#and is such a lore continuation of chill kill

[bu99erfly]

RED VELVET COSMIC (Teaser), 2024

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₉

This is Chapter 9 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 5.7k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 9

The rhythmic thunder of mighty drums reverberated through Berk, a sound so deep and resonant it seemed to summon the spirits of Viking warriors long past. It was a cadence fit for legends, each beat pulsing through the frost-kissed air, stirring the blood of every soul gathered for the final challenge.

The village, draped in the first melting snows of winter, shimmered with an unusual festive fervor, its rugged edges softened by a rare swell of anticipation. Torches flared against the gathering daybreak, their flames licking the cold, casting a golden glow over the arena where half of Berk had crammed to witness the slaying of a dragon in the pit.

The space couldn't hold the entire island, but those who fit pressed shoulder to shoulder, loud and bulky as ever with their breaths fogging in the chill, eyes alight with the promise of glory by none other than their chiefs' son.

High above the throng, Stoick the Vast emerged from the shadowed stands, flanked by the village elders, their fur-lined cloaks billowing as they took their seats. Behind them hung tapestries of past chiefs, woven with threads of crimson and gold, each one a silent testament to their own triumphs over dragons in this very pit—faded faces staring down, unyielding and stern.

The drums swelled as Stoick rose, a towering figure against the flickering light, and then—abruptly—they fell silent, the cheers of the crowd snuffing out like a candle in the wind. He strode to the cage's edge, his boots thudding against the wooden platform, his face carved from stone until a proud smile cracked its surface, warm and unrestrained.

"Well!" he boomed, his voice rolling over the arena like a wave, "I can show my face in public again!"

Laughter erupted from the stands, a raucous burst that shook the chains lining the pit, and Stoick's own chuckle joined it, deep and hearty. He waved a hand to quiet them, the mirth fading into an eager hush.

"If someone had told me that in a few short weeks Hiccup would go from being—well. . .Hiccup—to placing first in dragon training, I'd have tied him to a mast and shipped him off for fear he'd gone mad!"

The crowd roared again, a tidal wave of amusement, and Stoick grinned, jabbing a finger toward them. "And you know it!"

He paused, letting the noise settle, his expression softening as he continued. "But here we are. . .and no one is more surprised—or prouder—than I am."

Below, in the shadowed tunnel leading to the arena, Hiccup stood apart, his gaze fixed on the packed dirt on the stone at his feet. The weight of his father's words pressed against him, mingling with the tumult of his own mind—Toothless hidden in the cove, the dragon he couldn't kill from the beginning, and now this Nightmare he had to face, and above all, you.

His eyes darted through the crowd from his vantage point, searching for your familiar figure among the sea of fur and leather, but you were nowhere to be found. His brows knit together, a pang of heartbreak slicing through him, sharp and cold.

He'd failed you—pushed you away with words he couldn't unsay—and now, on the eve of his greatest test, your absence was a wound that pulsed with every beat of those drums. His thoughts flickered back to your solo Gronckle trial weeks ago, a day he'd missed, too caught up in his own world to be there when you'd needed him. The guilt had never left, and now it festered anew as the feeling struck him hard.

Stoick's voice carried on in the background, a distant rumble. "Today, my boy becomes a Viking." Hiccup clutched the Viking helmet tighter against his chest, the metal biting into his skin, leaving a faint, red imprint. He exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that clouded in the damp air, wishing you were here.

A soft shuffle of footsteps broke his reverie, and Astrid appeared at his side, her blond hair catching the torchlight as she leaned against the tunnel wall—for a moment his heart had skipped thinking it was you.

"I couldn't spot her anywhere," she said, her voice low with concern. "No one's seen her—not even Gobber," she had said, meaning you.

Hiccup nodded, a sad, mechanical motion, his eyes lifting to scan the stands one last time. Astrid sighed, tracing a finger along the rough stone beside her.

"She'll show up," she offered, though her tone wavered with doubt. He nodded again, mute, his throat tight.

"Be careful with that dragon," she added, her gaze flicking to the arena beyond.

"It's not the dragon I'm worried about. . ." Hiccup murmured, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the crowd.

Astrid tilted her head, studying him. "What are you going to do?"

He bit his lower lip, brows furrowing as his mind churned—Toothless, his father, the trial, and you, always you. He had to end this, had to try, for the dragons and for the friendship he'd let slip through his fingers. If you were out there, he'd find a way to make it right, to offer the apology you deserved.

"Put an end to this," he said at last, resolve hardening in his chest. "I have to try." The words carried a dual weight—to stop the cycle of Viking and dragon bloodshed, and to salvage what he could with you.

He turned to face Astrid, his green eyes locking onto hers with a seriousness she hadn't seen before, a gravity that made her straighten. "Astrid, if something goes wrong, just make sure they don't find Toothless."

His plea hung heavy, his gaze imploring, and in his heart, he ached to say it to you too—to beg you both to protect the dragon he'd bound his fate to.

She nodded, firm and steady. "I will. Just promise it won't go wrong. . ."

Hiccup's lips pressed into a thin line, a faint shake of his head his only reply. "I can't make any promises. After all, I can't keep the ones I've already made."

His voice lowered, the weight of you—unspoken, unknown to Astrid—lacing the words with a sorrow she couldn't place. Before she could press further, Gobber rounded the corner, his wooden leg clunking against the stone.

"It's time Hiccup, knock 'em dead," he says, jerking his head toward the arena.

Astrid gave Hiccup a final, searching look before following Gobber out, the gate clanging shut behind them with a hollow ring. Alone now, Hiccup held his helmet before him, its horns glinting dully in the light. He exhaled slowly, the breath trembling as it left him, and slid the helmet onto his head, the cold metal settling against his scalp like a crown he wasn't sure he'd earned.

The roar of the crowd hit him as he stepped into the pit, a wall of sound that crashed over him—boisterous cheers, chants of his name, the clanging of fists and boots against the iron bars. It was louder than he'd ever heard it, a cacophony that throbbed in his skull, threatening to split it open.

He felt smaller than ever, dwarfed by the towering stands, like a boy lost in the great forest once more—eyes boring into him from every angle, waiting, watching, preying—anticipating his every stumble.

His breath came shallow, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill, the world slowing around him as if time itself thickened. The whispers of old failures crept in—weak, embarrassment, failure—their voices hissing through the din, clawing at the edges of his resolve.

He shut his eyes, boots scuffing as he moved forward on instinct, drawn to the weapon stand like a moth to flame. His breath hitched, nerves spiking, a tremor running through his hands—then your voice broke through the haze, soft and clear in the back of his mind.

"I'm proud of you," you'd said once, followed by the echo of your laughter, bright and unshakable.

His eyes snapped open, his pulse syncing with the drums' of Valors' mighty rhythm, a fire igniting in his chest. He was ready.

He seized a shield first, its weight grounding him, then a knife, its blade catching the sunlight with a wicked gleam.

"I'm ready," he declared, his voice steady now, gaze fixed on the iron doors that caged the beast beyond. He nodded sharply, the signal given, and the gates groaned open.

The Monstrous Nightmare exploded forth, wreathed in flame, a snarling inferno of scales and fury. It surged into the arena, circling high, spitting torrents of fire that sent the crowd scrambling with shouts of awe and fear.

The beast's eyes scanned the chains, seeking a flaw, a weakness—until it stilled, its blazing gaze locking onto Hiccup. He stood there, shield raised, knife in hand, the air between them crackling with challenge, the drums fading into a distant heartbeat as the trial began. 

The cliff stretched out beneath you, a jagged lip of stone perched high above Berk's harbor, where the sea churned in restless waves that glittered under a rare, defiant sun. Yesterday's snow had melted into a slick sheen of wet grass and mud, the ground glistening as if the island itself wept for what was to come.

You sat atop a weathered plank of wood, a makeshift barrier against the damp that seeped through the earth, your fingers idly turning a dagger in your hand—its blade catching the sunlight in fleeting, silver flashes. The air carried a faint warmth, a cruel tease against the cold that had settled into your bones, not from the weather but from the hollow ache within.

Beyond the cliff's edge, the harbor sprawled, its waters a restless expanse of deep blue, crashing against the rocks below with a rhythm that mirrored the tumult in your chest. The wind tugged at your hair, sharp with the scent of salt and wet wood, and from afar, the thunderous applause of the arena rolled up the hillside, a faint roar dancing on the breeze.

Your stomach twisted with every pulse of that sound, each cheer a needle threading through your thoughts—Hiccup, alone in the pit, facing the Monstrous Nightmare. How was he holding up? Could he weave his way through this trial without bloodshed, or would it spiral into chaos, into Hel itself? Would he emerge whole, or broken?

The questions gnawed at you, relentless as a pack of wolves tearing at a carcass, and yet your eyes remained dry, the tears you'd shed at dawn now hardened into faint, salty streaks that stung your cheeks.

You traced a thumb along the dagger's dull chipped edge—your gaze distant, lost in the waves that crashed far below. This was the first time you'd ever missed something vital in Hiccup's life, a trial that could redefine him, and the absence clawed at you, a guilt so fierce it left your chest raw.

But you couldn't go. Wouldn't. The cliff—your shared refuge with Hiccup, where you'd once laughed over half-formed dreams and watched the aurora paint the sky—held you fast, its solitude a shield against the arena's clamor and the words from yesterday that echoed in the recesses of your mind, sharp and unyielding, a blade he'd swung without mercy.

They festered there, entwined with the cruel jabs made by those who had sat with him—their voices a chorus that had convinced you he didn't need you now. He'd clawed his way into Berk's favor, surrounded by the cheers he'd once prayed to Odin for, the acknowledgment he'd craved since he was a boy tripping over his own feet.

Those people had planted their poison deep, and you'd let it take root, believing he'd be fine in that pit, that he'd thrive without you trailing behind. Your fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt, the leather grip creaking under your grip, and a bitter taste coated your tongue as you stared out at the sunlit sea, its beauty a mockery of the maelstrom stirring within.

The applause swelled again, a distant thunder that rumbled through the cliffs, and your heart lurched, a pang of longing cutting through the numbness. You pictured him—his lanky frame dwarfed by the arena's iron walls, his auburn hair catching the sun, his green eyes flickering with that mix of fear and resolve you knew so well.

Was he scanning the stands for you, even now, as you'd once done for him? The thought tightened your throat, but you pressed it down, your jaw clenching as you flipped the dagger again, its weight a cold comfort in your palm. The sun climbed higher, its rays spilling over the harbor in a golden flood, warming your skin and creating a glow unknown to you.

You'd always been there—through every stumble, every wild idea of his, every quiet moment when he'd needed you most—and now, the space you'd left felt like a betrayal, a wound you'd inflicted on yourself as much as him. Yet his words held you here, a chain forged of hurt and doubt, binding you to this cliff as the arena's roar faded into the wind, leaving you alone with the waves and the ghosts of what you've lost.

Your thoughts continued to churn like the tide until a distant roar of the arena had faded to a dull hum, a sound you tried to ignore—until a sudden, jarring bang shattered the stillness, echoing from the pit like the crack of a felled tree.

It jolted you upright, the dagger slipping from your fingers to thud into the damp earth and over the cliff, your breath catching as a piercing screech—the Monstrous Nightmare's guttural cry—tore through the air. The crowd's cheers twisted into a cacophony of panic, a discordant wave that rolled up the hillside and slammed into you, raw and unfiltered.

Your heart lurched, hammering against your ribs with a force that drowned out your surroundings. You were on your feet before you realized it, the plank tipping behind you as instinct seized control. The arena—so far across the rugged sprawl of Berk—beckoned like a beacon through the haze of your fear, and your legs moved of their own accord, propelling you down the cliff's uneven path—faster than you'd ever gone.

Wet grass slicked beneath your boots, and halfway down, the ground betrayed you—your foot skidded, sending you sprawling into the mud with a dull splash. Pain flared in your palms as you caught yourself, the cold, thick muck seeping through your tunic, but you scarcely felt it.

You scrambled up, breath ragged, mud streaking your hands and knees, when a sound sliced through the chaos—a familiar, keening wail, sharp and unmistakable—Toothless. The Night Fury's cry ignited a fresh surge of dread, your eyes snapping toward the arena just as a blast of violet plasma erupted, punching a jagged hole through the pit's iron chains. Smoke billowed upward, thick and acrid, as Toothless soared in like a blur, his black wings cutting the air like a blade. 

You froze, rooted to the hillside, your pulse thundering in your skull, eyes wide as the scene before you unfolded in a haze of fire and fury. The arena loomed ahead, its stone walls trembling under the weight of the chaos all around, and you stumbled forward, drawn irresistibly toward it. The crowd surged around the pit's perimeter, a tide of shouting, shoving bodies, their panic a living thing that pulsed through the air. You pushed through them, elbows jabbing, your breath hitching as you fought to reach the blasted breach Toothless had carved. Mud clung to your boots, slowing each step, but you pressed on, the sting of ash in your eyes blurring the world into smears of gray. 

At the hole's edge, you stopped dead, heart in your throat, squinting through the choking veil of smoke that roiled within. Your gaze darted frantically, as you leaned in whilst grabbing the bars chain careful not to fall, careful not to burn your hands—searching the haze for Hiccup—his lanky frame, his auburn hair, anything to anchor you in the madness. 

A gust from the dragon's wings swept through, parting the smoke like a curtain torn asunder, and there he was—Hiccup, crouched low, shield raised, his face taut with fear. Toothless stood before him, scales gleaming like polished obsidian, his snarls reverberating as he squared off against the Monstrous Nightmare.

The larger dragon thrashed, its fiery hide crackling, claws raking stone as it lunged, but Toothless met it with a ferocity that shook the arena's bones—teeth bared, wings flared, a dominance of protection for his boy that made the other dragon growl in disbelief.

The crowd gasped, some scrambling back, others leaning forward, their shouts a jagged chorus of awe and terror. Your chest tightened, relief warring with dread as you watched Toothless drive the Nightmare back, its flames sputtering under the Night Fury's relentless assault. At last, with a final, resentful screech, the Monstrous Nightmare retreated, crawling into its cage, the iron gate slamming against the stone with a clang that echoed like a death knell.

But the reprieve shattered in an instant. Vikings leapt into the pit, their war cries rising as they descended upon Toothless—axes glinting, ropes swinging, a swarm of fury turned on the dragon who'd dared to defy them as he fought back fiercely. You lunged forward, desperation clawing at your throat while you pulled on their furs.

"Stop!" you shouted, your voice raw and cracking, but it was swallowed by the din.

A burly shoulder slammed into you, knocking you to the ground, your palms scraping the stone as you hit.

You pushed up, shouting again, "Leave him alone!" But the crowd surged past, heedless, their boots trampling the just inches from your hands.

Through the chaos, you saw Stoick plunge into the fray, his massive frame cutting through the melee, his face a mask of rage as he wrestled with the Night Fury. Toothless reared, jaws wide, a blast of plasma igniting the air—aimed straight for Stoick's head.

Hiccup's voice broke through, a desperate, piercing "No!" that halted the dragon mid-strike, the flame fizzling into a harmless sputter. The Vikings seized their chance, one by one pinning the dragon to the ground before ropes snapped tight around Toothless' wings, chains clanking as they forced a neck brace onto him soon after, his struggles muffled by the iron grip that dragged him out of sight.

You sank to your hands and knees, the stone cold and unyielding beneath you, tears spilling hot and unchecked down your face. Sobs racked your frame, each one a jagged shard of grief—for Toothless, for Hiccup, for the world falling apart right in front of this boy.

Vikings streamed past, their muttered curses and shaking heads a blur—disgust aimed at the dragon, at Hiccup, at you sprawled on the ground, at the whole unraveling—disappointing—mess this all turned out to be. You staggered to your feet, swaying as the crowd buffeted you, their bodies a relentless current pushing you back.

You fought against it, weaving through the press of fur and leather, your eyes locked on Hiccup—still in the pit, his helmet askew, his face pale with shock. But before you could ever reach him, Stoick's hand clamped onto his arm, rough and unyielding, dragging him toward the tunnel with a force that brooked no resistance.

Hiccup stumbled the entire time, his gaze darting wildly—searching for Toothless, for you—but the crowd swallowed them, their figures shrinking into the throng as they moved toward the Great Hall.

You stood there, breath heaving trying to catch your breath but for a moment, the arena's dust settling around you like ash from before. The sun blazed overhead, its light harsh and unforgiving, glinting off the broken chains and the scorch marks left by dragon fire.

Your legs trembled, but you forced them into motion, following the tide of Vikings at a distance, their murmurs a low growl in your ears—traitor, fool, dragon-lover. The words stung, but they couldn't drown out the panic driving you forward. When the crowd thinned near the village's heart, you broke into a run, boots pounding the muddy path, your tunic flapping as the wind whipped past. 

The Great Hall's towering doors loomed before you as you finally made your way up, their carved snarls glaring down as if to judge your every faltering step. The sun blazed overhead, its light spilling across the muddy yard in harsh, golden streaks, just perfect enough to give light from the outside within as the doors stood ajar, voices spilling out—Stoick's booming timbre, Hiccup's strained replies—and you pressed a hand to the rough-hewn frame, peering into the shadowed interior.

Inside, the hall was a cauldron of tension. Vikings clustered in knots far into the dark corners typically near the kitchen to prepare the feast coming, their faces hard with anger and confusion, while Stoick towered at the center, his fist bawled up—white—with fury as his voice boomed.

You retreated down the weathered steps again, each one a quiet thud beneath your boots, pulling back into the shadows behind a pillar before either of them could spot you. The air thrummed with tension even outside the empty yard, Stoick's voice splintering everywhere.

You didn't need to be closer to catch their sting; they carried on the wind, sharp and heavy with accusation, a father's wrath unleashed in a way that made your stomach twist. Then, silence—a beat of stillness so profound it felt like the world held its breath—before Stoick staggered out, his broad frame filling the doorway.

His face, usually a mask of iron resolve, crumpled briefly, washed pale with guilt as the weight of what he'd done settled into his bones. He didn't see you, didn't glance your way as he stormed down the steps, his cloak snapping behind him like a tattered banner, his fury driving him toward the harbor's docks with a purpose you couldn't fathom.

You lingered there, rooted to the spot behind the pillar—frozen to see Hiccup—the damp moss on the stone freezing under your gentle touch as you opted to wait. The villages' murmurs faded into a low drone, the the small crowd dispersing from within, their voices a muted echo as they left the Great Hall angrily. Minutes crawled by, each second a slow drip of dread pooling in your chest. You had stood straight, about to go in until the doors creaked open again.

Hiccup emerged, his lanky figure hunched, one arm shielding his face as silent tears streaked down his cheeks. The sight hit you like a blow—his shoulders trembling, his steps unsteady as he walked past and down the stone stairs—The boy who'd faced a dragon now broken by something far worse. Something in you snapped, a switch flipping deep within, shoving down the hurt, the words he'd flung at you, the venom that had kept you away. None of it mattered now—not when he looked like this, lost and unraveling under Berks' cruel glare.

He hadn't made it far, barely crossing the yard beyond the hall's shadow, when you moved. Your boots skipped steps and pounded the earth, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the harbor's distant crash, and you caught his arm, yanking him around with a force that surprised even you.

He stumbled, caught off guard, his arm dropping as he wiped at his red eyes with a sleeve already damp with grief. Then he saw you—really saw you—and froze, blinking through the blur of tears as if you might dissolve like a mirage. You didn't hesitate, didn't give him time to doubt any further as you let out a shaky breath leaning in.

Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, a fierce, unyielding embrace that refused to let go this time. His breath hitched, a shudder running through him, and for a moment, his hands hovered, uncertain—until the tears broke free again, hot and unchecked, and he buried his face in your shoulder, his arms finally closing around you in a desperate, clinging hold.

You stood there, locked together in the yard's muddy sprawl, the world shrinking to the space between you. His quiet sobs shook his frame, muffled against your tunic, a flood of years' worth of pent-up pain spilling out in ragged gasps all at once.

You tightened your grip, fingers threading through his hair, patting gently as you whispered, "It's going to be alright."

The words felt fragile, a threadbare promise against the wreckage of the day, but you said them anyway, willing them to hold. Your own tears came then, silent and steady, tracing new warm paths down your face as you clung to him, the salt mingling with the dirt streaked across your cheeks.

His hands fisted in the back of your tunic, wrinkling the fabric in tight, desperate bunches, but you didn't care—couldn't care—not when he was breaking like this, and you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.

Hiccup couldn't speak, couldn't find the words through the waves of his tears. They'd been dammed up too long—years of failure, of being less, of chasing his fathers' footsteps he'd never catch up to, and so much more—until now, with Toothless torn from him and you standing here, these emotions that taunted him finally broke free.

He'd thought he'd lost you—your love and friendship, that his sharp words in the forge had severed the tether between you for good. And now, with Toothless chained and gone, dragged off to gods-knew-where by his own tribe, he'd felt truly adrift—until your arms found him, grounding him in a way he hadn't realized he'd needed until it was almost too late.

His breath hitched again, a sob catching in his throat as he pressed his forehead harder into your shoulder, the damp of his tears soaking through to your skin. You held him steady, your hand resting against his hair, the familiar scent of him—leather, pine, smoke, and something faintly metallic—mingling with the mud and salt in the air.

The yard stretched empty around you, the sun climbing to its peak, its light glinting off the wet grass in a shimmer that felt too bright for the moment—but as if finally smiling at you two after a sad week of forecast between you both. The harbor's waves rumbled along with shouts in the distance, a steady counterpoint to the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

But here, in this fragile pocket of time, it was just you and him—locked in a quiet, weeping embrace, the weight of the day—of the past two months really—pressing down and yet somehow lifting, if only for a breath. He'd thought he'd lost everything—But your arms around him, was like a blanket of comfort, shifting the ground beneath him.

He'd been so utterly wrong—about you, about needing space—and the realization sank deep, a quiet ache beneath the relief. You were here, despite it all, and as his tears stained your clothes, he knew he'd fight to mend this, to reclaim what he'd nearly thrown away.

Time stretched thin, the minutes blurring into a quiet eternity where neither of you moved to break the hold. You stood there for as long as he needed, locked in Hiccup's trembling embrace, until his tears had finally slowed, the sobs that had wracked his frame tapering into shallow, uneven breaths, but his arms remained tight around you, like his life depended on it, like he would break if he let go again.

You still didn't pull away, didn't flinch under the weight of his grip; instead, your fingers continued their gentle rhythm, threading through his auburn hair, tracing soothing paths against his scalp. The strands were damp with sweat and debris, tangled from the chaos of the arena, but you cared not—the motion steadied him—his breathing softened, his shoulders easing your touch alone could unravel the knots of grief coiled within him.

You could feel the tremor in his fingers, the faint shudder of his chest against yours, and it stirred a deep, aching tenderness in you—an understanding forged through years of shared stumbles and silent loyalties. The air hung heavy with the scent of Berk, the faint tang of smoke still clinging to him from the pit, and you breathed it in relieved, grounding yourself in the reality of him here, alive, in your arms—to you that is all that mattered.

At last, the tension in his grip eased, and you both drew back, a slow unraveling that left a hollow ache where his warmth had been. No words passed between you; none were needed. You'd seen each other cry before—over scraped knees as children, over failures whispered in the dark over again, over losses too big to name—and this was no different, yet infinitely more raw. Your eyes met his, tear-streaked faces mirroring one another—cheeks flushed, red-rimmed eyes swollen from the flood, noses damp and glistening in the sunlight.

But beneath the mess, there was something unspoken, a quiet language etched in the lines of your expressions. His gaze carried an, "I'm sorry," so deep it seemed to tremble in the green of his irises, a plea for forgiveness he didn't know how to voice. Yours answered in kind, soft and unguarded, a mirror of regret for the distance you'd let grow, for the cliff you'd retreated to when he'd needed you most. In that shared look, a certainty settled—bruised and battered as you were, it really was going to be alright.

You glanced down, your eyes catching on his hand—pale, calloused, still trembling faintly with anxiety from the mess he'd weathered. Without a word, you reached for it, your fingers sliding into his, interlacing with a quiet firmness that felt like a vow. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm a familiar map you'd traced a thousand times, and you gave a gentle tug, pulling him with you into a slow, deliberate walk.

He followed, his steps hesitant at first, lingering close as if testing the ground beneath him, afraid you might slip away again. But you leaned in, your shoulder and arm brushing his, the fabric of your tunics catching faintly as you pressed closer—a reassurance woven into the contact, a promise that you weren't going anywhere.

His hand tightened around yours, a squeeze that echoed your own, and you felt the warmth of it seep into you, a lifeline threading through the cold that had gripped you both. The walk was unhurried, each step a soft crunch against the wet earth, the mud sucking at your boots as you moved away from the hall's shadow.

The sun beat down, glinting off the damp grass in tiny, fleeting sparks, painting the world in a light that felt almost tender after the day's brutality. Hiccup stayed near, his arm brushing yours with every stride, his breath still hitching faintly as he adjusted to the quiet between you.

You could sense the weight he carried—Toothless torn from him, his father's words a fresh scar, the village's judgment a looming specter—and it mirrored your own: the sting of his outburst, the teen's barbs, the guilt of your absence in the arena. Yet here, in the slow rhythm of your steps, those burdens felt lighter, shared in the silence that wrapped around you like a worn cloak.

You passed the edge of the yard, the harbor unfolding below in a sprawl of sparkling blue and silver, its waves whispering secrets against the docks where Stoick and the others began loading boats for whatever reason you'd both find out later. The wind stirred, cool and sharp, tugging at your hair and drying the last traces of tears from your faces.

Hiccup's head dipped slightly, his free hand brushing at his eyes as if to erase the evidence of his breaking, but you squeezed his hand again, a silent tether that said he didn't need to hide—not from you. He glanced over, a flicker of something soft crossing his face—gratitude, relief, a shadow of the boy who'd once rambled under tables to chase your fears away—and you returned it with a small, steady nod.

The village loomed ahead, its thatched roofs and smoke trails a faint promise of little peace if only for a moment, but neither of you rushed toward it. This walk, this quiet, was enough—a mending stitched not with words but with presence, with the simple act of holding on.

Hiccup's thoughts, glimpsed through that omniscient veil again without wanting to, where a tangled weave of loss and dawning loss bloomed. He'd stood in the hall, flayed by Stoick's fury, certain he'd lost everything. The tears had come unbidden—without control, a flood he couldn't stem, and he'd braced for a solitude he'd brought upon himself.

But then you were there—Of course you were there. . .His heart of berk—Your arms a lifeline he hadn't dared hope for, your touch a balm to wounds he couldn't fathom on his own. As your fingers laced with his, he felt the ground shift beneath him again—not steady yet, but closer to it than he'd been in days. And it made his heart flutter to life again.

He'd been wrong, so wrong, and the ache of that realization pulsed with every step, tempered only by the warmth of your hand in his. Toothless. . .was gone, his father's trust shattered into pieces, but you—You were here. . .Thank Odin, Hiccup sighed—And that was a thread he'd cling to, a chance to rebuild what he'd nearly broken beyond repair.

The path went on, winding ever closer toward the forge your shoulders stayed pressed together—so close—a quiet defiance against what was waiting, and the silence between you deepened—not empty, but full, heavy with the weight of tears shed and promises remade.

This is Chapter 9 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

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

Lovely tag list ~ @kikikittykis | @icantcryicantstopcrying | @teeesthings | @ph4nt0m19

[trappedinacomputer]

Hey so in my depression about tr!WaterHalo falling apart again I started thinking about why and went down a rabbit hole of angst so if that was Bad's intention , great job :D (/neg but not really, just in a silly way)

Anyways: So i was thinking about how, yes tr!Bad is an oblivious aromantic son of a bitch (I'm aromantic as well, that doesn't explain away his lack of rizz /j) who fumbled the dragon lady for like the millionth time, but there is probably a little more going on to this given him saying "angsty lore is the best lore" so I went down a rabbit hole of where this all goes

Yes this is gonna be a lot and yes it is honestly lowkey embarrassing that I thought up all this because of tr!Bad nosediving a date so hard he might as well have ended up at the center of the earth, BUT I DIGRESS:

*warning: most of this has nothing to do with holywater, it's mostly just !Bad*

tr!Bad has kinda been going through Ultra Depression™ like I've mentioned before due to him losing everything he cares about, which has resorted in him becoming a Gold Medal Olympic Alcoholic but also he's started to push people away a bit more

I got to thinking maybe the reason why Bad botched this date so hard (if we ignore the fact that he is in fact just this oblivious and didn't realize it was romantic) is because he's trying really hard to not actually care about Water, because he knows that people he cares about get hurt/die, even given his best efforts to save them..so maybe if he lets Water start hating him on her own, she'll stay away and live a long life like she deserves

BUT then I started thinking about !Bad as a character and just how fucking depressing he is which led me down the path of thinking about what exactly happened to him/what is happening to him now which leads me to my theories of his character and timeline of events:

Bad is an angel chilling in heaven, doing what he's told like any good angel does when he's given the task of killing the dinosaurs, which he does because it's what he's told to do. However, when he returns he is told this is his purpose, his one task for all eternity is to kill and cause destruction which is not at all something that sounds inticing.

He, along with others, rebel against this idea that their fate and existence is predetermined against their will which directly contradicts their existence. They get thrown out of heaven leading to his fall and being trapped under Euphrates, only being able to escape when he, who would've guessed it, kills the angels guarding him, proving the heavens right.

Like a curse and a constant reminder, a halo continuously hangs over his head even if everywhere he goes, catastrophe follows and every person he learns to love dies by either his own hand or his own actions/inactions, reminding him that his fate is sealed and he can do nothing to prevent it, no matter how hard he tries.

And this gets proven for him when he stumbles onto an island and meets the first creatures in a long time he'd sacrifice himself for: his kids. This was a love that ran deeper than any he had felt before..so when they went missing and he couldn't feel their lives close, he spiraled. Believing he had lost them, he prepares himself to be a catalyst for the end of the world, torturing himself to feel a fraction of the amount of pain he was about to bring. If his kids were truly dead, then the end of life on earth would bring them together again, he would swallow his pride and do what the heavens sent him to do if it meant he could reunite with them again.

But he miscalculated. They were alive, being held somewhere horrible where he had to embrace the killing to potentially save them, but by that time, he was already prepared. When they were escaping from that place and he tanked a nuke to save Dapper, his decay got worse and he found himself in his own mind, between life and death, debating with himself and the different parts of his soul on what to do. He was so prepared to take on his mission, but now what? He was so dead set on completing his purpose to return to his kids, but now they were here with him again, he needed to protect them and take care of them, it wasn't time yet again.

That purpose ate away ate him, but he couldn't risk hurting his kids so when the opportunity to go back to that place of killing arose, he sent the part of his soul that wanted it the most, while the other parts got to stay and protect his kids from it. But his body was still in a state of decay, and actions always have consequences, he suffered for literal months slowly dying but stayed there for his kids, until his body and mind literally gave out, reliving the worst moment in all his lives: the day he lost his son.

When he gets to that desert again, with the scales laid before him and two doors on either side, he didn't even notice they were balanced, not until he looked towards the door "Home", the only place he was ever meant to exist. The door normally locked and chained shut not stood clean, almost welcoming..and he screams "why?" Why now does he get the choice to return home? Why when he finally has something to protect, that he's finally been able to protect, does he get the option to go? He contemplates for what feels like days, but he made a promise to return to his babies, and while it wasn't a deal, he couldn't bring himself to break it.

So he returns to them..but he only has limited time with them before he seemingly does what he does best and the people he loves are once again taken from him. Once all his kids are done, he has carved their memorial into the very earth, and the last of his comrades depart, he does as well. He kills himself seemingly in the only rift in whatever protection the island has and seems..surprised to arrive back in the desert in front of those scales. He turns and sees his kids run up to him from the wide open gates of his home. A beautiful sight, if it didn't come with a cost. Heaven basically dangles his kids in front of his face, knowing these creatures were what he chose over them, knowing the pull they have over him and using it as leverage to push him to complete his mission.. and it kind of works.

Now he finds himself in this new realm, meeting new and old friends, people he cares for, but knowing deep down he's here for a specific reason. He needs to finish this Cathedral to figure out the missing piece to the puzzle of what his mission is/how to complete it. But what's the rush really? He knows his kids are safe in heaven, they can't die again and are out of harms way, he can spend some spare moments enjoying life before he snuffs it out.

I don't think this Cathedral is to contact heaven, I think that's what Bad hopes it does. Bad has made it clear that his mind and memory are all over the place, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I believe that the part of his soul that remembers his mission and is fully prepared to kill the entire planet to see his kids again, is the one he left in Purgatory, and I also fully believe Heaven would trick him into bringing that part of his soul back and forcing Bad to combine it back with the rest of himself. And when not if his mind fails again, maybe it isn't alcohol or a broken heart, but a broken soul, torn between killing everyone to return home to his kids, or never seeing his kids again to buy humanity more time than heaven believes they deserve.

There are some more theories I have that are a lot more eccentric like Bad potentially going through with the apocalypse but betraying heaven to make a new world (maybe with the help of Foolish 👀) but that's not really something I believe is planned lol

[classicanalyzer]

What If Season 3 - What If... the Red Guardian Stopped the Winter Soldier? Thoughts

"Now, think. Think back. What's the first thing you see?" Alexei Shostakov

"I see... I see... I see Coney Island." The Winter Soldier

"See! You are somebody. You are the Great Coney Island hero. And the Red Guardian is proud to fight next to you." Alexei Shostakov

Episode 3 was so peak. Alexei is so fun! I really wish we got a movie, a show, or something with him because he's such a fun character. His dynamic with Bucky is also pretty fun. We got so much lore about the assassination of Howard and Maria Stark. This is the last episode written by A.C. Bradley, and man I'm going to miss her writing and work in What If. Also, this episode was supposed to be in S2 (footage of it can be seen in S2's title sequences and the S2 finale fanfare) but was swapped out for the Corpsman Nebula episode which was supposed to be in S3.

Alexei's character in this episode is really great. He may be really enthusiastic about his belief in Communism and the Soviet Union, but it's clear he genuinely wants to do good. I really like how he isn't as dumb as he looks and how he sees the good and best in people. Someone also pointed out how since this is 1991, the USSR is on the verge of collapse, and Alexei thinks they will overthrow the US which shows how he was kept in the dark by his bosses about the USSR's deteriorating situation. Even Alexei realizes after he knows Dreykov and the Red Room are working with Capitalists that those at the top never truly cared about the ideals of the USSR as he did. I also find it funny that the What If situation possibly came that, What If Alexei stole the file of the Winter Soldier's assignment lmao. David Harbour was amazing casting for Alexei in the Black Widow movie and this episode continues to prove why it was perfect casting.

I really love how Dreykov and the Red Room knew about and was connected to HYDRA and the Winter Soldier. It makes me wonder if the Red Room's Sky Fortress was a HYDRA collaboration and the Red Room simply cut their ties with HYDRA after the Winter Soldier movie. While this doesn't fix my feelings about the Red Room's Sky Fortress, someone pointed out how HYDRA most likely covered up the Sky Fortress from SHIELD. This makes so much more sense than if the Sky Fortress was simply able to hide for so long because it was simply good at "hiding" lmao. I also liked how it pays off a fact from S2 Episode 2, Bucky as the Winter Soldier was used by the USSR. That's some great multiversal continuity there haha. I love the Red Room presence in this episode with Dreykov and the Red Room Task Force soldiers. Also, Antonia Dreykov being in the picture is pretty sad and dark given what happened to her and how Dreykov never truly cared about his own daughter.

I love to see Bill Foster in this episode and I love his suit from S2 Episode 2. It's just really nice to see Bill Foster as the hero Goliath since we never saw him in action before in the movies. Ranger Morales was also a fun new side-character for this episode.

The montage of Alexei and Bucky heading to the United States was perfect and funny with the major differences in their purpose and tone. When that Winter Soldier theme kicks in, I got the chills. I like that Alexei does have his morals, even if he says it's to spread Communism and the revolution, it shows how he doesn't tolerate the work HYDRA is doing. It's really funny seeing Alexei quip during his fight with Bucky that Bucky just resorts to biting him.

I laughed when Bucky and Alexei both agreed to go off the cliff, even Uatu was surprised. These two super soldier idiots really make for a funny team once Bucky loosens up a bit. The Russian music in this episode is both epic and funny given how it's used. I also love the comedic gag of Alexei trying his best to get Bucky to stop resorting to killing as the first solution to every problem.

Bucky legit has a mental crisis when he realizes he failed for the first time. I love the arc where Bucky even if for this mission broke out of the programming and realizes HYDRA never cared for them. The scene with him remembering Coney Island is so heartwarming given how he and Steve hung out at Coney Island. Likewise seeing him reject Dreykov’s kill order on Alexei was heartwarming to see. I also love how he listened to Alexei's advice of using his metal arm to block the bullets when Stane tried to kill them. Their friendship (they’re basically siblings in this episode) truly is one of the most heartwarming things to see how Alexei managed to bring the good out of the Winter Soldier and both of them considering themselves friends. Sebastian Stan's voice performance went a long way from him phoning it in back in Episode 1. Also “Technique!” haha.

"He's right, though. About the Red Room, Dreykov..." Alexei Shostakov

"Dreykov's a pig. All of them are. But not you. You are a good man." The Winter Soldier/Coney Island Hero

The Rook being Obadiah Stane was a surprise to me. It didn't register that was him until near his death and the end credits confirmed my suspicions. I was really surprised but yet also not surprised that Obadiah told the Russians (and therefore by extension HYDRA) about Howard's recreation of the super soldier serum. God, seeing Obadiah talk about how "amazing" Capitalism makes me sick, and glad to see him fall out of the window after Bucky threw Alexei's shield at him. Hopefully, with Howard and Maria Stark alive along with Stane's death, Tony's life will be a lot less messed up and has less daddy issues.

I really hope Vasily Karpov dies in Las Vegas that's one less HYDRA personal in this universe. Also, I hope when Bucky was being brainwashed that this time, it was less successful than the previous moments, thanks to Alexei's influence. Plus, thanks to Alexei disavowing the Red Room and his nation, the Siberian Winter Soldiers will never occur!

Also hell yes, Alexei gets to be a part of the Avengers and Captain America knows him!

Episode 3 is truly a peak episode and showcases a dynamic ripe with story and character exploration. It'll be very interesting to see how Thunderbolts will show the two interact. This episode uses its characters amazingly well.

Note: Someone pointed out that so far, each episode has a tiny person interact with someone or something much taller (Sam with Gamma Apex Bruce, Kingo with Celestial Agatha, and now Alexei and Bucky with Goliath). I wonder what Episode 4 will do to continue this streak haha.

"Fighting for survival. For acceptance. Fighting to be somebody. But in the end, the fight is never the point. It's your friendships that change the course of history. Even when they end." Uatu

[echo-of-the-eye]

Things in sunrise on the reaping that fucked me up:

chapter 5. just. ending of chapter 5.

mags was haymitch's mentor and now I'm even sadder about catching fire (actually this whole book makes catching fire so much worse)

lou lou. what did they do to that poor child

ampert:( poor beetee

EFFIE!! effie and haymitch met (mostly by accident) right before his games. and she's kind. still brainwashed and full of propaganda but she's still kind in a way the others aren't. this adds so much to their relationship

they reuse the trackers!? like the ones that were in dead children!?

"sure, I'll be your sister" KILL ME NOW

the continuing dehumanization of the tributes. THE FUCKING CAGE!??!?!!! haymitch being told to show of his scar from the injury that almost killed him (having to pull down his pants to do it. he's sixteen). before and after photos of naked children that are used for the grade of university students

maysilee's refusal to let herself be dehumanized

ALL THE LUCY GRAY MENTIONS!! THE SONGS!! HAYMITCH REALIZING SNOW KNEW LUCY GRAY! FINDING HER GRAVE

(also snow still being hung up on his situationship from 40 years ago and taking it out on a child ...which he does again with katniss 25 years later. like chill out dude. "she seems to loves you" bitch lucy gray did love you! but you broke her trust and probably fucking murdered her! and was a shitty toxic possesive boyfriend anyway)

seeing haymitch fight and rebel so hard against the games cause he thinks he has no chance of surviving and has nothing to lose... knowing that HE DOES and his family are going to die

and then the building DREAD as he returns to twelve wondering how it's gonna happen. when he fed the candy to lenore dove... I knew

when they started singing the old therebefore at the funeral... broke me

haymitch pushing everyone away for their safety and being so so alone (including katniss' parents! if he hadn't would he have been part of her life? could he have been like an uncle to her?)

the editing of the games so that no one knew what really happened until haymitch told them AFTER THE WAR

THE EPILOGUE!! haymitch talking about katniss and peeta CALLING THEM HIS FAMILY! saying katniss is like him but luckier. finally getting to see a world where there's no sunrise on the reaping...

all the additional context this gives the original trilogy: haymitch calling katniss sweetheart, knowing her parents and where the pin came from, mags wiress and beetee lore, (beetee has only had one plan ever and no matter how many times it doesn't work he will try again), plutarch (what is his deal, what made him want to stop the games so bad, is he actually just that sympathetic to the districts? what's his stake in all this?), knowing that people have tried to stop the games and start a rebellion many times, haymitch raising geese in the epilogue...

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Okay so. It seems I'm in the minority about not liking the Spike-With-A-Soul plot. I've not really interacted with the Buffy fandom before this so its wild to me this is how people view it. Because the thing is...

Buffy is at its best, always, when it rejects the concept of ontological evil Vs good and of all the shows from that era (charmed is a big one that comes to mind) I think Buffy when it got a few seasons under its belt was one of the best shows at rejecting the ontological evil Vs ontological good mindset despite the fact that it's a monster of the week show. Oz, Buffy, Faith, Spike, Buffy, Willow, Harmony, Xander, Riley, Anya, Warren, Jonathan, Andrew - all of these characters are continuously used to show moral complexity, particularly that goodness is a choice and what does it mean to be a harm to others?

And spike epitomises that. He is the monster who suddenly had to deal with not being allowed to kill people; which led him to form bonds (particularly with Buffy and Dawn, but I'd argue he makes bonds with the rest of the Scoobies bar maybe Xander too) which led him into empathy and trying to do good even when it came at his own expense. There is this lingering question by season 6 with spike; if you removed his chip would he go back to how he was in season 2? Would he kill and maime and torture, or would he make the choice to be good just like the rest of the Scoobies have to do daily even when giving in would be easier.

And I think spike would have a wobble sure, very Anya esque in that regard, but I think he'd ultimately just like Anya NOT find it easy to go back to being 'evil' after having his chip removed even without a soul. And the lore implications to that are FACINATING and way cooler to explore than like. Soul = good, not soul = bad.

And also...I know people are like 'he was irredmiable after seeing red so it had to happen so we could like him again' but uhhhh that's actually one of the reasons I DONT like spike getting a soul. It really feels like the writers wanted a cop out, a way for us to go on shipping and engaging with Spuffy and absolve Spike. See he did a terrible thing but he can still be your pathetic little favourite wet man because we gave him a get out of jail free card! And that's just...kinda nothing to me? I mean sure he worked for that soul, did the trials, but it's not the same as actively having to deal with doing a terrible, unforgivable thing and where you go from there. It's just. It feels so cheap. Like they wanted the 'edgy, brutal' scene but they didn't ACTUALLY want the consequences so oops he's got a soul now don't worry about it he can still be your fav little guy. (And yeah, I mean. I do think the writers would have struggled with spike after seeing red if they didn't do something drastic - but if they weren't willing to grapple with it they shouldn't have done it, otherwise it just feels even more ick to me ya know.)

Idk I like season 7 for what it is but I think ultimately it was a backslide from so many interesting things set up in season 6, even willow kinda goes back to having good Vs bad sides rather than just being a complex individual with capacity for both. And spike is the Biggie for me because I'd have MUCH rather had the plot of 'buffy removes spikes chip and trusts that he's become a better person and doesn't need it anymore' than 'spike has a soul now so he's chill'. Also I think it would have made his plot with the first and potential killing waaaaay more engaging if they hadn't been able to write it off with 'but he has a SOUL now'.

(I think a really interesting plot would have been everyone THINKS spike has a soul even spike but it turns out he DOESNT and what the fuck does THAT mean?)

[sombra7567]

*reaches part 3 in the Shadow Break saga* *gets to plot twist with V’s trap for Atrocity* *pauses video* *does lap around the room* *screams into the void* *continues*

1 hour later:

*finishes video*

*hears the whispers echoing V's words at the end*

I CAN'T DO THIS RIGHT NOW THE LORE IS GETTING TOO MUCH FOR ME AND I CAN'T HANDLE THIS IT'S TOO FREAKING MUCH-

I honestly don't know what to do with myself, I feel like I've drank 5 cups of coffee, I'm all jittery and I can't think straight-

The fight between V and Atrocity, geezzzzzzzzz I could see it all playing out in my head. And then everyone going after Atrocity and getting trounced. It kind of gave me the same feeling I have when watching The Battle of the Five Armies (the extended version from the Hobbit).

The math equation threw me for a freaking loop in the last audio, I can't believe that's how V let all his allies know about the plan.

Speaking about the plan, him and Cheeky- that was honestly a really, REALLY good twist, I really liked that. And yeah, definitely seems like something V would do, I'm chill with that.

I might be crazy but something did not feel right about L... glad my Pikachu queen is alive, don't get me wrong. The first time when V asked her why she didn't respond to his message and she sounded confused, I didn't think too much of it. But the second time, the second time there was a bit of hesitation. Why was there hesitation, L? Also, just a sidenote, what's Void Wraith been up to? Just curious.

Goodbourne can go kick rocks. Brias is all right.

Wilder. Just. Wilder. That's all, make of that what you will.

The whisperssssssss, the whispers the whispers at the end- is the strength of V's new form to much for his mind to handle? Is that why Dark also heard those voices? Originally I thought Dark was just repeating to himself what people like Damian might have said to him over the years... WHICH BRINGS UP ANOTHER POINT HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA *pained inhale* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

So EVERYONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE not really everyone but a lot of people in this section have been talking about the Dark Magic user and his powers and him killing the Brotherhood of Heroes and the Light Magic user also dying and- come on man, I freaking love Dark and you're telling me that he's gonna kill Blade????

I think that's it- minus the fact that there were multiple times during the audio that I was pacing around the house, standing stock still, muttering angrily to myself, gasping, etc. etc. etc.

I'm not okay-

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ War Chapter 3

Trigger warnings: none

Lucas sat at his desk in werewolf lore class, staring blankly at the textbook in front of him. The words on the page swam before his eyes, blurring into meaningless shapes. His mind was elsewhere. Trapped in the dream that had haunted him all weekend.The cold. The dark. The voice.“Please help bury my body so I can move on.”

He had woken up sweating and trembling, the vivid memory of Hongjoong’s voice etched into his mind. No dream had ever felt so real. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Hongjoong’s face, his bloodied tears, and hear his plea. “Lucas." The sharp voice of his teacher, and father, Minho, snapped him out of his thoughts. Lucas blinked, realizing the entire class was staring at him. “I asked you a question,” Father Minho said, his piercing gaze cutting through the room. “What year did Hongjoong’s reign as an alpha end?” Lucas hesitated. The answer was somewhere in his textbook, but his mind was blank. He hadn’t been paying attention. “I don’t know,” Lucas mumbled. Minho’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know? Lucas Bahng, the son of Christopher Bahng, doesn’t know the most basic piece of werewolf history?”

A few snickers rippled through the classroom, but Moon, sitting two seats away, shot them a glare. The laughter died instantly. “I’ll give you a hint,” Minho said, crossing his arms. “It was the same year he was executed for meddling with dark magic and murdering omegas.” Lucas felt a chill run down his spine. He stared at his teacher, the words hanging in the air like a threat. “1983,” Moon said quickly, breaking the tension. “That’s when Hongjoong was executed.” Minho nodded. “Correct. Maybe your brother should be teaching this class, Lucas.” The snickers returned, louder this time. Lucas clenched his fists under the desk, his jaw tightening. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. As Minho continued the lecture, Moon leaned over, whispering, “What’s wrong with you today?”Lucas didn’t answer. He couldn’t explain it. Not here, not now.

The rest of the day dragged on. Lucas struggled through history, barely paid attention in alpha training, and outright skipped sports, much to his father's disappointment. He couldn’t focus. The dream kept replaying in his mind, pulling him further into confusion. At lunch, Moon cornered him in the courtyard. “Alright, spill,” Moon said, his arms crossed. “You’ve been weird all day. Did something happen?” Lucas hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “It’s… nothing,” he said, though his voice wavered. “Just a dream.” Moon’s expression softened, but his tone remained firm. “Was it about the house?” Lucas stiffened. He hadn’t told Moon about the dream, but his brother had always been able to read him too well. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Lucas muttered, brushing past him. “Lucas—” “I said I’m fine!” Lucas snapped, louder than he intended. Several students turned to look, and Moon frowned, stepping back. “Fine,” Moon said quietly. “But you’re not."

After school, Lucas was restless. The dream had consumed his thoughts all day, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something. Something he couldn’t ignore. By the time Moon caught up with him after class, Lucas had already made up his mind. “We’re going back,” Lucas said as they walked home. Moon stopped in his tracks. “Back where?” Lucas gave him a pointed look. “You can’t be serious,” Moon said, his voice dropping. “After everything we saw? After that dream?” “Exactly,” Lucas said. “I need to know if it’s real. The house, the fog, Hongjoong—what if it wasn’t just a dream?” Moon groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Do you even hear yourself? It’s dangerous, Lucas. You don’t mess with that kind of stuff.” “Then don’t come,” Lucas said, already turning toward the woods. Moon cursed under his breath but followed anyway. “If we get killed, I’m blaming you.”

The woods were quieter than usual as the brothers made their way to the clearing. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor. Lucas’ heart pounded with each step, anticipation and dread mingling in his chest. When they reached the clearing, Lucas froze.The fog was gone. The dark aura that had surrounded the house was nowhere to be seen. The barrier, the shadows, the ominous hum, it had all vanished. “What the…” Lucas trailed off, stepping closer.

The house looked ordinary now, though it was still old and crumbling. The windows were broken, the roof sagged, and vines covered the walls. It was just a house abandoned and forgotten. “See?” Moon said, his voice shaking slightly. “maybe the fog was bad the other day. It was cold.”

Lucas didn’t answer. His feet carried him forward, up the creaking steps to the front door. He pushed it open, the rusted hinges groaning in protest. The inside was dark and smelled of damp wood and decay. Dust motes floated in the air, illuminated by the fading light streaming through the broken windows. Lucas stepped inside, his breath catching. The dream came rushing back. The creaking floorboards, the smell of rot, the faint voice calling his name. “Lucas,” Moon whispered from behind him. “We shouldn’t be here.” “Just a minute,” Lucas said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He walked through the house, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The furniture was covered in dust and cobwebs, and the air was heavy with stillness. It was hard to believe this was the same place he had seen in his dream. The place that had felt so alive with darkness. “Do you see anything?” Moon asked, his voice tense. “No,” Lucas admitted. But as he turned to leave, his eyes caught something. A faint scratch mark on the wall, barely visible in the dim light. He stepped closer, running his fingers over the grooves. They were deep and jagged, like claw marks. “Lucas, let’s go,” Moon said, tugging at his arm. Lucas hesitated, but the look on Moon’s face made him stop. His brother was pale, his eyes darting nervously around the room. “Alright,” Lucas said finally. “Let’s go.” As they left the house and stepped back into the woods, Lucas couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

That night, as Lucas lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the dream returned. “Please believe me,” Hongjoong’s voice echoed in his mind. “Help me move on.” Lucas clenched his fists, his chest tightening. He didn’t know what was happening, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t over.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@silentreadersthings @ihrtlix @galaxy4489 @catlove83 @linocz @eastjonowhere @hyunmikim @hpnsfwaddict

[rainbowchaox]

Pissa Reunion Masterpost: (Literally there’s so much content we got this is gonna be hella long pls help me)

FIRST OFF YA DONTCHA SEE WHY THE PISSA NATION IS LOCO OVER THIS DUO? WE HAVE BEEN STARVING. PHILZA ALWAYS BEEN LOYAL TO ONE WET CAT! And that is Missa. And secondly I got most of the earlier half of stream information from the lovely @pepper-mintzyy. Give your liveblogger some love and care.

First off the scene where Missa comes online and Phil is all “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!?!” And Cellbit immediately saying “Oh this your husband?” And Phil immediately saying yes without the platonic. THEN THEY PROCEED TO HAVE A FULL BLOWN BOAT DATE with legit felps being such a third wheel he legit says “Continue on forget I’m here”. Also the fact Cellbit pointed out “OH that’s why you have a skull on your backpack it’s because of your husband” and Phil immediately agreeing and Missa whimpering.

They literally like lowkey forgot they were on a mission and immediately was smitten with each other they high-key forgot the mission and people around them. The fact our wet cat almost dead rushed in to save Mr hardcore himself. The amount of times Phil has to save his husband. The fact Missa bought gifts for Philza IRL.

The fact when catching up Phil was all like “Oh we have another egg” not even thinking twice about accepting his husband as Tallulah second adopted father. The fact Missa was like “You are such a good father” in the down bad voice he is always in.

Literal highkey their cubitos flirting saying smooth shit like “Like the good old days" "nothings changed” and "the one thing that made you stand out". Like full on giggling and laughing and just chilling in each other company. The amount of time they were distracted by the actual major lore by each other just being there after so long is insane. Honestly believe not for others present they would not have reached the objective.

Phil being so sweetly protective of Missa and always making sure he is right next to him. Also the amount of soft showing off he did towards Missa is insane. The fact Phil numero uno priority is Missa and chayanne always. That has never changed despite Missas absence. The fact Missa never left his simpage for Philza and immediately seeing Phil be awesome and is “I c-can see your PECS”. Like bruh he is so down bad.

The fact Philza immediately seeing his husband getting wrecked by mobs decided then and there to give him SO MUCH GEAR LATER. Philza lanuage of love Definitely is Gift Gifting and Acts of service. The fact during Philza introduction to the new players Missa kept saying stuff like “That’s my love! that’s my love!”.

Missa soon had to leave to be a part of a Minecraft event of sorts. But right after he got back online because he wanted to se his husband and son. (Sadly chayanne already went to bed). The amount of miscommunication the death duo went through (With mainly bad being a third wheel and trying to cause problems in their relationship). Landduo was legit preventing poor Missa to go and see his man.

Missa literally only escaped because dapper told him just ask and he will kill LOLOLOL. He went home and forever and him had a whole conversation and apology. That they are friends now. Missa saying stuff Philza is not someone to be won etc. and Philza literally ditched tubbo and Cellbit was like “Your husband needs help? Understandable” and yet again no corrections from Phil.

THEN THE MOST SOFTEST ROMANTIC LATE STREAM STUFF I HAVE EVER SEE HAPPENS. They met again and literally it’s like nothing has changed. Phil immediately showing off the baby skeletons because he knows Missa will enjoy the skeletons. Phil FINALLY giving Missa the slime armor he made for him ages ago.

I won’t lie watching it live gives off major date vibes (obviously about their cubitos in rp). Phil and Missa legit did that trope of someone good at archery teaching their love interest at the exp farm. They legit shared exp as well. The fact they keep giggling so much.

Philza seeing how bad the gear Missa has literally have him 20 upgrades including giving him a full bar of exp on his backpack. Again gift giving and acts of service is clearly Philza love lanuage. LITERALLY MISSA STARED AT THE SKULL AMD NODDED QUICKLY TO HIS CHAT. The amount of avocado toast Phil keeps throwing at Missa and putting in his backpack. Gotta know his husband is eating well I guess. Philza casually saying that the “Wall is ours” to Missa.

The fact Missa immediately wanted to have a hat like Philza on his backpack then a player head of his to match his beloved husband. Earlier he tricked the translator and said “I speak weird so the translator won’t pick it up- I love you”. Casually like that sentence didn’t break all the pissa enjoyers brain for 24 hours.

Dapper casually saying “Glad to see the love birds are on the mend” about them. Literally one of us. Iconic king. THE FACT Philza while talking about Tallulah said she was “Our Daughter” to Missa. Bad trying to cause drama meeting the brick wall of Missa adoration. Aka him screaming “Philza the best!!!!”. The fact they both tried to go offline the same but Missa felt bad and had to said bye to everyone. The fact Missa went offline right next to the house.

WE WERE FEED. PISSA NATION STAYS WINNING! And we are gonna continue to get food. As Missa promised to try to stream four times a week. So maybe maybe….second gay Qsmp wedding-

[churrobird]

ros kinda being a huge hypocrite right now

like. she killed lukey for lore. that action has consequences in lore. she says she had a good reason but from lukeys pov she DIDNT. all lukey got told was that apparently she thinks hes from the null, which btw he didnt even know what that was at that point, and then she kills him. of COURSE lukey would remember that. and hes not even holding that much of a grudge! compared to krow, hes literally so chill about it. hes just RIGHTFULLY wary of ros because SHE KILLED HIM FOR, AGAIN, FROM HIS POV, NO GOOD REASON.

like. picking fights with owen is reasonable. hes been SO antagonistic to her all the time. picking fights with krow is less reasonable because dude.... its been two months. sure the whole trap thing hurt emotionally but krow was RIGHT. what does it matter at this point??? and krow did what it did because it had to kill someone to keep living.

continually picking fights with lukey is literally idiotic at this point. he literally did nothing to ros except that she apparently heard his voice in the null. she doesnt even know WHY she heard his voice. hes done literally nothing antagonistic back towards her despite having full reason to. ros you CANT get upset when the guy you murdered on his first day keeps bringing up the fact you murdered him on his first day.

(also. "no one goes after bad for killing the king" are we forgetting the full on mini-war that yellow and green had after foolish reset. like. YES THEY DO.)

like. if cc!ros intended for her character to be a hypocrite when it comes to her grudges as part of her character arc, then that's entirely fine!! but you CANT get upset when people rightfully call your character out on her hypocrisy when SHES BEING A HYPOCRITE

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

king of day Sun and lord of nights Moon, bonding with Cursed-AU Y/N,,,,,, bc they are simps in every au i make sorry i dont make the rules (BONUS: AU LORE/INFO BELOW, ALONG WITH ANOTHER [story-relevant] DOODLE!)

Some lore about the curse au, copy and pasted from the discord bc im lazy and im very very sorrys fjfkhdskjh:

Okay so. Casting magic takes energy, bc this is an angsty au

The bigger-more complex-more powerful the spell is, the more energy it takes. The most powerful spells can take as much energy as in multiple human lives. There’s legends of spells cast during wars or battles that fell entire armies at once purely just by being cast

NORMALLY, when casting a spell, the magic comes from the world/plant life/living things around the caster

A curse is a kind of Forbidden Magic that can span generations. If one casts a curse that the cursed one will never quench their thirst, or they will never have enough sleep (simple curses for example), the curse could be passed down to their children, sometimes for multiple generations

A curse is ALSO a kind of spell that goes out of its way to deliberately alter the future and continues to- it’s basically a spell that’s constantly working when most spells are more like they last for a few seconds or maybe a minute or two then they’re done and the magic is used up and gone

So if you’re cursed to never feel warmth, there’s magic around you or in you that is constantly sapping the warmth from you or putting chills into you. You can’t see it, but it’s always there, even if just in small amounts

So when a curse is cast, it takes a lot of energy. Like, multiple human lives’ worth

There are ways to circumvent the possibility of killing the people around you (or yourself), like having some animals recently sacrificed, which is the most commonly heard of version

But. Sometimes, very rarely. One might cast a curse on a whim, without planning on it or really considering the series of events leading up to it or following

Cursed AU Reader did that once. Cursed someone in a fit of rage or passion

They were standing in a field, ready for a harvest festival, at the time

The fields withered and died and it’ll take years for them to get back to being fit enough to grow anything in

The mark of a cursed witch, which is a sign from Wiccan culture meant for containing(?), basically keeps the Marked Person from taking any magic from the world around them

The only energy they can use is the energy their physical body contains- and if they use too much or too frequently, they’ll kill themselves in the process

Basically it’s a way of making sure the caster can never use enough magic to really do much of anything sjdgdhdhd

and,,,,, the concept art for a moment i might write abt at some point,,

[lucytsukii]

Luck – The Angel of the Woods

[English is not my native language, there may be errors in the writing, I hope you like it!]

A character I adapted for Milkshake Mansion!

Mansion belongs to @boiling-potato

I will write about his personality and facts about him in another post (If you like it obviously, I'm very insecure ;w;) because this one got too long (sorry >w<")

Extensive lore warning!!

Story:

Luck was a cheerful and lively warrior angel, even playful, when one day, he was appointed as the guardian angel of a lively and troublesome young lady. He always followed her everywhere without a day off, always protecting her from evil spirits or specters.

One of those days, while killing a spirit, he ended up revealing himself to the little girl to protect her. From then on, she always called him or tried dangerous things just to see him again.

To prevent her from getting hurt, he started talking to her. Over the years, she grew up and the two became friends. However, the girl fell in love with the smiling angel. The angel discovered the girl's feelings, but saw her as a child, finally rejecting her with an awkward smile.

"A mortal cannot be with an angel, because he is immortal."

This was a phrase that left its mark on the girl. As the days passed, the angel noticed the girl's subtle change. She was planning something, but he didn't understand which way she was going, and she always avoided the subject.

This continued for a few months, but Luck noticed something strange: the number of evil beings around her increased, and even stronger. He didn't understand why, becoming even more distracted and distant from her because he was busy defeating these beings.

Until, on a cold night, the girl who was walking down the street headed out of the city, towards the woods.

Luck, not understanding the reason, tried to question her, but was distracted by another spirit that appeared. While fighting, he suddenly felt a chill. When he observed the girl, she was facing a being with a frightening aura, a demon.

The warrior angel was already prepared for combat, determined and confident of his strength, but something stopped him. The girl seemed excited when she looked at that being. She turned around with a look that made the poor angel shiver with fear, with a happy and calm expression. Finally, she said:

"That way, I can be immortal like you! And we will be together."

The angel widened his eyes, looking at the situation in slow motion. He realized what was happening. All these months, she had been looking for a way to achieve this goal of being together, and this demon used his influence to take her to where they were, to give her the hope she so desired, while distracting Luck with spirits so he wouldn't notice.

The girl, in front of that being, smiled as she went to proclaim her request, however, something surprised both the girl and the demon, in front of them Luck with halos stained red, was holding the heart of the girl he had just stolen, the girl, unable to process, fell unconscious seeing tears streaming down Luck's face as her last glimpse.

After a while, Luck would be staggering through the woods, injured from a long battle, but something else, he would be in a smaller form than usual, in his chest, a huge empty hole. As he tried to stay awake, he caught a glimpse of a huge mansion in the distance, decorated by moonlight.

-

With the light of dawn, the young girl wakes up, sitting in the middle of the street of her city, looking straight down a tiled path that leads to the woods, where she feels a vast feeling of loneliness...

Tag: @justafriendlystranger @boiling-potato @edgywithaheart

[emelinstriker]

{Eternal Servants AU} Nezha ♡ Loyalty

Art drawn by me + the AU itself is mine.

This will just show y'all ESAU!Nezha's character as well as a bit of info on how the servants think/feel about things. The artwork isn't referencing any scene from this one-shot btw.

CW: Descriptions of death and gore

[TL;DR] Ehe, ESAU lore hints wink wink-

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"That was all her fault for acting so disrespectful! And towards Master's name, no less!"

"I can't argue with that logic. But did you really have to punch her skull in before the torture even started?"

"Well, of course! Her presence was no longer welcomed the moment she called Master insulting names."

Macaque and Nezha were chilling in the torture chamber. The simian was sitting on a table with bloody tools while the celestial was cleaning up some of those tools with a towel. A deceased woman was strapped to the table in the middle of the room. Her skull was smashed, showing how mangled the remains of her brain looked as her head lied in a pool of her own blood.

Macaque sighed, "You can't just eliminate someone before we even tortured them, though. Even if they disrespected our Master while trapped here-" "That's just it! Our Master should always be respected and worshipped! They deserve nothing less than pure adoration!" Nezha cut him off, clearly angered. The dark-furred monkey raised an eyebrow at him, his tail flicking behind him at the surprise of Nezha talking back to him.

"Nezha, I get where you're coming from, I really do. I want our Master to always be respected and worshipped as well." Macaque started as he crossed his arms. "However, see it this way: Would you rather kill those who treated our lovely Master poorly, basically sparing them from pain, or would you rather let them serve their sentence by prolonging their suffering?"

The pink champion froze for a moment as he thought about the other champion's words... The simian was right. It would be a lot more satisfying watching the unworthy suffer by his hands than just simply killing them in one blow.

Nezha groaned as he quietly cussed to himself. Macaque had no problem catching him cussing and chuckled, his tail swaying for a moment in dark delight.

"Well, shit! Guess this is just a wasted kill after all!" The celestial exclaimed. He then heard the other servant 'tut' at him. Annoyed, Nezha turned towards the monkey, glaring.

"I wouldn't say it's fully wasted... This," the simian started as he hopped off the table and moved towards the table with the woman's corpse, gesturing towards her as he continues, "is still our dinner." If Nezha's pupils were visible, his eye roll would've been very much noticeable. He then followed the purple champion over to the table.

Macaque grabbed one of the knives on the way and chuckled darkly. He used it to smoothly cut into the woman's thigh, slicing a big chunk of flesh like a cake. More of the bit of blood she still had inside her body spilled out of the body's new wound and onto the table, the knife, and Macaque's hand. The simian then grinned and held said piece of meat out towards the pink champion. "Well? Go ahead, dig in. It's still fresh."

The pink champion, already used to it at this point, simply took the raw piece of meat and looked at it with a slight bit of disgust. He may have eaten a few remains raw before to prove his worth and loyal devotion to the other champions, but he still didn't exactly like the consistency of the meat. "Thanks... But I think I'll wait till it's cooked..."

The dark-furred monkey shrugged. "Suit yourself then," he said before he shoved the meat into his mouth, loudly chewing on his bloody meal as he already started cutting another piece of the woman's corpse. All while Nezha watched in silence. This little ritual the champions had of eating the remains of the tortured ones always reminded him of how he became his Master's servant himself.

It reminded him of that one demon village that was eradicated off the face of the earth. The huge pile of corpses Macaque made with the bodies of those villagers that disrespected and hurt their Master... And Nezha was the one tasked to set the pile ablaze. Back in that moment, he truly felt awful for taking the torch. But it didn't take long for him to actually enjoy the sight as his vision darkened. Especially once he saw his beloved Master in person again, this time becoming your pink champion. Your touch just felt so addicting to him, as if it was all he needed to forget all the bad he did. Your touch, your love and affection, was all he had ever craved...

No longer was there any guilt or regret. His Master was all that mattered to him. He felt pure happiness he had never felt in all his years of serving the Jade Emperor and the Celestial Realm...

Not that he remembered much about his so-called "past life" anyway.

Ever since he's become one of his Master's eternal servants, he practically forgot all about what his life was like before. He had very limited memories, of which only some were family-related, from when he was just born.

Suddenly, Macaque froze mid-bite. His ear twitched a little before he smiled brightly, joyfully devouring the meat and swallowing it quickly, placing the knife on the table. "Master is calling for me!"

And in a blink, the simian disappeared through a shadow portal that opened up right beneath him. Nezha sighed as he glanced at the corpse of the woman, placing the piece of meat from his hand onto her body. He probably would need to carry her remains to the fridge. After all, he didn't know when the others wanted to eat. He knew Wukong was busy with the palace's guards, Macaque was now gone to answer to their Master's call, and Nezha himself didn't know what to even do. He didn't have any tasks besides torturing that woman, and that already ended extremely prematurely due to his outburst.

"Ugh, fuck! I knew I shouldn't have killed her yet!" He grumbled angrily as he took the knife Macaque used to cut her, and proceeded to stab the corpse's neck in rage. He grumbled out more curses as he twisted the knife around the woman's neck in annoyance. A few minutes passed before he heard a shadow portal open up again. He turned towards it, out came the purple champion again. The simian was about to say something, but then paused and pursed his lips at the sight of Nezha moving the knife inside the woman's neck.

"...You're not supposed to play with your food, pinky. Didn't your friends up in the Celestial Realm ever teach you that?" Macaque teased with a smirk.

The pink champion scoffed in response, pulling out the knife from the woman's neck before slamming it back down, but this time into her eye. Due to his sheer strength, he easily smashed it through part of her skull as well, seemingly ignoring her destroyed eye on the way as her body seemed to weep more blood. "I'm aware of the saying. But what else am I supposed to do? I'm bored!"

Macaque huffed, grinning as he approached the celestial with crossed arms. His tail swayed gently behind him. "If you're bored, then you're in luck! I have a task for you. A very important one..."

Now, due to Macaque having to leave for a mission, Nezha was suddenly happy again. Not necessarily because of the simian being gone, but because of how the celestial was tasked to watch over their Master. Alone. The other champions were busy after all, so their beloved Master needed someone to fill the bodyguard slot for a while. Master's security ink wasn't enough for the monkey brothers. So, Nezha was tasked to be your bodyguard for the time being. And he was ecstatic everytime he was tasked to stay around you. Sure, being bodyguards is like the usual job the champions had signed up for, but Nezha had you for himself in his moment. No other champion could take your attention.

He was standing next to your throne as he stared at you with a soft, loving gaze. You could practically see little hearts floating around his head as his focus stayed solely on you. You looked at him as you hummed in thought. While you didn't mind staying on your throne, you also didn't expect any meeting today. Perhaps you could do something else. You haven't had any alone time with Nezha in a while anyway. And having him stare at you like that for the next few hours wasn't exactly the most entertaining thing. "Sooo... Do you wanna walk around the palace?" You suggested.

Your pink champion seemed to have been caught off guard as he sheepishly nodded. "That would be a wonderful idea, Master. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe the entire time!" He added proudly. You couldn't help but chuckle at his eagerness as you stood up and gently took his hand into yours. Your touch made him smile brightly beneath his mask as he stayed close to you, all while you lead him out of the throne room and down the hall, enjoying your conversation with him. Occasionally, there were a few servants on the way, who all bowed to greet you, but the halls were generally pretty quiet today.

However, that was only until you walked through the activity wing.

There was a sudden bang that startled you and your champion. Nezha quickly recovered from his startled confusion as he took up a more defensive and protective stance, summoning his fire-tipped spear to his side as he shielded you with his body. The loud bang came from down the hall in front of you. When the doors to the library swung open, they swung so strongly that they slammed against the wall, nearly ripping them off their hinges. And out into the hall came a furry beast with six legs. It growled as it moved menacingly out of the library. Then it turned a bit towards you and Nezha... Its four eyes seemed to focus on the celestial in front of you, sensing his energy specifically.

You knew this beast... It was the beast from a book you once read. It was known to be a form of Celestial Hunter. Not much was known about them, other than that they would lure divine entities by copying the voices or looks of someone they love and trust. They would then either  bite and infect, or straight up feast on the victim. However, this beast was seen as just simple fiction... How was is real? Where did it come from?

The beast then tried to appear more friendly as it tilted its head at Nezha. Since the celestial already saw its real form, it probably would be unable to get away with a disguise. However, it seemed to have a plan B...

"Nezha? Is that you?" The beast asked in a female voice you didn't recognize. But Nezha did... It was his mother's voice. He gripped his spear tightly, his eyes widening just slightly.

"...Mother?"

The beast doesn't move as it stares at Nezha, lowering its head a bit to try lower his guard. It was trying to get him into a false sense of security.

"Yes, it's me... My son, what happened to you? You don't look so well... We have to leave and get you out of here. This place isn't safe. Come with me, Nezha... Please, come with me... There is so much darkness here... It's so dark here..." As much as it seemed tempting to follow these voice's instructions, Nezha also was fairly aware of the ominous looking creature the voice was coming from. This wasn't any simple demon. Yet, he couldn't help but shake just slightly at the voice of his mother...

That's when he felt you lightly squeeze his hand with yours, bringing him back to the current situation. He glanced behind him to look at you and saw your worried, helpless expression...

He knew he would be a fool if he ever let that... that thing lure him away from his Master...

The temptation to be lured closer to the beast was now gone as quickly as it came, simply replaced by thoughts of his beloved Master. Nezha glared daggers at the beast. He was stronger than whatever it would throw at him. He knew it. And so did you... And he refused to disappoint his beloved, his true Master.

Your pink champion refused to be manipulated so easily.

Not when he had a job to do.

Not when this job involved serving you.

He was one of your champions for a good reason, after all.

The beast seemed to notice the way the celestial seemed more in focus again, and it quickly realized that he couldn't be tricked like its previous victims. So, it dropped its friendly act and let out a loud, hungry screech before it sprinted in his direction. Nezha, with his extreme speed, let go of your hand and swiftly attacked it with his fire-tipped spear, using his now lit up wheels for an extra boost as he stabbed the beast. He grunted in rage as the beast tries to attack him now with the close range. However, he dodged most of its bites and swipes with ease, using his strength to try bend one of its legs and break it. Only to then realize that it didn't have bones...

Nezha seemingly narrowed his void black eyes at the beast as he let out a low growl behind his mask... If he couldn't make it suffer with broken bones, surely tearing it apart limb by limb would work...

Thus, he held tightly onto his spear, making its flame light up more inside the darkened beast. The fire seemed to be its weakness as it began to let out a painful, or rather, seemingly scared screech. However, it was clear to him that it would not go down without a fight as it continued to claw at him. Yet everytime it would claw at him, he held his cold, angered gaze as he started to rip out the leg that it would use to attack. Despite it having no bone structure, it did seem to at least have some form of nerves. The darkened beast seemingly screeched in agony as Nezha managed to rip off one of its limbs.

The beast attempted to get away from Nezha, but he held his tight grip on his spear, refusing to let that thing go unpunished for what it tried to do... How dare it try lure him away from you, his Master...

Upon noticing the beast's attempt to flee, Nezha let out a maddening laugh as he twisted and turned his spear. The fiery tip moved from one side to the other as he enjoyed the beast writhe in pain beneath him. The celestial then slammed his flaming wheels into the beast's chest, letting its fire damage the beast as well. As he noticed a now giant, gaping hole that went through the beast's entire body, he notice how everything inside it was nothing but mass of what its outside was made out of. But it did hold some veins that glowed a very faint red, which were as red as its blood red eyes.

He scoffed as he slammed the beast onto its side, watching it lose its strength. "Ah, got it. You're one of the Oracle's friends, aren'tcha? Well, at least part of whatever the hell he is..." Nezha slammed his fire-tipped spear down into the beast's neck as he let out another painful wail in agony. The pink champion chuckled darkly as his fire spread inside the beast's body. He could practically see his flames glowing past its darkened shell of a body.

"But whether friend or foe, you just attempted a crime so outrageous, it must be punished by nothing less than death..."

Finally, he pulled his spear out of its neck and slammed it into one of the beast's eyes, stabbing it straight through its "skull" with a mocking grin underneath his mask. Just like how he stabbed that woman's corpse earlier... Soon, the beast fully collapsed and stopped moving as the fire inside its body finally seemed to spread to the outside. Nezha made sure it's dead with some extra stabs before he huffed in annoyance. "...Weak. That wasn't even half a challenge."

As he got off the beast's corpse with his spear in hand, the beast's remains suddenly turned into a black, still somewhat burning puddle on the floor. Then it hardened once more, stopping the fire, before finally turning into some form of black dust that easily spread all over the ground with minimal wind around.

Nezha scoffed at the sight before he moved back over to your somewhat shaken form. Though, you looked more intrigued by what just happened. "Master, are you alright? It didn't hurt you, did it?" He asked with sudden concern as he inspected you for any wounds, cupping your cheeks.

"I'm fine, Lotus Dork", you said a bit muffled as he had his hand on your cheeks, squishing them just slightly, looking at you. He sighed in relief as he blushed a bit at that nickname, letting go of your cheeks. But then he noticed you frown at the sight of his own wounds. There wasn't many or even deep wounds, but he did get a few puncture or claw wounds on his skin. On closer inspection, you could see some black inside his wounds. Probably tiny bits from the beast's body.

"Don't worry, Master! It'll heal itself!" He quickly said. You hummed for a moment before taking his hand and practically dragging him down in the direction you came from earlier. He blinked in surprise as he blushed in embarrassment. It probably looked funny to passing servants, just seeing how easily you dragged your pink champion around, when he could just stop moving. But you were his beloved Master, the one in charge of him and his body. Whatever you wanted to do with him was law. But he was still curious. "Master- Where are we going?"

"To the med bay, duh." You said as you pouted at him, still dragging him along like a dog on a leash going to the vet. "I want to have your wound at least disinfected before anything happens."

Nezha chuckled under his breath, which was even more muffled due to his mask. "As if that could happen twice..."

After you forced him to have his wounds cleaned and bandaged, you asked him to take off his mask for a moment. As he did what you requested, you kissed his cheek, right where his old wound was. He blushed as he felt you reward him for taking action and staying by your side.

There was nothing he wanted more than you.

[ Masterlist ]

[classicanalyzer]

Skeleton Crew - Can’t Say I Remember No At Attin Thoughts

"Perhaps someday, when I am leader of the Triok, I will remember your ways. I see now. You weakness...it makes you kind. And my world could use some kindness." Hayna

This was a pretty noice follow-up to the last episode. It was a lot more focused on the character interactions as home seems to be ever far away.

Those satellites at the opening look very much like the ones used for Operation Cinder. Given some of the Imperial-looking uniforms (especially the Imperial Army Trooper helmets) in the episode and the destruction of the world, I wouldn't be surprised if that's the case. But Jesus, if their world was destroyed by Operation Cinder, that's one hell of a dark backstory for At Achrann. Especially given how Jod even said,

"This is At Attin? It tastes like ashy dust. Looks a lot like my home planet, actually." Jod Na Nawood

It has to be Operation Cinder unless the satellites are part of a similar barrier system (or the world could've been hidden by different methods). I also wonder how bad Jod's world must've been for him to make that comparison. I can't wait for that Episode 7 Jod lore.

Jod's "kill me" look and line delivery just killed me. He's so sick of this BS now lmao. I honestly thought he and SM-33 kicked all their asses but it just turned out he just gave them Old Republic credits haha.

Also very interesting that the Hattan army seems to have a CIS tank as well alongside the Imperial Army Trooper helmets. The world must've been destroyed and known to the galaxy for quite for some time by that point.

Neel is pretty brutally honest about his friends, lmao. I love seeing his kindness shine through in such a hellish, war-torn world. I also like seeing his brief friendship and relationship with Hayna, who only knew war and nothing of a possible peaceful life. Plus unlike the girl he had a crush on in Episode 1, she actually knows who he is. Given how Episode 3 focused a lot on KB and this episode on Neel, I wonder if Episode 5 will focus on Fern and Episode 6 will focus on Wim.

It's pretty sad how the Triok and Hattan are stuck in a forever war and only trading for weapons, especially given the implications of the world being a victim of Operation Cinder. The idea of child soldiers being normalized in the world is pretty disturbing much less how desertion is met with death even applied to kids. I still find it insane to see on-screen aftermath of Operation Cinder in this episode, especially on this show.

I also like how we see that for all of Fern's tough front, and she's just as scared of being truly lost forever.

SM-33 continues to be a comedic riot even when we see him being terrifying. God, when SM-33 was remembering his old Captain's orders and his voice started distorting into a nightmarish tone, that was pretty chilling. I would like it if the treasure was actually a legit stereotypical pirate's treasure.

This was a noice follow-up episode and I hope Episode 5 continues to expand on the mystery of At Attin.

"I do remember At Attin. It was in this very room. The captain killed any of his crew that saw the coordinates to At Attin. Slaughtered them, he did. Then he ordered me to destroy them and forget everything I knew about At Attin. And then he told me, if anyone ever comes around poking around, looking for the treasure... He told me to pull them apart. Pull 'em apart. Pull 'em apart. Pull 'em apart. Limb from limb. Limb from limb. Limb from limb! Limb from limb! Limb from limb! Limb from Limb." SM-33

[kyoshithewriter]

Millennium

Part 3: Wild Cherries and Pomegranates.

Warnings: mature themes (mentions of murder, smut 18+)

A/n: I don’t want to overuse this picture but it matches the vibe of the story so much lol. Test run continues maybe until chapter 5 depending on the traffic it creates. Enjoy?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Her angry voice cuts through the deafening silence that descended after his absurd words.

“I’m not sure…” he drawls the word "sure” in such a way that it makes her realize that he has a British accent. A very prominent British accent. She thinks a small part of her brain has always noticed but she just didn’t have the mental capacity to actually process and realize until that very moment. Strange.

“You look exactly like her. Same umber brown skin, very similar eyes. But your personalities are very different, I'm now learning.” It’s his turn to eye her curiously.

“Is she- was she like you?”

“No, or not that I knew of. That’s what made me curious. So I’ve been… monitoring you for months.” He turns his attention back to the tv. He must really like horse racing.

“You mean stalking me?” She shoots back at him.

“Uh, yes, I suppose. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was in either of our best interests if I had approached you but I couldn’t shake the feeling of needing to protect you, you look so much like Japheth. Walking late at night is dangerous even in a town like this.”

Aleena’s breath stutters as the memory of how he protected her flashed through her mind. She still doesn’t even know…

“It was you then? Did you… did you kill them?” She questioned nervously.

“Yes.”

Aleena is nonplussed by the nonchalance in his tone. In fact, the man hasn’t shifted his eyes away from the screen as his body locks tight in anticipation as the horses near the finish line. Does he know these races are recaps?

“Are you… okay mentally?” She can’t help the way she subconsciously starts angling her body away from him.

“Perhaps not. There was a period of five years in the 1800s that I have no recollection of and I believe I may have lost my sanity for a bit.” He scratches at his stubble with a deep frown on his face. She’s not sure if that was an attempt at a joke but he doesn’t smile even a little bit.

“But it has nothing to do with killing. It stopped weighing on me mentally after the tenth necessary one I think.” He says coolly. He looks in her direction again to find her curling away from him with terror in her eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me Aleena, I won’t hurt you. You don’t deserve it. You couldn’t outrun me anyway.”

Chills race up her spine. Not a very comforting thought, Jude.

“So you do have supernatural abilities and I’m not losing my sanity?”

“Yes I do. I’m a lot faster and stronger than the average person. Cell turnover and regeneration is almost constant in my body and even ones that aren’t supposed to, still do. So I heal faster, age slower- or paused completely, in fact. I haven’t changed since I turned 21 and it will stay that way until I’m a thousand years old. I can even regenerate limbs- I got bored 200 years ago.” He answers the obvious “how do you even know that?” in her bewildered expression nonchalantly.

She clears her throat, fidgeting on the couch wondering if she should ask the question burning at the tip of her tongue. Fuck it.

“You said those first kills were necessary, does that mean you n-needed to- needed blood?” she stutters out. She cuddles into her thick sweater decorated with smiling pumpkins, dreading his response. He said the stories of vampires are closest to describing what he really is and she’s hoping that part of their lore doesn’t apply to him.

He watches her keenly.

“Blood helps with speeding up the process of a lot of what my body can do. Like, the other night, I immediately started healing when you took the bullets out because I had…” he trails off letting her put two and two together. She does it quickly. He not only killed Gary and Albert but he… she wants to gag.

“But it’s not a necessity I think. Or maybe I haven’t gone long enough without it to know. But I have gone years without and my wounds just take longer to heal. For the first year or so it took a day or two, after that it would take longer. The last couple of months before I had blood again I had a broken arm for two weeks. When I… indulged again it immediately healed.”

“So you hunt people down and drain them dry because you don’t want to wear a cast for a few months like everyone else?!” She yells in disbelief.

“Hunt?” He throws his head back to release a bitter cackle. When he looks back at her she gasps at the nothingness in his darkened irises. Her body pumps her full of fight or flight hormones. This is it, this is the version of him that slinks away in the shadows and snatches up two grown men as if they’re nothing but sacks of wool. This is the version of him that might have ripped them apart with his bare hands and sunk his teeth into their flesh.

“I’m not the hunter, Aleena. I am the hunted.”

***************

“What? Who could possibly be hunting you?” It doesn’t make sense. He’s faster than her eyes can keep up with, all she felt that night was a strong gust of wind before the men disappeared. He snatched up two men well over 200 pounds so it’s an understatement to call him strong; on top of all that, his senses are heightened. He’s the apex of apex predators for sure unless….

“Please don’t tell me other supernatural beings exist that are more,.. badass than you…”

Jude chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes that now gradually lighten back to their softer brown.

“Badass, funny.”

She almost chuckles at how awkward it sounds coming from his mouth. Almost. She’s too on edge to care.

“Another thing I find funny, is people, no matter how many times they witness the kinds of horror they’re capable of, never assume humans are the meanest monsters in the closet. Slavery, the holocaüst, countless wars and famine all for greed and power yet…” he leaves the statement hanging and she sits awkwardly. It takes her a few seconds to realize he’s trying to regulate his emotions. It’s very subtle, but it’s clear he’s livid.

“Those bullets, I’m not sure how much experience you have with firearms and all that come with them; but those bullets, they’re not ordinary. They were made specifically for people like me. It’s why my body is unable to dislodge them on its own like it does with regular ones and I can’t heal with them inside. They weaken me too and…” he pauses, then suddenly turns his eyes to the tv again.

“I shouldn’t say anything else. They’ve tracked me everywhere but here. I left this state after killing those men the other night and they ambushed me in New York. I wouldn't want them to rope you into this mess because you know too much. I’m leaving in a few days but thought I at least owed you some peace of mind after what you witnessed.”

“What do you mean you’re leaving? Like out of the state?”

“No, the country.”

She’s not sure why her heart drops but it does. Maybe it has to do with knowing she’ll be left with many unanswered questions? Aleena wants to scream. She has always been a curious little thing. Her mom used to tell her how she had her “why?” stage from ages 2-10. She wants an answer for everything. What humans are hunting him? Why? How did they develop those weapons to ambush, track and harm him? Tell me! tell me! tell me! She wants to scream it at his face.

“My mom’s middle name is Japheth, you know?” Is what she calmly whispers instead.

Jude is in the middle of removing his trench coat but pauses to cock his head curiously.

“Do you perhaps have a picture of her?” He removes the coat and sighs in relief. She set the heating high enough to keep her exposed legs warm so she knows the temperature inside is not ideal for his thick, black coat. She’s not sure if it is for the long sleeve black satin button down he sports underneath either but he sure does look really good in it. Really good. The first two buttons are undone to show his necklace with an obsidian black pendant. It sits delicately on his smooth sternum. She wonders briefly if his borderline otherworldly appearance also has to do with… whatever it is he has.

“Uh, yea.”

Aleena reaches for her phone to locate a picture of her and her mom at graduation. She watches him study the picture, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“You look a little like her, but she’s not Japheth. Quite the coincidence though.” He says with a deeply contemplative look.

Aleena watches the way he gathers his coat in his hands and her heart leaps. He can’t leave.

“Does the sun affect you too? And how did you become… this?” She fires the questions at him in quick succession. Jude pauses to look at her then settles back onto the couch. She breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“Well, it’s just my eyes that are sensitive to the sun. If I have to go out during the day time I’ll need to wear sunglasses but that’s it. As for how I gained this ability, I can’t tell you. Myself, Christian, another like me, and Japeth while she was alive, had tried to make connections and we’ve come up with nothing yet. We only know about the millennium part because we met another who was like us until his years ran out and he started aging again. He taught us everything we know.” He explains calmly.

“So like, how did you find out that Christian and that guy were also like you? Like, did you just coincidentally become friends?”

“We can tell when others are like us, there’s this I don’t know how to really explain it but a buzzing under your skin when we see each other. Like a sixth sense. Strangely…” he trails off, looking at her dubiously; as if he’s not sure he wants to say whatever it is.

“Strangely, I- I felt something similar when I saw you. Not the exact same sensation but something. I’m not only leaving to get away from… them.” He mutters bitterly, “but I need to see Christian. I want to know if he may have some answers… about you.”

Aleena sucks in a harsh breath. What does that mean for her? She’s sure if she had been living for centuries she’d remember. He’s suddenly up on his feet and her heart drops.

“I have to get going. I need to get to Lithuania before sunrise.” He says with a furrow between his brows.

Aleena leaps to her feet, eyes wide as saucers.

“You- you can’t leave! What if… what if the police come here? You said it! I was the last person who saw them alive. And you might have an apathetic view of murder but I don’t! I’m freaking out! And what if those people, whoever they are, somehow manage to trace you back to me! You can’t…” she’s frantic, she knows. But he can’t just…

“I took care of the evidence. There are no cameras anywhere in that vicinity. There are hardly any cameras anywhere in this town actually, that’s why it’s been so easy for me here. But if something happens, just call me.”

“Should I like… whisper your name outside or?”

Jude’s expression goes from relaxed to tense in a matter of moments. Aleena recognizes that tension; that’s the look of someone trying to keep their laughter at bay. He looks down at her with so much amusement on his face that it makes her want to laugh.

“I’m afraid I can’t quite hear across continents yet, Aleena. But if you had let me finish…” he fishes into the pockets of the coat thrown over his left arm and pulls out a phone. Oh. Aleena’s face heats and she facepalms with a long groan.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know why I assumed…”

“It’s quite alright.” He mutters with a chuckle. “I don’t use it often to be fair, only for emergencies and I change them regularly. So please be careful what you say if you contact me. Everything is easily traceable in this era. Don’t even say my name if you don’t have to.”

She swallows but nods her head to show she understands. It must be exhausting living like that. Her heart aches for him.

Jude pockets the device and takes his time to scan every inch of her with his eyes. She keeps forgetting that she’s also somewhat of an enigma to him as well. She fidgets under his gaze as her skin burns under his scrutiny. There’s too much going on for her to be thinking the things that she is but when he looks the way he does and carries himself the way he does… she’s only a woman, sue her.

“It was lovely meeting you, Aleena.” His voice lowers in pitch. His baritone is richer than it was moments before. He stretches a hand in her direction.

“The pleasure was all mine, Jude.” She whispers with too much breath as she accepts his offered hand. Her skin tightens when their hands meet. His palm is a bit rougher than she expected but it’s so attractive to her for some reason. Goosebumps litter every inch of her skin. She hasn’t been this attracted to anyone in a long time. Hell, anyone ever. She’s not sure what that says about her morality but fuck morals when he looks like this. Jude looks away from her with a harsh clench to his jaw before dropping her hand and taking a step back.

“Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.” It sounds more like a demand than an offer. She doesn’t get the chance to say anything else because she blinks then he’s gone. Leaving behind only his lingering scent of some kind of musky wild cherry and the warmth of his touch still burning her palm.

“Get it together, Aleena.” She whispers to herself before flopping down on the couch again. She already misses the conversation. She has a lot more questions she wants to ask. Sure you only miss the conversation, Aleena. She ignores her thoughts as she reaches for his still, almost full glass of pomegranate juice.

“Quite fitting that you offered me pomegranate juice.”

She reaches for her phone to pull up a search engine.

“Pomegranates can be symbolic of immortality or life everlasting in some religions and cultures…”

Cheeky bastard.

It’s later that night while tidying her kitchen that Aleena notices that almost every single product she owns is pomegranate flavored.

[antivan-sprig]

🔥 A Bit More Pyromancy 🔥

Ah this one got sort of long, sorry for that! I added the slightest bit of Heloise & Lisel lore by saying they learned ballet together. You can disregard if that goes against your canon for Heloise. For Lis, Viago is the only reason she learned ballet and I thought it would be cute if they had classes together now and then. Anyway here’s some elven angst:

@a-mumbling-nerd : “Divination?" The small Antivan assassin's halla brown eyes watched the flames flicker and dance before her. She had not seen this art in practice. Just what could the fire reveal?

Taking her gaze away from Liesel and her hearth she attempted to find any object that she would not mind parting. In her pocket was a remnant of the tea leaves she used that night or well morning. It was technically morning by the time she and Coren had left their separate ways, "Will these suffice?"

With the fellow elven girl's approval, Heloise gently dropped a single tea leaf into the flames, watching it disappear within seconds.

Lisel watched Heloise as she sat down and smiled. She looked as if she were worried about messing something up, the way she scanned her eyes back and forth and over the scattered pillows Lisel had arranged.

“I appreciate you agreeing to come tonight.” Lisel said in a quiet voice, doing her best to make Heloise comfortable.

As soon as the leaves hit the flame a strong aroma of lavender wafted out of the fire; calming and distinct. Lisel hoped this meant things wouldn’t go awry, but knowing the background of most Crows, she knew the session was likely to get unpleasant.

Lisel looked at Heloise with a look of remorse, “I’m not sure you’ll like everything I’m about to say…”

She offered a slight apology before gazing into the yellow fire. “We can stop whenever you want- if need be.”

Almost immediately, Lisel felt something coming through. A slow melodic humming which began to seemingly twirl about them. The tune was somewhat familiar to Lise, but she couldn’t quite place it. The pair sat quietly, listening to the song as it modulated in pitch and volume and passed over them. Lisel glanced over to her companion, she looked somewhat surprised- a bit pallid even, but overall nonplussed.

“That was faster than I’d expected.” Lisel whispered to herself. Soon enough more words began to spill out of her mouth.

“Your goal has always been survival. But your dreams want more- happiness, hope, connection.” Lisel recited in an even voice, “Childhood dashed at six years, from then on you learned quickly the ways of the world. Stay useful or leave, kill or be killed, the weak don’t last long in Antiva.”

Purple fire began to arise from the pyre, eliciting a sudden shift from the burning logs. Little sparks bounced out of the flames as if they were trying to escape. Liselath regarded them with a questioning gaze, why were they so scared?

She shot a concerned glance towards the elf, trying to muster a look of wordless compassion. Her blue eyes met the other’s brown ones, and Lisel was relieved to see how resolute they looked.

“She’s holding up better than I am.” Lisel thought.

The flames rose higher, giving off a blistering heat; hot enough that the leather on each of their clothing began to tighten. It was almost unbearable.

A low rumbling began to beat out of the fire. So ominous that it sent a chill down each of their spines. All at once, the humming noises from before began again. This time much clearer and encompassing both of them from all sides. They sat motionless as the hums morphed into Dalish, and Lisel suddenly realized why she recognized the tune.

“A Dalish lullaby?” She asked aloud as blurry memories of Dalish mothers and their children filled her mind. Heloise gave a definitive nod- quick and concise, before shifting her eyes back to the fire.

The voice continued on, haunting and melodic:

Tel'enfenim, da'len

Irassal ma ghilas

Ma garas mir renan

Ara ma'athlan vhenas

Ara ma'athlan vhenas

As quickly as it had appeared the voice was gone. Lisel looked around, as if seeing if it was hiding somewhere but stopped abruptly. She felt as if she’d become prey to something. Lisel didn’t dare move, she was sure that doing so would only invite an attack. Something else was lurking beneath the surface; with a bit of intuition and focus she recognized it: fear. A total and instinctual fear which began in her hands and feet and clutched up to her neck.

She brought an open hand to her forehead and grimaced, it hurt like hell. She squirmed, her skin burning as the sensation of a knife cut across her face. It was like getting a Vallaslin all over again, but somehow worse given the emotions which accompanied the feeling. There was no sense of pride or accomplishment, this pain wasn’t representative of growth and maturity, instead it was one of cruelty and control. The feelings Lisel were picking up on were not ones of pride and resilience, but total primal terror.

A low crackle began to emit from the fire, growing in intensity with each passing second. For the briefest of moments a voice could be heard, gruff and commanding.

“Make her look Dalish” it instructed. And then, with an intensity which made Liselath’s heart sink, the shrill sound of a child’s scream.

Lisel clasped her hands over her ears. She felt sick. Even watching from afar felt like a revictimization of Heloise and Lisel didn’t know how to stop it. The fire burned uncontrollably in the pyre, threatening to spill over and catch the hanging fabrics and pillows which littered the ground. The smell was acrid and overcast it billowed out in thick blooms of smoke and collected above their heads.

“They’re not? They’re not Vallaslin are they?” Lisel stuttered, grabbing hold of her forehead as she felt the sensation of blood dripping down her face, “I had no idea.”

The screams continued on, growing more hoarse as the memory slipped away. Once they’d faded completely the only noise left was the familiar crackling of the fire. The smoke had dissipated and the fire resumed its typical golden color.

Lisel brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and regarded Heloise with concern. She wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure what Heloise would even want to hear at this moment. Without fully thinking, she poured out her canteen over the fire. A singular stream of smoke rose up, smelling of soft lavender.

The pause between them lasted longer, before Lisel finally sputtered “I’m surprised that I didn’t have to bring up hiding under the table!”

The comment fell flat and Lisel knew it, but at least it diverted attention away from what the two had just experienced together. This was the same girl she’d learned to dance beside, and after all these years of quiet glances and polite hellos, Liselath felt guilty that she’d never once realized the extent of her trauma. She was more like Lisel than she’d previously assumed, and she’d squandered the chance to express that.

Of course, none of this was shared. Doing so would require quite a bit of effort on both of their behalf, and Lisel didn’t want to put that on Heloise. Not right now at least. Instead Lisel offered a polite goodbye.

“Sorry about all that.” She shrugged, offering one final apology before she hurried down the stairs.