#to which the consensus seems to be ‘no. but–‘

[hopscotch081]

Weeheehee this post got pretty popular and that makes me very happy :•) I wanted to add on something I saw some people discussing in the tags, which is that many people who practice Jeudism encourage a more critical lens when looking at holy texts and their moral systems. Which is notable as it would mirror Gerson’s own philosophy! Yes, he does question the prophecy, but it comes from a place of respect. I mean, his son is a religious leader and he wrote a book based on it, he had to have. His questioning of it isn’t out of disdain, but love! The same goes for us with Deltarune. We don’t want to find the eggs and secret bosses because we hate the game. We do it because we love it and want to explore it even further! Same for fans works, which Gerson seems to also commentate on.

I feel hesitant making these big generalizations on Judaism, espically as it’s only my mom’s side who is Jewish and I’m not very close to any of them. As well, this isn’t to deny that some branches of Judaism don’t encourage questioning, or that no other religions do. But I think based on personal experience and the consensus of other Jews in the tags, it does seem to ring true. I mean, just look at the Mah Nishtanah, or 4 Questions, which at Passover sedar the youngest participant is suppose to ask. Sure, these questions are mostly a tool for giving the child religious info, but it shows an encouragement for curiosity, espically in the youth. And isn’t that exactly what Gerson encourages of our own young Deltawarriors?

Also Noelle should be Jewish bc she’s me fr and it’d be really funny

Gerson reminds me so much of my Jewish great grandfather so I may be biased when I say this, but he feels very Jewish coded to me. Like firstly, his name is Gerson, a Hebrew name. Then, we have the scarf he wears on his shoulders, which looks a lot like a more simple, non-traditional tallit

Obviously he’s not actually Jewish as Deltarune has its own religion, but I see a lot of people just equating that religion directly to Christianity which I think can limit analysis and theory crafting. Deltarune takes a lot of stuff from Christianity sure, but it’s not as cut and dry as just Christianity 2 Electric Boogaloo. It’s nice to see some traditions from different religions were also represented, like with the Guei or incense burning, and it’s interesting what these elements may say about the story’s greater themes. Hell, even the angel of death Azrael is mostly a Jewish and Islamic figure if I remember correctly

[torglives]

BPD & TR Pangi

!! HOUSEKEEPING: Pangi is very morally questionable, this is an undebatable trait of every single mcrp character to ever exist. Many of the things he does are dramatized and violent, because it is the playing-field in which his character and story lives. These traits are not exclusive to him, nor is this to say that BPD is an inherently violent or "evil" disorder. -- Every mention of Pangi going forward will be without the character tag.

To interpret Pangi as someone with BPD, we first have to establish a base-line. What are the broader, more obvious strokes of his character?

"Both separation anxiety and BPD are characterized by fear of abandonment, but problems with impulsivity, identity, and interpersonal functioning are needed to diagnose BPD." (x)

"There is [Pangi], who, I feel like you have separation anxiety to some degree. [It is] the way that your character is traumatized, and built, and works." (x)

The second quote, from Pili, brings up an interesting point: Pangi does have separation anxiety to some degree, but he says that it's from the way that Pangi is traumatized. It's an obvious hint to both his previous experience on the server, and his previous experience off-server; and as much as we joke about it as being paranoia, it does function as a trauma response in a lot of ways. He experiences both paranoia and trauma. It's not difficult to make the claim that Pangi also displays symptoms of PTSD, and it's not an incorrect claim to make. He absolutely fits the bill for all four symptom categories: intrusive memories, avoidance, negative changes in thinking/mood, and changes in physical/emotional reactions. I feel as though this is a widely-accepted consensus, so I won't be going into detail.

We have established that Pangi's character is, in fact, traumatized (which is nothing out of the ordinary for a mcrp character,) and that Pili is correct in his claim that Pangi's separation anxiety and intense fear of abandonment stem from a trauma response. It's how he's built, and how he's adapted to the world around him.

Is it just the case that Pangi suffers from separation anxiety and occasionally deals with instability? Well... no. In fact, I'd argue that Pangi is characterized by his instability and impulsivity. These traits can be found in almost every aspect of his person. "A pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image and affects, and marked impulsivity [...] present in a variety of contexts." (x)

... Okay, so what is the diagnostic criteria for BPD? (x)

1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment

I've already spoken about Pangi's issues with abandonment (x) and I don't want to sound like a broken record, so I won't repeat my previous points in this post in any significant detail. In terms of trying to avoid abandonment, Pangi does this by making himself seem useful/desirable. If he can offer something to someone, in the form of protection/violence, then he believes they'll stick around. In order to avoid abandonment, Pangi will also take any sort of withdrawl/upset with him or his actions as abandonment.

The other day, Aimsey and Lukey were upset with him, and he immediately believed he had to go "lone-wolf," because obviously they didn't want him anymore. He decides the best possible response to potential abandonment is to isolate himself. He has a pattern on the realm where he'll try to leave first so that people don't get the opportunity to leave him after he gets the first taste of what he perceives to be betrayal/abandonment. Of course, that little fact ties into betrayal and abandonment being the same thing to him. Historically, they have been the same thing, so Pangi has no reason to believe otherwise.

2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterised by alternating between extremes of idealisation and devaluation

Pangi does have black/white, all/nothing thinking. While he himself is a morally grey individual, he struggles to see the shades of grey in others. Pangi's definition of "good" and "bad" are not typical by any means, and follow closer towards what he believes to be justified and unjustified. Does this affect his interpersonal relationships, though, is the question? Well, yes. A little more ambiguously than say, Ros, who I can point out several solid examples for, but he does live by this train of thought. I mean, the previous point of him packing up and leaving when someone does something that he believes is an attack against him can undoubtedly be an example of this. He's very quick to pull a 180 when people don't meet the expectations he has of them, and react accordingly.

We can also look at things like, how he reacted to Ros flooding the cathedral. He gets angry, resentful, the angriest he's ever been at her, and doesn't understand why she would possibly to this to him. She does something that conflicts with the image he has of her in his head, the pedestal he believes her to be on, she does something which he sees as betrayal. Abandonment. She's dead to him. He splits.

3. Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

This one is really interesting, because despite how reputation-oriented Pangi is, he has an insanely unstable image and sense of self. For starters, Pangi seeks excessive validation from the people who he's surrounded by. He actively looks for reassurance in everything he does. Pangi has ideas of what he "should" be, what he's "supposed" to be, and his entire sense of self will change based on how he's being perceived at any given moment. Either way, he is very driven by this idea of his own "reputation," and when he so frequently feels things that contradict that image... the image becomes blurry and unclear, and he's left unsure of who he actually is. So, the image will adapt. And adapt. And adapt.

Identity disturbance can be characterized by a shift in goals/ideals, which is incredibly common for Pangi: he will often set out plans that align with his current identity, and abandon them down the road when that identity is challenged or changes. These things are also results of his emotional drive, and "who he is" depends on how he's feeling on that given day.

Identity disturbance can also cause issues in your relationships, as people affected may struggle understanding their own needs/boundaries when they're relating to another person (x), which is something Pangi absolutely struggles with. Pangi is often very ready to forgo his own boundaries and feelings about things when he believes they can potentially jeopardize a relationship he values. Oftentimes, he'll express frustration over something, be met with a negative response, and then decide to put aside that frustration to keep another person content. He will then mold how he reacts based on how he's "wanted" to react. Obviously, Pangi is very prone to acting out on emotion, so these "molds" don't last long, adding to that instability. He's unable to clearly outline his needs/wants, because he's unsure of what they are, because they are so dependant on unpredictable variables. Who he is, is an unpredictable variable.

4/5. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging / Recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behaviour

** The DSM5 strictly states that criteria four and five are separate, but because this is Minecraft, a lot of Pangi's impulsive behaviours can be argued as some form of self-harm. The line between what is and isn't is very blurred, as are his intentions when doing these actions, so I've combined them into the same category for this reason. They are still different points, and I will clarify when I believe something is specific, but I'm just confining them to a single area.

Pangi is impulsive. That should require no convincing, if you've paid any attention to his character. Pangi will often act out suddenly and on a whim, and these actions will cause massive problems for himself and others. This impulsivity is not only present in the minor parts of his character and personality, but also in his major storylines. Pangi decides, on an impulse, he's going to experiment with the weird purple crystals growing out of the ground, and does so excessively and in an uncontrolled environment. He is aware of the risks, is warned by Keepers that he's "dooming" himself, but chooses to do so anyway with no regard for his own well-being. Many of his impulsive behaviours have been related to the corruption, and there's an argument to be made that his relationship with the corruption is intentionally self-harming. The duel is arguably an impulsive behaviour too, Pangi feels that he's bored, and in-order to feel fulfilled again, he chases adrenaline through something deadly and something that will give him purpose. Months ago, back in December, he and Pili have an argument, and he decides he's going to kill people. Most of Pangi's impulses are violent. He needs a steady stream of catastrophe to feel like a person, essentially.

Pangi is less suicidal in theory than he has been in practice. I know that sounds like a crazy thing to say. He is, by all means, a survivalist... isn't he? He says he is, he's effective in staying alive, but how willing is he to live? Recently, of course, very; he spent his last few days before succumbing to the corruption talking about how much he values life, how much he appreciates being alive. Pangi keeps everything he needs to survive on his person at all times, and avoids situations that danger his life. Except... for that one time.

Pangi has expressed suicidal behaviour, but not recently enough to consider it recurrent. Most of his previous ideation can be sorted into the category of threats rather than actions. For example: as Pili was preparing to fight Clown, Pangi threatens to kill himself several times. Not as a joke, not to lighten to mood, he means it with genuine intent: "If you die, I'm gonna kill myself. Pili, I don't think I want to live in a world without you." - "You have an entire life to live," - "Not without you." -> When overwhelmed with the thought of losing Pili, with that emotion, Pangi verbally threatens to kill himself. This is one of the few times he shares this out loud, the extent of it, but not the only time he expresses intent to follow through with it. Most, if not all, of his suicidal behaviours were after losing Pili, and before he was sent to the null. In my head I like to refer to this as the Dark Times in the Pangi lore, because he was so entirely miserable. Again, worth noting, that all of those instances were because he was very unstable and felt no tether to reality, they were spawned out of a heavy grief. Pangi spent a lot of this time separated from the world and willing to behave even more rashly than he usually does--which is to say that it's not typical for his character, but still worth mentioning. A lot of his actions during this time can also be considered impulsive behaviour that happened to be self-damaging rather than actively self-damaging.

6. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g. intense episodic dysphoria, irritability or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

I feel like I've already spoken in depth about Pangi's affective instability, and his reactive mood needs no introduction. Pangi experiences rapid, extremely intense, shifts in mood, however they never last very long at all. Most of his conflicts start the same way: something will happen and it will cause Pangi to react negatively, he'll act out on that emotion, and then regret it later, because they tend to fade pretty fast. He's sworn to go on several villain arcs, rampages, killing sprees, when he's angry, but never follows through with them. By the time it comes around again, he's moved on from feeling that way. This not only happens with his anger, but other feelings: anxiousness, sadness, and irritability. This is one of the main reasons why Pangi seems so wishy-washy when it comes to his plans, because the emotions that he bases them off of are always extremely intense and extremely brief.

7. Chronic feelings of emptiness

Pangi is always chasing some sense of fulfillment. He is constantly unsatisfied and feels the need to do more, to find some bigger purpose or sense of identity.

While speaking with Newt a handful of weeks ago, Pangi says "Does it feel empty? Like there's something missing?" (x) when discussing their memory loss, and then the day after, he tells Bad that while he was corrupted he felt "as normal," just a little weird. Maybe it's a slight stretch to say that this is evidence that Pangi always feels as though there's something missing, but honestly, his character patterns make it clear that this is true.

This has been increasingly obvious recently, after the Lifesteal finale (which, heightened feelings of chronic emptiness have been linked to relieving traumatic events (x),) where he has very openly expressed un-fulfillment. Chronic emptiness typically occurs when you're not well distracted by something, which is highlighted by Pangi's boredom with peace. He has no distraction, and has become overtaken by a feeling of purposelessness, so he finds it in things that will not only provide a decent distraction, but give him a concrete goal to look towards. The duel with Aimsey, the OSC, etc. Pangi seeks out things that will "fill" him, or give him meaning. Things that will tether him back to reality, and make him work with the people around him. (If you watched a single Pangi stream after he agreed to duel with Aimsey, you would've heard him say this. It was the only thing he could talk about, how excited he was to finally have a purpose again, to have a reason to do things, to have something to look forward to.)

8. Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger

"Sometimes, my emotions just take over."

Christ, if Pangi isn't angry. Again, this is not only one of the symptoms that feel more surface-level and easy to notice, but one of the ones that I've kind of already spoken in length about. For those reasons, I'll keep it brief. I don't want to run the risk of repeating myself over and over.

We've already discussed Pangi's intense emotion, obviously this also includes his anger, and his difficulty reining in his emotions. But, is it fair to consider his anger inappropriate? Yes. Pangi is very quick to anger when something sets him off, and it's not uncommon for him to get upset over things that others would consider harmless fun/jokes, or minor disagreements, or questions about his competency. Especially when he feels as if he's been disrespected.

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

I don't know, do you guys think Pangi suffers from paranoia? I've never seen him paranoid in my life. I've never seen him show any dissociative symptoms or suspicion, especially not when he's confronted by the threat of abandonment. If you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic. Here's a small compilation from the day he argued with Aimsey and Lukey about the egg (x), for your viewing pleasure.

Pangi is always paranoid, but it does get significantly worse when he's stressed, especially when he's stressed about being abandoned. Recall that Pangi considers betrayal and abandonment to be the same thing, and they trigger the same response in him. Relating to the compilation linked above, Pangi is convinced that Lukey and Aimsey are going to betray his trust in some way, he believes they are going to kill him, abandon him, and so he completely disassociates from everything he knows to be true about them, and immediately jumps to the conclusion that they are trying to kill or trap him. He grows increasingly suspicious of them, even though they have given him no reason to be suspicious at all. He believes that they are plotting against him, are involved in some major conspiracy to kill him... with little to no reason. These thoughts, of course, are always spurred on by the cause of stress, and as that stressor subsides, so will the thoughts.

So...

In order to be considered for a BPD diagnosis, you must display at least five out of the nine symptoms above. Pangi displays, at the very least, eight out of the nine symptoms, without counting recurring suicidal ideation/threats. Which is a lot.

Obviously, I don't think this is an intentional character decision, nor do I consider him representation, it is just one of the many ways to look at his character. Most of these symptoms are already integral parts of his character, and are all undoubtably intertwined with each other.

Interpreting Pangi as borderline is very far from a groundless belief. There are piles of evidence to support it, and even then, I've only included major examples of the symptoms; as much as I love his character, I obviously cannot remember every instance in which he displayed one of these traits. I only really scratched the surface of each, because this post is long enough already, but there’s definitely more to discuss.

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x15, "clueless"

"love will make you do wrong" oh i'm sure.

this is one of those recaps where i'm definitely just reiterating what the writers were putting down, but it's so insane that it bears in-depth repeating imo.

please believe me when i say this rewatch project's goal is a wholistic view of the entire series. yet, with that in mind, you can imagine the stress i feel when what seems like an episode devoted entirely to unpacking intimate interpersonal relationships has hilson as the fulcrum. and not just hilson - equal character development for both house and wilson as the domesticity shenanigans unfold.

that's not to downplay the patient story - it's crazy, and i'm kind of obsessed with it. the zebra factor is probably way off the charts, but i love the extra sherlockian vibe and the confirmation that house md can, in fact, do shock value without throwing entire identities under the bus (@ 2x13). all that plus the horror movie opening? golden (lmfao).

from the top, then. look at his triangle ass stance here:

we can safely say, i'd argue, that 2000s audiences were supposed to laugh at how much wilson cares about his appearance; i'm laughing, too, but in a 2020s Woke Queer Way. and house lasts just one night with wilson crashing on his couch before he says that this won't work; his domestic sphere has been invaded by someone he doesn't know how to account for, at least not in this capacity. one of the things we know about house thus far is that routine is immeasurably valuable to him.

it also kills me how devastated wilson is to hear that house wants him out, along with his sassy retort about house's hair, or "what's left of it." gagged.

this entire episode is based on the (heterosexual) domicile. it also devotes a lot of time qualifying the patient and his partner, bob and maria, as Sexually Freaky (tm). they upend traditional notions of marriage, partnership, and sex through their kinks/bdsm, including consensual noncon sex. the team leaps to the initial conclusion that bob's sudden suffocation comes from repeated history of rough sex, which is quickly disproven.

maria and bob's sex life absolutely boggles everyone's minds...except for cameron's lol. the growing fluidity with which she treats relationships as some of her convictions adapt (not dissolve! just shift!) is really interesting to me, like it interests chase, too lol.

2x15 persistently deconstructs maria and bob's personal lives until its full ugliness is on display (while unforch being a little kink-shamey, but we can look past this). despite their insistence that they're happy, maria is secretly poisoning her husband. despite their pristine home, what takes place in there is only thinly disguised intermarital violence. cameron's bet on their happiness falls flat on its face, and house md argues that a frontward functional relationship will always be plagued with deeper issues.

those issues are not represented visually, however! let's contrast the 2 major sites of domesticity in this episode:

foreman's remarks that maria and bob keep an impeccably clean place contrasts with wilson's general opinion of house's apartment. over the seasons, we see house's place in various states of disarray, though it's chock full of his personality and history, whereas maria and bob's place is just cold, 2000s chic. this reinforces the subliminal distance between maria and bob and captures the degree to which wilson is invited into house's personal life.

next i want to tackle the emphasis on food, poisoning, and choking in 2x15. i thought it was a silly bullet point in my notes until i actually sat down to right this (like literally in this moment!). after repeatedly arguing that bob was poisoned with heavy metals, house eventually lands on the theory that maria is behind it. it's not until the end does 2x15 reveal that she's been dosing his food with gold (don't ask me the full name lmfao), scarring his lungs over time.

meanwhile, in stuffed pepper, pancake, salad, and sandwich land:

house pretends to find the bell peppers stinky but takes a liking to the rest of wilson's cooking immediately. no poison to be had here. in an outwardly dysfunctional domestic situation, food sharing (however reluctant) is a net positive. wilson's final note warning house off his lunch is closer to a joke than a formal warning:

if it's not clear, i'm casting house as maria and wilson as bob in this off-kilter domesticity parallel, and a subtle but brilliant example of this comes at the very end. while maria is taken away in handcuffs, house rushes back home on his motorcycle. while foreman and chase inform bob that maria was trying to kill him, wilson sleeps soundly on house's couch. viewers are also treated to al green's "love and happiness" in the background, with the very poignant lyric: "love will make you do wrong."

everything about house/wilson and maria/bob is reversed, along with their respective "wrongs." 2x15 is funny and crazy enough to suggest that house deleting the message about wilson's apartment is symbolically akin to maria killing bob slowly over time. look how they both gaze upon their domestic partners - one with faux guilt on their face, and the other with faux annoyance:

i've spent all this time building to the following argument: in pretending that he hates having wilson around, 2x15 subverts the assumed happiness brought on by a heteronormative domestic space. as much as maria pretends to love bob, house pretends to hate living with wilson. maria tries to remove bob from her domestic (and from this earth lol) while house tries to keep wilson around. we spend an entire episode unearthing how sinister a sexually charged heterosexual marriage can be, only to arrive at the house and wilson dynamic of it all.

i'm not even strictly hilson posting here, just highlighting how bizarre it is in that 2000s network tv decided to deconstruct heteronormativity, however intentionally/unintentionally. it's not my fault that wilson has to make everything about sex. and that every moment of this episode is about sex except for the moments spent between house and wilson.

lastly, one of the concluding scenes between house and the fellows is a nice example of audience/house solidarity, something the entire show does subtly throughout to get us squarely in his headspace. the four of them are ruminating over what could possibly motivate someone to kill their partner, which cameron seems especially appalled by.

in response, house makes a slew of interesting deductions: "maybe she just got tired of being married. didn't want to admit to family and friends that the marriage everyone thought was perfect wasn't."

i call this house solidarity because we know for a fact that he's talking about wilson's situation...but who within his marriage? we never meet julie (which, apart from the unfortunate fridging, i think is a good narrative choice), so we don't get her side of the story or understand if/how she's been open about her and wilson's separation. all we know, and all that house cares to know, is that wilson's marriage isn't perfect.

this next bit is informed by my hilson brain, but there's been a subtle thrill in house in the face of wilson's separation. i get the sense that he hopes he's talking about wilson here, that he hopes wilson got tired of being married because things (in the aforementioned heteronormative relationship!) are imperfect. and, as if to secure this hope, he deletes the message about the apartment while looking especially smug.

this line of dialogue also does some work in acknowledging wilson's vulnerability. like the patient in 2x14 suggested, we can't be afraid to look stupid. by nature of showing up at house's door, he's admitted that things aren't perfect. that's their give-and-take; wilson lets house in emotionally while house lets wilson in physically. given house's reliance on routine and privacy, this is an equal exchange.

here's my actual final note: why can't wilson realize that he has a real love language? FOOD! and acts of service! you don't just have to sleep with everyone you love! there are other ways to express these things! you literally had a spoon at the ready for house! and you seem so secretly pleased when he doesn't hate the taste!

[bluey0petal]

𝐱𝐢𝐢 | 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

— CW ; Mild swearing

— Synopsis ; with the village returning from their failed expedition to the nest, Hiccup and (Name) struggle to think of a plan as they’re suddenly found out by a certain someone.

— Word Count ; 11798

Masterlist | CHAPTER XIII — TBA

ᛖᚾᛞᚨᚱ

Hiccup, a runt, a boy born too early into this world— which some say is a world he wasn't quite ready for.

A common theme surrounded him, skinny, incapable, helpless. He was inadequate for the rough and rocky lifestyle that encapsulated the rocky cliffs of Berk's home. That's what the general consensus surrounding him was.

Too many homes had been knocked from their supports and crumpled to the ground like a toppling tower of dust in his wake, and too many dragons had been accidentally freed from their horrifyingly gruesome fate whenever he entered the scene.

He was somewhat of a curse, if you will. Someone who imposed too many accidents for their size.

Clumsy, like a newborn yak.

Garrulous, like the babes who couldn't seem to age any slower.

And most of all, destructive, like Odin's wrath himself.

While Hiccup may not have meant most of the trouble he caused his home, it was indeed trouble that he brought. Shameful looks beseeched him every time, and even his own father would heave the same exhausted sigh heave from his chest the moment he was brought forth and to attention.

That was the collective thought the adults held towards the runt— but now... it seemed to be shifting. Slowly, but still shifting. Like the subtle shift of the ground beneath your feet, how your world would ever so slowly change, for better or for worse.

How the vines would grow longer and the rocks would swap their places, how ravines would open up, ready to swallow the sea, and how monstrous waves would disrupt the shore line, moulding the lands into a new shape, one it had never taken before.

In Hiccup's case, it seemed for the better.

He was flourishing within the ring, tackling dragon after dragon in ways nobody had seen before. A wizard, a mage, or some kind of blessed being— that's what Hiccup had suddenly become.

From suddenly extending a hand and watching a Gronckle collapse to seeing a Zippleback flinch back from him with nothing in sight to aid him. No shield, no axe, not even a helmet. Nothing, nada, he was absolutely by himself, yet... he was doing it.

It was when finals began that people really came to notice this. The Vikings that weren't sailing away had started to stop by to witness the competing between the youngin's, the competition, while little, was fierce.

Children could be rough, and that was as obvious in this litter of teens than in any other year. From the cocky Snotlout who seemed to have too much of a habit of slamming himself into walls, to the prideful Astrid who seemed especially promising.

Everyone had been expecting the latter to win, though it hadn't been spoke aloud. But... ever since Hiccup began to shift into the spotlight, suddenly the odds were turned, tilted on their feet and shining towards Hiccup. He was suddenly the newest prodigy those who watched looked towards.

The chiefs son.

The most likely to kill the Monstrous Nightmare.

Hiccup was the new centre of attention. He was the new beacon of hope. He was the new subject of praise. He was the new table people flocked to for tips. It had only taken a month, just over by a smidge, but he had done it, he had officially become who was expected to win the finale.

Though, outside of the public eye, there was another candidate, one that could have been just as good as him— yet she refused to take the position at the top of the podium. She kept her spot, out of sight and out of mind.

"Why did you forfeit?" Hiccup stood before (Name), staring her directly in the eyes with an interrogative expression, his eyes unusually dark for his usual joyous stance. While he didn't look intimidating, the air was definitely uncomfortable.

The both of them stood in his own loft, inside of the chieftain's hut— alone, just having finished another round of dragon training, and having left to the secrecy of his house for some semblance of comfort in hopes Hiccup wouldn't be flocked.

(Name) stared back at him, suddenly aware of what was around her. The air entering through her nose and into her lungs, how her chest would expand with every breath, the stutter of her heartbeat in her ribcage, and the prickle of her skin shrivelling beneath the gaze of Hiccup.

She didn't answer at first, holding her tongue in thought, swallowing nervously. She seemed internally conflicted, her gaze avoiding his own before joining it again— her fingers twitching anxiously.

"I didn't," she finally answered, her words simple and hopefully enough to dissuade Hiccup from pressing further, but of course, Hiccup was the son of Stoick the Vast. He wasn't easy to push away, he was anything but. He was stubborn, determined, and sometimes that could be a little annoying.

"You did. (Name)— I might be a runt, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. I saw you purposefully jump in front of Ruffnut to take the hit," Hiccup recalled, the exact moment where he noticed her lack of desire to win, the moment when he noticed she didn't press to get a shine of glory.

He'd seen the whole thing from his own standing, how she saw Ruffnut about to be hit, how she was close by, how she had every opportunity to watch Ruffnut get removed from the finals, but instead chose to jump in, instead forcing herself out.

Dragon training wasn't about saving others, it wasn't about sacrifice or how much of a hero you could be, it was about how good of a warrior you could become. You weren't meant to protect others, you were meant to leave them to shrivel. But she didn't, even if she knew the consequences, she purposefully got herself eliminated.

(Name) bit her lip, inhaling deeply. She was thinking again, piecing together her response like a puzzle that needed to be carefully constructed. She was being wary, not of him, of course not, she'd come to trust Hiccup much more than anyone else, but she was being wary of sharing her reasoning.

Did she want to explain to him why she jumped in the way? Or did she want to keep up her lie? Well, the former, of course— she didn't want to lie to him, but her mind waged war between trusting him and her own clenching chest.

Did he even want to know? Of course he did, why else was he asking? But... what if he was expecting a certain answer? What if he— no, this was Hiccup. He wasn't an asshole like the others... he wouldn't... he wouldn't take her reasoning for weakness. She needed to trust him, to swallow her fears and just spit it out, even if her throat tightened when she opened her mouth.

"I— wanted you to win," the answer, again, was simple, but it was about to get a whole lot more complex as she took another breath when she paused, continuing on with her explanation.

"I know neither you nor I want to kill a dragon, now, and— I want to tell everyone else that. No, sorry, I want to show everyone else that dragons aren't all that bad... that, they can be good. But, I can't do it," she bit her tongue.

"Sorry, wrong wording again..." she murmured, shaking her head as she began to fiddle with her hand.

"I know if I try and explain, nobody will listen to my words. Sure; I'm not exactly... hated, but— you're the chiefs son. You're the newest prodigy in dragon training, you are the one they're all looking at right now," she nodded to Hiccup, and Hiccup looked as if he wanted to say something.

"If you try and show them... then, they might just listen," she finished with a gulp, dragging her eyes that had strayed towards the ground back to his face once more.

Hiccup seemed... speechless, no, that wasn't quite the right word for it. He was thinking, he was contemplating, processing. His lips had pressed together, his shoulders had stiffened and his own eyes had trailed away, his jaw clenched with trapped words.

He was skunken, thoughtful, thinking sternly and fearfully at the exact same time. Hiccup was definitely smarter than he looked, his creations proved that more than enough, but even his actions spoke of his intelligence. He was crafty, imaginative, and that's why she thought he'd be the best option for this.

He had this way with words whenever he planned, this way of... making people lower their guard. Although, it'll be hard to get a rowdy group of Vikings to lower their guard, she believed he could do it. He was Hiccup, he had shot down a Night Fury and then befriended it.

He was the first person to ever walk away from a Night Fury encounter alive. That alone spoke of the gods favour over him, so, if there was anything he could do, it was convince the village. He could show them, he could demonstrate that they aren't monsters hidden behind scales and roughened, rigid hide, that they're just any other animal.

Hiccup could do that. That was a truth she firmly believed in.

"They won't," Hiccup finally spoke, looking back to her. Again, he was firm in his words, sure of his own judgement, but at the same time, something that doubted it lingered behind. It wasn't the uncertainty of his own conclusion, it was... the hope that maybe he could do what she told.

That maybe one day he could show Toothless to the village, that Toothless could sleep alongside him in his room, and that he wouldn't have to sneak away from the village everyday just to see his new best-friend. That was the future Hiccup hoped for, one where he could enact all of those dreams.

But the reality Hiccup knew was the one where Toothless would be slayed the moment he stepped foot near one Viking. Vikings weren't taught to think, they weren't taught to evaluate a situation and wait for the right chance to move, they were taught to hurl axes, launch bolas, rip off heads.

They weren't taught to gather information, to learn and grow, they were taught to keep doing what seemed to be working, and if anyone else told them they were wrong— then that person was suddenly the scorn of the populace.

Vikings were stubborn. They weren't made for fluidity, they weren't made for kindness. They were made for brutal bludgeoning, for ruthless slaughter and unyielding aggression. Hiccup had seen it too many times, and he knew in every fibre of himself that (Name) had too.

"But they can," (Name) pressed.

Hiccup clenched his fists, pausing again.

"You— you showed me that they weren't bad," she tried to argue.

"That was different, you already had Shocker with you. You're... not like them," Hiccup pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, as if to ease a headache that was forming from the conversation, and maybe one was forming in this moment.

"But I am. I'm like every single other person out there," she rejected his words, gesturing to the downstairs of his house where his front door lay metres away from them both where they sat up in his loft.

"I watched hundreds of dragons get slaughtered, and I didn't bat an eye. If I didn't get Shocker, or have you find me with her, I probably would have turned out just like everyone else," she pointed out.

Hiccup knew this was probably true, knew that she was right, that she would have followed along in everyone else's footsteps, that she likely wouldn't have known how to care for Shocker without Toothless— but he wanted to believe that even if he hadn't shown up, she would have been different.

He didn't want to believe that it was him that made her change. If he accepted that fact, then it meant that he had to accept the fact he could try and change everyone else, and he didn't want to face that. He didn't want to face that, because facing that, meant if he got rejected in his ideals, his whole life would crumble.

He didn't want to make everything worse when it had just gotten so good, he didn't want to let go of this reality that he'd only just gotten to sink into the glory of. But at the same time... he wanted to change everything, for the better. But, could he?

"Hiccup. You are— you're an outlier! You're the one who's nothing like everyone else," she pointed to him, not seeing his shoulders slump as she continued with her rant.

"But that isn't a bad thing. You're someone who saw what no one else could! You're someone who did the unthinkable. If anyone can change the minds of the village, and sway their hearts, it's you, the one who defied seven generations of tradition," she stared right into his eyes, as he did her's, waiting for his reply.

Hiccups lip quivered, but he snuffed the reaction and took another breath, levelling his head. "I— I don't know..." He shook his head, going to turn away, unable to face her, but (Name) placed her hand on his shoulder, dragging him back to face her.

"But I do. I know that you can do it, I wouldn't have forfeited the finals if I didn't believe in you," she affirmed, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Hiccup's jaw clenched again, a pause returning for its finishing draw.

Hiccup hiccuped, his eyes slightly watering, but he pulled a smile onto his face nonetheless, meeting the girl before him's gaze again. "Have you been taking lessons from Gothi? Where'd these wise words come from?" He snorted, attempting to make a joke to ease the tension within himself.

(Name) didn't laugh, she simply stared at him with the same arbitrated gaze that she developed during her speech. "They aren't wise words Hiccup, they're the truth that's right in front of me," she asserted, defining her own thoughts and status in the situation.

Hiccup again, didn't reply, only standing awkwardly as (Name) stared at him. They both stood silently together for a moment, but then (Name) pulled Hiccup into a hug, one meant for comfort, warmth, and reassurance.

She wanted to solidify the idea that she believed in him, that he could do this, that he could prove he wasn't just a runt— that he wasn't just someone who destroyed huts, that he was Hiccup, whose ideas would shape history itself. That was the idea she wanted to solidify.

Hiccup choked on his own breath, his arms wrapping around her in return.

She knew he was crying, unable to comprehend the fact someone believed in him, but she wouldn't make him feel bad for it. She'd let him cry, let him sob and wail in her arms if he needed to. She would do that for him, she would do it.

"This is so sappy..." she heard Hiccup murmur from over her shoulder, his words a dry laugh, meant to be humorous. She decided to add her own laugh in, just to ease the atmosphere as they hugged.

"Maybe," she nodded, and after ten seconds Hiccup pulled back, wiping his eyes and turning away.

"Sorry.. I probably look like a weakling," he grumbled, using the coarse fabric of his sleeve to brush away the tears that had streamed down his cheeks in soft flows, leaving behind crystalline stains of glistening vulnerability.

"No, you don't. You need to stop thinking that," (Name) crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side, a disappointing glare of disapproval shining through her irises.

Hiccup didn't respond, only continuing to clean his face and dry his eyes, the tousled ends of his old sleeves being stained in a deep green, the water darkening the fabric, absorbing his sorrows.

"You might... not exactly be what everyone else thinks a Viking is— but, I think you're amazing just how you are," (Name) sheepishly admitted, glancing away nervously as her fingers picked at stray strings coming from her top.

She could feel her face burst with warm colours, her heart once more feeling weak as the embarrassment of saying something so corny got to her. She felt like an idiot honestly, wanting to keep helping Hiccup, but far too nervous to understand the way she felt.

Hiccup smiled wider, nodding softly as he finished drying his eyes. He was grateful, a new feeling fluttering in a space that was once hollow within his chest.

To have someone tell him that he didn't need to change how he was to be amazing... it was a nice feeling. Or, was it because it was her telling him this? Hiccup stared at (Name) as he thought, observing the way she bashfully looked away and how she nervously fiddled with her tunic.

She was— the first person he recognised to actually care for him... it was a weird feeling, but he liked it. He liked having someone care for him. He liked having her care for him.

This feeling, it was the same one he used to get when looking at Astrid. Actually, no, it wasn't quite the same one. It was different, more authentic in a way. This feeling that made him feel weaker in his legs was built on the experiences he'd shared with her.

Astrid, was a simple crush. Sure, the girl was pretty, he could still admit that, but looking at (Name) right now, the girl who had somehow slipped into his life so seamlessly, he finally realised something, and it made his heart drop— in a good way, or bad?

He liked her.

.

Sunset had long since shadowed the land, a golden crisp of highlighted rose and ochre blending like a crush of watery paints had been smeared across the sky and then decorated with lumps of cotton, fresh from a sheep's cloak of white.

Finally, Toothless and Hiccup landed— it had been hours, hours since Hiccup had left for his first ever solo flight. (Name) had begun to grow nervous, but hearing him and Toothless touch back down into the ground made her perk up, darting up from where she sat in the snow.

She ran over to the sight of Toothless settling into the cliff beside the stump, flexing his wings and shaking his head, revealing Hiccup sat on the back of the dragon. Only... there was a funny little quirk (Name) immediately noticed once she saw Hiccup.

He was... covered in soot, his hair blown back into a strangely crisp style that protruded up into the air. Not only was his hair all wacko, his face was covered in ash, stained and slight flushed at the cheeks, and his outfit was almost singed, some stray threads having frayed.

She should have been worried, but seeing Hiccup's pouting face only told her the situation wasn't serious. He was easily unclipping himself from Toothless' saddle, swinging his legs out of the stirrups and planting himself on the floor without any sort of injury. He was fine, aside from his looks.

Hiccup immediately connected eyes with her, and he detected the laugh about to burst from her mouth before she even let her smile fully stretch across her face. "Don't, even," he scowled, dusting off his sleeves as if that would clean the darkened ash from the grooves of the weaved cloth.

Against his words, (Name) spluttered, laughing and giggling manically and almost hunching over, had it not been for her trying to maintain balance in order to not let Shocker toppled from her shoulder with her. She gasped and wheezed, clutching her stomach in hysterics.

"Oh— oh my Þor! You look hilarious!" She cackled, stumbling as Hiccup rolled his eyes. He just scoffed, one hand reaching up to ruffle his hair and undo the crisp that had clung to his locks. His hair, while still stiff, did fall back into a slightly messier version of his regular bell-shape.

"How did that even happen?" (Name) squeezed through gasps, choking on air as she ever so slowly regained her composure, coughing a few times into her fists to hide her last few rounds of giggles, to not much of a victorious avail. Hiccup sighed again, his shoulders slumping.

"Turns out that when dragons get trigger happy... they forget you're fire proof," Hiccup side-eyed Toothless, but the dragon just looked the other way, too 'busy' watching the dead branches of the trees sway with the sunset wind.

"Oh gods... I'm sorry, that's funny as hel," (Name) shook her head, breathing deeply to stop herself from falling victim to another onslaught of unstoppable foes named 'the chuckles', which she managed victoriously, calming herself enough to have a straight face while keeping conversation.

"Yeah, yeah, real funny," Hiccup grumbled, but even he couldn't hide his own smile— yet, to divert the conversation, he jolted up, suddenly bursting at the seams as he seemed to remember something. "Oh! I have something to tell you!" Hiccup gasped, making a gesture with his hands as he jumped up.

(Name) gave him her attention.

"Uhm, after me and Toothless went flying... y'know, all that, we kinda stopped by a sea stack— and this flock of terrors came by. At first... they kinda just tried to steal Toothless' food, but he wasn't really giving them any so I gave one of them some fish I had, and it cuddled up to me. A wild Terror cuddled up to me," Hiccup exaggerated, staring (Name) right in the eyes. He seemed bewildered as he rambled on, and she couldn't help but listen.

A terror had cuddled up to him? Not a domestically raised one like Shocker, but a wild raised one, after being fed only some fish. That... was decently interesting.

"Do you know what this means...? That— wild dragons can be friendly too! Not just Toothless, or Shocker! Any dragon!" He beamed, grasping onto (Name's) shoulders as he tried to find something to do with his hands. He shook her ecstatically, and she didn't exactly mind as she assessed his words.

Wild dragons could be friendly... this— this solidified the idea that they were talking about, that they didn't have to fight dragons! This meant they could definitely tell the village now! They had something to back them up with it!

"Oh— oh! And! Another thing... Toothless kinda shot one of the Terror's with a tiny blast, and it got inside its mouth, but the thing was— it wasn't fireproof on the inside! The fire actually hurt it when hit on the inside!" Hiccup continued his rambles, spewing information that not even the book of dragons held.

"Dragons aren't fireproof on the inside! I mean— this is huge! How many more things are there that we don't know of?" Hiccup let go of (Name) taking a step back as he began to think deeply, his thoughts running wild like that of a carnival ride.

With one hand, he crossed an arm over his chest, and then rested the other on it, beginning to chew restlessly at his nails. He was just spouting words at this point, half of which (Name) couldn't decipher, but she could see he was happy with all these theories running through his head.

The way his grin stretched wider than before, a childish curiosity that she'd seen so many times lighting in his eyes, she couldn't help but match his energy as she nodded along with his rambles.

It was only when she noticed the sun getting a little too low on the horizon line that she decided she should probably stop him, as their time without raising suspicious was running way past its limits by now.

"Hiccup, that's uh, cool and all, but we kinda gotta go," (Name) nodded to the sunset, grabbing the boy's attention. He froze, craning his neck to look out over the cliff, finally realising the state of the setting sun.

"Oh," he mouthed.

"Yeah. C'mon, otherwise we'll be walking through the forest at dark," she snorted. "And I don't think that's exactly the best idea, especially not when we don't exactly have a light source," she nodded to the trail they'd usually take back to the cove, and Hiccup hummed in agreement, following her view.

The two of them then made the trek back to the cove, filling the air with idle chatter and the occasional question from (Name), asking what it was like to fly a dragon over the open air. Hiccup explained it to be nerve-wracking, yet fun at the same time, though he seemed a little nervous while explaining. She wondered why.

Eventually, the two of them made it to the cove, leaving both Toothless and Shocker behind in the safety of the coves walls. Toothless happily went to doze off for the night, and Shocker reluctantly unstuck herself from (Name's) shoulder, going to join the Night Fury.

After bidding their scaled companions their goodbye's, both Hiccup and (Name) scaled their way back out of the cove and made the journey back to the village as quick as they could. They pushed through brambles and navigated the ever dark forest as fast as they could, the setting sun being their timer.

They managed to make it back to the village just a few seconds after the sun fully set and only a little light was left simmering in the sky. Though, the only thing that made them stop in their tracks was the sight they saw.

It wasn't the ghost town of a village they'd come to know this past month, it was lively. Vikings chatted as they navigated their way towards the hall, plenty of faces they'd both known to have set sail now back home— already.

Both teens stood at the tree line, both just as shocked as each other.

"Crap... I thought we had at least another week," (Name) hissed, grabbing Hiccup by the arm and pulling him back over to behind his hut, which was ever so luckily placed besides the tree line.

"I thought we had at least two!" Hiccup added in his own panicked hush, quickly following after (Name) as she dragged him behind his house. The sight of the fully returned village wasn't something Hiccup was comfortable, especially not with the plan the two had been concocting.

Hiccup had devised that he would show the lesser amount of the village Toothless, hoping that getting the fewer to listen would be easier, and then those few would be able to convince the larger lot— but with everyone back now... oh he'd have to change his entire plan, he'd have to rewire everything!

And— oh gods... this meant his dad was back.

"Hiccup, breathe," (Name's) voice yanked his attention, and he came to, realising her grip on his shoulders. He stared at her, blinking a few times to regain cognitive clearance, and then he shook his head.

"Right sorry. Sorry. Just... thinking, agh— I need to hide my things!" Hiccup strained his hands again, his fingers dusting against one another in a nervous movement, repetitive and uncontrollable.

"What if my dad finds my stuff?" Hiccup looked up, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Hiccup, calm down. Let's get this sorted. Everyone is heading to the hall for dinner, the chief is probably there too. You have time to go to your room and move your stuff to the forge. I'll go to the hall to buy you a little time, alright?" Quickly, (Name) devised the best plan she could come up with on the spot, doing her best to remain confident in front of Hiccup.

Hiccup stopped his nervous shifting, nodding sternly and taking another breath to calm himself. "Right. Right, I'll do that— thanks," Hiccup sighed, and (Name) nodded, letting go of his shoulders.

"Come to the hall when you're done," (Name) called after Hiccup as he ran into his house through the back door, hearing his rushed footsteps as he likely ran heavily up the stairs, his gait rushed.

She didn't wait for a confirmation that he'd heard her, instead walking out from behind his house and strolling over to the crowd of Vikings that were slowly flooding into the hall. Their chatter was loud, and the boisterous atmosphere that usually came with dinner was back.

She seamlessly blended in with the flock, merging with the crowd and following the rest up the steps, trailing behind metal helms and chuckling beards. Nobody had quite yet seemed to notice her, and if they had, they didn't say anything.

The hall doors opened, and she stepped into the heavily illuminated hall, Vikings taking up tables and fire casting a strong tawny glow across the stone of the Meade hall's walls. The scent of ale was strong, and (Name) quickly scanned her eyes across the flocked hall trying to find the others.

A hand was suddenly placed on her shoulder, heavy and strong. She jumped in place, slowly craning her neck to look back. Her hackles raised when she realised it was quite literally the chief standing behind her, having come up from seemingly nowhere.

To say Stoick was imposing was an understatement, and she felt goosebumps crawl up her skin, even if the chieftain was smiling at her warmly.

"Lass! I hear yer managed ta' come third in dragon training, congrats!" The chieftain didn't seem to have any ill intent, only coming up to her randomly to apparently congratulate, but he was still scary— and she couldn't help but be extra nervous with the knowledge of her own actions hiding in wait.

"Ah—! Chief! Yeah... I did, thanks... wish I coulda got higher though," (Name) sheepishly chuckled, nodding her head as she stepped back, and Stoick didn't stop her from stepping away as he placed his hands above the girth of his belt.

Right... she needed to buy time for Hiccup.

"So uh... how was the trip? Find the nest yet?" She decided to ask, both wondering how the travel went and simply trying to make small talk to buy any semblance of extra time for Hiccup to scramble his designs to some hidden place in the forge.

"Agh... fortunately not, those devils ambushed us," Stoick shook his head, obviously disappointed with the results.

"Yeah, that's sucks," (Name) nodded, and then the two stood awkwardly as other Vikings around them paid no mind.

(Name) had quite literally rarely interacted with the chief outside of maybe a raid, so having him try to make small talk with her so suddenly was not only nerve wracking, it was panic inducing at heart. Why did the chief want to talk with her? Surely he wouldn't care about her training results.

"Mmh... uh, I hear you've been hanging with Hiccup."

Oh... that's why. Someone probably spilled the beans that the two have been disappearing together for a long, long time.

"Oh! Yeah, me and him have been training in the woods most of the time!" She nodded, folding her hands behind her back to hide the way they kept nervously pinching at her shirts fabric.

"Training have you? Ah, I do hope he hasn't cause anymore accidents," Stoick laughed heartily, and (Name) felt she had no other choice but to chuckle along nervously, trying to sound authentic in her own laugh.

"Uh— yeah... no, he's been fine. He's actually uh, really smart," she nodded, clearing her throat awkwardly, a cough only making her sentence sound all the more nervous.

"Right," Stoick nodded, and again, a tense silence befell the two.

"So uh... where would he be right now?"

Ohh, he wanted to know where Hiccup was. Okay, okay— she could... uh, wait, she promised Hiccup she'd buy him some time from his dad. Uh oh. Crap, she really was between a rock and a hard place, wasn't she?

She couldn't lie to the chief! But, she couldn't go back on her promise to Hiccup either. Shit— shit... what does she do?

"Uhhhh... when I last saw him he was at your hut— I think? No, sorry... he was by the docks? Or was he at the blacksmith?" (Name) stumbled over her words, purposefully putting on a confused act as she tried to 'recall' where she last saw Hiccup.

"Sorry, chief. I haven't seen him since midday... but he's probably in one of those places. He doesn't really go anywhere else," (Name) shrugged, and Stoick nodded, seemingly satisfied with the information anyway. Gods... she understood why he was the chief.

Just looking at him up close, if she were a dragon, she'd turn the other way and never come back.

"No worries lass," the chief shook his head. "I'll go look for him, and uh, you should go find yer parents," Stoick gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before nodding awkwardly, to himself, or to you? Who knows. But, either way, he turned and left after that, the thick brown of his cape swaying after him as he walked off.

While the pressure left your body once the chief finally turned away, you could still feel a sense of panic lingering within yourself. The chief was going to look for Hiccup now— crap. While he may not know the exact location of his son, you just hoped Stoick took long enough trying to find Hiccup that Hiccup had enough time to move most of his things to the forge.

Seeing the chief finally step out of the hall, you turned, reminiscing his last words. 'You should go find yer parents'. She probably should, she hadn't seen them quite yet, and she was eager to greet them again after the expedition.

She wondered, just how close had they gotten to finding the nest before the dragons struck? Likely not that close, seeing as Stoick wasn't all too boastful about the expedition, but still, she was curious to know.

Scanning her eyes over the crowd, she identified every villager she could see, looking for at-least one of her parents, be it mother or father. Mildew, Agnar, Silent Sven... Gobber and the others, Magnus, Hildrew— and... oh! There was her mum!

(Name's) eyes visibly lit up as she saw the figure of her mother sat at a table, a tanker of Meade before her, and a plate of crisp to the core chicken placed before her. Her mother was the same as ever, chatting away with some of the other mothers.

(Name) instantly began to charge through the crowd, weaving her way past Vikings and muttering the occasional 'sorry' whenever she accidentally bumped someone's shoulder a little too hard. She passed by tables of already drunk Vikings and boisterous laughs, eventually making it to the table her mother sat at.

"Mum!" She called, and her mother turned around instantly, her own face being one of surprise upon spotting (Name). Though, upon quickly identifying her daughter, a smile enhanced by wrinkles carved its way across her mouth.

"Hon!" Her mother called back in return, and (Name) sprinted towards her mother as she turned in her seat and outstretched her arms. The two collided in a hug, and she buried herself in the warmth of her mother's arms as much as she could.

"Told yer I'd be back, did I not?" Her mother smiled, softly pulling back from the hug to glance into (Name's) eyes. (Name) smiled back, her own smile filled with the same emotions her mother emitted. Warmth, love— a fuzzy paternal kind of feeling.

"I know, I know," (Name) nodded her head, sheepishly looking away.

"How've yer been hon? Crushing it in dragon trainin' I hear?" The look in her mother's eyes was prideful, one that sent sparks of light joy through (Name), yet behind that joy, a deep guilt stirred within.

No, this wasn't the time. Hiccup had said he'd figure something out... just— focus.

"Ah... yeah, but I kinda got eliminated," (Name) smiled solemnly, slipping in the seat that her mother opened for her by scooting over.

"Don't worry lass! I hear yer still beat Snotlout! That's an accomplishment in itself," one of her mother's friends chimed in, slamming their own pale of Meade down on the table with a grin on their face.

The others at the table chimed in, chants of agreement ringing out as they began to praise (Name). She shifted uncomfortably under the attention, but nimbly accepted the compliments with a soft nod each time one was shot in her direction.

They boasted and smiled, the atmosphere feeling familiar to that of those rare warm summer mornings where the sun soaked your skin delicately and the breeze was just right. It felt nice, and (Name) was grateful to have her mother return home safely, along with her father. Speaking of which, she'd likely have to go find him soon.

Yet, it seems the questions from her mother's companions hadn't quite ended, and some rumours had spread even further than her own ear, more so than she would have initially liked. It was Hertha who asked the question, a woman more experienced in gossip than blades.

"And lass, 'ts true you've been hangin' around a certain lad?" The elder woman cocked her head, intrigue in her eyes. (Name) stiffened up in her seat, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes watching her all over again.

"Huh?" Was all (Name) could reply with, too stumped to say anything digestible.

"Oh come on lass! Ev'ryone's already heard 'bout yer and Hiccup hanging out," the woman continued to tease, only inflating the embarrassment felt by (Name) as she was once more the centre of attention.

"Well— me and him have just been training in the forest," (Name) shrugged, glancing to her mother for some sort of supper, hoping that her mother would recognise her unwillingness to talk, but it seems her mother was just as eager to know as the rest of the women at the table were.

"Come on lass, nobody here will judge yer," one of the woman snorted.

"Don't lie to her now, yer know damn well most of us are wondering why it's Hiccup," another st the end of the table shook her head, Phlegma, was her name if (Name) remembered her correctly. Wait a minute.

(Name's) face contorted into a scowl as she realised the implications of what Phlegma saying. They were insinuating Hiccup was a weird choice to like— and while she may not 'like' him, that was just plain rude!

Hiccup was smart— cute, funny... and oh gods help her she was sounding corny.

(Name) tried to ignore the 'childish' conversation that broke out throughout the adults, instead shrinking back to hide in her own mind scape. She didn't think Hiccup was unlikeable... not at all.

Listening to these friends of her mother talk about Hiccup in that way stirred something uncomfortable in her chest, and the feeling only got worse when one of them replied with 'don't let the chief hear you say that' to one of the comments.

On second thought, maybe she'd catch up with her mother later, she didn't particularly feel fond of sitting here at the moment. She should just go find Hiccup instead, make sure he was okay and see if his dad had found him yet.

Standing up from the table as silently as possible, (Name) managed to slink away from the gossiping adults and weave her way back through the hall. She hadn't stuck around for long, not even long enough to steal maybe a shrub of chicken, but she had better things to do than listen to those kinds of comments.

Sometimes she wondered why the adults felt more childish than her sometimes, and one time she'd even had the gall to ask why they seemed so much more insensitive than the children her age, but she'd been brushed away, saying that she was just too sensitive.

That was the Viking way after all. They don't think, just throw punches, whether it be with words or their axes, all a Viking knew how to do was swing an axe. After all, nobody survived in the wild through kindness, only through brutal bloodied battlegrounds.

Pushing the hall door open, (Name) stepped outside into the cold frosty air, transitioning into the cold grounds of the outside. She trotted her way down the hall's stone steps, her hands coming to hug herself for warmth, and she made her way to the forge, where she assumed Hiccup would be.

The outside still had Vikings, more than the past month, but less than the peak of a usual day. Most had gone to the hall to dine for the night, joining their comrades, coming together after an exhausting expedition. No doubt, life would pick up swiftly again, the quiet of the past month being replaced by the fast-paced lifestyle of Berk.

Though, knowing that, she couldn't help but relish in the quiet of now. The soft howl of the wind and the distant salty crash of waves against rock, it was all so... now. So current, so in the moment. The way she could feel the air crisp in her chest, hitting the back of her throat. It was peaceful.

Moments like this were rare, and she couldn't help but relish in it as she stalked towards the forge. The stars twinkled their constellations in the sky, and her feet followed their patterns as they directed her towards the smithy.

She glanced around the seemingly unoccupied forge, noticing the stillness, then she looked to the blanket that covered Hiccup's own storage room, seeing the light still peering out from behind it, as if motioning to her that he hadn't quite left yet.

(Name) weaved her way into the smith, carefully dancing through the clutter of scrap and metals whilst she egged herself closer to the tarp that separated the forge and Hiccup's back room. Shuffling came from inside.

She reached the tarp, gripping the coarse fabric between her fingers and prying back the coverage, sticking her head inside. A lantern was lit on the desk Hiccup kept his sketches on, and Hiccup was seated on the stool before the desk, his head down and something new in his hands.

"Hiccup?" (Name) announced her presence, her eyes drawing to the reflective item in Hiccup's grasp. It was a helmet, one that Hiccup's hands clung to, his fingers grasping the rim of the metal. She didn't know he had a helmet— frankly she'd never seen him wear one before.

Hiccup looked up at her call, his eyebrows raising and lips parting as he realised her presence.

"Oh— (Name). Hi, uh, sorry," Hiccup coughed awkwardly, lifting the helmet and placing it on-top of his desk as she stood from the stool. His shoulders were stiffened again, and she could see the contemplative look lingering behind his eyes. He'd been thinking about something deep.

"Your dad stop by?" She knew the answer, from the way he seemed slightly more closed off than before— but she felt she should ask anyway, wanting him to be the one to confirm or deny the fact of the matter.

Hiccup frowned, glancing away, one of his hands resting on the desk while his fingers idly tapped in a soft rhythmic pattern. "Yeah," he nodded, an obvious angst being shouldered by his face.

They stood in silence after the confirmation, neither making a move. The air stopped, it hovered, waiting for one of them to move. Both of them waited for the other to move, waiting for a queue on how to act next— but none came, so one of them had to take initiative.

It was (Name).

"He say anything...?" She almost winced at her own expectant tone, fingers fiddling again with the loose strings of her arm wraps.

Hiccup pressed his lips down, his chest dropping with a loudly exhaled sigh. Slowly, almost painstakingly so, Hiccup nodded, sitting back down on the stool. "He did," Hiccup once more answered, his fingers counting their tapping.

(Name) could see the weight of inspection lingering over Hiccup, the overwhelming thoughts of evaluation as he delicately scrutinised his own conversation with his father. Something had been said, good or bad, it had caused a lot of thinking to befall Hiccup.

"Was it bad?" Maybe she shouldn't be asking all these questions, maybe she should, but she felt the need to know, felt a need to dig deeper to involve herself in some kind of way. She wanted to know so that she could comfort him properly. So that she could comfort herself properly.

Hiccup took another breath. It wasn't a deflated one like the others, it didn't released years of pent up frustration like those did— this one was preparing him to say something, bracing him for what he was to speak of.

(Name) instinctively prepared herself in response.

"No. He... actually told me how proud he was of me," Hiccup shrugged, taking yet again another breath. "He said he couldn't wait for me to kill my first dragon, that the years of the worst Viking to ever exist had finally ended," Hiccup finished explaining, and (Name) realised the weight of the chiefs own words.

The chief had probably only been trying to comfort his son, to show how proud he was and how much he was happy his son had 'finally' accomplished something— but it weighed the wrong way on Hiccup. It didn't sit heavy like the gold of a medal around his neck. It sat tight, like the suffocating hold of a noose.

The chief was praising the son he thought he saw, the son who was about to become a dragon killer, the son who had suddenly gained all these skills. Hiccup knew that son was a facade, (Name) did too. They both knew Stoick wasn't really proud of Hiccup, the chief was proud of the son he thought he had.

Hiccup didn't want to kill dragons, didn't want to bludgeon an animals skull in— he didn't want to do any of that. But how was he to tell his father—the chief— that? How was he, the boy who's only ever wanted the approval and praise from his face, to tell his father this was all a lie.

How was he to do that? How was he to muster the courage? He was but a boy, and she was but a girl. They had no idea what they were doing, no idea where this would lead, and they certainly had no idea how to move forward.

"He even gave me this. Said it was to protect me in the ring... apparently it was one of the halves of my mother's breast plate," even (Name) cringed as Hiccup gestured towards the helmet, another flush of cringe wafting over her as Hiccup recounted the conversation with his father.

(Name) pressed her lips together, unable to think of words to say, she simply let Hiccup continue on.

"I— I don't know what to do. How do I tell him? Do I tell him? I just— I'm so... stuck. How do I tell my dad, the chief of Berk! That his son is everything he despises! He's going to hate me! Everyone's going to hate me!" Hiccup shoved his head into his hand, his fingers pressing hard against the skin of his cheeks.

He was in turmoil, so twisted in his own confusion that he wasn't sure of how to unwrap himself.

(Name) wasn't either. But she would try and help.

She took a step closer, coming to stand beside Hiccup as he buried his face deeper into his hands. She waited again, took her moment to think, and then she raised a careful hand, placing it on Hiccup's shoulder.

She didn't squeeze it, didn't pull him towards her for a hug like last time, she just put her hand on his shoulder, a reminder that she was standing here, that if he needed to seek out comfort, she would he standing here the entire time.

"He's not going to hate you, and, you're not everything he despises," she began, not caring that Hiccup kept his head buried in the cover of his hands.

"Look— I'm going to be honest right now. I— I don't have any idea on what to do either, I was kinda hoping you would... but, I do know one thing for sure. Hiccup, you're not a disappointment, you're amazing, you're smart, you're— everything good in this world! Sure, you're not a Viking... not how they see one anyway, but so be it. If you not wanting to brutally bludgeon animals heads in means that you aren't a Viking in their eyes, then I wouldn't want you to be a Viking anyway, because, I don't think a Viking could be as amazing as you—" she took a breath to stop her incoming stutter, her eyes flicking away to avoid seeing Hiccup's reaction.

"You are so much more than that... and, if anyone can prove them wrong, that being a Viking isn't all it's cut out to be, then I think it's you. You're the son of the chief, the first person to ride a dragon, and the first person to prove being a Viking isn't all it's cut out to be," she finished, finally glancing back to Hiccup.

He was staring at her, eyes wide and admiring. They both stared at one another, hearts pounding heavy in their ears and the silence taunting. Hiccup didn't say anything, didn't say another word. The only thing that told of his reactions was the smile that stretched onto his face.

He nodded slowly, turning away again.

"Thanks— sorry, you're right. You're right. Sorry, again," he quivered, his breathing shaky as he regained his own steadiness.

"Don't apologise, there's nothing to be sorry for," (Name) shook her head, and Hiccup pressed his lips together.

"You're right. I'll figure something out," Hiccup slowly nodded again, as if trying to convince himself.

"I know you will. Now, we gotta get to bed before curfew," (Name) cocked her head to the exit, Hiccup followed where she gestured. She was right, again. They should both be getting to bed, it was late.

"Right," Hiccup stood from the stool, making sure to grab the helmet his father had gifted him from the desk, carrying it in one hand as both him and (Name) left the privacy of the back room.

They both stepped out of the forge, into the streets— and right before they parted ways, Hiccup stopped (Name). This time, the roles were swapped. It was his hand reaching out to her arm, grabbing it gently, just enough to gain her attention.

She looked back to him, curious.

"(Name), thanks, for— being here, and, not ratting me out," Hiccup smiled gratefully, and (Name) felt her own smile stretch across.

"Don't worry about it, I'd do it again if I had to. Night, Hiccup," she nodded, a gentle goodbye. Hiccup returned it, his hand leaving her arm hesitantly.

"Night," he mumbled back, and then he slowly turned away, walking back towards the direction of his hut. (Name) watched him walk away, her eyes trailing after his figure. Once Hiccup reached halfway to his hut, she turned away, walking in the opposite direction to her own house.

.

Vikings crammed themselves as close to the bars of the ring as they could, watching like hawks from above. They cheered and cried their bets, their expectations, all hanging above like heavy metal chains.

The final round. The match to determine who would win the honour of killing the monstrous Nightmare.

"Come on Hiccup!"

"Go Astrid!!"

Every Viking had their own bias of who they wanted to win, who they wanted to take the honour of winning the generational medal. Hiccup or Astrid, the chiefs son, or this generations prodigy? The match was on, and both teens were down in the ring, alone.

Hiccup stood beside the blonde, helmet sloppily sat atop his head and axe heavy in his hand. His shoulders were held tight, and he looked up, viewing all those around. He saw his father, the chief, smile high and wide, just like his expectations.

Hiccup smiled back, though his smile dropped as he quickly looked away, instead searching for someone else, someone who had promised their support from the sidelines.

He found (Name) crammed between Vikings on the other side, watching just like all the others, but she didn't look at him with beady eyes, she instead smiled reassuringly. She believed in him, mouthing a 'you can do this'.

Hiccup nodded back, adjusting his sweaty grip on his axe. He was nervous, and his heart was telling him the same thing from the way it hammered vigorously against the armour of his ribs. It was relentless, a ticking reminder of the blood pumping through his veins.

His father's blood. His mother's blood. The blood that made him.

Astrid standing next to him sent him a glare, and he tried not to show how much it intimidated him. Astrid was scary, scarier than she had been at the start of dragon training. She was far more determined to win than him, but if he let her win, he let the Monstrous Nightmare be killed.

He hadn't met the dragon yet, but he wouldn't let another be slaughtered. He wouldn't let its hide be used as clothing, wouldn't let its talons and fangs be tied for a necklace. He wouldn't let its head be hung on a wall.

Gothi, the village elder watched over the two kids from above, observant and eager to judge with her staff in one hand. She was perceptive, her eyes seeing every detail of emotion lingering on the two. Every piece of hope, every piece of resolve lingering within, every fire of emotion hiding within.

Hiccup looked forward, adjusting his helmet where it slipped to the side on his head. He stared directly at Gobber, the amputee standing with a wide grin at the other side of the arena, standing before one of the gates that hid the dragons.

Hiccup took a shuddering breath, drowning out the noise around him. Mouths moved, but he didn't pay attention to them. He didn't pay attention to the cheers, the speeches, only the rusted grout on the door. He only paid attention to the shimmer of the grease on the metal, and the way Gobber's hand wrapped around the lever.

It pulled down, slowly, yet jagged at the same time. Chains cranked, cogs clanked, the log holding the door down raised. Hiccup and Astrid watched it, the Vikings quieted down. Everyone watched with a bated breath as the log was raised higher. Gobber took a step back.

The doors burst open, the same Gronckle the teens had been fighting all these months flying out like a speeding arrow. Its wings buzzed, and its movements were frantic as it looked all around.

Hiccup watched the dragon, watched it not pay attention to them, but he didn't watch it for long as his collar was suddenly grabbed by Astrid, his gaze meeting the aggressive blondes. She sneered at him, her grasp tight and her stance imposing.

"Stay out of my way, I'm winning this thing," she warned, her words almost like an animalistic growl as she commanded him to step aside. She was determined, and that showed in the way she didn't even give Hiccup time to respond before she darted off.

"No— by all means! Go ahead!" He called after her as she sped off, running to hide behind one of the covers that had been there for the past few matches. She cradled her own double axe to her chest, cramped and muttering to herself. Hiccup simply look away, noticing the Gronckle now spotting him.

Astrid stared at the ground before her, gripping her axe tight. She was going to win this. She'd make sure of it. Astrid glanced out from over the top of the cover. The Gronckle was still buzzing around, just having noticed Hiccup. She pulled herself back down to hide, turning to the floor again.

"This time— this time for sure!" She hissed to herself, tapping the leather wrapped handle of her axe against the floor. She almost bit her tongue as she chanted to herself, taking a deep breath before swiftly pivoting in her seat.

Her legs pushed herself up, and she jumped over the hurdle letting out a feral war cry as she began to charge, ready to slam her axe into the side of the Gronckle like she'd done to so many other dragons.

Though, she stopped in her steps. So did the world.

Everything slowed, and Astrid stared at the sight before her.

"No—" she wheezed, her eyes widening and her arms falling by her side as she stared towards Hiccup.

His weapon wasn't even in his hands, fallen to the floor beside him, but so was the Gronckle.

It was completely docile, rolled over and defeated. Hiccup simply stood with his arms clutched to his chest, looking between Astrid and the Gronckle with an awkwardly guilt look. He'd... won?

How? How— how? How. How? How. How? How had he won? How had he—?

"No! Dammit! Son of a half-troll, rat eating munge bucket—!" Astrid yelled in a rage, swinging her axe violently through the air in a fit of anger. Hiccup had won, and the match had barely started. How had he done it?! There wasn't even a sound!

This match... she was supposed to be the victor, to win the honour! The honour she'd trained for her entire life— and he'd just... taken it! That some of a bitch didn't even care! He looked ready to leave, and Astrid gaped at the next words that came out of Hiccup's mouth.

"So uh? We done here— cause I have something I need to—" Hiccup even turned to leave, but he didn't get far before Astrid stepped before him with her axe to his neck, seething red.

"To what? You have to what?" She grunted, backing him away from the exit. If he weren't the chiefs son she'd have thrown him across the wall, and it was probably so very obvious to the onlookers that she wanted to, because Gobber stepped in between the two teens, separating them.

"Alright you lot. Calm down, the village elder has decided!" Gobber instantly shut the scene up, and both teens were forced to stand at Gobber's side, all attention turning towards Gothi, the one watching from the stands.

Hushed murmurs rounded the ring, all eyes focusing on the grey woman with a staff.

Gobber raised a hand, hovering it above Astrid'S head. He pointed down at the lads, gesturing to her. Gothi watched, narrowed eyes scrutinising the blonde, judging her... but then, Gothi shook her head.

'Awh's' echoed through the crowd, disappointment to those who'd bet on the lass holding heavy.

Astrid could feel her anger simmer stronger, and as Gobber raised his hook above Hiccup's head— it only bubbled higher. Gothi stared at Hiccup, her eyes narrowed again, and then, after a bated breath from the crowd, nodded.

Cheers erupted like magma from a volcano, praises and screams echoing high across the mountains as the entire crowd burst into applause, all of it directed towards Hiccup.

Astrid's gaze traveled as her head craned, and her glare locked onto Hiccup, her grip on her axe tightening. Hiccup's shoulders had deflated, his jaw clenched. Astrid didn't get to glare at him for long, for the rest of their class — minus (Name) — had come along to swoop him up.

The cheers continued, and smiles widened further as Hiccup was held high above heads, tossed between hands against his will. Even Gobber had joined in.

"You've done it Hiccup! You get to kill the dragon!" This was a monumental achievement for the boy, a stepping stone that he jumped to that every thought he would slip once touching. Yet he'd done it.

He'd topped everyone in dragon training. The runt had 'proven' himself, rose higher than anyone else and done it all with skills nobody had ever seen or ever used before. He had truly become an enigma.

Hiccup forced a smile, his eyes flicking to (Name) who had her own unsure smile, but he looked back away again, weakly pumping his fist into the air. "Yay... I am so—"

.

"Leaving. We're leaving," Hiccup sighed, walking past (Name) and staring down at the snow on the ground of the cove. The sky was clear, the sun only getting closer to sinking on the sky as he stepped past her, his arms crossed.

"What're you taking about?" (Name) sped after him, catching up to him and catching him by the shoulder. She forcefully turned him to face her, her eyebrows furrowed down in confusion. This— wasn't what she expected when she told him to figure something out.

Hiccup only stared at her deadpan, fully serious and intentional in his words. "I'm talking about how we should leave. We can't stay here," Hiccup gestured around, as if pointing to all of Berk in itself— the island, the village, the people, all of it.

(Name) frowned deeper, searching for any trace of joking within Hiccup's expression. "Yes we can. What, you want us to just leave our home?" She was flabbergasted, absolutely confounded as she tried to comprehend his train of thoughts that had led to this conclusion.

"I want us to do exactly that. I can't kill a dragon (Name)! What am I meant to do!?" Hiccup was serious, but also... panicked.

"I— I don't know, but you said we'd figure something out! I promised I'd help you figure something out! Not... this!" Her hand slipped from his shoulder, gesturing towards the sky as she imagined his plan actually unfolding.

Hiccup, and perhaps her, flying off, leaving their home behind and leaving only a trace of themselves in the wind for the rest of the village to search for. What about her parents? How would they react to her disappearance? To their daughter vanishing?

How would Hiccup's dad react? She could only imagine the search parties, the dreading of their parents believing they're dead. She could imagine it all. The looks on her own parent's face, the meltdowns they'd have. It tugged at her heart even if it was only an idea.

She'd never do that, she didn't have a strong enough conscience.

"I did figure something out. We're leaving. You, and me, we can't stay here. Did you see how happy they were when I won? What happens when I reject that position? What happens when they find out—?"

"Find out about what?"

Both Hiccup and (Name) jumped and screamed at the exact same time as Astrid revealed herself on top of a large moss-topped boulder just beside them. The blonde was calm, her axe in her lap and a rock in her hand that she ran along the blade.

The stone raked against the metal, and both (Name) and Hiccup froze as Astrid finally looked to them, one brow raised and her expression stoic. How... had she gotten here— to the cove? Had she followed them? Or had she been here before?

"Well?" Astrid slid off of the rock, standing before both stunned teens, dropping the stone in her hand and letting it fall to the ground, it bounced along before settling. "Whats going on? You two have a secret, and I wanna know what it is," she looked between them, observing their panicked expressions.

"Astrid— hi! Hi Astrid... uhm," Hiccup couldn't even form a sentence, and it seemed that weakness had provoked Astrid to begin interrogating him, the blonde lass stepping closer to him.

"Don't 'Astrid' me. Nobody suddenly gets as good as you do in dragon training, especially you. And don't bullshit me, (Name) didn't train you, I know her, and she doesn't half the shit you've been doing. So... what's going on?" She stalked Hiccup like a predator, and the poor boy shrunk back nervously.

"We have been training—" (Name) tried to step in, but one glare from Astrid shut her up. The look was one of fire and steel, a molten mould of a warriors heart.

"No you haven't. So... tell me," Astrid turned back to Hiccup, looking over him and noticing how his regular furred vest had been swapped for a leather apron-looking thing. She didn't recognise, not to mention she'd never seen him in it.

"And what's this?" Astrid grabbed the strap wrapping over his shoulder, lifting it and effectively Hiccup in the process. The boy was obviously uncomfortable, but he couldn't do much against Astrid— who was much stronger than either him or (Name).

Hiccup had his words lodged in his throat, stuck behind the tightening muscles that couldn't seem to loosen themselves. He couldn't get his words out, and the situation only escalated when a twig snapped from the other side of the cove.

Astrid's eyes snapped away, the movement like lightning. Suddenly, she wasn't focused on Hiccup anymore, rather the sound that had boomed loudly from the other side of the cove. Her head instantly turned, and she was soon peering over Hiccup's shoulder, trying to push him to the side.

"Uh— uhm! You're right! Fine, fine! You caught us!" The words finally dislodged, and Hiccup grabbed into Astrid's arm, trying to tug her bag. "Me and (Name) have been making... outfits! So— drag us back, humiliate us, just— ow!" Astrid grew tired of Hiccup's pestering, turning back to him and grabbing his arm with her free hand.

She twisted it in her grip, turning it in the wrong direction until there were very clear popping sounds that had Hiccup wincing in pain and his knees buckling. "Why would you do that!?" He cursed below his breath, and then Astrid kicked him to the floor, only worsening his pain.

She raised her axe above his stomach, glaring down at the boy before dropping her axe down on his stomach. Hiccup cried out in pain again, his hands grabbing at his stomach uselessly. "That's for the lies," Astrid huffed, catching her axe as it bounced back up.

Then, she lifted her boot, stomping down on the boy. "And that's— for everything else," the condescending look she held down on him was nauseating, and (Name) stepped in, for she couldn't watch Astrid literally abuse Hiccup any longer.

"Astrid that's enough," she grabbed at Astrid's arm, pulling her away, and unlike Hiccup, Astrid let her, only turning to glare in retaliation. (Name) didn't falter, only standing her ground against Astrid.

"What? I'm only trying to find out what you guys are hiding," Astrid shrugged, unbothered by her actions. She probably could see what was wrong with what she just did, how she left Hiccup struggling to pick himself up, but she likely didn't care with her thirst for justice.

"Okay fine— interrogate us, but you try and hit Hiccup again, I'll personally stop you," Astrid stared into (Name's) eyes, narrowing her own at the dead serious expression on the parallel girls face. (Name) was serious, and Astrid knew she was.

Astrid yanked her arm out of (Name's) hold, turning her nose up at the girl before turning around to look back at the space she'd been trying to observe before, now with Hiccup not in the way.

Astrid's eyes watched the other side of the cove, it seemed empty, just perhaps a stray rabbit having caused the snap of the twig, but when Astrid saw a figure in the shadow, the very subtle reflection of scales leading like a trail to bright green eyes, she panicked.

The dragon stared at her, and she stared back— then it began to approach.

"Get down!" Astrid yanked Hiccup from where he was getting up, throwing him towards (Name) and standing protectively with her axe in front of the two, like a shield as the dragon jumped over rocks closer to them both.

Hiccup was the one to snap out of his confusion, spotting Astrid raising her axe as Toothless approached them, anger in the dragons eyes. "Astrid wait!" Hiccup yelped as he pushed himself towards the blonde, jumping around her and yanking her axe out of her grip.

Astrid was too in shock to stop him, and even more so when the dragon suddenly reared back, stopping itself when Hiccup stepped between them both.

The onyx dragon sneered, growling deeply, yet not making another step forward as Hiccup commanded it back. It listened, like a dog would its owner, it didn't take another move forward, just stalking the blonde from behind the barrier that was Hiccup.

"It's okay! It's okay..." Hiccup comforted the dragon, calming it down and taking its stomps down to heavily weighted steps against the ground, its hostility obvious. "You just scared him," Hiccup glanced back over his shoulder, eyeing Astrid wearily.

The blonde took a nervous step back, her eyes wide as she reached down for her axe. "I scared him!? Who— who is him?"

(Name) came up from where she'd been tossed, coming to stand next to Astrid, hoping to be of some aid in this already difficult situation. "Astrid... this is Toothless," she gestured to the dragon, and Astrid snapped her head to (Name).

"And Toothless, this is Astrid," Hiccup gestured from the dragon to Astrid, but Toothless only growled after being introduced. Astrid flinched, gripping her axe tighter.

"You two— you're insane," she hissed, and Hiccup nodded his head as if accepting the insult like it was some kind of fact.

"Maybe," Hiccup sighed, his eyes gleaming with a touch of hope.

Astrid stared for a moment longer, flickering her eyes between all three present beings, before shaking her head in disbelief. She didn't need to say any other words to express her sheer confusion, only turning tail and running with her axe in hand, leaving the three she encountered by themselves.

"Great," (Name) muttered, watching her leave.

"Duh, duh duh, we're dead," Hiccup deadpanned, and Toothless beside him turned away, grumbling at the sight. Hiccup turned to watch the dragon leave, disbelief on his face. "Woah woah woah— where do you think you're going?"

While Hiccup was speaking to Toothless, not (Name), (Name) decided she'd answer the question as if it were directed to her anyway. "I'm going after her," she stayed, before running off in the way Astrid had gone, giving chase to the blonde girl.

Hiccup turned back to see her leave.

"Now they're both gone," he sighed, shaking his head before glancing back to Toothless.

"Guess we should follow, right bud?"

Toothless grunted from far away.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Notes: An account by Antonio Téllez of the underground guerrilla armed struggle of anarchists and anti-fascists against General Franco's regime following the Civil War. Edited by libcom from an article in Fighting Talk, issue 15.

The guerrilla struggle against Francoism actually arose in the days following the army revolt against the Spanish Republic on 18 July 1936. Across the country, workers launched a revolution and took up arms against the armed forces. In areas which fell immediately to the mutinous army, a bloody repression was promptly set in motion and this obliged many anti-fascists to take to the hills to save their skins. This was repeated over nearly three years of civil war as areas were conquered, one after another, by the Francoist army and it extended to virtually the entirety of the Peninsula after the Republican troops surrendered in the Centre-Levante zone on 31 March 1939.

Very little has been written about the scale of the armed struggle against Franco following the civil war. It was and still is known to few. A thick blanket of silence has been drawn over the fighters, for a variety of reasons. According to Franco's personal friend Civil Guard Lieutenant-General Camilo Alonso Vega - who was in charge of the anti-guerrilla campaign for twelve years - banditry (the term the Francoists always used to describe the guerrilla activity) was of "great significance" in Spain, in that it "disrupted communications, demoralised folk, wrecked our economy, shattered our unity and discredited us in the eyes of the outside world”.

Only days before those words were uttered General Franco himself had excused the blanket silence imposed on reports of armed opposition and the efforts mounted to stop it, when he had stated that "the Civil Guard's sacrifices in the years following the Second World War were made selflessly and in silence, because, for political and security reasons it was inappropriate to publicise the locations, the clashes, casualty figures or names of those who fell in performance of their duty, in a heroic and unspoken sacrifice."

This cover-up has continued right up until our own day. In a Spanish Television (TVE) programme entitled Guerrilla Warfare and broadcast in 1984, General Manuel Prieto Lopez cynically referred to the anti-Francoist fighters as bandits and killers. Not that this should come as any surprise - during the period described as the political transition to democracy (November 1975 to October 1982) all political forces, high financiers, industrialists, the military and church authorities decided that references to the past were inappropriate and that the protracted blood-letting of the Franco era should be consigned to oblivion. That consensus holds firm today*, and historians eager to lift that veil run up against insurmountable obstacles when they try to examine State, Civil Guard or Police archives.

We have no reliable breakdown of the overall figures for guerrillas or for the casualties sustained by or inflicted upon the security forces and Army. If we are to have some grasp of what this unequal struggle against the Dictatorship was like, our only option is to turn to figures made public in 1968 - a one-off it seems - according to which the Civil Guard sustained 628 casualties (258 deaths) between 1943 and 1952: some 5,548 bandits were wiped out in 2,000 skirmishes, many of which amounted to full-scale battles. The figures for this eradication are as follows: killed - 2,166; captured or surrendered - 3,382; arrested as liaisons, accessories or for aiding and abetting - 19,407. An embarrassed silence shrouds the earlier years between 1939 and 1942, when units from the regular army, the Foreign Legion and the Regulars, with artillery support attempted to wipe out the guerrillas. The aforementioned figures given for Civil Guard casualties at the guerrillas' hands can be discounted. If we compare the lists of deceased Civil Guards during these years where no cause of death is listed, with peace-time death-rates, we find a surplus of deaths which are (assuming they were the results of illness or accident) inexplicable and arrive at what is unquestionably a figure closer to the truth: some 1,000 deaths on active service.

The escalation of guerrilla activity began in 1943, when the widespread belief that the Third Reich had victory in its grasp was starting to fade, following the bloody rout of the German Army's elite divisions at Stalingrad. As the tide of the Second World War turned, the anti-Franco guerrillas, as might have been expected, bounced back in terms of morale and dynamism, and from 1944 onwards flourished to a considerable extent. Its heyday was in 1946-1947. After that, partly as a consequence of international policy which sought a rapprochement with Franco, a decline set in that ended with the demise of guerrilla activity in 1952. In Barcelona, Madrid, Valencia and other cities, urban guerrilla activity persisted for a decade or so longer.

After 1944, guerrillas operating inside Spain received considerable reinforcements from their exiled countrymen who had played an active part in the liberation of France and the French Resistance. These were well-trained and experienced men equipped with up-to-date weaponry and easy to use high explosive substances such as plastique. Most of them were drawn from France and a smaller number from across the seas in North Africa. Communist leaders charged with politicising guerrilla activity came in from the Americas via Lisbon and Vigo. The Communists who took it for granted that the war-cry of "Taking Spain back!" would be the signal for a general popular uprising against the Franco regime made a great song and dance about this comparatively massive aid.

Some 3,000 guerrillas organised in France with the very same weaponry they had used in their fight against the Nazis, mounted two main attacks across the Pyrenees in 1944. The first incursion was into Navarre on 3 and 7 October: the second came via Catalonia, the object being to establish abridge-head in the Vall d'Aran and install a provisional Republican government. It was also taken for granted that, confronted by such a fait accompli, the Allies would be prompted to step in to bring down Franco. These incursions were easily repulsed - having been heralded in advance - for the Spanish government had taken all appropriate measures. Even so, there were lots of guerrillas who refused to return to their bases and opted instead to infiltrate into the interior in small groups. There they reinforced existing guerrilla bands and set up new ones where none existed.

The weapons they brought in were a lot more effective and better suited to guerrilla fighting. The most commonplace weapon was the British Sten gun, or the German M.P. 38. Both were rapid-fire weapons and used 9mm ammunition which was the most plentiful sort. American weapons like the Colt pistol flooded in, as did (in lesser numbers) Thompson sub-machineguns, a heavier but highly effective weapon. One burst of Thompson gunfire in the hills was reminiscent of an artillery salvo. The fighters entering Spain also brought with them a tried and tested morale forged in victories scored against the Nazis and in the staunch belief that Franco could not survive the downfall of Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini. They also had organisational experience behind them and solid ideological convictions, anarchist, socialist or communist, qualities that would quickly transform the guerrilla phenomenon as they afforded increased cohesiveness to countless scattered guerrilla bands.

The main areas of guerrilla activity were those whose geographical features made defence and survival most likely i.e.: mountain ranges and areas which provided adequate cover. For example in Andalusia there were guerrilla bands aplenty, some of them over 100-strong. In Asturias, the guerrillas displayed tremendous enterprise, not unconnected with a deep-rooted political consciousness: the revolution by the Asturias miners in October 1934 had not been all that long ago. In many areas, guerrilla activity was intermittent and random as guerrilla bands moved around for a number of reasons, such as the encroachments of counter-insurgency forces.

The style and nature of the guerrilla struggle varied with the terrain and the resources of the individuals and groups involved. Activities included the bombing of strategic objectives, attentats (political assassinations), the movement of arms, the protection of individuals and groups involved in underground political activity; bank robberies and forgery to fund the struggle and destabilise the economy; as well as some more spectacular actions: rescue missions to free captured comrades, open fire-fights with fascist forces; and even an attempt to bomb Franco from the air! (Three men in a light aircraft came within a hair's breadth of dropping incendiary and fragmentation bombs on the General and his Aides during a Regatta in 1948).

An example that sums up the mentality and spirit of the guerrilla movement of the time is provided by a small team of Anarchist guerrillas, led by the veteran fighter Francisco Sabate Llopart (El Quico). On their return to Spain after the end of the Second World War one of their first missions was the 'expropriation' of money and valuables in a series of aggravated robberies of local big-businessmen. On completion of 'business', those 'visited' would be left a note like the following one, left at the home of a wealthy big-store owner, Manuel Garriga:

"We are not robbers, we are libertarian resistance fighters. What we have just taken will help in a small way to feed the orphaned and starving children of those anti-fascists who you and your kind have shot. We are people who have never and will never beg for what is ours. So long as we have the strength to do so we shall fight for for the freedom of the Spanish working class. As for you, Garriga, although you are a murderer and a thief, we have spared you, because we as libertarians appreciate the value of human life, something which you never have, nor are likely to, understand."

A small example of how, despite the loss of the war, and despite the ruthlessness of the fascist repression, those involved in the resistance still managed to maintain their politics, their humanity, and their self-respect.

The armed opposition to Franco was no longer a serious problem after 1949 and, as we have said, it petered out around 1952. Aside from the severe blows dealt by the Civil Guard and the Army, the absence of a logistical system capable of keeping the fighters equipped, and, above all else, the fact that the opposition political parties had chosen to gamble upon diplomacy as a substitute for weapons, made it impossible for the resistance's offensive activity to continue.

Another highly significant element in the winding-up of the guerrilla struggle was the arrival on the scene in 1947 of superbly trained and schooled security force personnel in the shape of "counter-guerrilla bands", dressed and armed in the guerrillas' own style and sowing confusion and terror on their home ground. These "counter-gangs" even carried out savage killings that were ascribed to the guerrillas proper, the aim being to bring them into disrepute and strip them of popular support. Then again, the infiltration of police plants into the guerrilla bands was extraordinarily effective and made it possible to dismantle some of the more important groupings.

In Asturias, in 1948, around 30 socialist guerrillas boarded a French fishing smack which had arrived specifically to collect them and deliver them to St Jean de Luz in France. In Levante, the last remaining guerrillas in the area, around two dozen survivors, made it out to France in 1952. In Andalusia, a few bands survived until the end of 1952, but their leaders - like the anarcho-syndicalist, Bernabe Lopez Calle (1889-1949) - had already perished in combat. A few managed to escape to Gibraltar or North Africa, but, for the most part, they were wiped out in armed clashes: others were executed by the garrotte vil (death by strangulation) or firing squads: those who escaped that fate served prison terms sometimes in excess of 20 years.

In 1953, the United States signed a military and economic assistance treaty with Franco. Two years later, Franco's Spain was welcomed into the United Nations. However, even though all was lost, a few die-hards refused to give up the fight: in Cantabria, the last two guerrillas, Juan Fernandez Ayala (Juanin) and Franciscxo Bedoya Gutierrez (El Bedoya) met their deaths in April and in December of 1957 respectively. In Catalonia, Ramon Vila Capdevila (Caraquemada), the last anarchist guerrilla, was gunned down by the Civil Guard in August 1963. But the honour of being the last guerrilla has to go to Jose Castro Veiga (El Piloto) who died, without ever having laid down his arms, in the province of Lugo (Galicia), March 1965.

There are a number of reasons for the failure of the Guerrilla campaign against Franco, and although open guerrilla warfare had all but ended in the 50's, the movement against Franco continued, as did underground political activity, until the regime's eventual collapse. What the guerrillas had wanted to achieve was open insurrection against Franco. What they show us today, through their ambition and their sacrifice, is that the brutal repression of the progressive working class after the Civil War did not go unchallenged. The full story of the guerrilla struggle, as Tellez states in this article, is still being uncovered. All we can do today is salute the men and women of the resistance who gave their lives, not only in the defence of their class, but for a future where the social structures that create the Francos, are buried along with them.

[whatonearthisgoingon]

Okay, so I have a friend who loves omegaverse stuff, and I'm clueless, but they're suggesting a lot of fics, and want me to read some of their own stuff too and give feedback.

I'm trying to figure out how this shit works, and I think it varies between writers and stuff, but as a general consensus, is this correct regarding anatomy and biology rules?

Alpha Men: Dick, Asshole - can't get pregnant

Alpha Women: Dick, Cunt, Asshole - can get pregnant

Beta Men: Dick, Asshole - can't get pregnant

Beta Women: Cunt, Asshole - can get pregnant

Omega Men: Dick, Cunt (sometimes), Asshole - can get pregnant

Omega Women: Cunt, Asshole - can get pregnant

And is it only only alpha x omega and beta x beta. or can there be alpha x beta, omega x beta, omega x omega, alpha x alpha? Cause, I've seen both existing in universes, and if anything, not allowing the second ones listed, kinda reminds me of homosexuality lol. Which type is more commonly considered?

Please, I'm lost, and the sex doesn't make sense sometimes. I expect one thing, and I get another.

And more rules of the universe, are heats like periods, every 4 weeks? Or are heats further apart, since they seem to effect omegas a lot worse emotionally than periods do. Like, as a girl, periods suck, but I can be in pain and just chilling with myself in public; apparently omegas on heat give scents that turn alphas and betas around them horny as well? And if everyone is constantly horny cause not all women/omegas have the same cycle wouldn't it constantly be a sex fest? So like, how far apart are heats most times; I've seen a few fics where it's like, twice a year?

And are heats followed by periods later; do all omegas get regular menstrual cycles. Because I've seen Omega guys suffer from heat, but never a menstrual cycle. And how does that work with Alpha females who menstruate, but don't have heats.

Do you get my confusion? Please, someone explain to me.

[poison-doll]

hm. the top level definition of "transandrophobia is the fear of men impacting trans men negatively" is useful, but the rest of the post isn't really a coherent politic or theoretical framework of oppression so much as it is a quite good articulation of the ways that trans men are uniquely affected by transphobia.

altho it's brief enough to be more ambiguous than i'd like, is there consensus around the definition provided in bold? when people refer to transandrophobia as a social force rather than an instantaneous event is this generally what they mean?

and no, it isn't of particular interest to me, i've always thought st-dionysus to be a pretty decent guy. not someone i've always agreed with, but i don't have any reason to beef w/him either, esp. not on the grounds of transmisogyny.

this is closer to what i was initially thinking about, but still seems more interested in cataloguing / making visible the many horrific ways transmasculine people and trans men are subjugated than developing a framework to explain that subjugation. i'm also generally not particularly interested in nothorses writing(*) bc of his dogshit baeddel takes but i understand he's influential. would you say this post is foundational in some way? you're not the only person i've seen refer to it.

i liked this definition a lot, it seemed the most detailed. most of the sources on it were solid too. i'm very interested in whether or not these posts/documents are generally taken to be accurate/influential among trans men and transmasculine ppl but also i'm realizing that i didn't actually ask the question in my first post that i really wanted to know.

which is, like, is there a theoretical framework for transandrophobia as a societal force, and it seems like the answer is pretty much not yet? i know st-dionysus has been working on a book for a bunch of years, and i've been anticipating it for a bunch of years, but it doesn't seem like what i am looking for rly exists in depth. so it might be accurate to say that there's a coherent and consistent definition for what transandrophobia looks like//what effects it has, but not what it is//does writ large?

i want to be so so so clear, esp. bc i am not really firing on all eight today: whether or not there is the kind of unifying theoretical framework that i am asking about doesn't imply that trans men do or don't uniquely experience oppression on the basis of transmasculinity, they quite obviously do. whether or not there is a cohesive body of transmasculinized ppl's thoughts on transandrophobia has no bearing on the validity of transmasculine pain. trans men and transmasculine people are not """less oppressed""" than trans women and transfeminine ppl because/if the work i am looking for does not exist.

i'm making this post strictly and exclusively to find out if i have been wrong to say "it seems like there is a coherent ideology organized under the description of transmasculine oppression as transandrophobia" and i think maybe i have been. the impression i'm getting is that there is a fairly consistent definition for what transandrophobia looks like in action—the various links i got on this post are all pretty in line with one another—but not representative of a school of thought/multiple schools of thought in the sense that transfeminism or any other intellectual tradition is.

since i did make the claim in my last beeg post that there is more of an organizing principle around transandrophobia theory than there is around so-called trans radical feminism, is there a transandrophobia manifesto i'm not aware of? the closest thing to one that i know about is the transandrophobia explained carrd & where i've referred to "transandrophobia theory" in a vacuum that's primarily what i'm pointing to. is it generally reflective of transandrophobia theorists's work? is there any kind of consensus around it? are there major critiques of it from a transmasculine &or not transfeminist perspective?

i know there was also a nothorses post called something like "transandrophobia primer" but all the links i can find to it are dead, so idk if i've been turboblocked or if it's been deleted.

[piratefalls]

not me sitting here on a cloudy sunday afternoon wondering: if what we think might happen actually does, who is gonna be the one to tell eddie?

[laurrelise]

quick question because i’m curious:

[milkbirthday]

How did you even read ''inherently'' ? You're arguing against a strawman. I'm overtly taking a social approach for this issue, which means that no acts are inherelty any meaning, they are socially constructed, they're just consensual perceptions. I was talking about the motives of most women which are undeniably rooted in sexism and this statement doesn't imply any essentialism

In your previous post you also downplayed some things, like the extent of women who would feel bad about undergoing that bc they'd no longer attractive, but anyway

Also not really . choice and action aren't fundementally different things, the distinction between them is fake. Choices are a kind of actions, and (human) actions are a kind of choices, even if unconcious/abstensive. Even when you seem to not do things you're actually doing stuff. E.g not cuttng off ur tits is doing things not to change that state of being

radfems point out that a woman choosing to undergo a mastectomy for trans reasons or breast augmentation is rooted in misogyny in one way or another, and I agree to some extent. But why wouldn’t that also apply to women who choose not to undergo these procedures and are satisfied with their own unmodified chests?

That’s still a bodily choice, even if it’s usual, and this choice has causes and consequences. Those things still develop within a social context that’s heteronormative and misogynistic, just like the other bodily decisions and feelings about one's body.

So all those things considered, it's pretty clear that misogyny is still involved, undeniably even. To be breastless (especially out of nonmedical reasons) is to be socially read as abnormal, unfeminine, undesirable and that attracts all sort of worse social treatments, especially from men.

Keeping one’s breasts on the other hand, means the opposite: staying in the norm, so being more feminine, more desirable, more typical, and consequently having a better social/symbolic standing compared to women who removed theirs. Deriving satisfaction from having a 'standard' chest makes sense but still, that feeling is built indirectly on the male gaze, on a system that valorizes & rewards some bodies at the expense of others ouf of misogynistic reasons. The root is still misogyny not matter the choice, really.

Keeping your breasts or cutting them off isn't really any different in terms of misogyny, one could even argue that not removing them is actually more misogynistic than doing so because it would means caring more about being 'properly female' so appealing more to males and being more compliant to sexist cultural comfort

At least, tifs are doing subversive choices even tho they're rooted in sexism, while most of you are choosing to aligning yourselves with sexist ideals ouf of misogyny. Honestly, who's worse here ?

[meteortrails]

just to be clear on like. what work hrs look like for characters in the Pitt. as long as those residents are on an ER rotation they’re working 60-70hrs a week and just about every day of the week LMAO. Garcia on the other hand is probably getting too close for comfort to the legal limit of not averaging over 80hrs a week over a 4 week period bc surgical residencies really are just like that. like she’s doing 28 hr on call shifts while langdon and Collins get nice consistent shift work and just have to work night shift sometimes, so you understand where some of the superiority complex comes from.

most residents get a couple weeks off a year, but they don’t have a ton of control over when they get that vacation - nobody gets more than 1 or 2 major holidays off, and some programs just have a rotation of vacation built in. also residency salaries are fixed, so they are absolutely not getting overtime or hazard pay like Robby and Dana might! if some of this seems like it’s skirting on the line of a labor rights violation, you’d be absolutely correct; labor rights for residents are stupidly controversial. when Robby was in residency it was probably still legal to have residents pulling 36 hr shifts, and people got MAD when that became illegal.

[starlight-eclipsed]

I know that the whole reason I kept my old laptop was for situations like this, but it still feels wrong.

[edwinisms]

ska adjacent, oingo boingo is known for their fun 80s ska fuckery and charles rowland would be a Big fan

thematically consistent

everything else about the song

i need to hear it in a fight sequence

if I could convince the showrunners to get the rights to any one song for use in s2 i NEED it to be dead man’s party by oingo boingo i mean COME ON

[mitamicah]

Behold: the Böle Arena & Club sticker is here 👀✨

[seineevee]

Question:

Since we have a sizeable amount of Ameliko lovers, I think we should have an Ameliko / AMLK day this year!

However, should it be on April 14 (the day Horizons came out in Japan + the day both characters were introduced and met) or on September 13 (the day Liko and Amethio came out in Japan + the day both characters officially became less than enemies / the episode that gave them a base for in-canon shipping)?

[lizard-ratt]

Instinct #1: wait patiently for ao3 to be back online, so as to not make the situation worse, whatever the situation is

Instinct #2: spam refresh until my love, my one true love, ao3 is back online, so I know right away when I can embrace her once more