#poor bean is so lost and confused

[pomellon]

I’m gonna head to bed but I was suddenly struck with thought of how Tina and Foolish end up finding Karl in the centaur au. 

I really like the idea of Karl being in the form of a bunny and they find him stuck in a trap. Tina is instantly set on saving him but the moment he’s free he bolts. Foolish isn’t too bothered because it’s just a bunny, but Tina runs after because she wanna make sure he’s okay, so Foolish gives in and helps her. But the moment he manage to corner and grab Karl the bunny turns into a fox and bites his hand before runs off again, at which point Foolish is VERY intrigued and decided he HAS to catch this odd lil creature 

[monochrome-sunsets]

my fav XB v. Mumbo case bits

"Objection!" "On what basis?" "On the objection basis!" "Sustained."

"I will object, this outfit reminds me of Angus Young and I like that." "QUIET, FORMER CONVICT OF THE COURT!"

"This maaaaaannnnn... has no dexterity. I don't even know how he made it to this court."

"I'm thinking of pulling a curveball. We're installing....... a jury."

"As co-owner of-" [LOUD YAWN] "Don't listen to him. Don't listen to him. You're doing great 😊🥰😍"

"I'm so confused, I don't understand the law."

"OBJECTION!!! He was mean :("

"Yeah, back in your jail cell. I mean your chair >:)"

"......Am I able to represent myself?"

"Maybe he's more dexteritous than we thought."

"Here in AMERICA.... Mr Beans......"

"ITS CALLED MINECRAFT WE'RE ALL MINERS YOU FOOL"

"Scar, if I was to single out Cub, do you think that would go well for me?" "........I CALL CUB TO THE STAND!!!"

[All court proceedings stop for Bdubs to do a magic trick]

"I have a bit of tinnitus, so if we could get a doctor working on that...."

"Can't prosecute success 😏"

"He literally owns a mine, so maybe mention that, Scar?" "....He has a character that mimes things??" "NO-"

"That's not how sound works!" "OBJECTION!" "I'm objecting on physics!"

"Please step forward onto the punishment carpet." [PIT OPENS]

"As I was saying... uhm... uhgggghh, what was I saying before they all died and stuff..."

"Obviously I'm super successful regardless of the noise and everyone else being poor is just a skill issue. Right, cooooollllll, I think that was it."

"Do you have your law license?" "I do not, your honor." "Okay, then what are you talking for????"

"If this case is lost from our side..... all hope is lost.... because it's lost anyways."

"Here's my verdict... and my punishment, btw......" "Ohh well. Punishment probably implies what the verdict may well be."

[LOUD GIDDY GIGGLES] "Are you celebrating???? Don't celebrate!" "Oh, no sir, I was just crying."

"Mumbo, I sentence you to be the server's butler for two weeks. In hopes that you will learn manners."

"Docm77, you will be sentenced to TWENY FOUR HOURS AGAIN!!!! IN THE SKYBLOCK"

[sunderwight]

Shen Yuan who glitches in his transmigration, but the original Shen Qingqiu still dies of a qi deviation.

So the System still needs someone with narrative relevance to throw Luo Binghe into the Abyss. In a fit of desperation, it contrives circumstances after Shen Qingqiu's death to move Luo Binghe to An Ding Peak (not that difficult), and then the System makes Shang Qinghua be Luo Binghe's new scum master who casts him down.

Airplane's thrilled, really. Cultivators aren't supposed to get ulcers but damned if he doesn't come close to one anyway. Between Shen Qingqiu and then just a while later Liu Qingge both dying from qi deviations, and Shang Qinghua looking like a stiff breeze could take him out any day now, poor Mu Qingfang is also just about at his wits' end.

But it's not all bad news! On An Ding Peak, Luo Binghe actually finds himself surrounded by the kinds of people who are accustomed to being bullied by the rest of the sect. So they're pretty sympathetic to him, and it's easier for someone with basic laboring skills to advance on that peak too. His chores don't decrease too much, but he actually gets rewarded for doing them well, and no one tries to kick him out of the dorms or anything. Shang Qinghua doesn't either go out of his way to bully or praise Luo Binghe, correctly reasoning that his best shot at not getting a gruesome death is to just be a more forgettable bad guy than an abusive dirtbag or a heart-wrenching betrayal. He doesn't sabotage Luo Binghe's cultivation (no point, and it would just farm resentment later) but he also doesn't go out of his way to help him improve (not gonna arm his inevitable maybe-probably-murderer with better weapons!), so Luo Binghe's situation sees an overall improvement but not the zero-to-hero treatment he'd have got with Shen Yuan either.

When Shang Qinghua shoves Luo Binghe into the Abyss (he just full on picks him up and tosses him like a sack of beans, better to rip it off quick like a bandage), LBH is upset, but he's not especially surprised or dismayed about Shang Qinghua's part in it. Later on he'll be kind of confused, because he just assumed that of course the righteous sect cultivator would abhor the demon, but it turns out Shang Qinghua has been working for a demon since before Luo Binghe even came to the sect? But then it still kind of makes sense because a Heavenly Demon would definitely pose a risk to Mobei Jun and to Mobei Jun's rule. Shang Qinghua, he supposes, is just really loyal to his specific demon.

Luo Binghe's subsequent revenge quest is also somewhat mitigated by the Abyss actually not being that bad.

The Abyss is not actually that bad thanks to the glitched out Shen Yuan having been camping there for several years now.

So when Shen Yuan's transmigration failed it failed because he "woke up" during the process, realized where the System intended to put him, was like no way in goddamn hell am I being that guy about it, and actually kind of won the ensuing tug-of-war. The System couldn't put him in Shen Qingqiu but Shen Yuan didn't want to go back to his dead body either, so he ended up stuck in the nearest available space for lost interdimensional beings. Which was the Endless Abyss.

Luckily Shen Yuan's quasi-transmigrated imparted an equivalent cultivation level as Shen Jiu's to him, and the glitch made him able to sense and manipulate certain extra-dimensional energies, so he manifested as this weird godlike being able to manipulate and control aspects of the Abyss. So he set about transforming Airplane's Torment Nexus into a viable ecosystem (the current version would not be anything approaching sustainable were it not for divine/narrative intervention, and is constantly on the verge of destabilizing into unlivable ruin that would only be fit for some particularly hardy microorganisms).

It's still like, a monster land full of demonic creatures and terrifying phenomenon, but with Shen Yuan's assistance it becomes something more like a demonic wildlife reserve than a dimensional horror plane. Though it is still a dimensional horror plane, and Shen Yuan is its chief dimensional horror. He treats it sort of like those dungeon building or wildlife park sims, figuring out how to keep everything in balance while still preserving all the interesting parts. A lot of the extreme survival issues of the Abyss are more of a result of it being environmentally unstable than a result of its actual denizens, and once he smooths out a lot of the messy dimensional edges and creates stable vents for the fluctuating energy run-off, the demonic inhabits start behaving less like horror movie monsters and more like animals. They're still wild and dangerous and prone to killing one another, but also more cautious, and able to access enough stable resources that they can even start to be picky about what they pursue.

Turns out that a lot of creatures in the Abyss actually don't like fighting and dying and being brutally injured on a regular basis, even if they can heal from it!

Shen Yuan has even discovered that some like chin scritches (he's not terribly worried about habituating them to people, given how rarely any people actually access the Abyss, but also because he's not really all that people-ish himself these days).

This means that one of Luo Binghe's first encounters with the horrible creatures of the Abyss, is in fact a pack of wolf-like monsters thoroughly avoiding an actual fight with him. In fact most of the denizens of the Abyss just avoid him. They can smell the Heavenly Demon energy rolling off of him, and given the current abundance of alternatives to dealing with that, virtually none of the monsters actually choose to challenge him. There are still a few that will go after anything that's bleeding, but that problem stops once Luo Binghe's physiology heals his wounds, which takes like... a couple hours, max.

Despite the stories he's heard, Luo Binghe is relieved to find that the Abyss is not quite so terrible as all that. Normal survival skills suffice for seeing him through much of it. He's able to hunt for food, scavenge for tools, and even finds potable water fairly easily. After a few weeks, he also comes across a ruin which seems to be inhabited.

The being inhabiting it is plainly a god, although he demurs and refutes such assertions whenever Binghe is too frank. He's a strange being, at turns looking like some queer approximation of a human, at other times blinking and winking in and out of existence, in patterns of strange lights and oddly geometrical fire. But he's surprisingly not hostile, letting Binghe rest in his residence, and even directing him towards points of interest. Accompanying him, too, though he seems to think that Binghe doesn't notice the odd almost spiderweb-like patterns that appear on things which he's influencing. The god calls himself The Peerless One, or at least that's what Luo Binghe infers from some writings on the ruin. The Peerless One offers instruction, seemingly without thinking about it, and gets flustered at being addressed by title, so Binghe also begins to refer to him as Shizun after a while.

[firstdivisiongirl]

Hi there! I hope you’re doing well. I saw that requests for Tokyo revengers are open. So here goes… may I request hcs on how Chifuyu & any other male character of your choosing would react if their s/o was obsessed with the game “Love & Deepspace” but more specifically, one of the characters on there (e.g., Zayne, Sylus , etc.)? That game got some people in a chokehold right now lol (totally not speaking from personal experience…😅😆)Thx so much 🥹❤️❤️❤️

Hi! I am doing well. Thank you for the ask. I actually never heard of this game. I’m not a huge gamer, mainly because I just button smash and hope for the best. But I will destroy anyone at cooking mama lol. Anyways….I hope you enjoy!

Chifuyu, Draken, and Baji with a S/O Who is Obsessed with “Love and Deepspace”

Chifuyu:

Love that you found something that you like.

At first when you got really really obsessed, he was a little confused

He didn’t understand what was so great about the game.

Until, you asked him to try it

Then he understood

It was an amazing game

It was a dating sim AND a combat game

He was in love

You both loved Zayn the most

Because you loved his story so much

Whenever you would talk about it, Chifuyu would talk about it too with the same excitement

It was really cute

He would even buy and surprise you with merch from time to time

He hoped to be your Zayn

Draken:

Draken is used to hearing people talk about stuff all the time

He is Mikey’s right hand after all

But this was out of his comfort zone

He liked video games, but dating sims…

Not his thing

He sat there and listened.

Since he didn’t know much or understand the game, he just nods and agrees

Sometimes he makes a comment but not a ton.

Eventually, you get others involved and obsessed with the Love and Deepspace just as much as you

He can never not hear about it anymore

He hates that game now

But he’d listen to rants about it all the time, just so he could spend more time with you

He also listens to others conversations about it, so he can add things when you rant about it to him

Such a good boyfriend

Baji:

The bean

So lost

When he found out you loved this game, he wanted to try it

Maybe it was cool and fun?

He got so lost

He can’t tell who is who

What’s going on?

Chifuyu teaches him about the game

But when you tell him about it, he’s still lost

Poor Baji

He does buy you a poster or merch from time to time

That he can do

He listens to you talk about it

He’s lost, but it’s the thought that counts

Please do not copy, modify, translate or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

[mightbmel]

Frankenstein and the Monster

Szayelaporro x reader smut

I learned how to spell his name properly guys !! anyway.. hope those who like him enjoy ! this is my first time writing for him with a tummy ache so I tried my best, critique is appreciated <3 if this sounds slightly similar to the situation uryu was in, it’s cause I wrote this while watching the arrancar arc lmao

warnings: sexual content, violence but nothing graphic, dubcon (reader is his subject), power play, degradation, emesis, body horror (non descriptive) AFAB reader

wordcount: 2k

“Oh, what’s this you ask, my dear?” He says teasingly, taunting the doll resembling your own image in the palm of his hands, as your vision was blurry, his own, lidded by the flesh hoods of his eyes with amusement.

You lie on the floor choking up whatever odd liquids and slime had slipped past your lips, your body weak and trembling as you tried to recover from whatever the hell just swallowed you up and spat you back out.

you weren’t sure what it even was, his power, being that he kept you like a little bird in its cage, hiding away from the rest of the arrancar, depriving you of social interaction from anyone but him, making you dependent on him and only him. And that meant you were all alone in his world, as he reminded you constantly that nobody was coming to save you.

And in the past you’ve questioned him, but a scientist never gives away his secrets, right? At least, that’s what he said to you with a wave of his finger back and forth at the time, leaving you in the dark just as lost as you were now. As if nothing had changed at all from the time he first found you.

“What— what is that.. why does it—“

“Look like you?” He cut you off swiftly, smiling as he toyed with the doll of yourself between his oddly shaped fingertips, resembling drops hanging off the tips of his nails while he held it in his hand, shifting his attention from you to the doll as he eyed the quaint thing.

“Because, subject, it is you. Who else would it be?” He answered, although, it wasn’t much of an answer, as you were really wondering what it did in the first place, as it must’ve been more than just a doll, knowing him.

“But im sure you wanna ask what it can do, right? What I can do to it? To you?” He went on, deciding to stand up from his throne and take a step, pacing with slow steps back and forth before he stood back in front of you, smiling at your pathetic position on the floor as your arms barley held yourself up.

With one last glance at you, he looked back down at the small doll that resembled you in his hands, caressing it with a thumb with the slightest touch that ghosted the dolls surface, as he brought it lower and lower, suddenly, swiping it swiftly against the surface of the doll where the valley of your thighs would be, as you jumped and gasped at the feeling.

“What!? how did you—“ you babbled, cheeks burning like a flame as you backed up with your arms behind you, in a poor attempt to crawl away from whatever invisible force had just touched you.

His taunting chuckle gave you no feeling of reassurance as your hand flew to cover your privates, closing your thighs shut as you had nowhere else to go, confused and cornered, just how he liked you.

“Mm, you see, pet? I didn’t even have to touch you. With this doll, I can make you feel whatever sensation I please.” He smirked, unscrewing half of the doll to reveal several tiny little bean shaped capsules, all colored differently as only he could see what each one read from how far you were from him. He held a miniature blue stick, almost resembling a toothpick as he twirled it lazily in the pads of his fingers.

“But you know, my dear, those arms of yours.. they’re in the way, and I can’t have you complicating things..” he declared, and before you could even protest, he snapped the stick in two as it shattered to pieces, your eyes widening as you felt a striking pain in your arm, screaming at the top of your lungs as you felt the bone of your arm just shatter into two.

You couldn’t even fathom the immense pain you were in, jerking violently onto your back with tears from the corner of your eyes as Szayelaporro could only roll his eyes in annoyance at your cries, exhaling as he waited for you to stop, like your pain was an inconvenience to listen to.

After minutes of pain, which felt like hours to you, you had finally stopped writhing, cradling your arm on the floor as you sniffled, trembling from the pain as you shook like an abused animal on the ground, barley noticing the steps he took towards you with a devilish smirk worn on his lips, bringing the doll back up to his chest as he gazed at it with an odd look of curiosity and playfulness.

“But I wonder.. what if I did.. this?”

Szayelaporro swiftly ran another finger across the dolls round surface where your folds would be, making you jump as the blush you no longer had came back in a matter of seconds, heat growing in your cheeks once again as he peered down at you. You couldn’t do anything but tremble in his presence like this, feeling humiliated, and embarrassed, by an arrancar at that, who were heartless at their core.

You couldn’t lift another hand to cover yourself, nor your mouth, which slipped out the smallest moan from his action as this scared you, gaze meeting his own as you could see the bright excitement in his eyes like a child on Christmas.

You weren’t gonna dare lift another finger after what he just did to you, though he did find it amusing as he could see your fingers switch with the impulse to do so. Not that breaking another arm of yours would’ve meant anything to him, though, not when he took the parts of others and patched you back up again.

If he knew what it was, he would’ve seen himself as the modern day Frankenstein, taking you apart and putting you back together, as you, Frankensteins monster.

But he paid no attention to the fear in your eyes he’s grown so used to, rubbing the pad of his thumb up and down the smooth dolls surface. He glanced at you to the doll when doing so, watching your physical reactions in real time as he watched you writhe, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stifle your moans as he continued his languid motions against the doll.

“Don’t hide those sounds of yours from me, pet. I’m showing you what the brilliance of a scientist can do. Show some gratitude.”

He stopped his motions to flick the head of the doll, startling you as it felt like your brain had just been jostled against your skull inside.

“I— im sorry, im sorry.. I— thank you, Master Szayelaporro..” you mumbled with a trembling bottom lip, no longer crying, as you were too busy trying to keep him appeased.

“That sounds more like it, pet.”

Szayelaporro continued his motions again to run against your folds, circling his thumb against the doll as your breath hitched, feeling the sensation of touch ghosting against your clothed clit as you felt yourself leak through your panties, soaking them in the process as your legs grew weak. You couldn’t hold them up anymore, surrendering to pleasure and fatigue as you let your legs fall open, your wet spot now visible to him from where he stood.

“Hm. It seems like you like it right there, don’t you. Such lustful beings.” He said, more like a statement, rather than a genuine question, as he picked up the movements of his thumb, circling the dolls surface faster as he watched you arch, crying out as the pleasure written all over your face disgusted him.

You swear even if he didn’t lay a finger on you, you could feel the drift of his touch folding around the bundle of your nerves, circling your clit as your back arched with your cunt dripping onto the floor the faster he went. Although it was embarrassing to be so vulnerable like this in front of him, you couldn’t control the string of moans spilling from your mouth into the air, like a sing song straight to his ears as he drank it all in.

But in a sudden decision, he slowed, teasing you as his movements no longer circled the mound of the doll, making you stop to look up.

“What, you wanted more?” He asked with faux concern as he tilted his head to look at you like a puppy without its chew toy, although, he knew the answer of course, but he wasn’t gonna let his plaything get it so easily.

Looking up into him with pleading eyes and furrowed brows, you nodded hesitantly, swallowing whatever saliva that you had forgotten to swallow while spilling moans out instead.

He did nothing with the doll though, taking a few steps forward and stopped, his pupils aiming straight at you like daggers as he spoke.

“Beg for it.”

‘What? He wants me to.. beg for it? No.. he wasn’t serious—‘

Before you could even process his minuscule movements, you threw up saliva and bile onto the floor, clutching your tummy as you hunched over to throw up, your other hand grasping your throat as the vomit rushed out before you could prepare.

“What, did you not hear me..? Tsk.. seems I need to fix your ears too.”

It sounded almost like a threat. It was a threat. You knew what he could do to you, and what he has done to you, and being powerless in his grasp, you wanted nothing but to please him just so you could live another day, even if it felt like torture to go through another one of his “repairs”, to fix you up after tearing you to pieces.

It hurt some days more than others, but the power of human will made it hard for you to just give up and let yourself die. And so you listened, lips trembling to speak before he could crush another toy organ of yours in the pads of his fingers.

“I— I.. I want you to.. touch me, Master, please—“

Your pleading seemed enough for him, watching you tremble weakly on the floor begging for his touch, as he pretended to consider your words for longer than a second as if he hasn’t already decided, tapping his chin with the tip of his finger.

Right, “Master”.. that’s what he had you call him. Made you call him. You remember the first time you had called him out by his first full name, and the quick thought of what he had done to you struck fear within your chest, as if you didn’t already feel sick enough.

“Please! I— I want this— I really do—“

Before you could continue babbling so pathetically, he gave a swift drag of his finger to the same place on the doll he had before, watching you tremble back onto the floor as he heard the sweet whine slip past your lips.

But he didn’t just stop there, his movements faster as it circled the mound of the doll quicker than you could process, as your body twisted and arched from pleasure as he watched it all.

“You’re almost there, pet. Go on, come for me.” Szayel spoke, which you knew was a demand as you continued to moan and cry out, the pain you felt from having your organs snapped and crushed, to the pleasure you felt as his touch was imitated by some invisible force on your clothed clit, earning one final cry from your hung jaw as your legs shook violently, jerking in the air as you could do nothing but that.

Your messy cunt tingled with overstimulation as his movements slowed, but did not still until he was pleased, coming to a slow stop as he watched you come down from your high with an amused gaze.

He watched your chest heave up and down as you caught your breath, his once amused gaze quickly falling into a disinterested look of boredom once he was finished with you, tossing the doll aside with the flick of his wrist behind him.

“You’ve done so well for me this time around, pet, I didn’t even have to break your other arm. You see how my brilliance does wonders for lowly things like you?”

You could barley comprehend his words as the high you slowly came down from clouded your mind and your body, laying on the ground in a slump, but surprisingly he didn’t seem to mind your lack of response as you laid there wordlessly, nothing but small pants leaving the flesh of your lips.

Szayel said nothing as he turned with his back towards you, the discarded doll lost on his conscience as he walked away from it.

“Get up. We have more work to do..” and with that, he said nothing else with the clicks of his steel bottomed flats on the ground, making his way back towards his lab as you wondered what horrors of an experiment he had for you next.

[jade-branch-qa]

Extended Diamond Cutters members meetup!

Jade!Surge walks through a wormhole and finds the ATN!Diamonds Cutters. Though what catches her eye the most is Bean, playing hacky sack with an unlit bomb, and Bark, watching him with crossed arms.

"Holy shit! Is that a wormhole?" Bean gawked as the tenrec stepped through.

"You'll get used to them." Surge replied with a chuckle as she approached the team. "So, what's up? Having a meeting with the D team?"

The ATN Diamond Cutters shared a confused look before Lanolin stepped up with a frown.

"I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?" Lanolin asked. "We're the Diamond Cutters, not the D team."

"Yeah I-Holy shit, you're all so young!" Surge laughed before zipping between the different cutters. "Lanolin, you're so tiny and tired! Whisper with no gray hairs! That's just weird! Tangle...you-you mostly look the same! Ha!"

She turned towards the last two members with a big grin.

"Bean! You still have both your legs! You lost one playing..." she began before seeing what the bird was doing with a literal bomb before grabbing it from the careless islander. "You lost it doing just that! NOPE!"

"Hey! What's the big idea? That's my 43rd favourite bomb!" Bean protested but the tenrec had already moved on to the big bear in the room.

"Bark, my man! Give ya favourite tenrec a high five!" Surge said, holding up her hand in front of the confused bear. Thankfully, the cyborg's attention was grabbed by a certain sheep.

"Surge! What's going on? Lanolin tried." What do you mean I look tiny? And what's the D team? And what's this nonsense about Bean-"

The poor sheep groaned when she saw that Bean had somehow retrieved his 44th favourite bomb to continue playing hacky sack, only for Surge to snag it less than a second later.

"Where I'm from, you're huge." Surge explained, arms now full of unlit bombs. "as in more muscle than sheep! Ya'll don't have a D team? The Demolition Team? Then how do your Diamond Cutters organize if not by member aptitude?"

"Organise? We're just the Diamond Cutters? We just have the one team!" Tangle tried.

"You have twenty seven members in a single team?! Lanolin for Gaia's sake! Organize!" Surge pleaded, looking almost horrified at the thought.

"Twenty...seven? What? We're just five members?" the poor sheep tried.

"Right, right! This is early on! Of course!" Surge laughed. "The split doesn't happen until you reach eleven members! How silly of me!"

"The split?" Whisper tried but the tenrec dissapeared with a loud pop before she had the chance to answer.

"NOOOO!" Bean cried, holding yet another bomb. "She took my babies with her!"

"Speaking of which, no more bomb hacky sack for you!" Lanolin sighed, pinching her nose.

"NOOOOOO!!"

[cao-the-dreamer]

Lemme ramble okay I have covid and fucking brain mush gotta get this out but uuuoiguguguggg

Idk why my brain is obsessed with putting fucked up humans in Situations tm with Cybertronians why would we care about humans there are robots right here idk okay just bear with me

There is the Maiden. And then Shockwave. And the Maiden is a human with ugly scars that show her teeth like Two Faces from Nolan's Batman but she ain't gone mad oh not, she just stuck on Cybertron because space mission gone awry on something something and then you have Shockwave (fuck it's tfa I forgot to put the context) who's like super alone cause he's stuck with the robot equivalent of kids and Megatron probably dead while crashed on Earth and he has no way of contacting his comrades and fuck

When you spend so much time pretending your someone else don't you risk forgetting yourself? And like. Shockwave gotta transform sometime even though it's dangerous cause he needs look at the mirror and think "it's me. It wasn't a dream. I am alone but I will continue my mission nonetheless even though nobody picks up the phone cos it's all I have"

And one day he transforms but whoops there is a Minicon in his office wait that's not a minicon it's a fleshy in a space suit oh whatever he gotta kill this thing before it spills the beans

The Maiden let out a scream and there's rushing outside like "Longarm sir are you okay" and Shockwave is like "fuck" and shoots murder daggers at the fleshy but instead of spilling the bean it clings to him and beeps like a poor confused minicon and "oh longarm that poor fella is lost looks like he imprinted on you" and Shockwave is like "what"

And the Maiden just sticks with the shape shifting robot who can and will kill her but she's honestly just a sacrificial Maiden so that's okay he can kill her anytime since he won't do it bc he's xenophobic or something but bc she knows his secret and he knows hers

To him it's like. If I fall I take you with me I tell your secret and the Maiden is like "okay" and asks him about his past and reminds him he's alone but it's good to speak about it

And Shockwave realise this human is insane bc it says yeah you can kill me I wonder if you will keep my bones as a memento but he can be himself with it-- her but sometimes he snaps and reminds her he can kill her with a snap of fingers and she's like

That's okay.

Idk where I'm going with this I just wanted fucked up yet """wholesome""" relationship

[ach-sss-no]

SH liveblog Ch17

First chapter & explanation | Previous chapter

Gollum is taken away for rest and treatment for his head injury as soon as he gets back to the City. This leads to a dream sequence.

He's getting closer than is wise, thought Gollum. I guess Sméagol will bite off his nose now or something nasty like that. But instead Gollum whimpered and said: "Thanks ye. I was lost- who would have found me if you hadn’t?” 

If Aragorn never catches Gollum in the marshes, he never gets taken to Mirkwood, never ends up escaping from there to Moria, never meets up with the Fellowship and starts stalking them, and never makes it to where he is now. On some level he's realized it.

Aragorn was sitting at the foot of the bed. Gollum did not respond at first, thinking he was still asleep and Aragorn might start doing something ridiculous any moment. But the silence grew awkward. "Hello," Gollum said. He did not bother to get out of bed or even sit up.

Actually it's the other way around, it seems; Gollum dreamed about Aragorn because he sensed Aragorn in the room.

Aragorn engages in some mild chitchat that eventually leads to the subject of Gollum dumping four orphan orcs onto him without warning.

Oh wait, there used to be five.

Gollum sat up. "Brought back five. They have not gone and misplaced one, have they?" "There... were five. I am afraid one did not survive." "O," said Gollum. He began to weep. [...] "I see. I am sorry I told you in such an abrupt way. I did not expect you to grieve for the one that was lost." "Grieve?" Gollum asked, bewildered.

Aragorn naturally construes crying at the news of a death to be grief. Gollum doesn't make the connection but offers no alternative motive, so perhaps he just has a stunning lack of self-awareness.

Gollum and Aragorn go to have a look at the remaining orcs. Sam, Frodo and Faelon are all there looking at them too.

"Master is here too! And he has brought his Sam," said Gollum. "Yes," said Frodo. "You were right, it was very silly of me to go around without him. He's made it very clear to me that I'm welcome to wake him up at all hours." Sam nodded

Sam freaked out.

"Why'd you bring a load of little orcs here, Sméagol?" "They was going to starve and dry up," said Gollum in surprise. He looked from Sam's face, to Frodo's. "That is bad, is it not? We thought the Master would surely think so, when he talked so much about mercy and was so nice to poor Sméagol. They are only babies. They have not even done anything wrong."

Gollum's been aware up to now that people around him aren't into the idea of the baby orcs- I think this is meant to convey that he expected Frodo (and by extension Sam) to be an exception.

"No, Master, I did not think you would be pesstered about it and find out what I was doing, but Boromir was there. We thought he would want to help the little ones, and he did." "The little ones, Sméagol?" "Yes, the little ones, the orcses. They are small."

Okay

So, to avoid confusion, I tried to stick entirely to book canon. No movies allowed (this is because certain book-only scenes are pivotal to the story I'm trying to tell; see: Faramir- and I didn't want any lack of clarity about which version of events is being used.)

I couldn't resist this oblique reference to Sean Bean's classic 'they took the little ones' line.

Of course, this far into the fic I'm pretty sure everyone still reading knows this is book canon. What with the first chapter starting in Cirith Ungol

"Would you have helped them if no one else was there?" Frodo asked. "...Yes," Gollum said. "Gollum, gollum!" He hoped Frodo would not ask how. If Gollum had been alone, he would not have been able to take care of the whelps, or feed them, and he would probably have helped them in the only other way he could think of, which was to give them a faster and less wretched death than the one facing them. Wouldn't have eaten them, though, he thought. Buried them, I guess. Or killed them and left them where they were, since they was underground already.

Hmm, Frodo probably took the obvious hesitation as a sign Gollum was lying when the truth is arguably worse. Or at least is bad in a different way

"Yes, I've been speaking with the Ringbearer about you," said Faelon. "How nice, how nice," said Gollum, "about what? About what, precious? Talking about us- about what?"

Ah there's Gollum assuming people are talking smack again.

He stood up, but found that the basket with the orcs in it was too high to see into. He crouched, gathering himself to spring up into it. "I'll help you, Sméagol, do not worry," said Faelon.

'Oh you don't need to do that I'll help you!' as code for 'don't do that!' A classic technique

Gollum reached into the basket to poke the orcs. They were so soft and squishy. "Here, Sméagol, I'm not so sure they like that, from the noises they're making," said Sam. "They don't mind, they don't mind," said Gollum. "But they do not have anything to chew on." "Ought they to?" Faelon asked, lifting Gollum a little higher, which was inconvenient as now he could not reach the basket as easily. "They will chew on each other!" he declared.

I had great fun making the baby orcs as off-putting as possible. I deliberately chose not to explain what they look like apart from a few statements of character opinion (Pippin called one a twisted-up piglet, Sam insinuates that they're ugly)

Also Faelon is discreetly preventing Gollum from poking at them anymore lol

They nip constantly," said Faelon. "Are they fearful of us, or in pain?"

Faelon just got used to Gollum, who does only bite when he's upset by something.

If you do not wish them to, the bigger orcses gives them a tap.

Just a tap?

"They will not remain in Gondor," said Aragorn. "Once they're old enough to travel I plan to deliver them to the Elves of the Greenwood. As it happens, Thranduil's folk owe me a favor. They let an important captive escape. Someone who was difficult to find, and more difficult to travel with." Gollum wondered who he meant for a moment, and then blithely decided he did not care.

Gollum would have been capable of figuring this out if he bothered to try, I am quite certain.

"They will not be happy with Elveses," Gollum fretted. "Elves will give them headaches and smell bad to them, and have foul foods."

Gollum is managing to convey some of his own grievances with Elf captivity without actually complaining about his own problems.

"But they will not like the Elves. Everything the Elves make will hurt them, and they will choke on their food." "Perhaps," said Aragorn. "But you are not an orc, Sméagol. Also, you are a grown adult and set in your ways, and I may add, quite stubborn." Gollum had not been talking about himself, he’d been talking about the orcs.

This is true, but he was basing his statements on his own experiences.

"Are you feeling well?" Faelon asked. "O yes," said Gollum. "Thirsty." "You'll be able to go back to your room and get a drink in just a minute. First I must ask you," said Aragorn

I think Aragorn might have concluded that Gollum is using the time-honored tactic of 'I can't do this thing I don't want to do right now because I am thirsty'. I think Gollum was in fact just honestly answering a question about his well-being.

Gollum shuddered. Faelon patted his back. "Bless me," Sam exclaimed suddenly, "you're generous, Mr. Faelon."

Yep there's Sam punning on his name. (well, I don't think he's making a joke, just observing how apt he thinks the name is)

Faelon claims to actually like Smeagol, which even he doesn't believe.

"Excuse me," said Sam, "if you don't mind, sir- I'd like a look at those little orcs. You don't have to pick me up, or anything like that- I can lift down the basket."

Sam: no touch.

"Well," he said, "I've never seen an ugly baby, but- these here take some getting used to."

Ultimate tact

"We are used to them," said Gollum. "O yes, we have had lots of time." He thought they were sort of nice, especially when they were all dressed up like poppets, but all of that was a matter of opinion, and it did not surprise him that Sam had different opinions.

Whether or not Gollum has an aesthetic sense is a matter of some confusion to me. He calls things 'beautiful'.

Frodo was standing off a way. He did not seem to want to look at the young orcs.

Frodo would have the capacity to understand the larger issue of 'Can orcs be innocent casualties? What are the implications of baby orcs?' and I think it would tire and depress him. It tired and depressed Gollum in the last chapter and Gollum is-

I will be very nice and call him 'resilient', which is not untrue, just... incomplete.

"We won't!" Gollum exclaimed, sitting up straight, much too quickly- his head spun and his stomach lurched, and he quickly took up a submissive position flattened to the floor, looking meekly up at the King. "We knows better, we does."

Right, he's still concussed

"Very well," said Aragorn. "If you had not made it clear that you're undecided on whether to remain here in the city, Sméagol, I would think you were delighted to be given a purpose in Minas Tirith." Gollum fell silent.

Gollum forgot about the conflict of the minute and so did I because I know he stays in the city.

Gollum scuttled out of the room, at first so lost in thought that he had forgotten the hobbits were following him. When he became aware of it, this reminded him of leading the hobbits to Mordor; he fell back

Gollum is far from as sympathetic as Sam and Frodo but he also had a horrible time on that trip too and he doesn't want to think of it either.

The back of Frodo's neck was bandaged where She had bitten him.

Yeah that's why he's not as sympathetic

Sam and Frodo go to have a private conversation with Gollum in his room, which starts with awkward small talk. Sam eventually bites the bullet.

"Right, Sméagol, Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin were saying you were asking about the Shire. Do you want to go there?" "Us? Sam would not like us to go there." "Maybe he wouldn't," said Sam, "but I didn't ask what Sam wants, I asked what Sméagol wants."

The impression I get from this is not that Gollum is dodging the question, as Sam seems to think, but just expressing surprise that Sam is entertaining the idea.

"We will miss the hobbits," said Gollum. "Yes, it seemed cruel to leave you here without any others of your kind if it was not by your choice."

And this sounds like Frodo absolutely does not want to take him there but feels it his his moral duty to offer.

Gollum continues to spuriously insist that Aragorn wants to kick him out.

"Do you not wish to talk to people now and then?" Frodo asked him. "The self that's coming out of you these days seems to be rather gregarious and I don't think this Sméagol is very happy alone away from anyone." "No, no, he never was." “Sam is right,” said Frodo. “You will become known in time unless you’re completely alone, and no one ought to be alone.” “Sméagol is not any one,” Gollum replied in a childish whine, fiddling his fingers together. Sam frowned at him. “Here, even you don’t believe that,” he said.

In any case, the Shire has been ruled out.

That matter concluded, Frodo broaches another unhappy subject.

"I didn't force you to do what you did. I tried to keepit myself," said Frodo. "I was fighting you off. Do you not know that I have much to be ashamed of too?" Sam looked alarmed and opened his mouth to speak but Gollum spoke first: "Ashamed? Ashamed of what?" "I have just told you what." "Ashamed of keeping the Precious?" Gollum asked. "I don't understand, Master. Everyone seems mad to me, maybe Sméagol is mad; what do you have to be ashamed for? Everyone wanted it. It was made to be wanted. I still wants it. Boromir wanted it. Only Sam didn't want it, maybe he is the one who is mad." "If I ought not be ashamed because it took me you ought not be ashamed that it took you," said Frodo. "I- I have never heard anything so stupid," said Gollum, so confused that he was almost afraid. "It did not take you. You did not hurt anyone, you did not even push anyone over and yell in his face like Boromir did. Here is your Sam, he is here, and even nasty Sméagol who took the Precious away from you is here, and where is my Déagol? Where is he? He is gone, he is gone forever!" He burst into passionate sobs, which startled him because a moment ago he hadn't felt like he was going to cry. "Here, Mr. Frodo, you should listen to him," Sam said. "He's right, sir."

Gollum increases his credibility 10000% by saying he sucks and Frodo is awesome.

Again, Sam takes the 'let's stop beating around the bush' tack. In canon, Sam and Gollum are... not good at communicating whatsoever, but here Gollum is in a better place to respond to Sam's honesty.

"Now, Gollum- I mean, Sméagol-" "Say what you wish," Gollum snarled. "You will anyway." "Sorry," said Sam. "But- see- it's been making Mr. Frodo awfully upset that everyone thinks he did what you did, you know- throwing that thing in the fire. And he tries to say he only brought it there- 'only' brought it there, Mr. Frodo says, as if it was a small thing!" He shook his head in wonder. "But you don't want to be talked about, so he can't explain it, and no one's ever seen you and half of 'em don't believe you're a real person, so he can't explain it for that reason either, and I think it'd help the master if you'd let us talk about you, and maybe if a few more people saw you, because when we try to tell people about you, it starts to sound like we're making up stories after a while."

I may as well tell you that many people have reminded me of your past misdeeds when we speak on this subject and it had no effect on me. I was a bit surprised that you're willing to speak of such things yourself."

everyone else: gollum sucks anyway

frodo: doesn't matter

gollum: i do suck though

frodo: i- yes. thank you smeagol. you are making this difficult.

Frodo leaned in close to him. "I think Aragorn is a bit sad that you don't like him." That's too bad for him, thought Gollum, but he knew better than to say so.

Gollum and Aragorn do not make up until some distance into the sequel oneshots. *checks watch* I think that's supposed to take place at least a year from now. Which is quick, for an old ingrained grudge, but slow for how Gollum is going through a rapid transformation of his entire demeanor and method of interacting with others.

"At the time, you had earned such treatment, but it is easy to forget that somewhat when you are now so much more agreeable." Gollum glanced over at Sam. "No, I haven't forgotten," said Sam, "if that's what you're wondering." Gollum looked away.

Ever the pragmatist.

Sam apparently also understands Gollum better than he did in the canon timeline because he was able to accurately interpret that silent look.

Here's the thing, like, people kinda omit this sometimes talking about the Quest of the Ring. But Gollum was there during that whole long stressful trek and that would have created a shared memory that none of the three of them would ever have forgotten. There's a specific understanding they all share that is never going away, because they were all miserable together, and it doesn't matter that Gollum is a weird meme of a character because he was also there and is one of only three living people (in this AU) who knows how Sam and Frodo suffered on that journey. Yes. Yes some of the suffering was his fault. That is not the point.

That's another reason why Aragorn felt like he was BTFO by 'sends little hobbitses if someone has to walk' back in that chapter lmao

"What I mean," said Frodo, "is that I think Aragorn has been trying to tease you a little, like he would any of his hobbit friends, forgetting that you might not understand it or that he might be making you feel embarrassed.

Oh, Frodo is just explaining what I'm trying to do as the author here. That's okay! Frodo is wise. He would know this. He's not a mouthpiece or anything. He's still just good old insightful Frodo! I think!

"You haven't said exactly why you don't wish the extent to which you helped me to be known," said Frodo.

No he has not, not even inside his head, but he was freaking out because the moon could see him, which is a clue.

Gollum glanced at the papers on the table. He had started to try to write down that nonsense about oliphaunts Sam had spouted by the Black Gate, since he was, after all, trying to write down every rhyme he knew- or almost every one- regardless of whether they suited his taste. But he couldn't remember that whole thing, as he hadn't really been listening, and he also didn't know how to spell 'oliphaunt'. If I asks Sam to tell us it again, he'll say 'why do you wants to know' and scrunch up his face, thought Gollum. And he said it was an old tale, or something like that, didn't he? So the hobbits will remember it without us and we needn’t bother.

Gollum is starting to want to seek reconciliation with others (on a deeper level now than 'I am tired of making everyone want me dead on sight') and doesn't know how to ask, I think.

Not Aragorn though he is stinky

He said nothing, or he thought he did; when he glanced up, he saw the hobbits lingering in the doorway, as if he had asked them to wait. He wondered if he had spoken aloud and not realized it, which did sometimes happen, he was in such a habit of talking to himself. 

It's been awkward before too

"Sméagol," Frodo asked, "you keep finding reasons why you might not stay here, but I have never heard you say you don't want to be here. Is it possible you like it here but you are afraid of disappointment and will not admit you are where you want to be, or allow yourself to believe Aragorn will not cast you out?"

Gollum appears to have had no stable home for 80 years at this point.

Unless you count.... dungeon.

"I have lost everything," said Gollum, "everything I ever had or wanted. I'm tired. I don't want to want anything. I don't want to talk about it any longer."

This is pure angst but it's also... objectively true of Gollum at this point? I believe?

Whether or not he deserved it, being ousted from his childhood home would have been severely traumatic for Sméagol and is probably contributing to his reluctance to bond with a new home; that must be somewhat on his mind because he's been telling people about it (I don't think i included it but he told Boromir a couple of chapters ago and Pippin + Merry last chapter. I've been glossing over quite a few things i thought were incidental details and then they came back with more significance later. Which is good. I think.)

"I'm sorry to hear it," said Frodo. "I won't press you… goodbye."

Frodo knows a conversational dead end when he sees one

Neither Sam nor Frodo had mentioned something that ought to be obvious: Gollum's insane, repulsive ugliness.

He's just been seeing a ton of people reject innocent baby orcs because they'se so dang ugly.

Gollum's mirror is still in the room turned to the wall. He turns it back, looks at his reflection, and realizes he has no idea what to make of himself at this point.

My eye falls on the ending author's note:

Unrelated, I have a playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6b6ZzDYpqpSMgBwc9qszhb?si=466275ac3ef34681 I always enjoy seeing what's on other people's playlists, so I may as well share mine. Most of the choices are a bit tongue in cheek, though the bardcore cover of Britney Spears' Toxic was chosen in deadly earnest.

What?

Oh, yeah, this one. Yeah it's great

[sanfangirl-cynicalromantic]

The Lady Knight | Chapter 4

Oh, my God, I didn't actually think I'd be posting the last chapter exactly one year after I posted the first, but well, here we are.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read on AO3 here

Astrid wasn’t sure what to say to Hiccup at first. After everything had happened, they still needed to talk more. They still hadn’t resolved what to do about . . . feelings. Did he still like her that way? Had he realized they just wouldn’t work and that’s why he had forgiven her so easily?

The thing was, she had told him she was in love with him, and they were good now, but what did ‘good’ mean? Were they still friends? Was the proposal void or still being offered? Did she want to marry him? Well, yes, of course she did but she also didn’t until she sorted things out. But what about Hiccup? Did he want these things? 

There were uncomfortable questions still battling for space in her head, but she discovered that they had not lost their companionable silence, and for that she was grateful. It was nice to forget about all the drama between them and slip into their familiar pattern of working harmoniously alongside each other. Stormfly and Toothless huffed at each other as if catching up on the latest gossip and Astrid found herself smiling stupidly when her visor was down at the prince’s concentration on the maps.

“So, what are you doing on this mission?” she asked into the silence.

“Huh?” Hiccup asked, dragging his eyes from the road to look at her.

“You said you were going to Raven Point because there wasn’t enough time to gather a squad, but I’m wondering how you got this information with so little notice,” she clarified.

“Ah,” Hiccup said. “Well, um, I was . . . actually the one who got the information.” Astrid frowned in confusion.

“Really? How?”

“I, uh, well, do you possibly remember the day I came to propose to you and you said no?” he asked sheepishly. Astrid grimaced at the reminder which Hiccup took as confirmation despite not being able to see her face. “Anyway, I stumbled across Trader Johann who generously spilled the beans.”

“He just told you Drago and his generals were meeting with Dragons of his own free will?” Astrid asked skeptically.

“After I threatened him and saved his life, yeah,” Hiccup nodded. “Not in that order, though.” Astrid snorted. The idea of Hiccup being the type to threaten someone was laughable, but Trader Johann had an uncanny knack of getting under everyone’s skin, and poor, patient Hiccup often lost his temper with the obsequious merchant.

They rode on mainly in silence, trying to cover as much ground as possible so that they could hopefully scope out the coves before Krogan arrived. The sun hadn’t halfway hidden behind the horizon before Astrid caught sight of a cozy looking clearing on the west side of the forest and called to Hiccup that they should set up camp there. He turned Toothless slightly and they investigated the brush quickly, still on their horses, before Hiccup nodded in satisfaction and dismounted Toothless, beginning to brush him down immediately.

Astrid slid off Stormfly and turned to unfasten her mare’s straps. Hiccup, finished with Toothless, held out a hand to take her saddle from her. She smiled and passed it to him, their hands brushing and setting her body atingle with prickly warmth. She could have sworn his eyes darkened in response, but chalked it up to the dimming light. After looping Stormfly’s harness around a low branch by the river she set about making camp. They could afford a fire for now as they were still early on in their travels and did not need to be so discreet, and there was no need to forgo what little comfort there was to be had when sleeping on the ground.

Hiccup set to stirring up a fire and unpacking the food as Astrid finished clearing the brush out of the way. He tossed her a bread roll, stale and cold from that afternoon, but a luxury for the next few days.

“I brought plenty of coins,” Astrid said as Hiccup started taking inventory of their supplies. She had brought a lot, planning to use money to get into certain people’s good graces as she started her campaign to let females inherit, but Hiccup had already established the case with the king and brought it to his attention, so there was no better use for it than perhaps providing them a night in a tavern bed.

“Oh,” he breathed. Astrid turned to see what he was looking at. He held up her hair comb, an unreadable look in his eye.

“Oh, that,” Astrid said quietly. He brought it closer to the fire, the light glinting off the polished metal. “I bring it everywhere I go,” she shrugged when he didn’t say anything. “Plus, you know, I was coming to apologize and I just - if you didn’t accept it . . .” she trailed off, not really sure what else to say and afraid to hear if Hiccup wanted it back or if he was angry she’d even considered giving it to him.

“It’s always yours,” he told her in a low voice. Her eyes flicked up to meet his and he offered her a tentative smile which she returned. He looked down at the comb again and then back at her. “May I?” he asked, gesturing with his hand still holding the accessory.

“Yeah,” she granted him permission immediately. She untucked her messy braid - the helmet wore out the braid in mere hours - from her neckline, ignoring the way Hiccup’s breath caught as individual strands lit up like golden threads from the fire. She brushed some wisps from her face and smiled shyly. Hiccup got up from his crouch slowly, moving the way one did when approaching a wild animal and didn’t want to scare them off, but she wasn’t sure who was the most skittish in this case.

She had to stop her face automatically angling to meet his as he brushed the wisps of hair that had fallen into her face again and combed them back with fingers that would have been shaky if it were any other person, but this was Hiccup, the man with the steadiest hands on Midgard and though they were unsure they didn’t tremble in the slightest. He was unaccustomed to dealing with hair, that she could tell by the way he didn’t know exactly how to pull her hair back, but he managed and slid the comb in place, pinning those stray locks into place. He didn’t move as his hands slowly fell away from her hair. She was ridiculous looking, surely. Her hair was frizzy and messy with those few strands pinned back in a mockery of an elegant hairdo and her face was an unflattering red from the heat of the fire, steadily growing almost unbearably warm under his tender scrutiny, but he was still gazing at her like she was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.

Neither of them were breathing, too paralyzed with the presence of the other to move, until Astrid found herself tilting her chin upwards a smidge, and Hiccup’s gaze zeroed in on her mouth. Her lips suddenly felt dry and cracked and her heart pounded at the barely concealed hunger in his eyes. Their eyes met for a split second before they found themselves leaning it at the same time, just barely stopping themselves before they made true contact. There was almost no room to breathe, if any of them were even breathing. Astrid didn’t dare blink, but if she did she’d wager her eyelashes would tangle with his before they brushed her cheek. Her neck started to protest at holding herself too still. She let out a shaky breath and inhaled a greedy gulp of air before her eyes shut and she brushed her lips over his.

She had to hold in a gasp as the sensation. She could have sworn the contact sizzled the space between them and she retreated, a knee jerk reaction like how she automatically pulled back after placing a fresh cut of meat on the iron pans when it was her turn to cook breakfast back in the Berk Guard. Apparently frying bacon was all she was good at cooking. But even as she pulled away her hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him with her, his lips landing on hers with more surety.

This was a proper kiss, Astrid thought faintly as she pressed back up against him, her neck shifting to get a better angle and one hand sliding up his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding him there to ensure he wouldn’t pull away until she let him. She didn’t let go of the back of his neck even as they parted for air - a short gasp - before they were surging forward again to meet each other. His body was blocking the heat of the fire from reaching her but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when the heat of his body was seeping into hers and the whole world had condensed to dark warmth and firm torsos and his hot mouth.

“Astrid,” he whispered when they parted again, and she shivered at the utter sin in his desperate rasp of a voice.  Again they collided, mouths opening, tongues tangling. She didn’t even register them somehow slipping off of the log but she knew that now Hiccup was on the ground and she was straddling him and she couldn’t get enough and she was fumbling with his tunic, overcome by the need to be close to him, as close as humanly possible and then some but Hiccup’s hands gripped her hips to hold her still and she pulled away from his lips with a pop to look at him confusedly. “We need to stop,” he croaked, his voice tight the way it usually sounded when he was getting treated for wounds and held back his cries of pain.

She had to blink a few times to clear the cloud of lust and her cheeks immediately burned bright as she looked down at the flushed prince.

“What?” she asked stupidly because wow Hiccup’s eyes had never seemed as luminescent and dark and big before and his warm hands on her hips was terribly distracting.

“Um,” Hiccup tried to shift before he let out a deep groan and covered his face in his hands. “We shouldn’t. Not like - not like this.”

“Yeah,” Astrid agreed, not entirely sure why her body felt empty as she stood up. She offered her hand to the prince, too, but he just shook his head and rose to a sitting position, pulling his legs close to him and hunching forward like his stomach was in pain. Astrid wondered if she had somehow hurt him, if maybe she was too heavy to straddle him. Or maybe was he ashamed of what had just happened? She tried not to scowl at the thought.

“It’s just,” Hiccup continued, having caught sight of her face. “I, I just - I don’t think I could hold myself back - right then, at least. Because I, um, it was unexpected.”

“No,” Astrid said nonchalantly. “You’re right. It’s a bit too soon for us to…” she trailed off and shrugged abashedly, cursing her reddened cheeks. She cast around for her last bite of bread and stuffed it into her mouth indelicately.

“Do you want me to take the first watch?” she offered, not looking at him.

“No,” Hiccup sighed. “I won’t be able to sleep just yet.”

Me neither, Astrid thought but she unrolled the blanket and threw it over her legs before laying down with her back to the fire - and consequently, Hiccup.

‘Maybe we weren’t the match I thought we were’ rang in her head as she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to force sleep upon herself. Did he regret what had transpired between them? She fought against a shiver at what would happen to her marriage prospects if Hiccup outed her. He wouldn’t, of course, she knew she was being ridiculous, but she felt stupid and rejected and she wanted to punch him. So he had to do something that would justify her punching him.

She woke him up early in the morning right after dawn by kicking him somewhat gently in the side. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. Astrid brought Toothless, already saddled and watered over to him as he slowly packed up his bedroll. He was adorably slow for the first fifteen minutes when he woke up, and then was bright eyed until unholy hours of the night. He let out grumpy noises of protest as Toothless jostled him in the saddle and Astrid wanted to melt, but the warm thoughts of what had happened last night froze her sentimental feelings and she turned ahead coldly.

Astrid kept her eyes stoutly ahead as they rode that day. She was now beginning to regret coming with Hiccup. He kept sending her questioning glances and opening his mouth to talk and so though Astrid really didn’t want to talk to him at all, she was forced to distract him from talking about the other night by pointing something inconsequential out. She scarfed down her food that night and volunteered herself for guard duty, cutting Hiccup off efficiently by telling him not to be tired when she woke him up for his turn.

By morning again, Hiccup was also in a sour mood. His eyes bore into the back of her helmet as they trotted forward silently. It had been two days. They still had a week’s ride ahead of them, then scouting and another two weeks back. Thor strike her dead. Why was she doing this?

“Give me the map,” she said abruptly. She held her hand out and he wordlessly placed the rolled up parchment, carefully oiled, in her hand. She studied it aimlessly, trying to look occupied so she could avoid the conversation. “There’s an inn nearby,” she noticed.

“Is an inn a smart idea?” Hiccup asked. “We want to be discreet.”

“I doubt they’re expecting us,” Astrid reasoned. “And we’re only two knights. There’s nothing suspicious about that. Plus, we can do a little recon tonight anyway.”

“Alright,” the prince accepted.

“If we ride hard for three hours we should make it before evening and establish ourselves before the crowd comes in,” Astrid told him, rolling up the map and handing it to him smartly.

“Right,” Hiccup drawled in a voice that said, I know exactly what you’re doing, and you’re not getting out of it. Astrid flashed him a saccharine smile, pulled the visor over her face, and nudged Stormfly gently into a gallop.

They were silent for the ride until they caught sight of plowed fields. Hiccup straightened in his seat as the farm houses became closer and closer together before a two story building rose up invitingly. He let out a soft groan of hunger.

“Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes,” he sighed, rubbing his stomach. Astrid cast an amused glance towards him but couldn’t deny the grumble of her stomach either.

The inn was old gray wood. It was made of uneven boards that had small cracks in the thin walls, but Astrid supposed with a fire and warm food and drink it would be just fine. The bedrooms would be freezing, however. It was easily the biggest building around, so Astrid was willing to bet all the men and even some of the women would be gravitating towards the center of the small village, full of unguarded conversation if Astrid or Hiccup were to pay for their drinks.

Their horses slowed to a trot, then a walk until they stopped in front of the door. No stablehand came running to take their horses. No hired help, then. She turned to look at him before they dismounted, silently debating which one should go inside and do the talking. Two knights on their own were hardly suspicious, but the Prince and Sir Hofferson were a well known duo. The question was, which was the least recognizable? Astrid had not cut her hair before leaving her estate, not sure how everything was going to play out and not willing to risk months of cultivating her hair growth and ruining pillows with castor oil. It had also been months since she’d deliberately kept her voice low and gruff for hours on end. Mother had been pushing her to stop speaking so deeply and try a lighter tone. But she could hide behind her visor and blame any distorted sounds on the echo of her helmet. Hiccup did not look like the King, and with all the stories of his near-magical ingenuity his persona and description was probably far from the actual truth. But he wasn’t the best at bargaining, and they needed to save their money to pay for drinks later that night. They settled on Astrid, who dismounted Stormfly gracefully while Hiccup tied a kerchief around his mouth and nose.

She handed him the reins wordlessly and tried to clear her throat subtly as she walked through the door.

It swung open with a creak, revealing two women and a man bustling around the dingy room. Tables scraped against the floor as the seating was rearranged by the youngest girl. The older woman was red in the face as she snapped directions at her daughter from the fireplace while expertly balancing trays of meat and a cauldron of soup. Her husband was switching the kegs and opening them in preparation for the evening. Stacks of clean and dirty tankards littered the counters behind him. He looked up, a hint of fear and deference entering his eyes as he noticed Astrid’s intimidating armor and stance.

“How may I help you, good Sir?” he asked respectfully. His wife’s shouting ceased and the younger girl halted her work, not daring to approach the foreign knight in the room.

“Two rooms for the night, please,” Astrid said curtly. She was pleased at her voice sounding appropriately deep, although wished it had not come out so harsh. The innkeeper shifted uncomfortably.

“We don’t have two rooms available, Sir,” the man said apologetically. He was burly and his voice was steady. Astrid had to admire his guts as she pushed her visor up so he could see her piercing blue eyes and the top half of her nose. “We only have two rooms to rent out as it is, and the first one is under repair. It was damaged severely in the last raid and is completely uninhabitable.” The annoyance at his response melted a bit. This far up north the raids were deemed less important so the Berk Guard rarely had time to patrol the place when they were more focused with protecting the western and southern sides of Berk exposed to the war. And all the soldiers stationed up here would be poorer rookie knights. The people up here didn’t stand a chance. And if Hiccup was right and there was a whole army stationed up here and they were testing Berk’s reaction to small raids in this insignificant area? Odin help them all.

“Very well. One room for two, please,” she amended in a more amicable tone. The door opened and Hiccup strode through, dusting his hands. He must have cleaned out the stables for their horses and raked some hay for them. “For my comrade and I,” she explained, jerking her head towards him.

“We only have the one bed,” the innkeeper apologized, almost cringing. “B-But it is the finest we ‘ave, an you get yer own bathing room.” Astrid sighed.

“That’ll do,” she acquiesced. She produced three gold coins - far too much, she knew, but she wanted to help the family fix up their second bedroom and maybe fix those holes in the walls - and set them on the counter. “That should cover a night and a hearty breakfast and dinner as well as the stables and feeding for our mounts, yes?”

“Y-Yes,” stammered the man, likely never having received so much gold from one person before. “That’ll - that’ll certainly do.”

“Good,” Astrid smiled, though he could not see it. “Would one of you kind folks help us run a warm bath? We are weary after our travels and could use a good soak. Separate bathwater for each.” The older man nodded and snapped his fingers at his daughter, who scurried to haul some water.

“Right this way is your room, sirs,” the man led them to a small room with a rickety bed. A thin rug lay on the floor and a narrow tub stood in a corner, hidden by a sheet. The bed had one down blanket and two flat pillows. Astrid decided she liked it. She took her travel sack from Hiccup, who had brought them in and deposited it under the bed.

“The bath will be ready in twenty minutes,” the innkeeper informed them and Hiccup thanked him.

“You can have the first bath,” Hiccup offered when the man had left the room.

“Thanks,” Astrid nodded. She hesitated at taking off her helmet before the girl came in, because she hadn’t cut her hair yet and she wasn’t sure if they’d keep quiet if they realized she was a girl.

Ten minutes later the girl came bearing a yoke with multiple buckets of boiling water.

“I can pour them,” Astrid offered, taking the three large buckets of water easily. The girl nodded and went to fetch the other buckets. Once the tub was filled, Astrid dug through the sack for a change of clothes and Hiccup shuffled awkwardly.

“I think I’ll go downstairs,” he announced. “Help them get ready for tonight and see if I can get any gossip.”

“Okay,” Astrid agreed. “I should be finished by the time the hour’s done and I’ll ring to have it switched.” Hiccup dipped his chin towards her and slipped outside, leaving Astrid to finally take off her helmet and clean her hair. She stripped gleefully and slid into the tub, suppressing a pleased groan at the scalding water. She had to sit with her knees to her chest to fit in the tub, so she hadn’t filled it all the way in order to have space to shift and clean herself. She scrubbed furiously until her skin felt pink and raw. The servants at home would be horrified at her skin; it wouldn’t be as soft without their special flower baths, but Astrid relished the tender feel of cleanliness.

She dried herself off quickly after stepping out of the water, binding her chest and throwing a tunic over her head and wrapping her hair up in the remaining towel. She rang the bell and watched quietly as the girl quickly disposed of the dirty water and brought in buckets of clean water, already heated. Hiccup came back in and thanked her.

He slipped behind the sheet and Astrid averted her gaze as she heard the sounds of his tunic being pulled off and tried not to think about the lean silhouette behind the flimsy cloth divider. She fumbled for the brush in her pack and ran it quickly through her hair. She heard him step into the tub, a quiet hiss at the water and drew a shaky breath. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to dry it quickly so she wouldn’t get sick with a wet head of hair. For the first time in a while, she enjoyed the heavy weight of her golden locks. They had gotten smoother and softer with the care her servants had paid to it in the past months and she found herself planning which updos would work and how to hide her hair comb in it. She heard Hiccup scrubbing himself as she shook her hair out like a wild mane and stretched out on the bed. Even the thin mattress was much softer than the hard ground they had slept on for the past two nights.

She was wringing the ends of her hair again with her damp towel when she heard Hiccup step out of the tub.

“Oh - damn,” he swore. “I, um, forgot my undershirt.” Astrid turned to see his clean undershirt on the floor.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she reassured him. “Come out, I’ll hand it to you.” She got off the bed and picked up the shirt. Hiccup stepped behind the sheet and both of them halted.

She knew what he looked like without a shirt. But she had never had truly taken the time to look and appreciate, especially not with the unprecedented amount of tension between them and the hot brand of the memory of his mouth on lips. He was lean, with only shadowy hints of muscles and underlying strength in that stupidly attractive, unassuming way of his. His eyes were locked on her unbound hair, clean and wavy in its full glory instead of sweaty and wispy.

“Here,” she shoved the shirt into his hands and retreated as he coughed embarrassedly and scratched the back of his head.

“Thanks. I - I didn’t know . . . your hair.”

“I need to dry it so I don’t catch a cold with a wet head,” she explained. “It’s practically dry, I can just-”

“No,” Hiccup threw up his hands. “I mean, you don’t have to put it back up yet if you don’t want to.” Astrid stared at him quietly. He sighed. “Look, can we - can we talk about this?”

“About what?” Astrid asked mulishly.

“You’ve been avoiding talking to me all day today and yesterday,” he said firmly. “I thought we’d just sorted things through, and now we’re back to this.”

“I don’t think there’s much to say,” she shrugged. “I apologized-”

“And I stand by what I said; it was the best apology I’ve ever had. But I mean what happened two nights ago?” he demanded. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong-”

“No, that’s not - you didn’t do anything wrong,” Astrid protested.

“Then why are you giving me the cold shoulder?”

“I - You - didn’t like it,” she stammered. “You wanted to stop.”

“Stop? What, the - the kiss?” Hiccup let out a small laugh. “Astrid, the last thing I wanted to do was stop.”

“Then why did you?” Astrid asked. “Did you think it was a mistake?”

“I just,” Hiccup waved his hands around pleadingly. He reached for her hand and led them to sit on the end of the bed. “I want to do this right, you know, and ensure that there’s nothing to get in the way of a lawful marriage. Don’t you?” Astrid looked down at her clasped hands and didn’t answer. She felt him frown at her. Marriage. He wanted marriage, she realized. Hadn’t she literally refused it less than two weeks ago? He still wanted to marry her? Was she ready for marriage? She had only just come to terms with their feelings for each other. Was she ready for marriage to the Prince and the public scrutiny of being a Princess? Her eyes were growing bigger with her spiraling thoughts and Hiccup’s noted her panicked face with a pang.

“Astrid?” he asked hesitantly, his voice small and unsure. “Do you - do you want to marry me?” Astrid bit her lip. He sighed and made to move off the bed.

“Wait, no,” Astrid protested, grabbing his wrist swiftly. He tried to shake her off half heartedly and she caught sight of his face. Her heart dropped into her stomach at the sight. He was hurt. Again. Thor damn it, this was why she didn’t like to talk about her feelings!

“Hiccup, that’s not what I meant,” she amended hastily. “Okay? I really - I wouldn’t marry anyone else; it’s just -” she broke out and glared at the ceiling like it was withholding her words from her. “I don’t want them to win,” she finished ashamedly.

“Win?” Hiccup asked, turning to her. “Who?”

“My parents,” Astrid admitted. “They - they want me to marry you.”

“You don’t want to marry me because you already have your father’s approval to marry me?” Hiccup said incredulously. She groaned and contemplated smothering one of them with a pillow.

“No, not because I have his approval, but because - I don’t want them to think I’m marrying you because of them,” she explained. “Like they’re the reason their daughter managed to marry into the royal family. They - before you came that day to propose they had already been planning to marry me to you. They knew I liked you but the reasons they’d give me … They’d act like I’d be failing them if I didn’t, you know? I’m just expected to marry you now. All my years being a knight were useless if I didn’t use them to learn how to make the Prince fall in love with me and become royalty.”

“Astrid,” Hiccup scooted closer to her  and rested a warm hand on her shoulder.

“It’s your worst nightmare,” Astrid continued. “You’ve always said you hate those families who eye you like a piece of meat and mine is just like that.”

“Hold on,” Hiccup interrupted. “Marrying you could never be a nightmare for me. But aside from that, how is it your nightmare?”

“I don’t mean that I don’t want to marry you,” Astrid said, hoping he hadn’t misunderstood her. “But all they had to say was how beneficial a union would be. And I don’t want to make them feel like any of that is justified. I don’t want to be relegated to a simple wife! I want to be one, sure, but I don’t want it to be all that I am. And their plan! I just,” she shrugged. “Is it awful of me to want to be difficult just to spite them?”

Hiccup barked a laugh. “Heavens, no. And even if it was, it’s not like I’d be in a position to judge. Do you remember all the ridiculous messes I made just to spite our instructors?” Astrid smiled at the reminder.

“How could I forget,” she teased him dryly.

“But if they were planning to marry you off, what were they going to do about the other you?” Hiccup contemplated. Astrid scoffed.

“They didn’t know you know who I am, so they were going to kill me off so that ‘Astrid’ could emerge properly back into society. They hoped I might console you over the death of your friend and perhaps remind you of him enough to marry me.” Hiccup snickered.

“That would have been a funny scene,” he grinned. “We could have played such games with your parents not knowing I knew.”

“It wasn’t funny to me,” Astrid admitted. “I dreaded having to look you in the eye and act like I didn’t know you. I thought you’d hate me for being so duplicitous to your face.”

“Hey,” he said intently, waiting for you to look up at him. “I could never hate you. And I know you’re in a unique position. I would never hold it against you. I would tease you, though, if no one was listening, just to mess with you.” She immediately swatted him and he yelped.

“You muttonhead,” she scowled, fighting back a smile. “You would have given me a heart attack.”

“Even better,” Hiccup smirked. Astrid leaned forward to rest her head against his chest.

“I hate that plan, though,” Astrid admitted. Hiccup wrapped an arm around her and squeezed gently as if to ask, why?

“I - I don’t want to stop being a knight,” Astrid whispered. “I don’t want to stop fighting. I don’t want to pretend like I haven’t literally given my blood for this country. Do you know what the knights our age are like to young ladies? They think they’re Thor’s gift to women and are the most condescending pricks to exist on Midgard. And I want to punch them and tell them who I am just to see their grins slip off their face, but instead I must smile politely and praise them for their bravery! It must be vain of me to want the adulation of the kingdom for my bravery and skills, but the only alternative is to be praised for outwardly beauty or perhaps virtue, how could I ever succeed in their eyes?” Hiccup was silent at her words.

“Well, what if you could be both?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” Astrid blinked incredulously.

“What if you came out as a knight as your female counterpart - as Astrid. Then people would know but you wouldn’t have to pretend any longer.”

“It’d ruin marriage prospects,” Astrid shook her head.

“Not for me,” Hiccup said immediately. “I don’t need to protect my ego and have my wife unable to defend herself. In fact, I’d be immensely proud of her being such a skilled warrior.”

“Hiccup-”

“It could work,” he pressed passionately. “Dad wants to change the laws surrounding women. We could make knighthood a part of it besides inheritance.”

“That would take years,” she argued.

“I would wait,” he told her seriously.

“I don’t think my parents want me to wait that long,” Astrid sighed. “And how do we know your parents would ever allow it? You’re the Heir; your standards for a wife are higher than most in the kingdom.”

“Who could possibly be better than a lady who is beautiful, poised, and can defend us all in a pinch?” Hiccup cried with righteous indignation. Astrid couldn’t help but laugh as she hung her head to hide the furious blush that bloomed on her cheeks. “I don’t want to marry anyone if it isn’t you,” Hiccup began but Astrid laid a finger on his lips.

“Don’t say that,” she said sternly. “Not yet. Please.”

“We’ll sort this out,” Hiccup promised instead. “Starting with taking down Krogan.”

“Right,” Astrid shook her head, having forgotten about the mission at hand. “We should go down. Supper is probably ready.” Hiccup lifted his arm from her shoulder and her hands immediately went to her hair. “I’ll braid this and be down.”

“I’ll finish getting dressed,” Hiccup added. “If you’re going to be in armor, I should be, too.” She smiled at him.

“You hate wearing your armor when you eat,” she reminded him. He raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged.

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “It’d be odd to have one knight in casual clothes an the other in armor. Plus, I wouldn’t want you to single yourself out as a target should things go south by being the one dressed for a fight.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. Hiccup had complained heartily to her over the years on those occasions where they had had to stay in their armor and on their guard even when eating. He hated how hard it was to move his arms and how inaccessible movement was. And, still having the residual clumsiness from his youth, he often accidentally spilled his food and it drove him mad not to be able to find the bread crumbs.

The casual inquiries went well. Astrid knew the way Hiccup thought and knew which questions to ask to give him the details he needed. They had their act down to an art, moving smoothly around one another, any awkwardness from their room forgotten. But it did not stay that way when they retired for the night.

“Hiccup, get in the bed,” Astrid said firmly. Hiccup shuffled awkwardly.

“I, um-” Astrid patted the blanket beside her aggressively.

“We have one night with a bed,” she pointed out. “I’m not going to be the only one to enjoy it.”

“You should take it,” Hiccup insisted. Astrid growled.

“We should both take it as knights who both need a good night’s rest. If you don’t get in I will give us shifts in the bed and wake us both in the middle of the night to switch places. If you’re going to pull the ‘I’m a lady’ yakdung I’m going to pull the royalty card which entitles you to the bed.” Hiccup sighed and pulled back the blankets on the other side of the bed.

“Why can’t you let me be chivalrous for once?” he grumbled as he shifted around to get comfortable. Astrid considered facing him but decided to stay on her back staring at the dark ceiling.

“You are irritatingly chivalrous to the point I worry you will get me found out,” Astrid said flatly. “I do not wish to be coddled in cases like these.”

“I don’t mean to coddle you,” Hiccup replied. “I’m sorry. It’s just hard to treat you without the care I want to give you. That you deserve.”

“Hiccup,” she said softly. “It’s never going to be easy. Us, I mean.” Hiccup shifted under the blankets.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And I understand that, but at the same time, there is no one I feel as comfortable and easy with as you. You get me. I like to think I get you. We’ve already established ourselves as a legendary team; imagine us leading Berk together as a team.”

“It’s only easy because we’re on the same footing,” Astrid refuted. “When we’re both knights, we’re equals. As a fellow warrior, it is easy for us, but as a prince and a reclusive lady? Hiccup, the only time we’ve acted as such we fought.”

“We fought and grew,” Hiccup said steadily. “We hurt each other but came back stronger. Look, I’m not saying it won’t be hard, but I believe what we have is worth fighting for.”

“But I haven’t won you over,” Astrid protested.

“What?” asked Hiccup confusedly.

“I thought I’d have to woo you,” Astrid explained. “And now I don’t have to? You’re throwing me off the plan.”

“Well, my apologies,” Hiccup said in a tone that told her he was rolling his eyes. “But you’d already won me over years ago.”

“How?”

“How? By - by being a woman unafraid of fighting in a man’s world to support her family. With your resolve and faithfulness as you powered through dreary fights and helped me overcome them, too. With your straightforward honesty and how you didn’t coddle me with your words or actions.”

“I wasn’t trying to win you over, though.”

“You never had to,” Hiccup leaned over to press a kiss to her hairline. “You’ve won me just as who you are. There was never any question as to whether I’d fall for you or not.” Astrid’s breath caught and she pushed him off of her gently.

“Will you still feel that way if we part ways after this mission and don’t see each other for mayhaps years?” she asked. “I have not reached a resolution for my problems and you will become King.”

“We can only try,” Hiccup admitted, “But I am only certain that my feelings would remain strong while we sort ourselves out. I’d like to announce an engagement sooner rather than later, though, so I can get Mom off my back whilst I'm promised to another.”

“I’ll try,” Astrid told him. He scooted softly back to his side of the bed and Astrid closed her eyes.

“Astrid?” She opened her eyes again, then realized he couldn’t have seen the action.

“Yes?”

“Does this mean that you’ll say yes when I do propose eventually?” Astrid bit her lip.

“We’re nowhere near ready for that,” she said sternly. “But - Yes. When you propose. Eventually.” She couldn’t tell for sure, but the movement he made sounded a lot like he’d buried his face in his pillow and let out a yell of triumph.

.oOo.

Not a week later they arrived at the Coves. The land was rocky but green, courtesy of the late summer rains. Most of the land in northern Berk was full of small rocks and thin dirt, making it hard for any life to thrive. It was one of the reasons it was such a good hideout for the Dragons; there was no pressing incentive to farm the land they were occupying and terrorizing. The winds were harsh enough to discourage many trees from growing to imposing heights, so the most texture it had were the many hills and uneven piles of rocks. The Coves, however, were like a breath of fresh color. The rocks were larger and more stable. Moss blanketed the stone with green warmth. A couple brave flowers peeked between thin cracks, and the water was freezing but clean.

The journey to the Coves was a boring one, and the locals were wary enough of the place to steer clear of the bandits they knew were lurking somewhere. Most had been tight lipped in the inn a week ago, but with Astrid and Hiccup generously paying for everyone’s drinks that night, enough tongues loosened up enough to prove useful.

The raids had been getting a little more frequent, and it was getting harder for the surrounding villages and towns to restock enough provisions for themselves between each raid to have enough left over to feed everyone. Cows and chickens frequently went missing, and even the foxes had been hunted to the point where they doubted the animals were what was eating their precious livestock, and the alternative option for meat had disappeared.

“Aye, the Coves,” one older lady had nodded drunkenly that night. Astrid had smiled politely at her. “They’re beautiful, not that I’ve been there for years! Them bandits are always guarding that place, they are.”

“Beautiful how?” Astrid had asked. “Do you remember how to get there, exactly?”

The Coves were just the start of the magical place. There was a large lake in the middle of the coves that turned the surrounding area green and apparently, caves that created a large network of tunnels around the Coves and even branching into some of the nearby hills.

“We used to explore them tunnels,” the old lady had recalled wistfully. “Dunno what’s been dun to the place now, of course.” Astrid had waved over another keg of mead and pushed it into the lady’s hands.

Hiccup looked around the place with interest. “Amazing what a steady source of water will do,” he wondered. “Maybe if I talked to Dad and we could figure out an irrigation system-”

“Hiccup, focus,” Astrid laughed. The ruler in Hiccup was starting to show despite his protests that he wasn’t cut out to lead a country. They had grown closer in the past few days. Hiccup had assured her he cared for her and would do everything he could to ensure that Berk would become a better place for girls like Astrid. If worse came to worse after the war, Astrid supposed she could step down as a knight to marry Hiccup and help make the world easier from the sidelines. They were doing things right, but that didn’t stop them from sharing a couple kisses between every break and sleeping in each other’s arms at night instead of back to back. Neither had said it outright yet, but they were in love and Astrid was finding herself hard pressed not to just elope with him then and there. Being a future queen didn’t sound so bad or insurmountable anymore. But, she reminded herself, that was just because

“We have about a week until Krogan’s set to arrive, yes?” Astrid checked when Hiccup hadn’t stopped staring contemplatively around him. He blinked and shook himself out of his daze and Astrid bit back a smile.

“Er, yes,” he said. “I figured we could arrive ahead of time, scope things out and figure a course of action before he came. I don’t know how long he’ll be here and we want to be as efficient as possible.”

“When the lady I talked to said the place was guarded, do you think she meant like sentries, spies, or everyone just knows everyone?” Astrid wondered aloud.

“It’d be impossible to know everyone,” Hiccup responded. “According to Johann, their numbers are in the thousands. How long ago had it been since she’d tried to come here? Maybe they’ve gotten lax with their security.”

“Maybe,” Astrid said doubtfully. “I say we choose an opening and watch it until someone comes out,” she decided.

“I like the plan,” Hiccup agreed. They unsaddled their horses and hid the saddles behind a bush outside the main opening of rock.

“Bye for now, Toothless,” Hiccup petted the beautiful black stallion’s nose and rested his forehead against it. Astrid patted Stormfly’s flank before shooing her off gently. Their horses were well trained and Hiccup and Astrid would be able to call them back with a curlew’s song whenever they needed to. The horses deserved some free time roaming the plains for a week or so, and they wouldn’t be caught or found out while tending to their steeds. They had trained their horses that trick during their stint with the Berk Guard to show off to their comrades. Throk could catch literal arrows out of the air, and Alvin had been able to snap a small log in two with his bare hands. Every few nights or so all the Guards would take turns showing off, and after months and months of chasing down their horses, Astrid and Hiccup had proudly demonstrated their horses’ intelligence.

Hiccup and Astrid turned back to the cove and began to explore it, looking for an opening.

“There are multiple openings,” Astrid reasoned. “They can’t possibly all be hidden.” They eventually settled behind a big rock and pulled their hoods up over their faces, waiting to be shown an opening they could slip into and observe admittance. Hiccup let out a huge sigh. He didn’t appreciate stakeouts. They usually made him antsy, but Astrid liked the meditative practice of sitting still for hours on end. It was calming, and since she had already sorted through most of her complicated feelings with the wonderful man sitting next to her, she allowed herself to bask in his presence while they waited.

She’d always liked it best when it was just the two of them. Sure, she was friends with the other Guards and even liked Snotlout or Ingerman on occasion. And she always enjoyed lively Eret. But Hiccup and her were special. Maybe it was because he knew of her true self, but even before that, they had connected as two lonely kids and found solace in each other’s friendship. Hiccup thought he had benefited the most out of their friendship, but Astrid was certain that without Hiccup’s gentle awe of her, his quiet support and his unfaltering goodness she would never have wanted to share the experience of freedom with other girls. She would have never learned the elation of love and consuming hope of better things to come for the future. She broke one of the first rules of observing an enemy’s territory and turned her head to gaze at him. His eyes were half closed. It looked like he was falling asleep, so she nudged him gently, stifling a snort at the way his head shot up in a panic. He looked around quickly, remembering their surroundings.

He met her eyes concernedly. Has anyone come? He asked silently. Astrid shook her head and made no move to restrain her smile. He sighed and scanned the cove around them, debating whether or not it’d be faster to continue searching or wait for a Dragon to come out. Astrid’s legs were starting to seriously cramp when Hiccup gripped her arm hard and she stiffened as much as she could without moving and alerting anyone to their location. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of a rock moving and a curtain of ivy shoved aside. The Dragon whistled, oblivious to the two sharp pairs of eyes watching him. It looked like they had found their way in.

.oOo.

“This is stupid,” one Dragon member grunted to his companion. His left eyebrow was singed and his teeth filed into fangs. His friend tore into his leg of chicken, ignoring the one who’d spoken. “They’re treating us like soldiers,” he continued to grouse. “But we’re Dragons. We fight and steal for profit, not for stupid conquerors.”

“We’ll make plenty of profit from our coin once Drago pays us,” his companion deigned to answer.

“But there will be so many casualties,” the first one complained. “We raid, not fight. I tell you, the last Red Death would never-”

“Careful,” cautioned his friend urgently. “You can’t be heard saying that. You know she isn’t afraid to slaughter anyone who opposes her, and with Drago’s support, no one can rise against her.”

“I think she cheated when she challenged the last one,” the singed eyebrow groused. “She was nothin’ but his mistress. This is why we can’t never trust no woman.”

“Doesn’t matter if she won,” the Dragon rolled his eyes, biting off the last bit of cartilage from his chicken leg.

“She might not win next time, though,” the first one said, his voice lowering to nearly a whisper. His companion went still.

“Fanghook,” the Dragon said sternly. “Don’t tell me-”

“Kingstail is a strong Dragon, and he hates this yakshit going on with Drago. We’ll lose our identity if we become that man’s soldiers. We’re Dragons. We answer to no one but our own.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” his friend said flatly.

“No we won’t,” Fanghook said confidently. “Kingstail asked if he could count on me when he gives the signal-”

“This is treason,” the other Dragon hissed. “What signal?” Fanghook shifted.

“He said I’d know,” the younger Dragon said with a pout. His companion threw away his chicken bone in disgust. Hiccup’s eyes narrowed but he kept his head perfectly still. There was a coup happening? He waited until the two Dragons had walked away before he dared to stir. Clearing his plate, he hid a couple choice pieces of meat and grabbed a keg of the mildest mead to take to Astrid in case she hadn’t had anything to eat. He wove through the pillars until he reached a rather large one, pockmarked with cavities that were ideal for hand and footholds. He cast a glance around, then carefully took off his hood, stuffing the food inside of it and grabbing onto the rock.

He and Astrid had discovered that while the caves and coves eventually led to the one big cavern, there were pockets of rock that most Dragons liked to sleep in. The pillars were mostly sturdy, and water had carved large holes in the porous rocks over time so there were plenty of handholds. Dragons slept on the rock, and fought for the best places. They weren’t a tight knit group, though. It was every man for himself, full of temporary alliances that ended in backstabbing. Hiccup and Astrid had found a small slab by the northwest end of the coves. The holes were smaller and the slabs less sheltered. It wasn’t a coveted spot, so they were left alone. The only thing that distinguished Dragons were their tattoos and weapons, but as long as he and Astrid kept covered and didn’t get into any fights, they should stay undetected.

It was a good thing Hiccup wasn’t afraid of heights. That was another thing. The small pocket of rock they had chosen was hard to reach because it was so high up. No one wanted to climb that much before they could even make it to their bed, especially after a night of revelry or if they wanted to store their spoils. Hiccup breathed and tested his foothold before stretching out his hand to pull himself further up. He had climbed this pillar enough in the past few days that he had practically memorized his route up, but he wasn’t foolish enough to lose caution.

Astrid was already in the pocket when he had woven through the low ledge to their spot. She looked up at him with a smile, pushing back her hood. It was woven into a crown around her head to keep it short and out of her face, although her hair was too short for it to be fully smooth, and little flyaway hairs stuck out comically. He thought it was adorable.

“Brought you some food,” he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She swatted him, trying to hide her blush and reached to take the food from him eagerly.

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed. “This is so much better than the food outside. No one knows how to cook over there.”

“Learn anything?” Hiccup asked.

“Mmm, nah,” Astrid said. “They are working on loading carts, but they are unfamiliar with traveling in large numbers. Usually they just hide in the bushes and ambush traveling caravans. They’ve never fought on a large scale before, and a lot of them aren’t happy about it. No one trusts the other, so they won’t be as solid a force as normal soldiers when we fight against them.” She took a minute to chew and swallow. “But in a battle, they’ll probably break off in pairs or something and try to slip through weak cracks. They’ll be very difficult to beat, and don’t seem to have any honor.”

“What are the carts for?” Hiccup asked.

“Weapons and food,” Astrid replied. “They aren’t used to packing and preserving food for travel; usually they just steal it, but Drago wants them to be discreet. What about you?”

“I have something really interesting,” Hiccup smirked. “It sounds like these Dragons really don’t like the idea of teaming up with Drago.”

“Oh?” Astrid cocked her head to the side.

“It sounds like one of them - Kingstail - wants to seize leadership for himself.” Astrid leaned forward, a curious smile on her lips.

“Do you know when?”

“No. The guy I heard it from was utterly clueless. He’ll probably think the next shout is a signal to attack. Anything else on your part?” Astrid snapped her fingers and pointed at him as she remembered.

“Yes! Krogan is coming tomorrow with some of his own generals to lead the Dragons. They’ll be arriving and getting special treatment. Some of the Dragons have had to give up their sleeping spaces to make way for his soldiers and apparently they’ll even try to get a full on room for Krogan.”

“They’re probably to help the Red Death keep the Dragons in check,” Hiccup mused.

“Do you know how to find the Red Death?” Astrid asked.

“Not yet, although I’m sure she’ll make an appearance to greet her guests.”

“Then we’ll be ready. They’ll probably have the conversation in one of their rooms so as to keep their privacy,” Astrid frowned in concentration.

“So, we have until tomorrow,” Hiccup nodded.

“And then what?” Astrid asked. Hiccup wrinkled his nose in confusion. “What do you mean, and then what?”

“Will we leave as soon as we hear the plan?” Astrid asked.

“Yeah. This is just supposed to be a spy mission,” Hiccup said. Astrid stared at her leg of chicken contemplatively.

“We should probably stake out the meeting place before he gets here, then.” Hiccup nodded in agreement. Astrid looked longingly at the thin pile of blankets in the corner, including some they had stolen. “I say two hours rest and then we can spend the rest of the night searching.”

“Suits me,” Hiccup said, crawling over to arrange the blankets. “Wake me when it’s time.”

The best time to sneak around wasn’t late night, but rather a few hours after midnight during the early morning. It was still dark, but the guards on duty were tired after hours of trying to stay awake. Astrid climbed down the pillar first, landing without a sound and pulled her hood up over her head. Hiccup followed quickly and they set off down the cave.

They were pretty familiar with their surroundings on the northwest side of the tunnels. They expertly wove through the twists and turns in the rock, skirting around the cavern filled with Dragons who had passed out from their mead consumption. Astrid had spent the last few days inspecting the collection of wagons and horses the Dragons had in their stables to the western side of their camp to gauge the numbers. With approximately a steed to ride plus a pack horse for each and wagons that could hold more supplies and ten men, she estimated their numbers at eight thousand. Which left the southern and eastern sides. They were closer to the numerous villages the Dragons liked to raid and as a result were far more busy and protected. The south part of the coves were composed of thicker slabs of rock, which stood to reason it’d probably be where the Red Death and her most valuable things were kept.

They drew up short as they came across a sleepy guard standing by a tunnel entrance.

“Well that’s an indication to investigate if I ever saw one,” Hiccup whispered quietly. Astrid snorted softly. They stayed still for a minute, gauging his breathing. Finally, Astrid gave a short nod and Hiccup started forward, stepping in time to the guard’s exhales. Astrid followed suit and they crept down the stone hall until they came across an alcove. It was a cold place with very little light, so there was no way it was the Red Death or Krogan’s quarters, but it had to be important if there was a Dragon guarding it. Hiccup snagged a torch from the wall and brought it over to the alcove. It was actually big enough to be a room, and it was full of gourds, barrels, and boxes, all securely closed. Some of them were labeled and new while others looked old and untouched.

“They seem to be organized by some system, although it’s not obvious yet,” Hiccup observed. Astrid picked up a large gourd and frowned.

“This is awfully light, but clearly sealed. What could possibly be in this?” she wondered. Hiccup shrugged and simply held the torch higher as she looked around the room.

“They have all the weapons together, there,” she pointed. “So maybe they’re sorted by use?” next to the pile of weapons stood a collection of smaller chests and boxes filled with vials and powders. On the other side of the room were the big barrels and gourds. Hiccup brought the torch closer to the latter objects to see if they were labeled.

Astrid walked over next to him and opened a barrel. It had been opened before, and it was no problem to pry the lid and set it to the side. A pungent smell hit their noses and they struggled not to gag audibly. “It looks like . . . gel,” Hiccup frowned. Astrid dipped a finger in it and brought it closer to the torch to inspect it. Her eyes widened as it quickly caught on fire. She yelped and immediately enclosed her flaming finger in a fist.

“Astrid!” Hiccup panicked. “Are you okay?” she opened her fist cautiously, no smoke rising from her palm.

“I - yeah,” she said shakily. “Just surprised. It looks like it burnt all the gel but I stopped it before it could reach my finger.” She wiped the grease on her pants and winced. Her palm was a little red and raw. Hiccup noticed and opened his mouth to say something but Astrid interrupted. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Is there anything else useful?” Hiccup turned reluctantly back to the stack of supplies. 

“Flammable gel,” he mused, looking around the room. “Weapons. Nets . . .” he walked over and inspected a vial before jerking back. “Nadder concentrate. And Deadly Nadder leaves. This is the poison section . . .”

“Wow,” Astrid breathed. “This place is amazing. Poisons, explosives.” She walked over to a gourd. “This must be some sort of explosive gas, then.”

“We should bring back a sample of all of these poisons,” Hiccup murmured. “Half of them we’ve never seen. I mean, what’s F mist? Although it’s next to Speed Stinger venom so maybe it’s paralyzing, too.” Astrid decided not to fight her eye roll.

“They must use all of these on their victims - a few Dragons have occasionally been hired as mercenaries and assassins, even though the majority of them are bandits,” she thought aloud. “This must be where they keep their supplies.”

“Good to know,” Hiccup mused. “But the Red Death wouldn’t want to be so close to explosives, or keep potential enemies close to them, so Krogan and his men certainly won’t be here.”

The third corridor they came across had a lot more torches, and even fancy doors installed with tapestries lining the walls. There was no doubt this was where the Red Death resided. Astrid and Hiccup expertly immobilized a pair of patrolling guards and strode past the corridor, standing at attention, their eyes taking in every detail. The Red Death was a curvaceous woman who remained mysterious - or maybe didn’t dare to venture very far into her own den for fear of upstarts wishing to challenge her. Her meals were brought to her rooms and only a few select advisors entered her chambers. The guest rooms were cleared and the next day Hiccup and Astrid were part of the crew that helped set up Krogan’s rooms.

The meeting with Krogan was to take place in a ‘neutral’ room, sparsely furnished to show the absence of traps and with a big table. Only a few guards, two from the Red Death and two from Krogan would guard the entrance to the room to avoid anyone else hearing their plans. The two guards would probably be of the Red Death’s few advisors she allowed in her chambers. Hiccup and Astrid had identified four. So two of them would probably be in the meeting between the two leaders.

Krogan arrived the day afterwards with ten generals. Astrid peered over one of the ledges, laying on her stomach, her hood pulled far over her face to ensure no one saw her even if they looked up. They looked tired, and one of the Red Death’s close advisors escorted them to the southern caves.

“Krogan,” the Red Death welcomed him with a pleasant, deep voice. “A pleasure to meet with you in person again.”

Krogan grunted and inclined his head.

“How go the preparations to move?” he asked abruptly. The Red Death let out a soft laugh.

“Straight to the point,” she noticed keenly. “They are going well. Is everything going as planned on your front?”

“Berk sent in reinforcements,” Krogan said flatly. “It is nothing we can’t handle, but with the soldiers we have Drago wishes to act sooner than we planned.” The Red Death said nothing for a minute.

“With your soldiers helping my Dragons fall into place we should be able to be ready,” she acquiesced. “Of course, such a decision will cost you.”

“Deal,” Krogan agreed. “We’ll need you to move in four weeks' time,” Krogan said as he shook the Red Death’s hand.

“Four weeks?” she asked incredulously.

“Four weeks,” Krogan repeated sternly.

“Very well,” the Red Death acceded. One of her guards at the end of the table shifted.

Astrid tugged Hiccup’s tunic lightly. “Four weeks isn't enough time for us to get back to Berk and formulate a counter attack,” she hissed urgently.

“I know,” Hiccup agreed, frowning. Astrid cocked her head to one side as she studied him. What are we going to do? She asked silently. His eyebrow rose in contemplation. “If we need more time, I guess we’ll have to slow them down,” he said thoughtfully.

“You mean, killing Krogan, laming all the horses, burning the wagons and provisions, or blowing up the weapons and their base?” Astrid asked sardonically, a gleam in her eye at the prospect of battle.

“From what we’ve seen, the Dragons aren’t exactly feeling very loyal to Drago. The only real connection between him and the Dragons is the Red Death, who is in kahoots with Krogan.”

“So, no Red Death . . .” Astrid nodded, catching his drift.

“. . . no ambush,” Hiccup finished. “Yeah.”

“Well, great. We just need to incapacitate the leader of the Dragons in this den full of hundreds if not thousands of highly dangerous individuals. Easy. How do we do that?”

“We can’t fight off all of them, so we’ll need a diversion,” Hiccup said, a grin spreading across his face as he met her eye. A smile grew on her face in answer as she played along for dramatic effect.

“Oh?” Astrid asked coyly. “And what do you propose?”

“What was that idea about blowing up their transportation and provisions?” Hiccup asked innocently.

.oOo.

The Dragons and Krogan’s generals would be put to work the following day and the caves would be too swarmed with soldiers to set up any traps, so they had to act that night.

“It has been forever since we’ve done this,” Astrid said, biting back a smile.

“Do you remember how furious Gobber was when we singed his eyebrows that one time?” Hiccup nudged her.

“How could I forget the whack of his staff during our extra training,” Astrid shook her head. “I swear it hurt to breathe for days. But now I can beat almost anyone with just a staff.”

“Okay,” he puffed, standing up to stretch his back and looking at his work with a satisfied smirk. “That should be the last of them.”

“I’m pretty sure this is a record of ours,” Astrid groaned quietly. “I don’t think I’ve set more traps in four hours in my entire life.”

“You’ll be able to hit all of them, right?” Hiccup checked.

“Of course,” she assured him. “I’ll definitely be able to make it outside before Krogan.”

“What I want to know,” she continued, “is when did you get so good at this? I don’t remember you being so eager to cause this kind of destruction since we were seventeen.”

“Maybe I missed this,” Hiccup shrugged.

“You’re way too confident to have supposedly just resumed pranking after five years,” Astrid accused him gently. “Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re related to my uncle,” Hiccup assured her. Astrid sniggered.

“I almost feel bad for Snotlout,” she shook her head.

The plan was to take place during a meal, which was when most Dragons would be in the cavern that served as a mess hall. They would start an explosion right outside the cavern and feign a coup that Hiccup had overheard plans about. They hadn’t been able to glean much more information surrounding it, as Kingstail was a popular and shrewd Dragon; it was hard to eavesdrop on his plans. However, there were at least a couple Dragons who were waiting for an unknown signal. They would lead the attack and send the hall into chaos. Kingstail might try to stop them or take advantage of the situation; either way, they didn’t care. Hiccup would stay in the mess hall and try to target the Red Death while Astrid exploded a few entrances to barricade the Dragons in and make it harder for them to exit the den, plus their wagons and supplies to prevent them from having the resources to attack Berk. Krogan would also try to make a run for it, so with most of the extra entrances collapsed, he’d run into Astrid, who would overtake him and bring him back to the Berk palace to interrogate him.

“You probably don’t have to take the Red Death on directly, you know,” Astrid said hesitantly. “What’s more important is that you make the mess hall such chaos Krogan will want to leave rather than help and you can escape.” Hiccup turned to look at her.

“I can handle myself in there,” he assured her. “It isn’t my first brawl, you know.” Astrid winced.

“I need you more than alive; I need you well enough to ride back to Berk with a dangerous prisoner,” she said firmly. “It took weeks for you to move properly after those brawls.”

“Fine,” Hiccup huffed. “Getting out of there is my priority. But what about you? How are you going to take on Krogan?”

“I’ll coat my blades in Speed Stinger venom,” she shrugged. She had never used the concoction before, but had heard about it from the legendary healer Gothi and in history books. Even a few drops were enough to paralyze a fully grown man for a couple hours. As long as she managed one slice on Drago’s general, he would freeze immediately for long enough to tie him up securely.

The traps were a few tripwires connected to torches along the walls that would set piles of the flammable gel on fire, and a couple of gourds of the explosive gas by the entrance. If they failed, Hiccup had found a few weak spots in the rock where some of the Dragons had piled boulders themselves to give themselves more cover. Astrid could simply nudge the weak spot and tumble the rocks manually, trapping the Dragons inside.

“Did you pack our bags?” she checked. Hiccup nodded. He had carefully bundled the samples of substances he wanted to bring back to Berk in packs, along with their blankets and had retrieved their horses, getting them saddled and waiting by the entrance in the cove.

“We’ve done as much as we can, Astrid,” he said reassuringly. “You can stop worrying.” Astrid cast him a dark look and he bit back a laugh.

“I can’t believe we just spontaneously decided to assassinate the Red Death and capture Drago’s general,” she said drily.

“Never a dull moment with the two of us,” Hiccup smiled.

“Breakfast will be in about twenty minutes,” Astrid observed. “So we should get to our positions. Be careful,” she warned him as she began to walk away.

.oOo.

When Fanghook sauntered to breakfast early for once, he didn’t notice the gleeful eyes watching him from the corner. A few more of his comrades made their way down quickly, drawn first by their need for the latrines, then by the tantalizing smell of food. They helped themselves from the pots and platters on the main table. Krogan’s men were sitting at the head table like the good little soldiers they were. He scoffed and jeered at them with his friends. They were going to have to follow those foreigner’s orders and they would be expecting hardworking minions, so he had no choice but to ridicule them as much as he could now before they exhausted him. Who cared about stupid soldier formations? Fanghook excelled at ducking out of the fight whenever it came to confrontation and holding a knife to a pretty woman’s neck and forcing his opponents to surrender. What was the point of fighting next to a buddy who’d kill him as soon as he had enough spoils to make it worthwhile? Why should he save a comrade when less people meant a greater share of the prize? Soldiers with ideas of conquering made no sense.

The Red Death made her way to the breakfast table, surprisingly enough. He supposed it was because of the Krogan general. She didn’t want to seem unorganized or weak in front of him. He scoffed again. Women were nothing but weak, and it was so typical of a woman Red Death to team up with some conquering bastard like Drago to keep the Dragons satisfied. He couldn’t wait for Kingstail to take her down.

Fanghook was on his second bowl of stew when a loud boom sounded, filling the cafeteria with green gas which burst into flames. He jumped up, his short sword already drawn. Fanghook may have never learned to read or figure or even hold a meaningful conversation, but he was well versed in the lifestyle of stab first, think later and that had kept him alive as long as he had. Everyone’s heads snapped toward the flash of fire and coughed in the wake of smoke.

“THE SIGNAL!!!” someone from the midst of the smoke bellowed. Fanghook started. The signal? Had Kingstail set this up?

“THE SIGNAL!!!!” another voice roared. “Go, Go, Go!” Fanghook sprang into action.

“Come on, boys,” he shouted. They followed him without question.

“What’s happening?” one of them asked.

“We’re not gonna let these soldiers boss us around!” Fanghook cried. “Time to put someone else in charge!” Plenty of people drew weapons, too and leapt over tables to follow him. Someone stepped in front of Fanghook and he struck him down easily. The Dragon’s friend cried out in outrage and leapt onto one of Fanghook’s comrades. Now it was just a cacophony of petty squabbles resulting in blood. Some people targeted others they had grudges against and others swung their knives for the fun of it. Some were trying to stop the brawl but they didn’t understand that this was no brawl, but a rebellion. A slim figure streaked past him, aiming for the Red Death’s table. Explosions from farther away sounded, not that Fanghook cared as he roared in pain at someone’s knife in his shoulder. He threw himself into the fray, bloodlust taking over as he punched and grappled and swung whatever blade he could get his hands on, not noticing the absence of a certain general from the scene or the Red Death’s whereabouts.

.oOo.

In the instant before the mess hall exploded, Astrid was gripped by an all consuming fear that they had misjudged the situation severely. Maybe they shouldn’t have pushed their plan into action in the morning, with all the Dragons still waking up. But then one Dragon drew his sword and after that, everything took care of itself. She turned from the scene and sprinted to the nearest exit. So the explosive gas they had used was quite strong. She set the closed gourd of gas covered in the gel on fire and backed away, turning to see if this explosion was just as strong.

Reaching the two north entrances, she slipped into the stables, her torch aggravating the horses and opened the stalls and doors, chasing them out of the barn, yelling loudly and waving the fire around. She waited a minute to make sure none of them were close enough to be harmed before turning to the wagons, soaked in that very useful flammable smelly fluid. She targeted the wagons filled with weapons first, then the ones with healing supplies and food, snagging a piece of bread and stuffing it into her mouth before throwing her torch straight into the wagon.

The caves were full of Dragons running to and fro, some confused, others fighting. None of them took much notice of her. Someone swung a fist and she dodged before flooring him with a well aimed kick. She burst out into the coves and blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. She hid herself by the exit and removed her axe. She found herself frowning at the slight residue the Speed Stinger venom left on the metal’s surface, marring the shine and care she took of her blade, but Krogan was an experienced fighter, and if it looked like she didn’t know how to take care of a weapon, he might guess she didn’t know how to handle one, either.

She barely had time to stabilize her breathing before Krogan’s tall frame made its way outside. Astrid’s heart sped up but she forced herself to breathe evenly. He was hardly the first opponent she had ever fought. He began to climb the pathway up to the opening of rock that led out of the cove. She waited until he was close before jumping out of the brush with a fierce yell, aiming for his fingers. He yanked his hand away with enviable reflexes and managed to keep his balance, but Astrid stood above him on higher ground and with stabler footing.

“You,” snarled Krogan.

“You’re coming with me,” Astrid said with her deep voice. He scoffed.

“I think not,” he replied. “You no longer have much use for me or Drago. You are unorganized and have no respect for authority. Plus, some idiot blew up the wagons and provisions. Drago will cease trying to allow you Dragons your own authority and conquer you easily.”

“I’m the idiot who blew up the supplies,” Astrid said, her voice steely, “And you’re coming with me. To the Berk palace.” She quickly removed her hood and pulled it over her head before she could blink, tossing it away from her. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid and tucked into her shirt, plus she had carefully applied smudges to her face to alter her features and make them more masculine. Krogan’s eyes sharpened into slits. He took out a long handled axe with a jagged axehead on one side and smirked arrogantly at her. Astrid lifted her chin and hefted her own weapon before lunging forward, aiming for his exposed arms. He dodged easily, but Astrid did not press further. She had good ground and there was no other exit out of the coves. She wouldn’t give him the chance to slip around her and escape.

His eyes narrowed at her and he leapt at her, swinging his axe. Wow, his legs were freakishly strong and fast. She dodged to the side, avoiding the sweep of his longer axe. She brought her own weapon up and slashed at him, not moving to the side to lend him enough room to escape.

“You’re not bad,” he taunted. Astrid smiled tightly, acknowledging the compliment but not letting it detract from her focus. A flash of annoyance crossed his face at her lack of response, and she bit back a smile.

She had a small knife by her side, also coated with the Speed Stinger Venom. If she were able to get close to him she could slice him. Or, she could distract him with an offensive attack with her axe and throw the knife, hoping to cut him. She was a great shot with a knife, but Krogan was powerful and strong. She wasn’t sure she’d actually be able to hit him. And if she missed, there would be no way to retrieve her knife. I just need a slice, she told herself as she moved to strike again. She didn’t need to kill him or make him yield or even draw first blood, although that was preferable. She swung again and he jumped out of the way. She swung around to block him from slipping between her and the opening. He relied the most on his strong legs, reaching ungodly heights and if Astrid ducked he’d probably be able to jump over her, although his swings with his axe were arm-shatteringly strong. His heavy cloak was a bit of a hindrance to him, but he was good enough that it wasn’t a weakness Astrid would be able to utilize.

She made to aim a swipe at his legs, crouching down low enough for, say, a certain opponent to jump over her. He took the bait, launching himself over her. She ignored the rush of fear as he sailed over her, and twisted quickly, drawing her smaller blade and slicing deeply along his unprotected calf. He bellowed, more out of arrogant fury than pain as he landed. He stood to face her but froze before he could completely straighten. Astrid smiled grimly at the effective work of the Speed Stinger venom. She knocked him over with her foot, delighting in the way he toppled over helplessly. Stormfly trotted over as Astrid whistled and Astrid unwound the rope from her horse’s hidden saddle.

“Hey, girl,” she greeted her mare. “Did you have a nice time roaming these plains?” Stormfly’s eyes twinkled at her. “I missed you, too,” she smiled, stroking the horse’s soft nose. “I’m going to put this on you now,” she gestured to the saddle and Stormfly stood obediently still.

Astrid made quick work of Stormfly’s saddle, then called Toothless over and readied him for Hiccup, too, casting a nervous glance back at the caves. She tied Krogan’s hands and legs securely, signaling Stormfly to kneel. She slung him over the saddle, cooing as her strong, beautiful mare shifted under the weight.

Ten minutes later, Hiccup still hadn’t come out. She inspected Toothless’s saddle bags one more time again. They had brought out the samples of the substances to bring back to Berk the night they had set the traps, not wanting to risk one of them being poisoned or paralyzed if the bottles broke. She cast a glance at her prisoner. He would not be able to move for a couple hours or so but did she want to keep him conscious? Should she knock him out now or wait for Hiccup to get back and subdue Krogan just as they began riding again?

Toothless’s ear perked forward and Astrid wanted to sag in relief. She saw Hiccup a few minutes after, climbing out of the cove and taking a moment to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath before straightening up to address them.

“Hiccup-” she said, concerned. He waved her off.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “It was just a hard fight, but it’s fine.” She eyed him suspiciously as he hauled himself into Toothless’s saddle with a pained grunt. “I’m good,” he insisted when he caught sight of her face. She arched an eyebrow.

“Okay,” she said disbelievingly. He clicked his tongue, signaling his stallion into a trot and Astrid turned and whacked the side of Krogan’s head with the flat of her axe. Hiccup winced. She turned to him, a wide smile on her face. Hitting the General had felt good.

Hiccup didn’t have any cuts on him but his breathing was slightly shallower than normal and a few times she had caught him gingerly holding his side between breaks. The ride back to the Berk Palace was going to take two weeks with the addition of Krogan and they wanted to avoid towns near Berk’s borders in case Krogan escaped and tried to make it back to Drago.

Maybe they should have stolen more healing supplies, Astrid worried. They had plenty of bandages and a few herbs for poultices if they needed them, although if there was a serious wound they’d have to restock at one of the cities.

“Let me look at you,” she decided as they dismounted for the night. Hiccup’s head snapped round to look at her.

“What?”

“You’re clearly hurt,” he glared at him. “Don’t try to deny it. I won’t let you. So let me look at how bad it is before I fuss over you as punishment.” He rolled his eyes.

“I swear you’re like a mother dragon,” he muttered. She cuffed him around the head and he snickered before removing his shirt.

He had bruises lining his torso from what looked like grappling and a few kicks.

“What were you doing?” she asked incredulously.

“Uh… fighting.” Hiccup responded. He scratched the back of his head. “She was a really good fighter, but better with long range and I had a few explosives left.

“Is she?”

“Dead.” Astrid nodded. “Good job.” She knew he hated killing, knew it haunted him at night but the Red Death was just too dangerous to be kept alive, and they wouldn’t have been able to restrain two powerful prisoners. She gave him an encouraging smile. You did the right thing. Her hands automatically began tracing his old scars and he sucked in a breath, moving his head closer to hers just slightly. She began to tilt it upwards when Stormfly snorted and Astrid remembered the prisoner just sitting there watching them.

“Uh- um,” she stammered. “Great. We actually - we should have a poultice for the bruises that you can use.” Hiccup looked adorably confused and put out at her pulling back before his brain caught up and he scowled.

Well, now Astrid was sure she didn’t have to worry about Hiccup being accidentally too nice.

It was stupid how much Krogan got in the way. It had been weeks since Hiccup and Astrid had had to watch themselves around each other, and all of a sudden stolen kisses or light flirtations that had so easily become part of their routine had to be cut out in front of their audience, leaving them embarrassingly off balance. And the prisoner was so quiet that they’d forget he was there at times. Hiccup would stumble upon her name or Astrid would lean too close before they remembered the third party. It was dangerous. And Astrid found herself cranky without Hiccup’s soothing affections.

This is how it’s going to be, she told herself. For a couple more years at least.

That didn’t mean she had to like it, though.

Sometimes, they let pesky urges get the better of them and did irresponsible things. Astrid was chopping up an old dead tree with her axe (cringing all the while; the blacksmith was going to kill her when he saw her weapon) for firewood when she heard a rustle behind her. She immediately snapped to high alert, hefting her axe in front of her.

“Who’s there?” she barked.

“Hey, it’s just me,” a nasally voice assured her as a figure slipped out from behind a trunk, his hands in front of him placatingly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Astrid let out a breath and loosened her grip on her axe.

“Hiccup. Is everything okay?” she asked concernedly.

“The General is properly secured; I just checked him,” he assured her. “I just needed a little break - and to do this.” He cupped her face and kissed her. Astrid almost dropped her axe at his forwardness. They shouldn’t - they shouldn’t … something. But oh, she thought as her hands slid up his shoulders and he pinned her against the tree, maybe they could spend a few moments …

“You need to go back,” Astrid insisted after they had lost track of time. “It’s too suspicious. You were only supposed to be gone long enough to relieve yourself; that doesn’t take too long.” Hiccup grumbled.

“He’s awful company.”

“He has valuable information you could try to get out of him.”

“Mmm. Fine. There is that.”

“Go now. He’ll know exactly what happened if we both come back together. And fix your tunic; it’s rumpled.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Um, and your hair,” Hiccup pointed. She touched her braid and swore. He chuckled nervously.

“I’ll be going now. See you soon, Hofferson.”

She arrived at camp half an hour later, her hair rebraided and firewood in tow. At one point Hiccup even accidentally called her by her real name.

“What did you say?” Astrid asked, trying to channel a proud knight being upset they were called a woman’s name.

“Astor, of course. What do you think I said?” Hiccup asked smoothly. She shook her head internally. She just hoped Krogan hadn’t caught the slip up. He looked like he was sleeping. Even if he wasn’t, there was no need to be paying attention to them. They were fine.

“I can’t believe you did that!” she hissed at him when they switched night shifts.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized groggily.

“We can’t risk sneaking off again,” Astrid decided. Hiccup acquiesced.

Never mind that she instigated the rest of the times they snuck off for the rest of the journey.

.oOo.

They arrived at the Berk Palace at last, grimy and sore but triumphant, Krogan handcuffed and blindfolded on the pony they had managed to buy a couple days back. The guards at the gate were waiting for them and jumped into action as Hiccup pushed his hair back and gave them a tired smile.

“Your Highness. Sir Hofferson,” they greeted, sneaking glances at the prisoner behind them.

“Would someone please notify the King of his son’s arrival?” Astrid prompted them as they gaped, unmoving as the three travelers passed through the gates. The guards snapped back to attention, one bellowing for a page boy.

The outer courtyards were as busy as ever, if a little more serious than they had been before they had left. It had been more than a month since Astrid had initially come for the Prince. They wove through the crowds that halted and stared at them as they made their way to the Eastern Entrance, a smaller door where the King usually welcomed close friends or officials on important business. Squires rushed to help the knights dismount from their steeds.

“Don’t take him down,” Astrid instructed, nodding to Krogan. “He’ll be easier to contain the way he is.” The squires nodded in understanding.

“Of course, Sir,” one assured her.

“Henry!” the King boomed as he appeared. He noticed Astrid and raised an eyebrow in surprise before shaking his head and muttering something that sounded like ‘should have known’ under his breath. “My dear Astor,” he greeted her cordially. Astrid bowed deeply.

“Your Majesty,” she returned. “I accompanied Hiccup on his mission without your permission.” King Stoick waved his hand.

“No matter,” he chuckled. “You two don’t seem to be able to be separated for more than a few months, and I can hardly begrudge your good influence on him.” Behind him, Hiccup blushed and grinned at Astrid, who fought not to look as if she wasn’t focusing on the King.

“The Dragons won’t be a problem, and we brought Drago’s General back to interrogate, sir,” Hiccup informed his father. The King smiled and patted his son on his back.

“Better than I could have hoped,” he praised. Hiccup beamed. “I’ll call a council meeting. You two should rest and recuperate. Give me your reports in the morning.” He led Hiccup into the palace with a hand on his back and looked over his shoulder at Astrid. “I believe your previous rooms are empty, Astor, if you’d like them.”

“I would be honored, Your Majesty,” Astrid bowed again.

The bath tub was big enough to lay down in entirely and full of scalding hot water. She groaned as her back muscles began to relax. Riding in the saddle while keeping a keen eye on Krogan and pretending not to notice the glances Hiccup kept stealing at her kept her back rigid and it was a relief to slump in the water. She had instructed the servants not to bother her, and took longer than she normally did washing herself, thoroughly wringing out her hair and skipping around in clean clothes before braiding it back in a crown and adding chain mail with a hood to her ensemble for dinner. They would be eating publicly, so one was supposed to dress finely, but it was disrespectful to wear a hat while eating, so the hood of chain mail would have to do. She was quite reluctant to cut her hair; she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to keep up the pretense as Sir Hofferson. She hadn’t exactly discussed such things with her parents, having avoided them after Hiccup’s arrival and then suddenly riding off after him. They would probably be worried sick. She had written them the night she had left with the Prince, citing that she was on a mission and would be unable to reach them for a while, but there would certainly be Helheim to pay with her mother.

Dinner was delicious as always. She was invited to dine privately with the Royal Family so she was not bombarded with questions about her mission. King Stoick did not ask many questions concerning what they had done, only of the journey and their health.

“The council will meet in a few days, and you two will be rewarded for your bravery and hard work,” he told them kindly. He turned to Astrid.

“I can invite your father, if you so wish,” he offered. Astrid inclined her head to him gratefully.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I would be honored to have my father in attendance.”

She retreated to her rooms and wrote down a comprehensive report of the past month, recounting the tales from the bars, the locations of the Dragon’s Den entrances, their weapons and fighting techniques as well as their numbers. She wrote of Hiccup’s bravery and, with a little pride, of her defeating Krogan. Satisfied she had all the details saved so she wouldn’t forget before submitting the report, she headed off to bed to catch a good night’s sleep.

Freya bless the one who had invented mattresses.

She was awakened a few hours later by a knock at the door. It could only be one person who knocked like that - but what was he doing at such an ungodly hour? The last stolen moment they’d had together flashed through her mind - she had pushed him up against the stable walls in the barn they had bought the new pony from and kissed him thoroughly until he was dazed before heading back to their horses as the prisoner. Astrid’s heart leapt into her throat as he tentatively knocked again. She pulled the door open a crack and grinned at him. He beamed back and she ushered him in, trying to shush the growing giggles in the back of her throat. She left him in the main room and ran to her dressing chambers, grabbing her robe’s large sash and belting it securely around her waist to give herself a figure and fluffing her hair absentmindedly. She was being absolutely ridiculous and wholly improper, but what else was one to do when the Crown Prince snuck out to see her at night?

“What are you even doing here?” she asked sternly because she had to have some principles. “Whatever you need, could it not wait til tomorrow?” Hiccup shook his head sheepishly, a shy smile on his face.

“You’ll be Sir Hofferson come morning,” he said. “I wanted to speak to Astrid.”

That wasn’t - that wasn’t romantic at all, Astrid huffed. Even so, she was glad the room was dark with dimly lit candles so he could gauge the color of her cheeks properly.

“Did you need to deliver your love poem in person?” she asked teasingly. Hiccup rolled his eyes.

“No. Unless-” he stepped forward, clasping her hand and bent down on one knee dramatically. “Do you wish for me to serenade you?”

“No-”

“My lady,” he declared, interrupting her with a mischievous light in his eye. “The glow of the moonlight dances upon thy flawless skin, whilst the candlelight sets thy locks afire.”

“Hiccup-”

“To Valhalla every mortal aspires but next to thee’s angelic form how could one ever wish to go higher?” Astrid ripped her hand out of his.

“That rhymed,” she accused him.

“That it did,” Hiccup laughed at her blatant colored cheeks.

“There’s no way you made that up on the spot,” Astrid said, incredulous. “How long have you had those verses up your sleeve?” Now it was his turn to blush.

“I didn’t - it wasn’t - I - not long,” he sputtered. He sighed. “I saw it in a book Mom was reading.” Astrid’s hands flew to cover her mouth.

“The Queen reads those things?” she dared to inquire.

“How else do you think my father’s speeches end up so flowery?” Astrid shook her head. She’d never thought about it - it didn’t matter.

“You can’t sneak off to see me every night,” she told him regretfully. “Someone would probably notice - and we can’t have that. Not to mention you would ruin my virtue even if we did nothing but talk.” Hiccup sighed.

“I have become spoilt with your presence, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “I find myself disliking not being able to call you Astrid all the time. And after this, you might go back to your estate. I’ll have to take on more duties, be it fighting or ruling as well as trying to change the laws. I don’t know when we’ll see each other again. I don’t want you to leave.” Astrid wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.”

“It’s not decided yet,” she tried to reassure him. “You may see me more often than you think.”

“It is stupid to start missing something before it’s gone,” scoffed Hiccup.

“Maybe, yes, but understandable,” Astrid countered. 

“I just want to steal a few more moments with you before we have to go back to pretending you’re just my friend,” Hiccup confessed.

“Of course,” Astrid promised. “You can have me for a little while longer.”

.oOo.

Astrid was called into the Council Room the day the council arrived. She and the Prince were sent to the dungeons to retrieve the prisoner they had captured and prove his identity to the council.

“Long time no see,” Hiccup greeted the general as the jailor took out his keys. “Now we’re just going to ask you some questions, and it’ll do you good to answer as many of them as they ask. Astrid stepped inside the cell and hauled Krogan up. He groaned at the change in position and Astrid gave him a moment to recover before tying a blindfold around his eyes and setting off at a steady walk through the castle. Hiccup took up his other side, a firm grip around the prisoner’s arms. He had been fed, so he wasn’t too weak to fight back, but he kept their pace without complaint and made no move to fight against them. Was playing docile a strategy of his, Astrid wondered.

The guards to the King’s Council opened the doors for them. The King and Queen sat in the middle of the room, five council members on each side and eight additional knights and lords were present. They sat in extravagant chairs on one side of a long wooden table that spanned the side of the room. Often, the table was covered in maps and war diagrams, but those had been removed to hide any information from Krogan should he escape. The King also had multiple rooms he held council in; the battle plans were probably in another one.

The King’s Council consisted of the King, his Queen, and their closest confidantes along with Berkian Elders who could not be taken off the council, only resign from it when they saw fit. Gothi, a great great ancestor of the King that was hardly ever awake, dozed in the far left corner, while Mildew sat right next to Duke Spitelout on King Stoick’s right. Lord DeRange, another member of the Council sat on the other side of Lord Mildew, his son sitting next to him with a sharp grin on his face. Lords Svenson and Meathead and Thuggory were also present, as well as Captain Throk of the Berk Guard. Some of the other lords she did not recognize on sight but would probably remember them when she heard their names. A few knights she’d worked with including Sir Alvin and Sir Eret - now Captain Eret - sat around the table gazing interestedly at the man held between her and Hiccup.

“General Krogan,” King Stoick greeted the prisoner. “A pleasure to meet you in person.” Krogan smiled insidiously.

“My master looks forward to beating you on the battlefield,” Krogan returned. Some of the lords muttered and scowled at his impertinence.

“I’m quite sure that’s not going to happen,” the King narrowed his eyes. “But we could always discuss accommodations to be made for you or your family following the battle in exchange for something. Krogan remained silent.

“Why did Drago combine forces with the Dragons?” King Stoick asked. Krogan sneered.

“He won’t,” he said loftily. “The Dragons were an unorganized force that Drago wished to use in one of his plans, but due to unforeseen circumstances, they were cut from the plan.”

“Very well,” the King said, pleased that the conversation appeared to be going somewhere. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

“I do believe I could tell you something,” Krogan said smoothly despite the grime still on his face and his hands behind his back. A couple of lords shifted forward eagerly.

“The number of soldiers Drago has?” one of them asked.

“Drago’s plan?” speculated another.

“Where is Drago?” King Stoick asked. The General scoffed

“Drago doesn’t employ traitors,” he sneered. “But the information I have pertains more to your own affairs. You have an imposter in your midst,” the dark skinned man declared dramatically. The effect around the room was instantaneous. Astrid stiffened and her face drained of color as she cast her gaze around the room. A traitor? In the council? Each man immediately glared at his neighbor suspiciously. The room felt like it was about to explode into a brawl but Krogan cut them off with an arrogant laugh.

“Who?” demanded King Stoick. Astrid cast a worried glance at Hiccup, her hand subtly moving towards her axe to be unslung if whoever-the-imposter-was decided to make a run for it. Then to Astrid’s shock, the prisoner jutted his chin at her. Gasps sounded around the room and  Hiccup’s eyes widened in panic.

“Impossible,” Lord Mulch said stoutly. Astrid swallowed around a lump in her throat.

“Sir Hofferson is an honorable knight of mine and completely loyal to the crown,” King Stoick said in a low voice.

“You might be surprised,” Krogan sneered. “He wasn’t able to hide everything on the ride back; your so-called noble knight is a wench!” Astrid couldn’t stop herself from jerking back. Krogan suddenly lunged at her, dragging a cry of surprise from Hiccup.

“I’ll show you!” he shouted, his arms snapping his restraints. They must have been worn down while in the dungeon. She should have checked them before bringing him here instead of being distracted.

“Astrid!” her father cried desperately before clapping a hand over his mouth in horror. The General’s hands reached her helmet. Astrid twisted in an effort to escape his hold but he yanked the protective armor off her head. Her hair sprung into her face and blinded her as if in retaliation for her stuffing it into her helmet that morning.

She heard the sharp inhales of fury as she scraped her locks away from her face and Hiccup tackled Krogan to the floor. The King was blinking as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and the Queen had a surprised hand pressed to her mouth - although she looked more calm than upset.

“Bring me a new pair of manacles,” Hiccup ordered sternly but no one took their eyes off of Astrid.

“Astrid?” Duke Jorgenson asked dangerously. Astrid saw her father bow his head in shame and she wasn’t sure if it was for the instinctive slip of her name or her being found out.

“Who is this Astrid?” Lord DeRange frowned suspiciously.

“She’s my daughter,” Astrid’s father spoke up. The council swiveled to stare at him.

“Then who is Astor Hofferson?” asked Lord Bucket.

“No one,” Father replied. Astrid couldn’t help the pang in her chest at that. Yes, Astor was a fictitious name for her, but he - she - wasn’t nothing.

“I am Astor Hofferson,” Astrid said loudly. The Duke scowled fiercely at her and Lord Mildew muttered something derisive under his breath. “It is simply another name for me,” she went on. “It is I who has trained and fought and been knighted with the highest marks in the initiation. I who served in the Berk Guard for a year and defeated the Den of Dragons alongside our Crown Prince.” Hiccup, who had somehow managed to take Krogan’s belt and fasten it around the would-be attacker's wrists, stood up and gave her an encouraging smile.

“But you’re a lady,” protested a lord next to Captain Throk, whose own face was unreadable.

“Yes, I am a lady,” she said defiantly, focusing on Duke Spitelout’s scowl rather than her father’s panic or Hiccup’s pride. “But I am also one of the best knights in the kingdom and I will not stop serving the inhabitants of Berk. I have still helped the Prince bring in our most valuable prisoner of war. I have still fought and bled and proved myself capable of battle, and the discovery of my gender does not change any of that. I have not lied about anything but this, and have let others get to know me with my warrior’s spirit before they dismissed me due to poor misconceptions about my sex.”

“It’s blasphemous,” Lord Mildew sneered, the Duke shaking his head alongside him in agreement.

“There are truly no rules explicitly against it,” Astrid countered. “It is just not done. It has been done now.”

“We could never accept her as a pure lady,” Mildew protested. “Our women are to be models of chastity and decorum. She has been sullied by cavorting with lads who could not help themselves, and no one to stop her wantonness in seducing them. No one would marry her.”

“I will,” Hiccup spoke up. Astrid turned to him, a protest on her lips reflexively. “I have witnessed her since the beginning of her deception and can attest to the entirely modest attitude she has shown around my peers. She never entered while we were bathing or even attended the trips to drink and bed pretty peasants. She has behaved with the utmost modesty allowed for her situation and even if all the other lords were foolish enough to not desire her, I have fallen in love with her.” He shot Lord Mildew a dangerous glare as the man opened his mouth. The crotchety old lord shut it obediently like a chastened dog. “I have fallen in love with her wisdom, her battle prowess, her bravery, and lastly, her dedication and her beauty.” He stared the lords in the eyes defiantly. “From before I knew her true identity - and I’ve known for years -” cries of outrage followed his declaration as even the King’s jaw dropped at the omission. “I have known that she was the most capable of our peers. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have been able to pass Squire training.” More cries of outrage followed his admission.

“Father,” Hiccup addressed the King who was glaring at Astrid. “I can think of no better future queen than Astrid. She can comport herself with every grace any other lady can, and can defend both herself and me in any dangerous situation as she has demonstrated for years. She is intimately acquainted with our battle tactics and leadership abilities, having studied from the same tutors as me. If something were to happen, she would still be perfectly able to run the kingdom. She already has practice with her own estate. And I love her,” he added. Stoick stared at him stonily.

“Is she the reason you have been pushing to change the laws around women’s inheritance?” Stoick asked. Lord Mildew practically choked and Astrid found herself wishing he didn’t catch his breath again.

“Yes, Sir,” Hiccup admitted. “She has opened my eyes to the capabilities of our women, if only we let them. Dad, we have a serious war coming up soon and we need as many fighters as we can get to end it quickly.”

“Preposterous!” cried Mildew.

“You dare interrupt your future king?” Hiccup asked venomously. The air stilled. Hiccup walked slowly to the center of the room and gazed into every one of the lords’ faces until they looked away.

“I am the one who will inherit my father’s throne when he is gone,” he said quietly but clearly. “I am the one who will take on the burden of caring for an entire kingdom and endeavoring to do right to all. And I know I will not always succeed. There were countless times I wished to relieve myself of such a burden. But I have accepted it now, and I will embrace my duties to the best of my ability. Women are an integral part of our society. Without them we cannot have heirs or mothers. Why should we disregard them, then? Would anyone here argue that our Queen is not the strongest woman in the land?” Everyone bowed their heads towards the Queen in respect, who beamed upon her son. “I wish for my wife to be equally as magnificent.” It was all Astrid could do not to duck her head in embarrassment but she held it high, focusing on the Queen.

I cannot be you, she said silently. But I can try to be my best as you would. Queen Valka’s face softened a smidge, and she inclined her head ever so softly towards the woman knight.

“But we cannot stand to have a lord who would so gleefully lie to us,” Lord Thuggory said with a predatory gleam in his eye. He was long contemptuous of the large estate the Hoffersons boasted next to his paltry one in comparison. “Who knows what else he might hide from us? He could be feeding our secrets to Drago, for all we know, with his wench in the trenches alongside our generals.” Astrid’s father stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the cold tile.

“The only thing I have lied about is the gender and name of my child,” Sir Hofferson hissed. “My daughter is perfectly adept at running my estate and I taught her enviable skills that many of your sons lacked, but her own discipline and bravery were always hers. I selfishly and cowardly allowed her to continue and expose herself to such dangers because I knew she would overcome them and endure for her family, but I always waited for the day we could cease the deception and bring her back as a lady. My eldest had a wonderful baby boy over a year and a half ago, so we called Astrid back to retake her ladylike mantle. It was never meant to be a lifelong deception.”

“Father,” Astrid interrupted, a mix of feelings in her chest; pride at the acknowledgement of her skills, but also annoyance? Anger? Sadness? At how quickly she had been replaced and forced back into a proper lady. “Trying to pull me back into being your daughter you could marry off would mean it would be a lifelong deception. I don’t want it to be a lifelong deception. I hated being restricted to being just a knight or a lady,” she caught herself looking at the floor and pulled her head back up to face the men surrounding her. “I do wish to be a mother and raise a family,” she said clearly. “But I have found a great love for fighting for this country.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet at least three lords’ eyes before continuing. “And I believe it is a great disservice to have to choose between raising a family and protecting one’s  county.

“Can someone take him away?” Hiccup demanded, gesturing to Krogan who had managed to stand himself up and was observing the proceedings with a gleam in his eye. “Your hastiness and distrust are exposing unnecessary information to our enemy. The King nodded to three knights in the room who promptly pulled out proper handcuffs and escorted Krogan quietly out of the room. Astrid took a moment to draw a deep breath and close her eyes. Her contour had been done so carefully and her chainmail newly shined, but all the lords would see was her messy braid, the way she had been caught off guard, and deem it poor presentation. Hiccup reached over to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her eyes. You look beautiful, his eyes assured her. Color rose in her cheeks and she resisted the urge to take all of her hair out to hide behind it and redo it, but she knew such a thing was not done in public. She gave Hiccup a brave smile and nodded at him. She appreciated him fighting for her, but this was something she had to conquer for herself.

“But how could she be a role model for our girls to hold their standards without pretty features?” one lord asked his colleague a little too loudly. Astrid felt Hiccup bristle beside her but spoke calmly.

“I use contour, as a lady does, to disguise my features and make them more masculine,” she said succinctly. The men broke into more murmurs.

“But what about dresses?” Another one demanded. “Such a physique is not made for dresses.”

“I fit dresses just fine,” Astrid retoroted, clenching her jaw in anger. How dare she be quizzed on the fit of her dresses at an impromptu trial. “And should any of you get any misconceptions about my or my sister’s virtue I would be happy to challenge you on behalf of my honor myself. Are you all confident you would win? Lords, you need not worry about my femininity. It is perfectly intact. During the summers, I often shed my armor and joined the weekly tea parties. No one ever suspected me of being anything less than ladylike. If I wash off the contour I use to make me look more masculine, my features are delicate and pretty. I can dance easily in most gowns, and can ride straddle and sidesaddle. But most importantly, I wish to continue to fight as a knight for Berk. I am proof that Berk can have a successful woman knight, and I plead to be allowed to continue to serve my country.

“It goes against our code of ethics to put our women in such danger,” a kinder lord said contemplatively.

“The path of a knight is one I chose and enjoy, Your Lordship,” she answered. “It would be cruel to deprive me of patriotic pride and the defenseless citizens of Berk an upstanding knight just because of her gender.”

“Sir Hofferson has indeed been an invaluable soldier in Berk’s service for years,” Throk said reasonably. “She was the best in her class during training as a squire, and distinguished herself during the knight trials as well as in the years afterwards. It appears she has proven herself more than the average knight does; why should we stop her now?” Astrid’s heart rose with hope and pride at her former captain’s praise.

“My son has vouched repeatedly for her extraordinary influence in motivating him,” the King mused. “I have frequently dined with her personally, and she is respectful and clever. And I have read the reports from his - her superiors and accounts from citizens. All of them paint a fair picture of a chivalrous knight who does not lie, steal, or cheat.”

“Except for the very basic fact of her gender,” sneered Duke Spitelout. The King stroked his beard.

“But the reason for that is understandable,” he decided. “And so of little consequence determining her character.”

“But we still have a war to fight,” another lord tried. “Surely it would stir up unrest to hear that such a high knight has been a mere woman all along. It would lessen morale.”

“Or it might be better to keep her as a well known knight to rally around,” argued a political rival of the previous lord. The rival looked at the King furtively. “While it is too progressive to uproot society for just one woman, we can agree she is exceptional, and as such exceptions could be made if needed.” He wasn’t necessarily happy with Astrid’s revelation or what she wanted to achieve, but with the Prince so firmly in her favor along with Captain Throk and the King’s fondness for her he sensed showing support was the smart political choice, although he wanted to make it an isolated case. The King narrowed his eyes in thought, reading between the lines the same as she and deciding the best course of action.

They could not risk rebellion against them before the war was won by giving women rights the soldiers did not approve of, but Astrid would be damned if she allowed herself to lose her position as a knight. This hadn’t been how she’d planned this at all, but in a way, she was glad it had happened while she still had favorable sway so soon after her accomplishments. The Prince vibrated with excitement, wanting to say something but sensing the wisdom of remaining quiet while his father thought. Her father looked astonished at the turn of events, but also hopeful. Astrid wasn’t sure how much she agreed with her father on her status as a knight. He had never liked her choice, but had also been the one to teach her to fight and figure and enrolled her in Squire’s Training anyway. His support had lessened as of late, but he had originally come to see her rewarded for bringing in a dangerous prisoner of war. She knew if she had been a true boy her father would have been bursting at the seams with pride, but never once had he ever told her he was proud of her for the same things.

“I think,” the King said slowly. “That the woman in front of us here has proved herself to be in every way exceptional. She has proven her warrior capabilities time and time again, as well as proven herself extraordinarily clever, both in her strategies and ability to be … discreet with her gender. And I think she will prove to be extraordinarily beautiful when she wishes - after all, we were all jealous at one point of her handsomeness at a ball, yes?” The Queen chuckled while most of the lords scowled.

“My daughter pouted because she didn’t get to dance with the elusive Sir Hofferson,” Astrid was sure she heard one of them mutter. “Now I’m glad.”

“Therefore, all in favor of granting her immunity or special status?” the King asked, looking around the room.

The Queen and Captain Throk immediately raised their hands, followed by Lord DeRange and his son. Young Captain Eret raised his hand with a jovial smile towards her, and she found one growing in response. Her father raised his hand. Hiccup raised his pointedly, and glared across the room at quite a few other people until another four hands were raised, including Spitlelout’s. The others, Astrid noticed with amusement, were the ones behind on taxes. They must know Hiccup knew, then.

Eleven hands were raised and nine were not. Then Gothi raised hers. Everyone blinked in surprise at her clear eyes as she gave Astrid a toothy smile.The King looked around the room, nodded decisively, and raised his hand as well. Thirteen. Thirteen votes against eight.

“It’s decided then,” the King declared. ”In light of her service to our country and her help in battle, I hereby grant  - er - Sir Astrid Hofferson a lord’s status.” The room gasped. “Astrid Hofferson. You are now free to inherit, write a will, choose your own marriage, vote on council meetings, and fight alongside Berkian soldiers.” Astrid bowed, feeling too awkward to curtsy in pants.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She turned to the Queen. “And thank you, Your Majesty.” She bowed to Gothi. “And thank you, Elder. Thank you all for letting me continue to fight for our country!” Hiccup let out a triumphant cheer and Astrid couldn’t stop the laugh that fell from her lips, all giddiness and relief.

“Meeting dismissed,” the King boomed. “We will gather again to question the General and reward the two knights at a later date.”

“-Petition to enforce medical tests on squires in Training-”

“-Dad-” Hiccup said, pushing his way through the crowd.

Astrid silently watched her own father pull himself out of his seat and slowly make his way towards her. She wordlessly offered him her arm and he took it, leaning on it heavily as they walked out the throne room.

“I’m sorry, Astrid,” her father apologized as they left. Lords milled around them, some hastening down to tell everyone of the scandal. Astrid stared ahead. ‘It’s okay’ didn’t seem like the right response, but she couldn’t bring herself to hold anything against him.

“It was always going to happen, one way or another,” she said at last. “In a way, I’m glad it’s happened and dealt with for the most part. It was never something that would have stayed hidden forever.” Why did you never want my accomplishments to never see the light of day? Did you not think me worthy of them? She wondered.

“I never wanted you to have to deal with this,” he sighed defeatedly. “The politics, the careful maneuvering, the silent enemies - staying a knight in society means navigating all those things, and I wanted to keep you away from that.”

“I never minded,” Astrid said, her throat thick for some unfathomable reason. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t unfathomable. Maybe she was able to admit things to herself a little easier. “Society among women is much the same - although the silent dangerous games are that much more a part of it. And I don’t like it, but I can do it. I have always been prepared to do it. All I wanted - all I want -” she cut herself off, horrified at the raw emotion in her voice. They were still in the palace’s public halls, for Odin’s sake! Anyone could come along and hear her.

“What do you want, my dear girl?”

“I want you to be proud of me,” Astrid whispered. She felt a hot tear sting its way across the bridge of her nose and hung her head in shame.

“Of course I’m proud of you,” Lord Hofferson coraked. “You’ve accomplished things I could have never dreamed of, you never did what was expected of you, and I love you for it because you are my child.” He pressed a kiss to her messy hair. “I couldn’t be prouder of my Astrid.” She lowered her forehead onto his shoulder and they stood there, not embracing, but soaking in each other’s presence.

“Oh! I hope I’m not intruding -” Astrid immediately lifted her head off her father’s shoulder and frantically smoothed her hair.

“Hiccup! Oh, no, of course not - never - we were just - ahem. We were just finishing up,” she repeated. Her father was watching the proceedings with a decidedly amused expression as Hiccup gave her a soft smile.

“I was hoping I could accompany you to your rooms?” he asked. “So, that … certainly happened in there.” He glanced obviously behind him, indicating the Throne Room a few corridors back.

“Indeed,” Astrid shook her head incredulously. “I cannot believe it ended as well as it did.”

“The nerve of some of those lords,” Hiccup grumbled.

“They shall certainly face raised prices in Hofferson produce,” Astrid’s father added loftily. Hiccup looked delighted. Astrid had learned over the years that Hiccup was concernedly forgiving of all slights to himself, but could get hilariously petty when holding grudges on behalf of someone he cared about. He once picked on a poor stableboy, spreading the horse manure and stepping in it to make it harder to pick up and to replace the straw more often when he’d overheard the boy speaking derogatorily to Toothless (the stallion had tried to bite him) for a whole year until the boy had absolutely begged to be moved despite the superior pay for caring for the Crown Prince’s prize steed. It looked like now Hiccup had found a new set of men to torment on her behalf. They could pull some more pranks, Astrid decided with a small smile. The Dragon’s Den had revived memories of the good old days when they’d torment their instructors weekly, and Astrid found herself missing the thrilling passtime of setting up traps and not getting caught.

“I won’t be able to wear men’s garb to dinner,” Astrid realized. “Word would get around. I need to prove myself to be a girl to those who have heard the rumors.” Her father nodded.

“I shall send for some clothes from home and look into getting you some formal gowns as quickly as possible,” he promised.

“My mother’s seamstress, Nadia, is very skilled and prompt, and she has a friend, Minden, who’s skill and efficiency is equivalent to hers, if you’d wish to get into contact with them,” Hiccup offered. Her father thanked him and Hiccup kindly directed him to her rooms both in the palace and a little out in the city. “In the meantime, you are welcome to dine with us, Astrid,” Hiccup invited her. “My parents will want to question you in earnest now that I’ve declared my intentions towards you, as well as probably congratulate you.” Astrid managed a weak smile in spite of her dread.

“I would be immensely grateful, as I do not yet have the wardrobe to probably make a debut at court,” she admitted. Mother was absolutely going to kill her. Oh, Cami was going to have a field day.

“Well, I shall take leave of you two now to procure you a wardrobe as soon as possible,” Lord Hofferson excused himself. “A father’s work is never done,” he nodded at Hiccup, “You would do well to remember that.” Hiccup’s entire face turned beet red and Astrid scolded with her eyes, mortified. He just looked satisfied at their embarrassment and their comfortability around each other.

“Astrid?” Hiccup asked when they could meet each other’s eyes again. His hand found hers and Astrid did not pull away from his touch.

“Yes?” she asked, bemused as he ran a thumb over her knuckles contemplatively. He took a deep breath.

“If … I was to propose now, would you … accept?” Astrid stopped walking.

“Is this a proposal?” she asked.

“No!” Hiccup assured her. “No, this is me asking permission.” Astrid thought. She thought of the lord’s sneers and Cami’s. She thought of Astoria’s gentle encouragement and her mother’s more aggressive kind. She thought of her father, who was proud of her but tried to pull her out of danger’s way instead of standing behind her and believing she could fight her way through it. She thought of Hiccup, his boisterous attitude, the growth she’d seen in just two months. His support, the smiles on the faces of the King and Queen - the heat of his body and the taste of his lips. He was patient and he was handsome and he loved her and he was asking permission. She thought about what accepting his proposal meant to her - not just being claimed by each other, but promising herself to her country in a way that was scarier than pledging to die for it.

“Yes,” Astrid said. Hiccup’s eyebrows jumped in surprised delight, and he threw his arms around her.

“Oh Thor - really?” he drew back to look in her eyes. Astrid leaned forward to press her lips to his quickly. Anyone walking down the corridors could just take a different path, she decided.

“Yes,” she said again. “Of course I’ll say yes when you ask me.” Hiccup’s face broke into a beautiful grin.

“It should be public, though,” Astrid decided. “For their benefit. We’ve kept everything else so secret, we should start letting Berk know about us.”

“Very well,” he smiled. “We can do that.”

“What should I wear?” asked Astrid. “The future princess of Berk should look her best when she gets engaged.” Like hell was she going to make the mistake of not being impeccably dressed for the event - everything about her was going to be torn to shreds by all the others rejected by Hiccup by default, and she wasn’t going to give more ammunition they didn’t need.

“Mmm,” Hiccup hummed, cocking his head as he examined her. “Blue that brings out your eyes.” Astrid’s eyes jumped up. Mother had actually commissioned such a dress a while ago. It would be perfect, and was up to the latest styles with a comfortable corset and the skirt wide enough to not make her legs feel trapped.

“When will I wear it?” Astrid asked archly, enjoying the discussion. Hiccup’s smile grew more cocky.

“It’s your decision,” he told her. “I’ll propose as soon as I see you in it.” Oh. He shouldn’t have done that. Astrid was going to make him wait - or maybe, wear it immediately. Dammit, she didn’t know when she wanted to wear it. Hiccup’s grin morphed into a fully blown smirk. The bastard. He had known exactly what he was doing.

“Be on your guard, Your Highness,” Astrid’s eyes narrowed at him. “You’ll never guess when I wear it.”

“I’ll always be ready when you are,” he replied smoothly, and bent down to kiss her hand.

Whoever taught Hiccup to say those kinds of things reflexively like that needed to be charged - and thanked. Viggo - she was pretty sure it was Lord Viggo who had handled tutoring Hiccup in additional speech and politics. He had turned the Prince into a dangerous man.

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and brushed her pants self consciously. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she smiled at him. Turning to the last corridor towards her rooms. “Goodbye, Hiccup.”

.oOo.

Her mother arrived at the palace faster than the wind.

“You ran off at us for a month!” she said dangerously. “And then you return and your identity is found out! Thor have mercy on us, young lady! You have sent Berk into a scandal before you even made your debut!” Cami and Astoria arrived a week later bearing more clothes.

“It is even more imperative you make a good impression on your debut,” Mother shook her head before snapping at the maids to get to work.

Four hours later saw Astrid in a light white gown; the color every girl wore to her debut. She was older than most, of course, which had made her hesitate initially at the color, but it made her look sweet and innocent and feminine, and that was exactly what Berk needed to see. Her hair only fell halfway down her back, so her updo could only be so big, but they expertly wove strings of pearls (and in some places, straw) into her hair to give it an elegant updo.

“You look perfect, darling,” Mother said approvingly as Astrid looked at herself in the mirror.

“Not yet - wait,” Astrid insisted, hastening over to her drawers to dig through them. She emerged with her golden hair comb. “Please,” she said, handing it to the maid who had done her hair. “Could you add this?” Astrid’s mother raised an interested eyebrow at the one lone comb in her hair but said nothing.

“It won’t be very visible, miss,” the maid told her apologetically.

“That’s fine,” Astrid assured her. “As long as it’s there.”

Her debut was a rousing success. Sir Jorgenson in particular took an interest in her, much to his father’s consternation. After two dances Astrid couldn’t find herself refusing the Prince swept her away coldly, a scowl on his face.

“You look awfully moody tonight,” Astrid teased him.

“I’m finally able to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room for the first time after years of watching you with others, and what does my idiot cousin do? Try to stake a claim on you.”

“Possessive,” Astrid tutted because she refused to let herself blush. Hiccup ducked his head apologetically.

“Sorry,” he apologized. He spun her elegantly - she was so glad to find he was a good dance partner. It seemed they fit together in every aspect - and pulled her in close by her waist as she returned. “You look absolutely radiant tonight,” he complimented her in a low voice that made her fight not to shiver. “This is my first time seeing you properly dressed up. I can barely breathe.” Astrid was struggling with keeping her own breaths steady, not that she was going to tell him. “I like your hair comb,” he whispered as the dance ended.

She danced with Eret next, who was both delighted and furious at the fact she had been a girl the whole time. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize,” he kept shaking his head. “I can’t believe you never told me! Seriously, you knew my secrets! Oh, everyone’s faces …”

The news of her dual identity was taken pretty smoothly. Or at least, as smoothly as she could expect. She sparred with the soldiers in the mornings with her age-old tunic and pants, her chest bound securely and her hair pulled back into a smart French braid. A few older lords and knights also had deluded themselves into thinking she was a worse fighter now that they knew she was female, so they thought to challenge her. She happily put them in their place. In the evenings, she donned her gowns and jewelry and danced - or, more importantly, established female allies. There were plenty of women who viewed her status as a knight and being politically equivalent to a lord was absolutely blasphemous. Not to mention it was no secret the Prince was enamored with her, so they inevitably deduced that the whole reason for disguising herself as a boy in the first was just to ‘get her claws in the Heir.’ Others, however, were more open to the idea and even impressed at her accomplishments. And how much would you be willing to stand behind me with your family’s influence to acquire these rights and accomplishments for even more women? She asked through her smiles and delicate conversation. ‘Long live the King,’ ‘To good health!’ they’d toast her, nodding delicately in silent answer of her unspoken question. Heather smirked at her from across the room and Astrid dipped her head in acknowledgement. They weren’t friends yet, but they would be soon.

A few days later, she wore the blue dress.

It had been a while since she’d properly enjoyed the power of a beautiful woman in a room full of men. On the battlefield, there was a certain point when opponents were able to recognize their doom in her walk. She had grinned then, feral and covered in blood, and swung her sword. Now, her smile was beautiful, but wide like a particularly satisfied cat as she sauntered down the steps into the ballroom.

Her dress was bright sapphire silk that rustled and shone as she walked. Jewels hung from her neck and ears, but subtly. There was one piece of jewelry she wanted everyone’s eyes on tonight. Her hands had been carefully soaked and scrubbed, her hair was artfully curled and pinned, her axe headed hair comb nestled securely into the intricate updo. Heads turned to watch her but she sought out Hiccup, finding him and sending him her best I-dare-you look. A slow smile spread across his face as he took in her dress, and he gave her an imperceptible nod.

Dinner was eaten first to ensure everything would be present during the dancing and drinking. Before the first man could claim her hand for a dance Hiccup appeared by her side.

“Lady Hofferson,” he said loudly, discreetly drawing everyone’s attention as he led her subtly toward the center of the room.

“Why, of course,” Astrid responded, all concern. “Whatever do you need, Your Highness?” Hiccup bent over her head and Astrid knew the moment clicked for everyone watching. It was all she could do to keep a smirk off her face as the Crown Prince knelt before her..

“My lady,” Hiccup said clearly. “You have held my heart captive for years and now it has simply made you its new home. You have been with me through thick and thin, even back when I was naught but a skinny fishbone, but even then, you believed in me. And I have believed in you through every battle, every fight, and everything else we’ve weathered together. You are wise and kind and clever and so beautiful you take my breath away. You could do me no greater honor than if you accepted my hand in marriage and became my wife.” Mothers of other contendents for Hiccup’s hand gasped in outrage and resignation. Astrid held her right hand over her heart. They had agreed on the proposal being public, but Astrid hadn’t expected such a heartfelt confession, so her response came out more emotional than she’d planned.

“Yes,” she said, shaking her head. She had the strangest urge to laugh and cry at the same time. “Of course,” she said again. Of course she’d say yes. He rose, a triumphant smile on his face as he slid the ring - a beautiful, intricate thing inlaid with small diamonds and sapphires - onto her finger and clasped her left hand. The orchestra struck up as if on command, and Hiccup expertly guided her into a dramatic waltz - her mother’s favorite to dance with father, and Astrid’s favorite by default. It was intimate and close, and neither’s gaze left the other’s faces throughout the entire dance. They didn’t speak. What words were there to describe the rising feeling of rightness, the utter terror of being in front of all these people, the restraint they were showing not immediately locking each other in a passionate embrace.

“It was my mother’s,” Hiccup shared quietly near the end of the waltz, flicking his eyes to her new ring glimmering in the candlelight. “I asked her for one of her rings and she told me to choose. When I saw that one, I knew. I saw you.”

“It’s perfect,” Astrid told him earnestly. “It’s better than I could have ever imagined. It fits perfectly.”

“Good,” Hiccup nodded approvingly. “Mom said it had always been a little big for her, so I hoped it’d still fit you.”

“I have calluses on my fingers,” Astrid told him dryly. “It’s a good thing it was too big for her.” The dance ended but instead of bowing Hiccup bent down and kissed her slowly. The kiss was chaste and sweet and oh-so-aware-of–everyone-watching, but she drank in every second greedily until they parted softly. She smiled up at him through her lashes. They had fully claimed each other in front of the court. There was no dispute about their relationship now. And Astrid felt proud.

Her brother in law swept her up in a congratulatory dance while Hiccup was congratulated by all the men.

“She’s a real looker,” Snotlout said obnoxiously.

“She’s taken,” Hiccup bit out.

“Man, it must be nice to just marry your bro,” Sir Thorston told Hiccup wistfully. “You know, you’ve already lived with them for years and been through thick and thin together. Getting a wife is weird; they’re all prissy and refined - except for my sister, of course. She’s a right shrew.” Lord Fishlegs stiffened.

“She may be your sister, but she is an Ingerman now, and I cannot allow you to speak ill of our women, Thorston.” The Thorston brother shuffled and muttered under his breath but said no more about his sister that night.

“You’ll take good care of her,” Eret grinned at him, squeezing Hiccup’s hand a little too hard. Hiccup found himself appreciating a man that cared enough about her to threaten his future king.

“Of course,” he agreed cordially and increased his own grip. “And you with Heather, of course.” Eret released his hand and bowed.

“I’m honored to have your blessing,” he said quietly.

He dared not go near the Hofferson matriarch, not sure if she’d threaten him or welcome him enthusiastically, and he was a little afraid to find out.

“That was a beautiful proposal, son,” his mother told him gently. Hiccup turned to embrace her.

“Mom. Thanks.”

“You are lucky to have her.”

“I am indeed.”

.oOo.

After they had gauged the public approval of Astrid, it was back to war preparations. It had been two months and they had been stealthily gathering the remains of their forces without alerting Drago. Hofferson is a girl, the trenches whispered incredulously. Some refused to recognize the unaltered feminine features now accompanied with a braid. But then they saw her fight on the front, and she was still as legendary as before. In such cases between life and death, her gender didn’t matter, only that she was protecting them, charging out into the battle, bleeding freely as she cut down enemies. She was a protector who would never stop fighting, and well, the soldiers could hardly let themselves be shown up by a girl, and so, too, they charged.

The battles were exhausting. Every other night Astrid almost prayed for death, even with Hiccup lying beside her. The soldiers said nothing about Astrid and Hiccup disappearing into each other’s tents to ‘tend each other’s wounds’ and not coming out for the rest of the night, but who cared? Astrid treasured those nights together, filled with the desperate closeness of two people begging the other not to leave the next day. Astrid received many, many more scars all over her body. This was not a fight to be fought lightly any more. There would be no more fighting after this, either because they won or lost, but knew no one was coming to save her unless she saved herself first.

The Prince and his Knight In Shining Armor were a power duo that swept across the battlefield. The King moved them around the battlefield to boost morale as the other forces prepared to battle Drago’s impending forces from the north. She was assigned a squire from Training, young and shaky looking as she quietly showed him how to polish her armor.

“I’ll probably be too tired to help you at night,” she admitted. “But I need my axe and sword sharpened every day. Can you do that?”

“O-okay Sir Hofferson,” the boy whispered in awe.

“Good,” she breathed as Hiccup entered the tent, dirty and grimy, kissing her neck all the same and began rubbing her shoulders. They spent their evenings catching their breaths from the day’s fight and discussing strategies, too tired to pick themselves off their cot. Astrid’s squire polished her armor til it gleamed every night and occasionally called female attendants to treat her to a delightfully hot bath when the injured were all too dead to treat so the hot water wasn’t needed for the night.

“Not much longer,” he whispered reassuringly into her hair.

“Not much longer,” he promised into her lips as they kissed.

“Not much longer,” he pleaded from between her arms as they slept.

“Not much longer,” he begged into her sweaty neck amidst the throes of passion.

And then, ‘not much longer’ became ‘hush, it’s over now.’

The war was won with casualties and hefty loss. Hiccup realized a way to challenge Drago, and so raced off like the heroic sacrificial hero he was to defeat Drago while Astrid kept the rest of his enemies at bay. She went down first, the sea of Drago’s men drowning and choking her as she fought. She needed … needed to keep them away … away from - who? What? … Hiccup!

Hiccup who was fighting still. Hiccup who was fighting for Berk and for her. Hiccup, who loved so entirely he couldn’t hide it on any part of his face. Hiccup who so staunchly defended the weak. Hiccup, who she was supposed to be protecting! Hiccup, who had lost a leg because she hadn’t been able to save him -

“Hiccup,” Astrid breathed in relief as she opened the door and saw him. He lay in his bed, his legs uneven lumps under the blankets. Astrid entered the room, shaking her braid out of her helmet and tucked it under her arm as she sat by the bed.

“Hey, there,” she greeted him softly. Hiccup just sighed.

“Thanks for coming by again,” he said in return, looking stonily down into his lap. He was bored and hated being still. He had his sketches nearby but they weren’t as fun when Hiccup couldn’t go down to the forge and tinker with hot metal until his diagrams made sense.

“Trader Johann has been officially banished from Berk for aiding enemy’s armies as of today and Toothless says hi,” Astrid told him conversationally. “I took him for a nice long ride today.”

“Thanks,” Hiccup grimaced. “I miss him.”

“He misses you too,” she responded immediately. “He can’t wait to see you again.”

“And then what?” he scoffed. “I’ll just tell him, ‘Hey, bud. Nice to see you again. Unfortunately, I’m lame and won’t be able to ride you.’”

“Don’t say that,” she frowned. “You’ll still be able to ride,” she tried to comfort him. Hiccup gave her a shaky smile.

“I can’t if I’m not able to walk,” he said bitterly.

“Hey,” Astrid said, reaching out to hold his hand. “You can do anything you put your mind to. I’m not saying this is going to be easy, but I know you’ll be able to do this.”

“Why are you still here, Astrid?” he asked. “I’m not going to make you marry me now I’m like this.”

“Good,” she said crisply. “Everyone can know it was my choice.”

“You don’t deserve an unwhole man like me.” She slapped him lightly.

“You are still Hiccup, leg or not,” she said firmly. “And I love you and I would never marry anyone else. You can still be a warrior - look at Gobber. And you’ll be a great King. Taking your leg didn’t take your heart as well. Losing your leg didn’t mean you’d ever lose me.”

“How did I ever deserve you?” asked Hiccup.

“You are the one man in the world I could stand to marry, Hiccup. You don’t have competition.” They laughed.

“Get better. Take all the time you need,” she kissed him. “But you aren’t getting out of the wedding.”

After a year, Hiccup walked and rode easily - or at least, without complaint. He got aches and plains aplenty, which Astrid had taken upon herself to identify quietly so she could take care of them before Hiccup had to ask - if she waited for him to ask for any help, he’d never ask - and learned to rub and massage the right oils and to anticipate his pain on rainier days, or those instances where he ran around castle determined to help everyone he could. He was still nimble and light on his feet, just a little clumsier than before which he hated but Astrid found endearing.

“You’re perfect,” she giggled as he bumped into the foot of the chair and swore. She caught him before he fell and he wrapped his arms around her in mock desperation.

“That would have hurt if my leg wasn’t metal,” Hiccup muttered.

“Mmm. Well then I guess it’s good you have a metal leg.”

“Shut up.”

“Never!”

.oOo.

She never wanted to have a wedding, until the day came for her to have her very own. When she’d been a little girl, she’d never cared for the fuss about weddings. The grooms were never handsome, and the girls, while beautiful, looked pale with overly rosy cheeks. She’d hated the idea of weddings and leaving her family, although now she’d learned that a healthy distance between her family didn’t prevent them from connecting frequently. And truthfully, by the end of those visits, she was glad to retire to her solitary rooms - although they were hardly ever empty. A certain newly crowned king of hers was partial to loitering around there for some unknown reason, but she let him. Someone had to protect the King while he slept.

On the day of her wedding, her hair had just reached her waist. Her maids left half of it out, the looseness representing her wedding night but also her freedom. She certainly had the freedom to kick someone without ripping the fabric if she so needed, but with Heather as her fierce Matron of Honor, she was rather certain Lady Eretson had any offensive company handled. She had not yet hung up her armor for good, only polished it carefully so that it still shone when she returned from her honeymoon. She was to be a warrior Queen, unafraid of fighting and of showing her scars. They had been hard earned, and served as a reminder of what she had overcome - and how she would still fight. It was still hard to change laws even as a lady with a lord’s status and betrothed to the king, but Astrid was nothing if not tenacious and she had been slowly winning simple rights one after the other. By the end of her honeymoon, women from families above a certain income would be able to inherit a small percentage. In a few years, they might have a female knight program. But she was getting ahead of herself. Today was selfishly all about her and Hiccup. 

She looked in the mirror. Her makeup was light but dramatic, her pearls lavish but elegant. Her dresses’ skirts were loose but full. And the belt was heavy but worn with pride. She felt like she was walking on clouds even as they hung the ornate ceremonial cloak made from the hide of a white bear over her shoulders. In a few minutes, there would be an added crown on her head. (But somewhere among her shiny locks, a polished golden axehead gleamed.)

Her mother had tears in her eyes. “You look beautiful, my darling,” she said, sweeping her daughter into a hug.

“We’ll have to call you ‘Your Highness,’ now,” Cami, now at seventeen, said boldly.

“Of course not,” Astrid protested as she allowed all her sisters to pull her into a hug one by one. “You’ll call me Astrid like you always have and you can call him Hiccup, he won’t mind.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s your special name for him,” Agatha sighed dreamily. “There’s no need for us to intrude on it.” Astoria nodded in agreement.

“Nothing’s changed,” Astrid whispered to her older sister, letting her see the fear in her eyes. Astoria simply smiled in encouragement.

“Marriage is another adventure you will conquer like to do with everything else,” Astoria assured her. Astrid bent down to grin at little Gunner who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes. He was now decidedly her favorite nephew, as Astoria was a good mother but some of her sister’s little babies were squalling monsters. She suspected they were spoilers because their mother’s were, but that was just an older sister’s opinion. And it hadn’t stopped her heart from bursting with joy when they’d handed her an infant and she’d been terrified she’d drop it until she’d tucked it into her side.

“This is what we’re going to have,” she’d told Hiccup. He’d had a dazed look in his eye.

“I can’t wait,” he’d admitted.

And now, the day had come.

Astrid took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

[anfie-in-the-box]

Rest for both wicked and weary

Notes

The eleventh of October is my birthday, but no congratulations needed — I only celebrate by gifting things to other people. Please have this piece dedicated to @dragon-tamer-1, who I value endlessly. The prompt was Error and Dream relaxing peacefully; I'm not sure if it's particularly fluffy, there's definitely some angst here, but even more Hurt/Comfort.

。。。

Dream prepares for his visit to the Anti-Void painstakingly. He wears clothes of soft gray shades, only leaving the tiara and the cape untouched, so it doesn't bother Error's weak eyesight yet has enough colour to attract his attention. Then Dream gets a cane — in the Anti-Void, vast and ever-changing, you don't believe your eyes; you stay vigilant and keep your step light, weightless almost. Luckily, Dream isn't a normal skeleton, he just has a body of one; and even that can be corrected with the right training. Or just experience, he supposes; oh, how he used to shamble around, making Error laugh, before he realised he could use a cane. Like a blind being, only he is indeed blind in the Anti-Void, like all not-errors are. He's a stranger there, and since he can't become an error, an unwelcome one.

Dream sighs, putting on thin gloves, just in case. He's ready now. 

It takes time to focus properly — the Anti-Void is utterly chaotic, constantly rebuilding itself, and full of creatures beyond comprehension. Some of them are capable of feeling, some aren't, some feel but so differently Dream is left confused — he's too used to his empathic abilities. 

But eventually, finally, he finds the right being. So he teleports. 

Error instantly spots him, even though Dream appears behind him. He might be half-blind with that poor eyesight of his, but his intuition is impeccable — at least when it comes to beings with souls, which Dream is. 

"I was waiting for so long," Error complains, irritated. "How many tries did it take to find me?" 

"Just one," Dream smiles widely. "It took more time, but I managed to find you in one try." He knows he sounds very proud of himself, but that's okay. With Error, he's allowed to feel and think unapologetically. Error, though he demands attention, lets Dream go just as easily. And besides, they teach each other many things — Error knows how to be selfish very well indeed and learns from Dream how to be more empathetic and considerate.

They work together quite nicely.

Lost in his pride, Dream forgets to use the cane and immediately trips and falls — not right on his face though — there are blue strings keeping him airborne. He giggles awkwardly and says, "Thanks." 

"Yeah, yeah, tell me how great I am." Error doesn't turn around but Dream knows he grins. He can't help smiling in return. 

"You can put me down now, you know," Dream half-suggests, half-asks while wiggling slightly to try and untangle himself without Error's help. Tough luck. 

"As if you could escape on your own!" Error gloats. "I hold the entire universes, a small guardian like you doesn't stand a chance!" 

"Yet Ink manages," Dream disagrees carefully. 

"That cheater doesn't have a soul. You do." 

Now that's something Dream hasn't pondered over. Not right now either — as soon as Error sets him free, he scurries to his blue bean bag chair — this time using the cane, of course, — and sits down — lies down almost. It's warm and soft. Cozy. So big it's more of a bed than a chair; which might as well be true, there's nothing else here resembling a bed, and Dream knows for sure Error loves sleeping.

"Where did you even get your bean bag from?" Dream asks, ready to hear it's stolen like chocolate from Underfell and the lives of innocents from any other AU. 

Error doesn't reply instantly. Dream even considers standing up and looking Error in the sockets to see what's wrong, but then he finally says, "I actually don't remember. Like it's always been there, maybe even before me."

Who knows, it might be true. The Anti-Void contains and loses all sorts of creatures, after all. 

Error sounds distressed like he always is when his memory acts up, so Dream hurries to roll closer and asks, "A pinkie?" 

"A hand," Error replies, every sound of a single word glitching. 

Dream gives him a bare hand — he still hasn't found gloves tender enough to pacify Error's glitching fits. For some reason it's easier for him to touch Dream's bones than any fabric they'd tried. 

Perhaps it's time to ask if Error has any idea why. When he gets better, of course. Hopefully it doesn't last long.

Dream squeezes Error's hand and gets a squeeze in return. At least he's conscious and not rebooting…

"You feel… different. There's more, er, something other than magic in you. Magic in skeleton-monsters or even monsters in general is more solid than whatever you're made of. Not even ghosts are anything like you." Error explains. 

"Positivity," Dream clarifies. "I'm made of positity. Not entirely, my bones are just that — magical bones; but even those are covered with positive energy. And my eye-lights, my insides, my attacks are all pure positivity." 

"Well, that explains it," Error shrugs. "You're basically so much of a sunshine it overwhelms my phobia and cancels it. As much as it can be canceled, I suppose." 

"Does it really help though? My presence, my… touch?" Dream pauses before the last word, feeling all warm yet uncertain. 

He knows it does. And knows Error knows he knows. But hearing the answer and believing it are two different states of mind. Dream's yet to reach the second one. 

And so Error answers absolutely honestly, "It does."

The two of them then sit together, still holding hands, resting in peace and quiet.

Later Error might or might not steal a book or a few and make Dream read to him, and Dream will read, silently reminiscing about the days of old, when his brother was alive but not happy, not since the villagers came to be. He loved the books though, and loved reading them to Dream, though the little guardian of positivity was beside the Tree less and less, helping the villagers where he could, and then where he couldn't but still did, because people demanded. The memories are bittersweet, and even later Dream will share a few with Error, and Error will listen attentively, and then share his own foggy memories of the past, full of inconsistent and even missing bits.

"A hug and a trip to that version of Outertale I found?" Error asks suddenly. 

"Sounds like a plan," Dream beams. Error rarely requests hugs but that just makes them even more precious to the guardian of positivity. 

So they stand up — Error effortlessly, Dream's with a bit more difficulty, he's not exactly used to furniture like Error's bean bag, — and embrace. 

"Is the texture of my clothes still good?" Dream asks when they let go of each other. 

Error nods, grinning, "Perfect, as I deserve."

"Glad to hear that. Outertale?" 

"Yeah. It's unlike most of the AUs where some people manage to evacuate. True genocide, nobody left. You won't feel a thing, not a single grieving or furious soul," Error looks at Dream with pride. 

"That's… really smart, actually." Dream says thoughtfully. "Nothing to make me stronger, but also nothing to make me weaker or attract Corrupted." 

"Of course it's smart. It was my idea after all." Error boasts and opens a portal. "You first." 

Dream smiles at him and makes his first step into outer space. He's not afraid; he won't be alone in its solitude. 

。。。

Notes

Lots and lots of headcanons here!

Anti-Void being full of non-existent things, Dream's true nature peaking through his skeleton form... It was really nice to finally share those.

Also very proud of the title choice here. It came to me naturally. I instantly knew — that's it. As perfect as anything in this world can be.

[aeoki]

White Brim - Battle Royal: Chapter 1

Location: Villa Characters: Touri, Tsukasa, Eichi & Hiyori Season: Winter Writer: Akira

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< End of February. At a certain villa owned by the Tenshouin family. >

Touri: Anzu~! Why are you stuck to the corner of the room like that?

If you’re confused about social etiquette, I don’t mind teaching you everything you need to know. Ehehe, it’s repayment for always looking after me ♪

Tsukasa: Anzu Onee-sama! You look pale. Perhaps it’s because you’re hungry as you haven’t eaten anything?

There’s no need to worry. I shall bring a basket of snacks for you! I’m doing this specially for you, Onee-sama – I wouldn’t usually do this sort of thing normally ♪

Touri: Grrr…

Tsukasa: Hmm?

Touri: Oh, look who it is~ Tsukasa’s here. So you came too, huh? Your whole presence is so unsightly that I thought it was some random person who had wandered in!

Tsukasa: What was that? Oh, isn’t that Touri-kun? My apologies, you’re so small you could barely fit in my field of vision – I couldn’t tell who you were!

Touri: You’re just someone poor whose only pride is your lineage…!

Tsukasa: You’re just a bean painted in gold…!

Hiyori: Alright now, you two! Could you both stop with the unfriendly atmosphere at such a lovely place? What foul weather!

Tsukasa: Huh? Uh, okay…?

Touri: Hiyori-sama! You decided to attend this time? That’s rare!

Hiyori: Indeed ♪ If anything, it’s only appropriate as the carefree second son of my family to indulge myself in parties and other pleasures, no?

I’d feel bad if I were to get in my older brother’s way, so I’d usually just decline and stay home, though.

He’s flooded with work this year and it’s uncertain whether or not he’d be able to attend.

Besides, this is a party to celebrate the establishment of ES – a large undertaking from the Tenshouin family – and the huge success of the largest event there, “SS”.

I was also the “general leader” of the “White Team” more or less, so of course I had to attend. After all, I’m sure the public sees me as one of the many players who played a large role in the competition.

Naturally, that goes for all of you as well. They’re all itching to hear about our stories of ES and “SS”.

In the financial world, ES has grown into a large entity that the world can no longer ignore.

Tsukasa: “SS”...

Touri: …………

Hiyori: Hm? It was a shame that Touri-kun didn’t feel well during the “SS” main battle, but putting that aside, why do you look so down, Tsukasa-kun?

I think “Knights” earned themselves a rather favourable position in the main battle, though?

Tsukasa: Thank you… It’s an honour, Hiyori-sama.

It’s true “Knights” performed in quite a magnificent manner.

We shared that day’s stage with “Trickstar”, who we had spent a long time practising with, so it’s all thanks to them that we were perfectly in-sync…

I’m proud of us for being able to perform and show the world that “Knights” exists.

However, the fact that we lost completely to “Crazy:B” during the qualifying round has left me feeling quite ashamed…

It’s difficult for me to let go of those feelings and be overjoyed that everything ended well.

Hiyori: Hehe. There couldn’t have been a unit that didn’t struggle from beginning to end.

“Eden” isn’t an exception, either. Things ended up being forcibly left unsettled and the “White Team” was experiencing defeat after defeat…

It felt as though our dignity as the ones who acted like the overwhelming champions was wounded.

As if they were thinking we were all bark and no bite.

Tsukasa: I don’t think that’s true.

Touri: Yeah. In our eyes, “Eden” has always been a unit that’s shining brightly in a faraway place – a unit that we’re no match for.

Tsukasa: That’s right. But to be honest, I was busy worrying about ourselves during “SS”, so…

I didn’t have the time to care about the other units or the public’s reaction.

Despite that, I was bombarded left and right with work, so I didn’t have any time to organise my thoughts, either. And while I was forcibly returned to my busy work…

It felt as if “SS” and everything that happened dissipated like a dream.

Touri: I know what you mean~ It felt like we were inside a dream the entire time, huh.

Hiyori: Ahaha. If anything, we should be getting our heads out of “SS” as quickly as we can in order to return to our daily lives. “SS” was an ephemeral dream – a slice out of the ordinary.

If we continued to be prisoner to that, then it would hinder our everyday life.

And this is also a party to forget all those things. We’ll blow away our fatigue by enjoying ourselves and indulging in some delicious food.

It’s all to provide the strength that will allow us to continue doing our best as idols in the future.

And in your case, Anzu-chan, as a “producer”. That’s probably why you’ve been invited despite not being nobility, no? Just a guess, though.

Eichi: You’re right.

Hehe. You’re always the one who understands me most, Hiyori-kun.

Hiyori: Oh, you’re here, Eichi-kun? I didn’t see you around, so I thought you had died in a ditch somewhere.

Eichi: …You always say those sorts of things with a smile on your face, but do you truly wish me dead?

Hiyori: Hm? Why, that would make me a very thick-skinned person indeed – I couldn’t care less whether you’re dead or alive!

Touri: …Huh? What’s wrong, Anzu? Why are you laughing?

What? Me, Tsukasa, Eichi-sama and Hiyori-sama all give off similar vibes? What do you mean?

I don’t really understand but I’m glad you’re laughing, Anzu~ I was worried since you looked so “dispirited”.

Hm? That’s your line, you say?

Hmm… I’d like to be able to smile and laugh innocently like I always have.

But that’s still hard for me to do right now.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤNext Chapter →

[changingplumbob]

Chopra Household: Chapter 6, Part 12

The twins celebrate TV premiere day and Viola ages up to a toddler!

If Viola is attempting to say something it will be in brackets, otherwise you can assume it's just trying out sounds Mercedes has a speech delay and may get words wrong, correct wording will be in brackets if that is the case Savannah aka Honeybee Mercedes aka Little Ladybug Viola aka Green Bean

Lavina: You want... another one? I should think three are enough of a handful already

Rahul: Mum, Cassandra and I want a big family

Lavina: Well I think it’s a terrible idea. The ones you have are already disrespectful

Rahul: Think what you like, we’re trying

Lavina: I suppose you could get lucky and the fourth one will be good mannered

Rahul: Mum you have GOT to stop talking the kids down, they need to be lifted up

Lavina: All this coddling nonsense-

Rahul: I try to be strict mum, I tell them off when they mess up, but there’s only so much they can understand at their age. If you expect me to send them to bed without supper you will be disappointed

Cassandra: Where’s mama? Where’s mama?

Viola: ga du da (I not know)

Cassandra: Here I am Viola

Viola: gree de na na (that’s impossible) *wails*

Cassandra: Oh, it’s okay. Its okay. Mama is here, mama is fine, you are safe green bean

Rahul: Who’s crying? Viola what’s wrong

Viola: *cries* he na di (I not understand)

Cassandra: Turns out she doesn’t like peek-a-boo

Rahul: Don’t tell me I did all that practice on Milton for nothing. Here green bean, watch papa. Watch papa, I’ll do it slowly

Cassandra: Good idea. She’s looking

Rahul: Papa hides. Where did papa go? Oh! Papa is right here with Viola and Mama

Viola: *giggles* gu fa fa (okay that not so scary now)

Cassandra works on her guitar playing before her shift while Rahul takes the calm moment to spend time with Viola.

Rahul: Would you like a younger sibling? I bet you would. You would have an ally against your big sisters wouldn’t you?

Mercedes: TV new (premiere) day here we GOOOOO

Lavina: What

Savannah: It’s a new episode of The Pride Family nana

Lavina: And what’s that

Savannah: Just the best cartoon show. The family’s last name is Lion so they call it the Pride family because a group of lions is a pride

Lavina: Oh how clever you are, here, have a candy

Mercedes: Where’s my candy nana

Lavina: Tell me something clever and you’ll get one

Savannah: Come on nana, Mercedes is super clever

Lavina: As soon as you get in the habit of saying please when you ask, more candy will appear

Rahul: Has it started yet

Mercedes: Almost, 4 and a half minutes to go

Lavina: Don’t tell me you still watch cartoons son

Savannah: Papa is the best at cartoon watching, he always watches with us

Mercedes: Unless Viola is crying

The premiere goes well and at the end Rahul helps the girls with their homework.

Mercedes: Papa I lost my first tooth today

Rahul: Did you little ladybug

Savannah: Yeah in class. We kept it safe now we can both put our teeth under our pillows together

Lavina: But Savannah you lost your tooth several days ago

Mercedes: She was waiting for me nana so we can see the tooth fairy together

Rahul: So if we tick off today, I think you’ve both earned your first scout badge

Mercedes: Yes! Which one

Rahul: Manual says scholarly aptitude

The twins stare blankly at Rahul and then pull confused faces at each other.

Rahul: It means you’ve been doing your homework

The twins understand this and happily celebrate, exchanging best friend bracelets! Rahul goes and wakes a napping Viola for some playtime.

Lavina: Rahul, she needs feeding

Rahul: We’re just playing right now because she’s bored

Lavina: Don’t let the poor thing starve. Feed her

Rahul sighs but scoops Viola off the playmat for a feeding anyway. It is a bit late for her dinner but she hasn’t seemed hungry.

Cassandra: Why are we awake? I think it’s past bedtime

Mercedes: MAMA!

Savannah: We missed you mama

Mercedes: We wanted to see you before bed

Cassandra: My work shift is a bit tricky isn’t it. Okay, come here. Big hugs then teeth and bed

Mercedes: Mama my tooth came out so-

Savannah: We’re going to see the tooth fairy tonight

Cassandra: Only if you actually go to sleep honeybee

Following hugs, kisses and I love you’s, the twins get to bed and tuck their teeth under their pillows.

Cassandra is woken early by two excited children jumping on the bed talking over each other about fairies and simoleons. Eventually she and Rahul manage to shepherd them towards breakfast.

Savannah: They’re quick, but I know I saw a sparkle as they flew

Cassandra: Fairies do sparkle

Mercedes: We need to think, next time we’ll have to see them

Savannah: Hmm. Maybe we-

Lavina: Girls! It’s an hour until school time, why haven’t you started breakfast? And Savannah you’re not even dressed!

Cassandra and Rahul get started on their chores for the day while Lavina watches over the girls who are far to interested in fairies to eat quickly.

Cassandra: *softly* Viola, green bean, time to wake up

Viola: *yawns*

Cassandra: It’s age up day. Mama will help you with your cake

Viola: pa uh Mama?

Cassandra: *gasps* Rahul! RAHUL! She said her first word

Rahul rushes in from lighting candles worrying he missed it. Cassandra scoops Viola out of the crib and turns her towards Rahul.

Cassandra: Can you say mama again for papa? Hmm? Mama for papa

Viola: Mama *yawns and stretches* lo papa

Rahul: Well done green bean! I knew you could do it *tickles tummy*

Cassandra: Please tell me you didn’t just leave fire unsupervised

Rahul blinks and runs back out of the room. Cassandra laughs as Viola nestles into her shoulder. Cassandra carries her to the kitchen and shows her the cake. Viola is very confused by it.

Cassandra: We blow the candles and the flames will go. Bye bye flames

Viola: Mama fla guu (mama flames go?)

Cassandra: Here we can do it together

Cassandra blows a few raspberries on Viola's tummy until the infant is copying the blowing action. Cassandra turns her towards the cake and spit bubbles go everywhere! But with her help the candles go out and Viola giggles in delight.

Viola is a toddler now, and a wild one! I can’t wait to find out her quirks.

Cassandra: Rahul I think we ought to see if she can potty before we head out

Rahul: Yes, that's sounds sensible

Cassandra: Would you help me with potty time

Rahul: Of course my darling. *switches to address Viola* Does someone need to go potty?

Viola: Ga ra papa (I don't know papa)

Cassandra: Sit down green bean

The couple try their best to explain things to Viola but the two and a half year old isn’t following and has an accident.

Rahul: Oh well, can’t be perfect on the first try. Do you want to go on a trip Viola? Hmm?

Cassandra: Let's go to the rec centre, just until the girls will be due home

Rahul: Sounds good. Okay green bean, time to go explore!

Previous ... Next

[luellalux]

Te Amo Por Siempre - December 2013

Masterlist | AO3

December 2013

Brooklyn, New York

Carissa hadn’t caught her breath since Pedro got back from Croatia. Unless you counted the thirty-second bathroom and water breaks and the time it took to change condoms. From the moment he arrived up until now, Carissa was on the receiving end of his amorous overtures. She had lost count how many rounds they had gone, but she did know that she was definitely done this time.

“Babe…” Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper as she turned her head against the pillow, cheek squished against the cool fabric. Her eyes were half-lidded, glassy from exhaustion. “I need a break.”

Pedro propped himself up on one elbow beside her, his hair sticking out at odd angles. Sweat clung to his temples, his chest still heaving from the effort. His dark eyes narrowed, gazing down at her like she had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“What?” His voice was incredulous, deep and raw with exertion. “You’re tapping out on me? Now?”

She gave him a dry look and motioned vaguely toward her spent body. “Yeah ‘cause I’m sore everywhere—the front, the back, all over,” she said. “ And I think you sprained my lady bean in that last round.”

Pedro blinked. His face shifted through several expressions in quick succession—confusion, realization, and then unfiltered pride. His dimple carved deep into his cheek even as he tried to hold back a grin.

“Your lady bean?” he echoed, his voice full of barely restrained mischief. He trailed featherlight fingers down her thigh. “Did I break you, baby?”

Carissa groaned, pushing weakly at his hands, which did absolutely nothing. “Yeah, completely and thoroughly,” she sighed. “I may not function properly for several hours.”

“Oh, poor baby,” he cooed as his fingers brushed higher, teasing along the curve of her hip. “Maybe I should check her out. Make sure everything’s still in working order.”

Her eyes shot open, and she made a noise halfway between a warning and a laugh. “Pedro. Stop.” She caught his hand, holding it in place on her hip. “I’m serious. I’m like… one orgasm away from losing consciousness. Can we just lie still for a bit?”

Pedro shifted, pulling her against him until she was tucked into his side. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you a break,” he acquiesced. Then added, “For now.”

Carissa hummed contentedly as she pulled the duvet up to cover them as they cuddled. “While we’re here, we should probably talk about Christmas.”

Pedro nodded. “Right. Meeting your parents as your boyfriend this time.”

He had met Froy and Emmy Bautista before. Several times over the years, in fact. First very briefly at the opening of Carissa’s first maternity shelter in Orange County then subsequently when they visited Carissa in New York. They had seen him in a play or two and were nice, polite people. While Froy was a study in stoicism and Emmy fussed over Carissa as only a mother could, Pedro often sensed that they bore upon her the weight of wordless parental expectation.  

“Yeah,” Carissa replied, looking up at him cautiously. “First big-ticket item: We have to stay in separate bedrooms. ‘Cause of… you know, the whole no-premarital sex thing they believe in.”

Pedro’s reaction was immediate. “What?!” He jerked his head back so fast he almost pulled a muscle in his neck, staring at her like she just insulted his entire bloodline. His hands hovered, palms up, like he was holding the world’s most ludicrous statement. “They’ve got to have a clue that we’re, you know–” he gestured between them incredulously.

“Even if they do, my parents are the type who vigilantly maintain the illusion that we do nothing more than hold hands and kiss very chastely,” she explained. “And we are not going to do anything to shatter that illusion if you want them to like you.”

Pedro’s face fell into a scowl. “I thought you said they already liked me.”

“As my friend? Sure. As my boyfriend?” She winced. “That’s taking some… adjustment.”

His brows drew together, his jaw tightening as his fingers stilled on her back. “Adjustment?” he repeated warily. “You told them about us months ago. They should be pretty adjusted, right?”

Carissa chewed her lip nervously. “Yeah, I told them,” she said softly. “But you know how parents are. They have their own ideas of the kind of person their kid should be with and… you’re a bit of a surprise to them.”

Pedro’s eyes darted away, his jaw ticking as he did. “Let me guess,” he muttered, his voice a little too sharp. “They wanted someone more like you, like Zuckerberg or Karp. An equal.”

“Hey, come on, don’t do that,” Carissa said quickly. Her hands came up to frame his face, the warmth of her palms chasing away the cold edge of doubt in his chest. Her thumbs swept soothing arcs along his cheekbones, anchoring him to her like she was pressing a fragile truth into his skin. “We are equals, in all the ways that matter to us . So my parents, once they spend time with you and see how happy you make me, I know they’ll see it too. Okay?”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. His fingers slid up, covering her hands with his as his eyes locked on hers, steadying them both. “Alright, alright,” he agreed, completely assured by her as he always was. “What else should I know?”

She raised her hand, ticking each point off on her fingers as she reeled off the ground rules.“No excessive touching or kissing. No cursing. No taking the Lord’s name in vain. Nothing—” she held his gaze for a beat to emphasize the seriousness, “—and I mean nothing, about politics, gun control, abortion, or that we voted for Obama and in favor of including marriage equality.”

With every rule, Pedro’s face grew darker and darker, tinged with incredulity. “I am literally not even going to be able to open my mouth in front of your parents,” he muttered as he gave her a look that plainly spoke of how displeased he was at this turn of events. 

Carissa didn’t seem to be listening as she added as an afterthought, “And you can’t call me querida in front of my family.”

Out of all the things she had listed, this was the one that really threw Pedro for a loop. His brows pulled together in confusion. “Why the hell not?”

“Because,” she sighed, “querida sounds like kerida in Tagalog, which means mistress. Calling me that in front of my parents basically means you’re calling me your side chick. You can thank your colonizing Spanish ancestors for that one." She tilted her head like she was offering him a moment to process. 

Pedro blinked once, twice, before bursting into sharp, disbelieving laughter. "You mean to tell me that I have been calling you my side-chick in your language all year and you didn’t bother to educate me?”

Carissa shrugged, “Far be it from me to cramp your style.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “So, you think you can manage being around my family for four days?”

“Anything for you, mi vida. I’ll be on my best behaviour– a fuckin’ saint. Might even be canonized by new years– Saint Pedro of Restraint,” Pedro declared in that suave way of his. 

Carissa bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Baby, you don’t even believe in God,” she pointed out.

Pedro gave an exaggerated wave of dismissal, one hand cutting through the air while the other pulled her closer to him. “Details, details,” he muttered with a squint, like the technicalities were irrelevant. 

They were quiet for a moment while Carissa fiddled with the edge of the duvet, then added, as if speaking quickly would soften the blow, “Oh and, you’re also going to the shooting range with my dad, my uncles, and some of my cousins before we go to Christmas Eve mass.”

Pedro’s eyes bulged out of his head as he pulled back slightly from her. “Wait-wait? Shooting range? And I have to go to mass? I didn’t know we were cosplaying as NRA card bearing Catholics for Christmas.”

Carissa had the grace to appear guilty for sneaking in the activities for Christmas Eve. “It’s a good way for you to spend time with my dad and get to know each other,” she said, by way of an explanation. “As for mass, no one gets out of that– it’s mandatory.”

At this Pedro sighed, “If you think it’ll help your parents adjust to the idea of us, I’m game.”

She beamed proudly up at him. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“I’m Saint Pedro, baby, canonization pending,” he quipped, leaning in, his lips tantalizing close to hers. “Now let's check on Miss Lady Bean...”

"Pedro!"

LA County / Orange County, California

Most of December passed in a flurry of activity—Carissa balancing holiday parties for her staff and residents at her shelters and team appreciation events at 714Analytix while Pedro navigated post-production obligations for Game of Thrones . The final days before Christmas brought a last-minute audition for Pedro—a multi-episode guest spot on The Mentalist . It threw their plans into slight disarray, but by the day before Christmas Eve, they were finally back in sync, driving down the 405 from LA to Orange County.

“Baby, if you were gonna be this nervous you should’ve let me drive,” Pedro said, from the passenger seat as he watched Carissa almost chew her bottom lip raw. 

She kept her eyes on the road while Long Beach flicked past them. “I’m fine,” Carissa replied, maneuvering the SUV through traffic with ease. “I’m just mentally preparing myself ‘cause this is really happening now– you staying at the house for Christmas and meeting my extended family tomorrow…” She glanced over at him and he caught for a moment, that overwhelmed look ghosting over her features before she looked out ahead of her again.

At this, Pedro raised an eyebrow and scratched his chin realizing once again that he had shaved off all of his facial hair in an effort to look his most presentable. “That’s what’s got you worried?”

“Yeah,” Carissa admitted. “I mean, back in Brooklyn, we have our own little world there. And when it’s just the two of us. There’s no expectations, no one else’s opinions.” 

They both knew this to be true. It was as if their relationship had lived in its own ecosystem, where the inhabitants were just the two of them and visitors (their mutual friend group) to said ecosystem had usually controlled entry. Their friends were all supportive of their relationship whereas family… well, they tended to look after their own. 

“But this, meeting your family and all that, invites their opinions,” Pedro supplied.  

“That and their judgement,” she admitted as they reached the outskirts of LA county on the freeway. “I just want them to like you, to see how important you are to me.”

Pedro understood keenly the subtext of Carissa’s words. You had to, if you were to know Carissa at all. What worried her was the blending of her worlds. For so long, she had compartmentalized, kept the different aspects of her life filed in neat little boxes, never letting the people from those different areas of her carefully constructed life to go from one box to the other. Yet here he was, the outlier, the one who got to see everything, layer by layer, now going box by box as if she was carefully making room for him in all the areas of her life. He knew how monumental it was for someone like Carissa, to share herself, to share her whole self with him. She didn’t do this for anyone else, not even her parents.

He patted her thigh reassuringly. “They love you, baby, they’ll do their best– just like I’m gonna do my best.”

Carissa sighed. “I’m sure my parents and my aunts and uncles will, but my cousins? I dunno. I’m the youngest cousin and they’re not shy about reminding me of where I am in the pecking order, successful or not.” She threw Pedro a long-suffering look. “That’s why I try to limit my attendance to family gatherings. My cousins are an assault on the senses, to put it lightly.”

“They can’t be that bad. If they were, you would have given me a study guide,” Pedro quipped with a short laugh.

Oh, but I did.” Carissa motioned toward her bag. “Check my tablet.”

Pedro’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “No way. You actually made me a cheat sheet?”

“Just open it,” she said, her tone both amused and exasperated.

Pedro dug through her backpack, pulling out the tablet. He unlocked it—using their anniversary as the passcode— and found the file she directed him to. There it was, a full-on cheat sheet of the Bautista cousins, complete with a picture of each person’s face for easy recognition.

Angel 

Eldest cousin, the Golden Boy

Retired Marine with tours in Iraq and Afghanistan; currently LAPD gang unit officer

Engaged to high school sweetheart, Camille.

JR

Chiropractor; may offer to adjust your back

Angel’s younger brother

Currently in living his best clubhoe life after a bad breakup (ex cheated on him)

Jericho

The nice one

Owns a chain of boba shops 

Usually clubbing with JR

Was close to his older brother, Ryan, before family estrangement.

Ryan

Dentist in San Diego

Older brother to Jericho

Estranged and doesn’t attend family gatherings; don’t bring him up

Darryl 

Works as a designer under Kanye’s Yeezy brand.

Sneaker head

Only listens to himself and Angel

Loves bossing his younger sisters Queenie and Twinkie around and they let him

Queenie

Younger sister to Darryl; older sister and really close to Twinkie

Studying to be a dermatologist; obsessed with skincare

Always talking at a volume of 12 out of 10

Twinkie 

Darryl and Queenie’s younger sister; just as loud as Queenie

Newly licensed nurse, has a job lined up at Hoag Hospital in the new year

Constantly compared to me by our family because we are close in age, which has historically caused minor tension.

“They’re names aren’t really Queenie and Twinkie– those are family nicknames, right?” Pedro asked, glancing up from the study guide.

“Sort of,” she answered readily as if she expected that to be his first question. “Queenie’s name really is Queenie but Twinkie is short for Twinkle May,” Carissa explained matter-of-factly. “I suppose I should count myself lucky that my parents didn’t name me Blessie or Princess– both of which were runners up to Carissa.”

Pedro tried to keep a straight face as he solemnly said, “If you weren’t Carissa, Blessie would be a close second.” Then he howled with laughter. “Imagine if they named you Princess instead.”

“The thought still haunts me to this day,” Carissa said despite her chagrin.

He took another look at the notes she prepared for him, grateful for how much effort she was making to ensure that he had a soft landing with her family. “Remind me to make one of these for you when you visit Chile with me someday. I’ve got thirty-four first cousins from both sides. You’ll need a whole slide deck.”

Carissa looked over at him. “Chile to visit your family, hmm? I’d like that. I’ve never been to South America.”

A short while later, they were finally in far more familiar territory– Orange County, now more popularly known as ‘The OC’ thanks to the TV show and a few MTV reality shows. While Pedro had lived in Corona Del Mar and Los Alamitos during his time in Orange County, Carissa was born and raised in the cities of Orange and Tustin. Early in their friendship, they had discussed life in the OC bubble– pedestrian at best and terribly isolating at its worst.

From the 405, they merged onto the 73, the freeway slicing through the hills like a ribbon under the low winter sun. As they approached Newport Coast Drive, Pedro adjusted his seatbelt, stealing glances at Carissa’s profile. Her hands were on the wheel, her expression calm, but the subtle shift of her shoulders and the way she bit her bottom lip gave her away.

When they finally turned into the gated community of Pelican Crest, Pedro’s brows lifted. The sheer scale of it all hit him���manicured lawns rolled like green velvet under the soft coastal breeze, and towering Mediterranean-style homes gleamed in the late afternoon light. Luxury cars lined the drives, their polished surfaces catching glints of gold from the setting sun. Pedro let out a low whistle.

“This is where your parents live?” he asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Carissa nodded, her grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly as the gates parted. “Yeah. My mom, she always thought this was the classiest neighborhood in all of Orange County. So, as soon as I could, I bought them a place here,” she said, her tone light but tinged with a hint of pride.

“After Heartfire?” Pedro asked, glancing over at her.

She nodded again as they wound their way through the pristine streets. “And as luck would have it, this one was on the market. Got it for a steal because of the recession.”

Pedro chuckled under his breath. “A steal,” he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he caught sight of a gleaming Maserati pulling into a driveway.

Carissa rolled her eyes but smiled, pulling the SUV into the drive of a stately Mediterranean-style home. Christmas lights twinkled along the roofline, their cheerful glow blending seamlessly with the colorful parols hanging in the windows. Pedro recognized the star-shaped lanterns from the time Carissa had explained how they symbolized the Star of Bethlehem. They added a burst of vibrant tradition to the otherwise serene exterior.

“This is gorgeous,” Pedro murmured, stepping out of the car. The cool ocean breeze brushed against his face as he took in the house—a sprawling vision of creamy stucco and terracotta tiles, with an arched doorway that beckoned invitingly.

Carissa hesitated, her fingers brushing her seatbelt buckle. Then, with a deep breath, she unlatched it and turned to him. “It’s now or never, Pascal,” she said with a nervous shift of her shoulders.

Pedro grabbed his bags from the trunk, just as the muffled sound of excited barking erupted from within the house.

“Jimmy,” Carissa said fondly as she motioned toward the door. “Our fluffy alarm system. He’s still teething, so watch out for your fingers and ankles. Oh, and don’t criticize Jimmy Fallon in front of my mom– that’s who he’s named after. She thinks Fallon is the height of comedy.”

Before Pedro could respond, the door opened to reveal Emmy Bautista. She was a petite woman, no taller than Carissa, with her dark hair swept back into a smooth bun. A flowery apron was tied snugly over her duster dress, and in her arms squirmed a small white Bichon Frise who barked and yipped in greeting.

“Anak, just in time,” Emmy said, her face lighting up as she gestured them inside. “Pedro, welcome to our home. Come in, come in!”

Carissa stepped inside first, taking Jimmy from her mother’s arms as the puppy wriggled excitedly. Emmy pulled Pedro into a warm hug, surprising him slightly. “You two are so skinny,” she fussed, her voice lilting with a soft accent. “Is there nothing to eat in Brooklyn, or do you just work too much, hmm?”

Pedro laughed, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders before stepping back. “Maybe a little too much work. Thank you for having me, Emmy. You have a beautiful home.”

“Happy to have you for Christmas, Pedro. And you have to eat a lot while we have you here,” she insisted, ushering him in. 

As she shut the door behind them, Pedro caught a little yellow post-it note fixed just below the deadbolt. Written in neat slanting cursive, ‘Always pray before you leave’.  It wasn’t a directive, more like a reminder– gentle. Like a mother telling her child to put on a jacket before going outside. 

After swapping his shoes for the indoor slippers waiting in a basket near the door, he glanced around the foyer. The floors gleamed white, marble tiles reflecting the golden light streaming through the high windows. And then he saw Him.

Jesus.

A nearly life-sized wooden carving of Christ hung on the far wall, every detail painstakingly rendered. Emaciated ribs, taut muscles, a crown of thorns digging into his forehead. The face was twisted in agony, but the eyes—they weren’t cast down. They were looking forward. Directly forward.

Pedro halted mid-step, his entire body stiffening like he just walked into a trap. His breath caught, his hand clutching the strap of his bag tighter. The words slipped out unbidden.

“Jesus Christ—!”

“Pedro!” Carissa hissed, her eyes wide as she darted a glance toward her mother. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!”

He blinked, his gaze flicking between her and the carving. He raised both hands, gesturing openly at the carving. “It’s HIM,” he whispered urgently. “He’s right there. Watching me.”

Before Carissa could respond, the sound of slippered footsteps approached. Froy Bautista appeared in the hallway, his expression unreadable. Pedro immediately straightened so fast he felt like a marionette pulled taut by invisible strings.

Froy’s gaze swept over him, assessing, unblinking. Then, he extended his hand. Pedro stepped forward, meeting him halfway. Their handshake was firm, neither overbearing nor passive, but charged with the weight of a father’s judgment.

“Pedro,” Froy greeted evenly. “Welcome. We appreciate you coming to spend Christmas with us. It must be hard to be away from your family.”

Pedro nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be here.”

Froy’s eyes shifted briefly to the carving of Jesus, then back to Pedro. There was no smile, no acknowledgement, just a slow release of their clasped hands.

“Well, dinner is ready,” Emmy interjected warmly. “Come and eat before it gets cold.” 

Carissa placed a hand lightly on Pedro’s elbow as they followed her parents deeper into their home. It wasn’t a pull or a guide—just a subtle, reassuring touch.

As they moved through the house, Pedro took in the religious iconography scattered prominently throughout—paintings of saints, votive candles, rosaries draped over picture frames. And of course, Christmas was in full bloom. Garlands adorned the banisters, lights twinkled in every corner, and three Christmas trees stood proudly in different rooms. The fancy tree in the formal reception room, the Hawaiin themed one at the base of the front staircase, and the last one in the family room, just off the kitchen.

“Three Christmas trees?” Pedro muttered as they washed their hands at the kitchen sink.

Carissa grinned up at him. “Yep. The fancy one is for pictures. The Hawaiian one is an homage to my parents life on Oahu where they lived and got married before they moved to Orange County and had me. My mom let me save the one in the family room for us to decorate after dinner. Thought it might be fun.”

Pedro smiled, his voice low. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Translations:

anak - child (literal translation); in the context of a parent using it on their child, it is a term of endearment and deep affection/love; can also be used on nieces and nephews 

They settled into their seats for dinner before Froy led them in prayer, Pedro watching Carissa closely for cues. Then, before he knew it, Emmy was serving him a second then a third helping of chicken adobo, rice, and steamed vegetables as she eyed Carissa’s hardly touched plate like a hawk.

“Is that all you’re going to eat, anak?” Emmy asked pointedly. 

“Just pacing myself, mama,” Carissa answered easily, as if long accustomed to her mother’s admonitions. 

Emmy didn’t push the subject but Pedro clocked the doubtful look she cast at Carissa as the latter sheepishly ate her food. He filed that detail away for later.

“So Pedro,” Froy said, leaning back in his chair. He had been silently observing during dinner up until this point. “I understand you were filming in Northern Ireland and Croatia for your latest role.”

Pedro nodded and cleared his throat. “Ehm, yeah, it was a pretty long shoot. But it was an awesome experience especially since I’m a fan of Game of Thrones.”

Froy nodded. “Emmy and I tried to watch that show when it first came out, but it was a bit too bold for us. Too much… nudity.”

“It does have a bit of that,” Pedro conceded evenly.

“But we will watch your season,” Emmy interjected warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Carissa always reminds us when you’re in something. We want to support you.”

Pedro glanced at Carissa, who gave him a small, encouraging nod. “I really appreciate that, Emmy,” he said, his tone genuine.

Froy leaned forward slightly. “Just so we’re prepared, do you have any nude scenes?”

Carissa choked on her water mid-sip, coughing violently as she grabbed her napkin to cover her mouth. Emmy thumped her back gently, her cheeks pink. “Froy,” she admonished, her voice tinged with embarrassment. “Not appropriate at the dinner table.”

Pedro coughed nervously. “It’s a fair question,” he said, thinking about the scenes he shot. “I, uh… have a couple of scenes like that. But I can’t go into too much detail—spoilers, you know.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Carissa burying her face in her napkin, her ears tinged red. Even Emmy looked flustered.

Froy remained impassive. “Well, at least we know it’s coming,” he said before resuming his dinner. “Carissa visited you while you were filming in Belfast?”

Carissa’s head popped up from her napkin. “Yeah, I stayed at a really nice hotel right in the city,” she said breezily. She didn’t look at Pedro. She didn’t even blink. “It was great.”

Pedro’s eyes shot over to her so fast it was a wonder she didn’t feel it. His brow lifted, but he didn’t say anything. Hotel? They both knew she didn’t stay in a hotel. She stayed with him, in his flat. In his bed. With him. But now wasn’t the time. He knew what she was doing. Playing the part of the "good daughter" for her parents.

“Ah,” Froy said with a hint of approval. “And from there, you went to see David, right?”

Carissa nodded, finally glancing at Pedro, her eyes unreadable. “Mmhmm, he asked me to consult on that startup he was thinking about investing in.”

“I looked him up,” Froy said, his fork still in hand. “Forbes 30 Under 30. Impressive.”

Pedro didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to. He felt it. The silent comparison was sharp as a knife. He focused on his plate, cutting into his chicken. For everyone’s benefit, Emmy guided the conversation to safer waters, asking Pedro about his next projects which he was pleased to elaborate on. 

“In the new year, I’ll be back in LA to shoot a guest spot for a couple episodes of The Mentalist. That’s why I was in LA up until today, for the final audition,” Pedro said.

“Ah, another show for us to watch, how exciting,” Emmy replied with genuine interest. 

Dessert, freshly fried bananacue with a scoop of ice cream, upon Carissa’s insistence, finished up the meal. Then Emmy sent him with Carissa and Jimmy into the family room to decorate the tree while she and Froy cleared up. 

“So, how am I doing so far?” Pedro asked, low enough for only Carissa to hear as he deftly intercepted Jimmy from attacking the tinsel. 

“As long as we don’t talk about nudity for the rest of the visit, I think we might be doing ok,” Carissa breathed, opening the ornament boxes. 

“I didn’t bring it up though, your dad did,” Pedro pointed out while Carissa hung up an ornament that looked like Emmy might have ordered it from a Hallmark catalogue in the mid-nineties.

“I know, he’s just trying to get a read on you. You know how dads are,” she murmured, wordlessly gesturing for him to add some ornaments himself. 

Pedro hummed, lifting another ornament—a framed photo ornament shaped like a wreath. Inscribed at the top was 1990 My First Christmas , and within the frame was baby Carissa, a gummy, toothless smile lighting up her tiny face as she clutched a stuffed Minnie Mouse.

“Man, you were a cute baby,” he murmured as he hung the ornament up, front and center. Then the words escaped him before he could stop them. “I wonder what our kids will look like.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Carissa stilled, her gaze fixed on the tree. When she turned to him, her expression wasn’t startled, but curious. Searching.

“You’re already thinking about kids?” she asked.

He didn’t bother walking back on the comment, not when she looked intrigued by the idea and all it meant. “Yeah, I think about that. Us. Our life. A family. All of it.”

Her eyes moved back toward the tree as she hung another ornament, her fingers brushing against the branch. “Should I be thinking about this too?” Carissa asked in that feather light tone that was singular to her.  

“Only if it’s something you want too,” Pedro said honestly, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, leaving the door to their future wide open.

For a moment Carissa’s face was unreadable, looking up at the tree. Her profile glowed faintly in the tree lights as she spoke. “I guess I have been thinking about it, in my own way,” she said simply. 

They didn’t say anything more, though they felt the air between them had shifted—layered with a shared thought neither needed to elaborate on. It wasn’t coincidence or fate; it was a deep gravity that pulled their hearts in the same direction. They didn’t linger on why or how it came to be. All that mattered was that they were both already picturing it. A future together. 

The following morning, Pedro woke to the sound of scratching at his door followed by high-pitched yips. Jimmy. He dragged himself out of bed, his hair a mess, and opened the door to find the little Bichon Frise bouncing with excitement. Jimmy immediately darted into the room, sniffing around his luggage ardently.

“You’re here to escort me, huh?” Pedro muttered, crouching down to scratch the puppy behind the ears. Jimmy barked, his tail wagging like a propeller.

Taking the hint, Pedro got ready for the morning ahead– a boys-only trip to the shooting range with Carissa’s dad, uncles, and cousins. Pedro knew it was a test of sorts, a chance for them to size him up.

Downstairs, the kitchen was alive with activity. The smell of garlic fried rice, eggs, spam and beef tapa wafted through the air. In the kitchen, Carissa stood beside her mother, Emmy, working in tandem. Carissa flipped slices of spam in a pan while Emmy neatly laid out plates of fresh pandesal. Froy was in the driveway, loading up the SUV with gear.

Jimmy bolted ahead of Pedro as they reached the bottom of the stairs, darting straight to Carissa. She turned at the sound of Pedro’s footsteps, her expression bright. “Morning,” she greeted. “Grab a plate. My uncles and cousins are going to be here any minute, and once they show up, the food won’t last.”

Pedro heeded her, piling up his plate while Emmy greeted him as well. Minutes passed as he sat at the kitchen island, eating his breakfast. Then a lively hum of voices rolled through the garage, the unmistakable signal of arrivals. Carissa, standing by the stove, turned her head slightly.

“That’ll be my uncles,” she murmured to Pedro. Her tone was light, though Pedro could see the subtle shift in her posture—preparing herself for the incoming energy. Sure enough, the door to the garage opened, and in came Froy’s brothers: Romy, Lito, and Benjie.

“Good morning!” Lito boomed, his accent thick as he stepped inside.

The three brothers greeted Emmy first, clasping her hands and kissing her on the cheek with familiar warmth. Then they turned their focus to Carissa.

“Anak, Merry Christmas!” Romy exclaimed, pinching her cheek affectionately.

“Still too skinny,” Benjie added with a mix of concern and admonition. “Do they only eat air and drink coffee in New York?”

Carissa maintained a carefully bland expression, enduring the barrage of playful comments. “And bagels and pizza, too.”

“No, no. You need to eat more rice. Boys don’t like girls without curves!” Lito teased, nudging her lightly.

Pedro watched as Carissa continued to respond politely. He could see this wasn’t new to her—she was used to this sort of commentary about her figure. It echoed the same tone her mother had over dinner last night. Then the uncles turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly as if sizing him up.

“So, you’re Pedro. The actor, the artista,” Romy said, stepping forward.

Pedro stood, extending his hand. “That’s me, sir. Good to meet you.”

Romy’s grip was firm, his hand calloused from years of construction work. Pedro returned the handshake with the same firmness.

“Handsome guy,” Benjie noted, looking Pedro up and down with a nod of approval. “And tall, too.”

“But can you shoot?” Lito questioned as he shook Pedro’s hand too.

“I guess we’ll find out today,” Pedro replied with a shrug.

The uncles exchanged glances, murmuring something in Tagalog that Pedro didn’t catch. Their expressions weren’t unkind—just intrigued. As the uncles settled in, more voices filtered through the garage. Carissa cast a look over her shoulder. Then gave Pedro a pointed look, as if to say, ‘ here comes the second wave.’ 

Mood Music: Clique - Kanye, Jay-Z, Big Sean

Before Pedro could brace himself, JR ambled in. Short but stacked, he carried himself like a man who knew he could bench his body weight hungover. His sunglasses stayed on—indoors—because rules don’t apply when you’re this cool. Tattoos crept out from his rolled sleeves, clean black ink of tribal lines mixing with crosses and verses in ornate script. His shirt, open at the collar, screamed the party wasn’t over, just paused.

“Where’s the aspirin, Tita Emmy?” JR rasped, the gravel in his voice a dead giveaway of too much tequila and too little sleep. “I feel like I got hit by a semi.”

“JR!” Emmy turned from the stove, wielding her spatula like she was ready to strike. “You drink too much! One day, your liver will pack its bags and leave you!”

JR leaned in, planting a kiss on her cheek with the easy charm of someone who never got punished for anything. “Last time, tita. Promise.”

“Until after mass tonight?” Carissa deadpanned from across the room, lifting her coffee cup in mock salute.

JR pointed finger guns her way, grinning like the devil. “Girl, you know it.”

Then his sunglasses came off, and his eyes landed on Pedro. JR slowed, sizing him up like a new car in the lot. “So… you’re the guy.” He extended a hand, smirking. “JR. Chiropractor by day, walking hangover by night.”

Pedro took the handshake, mirroring the energy but keeping it cool. “Pedro. Actor by day, still figuring out the night part.”

JR laughed, loud and unapologetic, clapping him on the shoulder. “I like this guy.” With that, he made a beeline for the cabinet where the aspirin lived.

Next up was Darryl. Bigger, taller, and broader than JR, he filled the room just by walking in. His body screamed powerlifting, with arms thick enough to crush a beer can—probably without meaning to. Tattoos covered every inch of exposed skin, from his wrists to the side of his neck, their bold black lines perfectly placed, no filler. His shirt clung just enough to highlight the hours logged at the gym. He didn’t smile—Darryl didn’t need to. His presence spoke for itself.

“Morning, tita,” he rumbled, leaning down to kiss Emmy on the cheek. Passing by Carissa, he ruffled her hair in a casual way a big brother would, completely ignoring her protest.

Grabbing a plate, Darryl glanced at Pedro, giving a slight chin tilt. No words, no grin, just a silent I see you. Pedro returned it, meeting the energy without pushing too hard.

Then Jericho walked in, and the whole vibe flipped in its head. If Darryl was thunder, Jericho was sunlight breaking through. His grin lit up the room the second he entered, arms wide like he was coming to hug everyone all at once. His tattoos—tribals and family ambigrams—were subtler, softer compared to Darryl’s aggressive ink, but they suited him. 

“MERRY CHRISTMAS, FAMILY!” Jericho boomed, pulling Emmy into his arms. “Did you miss me, tita?”

“Of course, anak,” Emmy said as he kissed her cheek. 

Then Jericho zeroed in on Carissa. “Baby big brain, back from Brooklyn!” He scooped her into a hug, lifting her clean off the floor.

“Good to see you too, Jericho,” Carissa said, rolling her eyes but smiling despite herself. She pointed to Pedro. “I’d like you to meet Pedro.”

Jericho turned, and without hesitation, pulled Pedro into a full hug. “What’s up, man? Jericho. Heard a lot about you.”

Pedro laughed, caught off guard by Jericho’s sincerity. “Likewise, man.”

“Anything you heard about me is true and probably worse!” Jericho winked before finally moving to the food.

Then the room shifted again.

Angel entered, and it was like the air got heavier. Taller than the rest, broader than Jericho, Angel didn’t just walk in—he arrived. His steps and stance calculated, his energy impossible to ignore. Tattoos covered his arms, a perfect mix of tribal heritage, Marine pride, and religious reverence. He carried himself like someone who had seen hell and walked out stronger for it.

“Kuya Angel!” Carissa greeted cheerfully, her admiration of him obvious.

Angel pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Hey, bunso.” His voice carried authority without needing volume.

Then Angel’s gaze landed on Pedro. He didn’t rush, didn’t speak. He just looked, taking him in like a drill sergeant assessing a new recruit. Pedro straightened instinctively, holding his ground as Angel approached.

“Angel,” Pedro said, extending his hand.

Angel clasped it firmly, his grip solid. “Pedro,” he replied, his tone unreadable. He held Pedro’s gaze for just a beat longer than necessary before releasing his hand and stepping back.

No words needed to be said. The message was clear: I’m watching you .

Translations:

artista (ahr-TEE-stah) -  actor, actress, or entertainer, used for both male and female 

kuya (KOO-yah) - literal translation is ‘older brother’; can be used for older male siblings or cousins. It reflects the importance of respect and hierarchy in family and social relationships 

tita - aunt 

bunso (boon-SOH) - literal translation is ‘youngest’; used within families to refer to the youngest child or youngest person; like ‘kuya’ is reflects the hierarchy in family and social relationships 

After breakfast, the household hummed with the controlled chaos of last-minute preparations. The uncles were outside with Froy, checking the gear and strategizing about the shooting range. In the kitchen, Carissa and Emmy packed containers of empanadas and musubi for the trip. Pedro, now feeling more at ease after warming up to the cousins over breakfast, hovered in the middle of it all, taking in the familial energy.

Benjie stepped back into the kitchen, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, boys, time to roll out. The range isn’t going to wait for us!”

Pedro followed Jericho and JR outside into the cool morning air. The driveway was filled with neatly parked cars. Two SUVs stood ready to carry most of the group, but Pedro’s eyes were immediately drawn to Jericho’s car—a perfectly restored 1980s BMW E30. Its glossy black finish gleamed in the sunlight, and the rims sparkled like polished silver.

“You like her?” Jericho asked, catching Pedro staring.

“Man, this is a beauty,” Pedro replied, his appreciation genuine.

“Thanks. I’ve been working on her for years,” Jericho said, running his hand along the car’s roof. “Ride with me and JR. We’re the fun car.”

Pedro grinned, nodding in agreement as he adjusted his jacket. Carissa appeared at the top step of the front door, Jimmy cradled in her arms, looking on as they loaded into the cars. Pedro jogged back toward her to say goodbye.

“See you later, baby,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

But just as he did so—intentions entirely wholesome— JR burst out of the house behind them, moving with deft purpose. His hand shot between them, cutting off Pedro’s approach.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, leave room for Jesus, man!” JR exclaimed, loud enough to echo across the driveway. He grabbed Pedro by the shoulders, spinning him around and steering him toward Jericho’s car. His laughter was contagious, quickly spreading to the rest of the group.

Caught off guard, Pedro blinked, then burst into laughter himself. “Alright, alright, I get it!”

Jericho leaned against the open car door, smirking as he watched the scene unfold. “Bro, PDA in front of the parentals? That’s bawal.”

Pedro frowned slightly, confused and intrigued. “What’s bawal?”

JR grinned, throwing an arm over Pedro’s shoulders as he explained, “It’s Tagalog for ‘not allowed.’ ”

Pedro shook his head, grinning now as he stored away the new word. “Got it. Bawal. No PDA. Lesson learned.”

From her spot at the front door, Carissa was clearly biting back laughter, her free hand lightly covering her mouth. Pedro turned back to her, raising his hand in an apologetic wave. “See you later, mi vida!”

“Bye,” Carissa called back and Jimmy barked once as if to join in the farewell.

As JR ushered Pedro into the car, Jericho slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the low growl of the car’s revving engine filling the driveway.

“Don’t worry, man. We’ll take good care of you,” Jericho said, shooting Pedro a wink.

Pedro glanced back at Carissa one last time before the car pulled away. Her figure, framed by the morning sun, was a reminder of why he was so willing to navigate these new waters. 

Translations:

tito - uncle 

bawal (BAH-wahl) - not allowed, prohibited 

Laguna Niguel, California

Gunfire punctuated the air at the Laguna Niguel range, each crack a sharp rhythm of control and focus.The Bautista men were already in their element, their movements practiced, their camaraderie flowing effortlessly as they settled into their reserved lanes. Even the staff greeted them with familiarity, a nod here, a friendly wave there. This was their space, their turf, and Pedro felt it the moment they walked in.

He wasn’t intimidated—not exactly. But the sensation of being the outsider, scrutinized at every turn, stayed with him. It wasn’t just Froy’s brothers though their low Tagalog murmurs and sidelong glances made it clear they were watching. It was Froy, standing a little off to the side with arms crossed, his attention lingering just a moment longer than the others’, like he was trying to read something between Pedro’s words and movements.

Jericho leaned against the counter beside him, effortlessly relaxed as always. “Alright, man,” he said, his voice low enough not to carry. “First time at a range like this?”

Pedro grimaced, adjusting his grip on the hard plastic case holding his rented pistol. “Am I that obvious?”

“Nah,” Jericho said with a smirk, “but you’ve got that ‘what the hell did I sign up for?’ look. Don’t worry, they’re not expecting you to be Jason Bourne.”

“Good,” Pedro replied dryly, “because I’m fresh out of secret agent training.”

Jericho chuckled. “You’re fine. Showing up here without Carissa? That’s a step in the right direction already. You could have said no and that would have looked worse than being a bad shot.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “She didn’t really let me opt out when she told me about today’s activity.”

“Carissa was setting you up for success,” Jericho said assuredly, giving Pedro a light clap on the shoulder. “Alright, safety first. Let’s go watch the video.”

The safety video was standard fare—calm narration about trigger discipline, stance, and safety protocols. Pedro leaned forward slightly, absorbing the information while Jericho sat back, arms crossed like he could recite the whole thing in his sleep. When the video ended, Jericho stood and gestured toward the main range. “Alright, Hollywood. Let’s get you geared up.”

Back at their reserved lanes, the Bautista men were fully in their rhythm. Angel was already firing off precise shots, each one landing in a tight grouping near the bullseye. Darryl stood at the next lane, loading his magazine with casual confidence. “Hey, JR, you sure you even wanna shoot today?” he called over his shoulder. “Or you just here to watch?”

“Man, shut up,” JR fired back, though he didn’t make a move to pick up his glock. “I’m letting you warm up before I embarrass you.”

Froy stood with his brothers, his arms still crossed as he surveyed the lanes. His expression was inscrutable, but Pedro didn’t miss the way Froy scanned him as Jericho handed over the safety glasses and ear protection.

“Alright,” Jericho said, helping Pedro adjust the gear. “Now you look the part. Let’s see how you do.”

Pedro stepped into the lane, gripping the rented pistol. Its weight felt foreign, heavy in his hands, and the distant target looked smaller than it had any right to. Jericho leaned in close, his voice just loud enough to cut through the muffled gunfire around them.

“Grip here,” Jericho instructed, guiding Pedro’s hand. “Thumb along the slide. Feet shoulder-width apart. Don’t lock your elbows—let the recoil flow through you.”

Pedro exhaled as he raised the pistol. The first round split the air, the jolt snapping up his arms. He squinted at the target, where the bullet had landed low, barely clipping the edge of the silhouette.

Behind him, Darryl’s voice rang out. “Yo, he’s trying to take out the guy’s shoelaces!”

Pedro lowered the gun, turning slightly with a grin. “Shoelaces can be deadly, man. You don’t want a trip hazard in a life-or-death situation.”

Jericho laughed, stepping back into the lane. “Ignore him. Try again. Aim higher this time.”

Pedro fired again. His next round struck closer to the mark, drawing a faint smile as he stepped away. Jericho gave him an encouraging nod. “There you go. Keep steady.”

The third shot landed even closer to the bullseye, and Pedro exhaled a little easier, lowering the pistol to reload. Behind him, JR whistled. “Alright, Pedro! You’re not half-bad. Better than Darryl’s first time.”

“Shut up, I was fifteen,” Darryl retorted, his mouth curling slyly as he loaded his own magazine. 

As the session wore on, Pedro felt himself easing into the rhythm. The recoil wasn’t as shocking, the weight of the pistol less awkward in his grip. He wasn’t perfect—not by a long shot—but at least he wasn’t making a total fool of himself.

He caught Froy watching him again. The older man hadn’t said much, but Pedro could feel the weight of his inspection.

“You’re doing good,” Jericho said beside him, his voice low. “Don’t overthink it.”

Pedro nodded, raising the pistol again. The next shot landed solidly near the center. He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. “Not bad for a first-timer, huh?”

“Not bad,” Jericho agreed. “Keep this up, and you’ll make Darryl look bad.”

“Dream on,” Darryl called from his lane, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.

By the time they wrapped up, Pedro’s arms ached, but he felt lighter. As they stepped out into the sunlight, Jericho assured him, “Told you, man. You’re doing fine.”

Outside at the parking lot, they gathered at the open trunk of one of the SUVs where a cooler full of chilled water bottles and cans of sodas sat propped open. Empanadas and spam musubis packed by Carissa and Emmy laid out in various tupperware. The uncles stood slightly apart with Froy, their low-voiced conversation in Tagalog punctuated by the occasional chuckle. The cousins and Pedro formed a loose circle near the SUVs, standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they dug into the snacks.

Pedro stood among them, half-listening to the easy banter while holding an empanada in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Jericho was next to him, as always, quick to pull him into the rhythm of the group when needed. The camaraderie felt loud and alive here, even with the underlying tension Pedro couldn’t quite shake.

“Alright,” JR said, popping the tab on his soda. “Let’s place bets. Who’s knocking out during mass tonight?”

“Not me,” Darryl grumbled through a mouthful of musubi. “Not after what happened at Easter.”

Jericho smirked. “Oh, you mean when you snored so loud the priest stopped mid-sermon?”

The group burst out laughing. Pedro grinned, shaking his head. “You’re kidding. He actually stopped?”

Angel, who had been silently eating, chimed in with a rare, dry quip. “Yeah, to ask if there was a wild animal loose in the pews.”

Darryl quickly defended himself, though he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “That sermon was too damn long, man. What did he expect?”

“You could’ve at least slept quietly,” JR teased. “Queenie and Twinkie looked like they were gonna die of embarrassment.”

Even Pedro laughed at that, imagining the scene. The energy of the circle was bright, electric. But as the jokes wound down and the conversation hit a natural lull, the air shifted slightly. Pedro felt it before he saw it—an almost imperceptible ripple of focus as Angel straightened from where he leaned against the SUV.

“So, Pedro,” Angel began, drawing everyone’s attention, even the uncles and Froy who paused their conversation. Pedro felt the shift acutely—this wasn’t just casual talk anymore. “Tell us about your family. You close with them?”

Pedro adjusted his stance slightly. “Yeah, very close. My dad and my younger brothers still live in Santiago. My sister, Javiera, is in Miami. We’re spread out, but we talk all the time.”

Angel nodded, his expression neutral. “What about your mom?”

Pedro’s smile softened, and for a moment, his voice carried a quiet weight. “She passed in ’99.” He paused, clearing his throat. “But she’s still with us, you know? She’s why we’re all so close. She kept us tight.”

Angel gave a small nod, his gaze unwavering. “Sounds like family’s important to you.”

“It is,” Pedro replied firmly. “Always has been.”

Angel leaned back slightly, taking a sip of his soda. “And work? You’re filming a lot these days?”

“Yeah,” Pedro said, his smile returning. “Just wrapped a show and booked a guest spot on The Mentalist . Keeps me busy, but I’m grateful.”

“You hustle a lot,” Angel said, his tone unreadable. “That show you’re gonna be on… what’s it called again?”

“Game of Thrones,” Pedro replied. “Got to shoot in Croatia and Belfast.”

Before Angel could respond, Darryl cut in with a grin. “Must be rough, traveling to all those exotic places.”

Pedro shot him a wry smile. “Yeah, it’s a real hardship. Great food, amazing views. Pure suffering.”

Angel, still calm, shifted the conversation again. “I didn’t catch how you met our cousin.”

Pedro hesitated for the briefest moment. He knew every word he said now was being finely measured. “A mutual friend introduced us at a party in Manhattan a couple years back,” he said finally. “Sarah Paulson. You might know her from American Horror Story?”

JR grinned. “Oh, her? She’s dope!”

“Yeah, she definitely is,” Pedro agreed. “Sarah and I go way back. She was the first friend I made when I moved to New York to attend NYU. Funny enough, she was also the first friend Carissa made when she moved there.”

Angel tilted his head slightly, his expression sharpening. “Oh? When did Carissa move to New York?”

Darryl answered for him. “Back in ’09, I think.” Then added with a glance to Froy, “Can’t believe you let her do that, tito. She was just a baby.”

Froy shrugged. “Emmy thought Carissa needed to find herself.”

Angel’s brow lifted. “So she must’ve only been about what, eighteen?”

“She was nineteen, actually,” Pedro corrected.

“Pfft, a whole year older. Still ends in teen though,” Darryl muttered under his breath.

Angel passed over Darryl’s comment, his focus locked on Pedro. “Huh. And how old were you?”

The question landed like a hammer, and Pedro felt every eye in the circle on him. There was no way out of this. He had to answer. “I was thirty-four.”

The silence was leaden. Pedro could almost hear the math being done in their heads: fifteen years. Jericho shifted uncomfortably beside him, looking down at his soda. JR made a silent ‘yikes’ face, glancing between Pedro and Angel. 

“I gotta ask,” Angel said, his tone controlled though no less commanding. “What did you, an actor, have in common with a nineteen-year-old self-made tech billionaire?”

Before Pedro could answer, Darryl smirked, stirring the pot. “Yeah, besides the most fucking obvious thing.”

Pedro took a breath, ignoring Darryl. “Honestly? Nothing at first,” he said. “But she was interested in the arts, and I was doing a lot of theater back then. I invited her to my plays and took her to some film festivals. She enjoyed them. I got the sense she didn’t really have time for that stuff before then, so that’s what we talked about for a while.”

Darryl leaned forward, his grin widening. “So what, after a couple plays and movies, Carissa just looked at you and decided, ‘Yeah, imma date this one’? Or did you play the long game?”

Pedro’s jaw tightened slightly. He kept his tone polite, though there was an edge of irritation now. “Actually, a bunch of us—including me—tried to set her up with people closer to her age for years. But you know Carissa. You can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to. She’d be fine talking to guys at a party but wouldn’t even meet up with them for coffee, let alone a date. As for her decision about me? We were friends for a long time before we decided to start dating last year.”

Angel gave him an appraising look, as if he wasn’t convinced. Then he took a different tact. “Yeah, we were wondering what took so long for her to introduce you to us. A whole year, and we’re only meeting you now? That’s not how we do things in this family.”

Pedro kept his focus on Angel, not breaking eye contact. “I’ve got to be on location a lot, and Carissa’s busy running the foundation and 714. Our schedules were hard to line up this year. And, like I said, Carissa doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

His meaning was clear: If they hadn’t met him before now, it was an intentional decision Carissa made, and Pedro respected it. So should they.

Angel tilted his chin at Pedro. Pedro felt his judgment in that gesture, the challenge. “Carissa makes a lot of her own decisions, sure,” Angel acquiesced. “But she’s family and we protect our own. You fuck with her, you fuck with all of us. Got me?” It was an oath and a threat in the same breath and Pedro didn’t misunderstand a word of it.

Pedro nodded. “Loud and clear,” he said, willing his tone to stay plain. “As long as we’re being frank, I’m not here to fuck around.”

Angel looked over at Froy and Pedro saw the older man give Angel an almost imperceptible nod. Understanding came over Pedro instantly. This wasn’t Angel’s questioning—this was Froy’s inquisition, carried out by proxy. A power play, a reminder of how this family operated.

Jericho clapped Pedro on the shoulder, breaking the tension. “Alright, boys, let’s head out or else JR’s not gonna be able to get his beauty nap in before mass,” he said, drawing them all back into an easy banter. “Pedro, ride with me. I wanna show you one of my shops.”

As they loaded into the vehicles, Pedro exhaled carefully, the tension of the moment easing but not disappearing entirely. 

Jericho’s black BMW E30 cruised up the 405, moving effortlessly, its engine humming low, the sound blending with the ambient rhythm of traffic. Pedro leaned back in the passenger seat, one arm resting on the door as he looked out at the suburban sprawl of Orange County rolling by.

For a while, neither of them said much, the silence broken only by the occasional flick of Jericho’s turn signal. But then, Jericho let out a low whistle, as though he was just wrapping his mind around something.

“Man,” Jericho said, glancing briefly at Pedro before returning his attention to the road. “I had no idea you were fifteen years older than Carissa.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re starting there?”

Jericho laughed, his grip on the gearshift casual. “Dude, I knew you were older than her, but not that much older. I mean, I thought girls did that if they had, you know, daddy issues or something.”

Pedro couldn’t help but laugh, the tension from the earlier confrontation at the shooting range melting slightly. Jericho wasn’t judging—he was just Jericho, blunt in a way that came off as genuine rather than critical. “Trust me,” Pedro said, shaking his head, “the age thing is one of the reasons I was really careful about keeping things platonic with Carissa for years. We know how it looks.”

Jericho nodded, his grin fading into something quieter, more thoughtful. “Yeah, I get it,” he said after a beat, “You can’t help who you love, man. Shit doesn’t stand to reason.”

Pedro glanced at him, grateful for the understanding in his tone. “Exactly.”

They drove on in silence for a moment before Jericho grinned again, gesturing toward the skyline of Irvine. “Alright, so this is the original,” he said.

“The original?” Pedro asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jericho tilted his head toward the horizon. “My first shop. The one that started it all.”

Pedro sat up straighter, glancing out the window. “Right, Carissa said you ran boba shops. How many do you have now?”

“Four,” Jericho said, pride evident in his voice. “Started with this one about three years ago. Now I’ve got locations in Fullerton, Garden Grove, and Costa Mesa.”

“That’s impressive,” Pedro said, meaning it.

Jericho smiled faintly. “Yeah. I owe it all to Carissa.”

Pedro frowned, glancing at him. “What do you mean?”

Jericho hesitated for a moment, his fingers drumming lightly on the wheel. “Okay, don’t tell anyone this, alright? She’d kill me if she knew I told you.”

Pedro nodded. “Alright. Secret’s safe.”

Jericho exhaled, adjusting his grip. “I had this business plan, right? But no bank would give me a loan—they thought it was too risky. I was so bummed, man. I thought I was gonna be stuck in my desk job forever.

“My mom told tita Emmy about it,” Jericho continued, “and next thing I know, Carissa’s calling me, asking to send her my business plan. I thought she was gonna give me notes or suggestions, you know? Help me tighten it up. So I send it to her. But then she calls again and says she’ll give me—not loan, give me—the seed money.”

Pedro blinked. “She just gave you the money?”

“Yeah,” Jericho said, his voice softening. “I didn’t want to take it, though. Never even thought about asking her for help ‘cause I didn’t want to be that relative, you know? But you know how she is—she insisted. Said the only repayment she’d take was free boba for life.”

Pedro shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “She never said anything about that.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Jericho said, grinning. “That’s her style. She just wants to help people, no fuss or drama.” He paused, his tone shifting as he continued. “But, man, when she gave me that money? I wasn’t about to let a single dime of it go to waste. I worked, like, 100-hour weeks for months—no weekends, no nights off. I turned a profit in a few months and used that to fund the second location, then the third. Now we’ve got four shops, all doing well.”

Pedro smiled, a mix of admiration and respect in his expression. “That’s incredible.”

Jericho grinned, his pride showing through. “Carissa’s not the only one addicted to hard work in the fam, you know.”

They pulled into the lot in front of Jericho’s first shop, a hip, modern space that buzzed with energy even on Christmas Eve. Inside, LED menu screens glowed above the register, listing drinks and snacks. Pedro’s eyes were immediately drawn to a prominent item on the menu: The Carissa Special—Passion Fruit Tea with Coconut Jelly and Boba + Snack-Sized Popcorn Chicken. 

Pedro pointed at the screen, raising an eyebrow. “The Carissa Special, huh?”

Jericho grinned. “Yeah, my way of honouring her. None of this would exist without her faith in me.”

The staff, mostly high school and college kids, greeted Jericho like a rock star as they quickly packed up the family’s Noche Buena order: gallons of milk tea, tall pots of freshly cooked boba, and two Carissa Specials Jericho had requested for Pedro.

“For you and Carissa,” Jericho said, handing him the drinks. “She’ll appreciate it.”

Pedro smiled, balancing the drinks in his hands. “Thanks, man.”

Translations:

Noche Buena -  means "Good Night" in Spanish, but in this context, it signifies the celebration of Christmas Eve, specifically the feast held after church services. 

After helping bring the boba into the kitchen, Pedro waved Jericho off from the front door of the house. Only after he shut the door behind himself did Carissa appear at the bottom of the stairs, looking fresh from a shower.

“Hey, did Jericho just drop you off?” she asked, surveying him as if inspecting him for physical damage from the range. 

“Yeah, he got us some of your specials,” Pedro said. “Wanna chill on the patio for a bit?”

They were quickly joined out there by Jimmy who apparently smelled the popcorn chicken from wherever he was lurking in the house.

“So, how’d it go? My dad didn’t say a word when he got home.”

Pedro gave a look of understanding as he considered what to tell Carissa. He wanted to be forthright though it felt as if he and Froy were engaged in a sort of battle of wills and Pedro didn’t want to rope Carissa in at this point.

“It was a classic dude hangout, I guess,” Pedro answered with a shrug. “I’m a poor shot compared to Angel.”

“Everyone’s a poor shot compared to Angel,” Carissa said fairly. “Really, no grilling or anything?”

“There was a little bit of that, mostly par for the course type shit,” he said, picking through his box of popcorn chicken while Jimmy whined softly for a nibble.

Pedro could feel Carissa assessing him, but she didn’t press him, opting instead to take a sip of her drink. 

“Well, you’re still here. I guess that means it went alright overall,” she mused, sitting back in the patio chair as she looked out at the beautiful coast vista before them.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than going shooting with your family to scare me off, baby,” Pedro said wryly.

Carissa grinned broadly. “Good, you’ve gotta make it through mass and Noche Buena still.”

Irvine, California

The drive to church was peaceful, the city lights casting faint glimmers against the velvet sky. Inside the car, the atmosphere was expectant, conversation mingling with the hum of the engine. 

From the front seat, Emmy turned to look at Pedro. “You’ll like the service, Pedro,” she said brightly. “The church is beautiful. Very peaceful.”

Pedro nodded politely, offering her his most respectful smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Beside him, Carissa glanced over, the corners of her lips tugging upward in a barely-there smile. She was luminous in an elegant dress and a tailored coat that flattered her slender frame. Her hair was swept neatly off her shoulders, her makeup understated, yet every feature seemed to glow. Pedro couldn’t help the faint ache in his chest as he looked at her. Emmy and Froy were equally well-dressed, their humble dignity a perfect match for the occasion.

Pedro himself had put in the effort, trading his usual casual style for a smart jacket, trousers, and polished shoes. Earlier, Emmy had given him a subtle nod of approval, a small but significant gesture that felt like a victory.

When they arrived, the grand doors of the church swung open, releasing a faintly cool breeze that carried the scent of incense. The sanctuary inside was a symphony of light and reverence: vaulted ceilings reaching heavenward, walls adorned with stained glass that bathed the space in jewel-like colors, and rows of flickering candles.

Emmy led them toward an open pew, her steps purposeful. Froy walked at her side, his usual stoicism softened in this sacred space. Carissa followed with an easy grace, her movements measured and calm. Pedro trailed behind, taking in the congregation, spotting cousins and uncles scattered among the crowd.

They slid into the pew, Froy and Emmy taking the inner seats while Pedro and Carissa sat nearest the aisle. As the choir began its hymn, Carissa folded her hands neatly in her lap, her expression serene and focused on the altar. Pedro, however, couldn’t help but let his eyes wander, his mind already restless.

“Baby,” he whispered, leaning close to her..

She tilted her head slightly toward him, her voice barely above a whisper. “What is it?”

“How long is the mass usually?”

“It depends on the program and the priest.”

“Two hours? Three? Is there a halftime?”

Carissa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Behave yourself,” she whispered.

Pedro leaned back slightly while the choir’s hymn floated through the space, a serene melody that matched the atmosphere. After a while, his mind wandered. His gaze flicked to Carissa, her emerald green dress that made her tan skin glow. The contrast of her composed demeanor against her figure made his thoughts take a decidedly unholy turn.

“Mi vida,” he whispered, leaning close again.

“Mm?” 

“Who’s the patron saint of this place?”

“I can’t remember if they have one,” she replied under her breath, her eyes fixed on the altar.

“Well,” Pedro murmured, his tone laced with mock solemnity, “if there isn’t one, I’m volunteering.”

Carissa turned her head slightly, giving him a wary glance. “For what, exactly?”

“Saint Pedro,” he said with a grin that was equal parts playful and wicked. “Patron saint of blue balls.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open slightly in shock. She immediately glanced toward her parents, but they were engrossed in the service.

“Pedro,” she hissed, her voice barely audible. “Don’t say that in here.”

“I’m suffering, Carissa,” he continued, his tone so earnest it bordered on comedic. “Do you know what it’s like to see you—prim, proper, playing the good Catholic daughter for your parents—when all I can think about is Paris?”

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “Pedro, stop.”

“You,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, “in that raspberry beret. Riding my face like a queen.”

Her spine stiffened, her hands gripping the edge of her dress as heat rushed through her. “Pedro, I mean it,” she murmured, her voice trembling with both irritation and something far less righteous.

“And Belfast,” he added, his tone dropping even lower. “In front of the mirror, the way you looked at yourself while we—”

“Sweet baby Jesus in a manger,” she managed faintly, her thighs pressed together, her body betraying her despite her mortification.

Pedro’s grin widened, thoroughly enjoying her squirming. From further down the pew, Froy glanced over, his expression sharp. Pedro immediately straightened, his features shifting into an expression of pure innocence, hands clasped as if in prayer. 

She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You’re going to hell for this.”

Pedro smirked, leaning in for one final whisper. “Only if you’re coming with me, baby.”

Carissa’s lips pressed into a thin line, her thighs clenching involuntarily as she fought to regain her composure. Her panties were already damp, her mind filled with memories she desperately wished he hadn’t invoked in this sacred setting.

In retrospect, Pedro wished he had appreciated the solemnity of mass more than he had done because by the time Noche Buena kicked off, Carissa’s parents’ house was a cacophony of noise and aromas and the next hurdle of his Christmas with the Bautistas.

The sound of voices—loud, layered, and unapologetically boisterous—drifted into the kitchen as the family began to arrive. The door swung open, and with it came a surge of energy. Dolly, Marisol, and Ethel swept in first, their husbands—Benjie, Lito, and Romy—following behind, holding trays of food and bottles of wine. The cousins soon poured in, filling the house with a chaotic energy.

Pedro, who had been standing by the archway, found himself immediately in the crosshairs. Dolly, dressed in a striking red blouse and gold earrings, gasped theatrically when she spotted him.

“Oh my… so pogi ! Carissa!” Dolly practically shrieked, grabbing Carissa’s arm and shaking it. “Where did you find him?”

Marisol, not to be outdone, clapped her hands together as she approached Pedro, her face lit with delighted mischief. “He’s even more handsome in person!” she declared. “You’re going to be Game of Thrones , right? Oh, we’re so excited to watch it!”

Pedro, caught in the whirlwind of compliments, offered a gracious chuckle, trying to keep up. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his head slightly.

Meanwhile, Ethel sidled up to Carissa, her tone sweet and genuine. “He seems like a good one,” she said simply, her words carrying the weight of sincerity. “A real catch.”

Carissa ave a faint upward tilt of her lips at her aunt’s words. “Thank you, he really is.”

In the chaos, Pedro did his best to manage the flood of attention, answering questions about his work, politely laughing at jokes, and fielding a few too many unsolicited compliments. Emmy, sensing his struggle, clapped her hands loudly from the kitchen.

“Dolly! Marisol!” she called, her voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter. “Let him eat.”

The two raucous aunts immediately snapped into action, dragging Pedro toward the buffet with them, their chatter turning practical as they debated portion sizes and food preferences. Pedro glanced back at Carissa who nodded encouragingly at him.

She returned to meticulously refilling the appetizer trays with the precision of someone determined to focus on anything but the chaotic energy of the gathering. She could hear Pedro’s laugh from the living room, smooth and warm as he fended off Dolly and Marisol fawning over him. He was handling it well, of course.

“Ohhh, bunso, hard at work,” Queenie’s voice rang out behind her, laced with mischief.

Carissa didn’t flinch, didn’t even look up as Queenie slid into her peripheral vision, a playful smirk plastered across her face. “Merry Christmas, ate Queenie,” she said dutifully, reaching for another stack of crackers. “Did you guys eat yet?”

“We will, we just wanted to catch up with you first,” Twinkie chimed in, appearing on the opposite side of the island. Her grin mirrored Queenie’s, sharp and mischievous. “And maybe get some answers.”

Carissa sighed, knowing exactly what her cousins were up to. “About what?”

Queenie leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. “Oh, you know. About your boyfriend, Pedro, of course.”

Carissa picked up the platter and began arranging it with precision. “He’s fine, we’re fine,” she replied, her expression carefully blank.

Twinkie snorted. “ Fine? Girl, come on. Tell us everything. Did he pop all your cherries?”

Carissa froze for the briefest second before continuing to arrange the crackers. She bit her tongue to refrain from responding.

“Oh, so that’s a yes,” Twinkie said, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Was it romantic? Did he light candles and whisper sweet nothings in Spanish, or was it just straight-up dirty, like, ‘Dámelo todo, mamí’?”

Carissa’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I’m not discussing anything personal with you guys.”

“We’re just curious,” Queenie quipped. “Is he any good in bed, or is his old man back pain a dealbreaker? Does he have to stretch and take, like, ibuprofen before you guys—what’s the word—‘wrestle’?”

“Is it true that latinos are mad hot in bed?” Twinkie added, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Come on, don’t be shy. Just tell us!”

Carissa gave them both a withering look. “Are you done?”

“Not even close,” Twinkie replied gleefully. She clasped her hands together, slowly spreading them apart. “Okay, bunso , let’s talk specifics. How big? Just say stop.”

“Twinkie, don’t,” Carissa said, a hot wave of embarrassment spread over her.

“Here?” Twinkie asked, holding her hands a few inches apart. “No? Here? Still going?”

“Go bigger,” Queenie encouraged, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “You know he’s got a big peen. Did you see his hands?”

Twinkie laughed so hard she had to lean on the counter. “Oh my God, you know what this means? It’s so good she’s speechless. That man must’ve ruined her.”

“Right? Probably had her speaking in tongues.” Queenie cackled, nearly doubling over.

Ethel strode into the kitchen, her expression severe. “Ang bastos nyo naman!” she snapped, delivering swift twisting pinches hard enough to bruise to both Queenie and Twinkie, making them yelp in unison. “Go check if anyone needs refills on their drinks, go!”

“Sorry, tita!” Twinkie said, rubbing her arm as she and Queenie scrambled away.

As they disappeared, Carissa exhaled heavily, her hands stilling as she returned to the appetizers. Ethel shook her head, muttering something about “those girls” before giving Carissa a sympathetic look.

Translations : 

pogi (poh-gee) - handsome, good-looking 

ate (ah-TEH) - literal translation is ‘older sister’; can be used for older female siblings or cousins. It reflects the importance of respect and hierarchy in family and social relationships 

dámelo todo, mamí - give it all to me, baby 

ay, mamí, qué rica - oh, baby, you’re so sexy. 

Ang bastos nyo naman (ahng bahs-tos nyoh nah-mahn) - translates to “You’re (plural) so rude”; often used to scold someone for inappropriate, disrespectful, or lewd behavior. 

After the buffet dinner, everyone sat around the family room for games. The White Elephant gift exchange was sponsored entirely by Froy and Emmy and the gifts were extravagant. There were brand-new Apple devices—iPads, iPhones, and even a MacBook—envelopes of cash in varying amounts in the hundred, pairs of Disneyland tickets, and designer handbags and wallets. It wasn’t just a gift exchange; it was a high-stakes battlefield.

It was a chaotic blend of theatrics, cutthroat strategy, and ear-splitting noise. Pedro, who had thought he was prepared for anything after meeting Carissa’s large, boisterous family, quickly realized he was out of his depth. As the cousins and extended family gathered around, the noise level reached a crescendo that could rival a rock concert. As each gift was unwrapped and the stealing ensued, Pedro was certain we was progressively losing his hearing. 

The cousins—Angel and his fiancée Camille, JR, Jericho, Darryl, Queenie, and Twinkie—wasted no time plunging into competitive mode. Their voices cut through the din with sharp English banter, their antics a mix of sibling rivalry and tactical genius.

“Ate Queenie, don’t even think about it!” Twinkie screeched, leaping to her feet as her sister reached for a MacBook. Her dramatic tone carried across the room, punctuated by a wild pointing gesture.

Queenie smirked, unfazed.“Too bad, Twinkie. It’s mine now. Better luck next year.”

“She’s cheating!” Twinkie wailed, throwing herself onto the couch in mock despair. The room erupted into laughter, with a few cheers from the uncles egging them on.

Across the room, Angel sat like an immovable fortress, Disneyland tickets clutched firmly in one hand while Camille whispered to him the strategy for her own prize from behind her hand 

“Kuya, you’ve already been to Disneyland twice this year. Maybe it’s time to share?” JR said, inching closer.

“Don’t,” Angel replied, his tone just a touch dangerous. The single word was enough to send his younger brother retreating, earning another round of laughter.

The aunties—Marisol, Dolly, and Ethel—were no less dramatic. Their voices rose in a symphony of Tagalog exclamations, punctuated by shrieks of indignation. Marisol’s hands waved in the air as she accused Lito of collusion.

Pedro, sitting beside Carissa, turned to her, bewildered. “What just happened?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the noise.

Carissa, calmly handing another numbered card to her mom, smirked. “Tita Marisol thinks Tito Lito is helping Tita Dolly cheat. She’s not wrong.”

“This is wild,” Pedro muttered, completely entertained by her family’s antics.

Froy, sitting nearby with Jimmy on his lap, taking it all in. He covered the puppy’s ears to shield him from the screeching while chuckling at the spectacle. Emmy, unfazed by the noise, continued to manage the game with Carissa’s help.

Jericho, the so-called “nicest cousin,” revealed his cutthroat side, trading a tablet for the Macbook Twinkie had been eyeing all night. “Jericho! You traitor!” Twinkie shouted, stomping her foot in outrage.

“It’s just strategy, cuz,” Jericho replied with a shrug, his grin unapologetic. The peanut gallery erupted in boos and laughter.

Carissa nudged Pedro and whispered to him, “You think this is bad? Wait until the cash envelopes come out.”

Sure enough, the discovery of the first envelope sent the room into overdrive. Twinkie’s piercing shriek could probably be heard by the neighbors as Darryl snatched it from her hands.

“KUYA! YOU’RE THE WORST!” Twinkie howled, lunging at her brother, who fanned himself nonchalantly with the envelope. “I hope you choke on it!”

Somehow, after countless swaps and a tense final round, Pedro ended up holding a coveted iPad. His triumph felt like pure luck, but the room wasn’t having it.

“This is rigged, Froy!” Benjie bellowed, having been the one it was stolen from while Ethel and the other aunts rooted Pedro on.

By the end of the night, the house was still buzzing with post-game chatter. The aunts dissected every swap and theft, Twinkie plotted revenge for next year, and Pedro sat on the couch, iPad in hand, still dazed by the experience.

“I should’ve kept my ear protection from the range for this game,” Pedro said to Carissa, making her giggle.

After several more games and snack breaks, the traditional karaoke session began. Queenie and Twinkie were squabbled over the mic, their powerhouse voices vying to be heard. It was 2 AM, and the energy hadn’t dipped. Carissa, knowing how much Pedro loathed karaoke of any sort and not being a fan herself, gestured discreetly to him and they snuck upstairs to exchange presents in private.

Now, tucked away in the sanctuary of the guest room Pedro was staying in, the noise from downstairs was muffled like a distant storm. They sat on the bed facing each other, appreciating the relative quiet they had in the moment.

“They’ll probably be at this for hours,” Carissa said conspiratorially, glancing toward the door they left slightly ajar. 

Pedro chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m counting on it.”

She had a flattish gift box in her lap, waiting for its moment. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”

Pedro’s lips curved into a faint smile, but he shook his head. “Let me go first,” he said. He leaned down, reaching into his bag by the foot of the bed. After a moment, he pulled out not one but two wrapped packages, one small and rectangular, the other slightly larger and squishy-looking. He set them both on the bed beside him, glancing at Carissa with a sheepish grin.

“Two?” Carissa asked, her brow. “I thought we agreed to only do one gift because Christmas and our anniversary are so close together.” 

Pedro shrugged. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t decide so you’re getting two.”

She wrinkled her nose playfully. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, his gaze steady but warm. “You’ll understand once you open them.”

He handed her the larger, softer package first. Carissa carefully unwrapped it, revealing a beautifully knitted cream sweater. Her fingers traced the intricate stitching as she looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“This sweater was made by a survivor of human trafficking,” Pedro began. “She’s part of a program in Chile that helps rehabilitate and educate victims so they can re-enter society without falling back into trafficking or… worse. When I heard about the organization, it reminded me of your work with the maternity shelters. Restoring a person’s dignity, giving them safety, resources, and a chance to rebuild their lives—it felt like something you’d appreciate.”

Carissa’s fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the sweater as Pedro continued. “I made sure the proceeds went directly to the person who made it, and I looked into the program to be sure it stood by its values. I know you’d want me to do my homework.” He smiled, almost shyly, and added, “I just thought you’d like it.”

She held the sweater close to her chest, an expression of tenderness blooming in her delicate features. Her appreciation of Pedro’s thoughtfulness was evident in her eyes, which glistened slightly as she studied the intricate knitwork.

“Pedro,” she said, her voice tinged with heartfelt emotion. “This is so thoughtful, really.” She kissed his cheek and without another word, she slipped off the cardigan she was wearing and pulled the sweater over her head. The fabric was soft and warm, enveloping her like a hug. She smoothed it down and snuggled into it, a content sigh escaping her lips. 

Pedro watched her, his chest tightening with quiet relief and joy. He knew from the way she cradled the sleeves and pressed her hands to the fabric that she truly loved it, not just as a gift, but for everything it represented. She met his gaze again, her expression radiant.

“I love it,” she said sincerely. “Thank you.”

Pedro reached for the second package. “This was actually my original idea,” he admitted, handing the smaller box to her. “I’ve been working on it since your birthday.”

Curiosity flickered in Carissa’s eyes as she unwrapped the second gift. Inside the box was a book, its cover made of grey linen fabric. The title, embossed in elegant silver lettering, read: Letters to Ms. Reyes-Bautista. 

Carissa’s breath stilled as she opened the book and saw the dedication page. It was from Pedro, written in his familiar handwriting:

To Carissa: A mirror into your heart and soul, to remind you of the work you do and the lives you impact. 

She turned the pages slowly, taking in the letters. They were written by women who had come through her maternity shelters and programs—some handwritten, others emails, beautifully scanned and laid out with care. Many included photographs of the women and their children—children born during their time at her shelters. They were no older than two or three years old now, their tiny faces beaming in family snapshots.

Carissa’s fingers trembled as she pressed them to her lips, her tears falling silently. Every letter was a story she remembered, a name she recognized. Each was a testament to the work she had begun at her dining table in Brooklyn, work Pedro had been privy to and supported since the beginning. He had seen her pour herself into every detail, sacrificing time, energy, and resources to build something meaningful. And now, here it all was—reflected back at her.

She couldn’t speak. The emotion swelled too large, too overwhelming to put into words. She flipped through the pages, her tears spilling freely now, her breath hitching as she reached for the photographs of children whose lives had begun in the safe havens she had created.

Pedro stayed silent, watching her with quiet understanding. He didn’t need her to speak; her reaction said everything. The way her shoulders shook, the way her fingers clung to the pages like they might disappear—it was all the confirmation he needed.

She looked up at him finally, her lips parted as though to say something, but no words came. Only more tears. Pedro moved closer, resting a hand gently on her knee, his eyes steady and full of love.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper at last, her voice breaking. 

Pedro smiled softly, his thumb brushing over her knee in a small, reassuring motion. “I just wanted to make sure you don’t forget to take in what you do once in a while.”

Carissa gave him a watery chuckle, wiping away her tears. “I won’t forget. But you didn’t need to make me cry over it.”

“How else would I know it worked?”

“Touché, I’ll cry about it a little bit more later when I have more emotional energy to spend,” she conceded. 

Giving herself a little shake, she set the book aside and handed Pedro a sleek black box, her hands trembling slightly despite her steady expression. Pedro caught the shift in her energy immediately. His brow furrowed as he tilted his head, studying the way her eyes lingered on the box before looking back at him. She was poised, her usual feline-like composure observant and intent—making him feel like she was cataloging every detail.

"Before you open it," she began, her voice measured, "I want you to know that I’ve been working on this since Paris. I made this decision with a lot of thought and certainty."

Pedro’s face twisted in exaggerated confusion, his lips parting as he leaned back. "That sounds... kind of ominous," he said, stretching the word for emphasis. His hands fluttered theatrically. "Is this, like, a cursed artifact? Am I about to unleash something?"

Carissa’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through her calm demeanor. "Just... don’t make it weird when you open it."

"Alright, alright," he muttered as he opened the box.

Inside was a black leather folder, its surface sleek and sophisticated. Gold letters embossed on the cover read 7th Avenue Trust. Pedro froze in stunned recognition, his mouth hanging slightly open as his eyes darted back to her. 7th Avenue almost a year ago.  

"Wait," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "Is this..."

Carissa’s gaze flicked away for a moment before returning to him, her posture perfectly composed except for the slightest shrug. "Open it," she said, the faintest note of shyness threading through her tone.

Pedro’s fingers moved to open the folder, his curiosity sharpening. His eyes scanned the first page, and his brow furrowed deeply. Legal documents? Confusion crept across his face as he looked back up at her, wide-eyed. The questions were forming faster than he could ask them.

"Just read it," she urged, her tone quiet but insistent.

Pedro’s eyes roved back over the papers. The words blurred together at first, but as the meaning settled in, realization struck him hard. She was giving him 5% of her company, 714Analytix.

He stared, stunned. "Nope," he said suddenly, lifting a hand like he was physically stopping the idea from reaching him. "Absolutely not, Carissa, no. "

Carissa raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, no?"

Pedro’s hands flailed, his voice rising. "I mean no! No, ma’am. You’re taking this back. I’ll take a really nice sweater, or maybe fancy socks—like the ones that feel like clouds—but not this. This is your company. Your baby. Nope. I’m out."

Carissa’s expression barely changed, her arms crossing lightly. "Pedro, stop. I told you, don’t make this weird."

"I’m not making it weird!" he exclaimed, his hands clutching his chest dramatically. "I’m being incredibly normal. You, on the other hand—this? This is not normal. Who just hands out pieces of their company?"

Carissa’s lips curved slightly, a flicker of amusement escaping her control. "The ink’s been dry for weeks. It’s irrevocable. It’s yours."

Pedro dragged a hand down his face, his disbelief palpable. "I don’t want it. I understand what you’re trying to do, but this... this feels borderline inappropriate? You can’t just give this to me."

"Yes, I can," she said, her tone calm and unwavering.

His hands shot up again. "But why , though?"

Her gaze softened, her posture relaxing slightly as she leaned forward. "Because you’re rare, Pedro. I don’t have any other experience when it comes to relationships but I know a normal relationship wouldn’t have survived what we’ve been through this year alone. The long hours, the distance, the sacrifices… the drama . Through it all you’ve never asked me to be less so that you could be more. You’ve never asked me to shrink myself or give up what I love. You treat my work like it matters just as much as your own." Her voice was steady, but her words carried weight.

Pedro blinked rapidly, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. He tilted his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and awe. "I mean... yeah, but... that’s just what you do for someone you love. It’s what we do."

Carissa’s mouth curved faintly. "Sure, we do. But I know you’ve noticed how it is with my family in the last two days alone. How I have to be a certain way for them. With you I don’t have to do that. You let me be fully myself." Her eyes sparkled briefly, though she held the tears at bay.

Pedro’s expression softened as he watched her. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his usual quick-wittedness replaced with reflection. He had noticed the dynamic, the pecking order in her family, especially with the extended family in the mix. It hadn’t escaped him how her mother and uncles prodded at her figure or how her aunts and cousins seemed to infantilize her. Then he thought of the moment the day before when he let slip about the future, their future. Her response had been cryptic: I guess I have been thinking about it in my own way. 

Now, it all made sense. This was her way.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips as he finally spoke, his voice tinged with emotion. "Okay," he said quietly. "’Cause it’s not like you’re really giving me a choice here."

Her smile brightened, the tension slipping from her shoulders. "Good, because you’re right—I’m not giving you a choice."

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back. "You know, I never thought the first legal document between us would be this. A lease or mortgage? Makes sense. But this?"

Carissa’s tone turned teasing. "Well, those are more binding, but we can do that too."

His hand shot up in mock protest. "Uh-uh. Nope. I’m not leaving this room without settling that."

Her brow lifted, intrigued. "What are you talking about?"

He leaned forward again, pointing at her with a playful grin. "I’m not even gonna bother asking you about moving in together. I’m calling it now—that’s our anniversary activity when we get back to Brooklyn. We’re gonna look for a place together. That way, you can’t pull a shady move while I’m on a job in L.A. and be like, ‘Oh, by the way, we’re buying a place. The broker needs your signature.’ Nope. Not happening."

Carissa narrowed her eyes, though her amusement was clear. "What, so now we’re gonna live together?"

"Uh, yeah," Pedro replied, his tone rising as if the answer were obvious. "And we’re going through the process together—not this whole stealthy shit you just pulled, Bautista."

She tilted her head, her lips curving slyly. "Okay, fine... I kind of like you a little bossy."

"Get used to it. I am very demanding to live with."

Pedro’s grin softened as he reached for her, his fingers slid gently to cradle the back of her head, his fingers weaving gently into her hair as he leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss that was unrushed and electric with the kind of closeness they had both been craving but couldn’t indulge until now.

Just as the moment deepened, when the world felt impossibly small and still around them, the door burst open and Jimmy bounded in, pouncing between them on the bed with a flurry of wagging tail and yips. He wedged himself right in the middle, looking back and forth between them as if to say, Leave room for Jesus. 

Pedro groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "First JR, now Jimmy. Is everyone in this house on PDA duty?”

Newport Beach, California

On Christmas Day, the house was silent as Pedro snuck out with Jimmy under his arm to catch Carissa’s early morning surf session. He had never seen her surf before though he knew it was a passion of hers that she indulged in as much as her schedule allowed. Carissa’s parents were still fast asleep upstairs, their exhaustion well-earned after hosting a houseful of relatives well into the wee hours. JR and Jericho, who tried to outdrink one another, were passed out in the living room, unable to make it up the stairs to one of the guest rooms. JR was draped comically over the couch, an arm flung over his eyes, while Jericho had taken up residence on the carpet, half-buried under a throw blanket.

Pedro stifled a laugh as he carried Jimmy down the steps to the waiting SUV. Carissa followed in her wetsuit with a beach towel over her arm, her shortboard already strapped to the roof rack.

“They’ll be out until noon at least,” she whispered conspiratorially as they drove down to the pier, the early morning light casting a soft glow over the empty streets. The moment they parked in the little lot at the beach, Carissa was freeing her board from the roof rack and jogging down the beach to meet the waves. Pedro stopped into a donut shop for some coffee and donuts before walking up the pier with Jimmy trotting happily beside him.

Pedro leaned on the pier railing, sipping his coffee, the salt air sharp and fresh against his skin as he looked out at Carissa among a handful of surfers, waiting for her turn in the lineup. She was perched on her shortboard, tiny and solitary against the vastness of the Pacific. Then when her turn came, with one smooth motion, she dropped into a wave, popping up in a fluid motion, balanced and nimble, carving sharp arcs into the face of the wave, the arc of her body impossibly fluid.

He hadn’t expected to feel so moved by watching her surf. He knew she’d been doing it for years, since she was six, as she had mentioned in passing. Yet knowing and seeing were two different things. Out here, she was so in her element, completely absorbed, and it struck him just how much of her life she lived this way—solitary, determined, unflinching. And God, she was beautiful. Not in the obvious, surface way—though of course she was that, too—but her innate grace, present in every corner of her being.

Watching her now, it wasn’t just beauty or grace or skill that had him transfixed. It was this visceral, almost overwhelming pride. That was his woman out there, he girl who could slice through waves with the same precision she brought to running her organizations. The girl who could effortlessly navigate her parents’ expectations one day, then call out bullshit in a boardroom the next. The girl who gave herself to him in ways no one else would ever see.

It hit him like a sucker punch, the sheer gravity of it. He was the only one who got to have her like this. Not just the powerhouse founder, deferent daughter, or the obedient bunso, or even the quiet philanthropist. He got her. All of her.

He had seen the Carissa who slept curled against his chest, her guard down, her breath warm against his skin. The Carissa who bantered with him, her wit sharp and her laugh even sharper. He had seen her serious, driven, commanding. Had seen her fragile, her hands trembling as she told him about the loneliness she carried for years. He had seen her playful, goofy even, when she let herself drop the weight of the world for a little while.

And the thing that floored him—what made his heart beat a little harder, his chest swell a little fuller—was that she let him see all of it. No one else got that.

Out there on the water, she was her most unfiltered self. She wasn’t doing it for him or for anyone else. Surfing was hers, a piece of her childhood she kept alive all this time. But even here, he got to be part of it—not by intruding, not by asking, but just by being there.

Jimmy barked, jolting him out of his thoughts. Pedro looked down, smirking at the dog’s impatient expression. “What?” he murmured, scratching behind Jimmy’s ears. “You’re not impressed? She’s killing it out there.”

The dog wagged his tail enthusiastically, probably more interested in the bag of donuts Pedro still had than in the display of skill happening on the waves.

Pedro glanced back at Carissa. She was paddling out again, her strokes strong and steady. He took another sip of his coffee, letting the pride settle over him. He wasn’t sure if she even realized how much space she took up in his heart, how much of her was etched into his very being. The wave came, and she caught it perfectly, standing tall as she dropped in, her board cutting through the water like a blade. She was so small, so impossibly powerful.

His woman. His whole damn heart. 

She glanced up at the pier, her dark eyes searching for him, and when they found him, she smiled. Not the polite, measured smile she gave her family. Not the gracious one she wore in public. This one was pure Carissa—unfiltered, unguarded, just for him.

Pedro lifted his coffee in a small salute, grinning back at her, feeling like the luckiest bastard on the planet.

“Yeah, Jimmy,” he muttered under his breath, glancing down at the dog again. “She’s a fucking badass.”

And she was his. Only his.

The following day, just before they were to return to New York, Carissa was folding a pair of jeans into her suitcase when she heard the soft knock at her bedroom door. She glanced up as her father stepped inside and closed it behind him. The air shifted immediately, a weight settling between them.

"How do you think he did?" His voice was measured, neither harsh nor welcoming, but his tone carried the edge of intention. She knew her father too well. This wasn’t an innocent question.

Carissa straightened, her hands lingering on the edge of the dresser. "I thought he did fine," she replied, keeping her tone placid, though her pulse quickened. 

Froy’s gaze lingered on her before he crossed his arms. "You know, I can’t tell if he’s acting or not."

Her brow furrowed, even though she knew what he meant. "How do you mean?" she asked.

“He’s charming so I can see why you like him,” Froy said simply, his voice even, measured. “But, ‘charm is deceptive.’” He quoted Proverbs 31:30 with practiced ease.

Carissa resisted the urge to point out that the verse was meant as an admonition for women. Instead, she chose her words carefully. "Pedro is genuine. He’s not pretending,” she said softly, controlled.

Her father exhaled slowly as he regarded her seriously. "I have always supported your decisions, anak," he began, each of his words landing precisely where he intended. "But this one– choosing Pedro? I don’t see anything about him that reflects the good judgement you usually have."

The weight of his disapproval crushed her flat. Everything from the calculated cadence of his speech, the unwavering set of his eyes, the intent behind each word was meant to do just that.

"I expect you to choose better in your next relationship," her father stated, expectation and finality knitted together so tightly, leaving no room for argument. It was a dismissal of Pedro, of the contents of her heart. Her father did not believe or want her relationship with Pedro to last. Without another word, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Carissa stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Her father’s words echoed in her mind, reverberating like the lingering hum of a bell. She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, to push down the ache rising in her chest.

December 27, 2024

Brooklyn, New York

The smell of bacon and coffee filled the kitchen, homey and grounding, the kind of warmth you could feel in your chest. Pedro stood by the stove, barefoot in sweats and a rumpled T-shirt, turning bacon strips with the focus of a man trying not to burn something important. The eggs were next, still waiting in the bowl on the counter, but for now, he worked efficiently.

Carissa sat at the kitchen table, knees tucked up under one of his old sweaters, hair loosely tied up in a bun. She had both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee like it was her lifeline, her eyes focused on a spot just past him. Her face was still, calm, but it was that kind of calm that wasn't actually calm at all.

Pedro glanced at her from the stove, brow raised. “You gonna tell me or what?”

Carissa blinked as if coming out of a reverie. “Tell you what?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t do that.” He pointed the spatula at her. “You know exactly what.”

She took a slow sip of her coffee, like it might buy her some time. “Christmas?”

“Bingo.” Pedro flipped a slice of bacon, watching it hiss in the pan. “Let’s hear it. Gimme my performance review, baby. I know there’s one coming. I played it cool, I smiled, I shook hands. I didn’t say a single word about politics, or gun laws, or gay rights. I was the best Saint Pedro I could be.”

Her lips curled into a small smile behind the rim of her mug. “You did do all that.”

“There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?”

Carissa sighed, her head tilting back as she stared at the ceiling like the words might fall out of it. “There is.”

“And it’s a ‘but’ I’m not gonna like, huh?”

“I don’t like it either,” she said softly, still looking up at the ceiling. She slowly brought her gaze back down to him, and there it was. The soft edge of apology. The look people give before they say something that’s bound to hurt.

Pedro snorted as he flipped another strip of bacon. “Just say it, baby.” He huffed out a quiet laugh, glancing over his shoulder. “Rip off the band-aid.”

Her gaze dropped to the table. She rolled her thumb over the edge of her mug, slow, methodical. “My dad…” She stopped, exhaled hard, steeling herself. “My dad said he expected better of me when it came to my… relationships.”

Pedro’s hand stilled on the spatula. For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there.

Then, slowly, he set the spatula down on the edge of the pan, his head tipped back, eyes shut for a second. He let out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw working like he was chewing on something he couldn’t swallow. “Right. Cool.” He nodded once, pressing his lips together, arms folding across his chest. “So that’s where we’re at.”

“Pedro…” Her tone fragile, like she was trying to pull him back from wherever he had just gone.

He turned to her, eyebrows raised, arms still tight across his chest. “And what did you tell him when he said that to you?”

Her fingers stilled on the mug. Her eyes flicked to him, then back to the table. “I didn’t say anything.”

Silence.

“You didn’t say anything?” He asked, his expression nakedly incredulous.

“I wasn’t raised to talk back to my parents.” Her voice was still soft. Her eyes met his fully this time.

Pedro leaned forward, palms flat on the counter. “This isn’t about talking back, baby. It’s about telling him you don’t agree.”

She leaned back in her chair, fingers rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I can’t just— It’s not like that. My dad says something, it stays said. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Right, yeah, I saw that.” He straightened up, nodding slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I saw that the whole time we were at your parents’ house. You don’t push back on any of them. Whatever they say you just…” He shrugged, hands lifting, then dropping. “...you just take it.”

Carissa looked hurt, as if he was criticizing her. He quickly moved to her side to make sure she understood that wasn’t the case. “I know that’s how you were raised, and I know you’re doing what you can to keep the peace. But I’m asking you—” He reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers. “—I’m asking you not to let him think he’s right. Especially not when we’re about to start house hunting.”

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t say anything.

Pedro squeezed her hand gently, leaning his head in to meet her eyes. “If you walk away from that conversation and you don’t say anything, baby, your dad thinks he got through to you. That’s how parents are. They think quiet means ‘I understand,’ and ‘I understand’ means ‘I agree.’”

Her throat moved as she swallowed, her eyes darting away.

“Look at me,” he said. She did. Slowly, but she did. “Do you agree with him?”

Her eyes stayed on his, unwavering. “No.”

“Then tell him next time.” His voice wasn’t sharp, but it was steady. Certain. “Tell him you don’t agree. That’s it. Doesn’t have to be a whole speech, baby. Just that. ‘I don’t agree, Dad.’ That’s all you gotta say.”

Carissa’s lips pressed together, her gaze dropping to his hand still wrapped around hers. “It’s not that easy.”

Pedro laughed once, short and rough. “You were four years old, refusing to leave a third-grade classroom after they told you it wasn’t for you. Four, Carissa.” He tapped her knee, his conviction building with every word. “You left MIT at 16 ‘cause you knew it wasn’t for you. You bet on Heartfire when nobody else would.” His hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “You’ve stood your ground before, mi vida. Why not for us?”

Why not for us? The question echoed in her mind, striking at something raw in her heart.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice a whisper. “This is different. I’ve never had to defend my feelings before. I… I didn’t know how.”

His voice dropped to a murmur, thick with emotion. “I get it,” he said. “This is new for you. It’s scary. But, baby… what we have is worth fighting for. Right?”

Carissa’s lashes fluttered as tears welled in her eyes. “Yeah, it is,” she whispered, her voice trembling. 

“I’m not asking you to actually fight him. Just tell him the truth.”

For a long moment she didn’t say anything, chewing her bottom lip, deep in thought. Pedro waited, not wanting to break her process. “Okay,” she said, a note of determination ghosting over the word. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

​​Pedro let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his hand still resting against her cheek. “That’s all I’m asking, querida.”

Carissa nodded, reaching up to cover his hand with hers. The sizzle of bacon brought him back to the moment, and he pulled away, reluctantly. 

“Alright,” he said, turning back to the stove, his tone lighter now. “Let’s eat before I burn this breakfast and your dad adds ‘can’t cook’ to his list of grievances about me.”

[blackfire-fanfiction]

okay so earlier (like a few days ago, goddamn this has aged fast) you mentioned that you think leo is most likely to be the one who spills the beans on both sides.

what if that happens while splinter is dying?

he's just sitting there, panicking over his father's bleeding body, and then he's mindmelding with leon and for the first time possibly ever, they're organising a forced switch.

so everybodies freaking out, and leo just goes "i'm gonna black out for a moment, don't worry about it"

especially if he does use portals before that point, that poor traumatised fam will be so lost...

There's definitely going to be an interrogation after the whole thing calms down. Leon is going to be mystically drained after healing Splinter, so he'll probably also end up passing out, but after that everybody will be confused as to where the portal stunt came from.

The reveal might take a bit because it wasn't something that could immediately clue the fam into the switching, but Leo being in the center of their attention will bring up questions about him that he never had to cover up.

But yeah, the reveal will definitely be happening around that time for the 12 group.

[daisies-on-a-cup]

sacrificial son

I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have greatly sinned,

in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have failed to do,

through my fault, through my fault,

through my most grievous fault.

-Penitential Act

When his daddy leaves him with the Benoits for four days, Will hears the Penitential Act for the first time.

It is during Sunday mass at noon, sharp, at Our Lady of Mercy Catholic Church, an hour away from the Benoit’s home. Mrs.Benoit had done something with his hair, oiled and greased it up into a crumpled slick back that his curls barely tolerated. It itched along his scalp, but he didn’t dare touch it. Beside him, the Benoit’s young son, Richard, sits with a similar hair arrangement, though much more suited for his thin, dark blond hair.

The air in the church is stuffy and warm, and there’s more rain to come after the morning shower, but it’s only been half an hour and there’s yet another to go. Mr.Benoit is reading up on the altar, his slow, mumbling scripture a lulling thing that makes Will want to fall asleep. Though kind enough to take the poor son of Louis Graham whenever a job came calling, they were strict and unwilling to compromise on the subject of saving lost souls and keeping theirs from the deepest pits of Hell.

Will reminds himself of that as he feels his eyes slipping, shying from the sharp pinch Mrs.Benoit gives him when she notices his slumped posture. Around him, he can feel the similar strictness kept by the righteous parents of sleepy, bored children, a split line of rapturous attention and drooling ignorance. Those most devoted are sat closest to the front, where Will, the Benoits, and a mix of elderly widows and ever-grievers sit with heads bowed low and eyes following through every passage. 

When Father John stands, everyone else does too. When Father John sits, everyone kneels. It is a kind of submission that makes Will want to get to his knees in earnest compliance. Beyond the bored, misunderstanding attention of the various children in attendance, there are the true believers that raise their hands to the church ceiling and speak to the Lord with holy tongues and confessions. It is a kind of honest begging that confuses Will in his own stance of to-believe-or-not-to-believe.

His daddy doesn’t believe in God. Louis Graham says God doesn’t give enough of a damn to exist, and even if He did, God wouldn’t want to involve Himself in their mess. God was too busy.

Mr.Benoit says God is always watching and knows everything you do and say, and that when the day of Judgement comes, He will know exactly where to send you. The Non-Believers will be sent to Hell, and the Believers will be seated at the right hand of the Father in perfection for all eternity.

To Will, 11 years old and only just beginning middle school, the choice to believe-or-not seems obvious. If all you have to do is say you believe in God to get to Heaven, then it was no small task. William Graham believes in God like he believes his daddy will come back for him after his latest job finishes. Louis Graham will come to the Benoits with thanks but no money to pay them for their time and trouble, and they’ll celebrate with self-caught catfish and some red beans and rice for dinner.

It was easy to believe in God, in this way. Surrounded by faithful believers with their heads bowed, kneeled before Jesus Christ, bloodied and awesome and looming over the congregation. It was easy to believe in God and his sacrificial Son. It was easy to bow his head and fold his hands, mimicking the True Believers in body and word.

“Dear God,” he mouths, shutting his eyes tightly so he doesn’t have to watch the way Mrs.Benoit says affair, “I’m sorry I sinned. I believe in you. Even though my daddy doesn’t, I’ll believe in you enough for the both of us. Sorry again, God. Amen.”

He stays kneeling for an extra minute, knowing that getting up too soon is a sin to those that notice, and when he sits back in his chair, Richard is already seated and picking at his nose. Will looks away when the boy wipes his finger on the pages of his Bible, and waits for everyone else to finish.

When it finally comes time for everyone to get in line, a long, anxious procession for the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, Mrs.Benoit gently holds Will’s shoulders and tells him to cross his arms. The grandmotherly figure that holds out the bowl of what looks like, to Will, wafers, smiles at him and waves her hand over his body in the sign of the Cross. 

“Peace be with you.”

“Amen,” says Will.

“The Body of Christ.”

“Amen,” says Mrs.Benoit.

Will watches as Mrs.Benoit sticks out her tongue, patient as the old grandmother carefully places a wafer on it. Mrs.Benoit is secretly displeased. She doesn’t like receiving it this way. She doesn’t like having to chaperone Will, an outsider, during her holy hour. She wishes Mr.Benoit didn’t constantly leave her alone with Richard. She wishes she could really, truly worship like she wants to. She wishes God would save her.

They shuffle back to their pew, where they kneel in prayer and submission again, and Will thinks about the Penitential Act. His fault, his fault, what he has failed to do. 

To Will, true worship seems like one endless apology for existing. Or, at least, failing to exist in the right way.

“Dear God,” he mouths again, resting his head on the pew in front of him, “Please let Mrs.Benoit know I’m sorry. She would be happier alone, so please help her be alone. She loves you. Also, please tell my daddy to come get me soon. I am sorry for sinning. Sorry, God. Amen.”

When they leave mass, Mr.Benoit turns on the radio and Gospel music sings like static in their cramped car. Mrs.Benoit’s arms and legs are crossed and Richard is still picking his nose. The clouds above them are dense and heavy with foretold rain, and Will lays his head against the passenger window.

Will’s belief in God strengthens when he sees his daddy’s old truck sitting in the Benoit’s front yard, a skinny man smoking a cigarette in a way Will has only ever known Louis Graham to do leaning against it. As soon as the car is parked, Will launches himself out and directly into his daddy’s hard arms, big hand digging into his hair and mussing up the tacky grease.

“Thanks ‘fer takin’ my boy,” says Louis, stubbing out his cigarette beneath his shoe. “‘M very grateful for it.”

Mr.Benoit reaches out a hand to shake. “He was a joy to have. You can leave him with us anytime.”

Will looks at Mrs.Benoit and watches the way her demure pink lipstick seems to ripple on her lips like a living thing. Richard clutches at his mother’s dress, hiding from the man that smells like rotted fish and tobacco. He is afraid. Will waves once at the boy and climbs into his daddy’s truck.

The Benoit family stands in their driveway to wave off the Grahams, Richard still tucked away in his mother’s arms, and Will watches their figures drift into the background in the rearview mirror. He can already smell the downpour on its way, and when he turns to his daddy, there’s another cigarette in his mouth. 

“The fishin’ was good?” asks Will, seatbelt digging into the flesh under his chin. He’s too small to be in the front seat but his daddy lets him anyway.

“Redfish, catfish, snappas’, bass,” his daddy lists off, mouth crooked in the best smile he can manage with his stained teeth and busted lips from too many fights. “We gonna eat good tonight, boy.”

God is good, Will thinks as he fiddles happily in his seat. He answered my prayers.

They eat catfish and red beans and rice for dinner that night, and his daddy even lets him try a sip of his beer. Will doesn’t even mind when his daddy laughs in his face after he spits it out. 

He goes to bed full and warm and happy to be home, and the next morning during breakfast, Louis Graham sighs and says, with little ceremony, something bad happened last night.

“‘M sorry, boy,” says his daddy, skin tight around the eyes. “The Benoits… the boy and his daddy. They died last night in a… in a car accident. The roads, y’know, they just get so damn slick after a rain. ‘M sorry, boy. Sorry ‘bout your friend.”

Will doesn’t say anything immediately. All he can think about is what Mr.Benoit said about God. What God said about Himself. How he killed His one and only Son for the good of the world. Will wonders if Mrs.Benoit is happier now. He doesn’t think so.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Will, his daddy stilling like a storm. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t mean for God to listen so good.”

“What ‘chu mean, boy? What’re you on about?”

“I’m sorry, daddy, I really am. She was so sad and she was tired and I thought God would help her. I thought I could help her.”

“No, none of dat nonsense, ya’ hear me? Hush up and eat your food.” 

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault, daddy. I prayed that Mrs.Benoit would be alone and God heard me and killed them. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean nothing by it, I was just trying to help–”

Louis slams a fist against their rickety table and Will’s fork falls to the ground like thunder.

“I said enough! Tweren’t nobody’s fault but the roads. God didn’t listen to no little boy like you and kill ‘em, ya’ hear? It’s a damn shame what happen’, but it ain’t no one’s fault. ‘Specially not yours.” His daddy sighs and leans over to scoop more red beans onto his poor son’s plate. “Now eat. Tears never helped nobody ‘cept the Devil. You ain’t doin’ no one any good like dat, so stop your crying. You can feel sad later. Now eat, boy.”

Too busy trying to stop crying, Will doesn’t move to pick up his fork. He watches as his daddy bends his bony back to pick it up, and Will counts four ridges through his thin shirt before Louis straightens and places the utensil gently by his son’s plate. His daddy goes quiet, timidly chewing on his leftover rice, ever and always regretful of a temper written marrow-deep, and Will wishes he knew how to be a good son. One good enough for God to listen to and hear right. Maybe even one good enough for him to have been named Issac instead of William.

Louis Graham deserved that at least after God took his Mary.

They are not invited to the funeral. From a street corner, they watch the funeral procession drive by and Will sees Ms.Benoit sitting in the passenger seat of the hearse. Will had been told before that only the dead rode in that car. He grips his daddy’s hand hard as he accepts that truth. When his daddy asks him if he wants to visit his friend’s grave, Will shakes his head and stops himself from saying it would only scare the boy. 

After that, Louis Graham is careful to choose neighbors that don’t go to church. This becomes an impossible task and after two weeks of trying to beg a job for a few more days of wiggle room, Louis Graham sits his son down and shows him how to hold a gun.

“You don’t touch it unless you’re in danger,” says his daddy, a cold light in his eyes as he looks at the portrait of his one and only son holding a thing that could kill him as much as save him. “An’ you don’t open dat door for no one. Not the neighbors, not the police, not God– no one. Ya’ hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’d I say?”

“Don’t touch the gun and don’t open the door.”

Louis Graham stares at his son hard for a moment, sucking in his hollow cheeks, before squeezing his small son’s shoulders. He looks too much like his mother, and Louis Graham is familiar with how jealous God can be. He hopes his blood has been enough to dilute the goodness within his son. He hopes it’s enough to keep him here. He hopes his son will stay.

“You know how ta’ work the stove. There’s lots of food in the fridge ‘n pantry. Go to bed at 8 o’clock sharp, ya’ hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

His daddy nods to himself once, then twice, before clearing his throat and standing. “I’ll be back on Wednesday.” That is three days from now. His daddy wants to say more but can’t. Will understands anyway. “Be good.” 

“Yes, sir.”

When his daddy leaves, Will hides the gun in a kitchen drawer and tries not to think about it. He turns on the TV and flips through channels and doesn’t think about the knife his daddy showed him how to use when he was 9, resting in a drawer next to the gun. It’s a gutting knife. For fish. Will tries not to think about using it for anything else.

On one of the channels, a priest is reading. His robes are red and Will thinks they look like the color of his daddy’s working shirt. His daddy’s shirts start out white. 

The priest’s voice wavers through the TV, and his grave eyes seem to sink into the pixels. “Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.” 

A car backfires outside and Will jumps in his seat. For the last couple of weeks, he’s dreamt about Richard. He can’t remember the details of his face, but Richard is always crying and his skull is shaped the wrong way. Mr.Benoit is there, too, on his knees and praying. Loudly.

“The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace. The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so.” The TV priest pauses for a moment, grainy red robes fluttering around his hands as he scrutinizes a congregation beyond Will’s sight. “Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God. Amen.”

Will turns off the TV before the imaginary people can answer. He feels queasy. Something inside of him itches and wants to go to the kitchen. He remains where he is. Later, like always, it will rain and his daddy will probably be out on his boat catching fresh fish for the local diners. Will wishes he could go with him, but his daddy says he’s not big enough to haul in the type of fish he catches. Says that a gator would eat him up quick, a tasty snack for its hungry teeth.

The day passes into the night, and like the good son he wants to be, Will goes to bed at 8 o’clock, and in the morning when he wakes, he heats up more leftovers on the stove like his daddy taught him, and spends another day like the one before. There is no priest on TV this time, but there is Tom & Jerry, and Will fills his head with funny cats and conniving mice and does his best to not think about the mangled boy in his dreams and the gun in the kitchen drawer.

When Wednesday finally comes, and Will hears his daddy’s keys jingle in the lock, Will waits anxiously by the door like a lost puppy and rushes to hold his daddy when he steps in. He smells like nicotine and the bayou, and Will begins to cry when his daddy says hello to him. He realizes he has not said a single word in three long days, and, left alone with nothing but his thoughts, he had begun to fear going to bed at night– fearful of little Richard and his wailing father that cursed God and begged loudly to be let into Heaven.

“Miss me, did ya’?” his daddy jokes, hobbling forward with his son clinging to his legs. “Didn’ get inta any trouble, right?”

“No, sir,” says Will, hiding his tears. He’s gotten better at it since his daddy last told him. “I was good.”

“An’ no one came to the door?”

“No one, no one at all.”

His daddy reaches down to ruffle Will’s hair. “Good boy. I brought some hush puppies from Mama Jones, if you’re hungry.”

They sit down together at their little table and when his daddy passes him a greasy bag, Will asks, “The fishin’ was good?”

His daddy smiles and lists off the wanted fish this time around (“Bass, trout, catfish, more snappas’.”), mentions a 10-foot gator he saw and was tempted to catch, and Will basks in the direct light of it. Three days was a long time to be alone. He had stopped going into the kitchen altogether on the second day and had spent the rest of his time hungry and frightened. He doesn’t want to confess that he stopped going to bed at 8 o’clock. He knows his daddy can tell he hasn’t been sleeping, but his daddy doesn’t mention it and keeps telling him he was a good boy for “holdin’ down the fort” and that he’s sorry he had to leave him alone for so long. 

Will tells him he didn’t mind. He knows it was what his daddy had to do. 

That night when they go to bed, Will lays awake and prays. He’s not sure he’s doing it right and he’s afraid that he is, that God is listening too closely to what he says, but Will feels as if he has no other choice. Mr.Benoit couldn’t get into Heaven, even with all his belief and faith. More and more dirt falls out from his mouth every time Will sees him. He is screaming in his grave and no one hears him. No one at all.

“Dear God,” whispers Will, glass words in the still air, “My daddy is good. Please let him go to Heaven if he dies one day. I believe in you enough for the both of us. Please let my daddy into Heaven. I know he’s sorry for… for things. He’s sorry. He’s so sorry all the time, I know he is. God, please let my daddy into Heaven.” 

He closes his eyes, about to sleep, but the horror of his prayer settles over him and Will folds his hands together in fervent terror. “God,” says Will, worried he’s not been quick enough, “Don’t kill my daddy to send him to Heaven. Please don’t kill my daddy. He’s all I got and I’m all he’s got. Don’t kill him yet, God. Please. Thank you. A-Amen.”

It is thankful, then, that Will thought to add that clause to his prayer. Mr.Benoit once said that each word is said to God, no matter the context, so it is best to be careful and mindful of your words. Such a warning reminds Will of the fables an old babysitter used to tell him, of other-worldly and wild creatures that would soon as give you a gift as curse you for your absent-minded, ill-thought requests. Midas’ Touch. An exchange of names. A wealth of absence.

Will is thankful, in the end, for his addition as his daddy lives through the night. He lives through the next day and night as well, and the days and nights after that. Weeks go by and his daddy keeps on living, stubbornly breathing in and exhaling tar through his yellowed and gray teeth. As Will grows older, his daddy lives so much at times Will regrets his adamant prayer. He gets a job just to pay for his daddy’s bail. He suffers the stares of his neighbors, the weight of his daddy’s drink, the cleaning of his mother’s grave behind their forgotten church.

It must be sacrilegious to think of God as like a fae creature, clever and wicked and jealous and vain. Will never goes back to church after the Benoits, listening to the bells ring far off in the distance with that same itch in his belly that originates from guns and gutting knives and a mother and sad father eaten whole. He thinks of penance, of forgiveness, for his thoughts. His failures. He acts with good intent and repents the ghastly dreams in his mind– horrors that don’t churn his stomach the way they should. 

Somebody jumps in front of a train on a Sunday. A kid down the street ODs. Someone’s Paw-paw puts a rifle in his mouth and sprays his porch red. A couple a few blocks away have a murder-suicide anniversary. A mass killer makes the news. Mr.Benoit’s screams are muffled underneath his mountain of dirt.

Will sees them in his dreams, all of them, and sometimes even when he’s awake and blinking, he sees their haunted faces, their purposes, and intents. 

She wanted to be noticed, for someone to finally take some time to look at her, even if it meant cleaning up her braids from the tracks. He thought things would get better, that nothing could possibly get worse, and that there was no harm in testing that theory. His son just got diagnosed with leukemia and he had life insurance to dole out. They were always going to end this way, unsatisfied but wholly starved for connection, someone to live with, someone to hold, and it didn’t matter what anyone else said because they would always be together. He got it in his head that he could start a movement, for their poor parish to finally be brought to the attention of the rest of this damn stupid state.

Mr.Benoit had climbed a ladder and ignored the loose screws. The hole was filling back up and he had lost the will to dig again.

Will doesn’t know how he knows these things but he just does and it terrifies him. He shies away from the news, shies away from the stories on people’s faces that latch onto him so tightly like a parasite on his person, and when his daddy asks him why he won’t look him in the eyes anymore, Will just shakes his head over and over again.

I know, he thinks. I know. God is punishing me because I know.

Biblical in proportion, this wild gift, this wretched curse, afflicted on him in the worst ways to be able to look evil in the eye and stare back. To know its gaze, to understand its meaning, to feel that itch, that same understanding that compels him forward and say I know. I know what you are, and you look like me.

The guilt that shakes him, these relentless thoughts that plague his brain so much it feels like a thousand second skins inside his own, is immeasurable. He doesn’t want to pray and ask God to make him better, to offer him a cure. He knows what praying does. 

But he also understands what evil does. And what happens to evil as a result. Will feels on the verge of spilling over, overflowing with these faults, untold and screaming in his head, and so he prepares. Preparation is key, his daddy used to say. Prepare for the worst. Don’t expect the best. To Will, the only kind of preparation for abominations like him were jails and prisons, officers in blue with guns on their hips and trigger fingers sworn on their badges.

To be born and labeled abomination, however, one must come from something. In the Bible, God gave birth to a universe. In that universe, Mary gave birth to Jesus Christ– a child created for the purpose of sacrifice. What must she have felt?

Will never met his mama. She died pushing him into the world, a birth and baptism drenched in viscera and lifeblood that Will choked on with his first breath. His daddy never says much about her, a secret he keeps locked so deeply in his heart that recognition of even her name comes slowly when it rains, and Will knows better than to ask. But he knows. Knows and recognizes the same in a dead woman he never met. 

Sarah was 90 when she birthed Issac. She named him after laughter. 

His mama was only 20 when she died. The French said William meant resolute protector. 

It is no secret he has failed. His fault, his fault, what he has failed to protect. He scrubs her stone with dollar store toothbrushes and tears he’s never cried. He hopes that she is in Heaven. He hopes that God does not exist. He no longer knows what to believe. 

It is no wonder, then, that God has always been so vengeful and jealous, liable to give a blessing as He is to take it away.

He never wanted to harm anyone. Preparation is key and Will prepares himself to be arrested and punished for the crimes he fears he’ll one day enact on behalf of the faith in his veins. That reckless, hopeful faith that drives people to pray and kill and beg and slaughter and maim and gut and drain. Like fish. 

The fishin’ was good? Tamika, James, Lawson, Paul, Ruth and Carson, Gabriel Benoit. 

Will Graham knows all about faith and fish. Knows all about Heaven and Hell. What God does to the people he has recklessly created. The Father and His Son and their Holy Spirit. A trinity that relies on sacrifice. Sacrificial sons. Sacrificial lambs bled on the altar. A birth and baptism and a fall from grace, down dug holes and shallow graves. Will knows.

He knows because he went to church.

[grainstealingthot]

MDZS Novel Notes

Ch 2 The Intractable

So.

I realize I have not posted about reading any more of MDZS. And the reason for that is that I have not actually read anything past my last chapter response haha.

Had a job promotion, life happened and got busy, etc etc.

I'm reading it now, though I have swapped over to Exiled Rebels from CH 3 and beyond.

CH 2 was from 7s, so keep that in mind.

I'm on desktop now instead of my phone, so it's easier to type, but I am still only human and despite it being my native language, I don't actually care that much about English. Grammar issues and typos ahead.

(i also can't figure out how to do quotes on desktop? sorry y'all)nvm figured it out lol

Again, spoilers below the cut! If you have not read MDZS, there are very obviously going to be spoilers in these posts.

WWX opens his as he's being kicked.

His assailer says (literally) "PLAYING DEAD?" which.. lol.

"WWX had lost count of the number of years it'd bean since he last heard a living person speak."

(does this kind of indicate he remembers at least a portion of his time being dead???)

WWX is, understandably, confused about his new situation, considering he has no idea who he currently is (this man is QUICK on the uptake), where he is, and says he's never forcibly possessed someone's body. (seriously. so quick on the uptake. has been alive again for less than a minute and already knows he's at least in a different body)

Assailer leavers with his two servants after smashing currently-unknown's-identity-now-WWX's possessions, WWX finds a copper mirror and gets immediately jump-scared by his new face /j

"A dreadfully pale face appeared in the mirror. Two large blots of red were smeared unevenly on each cheek; if he were to stick out a long and vividly red tongue, then he'd be the very picture of a hanged ghost." (7s, ch2 p 20)

while he seems initially disgusted, the words :and sloppily applied at that"(7s, ch2) immediately after make it seem like if it were done better, he wouldn't have minded that makeup at all.

At this point, he notices the array he's on. He notes that "the array was scarlet and crooked, seemingly hand drawn with blood as the medium"(7s, ch2 p 20-21) and that it was even still damp.

"There were warped and crazed spells drawn within the array" (7s, ch2 p21) and that despite some being quite smudged, "the remaining shapes and characters were gruesome in their evil intent." (7s, ch2 p 21)

the evil intent being that instead of possessing the body, the caster harmed themself with a weapon and gave up their body to evil spirits, using the annihilation of their soul as the price. So long as the evil spirit completes the price, they maintain ownership of the body.

WWX notes here that both the ritual and regular possession are forbidden magics, but that possession is much more popular and common, largely because few people have wishes strong enough to make them willingly sacrifice everything they had.

Apparently, the few times it was done historically, it was for revenge, which was always carried out by a malicious ghost in "cruel and bloody ways" (7s, ch2 p24)

WWX, of course, takes offense to this, as he states that while he'd had a poor reputation and died tragically, he never haunted the living, and he never sought vengeance. (srsly... does he remember being dead??? how would he know this??)

"He could swear there was not a single wandering ghost in this world who was more decent and honest than he!"(7s, ch2 p 24)

(wwx babe.... how would you know if you were dead???)

The Sacrificial Ritual follows the will of the caster first, and so even if he doesn't want to, being in the body is considered agreement to the terms. (terms and conditions got you huh)

If he fails, the cuts on the body get worse and the body and his soul will be ripped apart.

Despite how grim this all sounds, he's pretty nonchalant about all this lol

From here, WWX starts to explore his surroundings. Notes that while the house is big, it's still very empty and shabby. The bedding smelled bad, and there was a bamboo waste bucket that had been kicked over.

Notes that there's crumpled paper by the bucket, and there's writing on it.

WWX concludes the writing was likely done by the original owner of the body and that "some of the sentences were incoherent and disordered" (7s ch2 p 25) but that the "anxiety and nervousness were abundantly clear"(7s, ch2 p25)

WWX reads through each page he finds and still feels like smth is missing, but still figures a few key things out about his new body.

prev owner name was Mo Xuanyu

he's currently at Mo Manor

MXY's mother's father was from a rich family and only had 3 daughters

1st daughter was legitimate, 2nd was born to a servant

MXY mom, at 16 (ugh) caught the eye of the leader of a prominent clan that was passing by (OMG who could it have been /s) and supposedly fell for her at 1st sight

1yr later, MXY is born

Every so often, this clan leader would send financial support to the Mo Clan

After 2 yrs, he visited less frequently and when MXY was 4, he stopped coming at all

Mo estate showed contempt and mockery until MXY was 14, then that clan leader "sent over a grand party to take him back" (7s, ch2 p 26)

MXY gets driven out bc he was a cut-sleeve and "was so audacious as to harass his fellow peers." (7s, ch 2 p 26) (convenient way to get rid of him)

apparently smth had also upset MXY, as when he returned home, he was a madman. "His mental state had been upended, as if he had been scared silly." (7s, ch 2 p26) (i really do wonder what he might have seen/discovered to freak him out so much)

After he returns home, 2nd Madam Mo can't handle it, and "was choked to death by her own unappeasable outrage" (7s, ch2 p27)(poor guy... i literally can't imagine the trauma that might have caused him...)

1st madam mo firmly believes that if it were her son that had been taken to learn cultivation, he would have been recognized for his worth for sure. (despite his attitude matching a typical Jin cultivator, they did NOT want him lmao)

WWX also notes that while MXY was often "in the throws of madness, he knew when he was being humiliated" (7s, ch2 p28) and had apparently finally had enough of and stammered a complaint to his uncle, which is why MZY came knocking

WWX after reading all this: "What kind of hellish life was he fucking living?"(7s version) / "How fucked up is this person's life?" (Exiled Rebels Version)

which.. yeah that sums up poor mxy's life i think lol. poor guy

WWX notes that MXY had likely copied the array used to summon WWX back, but he didn't have access to the complete version, as WWX should have been to hear what MXY wanted, but bc of the incomplete array, he didn't hear anything/MXY missed that step

WWX, being our smarty-mc-smarty-pants (/affectionate) can guess revenge, but what kind?

WWX: mxy probably wants me to wipe out the whole family, bc i was known as "fiendish" and "treacherous" while alive

also WWX, helplessly: you've got the wrong person!!!

(drama queen lmao /affectionate)

(okay so i had to get a new phone and had trouble getting back into Internet Archive bc of all the gov't stuff happening, so while 7s version has ch2 continue from here, Exiled Rebels ends ch2 here. and that's as far as i got lol, so from here on out it's Exiled Rebels!)

so overall thoughts - WWX is highly intelligent, both in street smarts and book smarts. like, less than a minute in, he realizes he's not in his own body, and some sort of possession stuff is happening.

and instead of the fanon versions of him where he runs head-first into situations without thinking things through, we can literally see the opposite here.

WWX takes the time to investigate his surroundings, and from limited available information, he's able to piece together at least the basics of his new situation.

>also, he mentioned a lot about being a good ghost and not causing any trouble, and i know it's likely not meant seriously, but part of me does wonder if he remembers some of his time being dead? like not ALL of it, obviously, but he clearly knows quite some time has passed since his death, and remarks at least twice that he didn't cause mischief or anything like that as a wandering ghost.

So all in all thoughts based on reading 2 chapters - WWX is a highly intelligent man, but one with good humor and isn't prone to acting rashly. He seems to want to learn all he can about a situation before acting.

His behavior in this chapter directly contradicts the assumptions made in the previous chapter. We're told that if he came back, who knows what kind of violence he'd cause etc etc.

Whereas WWX on being resurrected in a new body: Who am I?? Where am I? What the fuck is up with this badly applied makeup?? What the hell kind of fucked up life did this guy have?

He's funny, down-to-earth, and pretty calm ngl.

stay tuned for ch 3! <3