So, that writing-prompts thing about a serial killer and a writer dating...

Here it is! Largely formed by a few people on the ATOV discord server.

The fic will be dark, though I don't plan on the kill scenes being in excruciating detail or anything, there will be like, a serial killer character so if you're squeamish or looking for the fluffiest fluff ever... this isn't it for you.

Is a Hiccstrid fic. Will more than likely contain smut in future. Expect erratic updates.

-HTTYD-

"So, there's been a murder. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"

Astrid raised an eyebrow at the oversized moron in front of her.

"Excuse me? What would I know about a murder?"

Having police officers turn up at her workplace had been surreal. Even more so that they were there to talk about a murder. Astrid hoped she wasn't fired. Then she'd be forced to kill the copper in front of her for costing her a half-decent job that supported her in between books.

"Because you wrote it."

A copy of her book - only published a few months ago, and not exactly tearing up the Bestsellers lists - landed on the table in front of her. In an evidence bag. It was like... like... like a scene from a book or TV show. She couldn't help it. She laughed.

"Are you kidding me?"

"This is a serious matter Miss Hofferson."

"How, exactly? You think I killed someone because I wrote a killer in a book? Next you'll arrest Bram Stoker for vampirism. When was this supposed to have happened, exactly?"

They weren't enamoured with her attitude, Astrid could tell. If they tried anything else, she'd be pulling the 'am I under arrest' card right away, but if they gave her a time and she could disprove it, she hoped it would get them to leave her alone.

"Three nights ago, at..." he checked a folder "a quarter past midnight. Where were you at that time?"

"Tuesday... probably crying over my keyboard."

"You were what?"

"I was writing."

"Can anyone verify that?"

Astrid rolled her eyes.

"No, I live alone. But you can check with my service provider that I was online, googling how quickly somebody can bleed out from various arteries."

"Excuse me?"

"Like I said. I was writing. I'm working on my next book. Check with my service provider. I'm free to go, right?"

Reluctantly, they had to let her go since Astrid wasn't under arrest. Stepping back outside, she rolled her eyes some more, stretched after the horrid chair they gave her left her stiff, then headed back to work. Her shift was over, but Astrid thought she should check back with her boss. She'd probably find it hilarious - she'd read Astrid's book after all.

"They really thought that?"

"Apparently! Do I look like a murderer?"

Her boss looked her up and down, shrugging with a short laugh.

"Depends on the day. Don't worry about it, see you tomorrow. Try not to turn to a life of crime."

"No promises!"

Astrid left feeling relieved she wasn't in trouble with the boss, then headed home after a stop off at the shop. She was out of coffee, and writers lived on caffeine. That and wine, but she had work early the next day. Getting drunk was not her wisest thought. A lazy meal of reheated rice and chicken later, Astrid had changed into her pyjamas again and was back at her keyboard, ready to emotionally bleed on the keyboard and type until she passed out from exhaustion.

Not that she wrote anything beyond repeatedly typing and deleting "I HATE WRITERS BLOCK!" over and over again. But some nights were like that. She did look up a list of fancy knives though, and that led to a list of rare foods, followed by most popular alcohol all around the world... three hours later, Astrid's eyes burned from the screen glare and she'd gotten nothing done. Resigning herself, she downed her cold coffee and went to brush her teeth before bed.

Naturally, she got several new ideas as soon as she tried to sleep. Astrid was prepared, scribbled them in the notepad she kept next to her bed for that very purpose. A few more notes went down, handwriting a total mess as they were done when she'd not quite opened her eyes, let alone had coffee. Astrid glanced at her bed, saw the stuffed animal that slept on the side where most people would probably keep a girlfriend or boyfriend.

How did anyone think she was a killer?

Hel, Astrid only left the house for work or to go to the gym/running. And sometimes for pastries from the bakery, because she was friends with one of the girls who worked there and got discounts on her danish treats. When did she have time to go on a killing spree, really? Astrid had looked up the event in question she'd been quizzed over, and apparently they were tracking a serial killer.

For all her research in murders to write her book, Astrid hadn't been aware a serial killer was 'working' so close to where she lived. They'd been getting away with it a while, it seemed. There were several articles on the killer, dubbed 'Night Fury' by the papers as they always attacked in the dark, and usually so viciously the victims were barely recognisable. The only identifier they had was that the Night Fury always found a patch of bare skin, and left a burned brand there in the shape of a dragon. A peculiar calling card, but Astrid knew it wasn't exactly easy to put rationality on the actions of a killer.

Stop it.

Her writer brain wanted to talk to the Night Fury. They sounded fascinating from a psychological point of view. Then Astrid applied some logic, and remembered they might well kill her. She read more. The police had no leads, really. They tried to spin it, but this one was incredibly elusive, and nobody had worked out their pattern. They killed in different ways, sometimes with a knife, some choked, some beaten...

The only advice to keep safe from the Night Fury at night?

"Hide and pray they do not find you."

Which was extraordinarily unhelpful, when she thought about it. At least most of his victims were men - Astrid found one that attributed fifteen kills to him, others reckoned even more, but only four had been women. All with boyfriends or girlfriends they were suspected of abusing... perhaps the Night Fury was a vigilante type. Astrid closed the tab on her screen.

Then googled the name again.

Her mother was right. She did like serial killers too much. But Astrid was nothing if not committed, and she had books to write and a publisher deadline to meet. She was... researching. It wasn't like she was going to go out at night, hoping to run into them...

Astrid was considerably more knowledgeable on the matter when the police wanted to talk to her again. That time, they quizzed her about people she knew - Astrid now knew they were asking about the victims, trying to make connections. They failed miserably; Astrid was not social enough to know that many people, only one had gone to the same gym as her and she'd never seen him there. And she had alibis she could remember for three others.

"Then how did you get these details?"

"I wrote that book before the murder you pulled me in for before. This book is available to the general public. Maybe they got the idea from me. But I don't know. I am assuming there's a finite amount of ways to murder someone, and you're intentionally being sketchy with details in the hopes I'll slip up and say something 'only the killer would know' or whatever" Astrid made sure to add air quotes, so they understood her contempt "and honestly it's ridiculous. You know it isn't me. I'm leaving."

"Don't leave town Miss Hofferson."

"I barely even leave my desk."

She left the station with no official murder charges, which she supposed was a good thing, and headed for the bus. Since it was her day off, the police had interrupted Astrid's very busy plans of heading to the shop for food. Tugging her phone out of her pocket, Astrid scrolled through the contact list and tapped on Ruff's number. She'd find it hilarious that Astrid had been questioned for murder. Again.

"You need to be careful."

He rolled his eyes as she gestured to the newspaper, only a few lines on page five about the Night Fury this time.

"I haven't been caught yet. Have you taken your meds?"

Hiccup asked his mother, who nodded and glared but eventually let him help her stand up. He cared for her, but she was also where his stubborn nature had come from. Their house was aid-adapted for them both - downstairs bathrooms and bedrooms, grab rails, everything spaced to allow wheelchairs through since both he and his mother used them sometimes. Valka had mobility problems, Hiccup wore a prosthetic leg.

"Go lay down. I won't be gone long. Do you need anything?"

"If they have those little marshmallow things..."

"Do I ever forgot the marshmallow things? Come on mom, I know you too well."

Ensuring Valka was in her bed to get some rest, Hiccup bade her goodbye and grabbed his jacket from the rack, shrugged a backpack over his shoulders. It was light out, his mother had no reason to worry.

Hiccup was the Night Fury after all.

Making his way to the bus stop, Hiccup saw only one neighbour, but then they lived on one of those quirky roads with only a couple of houses dotted along. The house next to theirs was empty, had been for years. It seemed a waste.

He could drive, but only did that for big shopping trips. They were only out of a few things, and he had a disability bus pass so technically, the bus was cheaper than driving and since it wasn't cold out, nothing really ached too much. He got on the bus, then off at the pharmacy, picked up the prescriptions and tried to ignore the overly friendly pharmacist who wanted to set Hiccup up with their daughter.

Trust me, I'm not the sort of man you want her to bring home.

There was an electronics shop near the pharmacy, and Hiccup caught sight of the news, complete with the police yet again searching for leads and urging the public to come forward if they knew anything about the terrible, terrible murder that happened.

Why would anyone know anything? Hiccup was good at eluding witnesses.

He got on the next bus, groaning inwardly when he saw it was almost full. There were two pushchairs, so no disabled seating. Hiccup did so hate having to sit next to other people, they never had sense of personal space and they were always on phones, being loud and just generally making him twitchy. Hiccup wasn't much a fan of people. Though he supposed that wasn't a surprise, given what he'd done to quite a few by then.

Glancing around, he spotted someone looking out of the window, and on their phone. They ought to leave him alone at least. Perching on the seat, Hiccup leant back and tried to zone out the hustle and bustle around him.

"-right down to the way he was hit around the head with a pipe, apparently."

That got his attention. Hiccup glanced at the woman sat next to him, though he could only really see blonde hair and a slim, toned arm. Everything else was turned away or covered by clothes. He looked away, but listened more closely. He'd hit someone in the head with a pipe recently. That couldn't be a coincidence. The woman waited for whoever was on the other end to answer, then continued.

"Well yeah, it was a good way to kill them. Disfiguring too. And then there was the brand..."

Hiccup frowned as she continued. The details were a little too familiar... Did she know something? He never hunted in daylight, but still... this woman needed to be checked out. It wouldn't do to get sloppy now. That could have gotten him caught. Then there'd be nobody to take care of his mother.

"I gotta go, call you later."

Blonde woman was done on the phone. She turned to Hiccup, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't notice she was pretty. Big blue eyes ran over his face, soft pink lips parting to speak.

"This is my stop."

"Oh. Mine too."

It wasn't. Hiccup got up anyway, making his way down the middle of the seats with her close behind him. They both got off when the bus stopped, Hiccup surreptitously eyeing the direction she went while pretending to check something on his phone. He spared a second to wonder how people pretended to be distracted before mobile phones were commonplace.

Then he followed her. Hiccup was pretty good at not being noticed.

She walked on to a supermarket. That was handy enough, he supposed. Hiccup did his shopping while keeping an eye on her, barely remembering his mothers marshmallow treats before he managed to get behind blonde woman at the till. Maybe he could catch sight of an ID in her purse... she was buying alcohol. He was in luck. Hiccup apologised as he leant across a little too close to her to reach for a bottle of water, and managed to spot her name on the drivers license.

Hofferson, Astrid.

He paid for his things after her, name tucked away in his brain to look up later. Hiccup was good on a computer. If she was a police offers daughter or a forensic scientist in training? He'd know very soon...

She was waiting outside. For him.

"Are you following me?"

Hiccup shook his head.

"No. Shopping."

"So its coincidence that you sat next to me, got off at my stop, walked just far enough behind me that I wasn't supposed to notice and then you were behind me at the till?"

With her arms crossed, pretty mouth pulled into a frown, Hiccup was pretty sure she was rumbled.

"I wasn't following you."

"Riiiight. I'm a writer, by the way."

Hiccup frowned in confusion.

"What?"

"What you overheard. On the bus. I'm a writer. I was talking about a book I was working on."

Oh. A book.

"I suppose thats reassuring."

"Tell that to the cops. They pulled me in for questioning cus there was a murder like my story a little while ago."

Hiccup winced inwardly. That was kinda his bad, he supposed. How was he supposed to know someone had written it? He wasn't much a fan of murder mysteries. They always seemed to end in the killer getting caught, and usually for a stupid reason. Hiccup didn't make stupid mistakes.

"Should I be worried?"

Astrid Hofferson smiled. She had a pretty smile.

"Nah. I don't think you're the Night Fury's type."

Hiccup bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something stupid.

"What's the name of your book?"

"Broken. It's kinda lame, but the publisher and editor just sorta... talked over me about it. I guess it fits the focus of the killer. Still, first books are rarely perfect. You can buy it in there if you're curious."

Astrid Hofferson gestured to the shop they had just exited.

"I will."

She smiled again, then reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Hiccup was very confused when she presented it to him, 'New Contact' tab open.

"What's this for?"

"I wanna ask if you liked it."

Hiccup knew it was a bad idea - then again, wasn't murder? - but he liked the spark in her eye and the curve of her smile. So he took the phone. Typed in his number, and added a name.

"Hiccup? Really? Please tell me thats a nickname."

"It is. How did you know I wouldn't just run off with your phone?"

"I didn't. But I did know you'd never outrun me."

The challenge in her face made his stomach flutter. Hiccup smiled back, the expression feeling almost foreign on his face to anyone other than his mother.

"I better go pick up that book then."

"Catch you later Hiccup. You'll be hearing from me."

She winked, and then she left. Hiccup stared after her, wondering what the hel had just happened. Then he turned around and went to buy her book. If nothing else, he needed to see how similar their murders really were.

He headed home, book feeling like it weighed a ton in his backpack where it was wedged between teabags, milk and peanut butter. Valka was still sleeping, so he put the book on the table, packed away the shopping and made a cup of tea, opening his laptop next to his book and getting to work looking this Astrid Hofferson up. It seemed she really was just a writer from what he found. Boring job, probably to make ends meet while she worked on her writing career. Parents alive, but again with the unremarkable jobs. No relatives in law enforcement at all. Her bank statements showed a lot of payments for pastry, coffee and a gym membership, but other than that... he couldn't find much.

"Hey mom."

"Hello Hiccup. What are you doing?"

"Checking this girl isn't stalking me."

His mother gave a passing sound of assent, then did a double take.

"Excuse me?"

He showed her the book, elaborated on the strange turn of events while Valka chewed on little fluffy sweets.

"I was just about to read it, but since you're up let me take a look at your scar."

She sighed, but lifted her jumper to expose the smattering of marks across her side and back, each one Hiccup remembered seeing her get the original injury of. He'd never forget the hissing, crackling, the stench of skin burning where his stepfather amused himself by putting out lit cigarettes on his wife. Of course, Hiccup relived those moments, experienced that smell again when he went out at night. Each time felt like a catharsis, though the feeling never lasted. There were other scars too, some which troubled her and one a recent one from an operation on her back, trying to repair some of the damage done to her before. It had been tough healing, so Hiccup had to keep an eye on it.

"Looks good. You have a check up next week, remember."

"I know."

He made fresh tea for he and his mother, then a peanut butter sandwich before heading out with Valka to sit in the garden. It wasn't much of one, and it was poorly maintained but they had grass and backyard chickens, and it got the sun on their faces without having to go far. Chewing on his sandwich, Hiccup started reading.

-HTTYD-

I wonder how many people saw the first line of the top authors note and expected Astrid to be the serial killer... heheh.