#just might watch its kinda a funny story and crawl up in a ball and die

[fistsoflightning]

29: how i met your (other) dad

prompt: paternal || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 1423

This story, unfortunately, starts with an Ala Mhigan miqo’te of eight summers being conscripted and taken to Doma...

DON’T WORRY; IT’S NOT ANGST. Set sometime in the near future, with thanks to @to-the-voiceless for letting me create Family Storytime Shenanigans.

Once upon a time—

“Is that how we’re starting this, Ruki?” Papa huffs as he sits down with a steaming teapot and three wooden cups, no less smile-y than Dad even as he elbows him in the ribs. The plate of snacks in his other hand he pushes to Mune—oooh, melon pan. He looks up at Papa before picking it up, giggling quietly as he can at Papa’s silly wink. “Really now, once upon a time?”

Dad’s smile widens into a grin; the kind that he gets when he’s made a really, really bad joke. “Of course,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Can’t have storytime without a properly narrated story, right?”

Mune groans between crumbs as best he can without spraying them all over Papa’s new tunic as they both wait for Dad to continue.

As I was saying—once upon a time, in the not-so-distant lands of Yanxia, an Ala Mhigan conscript of thirteen summers snuck out of the fairly-new Castrum in the dead of night, a small bag of kobans clutched to his chest. Don’t worry; those are important for later. Also, don’t steal money that isn’t yours.

That night, he had a mission: to deliver the secret stash of kobans he found to the nice couple in the village nearby. He’d snuck out dozens of times before, with the weird size of the ventilation in his room, and tonight was no different as he crawled through to land outside. With the moon and stars hung high in the sky, he didn’t have to worry too badly about his poor vision in the dark until he passed into the Gensui Chain—

“That’s not that important,” Papa quips as he pours out a cup of tea for himself—it kinda smells like the flowers in their garden, now that Mune breathes it in. “Your hair was—”

“Shh! Let me get there.” Dad reaches out and steals Papa’s cup with a surprise kiss to Papa’s forehead, taking a sip before setting it by his foot.

The problem was, since he almost got caught the last time he snuck out, he would have to take a different path in case horrible Miss Prisca had told the night watch to keep an eye out for any escaped miqo’tes! So even though his usual path would take him to Namai in barely half a bell, he wound his way through the Fanged Crescent through another path he’d only traveled once.

“I dunno how you managed to dodge the main path, actually,” Dad admits as he takes another pause to drink. “The mountains everywhere make it pretty hard to get around unless you took a falcon.”

Papa shrugs. “Maybe being born and raised in the mountains of Gyr Abania gives me an advantage?”

Regardless of how difficult that would normally be for any kid of thirteen summers, he was a lot stronger and braver than most (“I—I wouldn’t say that…”) and eventually ended up… somewhere not quite along the path that he had intended. Just across the river was Namai, its aetheryte casting a blue glow across the plants that he had found himself surrounded with, but to get there he’d have to pass through the farmland he ended up in. Without moonlight to clear his path, he cautiously walked through and over plants, keeping an eye out for anyone who might still be working…

But, unfortunately, he managed to miss the quietly watching boy through the squelching sounds of his boots in the rice paddy—

“That’s not it,” Papa says decisively, tearing Mune’s attention away from Dad as he sets down his cup of matcha. Dad makes a funny almost-whine, but he turns to Papa too with a grin that might as well say go on, then. “Well, er, the rice paddy bit is true, but…”

Unfortunately, in his hurry to get away from the farm, he found that the boy with shockingly teal hair had seen him and was approaching. In his hurry to get past, he tried to run past the boy, but found that the other kid was much taller and bigger than distance made him appear, so when they were barely ilms away from each other the boy accidentally tripped the escaping kid! The kobans held tight in his arms scattered as he fell, golden coins lining the bottom of the rice paddy he was now soaked in.

“Hey, my hair wasn’t that bad when I started out, Dewah,” Dad says, and his voice has truly made its way into whining territory now. “Shockingly teal? No way.”

“Ruki, it was the middle of the night and I could see you. For being a miqo’te, my night vision is horrible,” Papa says with an apologetic smile, resting his hand atop Dad’s. “So either it used to be a lot better than I thought, or, uh, your hair really was. Not good. A-anyways, uhm…”

“Wait wait wait, let me tell this part.” Dad straightens up and rubs his hands together. Mune wouldn’t ever say either of his dads have ever looked like they were up to something, but Dad’s certainly giving it his best to look like he is.

After noticing just how tiny and alarmed the kid who tried to run by him looked, the Au’ra boy pulled the miqo’te boy up gently—

“I almost went flying when you pulled me up? I-is that gently?”

—pulled the miqo’te up energetically from his seat in the mud, and said… uh...

“...Dewah.” Dad turns to Papa, setting his hands on Papa’s shoulders with fake seriousness. “Do you remember what I said, because I sure don’t.”

“Y-you don’t?”

Dad tilts his head innocently. “Not really?”

“You asked if I,” Papa says, and Mune can’t tell if he’s about to cry or laugh, really; his face scrunches up in the same way for both. “If I was… was Tamamo Gozen! B-because—”

Papa breaks into a round of poorly muffled giggles, and Mune does too. Dad looks like he’s about to hurt himself, with how hard he’s thinking about what Papa said.

“Your fur and hair were white when we were thirteen!” Dad drops his fist into his palm like it was some kind of important revelation, only leaving Mune to laugh harder. “And with your giant ears and red eyes and the robe—”

“Hey, my ears were not and are not giant!”

“You looked exactly how all the stories described the shrine maiden!”

Papa stops giggling to look straight into Dad’s eyes, a smile still tugging at the corners of his eyes. “D-did you think I was a girl on top of all that?”

Dad’s silence tells both Papa and Mune all they need to know about that, sending all three of them into another round of laughter that makes his stomach hurt. Papa’s completely fallen over into his own lap, curled up in a ball while his tail lashes about behind him—it’s probably a good thing that Dad’s pulled away the teapot and the cups to his side before the two of them completely lost it.

A-anyways, after that mess of a conversation, the two boys exchanged names—Haruki Hagane and A’dewah Tia… and that’s how we first met; two fools confined by the reach of the Garlean Empire, taking what they can and making the best of it.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Mune cuts in, breathless, much to Papa’s dismay—aw, his ears pin down when he tilts his head.

“And I thought we were telling this story to our son, Munehise. Did he leave while we weren’t looking? Sneaking around looking for more snacks, maybe?” Dad pushes him his cup with a suspicious grin.

Dad’s just barely close enough for Mune to playfully slap his leg in retaliation.

“I know that Papa was a conscript back then, and that he’s from Ala Mhigo,” Mune says, tapping his forehead as he thinks. “And obviously you met as kids. But you said that he left when I was still a baby, before even Hana-oba left, so…”

“How did Dewah leave Yanxia?” Dad asks in his stead, and even if his dads are trying to hide it he can still see the way Papa’s hand curls tight in Dad’s hand. Mune nods. “Well, if he’s okay with telling it…”

Papa nods, clearing his throat and putting on his bravest storytelling face Mune’s seen yet.

This story happens nearly nine years after the two first meet in a rice paddy, summer fireflies surrounding them in the humid night, and much like a summer breeze does one A’dewah Tia make his adventurous escape...

[warpinator]

the horror show

Rated: G

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto, Uraraka Ochako

Summary: 

"It's not that weird, Uraraka, I haven't seen one either."

She gasps again, clutching her chest.

"You too Deku!?"

--

Neither Izuku or Shouto have seen a horror movie. Ochako seeks to correct this.

Uraraka gasps, scandalized.

"You've never seen a horror movie?"

She is staring at Todoroki like she's never seen him before. Izuku knows the reason that Todoroki hasn't seen a horror movie probably relates to Endeavor and decides to intervene before the other boy has to say anything.

"It's not that weird, Uraraka, I haven't seen one either."

She gasps again, clutching her chest.

"You too Deku!?"

She sounds so shocked that Izuku is taken aback. Surely it can't be that weird? He just never had because his mother hated horror movies and he hadn't really had any friends to watch them with when he became old enough to watch them. Izuku figured that it was probably pretty common, but judging by Uraraka's concerned gaze sweeping between Todoroki and he, there's the sinking feeling that it, perhaps, is not normal to have missed an entire genre of movies by the age of fifteen.

"That's it," she says, planting her hands on her hips, "we're watching one! Tomorrow night! You two are coming over to my room and watching a horror movie with me!"

Todoroki sends him a questioning look. Izuku just shrugs, it can't hurt, right? Besides, they haven't been able to hang out that often with internships in the way, so it'll be nice to just...relax.

"We'll be there," Izuku tells Uraraka, smiling. She pumps her fist in the air.

"Fantastic! Don't worry, I'll pick a good one for your first time."

Izuku tries not to notice the devilish slant to her smile. He's seen enough in real life that horror movies should be a breeze, right?

The next evening, Izuku meets up with Todoroki and heads to the Uraraka's room.

"So..." Todoroki starts, "You know why I haven't ever watched a horror movie, but what about you?"

Izuku doesn't really want to admit that it was because he had no friends to watch them with. The reasoning seems...petty in the face of what Todoroki has gone through. Plus he really just. Doesn't want to get into his pre-high school backstory, no matter how unfair that might be to the boy who has shared a ton of his with Izuku.

"I was always hyper-focused on heroes, I guess," is what he says instead, "plus my mom never wanted to watch any, so our movie nights never included them."

It's true, really, and a safer option. Todoroki seems to have no questions with his statement, regardless.

"Well," he says, "we should probably have fun while we can, since I'm sure things are only going to get harder here on out."

"Yeah!" Izuku agrees, smiling widely. Todoroki's right. Now that he has friends to spend time with, he better make the most of it. A warm feeling spreads through Izuku's chest, only growing stronger when he sees Uraraka fiddling with the television in her room.

"Hey guys!" She plops on the bed, patting the space beside her. Izuku sits in the middle, Todoroki on his left.

"I have popcorn," Uraraka motions to the table, the chair that usually sits by it pushed out of the way.

"Thank you," Todoroki says, taking a handful.

"So! I chose a ghost one! Classic and also hopefully not similar to any villains we've met," She pops back up, heading to turn the light off.

"That works for me," says the other boy, glancing at Izuku. Izuku's read a few ghost stories and those were fine, so this should be too, really.

"Me too," he says.

"Good!" She sits back down, sitting cross-legged on her end of the bed, "Now, this is a pretty spooky one, so I hope you enjoy it!" Uraraka clicks the remote and the movie starts.

The movie starts out fine.

The movie is not going fine. The atmosphere is terrifying. Izuku hasn't even seen the ghost yet, but he feels horrified anyway. The movie has the awful habit of just. Not having. Any music. Especially during the more tense moments. He wants to crawl out of his skin he's so tense.

And the worst part.

The worst part is that Uraraka is leaning forward in interest and Todoroki has his head tilted, obviously interested but not terrified. How are they not terrified? Izuku is trying to become an unnoticeable ball, the dark of the room making him jumpy.

Then the movie chooses then to pull its trump card then, because the ghost creeps onto frame with an unholy noise and Izuku yelps, shoving his head into Todoroki's side. He cannot. Cannot. Watch anymore of this. He does not see it. The ghost is no longer there.

"Midoriya?" Todoroki's shocked tone would be funny in any other situation but the horrible noises are still coming from the television, so he tries to burrow deeper.

"I, uh, don't think Deku is doing too well with the movie," he hears Uraraka say, her voice tight with mirth. Traitor, he thinks, uncharitably.

"Ah." Izuku can feel Todoroki put a hesitant hand on his back, patting it awkwardly.

"Do you want me to stop the movie?" Uraraka says and now he can feel her hand softly touching his shoulder. She pauses it in the meantime.

"No," he manages to choke out, "it's okay, you guys are enjoying it! I just...uh...it's scary"

He mumbles the last part.

"If it's any consolation," Todoroki says, "you were about ten times scarier than that ghost when you fought me at the sports festival."

"What!?" Izuku squeaks. The admission is one part flattering and one part mortifying.

"Yes," the other boy continues, "you really should have seen your face. Terrifying."

"Todoroki!" Uraraka scolds.

"Ah. You were terrifying in your fight against Bakugou as well, Uraraka."

"That isn't- ugh, Deku, it's okay! Ghosts aren't real!"

"I know that!" Izuku whines, "they just, uh, feel incredibly real while I'm watching this?"

"Do you want to stop?" She's serious, Izuku can tell, but he doesn't want to stop it for the both of them. He can do this!

The green-haired boy releases Todoroki from the tight grip he had on the taller boy.

"No. I can do this!"

Uraraka smiles at him.

"If you're sure?"

He nods, decisively.

"Totally!"

She unpauses the movie and Izuku rapidly realizes, no.

He cannot totally handle this.

The movie is still, for some reason, absolutely terrifying. Izuku just...handles himself better during it. He's tense, One For All held at the ready, even, for how out of his mind he feels at the moment.

Uraraka's hand is still on his shoulder, though, and Todoroki has let his hand slip down to cover his, so he is more settled. The ugly ghost and the appalling noises it's making still cause him to jump every time it's on screen though.

But Izuku does start to, not calm down , but feel less likely to jump out of his skin. That is until what probably is the climax of the movie.

The ghost, until now, has mostly settled for haunting the house and being seen like the creep that it is. Now it's choosing to attack the protagonist and at her scream Izuku can't help himself.

He grabs Uraraka tightly and hides in her shoulder.

"Deku!?"

"It's fine! Keep going!"

He can hear Todoroki snort, the bastard. Another scream and the ghost's rattling sobs cause him to cling tighter. Uraraka grunts.

"Deku, I can't breathe!"

"Sorry!" He tries to let go but there's a wet squelch coming from the screen and he clings desperately to her arm instead. Todoroki has returned to patting his back in a strange out-of-rhythm manner.

"Goodbye arm," says Uraraka mournfully.

"We'll hold a memorial," Todoroki is solemn.

"I hate you both!" Izuku whines as harsh sobbing and clinking sounds fill the room.

He holds position for a few more minutes, before Todoroki ceases his patting and taps him instead.

"It's ending, Midoriya, you can look."

He peeks over Uraraka's shoulder to see the protagonist facing off against the ghost, chanting something and waving a candle around. The ghost is dissipating, turning from its monstrous form to a beautiful young woman. The two hug before the ghost disappears.

Izuku heaves a sigh of relief, letting go of Uraraka to flop back on the bed.

"The future number one hero...afraid of ghosts..." Todoroki sounds like he's about to laugh.

"I am not afraid of ghosts! Just that.. .one. ..particular ghost is extremely scary!"

"If you say so."

Izuku grabs Uraraka's pillow and bashes it into the side of Todoroki's head. The other boy yelps.

Uraraka laughs at them both.

"If I had known you were going to be so scared I would've chosen something for kids," she says between chuckles.

Izuku gives her a bash of the pillow as well, ignoring her "oof".

"You both are so rude."

"It was kinda cute though," the girl says, straightening back up, "clinging to both of us like that."

He blushes furiously, hiding behind the pillow.

"Even though you did murder Uraraka's arm," Todoroki says. Izuku is tempted to hit him again.

"Yeah," Uraraka says, twisting her arm out, "poor arm, lost in the line of duty."

"Shut up," Izuku hisses.

The brunette sticks her tongue out at him, he returns the favor.

"Let's watch something sweet, to help Deku calm down," she picks up the remote flicking back to the opening menu, "I have a really neat space documentary, if you want to watch it?"

Izuku sighs in relief, the dark of the room is still unsettling to him and a chance to wind down before having to go back to his room alone...it's nice.

"Thanks, Uraraka."

"No problem," she says, getting up to get her other movie.

"I haven't ever seen a space documentary either," Todoroki stands to stretch.

" What !? You haven't! Todoroki is there anything else you haven't seen?"

"Plenty, but I don't mind catching up with you all," he replies to Uraraka's disbelieving question.

"We should do movie nights," says Izuku, "invite Iida next time. Just. No more ghost movies, please."

Uraraka snorts.

"Of course not."

"I don't know, it might be good to let Iida see how he reacts to them."

Izuku feels entirely justified beaning Todoroki with the pillow again.

[gameofthrawns]

Late Night Musings

A/N: For tarched’s HTTYDArtAugust event, Prompt 7: Friendship above all. Just really fluffy Stoick/Gobber fluff. Nothing like poking a bit of fun at RTTE to celebrate the new season.

Kind of a meta title, as this really is me typing late at night. I have to admit, I sorta rushed this, which is why it’s all meandering fluff. I originally had another story involving Heather and Astrid’s friendship, but it was a very speculative post-HTTYD3ish thing and was...pretty dark (very much takes the “Friendship above all” prompt and kinda stomps it in the dirt). I kinda like it, though, if only for how angsty it felt to me. Maybe I’ll expand on it some day, spin off a whole story about the rise of Hiccup the Cunning’s Archipelago Alliance after Drago’s defeat and the Last Stand of the Berserkers under Heather the Unhinged.

Was fun doing all this. Not even kidding, I enjoyed forcing myself to crank out these drabbles in three days. Hopefully I can get more involved in the fandom before it probably slows down to a crawl post-HTTYD3 or I get swamped by homework because I’m an Electrical Engineering major.

Stoick always imagined that he looked quite foolish to his own people whenever he was working with his little wooden ducks—a massive man like him chipping away at small blocks of wood with a tiny knife—which was why he rarely worked on them outside of the privacy of his own house.

The truth was he just liked the shape, and at this point, they were by far the easiest thing for him to carve.

“What’s wrong?”

Stoick reluctantly put down his knife and the barely-chipped block of wood—a girl, he decided, to go with the boy he’d just finished—on the table and looked up. Gobber was staring at him with that same look of false indifference he always wore, absent-mindedly scratching the stump where his left hand used to be.

“Nothing,”

“Then why are you carving your little ducks?”

“It’s soothing.”

“In the Great Hall?”

Stoick looked around him. The Great Hall was dark and mostly empty, but the few villagers still hanging around were all giving him quick glances, their heads tilted off to one side in the hopes that it’d help them better hear what he and Gobber were discussing.

“I just came here for something to, uh, help me sleep,” Gobber said. To prove his claim, he pulled out his favorite mug attachment and strapped it to his stump. “Then I see you here, whittling away, and everyone’s staring, and then everyone stares at me, because apparently I’m your mother.”

“You’re my friend, Gobber.”

Gobber poured himself a cup of ale from the nearest keg. “I just don’t see why your own brother—”

“Half-brother,” Stoick corrected. “And Spitelout’s...”

“...mother was a whore?”

“Gobber!” He quickly swept the entire Great Hall with his fiercest glare, and everyone inside not named Stoick and Gobber collectively decided that it was getting late, and that they should definitely head home.

“Sorry, Stoick.” Gobber hobbled over next to Stoick and took a seat at the table. “Saw the chance and took it. Drink?”

Stoick reached for his mug and looked into it, only to remember that he’d never filled it. He just shook his head and let awkward silence fill the Hall.

He had just picked his knife back up when Gobber suddenly asked, “You two fight again?”

“Who?”

“You and, you know, him.”

“Spitelout?” Stoick said as he dropped the knife, annoyed. “No, why would—”

“Of course not Spitelout.” Gobber took a swig. “Hiccup.”

“Then you should be clearer next time. Hiccup does the exact same thing.”

“Do what?”

“Be ambiguous!”

“Well maybe you should be less ambiguous about that.”

Stoick gently balled his hands into fists. It was no wonder that Hiccup was so good at getting on his nerves; Gobber had been an excellent master.

“Okay, noted,” Gobber said lamely. “So, about Hiccup...”

Stoick sighed. “No, we didn’t fight.”

“Because I was just about to say that you should stop scaring Hiccup back to the Edge. Or one day he and his friends might just never come back. He might be your son, but he’s also my best man at the forge.” He chuckled, no doubt thinking himself very funny. “Be a shame to lose such talent, eh?”

“No, we parted on...good terms, today. I think.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Stoick furrowed his brows. “Before he left, he said something.”

A pause. “Uh-huh,” Gobber said. “What was this about ambigui–”

“Something about how ‘peaceful’ the past few years have been since, you know, the merging.”

“Peaceful,” Gobber said almost wistfully. Stoick wanted to believe that they were both thinking of the same moment from twenty years ago: All of Berk aglow not with the flames of dragons but cheerful little fires, its people cheering and feasting and drinking, and in the middle of it all, him and Valka, twirling and laughing because finally, praise Frigga, they were married.

“This isn’t peaceful, Gobber,,” Stoick said, rubbing his eyes. “Not really. Not when some madman just tried to bring Berk to its knees with a single dragon. And not when my son’s off in the north fighting some war against this Viggo bastard. Hiccup, his whole generation, they don’t know what that word even means.”

“Do any of us?” Gobber countered. “Three hundred years of dragon raids, Stoick. Maybe this really is as peaceful as it gets. You’ve said it yourself before, ‘We’re Vikings...’”

“‘It’s an occupational hazard,’” Stoick muttered. “But that was before all...this, Gobber. I just thought that with the dragons gone, maybe, maybe things would change. But now it’s worse. Outcasts. Berserkers. Thunderheads. Dragon Hunters. Gods knows who else Hiccup has crossed out there and hasn’t even told us about.”

“I don’t know about ‘worse’,” Gobber said skeptically. He leaned over to point at his peg leg. “I haven’t lost any limbs fighting Berserkers yet, you know?”

“Because we haven’t been the ones fighting them,” Stoick growled. “Hiccup has. Astrid has. They’re out there fighting our wars and don’t even tell us about it, because they think it’s all fun and games, and everyone else seems to be just fine with it. Does that, does that not bother you, Gobber?”

“Seeking glory through battle and stupid decisions? Sounds like a Viking tradition.” Gobber grinned. “Haddock tradition, in particular.”

“I should be out there, on there ‘Dragon’s Edge’, fighting with them. I know it. But I can’t because I have a whole fucking village to watch over!”

Gobber raised an eyebrow. “Then why don’t you call them back? Force them to stay on Berk with all your chiefly authority.”

“You know why.”

Because Hiccup would didn’t give a damn about his authority. Hiccup would defy him anyway. The only difference would be that he’d be trying to bring down Viggo while also avoiding getting caught by his own father, even if it meant getting himself killed in the process.

Gobber nodded. “Yep. So just count yourself lucky that he didn’t decide to run off all those years ago. He has friends with him now. Just imagine him facing someone like Viggo with just Toothless and the clothes on his back.”

Stoick could imagine it. “Even if he didn’t end up...meeting Valka,” he said softly, pointing above to wherever Valhalla was, “he’d probably end up bitter. Hopeless.”

“Probably a drunkard.”

Stoick gave Gobber a quizzical glance.

“Just...just speculating. The whole world seems like a bad place. Worse monsters out there than dragons. I can see myself drinking to forget.”

“That’s what I mean, Gobber. Dragons are...they’re cunning, but they’re still beasts.”

“Don’t let Hiccup hear you say that.”

“They make sense,” Stoick continued. “When they kill, there’s a simple reason behind it. Food or territory or...things. But men? Some men will kill because they think it’s funny. Or it makes them powerful.”

“Like Drago?”

Drago. Now that was a name Stoick hoped he’d never hear again. It brought memories great men turning being reduced to screams and cinders, and it made him feel that same strange guilt all over again. He was the only survivor of Drago’s cowardly ambush that day.

“You ever tell Hiccup about Drago?” Gobber asked.

“No!” Stoick snapped, with enough bite to make Gobber flinch. “Not...don’t mean you, Gobber, but can you, can you imagine what would happen if I told him about it?”

“He’d hop on his Night Fury, fly over to wherever Drago lives, and let Toothless turn your problem into a stain on the ground.”

“He’d hop on his Night Fury, fly over to where Drago lives, and get himself killed!”

Gobber’s right hand swatted the air. “Yakshit, he’s got your damn Haddock luck. And if that’s not enough, he’s got Astrid.” He scratched his beard. Speaking of which, are they a...you know, a pair, yet?”

Stoick took a deep breath, glad to move on to a lighter topic. “No, no he hasn’t,” he said. “But soon, I’m sure of it.”

He never imagined that his boy Hiccup would ever have a chance with Astrid Hofferson. But Hiccup had done it. Stoick would never say it out loud, for fear that greater powers would punish him for his arrogance, but he just knew in his heart that Hiccup had already won Astrid’s heart, and she had won his even before then. The boy who tamed dragons, his boy, with one of the greatest Viking warriors in the entire Archipelago? Even he and Valka surely wouldn’t have compared if...

Well, if he and Valka had ever gotten the chance.

“Really? You know, for all his smarts, that boy can be just so...stupid.”

Stoick nodded, knowing that fact better than anyone. “Aye, but she really is watching out for him, though, isn’t she? Like a...a valkyrie riding on his shoulders.”

Gobber snickered. “Sure, riding his shoulders.”

Stoick frowned. “Come on now, Gobber.”

“I swear one night he’s going to sneak back here and just to warn you, ‘Dad, I want to marry Astrid. Like I sort of have to.’” Gobber started cracking up.

“Gobber...”

“I’m just saying, an island mostly to themselves, whole day’s flight away from Berk...they’d have to be idiots not try something, you know? You know, Stoick? You, you might already be a...a grandfather. You just...just don’t know it...”

It was honestly rather fun watching even Gobber wither under his menacing glare. “Too far, Chief, I know” the blond man practically squeaked. “Sorry.”

Stoick couldn’t help but break the act with a wry, “Though I do like the idea of grandkids.”

Gobber tried and failed to hide his sigh of relief. “Aye, I envy you.”

Stoick almost smiled, but a sudden, rather sobering thought occurred to him. “Do you, Gobber?” he asked.

“What?”

“Envy me.”

Gobber’s...strange preference in men over women as lovers was something everyone on Berk knew but few acknowledged in the open. Neither Gobber nor Stoick nor...anyone, really, had ever really pushed for more open dialogue about it.

“Well, no, Stoick,” Gobber said quickly. “I guess...I guess I see Hiccup as my own—Wait, no, forget I said that.”

Stoick slapped an arm on to Gobber’s shoulder. “You’re right, Gobber,” he said, putting on his best Chief voice. “You’re my brother.”

Gobber snorted. “Brother,” he said incredulously. “Not just half-brother?”

“Blood brother. Dragon’s blood brother. Forged in the raging fires of countless battles. Nothing else compares to this bond.”

Stoick finally found the motivation to get off his seat, to grab a keg of ale. He casually brought it on to the table with one hand, shoving aside the ducks and the knife off to the side with another, and poured both Gobber and himself a drink.

“Can I ask something of you, Gobber?” he quickly asked before the other man could take a sip.

“So long as I can say no, then yeah, sure.”

“If something happens to me—”

“Which it won’t.”

“I want you to...really watch out for Hiccup. You know, when I’m not around.”

Gobber took some time to nod deliberately. “As if I don’t do that already?”

Stoick grimaced, staring at his ale. The jab was too accurate for him to be upset about. “I really am a terrible father, aren’t I?” he muttered.

Gobber tilted his head and looked up at the roof of the Great Hall in thought. “Well, who knows if he would have turned out like...this if you actually did a better job?” His mustache twitched. “Can I ask something of you, Stoick?”

“Anything, old friend.”

“Smile more.”

Stoick blinked. “What?”

“Gothi says it’s good for your face and your spirits, or...something.” Gobber scratched the back of his head. “Maybe just smiling more might make you a bit less...stoic, all the time, eh?”

Stoick laughed at that pun, if only to please Gobber. “I suppose I can try.” He lifted his mug. “To our boy Hiccup. And brotherhood.”

Gobber raised his own. “And Astrid. And to dragons, because why the Hel not?”

“To Berk, and forty years of friendship,” Stoick said, smiling.

“Forty years!”

And so they drank.