had offered it his mercy, affixing his aim right into its eye.

X

[oldguardleatherdog]

[HOWL]

I'm getting antsy about "Day One" and what the new regime is actively preparing to unleash the minute he's sworn in.

I've been looking for actions being planned by the usual orgs (MoveOn, Indivisible, et al.) or any signs of meaningful physical/judicial/public-involved obstruction or demonstration or coordinated pushback against the flurry of anticipated executive orders, resistance to Insurrection Act activation, and the marquee event of "shock and awe" deportations that they've been flaunting openly for months - and I have seen nothing.

There are news reports of governors and mayors and attorneys general making plans and pacts of non-cooperation with those efforts, but it's very murky and clandestine and behind-the-scenes puttering around, and here we are 7 weeks out with zero public demonstrations or gatherings or, God forbid, marches where the public can at least express our opposition and make a statement that we're not knuckling under, this is not acceptable, and they're not going to implement this insane agenda without a fight.

There's a sense that good people of good will have already given up, acquiesced, ceded the whip hand to the new (old) regime, that since all our marches and protests didn't prevent his reelection public expression of opposition is useless, that "there's nothing we can do but lie back and take it" and "we don't want to be bothered we just want to retreat and lie in a dark room with a cold cloth over our eyes and pretend we can retreat into our books and gardens and knitting until the firestorm passes."

This doesn't augur well for the road ahead. As individuals, no one is going to be the lone flag-bearer facing down a MAGA crowd, so we have to look to existing leadership for organizing Day One events at scale - but I'm hearing and seeing nothing, nada, zip, zilch. All I'm seeing is "here's how to take your mind off what's coming" self-care feelgood guides to giving up and pretending our new overlords aren't there, and not a peep from the folks who draw six-figure salaries at the nonprofit orgs that are supposed to be leading the charge when it's hard, when people are demoralized and exhausted, not just when the sun is shining. In 39 years of raising hell, making trouble, pounding the pavement and rousing the rabble, I've *never* seen the side of good so limp and lame and toothless and... lost.

As the saying goes, "What is to be done?"

I'm not ready to hear "nothing, it's too late, we have to wait until everyone wakes up or until people start getting hurt." (Insert .gif of my head exploding.) We know what's coming because they have TOLD us, in detail, chapter and verse.

We know that if we do nothing, people will suffer. In what universe is it acceptable to wait until enough harm is done to innocents for good people to take action?

I'm at a loss. I'm angry at the deliberate inaction of those who have the power to get something going. I'm fighting the urge to turn my own back - not out of despair, but out of disgust.

Long-term plans are wonderful things; my own performance art gig is my primary outlet, but I can't mount a significant effort with meaningful reach for at least a year - and even then, I'm just one guy.

Right now, I don't see any signs of any significant national- or even local-level response targeting Day One operations or any day after that, to be honest. Am I missing anything? Am I not looking where I should be looking? I need to recharge and refuel. I'm open to ideas. Thanks for listening.

[/HOWL]

[asphodeline-lutea]

How Forgetting Almost Everything can Help You Reach Tomorrow: The Importance of the "Amnesia Plot" of Book 12 (and how it might be Dissociative Amnesia)

The amnesia plot at the start of Book 12 is more than often seen as out of place, unnecessary, or even ridiculous. Sure, why have the main character lose his memory all of a sudden? To make the story more intriguing, perhaps, or to show his determination to become king and his willpower?

But as we all know, accidents happen for a reason.

The same applies to the amnesia of Book 12.

Suppose that Hiccup did not get amnesia, he will know that he had lost the Things, and the possibility of him becoming King has been severely reduced.

It has always been one of Hiccup's deepest fears that the Lost Things he had found would fall into the wrong hands, enabling Alvin to become king, causing the destruction of dragons, and the suffering of the humans. Now, it seems that this fear is very close to becoming reality.

To add to all of it, Snotlout had just sacrificed himself so that Hiccup could live and become King. If Hiccup did not become King, then Snotlout’s death would be in vain, and he would be failing Snotlout's trust and faith in him. We see more than once in later parts of Book 12, where he repeatedly states that he is doing this because of Snotlout. (“The very least that Hiccup could do was to make absolutely sure that Snotlout's sacrifice was worth it./ He HAD to do this.”-Book 12, p188; “I take this Crown in honor of Snotlout.” -Book 12, p221) (Not to mention that he was probably traumatized by Snotlout's death -any thought about this must have been very painful.)

But how, exactly, was he going to do so in this situation? He had none of the Things, only about one day's time until the coronation, and the borders of Tomorrow will be closed, so he would not be able to enter. This really seemed hopeless now- He had been in seemingly hopeless situations before, but none as dark and with stakes as high as this one.

If Hiccup was to go on without amnesia, then he would be under great pressure to become King, while facing serious difficulties, and yet this burden of fear and grief and guilt would be so much heavier than anything he had ever experienced. He could easily fall into the “all my fault” loop of self-blame and despair. If so, then how hard would it be for him to gather all the remaining strength in him to make himself continue to go forward?

Even if he had all his memories, he might have to try to suppress some of them (“I’ll think about it tomorrow”-Book 11, p308), in order to prevent himself from sinking into the pain of them, and keep himself going.

So, ironically, the amnesia could be seen as the kindness of Fate, or a rare example of the remaining bits of kindness in Cressida.

So you see, the amnesia plot was necessary to the story.

But wait- there's more to this plot.

What if the amnesia was not, or not only, caused by a hit to the head?

What if Hiccup himself, consciously or unconsciously, induced that amnesia on himself, to block out the pain, so he could go on towards Tomorrow? Though this would imply that he already knew he lost the Things before he woke up. But it is possible that he had already realized it subconsciously.

(I know I'm going more into speculative grounds now, but since Cressida wrote it as so, then it is open to interpretations, as long as they are logical enough within the story.)

Searching on the Internet, I found this:

Dissociative amnesia.

You see how this could actually fit into the story?

(I am no expert about dissociative amnesia, if I get anything wrong feel free to correct me.)

Forgetting one’s identity; memory loss of everything within a long period; amnesia affecting events but not learnt skills (such as speaking Dragonese or tying a kind of knot)- these are all characteristics of dissociative amnesia.

Especially the part where Hiccup regains his memory with help from Toothless- all memories returned, suddenly and forcefully, like a door swinging open. This happens with dissociative amnesia, where the memories are intact but blocked from consciousness to protect the person, but not with organic amnesia, where the memories are damaged, and usually cannot be completely cured.

(A small detail: with this approach, the fact that his memories about Snotlout returned later than the rest, might suggest that this was part of the trauma that caused the amnesia.)

In addition, in his amnesia state, Hiccup still seems to know that he must get to Tomorrow. Even though he was exhausted, ragged, barely alive, and had no conscious idea of why he was doing this, "something within him" made him push on towards Tomorrow. This fits in with the dissociative amnesia hypothesis.

Of course, I'm not saying that this is the "correct" explanation, Cressida might or might not have intended it to be dissociative amnesia, but since she wrote it in such a way, then it is open to this kind of interpretation.

However, this approach, interpreting the amnesia plot as dissociative amnesia, would be logical and connected with the previous events and Hiccup's character. And of course, it brings forth much more pain and emotional angst.

[p-artsypants]

The Pale Rider (5) The Shambling will Cease

The Isle of Berk is cursed. Like, extremely cursed. It has been for generations. The extent of the curse has been forgotten over time, but no descendants of the original village are able to leave the island, lest they suffer a gruesome fate. Three years ago, the Blacksmith invited the Pale Rider to town. He’s a creature that’s haunted the forest and childhood campfire stories for centuries. Now, he arrives every day at noon. One day, Astrid Hofferson decides to be brave and talk to him. He’s actually really nice…for an eldritch abomination. A Beauty and the Beast AU.

Ao3

It was early in the morning. Most businesses, minus the bakery, weren’t open yet. The morning dew was still fresh on the patches of grass strewn about the square, and the horizon was orange with the rising sun. Astrid entered Gobber’s shop, hoping to speak to him before anyone else arrived. 

Luckily, he was there, lighting the fires. 

“Oh! Astrid! My, you’re early!”

She latched the half door shut behind her, a pep in her step. “Good morning, Gobber. I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Must be pretty important if you’re here so damn early,” he noted again.  

“I can come back,” she pointed at the door. 

“No no, none of that. What do you need?” 

“The Rider seems to have a knack for gift giving.” 

“That he does!” 

“I thought maybe…he’d like a gift in return?” 

Gobber chuckled. “Knowing him, he’d probably try to pay you for it.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of…” 

“What were you thinking about giving the poor creature?” 

She hopped up to sit on the counter, and swung her legs idly. “I’ve noticed he doesn’t walk so well. He said his leg was taken a long time ago. I think his fake leg is broken or too short.” 

“So you want me to make him a prosthesis?” 

“I was just…wondering if that was possible? But the problem is, I really don’t have the coin to pay for it. I could bring you fresh flowers for your shop everyday!” 

“That’s not necessary, dearie. He’s been overpaying me for everything for years. I’ve got plenty of cushion to make him a leg.” 

“Would you?” She folded her hands in front of her chest. 

“Sure! Though, I don’t know why he never asked me for one before.” 

“I think he doesn’t have a lot of self-love. You know, he said the curse on this island is because of something he did.” 

“Really? What did he do?”

“He says he can’t remember. How hard must it be to repent for a crime you didn’t know you committed?”

Gobber hummed sadly. “Poor lad. He’s had a rough life.” 

“Yeah? He told you about it?” 

“Tiny fragments, every once in a while. You know, it wasn’t until earlier this year he started talking in full sentences. First two years, I had a lot of ‘yes’, ‘no’, and pointing. That doesn’t come from a life of ease.”

Again, Astrid felt that weird churning in her gut. A deep sense of grief for this friend that was still mostly a stranger. How lonely must he be? Talking about his parents had led him to tears. 

If she could give him a brief moment of happiness, it would be worth it. 

—

She was thrilled to see that Dagur was busy today. With what, she had no idea. She really didn’t care, as long as he was leaving her the hell alone. 

The Rider came around the bend, and she smiled and waved at him. 

He raised his hand and awkwardly waved back. 

She stooped to grab a parcel from inside her cart, and pulled out the thorny vines with purple berries he had asked for. “Your order, good sir.” 

“Thank you, Astrid,” he began before Toothless snatched the bouquet out of her hands. “How much do I owe you?” 

“5 gold please!” 

There was mirth in his voice as he said, “I guess you are taking to heart what I said about the treasure.” He held his hand out, and five golden, shiny coins fell into hers. 

“And…” she crouched again, and this time, gave him a small satchel brimmed with silver coins. “Your change.” 

He sighed. “Astrid…” 

“You said you were running out of silver!” She protested. 

“Yes, but I don’t want more.” 

“Too bad, if you want to be my friend, you’ll accept it.” 

He hummed, amused that she was using that on him. “Very well, Miss Hofferson.” He waved his hand over the satchel, and it disappeared. 

“Now that our business is concluded,” Astrid beamed. “Let’s go to Gobber’s!”

He tilted his head. “Are you so eager to be rid of me?” Another one of his weird jokes. 

“Nope! I just think you’ll find something interesting there, is all.”  

He watched her waltz in front and take hold of Toothless’ reins, and then start leading them over to the forge. 

“You are eager about something, in fact,” he noted. 

She tilted her head and nodded, still grinning. 

Gobber greeted them boisterously as they entered. “Rider! Astrid! What a surprise!” 

“How could this be a surprise?” Rider asked. “I come to see you at the same time every day.” He slid off his horse, but stayed drawn back, hesitant. “What is going on?” 

Gobber gave him a reassuring smile. “Astrid commissioned me on your behalf.” 

He ducked his head. “Me? What would she possibly have you do for me?” 

“Your leg,” she explained. “Your fake one. It hurts, doesn’t it?” 

He took a step back, shoulders hunching. “How could…?” 

“Gobber has a missing leg too,” she gestured. “But he doesn’t walk as slow or staggering like you do. We want to help.” 

He shook his head. “I deserve no such kindness.” 

“Barnstat!” Gobber hollered. “Every man deserves the chance to walk properly if his body allows it!” 

“But—” 

“No buts!” Gobber shook a hook at him. “You’ve been coming here for three years. You’ve pumped money into our village that no one has acknowledged. Snotlout won’t shut up about the sword you gave him, and Fishlegs’ uncle hasn’t stopped giggling since he saw that book! You’re getting a new leg! Are you going to sit down and let me measure? Or are we gonna do this the hard way?” He twisted his hook, menacingly. 

The Rider was stunned silent for a very long time. Slowly, he took a step forward, limping as he did. “Very well.” 

“Great!” Gobber grabbed a stool and brought it forward. “Take a seat.” 

Like everything he did, the Rider hesitated before sitting down. As he sat, he threw his cloak back so it would be out of the way. Then he gathered the front and tied it up into a loose knot. 

This revealed his legs, up to the top of his thighs. Almost normal human legs, but long and gangly. His right leg had armor, greaves, or greave, since it was just the one, and a sabaton. The outside was a shiny, black metal, while the joints were covered in a dark chainmail. The left leg, however, was made of wood. Starting just below the knee, a bundle of sticks gathered together with rope, tightly woven to truncate in a point to walk on. 

It simply couldn’t be comfortable. 

“Lad, did you make this?” 

He shook his head. “It’s what I was given.” He rolled up the black fabric of his pants to reveal the snow white skin of his knee. Closer to the amputation, the skin became scarred, gnarled, blistered and bloody. It was nauseating to look at. 

Gobber frowned. “And you say you lost it a long time ago?” 

The Rider nodded. 

“The wound looks fresh.” 

“Yes. A part of the curse.” He reached down and grabbed hold of the bundle of sticks that made up his leg. “As is this.” He pulled, making a horrible squelching noise. The Rider audibly whimpered, dislodging the sticks from his skin. The ends were pointed, and had been held in place by being stabbed into his leg, like some sort of horrible pin cushion. 

“Oh dear Odin…” Gobber looked sick. 

Astrid couldn’t breathe. Her poor friend, walking around with this unimaginable pain. No wonder he walked the way he did! 

Astrid grabbed his hand, curling her fingers around them and ignoring the shivers that ran down her spine. “You don’t deserve this.” 

“But—” 

“No. No, I don’t care what you did. 300 years of this is inhumane. Please let us help you.” 

He looked at his leg, almost numbly, as drips of dark blood fell from the multiple stab wounds.  

Gobber got up and got a bucket and rag. “You know, I don’t feel right about giving you any kind of prosthesis until that wound heals.

“I don’t think it will,” said the Rider. 

“Not if it’s being stabbed over and over with a dozen spears!” Gobber shook the cursed pegleg. “I’m gonna make you a proper one, but it might take a couple of days. I’ve got a temporary one you can use in the meantime.” And he chuckled the leg in the forge. 

“Gobber! It’s black wood!” Astrid shouted, in vain. 

The leg caught fire immediately, exploding in bright eye-burning green flames that filled the forge and licked the ceiling. The burst sounded like the scream of a dying woman. Astrid and Gobber fell to the floor, covering their faces. As the flames died down a foul smelling smoke filled the room. 

Gobber took the charred leg with some tongs and threw it into the back yard. 

“I’m sorry,” said the Rider. 

Astrid coughed and fanned the air in front of her face. “Not your fault.” 

“But—” 

She poked his chest, right on the sternum. “Not. Your. Fault!” 

He didn’t argue. Just fell silent. 

Astrid took the rag and bucket that Gobber had brought out and started cleaning the wound. 

“Careful, my blood is poisonous,” he warned.

“So are a lot of things on this island, and yet I pick them. I don’t have any open cuts on my hands. Don’t worry.” 

He fidgeted with his hands, rubbing his thumb on his index finger. 

“Does this hurt?” 

“No, it feels…quite nice.” 

“‘Cause you’re not bein’ stabbed!” Gobber exclaimed. “I’m gonna have nightmares about this for weeks!” 

“Again, I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Astrid comforted, bandaging the wound. “So you made a grave mistake 300 years ago. The person that’s really at fault here is the one that did this to you. So…who is it? Can you remember?” 

The green fire that was his eyes went dim, as he raised a hand to his head. “...it was…my best friend.” 

“What kind of friends do you keep?” Scoffed Gobber. 

“Well, you two.” 

“Besides us,” Astrid smiled. “Can you remember anything else about them?” 

“...betrayal,” he whispered. “Blood spilt…he…he knew magic.” He shook his head. “That’s all I can remember.” 

“Well, that’s certainly a start,” Supplied Astrid. 

“I got it,” Gobber snapped her fingers. “Sounds to me like you betrayed and killed your best friend. There’s many a folklore that says that a mage’s blood is powerful, even after death. If true, his blood would have been on you, and also seeped into the ground. Ta-da, curse solved!” Gobber stated, plainly, seemingly not bothered by the idea of the Rider being a murderer. 

“It makes sense,” said the Rider. “I just…wish I could remember. I would pray for forgiveness. But I don’t even remember what I did exactly.” 

Astrid patted his hands. “It’ll be alright. You’ve long served your time. Now, let us help you.” 

Gobber then took measurements. A few sitting down, and a few standing and using the counter for balance. 

At the end of it, Gobber brought out a standard peg leg with a leather cuff. He had to add a block to the bottom to make up for the extra height. 

“Alright lad, this attaches very simple. You just pull this cuff over your leg, and then pull the drawstrings nice and tight.” He did it for him as a demonstration. The Rider then straightened and bent his knee a few times to test it, then he carefully got up, keeping his weight on his good leg. Then he slowly balanced on both, and then took a step.

“Well?” Asked Gobber. 

“It's a relief. The pain is…so mild now.” He took another few steps, and Astrid noted happily that he wasn’t lurching like before. Just walking. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you.” 

Gobber waved him off. “That’s just the spare leg! I’ll have a right proper one for you in a few days.” 

The Rider held his hand out, offering a handshake. Gobber clasped his hand, only to have the Rider wrap his other hand around that one and squeeze. “I will forever be indebted to your kindness.”    

Gobber attempted to pull away, uncomfortable with the immense gratitude being laid on him.

But the Rider held firm. “I never would have had friends if you hadn’t invited me into town. Thank you, Gobber.” 

Gobber wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with his wrist. “Aye lad, you’re very welcome. Now stop before ye make me cry.” 

The Rider let go, and hummed fondly. 

“Wanna go show the others?” Astrid asked, eagerly.

The Rider nodded, and bid Gobber another fond farewell. 

They stopped at Fishlegs’, the twins, and at Heather’s. Each time, before any greetings, he pulled his cloak aside and pointed. “Gobber fixed my leg.” 

“Oh, how good for you!” Said Fishlegs. 

“Whoa, you had a wooden leg?” Said Tuffnut. 

“Lucky bastard,” said Ruffnut. 

“That Gobber sure is handy!” Said Heather. 

“Okay, and I care why?” Said Snotlout. 

Astrid didn’t have the heart to explain just how much pain the Rider had been in before the new leg. She wasn’t even sure how to explain the way the old leg had been attached. That would inevitably lead to more questions, and telling the others that she and Gobber theorized the Rider was a murderer was not a good idea. 

Maybe in a few…years. 

Or maybe never, if she and Gobber could solve the curse without their help. 

After tea, the Rider remained, not running away abruptly like he had been.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be?” She asked. 

“Oh,” he clenched his hand up by his mouth. “You have to get back to work.” 

“Well, eventually, yes, but that’s not what I meant.” 

He tilted his head at her, prompting her to go on. 

“There’s one more person I want you to meet. I’ve been telling her about you, and she’s eager to meet you.” She started heading down the road, and he followed, guiding Toothless patiently along as well. “She…it’s my mother.” 

The Rider hummed. “And…she is sick, correct?” 

“Yes.” Astrid swallowed. “No one knows with what. Gothi, the medicine woman, said she’s…” A lump got caught in her throat, and Astrid didn’t know how to continue. 

The Rider’s hand fell upon her shoulder, offering a warm gesture, despite the cold touch. 

“She’s dying,” Astrid whispered. “And there’s nothing we can do about it.” 

“I’m sorry,” the Rider said back, just as softly. 

“I don’t think this is curse related,” she clarified. “Just…something we don’t understand yet. Which almost makes it harder. Because no one knows what it is, no one knows if it’s contagious. And because of that…no one comes to visit her.” 

“That’s sad.” 

“I sit with her most evenings, after work. I’ve told her all about you. I thought she’d be worried, but she was just curious.” 

“That’s refreshing.” 

She smiled. “I’m sure!” 

She led him up to her little cottage. It was small, but had enough of a yard that she could garden. Every inch of soil around the cottage was teeming with plants and flowers. There was no guessing who lived there. 

“Very nice,” he commented, reaching out and touching some apricot roses growing around the door. 

“My mom planted this garden,” Astrid gestured. “She ran the flower stall, and taught me everything I know. I…actually don’t care about flowers all that much.” 

“Really?” His voice raised in surprise. 

“Yeah, I mean, they’re pretty and I care about them because of my mom, but…if it had been up to me, I would have had a different job.”

He leaned towards her. “What job?” 

“Well…I always liked fighting. I’m pretty handy with an axe. Maybe a guard or a hunter. Something with some action, you know?” 

“I see it.” He nodded. “You have a fighting spirit.” 

She smiled proudly, before beckoning him inside. “Mother, I’m home! And I’ve brought a guest!”

“Oh my! Is it the young man you’ve been telling me about?” Phlegma Hofferson’s harsh voice called from upstairs.  

The cottage had one large room and a loft. The large room had a kitchen, table, and sitting area. A small bed was tucked under the stairs. 

The Rider studied the room as Astrid went up the stairs. “I don’t know about the ‘young’ part…”

“Oh pish posh, he’s young at heart. Aren’t you, dearie?” 

The Rider ascended the stairs after Astrid, having to duck his head as he came up. 

Astrid beckoned him to sit in the empty chair, as she sat on the bed. 

Awkwardly, the Rider sat down, and then raised his gaze to meet Phlegma’s smiling, but ashen gray face. “Hello, Madam Hofferson.” 

“My! You are a fearsome one! I had almost forgotten. It’s been a while since I was able to look outside and see your arrival.” 

“...you do not seem scared.” 

She shook her head. “No, dear. I’m not. I’m at the stage of my life where I have more things to fear within me, than outside.”

The thought made Astrid feel cold. 

“I understand the feeling,” said the Rider. 

“I knew you would.” She closed her eyes and relaxed. “I was hoping Astrid would bring you to meet me sometime. I couldn’t bear leaving this world without getting the chance to speak with you.”

“Mother…” Astrid hated when she talked about her mortality. Phlegma had obviously accepted her fate, but Astrid just couldn’t. 

“I’m glad,” said the Rider. “Astrid has become a dear friend. Probably the best I’ve had. I would have been…saddened to have not met you when I had the chance.” 

Was he implying that she was his best friend? After only so many days? 

“My Astrid is such a loving girl. Her heart is so big. She loves everyone! No matter how tall or scary.” 

Astrid felt her lip twitch. “Well, not everyone,” She insisted. “Kinda hard to find love for Dagur.” 

Phlegma laughed. “I meant besides him, of course.” She sighed, a hard rattling breath settling in her chest. “Now Rider, tell me about yourself.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Do you live up in that big castle all by your lonesome?” 

He shook his head. “There are…several that dwell in the castle. Toothless, of course. And my parents. And…” he hesitated, but then didn’t finish the sentence. 

“And?” Astrid persisted. 

“And others. But we don’t speak.” 

That was news. 

“You have parents?” Phlegma asked, surprised. 

“Everyone seems surprised when I say that.” He tilted his head, and answered the inevitable question. “They are also cursed. They can’t leave. Toothless and I are the only ones that can.” 

“But you can’t leave the island, right?” Phlegma asked. “Like the rest of us?” 

“That’s correct. Even if I could, I don’t believe I would want to.”

“What’s your mother’s name, dear?” 

He paused, raising a hand to his head. It was heartbreaking to think he didn’t know immediately. “It’s Valka, and my father is Stoick. Stoick the Vast.” 

“My! What a mighty name! He must be a big man!” 

“He was, once. And I was small.” He tilted his head, seemingly thoughtful. “He would…pick me up, just by the back of the shirt. He was mad at me a lot.” 

Astrid was hesitant to make any noise, lest she distract him. It seemed like he was finally remembering his past. “...but he’s not mad anymore. He should be, but he’s not.” 

“What’s he like, then?” Asked Astrid. 

He bowed his head, his hands fidgeting awkwardly. After a minute, he spoke, and his voice held so much sorrow, Astrid thought he might just start crying again. “Gracious.”  

She came back around to the fact that his actions had caused the curse, allegedly, of course. 

But his father forgave him for it? A man who’s anger shone through his hazy memory, had forgiveness for his son. It was a discordant piece of information. She was pretty sure that if she betrayed and murdered Heather, which resulted in a curse on the whole island, her father would be pretty pissed at her. 

If he was still alive, that is. 

Astrid realized she had been lost in thought for a while as her mother prattled on. The woman could be an absolute chatterbox when she was feeling well. 

The Rider just sat there, as he seemingly listened to her mother. And he was listening intently, she realized, as he would nod his head at appropriate intervals, and slip in a question to encourage her to continue. 

The conversation was mostly village gossip, old gossip at that, since Phlegma hadn’t been out among people in a long time. 

Astrid feared that the Rider would get lost, but if he was, he didn’t show it. 

“Mother,” Astrid interrupted, as gently as possible. “I have to get back to the stall.” 

“Oh! Of course, dear.” 

“Can I stay?” Asked the Rider, first to Astrid, and then to her mother. “If you are not tired of my company.” 

Phlegma lit up with joy. “Oh my boy, I would love it if you kept me company!” 

“Are you sure?” Astrid asked. “That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to—” 

“Astrid, I told you, I’m happiest around people that talk to me without fear.” 

She couldn’t really find an argument against that. Really, it was wonderful he wanted to stay. They were both lonely people, desperate to connect to the outside world. 

But there was just this nagging feeling in her mind. Hazy memories of the same nightmare over and over, of the Pale Rider coming into her house and taking her mother away. 

It was what prompted this visit, and what prompted her to talk to the Rider in the first place. 

So the logical next step was to allow it. Leave him alone with her mother and see for herself that there was nothing to fear. 

“Okay,” Astrid breathed. “You can stay. But, come say goodbye to me when you head out, okay?” 

“I will,” he hummed. 

With anxiety coursing through her, Astrid went back to work, standing behind her stall and keeping her eyes trained on her house. 

Maybe an hour later, he emerged, fetching Toothless from where he was grazing on weeds from the cobblestone streets. Then, just as he promised, he came over to her stall. 

“Your mother yawned a few times. I decided to leave so she could rest.” 

There had been nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing! 

“Did you have a good chat?” 

“Oh yes!” He said, enthusiastically. “May I visit again?” 

Astrid gaped in surprise. “I…suppose. I’ll ask and see if she’s okay with it.” 

“She invited me,” he clarified. “I only thought it was right to ask you as well.” 

“I…don’t see why not. She needs company. And I’ve heard all her stories before. Yeah, I think she’d really like to have you visit.” 

“Thank you, Astrid.”

[grimfox]

ephemera

tarnished cairns, askew.

escarpment's bluster-winds.

the end imminent,

truly.

star-lit wonderment consumes,

then feuling,

through me,

human beauty.

ruinous run through it.

all improvements:

posturing and stupid.

who had knew it suckled sacrilege

in soothe-said, subtle dreams?

the ivory between the lines,

left red.

the head,

and all the seams we weave to prove it.

suicidal,

or in line to fight the foolish.

frightened signs pursuant.

fluid realigning high-banks,

prudent,

in a night-deep,

white-streaked wound's rip.

siezing sighs,

denial ruthless.

and i don't mind the fruitless,

long as song is sung.

begrudging truth hits toothless, huh?

one under others,

plummit,

sum: unwon.

in fundamental shudders.

suffering erupting something other than

the unheard, stuttered utterance.

abandoned,

sundered,

done.

[oblivionbladetd]

(On "Something You Can Learn from Lorch: Nothing is Worse than Boring") You put this so well!!!

I genuinely think, that Lily just couldn't write a whole book/novel. "One-shot"-like, shorts are the only format she can think, because she genuinely doesn't know how to frame a story, map out a plot and create characters who are more than a few positive labels pinned to a wooden board. (And doesn't even mention research. Like Sai put it beautifully about her stream, when she read Scars - Plan B, that Lily was too lazy/did not care to look up when was that fucking Plan B even introduced to the market! This is something even a beta reader could have fixed for her.)

Her stories always follow the same "feel-good" format of a broken family/found family, and it's members being "soooo sweet and loving and like :3" with each other. And fine, there are many authors out there who make a living out of like, essentially writing the same story all over again and again, but those are at least full stories! The same cookie-cutter bullshit romance (no hate, but I think this genre suffers the most from it) but at least they play around with the tropes of the archetype of the two main characters, and we, the readers are given some kind of "journey" from point A to point B.

Lily just shoves two OCs in your face as is like "This is X, she likes Y! And this is Y, she likes X!" and that is all, this is their fucking personality that matters from the point of view of the writing!

I don't want to be rude, but I this is why when she, like ages ago mentioned something like "I hardly write a fanfic without a oc" (before she started calling Ao3, the "scam machine" and complained about the explicit shit on it? Like cool, than don't use it, and support a website that treats NSFW stuff differently) makes so much sense now. Writing a fanfiction where the characters are not OOC, requires you to understand that character. Both their good and their bad sits, know what is their motivation, how would they act and think is different situations... just, know them! But with an OCs, like Lily's were most of the time, there the story mainly focuses around them, you don't have to - because they are merely backstage actors in their own world. And it would be fine, really (bad fanfic exist all over the fandoms, and some can be genuinely cute, when a fresh fan writes it with so much exactment) but I think, in the case of Lily, it just shows her unwillingness to actually understand a character (and as I writer, see how they were "build it", and how you can use it in your own story). She doesn't know how to understand a character, therefore cannot build up her owns.

She doesn't "don't want to write publish a book" she couldn't.

Look no further than Pokemadhouse. Burgeoning romantic tension is released through a valve of sisterhood... because that's somehow not weird... plus, it's wild fluctuations in tone. Even sith resurgence seems held together only by needing to line up with the sequel trilogy. She isn't great at long form.

I'd argue it's a side effect of her toothless writing as much as Lily having the attention of a mayfly. A good character flaw by itself can easily have a story seamlessly layer on top of it. Spy Family is an easy example in that it has Anya as an inherently selfish 5-year-old. She manages to stitch a super interesting Family for herself, but anybody that's thought about the show for even a little can tell you the cart Anya used to escape the orphanage is full of dynamite and is being express shipped to a burning building. This extends beyond her, but for the sake of brevity, we'll just focus in. It leads to there being no end of interesting tension simply because she has all the tools to solve her problems, but neither the drive or foresight to effectively use them. If you gave her the drive and foresight of say, Donavan. Boom, plot over. She'd have 0 trouble and probably even sus out that just telling Loid she's psychic would make her an invaluable asset to operation strix that would be put on easy street for life as mind reading in a spy thriller is 100000% a plot breaker power. without her flaws.

Now the story wouldn't be completely fucked, but a new emphasis must be placed, external forces. In the movie The Beekeeper, our protagonist, Adam Clay, is more than well equipped to take care of business. Fuck I don't think he even fires a gun until the last act simply because that's how hard he outranks the people he's fighting. He just doesn't need a gun until he is literally outnumbered by a hundred, if not more. The story remains interesting in the clever ways he dispatches his foes with whatever he has at hand if he isn't just boxing them with badass fighting skills. The drive is up to a certain point. You can just have him keep being a badass in increasingly interesting locals against better trained opponents. Heck, it even wrestles with the moral implications that no matter how vindicated he is, the body count and collateral are building sky high, and even if he is doing the right thing it's not going to be worth it.

Lily has neither the masterful character work nor the heart to throw anything at them that can't be easily and cleanly handled. What else can you really write other than peeks at them doing fuck all? Chapter 2 of scars is literally just the hotel transylvania meme

Make a full novel of just this. You really can't without wildly changing to tone of it. This is the caliber of Lily's writing as it sits. A one and done meme that you just have to stare at long past the chuckle. Real high art.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Fracture

Summary: Set during RttE. If Hiccup thought he was suffering the consequences after weeks of being held captive by Viggo Grimborn now, he's wrong. The Hunter still has more for him in store. For both him as well as the other Dragon Riders.

Warnings: Past Rape/Non-con, Parent and child separation, Child abuse, Childbirth

Rating: Mature

Dead Dove: Yes

Words: 7 561

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Viggo, Ryker, Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Httyd oc (Vigi Tiny)

Pairing: Vigcup

Author's Notes: I can't believe this fic is well up 7k long. It did not feel that way when I wrote it.

Also was NOT planning on posting this fic now, I wanted to keep it for somewhere after Hallowtober at least. (I post three other things today!!!) But I suddenly got the URGE and when you get the URGE you follow the URGE.

Could have a follow up, let's see how I feel later.

Definitely based around an idea discussed on a Discord server, of which I am definitely writing my own version of. Also definitely inspired by Evilwriter's version "Seeds of Deceit."

Enjoy!

[readtilyoudie]

Toothless tried to pick up three of the swords, all of them as big and beautiful and flashy as the Stormblade itself. But they were all too heavy.

So he turned to something smaller, an undistinguished but serviceable object, a bit rusty at the edges perhaps. He could lift it easily with both talons, and flew with it to where Hiccup was climbing. He was a quarter of the way up a hill of treasure, hotly pursued by Alvin, who had little red lights dancing in his narrowed eyes and was swishing that Stormblade like he was a human flail.

Toothless dropped the rusty sword into Hiccup’s hand, and he caught it just in time to parry a blow by Alvin so terrible that if it had actually connected with Hiccup’s neck, it might have removed his head from his shoulders then and there.

Hiccup caught the sword in his LEFT hand, because, if you remember, his right arm was dislocated and in a sling.

‘This isn’t going to last long,’ he thought to himself. It was a case of Man against Boy, and Hiccup wasn’t exactly the greatest swordfighter in the Inner Isles even with his right hand. ‘Keep your point UP, Hiccup,’ shouted Fishlegs, desperately trying to clamber up after them so he could help. ‘Eye on the swords at all times, a strong wrist, remember your footwork...’

Alvin the Treacherous gave a great swipe at Hiccup’s belly, and Hiccup was surprised to find his left arm jerk up and his own sword block Alvin’s in the nick of time.

Alvin was equally surprised, and he hauled his great sword over his wicked head and he brought it down towards Hiccup’s neck, and Hiccup’s arm flashed up and parried the blow just before it bit.

Astonished, Alvin began raining blows thick and fast, swiping and slashing and lunging and Hiccup’s left arm parried every thrust as if it had a life of its own.

‘Well, suffering swordfish,’ exclaimed Fishlegs. ‘Hiccup is LEFT-HANDED.’

How to Be a Pirate (How to Train Your Dragon, #2) by Cressida Cowell

[reviewinghiccup]

I really love this blog and I know its focus is to analyze Hiccup’s character from what we are given from the films and shows but do you think he felt some sort of resentment towards the other teens, the village, and even Stoick shortly after the events of the first movie? I don’t recall seeing anything like this from Hiccup (correct me if I’m wrong) since it’s just in his nature to be very selfless and forgiving. However, I’m sure that with the lost of his leg and the people suddenly treating him with respect (aside from Stoick, I don’t think we’ve seen any other character formally apologizing for treating him so poorly before), it must have been a very difficult time for him to adjust to, both physically and emotionally. I might be missing a lot things as I write this but I’m sure Hiccup has plenty of scars under the surface that will take lots of time to heal. I’d love to know what are your thoughts about this, thanks!

Wow, that's a really interesting question. @per4mancecheck noted in my post that the reason Hiccup was able to sympathise w Astrid in the episode Blindsided [Episode 11, Season 4 (Race to the Edge)] is because of his own disability. And that got me thinking about what it was possibly like when he woke up and saw his leg missing.

We know that at the end of the 1st movie, he sorta just accepts it. I reckon that was more a pacing issue and the show had to finish on a congratulatory note. It would be a bit too heavy perhaps to go into his disability thereafter. But the shows don't go into it much either. And from what I know and recall of the episodes thus far, no one has apologised for their mistreatment towards him or that he lost his leg. At least not verbally and not written into the shows.

I have a few theories:

(1) THE PRIDE OF BATTLE SCARS

Maybe it wasn't something he dwelled on, because to lose a leg was better than to lose a life. It could be Hiccup was a glass half full kinda person and he was just glad to be alive.

We know from the franchise that the Vikings take glory in battle scars. And they love a good story that comes with it. And losing a leg battling the Red Death is a damn good one.

I also think Hiccup isn't someone who dwells on things, because in HTTYD 2, it didn't take him long to forgive his mother who left him motherless to rescue dragons. He was just happy to have her back again (like Stoick). No resentment towards her or the dragons. Or even Toothless who killed Stoick. It's like his level of understanding reaches undefinable strides. [Granted he was angry, but not for long. He just gets it.]

A) IT WAS NORMAL TO LOSE A LIMB

Further, it is possible that it wasn't something to think about because it was normal for them to lose a limb back then. Many of them have or know someone who has lost a limb (or their minds). When its normalised, the sting of stigma is neutralised.

B) THE FIGHTING SPIRIT

Its that fighting spirit, that even though they suffer from some sort of physical impediment, that isn't going to stop them from fighting Outcasts / Berserkers or serving the community.

Hiccup must've also been used to "coming short" if you get me. And in a way, he supplements his short comings w gadgets. Like the shield, Inferno/Dragon Blade and lots of training.

(2) THE NO HARD FEELINGS CULTURE

Most of the people around him are pretty unapologetic. They're Vikings. It might be in their constitution to not apologise, with words. Maybe they might w actions. We know in the series "When Lightning Strikes" [Episode 13, Season 1 (Riders of Berk)] when the town mistakenly accused Toothless for the fierce lightning storms, they apologised to him by giving loads of peace offerings. Maybe they did the same with Hiccup and we didn't see it because the episodes only began after he was able to walk on the peg-leg, which could've taken some time.

A) ACTIONS SPOKE LOUDER

For example, when he wakes up, dragons could roam freely. They didn't fight dragons anymore. They believed him. I also like to think, their image of him had taken a drastic turn for the better. He gained a lot of respect and that could mean more to him than an apology. Especially since he's the son of the chief and heir to the title. He needs that respect.

B) SORRY, NOT SORRY

In certain cultures, to say sorry might mean nothing much to them. My cousin is half Chinese, and her mother is not much of a "saying sorry" to fix things type. She might, make your favourite meal or buy a snack you like to make up for it and my cousins accepts that as an apology. Live and let live? Yannow?

But as for Snotlout and Tuff/Ruff (can't recall which) I don't think they would've said sorry or even knew they did something wrong. Either because they were too proud to realise (Snotlout) or too dense to notice (the Twins). In fact, they do make fun of him for it.

BUT HAVING SAID THAT...

I believe you have a solid point. Regardless of what society you live in and what type of person you are, when you lose a limb it is counted as a great loss. Especially, if you could've saved it if the people around you had listened. In a natural sense, I'm sure he must've been at least angry. Life without a limb is tough.

Because of his metal leg, he attracts lightning during a storm when flying Toothless. Sometimes during an adventure, he might lose his leg or an enemy might take it away from him to impede him. I mean, it is weakness in the strictest sense, cumbersome if anything else. But I don't think he held it against the other teens on the island for long because whatever he did during the show for them came from a position of genuine friendship.

Emotion wise though, I too wonder if he has completely healed. You see, Hiccup is very attached to Toothless. Toothless is like an extension of himself. He serves like an emotional support animal. The Dragon Academy, Alvin, Dagur, the Grimborn brothers, etc. they also serve as distractions. When he hyper-fixates on these things, he doesn't seem so interested in his own personal issues. That's probably where the phrase "an idle mind is the devil's playground" came from. And why adults asks us to keep busy, cause when you don't your thoughts could run wild.

That may explain why in HTTYD: The Hidden World, Astrid said "but he thinks he is nothing without Toothless." Because for the longest time, Toothless has made things easier for him. Instead of just walking, Hiccup can now fly.

This statement might be an indication that Hiccup hadn't fully resolved his internal conflict and insecurity. I mean, how many of us young adults have issues that date back to childhood?

I think the internal struggle branches out in the final movie because of the loss of his father. That could be why he wasn't ready for marriage, as Astrid knew the case to be. Because before he can transition into a new position, he needed to first know who he is, independent of Toothless. Leg or no leg.

He also needed to believe in the strength he now had with Astrid. And maybe even why it had to be with just Astrid.

I think he must've carried some sort of scar, that only letting go of Toothless could heal. Because, while Toothless resembled strength and adventure, he also signified dependence. And the only way to know you have recovered completely is to let go of your crutch.

I may be overstepping here, but this is just my two-cents.

Thank you so much for asking this question. I had a wonderful time answering it. Gave me a chance to think about things I haven't yet given enough consideration. Above all, I really hope this answer helps.

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Forbidden Feelings

Summary: While stuck in a blizzard with Toothless, Hiccup wonders what's wrong with him.

Warning: /

General: General

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless

Pairing: Toothcup

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Author's Notes: I've been in a real Toothcup mood as of late. So have this one!

Enjoy!

XOXOX

Hiccup knows there’s something incredibly wrong with him. Because when the other Dragon Riders are with their dragons, he’s certain that they don’t feel the same way he does when he’s with Toothless.

When they’re apart, he’s certain that they don’t feel the indescribable loneliness that he does. When it’s just them and their human friends, he’s certain that they don’t feel the odd one out and like he still doesn’t belong even after everything. When they’re flying together, there’s that exhilaration for sure, but Hiccup still wonders if they feel as utterly complete and whole as he does.

He doesn’t feel like he belongs unless he’s with other dragons. He doesn’t feel as understood or understands as much as he does when he’s with other dragons. He can’t truly be himself around human beings like he can be around dragons.

And then, there’s Toothless. Who he can’t be around without his heart racing. It’s beating so hard it’s like it wants to escape his ribcage to be with his.

At night he lies awake thinking about him. During the day, he wants to spend every minute with him. He’s never felt anything like this for anyone before. What he thought was a crush on Astrid, was simply a deep need for friendship, it’s not at all what he feels for his Night Fury. Not even in the beginning of their friendship did these same sensations overwhelm him as they do now, months after the Red Death.

Huddled together in a tiny alcove in a short cliff side to hide away from the cold of another blizzard of devastating winter, Hiccup’s thoughts and emotions run rampant. Dressed in a thick winter coat with a scarf, gloves, a hat, his Night Fury is still curled up around him, determined to be the one to keep him warm.

They were meant to go home long before the blizzard started, but they took their time with their flight and now it’s too late to return to the village. Too late to avoid this unexpected moment of quiet, this opportunity to contemplate.

It’s entirely their fault. Everyone knew the blizzard was coming, but they still chose to tempt fate and got grounded in the process. They’re far away from everyone else, it’s just the two of them.

From the corners of his eyes, Hiccup finds himself gazing at Toothless. Such a large and powerful creature. He could snap him like a twig, bite him in half, blast him to pieces. Yet he’s always so careful with him, always looking out for him. Even when Hiccup insists on playing rough, Toothless’ number one priority is his well-being.

The way this fact makes him feel is something he thinks he can never describe and never repay.

Toothless opens his eyes to look back at him, it’s as though he could sense his human’s eyes on him. Bothered by the cold, yet more concerned with him, he pulls him even closer with a clawed paw. Hiccup doesn’t fight him as Toothless all but pulls him underneath him, like someone would pull a much beloved stuffed bear closer to them. The cold weather can bother Toothless as much as it wants, Hiccup won’t be suffering the same fate when he’s around.

And with him nestled satisfyingly close, Toothless purrs happily and closes his eyes again.

Beyond frequent moments of embarrassment, Hiccup doesn’t usually blush, but he does when held so protectively by his dragon. There his heart goes again, trying to beat outside of his chest. He’s warm all over and it’s not just because of body heat. He can only snuggle closer.

But then there’s that pit of guilt and uncertainty. Because surely, there must be something terribly wrong with him if he’s fallen in love with a dragon.

[elsa-rain-world-stuff]

is Artificer your favorite Slugcat? is there a second favorite one? and why!

(Thanks for reading, love your art <3 :D)

Oh boi oh boi

Yeah Arti is my favorite because of 2 reasons: she reminds me of my other fav character (Undyne Undertale) and, well, ANGST

Yeah, the more angst the character has in their story, the bigger chance that they have to become my favorite

OH AND HEY, WANNA FUNNY THING? So, like, revenge theme was always, like, my thing. I wrote a THREE fanfics in HTTYD fandom with this theme. The first one was Hiccup killing people for Toothless' death, then vise versa, then (really funny) they both killed for each other, thinking that the other was dead. Fun thing that Toothless' style of revenge was similar to Arti's. I mean, kill everyone. No you can't read them (unless you know russian)

Sorry, i got distracted haha

So, you can guess that on the second place i have Hunter and Saint. Yes, both of them. Why Hunter isn't the first place? Weeell... Idk? When character dies, they just die, the end. When character loses someone they love... They get to live and suffer. Yeah. But still, being on a countdown? Angsty enough.

And Saint... Well, i like them mostly for their brainblast power. Yeah, if the character is strong and/or has some cool power i will probably also like them.

On the third place i have Spearmaster, and i should mention them because back in 2021 i thought they would be my favorite. Because that time we already knew many things about Downpour (which wasn't a thing yet, it was just More Slugcats, legendary mod). And there were like few gameplay videos and a whole stream with Spearmaster's campaign. And i remember that the person was told not to go to shoreline because of the massive spoilers (we were like WHY IS TGAT, IS IT BECAUSE MOOOON IS ALIIVEE???) (we were right lol). Instead they went to five pebbles and he ripped out the pearl from SM. And i was like OMG SO CRUEL I LOVE IT LOOK THEY'RE BLEEDING THEY'RE BLEEDING THEY HAVE FUCKING SCAR!!! and i immediately got few headcanons, that after the Wanderer (from Drought mod) failed their mission on bringing the gold pearl to Five Pebbles, SRS was mad so he took another slugcat, modified them without asking, sew a perl in them so they won't lose it and won't give it to Moon and sent to FP. And i was like OMG ANGST MM YUM YUM

And now it turned out that SRS is actually a good guy and actually cares about Spear and it's no fun ☹️ but the pearl episode is still great yum yum yum

Funny thing that about Arti we knew that she is, well, SHE, and that she fights scavs, has explody powers and cant stay underwater. And karma 1 locked. About Saint we knew that they have brain blast powers and were wondering if they gonna have it in the new version or no. Btw, i started shipping Artisaint in that time too. Like, strong, loud killer and weak quiet saint who can't even hold spears.

Oh well. I'm talking for too long now. Thanks for the question i guess 😅