#and I did the pattern myself so that’s something to check off the list

[ddejavvu]

a moment of silence for the fact that I truly genuinely thought starting everyone’s crocheted Christmas gifts in November would work out for me

[brainmuncher]

So I had another idea come at me while making lunch (I'm starting to sense a pattern with myself, lmao)

What if when Jazz sends out letters to the colleges she wants to get into, she gets sent rejection letters from every single one... except the local community college. She's absolutely devastated about it. She thought that she did everything she could to be chosen. How could every single one reject her?

Danny, of course, hears about it and asks Tucker to check and see if something happened digitally. Surely, Technus or Vlad or someone messed with something to sabotage her. But when Tucker checks, there's absolutely nothing wrong. She still has her perfect grades and attendance record all set with no marks. Her community service hours are all there. It's only when he looks at the letters themselves that he finds the problem...

After looking online to see what the letters look like, he comes to a puzzling realization... the letters were fake. It's a good fake, but it's not the real thing. The signatures were off, and the writing had been changed.

This is what leads him down the rabbit hole.

He tries to ask about it online to ask others who've also been rejected. Except nobody is answering him.

Sam tries to call the numbers listed on the websites of the colleges... but the person who answers is strangely unknowledgeable about the college they represent.

The only college that seems normal about it was the nearby community college. And that somehow feels the least normal about everything.

It was only when he heard his mom complaining that they never heard from family anymore after they moved to Amity that he figured it out.

Containment. Nothing is leaving Amity. No emails, texts, letters, or posts online. Everything was being blocked.

Of course, this sends him on a mission as to why and how. He spends weeks on it. Sam and Danny actually began to become concerned for him. No, this isn't a pride thing, Sam. And yes, he is taking care of himself, Danny.

Technus is the one who gives him the answer. It was just a passing comment about how he needed to funnel through the GIW in order to infect the world. It didn't make sense to any of them because surely that's the last place you would want to do that. But then it dawned on Tucker. That's who has the power needed to do it! That's where he needed to look!

So he hacks into the GIW and is astonished by what he finds.

The anti ecto acts aren't real. There's no laws even acknowledging ghosts.

There's a file on Phantom, marked as 'candidate for X'.

And all he can find on the containment is a name he's seen described as the creator of the GIW and the main supplier of funds.

Amanda Waller.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine Shanks finding out you're a painter

You: *humming along to some music as you apply a fresh coat of paint to the wall of the galley*

Benn and Lucky Roux: *walk in*

Benn: Hey Kid.

You: Hey

Lucky Roux: Did you make sure to use the mold resistant paint?

You: Yes Roux.

Benn: And you applied the sealant before the paint?

You: *nods your head* And the primer, I got this man, thanks for checking in on me.

Benn: Alright then, I'm just gonna open this here winder to get some fresh air in here, so you don't get high off the paint fumes.

You: aww, but that's the best part.

Lucky Roux: *snorts* Let me know when you're done, so I can start dinner. Also, when you are done, you might want to put up a barrier, so none of the others accidentally lean on it.

You: I enjoy seeing them covered in paint. So I think they're gonna be in for a surprise, or at least the boss will be. Because I bet you a thousand berry that he's definitely gonna lean in the paint.

Lucky Roux: I'll take that bet.

Benn: I ain't, because he'll definitely gonna do it.

The next morning

Shanks: *Still annoyed that he got paint in his hair the night before* is this shit finally dry?

Benn: yeah, the kid didn't paint in straight lines though.

Shanks: what! But they're usually so meticulous about doing tasks perfectly.

Benn: it was on purpose too, take a close look.

Shanks: *leans in and glides his fingers across a floral design in the brush strokes* do you think they like painting?

Benn: I believe so, that, or they inhaled too much paint fumes and decided to have fun with it.

Shanks: both are possible... Didn't they repaint the hallway, and bathrooms?

Benn: yeah? They painted patterns there too.

Weeks later

Shanks: Hey (y/n) I got you something! *Presents you with a colorful variety of house paints, and a bunch of supplies*

You: ... Wow, that's a lot of paint, are you wanting me to repaint every room on the ship?

Shanks: no silly, for you to have fun with. We noticed the patterns you painted in the galley and thought you might like more colors.

You: but where would I paint?

Shanks: where ever you'd like.

You: *Kisses him on the cheek, scoops up the supplies, and runs to your room*, Thank you!

Two days later in the galley

You: I finished my room is it okay if I paint this wall now?

Shanks: Go for it.

Benn: *watches you run off* they painted their whole room you know.

Shanks: I saw, I was impressed they managed to paint such steady line work with the ship moving so much.

Benn: I think the little maze design the pained on their door frame was my favorite. Do you think they take requests?

Shanks: I dunno.

You: *pushes the box of supplies onto one of the tables*

Benn: is it okay if I asked you to paint something?

You: sure!

Yassop: Wait, you take requests! I want the pillar in my room painted.

The crew: *crowd around you listing off the things they want painted*

Shanks: Guys, let em breathe for fuck's sake! Make a list so they can start painting.

Lucky Roux: I ain't writing down my request because it's simple, don't paint any more realistic bug on the damn walls. I nearly shit myself when I saw the cockroach you painted in the bathroom, that was not a fun surprise at three in the morning.

You: only termite holes, got it.

Lucky Roux: (y/n) no! No termite holes.

You: fine fine, although the fact that the paint on that cockroach didn't even get to dry before one of y'all smacked it, is hilarious.

Shanks: no more realistic bugs, dear, in fact avoid painting realistic critters all together please.

You: ugh fine.

Shanks: I have a project I'd like you to paint, but I'll need to get you a canvas for it. *Winks at you and wiggles his eyebrows*

Benn: Gross.... if he's getting a nude I want one too.

Shanks: You want my nudes too?

Benn: I want a nude of myself, ding-dong.

List of Up-and-coming works

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

[fangbangerghoul]

Writing Pattern Tag Game

Thank you @silurisanguine for the tag. This is cool!

tagging: @therealgchu, @bearlytolerant, @eridanidreams, @a-cosmic-elf, @booburry, @5oh5, @atonalginger

Rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there’s a pattern

1. Fleeting Pleasures: Ghoul stood on the edge of the launch pad with her hands on her hips in pride. The mammoth size victory that stood in front of her was almost overwhelming and she was just about to jump for joy. 2. Ghoul Files: There was a slight chill in the room as Ghoul laid in the bed with her eyes closed. She was irate that she woke up in the first place because she wasn’t even sure what the local time was and last night she had stayed up later than usual. 3. What Did I Get Myself Into?: The sun was baking the sweat against her skin as she dragged a pile of old dusty wood back towards her shop. This particular wood pile had a few boards in it that would prove to be quite useful to her for her current project. 4. The Damn Rock: She found herself pounding away midafternoon. Sweat on her brow and sweat falling down her back. It had been a few days of gathering materials, lack of sleep, and small meals in between the short breaks she allowed herself. 5. soft spurs and leather: The air was heavy with dry heat as the stars sparkled the sky above. The noise from the bar was getting further and further away while you both stumbled back to the StoneRoot inn. 6. Tear You Apart: Your eyes open slowly to the sound of a crackling fire. Your memory is foggy as you come back to consciousness trying to remember how you passed out in the first place. 7. Cellar Door: The thrill at first was enough for her not to question the choice to deeply. Having to ride on the stars into an unknown hole of infinite possibilities was something everyone was excited to experience. 8. Capacity Limit: The last shot fired and another one was down as you looked at the pile of spacers that laid dead around the abandoned lab facility. It wasn’t everyday that a mission board request came so easy for the two of you. 9. Settling with the Stars: The busy nature of Kay’s House was not new to Ghoul. There was an array of sounds from the clinking of plates, the hissing of water, and the commotion of consumers finding solace in this place.  10. Neon City Delights: “Here goes nothing” Ghoul said to themselves as they got off the Razorfleet once more. Walter had just asked the new member of Constellation to help him retrieve another alien rock the association was searching for to find more answers.

There is definitely heavy visual imagery in the first two lines. I am always keen on trying to set the scene so that checks out. If anyone notices another pattern let me know!

[sanfangirl-cynicalromantic]

The Lady Knight | Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

At long last, I came to the very obvious decision to continue. Thank you so much for all those who enjoyed the story and didn't hesitate to me know ❤️ Chapter 2 and all the oncoming chapters would not be possible without you!

So, as the poll dictated, I am sharing chapter 2 now!

Tagging @macheriemila, @borrassofi, @bi-bi-want-dragon, @triumphantfury, and @katergator84 (you said I could!) If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, don't be afraid to reach out!

~~~

“I should - go,” Astrid heard herself say. So many things were happening and she wanted to retreat to her tent so she could silently scream into the hard pillow issued along with the cot she slept on.

“But - but what about your shoulder?” Hiccup asked. She blinked, and the cut on her shoulder throbbed with the reminder. She had forgotten about that, the whole reason she was sitting here.

“I can take care of it myself,” she assured her friend. “I was going to anyway.”

“Why didn’t you?” asked Hiccup. “I mean, you could've taken care of it a lot sooner without me. . .” he trailed off. “Right, stupid question.”

“I don’t know, she answered, mostly to herself. She crawled out of the tent and nearly ran to her own. She cleaned the shallow cut - it probably didn’t even need to be bandaged, but she did just in case.

The next morning she wrapped a handkerchief around her nose to block out the smell and went to report to Gobber for cleaning out chamber pots or shoveling excrement. The work was welcome, and she found her mind concentrating on the task at hand instead of wandering off to think about complicated things. At an hour past noon Gobber sent her off for some grub.

She found Hiccup sitting on the outskirts of the group, no one willing to sit near him due to the stench. She plopped down beside him with an inelegant sigh.

“How’s your shoulder?” he inquired. Astrid pulled down her handkerchief and took a bite of grub, eyes fluttering shut in appreciation of the lukewarm sludge warming her body.

“It’s fine, she told him. “It was shallow; I didn’t even have to bandage it.”

“But you did,” Hiccup checked. She let out a good natured huff.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course I did.” She turned her attention back to the rations. Hiccup finished his before her.

“Can I ask you something?” he broke the comfortable silence, keeping his gaze fixed on the empty tin plate on his lap.

“Sure,” agreed Astrid warily. She had honestly just fallen in her old patterns with Hiccup, forgetting he knew about her being a her. She took another bite of food to occupy herself.

“Why?”

Ah. Astrid didn’t know how to answer that. She chased the now-cold food around her plate, the utensil grating on their ears.

“You know females can’t inherit?” she asked after a while.

Hiccup blinked, as if surprised she’d even answered him. “Yeah I knew that . . . ooooh .”

“I just-” her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “My parents . . . especially Mother, they were worried. And I knew I’d have to marry like my sister to reassure them, but I don’t want to!” Her voice had begun to rise. She cleared her throat embarrassedly and continued. “So I figured I’d give them an heir who could inherit, because I was always the best at fighting and dealing with the land.” She felt stupid. Just because everyone thought Lord Hofferson had a son didn’t actually mean he did . Would inheriting even be valid?

“That’s messed up,” Hiccup said contemplatively, breaking through her spiral of thoughts.

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

They sat quietly a little longer, enjoying the reprieve before they were to be sent to work again. The infantry finished their meals and stood to head off to their stations on the battlefield. Hiccup watched them go pensively. He had no taste for death.

“Do you ever think it’s curious how we’ve been supposedly winning this war for nearly a decade, and yet are no closer to victory?” he asked suddenly. Astrid looked ahead contemplatively.

“A war takes time to win, does it not?” she answered thoughtfully.

“But is it winning if we’re making no progress?” Hiccup pressed. Astrid frowned.

“How is it no progress?” she argued. “We’ve been pressing Bludvist’s armies away from Berk and gaining land. Even if we weren't, we are wearing down his fighters, are we not?”

“True,” he nodded. “But also our own. If we’re at a stalemate, we’re still losing soldiers.” Astrid’s face cleared as she realized what Hiccup was getting at.

“The King wouldn’t just send people to die while he thought on his next move,” she said stoutly. “Our fighters know what they are sacrificing, and are doing it happily. Besides, the enemy is sustaining far more casualties than us.”

“I just wish there was a way to end this without more killing,” Hiccup sighed.

“You could always try the diplomatic approach once we’ve graduated into true knights,” she suggested. He opened his mouth to reply, but Gobber called them over for their next shift before he could speak.

A month after that, Gobber assigned them to a knight to work as the traditional squires.

“I ken we dun’ away wi’ tha’ program,” he acknowledged, “but ye need at least a wee bit of experience before we can call on ye. The war is not neer as bad as it was a few years ago, so ye’ll get to be on the battlefield but not in too much danger.” Hiccup nudged Astrid pointedly, who ignored him in favor of listening to Gobber’s next instructions.

He told them who each would be working for and took them to meet the knights they would serve for the next couple months.

Astrid was assigned to a knight called Sir Eret, a young man only about five years older than her. He was broad shouldered with long, dark black hair, twinkling amber eyes, and an easy smile, and a very skilled fighter. He spoke with a slight accent, and had a large chin. Astrid knew they would become friends very quickly. She was relieved she liked who she would be serving for the next bit of her training, unlike poor Hiccup, who had been assigned to Sir Dagur DeRange, who was a similar age to Eret, but not nearly as amicable.

Eret became the older brother she had never met but always wanted. He was who she’d want to be for her sisters. He was from up north, and sometimes demonstrated their slightly different attack style from up there. His clan was rather new among Berk’s court, Sir Eret being only the third generation serving the Haddock kings.

Eret had been the last squire to pass the knight initiation test before the practice had been done away with. His father had been the knight he trained under, and had been very hard on him, but it ensured that he passed his initiations with flying colors, while other noble sons had only been able to scrape through due to their parent’s coddling.

“I won’t be too hard on you,” he assured her, “but I won’t go easy on you either. You look like the next great fighter of Berk, but you’ll waste away if you take things easy.” Astrid straightened under his praise.

“I won’t slack,” she promised.

She learned how to pack a knight’s things in the proper manner, and how to help strap armor onto Eret. She was supposed to make sure his armor and weapons were taken proper care of and polished. Eret helped her with such tasks at the end of the day, but she knew that most other knights just left their equipment to their squires while they collapsed onto their cot. She was grateful for Eret's decency.

She met a few more knights her father hadn’t known. They weren’t in the same social circle Father usually conversed with. There was Sir Thuggery and Sir Magnus and Sir Sven, the son of Lord Svenson. They were friendly enough, but clearly didn’t hold squires in the same regard Eret did, and she didn’t find herself getting close with any of them. She didn’t see Hiccup as much anymore, as Sir Dagur and Eret apparently had some slight hostility. Eret would never admit why and Hiccup wouldn’t tell what could have been the reason. She didn’t press too hard, because whatever had happened was between Dagur and Eret; it wasn’t her place to pry, and Hiccup never seemed too happy to hear her talk about Eret.

“You know, his fighting techniques are a little different from what we’ve learned, and he’s offered to teach me,” Astrid disclosed. “Do you want to join?”

Hiccup’s mouth was tight at the corners. “You sure I wouldn’t be intruding?” he asked, a hint of something sharp in his voice. Astrid frowned. He had developed a habit of getting short with her rather quickly lately, but Astrid supposed it could only be expected when having to work with Dagur’s volatile tempers, and they rarely found time to catch up except after the day was done late at night, so he was probably constantly tired.

“You wouldn’t,” she assured him. “Really, I think Eret would like you. I have to follow him around every day anyway; it’d be nice to have someone else put up with him,” she said fondly.

“Astrid,” he sighed. She blinked as she caught her breath. That was a thing now. He seemed to be on a mission to use her actual name as much as possible whenever they were alone, with no consideration for her lungs. “Why are you set on me joining you? Don’t you - don’t you want to spend time with Eret?”

She was confused. Why wouldn’t she want Hiccup to join them? “I want to spend time with you,” she told her friend. “And I think we’d both enjoy - what are you - what are you trying to say?” Why was he being this obstinate? Her confusion was turning into anger and she didn’t want to be angry with Hiccup, dammit.

Hiccup blew out a breath. “I, I just - want to know what your relationship with Eret is,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Why? He’s, we - we’re friends. He’s a friend,” Astrid replied slowly, like one of them was being dumb but she wasn’t sure who it was.

“So what am I?” Hiccup asked quietly. That was a dangerous question. She hesitated.

“My best friend,” she answered. “I can have more than one friend, can’t I?” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t like he could say no. 

“No! I mean, of course you can that’s not what I’m saying-”

“What are you saying?”

“Do you-” a look of bewildered realization crossed his face. “You don’t - you don’t like him as more than a friend?”

Astrid’s jaw dropped in shock. “ What?!” she exclaimed. Hiccup’s mouth formed an ‘O.’

“You’re not - you two aren’t like that?” he questioned.

“ No. Ew. Why would you think that? He’s like a brother to me.”

“I don’t know,” he retorted defensively. “It’s just - you were constantly talking about him I figured . . . girls I knew could never stop talking about their sweethearts so, um-”

“It was never like that. And did those girls decide to become a knight instead of being a lady? I don’t think your idea of what a girl is fits me.” Would you prefer it if it did? Why did the thought make her feel hurt? “No. He’s just - honestly that would never happen,” she shook her head in bewildered irritation.

“Really?” he smiled slightly. “I don’t know - I’m sorry for being weird.”

“Yeah. It’s - this was weird.”

“You’re right, you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever known,” Astrid felt a spark of giddy happiness ignite in her chest and tried to internally tamp it down. “-and just cause I’ve seen ladies fall for handsome Eret before doesn’t mean you would, too-” She blinked, his words processing before an evil grin spread across her face.

“Were you jealous?” Astrid teased. He blushed.

“What? Me? Jea-”

“You were ,” she clapped her hands together and cackled.

“All right, yeah yeah-”

“Aww.”

Hiccup grabbed her face gently to shut her up. Her cheeks squished together. His hands were always so warm, especially on her face, and that was the only reason her cheeks felt hot. She tried to blow out that little spark in her chest, but it only fanned it into a small flame. “I’m new to the whole friend thing,” he rolled his eyes good humouredly. “I’ve only ever had you and Gobber. I guess I don’t want to lose you somehow when you have someone a lot more competent to keep company.”

“Hey,” Astrid squeezed his hand. Their eyes locked on joined hands. She cleared her throat. “You’ll always be the first friend I made,” she said sincerely. “Besides, don’t underestimate yourself: you’re plenty competent and interesting.” He ducked his head and his cheeks warmed.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” she decided.

“What?”

“You have to join me with Eret now. Besides, we were kinda banned from sparring one on one since, y’know,” She wiggled her shoulder, a silvery line sloping along her right shoulder underneath her tunic. The scar wasn’t noticeable; she could wear an off-shoulder dress and no one would be able to tell she had once had that shoulder sliced. She noticed it herself occasionally because she knew it was there, and Hiccup would because he had been there too, but no one else would unless they ran their finger along her shoulder, and there was no possibility of anyone getting close enough to her to touch her intimately there. “I’ll bet you’re rusty,” she taunted.

“C’mon!”

.oOo.

“So, what do the initiation tests usually consist of?” Astrid asked. She was sitting cross legged on the ground. Eret was standing from his practice spar with Hiccup, who was wheezing on the ground. Astrid wasn’t worried about him though; she could tell he was just being overdramatic. Eret cocked his head, considering.

“They usually start after the jousting tournament in the summer,” he told them. “After the first week, squires can become knights and participate in the second week. They wouldn’t if they knew what was good for them,” he snorted. “Many a new knight have started out bankrupt due to fancying themselves better than the seasoned knights in a bid for glory.”

Hiccup sat up and rested his arms on his knees. “When was your first joust?” he asked curiously. He had taken to Eret rather quickly after he joined Eret’s training. Astrid was rather pleased to see her two friends getting along together.

“Three years ago,” Eret replied, voice soft with nostalgia. “Won the first round, and then lost the next two.” Astrid winced while Eret laughed. “It’s what I deserved for trying to challenge my father and uncle. I was eventually able to earn my kit and my horse back, but they never let me forget it. Just because I was family didn’t mean they went any easier on me.” He shook his head to clear it. “But that’s not what you asked, Astor.”

Astrid blinked in startled confusion for a second. She normally went by ‘Hofferson’ with Gobber and her peers, and Hiccup called her Astrid when no one was around, so it took a little adjustment to answer to ‘Astor.’ She mentally scolded herself and made a note to ask Hiccup to start calling her Astor as well.

“Well, they try to change initiations around, but they follow the basics. For one, you’ll probably have your own mock joust,” Eret was saying.

“Oh no,” the prince cringed.. “I’m no good at jousting.” Eret threw him a reassuring smile

“We barely practice with a lance at all, but you’re certainly the best rider,” Astrid said matter-of-factly.

“To tell the truth, jousting is only useful for duels and tournaments, not battles,” he shrugged. “Your instructor, Gobber, seems to care more for practicality than pomp. But the best trick is to stay in your saddle, and practice the back strength to hold a lance straight.”

“Back strength?” Hiccup asked. “Not your arms?”

“Your arms are connected to your back, are they not?” Eret replied, deadpan. A snort escaped Astrid and Hiccup sent her a glare of mock-betrayal.

“Sometimes they have to fight someone like a real joust, either an actual knight or one of your peers. A few times they just have you ride along the tilt and test your aim. Hiccup gulped. Astrid scooted over to him and patted his shoulder.

“You’re stronger than you know; I’m sure you’ll pass easily,” she heartened him.

“Well that makes one of us,” he muttered, but shot her a grateful look that went straight to her chest, warming it as the chilly wind blew against her.

“If they continue with the mock joust with contestants, they usually make the entire initiation a contest between all the squires. Of course, if you haven’t fallen off your horse or after three runs, the next day you’ll fight hand to hand and they’ll test your weapons handling that way,” Eret continued. He paused and took in the nervousness on his friends' faces.

“I wouldn’t worry; you guys will be fine.”

.oOo.

Define fine , Astrid thought sarcastically, remembering Eret’s encouraging words. She was peering through the tent flap, colorful crests and peasant children running around, lords greeting each other or arguing, the blinding sun beating down upon the scene. She heard Hiccup’s shaky breaths behind her and turned around, exchanging anxious grins.

“I brought us some water,” he gestured at a tray with a jug of water and a tin cup. She nodded in gratitude.

“You nervous?” she asked him as she filled her tin cup. She knew he was, just as she knew he knew she was, hence the meaningless smalltalk.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t. We’ve been practicing ever since we got back.” Three months ago they had returned from the battlefield, grimy and hardened, glad to be free from tending to their assigned knights. But no sooner had they shed their armor Astrid had leapt into preparations and their midnight training sessions and free time had become vigorous jousting training.

“Hey,” scolded Astrid gently, handing him the refilled tin of water. “It’s normal to be nervous; you’d be stupid not to be. But I know you’ll be able to do this. We both will. Honestly I'm more nervous about the improbable possibility of someone recognizing me.”

“You’re not recognizable,” Hiccup assured her. She decided to play with him and arched her brow.

“Really?” she asked, pretending to be offended. She saw Hiccup straighten and rub the back of his head as she stuck her nose up in the air and tried to look at him threateningly.

“I - I uh, not like, you’re forgettable ‘cause you’re not, of course.”

“So you think I will be recognized?”

“No! No, how could you be, I mean you’ve changed so much since when you were fifteen.”

“I was attending summer parties last year.”

“Oh. Uh, well, y’know I’m sure you’ve changed plenty this year too.” Astrid said nothing. His eyes widened as he had just realized something.

“F-For the better! I - I’m sure all the-”

“Hiccup, stop,” she giggled. “I’m messing with you.”

“Messing with me - what! Why?” She giggled again at the affronted expression on his face while Hiccup’s expression morphed into fondness.

“Feeling better?” he asked and set the cup back on the tray.

“Are you?” He nodded. “Yeah.” They stood there quietly for a minute, enjoying the silent companionship.

Somehow they were closer than they had been a second ago. She gazed into his fiery emerald orbs and was mesmerized. He took a breath, and she watched the rise and fall of his chest, the part of his lips as he blew the air out. She blinked and leaned closer before catching herself and dragging her eyes back to his, just in time to see him pull his own gaze up from hers. He took a healthy step back and licked his lips.

A trumpet blew and they heard the herald begin his announcements.

“Oh! I uh, I should really get back to my tent,” Hiccup flailed.

“Yeah, you should go,” Astrid agreed. “Umm, careful out there. And good luck.”

“Good luck to you too,” he wished her, and then he was gone.

.oOo.

She flicked an imaginary speck of dust off the hard embroidered leather chestplate, bearing the Hofferson family crest: two battle axes criss crossed in front of a Nadder’s crown of spikes. She checked to make sure her shoulder pads were securely fastened again and took deep breaths as she waited for Gobber to lead her outside.

A few minutes later Gobber poked his head into the tent.

“Ye ready, lad?” he asked kindly. Astrid whipped her head around to face him and nodded jerkily. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Ye’ll do great,” Gobber clapped her on the back, and she absorbed the impact without falter. She squared her shoulders and walked steadily to the line of young men waiting to prove themselves ready for battle.

Berk was different from other kingdoms. Squires could become a knight between ages eighteen to twenty one, so if any of Astrid’s peers managed to fail the initiation tests, they would have second chances. All the people could watch the squires on this day. The king and his queen sat on a raised dais, an advisor and some attendants accompanying them. Nobility occupied the upper seats so as to better see the contestants, but some, mainly young ladies, sat on the seats right next to the edge in hopes of catching a soon-to-be-knight’s eye.

This year the squire’s tests were a small series. First, they would practice jousting, running against the quintain three times, and then they would be tested with their long range missiles, like Eret had predicted. All of them must display an average ability to shoot, or use of another long-range weapon. These tests would take place before noon. Then, after noon they would fight against noble volunteers to test their fighting ability. The king would then bless them upon his dias in front of everyone. Then she would be a knight. She would have honor and a livelihood to use to support her family when they needed it. 

The squires stood in an alphabetical line according to surname. Ackson was first, then the Prince Haddock and her, Hofferson. She took her place beside her friend and he greeted her with a glance from the corner of his eye, his face continuing to face forward. She dipped her head to return the greeting and stood straight and tall as Ingerman took his place on her left.

The air was stifling and hot, the sun a ruthless hunter pursuing entrance into her eyes, forcing her to squint. The sounds of the crowd faded away and crashed down upon her ears with an even greater force. A dribble of sweat began to bead on her hairline, but she refused to pay it any attention. She wanted to shut her eyes and block out the nervous fear beginning to coil like a smug poisonous snake in her belly. Her hand flexed at her side, straining against her will to reach for Hiccup’s hand, to ground herself in the comfortable familiarity of his own sweaty palms. She exhaled shortly, scolding herself for even daring to think such a thing. Anyone could spot her treacherous fingers seeking solace in the Prince and that would just complicate things. Such wants were dangerous, and she couldn’t afford them.

She didn’t notice Hiccup’s own hand twitch toward hers before it was dragged back to grip his leg.

The Herald called Ackson’s name and the burly youth stepped forward hesitantly. Astrid watched avidly as the young man was directed, tested on his ability to follow directions. She watched his form and listened closely to the remarks and criticism and praise he received. He wasn’t that good at the riding part, but made up for it with force.

Then the Crown Prince stepped forward to complete his initiation. She nudged him and caught his gaze before nodding resolutely, a reaffirmation of good luck from her. His mouth stretched like it was trying to accomplish a smile but couldn’t quite manage, and strode into the ring. Astrid bit her lip as she watched, concern for him flooding her throat - or maybe she couldn’t breathe because she was holding her breath.

She knew he was worried the kingdom wouldn’t accept him, too stuck on his earlier year’s failures, but she knew better. She watched the tall young man deftly assemble his horse and swing himself into the saddle, Toothless standing obediently and tossing his head majestically as a page scurried forward to hand the Prince a lance. How could anyone be blind to the compassionate budding warrior in front of them? He thanked the page and steadied his lance, the heavy wooden weapon ending in iron not shaking even a little bit. She hoped his hands weren’t sweaty.

His form was impeccable and the speed and force he reached with Toothless made the onlookers gasp in admiration as the lance thudded securely into the middle of the target. The quintain swung around fast, and everyone sat up in anticipation, no one daring to call out a warning. The sandbag swung with gusto, seemingly faster than ever but Hiccup and Toothless avoided it and made it to the end of the tilt. The second and third try were no less perfect, and he dropped the remains of his lance into the arms of the waiting page - the lance had shattered on his third round as he gracefully descended. 

Lords turned to their neighbor to talk animatedly, and Astrid allowed a smile to break through at the sight of the kingdom being as taken with their prince as she was. The King nodded approvingly at Hiccup, and though his face was concealed Astrid could picture the beaming smile he was surely wearing. Mothers examined him appraisingly, calculating all the benefits a son in law like him would reap, and the young ladies sat up straighter as he rode past, some simpering and batting their eyelashes, others staring outright without breaking eye contact in an attempt to catch his attention. Astrid’s hackles raised.

He doesn’t like those kinds of girls , Astrid chanted in her head. He wouldn’t give them the time of day .

Oh, and who would he prefer? A silly girl pretending to be a boy with short hair and rough tunics? A treacherous voice whispered back. She clenched her jaw, pride gone, and as she stepped up as her name was called, she charged toward the target with ferocious single-mindedness.

She didn’t even remember what happened after she inevitably completed the task with flying colors. The long range missiles went equally well, her and Hiccup being the most accurate, of course. She inclined her head toward her parents and the one sister who had come to watch her before finding herself back in her tent and collapsing on the cot. She didn’t care about food; that could wait.

Gustav, a page in his last year, entered the tent with a tray laden with food and cold water, as Astrid came to some time later.

“Haddock told me to bring you this,” he announced. Astrid opened her mouth and closed it again at the thoughtful gesture.

“Thank you,” she said, touched. “And - tell him thank you too.”

“When I become a squire, he says I can wait on him,” Gustav proudly proclaimed. She raised her eyebrow. Poor Hiccup. Gustav would be far better suited to Jorgenson, who would soak up the attention Gustav lavished on his idols.

“Is that so?” she asked absently, waving him out of the tent so she could enjoy the food in peace. God, cold chicken had never tasted this good. She gobbled the meal down as the bell began to clang, announcing the next round for the graduating squires. Astrid cursed and hastily wiped her fingers on her tunic - oh, if Mother could see her now. Thank Thor Hiccup had sent Gustav or she might have entirely slept through the test! She fastened her armor on and grabbed her ax along with a sword before practically running toward the dirt arena, praying her tardiness wouldn’t be noted.

She wove her way through the crowd who quickly parted as they recognized her time to squeeze herself between Hiccup and Ingerman. The Prince was standing stiffly but noticeably relaxed when he spied her. She shot him a grateful smile and then turned forward as the herald announced the names and clans of the squires present.

“Gustav said you were asleep,” her friend whispered out the side of his mouth.

“I was. Thanks for the food, by the way. I might have never woken up if you hadn’t sent it.”

“Figured you’d be hungry since I didn’t see you at lunch. I would have gone myself, but Dad insisted on formally introducing me to everyone .” Astrid stifled a snicker too late. He shot her an annoyed look.

“He’s proud of you,” she nudged him.

Thorston was called up first, for the squires were being called up in reverse alphabetical order. Ingerman whimpered nervously beside her. On the other side of Hiccup, Ackson gave an exasperated huff.

“While I’ll agree his Proud-of-Me look is a nice change from his Disappointed-in-Me face, it is extremely unnerving,” Hiccup snarked. Astrid smiled dryly.

“You’ll get over it.”

“Will you two be quiet!” Ackson hissed. Hiccup opened his mouth to snap back some sarcastic comment but Astrid elbowed him viciously and all that came out was a soft oof. He shot her an irritated look of betrayal and she rolled her eyes at him expressively; Ackson wasn’t worth starting a fight with ever, especially not here.

Gobber had taught all his pupils well, and she could sense his satisfaction radiating off him next to the King as he watched all the young men fight avidly. Clearly the new program had been a success. Even all the boys who Astrid had rolled her eyes at their incompetence did surprisingly well. Thorston was still crazy, but was able to direct his craziness at the targets with impressive precision. Jorgenson, for once, wasn’t slacking off and displayed surprising agility as he fought against Sir Bucket and held his own against the older man. Even Ingerman who had been whimpering next to her the whole time stepped up and the normally gentle teen displayed his dramatic strength and even managed to disarm his own opponent.

And then it was her turn. She was going up against some Sir Magnus - she forgot which surname he had. She walked into the pit, the thin layer of sand scuffing under her meticulously polished boots. She had a sturdy dirk at her hip and her trusty ax strapped to her back. She kept her body loose but alert as she studied the opponent walking towards her. Sir Magnus was heavyset, with clunky iron armor on instead of the lighter leather she had. She marked the best targets: under the arms, the cracks where the breastplate ended.

She unstrapped the ax from her back and held it in front of her in a defensive position, the heavy weight of the weapon familiar and comforting in her hands. She kept her breathing even as she watched Sir Magnus ready himself across from her.

“Ready?” the herald called. Astrid gave a curt nod, baring her teeth in a smile. The horn carved into an elaborate bronze dragon was blasted shortly and the two fighters began to circle each other. Astrid matched his footwork carefully as she studied Sir Magnus, looking for a point of weakness to get past his guard. Gobber always instructed her to never attack first when facing a new opponent, so she waited for his patience to break first.

He stepped forward and Astrid, anticipating his strike, blocked it before he had even completed the movement. The crowd murmured in appreciation and Sir Magnus drew back, assessing her with calculating eyes.

She waited for him to strike a second time and blocked it before launching her own attack. He was stronger and heavier and bigger than her but she was quick and her hits were painful and effective. Sir Magnus unleashed his full force and landed a blow, causing her to stumble back to catch her breath. (The Prince started forward impulsively before reigning himself in to stand ramrod straight as he watched his friend, but Astrid was too preoccupied to notice.)

She grit her teeth against her temper. There was no shame in losing to an older, more experienced knight. But Astrid was the best in her class; she wanted to be exceptional. She wanted to be a warrior so great that even when her identity was found out, her heroics could not be disputed. She saw her opponent getting ready to strike again, and just as he raised his sword to prepare an attack Astrid lunged forward at the right moment - although her timing was only half skill and the other half luck - and hooked her ax around the blade by the hilt, tugging it out of his hands and off to the side. Distantly, she was aware of the crowd around her cheering or clapping, but she paid it no mind. The fight was not over yet.

Just because Sir Magnus was currently weaponless did not mean he wasn’t still a threat. Astrid had the upper hand, but wasn’t going to let her guard down one bit.

Her adversary charged her and swung at her. She opted to duck instead of trying to chop off his arm, after all, he wasn’t a true enemy. It was a feint. He pivoted on one foot as his leg swept around to knock her off her feet. She threw her ax out of the way so it wouldn’t land on her and locked her legs around his to bring him down with her. They tumbled onto the ground with a thump . She flung the heavy body off of her and practically leapt onto his chest, pinning him down with her weight. She reached for her dirk and unsheathed part of her blade, pressing the sharp naked steel to Sir Magnus’ neck.

“Yield,” she ordered in her deepest voice.

“I yield,” the knight rasped. She exhaled in relief and stood carefully before offering her hand to the older man. The crowd was roaring its approval and she turned to see Hiccup pumping his fist delightedly in the air, a toothy grin on his beautiful face. Her heart pounded in her ears as she made her way out the pit to accept her parents’ congratulations and her sister’s embrace.

“You must be exhausted, my boy,” Mother insisted. “Why, we didn’t even see you at luncheon.”

Astrid opened her mouth to protest, feebly trying to explain how she wished to watch Hiccup pass his own initiation but her youngest sister, Cami, the most vivacious and unruly thirteen year old Astrid had ever known, including herself, announced how hungry she was as well and Father placed a hand on each of his daughter’s shoulders and led them to the Hofferson chambers. Astrid cast a glance behind her, but made no more protests. She could always see her friend at the official knighting ceremony before the ball being held in their favor that night.

.oOo.

As it turned out, the actual knighting ceremony was a quiet, intimate affair mainly limited to her family (Mother, Father, Cami) and the King and Queen. The Crown Prince was nowhere to be seen, so after Astrid finished dressing for the ball early she set off to find her friend.

She found him twisting and turning in front of a full length mirror, attempting to tie his cravat. He heard her soft laugh and turn around, his face brightening. It fell as he took in her own impeccably tied cravat.

“Tell me you had trouble with that too,” he grumbled pleadingly, gesturing at her neck.

“Oh yeah, it took me forever,” Astrid said brightly. Hiccup scowled at her and shook his head.

“So I got it on my first try,” she admitted, fighting against the mirth in her tone. “But I didn’t like the way it looked, so this is actually my second attempt.”

“I’m on my eighth.” His shoulders sagged. Astrid gently turned his shoulders to face her and slid her hands down his neck to his collar.

“Father can’t tie his own cravats either,” she disclosed, focusing on her hands as they worked the expensive cloth. “Mother always ties them for him. Maybe it’s a woman thing.”

His chest rose and fell under her hands as he took a deep breath. She lingered at the white lacy neckline, unwilling to move away and not daring to tilt her face up to look him in the eye.

“I’ll bet all the other knights won’t even be wearing one of these hanged things,” he groused. “Fashions change, you know, so I’ll be stuffy and dated looking.” Astrid rolled her eyes. He looked the very opposite of stuffy and dated. He looked rather appealing, not that she'd tell him that, with his shaggy hair brushed back, his russet and gold brocade vest tight along his broadened shoulders and those damned black breeches over his hose, not too tight to be scandalous, but trimmed in a rather flattering way that made Astrid rather hope she’d be standing next to him for most of the night so as not to be tempted to look. He had not yet donned his wine red waistcoat, but she knew intuitively that it would be tailored to his lean frame, accentuating the contrast between the manly width of his shoulders before tapering down to his slim waist.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, realizing she was supposed to say something. “You look . . . really nice.” Her stormy blue eyes flicked up to meet his forest green ones. Lighting crackled as their gazes collided. She refused to blush as neither one looked away.

“You um, You look great too,” he told her, his hand rising to take hers, his thumb caressing her knuckles. Her lips parted of their own accord as she sucked in a breath. “ Sir Hofferson,” his smile turned roguish.

She saw the opportunity to retreat to safe, familiar ground and took it. “ Sir Hiccup,” she teased, pulling her hand reluctantly from his. “We should probably arrive at the ball. It wouldn’t do to shirk our knightly duties mere hours after being blessed.”

He didn’t move, continuing to stare intensely at her, as if searching for an answer to a  question she hadn’t heard. She took the moment to study his face, all of it, the angles and expressions, imprinting it in her mind and memory.

“You’re right,” he finally agreed. “Come on.” And he walked out of the room without her, leaving her feeling like something important had happened and she had failed.

.oOo.

She had avoided social events throughout the years as Hofferson, but hadn’t been able to escape this one. She could dance like a young man easily, and talk like one too, but the hardest thing was watching all the pretty sophisticated young ladies flutter their eyelashes and cast coy smiles toward the stupidly attractive prince. He hadn’t said much to her that night, and immediately took off dancing with the many ladies who approached him, leaving Astrid bothered and angry - her default emotion whenever she felt confused. The dolled up girls who had been eyeing him at the initiation tried their hand at flirting, with coquettish tosses of their hair and too-wide smiles. He brushed off all of them, except one; Lady Heather. Out of all the ladies he had to choose, it would be her, Astrid thought bitterly.

Astrid and Heather were around the same age, Heather a bit older, and the two had always rivaled the other. When Astrid had long blonde hair before she cut it, bright blue eyes, and a pretty round face, Heather had longer black hair, a sharp chin and jade green eyes. And she was much better at charming people. Astrid had never been good at smiling and playing witty but not smart, dumb yet desirable. She was always more for a direct approach, without any of the mind games. Heather could fool most people into thinking she was a sweet maiden, but she was a cunning schemer underneath, and Astrid knew it. And seeing her say clever things to make the prince laugh as they danced sparked a burning hot ember of jealousy. 

And it was irrationally unfair that the beautiful deep green velvet dress Lady Heather wore only seemed to compliment the Prince’s own attire. They danced around the room, looking into each other’s eyes, smiling and enjoying themselves. She made him laugh as they passed Sir Eret, watching them with raised eyebrows.

Passerbys saw her expression and it was assumed that for the first time, Hofferson and the Prince would have to fight each other for Lady Heather. What they didn’t know was that ‘Sir Hofferson’ wanted to fight Lady Heather for the Prince. She was fuming the longer their hands were touching. He didn’t need to hold her so close to him. Hiccup wasn’t allowed to share a moment like he had with Astrid and go and look at Heather like that. So Astrid did the stupidest thing she could have done: she claimed Heather for the next dance.

On second thought, that had been a terrible idea. Heather knew the Hoffersons well. What if she saw through Hofferson and realized it was Astrid? She was close enough to the family to know that Astor Hofferson did not exist, and then she would call Astrid out, and what would happen then? Hiccup would stand up for her, perhaps, but if she was ostracized and brought dishonor to her family, it would defeat her purpose of acting like a boy these past three years. She had always prided herself on being a mostly rational person, but her - these - stupid emotions could ruin her.

Heather was making small talk while they swept around the room agonizingly slowly. Astrid did her best to answer coherently while debating how soon she could break off the dance with Heather without being overly rude. A voice that sounded dangerously close to Mother silently berated her every second of the dance. They had taken so much care to avoid anyone who could recognize her and now Astrid was stuck face to face with the lady she had shared her tutor with as a young teenager.

After what seemed like a lifetime of stiff small talk, Astrid had danced across the room and loosened her grip on Heather’s hand, preparing her excuses. But before she could speak, Lady Heather spoke first.

“The night certainly is beautiful tonight, Sir Hofferson,” she commented. Astrid nodded her assent weakly. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me outside?” A wicked gleam in her eye dared Astrid to refuse. 

At least Heather wanted to confront her in private, Astrid tried to comfort herself. Heather probably only wanted to keep her secret so she could use it against her, the other part of her reasoned miserably. Knowing she had no choice, Astrid reluctantly followed her. The Prince’s eyes followed her worriedly as he spied her pale face, Lady Heather on her arm. She flashed a weak smile in an attempt to reassure him, or at least tell him not to follow.

They walked through the beautiful gardens and courtyards the hosts had on display, managing to look suitably engaged with each other whenever there was anyone close enough to notice them but otherwise distracted by their own thoughts when no one was watching. Astrid allowed herself to be led, uneasiness growing along with the distance between them and the party. At last Lady Heather turned around and spoke.

“How’s your sister Astrid?” she asked almost innocently.

Astrid was caught off guard for a second. “O-Oh, yes, Astrid.” She internally cursed herself for being caught off guard. “She’s well, thank you. She decided to keep Astoria and her husband company this season.”

“What a pity. No one’s hardly seen her for three years.”

“She has been attending a good deal of the garden parties during the summer, but doesn’t like the intricacies of court much,” Astrid informed her primly.

“Is it not strange that your sister Astrid, a person I recall seemed determined to leave an impression on everyone she met, suddenly retreats into solitude at the same time you miraculously recover from whatever ailments you suffered from just in time to join squire training? The entire kingdom was surprised by your very existence - surely someone would have known or suspected a possible heir hiding away in House Hofferson? After all, servants do talk.” Heather batted her eyes in mock confusion, long lashes sweeping along her white cheek and framing her sharp, pretty jade eyes. Personally, Astrid preferred green eyes that looked more like emeralds.

Astrid froze and endeavored to conceal the vinegar panic boiling in her stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.

Heather sighed, her lady facade finally broken. “I know it’s you, Astrid,” she said irritably, but with a hint of triumph. Astrid glared at her until her shoulders sagged.

“I know,” she said resignedly. “What do you want of me?” Lady Heather batted smug green eyes.

“What makes you think you have something I want?”

“Quit the mind games; you knew me well enough to recognize me, but I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t let me know you know unless you thought you could use it to get something from me.” Heather rolled her eyes.

“Alright, fine,” she admitted. “There is something you could help me with.”

“Of course,” Astrid replied mockingly.

“Tell me, is it true you waited on Sir Eret?”

“‘Twas only for six months, but I know him well enough. Why?”

“You two are close?” she asked, ignoring Astrid’s question. “Does he know of your identity as well?” Her eyes were tight with an unfathomable emotion.

“No, he doesn’t,” Astrid answered. “No one but - no one knows.” Heather didn’t need to know the Prince knew too, she decided.

“Hmm,” Heather hummed noncommittally. “Well, then. I need to talk to Sir Eret urgently, on a private matter.”

“You want me to fetch Sir Eret for you?” Astrid felt outraged at the simplicity of the request, for a small favor meant she would be forced to continue to have to complete small tasks to keep Heather quiet, rather than one big, riskier task.

Aside from her exasperation, Astrid’s curiosity was piqued. Sir Eret had never mentioned Lady Heather or even the DeRange clan. Hiccup had waited on Sir Dagur DeRange, and though neither of the knights Hiccup or Astrid had served never spoke of each other, Hiccup had told her they harbored some slight animosity towards each other, though never disclosed what. Did Heather want a chance to one-up the Eretson clan as part of their feud?

“I’ll speak with him,” Astrid told her grudgingly.

.oOo.

Getting a hold of Eret was trickier than Astrid anticipated. The Hoffersons and Eretsons conversed in different circles, and every time Astrid would try to catch him to convince him to talk to Heather in private, he always made excuses and quickly left. Astrid’s temper was flaring. For some reason, Eret’s behaviors were reminding her of a similar time Hiccup had done the same thing to her, assuming she, of all things, had a crush on Eret .

She finally managed to corner him one night after he exited a pleasure house. It was a rather reputable one, being well known for the humane treatment of its workers and strict rules customers had to adhere to in order to be served. Nonetheless, Astrid felt uncomfortable at such places, which meant that Eret would not be on the receiving end of her patience.

The knight swung open the door of the pleasure house, a wave of noise crashing onto the street. His face was ruddy, but not flushed from alcohol. Astrid wrinkled her nose in disdain and followed him down the street, seething the whole time. She didn’t want to confront him too close to the lively street where others could hear them.

At last he passed by a suitable dark alley and Astrid shoved him into it. Eret was instantly on the alert, hand instantly on his concealed knife up his sleeve.

“It’s just me,” Astrid snapped.

“Astor? What in the holy Helheim-” Eret began irately.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Astrid demanded.

Eret huffed. “I-”

“Never mind that; I need to speak to you.” She had decided to not mention it was Heather who wanted to see him - if it was hard enough for Hofferson to talk to him, it would be even harder to get him to agree to meet up with Lady Heather DeRange.

“Are we not doing that now?” Astrid grit her teeth. Sardonic quips were only funny with Hiccup; she had no patience for them otherwise.

“Not here,” she hissed. “You know that deserted corridor - the one that connects to the scullery, but not a servant’s hallway either?” Being friends with the Prince, who had grown up in the palace and was intimately acquainted with its nooks and crannies was certainly helpful.

“Yes?”

“Good. Be there tomorrow an hour after the night bell.”

“What-?” Eret tried to ask, but Astrid was already gone.

The next night Astrid situated herself in a concealed alcove, a tapestry hanging from the ceiling to the floor, though it wasn’t a very grand tapestry, despite its size. Low light from a nearby torch flickered and Astrid took a deep breath as she waited for Heather and Eret to appear. She hadn’t told Hiccup where she was going, muttering some excuse about wanting to go to bed. He scrunched his face up in adorable confusion but had bid her goodnight before retreating to his own chambers - probably to sketch up more contraptions or think up more experiments to try.

Patience is a virtue, Mother’s voice reminded her as she shifted impatiently from one foot to another. She didn’t even have to be here. What if Eret didn’t decide to show? Or worse, Heather? She leaned her head against the stone wall, peering through the sliver of space between the woven fabric and granite, careful not to allow a foot or hair to protrude. She counted seconds along with the drip of wax from a candle across the hall from the tapestry.

The torch at the end of the corridor flickered and bowed at the same moment Astrid’s ears caught the whisper of light steps. Eret stepped into view and then passed the alcove, stopping not too far away from the hanging, but Astrid couldn’t see him at that angle.

She heard the heavy sigh from the knight as he fought against the urge to pace - a sound she knew well after standing at attention beside him on the battlefield.

A few minutes passed, and then - the rustling of silk skirts along the tiles. Eret took a hesitant step, as if debating with himself to flee - of course, he was expecting to meet with Sir Hofferson the Knight, and as far as he knew, Astor Hofferson didn’t wear skirts.

(‘Astor’ Hofferson could wear skirts very well, thank you very much, not that Eret needed to know that.)

She saw Lady Heather turn the corner, the torchlight illuminating her coiffure in a fiery halo. Heather’s eyes swept the corridor and fell on Eret.

“Oh good,” she said. “You’re here.” Astrid cursed Eret heavily for not having the decency to stand in a position where she could spy on him easier. How inconsiderate of him.

“Lady Heather,” he greeted her smoothly. “Whatever brings you here, alone, at this late hour?”

“Oh, nothing, really,” she shrugged. “I planned to meet someone here an hour after the night bell, and now I’ve found them, so I wouldn’t say I’m alone, exactly.”

“Wha- you-” Eret spluttered.

“I take it Sir Hofferson was kind enough to pass the message along, seeing as you’re here.” He muttered an oath under his breath that Astrid couldn’t clearly make out.

“What do you want with me, Heather?” he asked defeatedly. Behind the drapery Astrid’s eyebrow rose at the familiarity in his voice. Gentlemen didn’t call ladies by their first name until they were extremely close, familially or intimately. Heather took a step forward to Eret, though Astrid could still see her from behind the curtain.

“I want a very good explanation from you,” she replied, voice steely. Eret sighed in front of the tapestry.

“What can I say? I-”

“Had no right to leave like that,” Heather hissed. Astrid frowned. What on Earth was Heather referring to.

“You’re clearly doing fine - seeing as you’re so close with Astor to get him to fetch me.”

“We have an agreement,” Heather rebutted calmly. “He was doing me a favor - but trust me, there’s nothing between us.”

“Oh I see. A Hofferson isn’t good enough, why not aim for the Crown Prince instead.” Heather walked past Astrid’s vantage point, but the lady knight heard a sharp slap. 

“How dare you,” Heather seethed. Astrid silently agreed with feminist indignation. She heard steps and peered out the crack on the other side of the drapery to spot the two raven-haired nobles had moved a few steps down the corridor back into her line of sight. “I am not interested in either of those two - I have plenty of wealth on my own. I see no need to expand it.” Eret fumed quietly and averted his eyes, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.

“They’d be good for you,” he said morosely.

“You have absolutely no right to be jealous, Eret,” Heather snapped. Astrid cast her mind back into her interactions with Heather or Eret. she had never seen any indication in which they were involved.

“I know,” he admitted tightly. “But you didn’t have to wait until I was near before you accepted any of your dances, did you? You’re trying to bait me on purpose.”

“Perhaps I am!” Heather exploded in a whisper. “God, Eret, you - I fell for you and gave you everything. You can’t take a lady’s maidenhood and then leave without a promise or any assurance to return!” Astrid barely managed to stifle a gasp behind her hand. A lady’s chastity being compromised would ruin her, from consequences ranging from being shunned forevermore by society or being entirely disowned. Such things were usually overlooked if the couple was securely betrothed, then a lady would be warned off with a wink, but this . . .

Astrid’s foot slightly scuffed the floor but no one noticed.

“I don’t even know if I can marry anyone else!” Heather was saying vehemently. Eret shuffled his feet.

“I - no one knows, as far as everyone is concerned, you’re still a virgin,” he reassured her. “I’m - I’m sorry. I just - you deserve better than a poor Knight. You know people will talk. They’ll say I seduced you for your dowry, and I wouldn’t want to subject you to their criticisms. We shouldn’t have-”

“I don’t care,” Heather interrupted. “I’m not sorry.”

“Pardon?” Eret asked incredulously. “Heather, I ruined you.”

“No you didn’t, you ruined everyone else for me,” she smiled at him half playfully, half pleadingly. Eret shook his head.

“You know your father would never agree,” he protested. “And if he somehow did, your brother certainly wouldn’t. He already hates me because he suspects . . .” Well, that explained the conflict no one would tell her.

“We can figure that all out,” Heather promised. “But I came here tonight to get a promise from you, and I intend to get it. Are you going to fix this or not? I have other methods, Eret,”

Eret gazed into her eyes for a moment. "Of course you do," he laughed weakly before cupping Heather’s face and kissing her passionately. Astrid blushed and looked away, giving them a bit of privacy.

“I won’t make you promises I don’t know I can keep,” Eret said when they had finally finished. “But I will promise to do my utmost to marry you,” he vowed.

“Better go fulfill that promise then,” Heather told him, before shoving him gently away. She waited for his footsteps to fade away before walking over and pulling the tapestry aside to reveal Astrid, petrified with embarrassment.

Only Astrid’s enormous willpower kept her from shrieking with surprise. “I - um, h-hey Heather! Wh-what a, uh . . .” she stuttered. A part of her deliriously noted how similar to Hiccup she sounded. She cleared her throat. “Your - your secret’s safe with me.”

Heather nodded solemnly. And yours is too, Astrid understood. They both had a secret in their possession to ruin the other.

.oOo.

The Prince was now more occupied with his Royal duties at the behest of the King, so Astrid didn’t see him as often. But one day he happened upon her in the stables, preparing Stormfly for her daily ride.

“Oh thank goodness,” he said, relieved. “I was afraid I’d missed you.”

“Hiccup!” Astrid greeted him warmly. “I’ll be honest - I wasn’t waiting for you, but I’m glad you could make it all the same.” She led her beautiful mare outside and waited for Hiccup to finish saddling Toothless, a stable attendant arriving to help at the end. They swung onto their horses and set off at a brisk trot through the palace grounds.

They didn’t speak at first: their friendship was one of quiet understanding and companionship, but eventually Hiccup probed her for any updates to share.

“Well, I’ve been thinking it is probably time to head home and learn to manage the estate,” Astrid told him.

“Ah, retire to paperwork behind a desk, how delightful,” the Heir commented wryly. “Sounds rather similar to what my own father has me do all day.”

“Unfortunately, paperwork is an important part of running the land and people. It’s not fun, but I’ll do it. Besides, I’ve always known this was coming - I’m rather good at running the place - after being a knight of course.”

“Right - for the inheriting,” Hiccup remembered.

“I’ll miss here, though,” Astrid admitted. “The palace, the court . . . this place has grown on me. The countryside just isn’t the same. I’ll be sad to see it go.”

“As will we,” Hiccup replied solemnly. She rolled her eyes at the gallant sentiment. Hiccup had always been a gentleman, but with his added diplomacy lessons, the young man was far too charmingly charismatic for his own good - or at least, for Astrid’s own good.

“And what about you?” she turned the conversation to him. “How goes being the revered Crown Prince?”

“Worrisome and stressful with each additional responsibility,” he said immediately. She smiled in sympathy. “And full of ridiculous political subterfuge. You know, you’re on good terms with this lord outwardly, but then you find out he hasn’t paid taxes for a dangerous amount of time and so every cordial greeting is an act. Or you find out a common truth you thought you knew was utter dragon dung this whole time.”

“Oh, that sounds foreboding,” Astrid teased. “Do you have a specific instance in mind?”

“Yes. Get this. Apparently, a few nights ago some of our spies snuck into Bludvist’s camp.” Astrid’s eyes widened.

“How close?” she asked eagerly.

“To his tent,” he told her. “In fact, they were commissioned to see if they could just carry out a quick assassination and end the war prematurely.” He paused dramatically.

“And?” she prompted impatiently.

“It was empty!” he proclaimed. “Bludvist hasn’t been there the whole time!”

“What?” Astrid exclaimed, outraged. The prince nodded emphatically. Her mind whirled with the new information.

In Strategy classes, she had learned about the different subtleties in decorum of the rulers at war, one of which was how engaged the monarch was. Berk, for instance, sent out an army to fight, but King Stoick himself was still at his castle, handling other kingdom affairs. Bludvist, supposedly invading, would be with his armies in a tent, trying to fight with them. But with the discovery of his absence, he clearly didn’t put as much stock in the fighting as they believed. Or at least, not all of his troops were out fighting, and he must be in company of his withheld army.

“We’ve been played for fools,” Astrid uttered disgustedly. “What does your father think?”

“He wasn’t happy,” Hiccup blew out a breath. “I didn’t really hear his actual response, though. His voice got pretty quiet.” Astrid arched her eyebrows and gave him a sidelong glance.

“Of course I was eavesdropping!” he rolled his eyes. “Dad never tells me anything that important.” Well, Astrid had to agree with that. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done the exact same thing herself.

They rode out a little longer before Hiccup glanced up at the sun. “Aw, I should be going back,” he groaned reluctantly. “Dad’s have my head if I’m late for more boring etiquette.”

“I’ll race you back,” she challenged. Hiccup’s head snapped towards her as he grinned toothily.

“You’re gonna lose,” he taunted. Astrid nudged Stormfly to take off and gain a head start, and Hiccup yelled, affronted.

A head start was not enough to beat the prince that time, but it was pretty close. Astrid was smiling widely as she brushed down Stormfly, pleased at the exercise. Hiccup was taking longer with Toothless, for he kept turning away from his horse’s coat to look at her and tell some joke in an effort to make her laugh. At last the black stallion had had enough, and when Hiccup eventually turned back to Toothless, he found the stallion had stepped closer and his face met his steed’s sweaty flank. Astrid burst into laughter as Hiccup grumbled and continued to brush the smug horse.

“Excuse me, my lord,” a middle aged servant, Bucket, entered the stables and walked up to Astrid. “But a message has just arrived for you, from home.”

“Thank you, Bucket,” Astrid said, taking the letter from him. He bowed slightly and left, before saluting to the Prince. She opened the epistle and read it, eyes growing steadily wider. The Prince led Toothless into his stables and turned to her.

“Hofferson? Hey, are you okay?” he asked her unmoving figure.

Astrid silently shook her head.

“What!? Why?”

Astrid shook her head again. “Astoria . . . she’s had a baby boy.”

“Oh, well then, congratulations?” He looked at her questioningly. Astrid continued to stare at the letter.

“Why is it always her,” she muttered despondently. 

“Talk to me, Astrid,” the Prince commanded. She finally met his eyes.

“Astoria has given birth to a baby boy," she repeated. "Don’t you see?” She shook the letter angrily. “We have a proper, legitimate male heir!”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes,” Astrid said heavily. “And no. No, it is a good thing it’s just -” she trailed off, frustrated at her lack of words to describe what she was feeling. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Hiccup was at her side, rubbing comforting circles where her neck sloped into her shoulder. “With the baby, there’s no need for me,” she whispered, her eyes shut.

“What? No-”

“The whole reason I did this was so that I could be there to inherit in case Father died. And now . . .” she let out a bitter huff.

“Do you want to inherit?” Hiccup asked. She frowned at him.

“What do you mean do I want to inherit?”

“I mean, um, do you want to inherit the estate and all?” Astrid’s face relaxed into comprehension. Such a question had never truly been asked of her.

“I wish that girls could inherit instead of, say, all their belongings going to a distant cousin if there is no immediate heir. Which is why I’ve done all this - to become an heir who could keep the estate in the family. But I haven’t . . . the family estate doesn’t feel like home so much anymore,” she shrugged.

“You know, maybe this is a chance for you to stay here, at court,” Hiccup suggested.

“I need . . . I need to think,” she said faintly. She needed to throw her ax at some trees and scream her frustration up at the sky. Hiccup studied her for a moment.

“Okay,” he relented. “But I’d like to invite you tonight for dinner. We are dining privately, and I’d like to make sure you eat.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Fine. I'll see you there.” She left Stormfly’s stall to make her way to an axe. She made her way down familiar halls, a haze of anger settling over her vision as she quickened her pace, her view narrowing. Of course it had been Astoria. The perfect oldest daughter who married whoever her parent’s wanted and gave them a real heir. Astrid’s nails dug into her palms. She nearly bumped into another knight turning the corner.

“Woah!” he exclaimed, catching her by her shoulders. “Careful where you’re going, lad.” Astrid blinked and looked up at Throk, the Captain of the Berk Guard.

“Where’re you off to in such a hurry?” he asked kindly.

“I - my apologies, Sir. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I um - I was heading to my ax in an effort to let off steam, Sir,” she babbled contritely. “Again, my sincere apologies for not watching where I was going.” Throk removed his hands from her shoulders and nodded solemnly.

“I, too, have been in a similar state,” he shared. “But I would advise you to retain awareness of your surroundings; you never know when someone could strike at you. Good day to you, Sir Hofferson”

“And you, sir,” she replied. They bowed and Throk continued down the passage, but Astrid turned to watch him for a little while. The Berk Guard was an honorable occupation, she thought. Many of the best warriors of the country had been a part of the Guard at one point or another - anyone could sign up, but it was hard to maintain a position. she continued walking, but not towards the weaponry.

She didn’t end up using her axe that afternoon.

.oOo.

Dinner with the King had been unnerving the first time, but she was used to it after nearly a year. Hiccup had flooded her with praises in front of his parents, making sure they knew she had been the one to really help him during knight training. The Queen had thanked her, Astrid had blushed, and the King had jovially welcomed her to the family.

Tonight’s dinner was delectably roasted duck, with a small side of onions, carrots, potatoes, and suchlike. She ate politely as Queen Valka recounted tales of her pet owl, Cloudjumper.

After they had finished laughing about the bird’s antics, King Stoick turned to Astrid.

“What about you, Astor?” he inquired kindly. “Anything new on your end?”

Astrid hesitated. “Actually, yes. My sister Astoria has just sent word of a new member of the clan. She’s given birth to a baby boy.” The King whooped and clapped her on the back in congratulations. Her back protested at the force, but her smiles did not falter.

(Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hiccup looking at her with admiration, impressed with her strength.)

“Congratulations, my dear Hofferson,” the Queen said. “Might I ask if they have chosen a name yet?”

“Yes,” answered Astrid promptly. “He is to be christened Gunnar this week.”

“Ah, a good name, Gunnar,” King Stoick approved, nodding sagely.

“Do you have any plans to return, then?” the Prince interjected. “To your home, I mean.” He sent her an apologetic glance for putting her on the spot, but Astrid waved away his concerns.

“Well, seeing you work so hard every day has put me to shame,” Astrid teased. The King looked mildly chagrined as his wife shot him a sharp look. “Of course, I could always return home, help with my nephew and running the estate, but I’m sure I’d only get in the way with the baby - what do I know of children?” Gentle laughter flitted around the table. “But I confess the countryside seems rather dull compared to the capital at the moment.”

“Aye, that it can,” the King agreed proudly.

“So does that mean you’ll be staying here?” Hiccup asked hopefully. Astrid felt a pang in her chest at her answer.

“No,” she admitted. “I’ve decided to join the Berk Guard.”

.oOo.

Hiccup caught up to her after she left the Royal’s private dining chambers.

“You didn’t tell me you were joining the Berk Guard,” he accused her, a glimmer of betrayal shining in his expressie green eyes.

“I just decided,” Astrid defended. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you beforehand.”

Hiccup bit his lip and looked down at his feet before nodding. “Okay. I mean, I’m surprised, but I shouldn’t be. And I’m happy for you, you know.” He met her eyes and the stiffness in her shoulders eased.

“Well, I can’t just leave Berk undefended, now can I? We’ll be leaving early two days from now.” Her voice softened into a tentative question. “Will you be there?”

“Of course,” he promised easily. He opened his arms and Astrid hugged him tightly.

Two days later Astrid groaned as she rose before dawn. She had grown complacent, lounging around the palace. Where had all the training gone? She scolded herself.

A guilty part of her felt better after seeing plenty of other knight’s equally grumpy faces. Throk was as clear eyed and unerringly steady as she had ever seen him, but that wasn’t surprising.

She joined the others in packing her supplies, having her gear checked by a supervisor to make sure she didn’t need a tent or other essentials. An hour passed, and Throk had finished dividing rations and other equipment for his team to gather. A small pile of the gear lay in a corner - apparently they had another new recruit, and he was late.

Astrid cast her gaze about, looking for a certain slim figure in hopes he didn’t wake too late to miss saying goodbye. She focussed on securing her pack onto Stormfly, patting her mare as she stoically adjusted to all the weight. Throk announced they would be setting off in a quarter of an hour. Astrid focused on her boots, not willing to admit her disappointment to herself.

“Hey,” a nasally voice beside her said. She swung around wide eyed to face her friend.

“Hiccup!” she sounded far too happy to see him, and that would not do. How dare he let her think he wasn’t about to come. She swung a fist into his gut - not enough to truly hurt him, but with enough strength to make him oof. 

“Ow,” he managed.

“I was afraid -” no, no, not afraid - “I thought you weren’t coming,” she amended.

“Of course I was!” he wheezed indignantly. “In fact, I did one better.”

She cocked her head. “How so?”

“I’m joining the Berk Guard with you.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “No.”

“Yes,” he corrected her gleefully. “As I said to Dad last night, ‘it would give me great experience both in combat and ability to see firsthand what the Kingdom needs; what better way to really know my subjects and land if not to meet them personally?’”

“You’re an idiot,” Astrid said blandly, but she was smiling widely. Hiccup left to fetch his gear and secure it to Toothless, who was watching the whole affair with a bored look on his face.

Throk ordered his knights to their saddles, and as Astrid swung into hers, she felt giddier than she ever had. Two dozen horses and their riders marched slowly out the castle gates. The sun was starting to peak over the mountains to the northeast, and Astrid snuck a look at the Prince. The sun cast his normally brown mop of hair into a light reddish-gold halo around his face. He caught her looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and sent her a toothy grin.

Astrid had always thought her friend attractive, but surely not everyone thought their friend looked as beautiful as an angel with a crown of light from the sun and the light breeze blowing through their hair, making it look softer than chick feathers? It wasn't a normal occurrence for one's heart to pound and flutter but also settle like never before around him, was it? If she hadn't known better, she might have thought of the romance novels she caught her little sister - Agatha, the third sister of the Hoffersons - reading, where the silly girls in the story had very similar symptoms. Luckily, she did know better, but it didn't dispel the feeling that maybe something was wrong with her.

.oOo.

The Berk Guard was less exciting than her few months at the back of the battlefield, but it also required a little more action. Throk was a great captain, patient and intelligent. Strategy classes were all very well in theory, but having to decide on the best move in a split second while under attack was far more difficult in reality.

Hiccup, it turned out, had a gift for ingenious, crazy strategies that somehow ended up successful, and Astrid was always the first to adopt his ideals. Despite being the two newest recruits in the Guard, whenever the two fought side by side, they ended up more formidable than many of their older comrades.

“You two are a great team,” Throk complimented them. “You are a great leader, Haddock, full of new ideas, and you, Hofferson - you’re one of the best soldiers I’ve ever seen. Your trust in each other is truly a terrific sight to behold. I am honored to fight by your side.” Astrid had swelled in pride at that high praise from one of Berk’s best warriors himself, as she assured him that truly, the honor was all hers.

The Berk Guard was constantly in motion, trying to cover as much ground as possible, for they were the main protectors of the kingdom while nearly all the regular fighters were at the battlefield.

As such, Astrid had found a great excuse to avoid returning home. Her parents had been tolerant of Astrid’s unprecedented approach to serve her family, but with the Hofferson line properly secured, there was no more need for a fake son when they had a real grandson.

The truth was, she didn’t want to go back to being Astrid Hofferson - No, that wasn’t true either. It wasn’t that she wanted the world to know her as a boy so much as she enjoyed what the world allowed her to do as a man. That didn’t mean she didn’t sometimes wish she could enjoy the more ladylike things without suspicion.

She liked the way Hiccup handled it. To him, she was every bit his equal in fighting, but he knew she was a girl in boy’s clothing, and never belittled her for her more feminine thoughts, like when she reminisced on her favorite dress when she was thirteen, or the family’s jewelry. She supposed it was because she was the only one who listened to him, about philosophy or contraption ideas or simple rants about the burden of growing up to take the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and he listened to her share random thoughts, talk about her letters, or the things she’d noticed about their day’s adventures.

One time she had spied a hair comb hidden in the bun of a maiden they had just rescued from a nasty pack of bandits. It was simply carved of wood, but beautifully done, the smooth lines blending closely with the tearful maiden’s own locks. Astrid had offered the lady a ride back to her village. (She figured the damsel would have appreciated riding with a woman rather than another man after the near ordeal she had been put through - not that the lady in question realized.)

She suspected it had probably been gifted to the curvaceous young lass by the young man who met them by the village’s entry, and greeted her with as much relief as the rest of the maiden’s family. He stood awkwardly to the side, holding his lantern as the sisters and parents embraced her, and then tentatively offered to guide them back home. Astrid found herself smothering a laugh at the tense exchange while the Prince shot the young man a grimace of sympathy.

“He must have carved it himself,” Astrid described the comb later that night to Hiccup. It was their shift for scrubbing the supper dishes, and most everyone had gone to bed except for the three other men on sentry duty.

“Impressive,” Hiccup hummed as he rubbed the dishes dry with a rag. “D’you think he spent many tries trying to make it perfect?”

“Probably,” Astrid snickered. “It was quite a sweet gesture, although ‘tisn’t really worth anything monetarily, so those awful bandits didn’t even take it.”

“A blessing in disguise,” Hiccup mused.

“Mother has a pair,” Astrid shared after a moment. “They’re made of delicate silver, inlaid with pearls. Father gave them to her on her first birthday after they were married. She still wears them every year.”

“My Dad gave my Mom a necklace,” Hiccup said quietly. “It’s really old. It’s a medallion, actually, not like most necklaces. He gave it to her as a gift upon their engagement. Apparently it was a really old tradition to give the lady’s betrothal gifts like that, and Dad loves bringing up old heritage. Mom doesn’t wear it, but it hangs at the very front of her enormous jewelry box, and she smiles at it all the time.”

"That's really sweet," Astrid hummed. And that had been the end of that conversation, or so Astrid had thought.

A few months later, Hiccup crept into her tent. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence: Hiccup often had trouble sleeping and frequently stopped by to talk to her about anything until she told him to go to sleep. He insisted on not disturbing her if she was already asleep, but Astrid found herself attuned to him somehow, and had never turned down his company when he sought her out.

“Hofferson?” he whispered after performing the customary scuffing of his foot along the ground before he reached her tent, his way of asking permission to enter.

“Yeah?” Astrid turned to look at him as he crawled carefully through the tent flap. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a candle burning on the ground beside her, parchment strewn across her lap and a quill lying nearby. She had been trying to write a letter to her family; as much as she tried to avoid them in person, she couldn’t actually ignore them, but found herself short of words that night, a rare occurrence that was steadily becoming more regular.

“Hey,” Hiccup grinned at her. His eyes fell upon the scattered parchment and her inkside by her candle. “Oh. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh no, I’d run out of things to say, anyway,” she reassured him. “What brings you here tonight?” she teased. Hiccup chuckled nervously.

“Haha, well, funny you should say that.” He scratched the back of his neck. Astrid’s brow rose in interest; he only did that when he felt nervous or awkward, she had learned. “I actually, um. I brought something for you.” His hand flitted down from his neck to reach inside his coat. (He was wearing only a thin nightshirt underneath. It was practically see-through, not that Astrid was looking)

Astrid found herself leaning forward as he brought out a small package wrapped in rough brown paper.

“It’s um - I know you’re not normally for these sorts of things, but I thought you’d maybe appreciate it anyway. And it wouldn’t be too conspicuous if, you know, someone else found it, because - Yeah.”

“You didn’t have to,” Astrid chided him incredulously, looking up at him earnestly.

“You haven’t even opened it,” he bobbed his shoulders. “What if you hate it?” Astrid scoffed as she turned her attention towards unwrapping his gift. As if.

She couldn’t help but let out a small gasp as she beheld it. There, belying the rough packaging lay a single hair comb.

It was burnished gold, nearly the same shade as her own golden hair. The teeth - three of them - looked delicate at a first glance, but as she reached out to touch them, she found them strong and firm, ready to hold thick locks in place. The carved shaft was not overly ornate, it was mostly plain, but it had been carved into an ax head, with slight engraving on the blades. It was perfect, and Astrid swallowed hard against a peculiar lump in her throat.

Where’s the other one? She almost wanted to ask. She didn’t know if he knew what one hairpin usually symbolized. It wasn’t a commonly used ornament in Berk, but Astrid had an aunt, Lady Bertha of Bog, who had been raised by an uneducated and unconventional governess, who had taught Aunt Bertha many things normal ladies didn’t know, and it was easy enough to pry those stories from her after enough wine.

A hairpin, Aunt Bertha had told her wistfully, eyes glassy with memories and drink, was the symbol for a secret or forbidden romance. The maiden (or at least, the richer of two lovers) would give their secret suitor one of the pair of hairpins. Sometimes elaborately engraved, sometimes merely a simple token. The symbolism had originated in one of the lands far east, so it was quite possible Hiccup didn’t know his gift’s meaning. He was also a Prince, however, and probably more acquainted with foreign customs than she.

“You hate it,” he said resignedly. Astrid’s head snapped up to meet his gaze.

“What? No!” she cried defensively.

“You’re just too nice to refuse it,” Hiccup insisted.

“Since when did I care about tact over honesty?” she demanded. “I love it!” I love - no. “It’s just -” She looked down at the comb. “I can’t wear it.” She was surprised at the amount of melancholy that escaped her voice. “My hair’s too short.”

“Doesn’t matter if you like it,” Hiccup said quietly. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she replied stoutly. “It’s - it’s perfect. I’ve never seen this design before. Usually it’s flowers or a coat of arms.”

“Oh that,” Hiccup faltered, wide eyed. “Well, um, anybody will change a design around for the right amount of coin.”

“Pff,” Astrid wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m sure anyone would think it was for a sweetheart. Wouldn’t anyone want to know about who had captured the Prince’s heart?”

Hiccup wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“You made it yourself, didn’t you?” she confronted him, trying to keep the fluttering in her stomach at bay.

“I had help,” he muttered. “But yeah.”

“That makes me like it even more,” Astrid told him sincerely.

.oOo.

A warrior could never think themself infallible, Throk cautioned them all the time, but Astrid found herself disregarding that advice, reasoning that of course she didn’t. She was in the midst of a fight with some more outlaws trying to overtake a small caravan of goods. Some of the Guards had surrounded the actual caravan, and she and Hiccup and a few others were rounding up the criminals. She and the Prince fought back to back as they always did. They had even started to build a bit of a legacy: the Prince with his crazy luck and his best friend Hofferson who always had his back.

She felt Hiccup at her back step forward and instead of immediately stepping back to protect him, she stayed where she was, continuing to engage with the particular outlaw she was fighting at the moment - after all, she was a trained warrior and he and his companions were not, surely she could easily take out anyone before they struck Hiccup. She was wrong.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone trying to approach them by her left. Hiccup had him. Wait, no he didn’t. She tried to swing to meet the opponent just as Hiccup caught sight of him. He rounded to meet them, caught sight of her, and tried to turn around again to give her room to take the assailant on. She had also assumed that Hiccup was going to fight him, giving the person a chance to lash out and land a strike on Hiccup’s side. He hissed, and the grip on his sword slacked for a fraction of a second. Astrid whirled around in a near panic, slicing the man who had hurt her friend ferociously.

She was unnecessarily aggressive for the rest of the fight, and gagged and fastened the bandit’s left alive from the skirmish hands' overly tight.

“Good job,” Throk congratulated them as they turned the outlaws into the local sheriff. “Nearly no casualties on their side, and no serious injuries on ours.” Astrid could have sworn the Captain’s eyes lingered on her for a few seconds but he said nothing.

She turned to Hiccup. “I am so sorry,” she said remorsefully. “I thought you had him but you didn’t and-”

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed. “I’m okay.” Her relief was so strong it threatened to weaken her knees.

“Let me see it,” she insisted skeptically. Hiccup had an annoying habit of not acknowledging pain like he should. She put his left arm over her shoulder and hobbled with him to his tent.

“C’mon,” she dragged him down onto the mat on the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up; take off your shirt.”

“Oh so you get to take my shirt off to clean my wounds, I see how it is,” Hiccup snarked good naturedly. One of his gesticulating arms flew too far and pulled at the blood scabbing over his chest. He hissed.

“Be still,” Astrid ordered, refusing to blush. She helped him out of his shirt, suddenly finding it hard to make eye contact with him. She had seen plenty of boys’ chests over the years. Especially Eret’s, the few times he had needed tending to, and she had never blushed, not when taking his clothes to the scullery to be washed and knowing his was fully naked behind the divider in the tub - not even that time she woke him up while he had been dreaming, with wet results. (She had been mildly horrified and disgusted and glad she wasn’t a boy.) But her reactions with Hiccup had always been different from her reactions to other boys, but she had never realized how blatantly obvious it was until now. And now her thoughts were spiraling into places she really didn't want to go.

“You know the reason why you can’t help me anyways,” she said quickly to avoid thinking about Hiccup like . . . that.

“I - Yeah, I know, I was just - just teasing,” Hiccup hastily reassured her, an uneasy laugh falling from his lips. Astrid tore her eyes away from his mouth down to below his pectorals. “It’s just a scratch,” he insisted.

God he was such an idiot. Leave it to the stupid prince to insist the shallow gash along the side of his torso was ‘just a scratch.’ She shook her head and reached for the mug of alcohol she had stolen from a keg. It was unsweetened, so she figured it’d be the best for cleaning. She dipped a rag in it pointedly and rang it out. He eyed it warily.

“This is probably gonna hurt,” she warned him before pressing the damp cloth to his side.

“Wha-” Hiccup inhaled sharply but grit his teeth against other protests. She reached for another rag and wet it with water to clean away the crusted blood.

“It’s not deep,” she noted. “You won’t have to keep it bandaged for long. You might not even scar.”

“But it’s only fun if you get a scar out of it,” he teased gently. Her breath caught in her throat and she huffed a laugh to clear it.

“That was before I had scars,” she said ironically. She finished cleaning and was pleased to note he wasn’t bleeding anymore. She wrapped him securely so that he wouldn’t accidentally undo it in his sleep and fastened the bandages.

“There,” she pulled away, horrified to realize her voice came out breathier than it should’ve. She cleared her throat subtly. “All finished. Make sure to clean it in the morning, or so help me Thor...”

Hiccup caught her hand before she could draw totally back. His hands felt warm and calloused, but the very tips of his fingertips were colder than the rest of him. It made her want to shiver, but not from the cold. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. His voice was low and rich and Astrid felt herself riveted in his gaze. He needed to shave. Stubble had no right being that attractive on him. His eyes seemed to glow like bright green embers - not from a dying fire, but the embers seen in a lull of the flame, before bursting again into hot, untamed, wild glory. There was another emotion other than sincerity in those eyes, but Astrid refused to answer it.

“I-” she didn’t know what to say. She felt them tilting on the cusp of something new and dangerous. She held herself back, if only in self preservation - she knew whatever this was could never last - yet a part of her fought to jump and fall into the exhilarating unknown. “Of course,” she said, like a promise. A promise of devotion between friends, she told herself, like they had always been.

But that night, after she was relieved of her night watch shift (it had technically been Hiccup’s turn, but she had claimed it for herself to let him rest) she dug out the looking glass she used to apply extra contours to make her round face more masculine. Nowadays she usually just rubbed dirt on her face. Everyone was too tired to wash their face every day. She reached for the hair comb she kept under her pillow and for the first time, instead of just running her fingers along the metal, she shakily pulled her hair from the crown of her head and twisted it into an almost-do and secured it with the the comb, the ax head laying prettily against her tresses as she twisted the mirror into the best position to look at it.

That night, she looked at the gift, not as a hopeful token of friendship, but as a longing lover might, pretending it was a symbol of the same kind of affection she felt for the giver.

She startled at the realization, dropping the mirror. She ran her hands down her face and groaned softly.

“Oh no.” Thor damn it and Freya too.

She was so fucked.

Read Chapter 3 here

[femmefatalevibe]

Hi! Quick question on how to grow from the habits or personality traits someone may have picked up from another person? I was in an unhealthy relationship with a dark-vibe, emotionally unavailable, man for a few years, and before we were together I was sunshine, I lit up rooms and was happy and flirty. He would even say he loved being around me because I make him feel good, I have an energy that is great and he liked it.

After breaking up with him, I realized I picked up some of his traits, I think of myself as strange to others or they see me as weird and I may make them uncomfortable (I noticed this was a common thought he had and I picked it up). I can't look people in the eyes as much (he had that habit, but I was always ok with that). I also fall into manipulating or being the victim which is something he did to be a lot- which led us to break up. I notice these habits and am reminded of him, and I do not want to feel so uncomfortable with myself, I broke up with him to grow into my higher self. Now I am awkward at flirting (before dating him I was phenomenal and detached from men-it was great), and now I am awkward, and I am trying too hard, and I am uncomfortable with myself in interactions (feelings like a weirdo-which he loved being considered being one...and even said I am one..) it's icky and want it to go away, I want to be me, not reminiscent of him.

Hi love! Firstly, be gentle with yourself during this healing and transitional phase. Don't beat yourself up for adapting some of your previous partner's traits over time. Naturally mimicking others' mannerisms is a sign of empathy, so be glad to know that you're human and emotionally available enough to form genuine connections with others (including romantic partners, a relationship where it is easy to remain somewhat closed off and not as vulnerable as we would like).

To release these newly-accustomed behaviors, it's time to go on a self-re-discovery journey. Think about the person you want to be (in this case, more upbeat, optimistic, and sociable) and the ways this person acts in different situations.

List out all of the characteristics would want to embody. Create a separate list of the characteristics you want to release from your way of thinking or behaving.

Under each value, write down how you do or can emulate this personal value in your daily life (at work, in social or dating situations, while running errands, at a party, etc.). Tear up the paper with the values, patterns, and mindsets you want to release.

Take the piece of paper with your desired values, behaviors, and attitudes, and label it "First Name, Last Name 2.0." Write out a "day in the life" or a storyline of how you would act in a situation where you're striving for the most significant improvement (e.g. speaking up in a meeting or negotiation, flirting, connecting with a new person at a dinner party, etc.) to feel yourself embodying and connecting with your desired "higher" self.

Aside from this exercise, I recommend checking out my Tips for Self-Discovery and these two self-discovery exercises linked HERE & HERE.

Hope this helps xx

[idealspawn]

i am secure for the most part but when i ACTUALLY catch feelings for someone and for someone who is irregular in their communication, my fearful-avoidant tendencies get so activated. and i dont want to be this disgusting conglomeration of my past experiences. i keep telling myself these "secure" things that he is just busy (which he is too) but it simply doesnt convince me because since his attachment style is slightly skewed, i figure maybe his actions actually do represent something i did not something he has going on. like im fine... i guess.... ive cried a lot these past 4 days because our last convo left off on a weird note and he hasnt picked up a convo since. i dont want to be this sensitive. but i really do like him as a person. well as much as i know him so far... this fucks me up even more because i know i like him for himself and his personality not anything that he can "give" me because ive already checked that list and im secure and a whole enough in that sense. i just really like him.. and i dont have many friends... so it feels bigger... i dont know... he said he didnt want to put all his cards on the table immediately but id be okay with doing that.... idk. its fucked that for so long i promised myself not to get attached to anyone with anything else than a secure attachment style but all his other sides weigh this out so much that apparently i still can get attached... i dont know if i should wait for him to text me or text him myself... what if he doesnt want to hear from me and thats why he hasnt texted me.... not bc this is some kind of a test... im alone and drunk btw :// i really dont want to get into that pattern again either.... this will only make things worse.

[reallyhardy]

I really love your prints, the colours and patterns are always so bold and playful! I've bought merch from redbubble before, but as a budding sewing enthusiast myself I've been eyeing your bags thinking... I could make something with that. Would you consider selling some of your printed fabric for people to make items for their own use? I'm thinking dungaree style pinafore dress and scrunchies with the scraps. Thank you for all the cool stuff you create!

❤️❤️❤️

hi! i'm so sorry, i've been asked this before and i want to make maybe like a more formalised reason for why i'm saying no for now

basically however many years ago i made something of a mistake by posting my mushrooms design online at full res for anyone to just...right click and save and it ended up stolen by an amazon seller based abroad where, even after i reported them for infringement, amazon did nothing and left the listing up. in checking the reviews it turned out the products were not particularly high-quality print-wise, and were made with synthetic, swimsuit type fabric. this really disheartened me as as far as i know this amazon seller is still able to make money off art they stole from me. so it's sort of soured me to sharing my work...

also: i'd in the past had textile products available via redbubble and then had people both irl and online report that the fabric was low quality, thin, and synthetic, and the print quality was also blurry or smudged... just really like. not what i want to be putting in the world, and that was because i left it all to a 3rd party

this isn't to say that i don't want other people getting to make things with my patterns on, really it's more about the fact that i just want to keep ownership over things that have my art on them right now, and know that i'm responsible for the things that are made from my patterns, and that the fabric they're printed on is fabric that i've personally felt and checked the quality of. i hope this doesn't sound too gatekeepy or anything. my mind may change later on down the line! but at least while i've still not even completed a full year of business selling my bags, i just want to be using the fabric myself - and maybe when i've been at this for a little bit longer, i'll consider trying to find a way to offer fabric in a way that's fair to me earnings-wise as well as accessible to people.

[autumnbell32]

1/14/24 at 2035: Message to Therapist

Hi.  I've been sad about our last appointment- it seemed, I don't know, disharmonious.  I know I keep repeating the same patterns (is that normal?), and I feel like I am not grasping/remembering things I am supposed to be learning very well.  And maybe that is frustrating for you?  I was definitely on the defense, maybe projecting.  Usually I come out of our appointments with at least a little hope, but I honestly just felt stupid and kind of scared- is this the point where literally EVERYONE stops having patience with my issues?  I know what you mean when you say that I reach outside of myself once I get to a certain point with bad depressive episodes.  You are right, I do.  This stuff is isolating, lonely, and mirrors when I used to get so overwhelmed with emotion as a child (and teenager) that I would cry to the nearest adult.  Things that helped in the past that may not help now or have any permanence: reaching outside of myself for inspiration/assistance/hand-holding from others, following plans and lists, being rigid, seeing in black and white.  But I'm not sure what else to do because it is like playing the lottery- one of these things MAY work (they've worked in the past), and it may provide relief (even for several months!).  Do I have to totally abandon my old operating system?  Although, these things are losing their efficacy over time and as I get older, honestly.  

I am on a medical leave.  I am not sure for how long, but I will get some pay while off.  I tried to go to work Thursday, was relieved a supportive manager was going to be there, was packing my lunch and spilled some oatmeal and just broke down.  And then that caused a cascading effect- everything after that made me break down.  One minute I was crying, the next I was filled with so much rage that I felt dizzy.  Not good.  My PCP referred me to a gynecologist that treats PMDD, I see her Tuesday.  I'm hopeful something outside of myself will still provide relief- PMDD is gnarly.  I need a stone, at least one stone, lifted off of me so that I can continue to try (good grief, SOMEONE give me a piece of paper with a plan on it that I can follow and check boxes and tell me they will see me in a week to check my progress because this plan will likely give some relief from the cycles).  The obstinance is just ridiculous- it's like the toddler in me has stomped her foot and said, "No more, someone do something to help or I'm not moving from this spot."  It feels both good and bad, and I don't know how much I am screwing myself in the process, or how many more chances I will get or how many times people (my family included) will continue to help.  

What have I done this past week (jesus, I haven't been at work since December 30th, got a small check last Friday)- watched PBS a lot, cried, cried while watching PBS, did some chores here and there (sometimes while crying), picked up books I long to read and then immediately put them back down because I can't concentrate or be motivated for more than a few minutes, binged, colored in an adult coloring book called "Cat Farts" (it's exactly what it sounds like), and imagined myself being better in the spring somehow (I have visualized this so many times over the last several days- actually progressing in the right direction consistently).  I fall asleep many nights talking on the phone to Josiah because I feel less alone that way.  I'm screwed.  Am I screwed?  

[stagefoureddiediaz]

I've been really enjoying the 911 costume meta you put together every week and it's been super interesting! I've even caught myself watching other stuff and noticing costume that's sort of foregrounded and wondering what kind of significance it has.

And I'm curious about your process! How much of the sort of "language" of meanings are generally agreed upon in costuming vs put together by the show's costumers - like is checks signifying change a universal thing or something that developed over seasons? And I feel like you must have a spreadsheet with everyone's costumes (or an incredible memory), I'm always impressed by the recall to prior episodes (not a skill I have lol). (Sorry if you've answered these before! I only found your meta breakdowns this season)

Antislice, lovely having you in my inbox!

I'm so so sorry that this has taken me an age to get round to answering, especially as its such a good ask, but I am happy that you've started noticing costume related things in other shows!

So each show/ piece of media will create its own themes etc that it plays on - 911 is doing this with check and stripes more generally and then Buck being in white is a more character specific meaning. The thing with check is that it is by nature a pattern that has lots of crossings in it - that makes it a perfect metaphor for change - for being at a crossroads as it were, so its one that tends to get used more frequently and as a result is becoming a specific language in its own right. Thats how many of these costume languages and meanings develop - they either deliberately or inadvertently get used in one or two things to convey a message and then spiral from there into a specific meaning that becomes a trope in its own right. its like a costume version of knowing the person who goes off alone in a horror movie is going to die!

As for colours - there is a lot more in this - the meanings of different colours is something that has been around since before film existed - its been around for centuries, it is worth noting that different cultures apply different meanings to colours - red for example has a different meaning in Chinese culture than it does in western culture - so its always important to keep that in mind when watching something regardless of where it comes from - because a good designer will make use of these differences if they are dressing someone from a different background. When I did my degree in costume design, we had specific lectures and seminars on colour theory and in analysing its use in various media (they were my favourite classes 😎) because it is important to understand so that you can better tell the story you're trying to tell.

Much colour theory is known by your subconscious and most people go through life completely unaware that colour is affecting decisions they make - its something advertisers use to their advantage!

I like to think I have an incredible memory 😂 and I kind of do - it remembers most things (usually it recalls a costume but cant remember exactly which episode it appeared in!), but you're right - I do have a spreadsheet (well I have one for each main and one for guest cast!) with all the costumes listed - its a full costume plot andis based on the plots I used to create when I worked in the industry! It has time stamps, reference pictures and is colour coded for type of costume and if its connected to a theme - its a bit geeky of me but I love doing it!

The first thing I do before I start writing my meta is a rewatch where I fill out all costume details for the episode and add the reference pictures! Maybe I'll share it with everyone during the summer hiatus, but then again maybe that would be one step too far!!!

I hope this answers your questions and sorry again that I didn't get to it sooner! ���💜💜

[fanfixes]

Going down the Rabbit Hole & Why being a Fan Girl is sorta a Saving Grace

How it all began:

I’ve been on Tumblr for years. It started in high school, about 7 years ago and I’ve opened and deactivated multiple accounts across this period of time. There’s some sorta pattern that flows with my sudden resurgence each phase and a licensed therapist would declare it a coping mechanism - and I’d agree.

But it is what it is, isn’t it - an escape. If I could trace FURTHER back, to when I watched my first movie and “escaped” I probably understand why writing fan-fict, deconstructing characters, spending hours reading about other works of the same lengthened that space to ignore the outside world and its mischiefs.

And funnily enough, Tumblr has always provided this safe space. Twitter, Instagram, Facebook doesn’t cut it for me. The kind of security I receive from this platform is different - I feel heard yet not exposed and I can’t put my finger on it but its just... it’s special. 

It’s a place for creatives, the lonely girls, the hyperactive ones who need to let that energy out onto a page and interact with people who could appreciate their fanaticism. It’s a shared experience, yet also somewhat, incredibly personal.

Coming home:

About a year ago, I lost someone very important to me. This was during a time where there was already so much loss. Grief settled in the air and as I felt my consolations unworthy of attention seeing that everyone had someone they lost, I kept it in, “soldiered through”. My friends checked on me, and they created this list of stuff for me to watch BUT while I sifted through the recommendations, there was a sort of anticipatory anxiety attached to the idea of starting new shows / movies, so I didn’t.

My biggest mistake was pouring myself into my work which felt natural since most of my nights were spent finalising assignments and my days were spent answering my employers. That fragment of curiosity, imagination and fantasy that lived in me dwindle off and can I just say, it was probably one of the dullest times of my life. It was a disappointing time to be alive. 

Work was definitely an excuse, because the first time I tried relaxing, it was chaotic. And I felt awkward trying to be something I wasn’t and allowing myself to be someone I was. 

The Viscount who Loved Me:

It started with Bridgerton, and knowing a little about the show, as I mentioned before in my previous posts, I could somewhat tame that anxiety I had in starting anything new. And GOD did it pay off. 

I loved what they did with Bridgerton. I identified with Kate, I could understand Anthony’s loss and as a struggling artist myself, I got what Benedict was going through. I connected with the show in ways I didn’t think I could. 

There was so much character complexities to drown yourself into and as someone figuring herself out, being able to watch parts of yourself interact with parts of yourself started conversations I wouldn’t have had, if I didn’t first see it. 

That’s sorta how writing fan-fict came about. I couldn’t get Benedict out of my head, so I put him on paper. I devoured the Bridgerton series and well, tweaked the fict to fit my idea of what I’d love to see play out. 

CAST INTERVIEWS & Thank you Luke Thompson:

Cast interviews were somewhat instructive, not just about the characters they played or the dynamic but, being able to just tap into what made the characters their own felt therapeutic. 

Luke Thompson has this interview on the YouTube Channel “An Actor Despairs” and it is my favourite interview of the year. It was inspiring to hear him talk about his journey and that raw dedication to his work renewed my mind on what it was I wanted from my life. How I wanted to build it. How to allow myself to just go with the flow and live.

So it was clear that falling in love with a show came with the territory of falling in love with the actors, especially when they are so passionate about their work. 

That to me, is what differentiates their job from being just entertainment to becoming a vocation. 

You do learn a lot about life and personalities when you are working on these projects. Just diving into An Offer from a Gentlemen for the sake of the fict I wrote, brought me into seasons of understanding Benedict beyond what was written.

Coupled with my deeper dive of Luke Thompson’s process allowed me to get where he was coming from and provided a clearer vision on what Benedict meant to the Bridgerton storyline.

Robert Aramayo nerd-ing out:

Robert Aramayo, is the second actor this year who’s looped me into his vortex. He just fell in love with the legendarium (as he often says) and poured himself into becoming Young Elrond, so much so, that they now feel like two separate individuals. Rob Aramayo disappeared into the world Rings of Power created and as I go through Tolkien’s works now, I can understand why he was so engrossed with it in the first place.

Both these actors made me appreciate acting for more than just the shallow concept I used to have of it - reading lines and conveying those conversations in a convincing enough manner to not look fake. I didn’t appreciate the art enough to get it many years before, but now that I do, it’s such a beautiful form of expression and self-identification.

I can’t help but be engrossed in these new worlds, in my private space and love it for what it makes me feel. I am thankful for all the creations and different forms of entertainment they bring and the heartfelt discussions on the characters which remind us of some people we meet or are. Bridgerton and Rings of Power aren’t the only shows I’ve watched the whole year, I have to add - ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING about this universe of ART, FANTASY & MOVIES/SERIALS are what make people feel alive, are what made me feel alive.

As John Keating said in Dead Poet’s Society:

“WE READ AND WRITE POETRY BECAUSE WE ARE MEMBERS OF THE HUMAN RACE. AND THE HUMAN RACE IS FILLED WITH PASSION. AND MEDICINE, LAW, BUSINESS, ENGINEERING, THESE ARE NOBLE PURSUITS AND NECESSARY TO SUSTAIN LIFE. BUT POETRY, BEAUTY, ROMANCE, LOVE, THESE ARE WHAT WE STAY ALIVE FOR.”

We dive into these worlds of imagination because of its relationship with our minds, these are what gives life a meaning. The mechanics of making money, succeeding in the financial and lucrative sense is monotonous and dry - there’s nothing much to it but stacks of papers and detachable figures. There is nothing more exciting than finding something to be excited about and as the days passed, I realised I wanted to be more in touched with a part of me that I felt needed to be suppressed after surpassing a certain age. That inner child shouldn’t have to vacate the premise simply because I’m 25. After all, I was probably the closest to being my truest self back then than I am today. And I wouldn’t have known it... if not for this saving grace.

[jodilin65]

SATURDAY, MAY 21, 1988 I’ve come to have quite a crush on singer Gloria Estefan.

I got my hair extensions. It looks good so long as I style it to hide where my own hair is. It cost $140. Ma hung up the phone on me when I told her.

Claire and Tammy, the girls who did my hair extensions, said if I want another row to thicken it up, it would cost $200, so I’m avoiding that by doing all kinds of braids and tails with it. Love it so far.

I quit La Baron cuz I got so sick of it. I don’t know if my heart was really truly ever in it. Mom and I are gonna check into getting me back into school for just the manicuring, rather than the whole hairdressing course since they fucked up my financial aid application anyway.

Sasha has been limping quite badly the last two days and Ma said to ask Nervous if he’d take me to the vet with her, but I’ve had enough of that jackasshole.

MONDAY, MAY 9, 1988 I am here on my lunch break with some very interesting news. First of all, Nissan proved to be the jerk I began to suspect she was and she is history.

Last Friday in school I accidentally ended up singing and they loved it and there was this new girl Elliot who said she knew this guy who had a band and knows the business really well. I had my doubts as I’ve heard this before but she called me and I spoke to the guy. His name is Jimmy. Of course, I told him up front I’m gay and I don’t get along with males and he said he doesn’t mix business with pleasure. Who knows for sure? They all say that. I just don’t want to be with males or travel with them but this guy sounds as serious as I am and like he knows what he’s talking about but I’ve learned never to trust or listen to a male. Especially a black one. I’ll have to see for myself but I’m sure if I sing with this band, either he or someone in the band will try to hit me for sex. I’ll kill them. No way am I gonna get into a situation I can’t get out of. It scares me to have to put my trust in someone. If this follows the usual pattern in my life, then he’ll prove to be a crock and I’ll know something’s punishing me. But this really sounds positive. He and Ellie are supposed to come to my place today or tomorrow.

FRIDAY, MAY 6, 1988 Last Saturday went great. Nissan and I got to know each other a lot better. Kevin was impressed although I saw her Tuesday and it was the pits. I fucked up bad and discovered she’d really never want me. I wrote a list of 30 encouraging hints Nissan gave me which I thought were signs of her being interested in me and I showed them to her like a fool. Guess what? She stole them! Must’ve been when I went to the back of the bus. And come to find out all those things weren’t true. It wasn’t until after I got off the bus that I realized she took them. I had asked her if she was going to tell her girlfriend Julie and she said no, but why else would she take them? Obviously to show Julie. She hates me. I know it and I’m petrified about getting on the bus tomorrow. She probably won’t even let me on! And if she does, what if Julie’s there? What if she lies or denies it? She could never want me yet Emily, Nellie and Philip said maybe she took them for herself because she was flattered or so I wouldn’t tell Julie. No way! She wouldn’t take them for her own reading pleasures. I never stood a chance with her and I never will. Even she told me, “I’m spoken for and I’m used to people liking me.” I’m afraid to get on the bus tomorrow, but if I do, I will confront her and ask her what’s going on.

[noodledesk]

update: FREE habit tracker template (with new progress bars!)🌱💗💞

i've received a few questions about how i track habits, which honestly changes often, but i thought i'd share how i do it right now.

other posts that may interest you: making a dashboard in notion (with template) | my notion tag | my other free notion templates

this is a pretty low-maintenance and simple way of tracking habits, while still using the wonderful database feature. i hope it helps you ✨😋

post text in alt text and also under the cut:

title: how i track my habits on notion (an illustrated guide + free template)

habit breakdown: every year i take some time to define exactly what my habits are first (i like to use icons for simplicity). this way, i know what i have to do to check off a habit on a day

how i use it: every day, my dashboard has a habits section that updates daily. when i practice the habit, i just check it off. this refreshes automatically so it’s convenient.

how i use it: at the end of each month, i can see how consistent i was with specific habits. i do this by looking at my monthly percentages and looking for patterns: did i burn out on a particular habit? why? and i think about how i should adjust these to my current reality every month, because life happens!

how i use it: then i jot down these numbers so i have a general idea of whether or not i’m being consistent with the intentions i set at the beginning of the month. i ask myself, why or why not? and then i make adjustments to my new interests and priorities.

benefits

benefits — an easy habit tracker helps you see what you’re doing each day so you have an idea of what you want to practice more, practice less, and gives you a better idea of how your habits are affecting your wellbeing, instead of just relying on vibes, which can make you hard on yourself.

encouragement — checking it off gives me a sense of accomplishment. i had a tendency of thinking i wasn’t ‘doing enough’ each month, but when i write things down, i have concrete proof that i did things that were important to me. you also get to look back on your month and be like, look at all these things i did for myself! and have a little celebration :)

how it works: calendar view: of course i’ve created a template for you to use (yay!), but it’s worth learning how i set up the template so you can adjust it to your needs. basically, each habit is a property, and each page corresponds to a day, which has all the habits on it like a checklist. every month i duplicate the page each day for a month (it sounds cumbersome, but actually only takes about a minute total). this allows me to review every month if i want to keep my habits the same, set habit intentions each month so i can reflect and consider, what habits should i continue? what should i stop? it keeps it flexible. also, if you’re going on vacation, need a break, or anything comes up, you can take days off and that way your statistics won’t be skewed by stretches of time where you aren’t planning to practice your habits.

tip: hold alt + drag your mouse to duplicate pages super quickly for this step

how it works: count page: all you have to do here is filter the date to the interval you’d like to see your habits summarized in. i keep mine as calculated per month, but you can set your interval for a week or year or something more specific.

how it works: daily view: i create a linked database and set the view to gallery, filter to “Today” and make sure that all the properties for habits are enabled so they appear in a little task list. then i just check them off each day. it updates automatically.

closing: and that’s it! for me, simple is best. i change how i track stuff all the time, but for now, this works just fine. i hope it can help you too.

[syllvane]

graphology- kaz brekker x reader

a/n: here it is, my entry to @lxncelot ‘s writing challenge!! i chose to write kaz x reader with the prompt leaving letters/notes in each other’s pockets! hope you guys enjoy!

Kaz’s pockets are almost never empty, but he’s always aware of exactly what he has in his pockets- something as simple as that could mean life or death in the Barrel, whether or not he happens to be carrying a knife or a stone of a particular weight.

That’s where he found your grocery list, in his coat pocket, somewhere between his lockpick and a small stone.

Well, he didn’t know that it was yours, not by the contents of the list alone.

But there was the irrefutable fact that it was written in your handwriting, in the handwriting that Kaz had spent hours memorizing should the need to identify it arise.

He had always imagined that this skill would be used in the unfortunate event of your kidnapping, that he would use it to discern whether or not they were forging any communication or if they were making you write it yourself.

Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to memorize your handwriting.

In any case, there was also the fact that you were the only one at the Slat who would be bold enough to wear his jacket.

Standing in the middle of the street, Kaz Brekker smiled to himself, folding the grocery list neatly and tucking it back into his pocket.

He doesn’t return it to you directly.

You find it neatly folded on your nightstand when you return from your shift at the Crow Club, with no clue to how it got there.

You try to carry nothing valuable in your coat pockets, not as adept as Kaz at detecting when someone is trying to pickpocket you.

You keep a lockpick and a couple of stray knives in your pockets and a small roll of gauze, having nicked yourself on the knives on more than a couple of occasions.

You don’t usually keep stray pieces of paper, so when you feel one in your pocket, you figure that it must be one that you left in there accidentally.

When you pull the neatly folded paper out, it’s not your handwriting on it, but familiar handwriting nonetheless.

The paper is mostly blank, with only ten words written on the entirety of the page.

‘Why do you have so many knives in your pockets?’

You know it’s him by the way he writes the letter ‘k’- the rest of the words could be written by someone else for all you know, but you know that Kaz Brekker wrote that one letter.

You ran your finger gently over the words, feeling the imprints of the letters from the other side of the paper.

You held the paper in your hand and walked back to the Slat and into Kaz’s office.

“You know,” He started without looking up. “Some people have the courtesy to knock.”

He looked up at you, his blue eyes piercing yours before dropping to the piece of paper that you held in your hand.

An amused look flashed in his eyes.

“I could just give you a holster for your knives.”

“I like having the knives in my pockets- they’re easily accessible and-”

“They stab people trying to put notes into your pocket?” He finished, his eyes sparkling.

You smiled at him, your eyes sparkling as well.

“Yeah, something like that,” You said, setting the piece of paper down in front of him before turning towards the door. “Oh, and Kaz?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for giving my grocery list back.”

He fights the urge to say that he didn’t take it from you in the first place, that you left it in his coat pocket. He knows that he should tell you not to use his jacket anymore and that next time you leave something, he won’t be as kind, but he doesn’t.

After all, Kaz Brekker doesn’t make threats if he doesn’t intend to keep them.

He settles for shaking his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

The next time he puts on his coat, he really doesn’t expect another scrap of paper in his pockets.

Once was a mistake, something that could be easily overlooked.

Twice was a pattern.

He opened up the crumpled piece of paper, expecting maybe another errant grocery list.

Scrawled in your handwriting: ‘Stay safe, boss’

His heart skipped a beat as he read the piece of paper and he felt himself blush slightly- thankfully for the cold weather, the note didn’t make his cheeks any more red then they would be otherwise.

He was going to have to address this.

For now though, he tucked the piece of paper in a pocket on the inside of his coat, near his chest, shaking his head at how sentimental he had become.

‘Stop stealing my coat.’

That’s the message you found in Kaz’s own coat pocket and you couldn’t say that it was entirely unwarranted.

And it’s the message that Kaz sees again later when he’s wearing his own coat, though underneath his original message, you had added a single word.

‘No.’

Maybe he should’ve been furious at your defiance, at the very least annoyed that you were going to continue wearing his coat after he explicitly told you not to.

Instead, he looked at the note on his desk with a strange smile appearing on his face, feeling something dangerously close to happiness.

The third piece of paper that you leave in Kaz’s coat, much like the first, is completely by accident.

Only this time, it’s not a grocery list that you’ve left in his coat, but poetry.

And if that wasn’t mortifying enough in itself, of course the words had been written in his name, though it hadn’t been addressed directly to him. It may as well have been though, having been left in his coat pocket.

All of this left only one option- you had to get it back before he could read it.

When you opened the door to his office, you were surprised to see Kaz sitting there, though not as surprised as he was to see you in his doorway.

His expression twisted into something unfamiliar but before you could place it, he coughed and his gaze became steely once again.

“You still haven’t learned to knock,” He said pointedly and you looked around the office sheepishly before stepping back into the hallway, closing the door in front of you.

You knocked.

“No one’s home,” He said, his voice muffled from the other side of the door and you rolled your eyes before opening the door again.

“Liar,” You mumbled, though not loud enough for him to hear. “I need your coat.”

He blinked.

“Last time I checked, you had one.”

“It’s not as warm,” You said and although that was true, it was not the reason you wanted it.

He stared at you, as if sensing that you were withholding information, but he didn’t push you on that.

“Why do you insist on stealing my coat?”

“It’s not stealing. I always give it back.”

“Stealing, borrowing without permission, what is the difference really, when I would never allow it of anyone else.”

You didn’t say anything to that, didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t new information, but there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that it wouldn’t be spoken aloud. You would steal his coat and Kaz would be annoyed, as if this was something all the Dregs did. You would give it back at the end of the day or whenever you were done wearing it and he would simply shake his head, a small smile playing on his lips and he would tell you not to do it again.

There was never any threat of reprisal, never any threats at all. It was probably better that way- he was known for making good on his word and he would have never lifted a finger against you.

You trusted him absolutely and it had scared all of your common sense right out of you.

“I am going to go to the Crow Club for business,” He said, interrupting your thoughts. “I am going to leave my coat here. Don’t take it.”

You wanted to ask him Why don’t you just give it to me?, but you stopped yourself- you already knew the answer.

Giving it to you would be crossing a line in his mind, a line that he probably couldn’t come back from. It was one thing to leave it here, knowing that you would probably take it against his direct orders and another to give it to you, to watch you put it on.

You watched as he shrugged the coat off, setting it down on his chair. He walked over to the door, his hand on the doorknob.

“If you leave it here, I’m going to put it on.”

He stopped, lowering his head slightly before turning the doorknob and opening the door.

“I wouldn’t leave it here if I thought you wouldn’t,” He said before walking out, closing the door behind him.

You stood there with his words for a little bit before walking over to where he had set his coat down.

You put it on gingerly, as if Kaz might walk back in at any moment and change his mind.

You slipped your hand into the coat pockets and ran through the list of familiar items: lockpick, a couple of stones, a pocket knife, and a wallet that he had taken from a tourist earlier today.

Also there, a scrap of paper.

You unfolded it to see that part of the poem had been ripped away, leaving the very last lines of the poem in your hand.

‘You are home and there is nowhere I would rather be but in your arms.’

Underneath the last words, in neat handwriting that you had come to know as Kaz’s: ‘I don’t think I could’ve said it better myself.’

[phantomrose96]

For Pennies

Warm-up mini fic. Consider this a doodle.

....

The Fentons were selling their house for pennies.

The “For Sale” sign out front was easily missed against the ostentatious display of the op center, and the “FENTON” sign, and the Fenton RV. Or perhaps, all that made it more noticeable. It bolstered the weird and unsettling mundanity of a standard-issue For Sale sign dictating the fate of a house so indescribably odd.

It took only a few curious gossips to find the listing, and to spread the news further when the listing asked for hardly a fifth of standard asking price. Real estate agents weighed in on town facebook pages that, yes, this was abysmally low. Others rationalized it. “It’s only natural. Those house modifications have killed the resale value. The basement is uninhabitable according to the listing. They’re selling an extreme fixer-upper.”

And when the house did not sell in the first week, the price dipped again. And when rumors spread that the house owners were responsible for the town’s ghost blight, the price dipped once again. Then nearly overnight, the op-center vanished, and the FENTON sign disappeared from sight. The Fentons were, if nothing else, impressive engineers, capable of undoing a lifetime’s work in a weekend. Soon after, the listing sold.

The buyer, Peter, was looking for fixer-uppers to flip and rent. He knew about the Amity Park rumors, but if the renting market proved stale for the fear of ghosts, he knew the airbnb market would thrive with curious tourists, so the property was a safe bet regardless.

He met the family once, in the house, when he came to inspect it and sign paperwork if he was satisfied. The husband was perhaps the biggest man Peter had ever seen, portly yet rock solid, clad head to toe in neon orange. The wife matched him in jumpsuits, a powder blue one. Their daughter seemed normal, though she and Peter only exchanged a handful of words.

“Where are you folks headed once this place is sold?” Peter asked, cordially, eyes flitting between the contract before him and the couple seated across the table.

“Westward, a bit. Um, Maddie’s got a sister out there. We’re trying to be closer to family.”

Peter nodded. “Always good to have family around.” He glanced in the daughter’s direction. “Are you excited to be moving closer to your aunt?”

The daughter met his gaze, level. “I’m not going with them, actually.”

“Oh?” Peter asked. “Headed to college? That would make sense.”

“I’m a rising senior,” the girl answered.

“Jazz is—” the mother, Maddie, cut in. “It’s well, it’s about to be her senior year of high school. Hard time to switch schools, you know? She’s going to be renting a place nearby so she can finish school here.”

“Oh? First time living all on your own?” Peter asked, initialing a page of the contract.

“I’m 17. It’s not that weird.”

“Never said it was. I remember my first place pretty fondly. It’s an exciting milestone, don’t waste it!”

Peter initialed another page. He spun the document back to the Fentons to sign as well.

“Well, I really like the place, is what I’ve got to say. The newly redone flooring on this floor was a perk I wasn’t expecting, can’t have been cheap. You still managed to keep the price amazing though. Don’t worry about the dings and scratches – I’ve got the art of fixing up places down to a science. I’ll take a crack at the basement too.”

“We’d rather you didn’t,” Maddie answered.

Peter waved her off. “I know it was some kind of lab, yeah? You won’t be liable if I say, spill acid on myself or dunk myself in radiation or, whatever you had going on down there. We can go over that clause of the contract again if you want. Ghosts, right?”

“It’s dangerous—”

“If I can’t hack it, I’ll seal up the basement for good. But I won’t know until I try. Seriously, don’t worry.”

The Fentons signed the final page, and flipped the contract back around to Peter. He pulled an envelope from his coat – a check made out with the full amount. No loan needed. No mortgage. Their asking price was practically pocket change.

The daughter excused herself from the room.

…

The Fenton basement had fewer wonders than Peter was expecting.

He swung a flashlight around, as the bulb hanging overhead had been cut from the main power supply. Most everything had been cleared out, leaving a room hollowed out. His feet clicked across the metal floor. Walls of bolted steel rose high on all four sides. On the opposite wall, the scars of heavy bolting remained, along with the smoky stain of something huge, and geometric, no longer bolted to the wall.

He swung his beam wide, across every which wall beveling with bloated shadows, until he pinned the electrical panel.

“There you are.”

It took some tampering, and some patience, because something had physically demolished the box before him. Peter knew his way around basic house wiring, so it took only a few experimental adjustments until he threw the breaker, and the industrial light overhead clunked to life.

Peter turned, surveying the mouse cage of pure, uninterrupted steel sheeting, bolted together wall to wall, across the floor, across the ceiling. It was an impressive expanse of space, and under the proper flood lighting Peter could make out the deeper shadowy stains of where industrial cabinets used to be affixed to the floors, the walls. He was staring into the burnt out afterimage of what, he could only conjecture, had once been an impressive scientific facility.

It wasn’t above being carpeted and turned into a rec room.

Peter paused, his eyes training to the back corner near the octagonal imprint left in the wall. Something seemed amiss, something with color, popping bright against a display of pure ash and silver.

Peter stepped forward, flashlight still pointed though it served little use now. The space took shape – a rectangular impression on the floor, about as large as a twin bed, formed a negative image. The rectangle was spotlessly clean, silver and shiny, as though recently cleaned and polished and recleaned and repolished.

It was the edges of the rectangle, the spatters of space stretching beyond it, that held Peter’s attention.

Green, verging toward a rusty brown, splattered the floor. He stepped closer, and knelt, and stared at the pattern. Like a dropped vial of green chemicals that shattered and spattered the floors, the neighboring wall. Like radioactive spill left to eat into the floor. Peter thought back to his radioactive quip, and wondered if he should perhaps back away.

He set a nail to one of the stains and scratched at it. It would not lift. It would not budge. He swung the flashlight beam, and he found the stains glittered, and then dulled where they edged closer to rust.

And it was the rust that confused Peter the most. That copper color, like pennies, that morphed away from the green. It wasn’t uniform. It did not eat away symmetrically at the edges of the stains. Instead it spattered, and dragged, and molded from droplets to long streaks dragging across the floor like chalk dust on a blackboard.

Peter followed them. The streaking ended. Beyond that, he caught a single droplet speckled into the floor a foot away. Another, when he swung his beam. And another. He followed them, one by one, tracing them back to the basement stairs, up, up, up, up.

At the top of the stairs, the trail vanished. The brand new hardwood flooring that stretched through the whole first floor was immaculate.

[bomberqueen17]

inkle inkle

so okay you might be asking, B, you might ask, if you have an inkle loom why haven’t you done any inkle weaving on it, and you would be right to ask this, and the truth of the matter is that I just had always, always wanted to try card weaving and none of my attempts had ever amounted to anything if I had to come up with some way to manage all the shit myself, so the inkle loom was my shortcut to how to figure out how to do it.

But of course, I wanted to use my inkle loom as an inkle loom, as a great deal of attractive weaving can be done with that method, and I already own all the necessary equipment. (You make string heddles for the method to work, and i own string, so.) (I know! Stunning.)

But I couldn’t find any good simple directions that I could understand. That last bit is crucial. I have very little brain cell, see, and the bit where my brain interfaces with reality is badly-worn and slips a lot. I can’t just like. Read a thing and have it actually go into the part of my brain that understands how physical things work. Oh ho ho no! Not at all. And anyway you can’t find shit like that on the Internet anymore, everything is videos.

Let me tell you, video tutorials are horrible. The vast majority of videos I found were poorly-edited, with bad audio, not great camera angles, and crucially, minutes upon minutes of extraneous discussion of unimportant, irrelevant things. The manufacturers’ how-to videos were the clearest, but most of them didn’t really give me a good idea how this was actually supposed to go.

And the worst is that most of them don’t give you written patterns, the way I’m growing used to with tablets. I struggled to figure out what on earth the minimal lists of numbers meant. Sometimes they were graphed. I-- what? Well what do you do? How does this go?

It took me a while to finally puzzle out that, well. Nobody writes down any more because that’s literally it. For a basic band, literally all you do is follow the list of ends, and the top line is heddled and the bottom line is un-heddled, and you just do that until you’re done, and then you just weave it, there’s no further instructions. Pick-up is something else, which I shall puzzle out directly, but.

So here’s the one I made. It took me three hours to warp it, because I did the whole thing, 43 ends, and then realized I’d done 22 of them wrong, and had to redo them all because of course they have to be in order. But I wound the entire assemblage off-- it’s continuous, you tie the color changes together as you go-- onto a spare 120 film spool I had lying around because everyone has those-- left the heddles on as I wound it off, and that worked a treat-- and then wound it back on, and it worked perfectly so now I’m considering that maybe I could just wind warps like that when I’m in a good attention span place, and store them to wind back on when I’m not so coherent, so I could always have an inkle band ready to work on. And honestly I wouldn’t have to wind it on the loom, I could take measurements and do it with a yardstick, so that makes even more sense and may become a thing I do.

But anyway, I’ll start by giving you the pattern, and you can just guess what it’s gonna look like. I had no idea when I started it; the only clue is that it’s got a name. Photo behind the cut.

“CHECKS thru heddle: r r r r r p p p r r r p p p r r r p p p r r (22 ends) not thru heddle: r r p p p r r r p p p r r r p p p r r r r r (22 ends) heddles required = 22 total red ends (r) = 26 total purple ends (p) = 18″

In my case, R meant white and P meant maroon.

[image description: a close up of a bit of weaving, very narrow, on a pale-wood loom. The weaving is white with maroon checks in staggered rows of six. There is a visible flaw along the left selvedge halfway up where the weaver made a mistake, but otherwise it is quite regular.]

So that took me like.... mmm... I started weaving at like 8:15 pm and with very few breaks I finished at 10 pm, and wove not the longest weft path for this loom but not the shortest either. This is just crochet cotton; I still had a lot of white wound onto my belt shuttle from the Exhausting Tablet Weave With Skip-Holes that I didn’t do very well at but did finally finish, and I figured I’d just do something with white to use that up. Of course I used it up and still had more to go BUT i managed to wind only what I needed on for the last bit, which was really an achievement I think.

Anyway inkle weaving is really fukkin easy so I’m gonna do more of that. Like, it is so easy. It is not possible to-- well, it’s possible to make an error or two, as you can see above, but-- one of the videos I watched, the narrator was like “well so your first two inches are gonna look terrible so don’t worry”, but the Schacht-sponsored pamphlet I finally wound up using had the extremely sensible advice that you weave your first four or five passes with either sticks or thick waste thread (it suggested broom straws as a possibility), and then pick it out afterward to leave a fringe, because yeah, you need to weave everything into position, and it’s going to look like shit, so as part of your finishing you make it easy to unpick that. And your end will always have all this extra to be a long fringe; you can make the beginning match, and have a fringed belt. Yay!