#toothless however...

[saturnniidae]

Hiccup should let Toothless stick his paws/claws in paint then give him a big sheet of paper to let him reach his full artistic potential

[ryan-wulf]

More hiccup and jack

They've made a home in my brain

[dareduffie]

the actual casting issue for the live action how to train your dragon is toothless. they couldn't even get a real dragon 😭 he's cgi 😭

[ari-continues-to-exist]

Had a dream where my sona was a mermaid instead of a cervitaur (but was still vaguely deer-like?)

(Click for better quality!)

Closeups under the cut

[quixoticanarchy]

That the term "military chemical compound" is specifically differentiated from chemical warfare agents is a kind of fascinating rhetorical sleight of hand. "Riot control" agents, herbicides, respiratory irritants, incendiaries, and smoke materials including even white phosphorus can be considered "military chemical compounds" and not chemical weapons*. You can do an awful lot of damage with defoliants and certainly white phosphorus or an irritant like chlorine, but you still get to say you weren't using chemical weapons since congrats, you stopped short of like. sarin. Interesting way to allow for certain permissible methods of harm, in contrast to those you (nominally) label out-of-bounds

*this is according to US classifications

[princessithaca]

pjotv what gave you the right. where have you been hiding that this whole time. emotional damage after emotional damage after emotional damage.

[thereweredragonshere]

Litte guy is out of the oven gang

I 3D modelled little guy

In the process of 3D printing him

[requinoesis]

After noticing patterns over the years, I created this list with 13 points to score the level of stereotypes about sharks present in a work. I believe that most of these stereotypes have their main origin in the film Jaws (1975).

With the scarcity of works that explore other creative approaches to sharks, beyond the “man-eating ” narrative, Jaws ended up consolidating itself as the greatest source of inspiration and creative reference for many productions to this day. This was called “The Jaws Effect”. 🩸🦈

I've noticed that certain patterns in the creative world repeat themselves to the point of being tedious, which bothers me. Not because they're bad, but because in many cases they're harmful. With these points, I hope to show sharks in a new light.

🩸1 - Great White Shark Popularized by the Jaws movie, the Great white shark has become the dominant archetype in the representation of sharks in fiction. Often, works choose to use this shark or a generic gray version of imprecise anatomy, with no defined species. However, there are over 400 species of shark, and very few are explored creatively.

🩸2 - Man-eater The persistent idea that sharks have humans as a natural part of their diet is one of the most widespread stereotypes. Although there are reports of incidents, most attacks are isolated and often by mistake. Any animal, including humans, could turn to unexpected sources of food in a situation of desperation or starvation.

🩸3 - Forced Behavior It's common to see sharks portrayed with distorted or exaggerated behaviors that don't match their nature just to cause tension, such as:

Hunting small fish, ignoring the fact that sharks avoid expending energy on low-energy prey.

Abandoning easy prey just to arbitrarily chase the protagonist.

Going crazy at the smell of blood.

Showing a wild and constant hunger.

Obsessively pursuing a single prey.

Making aggressive shark species known for being peaceful or timid.

Attacking and destroying objects, structures or vessels with disproportionate fury just to reach someone.

🩸4 - Monstrous appearance It's common to see sharks' appearance exaggerated to intensify visual fear, making them look like monsters rather than real animals:

A gaping mouth, with huge, crooked teeth that are constantly stained with blood.

Menacing, demonic red, black empty and soulless eyes.

Body covered in grotesque scars, exposed wounds and even weapons embedded in the skin.

A disproportionate figure, with pointed shapes, a swollen or deformed body.

Bizarre mutations that completely alter their anatomy.

Technological modifications to make them more weapon-like, emphasizing the idea of the "Killing Machine".

🩸5 - Shark de-characterization Especially in children's works, in order to be accepted by the public or the other characters in the plot, the shark is often forced to change its identity. It is transformed into a “domesticated” version, such as:

Becoming a vegetarian or a toothless shark, losing its ecological role as a predator.

Taking on exaggeratedly “funny” behavior, becoming a caricature.

Having its behavior and appearance altered to look more like a dolphin or other friendly shape, excluding striking features such as prominent fins, visible gills or a fusiform snout.

Choose to portray a specific species of shark because it seems more “friendly” to the public, such as the whale shark.

🩸6 - Limited Nature The representation of sharks in fiction is usually limited to sensationalist aspects, such as the power of their bite, the old phrase that they "smell a drop of blood in 2 million liters of water", or things like "killers from the womb".

However, sharks have some very interesting characteristics that are little explored creatively:

Acute hearing, capable of picking up sounds more than a kilometer away in the ocean.

Their electroreception, which allows them to perceive tiny electrical impulses emitted by living prey and even sense the electromagnetic field around them.

Possible link between their migrations and the lunar phases.

Incredible healing capacity and immune resistance.

Skin made up of denticles made of the same material as our teeth.

They constantly change their teeth.

Longevity and they never stop growing.

Many fish such as rémoras and pilot fish depend on and live alongside sharks.

Sensitive to pressure changes and can even predict hurricanes and tropical storms.

🩸7 - Red Presence Striking presence of red, either with the presence of blood or the color present in the design. This emphasis on red reinforces the shark's direct association with violence, danger and death, contributing to the construction of the “bloodthirsty monster” stereotype.

🩸8 - Dark Music It is common for sharks to be associated with tense, dark and threatening soundtracks whenever they appear on the scene. More often than not, I notice that when sharks are mentioned in song lyrics, it is to express some sort of comparison to some negative stereotype.

🩸9 - Threatening setting Scenarios with sharks are almost always represented in a gloomy, dark, desaturated way, empty of marine life. The environment is treated as a dangerous place by nature, shipwrecks, dark caves, areas full of garbage, explosive mines or the inhospitable depths of the sea

🩸10 - Masculinization The theme involving sharks has always been very masculine. Shark characters are rarely female, while the human characters who interact with these animals, scientists, hunters, divers or specialists, are almost always white men. Women and minorities almost never occupy central or specialized roles in these narratives.

🩸11 - Villainization Sharks are often portrayed as villains by default, carrying negative and caricatured stereotypes, for example:

Gangster or mobster

Aggressor or school bully

Criminal or loan shark

Brutish idiot or dumb henchman

Corrupt politician or authoritarian fascist figure

Indomitable monster or irrational beast

Recurring enemy, obstacle or final boss in video games

🩸12 - Objectification Sharks are often treated as mere resources or utilitarian objects in fiction. They are represented as trophies, rewards, collectibles or consumables, as if they existed only to be hunted, exhibited or eaten.

This objectification also appears in the constant presence of jaws decorating environments, teeth used as accessories, fins amputated as an ingredient, and in the display of the animal's body in a morbid way: corpses exposed, dead body hung and displayed as a trophy in harbor, parts dissected or being devoured by other creatures.

🩸13 - Death As if it weren't enough to have become a symbol of death incarnate, even in animations aimed at children, sharks almost always have the same fate: death. What's worse, their death is usually celebrated as a relief or a victory.

Impaled, butchered, set on fire, crushed, blown up, fished out or killed by another "heroic" creature, tossed about by hurricanes… In many cases, these scenes are treated with humor or graphic exaggeration, turning the destruction of the shark into a spectacle.

---

I was unsure about publishing this list as it is just personal observations from someone who loves sharks. A few people asked me for this list and said it would be worth posting, don't take it too seriously.

These stereotypes are not necessarily bad or invalid, after all, we are talking about works of fantasy and fiction. However, they could be resignified through new creative ideas that arouse feelings other than fear and terror.

Although many people's passion for sharks arose precisely from movies like Jaws and the stereotypes it popularized, it's important to remember that these same elements have been repeated almost unchanged for decades. This exhaustive repetition was largely because it was profitable, turning sharks into yet another victim of entertainment capitalism. Over time, this type of representation ended up distancing ordinary people from the reality of these animals, reinforcing fear rather than curiosity. Nowadays things are a little better, but not better enough.

The reality of sharks goes far beyond that. They are mysterious and fascinating animals, older than the first trees or dinosaurs. They have survived five mass extinctions, incredibly adapted from the abyssal depths to mangroves and freshwater rivers. They have unique senses and behaviors that are still shrouded in mystery, as well as a biology so singular that it inspires advances in science and technology. For many ancient cultures, sharks are revered as true gods of ocean balance.

I dare say that by looking after the health of the seas for millions of years, sharks made it possible for our own species to emerge from the depths of the primordial ocean. They are, in a way, guardians of our cradle of origin. And so we owe them a great deal of respect and preserve them at all costs.

To date, no creative work has managed to surpass “Jaws”. Who will be creative enough to create a new work and transform the collective imaginary of sharks from fear to fascination? 🦈✨

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Hot take

Night furies are actually perfectly evolved for hunting and killing other dragons and the only reason they aren't a dragon-hunting species like the death song or deathgrippers are is because DreamWorks couldn't have their adorable main character dragon be a "cannibal"

(below I'm gonna try to summarize what we've figured out in a convo with friends on discord)

(also tw animal death via predator)

First of all yes I'm aware that pretty much every decision made about their design was with consideration of the effect it would make on human audiences but hear me out

Night furies are most iconically known as dive-bombers. They are built for speed, high maneuverability, night-time camouflage and for striking targets from above. If we remove human settlements out of the equation (which would not have existed long enough to actually influence night fury evolution, come on), what does that leave us with?

They aren't built for catching fish for sure, they aren't very hydrodynamic and their head is round, wide, and their teeth are dull. Honestly, the monstrous nightmare is much better suited for catching fish, with its long neck, almost pelican-like jaw and rhamphorhynchus teeth

Compare to

Yeah the jaws look kinda like a porpoise of some sort but for that the whole body would have to be a lot more aquatic imo. The light fury looks a lot closer to an aquatic diver, it has a sleeker body, rounded fins instead of spikes, and a long neck.

I don't really see them hunting land animals either, they just don't look like they're adapted for that minus the resemblance with large felines and even then, they're too large to effectively hunt in forests.

The one thing I can kinda imagine them hunting is large mainland megafauna, but we're working with a setting that takes place pretty much exclusively on islands. And overall, dragons are the only abundant species there with the exception of fish and human-bred sheep and chickens.

In general, night furies have duller teeth, smaller claws and are smaller than most dragons. Disregarding the movies making Toothless weirdly OP, a night fury would be disadvantaged against most dragons in a 1v1 fight and besides, it has four huge weak spots that would highly discourage it from a direct physical fight - the primary and secondary tail fins. One unlucky rip in the membrane and the night fury is fucked.

The night fury however noticeably resembles falcons, given their dive-bombing ability and high maneuverability.

Falcons too have smaller beaks and weaker claws compared to most birds of prey, and for that they compensate by simply picking up speed, balling up their talons and Punching. Really. Hard.

And they use that ability to kill other birds, even much larger ones, by knocking them right from the sky.

Here, the night fury's plasma blast works the same way as a falcon's punch. Dragons are fire-resistant, so what the plasma blast does is really just a densely packed bolt of energy that has the effect of either stunning or outright killing prey by damaging its spine. And what the plasma bolt doesn't do, rapid contact with the ground would finish. And if even that doesn't do it, the night fury's wide jaws and dull teeth are just fine for simply clamping around the unlucky dragon's neck and strangling it, like a lion or a pitbull.

The night-time camouflage allows the night fury to soar for extended periods of time perfectly unnoticed in the night sky, and by the time it strikes, the dragon wouldn't even know what's coming.

Unless

Say the hunting night fury is aware of other dragons sleeping under the trees, as most dragons probably would at night (village raids aside, most dragons seem to be diurnal), so how does the night fury get them in position where it can use its signature attack? Well, there's That Iconic Screech Of Death. Since in the movies it tends to appear not just during dive-bombings but also when charging up a blast, I imagine it's something the night fury is able to control to some degree. So by simply fake-diving in close proximity to sleeping dragons, it can effectively terrify them into leaving their hideout and fly out into the open where it can easily take them out.

I dunno, the possibility of night furies as predators to other dragons just makes so much sense to me, I really don't know what other reasons there would be for them to evolve these particular adaptations.

And one more little headcanon to add to this whole rant - since night furies are significantly smaller and less equipped for dragon vs dragon fights and are primarily speed-based predators, I imagine there is this very likely scenario:

There is one dragon who resembles a hyena, a lil bit

Ok, rant over

[ddejavvu]

hiccup and casual dominance perhaps?? I always think about when he turned astrids jaw with his hand… but like him pulling you by the belt loops, or just him pulling/pushing you around in general (like the waist thing he did w astrid hehe)

the jaw thing 🙂‍↕️ the waist pull 🙂‍↕️ anon we watch the same clips on repeat don't we.

if you're an absent-minded or clumsy person- first of all, so is he. but he starts looking out for you after the third time that you trip over a tree root on your way through the forest, and by the fifth time he's snagged the back of your shirt and successfully redirected you. The time before that was practice, he swears.

Now he's a master at it; you're talking, distracted, and he really is listening, but he notices that you're about to step right onto a rock that'll twist your ankle. He nudges you to the side with his shoulder, steps over the rock himself, and offers insight into whatever you'd been saying. crisis averted.

maybe you have a tendency to trail after him. you're always a half-step behind, and he finds it endearing every time the warmth of your body runs into his and squishes him briefly. You're always mumbling out an, 'oop, sorry!' and stepping back, but he more often than not grabs your hand/arm to maneuver you beside him. He loves it when you trail after him, it makes him feel special, but he wants to walk with you, too.

if he brings back a new species of dragon that has you a little nervous- maybe they're bigger than you're used to interacting with, maybe their face isn't easily puzzled out (where do you scratch, sharp nose or spiked chin?), maybe they're uneasy themselves and are showing signs of anxiety-based aggression. He'll take your hand in his and calm them through you, holding your hand up against the dragon's maw or directing you to its soft sides instead. Even if the dragon seems unpredictable, you know you can trust Hiccup, and you're calm if he's guiding you. It works every time, and you let him pose you however he thinks is best.

Though Toothless is perfectly capable of scooping you onto his back beneath your legs, one disastrous incident where you'd then fallen headfirst back to the ground has ruled that out as a method of mounting the dragon. Going for joint rides is mandatory, though, and sometimes it's hard for you to hoist yourself up onto the saddle. Now Hiccup isn't quite as muscular as his dad, but he keeps himself built specifically enough so that he can carry you. He gives you a boost, whether it's lifting you by the waist, or letting you step on his thigh like a staircase as he kneels beside his dragon. Sometimes, if he's feeling extra cheeky, he'll let you climb up yourself and then push you up by the butt, laughing as you squeal and right yourself on Toothless's saddle.

Also during flights, he has you sitting up front. He's still in control, but he feels so detached from you when you're behind him. He likes feeling you nestle back into him, settling there like the shape of your body was meant for the shape of his. He reaches around you to guide Toothless through the air, and keeps you nestled into his chest.

When you finally land, he slides off first, and helps you dismount by offering you a hand to hold onto. You land at his feet, bounce slightly on the ground, and he keeps your hand in his as he leads you back home.

[alexiroflife]

"babysitting"

fluff, crack

Synopsis: that time you were babysitting your niece when sukuna came home...

to sum it up: sukuna is such a dad but doesn't know it yet

WC: 1,218

Warning(s): none

“What the fuck is that?”

You look up to see Sukuna standing in the doorway, a twisted snarl on his face as he glares harshly at the object within your grasp. You raise your brows, momentarily surprised by his arrival, and give him a soft smile. 

“Hi, Kuna,” you greet happily, ignoring his question. “I didn’t know you were gonna be back so soon.”

“Answer my question, woman,” he growls, looking almost disgusted by the sight before him. “What is that?”

He points one of his burly arms to you, and you look down at the cooing seven-month-old in your embrace, bouncing up on your knee as you sit on the floor just before Sukuna’s large bed. The baby gargles, hand stuffed into her mouth as drool dribbles down her fist, a thoughtless smile rising onto her small lips.

“She’s my niece,” you tell him, smoothing your thumb lovingly over the baby’s shirt, inspiring a small giggle and a senseless babble. You smile. “Isn’t she so cute?”

“It’s vile,” Sukuna grimaces and you frown. “Why is that beast in my temple?”

“Sukuna, be nice,” you roll your eyes. “She’s just a baby, and my sister needed some help looking after her for a few hours.”

“And you felt prompted to bring it here?”  he scrunches his nose. 

“Her, and where else would I be?” 

“As long as you’re carrying that creature, you must be anywhere else but here,” he grumbles, turning dismissively to leave the room. “I want it gone.”

“What?!” you exclaim, moving to stand with the baby resting on your hip. You walk over to your boyfriend, touching your soft hand to his large back to keep him from leaving. Sukuna peers over his shoulder angrily, four eyes squinting down at the two of you. “Come on, Sukuna! At least admit how adorable she is. Look at this precious little face.”

You squish gently at the baby’s cheeks and her fist falls from her mouth, big round eyes scrunching as a giddy beam rises to her rosy cheeks. All Sukuna can see, however, is the slobber shining over her chin and on her hand. “I do not understand what you are requesting of me,” he says coldly, eying the child as though she carries the plague. “Is it incapable of keeping its saliva inside of its mouth?”

“She’s teething,” you say flatly.

“What?”

“Her teeth are coming in soon, it stimulates drooling.”

Sukuna’s face of disgust grows more exaggerated, leaning his head back with curled lips. “Like an animal?”

Your face drops as you stare at him boredly. “Yes, Sukuna. Like an animal. All humans did it at one point.”

“Do you mean to inform me that you engaged in such a disgusting act when you were in this stage of life?”

“...Yes?”

He clicks his tongue, now eying you with an air of suspicion. “Good to know,” he says rather judgmentally.

The thought crosses your mind to point at that your boyfriend was at some point a human too, but you decide against it.

“Sukuna,” you groan. “Aside from the drool, she’s such a precious little thing. You have to agree, right?” you coo. You look down at the baby to grin childishly at her, tucking your finger under her chin and tapping her slightly, hardly tickling at her body but arising a few more giggles nonetheless. You babble meaningless sounds, speaking to her in a playful voice that Sukuna has never heard from you before.

Though still thoroughly confounded as to why you want him to take interest in this little animal, his eyes catch the way you soften for the child, how your eyes light and a sense of maternity takes you as you speak to the baby as though you know just what to say, drawing out toothless grins and thrilled gibberish. His brow twitches involuntarily, something within him almost enjoying the sight before him. You’re so good with this creature. Have you always been like this?

“What language are you speaking with it?” he suddenly asks gruffly, causing you to pause and look up at him as your niece reaches her small hands up to your cheek. 

“With her,” you correct again. “And I’m not speaking any language, I’m just playing around,” you chuckle slightly. Sukuna stares harshly now, examining the movements of the half developed human in your arms as she curiously taps against your face.

Suddenly catching wind of his presence, the baby’s head turns to him and her eyes grow bigger. She cries out excitedly, reaching her arms out to Sukuna with grasping tiny fingers. Sukuna falters, confused.

“What is she doing?” he asks urgently, and you laugh.

“She wants you to hold her,” you say softly.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Kuna,” you pout. “Please? Just for two seconds.”

“I said no, you brat.”

“Pleaseeeee? Pretty pretty please, my king?”

You give him the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster, and when he looks between the two of you, your expressions almost match. Sukuna feels something in his resolve crumble, incapable of truly denying you though he tries his best to still appear as though you give him a hard time. 

With an agitated sigh, he reaches his upper set of arms to grab the child as you lift her up and hand her to him. “Two seconds,” he growls and your eyes sparkle with anticipation.

He holds the baby up before him, watching as her little feet dangle and kick around in her onesie as he grasps her from under her arms. His hands practically consume her entire frame, her fingers still reaching out to him curiously, joyfully.

The king of curses continues to glare, brow cocked while he tries to decide what is so special about it. Perhaps he can understand what you find to be “cute.” The baby’s got big chubby cheeks and huge doe eyes that almost remind him of you, and she’s so comically tiny it makes him want to laugh. 

He grunts softly as he pulls the baby in closer, complying with her unspoken request displayed by her constant reaching. She touches her little slobber-less hand on his forehead, touching softly at the plate structure on the right side of his face. Sukuna imagined himself to be a bit more perturbed by the contact, but finds himself unbothered, allowing the child to trace his features with innocent exploration.

You watch with your hands to your mouth, hiding your bright smile. The sight before you is just so adorable, you wish you could take a picture but you know that Sukuna would be quick to crush your phone in an instant if he caught you.

Sukuna finally pulls the child away, watching her grin happily. He hands her back to you and crosses his arms. “What is her purpose?” he questions, and you give him a strange look, adjusting the baby back on your hip as she plays with your hair. 

“She has no purpose. She’s a baby.”

“She is too young to work? To serve?”

“Wh- yes?!”

“Very well,” he nods. “She may stay for another hour.”

“...But my sister isn’t free for another two hours.”

“Two hours, and if she isn’t gone by then, tell her in her native tongue that I will be eating her fingers for dinner.”

[satoruan]

When he knew there was nothing better in this world than being a parent  — Jujutsu Kaisean

( cw ) f!reader, fluff, domestic , mentions of surgery, Toji gets bullied 😢

featuring. Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Toji Fushiguro, Nanami Kento 

authors note. I found this draft and was like ??? when did I write 💀 but anyways I like 2/4 of it so 💁‍♀️ I could name a million things better than being a parent but shhh 🤫

GOJO SATORU

Gojo had just put her down, and she was already screeching again. He was starting to get annoyed; he had work to get to, and she just wouldn’t settle down. Sighing, he stood back up and made his way to her, peeking over the top of her crib. Almost instantly, she stopped, and a big toothless smile spread across her face. She let out a happy little sound. He leaned over, picked her up, and she snuggled into his chest, smiling and cooing. Satoru melted in a way he didn’t know he could. His baby just missed him and in that moment he knew he'd do anything to keep that smile on her face.

TOJI FUSHIGURO   

Toji never cared about what the general public thought of him. He was who he was, and nobody's opinion was going to change that. However, when a group of teenagers at the restaurant started to loudly talk and point at the scar decorating the side of his face while he was with his son, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anger. When his son glanced up and made a face, a tendril of insecurity took root in Toji's mind. Maybe the scar was a bit ugly—perhaps his son had always hated it but never said anything. Toji turned his attention back to his plate and started to play with his food; he wasn't that hungry anymore. In his peripheral vision, he saw his son stand up and gently touch the scar with his small hand. "I think you look cool, Daddy, like a superhero." his son said before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and returning to his meal.

GETO SUGURU  

Geto was lost in his thoughts when he felt a hand gently caress his stomach. "Daddy? Are you okay?" his daughters asked from the side of the bed. He hadn’t heard them come in. He had just had his appendix removed, and it hurt—a lot. "Yeah," he lied, offering them a small smile. They took this as a sign to crawl up onto the bed. One of them settled next to the bandage on his side, while the other came up to pet his hair and face. "You’re going to get better soon, Daddy. We’ll take care of you," the eldest whispered before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, just like he did every time they were sick.

NANAMI KENTO  

Nanami knows he has the best daughter in the world when she rushes up to him in a panic just before he’s about to leave for work. He looks down at her with a questioning expression. “I just want to tell you to have a good day at work today because I know you came home sad yesterday.” She smiles shyly up at her father before wrapping her small arms around his legs. He quickly kneels down to give her a proper hug. “I love you, Daddy. I wished for you to never have a bad day again before I went to sleep.”

[wrotebymii]

DISH IT OUUT | Curt n’ Rod x gn!reader

Summary: Curt and Rod tease you, so you dish out—not just shade—but playful revenge.

Warning: Fluff, banter. I wrote this for the ones who need help with getting them to like you. They’re the best I love them. Not edited.

MASTERLIST | READ ME

Curt and Rod weren’t the first objects you went to, however, they’re already your favorite.

They have a similar vibe like you and Sam. Throwing shade but within boundaries—It’s an art form really. One that the three of you can appreciate.

They gave you rules that were easy to follow, but you overthink sometimes. You worry that something you say will be taken poorly or won’t land like how you thought it would. You wouldn’t say you're shy, socially awkward? Sure—but you can’t help but want to be validated by the two very confident friends. The stickers of ‘oooo shade’ or ‘got ‘em!’ fill you with pride.

They’ve been teaching you well considering you’ve been covered with said stickers—it’s a bit of a hassle repositioning them on your body and face that the two dark skinned men chuckle at you.

“Yo, you’re racking up more stickers than a kindergartener’s worksheet!” Rod cackled, twirling his tassel in a leisurely manner as Curt nodded along adding on to his friend's comment.

“Yeah, maybe next we’ll give you some ‘job well done’ and ‘you did amazing’ or even those Lisa Frank ones—“ Curt has his hand up, his drip—the flowy blue sleeves ruffle as he does so. The palm of his hand is by his lips as if trying to whisper this diss to Rod, but he talks that above a whisper so you hear it. They both give you a smirk.

You playfully roll your eyes, used to their teasing remarks.

“Least my collection isn’t as big as both your egos…” You don’t think before you say it, you tense and slowly look up at them. They’re looking at you shocked, they look at each other as two very suspicious grins spread on their faces.

“Oooo-they got us, That’s a hit!—“ Curt woes dramatically, a hand landing on his forehead like he’s fainting.

“—yeah! YE-OUCH!” Both Curt and Rod keep their poses still, obviously trying to keep straight faces. Rod clutches his chest with one hand, slyly digs into his pocket with the other. They relish the confused looks you give between them. 

“It hit riiiight…” Rod starts, inching closer to you, as he pressed another sticker on the center of your chest, being pressed against other stickers that were already there. “...there”

You slowly look down to your chest, even though the lettering is upside down you can make out the words, but you still gently take the thing off with your thumb and turn it.

‘Ego blast!!’ With their faces on it.

“Daamn—don’t you think they look good with our faces on ‘em?” Rod nudged his brother-friend in his side, making Curt nod.

“Oh! yeah, they do—it makes their fit better in my opinion.” They continue throwing out shade and back hand compliments. Your face heats up as they take turns teasing you. You glance down at the sticker still on your thumb and look back up.

Hmm, they’re…throwing shade…doesn’t this count for—?

The ‘o’ on your face morphs into a rambunctious expression, eyes squint and a toothless grin spreading across.

You think their shade deserves…a sticker.

Curt and Rod hold onto each other, amping up when a soft press on Curt’s bicep. They pause, mouths agape when you give Curt a ‘ooo…shade’ sticker with their faces on it.

They watch you hum in thought, as you look at the cute design, and just like that they see a light bulb above your head.

“That was worth…what? Fifty more?” As they’re about to protest you quickly jump at Curt, ignoring the gold rings digging into your arms as you hug him. Transfering the stamps onto him.

“Aye! Aye—oh god it’s on the silk!” You can tell by his voice that he’s not actually mad. You pull away, Curt’s arms are spread out looking at every inch of himself and the decals. Rod backs away while cackling at Curt’s misfortune.

“Look at you! Ha! They got you~” Rod points. His friend gives him an unamused look.

“Nah, dude! This ain’t funny—it’s in places I can’t even reach how-“ He’s cut off by Rod's laugh.

“FahahaHA!”

Curt looks at you, no malice but heated and tactical revenge, he joins your side. He puts a hand on his hip, looking smug—as he does with Rod his hand up like he’s gonna gossip with you.

“Hey, ain't he get the same score as me?” He hums in pretend thought.

“Huh?” Rod stops his laughter, immediately. Peering up at the both of you then holding up his hands like he’s trying to tame a fire.

“You know what? He did get the same score!” You chirp.

“No…nuh-uh-nuh UH! Ya can’t gang up on me like this!” He backs up, but it’s too late. Both of you lunge at him, tackling him to the ground.

“Oh-dang man! Got me tripping onto Florence!” He grumbles, mentally apologizing to the woman. He notices that the stamps have been divided between the three of you now.

“There! A true act of narcissism—“ You say, they both roll their eyes, trying to peel the stickers off themselves. Hissing as the adhesive clings to their clothes. At the end of it you can only hope that you embarrassed the two in front of Wyndolyn and those blinds across the street.

As the bear hug ends you sneakily place a new sticker on each other's cheeks. This time it has your face on it with the words ‘Master Class Shade’.

[neurotica-tales]

Forged in Obsession (Yandere Hiccup x Reader)

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

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

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

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

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

Part 2 now up! Click HERE!

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

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

To find my master list, click HERE.

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

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

Dragons.

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know his name.

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

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

At least, not at first.

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

It took a week.

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

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

“Oof—sorry—!”

“You.”

You blinked.

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

Freckles. Green eyes. Leather armor. Slight scowl.

“Uh… Hiccup, right?”

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

The words hit you like a bucket of cold water.

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“Oh, really?”

“I was following… your dragon!”

There was a pause.

“What.”

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

Hiccup blinked.

Then blinked again.

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

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

“…Oh.”

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

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

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

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

You gave him a look. He immediately went red.

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

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

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

“Hiccup.”

“I know,” you teased gently.

He smiled, sheepish.

And just like that, something between you clicked.

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

It became routine after that.

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

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

And you began to linger.

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

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

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

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

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

Hiccup’s breath caught.

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

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

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

He was silent.

And in that silence, his fingers accidentally brushed yours.

Neither of you moved away.

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

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

You looked up, surprised.

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

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

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t offer it to you.

Not yet.

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

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

And something else in his eyes.

Something that made your heart flutter.

You didn’t know it yet.

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

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

After that night, something shifted.

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

He never said anything about it. Not directly.

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

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

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

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

He didn’t want to share you.

It started with little things.

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

Hiccup had come looking for you.

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

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

You turned and waved. “Hey, Hiccup!”

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

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

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

You blinked. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

The words settled between you.

“Oh,” you said softly.

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

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

That should’ve reassured him.

It didn’t.

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

But he wasn’t.

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

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

“Just thinking,” he mumbled.

“About her?”

His pencil stilled.

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

He didn’t respond.

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

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

You were becoming his entire world.

And he would do anything to keep you in it.

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

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

The possibility that you might one day leave Berk.

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

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

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

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

The thought made his stomach twist.

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

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

It only made it worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You miss it?” he asked, voice low.

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

He tried to smile back.

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

You weren’t from here.

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

He didn’t sleep well that night.

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

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

He started imagining things.

You packing your bag.

You waving goodbye.

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

And it terrified him.

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

He couldn’t lose you too.

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

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

Toothless followed silently behind him, watchful.

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

“But that’s not a no.”

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

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

His breath hitched.

“To me?”

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

That should have reassured him.

But it only made him more afraid.

Because even love could be temporary.

Even warmth could fade.

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

“I made something,” he said suddenly.

You looked up. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

He trailed off.

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

He didn’t respond.

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

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

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

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

You were home.

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

[draconicks]

THE CALLING

pairings: remmick x indigenous!reader. this is very self-indulgent because i am indigenous! warnings: 18+, slow burn, blood, gore, owls as symbolism, dirty talk, stalking, possessiveness, non-consensual turning. a/n: in this fic, remmick has the ability to shape shift - i couldn't get the idea out of my head and i really wanted to incorporate southeastern tribal culture into the story, especially cause that's where i am from.

tags: @beboppbaby @madkingcrowley

The deep Mississippi marsh had called to you, your name breathing from the weeping trees and in the symphony of cicadas. The wind carried through the house you had once called a home, the doors hinges squeaking ever so slightly.

It had felt surreal, time no longer felt real as you stared down at the pictures that decorated the shelves.

Family photographs from when you were a small child, a toothless grin adorning your face in the pictures. You didn't even recognize the people, feeling little familiarity with the woman and man in the photo.

There was a certain disconnection you had felt once you returned to the home, the warmth was still there, but it had become foreign to you.

Moving from the Delta to the city where people were cold towards one another wasn't an easy adjustment, but it didn't take long before you became accustomed to the city life.

It became all you knew, all that there was - an extreme contrast from where you grew up, where everyone knew each other and where everyone was family; a community.

But, coming back home from the city life had made you jarred.

You didn't really think of coming back home - you never would have thought you would, not after the deaths of your grandparents.

What did make you come home was the calling of your name from the marsh.

Life is funny like that; always keeping you on your toes and leading you places where you never expected.

It didn't help that you had always felt drawn, felt compelled to this specific location, like some entities were calling you home; the place where your flesh and blood meshed with the water and soil, where your family and ancestors had bore their children and died on the same grounds.

It was beautiful.

At the same time, it was chilling - the history that was here.

You could always feel it, even away from home, like a thrumming in your body and eyes on you.

It never failed to make your heart race, you knew someone or something was always watching over you, shadowing your every step.

Always.

"You listen here, child," Your grandfather had said, "This here land is yours. No one can take it, even if you tried to give it to ''em," He leaned forward and gently cupped your face, "Your family is here," He waved around the air with his hand, "And when you need them, they will always be here."

A shiver ran down your spine at the memory.

Your grandparents were the apples of your eyes, always there whenever you needed them, which was a lot growing up. The relationship between your father and mother had always been distant, cold, but when it came to Ome and Papa...it was different.

They were there, not just doing the bare minimum. They loved you something fierce, their love was a warm hug on a chill, Autumn evening, waiting for you to arrive. You never expected that treatment out of your parents.

However, they were no longer here - your parents or your grandparents.

The hearth that raised you was just as you left it, but it was empty. Fragile. Just as you were.

That had been the reason you'd left to begin with - nothing changed around here. And you weren't going to stay in a community where you saw no future for yourself, so you saved up enough money and bought yourself a train ticket.

Then, you were out of there.

But, the deep thrumming and the calling within you never stopped.

And neither did the eyes shadowing your every move, like razors on your back.

You sighed and turned your back on the shelves, sitting down on one of the dusty chairs that still sat in your old living room. It didn't surprise you that your parents didn't take anything with them when they moved out.

They somehow knew you would be coming back.

You furrowed your brows, it was just too uncanny how it seemed like fate was dragging you back here - like you were born to leave only to return to your roots.

Some people that did such a thing never came back, while others did.

Others made home where they journeyed.

Papa used to always tell you that home wasn't a place, it was in your heart.

But, you knew that was only half true.

---

The moon was full, the scent of petrichor and honeysuckle flooding your senses. The wind gently blew through the trees, waving the limbs.

You took in a deep breath, breathing the marsh in - just as it breathed you in.

It was peaceful. Bliss. Just as you had remembered, a place where you could lean into and know you would be caught if you were to fall, where you knew that you would be watched over.

You began to slowly rock in the chair, your heels digging into the wood below.

Just then, the wind shifted, not harshly, but just enough to make the cicadas hush for half a second.

The thrum in your chest stilled, replaced by a hollow pause - like something was waiting.

You stopped rocking the chair and squinted at the far end of the driveway.

The shadows at the edge of the marsh, near the drive, shifted with more purpose than they should have. A figure then stepped into the moonlight, quiet as mist, dressed like a man.

You slowly stood up, walking toward the edge of the porch. Not many people came out this far out of town.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The figure asked. You blinked, you didn't recognize the man.

Almost as if he sensed your caution, he playfully threw his hands up, "Sorry, if I spooked you, I was just on my nightly walk and couldn't help myself to stop by." His accent sounded slightly off, almost forced, but that didn't bother you too much.

Cautious, but still curious, you walked toward him, feet still never leaving the porch "May I help you?" You asked the stranger.

He came forward a little bit, the moonlight illuminating his features, making your breath hitch ever so slightly.

He was gorgeous.

He had a sturdy build - his white button up shirt and dark pants clung to him, highlighting every crevice of his body. He had dark hair that covered his forehead, and complimented his features.

He was clearly not from around here, though - your instincts told you that. "My name is Remmick," He paused, eyes raking your body up and down, "I'm just passing through." He flashed you a grin, too sharp at the sides and too plastered.

A chill ran through your body, but your core squeezed.

"Well, nice to meet you, Remmick." You weren't good at faking friendly. "Where you from?" You asked him, tilting your head. Something about him rang old - old like the roots of the cypress trees.

But not the kind of old that belonged to this land.

He didn’t answer your question right away. Just stood there, that too-sharp grin lingering like a bad taste in your mouth.

"Nowhere special," He said finally. "Everywhere and nowhere, depending on the year."

That wasn’t an answer, and you both knew it. But something in his tone made it sound final.

You shifted your weight, "You some kind of traveler?" You asked him. A feeling of dread began trickling down at you as soon as you asked the question.

The wind picked up again, curling around your ankles like it was trying to warn you. Your Ome used to say that when the trees whispered too loud, it meant someone didn’t belong.

Remmick let out a soft chuckle, his eyes then locking onto yours, "Somethin' of that nature, I been here a long time." His brown eyes danced - you weren't sure with what, but he looked at you like how a cat looked at a toy.

"Odd time to be out walking," You said, folding your arms loosely. "Especially this deep out. Roads are easy to get lost on, if you’re not from here."

"Oh, I don’t get lost," Remmick said smoothly. "I tend to find what I’m looking for.

His eyes darkened, the weight of them made your skin tighten, like your body recognized something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

You’d felt watched before—but this was different.

This was personal.

"You live here alone?" He asked, voice gentle, but wrong in some invisible way. Like a bell rung just off-pitch.

You turned your head, eyes never leaving him, "Depends on who’s asking."

That made him smile wider. The cicadas hadn’t started up again. "Fair enough," He murmured. "I just noticed the place - the porch light, the quiet." A beat of silence, "It called to me."

That stopped you.

It called to me.

Not many folks talked like that. But your family did. Your people did. Remmick wasn’t one of them.

You two stood there for a minute, eyes never leaving each other, one of you rigid, the other one...hungry. The weight of the tension became unbearable for you, you had to say something.

"Well," You cleared your throat, "I best be heading back in now, it's getting awful late."

His teeth glimmered in the moonlight, canines looking too sharp, "Yes, I agree with you," His voice deepened, "You stay safe now."

It felt like a taunt more than courtesy.

You never left the porch before Remmick left your sight, and when he finally left, you exhaled a breath of relief.

Then, you heard an owl hooting.

The owl’s hoot echoed low and long - close enough to feel in your chest. Owls didn’t usually call this near the house, not unless something had stirred them.

Papa used to say owls were messengers. Ome would whisper when she thought you weren’t listening, "Don’t look ‘em in the eye," She'd said once. "They see more than we do."

You cast one last glance toward where Remmick had vanished into the woods, but the trees had already swallowed him whole - like he’d never been there at all. No crunch of underbrush, no footfalls, just quiet.

---

The next day came slow and sticky, the Mississippi sun pouring down in thick sheets that clung to your skin and made the house creak like it, too, was sweating.

You moved through the house, but your mind had wandered, drifting back to the porch, to him.

Remmick.

All night as you tossed and turned, the sound of an owl hooting outside your window had kept you wide awake. Owls didn't come to this side of the Delta either - which made you nervous. It hadn't been the first owl you'd seen, but it was enough to make you wary.

No matter how many times you told yourself he was just a traveler- some odd man with a silver tongue and a stranger’s charm - you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had brought something with him.

Something that didn’t belong to the land but recognized it all the same.

You still felt that gaze again suddenly,like knives digging in your back and the thrumming slowly made its way up from your toes up to your neck. The memory of the moonlight lingered too. The way it had spilled over his skin, made his smile too bright, too sharp.

You began to bury it as you prepared your regalia.

The movements were grounding, familiar, brushing out the fringe, checking the beadwork your Ome once did by hand.

You breathed in the cedar oil you’d dabbed on your wrists, hoping it would quiet the buzz beneath your ribs.

By the time the sun dipped low behind the trees, you were on your way to the pow wow grounds, your shawl folded over your arm and your heart feeling heavier than it should.

The sky was on fire - rose gold and rust - and the scent of frybread and smoked meat danced on the breeze.

The gathering was small but full of life.

Children darted through the grass in a blur of color, ribbons trailing behind them like comets. Aunties sat in circles, gossiping and teasing. The men stood off to the side, nodding to the beat of the drum, arms crossed, eyes soft.

You found a spot at the edge of the circle, close enough to feel the rhythm of the drums in your bones but far enough to keep your eyes on the treeline. You told yourself it was nothing.

But your instincts knew better.

Miss Marla was already in the middle of a story, she sat just outside the main drum circle, her voice as rough and warm as a gravel road after rain.

Everyone quieted when she spoke—elders and toddlers alike.

"Back in the old days," she said, "before the river changed Her course and the fences went up, there was a creature that walked like a man but fed like a beast. It didn’t cast a shadow. Didn’t breathe. It could slip into your dreams, wear the face of someone you loved, take the guise of a night bird, but it had one weakness—it couldn’t lie to the land."

The little boy next to you gasped softly.

"The land always knew."

A few children squirmed in their seats, but the adults didn’t laugh. They knew better.

Suddenly, your heart began to beat a little harder, like your body was sensing something that you weren't just yet. Confused, you brushed it off and tried to refocus on Miss Marla.

The cicadas were still singing in the trees, but you could hear something else beneath the forest, it hummed in your chest like a warning.

You scanned the edge of the circle without thinking. Just beyond the last firepit, where the light faded into shadows, you saw nothing. And yet…

That feeling.

The weight of being watched.

You hugged your shawl tighter around your shoulders, suddenly cold despite the heat. The story went on, but the words began to blur, Miss Marla's voice growing distant and fuzzy.

All you could focus on was the way the moonlight had lit up Remmick’s face the night before—and how the trees had gone quiet, and most importantly, the feeling of being watched.

The way the Earth held Her breath.

Miss Marla's words seemed to go completely mute, your mind somewhere else.

Your body was thrumming, your eyes couldn't seem to stop flickering to the forest.

The calling.

And then, from the tree line...

A scream - high, sharp, and raw.

It ripped through the field like rough hands on fabric.

Everything stopped. The crowd froze, heads snapping toward the woods. The children went silent, the elders’ faces turned grim.

You stood slowly, heart hammering. The scream had sounded human… but not right. Something about it curled your stomach, like it had come from a mouth that didn’t quite know how to scream anymore.

Miss Marla didn’t flinch. She just stared into the trees and muttered low under her breath, a prayer you barely caught. "Eyes wide, children. That ain’t no animal."

Fear tore through you, your nerves hijacked and your hair standing straight up.

Your stomach was getting twisted in knots, and you began to lightly tremble. 'What the hell is happening?' You thought to yourself.

Miss Marla's scanned the circle carefully, observing every single person. But her eyes, once soft turned sharp once they landed on you, her gaze resembling that of a mountain lion - predatory and fierce, "Y/N," her voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes shot towards her, "Is there something you need to say?" She asked, her voice knowing. You couldn't even think of a response.

You were just as stunned as everyone else was.

But, deep down, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you were to blame.

Blame for what? You weren't so sure just yet.

With a shake of your head, you casted your gaze onto the fire pit, and you watched as the flames danced and licked upwards into the sky.

---

After the dances had ended and the elders began to gather their young to leave, you stood off to the side, watching your family as they packed up their belongings.

Some were still spooked by the scream, while others had pushed it to the back of their minds.

You kissed and hugged your cousins goodbye, wishing them farewell on their short journeys back home, the little ones ran up to you, sticky with sweat and grins.

You leaned down to hug them, pressing your face into their hair, inhaling cedar and sweet grass. You kissed the tops of their heads and gave soft goodbyes, your voice caught somewhere between love and unease.

"Y’all be safe now," you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Auntie Marie pulled you into a hug next, her arms sturdy and grounding. "You coming back to the house?" she asked. "We’ve got leftovers."

You shook your head. "Not tonight. I need some quiet."

She didn’t press you. Just gave your hand a soft squeeze. "Be careful driving home." You nodded.

One by one, the cars began pulling out. Headlights flared, laughter faded, and smoke from the fire pits rose into the darkening sky. You stayed put, the crowd thinning until you stood alone at the edge of the clearing, the lingering hum of something that refused to die with the drumbeat.

When the last car disappeared down the gravel road, the silence settled in.

Heavy.

Your ears rang from the sudden absence of voices. The trees loomed taller now, the shadows deeper. You didn’t want to move, but didn’t want to stay. The thrumming got stronger.

Somewhere behind you, in the woods, a twig snapped.

You turned sharply, expecting - what? You weren’t sure. But all you saw was shadow. Shadow and trees, and the glow of the dying firelight at your back.

Then, you saw it. Perched on a low-hanging branch at the tree line, still as stone, was an owl.

A barred owl, feathers soft and streaked with dusk, its wide eyes catching what little moonlight peeked through the canopy.

It didn’t hoot, it just stared - not at you.

But through you.

Something in you twisted—both in fear and in recognition. The kind that comes from blood memory, from stories told so often they’d become part of your bones. Ome’s voice whispered through your mind, low and steady.

"When the owl comes quiet, watching, it means the veil’s been brushed. It’s a spirit, child - sometimes a messenger. Sometimes a warning."

You swallowed hard, the warmth draining from your limbs. It wasn’t just the owl itself. It was the stillness around it.

No cicadas.

No frogs.

No wind.

Just that gaze.

And suddenly, you were back on the porch, bathed in moonlight, with Remmick’s too-sharp smile and the trees holding their breath.

The way the cicadas had gone silent then, too.

The way he had looked at you - like he knew something you didn’t. Like he could see straight through the years and the land and the skin you wore.

Your mouth went dry.

The owl blinked once, slowly, but it didn’t break eye contact. It didn’t move, and you felt seen. Marked.

Just for a second, in the way the moon curved against its feathers, the silhouette looked wrong. Not like an owl at all.

Like the shadow of a man.

You stepped back instinctively, hand brushing the beaded fringe of your regalia like it might anchor you. The owl finally turned its head, unnaturally slow, and took off, wings spread wide and ghostly, disappearing into the trees without a sound.

You were left standing alone, but you didn’t feel alone.

Not anymore.

---

Hot sweat covered you from head to toe, your bedsheets tangled around your body as you jerked from side to side, your chest heaving with terror.

It was off, it was all off.

You were in your apartment back in the city - everything looked the same, felt the same, but the outside was different, there were no street lights, not sound of cars passing by, nothing.

Dead silence.

The closet just across from your bed was slightly opened, the shadows covering the dresser that sat neatly next to it - covering the chair infront of the mirror. You never left your closet door open, but you were unable to get up and close it.

Panic surged through you.

You couldn't move.

You tried to bend your fingers and your toes, but nothing moved, not even slightly.

Then, you heard a deafening creak from across where you slept. The closet door opened achingly slow, long claws gripping the wood as the creature made its presence known.

Blood red eyes glared down at you, hungry and possessive. Your breath caught in your chest, your body going cold with horror as the creature stepped out of the closet, the silhouette only showcasing a shadowy outline.

"I've waited for you, sugar,"

The voice was deep - too deep for a human and raspy, like it had something caught in its throat.

It then closed its eyes and took a deep sniff, turning its head up towards the ceiling, "You smell just as divine as the day you left," it looked back down at you, taking steps towards the foot of the bed, "I can only imagine just how good you taste," the voice growled towards the end.

Your heart hammered so fast in your chest you thought you were going to pass out.

"I've been calling for you to come back home, my love," it tilted its head, admiring you, "Everybody missed you while you were gone."

'Everybody?' You thought to yourself, you didn't know what the creature was talking about, but it began to slowly loom over you, the mattress dipping as its weight pressed against your body.

Cold.

You whimpered, wishing you could move away, but you were completely paralyzed.

"I missed you the most, though," the creatures eyes trailed downwards, over your chest, your belly, and downwards, between your thighs. The creature then smiled - sharp, bloody fangs filling its mouth, grotesque and beautiful.

The creature tsked, its claws resting on your waist, sharp and freezing, "You always had belonged to me though, from the moment I laid eyes on you," it said, turning its head up slowly and locking its eyes onto yours.

Covetous.

Your eyes flickered toward the window, and there you saw a floating black feather.

"And now," the creature leaned forward, its face buried in the crook of your neck, "I'm going to take what's mine." Your eyes widened, wanting desperately to fight back, punch it, kick it, something, but nothing happened - not even as it's tongue licked your neck, fangs piercing down and-

You screamed, your throat raw and desperate, your body shooting straight up from the small bed you slept on.

For just a second, you were unsure on where you were, but then you looked outside through the window and you saw the familiar marsh trees - lined up in a row in-front of the house.

Relief filled you, your heart slowing down and the room seemed to breathe you back in again, calming your nerves.

It was just a dream.

It wasn't real.

You looked down at yourself, sweat was soaked through the sheets and the comforter felt sticky, like the humidity had seeped through the worn fabric. Disgusted, you stood up and began to strip the bed, including the pillow cases.

Hopefully, you'd be able to get better sleep the next night.

As you gathered up the sheets, you slowly felt the familiar crawling feeling of something watching you - this time, it was different.

It felt impatient, ready to pounce.

Your stomach twisted in knots, but you pushed the feeling down. It was too late at night to be dealing with this.

You moved through the rooms, gathering your clean sheets. You were too tired to worry about a comforter - it was too hot anyways, so once the bed was made, you laid back down and attempted to doze back off to sleep.

The last thing you saw before closing your eyes, were two faint, red dots, peeking down at you from the treeline.

---

The kettle whistles just as you finish telling Aunt Marie everything - the owl perched outside your window the night you came home, the strange energy that swirled around you at the pow wow, and that dream you had your first night back.

The scent of chamomile tea fills the kitchen as Aunt Marie turns off the stove.

She doesn’t look at you right away.

Instead, she sets the kettle aside, her movements slow, deliberate. You hear the creak of the old floorboards under her house shoes as she walks back to the table and sits across from you, her face shadowed by the low light.

Her eyes are fixed on her hands, which are clasped tightly together—knuckles pale, a silver ring glinting faintly on one finger.

"You said his name was Remmick?"

You nod. The name still tastes strange in your mouth, like it doesn’t quite belong to this place.

Aunt Marie looks up then, and the softness in her face is gone. Something older and harder has replaced it - something that reminds you of your Ome when the weather was about to turn bad and she just knew.

"You need to be careful with that man," she says, voice quiet but firm. "There's something...off about him," she murmured as she stirred her tea.

You frown, leaning forward.

There was definitely something off about him, but what were the chances of him being connected with the owl? A white man turning into an owl made you almost smile, if it weren't something you were considering right now.

Aunt Marie sighed, fanning the heat, "Did you give him your name?"

You shake your head, you never even gave him your name, but you knew his.

Her expression softens, relief coating her weathered features. "Well, atleast you're smart enough to not give him that."

A chill runs down your spine.

He didn't need to ask, because he could have possibly known already.

You brushed the thought away, it was impossible.

"The owl was your warning, though," she says softly. "Our people have always known that. It watches, it waits. It carries messages from the other side, from the ones who walked before us. And what you felt at the pow wow—that wasn’t just energy, girl. That was your blood remembering something your head forgot. That was the land calling you back—and calling you to protect it."

You feel your throat tighten. "Protect it from what?"

Her gaze darkened, her hand falling to her lap, "I don't know. But, you might - sooner or later."

You blinked rapidly, not sure what to make sense of what she was saying, whether it was a threat or a promise or both. She then looks up at the ceiling and closed her eyes, her chest moving slowly up and down, "You've always had the gift." she whispered.

You frowned, "That's what Miss Marla and some of the elders used to say."

Aunt Marie dryly chuckled, her gaze landing back onto you, "Well, they're right. You've always been able to look through the veil, baby, you just ain't never paid close attention." Her words made tingles go up your spine and radiate across your arms.

She then leans across the table and gently grabbed your hand, a soft smile etching onto her face, "People who are able to listen to the ancestors and hear their words have the gift."

She releases your hand and stands, walking to the her purse, where a tight bundle of sweetgrass hangs. She pulls a strand loose, lights it, and lets the smoke curl through the room, circling you both.

"This is for whatever it is that ails you, my dear. Everything will be okay soon."

---

The night air was still, very little wind compared to previous nights. You sat there on the porch, arms wrapped around your knees, blanket draped across your shoulders. The cup of untouched tea sat besides you, no longer warm like how you preferred.

Your thoughts churned - from the owl, to Aunt Marie, to Miss Marla's words at the pow wow... to Renmick.

You scoffed, there was no reason why a stranger should be taking over your brain this much, but it no longer surprised you. Nothing really surprised you.

You closed your eyes and listened to your surroundings - the beat of the cicadas, the creaking of the wood beneath you, the frogs in the nearby water, the inhale and exhale of the marsh and it's deep humming, almost lulling.

The sound of a twig snapped.

You looked up, and there he was; same as before - at the end of the drive near the tree lines that were lined up on the side of the house.

The hairs began to stand up one by one, goosebumps blanketing your skin. He looked the same as the other night he had showed up - same white shirt, same dark pants.

Same too sharp grin.

He didn't speak at first, just watched you, a familiar glint in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, "Hello, Remmick," You adjust yourself in your chair, "You on another walk?" You asked him.

"I only came cause you left the light on," He said, his voice soft yet filled the space between y'all. You turned your gaze up at the light bulb above you, its light flickering slightly.

"Yes, I tend to leave my outdoor lights on, no matter what time of day it is," You responded to him.

He then began to take steps towards you, like he was being careful, but was still at ease with himself. He walked with a purpose, nonetheless, shoes shuffling against the earth.

Remmick spoke up, voice just slightly louder, "I'll make mental note of that next time I come around," He stopped in his tracks, "May I sit up there with ya?"

You hesitated, but nodded once and gestured to the empty chair across the porch, just a few feet away from you.

He shot you a grateful look before passing by and sitting down in the chair - you had noticed he scooted it closer to you, but you paid little mind to it.

You two sat there for just a little while, absorbing the moonlight and the fresh air. Knives stabbed into you all over your figure, and the thrumming in your chest hadn't paused, it shifted - no longer in your sternum, but instead in your core and stomach.

Remmick was watching you, analyzing you.

The awkwardness and tension began to settle in, and you felt the urge to break it, his eyes boring straight through you.

"So, how long you been here?" You asked him, turning to him. Sitting directly under the porch light, his hair appeared slightly darker, a reddish tint peeping through.

Remmick smirked at your question, "I'm not sure. I've been here for...a while,"

You quirked a brow, "How long is a while?" You had never seen or heard of him before, so you thought that maybe he had moved to the Delta sometime after you had left.

Suddenly, and maybe it was your imagination, but right after you had asked him that question, it had looked like a flash of red went across his eyes.

It was for barely a second, but your heart had stuttered once you saw it.

His tongue peeked out over his lips, leaving a glisten of spit in its wake, "You sure do ask a lot of questions," He tapped his foot, "I moved here a long time ago."

A beat of silence was exchanged between the two of you. He wasn't going to elaborate and something told you not to press.

He then spoke, "What about you?" He asked. You uncurled your arms from around your legs, "I was raised here,"

You continued, "My whole family was. We were raised here - died here. I think I might have been the only one to leave," You said.

"I was raised primarily by my grandparents, although I lived with my mother and father. Ome and Papa were the ones who taught me everything there was to know about everything; life, medicine, my culture," Your eyes flickered to Remmick, "Spirits."

You swallowed before continuing, "Ever since I left this place, I've felt a calling to come back, like I had unfinished business. I guess, I've felt this way since I was a child - that no matter where I would go, I would always been drawn to come back here."

Remmick nodded his head in understanding, but there was something in his eyes. The curiosity and charm was gone and seemed to be replaced with a longing, a longing you had never seen before. The shadows from the porch covering his head.

"Aye," He said softly, "I sure wish I felt that way about a place, I don't think I'll ever feel that way again,"

Again.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, he looked at you and beat you to it.

"You sure are beautiful," He leaned closer to you, "I didn't get the chance to tell you before."

You blinked.

Then, you felt heat running up to your ears, "Thank you, Remmick. That's awful sweet of you."

He chuckled at your reaction, "I can't lie, not allowed to, so just know that I'm telling the truth." You couldn't help the smile on your face, although now you had even more questions.

Despite the friendliness that Remmick was displaying, you couldn't shake the deep feeling of something feeling off. Something felt too foreign, too intense about him.

You couldn't put your finger on it, but your instincts were raising flags within you.

At the same time; you felt drawn.

You just couldn't help but wonder more about him - it was eating you alive.

"Do you plan on staying here?" He asked you, his gaze venturing off.

You furrowed your brows, you really weren't sure if you were going to stay, but you knew that you were back here for a reason.

What reason? You were still figuring it out. You were trying to figure everything out.

"I'm not sure," You sniffled, "I might, but I really don't know." Remmick nodded his head stiffly, almost like he was containing something.

A whip of coldness then settled in the air.

"If you do leave, where would you go?"

The trees paused and the air went still for a second - as if they too heard the tone of his voice. The question sounded innocent enough, but his voice was suddenly too deep, almost gurgled.

Like the creature from your dream.

Fear penetrated you, your hair standing from head to toe. The shadows began to eclipse the rest of his features, now you were unsure as to what you were exactly looking at, like a man but not quite.

You couldn't find the words to say something back, but he then chuckled and stood up, the shadows covering his entire body, "I think it's time I head back home," His voice had returned to its natural state, but the effect it had on you were still just as apparent.

"I'll see you later, darlin'." His eyes flashed for a second.

Red.

It wasn't your imagination.

After you stepped off the porch, you immediately flew up and into the house, slamming the door shut behind you.

You needed to contact Miss Marla - and soon.

---

Your eyes darted under your lids, frantically searching for something out of nothing.

The sheets were tangled up around your body, cocooning you in their own little sanctuary as you twitched in your sleep, your legs and arms flinching.

The moon over the Delta had turned to blood, cascading a red glare over the land.

You stood barefoot in the marsh, skin damp with sweat and river fog, your breath quiet as the trees breathed with you. Spanish moss hung like funeral veils from the cypress branches, the air thick with something older than rot. You knew this wasn’t the real world—no chirps, no wind moved the reeds.

You’d been here before.

A chill ran through your body, you felt him before you saw him.

A dark figure, cloaked and red eyes then stepped from between two trees like it had always belonged to this place, like it was the creature's home and you were a visitor.

You took a step back, ready to run before the figure then changed. You couldn't believe it.

Remmick.

He was shirtless, his pants unbuttoned and what appeared to be dried blood coated the hem of his jeans. A gold chain was hanging loosely on his neck, moving slightly with each step.

"Hello, sugar," He whispered, voice like silk dipped in ash.

You didn’t speak.

Words were useless here. He moved closer, and the wilderness pulsed around him, every creature gone silent, every shadow leaning toward his form.

"I can smell your blood - your soul - through your dreams," He said, leaning in so close his lips nearly grazed your ear.

"It sings of fire, of bone, of old deities you still whisper to when you think I’m not listening." He took a deep inhale, his nose pressing firmly against your jawline.

"Perfect." He purred.

Your breath hitched.

He reached out - cold fingers grazing your neck, your collarbone, dragging over the ridge of your shoulder like a memorized ritual.

"Do you remember what it felt like, last time?" he asked. "When we were here in the marsh together, when you cracked open and something older slipped between us?"

His mouth brushed your skin, not biting yet - just pressing, lingering, teasing. A ghost of a smile, a genuine smile, threatened to break out on his face.

Two arms snaked around your waist and yanked you closer to him, your body completely flush against his, not letting you go and having no plans on doing so.

Then, without warning, the marsh changed.

The trees bled sap the color of ink, running into the water beneath. Howls and hoots began to echo all around you, meshing into what sounded like human screams. Clouds churned and hissed with unseen wings, the sound of Jericho's trumpet to be expected, but never coming.

Remmick’s eyes turned black, no iris, no white, just endless dark.

"You brought me here," he hissed, voice now layered, inhuman.

"You called me with your grief. Your land is dying, your bloodline hunted, and still... you dream of me."

His hand snaked between y'all and pressed against your chest, palm flattened against your flesh, but not to comfort.

To hold your heart still.

"I helped call you here." That made you break, a vicious sob ripped from your throat. You tried to twist out of his grip, but that only made him hold you tighter.

"I need you to let me in," he whispered. You squirmed and wiggled against him, but it didn't bother him any. If anything, it made him fall deeper in awe.

"I need you to let me in completely - not just in your dream. Let me bury myself within you, in your soul. I will make you just like me - so you can remember everything that’s been taken from you. Forever."

"No, no, no," You cried. This couldn't be happening, this wasn't real, this wasn't going to be your fate. You were back in the city, far, far away from here, far away him.

He then leaned opened his mouth, revealing a line of fangs - saliva dripping down on the sap beneath your feet.

The hand on your chest moved up to your throat, not squeezing but not gentle and he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

A sharp pinch.

You woke.

The room was almost completely dark, the only thing you could see was from the moon peeking through.

And a single whisper in the air, soft and trembling:

"Next time, you won’t wake up."

---

You sat curled on the edge of your couch, hands clutched around a lukewarm mug you hadn’t sipped from in an hour.

The nightmare still clung to you like smoke. No amount of distraction, tea, or whispered prayers could fully shake it loose.

You had half a mind to call Miss Marla, you even picked up the phone before hanging up, guilt wracking you still from the day before - you still thought you were tied to it.

Besides, what were you even going to say? "Something is watching me", "I think a nightmare creature wants to devour my soul?" "The man that I've been seeing might want to kill me?"

No.

But Miss Marla would’ve understood. She always did. She saw the signs before anyone else did—like she had been born watching shadows dance behind the veil.

She always told you since you were a small child, that you were someone who could bring people - spirits - from the beyond the veil.

You never took it into full consideration until now.

Sharply, you jumped up and grabbed your coat hanging next to the front door. You had to see her face. You had to hear her voice, just to make sure - just to feel assured.

As you drove through the Mississippi marsh, the sun had began to dip behind the trees, leaving behind a canvas of purple and orange and red in its wake, leaving behind the day creatures and welcoming the night.

Although you knew you weren't in a time rush, you couldn't shake the feeling of running out of time. You had a gut feeling - no, not gut - a deep, intuitive feeling - that this was going to be it.

You knew it, and the marsh knew it.

The loud calls had turned to whispers, no longer echoing through your ears.

Instead, it became hushed, tedious, with something dark and predatory rearing its head - rushing hastily to call your name, claim you.

What was it? You knew, but you didn't want to accept it.

The air had become too heavy, too still. No cicadas. No frogs. Just the dull rumble of your tires against dirt and gravel.

When you pulled up to her farm, her porch light was off and the horse pen was wide open.

Odd.

Miss Marla never let her house go dark. Not once. And she sure as hell never let her horse gate wide open.

Immediately, dread twisted in your guts.

You stepped out cautiously, gravel crunching underfoot, your breath puffing white despite the spring warmth. A sense of wrongness pressed in around you like fog.

"Miss Marla?" You yelled out, voice trembling. No answer.

The door was open. Not wide, but just enough. You hesitated at the threshold, but something deep in you told you needed to find out what had happened.

You looked down and your body went cold.

An owl feather.

Taking a sharp breath in, you pushed the door open.

The smell had hit you like a train - pungent.

The entire house reeked of copper and soil. Like something rotten had sunk into the floorboards, and made its way underneath the house.

Gagging, your hand flew to your mouth, eyes watering immediately.

Then, there she was. You stumbled back a step, stomach clenching—but it was too late.

You saw her.

Miss Marla was there, slumped in her chair beside the coffee table. Her head bowed like she’d fallen asleep - but the stillness was all wrong. Her eyes were open, glassy, staring at nothing. Her throat torn, mouth slack.

Blood, old and dark was painting across her lap, running from the large gash that protruded from her throat. Her hair, from the midway down, was soaked.

Your knees nearly gave out beneath you.

Tears spilled hot down your cheeks as you backed away, hand clutched to your chest, bile threatening to rise in your throat.

This was a message.

You didn’t remember getting back in the car, didn't remember starting the engine and reversing down the narrow road.

All you knew was the pounding in your ears, the shaking in your hands, and the single, terrible truth sitting in your gut like a stone:

You weren’t safe. Not here. Not anymore.

---

The screen door slammed behind you, you wasted no time in running to the bedroom to grab your bags.

Your body moved on instinct, grabbing your suitcase, stuffing it with whatever you could, your hands shaking, breath coming fast. You’d just left the station, hours of being watched, questioned.

Nobody could believe it, that someone would target her.

But, what made it even more grotesque, was that it had appeared someone had ripped her throat out with her mouth. When you explained this to the officers, they had tried to downplay it until they were dispatched and had seen it for themselves.

The blood had been everywhere.

But, after they were done questioning you, they ordered that you stay put, so they would know where to find you when they needed any answers to their questions.

Yeah, right.

It had been night by the time you left the police station. You knew that time was limited and you needed to get somewhere, not then, but now.

Trembling, you grabbed the phone and dialed, every second an eternity until the line clicked. Relief ran through you, grateful it went through.

"Aunt Marie?" Your voice was barely coherent.

"Baby, what's going on?" Her voice was hushed, but full of concern, she'd been worried over you since the last time she had visited you, which felt like forever ago, but you knew it had only been roughly a few days ago.

"It’s Miss Marla. She’s—" Your voice cracked. "She’s dead."

A beat of silence and then a sharp breath. "How?"

Tears stung your eyes, a painful lump forming in your throat, "Her throat was ripped open, it looked like something-"

"You’ve got to get out of there. Now. Come here. Bring salt and bring your thread. But you don’t look back, you understand me? You don’t look back." You heard her hands tremble over the phone.

Before you could respond, deep, painful thrumming erupted in your chest. You winced, grabbing your chest and clenching the fabric.

And then you heard it.

That low, wrong owl call outside the house.

Slow. Purposeful. Close.

You turned toward the front window, heart already sinking. He was standing just beyond the porch.

Remmick.

Not a shadow this time, a voice on the wind, or a creature from your dreams. He was a man.

Impossibly still. Eyes black as drowned night, the last sliver of sunlight caught the edge of his jaw, the faint curve of a cruel smile.

He stepped toward the screen door.

You dropped the phone. Aunt Marie’s voice was still calling your name, but you barely heard her, all focus on the man that was approaching you - hunting you.

"I always knew you’d come back," Remmick said gently. “You tried to run, but this land… this land calls you home. Just like I do."

"Stay away," You whispered.

He stopped before the entrance of the home, patient and hungry, his teeth no longer dull, but instead a row of knife-sharp fangs.

"I knew what you were before you did," he said. "You walk the boundary. Between flesh and spirit. Between root and bone. You think you hid it, but it’s in every step you take on this dirt."

He tilted his head, eyes glinting and mouth wide.

"You speak to the dead when you dream. You feel the breath of your ancestors in the wind and think it’s just instinct. But it’s more than that. You’re a beacon. You shine through the veil like a lantern in fog - and I saw you. I felt you."

"That’s not your gift to take," You said, voice shaking. "It belongs to the land. To my people. To me."

His gaze sharpened. "It belongs to whoever’s strong enough to claim it."

Bile rose in your throat, "You mean destroy it."

"No," He said, stepping close, eyes devouring you. "I mean preserve it. Through me. Through us."

He pointed up at the entrance of the door, his patience beginning to wear thin, "You need to let me in, darlin'" He purred, "Or else, I'm gonna pay your little auntie and cousins a final visit."

Ice spread through you. You knew he was being serious.

For a split second, you thought of the sweet grass in the kitchen. Maybe if you lit it and prayed he would go away? No. Maybe some garlic from the cupboard.

You shifted, he took a step back, letting you know he would do it.

Tears fell down your face.

You could barely breathe. “Why me?”

His voice dropped, velvet and grave-deep. "Because, sugar, I love you. I’ve loved you before you were born. Before your name was ever whispered by firelight. You’re not just connected to the dead - you belong with them. With me."

Lips pressed firmly in a thin line, you took a step forward. You weren't going to risk the life of your cousins - barely old enough to be in school and the life of your aunt who only wanted to help you.

Besides, you knew that Remmick was partially right, you did belong with the dead; your ancestors. You always had.

"If I'm going to step out, I need you to back away." Your tone was flat, completely devoid of emotion. This was it.

A flash of victory passed over his face, and he began to step back, leaving you plenty of space to walk outside to him.

Your steps were heavy, like you were stepping in quicksand rather than wooded floor. The closer you approached him, the happier he got, his hand extending out to you. His claws protruded, curved and black. "I'm here for you, baby."

Once you reached the entrance, you took a deep breath. One more step and you were his.

Your eyes darted. He was standing about 5 ft- maybe 6ft from the door, and there was an opening on the porch, next to one of the chairs, where it led straight to the marsh. Could you make it?

He beckoned you, fingers curled in a 'come hither' motion, "Come on, I gotcha'." He whispered.

It's now or never.

You darted.

You slapped his hand out of the way and took off, feet as quick as you could possibly bear it. Your throat and lungs burned, the marsh opened to you and ushered you in, the scent of it -

Two rough hands snatched your waist.

Cold and territorial.

"Now, now, pretty thing," He whispered against your ear. "We both know that you can't run or hide from me, so don't bother tryin'," He pressed his face against yours, lips on your cheek as he inhaled deeply.

"You make the dead sing, and I am so, so tired of silence."

You struggled and began to scream before his hand slapped over your mouth. "Now, don't make me upset now - screamin' won't get you nowhere,"

He bared his fangs.

"Screamin' was what ole' Marla had done," His voice hushed, "But, that didn't last for very long - not before she invited me in,"

Your heart ached, the thought of Miss Marla-

A guttural wail bubbled up, unleashing into his palm as he tried to shush you, his nose buried in your hair, "It's okay, baby, I won't make it hurt too bad now,"

His head trailed from your hair to the crook of your neck, before nuzzling against you. Hot, wetness hit your throat, his tongue lapping at the fragile skin. You stilled, too scared to move. This was it, this was how you were going to die.

Remmick opened his mouth.

Then pain - blinding, searing - as his teeth sank into your neck.

Your knees buckled, his arms tightened you against him, never letting you go. Loud groans of ecstasy came from him, as if it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. It reminded you of vulgarity.

Darkness blotted your vision, replacing the lightness as you began to feel yourself drift away.

Time unraveled.

You saw the faces of your ancestors, you heard their screams, you watched them vanish.

The world dimmed.

Your heartbeat faded—

And stopped.

When your eyes opened again, everything was different.

You could feel the earth like a drum beneath your feet. You could hear the ghosts calling. But they did not answer you anymore, instead they watched you.

Remmick looked down from above you, smiling - triumphant and adoring, blood coating his chin and shirt.

"You were the one who heard them," He said, brushing your hair from your face. "Now you are one of them."

You were no longer just of the land. You were cursed to haunt it.

Forever—

with him.

[floatyflowers]

Can you do poly Hiccup and male! Astrid x reader from httyd? Where the reader is from one of the islands Hiccup was discovering with toothless.

"You want me to do what?!" you ask the two viking males in shock, trying to understand if they were speaking for real or just jesting with you.

You have met Hiccup and Astrid when they landed on your island with their dragons.

And you were the only brave to approach them and inquire if they are here to hurt your people.

After Astrid explained that they are simply exploring new places and that their dragons are harmless, you quickly became friends.

They would stay at your island for three months, and through those three months you have built a strong friendly connection with them.

Or at least you were the only one who thought it was friendly.

"We want you to return back with us to our home and become our bride" Hiccup repeats cheerfully as if it was a simple request.

"Marry both of you as in me having two husbands...?"

"Yes" Astrid confirmed, his eyes narrowing at your discomfort and hesitation.

The idea is absurd and unheard of especially if you are from a society that forbids such acts.

It isn't even allowed in viking society for a woman to have more than one husband.

But Hiccup is the next chief of the Hooligans and he can make things work between the three of you.

"I can't do that, this is insane and impossible" you exclaim in shock.

Toothless nods his head, agreeing with you, causing Hiccup to give him a warning glare.

"We spend three months together inside of your house, living, eating, and sleeping in that same house, what difference would it make if we got married?"

Hiccup is trying to convince you, but you stand your ground.

"A lot of difference"

Astrid smirks as you stutter out the words, your face heating up.

"You really think you have a choice in this matter? We will marry you whether you want to or not" the blond asserts, walking towards you to take you by force with him and Hiccup.

You back away before starting to run, however the two boys manage to catch up with you.

"Please, let me go, I don't want to" you plead with them, fear apparent in your glassy eyes.

"We promise to make you have the best time in the marriage"

Hiccup said, playfully, forcing you to get up on Toothless.