Chapter 1: Gilded Cages and Greener Eyes
Chapter Text
The midday sun glinted off chrome and glass, a relentless glare reflecting a sky stretched thin and pale between the towering skyscrapers of Berk. This wasn't the quaint, salt-sprayed Viking village the history vids sometimes romanticized; it was a vertical metropolis, a monument to fierce ambition and raw power, built quite literally on the back of something far stranger and more potent than sturdy timber. Holographic advertisements shimmered and pulsed across colossal building faces, hawking everything from high-protein, genetically-enhanced yak-milk smoothies ("Unleash Your Inner Beast!") to sleek, Guild-approved training gear designed to withstand sudden, violent transformations. Below, silent electric trams hummed along designated sky-routes and ground lines, weaving through dense crowds of pedestrians whose gaits – a subtle predatory lope here, an unnervingly light step there – often held subtle hints of the animal within. The air thrummed with a low, constant energy, a blend of advanced tech and primal potential.
Hiccup Haddock kept his head down, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn, synth-leather jacket, trying his best to tune out the sensory overload. Especially the largest screens dominating the central plaza – Triumph Square, they called it. They invariably cycled through flashy, high-definition highlight reels of Berk's elite: anima users performing staggering feats of strength, impossible bursts of speed, or dazzling, often terrifying, transformations from human to beast or something in between. Each clip inevitably ended with the stylized insignia of one of the Big Three Guilds – Apex, Forge & Vein, or Synapse – a constant, inescapable reminder of the power structure that dictated every facet of life on this island. Their towers weren't just buildings; they were declarations, physically dominating the skyline and the aspirations of nearly everyone below.
Looming largest was the Apex Guild tower, a monolith of sleek, dark obsidian panels that seemed to drink the sunlight, reflecting the sky like the cold, calculating eye of some colossal predator. An apt design, Hiccup mused bitterly, given it housed the island's most formidable predator and guardian animas, all under the formidable, often intimidating leadership of his own father, Stoick the Lion – a Level 3 Master whose roar was rumored to crack reinforced glass. Further east sprawled the interconnected, utilitarian complex of the Forge & Vein Guild , all utilitarian grey composites and exposed, glowing energy conduits, humming with the ceaseless thrum of heavy industry and resource processing. They controlled the island's raw materials, its construction, its logistics, and their methods were as subtle as a Gronckle in a china shop. Then, almost aloof, stood the Synapse Institute , a building of stark white angles and deeply tinted windows that felt less like a corporate headquarters and more like a high-security laboratory. Rumors swirled around Synapse like smoke – whispers of pushing the boundaries of anima understanding, of bio-enhancements, of ethically grey research conducted behind those sterile walls. They collected data, and sometimes, people whispered, they collected subjects .
Hiccup sidestepped quickly as a maintenance platform lowered nearby, forcing him closer to a crew doing facade repairs on a mid-level skyscraper. The air smelled of ozone and hot metal. Several workers were clearly utilizing their anima abilities, their movements marked by an efficiency beyond baseline human capability. One burly man had thick, chitinous plating covering his arms and shoulders like articulated crab armor (Level 1 Carapace anima, likely Crustacean-type, Hiccup cataloged mentally), effortlessly hefting multi-hundred-kilo transparisteel panels into place. Another zipped between precarious scaffolding points with short, controlled bursts of speed that left faint blue after-images, her feet barely seeming to touch the beams (Level 1 Quickstep, probably Feline or Avian base, judging by the agility?). A third worker directed streams of focused, superheated air from her palms to weld seams, her skin shimmering faintly with reptilian scales (Level 1 Thermal Vent, maybe Draconic-Minor or Salamander?). Hiccup noted the small, interlocking gear insignia stitched onto their safety vests – Forge & Vein . Figures. FV always snapped up the big infrastructure contracts, probably offering rock-bottom rates by leveraging legions of durable, lower-mastery animas for maximum output with minimum overhead. He felt that familiar, frustrating pang in his chest – not jealousy, not really, but the sharp sting of… analytical impotence. He could see the mechanics, understand the energy expenditure, mentally calculate the stress tolerances, even theorize ways to optimize their movements, but lacked any practical application himself. It was like knowing the schematics for a fusion reactor but having no hands to build it.
He finally reached his destination, a nondescript community center tucked ignominiously between a bustling synth-noodle shop ("Noodleheim!") and a glossy, intimidating Guild recruitment office – the placement felt like a deliberate, cruel joke. Pushing through the door, Hiccup entered the slightly-too-bright, linoleum-floored room designated for the "Preparing for Manifestation Group," or PMG. It served less as a formal class and more as a communal holding pen for Berk's nineteen-year-olds, a place where anxieties about the impending biological and societal upheaval of turning twenty could fester collectively under fluorescent lights. The air always felt thick with a mix of forced bravado and genuine terror.
"Haddock! About time! Finally decided to grace us mortals with your presence?"
Hiccup winced, instinctively hunching his shoulders. Snotlout Jorgenson, never one for subtlety, was holding court near the refreshment table, already puffed up like his future anima might spontaneously inflate him to fill the room. His twentieth birthday was looming – just next week – and he hadn't let a single soul forget it for the past month, detailing his expected glorious transformation and subsequent top-tier Guild offers ad nauseam. "Just admiring the efficiency of FV's latest construction methods, Snotlout," Hiccup mumbled, navigating past Snotlout's gesturing and sliding into a vacant plastic chair near the back, his preferred territory.
His gaze flickered across the room and snagged, briefly, on Astrid Hofferson. She sat alone, focused intently on sketching something in a heavy notebook, her usual air of quiet intensity a tangible presence in the room. Even now, months away from her own twentieth, before whatever powerful, graceful anima inevitably claimed her, she possessed a kind of centeredness, a self-contained energy that drew the eye. Hiccup felt an absurdly familiar jolt, like mild static electricity, and quickly looked away, heat rising in his cheeks. Nope. Absolutely not. Don't even think about going there. Bad enough being the Guild Leader's disappointing son; entertaining a crush on someone destined for Apex stardom was just masochistic.
Fishlegs Ingerman, bless his recently-returned-from-America, perpetually bewildered soul, waved tentatively from the adjacent seat. "Hey, Hiccup. Snotlout seems… particularly vibrant today."
"Vibrant' is one word for it," Hiccup sighed, genuinely grateful for the familiar, grounding presence of his friend. "You haven't truly lived until you've heard his projected earnings report based on manifesting a 'Grade-A Awesome' anima. His Manifestation party is going to be unbearable. You know the drill with those, right? Big Berk tradition."
Fishlegs adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses, pushing them up his nose. "My folks mentioned them. Sounded intense. Back in the States, turning twenty just meant you could legally buy… well, more stuff, mostly. Maybe your insurance rates went down. Here, it’s a city-wide spectator sport with potential corporate sponsorship?"
"Pretty much," Hiccup confirmed, leaning back slightly. "The whole neighborhood, plus Guild scouts, plus anyone bored gathers on the lawn for the twentieth birthday countdown. Everyone waits for the 'Puberty Truck,' as Gobber insists on calling it, to hit. One minute you're blowing out candles, the next you might be sprouting horns or accidentally setting the cake on fire. Then the Guild scouts descend like well-dressed vultures, assessing the fresh meat, making preliminary offers based on anima type and initial power display. Snotlout's probably already picked out the color scheme for the penthouse apartment that comes with his imaginary Apex contract."
Before Fishlegs could formulate a suitably horrified or fascinated response, a loud CLANG echoed from the front of the room – the sound of Gobber's metal pointer stick hitting the whiteboard stand for attention. A familiar, booming voice followed. "Alright, settle down, ye anxious whelps! Gather 'round! Stop worryin' about contracts and start worryin' about not accidentally clawin' yer own faces off!"
Gobber Belch, the PMG instructor and Berk's resident expert on surviving spontaneous biological weirdness with humor intact, stomped into view. He was built like a sturdy draft animal himself, all thick limbs and cheerful, weathered pragmatism. His own history was a testament to the anima phenomenon; he'd lost an arm and a leg in a tragic industrial farming accident when he was eighteen, long before manifestation age. Then came his twentieth birthday, the Bear anima hit, and much to everyone's (especially his own) astonishment, the limbs had grown back , anima-infused and fully functional alongside his remaining originals. It made him uniquely qualified to teach resilience. "Right then! Manifestation Management 101! Most of you lot are coming up on the big Two-Oh, so perk up those ears!"
Gobber launched into his standard, well-rehearsed lecture – the sudden, bone-deep aches that felt like growing pains on hyperdrive, the potential for dizzying disorientation as senses shifted, the bizarre, overwhelming cravings (he elaborated on the kid who ate chalk for a week after manifesting a Rock-Badger anima, adding details about attempts to flavor it with synth-gravy), the absolute critical importance of not panicking when you suddenly sprout claws mid-handshake or feathers during a job interview. "And yes," he added, pointing a thick finger around the room, "some of you might even regrow bits you weren't born with, or lost along the way! Magic's weird like that!"
"It's different for everyone," Gobber explained, pacing with his slightly uneven gait. "Some get hit like a Gronckle falling off a cliff – BAM! Full change, Level 1 or even 2 mastery right out the gate if yer particularly lucky and disciplined. Instant Guild prospect! Others, it's a slow burn. Might just be passive traits at first, barely noticeable." He paused dramatically, letting the weight of potential disappointment hang in the air for a moment. "Now, controlling it, that's the real trick! It takes focus! Connection! Understanding the beast within! You gotta work with it, not against it!"
To demonstrate, Gobber took a deep, centering breath. His form seemed to… ripple, then thicken substantially. Coarse brown fur sprouted rapidly across his visible skin, his shoulders broadened immensely, muscles bunching beneath his tunic. His hands reshaped, elongating into massive paws tipped with thick, blunt claws capable of rending metal. His face contorted, muzzle pushing forward, teeth lengthening. Within seconds, a large, powerfully built Brown Bear stood where Gobber had been, easily eight feet tall on its hind legs. It let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the floorboards, then shook its massive head, spraying a bit of drool, before the transformation reversed, flowing back into his familiar human form, leaving only slightly ruffled hair, a lingering scent of damp earth and pine needles, and Gobber looking slightly winded. "See? Level 2 Full form! Good for intimidation and opening stubborn jars! Took me years to get that transition smooth, mind you! First few times, I got stuck halfway for an hour!"
He dusted off his hands, beaming. "Right, questions? Before we get to practical examples of what not to do?"
Hands immediately shot up. Snotlout, predictably, asked again if manifesting a particularly awesome anima guaranteed a top-tier Guild contract, regardless of skill. (Gobber: "Only if ye learn ta use it without demolishin' the training facility, Jorgenson! Power without control is just a fancy way to break expensive things!"). Ruffnut and Tuffnut asked in unison, somehow, if manifesting two different animas was possible if you were twins who shared everything. (Gobber: "Thor's mighty hammer, no! One anima per soul, that's the rule! Don't give the magic ideas, you two!"). Fishlegs, ever the researcher, asked about the statistical probability and documented cases of significantly delayed manifestation beyond the twentieth birthday, and if there were known correlative factors.
Gobber scratched his thick chin, his expression turning thoughtful for a moment. "Delayed? Proper delays are rare, Ingerman. Very rare. Usually means somethin' peculiar is goin' on deep down, maybe a conflict, maybe somethin' blockin' it. Most everyone gets somethin' right on schedule, bang on the twentieth, even if it's… well, subtle." His eyes scanned the room again, that familiar glint of slightly-too-enthusiastic teaching zeal sparkling within them. They swept past Snotlout, lingered briefly on Astrid, noted Fishlegs's attentive posture, and then landed squarely, inevitably, on Hiccup, who immediately tried to shrink himself down to the molecular level.
"Ah, perfect example of the subtle end of the spectrum!" Gobber boomed, gesturing towards Hiccup with far too much enthusiasm. "Haddock! Up you get, lad! Don't be shy!"
Hiccup froze solid, his heart doing a painful jackhammer impression against his ribs. Oh, no. No, no, no. He could feel the heat rising from his neck, prickling across his scalp.
"Let's show the class," Gobber continued cheerfully, utterly oblivious to Hiccup's sudden, desperate desire to spontaneously manifest burrowing capabilities and tunnel his way to the other side of the island. "A textbook case of a baseline Level 0 manifestation, post-twentieth! Hardly noticeable to the untrained eye, see? Just makes him a bit… greener in the eyes! Come on up!"
Every single head in the room swiveled to stare directly at him. He could feel the weight of their collective gaze like a physical pressure – waves of pity from some, blank curiosity from others, and, worst of all, Snotlout's inevitable, triumphant smirk spreading across his face. Hiccup wished the cheap linoleum floor would crack open and swallow him whole. Right now. Please.
Chapter 2: Party Favors and Poor Customer Service
Chapter Text
Hiccup flinched back as if struck, the collective weight of the PMG group's stares pressing down on him. Gobber's booming voice echoed, but the words blurred, drowned out by the sudden, unwelcome rush of memory. The fluorescent lights of the community center faded, replaced by the opulent, flickering glow of crystal chandeliers and the low thrum of a hundred simultaneous conversations...
One year ago. The Haddock Estate Sky-Terrace.
Hiccup stared at his reflection in the polished chrome surface of the elevator door. Nineteen years, eleven months, three weeks, six days, and about twenty-three hours old. Tomorrow, he turned twenty. Tonight was the party. The party. His Manifestation Gala.
He leaned closer, scrutinizing the boy staring back. Fifteen. He still looked fifteen, maybe sixteen on a good day if the light was forgiving. Same lanky frame he’d had since middle school, all sharp angles and limbs that seemed slightly too long for his torso. Same unruly auburn hair that defied gravity and his father’s exasperated commands to tame it. Same scattering of freckles across a nose that was still stubbornly narrow. No hint of the broad shoulders or defined jawline that seemed to spontaneously appear on other guys his age, anima-fueled or otherwise. He flexed a bicep, hopefully. Nothing. Just the same skinny arm.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Tonight was supposed to be the night everything changed. The night the awkward, perpetually overlooked Hiccup Haddock III finally stepped into his birthright, manifested some hopefully impressive anima – something fast, maybe? Or clever? Anything but embarrassing, really – and finally earned a nod of genuine, unqualified pride from his father. He tried to picture it: emerging from the midnight transformation taller, stronger, radiating power, the Guild scouts murmuring impressed comments, maybe even Astrid Hofferson looking at him with something other than polite indifference…
He shook his head, chasing the fantasy away. No point getting hopes up. His entire life had been a masterclass in anticlimax. Why should tonight be any different? Still, a tiny, stubborn spark of hope flickered within him. Tonight, the Haddock potential, the lineage of Stoick the Vast, Leader of the Apex Guild, Level 3 Lion Master, would finally reveal itself. It had to. Didn't it? He took a deep breath, straightened his borrowed formal tunic (already feeling itchy), and forced a smile that felt thin and fragile. Ready or not.
The elevator doors slid open onto the Sky-Terrace, and the wall of sound and light hit him like a physical force. The sprawling outdoor space, usually reserved for quiet contemplation overlooking the glittering expanse of Berk, was transformed. Floating lanterns drifted lazily, casting warm light on hundreds of guests mingling beneath retractable weather domes showing a starry night sky. Music pulsed from hidden speakers, a low, sophisticated beat underpinning the cacophony of voices – laughter, networking, gossip, and the ever-present undercurrent of anima-related speculation.
"Hiccup! There you are!"
His father's voice cut through the din like a foghorn. Stoick the Vast clapped a hand on his shoulder, the sheer weight of it nearly buckling Hiccup's knees. Stoick wasn't just tall; he was massive , a testament to both genetics and his Lion anima's passive influence. His already broad shoulders seemed wider, his presence filled the space around him, and his thick, reddish-brown beard and mane-like hair seemed to possess an almost leonine vitality. Golden flecks, barely noticeable unless you looked closely, seemed to shimmer in his deep blue eyes. Even his voice held a low, rumbling undertone, especially when he was excited, as he clearly was now.
"Come on, son, people are eager to see the guest of honor!" Stoick beamed, his pride palpable, though Hiccup suspected it was more pride in the event and the potential than in Hiccup himself, currently. He steered Hiccup into the throng, effortlessly parting the crowd. "Councilwoman Ingridsson, lovely to see you! You know my son, Hiccup? Big night for him! Director Thorne of Synapse! Yes, yes, exciting times! Foreman Grimbold from Forge & Vein, keeping those resource quotas up, I trust? Meet Hiccup! Potential new recruit for someone soon, eh?"
Hiccup plastered on his smile and shook countless hands, murmured polite greetings, and tried not to visibly wilt under the scrutiny. He recognized faces from the news feeds, powerful Guild Leaders whose animas were legendary, sleek politicians whose smiles never quite reached their eyes, burly foremen reeking of industrial lubricants, all assessing him, speculating on the power lurking within the unimpressive frame. The air crackled with expectation, a heavy blanket woven from his father’s ambition and the island’s obsession.
"Ah, the Hoffersons! Excellent!" Stoick boomed, changing course abruptly and dragging Hiccup towards a well-dressed couple standing near a bubbling champagne fountain. Mr. Hofferson was sharp-featured, with eyes that seemed to calculate angles constantly (perhaps a passive trait from a minor Bird of Prey anima?). Mrs. Hofferson was elegant, radiating a quiet intensity. They both looked ambitious.
And beside them, looking profoundly uncomfortable, was Astrid.
She was eighteen, but like Hiccup, carried the youthful appearance common before the twentieth birthday transformation. Tonight, she wore a simple, elegant blue dress that contrasted sharply with the fierce, determined set of her jaw. Her blonde hair was braided back, revealing the stubborn set of her features – features Hiccup found both intimidating and utterly captivating. She looked, he thought, like a Valkyrie forced to attend a garden party. Her gaze swept over the crowd with a restless energy, clearly wishing she were anywhere else. She offered Hiccup a brief, noncommittal nod, her focus elsewhere.
"Stoick! Good to see you!" Mr. Hofferson clasped Stoick's hand with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. "And Hiccup! The man of the hour! Ready for the big moment?"
"As I'll ever be, sir," Hiccup managed, feeling his palms sweat.
"Nervous energy is good!" Stoick declared heartily. "Means the power's building up! Now," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, though it was still loud enough for half the terrace to hear, "Hofferson, Ingrid, we were just discussing… potential futures. You look at these two." He gestured between Hiccup and Astrid. Astrid stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Strong lineage on both sides. Imagine the alliance! An Apex heir and a Hofferson powerhouse! A fine match, wouldn't you agree? Joining our houses would solidify…"
Hiccup tuned out the specifics, mortification washing over him in a hot wave. He risked a glance at Astrid. Her eyes had narrowed, a storm brewing in their blue depths. Her parents, however, were practically vibrating with eagerness, nodding enthusiastically at Stoick's unsubtle proposal. Alliance with the Apex Guild Leader? They clearly saw the benefits.
"Dad," Hiccup started, but Stoick waved him off.
Astrid suddenly met Hiccup's gaze, a shared look of pure, unadulterated "kill me now" passing between them. Hiccup found himself offering a small, sympathetic grimace. "At least your dress isn't itchy," he muttered under his breath, indicating his own stiff tunic.
To his utter astonishment, the corner of Astrid's mouth twitched. A tiny, genuine smile flickered across her face, followed by a short, choked laugh that she quickly suppressed. "Small mercies," she conceded, her voice low, before her parents dragged her back into the political discussion. But for a moment, the ice had cracked. He'd made Astrid Hofferson laugh. The thought sent another jolt, warmer this time, through him.
The rest of the hour passed in a blur of forced smiles and awkward conversations. Finally, a hush fell over the crowd as the clock displayed on the main tower approached midnight. Guests formed a wide circle around Hiccup, their faces expectant. Guild scouts subtly moved to the front, datapad styluses poised. Stoick stood beside him, radiating enough proud anticipation for both of them.
"Ten! Nine! Eight!" The chant began, low at first, then swelling as more voices joined in. Hiccup felt dizzy, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. Please , he thought desperately. Anything. Just not… nothing.
"Three! Two! One!"
Midnight.
A strange energy surged through him, hot and electric, starting deep in his core and rushing outwards. It felt… immense. Powerful. He gasped, bracing himself for the change, for the growth spurt, the sprouting claws or wings or scales, the visible manifestation of Haddock power…
And then… it stopped.
The energy didn't vanish, but it seemed to… pool? Concentrate? Settle somewhere behind his eyes, leaving a faint, tingling warmth. He blinked, confused. He didn’t feel taller. He didn’t feel stronger. He felt… exactly the same. Except… were the lights slightly brighter? Sharper?
He tentatively raised a hand. Still skinny. He looked down at his feet. Still size nine. He risked a glance at his reflection in a nearby window. Still lanky, still freckled, still… fifteen-looking.
A confused murmur rippled through the crowd. People were squinting at him. Stoick’s beaming smile faltered.
"Well?" someone called out. "What is it?"
Hiccup swallowed, his throat dry. He focused on that lingering energy behind his eyes, tried to push it, to do something. He felt a faint flicker, like turning up a dimmer switch.
A Guild scout near the front frowned, holding up a scanner. "Minimal energy signature fluctuation… Ocular region only. No significant morphological change detected." He lowered the scanner, looking bored. "Passive trait. Enhanced photoreceptors, maybe? Level 0. Negligible."
Silence. Thick, heavy, disappointed silence.
Then, the exodus began. The Guild scouts were the first to leave, tucking away their datapads with dismissive shrugs. "Waste of time," Hiccup heard one mutter. "All that hype for… better eyesight?" another scoffed, laughing. Politicians offered curt, insincere congratulations before melting away. The Hoffersons looked visibly crestfallen, their earlier enthusiasm curdled into something resembling pity mixed with annoyance. Mrs. Hofferson gave Hiccup a tight, forced smile. Mr. Hofferson muttered something about needing to check on another engagement, grabbed Astrid’s arm, and steered her away. Hiccup caught Astrid’s eye one last time – her expression was unreadable, maybe confused, before she was pulled into the departing crowd.
Within minutes, the opulent Sky-Terrace was nearly empty. Discarded canapés and half-empty glasses littered the tables. The floating lanterns seemed to mock him with their gentle glow. Hiccup stood alone in the center of the vast space, the echo of laughter still ringing in his ears, the weight of failure pressing down like a physical burden.
Only his father remained. Stoick stood silently for a long moment, his massive frame seeming to sag slightly. Hiccup looked up at him, dreading the inevitable lecture, the explosion of disappointment. He saw it flicker in his father’s eyes – that deep, gut-wrenching letdown – but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a mask of forced heartiness.
"Well, son!" Stoick clapped him on the back again, the gesture feeling hollow now. "So! Greener eyes, eh? And maybe better night vision? Handy! Good for… uh… spotting resources without a lantern! Yes! Every little bit helps! Nothing wrong with a subtle manifestation! Plenty of good, solid citizens have Level 0 traits! Builds character!" He was trying, Hiccup knew, but the words rang false, bouncing off the sudden emptiness between them. Stoick didn't believe it any more than Hiccup did. In a world that valued power above all else, subtle was just another word for useless.
Present Day. McRonalds Counter #3.
Hiccup blinked, the harsh fluorescent lights of the fast-food joint stinging his eyes. The memory faded, leaving the familiar greasy scent of beef patties and desperation in its wake. He forced his attention back to the customer currently leaning over the counter, peering at him intently.
"…so, you gonna take the order, or just stare into space?" the customer, a burly guy in a Forge & Vein trucker cap, drawled impatiently.
"Right, sorry," Hiccup mumbled, tapping numbly at the ordering screen. "Welcome to McRonalds, what can I get for you?"
The guy ordered a 'Mega-Yak Burger' combo with extra cheese sauce. As Hiccup processed the payment, the man kept staring, a smirk playing on his lips. "Heard about you," he said, leaning in slightly. "The Apex Leader's kid, right? The one with the… party trick."
Hiccup stiffened. "Look, I just work here-"
"Nah, nah, come on," the guy grinned wider, nudging his friend beside him. "Do the thing."
Hiccup closed his eyes for a brief second, fighting the familiar surge of humiliation. He hated this. He hated this. But arguing would just draw Mildew’s attention. With a resigned sigh, he focused inward, pushing that small, persistent pool of energy behind his eyes. He felt the faint flicker, the subtle intensification. He opened his eyes. Their normal green was now a brighter, almost luminous emerald.
The customer burst out laughing. "Ha! See? Told ya! Kid can make his eyes glow! Freaky!" He slapped the counter, collected his tray, and walked away, still chuckling with his friend. Hiccup let the green fade, the energy receding, leaving his eyes feeling tired and his spirit feeling ground down another notch.
"Haddock! What in Thor's name was that?"
Hiccup turned to see Mildew, the assistant manager, scuttling towards him, his perpetually sour expression pinched even tighter than usual. Mildew was a small, weedy man whose own Sheep anima had manifested twenty years ago with nothing more than slightly woollier-than-average sideburns and an unfortunate tendency to bleat under stress. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in finding someone, anyone, lower on the anima totem pole than himself.
"Customer asked, Mildew," Hiccup said wearily. "Easier just to do it."
"Easier?" Mildew hissed, leaning closer. "You think this is a circus? You think the Big Three Guilds built this city so freaks like you could perform party tricks for pocket change? You represent McRonalds! And more importantly, you represent the bottom of the barrel! Don't you forget it! Some of us," he sniffed, adjusting his slightly-too-tight uniform, "at least got a proper anima, even if society doesn't appreciate the… the pastoral qualities!" He seemed to swell with indignation, then suddenly let out a soft, involuntary " Baaaah! " His face flushed crimson, and he shot Hiccup a venomous glare before scurrying back towards the office, muttering about insubordination.
Hiccup watched him go, a cold dread settling in his stomach. That's me, he thought with sudden clarity. If I don't figure something out, that's me in twenty years. Bitter, useless, taking out my frustrations on anyone weaker. The thought was terrifying.
He finished his shift in a haze of grease fumes and self-pity. The walk back to the PMG community center felt longer than usual. He almost turned around twice. Facing Gobber after being used as Exhibit A for "Underwhelming Manifestations" was bad enough. Facing Snotlout's gloating, the Twins' chaos, even Fishlegs's well-meaning sympathy… it felt like too much today.
He pushed the door open anyway. The usual pre-session chatter filled the room. Snotlout was, predictably, recounting his plans for his upcoming party. The Twins were arguing over who would manifest the "explodier" anima. Hiccup scanned the room, bracing himself.
"Well, look who it is! Glowing Eyes!" Snotlout crowed, spotting him immediately. A few others snickered.
Hiccup ignored him, heading for his usual seat next to Fishlegs. To his surprise, Fishlegs looked unusually glum, staring down at his datapad with a frown.
"Hey," Hiccup said quietly, sliding into the chair. "You okay?"
Fishlegs looked up, startled. "Oh, Hiccup. Yeah, fine. Just… got a video call from my folks back in the States. Asking about… you know." He gestured vaguely, indicating the whole anima situation. "Hard to explain why I still look like I should be prepping for prom when I'm legally old enough to join a Guild here."
Hiccup nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, telling people you moved to a magically weird island where puberty hits like a derailed freight train at exactly twenty probably doesn't go over well." He managed a small smile. "Look, don't worry about it. You'll get there. And whatever you get, it'll be great because, you know, it's yours . It has to be better than mine, right?" He wasn't sure where the pep talk came from, given his own mood, but seeing Fishlegs down seemed worse than his own funk.
Fishlegs offered a grateful, watery smile. "Thanks, Hiccup. That… actually helps."
As Gobber called the session to order, Hiccup felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He risked a glance across the room. Astrid Hofferson wasn't sketching today. She wasn't looking away. She was looking directly at him, her blue eyes intense, unblinking. It wasn't the pitying glance or the blank curiosity he usually received. It was something else, something focused and direct that he couldn't decipher, holding his gaze for the first time since that disastrous night one year ago. He felt that strange jolt again, stronger this time, and couldn't look away.
Chapter 3: Sparks, Snouts and Surprises
Chapter Text
Hiccup sighed, the familiar resignation settling heavy in his chest as he forced the faint energy behind his eyes to flare. Emerald light bloomed briefly, reflecting in the overly eager, slightly tipsy face of Joron the Loud, one of Snotlout’s many equally obnoxious cousins.
"Whoa! See? Told ya!" Joron bellowed, slapping his companion on the back hard enough to make him spill his drink. "Apex Leader's kid, and that's all he got! Hilarious!"
"Yeah, yeah, hilarious," Hiccup muttered, letting the green fade as he backed away before they could ask for an encore. This had to be the tenth time tonight someone had cornered him demanding a demonstration of his "party trick." Snotlout's Manifestation Gala was turning out to be exactly the exercise in social awkwardness and public humiliation he’d anticipated.
The Jorgenson Sky-Loft wasn't as grand as the Haddock Estate, but what it lacked in taste, it made up for in volume. Garish neon lights pulsed in time with overly loud synth-pop music. Holographic banners displaying Snotlout’s smirking face proclaimed "Future Guild Legend!" – a statement dripping with unearned confidence. The air was thick with the smell of roasted boar (Snotlout’s choice, naturally) and expensive cologne. And it was packed .
His father was here, of course. Family obligation, even for cousins as annoying as the Jorgensons, was paramount to Stoick the Vast. Hiccup had seen him earlier, holding court near the entrance, his Lion anima's passive authority drawing a circle of sycophants – minor Guild functionaries, hopeful suppliers, local politicians – all vying for a moment with the Leader of the Apex Guild. Hiccup had made a wide detour. He also recognized several mid-level scouts and recruiters from the Big Three, their eyes scanning the crowd with practiced assessment, looking for potential… or perhaps just enjoying the free food before the main event. He recognized Director Thorne’s assistant from Synapse, looking vaguely predatory near the eclairs, and a stern-faced woman known for ruthless contract negotiations at Forge & Vein. He made a point of staying firmly out of their lines of sight. Tonight wasn't about him, thank Thor, but being reminded of his own spectacular failure on their dataslates wasn't his idea of a good time.
He was trying to calculate the optimal escape route to the relative anonymity of the drinks dispenser when it happened – that now-familiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like static electricity just before a lightning strike. He instinctively glanced across the crowded room.
There she was. Astrid Hofferson.
She stood near a pillar, momentarily separated from her parents, a glass of something bubbly untouched in her hand. And she was staring directly at him. Not the vague, scanning gaze of someone surveying a room, but a focused, intense look. Her blue eyes seemed sharper tonight, analytical, almost… calculating? It wasn't the dismissive glance of his own party, nor the blank neutrality from the PMG meeting earlier. This was different. Intentional. It sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated panic through him.
Abort! Abort! his brain screamed. He spun around, aiming for the nearest cluster of potted ferns, hoping to blend in. He practically collided with Fishlegs, who was hovering uncertainly near a table laden with questionable-looking hors d'oeuvres.
"Whoa! Hiccup!" Fishlegs steadied himself, nearly dropping a miniature quiche. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost… or maybe just Snotlout's decorating choices."
"Worse," Hiccup muttered, trying to subtly position Fishlegs between himself and Astrid's line of sight. "Just needed… strategic relocation. So, uh, first Berk Manifestation Party, right? What do you think?"
Fishlegs peered around, taking in the scene with wide, slightly overwhelmed eyes. "It's… a lot," he admitted. "Louder than I expected. And everyone seems so… tense. Like they're waiting for a bomb to go off instead of a birthday." He lowered his voice. "So, explain this again. Why does it have to happen exactly at midnight? Is it astrological? Some kind of localized chroniton field alignment?"
"Tradition, mostly," Hiccup shrugged, risking a quick glance back. Astrid was now talking to one of her parents, thankfully. "Maybe some old belief about magic being strongest at the turn of the day. Honestly, nobody really knows, but try telling Berk to change a tradition, especially one involving anima power reveals and potential Guild contracts. Easier to argue with a Rumblehorn."
"And the scouts," Fishlegs pressed, gesturing with his quiche towards a trio of sharp-suited individuals near the center of the room, their attention fixed on Snotlout. "What exactly are they looking for? Just raw power? Specific types?"
"Everything," Hiccup sighed. "Power level, obviously. Anima type – predator animas like Dad's or, well, whatever Snotlout is hoping for, are always top tier for Apex. Forge & Vein likes durability or specialized resource skills. Synapse wants unique biology or high intelligence markers. But it's also about control. Manifesting a Level 2 on day one is impressive, but if you immediately lose control and demolish half the room, it doesn't look good. They want potential and discipline."
Fishlegs nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "Okay… okay. But…" He hesitated, looking down at his shoes. "What if… what if someone gets something… lame? Like, really useless? What happens then?"
Hiccup felt a familiar defensive prickle. "Hey! There are no lame animas, Fishlegs," he said, maybe a little too sharply. "Just… different applications. Every anima contributes to the… ecosystem." Even as he said it, the words tasted like ash, like the fake cheerfulness his father had deployed a year ago. He saw Mildew's bitter face, felt the sting of the McRonalds customer's laughter. "It's not about being lame," he insisted, more to convince himself than Fishlegs. "It's about finding your niche."
Fishlegs looked slightly taken aback by his tone. "Right, right, sorry. Just… hypothetical."
Before Hiccup could dig himself deeper into his own hypocrisy, chaos erupted from the direction of the kitchen. Shouts, a crash of metal, and then the unmistakable smell of burning oil filled the air, quickly followed by thick, acrid smoke.
"Fire! Put it out! No, not water, you idiot!"
"Grab him! He's got the flambé torch!"
Hiccup and Fishlegs exchanged wide-eyed glances and instinctively moved towards the commotion. Pushing through a small crowd of panicked onlookers, they saw the source. The main kitchen station was engulfed in smoke. A large frying pan filled with what looked like Snotlout's prized boar medallions was now a raging grease fire, flames licking dangerously close to the overhead ventilation system. A harried-looking chef in a sauce-stained apron was swatting uselessly at the flames with a damp towel while another staff member was trying, and failing, to corner Tuffnut Thorston, who was wielding a long culinary torch like a sword and cackling maniacally. Ruffnut was nearby, enthusiastically fanning the smoke detector with a serving tray.
"It needed more flair!" Tuffnut yelled as he dodged a lunge from the staffer.
"Water will make it worse!" Hiccup shouted over the din, his mind instantly assessing the situation. Grease fire. Needs smothering. He scanned the kitchen counter – pans, utensils, bowls… there! A large, flat metal lid for a stockpot sat nearby. Without a second thought, he darted forward, snatching the lid. Ignoring the heat radiating from the blaze, he moved quickly, sliding the lid firmly over the burning pan, cutting off the oxygen supply. The flames sputtered violently for a second, then died down, leaving only thick, greasy smoke and the smell of burnt boar.
The chef sagged against the counter, coughing. "My medallions… ruined!" he groaned, looking utterly defeated.
"Fear not, culinary artist!" Tuffnut declared, finally cornered but unrepentant. "Think of it as… uh… Cajun style! Extra blackened! Flambé for dessert!"
Hiccup surveyed the charred remains in the pan. Definitely not salvageable. He felt a pang of sympathy for the chef, and even, bizarrely, for Snotlout. He knew what a failed party felt like. "Look," he said, turning to the chef. "It's out now. Maybe… maybe I can help? Salvage something? Keep things moving?"
The chef eyed him skeptically, wiping soot from his forehead. "You cook?"
"Uh, sort of?" Hiccup admitted. "I work the grill sometimes… at McRonalds."
The chef stared at him, then at the smoldering pan, then back at Hiccup. He sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion. "McRonalds," he repeated flatly. He shrugged, shoulders slumping. "Fine. Whatever. Better than nothing, I suppose. Grab an apron, kid. Try not to burn anything else down."
Hiccup nodded, already scanning the remaining ingredients. It wasn't glamorous, but it was something useful he could actually do . He might not be able to manifest useful power, but maybe, just maybe, he could help salvage Snotlout's big night from this minor disaster.
He was just reaching for a clean knife when a quiet voice spoke from behind him, startling him.
"That was… impressive."
Hiccup spun around. Astrid Hofferson stood there, arms crossed, watching him. Her earlier aloofness was gone, replaced by an expression he couldn't quite read – surprise? Respect? Her intense blue eyes scanned the scene – the smothered fire, the distraught chef, Tuffnut being lectured sternly by a returning Stoick who had clearly smelled the smoke.
"What you just did," she continued, her gaze meeting his directly, "Ignoring the chaos, seeing the solution, acting… that was smart. Quick thinking." She paused, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "And offering to help clean up Jorgenson's mess after… well." A ghost of that smile he’d seen a year ago touched her lips. "That was surprisingly… decent of you, Haddock."
Hiccup blinked, completely thrown. Astrid Hofferson was… complimenting him? Not just a polite acknowledgment, but actual, specific praise for his actions , his thinking ? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, utterly speechless. He felt that strange jolt again, but this time it wasn't panic; it was something warm, spreading through his chest. She saw that? She noticed?
Before he could stammer out a reply, a loud gong sounded from the main terrace, followed by Stoick's amplified voice. "Alright everyone! Gather 'round! The moment approaches! Ten minutes to midnight!"
Astrid gave him one last, unreadable look before turning and heading back towards the crowd, melting back into her role as a future Guild prospect. Hiccup watched her go, his mind reeling, before the chef shoved an apron into his hands, snapping him back to reality.
The next ten minutes were a blur of frantic chopping, sautéing, and trying to assemble some kind of edible replacement for the boar medallions under the chef’s stressed directions. Hiccup found a rhythm, his earlier work on the fast-food line surprisingly applicable. He could hear the energy building outside, the countdown starting.
He wiped sweat from his brow just as the final shout of "ONE!" echoed, followed immediately by a strangled yell that was pure Snotlout. Hiccup abandoned his station and hurried to the edge of the kitchen doorway, peering out.
Snotlout stood in the center of the circle, looking… different. He hadn't shot up in height like some did, but he seemed thicker, denser. Coarse, dark hair was visibly sprouting along his arms and jawline, and his face seemed broader, snout-like, with small, tusk-like protrusions beginning to emerge from his lower lip. He looked less like a Guild legend and more like a very angry, very hairy warthog crammed into formal wear. He let out another yell, which ended in an undignified snort.
A Forge & Vein scout stepped forward, scanner whirring briefly. "Subject S. Jorgenson. Manifestation confirmed. Anima type: Boar. Preliminary assessment: Level 1 mastery, moderate strength and durability indicators. Standard." The scout sounded profoundly bored. He tapped something on his datapad. "Forge & Vein offers a standard Tier 4 contract. Resource Guard division or Heavy Labor detail. Take it or leave it."
Snotlout, despite the distinctly underwhelming assessment and offer, puffed out his chest, preening under the lukewarm attention. He strutted around the circle, flexing his newly hairy arms. "Ha! See? Boar! Knew it'd be something tough! Apex probably just missed out on their next champion! Forge & Vein knows quality!" He conveniently ignored the 'Tier 4' and 'Heavy Labor' parts, acting as if he’d just been crowned king.
Later, after the initial buzz died down and people returned to their drinks, Hiccup found himself near Snotlout again. Feeling a reluctant sense of obligation (and maybe emboldened by Astrid’s earlier comment), he offered a tentative, "Hey, Snotlout. Congratulations."
Snotlout turned, surprised. For a second, a flicker of genuine appreciation crossed his face. "Uh, yeah. Thanks, Hiccup." Then, the usual smirk returned, tusks glinting slightly. "Guess some of us actually manifest something useful, huh? Bet you wish you could do more than just… this!" He snapped his fingers in front of Hiccup's face. "Come on, cousin! Show the folks the party trick! Lighten up the mood!"
Hiccup flinched, bracing for the familiar humiliation. But before Snotlout could continue, a clear voice cut through the air.
"Knock it off, Snotlout."
Both Hiccup and Snotlout turned in shock. Astrid stood there, arms crossed again, fixing Snotlout with an icy glare that could have frozen the champagne fountain.
"It's your party, fine," she continued, her voice dangerously calm. "You got your anima. But that's enough. Leave him alone."
Snotlout gaped at her, momentarily speechless. Even Hiccup stared, dumbfounded. Astrid Hofferson, childhood crush, Snotlout’s unrequited love, was defending him ? From Snotlout ?
Without waiting for a reply, Astrid gave Snotlout one last withering look, then turned and sauntered off towards the drinks table with an unnerving grace. She didn't look back.
Hiccup stood there, completely dazed, Snotlout forgotten. He watched her walk away, the earlier warmth in his chest blooming into something confusingly potent. What just happened?
Chapter 4: Observations and Obligations
Chapter Text
Astrid stared critically at her reflection. Eighteen years old, nearly nineteen, and the girl staring back could still pass for fifteen. Same stubborn jawline, same braid that felt too young, same frame that hadn't yet received the memo about the impending biological overhaul Berk society obsessed over. The simple blue dress her mother had insisted on felt… constricting. Not physically, but metaphorically. Tonight was Hiccup Haddock's Manifestation Gala, and Astrid Hofferson felt less like attending a party and more like being presented as potential breeding stock.
She sighed, turning away from the mirror in her efficiently organized room. Pictures of champion athletes and diagrams of advanced combat techniques adorned the walls, a stark contrast to the frilly dress laid out for tonight. She didn't dislike Hiccup Haddock – honestly, she barely knew him beyond sharing classes and PMG meetings. He was just… there. Awkward, quiet, usually sketching weird contraptions in his notebooks, and perpetually overshadowed by his powerhouse father, Stoick the Vast. Why his twentieth birthday required this level of city-wide anticipation and parental maneuvering was beyond her.
"Astrid! Are you ready? The transport arrives in ten minutes!" Her mother's voice, sharp and precise like her own calculated business dealings, cut through the door.
Astrid took a deep breath. "Coming!"
She found her parents in the main living area of their apartment, overlooking the bustling harbor – the lifeblood of Hofferson Maritime Logistics, their medium-sized, aggressively ambitious Guild. Her father, Erik, clapped her approvingly on the shoulder, his keen eyes, hinting at a dormant Hawk anima, already calculating social trajectories. Her mother, Ingrid, adjusted the fall of Astrid's dress with critical precision.
"Remember tonight is important, Astrid," Ingrid said, her voice smooth but firm. "Stoick Haddock holds immense influence. An alliance with Apex Guild…"
"…would significantly benefit Hofferson Maritime's expansion plans, yes, I know," Astrid finished, unable to keep the weary edge from her voice. "You've only mentioned it fifty times."
"It's about securing your future, dear," Erik countered, though his eyes gleamed with Guild-level strategy. "The Haddock lineage is strong. Stoick is a Level 3 Lion Master. Whatever Hiccup manifests tonight, it's bound to be impressive. Powerful connections are essential in this city."
Astrid barely suppressed a snort. Impressive? Hiccup Haddock? He seemed more likely to manifest an anxiety disorder than a powerhouse anima. But she held her tongue. Arguing was pointless. Tonight was an obligation, a strategic maneuver in her parents' relentless climb up Berk's Guild ladder. She just had to endure it.
The Haddock Estate Sky-Terrace was even more ostentatious than she’d expected. Opulent, loud, and suffocatingly crowded. Astrid immediately felt like a prize hen being inspected at market. Her parents plunged into the throng, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries that dripped with hidden agendas, occasionally gesturing towards Astrid as if presenting their prime asset. She plastered on a polite, neutral expression and tried to fade into the background, nursing a glass of sparkling cider she had no intention of drinking.
She saw Hiccup arrive, looking predictably overwhelmed as Stoick immediately began dragging him through the crowd like a trophy. She overheard snippets of her parents’ conversation with another minor Guild leader nearby. "…expected someone more… substantial, didn't you?" the woman murmured, eyeing Hiccup's lanky frame. "Stoick's son, you'd think…"
"Genetics can be unpredictable," Astrid's mother replied smoothly, though Astrid caught the flicker of shared doubt. "But the potential is undeniable."
Astrid rolled her eyes internally. Potential. The word everyone clung to before the reality of manifestation hit.
Eventually, inevitably, Stoick steered Hiccup towards them. Up close, Hiccup looked even younger, his green eyes wide with barely concealed panic. He mumbled greetings, fidgeting with the collar of his obviously uncomfortable tunic. He seemed… nice enough, she supposed. Harmless. Definitely awkward.
Then came Stoick's booming, horribly unsubtle matchmaking proposal. Joining our houses… solidify… fine match… Astrid felt her jaw tighten. She wasn't some bargaining chip to be traded for Guild influence. She was Astrid Hofferson, future warrior, future powerhouse, perfectly capable of choosing her own path and her own partner, thank you very much. She saw Hiccup’s mortified expression and felt a brief, unexpected flicker of solidarity. He clearly hated this as much as she did. She almost admired him when he tried, however weakly, to interrupt his father.
Then, meeting her gaze, he’d muttered that comment about her dress not being itchy. It was such a small, unexpected, human thing to say amidst all the posturing and politics. It acknowledged their shared discomfort, their mutual status as pawns in their parents' games. Against all odds, a genuine laugh escaped her before she could stifle it. "Small mercies," she’d agreed, and for a fleeting second, there was a connection, a shared glance that felt more real than anything else happening at this ridiculous party. Then her parents were pulling her away, back into the social currents.
The memory faded as Astrid refocused on the present, back in the brightly lit PMG room. She found herself staring down at her datapad, stylus moving idly. She frowned, realizing she hadn't been taking notes on Gobber's lecture recap at all. Instead, she'd been sketching. A familiar, lanky figure. Unruly auburn hair. Wide green eyes.
Hiccup.
She felt a flush creep up her neck. Where did that come from? She’d been thinking about his disastrous party, yes. The sheer, excruciating awkwardness of it all. The way everyone had abandoned him the second his manifestation proved… underwhelming. Greener eyes. That was it. After all that Haddock lineage hype, all that Apex potential… just greener eyes. She genuinely felt bad for him. He wasn't a bad guy; he was quiet, observant, clearly intelligent despite his social awkwardness. Just incredibly, monumentally unlucky in the anima lottery.
A shiver of fear traced its way down her own spine. Her own twentieth birthday was getting closer every day. The weight of her parents' expectations felt crushing. They were counting on her – Hofferson Maritime was counting on her – to manifest something powerful, something worthy of attention from Apex or another top Guild. If she ended up like Hiccup… or worse, like Mildew with his pathetic Sheep anima… the thought was unbearable. It wouldn't just be personal disappointment; it would be a strategic failure for her family, a public humiliation. In that context, Hiccup still showing up here, still enduring the pity and Snotlout's mockery… it took a strange kind of courage. A grudging respect settled in her chest, pushing aside the embarrassment about the doodle.
"Hey, Hofferson! Thinking about me?"
Astrid looked up, her thoughts scattering like startled birds. Snotlout Jorgenson leaned over her table, attempting what he probably thought was a charming smirk. It mostly just made his face look punchable.
"In your dreams, Jorgenson," she snapped, her voice pure ice. "Now buzz off. Some of us are trying to concentrate."
Snotlout recoiled slightly, his bravado deflating. "Fine, fine! Just trying to be friendly before I become too famous for you little people!" He strutted away, already planning his acceptance speech for an Apex contract he hadn't earned yet.
Astrid rolled her eyes and glanced back down at her datapad, intending to erase the incriminating sketch. Cute. The thought popped into her head, unbidden, as she looked at the simple lines capturing Hiccup’s awkward profile. She recoiled as if burned, quickly swiping the screen blank. Cute? Where had that come from? He was the Guild Leader's disappointing son! The kid with the useless anima! She mentally shook herself. Focus, Hofferson. Guilds. Training. Power. That's what mattered.
Her internal lecture was interrupted by Gobber's booming voice calling Hiccup to the front. Astrid winced internally as Hiccup was paraded as the example of a Level 0 manifestation. She watched the familiar wave of humiliation wash over his face, the way he seemed to shrink under the class's stares. It wasn't fair. He hadn't chosen his anima.
Later that week, walking towards the PMG center, Astrid found herself slowing down as she passed the local McRonalds. Through the large front window, she saw him. Hiccup. Slumped over the counter of his cashier station, head resting on his arms, looking utterly defeated. A pang of something sharp – sympathy? Anger? – went through her. He shouldn't be here. He was Stoick Haddock's son, smart and decent, and he was stuck serving synth-burgers because his manifestation wasn't flashy enough for the Guilds.
She almost walked on, telling herself it wasn't her business. But her feet seemed to have other ideas. She found herself drifting back towards the window, partially concealed by a bus stop advertisement. She watched as two burly customers, clad in Forge & Vein gear, swaggered up to the counter. She saw them talking, saw Hiccup stiffen, saw the resigned sigh before his eyes flashed that brief, vivid green. The men roared with laughter, slapping the counter.
Astrid felt her hands clench into fists. Fury, cold and sharp, surged through her. How dare they? Mocking him, treating his manifestation – part of him – like some cheap trick for their amusement? Before she even fully processed the decision, she was moving.
She waited just outside the exit. When the two FV workers emerged, still chuckling, she stepped directly into their path. They stopped, surprised, their laughter dying as they took in her icy glare.
"Problem?" the larger one asked, trying to sound intimidating.
"You think it's funny?" Astrid's voice was low, dangerously quiet. "Treating people like exhibits in a zoo?"
The man blinked, then recognition dawned. "Hey, aren't you…? Wait, you sticking up for Glowing Eyes? What is he, your boyfriend or something?" He smirked, nudging his companion.
Astrid felt a confusing heat rise in her cheeks, but her glare didn't waver. "Doesn't matter who he is. Find someone your own size to bully. Or better yet, find some manners." She held their gaze until they shifted uncomfortably, muttered something under their breath, and finally shuffled away down the street.
She stood there for a moment after they left, her heart pounding, the adrenaline fading, leaving behind a profound sense of confusion. Why did I do that? Why did seeing Hiccup humiliated make her so irrationally angry? Why did she feel this strange, fierce urge to protect him? It didn't make sense. He wasn't her responsibility. He wasn't… anything, really. Just the awkward kid with the weird eyes.
Shaking her head, trying to clear the confusing thoughts, she continued towards the PMG center. She slipped into the room just as Snotlout was inevitably holding court.
"Well, look who it is! Glowing Eyes!" Snotlout's voice grated on her nerves more than usual today.
Astrid's gaze automatically sought Hiccup out. He ignored Snotlout, heading towards Fishlegs, who looked decidedly downcast. She watched, intrigued, as Hiccup, despite clearly being the target of mockery himself, sat down and spoke quietly to Fishlegs, offering what looked like genuine sympathy and encouragement. Fishlegs visibly brightened.
He's a good person, Astrid thought, the realization hitting her with surprising force. Underneath the awkwardness and the societal dismissal, there was a core of kindness, of empathy, that most people in this Guild-obsessed city seemed to lack.
As Gobber started the session, she found her gaze drifting back to Hiccup. He wasn't looking her way, seemingly focused on Gobber's lecture. But she kept watching him, the earlier confusion solidifying into something else. Curiosity. Interest. A feeling she couldn't quite name but felt undeniably drawn to explore. It was this newfound fascination that held her gaze when he finally, hesitantly, looked across the room and met her eyes directly.
A Week Later
The notification pinged on Astrid's cellphone just as she finished her morning training exercise (A new personal best). It was from her mother. Subject: S. Jorgenson Gala - MC Request.
Astrid frowned, tapping it open. Her mother's message was brief and overly enthusiastic. Astrid darling, Wonderful news! Spitelout Jorgenson called this morning. Snotlout has formally requested you act as his Manifestation Coordinator for his party tonight! Such an honor! Acknowledges your rising status. Excellent networking opportunity with the Jorgenson clan and their Forge & Vein connections. We accepted on your behalf, naturally. Details to follow.
Astrid stared at the message, feeling a surge of ice-cold fury mixed with utter disbelief. Manifestation Coordinator? For Snotlout? The role was significant – the MC was responsible for managing the countdown, liaising with Guild scouts immediately post-manifestation, essentially stage-managing the most critical public moment in a young Berkan's life. It was a position of trust, almost always filled by a close family member, a lifelong best friend, or… a significant other.
And Snotlout Jorgenson, the arrogant, obnoxious, preening moron who still thought catcalling was flirting, had asked her ? The implication was nauseatingly clear. He wasn't honoring her status; he was trying to publicly stake some kind of creepy claim, using a respected tradition for his own pathetic ego boost. And her parents had accepted ? Seeing only the potential Guild connection, completely ignoring the blatant disrespect and the fact that she couldn't stand Snotlout?
"Absolutely not," she muttered, her voice tight. She stabbed at the reply icon. Mother, Decline immediately. Under no circumstances am I acting as Snotlout's MC. Find an excuse. I don't care what. It is NOT happening. She hit send before she could second-guess herself. Let her parents deal with the diplomatic fallout. There were lines she wouldn't cross, even for Guild advancement. Being Snotlout's prop was definitely one of them. The thought of having to stand beside him, manage his moment… it made her skin crawl.
Astrid tugged at the neckline of the same stupid blue dress. Attending another manifestation party felt like a special kind of torture, especially knowing Snotlout had tried to rope her into being his MC. This time, it was Snotlout's turn, and the atmosphere was somehow both less formal and more obnoxious than Hiccup's had been. She did her best to blend into the shadows, avoiding her parents (who were giving her the silent treatment after her refusal, though they'd clearly made excuses to the Jorgensons) and the various Guild reps making polite, assessing small talk.
She scanned the room, her eyes instinctively searching. There. Hiccup was near the drinks table, looking profoundly uncomfortable as one of Snotlout's loutish cousins demanded the "eye trick." She felt that familiar flicker of protective anger, quickly suppressed. It wasn't her place. But she found herself watching him, fascinated by how he navigated the social minefield. He was trying so hard to be invisible, yet there was a quiet resilience about him she hadn't noticed before.
"Astrid, darling! You simply must meet Councilman Hrolf's nephew, he's just manifested a rather promising Badger anima…" A woman dripping with jewelry cornered her, launching into a monologue about Guild prospects. Astrid nodded politely, her eyes glazing over, occasionally flicking back towards Hiccup.
Then came the commotion from the kitchen. Shouts. Smoke. Perfect escape. Muttering apologies, Astrid slipped away from the councilman's beaming aunt and moved towards the chaos, more out of curiosity and a desire to avoid small talk than anything else.
She arrived just as Hiccup darted forward, snatched a lid, and expertly smothered the grease fire. She watched, hidden by the doorway throng, as he calmly assessed the damage, dealt with the distraught chef, and even offered to step in and cook, citing his McRonalds experience with a complete lack of pretense.
A small, unexpected smile touched Astrid's lips. No bravado, no posturing. Just quiet competence, quick thinking, and a surprising amount of empathy for the chef and even for Snotlout. In a room full of people obsessed with power and status, Hiccup Haddock had just performed the most genuinely impressive act of the night, and it had nothing to do with anima abilities.
She waited until the initial flurry of activity died down and Stoick had finished lecturing Tuffnut. Then, she stepped out of the shadows and approached Hiccup as he reached for a knife.
"That was… impressive." The words came out before she consciously planned them, surprising even herself with their sincerity.
He spun around, startled, his green eyes wide. And for the first time, Astrid wasn't thinking about his lineage, his weak anima, or Guild politics. She was just seeing him . Smart. Quick. Decent.
And suddenly, inexplicably, very interesting.
Chapter 5: Coordinator, Chaos and Cat Ears
Chapter Text
Three months. It had been three agonizingly long months since Snotlout Jorgenson’s underwhelming Boar manifestation party. Three months of enduring his even more inflated ego at the PMG meetings, where he now strutted around flexing vaguely bristly arms and boasting about his Tier 4 contract with Forge & Vein like he’d been personally recruited by the Guild Master himself. Astrid had perfected the art of the withering glare and the monosyllabic dismissal, yet he persisted, a gnat buzzing around her focus.
Her focus, annoyingly, often drifted elsewhere during those meetings. She’d find herself watching Hiccup Haddock. Observing the quiet way he helped Fishlegs decipher Gobber’s more obscure historical references, the resigned patience with which he endured Snotlout’s barbs, the sharp intelligence that flickered in his green eyes when discussing mechanics or strategy, even if it was immediately followed by his usual awkward self-deprecation. The respect she’d felt after the kitchen fire incident hadn't faded; it had grown, morphing into a persistent, confusing curiosity. She kept telling herself it was just… analytical observation. Understanding resilience in the face of systemic failure. Totally logical. Nothing to do with the doodle she’d hastily erased weeks ago. Definitely not.
Now, it was her turn. Her twentieth birthday. And the low-grade anxiety that had been simmering for months had ramped up into a full-blown internal pressure cooker.
"Hold still, Astrid! Honestly, you fidget like a hooked mackerel!" Her mother, Ingrid, tsked, applying a shimmering highlighter to Astrid's cheekbones with intense concentration. Astrid sat stiffly in the vanity chair, enduring the ritualistic pre-manifestation pampering – hair twisted into an elaborate braid that felt too fussy, skin scrubbed and moisturized until it felt unnaturally smooth, makeup applied with strategic precision. It felt less like preparation and more like polishing a prize artifact before auction. Abused? No. Utterly, profoundly annoyed? Absolutely.
"This is your day, darling," Ingrid continued, stepping back to admire her work with a critical eye. "Everything needs to be perfect. Remember what tonight means – not just for you, but for Hofferson Maritime. A strong manifestation, a good Guild offer… Apex is watching, Astrid. Stoick himself will be here. This could be the final push we need for the merger discussions."
Astrid just hummed noncommittally, staring blankly at the ceiling. She believed in the power of animas, the potential they unlocked. She craved that power, the ability to push her body and mind further, to become the warrior she knew she could be. But the spectacle ? The parties, the scouting frenzy, the reduction of a life-altering biological event into a networking opportunity and a Guild draft? It all felt… crass. Undignified.
"Now, regarding your Manifestation Coordinator," Ingrid said, switching topics seamlessly as she fussed with a stray hair near Astrid's temple. "I know you haven't designated anyone, dear, which is understandable given your focus on training. So, naturally, I'll handle the duties tonight. I have the timeline finalized, the scout liaisons pre-briefed…"
"Actually, Mom," Astrid cut her off, turning in the chair to face her, her voice firm. "I do have someone in mind."
Ingrid paused, her perfectly plucked eyebrow arching in surprise. "Oh? Who? Your father perhaps? Or maybe Captain Lars from our security division?"
"No," Astrid said, meeting her mother's gaze steadily. "Hiccup Haddock."
Silence. Ingrid stared at her as if she’d just suggested Mildew coordinate the event. "Hiccup… Haddock?" she repeated slowly, disbelief warring with confusion. "Stoick's boy? The one who… well. Astrid, darling, are you feeling quite alright? Is this some kind of joke?"
"I'm perfectly serious," Astrid stated, keeping her voice even despite the surge of defiance she felt. "He's the most capable person I know for the job. He understands how ridiculous these spectacles are, he won't get starstruck by the scouts, and he actually pays attention to details." And, a small voice in the back of her mind added, I want him there.
Her mother looked appalled. "Astrid, be reasonable! His reputation after his own manifestation… or lack thereof… He has no Guild prospects! He works at McRonalds ! What will people think ? Having him as your MC sends completely the wrong signal! It makes us look…"
"Like we value competence over connections?" Astrid finished coolly. "He helped manage the disaster at Snotlout's party when everyone else was panicking. He knows how these things work, probably better than most, having seen his own go wrong. And," she added, playing her trump card, "he's Stoick's son. Who better to liaise with the Apex Guild Leader if needed?"
Ingrid opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly wrestling with the conflicting signals – the social awkwardness versus the potential (however slight) political advantage. She sighed dramatically. "Astrid, this is highly irregular…"
"It's my manifestation, Mom," Astrid said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "It's my choice. Call Stoick. Ask him to send Hiccup over."
Her mother hesitated, then let out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. Fine! But if this reflects poorly on Hofferson Maritime…" She tapped furiously at her cellphone. A moment later, Astrid heard the faint but distinct sound of Stoick the Vast's booming voice coming from the speaker, laced with surprise but also… unmistakable excitement? " Hiccup? You want Hiccup to MC? Well now, isn't that… interesting! Yes, yes, of course! Excellent choice, Ingrid! Shows initiative! I'll send the boy right over!"
Astrid smirked faintly as her mother ended the call, looking utterly bewildered.
An hour later, Astrid stood in her room, glaring at the dress laid out on her bed. It was a shimmering silver fabric, elegant enough, but designed with special expansion runes woven into the seams – meant to accommodate the sudden physical changes of manifestation without tearing embarrassingly. It also looked, she suspected, incredibly itchy. She remembered Hiccup’s comment at his gala and felt a renewed flicker of sympathy. She was still in her comfortable street clothes, hair and makeup now a half-finished mess after her mother’s ministrations and her own restless pacing.
A chime sounded at the main door. Her mother’s voice, noticeably cooler than usual, drifted down the hall. "Hiccup. You're early."
Astrid took a deep breath and headed out. Hiccup stood awkwardly in the entryway, looking profoundly out of place amidst the Hoffersons' minimalist, maritime-themed décor. He wore a simple, dark button-down shirt and trousers – clean, presentable, but clearly not Guild-level formal wear. His green eyes widened slightly as he took in her half-ready state. Her parents offered him curt, polite greetings that lacked any of the warmth they might have shown before his own party’s disappointing outcome. The air crackled with awkwardness.
"Right," Ingrid said briskly. "Astrid will brief you. Erik and I have final arrangements to oversee." They made a swift, strategic retreat, leaving Astrid and Hiccup alone in the suddenly cavernous living area.
Hiccup shifted his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets. "So," he began, his voice cracking slightly. "Uh… MC duties. Right. Your parents calling was… unexpected. Honestly, I thought they kind of hated me after my… you know."
Astrid leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. She found herself staring at him again, that analytical part of her brain cataloging his nervous energy, the way his hair refused to lie flat, the intelligence in those green eyes currently clouded by confusion. "They didn't ask for you," she stated plainly. "I did."
Hiccup blinked. Then blinked again. "You… you asked for me? Why?" The confusion intensified, bordering on disbelief.
"Because," Astrid said, deciding brutal honesty was the best approach, "unlike everyone else who might try to turn tonight into a networking opportunity or a Guild recruitment pitch, I trust you to actually manage the event properly. You saw what a mess Snotlout's would have been without you stepping in. You understand logistics. You pay attention. And," she added, a hint of challenge in her voice, "you understand how much I despise this whole public spectacle aspect. I need someone running this who gets that. Someone capable." She deliberately used the word 'capable,' hoping it might cut through his insecurity.
He just stared at her, his expression completely blank for a long, agonizing moment. Astrid felt a pang of regret. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe this was a mistake. He probably thinks I'm mocking him…
Then, something shifted. Hiccup stood up straighter, the awkward slouch vanishing. His eyes sharpened, losing their confused haze and gaining a focused intensity she hadn't seen before. He pulled a small datapad from his pocket, stylus appearing in his hand as if by magic.
"Right," he said, his voice suddenly crisp, devoid of its usual hesitation. It wasn't loud like his father's, but it held an unexpected note of command. "MC mode engaged. Let's go over the itinerary. Guest arrivals, catering checkpoints, scout liaison points, contingency plans for unexpected manifestation side-effects – environmental or biological. Music cues. Countdown protocol. Post-manifestation assessment window before Guild contact is permitted. Let's make this efficient."
Astrid blinked, taken aback by the sudden transformation. Whoa.
For the next hour, Hiccup was a force of nature. The awkward, insecure boy vanished, replaced by a ruthlessly efficient coordinator. It was… astonishing. He moved through the Hofferson apartment and the adjacent rented party space like a whirlwind, his datapad constantly updated, his instructions clear and concise. He exuded an aura of calm control that belied his youthful appearance and his supposed Level 0 status. For the first time, Astrid saw the clear lineage – not the Lion's roar, but the Guild Leader's strategic mind, the ability to see the whole picture and manage every moving part.
He dealt with the catering staff, ensuring precise timings and placements, catching a potential allergy cross-contamination issue before it happened. He reorganized the seating chart her mother had painstakingly created, optimizing flow and minimizing potential awkward encounters between minor Guild rivals. He checked the lighting, the sound system, the emergency medical drone's readiness ("Standard procedure," he'd muttered when Astrid raised an eyebrow). He found the decorators placing floral arrangements incorrectly according to the plan Astrid hadn't even known existed until Hiccup showed it to her parents (who looked grudgingly impressed).
When one of the temporary serving staff hired for the event tried to brush off one of Hiccup's instructions "Yeah, yeah, I'll get to it, kid", Hiccup stopped dead. He turned slowly, fixing the server with a level green gaze that suddenly felt unnervingly sharp.
"My name is Hiccup Haddock," he said, his voice quiet but carrying absolute authority. "For the duration of this event, I am the Manifestation Coordinator, appointed by Astrid Hofferson. Your job is to follow instructions precisely and efficiently. If you cannot do that, you can collect your pay for what little you worked and leave now."
The server scoffed. "I'm not taking orders from some Guild-less runt with glowing eyes."
Hiccup didn't even blink. "Security," he said, speaking into his datapad's comm. "Escort this individual off the premises. He's terminated." Two burly Apex guards (likely assigned by Stoick as a 'favor') appeared almost instantly. The server gaped, then turned red, but wisely didn't argue further as he was firmly removed. A ripple of shocked silence went through the remaining staff. After that, everyone followed Hiccup's instructions to the letter.
The party itself, once it began, ran with astonishing smoothness. Guests arrived, drinks flowed, music played at precisely the right volume. Hiccup moved through the periphery, a small datapad in hand, occasionally murmuring instructions into his comm or making adjustments, a small frown of concentration on his face. Astrid found herself watching him more than mingling. The contrast was jarring: when dealing with MC duties, he was focused, authoritative, almost intimidating in his efficiency. The moment he caught her eye or she approached him, however, the awkwardness returned instantly – he’d flush, stammer, fidget. It was… strangely endearing.
She saw Stoick trying to sneak a pastry from the dessert table long before it was officially open. Before Astrid could even react, Hiccup’s hand shot out and slapped his father’s wrist away. "Dessert bar opens at 23:30, Dad," Hiccup said distractedly, not even looking up from the staffing schedule on his datapad. "Stick to the canapés."
Stoick froze, looking down at his hand, then at Hiccup, then back at his hand, an expression of utter shock warring with something that looked suspiciously like immense pride dawning on his face. He actually chuckled, a low rumble, before retreating from the desserts. Astrid hid a smirk. Hiccup seemed completely oblivious, already moving on to check the ambient temperature controls.
She was chatting idly with Fishlegs and Ruffnut near the edge of the main room. She felt… relaxed. Normally at these events, she was constantly fending off ingratiating Guild reps or ambitious parents pushing their newly manifested offspring. But tonight, Hiccup seemed to be running interference, keeping the flow smooth and, apparently, keeping unwanted solicitors at bay.
As if jinxing it, a man in a sleek, silver Synapse Institute uniform materialized beside her, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Astrid Hofferson! A pleasure. Director Thorne sends his regards. I'm Dr. Alvis, head of Unique Anima Acquisition… I mean, Talent Scouting. We at Synapse have been following your potential with great interest, and I have a preliminary offer here that I think you'll find exceptionally…"
He barely got the datapad out of his inner pocket before a shadow fell over him. Bright green eyes flashed. "Dr. Alvis," Hiccup's voice was dangerously low, the MC authority back in full force. "We discussed this. No recruitment approaches before the official post-manifestation window. Section 4, Subsection B of the Coordinator's Mandate." He physically took the recruiter by the elbow, steering him firmly towards the exit. "You can wait with the other scouts in the designated area, or you can leave now."
Dr. Alvis sputtered, trying to regain his composure, but Hiccup propelled him away without ceremony. Hiccup returned a moment later, adjusting his shirt cuff. "Apologies for the interruption, Astrid," he said formally, then immediately flushed slightly as he met her gaze. "Just… ensuring protocol is followed." He gave a quick nod and hurried off towards the sound system controls.
Fishlegs let out a low whistle. "Okay," he breathed, eyes wide behind his glasses. "When my time comes, I definitely want Hiccup as my MC."
Astrid found herself nodding in agreement, a genuine smile playing on her lips.
She grabbed a final protein bar from a nearby tray, suddenly ravenous. She’d been hungrier than usual all day, craving red meat and poultry with an intensity that was new. Nerves, probably. She was leaning against a pillar, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach, when Hiccup appeared silently beside her.
"Showtime," he said quietly, offering a small, nervous smile.
Astrid blinked. "Already?" She glanced at the large chrono-display on the wall. 23:58. The last hour had flown by.
"Time flies when you're being efficiently managed," Hiccup joked, then immediately looked like he regretted it. "Or, you know, just at parties." He gestured towards the center of the room where the crowd was already forming the expectant circle. "Ready to be presented like a prize-winning yak at the Thawfest fair?"
She laughed, a real, unrestrained laugh this time. "Thanks, Hiccup. I needed that." She took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's do this."
He walked with her towards the circle, a quiet, reassuring presence beside her. The countdown began, echoing strangely in her ears. Ten. Nine. She felt a deep thrumming start within her, low and powerful. Eight. Seven. Her muscles tensed, coiling with energy. Six. Five. Her senses sharpened, the scents of perfume and food becoming almost overwhelming, the lights too bright. Four. Three. A wave of heat washed over her, intense but not unpleasant. Two. One.
Midnight.
It wasn't a gentle surge like Hiccup’s; it was a detonation. Power exploded through her veins, a raw, primal force that reshaped her in an instant. She felt her bones lengthen, her muscles swell and dense with whipcord strength. She gasped as she shot upwards, suddenly towering over Hiccup. Six foot six, easily. Her borrowed dress strained, the expansion runes glowing faintly as they struggled to keep up with the sudden gain in mass – particularly, she noted with detached surprise, around her hips, legs, and chest. Everything felt… tighter. More potent.
Then came the stranger sensation – a tingling warmth on the top of her head, followed by a distinct shift . She instinctively reached up. Her fingers brushed against something soft, pointed, and distinctly feline, sprouting directly from her scalp amidst her blonde hair. Cat ears. Triangular, blonde, and currently twitching slightly with sensory overload. Well, she thought, bemused. That's new.
A hush fell over the crowd, quickly broken by excited murmurs and the whirring of scanners. The lead Apex scout – a stern woman Astrid recognized – stepped forward, her eyes wide with undisguised avarice.
"Subject A. Hofferson!" the scout announced, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. "Manifestation Confirmed! Anima Type: Panther! Preliminary Mastery Assessment: Level 2! Exceptional power signature! Apex Guild offers a Tier 1 Prime Contract! Executive track! Immediate signing bonus!"
Before Astrid could even process it, chaos erupted.
"Synapse Institute offers Tier 1 Prime Plus! Full research grant! Dedicated lab!" Dr. Alvis shouted, pushing forward.
"Forge & Vein counters! Tier 1 Prime, Oversight position in Resource Security Division! Profit sharing!" yelled the FV negotiator.
Offers flew, voices rising, Guild representatives practically climbing over each other, shoving datapads towards her, arguing, promising status, wealth, power. It was overwhelming, a feeding frenzy focused entirely on her. Astrid felt a wave of dizziness, instinctively taking a step back, looking for an anchor in the sudden storm.
Her eyes scanned the clamoring faces, searching… There.
Hiccup.
He stood frozen just outside the main circle, where he’d presumably been overseeing the post-manifestation protocol. His MC duties were completely forgotten. A silver tray lay overturned at his feet, scattering fancy miniature pastries across the floor. His datapad was dangling forgotten from one hand. His jaw was slack, and his wide green eyes – currently glowing faintly with his own minimal anima – were fixed entirely on her. Not on her face. Not on the scouts clamoring around her.
He was staring, utterly gobsmacked, directly at her newly enhanced chest, now straining against the confines of the silver dress.
Astrid followed his gaze down, then back up to his stunned face. The overwhelmed feeling vanished, replaced by a sudden, unexpected surge of amusement, quickly followed by something else – a spark of mischief, a flicker of predatory interest. His reaction was so honest, so unguarded, so… Hiccup .
A slow smirk spread across Astrid’s lips. The Panther within purred.
Oh, she thought, her new ears twitching slightly. This is going to be fun.
Chapter 6: Panther Prowess and Pity's Price
Chapter Text
The silence was the first thing Astrid noticed. After a lifetime in a bustling apartment overlooking the noisy Hofferson Maritime docks, the soundproofed luxury of the Apex Guild penthouse suite felt almost unnerving. Assigned to her after she’d tentatively signed the initial Tier 1 Prime contract amidst the post-manifestation chaos – a contract already pending renegotiation, according to the welcome packet – the suite was obscenely large. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking, panoramic views of Berk’s glittering skyline, dwarfing the view from her parents' place. Minimalist furniture in shades of charcoal and silver sat artfully arranged on polished chrome floors. It screamed power, wealth, and impersonal efficiency. It was the kind of place Snotlout had always boasted about getting, and Astrid found it… sterile.
She stood before a ridiculously large mirror integrated into one wall of the main living area. The reflection staring back was still hers, yet fundamentally altered. The lingering softness of youth, the fifteen-year-old face she’d worn just hours ago, was gone, replaced by the sharper angles and defined features of young adulthood – the fierce determination in her eyes now matched by a stronger jawline and the undeniable presence of a seasoned warrior. Her eyes seemed brighter, fiercer. And then there were the ears.
She reached up tentatively, touching the soft, blonde, triangular cat ears perched atop her head. They twitched involuntarily at her touch, sensitive and alien. They weren't just cosmetic; she could already feel them swiveling slightly, picking up the faint hum of the building's climate control system, the distant rush of air traffic far below. She concentrated, trying to will them away, focusing on the sensation, trying to retract them as Gobber had vaguely instructed during PMG. Partial shift control. Level 1. She felt a faint tingling, a slight pull, but the ears remained stubbornly visible. It was harder than it looked, requiring a focus she hadn't quite grasped yet. Frustrated, she felt a flicker of annoyance, and instantly, something long and sleek materialized behind her, lashing irritably. A tail. Blonde, like her hair and ears, tipped with a darker shade, it swished back and forth with a life of its own.
"Oh, for Thor's sake," she muttered, glaring at the tail's reflection. Apparently, stress or irritation triggered that particular appendage. Great. Another thing to control. She took a deep, calming breath, focusing, and managed to make the tail slowly fade back into non-existence. The ears, however, remained. She sighed. Baby steps.
Turning away from the mirror, she inspected the rest of the changes. The height difference was still jarring – six foot eight felt impossibly tall, though the added elevation offered a satisfying perspective. She ran her hands down her sides, feeling the new density of muscle layered beneath smooth skin, the pronounced curve of her hips, the undeniable shift in her center of gravity. It felt… powerful. Potent. Ready. A faint blush heated her face as she remembered Hiccup's utterly gobsmacked expression, his eyes glued to her chest as pastries scattered around his feet. That , at least, had been amusing. A small, genuine smile touched her lips.
Enough introspection. Time to explore. She quickly changed into Apex-issued training gear – comfortable, durable black leggings and a fitted athletic top bearing the subtle Apex insignia. Leaving the silent penthouse, she stepped out into the high-speed lift and descended into the heart of the Guild tower.
The Apex Guild HQ wasn't just a building; it was a statement. The architecture was imposing, all sharp lines, dark, reflective surfaces, and soaring open spaces designed to inspire awe and perhaps a healthy dose of intimidation. Polished floors gleamed under recessed lighting. Holographic displays showed Guild news, training schedules, and occasionally, stylized predator anima motifs prowling across the screens. Stern-faced guards with visible Level 1 or 2 anima traits (a wolfish muzzle here, hawk-like eyes there) stood watchfully at key junctions. Astrid passed executive offices with tinted smart-glass walls, glimpses of hushed meetings within. She saw labs marked 'Bio-Analysis' and 'Tactical Simulation', common areas where Guild members sparred verbally over datapads or physically in designated low-impact zones. The air hummed with controlled energy, ambition, and the constant, low thrum of power – both technological and biological. It was a world away from Hofferson Maritime's pragmatic functionality. This was the big leagues.
She finally reached the training levels, expansive floors dedicated to honing anima abilities. State-of-the-art seemed like an understatement. There were vast open arenas for sparring, complex obstacle courses designed to test agility and environmental adaptation, reinforced chambers for destructive power testing, even zero-gravity simulation rooms. Astrid felt a thrill course through her. This was what she wanted. The tools, the space, the challenge to push her newfound abilities to their absolute limit.
She claimed an empty mid-sized arena, the floor automatically adjusting its texture to simulate rocky terrain. Taking another deep breath, she focused inward, embracing the wild energy coiling within her. This time, the transformation came easier, fueled by anticipation rather than the shock of midnight.
Power surged. Her form shifted, not into a full panther, but into the Level 2 Hybrid state she’d instinctively accessed upon manifestation. Her height remained, but her posture lowered slightly into a predatory crouch. Darker, panther-like fur sleeked over her limbs, though her blonde hair remained, now mingling with the fur around her shoulders. Her hands reshaped, fingers elongating into powerful paws tipped with razor-sharp, semi-retractable claws. Her face contorted, muzzle pushing forward slightly, teeth lengthening into fangs, her senses exploding outwards – smell, hearing, sight all becoming incredibly acute. The blonde cat ears atop her head swiveled, catching every tiny sound in the arena. Even the annoying tail reappeared, but this time it felt balanced, purposeful, aiding her movement.
She let out a low growl, a sound rumbling deep in her chest, and launched herself at the nearest training dummy – a heavily reinforced humanoid target. Speed like she’d never known blurred the world around her. She closed the distance in an instant, leaping, twisting, landing silently before unleashing a flurry of attacks. Claws shredded the dummy’s composite plating. Powerful kicks sent it staggering back. She flowed around its clumsy counter-swings, a whirlwind of controlled feline fury. She practiced pounces, evasive maneuvers, using the simulated terrain for cover and leverage. The hybrid form felt incredibly powerful, intuitive, exhilarating.
She tried pushing further, reaching for the full animal form, the complete transformation into a sleek, tawny panther. She could feel it, a deeper wellspring of power, but couldn't quite grasp the control needed. The hybrid form flickered, threatening to destabilize. Not yet, she realized, pulling back, panting slightly. Control first. Mastery.
She spent another hour tearing through dummies, pushing her speed, testing the limits of her strength and agility in the hybrid form, occasionally attempting partial shifts – just the claws, just the enhanced speed – trying to gain finer control. Sweat plastered her hair to her furred brow, but she felt invigorated, alive in a way she never had before.
"Impressive. Very impressive."
Astrid froze mid-lunge, retracting her claws instinctively. She turned, dropping out of her hybrid form back into her enhanced human state (though the ears remained stubbornly present). Stoick the Lion stood at the edge of the arena, arms crossed, observing her with keen, appreciative eyes. His own Lion anima radiated a palpable aura of power, even passively.
"Guild Leader," Astrid acknowledged, inclining her head respectfully, trying to catch her breath.
"Your transition is smooth for someone less than a day post-manifestation," Stoick rumbled, stepping into the arena. "And your instincts are sharp. You fight like you were born for it." He smiled faintly. "Which, I suppose, in a way, you were. Panther suits you."
Astrid felt a flush of pride at the praise from the Level 3 Master. "Thank you, sir. Still working on control."
"Always," Stoick nodded. "Mastery is a lifelong pursuit. But you show exceptional potential. More than potential – raw talent." He gestured towards the center of the arena. "You've demolished the synthetics. Care for a real challenge? A light spar? Best way to learn."
Astrid’s eyes widened slightly. Sparring with Stoick? The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. "I accept, Guild Leader."
Stoick grinned, a flash of predatory teeth. "Excellent." He took a ready stance opposite her. "Don't hold back, Hofferson. Show me what that Panther can do." Then, he took a deep breath, and the air around him seemed to thicken.
His transformation was instantaneous and overwhelming. He didn't just shift; he exploded into his Level 2 Lion Hybrid form. Taller, broader, covered in blonde fur, a thick mane framing a powerfully leonine face, massive claws extended. The sheer presence was staggering. Then he opened his mouth and roared .
It wasn't just sound; it was force. A wave of sonic pressure slammed into Astrid, making her ears ring and her vision blur for a critical second. Her Panther instincts screamed DANGER! APEX PREDATOR! She reacted purely on instinct, shifting back into her own hybrid form and launching herself sideways just as Stoick lunged, his claws tearing through the space where she'd been.
The spar was brutally short. Stoick was faster, stronger, and possessed a level of control and raw power that dwarfed her own. He moved with the terrifying grace of a stalking lion, anticipating her moves, countering her strikes with effortless force. He wasn't trying to injure her, she realized – his blows were controlled, aimed to disarm or throw her off-balance – but he was utterly dominant. She landed a few glancing blows, testing his defenses, but he brushed them off easily. After perhaps thirty seconds of frantic evasion and desperate counter-attacks, he caught her off-guard with a feint, swept her legs out from under her with his tail (she hadn't even realized he'd manifested one), and pinned her firmly to the training floor, a massive paw planted gently but immovably on her chest.
"Yield?" he rumbled, his golden eyes glinting down at her, not unkindly.
Astrid, panting, adrenaline singing through her veins, stared up at the formidable Lion-man pinning her. "Yield," she managed, her voice hoarse.
Stoick shifted back to his human form in a smooth, practiced flow, offering her a hand up. "Well fought, Hofferson. You have speed and ferocity. You lack experience and fine control, but that will come." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Get cleaned up. Meet me in my office. Top floor. We need to finalize that contract."
Astrid showered in the ridiculously luxurious Apex locker room, the hot water soothing her aching muscles. The spar had been humbling, but incredibly motivating. Stoick's power was immense, the gap between Level 2 and Level 3 vast. I will reach that level, she vowed silently, clenching her fist. I will.
Stoick's office was exactly what she expected: large, imposing, decorated with Guild trophies, maps of Berk, and what looked suspiciously like the mounted head of some massive, extinct mega-fauna over the fireplace. He sat behind a huge desk made of dark, polished wood. He gestured for her to sit.
"As I said, impressive potential," Stoick began, getting straight to business. "The initial offer stands, Tier 1 Prime, but I'm prepared to add hazard bonuses and fast-track your command training protocols based on what I saw today. Apex invests in talent." He slid a datapad across the desk. "This revised contract reflects that. However," his expression turned serious, "accepting this puts you squarely in the public eye. You become a face of Apex Guild. That comes with responsibilities, expectations. Press events, public appearances, maintaining the Guild's image. Are you prepared for that?"
Astrid thought of the rumors, the potential scrutiny. But she also thought of the power, the resources, the chance to become the best. "Yes, Guild Leader. I am." She looked at the contract, then met his gaze directly. "I accept. Under one condition."
Stoick raised a thick eyebrow. "A condition? Already?"
"Yes," Astrid said firmly. "Hiccup Haddock. Your son. I want him offered a position here at Apex."
Stoick stared at her, momentarily nonplussed. "Hiccup? Here? Hofferson, the boy manifested… well, not much. He works at McRonalds, for Thor's sake! What possible use could Apex have for him?" He sounded genuinely baffled, not dismissive, but confused.
"He was my Manifestation Coordinator," Astrid stated calmly. "And he was brilliant. Organized, efficient, authoritative when necessary. He managed the entire event flawlessly, including dealing with… personnel issues." She deliberately didn't mention the Synapse recruiter incident. "He has skills Apex could use – logistics, planning, analysis. And," she added, playing the card she knew might work, "he carries the Haddock name. Surely there's some position, even entry-level, where his organizational talents could benefit the Guild? It wouldn't look good for the Apex Leader's son to be flipping burgers, would it?"
Stoick frowned, stroking his beard, considering. He clearly remembered Hiccup's MC performance, likely recalling the incident with the pastry thief (himself) and the fired server. "He did handle that Jorgenson party surprisingly well," he conceded grudgingly. "And you're right, the optics aren't ideal…" He sighed, a deep rumble. "Fine. Fine! We'll find something for him. Entry-level logistics assistant. Probationary. But he answers to Foreman Bernd, and Bernd doesn't tolerate slackers, son or no son. Agreed?"
Astrid felt a surge of triumph, quickly masked. "Agreed, Guild Leader. Thank you." She signed the contract on the datapad.
Leaving the Apex tower felt like stepping onto a different planet. As soon as she exited the main doors, flashes exploded in her face. Microphones were shoved towards her.
"Astrid! Astrid Hofferson! Is it true Apex offered you Prime Plus?"
"What's it like manifesting a Panther?"
"What is your status at Apex?"
"Will you be competing in the next Gauntlet?"
She recoiled, momentarily blinded and overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of reporters and paparazzi. Before she could react, two imposing Apex guards materialized, smoothly creating a path through the throng. "Official statement pending," one guard intoned monotonously. "Miss Hofferson has no comment at this time. Please clear the way." They escorted her efficiently to the street edge.
Astrid murmured her thanks and quickly crossed the wide avenue, heading away from the Guild district bustle. She found herself, almost unconsciously, stopping across the street from a familiar, brightly lit establishment. McRonalds.
Through the window, she saw him. Hiccup was wiping down a table, his movements listless, his shoulders slumped. He looked small and insignificant under the harsh fluorescent lights, a world away from the ruthlessly efficient MC she’d seen just hours ago, or the boy whose potential she was starting to glimpse.
A mischievous, predatory smile touched Astrid’s lips. He had no idea she’d just secured him a job at Apex. He had no idea she was standing here, watching him. He probably still thought she was completely out of his league, blinded by his own insecurities.
The Panther within purred again.
Oh, Hiccup, she thought, leaning casually against the lamppost, content to just observe for a moment. You have no idea what's coming.
Chapter 7: Logistics, Lurking, and Liabilities
Chapter Text
Hiccup felt like he’d been dropped into someone else’s life, possibly as a practical joke. One minute he was contemplating the existential despair of the McRonalds deep fryer, the next he was being processed, documented, and assigned living quarters within the imposing obsidian walls of the Apex Guild tower. The transition had been a bewildering whirlwind. Efficient, stony-faced Apex employees – none of whom seemed remotely interested in his negligible anima – had packed his few belongings from his cramped studio apartment with terrifying speed and deposited them in a small, functional room deep within the Guild’s residential sector. It wasn't the penthouse suite Astrid likely occupied, but it was clean, modern, and blessedly free of Mildew. Still, it felt less like home and more like a holding cell with better amenities.
His official title was "Entry-Level Logistics Assistant," which sounded vaguely important until Foreman Bernd – a gruff, barrel-chested man whose Walrus anima manifested primarily as impressive tusks curving from his upper lip and a perpetually damp-looking mustache – had given him his initial briefing. The briefing consisted mainly of pointing him towards a workstation cubicle identical to fifty others, handing him a datapad loaded with arcane inventory codes, and warning him that Apex didn't tolerate dead weight, Haddock name or no Haddock name. His actual duties, Hiccup quickly discovered, involved fetching synth-coffee, sorting misfiled digital manifests from three years ago, and occasionally being sent on fetch quests into the labyrinthine depths of Apex’s supply warehouses.
It was on one such quest, tasked with finding archaic requisition forms for training dummies long since decommissioned, that Hiccup found himself deep within Warehouse G-7. The place was colossal, dimly lit by emergency lighting strips high overhead, casting long, eerie shadows between towering shelves packed with crates, machinery parts, and forgotten Guild relics. Dust motes danced in the few stray beams of light filtering down from ventilation shafts. The air was cool and still, smelling faintly of ozone, machine oil, and old synth-paper. Most people avoided the deep storage levels; they were notoriously easy to get lost in, and frankly, a bit creepy.
Which suited Hiccup just fine. Here, at least, he was alone. No pitying glances, no whispers about the Guild Leader’s disappointing son, no Snotlout equivalents demanding party tricks. Just rows upon rows of silent inventory. The dimness was barely an inconvenience. He focused, letting that familiar faint energy pool behind his eyes. The world bloomed into shades of green and grey, but with startling clarity. Edges sharpened, textures popped, and the darkness retreated, revealing details invisible to normal sight. His Level 0 "greener eyes" manifestation wasn't just cosmetic; it was functional military-grade night vision. Huh, he thought with a flicker of surprise. Maybe Dad was right. Good for… spotting things in the dark. It was the first genuinely useful application he’d found for it.
He navigated the aisles, his enhanced vision easily picking out faded labels and code numbers on dusty crates. He felt a measure of peace here, a quiet satisfaction in the simple, methodical task, the solitude a welcome balm. He finally located the correct storage unit – Section Z, Shelf 94, Bin C – containing a stack of flimsy printouts marked "Training Dummy Requisition - Obsolete." He grabbed the required form, noting the date stamp: nearly ten years old. Typical.
He brought it back up to the bustling Logistics floor, navigating the maze of cubicles to Foreman Bernd’s slightly larger, slightly messier workstation. Bernd grunted without looking up from his own screen, took the flimsy sheet Hiccup offered, glanced at it for half a second, and tossed it onto an already precarious pile of similar documents. "Right. Good. Now sort these incoming shipment manifests by Guild priority code."
Hiccup hesitated. While Bernd was distracted, Hiccup had noticed a glaring inefficiency on the main logistics display – overlapping transport routes for high-priority deliveries heading to the same sector, wasting fuel and time. "Uh, Foreman Bernd?" he began tentatively. "I was looking at the dispatch schedule for Area 9, and if you rerouted transport 7B via Sky-Lane Gronckle instead of doubling back after the Area 3 drop, you could consolidate the deliveries for Apex units 12 and 19 and save about thirty minutes transit time, plus reduce fuel consumption by maybe eight percent…"
Bernd finally looked up, his expression one of profound irritation, tusks twitching slightly. "You done sorting those manifests, Haddock?"
"Well, no, but I just thought-"
"Think less, sort more," Bernd interrupted flatly, turning back to his screen. "We have established protocols for a reason. Stick to your assigned tasks."
Hiccup felt his tentative suggestion shrivel and die. He retreated to his cubicle, the familiar wave of uselessness washing over him. Fine. Protocols. Assigned tasks. He stared blankly at the manifest codes, any lingering spark of hope or enthusiasm for this "opportunity" effectively extinguished. He was right back where he started: undervalued, overlooked, stuck doing pointless work. The only real difference between this and McRonalds was slightly better air conditioning and the distinct lack of Mildew’s bleating. Small mercies, he supposed, echoing Astrid’s words from a lifetime ago. He settled into the numb routine, doing the absolute bare minimum required, his mind drifting back to his sketches, his inventions, anything other than the soul-crushing reality of Apex Logistics, Entry-Level. His sarcastic internal monologue, long suppressed by a flicker of hope, returned with a vengeance.
A week later, the monotonous routine was shattered by a sudden, palpable shift in the office atmosphere. People sat up straighter, conversations dropped to hushed whispers, frantic attempts were made to look busy. Hiccup looked up from his datapad just as the imposing figure of Stoick the Lion entered the Logistics floor. His father rarely came down to these levels.
Foreman Bernd practically tripped over himself scrambling out from behind his desk. "Guild Leader! Unexpected pleasure! Everything running smoothly down here, just overseeing the new intake…" He gestured vaguely towards Hiccup’s section.
Stoick nodded, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on Hiccup. He strode over, the usual crowd of low-level sycophants parting before him. Suddenly, Hiccup found himself the center of attention, and his coworkers’ attitudes underwent a whiplash-inducing transformation.
"Hiccup! Great work on cross-referencing those inventory logs!" called out Grogan from the next cubicle, a man who hadn't spoken two words to him all week.
"Yeah, Haddock!" added Shifta, a woman with shifting, serpentine eyes. "Had a real knack for spotting discrepancies! Sharp eyes!" She winked, clearly referencing his anima. Hiccup cringed.
"He's fitting right in, Guild Leader," Bernd announced heartily, clapping Hiccup on the shoulder with enough force to make his teeth rattle. "Real asset to the team. Got that Haddock gumption!"
Hiccup stared at them, momentarily speechless at the sheer, blatant hypocrisy. He managed a weak smile for his father. "Dad. Uh, Guild Leader. Surprise visit?"
"Just checking in, son," Stoick said, his voice attempting warmth but still carrying its usual parade-ground volume. He looked Hiccup up and down, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes – concern? assessment? "Settling in alright? Foreman Bernd treating you well?"
"Yes, sir. Great," Hiccup lied smoothly, years of practice kicking in. "It's… fascinating. Learning a lot about Guild operations."
"Good, good," Stoick nodded, though he still looked slightly awkward, clearly out of his depth when it came to father-son small talk. "Work hard. Listen to Foreman Bernd. Apex rewards diligence." He gave Hiccup another slightly-too-hard clap on the shoulder. "Glad you're here, son." He offered a curt nod to Bernd and the gawking coworkers and strode back towards the lifts, leaving a wake of suddenly-deflated fake enthusiasm.
The moment the lift doors closed, Grogan went back to ignoring him, Shifta rolled her serpentine eyes, and Bernd tossed another stack of obsolete forms onto his desk. "Warehouse G-7 again, Haddock. Need the archival records for Guild Outpost Serpent-3. Probably Section K." Back to normal. Back to useless.
Hiccup sighed and headed back down to the cold, silent depths of the warehouse. He found the requested file easily enough – a thin folder detailing supply routes to an outpost that had been decommissioned fifteen years ago after Forge & Vein strip-mined the surrounding area into oblivion. Utterly pointless. He scanned it into his datapad anyway, then leaned back against a towering shelf, suddenly unwilling to face the forced indifference upstairs just yet.
The silence here had felt comforting before, a solace. But now… it felt different. Deeper. He stood perfectly still, listening. The usual hum of the building's systems seemed distant. He activated his night vision, scanning the vast, shadowed expanse. Empty rows stretched into darkness. Crates sat undisturbed, coated in thick layers of dust. Yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling. That prickling on the back of his neck. The distinct sensation of being watched.
He pushed off the shelf, moving silently down the aisle, his enhanced vision piercing the gloom. He wasn't alone. He couldn't see anyone, but the feeling persisted, a low-level hum of awareness that set his teeth on edge. He ran a hand along a shelf stacked with old comm units. Dust, thick and uniform. He moved to the next shelf, examining the floor. Nothing. He rounded a corner into a section filled with what looked like old atmospheric processors. His eyes narrowed. There. On the top of a large, sealed crate, the thick layer of dust wasn't uniform. There was a subtle disturbance, a faint outline, as if something – or someone – had been perched there very recently.
Okay, definitely not alone. And definitely creepy. His brief moment of solace curdled into genuine fear. Who would be lurking down here? Security? Someone from Synapse looking for… samples? His heart started pounding a nervous rhythm against his ribs. Time to go. Now.
He spun around, intending to make a swift, silent exit back towards the lift. He took one step and slammed face-first into something surprisingly soft yet solid, stumbling back with a yelp.
"Oof! Hey!"
It took Hiccup’s brain a critical second to process. He hadn't hit a crate. He’d hit… a person. A very tall person. Standing silently in the aisle he’d just checked. His eyes, still adjusted for darkness, focused upwards. Past the fitted black Apex sports bra that dipped low in the front, revealing an impressive amount of cleavage thanks to her recent transformation, past a strong jawline, past startlingly blue eyes, to… familiar blonde cat ears twitching slightly in the dim light.
And directly at his eye level, the primary point of impact, was Astrid Hofferson’s rather impressive, newly acquired chest.
All the air left Hiccup’s lungs in a rush. Coherent thought abandoned ship. His finely tuned sense of self-preservation devolved into pure, unadulterated panic. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. Not a heroic battle cry. Not a startled shout. But a high-pitched, embarrassingly unmanly shriek that echoed horribly in the vast, silent warehouse.
Astrid just blinked, then tilted her head, a slow, amused smirk spreading across her face. Her arms were clasped behind her back, and she leaned forward slightly, swaying almost imperceptibly, her necklace like a pendulum, radiating an aura of playful confidence that Hiccup found utterly terrifying. His eyes, betraying him completely, immediately dropped back down to the point of initial contact, as if hypnotized. He flushed crimson, tearing his gaze away, staring fixedly at a random bolt on the shelving unit beside her head.
A low sound rumbled in Astrid’s chest, startlingly like a purr. "Done screaming?" she asked, her voice laced with laughter. "I just came to check on how you were settling in."
Hiccup swallowed hard, trying to regain control of his limbs and his dignity. "Astrid! What- How- You scared me!" he stammered, still avoiding direct eye contact with… well, with her . "What are you doing lurking in the dark warehouse?"
"Observing," she said simply, pushing off the shelf she’d apparently been leaning against silently. "Wanted to see how the new Logistics Assistant was faring. Heard you had a visit from your father."
Hiccup groaned internally. Of course she knew. Did everyone in Apex know everything? "Yeah, well, it was… brief. He seemed… fine."
"And your job?" she pressed, stepping a little closer. "Foreman Bernd keeping you busy? Everything you hoped for?" There was an edge to her voice, a hint of something sharp beneath the casual question.
He hesitated. He could give the same polite lies he gave his father. But looking at Astrid now – the genuine curiosity in her eyes (when he dared to glance at them), the memory of her defending him against Snotlout, the weird connection he felt – he found himself being honest. "It's… a job," he admitted, shrugging listlessly. "Mostly involves fetching useless, decade-old papers from creepy warehouses and trying not to get yelled at for suggesting ways to improve things. My coworkers were thrilled to see Dad, though. Suddenly remembered my name and everything." He couldn't keep the bitterness entirely out of his voice.
He saw anger flash in Astrid's eyes, quick and fierce, making her pupils dilate slightly like a real cat's. "They dismissed your ideas? After Bernd specifically praised your initiative to your Dad?"
Hiccup flinched slightly at her anger, misinterpreting it. "Look, it's fine! I get it, I'm the new guy, the pity hire with the useless anima-"
"Don't," Astrid cut him off, her voice soft but firm. The anger faded, replaced by something else… frustration? "Don't talk about yourself like that, Hiccup. It's not fine that they dismissed you." She took another small step closer. "You're smart. What you did at Snotlout's party proved that. They're idiots if they can't see it."
He stared at her, momentarily lost for words again. She… believed in him? "I… uh… thanks, Astrid. But still, I'm surprised I even got this job offer, honestly. After my party…"
She just smiled faintly, a knowing glint in her eyes, but didn't elaborate. "Apex needs smart people too, not just muscle." She tilted her head again. "So, how am I doing? Settling in up in the penthouse?"
"Oh! Right! You!" He seized on the change of topic gratefully. "Yeah, it must be amazing! Top tier contract, training with Dad… How is it?"
"It's intense," she admitted, but her eyes lit up. "The training is incredible. Stoick is… a force of nature, but a good teacher. Pushes me hard." She flexed one hand, sharp claws partially extending for a moment before retracting smoothly. "I'm getting the hang of the hybrid form, Level 2. The full panther is still tricky." She grinned, a flash of fang. "But it's good. Challenging." Then her expression softened slightly. "It's definitely better now that you're here too, though."
The compliment, so direct, hit Hiccup like another unexpected collision. Better because I'm here? His brain scrambled for a plausible, non-terrifying interpretation. She means… it's nice having a familiar face around? Someone from PMG? A friend? Yeah. That had to be it. Definitely just friendship. "Oh, uh, yeah," he stammered. "Good to… have friends here." Smooth, Haddock. Real smooth.
Astrid chuckled, a low, throaty sound. They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the dim warehouse lights casting long shadows, both of their enhanced visions cutting through the gloom (though Hiccup suspected his color-capable night vision was superior to her likely monochromatic feline version).
"Well," Astrid said finally, stretching slightly like a cat waking from a nap. "I should probably let you get back to your… vital archival retrieval." The sarcasm was gentle, aimed at the task, not him. She turned to leave, her movements fluid and silent. That mischievous smirk was back. "Don't want Foreman Bernd getting upset."
As she turned, something long and blonde swished behind her – the tail. Hiccup hadn't even noticed it manifest. Before he could react, it deliberately brushed down his left side, a surprisingly soft, almost electric caress from his shoulder to his hip, sending shivers down his spine. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it faded away.
Astrid paused at the end of the aisle, looking back over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming in the dim light, the cat ears atop her head clearly visible. "See you later, Hiccup," she purred, the words laced with an undeniable, seductive promise. She turned fully then, walking away into the shadows. Her hips moved with a confident, feline sway that was entirely new, a deliberate grace that drew Hiccup's gaze despite his brain's frantic protests. His eyes might have accidentally, definitely accidentally, lingered on her newly impressive posterior for a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary.
Then she was gone, melting into the darkness as silently as she had appeared.
Hiccup stood there, frozen, for a long moment. His heart was pounding. His face felt like it was on fire. His brain felt like scrambled eggs. He looked down at his hand, which still held the useless, fifteen-year-old requisition form. He’d completely forgotten about it. He’d completely forgotten about everything except the lingering sensation of that tail brushing against him and the echo of Astrid’s purr and the mesmerizing sway of her walk.
What, he thought, utterly bewildered, in Thor's name just happened?
Chapter 8: Pen Pals, Pity and Panther Problems
Chapter Text
The flickering neon lights of Turbo-Rammer III: Sky-Lane Fury reflected in Hiccup’s overly-bright green eyes as he hunched forward, controller gripped tightly in his hands. His virtual sky-bike skimmed inches above the simulated chrome canyons of future-Berk, narrowly dodging oncoming traffic and laser grids. Fishlegs, sitting cross-legged on the floor of Hiccup’s small Apex apartment, was surprisingly adept, his own bulky industrial transport vehicle keeping pace just behind Hiccup’s sleek racer.
"Alright, Ingerman," Hiccup muttered, eyes glued to the screen as they approached the treacherous 'Gronckle's Gut' shortcut. "Prepare for-"
"So I met a girl."
Fishlegs’s bombshell dropped with the casual weight of a dropped anvil. Hiccup’s concentration shattered. His thumb slipped on the boost button, sending his racer careening directly into a holographic billboard advertising Forge & Vein Mining Equipment. CRASH! The screen flashed 'PLAYER 1 ELIMINATED'.
"What?!" Hiccup ripped his gaze from the screen, dropping the controller. "You what ? When? How?"
Fishlegs paused the game, a slightly sheepish, incredibly pleased grin spreading across his face. "Well, 'met' might be strong. We're pen pals."
Hiccup stared at him. "Pen pals? Fishlegs, what is this, the Dark Ages? You send letters via carrier pigeon?"
"No!" Fishlegs protested indignantly, adjusting his glasses. "It's email! And texting! And occasionally long, thoughtful handwritten letters scanned and attached because she appreciates the personal touch! And I happen to think it's sweet, okay? It's nice getting to know someone through their words first."
"Okay, okay, sweet," Hiccup conceded, still reeling slightly. "But… pen pals? So you've never actually seen her? In person?"
"No," Fishlegs admitted, his grin softening into something dreamier. "Not yet. She's a little older than me, already twenty, manifested her anima a few months ago. We haven't really talked specifics about animas though – you know, keeping things private since I haven't manifested yet myself, and I mentioned I wasn't totally up on Berk culture after growing up Stateside. Didn't want to seem ignorant." He sighed happily. "But she's amazing, Hiccup. Smart, funny, passionate about… well, about things she cares about. And she's so beautiful."
Hiccup raised an eyebrow. "Beautiful? Fishlegs, you just said you've never seen her."
"I know!" Fishlegs beamed, completely unconcerned by the logical flaw. "But she writes so beautifully! Her descriptions, her insights… anyone who can arrange words like that has to be beautiful on the outside too! It's just… poetic truth!"
Hiccup just shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Only Fishlegs could fall in love with someone's prose style. "Alright, Romeo. I'm happy for you. Seriously. Just… maybe try a video call before you start picking out wedding invitations?" He picked up his controller. "Rematch?"
They played another round, Fishlegs now slightly distracted, occasionally sighing contentedly. After Hiccup managed a narrow victory, Fishlegs paused the game again, his expression turning thoughtful.
"So," he began, turning to face Hiccup more fully. "Speaking of… girls. Is there anyone you're interested in?"
Hiccup immediately felt his face heat up. He busied himself untangling the controller cord. "Me? Nah. Too busy, you know. Logistics. Very demanding."
"Hiccup," Fishlegs said patiently. "You spend half your time complaining about sorting decade-old requisition forms. And you're blushing."
Hiccup groaned, dropping the controller again. "Fine. Yes. Maybe. There's… a girl."
"Ooh! Details!" Fishlegs leaned forward eagerly.
"It's complicated," Hiccup mumbled, staring at his hands. He hesitated, then sighed. Fishlegs was his best friend, the only one he could really talk to about this stuff without fear of mockery (well, excessive mockery). "Okay, look. There's this girl… and I really like her. Like, maybe… maybe even love her, a little bit."
Fishlegs’s eyebrows shot up. "Whoa, Hiccup! Love? Already? Are you guys even dating?"
"No!" Hiccup said quickly, flushing deeper. "Gods, no. It's dumb, I know. It's just… ever since I started working at Apex, I keep… running into her. And the interactions are…" he struggled for the right word, "…uncomfortable? Confusing? Sometimes terrifying?"
Fishlegs chuckled sympathetically. "Hiccup, when are interactions with girls not slightly uncomfortable, confusing, or terrifying for us?"
"No, this is different!" Hiccup insisted. "It's like… she's messing with me, but also maybe not? But she can't be serious, right? It doesn't make sense."
"Okay, okay," Fishlegs held up his hands. "Start from the beginning. Give me specifics. First encounter and all that."
Hiccup took a breath. "Alright. So, a couple of weeks ago, right after I started at Apex, I was walking back from getting groceries at that little market near the lower transit hub. Had like, four bags, stuff was heavy, I was probably listing to one side." He painted the picture, remembering the strain in his arms. "And I look across the street, and she's just standing there, leaning against a wall, watching."
"Watching you?" Fishlegs clarified.
"Yeah! Just… watching. Which was weird enough. So, I do the awkward wave, you know?" Hiccup demonstrated a feeble flap of his hand. "She waves back, cool as anything. So I keep walking, figuring it's just a coincidence. Literally five seconds later, she's suddenly right beside me. Didn't even hear her approach."
"Okay, that's a little weird," Fishlegs conceded.
"Right? So she just falls into step beside me, says 'Looks heavy,' grabs two of the heaviest bags like they're nothing – seriously, Fishlegs, I was struggling, she made it look effortless – and just walks with me all the way back to the Apex entrance without saying another word." He threw his hands up. "Then she just hands the bags back, says 'See ya,' and walks off! What was she even doing there?"
Fishlegs frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe she lives nearby? Or was waiting for someone? And just decided to help? That was nice of her."
"Nice, yeah, but weird nice!" Hiccup insisted. "Like… calculated nice. Or 'observing the specimen' nice." He shuddered. "Okay, then there's work."
"Work?"
"Yeah. So, after my Dad's visit last week? Suddenly, everyone in Logistics is… nicer. Like, suspiciously nicer. Grogan actually asked about my weekend. Shifta offered me half her synth-donut. And Foreman Bernd? He actually asked my opinion on optimizing the warehouse shelving layout yesterday. Asked! Then he looked terrified when I actually gave him an answer! It's like they're all walking on eggshells around me."
"Maybe your Dad said something?" Fishlegs suggested.
"Maybe," Hiccup conceded, though he doubted it. His Dad wasn't exactly subtle. "But then there was yesterday. I was at my cubicle, trying to decipher this ridiculously convoluted delivery route proposal – seriously, it looked like a bowl of spaghetti drawn by a caffeinated spider – and I'm really concentrating, right? And suddenly, this shadow falls over me and the paper. And the next thing I know, something… squishy … lands on top of my head."
Fishlegs blinked. "Squishy?"
"Yeah! My first thought was, 'Oh gods, Snotlout or the Twins managed to sneak into Apex HQ with a slime balloon.' So I reach up, bracing myself for cold goo or something, and my hand touches… something really warm, and soft, and… uh…" Hiccup felt his face flame up again. "Definitely not a slime balloon."
He heard Astrid's voice, low and amused, right behind his ear. " Having fun there? "
"It was her !" Hiccup practically squeaked, burying his face in his hands for a second. "She'd snuck up behind my chair, leaned over, and just… plopped her boobs right on my head! Like a hat! A very warm, soft, confusing hat! I completely freaked out, obviously, tried to wiggle away, but she just kind of trapped me there, leaning against my back, laughing! It sounded like that purr thing she does!"
Fishlegs stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He hummed thoughtfully for a long moment. "Hmm. Interesting."
"Interesting?!" Hiccup exclaimed. "Fishlegs, are you even listening? Your best friend was assaulted by sentient pillows!"
"Right, right, sorry," Fishlegs said quickly, though he looked more fascinated than concerned. "Okay, objectively, that's… highly unconventional behavior. But maybe she just feels really comfortable around you? Likes teasing you?" He paused. "Honestly, Hiccup, if she's doing stuff like that, and the grocery thing… maybe you should just ask her out? Get some clarity?"
Hiccup groaned, slumping back against the sofa cushions. "Fishlegs, you don't understand. It's not just 'a girl'. The girl I've been talking about? The one I maybe-sort-of-love? The one who uses my head as furniture?" He took a deep breath. "It's Astrid."
Fishlegs, who had just taken a large gulp of his soda, promptly executed a perfect spit-take, spraying fizzy liquid halfway across Hiccup’s floor. "Astrid?!" he choked out, wiping his mouth, eyes wide with disbelief. " Astrid Hofferson ? Apex Star? Level 2 Panther? That Astrid?!"
"The one and only," Hiccup confirmed miserably.
Fishlegs stared at him, processing this new information. The fascination faded, replaced by dawning horror, then pity. "Oh. Oh, Hiccup . Astrid? Seriously? She… she put her boobs on your head?" He shook his head slowly. "Okay. Yeah. You're right."
"Right about what?"
"She's way out of your league, man," Fishlegs said with brutal honesty. "No offense. But… Apex celebrity, Level 2 Panther… and you're… well, you're you. With the eyes." He winced sympathetically. "She's probably just messing with you. Like a cat playing with a particularly awkward mouse. Because she's bored, maybe? Or finds your reactions funny?"
Hiccup deflated completely. Fishlegs was just voicing Hiccup’s own deepest fears. "Yeah," he sighed, picking at a loose thread on the sofa. "Yeah, I know. That's what I figured. Just… playing games." He felt a familiar ache in his chest. "It's not like she could actually be interested. Impossible."
He glanced at the chrono-display on the wall. His eyes widened in panic. "Oh, shoot! Look at the time! I'm late! Dad's gonna kill me!" He scrambled off the sofa, grabbing his jacket.
"Late for what?" Fishlegs asked, still looking slightly stunned.
"Dinner! Family dinner! Gotta run!" Hiccup yelled, already halfway out the door, leaving Fishlegs alone amidst the virtual wreckage and spilled soda.
He sprinted through the Apex corridors, ignoring the curious glances, and practically dove into the public metro-link station just outside the Guild district. The sleek, silent train whisked him away from the imposing towers towards the older, wealthier residential sectors built into the cliffs overlooking the ocean. He hopped off at the Cliffside Heights station and began the uphill run towards the Haddock Estate.
It wasn't subtle. A sprawling mansion of dark stone and angled glass perched dramatically on the cliff edge, surrounded by meticulously landscaped gardens and high-tech security fences. The automatic gates recognized his biometrics, swinging open silently. Gobber, surprisingly, met him at the massive front door, looking slightly harried but offering a familiar, gruff smile. Since his retirement from active Guild duty (following a disagreement with a training dummy that had apparently disagreed back), Gobber had taken on the role of Haddock Estate Manager, a position that mostly involved keeping Stoick organized and occasionally fixing Hiccup’s ill-advised inventions. He also semi-volunteered to lead Hiccup’s PMG, under Stoick’s orders to keep an eye on him.
"Cutting it fine, aren't we, lad?" Gobber grumbled good-naturedly, taking Hiccup's jacket. "Your father's already pacing. And they have a guest tonight."
"Guest?" Hiccup asked, confused, as he hurried towards the formal dining room.
He skidded to a halt in the doorway. His father was seated at the head of the long, polished table. His mother, Valka – elegant and observant, her own quiet presence a stark contrast to Stoick's booming energy – sat to his right. And directly across from his mother, looking completely at ease as she chatted animatedly with her, was Astrid Hofferson.
She looked up as Hiccup entered, and a huge, dazzling smile lit up her face. "Hiccup! You made it!"
"Uh… yeah. Sorry I'm late," he stammered, sliding awkwardly into his usual seat opposite her. What was Astrid doing here? For family dinner ?
The conversation flowed easily, though Hiccup felt distinctly like a third wheel. Stoick and Valka clearly adored Astrid, asking about her training, her progress within Apex, her mastery of the Panther anima. Stoick, in particular, sang her praises with embarrassing enthusiasm, recounting her performance in the sparring session ("Held her own against me for a full thirty seconds! Unheard of for a new manifestation!"). Astrid, to her credit, was humble and slightly bashful about the praise, deflecting it gracefully and describing her challenges with mastering the full transformation.
Hiccup listened, a familiar self-conscious ache settling in his gut. Astrid was impressive. Powerful, skilled, ambitious, beautiful… everything he wasn't. She was the perfect protégé for his father, the perfect rising star for Apex. She should have been Stoick's child, he thought miserably. Not him, the disappointing logistics assistant with the glowing eyes. He saw his future stretching out: Astrid eventually taking over Apex, maybe even marrying some high-ranking Guild Master's son (definitely not him), while he remained stuck in the basement sorting obsolete files.
Then, Astrid deliberately steered the conversation towards him. "But how are you settling in at Apex, Hiccup? Foreman Bernd keeping you challenged?" Her blue eyes held a genuine interest that made his stomach do nervous flip-flops.
"Oh, uh, it's fine," he mumbled, remembering his earlier conversation with her. "Busy. Learning the ropes." He decided against mentioning the useless tasks. "Coworkers are… nicer now, actually," he added, risking a glance at her.
Astrid smiled, a knowing, satisfied glint in her eyes that sent another wave of confusion through him. Did she…? No, she couldn't have.
"That's good to hear," she said smoothly.
"So, Astrid," Hiccup ventured, unable to hold back the question any longer. "What… uh… why are you… here?" He immediately flushed. "N-not that I don't enjoy having you here! I do! It's great! But… this is usually just… family."
Astrid opened her mouth to reply, but Stoick cut in, beaming. "Nonsense, Hiccup! Astrid is practically family! And soon, hopefully, officially so!" He launched into Matchmaking Speech 2.0. "Look at you two! Powerhouses in the making! An alliance between Apex and Hofferson Maritime, solidified! Think of the strategic advantages! The stability! Besides," he winked at Valka, who merely raised an elegant eyebrow, "she's the perfect daughter-in-law! Strong, smart, keeps Hiccup on his toes!"
Hiccup braced himself for Astrid's polite demurral, her subtle eye-roll, her attempt to change the subject as she had at his party.
But instead, Astrid smiled . A wide, genuine smile directed first at Stoick, then locking onto Hiccup across the table. "You know, Stoick," she said, her voice smooth as silk, her eyes gleaming with amusement and something else… challenge? "I think you might be right. We would make a great team." She held Hiccup's gaze, her expression radiating agreement with everything Stoick had just proposed.
Hiccup stared back, utterly poleaxed. She… agreed? With the crazy matchmaking? With the Guild alliances? With them ? He felt his carefully constructed reality – the one where she was just teasing him, playing games – start to crack.
"I… uh… Astrid," he stammered, feeling cornered. "That's… flattering. Really. But… come on. You deserve someone… better. Someone with actual prospects. A Level 2, at least! Not… me."
Astrid's playful smile faltered, just slightly. A flicker of something unreadable – disappointment? frustration? – crossed her face before it was quickly masked. "Don't sell yourself short, Hiccup," she said softly, her voice losing its teasing edge.
He looked at her, really looked at her, past the beauty and the power and the confusing signals. And for the first time, a terrifying thought wormed its way into his brain: What if she's actually serious?
Dessert (a thankfully non-burnt confection) was a pleasant affair, mostly filled with Stoick recounting Apex training anecdotes and Valka asking Astrid insightful questions about anima control techniques. As they were saying their goodbyes, Stoick regailed with a “Goodbye, Future Daughter-in-Law!” In the grand entryway, Astrid turned to Hiccup with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Need an escort back to the Apex dorms, Logistics Assistant?" she asked, her tone deliberately teasing. "I could probably carry you if you get tired. Panther form is surprisingly strong."
Hiccup flushed but managed a shaky grin. "Thanks, but I think my own two feet can manage the tram ride." He hesitated. "But… uh… walking me to the tower wouldn't be the worst thing?"
"My pleasure," she said smoothly.
They walked together through the quiet, lamp-lit streets of the wealthy neighborhood, the banter surprisingly easy now, flowing more comfortably than it ever had before. They talked about Gobber's teaching style, Fishlegs's pen pal, the ridiculousness of Snotlout's boasting. It felt… normal. Almost.
When they reached the Apex tower entrance, the easy atmosphere shifted slightly, charged with unspoken things. "Well," Hiccup said awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for… uh… walking."
"Anytime, Hiccup," Astrid replied, her voice dropping to that low, purring tone that did strange things to his insides. She stepped closer, leaning in slightly. Doing that hypnotic swaying thing. Her cat ears twitched. "Get some rest. Big day in Logistics tomorrow, I'm sure." She gave him one last, slow, deliberate smirk, then turned and vanished through the high-security doors into the lift lobby, leaving Hiccup standing alone on the pavement.
He watched the lift indicator ascend, his mind racing. She had to be messing with him. The compliments, the defense against Snotlout, the dinner invitation, agreeing with his dad's crazy matchmaking, the tail thing … it was all just some elaborate, confusing game, right? Because the alternative – that Astrid Hofferson, Apex star, Level 2 Panther powerhouse, was genuinely, seriously interested in him – was simply… impossible.
Wasn't it?
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling more confused than ever. Unrequited love was painful, sure, but this? This weird, hopeful, terrifying possibility? It was so much worse.
Chapter 9: Manifestation, Misery and Media Storms
Chapter Text
The Preparing for Manifestation Group felt cavernously empty now. Another month had crawled by since Astrid’s spectacular Panther reveal and subsequent absorption into the Apex machine. Snotlout, naturally, had declared himself far too important with his Forge & Vein Tier 4 contract to continue attending sessions designed for ‘potential-havers’. That left… Hiccup and Fishlegs. And sometimes the Twins, when they remembered it existed or weren't suspended for unrelated chaos.
"I still don't get it," Fishlegs said one afternoon, frowning at the empty chairs surrounding them as Gobber set up a complex diagram on the whiteboard about anima-induced metabolic shifts. "Snotlout graduated. Astrid graduated. They manifested, they got Guild attention, they're done with PMG. You manifested too, Hiccup. Why are you still here?"
Hiccup slumped further in his plastic chair, fiddling with a loose thread on his worn jacket sleeve. "Because 'manifesting' isn't the graduation requirement, Fish," he sighed wearily, the explanation already tasting like old news in his mouth. "It's demonstrating potential . Usually Level 1 mastery, minimum. Something the Guilds can actually use . Making my eyes slightly greener on command doesn't exactly qualify me for field operations, does it?" He offered a weak, self-deprecating smile. "Unless Apex suddenly needs someone to check if the lights are really off in the archives. Pretty sure my contract covers that under 'Other Duties as Assigned'."
Fishlegs winced sympathetically. "Oh. Right. Sorry." He lapsed into silence, chewing nervously on his lower lip. Hiccup recognized the signs. Fishlegs’s own twentieth birthday was just a week away now, and the closer it got, the more his usual cheerful curiosity curdled into palpable anxiety.
A few days later, after a particularly uninspiring PMG session focused on 'Appropriate Public Anima Displays (Minor Manifestations Only)', Fishlegs approached Hiccup as they were leaving, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
"Hey, uh, Hiccup?" he began, avoiding eye contact. "So, my party… next week?"
"Yeah? Looking forward to it," Hiccup lied politely, already dreading another manifestation spectacle, even a small one.
"Right, well," Fishlegs took a deep breath. "I was wondering… I know it's a big ask, and you're busy with the Apex job and everything…" He trailed off, looking miserable.
"Fishlegs?" Hiccup prompted gently.
"Wouldyoubemymanifestationcoordinator?" The words rushed out in a single, panicked breath.
Hiccup blinked, surprised. "Me? Your MC? Fishlegs, are you sure? After my own party…"
"Yes!" Fishlegs insisted, finally meeting his gaze, his eyes wide with earnest desperation. "That's why ! You were amazing at Astrid's party! You handled everything – the staff, the scouts, that creepy Synapse guy, even Stoick! You kept everything running smoothly, and you actually seemed to care about making her comfortable, not just impressing the Guilds." He wrung his hands. "My folks… well, only my Mom could make it back from the States, Dad's swamped with work. And I don't really know anyone else well enough, and the thought of Snotlout trying to MC…" He shuddered visibly. "I just… I really need someone I can trust, someone who gets how nerve-wracking this is. Please, Hiccup?"
Seeing the genuine plea in his friend's eyes, Hiccup felt his own self-pity recede slightly. Fishlegs needed him. And honestly? Being MC had been the only time since his own disastrous party that he’d felt remotely competent. "Okay, Fishlegs," he said, managing a real smile this time. "Yeah. Of course, I'll do it."
The relief that washed over Fishlegs's face was immense. "Oh, thank you, Hiccup! Thank you! You have no idea-"
"Hey, it's what friends do," Hiccup shrugged, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now, let's plan this thing. Your apartment, right? Keep it simple? Less chance for the Twins to set things on fire?"
They spent the next few days planning. Fishlegs’s party was the antithesis of Astrid’s Apex-funded gala. His small apartment near the university district was cozy but cramped. Decorations were minimal – mostly just ensuring the place was clean. The guest list was small: his mother (a kind, slightly overwhelmed woman trying hard to understand Berk's strange customs), the PMG remnants (Hiccup, the Twins), Snotlout (who invited himself), and, surprisingly, Astrid, who had RSVP'd immediately with a simple "Wouldn't miss it." Hiccup, remembering Astrid's request for him at her party, took his MC duties seriously, drafting a simple schedule, coordinating with Fishlegs’s mom on snacks, and mentally preparing himself to wrangle the Twins and fend off Snotlout.
The night of the party arrived, feeling subdued compared to the previous galas. Fishlegs’s apartment buzzed with nervous energy rather than competitive anticipation. Only three scouts bothered to show up – two low-level recruiters from Synapse looking bored, and one equally unenthusiastic rep from a minor logistics Guild Hiccup barely recognized. They huddled near the window, clearly fulfilling an obligation rather than expecting a major discovery. There were no powerful Guild leaders, no ambitious parents jockeying for position. It was clear Fishlegs, lacking local Guild connections, was considered low priority. Oddly enough, Fishlegs seemed perfectly content with this, preferring the quieter atmosphere where he could actually talk to his friends without shouting over techno-pop.
Snotlout arrived late, already boasting about some minor accomplishment at Forge & Vein. The Twins arrived simultaneously, immediately starting an argument over the last synth-sausage roll that somehow involved Tuffnut trying to demonstrate a wrestling move on a potted plant.
Then Astrid arrived.
Hiccup’s breath caught in his throat. She wasn’t wearing Apex gear or a simple dress tonight. She wore red . A stunning, figure-hugging crimson dress that seemed woven from shadow and flame. It featured strategically placed cutouts – including a rather dramatic ‘boob window’ at the neckline – and a thigh-high slit that revealed a startling length of toned leg. Combined with high heels, she seemed impossibly tall, easily towering over Stoick himself. Her blonde hair was down, cascading over her shoulders, and the ever-present cat ears seemed almost like a deliberate, exotic accessory. She looked less like an Apex recruit and more like some kind of dangerous, beautiful predator goddess gracing them with her presence. Hiccup felt his brain short-circuit, all thoughts of MC duties momentarily evaporating.
Astrid’s gaze swept the room, landing on Hiccup with unnerving accuracy. She offered him a slow, deliberate smirk before gracefully navigating the small space to greet Fishlegs’s mother. Hiccup swallowed hard, trying to remember how to breathe.
He spent the next hour mostly running interference, trying to keep the party from descending into complete chaos while simultaneously attempting not to stare too obviously at Astrid. He organized the snacks, kept the music at a reasonable volume, subtly steered the Twins away from anything breakable, and intercepted Snotlout at least three times as he tried to corner Astrid with what Hiccup assumed were painfully awkward pick-up lines.
"Just admiring the view, cousin?" Snotlout sneered during the third interception, blocking Hiccup’s path as Astrid tactfully excused herself. "Don't get any ideas. Hofferson's Apex Prime. You're… Apex Pity Hire."
"Just doing my job as MC, Snotlout," Hiccup said tiredly. "Which includes ensuring the guest of honor's mother doesn't have to witness you drooling all over the future second-in-command of a rival Guild."
Snotlout bristled, his face flushing. The coarse hair along his jawline seemed to thicken, and his tusks protruded slightly further. "Watch it, Haddock! I could-"
"You could what?" Hiccup interrupted, surprisingly calm despite Snotlout’s low growl. "Cause a scene? Get yourself kicked out? Go ahead. Makes my job easier." He met Snotlout’s glare evenly. After a tense moment, Snotlout snorted, his boarish features receding slightly as he visibly reigned in his temper, and stomped off towards the drinks. Hiccup sighed. At least Snotlout's Level 1 control was still shaky when his ego was bruised.
Finally, midnight approached. Hiccup gathered everyone, dimmed the lights slightly, and started the countdown, placing a reassuring hand on Fishlegs’s trembling shoulder. Fishlegs looked terrified but determined.
"…Three! Two! One!"
There was no explosion of energy like Astrid’s. Instead, a soft, almost imperceptible shimmer surrounded Fishlegs. He blinked rapidly behind his glasses, looking around in confusion. His height and build didn't change. No fur, no feathers, no claws.
"Well?" Snotlout demanded impatiently after a few seconds of silence.
Fishlegs tilted his head, his eyes widening slightly. "Whoa," he breathed. "Everything sounds… incredibly loud. And I can see… dust motes? Individually?" He turned his head with an unnerving, silent fluidity. He removed his glasses, blinking rapidly.
The Synapse scout stepped forward, scanner active. "Subject F. Ingerman. Manifestation confirmed. Anima type: Owl. Preliminary assessment: Level 1 mastery. Primarily sensory enhancement – auditory and visual acuity significantly above baseline. Potential for silent movement noted." He offered a thin smile. "Synapse Institute offers a Tier 5 Research Assistant contract. Data collation and observational studies." It was the lowest possible offer, barely above an unpaid internship. The other two scouts didn't even bother making offers, already heading for the door.
Fishlegs looked crestfallen. Before he could respond, Astrid stepped forward smoothly. "Decline, Fishlegs," she said calmly but firmly.
The Synapse scout sputtered. "Excuse me? Miss Hofferson, this is Guild business-"
"And Apex Guild," Astrid interrupted coolly, meeting his gaze, "is prepared to offer Mr. Ingerman a Tier 4 contract as a Junior Strategic Analyst within our Logistics and Intelligence division, pending standard background checks. His observational skills and analytical potential are obvious."
The Synapse scout gaped. "You- you can't just poach! He hasn't even declined! And Tier 4? For an Owl?"
"I assure you, I have the authority," Astrid replied, her voice dropping slightly, carrying an echo of Stoick’s command. She tapped her own Apex insignia. "My contract grants significant recruitment and operational oversight. Consider the offer made."
Everyone stared, Hiccup included. Since when did Astrid have that kind of pull?
The Synapse scout glared, muttered something about lodging a complaint, and stormed out.
"Wow, Astrid," Fishlegs breathed, looking stunned but immensely grateful. "Thank you!"
"Apex needs brains too, Fishlegs," Astrid smiled warmly. "Welcome aboard." She glanced towards Hiccup, who was still processing her intervention. She winked. "Besides," she added, her voice loud enough for Hiccup and maybe Stoick (if he ever reviewed the scout reports) to hear, "Recruitment is an important job to have for a future Guild Leader's wife."
Hiccup choked, then actually laughed, shaking his head. "Right. Because Dad is definitely optimistic about my chances of taking over Apex." He still assumed she was joking, playing along with Stoick’s embarrassing matchmaking, maybe trying to make him feel better.
Astrid just smirked, her eyes glittering. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a purr audible only to him while the others were congratulating Fishlegs. "Stranger things have happened, Hiccup." She straightened up as Fishlegs approached, her expression shifting back to friendly professionalism. "Speaking of parties," she said, turning back to Hiccup, "The Twins' manifestation is next week. You going?"
"Hadn't planned on it," Hiccup admitted. The thought of the chaos was exhausting.
"You should," Astrid said lightly. "Go with me?"
Hiccup stared at her, his brain doing frantic calculations. Astrid Hofferson wanted him to go to a party with her ? As… friends? As… something else? "Uh… sure?" he managed. "Okay."
The following week felt surreal. Astrid picked him up from outside his Apex dorm – just walked right up, no hovercar, no security detail. She was wearing the same stunning red dress from Fishlegs's party.
Hiccup stopped dead in the corridor, his eyes widening almost comically as they swept over the dress, lingering perhaps a fraction too long. He swallowed hard, his carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble. He knew he was staring, practically ogling, but Thor, she looked incredible.
Astrid laughed, the sound like wind chimes, clearly noticing his reaction. "See something you like, Haddock?" she teased, giving him a sidelong glance full of mischief. "You seemed to appreciate it so much last time, I thought I'd wear it again just for you."
Gods, can she actually read minds now? Is that a Panther thing? he thought frantically, forcing himself to start walking again and trying desperately to get his blush under control.
The Twins' party was, predictably, utter chaos. Held in some rented warehouse space down by the old docks, it looked like a punk rock concert had collided with a petting zoo. Music blared incoherently, decorations consisted mostly of spray paint and discarded machine parts, and people seemed to be running around randomly. It was somehow even smaller than Fishlegs's party, but ten times louder and infinitely crazier.
"Who," Astrid asked, raising her voice over the din as Tuffnut rode past on a modified cleaning drone, "is the MC?"
Tuffnut pointed vaguely towards a corner before zooming off again. There, perched on a high stool, wearing a tiny, crooked tuxedo, was a large, unimpressed-looking chicken.
Astrid stared at the chicken, then at Hiccup, then back at the chicken. She just shrugged. "Okay then." She grabbed Hiccup's arm. "Come on. Let's find somewhere less likely to result in accidental combustion." Considering the valkyrie was holding his arm, he was most likely to be spontaneously combusting.
They found a relatively quiet corner near a stack of suspicious-looking crates, the thumping bass slightly muffled here. Astrid leaned against the crates, looking remarkably relaxed amidst the anarchy, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Well," she said, surveying the scene – Tuffnut attempting to juggle flaming torches, Ruffnut arguing with the chicken MC. "Can't say it's boring."
Hiccup chuckled nervously, still hyper-aware of her proximity. "That's one word for it. Remember that time in PMG when Tuffnut tried to demonstrate 'asserting dominance' on that training dummy and ended up super-gluing himself to its leg?"
Astrid snorted with laughter, a genuine, unguarded sound that made Hiccup's stomach flip. "Oh gods, yes! Gobber spent twenty minutes trying to pry him off with a spatula! And Ruffnut just kept taking pictures!"
"Or Snotlout insisting his 'pre-manifestation power surges' were responsible for that city-wide power flicker?" Hiccup added, emboldened by her laughter.
"Which turned out to be a flock of birds nesting in a substation," Astrid finished, shaking her head with amusement. "Honestly, PMG was worth it just for the sheer absurdity."
"And Fishlegs," Hiccup smiled, thinking of his friend. "Still can't believe he fell for someone just because she 'writes beautifully'."
"Hey, don't knock it," Astrid said, her expression softening slightly. "Sometimes words are more powerful than claws. Besides, Fishlegs deserves someone nice. He's too good for most of the Guild sharks out there." She paused, looking thoughtful. "He seems happier now that Apex picked him up."
"Yeah, thanks to you," Hiccup said sincerely. "That was… really amazing, Astrid. What you did for him."
She shrugged, though a faint pleased flush touched her cheeks. "Apex needs analysts. Synapse would have just stuck him in a lab counting data points. Waste of potential." She glanced at him. "Speaking of potential… still tinkering with inventions in your off-hours?"
Hiccup felt his usual defensiveness rise, then subside under her genuinely curious gaze. "Uh, yeah. A little. Nothing major."
"Come on," she nudged him playfully with her elbow. "What's the latest masterpiece? Bet it's brilliant."
He hesitated, then figured, what the heck. "Okay, fine. But don't laugh. It's… a self-folding laundry basket."
Astrid blinked, then threw her head back and laughed again, loud and clear this time. Hiccup winced, bracing for mockery.
"Hiccup Haddock," she said, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, "surrounded by anima-fueled chaos and Guild intrigue, and you're revolutionizing laundry? That's… that's actually genius!" She grinned at him, wide and bright. "Seriously! Think of the time saved! The sheer domestic bliss! Apex should fund that!"
He stared at her, surprised by the genuine enthusiasm. She wasn't laughing at him. It felt… easy. Talking to her like this, away from the expectations and the power plays, felt comfortable. Dangerously comfortable, because it made him forget, just for a moment, the vast gulf between the Apex star and the Logistics Assistant. It made him hope, and hope was treacherous territory.
The Twins' manifestation at midnight was as chaotic as expected. They transformed simultaneously – Ruffnut into something low-slung and ferociously Badger-like, Tuffnut into a hyperactive Hyena – and immediately started wrestling, knocking over a pyramid of empty synth-ale cans. No scouts seemed particularly interested.
Hiccup walked back from the Twins' party with Astrid, the comfortable silence stretching between them. When they reached Apex, she gave him that same slow, panthery smile and vanished into the lift, leaving him reeling as usual.
The next PMG session felt like walking into a tomb. Hiccup was the only student there. Gobber sat at the front desk, looking uncharacteristically subdued.
"Just you then, lad?" Gobber asked gruffly.
Hiccup nodded, sinking into his usual chair. The silence stretched.
"Look, Hiccup," Gobber began awkwardly, steepling his thick fingers. "We need to be realistic. You've shown… well, you've shown greener eyes. Consistently! Top marks for consistency!" He sighed. "But Level 1 mastery, the ability to make a partial shift, even a minor one… it hasn't happened. And at this point, nearly a year post-manifestation…" He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
Hiccup felt a cold lump form in his throat. He knew what was coming. "It's not going to happen, is it?" he whispered.
Gobber looked pained. "Lad, I've seen stranger things. Magic's unpredictable. But… the odds aren't good. Continuing these sessions… I'm not sure it's helpful anymore. Might just be… prolonging the disappointment."
The words hit Hiccup harder than Stoick's roar. Disappointment. Useless. Failure. The labels he’d tried so hard to ignore, to rationalize away, crashed down on him. He felt a stinging behind his eyes, horribly familiar, but this time he couldn't stop it. Tears welled up, hot and shameful, blurring his vision. He hadn't cried like this, hadn't let himself feel the full weight of it, since that awful night of his party.
"Whoa, lad! Hey now!" Gobber looked panicked, clearly out of his depth. He lumbered over and patted Hiccup awkwardly on the shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "There, there. It's… uh… character building! Yes! Makes you appreciate… other things?" He winced at his own inadequacy. "Look, you're smart, Hiccup. Wicked smart. Anima ain't everything."
Hiccup scrubbed furiously at his eyes, embarrassed and miserable. "It's fine, Gobber," he choked out, pulling away slightly. "It's fine. You're right. It's a waste of time." He took a shaky breath, trying to regain control. "I'm okay with logistics. Really. At least I can use my head for something." The words felt like sawdust in his mouth.
He left the community center numbly, stumbling slightly as he walked back towards the imposing shadow of the Apex tower. He felt hollowed out, the last vestiges of hope finally extinguished. He was Hiccup Haddock, the Level 0 disappointment, destined for a life of fetching obsolete papers while his friends – while Astrid – soared to greatness. He tried desperately to compose himself, wiping away any lingering trace of his embarrassing breakdown before entering the Guild building. The weight of being left behind, of being fundamentally wrong in this power-obsessed world, felt heavier than ever.
As if the universe itself decided he hadn't suffered enough humiliation for one day, the massive holo-displays mounted high on the surrounding skyscrapers suddenly blared an emergency news alert tone, overriding the usual advertisements. Hiccup looked up, shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness.
Every screen flickered, then resolved into the logo of Berk's biggest gossip network, BNN – Berk News Now. Bold text flashed across the bottom: BREAKING NEWS!
And then he saw the main image. A slightly grainy, long-lens shot of two figures walking close together under dim streetlights. One was unmistakably Astrid Hofferson, Apex star, looking radiant even in the poor lighting. The other figure, walking beside her, laughing…
Hiccup's heart plummeted into his boots. It wasn't him.
The headline solidified his dread: APEX CELEBRITY ASTRID HOFFERSON’S MYSTERY MAN REVEALED? IS THIS HER SECRET BOYFRIEND?
He stared, frozen, as the screen zoomed in on the unknown man beside Astrid. Boyfriend. She had a boyfriend. All this time – the flirting, the teasing, the confusing signals, agreeing with his dad – it had all been a game. A cruel joke. While he was agonizing over misinterpreted glances and accidental touches, she was seeing someone else. Someone worthy. Someone… not him.
The world tilted, the hope he hadn't even realized he was still clinging to shattering into a million pieces.
Chapter 10: Training Dummies and Teasing
Chapter Text
The roar of the crowd was metaphorical this time, but no less deafening. Flashes popped like miniature suns, reporters shoved microphones towards her face, their questions a barrage of overlapping noise.
"Miss Hofferson! Is the Tier 1 Prime Plus contract confirmed? Or something higher?"
"How does the Panther anima feel ?"
"BNN reported you were seen with an unknown man! Is he your boyfriend?"
"Are you going to lead Apex after Stoick retires?"
"Will you represent Apex in the upcoming Gauntlet?"
Astrid gritted her teeth, shoving past them with more force than strictly necessary. Her Panther instincts screamed at the unwanted proximity, the invasive questions. A low growl rumbled in her chest, and she saw a few reporters flinch back. Good. "No comment!" she snapped, pushing through the final throng towards the imposing entrance of the Apex tower. Two stoic guards moved instantly, forming a barrier between her and the media swarm.
"Miss Hofferson is entering private Guild property," one guard intoned flatly. "Further harassment will result in detainment."
Astrid didn't look back as the heavy obsidian doors slid shut behind her, muffling the shouts. She took a deep breath, trying to unclench her fists, the adrenaline from the confrontation leaving a sour taste in her mouth. This fame thing was going to take some getting used to.
"Press getting to you?"
Astrid looked up. Stoick the Lion stood near the central lift bank, his arms crossed, observing her with his usual keen gaze. He didn't look angry, more… assessing.
"It's pathetic," Astrid said bluntly, foregoing pleasantries. Her annoyance was still simmering. "Grown adults acting like starving wolves over gossip."
Stoick chuckled, a low rumble. "Comes with the territory, Hofferson. Apex stars attract attention. Shows you're making an impact." He studied her for a moment. "But handling that pressure, keeping your head… that's part of the job too. Think you're up for it?"
"If a few vultures with cameras scared me off, Guild Leader," Astrid replied, meeting his gaze evenly, "I wouldn't be Apex material, would I?"
Stoick let out a booming laugh, clapping her hard on the back. "Ha! Knew you had the Hofferson fire in you! Good answer!" He gestured towards the lifts. "Get some training in. Blow off some steam. The Gauntlet preliminaries are only a few weeks away."
Astrid nodded curtly and headed for the training levels, grateful for the dismissal. Stoick was right about one thing: she needed to blow off steam.
Wham! Astrid’s claws, extended as part of a partial Level 1 shift, tore through the torso of a reinforced training dummy. Snap! A spinning back kick, enhanced by Panther strength, sent its head flying across the arena with a satisfying clatter . She landed silently, crouching low, ears swiveling, tail lashing slightly (she still hadn’t quite mastered keeping it retracted during intense exertion).
She surveyed the wreckage – three dummies demolished, two more severely damaged. She should feel satisfied. Invigorated. Ready to take on the world, or at least the upcoming Gauntlet trials. Instead, she felt…
Bored.
Unbelievably, irrevocably, mind-numbingly bored.
She loved training. Loved pushing her limits, mastering her new abilities, the sheer physical thrill of the Panther anima flowing through her. But lately… lately, even shredding state-of-the-art combat dummies felt repetitive. Mundane. Her thoughts kept drifting, snagging on inconvenient, unproductive subjects. Specifically, one subject: a certain lanky, awkward, green-eyed Logistics Assistant with ridiculously expressive hair.
Hiccup.
Normally, when this strange restlessness hit, she’d find an excuse to wander down to the lower levels. Maybe "inspect" the warehouse archives (again), or "consult" Logistics on some fabricated supply query. Anything to catch a glimpse of him, maybe provoke one of his flustered, wide-eyed reactions. It scratched an itch she couldn't quite define, this curious fascination. But with the paparazzi lurking outside like gargoyles and BNN splashing her face across every holo-display, wandering the Guild halls aimlessly felt risky. It might draw unwanted attention, not just to her, but to him . And the thought of that gossip mill getting hold of Hiccup made her Panther instincts flare protectively.
So, she restrained herself. For now. She channeled the restless energy into another vicious combo, picturing maybe Snotlout’s leering face on the dummy. Snap! She executed a fluid, spinning leap, landing silently behind another target. A small smile touched her lips as she remembered Hiccup’s reaction in the warehouse.
She’d followed him down, silent as smoke. Panther senses made it easy; his slightly irregular heartbeat, the scent of old paper and nervous sweat, the soft scuff of his worn boots on the floor. She’d perched atop a high shelf, watching him work. Analyzing. He moved with a quiet efficiency when focused on a task, his brow furrowed in concentration. He really was quite smart, she mused, watching him decipher the archaic filing system. Then came the moment he realized he wasn’t alone. The subtle shift in his posture, the way his head tilted, the sudden flare of his green eyes as his own anima’s night vision kicked in. The hunt was on, even if he didn’t know it. She’d moved silently, dropping behind a different shelf just before he looked her way, enjoying the chase, the predatory thrill of observing unwatched. And then, the payoff. His panicked turn, the collision, the look of sheer terror giving way to utter confusion as he realized what – or who – he’d run into. And that scream! Gods, she’d almost lost her composure then. She’d leaned in, deliberately invading his space, watching every micro-expression flicker across his face – shock, embarrassment, terror, confusion, and underneath it all, something else… awareness? Fascination? Hard to tell. That memory of his eyes dropping, hypnotized, to her chest still made her smirk. And the tail… she still wasn’t sure what possessed her to do that, a purely instinctive, playful flick, but his utterly poleaxed reaction had been priceless.
Rip! Astrid’s claws sheared through another dummy’s arm. She shook her head, trying to clear the memory. Focus. Gauntlet.
She’d seen him struggling from across the street. Four bags laden with groceries, listing precariously. He looked so… young. Vulnerable. Especially when he stood on his tiptoes, stretching, straining to reach something on the top shelf inside the store. A flicker of amusement mixed with that now-familiar protective urge had surfaced. She could have just walked over, offered help directly. But where was the fun in that? Instead, she’d used her Panther agility to sneak into the store undetected by her prey. Stalked into the aisle next to his and easily reached over the shelves and nudged the desired item slightly forward with one extended claw, just enough for him to grasp it. He never noticed. Watching him wrestle the bags outside, she’d felt another pang of… something. Pity? No, not quite. More like an objective assessment of physical disparity. She could carry all four bags in one hand without breaking a sweat. He looked like he was about to keel over. She was already on her way back to Apex HQ debating if she wanted to stay and help him or not. She was about to cross the street when he looked her way and gave a feeble and weak wave. She was partly surprised he noticed her. She crossed the street when he looked away, then emerged casually. "Looks heavy." Taking the bags had felt natural, easy. They were light, ridiculously so, to her enhanced strength. She’d glanced at his arms as they walked. Right, she’d thought with detached analysis. Noodle arms. Still, he’d kept pace, huffing slightly, making that joke about her maybe being a delivery drone. Endearing, in a weird way.
Snap! She decapitated another dummy with a powerful roundhouse kick. Gods, her focus was shot today. It was all his fault.
Training had been mind-numbingly dull that day. Repetitive drills, incompetent sparring partners… she’d been bored out of her skull, restless energy thrumming under her skin. And her thoughts, inevitably, had drifted down several levels to Logistics. To Hiccup. She couldn't help it. She’d told herself she was just going to check if his coworkers were starting to treat him better after her little warning. Professional curiosity. Totally. She’d found him hunched over his workstation, completely absorbed in some complex-looking schematic on his datapad, oblivious to the world around him. The urge had been sudden, mischievous, irresistible. She’d padded silently up behind his chair, her Panther stealth making her effectively invisible. He hadn't stirred. She’d leaned forward slowly, deliberately, until… yes. Contact. The soft, yielding resistance of his unruly auburn hair beneath her chest. She’d held the position, fascinated by the utter lack of reaction for a full three seconds. Her arms held high, preparing for her final assault. But she hadn't been prepared for him to reach up. His hand, flailing blindly, had full on grabbed her breast. Shock, hot and unexpected, had shot through her. Her first instinct was to lash out – claws out, defensive hiss. But his expression wasn't lecherous; it was pure, unadulterated terror mixed with confusion as his fingers registered 'soft and warm' instead of 'slime balloon.' The absurdity of the situation, his sheer panic, had broken through her shock, erupting in laughter she couldn't contain, before asking, "Having fun there?" His subsequent full-body flinch, the yelp, the panicked look… it was addictive. She launched her final assault, wrapping him in a bear hug. Er, Panther hug. Teasing him as he squirmed, trapped between her and the desk, had felt… playful. Fun. Maybe a little mean? But mostly fun.
Thwack! Astrid drove her claws deep into the final standing dummy, ripping downwards. It split nearly in two. Okay, maybe she needed a break.
She stalked over to the hydration station, grabbing a nutrient-rich protein drink. As she drank, her mind drifted again, this time to the manifestation parties. To the dresses.
She remembered standing in her penthouse suite's ridiculously large walk-in closet before Fishlegs's party, staring at the three formal dresses her mother had insisted were 'essential' for maintaining her new public image. First, she pulled out a blue one similar to the one she'd worn to Hiccup's gala. Holding it up, she glanced in the full-length mirror. Elegant? Yes. Safe? Definitely. Boring? Utterly. It felt like obligation woven into fabric. It reminded her too much of that awkward night, of her parents' ambitions. She tossed it back onto the 'maybe never' pile.
Next was the deep forest green dress. Ingrid swore the color was perfect for her eyes, but as Astrid slipped it on, she scowled at her reflection. It made her skin look sallow, washed out. And the cut… it clung in all the wrong places, somehow managing to make her feel bulky despite her lean muscle. Did it make her stomach look… pouchy? Her face heated, after her transformation to her height and… elsewhere, she was nearly a hundred pounds heavier. Gods, that was ridiculous. She had the physique of a highly trained predator now. But old insecurities, ingrained from years of pre-manifestation uncertainty, died hard. "Definitely not," she muttered, peeling the offending garment off and throwing it onto the 'absolutely never' pile.
Finally, the red one. She'd bought it on impulse weeks ago, drawn to the daring design. Hesitantly, she slipped it over her head. The cool, synth-silk fabric settled against her skin, and she turned to the mirror. And froze. Whoa. The transformation hadn't just given her height and muscle; it had given her curves. Serious curves. The plunging neckline showcased assets that hadn't existed a few months ago. The fabric clung tightly to her waist before flaring out slightly over powerful hips and thighs, and the slit… well, the slit started daringly high, revealing almost the entire length of her leg. It was a dress designed to command attention, to accentuate every line of her newly powerful form. She turned slowly, assessing the effect. It wasn't just flattering; it was dangerous. A slow, deliberate smirk spread across her face as she pictured Hiccup's reaction. His wide green eyes. The way his cheeks flushed so easily. Oh yes. This would do nicely. Judging by his frozen, slightly slack-jawed reaction when she'd arrived at Fishlegs's party later that night – the way his gaze kept snagging on the neckline despite his best efforts – she’d been absolutely right.
Astrid finished her drink, tossing the empty container into the recycler. She felt a restless energy still buzzing under her skin.
She remembered another moment, just a few days ago, sometime after Fishlegs's party but before the Twins' chaotic affair. She'd been heading back from a late training session and saw Hiccup waiting for one of the internal logistics lifts, looking tired and lost in thought. Perfect. She altered her course, seemingly heading for the same lift bank, timing it so she arrived just as he reached for the call button, effectively blocking his path.
"Hiccup," she'd purred, leaning casually against the cool metal wall beside the lift doors. He jumped, startled, eyes wide.
"A-Astrid!" he stammered, taking an involuntary step back. "Uh, hi! Didn't see you there."
"Hmm," she hummed noncommittally, deliberately using her height advantage to look down at him slightly. She stepped a fraction closer, invading his personal space just enough to make him fidget. "Just the person I wanted to see, actually."
"Me?" His voice squeaked slightly. "Why? Did I forget to file a K-17B again? Bernd is really riding me about those..."
Astrid had to suppress a smile. So predictable. She let her hand brush against his arm as she pretended to inspect the lift indicator lights. "No, nothing like that," she said, pitching her voice low, letting that purring undertone surface. "I was just reviewing the updated Guild regulations on inter-departmental resource allocation – specifically subsection C, paragraph 2 – regarding the cross-referencing protocols for Class Regulus inventory." She was talking complete nonsense, quoting a regulation number she'd made up on the spot, but she watched, fascinated, as his pupils dilated slightly, a faint blush starting to creep up his neck.
"Oh! Right!" he said, looking utterly lost but trying desperately to appear knowledgeable. "Subsection C! Paragraph 2! Regulis inventory! Yes! Very… specific protocols! Important stuff!" He swallowed hard, his gaze darting anywhere but at her face, eventually landing somewhere around her collarbone.
She leaned in a tiny bit more, enjoying the way he seemed to almost vibrate with nervous energy. "It is important, Hiccup," she murmured, letting her voice drop even lower. "Attention to detail separates the assistants from the executives, wouldn't you say?"
He made a small choking sound. "Absolutely! Detail! Crucial! I'll… I'll review that! Right away! Just gotta…" He tried to edge sideways, towards the escape route down the corridor.
She shifted slightly, blocking him again, raising an eyebrow. "In a hurry?"
"Yeah! Big… big logistics things!" he babbled, eyes wide with trapped panic. "Very… time-sensitive! Extremely!"
She finally took pity on him, chuckling softly, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet corridor. "Alright, Haddock," she purred, stepping aside just enough for him to practically bolt past her. "Don't let me keep you from your vital duties." He mumbled something incoherent and all but ran for the stairwell.
Watching him flee, Astrid felt a familiar mix of amusement, exasperation, and something warm and exhilarating fizzing under her skin. He probably thought she was the strangest, most protocol-obsessed person in Apex. Or maybe just plain weird. It was maddening how oblivious he was. And yet… pushing his buttons, watching him squirm? Definitely exhilarating.
Boom! She spun around and delivered a final, devastating kick to the already demolished torso of the nearest dummy. It exploded in a shower of synthetic padding and fractured plating.
Okay. Maybe that was enough training for today. The Gauntlet trials were coming up, demanding her focus. Apex expected results. Her father expected results. She expected results. But right now, all that pressure felt secondary to the annoying, persistent itch named Hiccup Haddock. Dealing with Guild politics and high-stakes competitions was straightforward. Dealing with whatever this confusing mess of fascination, protectiveness, and urge-to-tease was… that was infinitely more complicated. And, she admitted to herself with a frustrated sigh, infinitely more interesting than any training dummy.
Chapter 11: Elevator Pitches and Exploding Theories
Chapter Text
The numbers swam before Hiccup’s eyes, blurring into meaningless strings of characters on the datapad screen. Logistics Reconciliation Report Q3 - Sub-sector Gronckle-9. Utterly riveting stuff. Or it would be, if his brain wasn’t entirely preoccupied replaying grainy holo-images and screaming headlines on an infinite loop. APEX CELEBRITY ASTRID HOFFERSON’S MYSTERY MAN REVEALED? IS THIS HER SECRET BOYFRIEND?
He hadn’t really slept. Hadn’t really eaten. Had definitely not accomplished a single useful task since arriving at his Apex Logistics cubicle this morning. He’d just been… sitting here. Staring. Stewing in a toxic brew of humiliation, betrayal, and a self-pity so profound it felt like a physical weight crushing his chest.
Of course. The thought echoed endlessly. Of course, she has a boyfriend. A real one. Someone powerful, successful, probably with a Level 2 anima at minimum. Someone… not me. All her confusing actions, the teasing, the flirting, agreeing with his dad’s insane matchmaking – it had all been a game. A cruel, elaborate joke played by a bored celebrity Panther on the resident Level 0 loser. Fishlegs was right. He was a mouse she found amusing to bat around. And he, like an idiot, had started to hope. Started to believe, just a little, that maybe… maybe she actually saw something in him . What a fool.
"Leaving soon, Hiccup?"
Hiccup blinked, startled out of his miserable reverie. Grogan, from the next cubicle, was shrugging on his jacket, offering a surprisingly normal, non-sycophantic nod. Hiccup glanced around. The vast Logistics floor was nearly deserted. Desks were cleared, screens were dark. He looked at the chrono-display on his datapad. 19:00 hours. He’d been staring at the same useless report for nine hours ? Gods, he was pathetic.
"Uh, yeah. Just wrapping up," Hiccup mumbled, hastily saving the untouched document and gathering his meager belongings. He needed to get out of here. Go back to his sterile little apartment and continue his sulking in private.
He trudged towards the internal logistics elevator bank, feeling hollowed out. Each step felt heavy. He just wanted to disappear, crawl into a hole, maybe take up residence in Warehouse G-7 permanently. At least there, the only judgment came from the dust bunnies.
He jabbed the 'up' button, leaning his forehead against the cool metal wall while he waited, eyes closed. The familiar ding sounded, and the doors slid open. He stepped inside, not looking up, ready for the blessed solitude of the ride up to the residential levels.
"Hiccup! Perfect timing!"
His head snapped up. No. Standing just down the corridor, waving energetically, was the last person on Berk he wanted to see right now. Astrid Hofferson. Her face lit up with that dazzling, infuriatingly genuine-looking smile as she saw him, and she started bouncing towards the elevator, radiating energy and confidence. Normally, that smile sent his stomach into a chaotic ballet of flip-flops. Tonight, it just made him feel sick.
He stared at her approaching figure – the easy grace, the slight twitch of her blonde cat ears, the casual Apex training gear that still somehow looked better on her than formal wear did on him – and blind panic surged through him. He couldn't do this. Couldn't face her, couldn't pretend, couldn't listen to more jokes or teasing knowing it was all fake, knowing she was laughing with her real boyfriend somewhere else.
His hand shot out, slamming the 'Close Door' button repeatedly. >|< >|< >|<
Astrid’s smile faltered, replaced by confusion, then hurt, then outright horror as she realized what he was doing. She lunged forward, hand outstretched – "Hiccup, wait!" – just as the heavy obsidian doors slid shut directly in her face.
Hiccup sagged against the back wall of the elevator car, his heart pounding, breathing heavily. He felt a momentary surge of relief, quickly followed by a wave of guilt. That look on her face… But what else could he do? He couldn't talk to her now. Not now. He watched the floor indicator climb – 5, 6, 7… twenty-five floors to his level. It was a quick elevator, maybe a few seconds to his floor.
He caught his reflection in the polished elevator walls. Pale face, shadowed eyes (still stubbornly green, no extra glow required for misery), slumped shoulders. Pathetic. He replayed the BNN image in his mind. Astrid laughing, leaning slightly towards the unknown man. Happy. Carefree. Everything Hiccup wasn't. He thought back to all her interactions with him – the warehouse encounter, the grocery help, the head-as-furniture incident, her agreeing with his dad, the tail caress, the purred goodbyes. All of it now seemed tainted, recast as calculated manipulation or careless amusement at his expense. How could he have been so stupid? So blind?
Ding. Floor 25. Residential Floor Umbra.
He braced himself, ready to scurry to his room and lock the door. The elevator slowed smoothly to a halt. The doors began to slide open…
SCHRAAANG!
A sound like tearing metal ripped through the quiet hum of the lift. Hiccup yelped, stumbling back as something sharp and clawed punched through the narrowing gap between the doors, embedding itself in the frame. Blonde fur dusted the metallic grey hand. With a tremendous screech of protesting hydraulics, the doors were violently forced open.
Standing there, framed in the doorway, was Astrid. She was panting slightly, her chest heaving. Her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by a thunderous expression. Her blue eyes blazed, pupils slightly dilated. Her cat ears were flattened against her skull, and her tail – which wasn’t present downstairs – was lashing furiously behind her, thumping against the corridor wall. She looked magnificent, terrifying, and incandescently pissed .
"What," she growled, her voice dangerously low, echoing slightly in the confined space, "the actual Hel was that, Hiccup?"
Hiccup pressed himself against the back wall, trying to make himself smaller. "I- uh- button malfunction?" he squeaked.
Astrid took a step into the elevator, effectively trapping him. She was so tall, especially now, radiating sheer predatory fury. "Don't lie to me, Haddock! You slammed the door in my face! Why?"
He tried to edge past her. "Look, I just… I need to go."
She moved instantly, blocking his path, standing to her full, imposing six-foot-eight height. Her shadow engulfed him. Usually, her towering over him felt awkward but somehow safe, almost protective in its own weird way. Now? Now it just felt terrifying. Like being cornered by a very beautiful, very angry panther.
Something inside Hiccup snapped. The fear, the humiliation, the heartbreak – it boiled over. "Doesn't feel good, does it?!" he suddenly yelled, surprising himself with the volume.
Astrid blinked, taken aback. "Doesn't feel good? What are you talking about?"
"Being messed with!" Hiccup shot back, anger finally overriding fear. His hands flailing wildly. "Being treated like a joke! It’s not fun when someone plays games with you, is it?"
Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Games? Hiccup, I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Oh, really?" he scoffed, bitterness dripping from his voice. "All the teasing? The flirting? Showing up randomly just to watch me squirm? You know exactly how to push my buttons, exactly what gets me flustered! You might not be laughing at me to my face like everyone else, but you're still picking on me! Just… fancier!"
Astrid stared at him, her anger visibly deflating, replaced by something that looked alarmingly like hurt. "Is that… is that really what you think I've been doing?" Her voice was quieter now, laced with disbelief.
"Why else would you do it?" Hiccup demanded, crossing his arms defensively, though it probably looked ridiculous given their size difference. "Why else would someone like you pay any attention to me ?"
"Because I like you, you ding-dong!" Astrid exploded, throwing her hands up in exasperation, her tail giving another furious lash. "I thought that was obvious! Apparently, you really are the most oblivious idiot on Berk!"
Hiccup stared at her, momentarily stunned by the outburst, then scoffed again, the BNN image flashing in his mind. "That's rich," he sneered, the hurt making him cruel.
"What?" Astrid asked, bewildered again.
"Considering you already have a boyfriend, you can drop the act," Hiccup spat out the word like poison. "You don't have to play with your food anymore. Just… just eat me already and get it over with! I might be a little gamey for your taste, though," he gestured vaguely at his own skinny frame. "Not much meat on these bones."
Astrid blinked slowly. "My… boyfriend?" She sounded utterly baffled. The elevator groaned and beeped loudly as it tried to close it’s doors. But the doors were constantly being held open by a confused panther.
"Don't pretend you don't know!" Hiccup fumbled for his phone, thumbs shaking as he pulled up the cached BNN news alert. He shoved the screen up towards her face. "It's all over the news! Look! 'Apex Celebrity Astrid Hofferson's Mystery Man Revealed?' Some hotshot Guild guy, I bet!"
Astrid leaned in, squinting at the grainy photo on the small screen. Her expression shifted from confusion to surprise, then… she started to laugh. Not a small chuckle, but a full, unrestrained peal of laughter that bounced off the elevator walls.
"It's not funny!" Hiccup yelled, feeling his face burn with renewed humiliation.
"Oh, Hiccup," she gasped, wiping a tear from her eye, still chuckling. "It really, really is. Gods, you are jealous !"
"I am not jealous!" he insisted hotly, though the accusation hit uncomfortably close to home. "I'm… betrayed!"
"Betrayed?" Astrid raised an eyebrow, her amusement fading slightly as she looked closer at the photo, then back at him. "By Fishlegs ?"
Hiccup froze. "What?"
Astrid tapped the screen, zooming in on the blurry figure beside her. "That's Fishlegs, you dork. Look closer."
Hiccup snatched the phone back, peering intently at the image. The man was taller than he remembered Fishlegs being, and the angle was weird, the lighting terrible… but now that she pointed it out… the glasses? The slightly rounded shoulders beneath the jacket? The way he held his head? And hadn't Fishlegs mentioned his Owl anima subtly changing his posture, making him stand straighter? Plus, if Hiccup was being brutally honest with himself, he hadn't exactly been looking closely at the guy in the picture. His focus had been entirely on Astrid and the crushing headline. "Fishlegs?" he whispered, disbelief warring with dawning, horrifying realization.
"Yes, Fishlegs," Astrid confirmed, rolling her eyes, though her expression softened. "I took him out for celebratory boar burgers during his first official day at Apex. He was so excited about the analyst position. BNN must have snapped that shot when we were leaving the restaurant. Gossip mongers."
Hiccup stared from the phone to Astrid, then back again. Fishlegs. Not a rival Guild leader. Not a secret boyfriend. Fishlegs . He felt like the world's biggest, most insecure idiot. Which, he supposed, he probably was. A wave of profound stupidity washed over him.
"Oh," he said weakly. "Right. Fishlegs." He suddenly felt exhausted. "Can… can you let me out of the elevator now?"
Astrid crossed her arms again, leaning against the doorframe, blocking his exit. The elevator continued to groan in protest. A hint of the earlier annoyance returned, mixed with something softer. "Not until you apologize."
"Sorry," he mumbled immediately, looking at the floor.
"Hmm," she hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her arm. "Not bad. But I think I need a hug for full apology acceptance."
Hiccup looked up, startled. "A hug?"
She just raised an eyebrow expectantly. Sighing, Hiccup shuffled forward awkwardly. Wrapping his arms around Astrid Hofferson felt like trying to hug a very tall, very solid, very intimidating statue. He was basically face-planting into her chest again, his arms barely reaching around her back. It was mortifying. And yet… she felt warm, strong, and surprisingly comforting. She returned the hug briefly, a firm squeeze, before letting him go.
"Apology accepted," she said, her voice losing its edge. She finally stepped out of the elevator. "Come on."
They walked back towards his small apartment in a heavy, charged silence. Astrid kept glancing at him, her expression thoughtful, analytical again. He focused determinedly on the corridor floor.
When they reached his door, he fumbled with the keycard. Inside, the tiny space felt even smaller with her presence filling it. He gestured vaguely towards the single chair. "Uh… want some water?"
She ignored the chair, leaning against the wall near the door, watching him. He busied himself getting water he didn't want, needing something to do with his hands.
"So," he began, turning back, unable to stand the silence. "Look, Astrid, I… I really am sorry. About the elevator. And… everything else. It's just…" He trailed off, unsure how to explain the tangled mess of insecurity and misinterpretation in his head. He took a deep breath and decided, for once, to just be honest. "It's this place, this whole system . It judges everyone based on power, on anima level. And I'm… Level 0. The Guild Leader's son, the ultimate disappointment. When I see someone like you – powerful, skilled, famous – paying any attention to me… my first thought isn't 'Wow, she might actually like me.' It's 'Okay, what's the joke? How is she messing with me?' Because why would you be interested? It doesn't make sense in the world we live in. So when I saw that stupid BNN report… it just confirmed everything I already believed. That I was just… entertainment. A pathetic stray cat you occasionally threw scraps to because you felt sorry for me, while you had a real life, a real… someone else." He felt his throat tighten, the earlier tears threatening again. "I know it's stupid. I know I misinterpreted everything. I'm sorry." He finished in a rush, looking down, bracing for her dismissal or maybe even pity.
He heard her sigh softly. He risked a glance up. She wasn't looking angry or pitiful. She looked… weary. Frustrated.
"Hiccup," she said quietly, pushing off the wall. She walked towards him, stopping right in front of him, forcing him to meet her intense blue gaze. "Did you actually listen to what I said back there? In the elevator?"
He blinked, replaying the chaotic confrontation in his mind. Her anger, her confusion… then her outburst. Because I like you, you ding dong! The words echoed, suddenly hitting him with their full force now that the fog of his jealousy and panic had cleared. He stared at her, his heart starting that frantic rhythm again. "You… you said…"
"Hiccup," she repeated, her voice firm but softer now, pinning him with that unwavering gaze. "I am sick and tired of this. Sick of the rumors, sick of my parents trying to arrange my life, sick of your ridiculous, infuriating belief that I couldn't possibly be interested in you." She took another small step closer, her nearness overwhelming his senses. "I like you. A lot. Probably more than 'like', if I'm being honest." Her cat ears flattened slightly in what looked like embarrassment, but her gaze didn't waver. "Can we just stop the drama? Stop the second-guessing, stop the games you think I'm playing? Can we just… actually date ? Be a couple? Properly?"
He stared at her, searching her face for any hint of mockery, any sign of deceit. He saw none. Only raw honesty, fierce determination, and maybe, just maybe, the same confusing affection he felt for her reflected back at him. The carefully constructed walls of his denial, already cracked by the BNN revelation being false, finally crumbled. She was serious. Astrid Hofferson, Apex star, Panther powerhouse… liked him .
His brain felt like it was rebooting. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
"Okay," he finally managed, the word barely a whisper, feeling ridiculously small and overwhelmingly hopeful all at once. "Yeah. Okay."
A slow smile spread across Astrid's face, warm and genuine this time, making her eyes sparkle. The relief was palpable.
"Good," she murmured. "Finally."
Chapter 12: Dating, Doubts and Dad Jokes
Chapter Text
Being Astrid Hofferson’s boyfriend was, Hiccup quickly decided, profoundly weird. And terrifying. And confusing. And, much to his own surprise, occasionally… wonderful?
Their first official date took place a few nights after the Elevator Confession Incident. Astrid had insisted on a popular restaurant in the mid-levels, one known for its fusion cuisine and its panoramic views – and, unfortunately, its popularity with Guild members and the gossip-hungry public. Hiccup had spent an hour trying to tame his hair (failed) and another hour agonizing over what constituted appropriate attire for dating the Apex Guild’s brightest star when your own wardrobe consisted mostly of slightly-less-greasy work shirts and threadbare sweaters (landed on a dark grey tunic that wasn't too stained).
Astrid, naturally, looked effortlessly stunning in something simple yet elegant that probably cost more than Hiccup earned in a month. The moment they sat down, Hiccup felt the weight of dozens of surreptitious glances. He tried to ignore them, focusing instead on Astrid, who seemed completely unfazed.
"…so then Bernd realized the entire shipment of thermal couplings was coded for Warehouse G-7 instead of F-9, right when Forge & Vein needed them for the geothermal drill maintenance," Hiccup found himself explaining animatedly, gesturing with his fork. He’d been rambling about a minor logistical crisis at work, something he normally wouldn't bore anyone else with, but Astrid was actually listening. Or seemed to be.
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped in her hands, those intense blue eyes fixed on his face. A genuine smile played on her lips. "And let me guess," she prompted, her voice warm, "you found a way to reroute the internal freight drones using that weird predictive algorithm you were sketching last week?"
"Well, yeah!" Hiccup said, surprised she remembered. "See, the standard routing matrix doesn't account for variable atmospheric density on the lower levels, but if you factor in the thermal exhaust from F&V's smelting operations…" He launched into the technical details, feeling a thrill at having someone actually interested, someone who didn't immediately dismiss his ideas.
He was mid-sentence, explaining the beauty of optimized energy expenditure, when he noticed Astrid wasn't just smiling; she was watching his lips with rapt attention, her own slightly parted. And the low-cut neckline of her top… well, leaning forward like that provided a rather significant distraction. Hiccup’s train of thought derailed spectacularly. He stammered, lost his place, and felt his face heat up for the hundredth time that night.
Astrid’s smile widened into a knowing smirk. She shifted slightly in her seat, a subtle sway of her shoulders that somehow made the distraction ten times worse. "Sorry," she purred, though she didn't sound sorry at all. "You were saying something fascinating about… thermal exhaust?"
Vixen, Hiccup thought helplessly, utterly hexed. He tried to pick up his explanation, but his brain felt fuzzy, his gaze unwillingly drawn back to the distracting neckline every few seconds. He was pretty sure he ended up just making vaguely technical-sounding noises for the rest of the meal. He also noticed the tell-tale glint of hidden camera lenses from at least two other tables. Great. Just great.
His fears were confirmed the following Saturday. He’d ventured out on his day off to grab some spare parts for a personal project (the self-folding laundry basket was proving trickier than anticipated), hoping for a few hours of blessed anonymity. No such luck. As he exited the tech-parts store, he was suddenly surrounded. Microphones, flashing cameras, reporters shouting questions.
"Hiccup Haddock! Is it true you're dating Astrid Hofferson?"
"What's it like dating someone so far out of your league?"
"Is this a publicity stunt arranged by Apex?"
"How does a Level 0 land a Tier 1 Prime star?"
"Are you just using her for Guild connections?"
Hiccup froze like a rabbit caught in headlights. "Who? Wha-? I… uh…" He tried to back away, shielding his face.
Suddenly, a blur of motion. Astrid appeared seemingly out of nowhere, moving with startling Panther speed. She physically inserted herself between Hiccup and the reporters, radiating an aura of pure 'don't mess with me'. In her Level 2 Panther Hybrid form. Her ears were flattened, her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Alright, that's enough!" Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the clamor like a whipcrack. "Leave him alone. Now." The reporters, faced with an annoyed Level 2 Panther Hybrid, actually faltered, taking hesitant steps back. She quickly shifted back into her normal form then Astrid grabbed Hiccup's arm. "Come on." She pulled him quickly down a side alley, leaving the paparazzi sputtering in their wake.
Once they were clear, she let go of his arm, leaning against a wall to catch her breath, though she didn't look particularly winded. "You okay?"
"Peachy," Hiccup muttered, still shaken. "What was that?"
Astrid sighed, pulling out her phone and showing him a screen grab from BNN. It was one of the photos from their date night – him looking flustered, her leaning forward with that smirk, the headline screaming: EXCLUSIVE! Astrid & Her Logistics Lover! Apex Power Couple or Publicity Stunt?
Hiccup groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, gods. I'm so sorry, Astrid. This is my fault somehow-"
"Your fault?" She cut him off, sounding genuinely surprised. "Hiccup, how is my fame and their disgusting lack of boundaries your fault?" She shook her head, her expression softening. "Look, I'm sorry you have to deal with this. It comes with being… well, me, apparently. And now, with being with me." She offered a small, wry smile. "The press is stupid. They'll get bored eventually, find someone else to pick apart." She nudged his shoulder gently. "We'll get through it. Together."
Hearing her say 'together' sent another confusing jolt through him, but this time it was mostly warmth. "Yeah," he agreed, managing a weak smile back. "Together."
The 'together' part apparently included facing his father. The next day, Sunday, both Hiccup and Astrid received a summons to Stoick's office at Apex HQ. Hiccup spent the entire lift ride up convinced he was about to be fired and/or disowned for embarrassing the Guild Leader by association.
They entered Stoick's imposing office to find him standing behind his massive desk, arms crossed, expression stern. Hiccup braced himself.
Stoick stared at them both for a long, silent moment. Then, his stern expression cracked, melting into a huge, beaming grin that stretched from ear to ear.
"HA! I KNEW IT!" he boomed, slamming a massive fist on the desk hard enough to make the mounted mega-fauna’s head rattle. "I TOLD YOU SO! Didn't I tell you, Valka? Didn't I tell everyone?" He strode around the desk, enveloping Astrid in a bone-crushing hug that lifted her clean off the floor, eliciting a startled 'Oof!' from her. Then he turned to Hiccup, grabbing him in an equally enthusiastic embrace that felt less like affection and more like being squeezed by a friendly avalanche. "My boy! Finally!"
He released Hiccup (who staggered back, gasping for air) and practically threw himself into the chair opposite his desk, kicking another ornate chair towards them. "Sit! Sit! Tell me everything! All the juicy details! How long has this been going on? Who asked who? Was it the warehouse incident? I knew something was up after that! Spill it!" He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with the combined excitement of a proud father and a Guild Leader who just secured a very advantageous alliance.
Hiccup practically combusted on the spot from sheer mortification. Astrid, however, recovered quickly, settling into the offered chair with a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Well, Stoick," she began, leaning forward conspiratorially. "It wasn't exactly straightforward. Hiccup here," she gestured towards him with a flick of her wrist, "is remarkably… observant. Of certain things."
"Certain things?" Stoick prompted eagerly.
"Oh yes," Astrid continued, her eyes sparkling as she glanced at Hiccup, who was trying to melt into the chair. "Take the warehouse incident you mentioned. I was merely… conducting a routine environmental assessment of lower-level storage…"
"You were lurking!" Hiccup hissed under his breath, earning a playful glare from Astrid.
"...when Hiccup suddenly appeared!" she went on smoothly. "And the poor dear was so startled, he let out this shriek! Honestly, sounded just like a terrified yakow calf!" She winked at Hiccup, whose face was now roughly the color of his auburn hair.
Stoick roared with laughter. "Ha! A yakow calf! Sounds about right for his coordination!"
"Dad!" Hiccup protested weakly.
"And then," Astrid pressed on, clearly enjoying herself, "he seemed intensely focused. His eyes… well, you know his eyes…"
"The glowing trick!" Stoick nodded knowingly.
"Exactly! They were practically boring holes into my… training tunic," Astrid said innocently, though the smirk deepened. "He seemed quite taken with the Apex standard issue."
Hiccup made a strangled noise. "I ran into you! By accident! While screaming!"
"Details, details," Astrid waved a dismissive hand. "The point is, his focus was intense. And then there was his fascination with Guild protocols! Remember that time by the lifts, Hiccup?"
"You cornered me!" Hiccup insisted, sinking lower in his chair.
"I merely inquired about requisition form K-17B, subsection C," Astrid told Stoick seriously. "A vital piece of logistical procedure. And Hiccup became so flustered! Face bright red, stammering… clearly, he has a deep passion for proper Guild documentation." She leaned closer to Stoick again. "His pupils even dilated! A classic sign of intense concentration on… paperwork, naturally."
Stoick nodded sagely, completely buying it. "Good sign! Shows dedication! Attention to detail! Crucial for advancement!"
"And then," Astrid continued, her voice dropping slightly, "after I had to make my intentions perfectly clear in the elevator…"
"You yelled 'Because I like you, you ding dong!' at the top of your lungs!" Hiccup interjected, mortified all over again. "That's not subtle, Astrid!"
"...he required physical reassurance to fully process the information," Astrid finished smoothly, ignoring him. "A hug, actually. Very thorough, ensuring complete understanding before proceeding." She gave Hiccup a look that was pure, unadulterated teasing.
Stoick chuckled heartily, clapping his knee. "Good lad! Always confirm understanding! Practical!" He beamed at them both.
"You think you were oblivious?" Astrid added, gesturing teasingly at Hiccup. "This one required a direct verbal confirmation followed by a hug. No matter how obvious I tried to be before that, it just bounced right off him. Very practical, indeed."
Stoick roared with laughter again. "Oblivious! Just like his old man!" he bellowed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Your mother, Valka, gods bless her patience, had to practically hit me over the head with a fish! She manifested her Swan traits months before I even got my Lion roar going properly – I was a bit of a late bloomer myself, Level 2 didn't fully kick in 'til I was nearly twenty-one! Thought for sure she was out of my league, that I wasn't worthy!"
Hiccup stared at his father. He was a late bloomer? His dad, Stoick the Vast, Level 3 Lion Master, had felt… unworthy? The revelation sent a shockwave through Hiccup's understanding of his father, adding another layer of complexity to the man he thought he knew.
The newfound confidence from finally being with Astrid, however, didn't magically translate into respect from everyone. A few days later, Hiccup was overseeing a joint Apex-Forge & Vein supply transfer at the docks – a transfer using a new, optimized routing system he had cautiously suggested to Bernd (who had reluctantly approved it after Stoick’s visit). Things were running smoothly until Snotlout Jorgenson swaggered onto the loading platform, flanked by two burly FV guards.
"Well, well," Snotlout sneered, looking Hiccup up and down with disdain. "Look what the Nadder dragged in. Playing Logistics expert now, are we, Fishbone?"
Hiccup sighed internally but kept his voice level. "Just ensuring the transfer protocols are followed, Snotlout. As assigned."
"Assigned?" Snotlout scoffed. "More like crawled out from under Astrid's skirt. Everyone knows she got you that pity job. Think you're something special now? Stealing my girl?"
"Astrid was never your girl, Snotlout," Hiccup said tiredly.
"She would have been, if you hadn't somehow tricked her!" Snotlout stepped closer, jabbing a finger towards Hiccup's chest. His boar tusks seemed slightly more prominent. "Don't get comfortable, Haddock. She'll get bored of the charity case eventually. She needs someone strong, someone powerful! Not… whatever you are. She'll dump you the second someone better comes along!"
Normally, those words would have hit Hiccup like physical blows, feeding directly into his deepest insecurities. But something had shifted. Hearing Astrid confirm her feelings, seeing the evidence in her actions… it didn't erase the insecurity entirely, but it built a small, sturdy wall against Snotlout's particular brand of poison. He realized, with a jolt of surprise, that he actually believed Astrid now.
He looked Snotlout squarely in the eye. "Okay, Snotlout. You think you know Astrid so well? What's her favorite color?"
Snotlout blinked, thrown off. "Uh… pink? Shiny pink?"
"Wrong," Hiccup said calmly. "It's blue. Specifically, cerulean. What did she say was the most frustrating part of mastering her hybrid form?"
"Uh… the claws getting stuck in stuff?"
"Wrong again. It's controlling the tail when she's annoyed. What's the name of the instructor she had for advanced stealth techniques last month?"
"How should I know?!" Snotlout blustered, flushing red.
"Exactly," Hiccup said, allowing himself a small, satisfied smile. "You know nothing about her, Snotlout. You just see the Apex star, the pretty face, the powerful anima. You don't actually see Astrid. So maybe you should worry less about her and find someone… well, more on your own level."
"You hypocrite!" Snotlout sputtered. "Like you're in her league!"
Hiccup just shrugged, the gesture surprisingly light. "Maybe not. But she chose me anyway, dude. I don't know what to tell you." He actually enjoyed, just a little, watching Snotlout squirm, speechless with impotent rage. Comeuppance. Felt pretty good.
The final hurdle, however, was perhaps the most terrifying: dinner with the Hoffersons. Astrid had been acting strangely awkward about it all week, a complete reversal of her usual confident demeanor.
"Are you okay?" Hiccup had asked her one evening as they walked back from grabbing take-out synth-noodles. "You seem… nervous? Which isn't really your default setting."
She'd sighed dramatically. "It's dinner. With my parents. You are having dinner with my parents."
"Right?" Hiccup said, confused. "Shouldn't I be the nervous one?"
"Hiccup," she said, stopping and turning to face him, her expression serious. "You have met my parents. You know what they're like. They value status, connections, power. You are… well, you're wonderful, but you're not exactly what they envisioned for Guild alliances."
"Oh," Hiccup said, the dread returning. "Right."
"So," she continued, "I need you to brace yourself. And I," she gestured vaguely at her usual practical training gear, "need to dress… modestly." She actually shuddered.
The Hofferson apartment felt colder, more sterile than Hiccup remembered from Astrid's manifestation party brief. Astrid, true to her word, wore a high-necked, long-sleeved tunic in a muted grey that completely hid her figure and seemed to drain the usual fire from her eyes. She looked deeply uncomfortable. Hiccup had spent twenty minutes trying to flatten his hair with water, resulting only in it sticking up in new and interesting directions. He felt like a scarecrow invited to an ice sculpture exhibition.
Mr. and Mrs. Hofferson greeted them with smiles that were perfectly polite and utterly devoid of warmth. Dinner was served on minimalist plates at a long, glass table. The conversation, steered entirely by Erik and Ingrid Hofferson, felt less like getting to know their daughter’s boyfriend and more like a Guild recruitment interview combined with a subtle character assassination.
"So, Hiccup," Erik began, swirling his wine glass. "Logistics Assistant. A vital function, keeping the cogs turning behind the scenes. Tell us, what does your day-to-day entail? Filing manifests? Coordinating drone maintenance schedules?" The implication was clear: menial.
"Well, mostly I-" Hiccup started, trying to think of a way to make 'sorting obsolete forms' sound impressive.
"Hiccup has actually been instrumental in identifying several key inefficiencies in Apex's lower-level supply chain," Astrid cut in smoothly, her voice tight but level. "His analytical reports have already led to significant time and money savings, haven't they, Hiccup?" She gave him a quick, fierce glance that dared him to contradict her slight exaggeration.
"Uh, yeah," Hiccup mumbled. "Working on it."
"How fascinating," Ingrid said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "And your anima, Hiccup. Such a… unique passive trait. Does Apex find practical applications for enhanced eye color in the Logistics division?" The jab, though delivered politely, landed like a physical blow.
"Actually, it's more like night vision, and it helps-" Hiccup tried again.
"His observational skills are incredible, Mother," Astrid interrupted again, her knuckles white where she gripped her fork. "He notices details others miss entirely – environmental factors, subtle equipment malfunctions. It's invaluable for preventative maintenance and potentially even security." Her defense was passionate, almost aggressive.
"Hmm," Ingrid murmured, taking a delicate sip of water. "One reads such speculation in the media, of course. BNN seems quite taken with your... unconventional pairing." She didn't explicitly mention 'slumming it' or 'gold digger', but the implication hung heavy in the sterile air.
"BNN is garbage, Mother, and you know it," Astrid snapped, her voice dangerously low, her cat ears flattening almost imperceptibly. "They wouldn't recognize genuine character if it manifested claws and bit them. Hiccup's integrity and intelligence are worth more than any Tier 1 contract or flashy anima display."
Erik quickly changed tack, though his calculating gaze remained fixed on Hiccup. "And your long-term ambitions within Apex, Hiccup? Where do you see your career path leading in, say, five years? Management potential?" He clearly doubted it.
"I hope to maybe move into-"
"Hiccup has some truly innovative ideas for systemic improvements!" Astrid declared fiercely, cutting him off yet again. "Ideas that could revolutionize Guild logistics across the board! He just needs the right opportunity to implement them!"
Hiccup sank back in his chair, feeling simultaneously defended and completely steamrolled. He hadn't gotten a single complete sentence out about himself all night. It was just his potential failures being highlighted by Astrid's parents, immediately followed by Astrid's passionate, slightly terrifying, possibly embellished defense. He felt less like a dinner guest and more like a contested territory.
Finally, Erik Hofferson leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Well, Hiccup. You seem… earnest." It was clearly not a compliment.
Ingrid Hofferson added, her smile thin, "Astrid has made her choice clear. If this… arrangement… is what she truly wants, then we will… endeavor to support it." The acceptance felt tentative, conditional, and deeply reluctant. But it was, technically, acceptance.
The media onslaught didn't lessen in the following weeks. If anything, Hiccup and Astrid becoming 'official' fueled the fire. Hiccup learned to keep his head down, ignore the stares, and develop a thick skin against the BNN headlines ("Is Hofferson Robbing the Cradle AND the Guild?", "Level 0 Love: Can Apex's Star Really Settle for Less?"). He saw snippets of talk shows where pundits praised Astrid's Gauntlet prospects while openly mocking her 'questionable taste in men,' often accompanied by unflattering, grainy pictures of him leaving McRonalds or looking terrified near Astrid. The audience laughter track felt like sandpaper on his nerves. They also hyped the upcoming Gauntlet, universally predicting an easy victory for Astrid.
One evening, Astrid found him watching one such broadcast in his apartment, his expression grim. She quietly turned it off.
"Don't listen to that garbage, Hiccup."
"Hard not to when it's plastered on every screen in the city," he muttered.
She sat beside him, bumping his shoulder gently. "They're idiots. They don't know you." She paused. "Speaking of which… the Gauntlet starts next week. The preliminaries."
Hiccup nodded. "Yeah. You ready?"
"More than," she said confidently. Then her expression softened. "I… I want you there, Hiccup. In the stands."
He looked at her, surprised. "Me? Astrid, the press will have a field day! And besides, what am I going to do, cheer from the Logistics section?" He shook his head. "And don't even think about asking me to participate." He shuddered dramatically. "HEL NO. My green eyes would get demolished in the first thirty seconds."
Astrid laughed, a warm, genuine sound this time. "Good," she said softly, leaning closer, her blue eyes searching his. "Because I happen to love your green eyes exactly as they are."
Before he could process that, her tail manifested, flicking playfully against his arm. "But I expect you to be at every single one of my matches," she purred, her voice dropping back into that teasing, seductive tone. "Front row, if possible. Got it?"
He stared into her eyes, saw the affection beneath the tease, felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest, overriding the media static and his own lingering doubts. "Yeah," he breathed, managing a small smile. "Got it. Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Chapter 13: The Gauntlet, The Girlfriend, and The Gawk
Chapter Text
The Berk Anima Gauntlet Coliseum wasn't just big; it was obscene. A colossal structure of competing architectural styles that somehow managed to look both futuristic and brutally imposing. Sleek, dark obsidian panels – unmistakably Apex – formed the core structure, soaring towards the sky like jagged black fangs. Bolted onto this were massive sections of industrial grey plating and exposed, humming conduits characteristic of Forge & Vein, giving parts of it the charming aesthetic of a half-finished factory. And woven throughout were sterile white walkways, observation domes with tinted glass, and sharp, minimalist angles that screamed Synapse Institute. It was a monument to the Big Three's power, ego, and barely contained rivalry, all crammed into one overwhelming building.
Hiccup clutched the datapad ticket Astrid had given him, feeling incredibly small and out of place as he approached the designated Apex Guild entrance. Throngs of people pushed past him – Guild members in crisp uniforms, wealthy patrons in expensive attire, excited fans waving holographic banners. He felt like a minnow trying to swim upstream in a river of sharks. He presented his ticket to the stern-faced Apex guard whose eyes seemed to glow with faint, predatory yellow light (Level 1 Eagle, maybe?). The guard scanned it, looked Hiccup up and down with an expression that clearly questioned the validity of the pass, then grunted and waved him through security. The scanner beeped passively over him – no significant anima signature detected, move along. Another guard handed him a lanyard with a laminated pass that read, in bold Apex font: VIP ACCESS – ALL ZONES. Hiccup swallowed hard, looping it around his neck. It felt less like a privilege and more like a target.
He stepped inside, and the sheer scale of the place hit him. The roar of the crowd, even before the main events started, echoed through the vast concourse. Vendor stalls sold everything from Guild merchandise (foam Apex claws, Forge & Vein stress balls shaped like rocks) to overpriced synth-ale and questionable street meat. Holographic displays replayed famous moments from past Gauntlets. Hiccup kept his head down, navigating towards the VIP section indicated on his pass, trying to avoid eye contact.
He passed through a quieter, more opulent corridor lined with gleaming display cases. The Hall of Champions. Holographic portraits of past Gauntlet winners shimmered, their names and Guild affiliations listed below. He saw familiar faces, legendary figures whose anima feats were taught in PMG. And there, near the end of the hall, was a younger version of his father – Stoick the Lion, looking impossibly fierce and proud, his Lion anima clearly already formidable even then, the Gauntlet trophy held high. Winner, 78th Annual Gauntlet, Apex Guild. His father hadn't just led Apex; he'd dominated its ultimate proving ground. Hiccup felt a familiar pang of inadequacy. What had Stoick thought, seeing his own son manifest nothing but slightly better night vision?
He shook the thought away. Astrid wanted him here. He wouldn't let her down. Following the signs for Participant Prep Areas (his VIP pass apparently granted very all-access), he found himself in the controlled chaos backstage. Guild staff hurried past with equipment, participants stretched or paced nervously, healers stood by with glowing hands ready. He located the Apex section and found a door marked simply: HOFFERSON. He hesitated for only a second before knocking softly.
"Come in!" Astrid's voice called out, slightly muffled.
He pushed the door open. The prep room was functional, spartan – a bench, a mirror, lockers, a tactical display screen currently showing arena schematics. Astrid stood in the center, not pacing, but vibrating with a nervous energy Hiccup had never seen in her before. She wore the official Apex Gauntlet undersuit – a skin-tight, sleeveless black bodysuit designed for maximum agility, woven with subtle, shimmering expansion runes. It left little to the imagination regarding the powerful physique she now possessed, and Hiccup quickly forced his eyes upwards. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight warrior's braid, her cat ears were twitching almost constantly, and her usual confident smirk was replaced by a worried frown.
She saw him, and the tension visibly drained from her shoulders, replaced by a wave of relief that made her face light up. "Hiccup! You came!"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, remember?" he said, offering a small, hopefully reassuring smile as he stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. "You okay? You seem… unlike you."
She let out a shaky breath, running a hand over her braid. "Just… nerves, I guess. It's one thing tearing up dummies in the training hall. It's another thing doing it out there, with thousands watching, the scouts, the Guild Leaders…" She gestured vaguely towards the door, from beyond which the dull roar of the crowd could be heard. "My parents are out there somewhere too, probably calculating Hofferson Maritime's stock value based on my performance." She managed a wry grimace. "It's a lot."
Hiccup stepped closer instinctively. "Hey," he said softly. "You're Astrid Hofferson. You dominated training. You took down Stoick the Lion in sparring for," he grinned slightly, "at least five seconds before he pinned you. You faced down paparazzi. You even survived dinner with your parents and me." He gently bumped her shoulder. "This? The Gauntlet? It's just another Tuesday for you."
She looked at him, a genuine smile finally breaking through her nervousness. "You really think so?"
"I know so," he said sincerely, meaning it more than anything he’d said all day. "You've got this, Astrid. You're incredible."
A loud chime echoed through the backstage area, followed by an amplified voice: "Attention participants! Opening Ceremony commencing in five minutes! Please proceed to staging area alpha!"
"Guess that's my cue to get out of your hair," Hiccup said, backing towards the door. "Seriously, Astrid. You'll be amazing."
"Wait!" she called out as he reached the door. He turned back. She looked hesitant for a second, then stepped forward quickly. "Good luck?" she asked, her voice suddenly small.
Before his brain could fully process the request or the absurdity of him giving her luck, Hiccup found himself leaning in. It was an awkward maneuver. He had to stand on his tiptoes slightly, aiming vaguely for her cheek, while she, realizing his intent, started to lean down. The result was less a smooth kiss and more an ungainly collision of faces somewhere near her chin. Mortifying.
Astrid, however, just laughed softly, a warm, breathy sound. She cupped his cheek gently with one hand, tilted his head up slightly, and leaned down properly this time, pressing her lips firmly against his. It wasn't long, wasn't overly dramatic, but it sent an electric shock straight down Hiccup’s spine, making his toes curl in his boots.
She pulled back slowly, her blue eyes sparkling, a confident smirk replacing the earlier nervousness. She hummed contentedly, a low purr vibrating in her chest. "Okay," she declared, tapping his nose playfully. "Now I'm definitely going to win." Her expression turned serious for a moment, her gaze intense. "I won't let you down, Hiccup."
He smiled back, his heart doing impossible acrobatics. "You never could, Astrid."
He slipped out of the room, his face burning, his lips tingling, feeling like he was walking on air despite the lingering awkwardness of the height difference. He navigated his way back out towards the main arena, following the signs for the VIP seating. He found the designated box – prime location, dead center, overlooking the arena floor. And seated there, already looking impatient, were his parents.
"Hiccup! There you are!" Stoick boomed, waving him over. "Cutting it fine! Thought you might have gotten lost in Logistics!" He gestured to the empty seat between him and Valka. "Come on, sit! Here to cheer your woman on?" He winked broadly.
Hiccup groaned internally but slid into the seat. "Something like that, Dad."
"Ignore him, Hiccup dear," Valka said, patting his knee with a gentle smile, though her eyes held a spark of amusement. "Your father just gets overly enthusiastic about competitive displays of anima prowess."
"And romance!" Stoick added proudly.
The lights dimmed dramatically, and a wave of sound washed over them as the opening ceremony began. Spotlights crisscrossed the arena floor, elaborate holographic projections flared to life, depicting stylized battles between legendary animas. A booming voice echoed through the stadium – Buck Bludvist, the Gauntlet's perennial announcer, known for his over-the-top commentary and questionable fashion sense.
Buck launched into a dramatic monologue about the history and purpose of the Gauntlet – "Where potential meets power! Where legends are forged! Where Guilds find their future champions!" – accompanied by explosions of pyrotechnics. He introduced the Guild Leaders (Stoick received a deafening roar from the Apex sections), explained the tournament bracket (single elimination, standard arena rules), and finally, announced the first match.
The first few fights were… underwhelming. A Level 1 Badger anima from a minor Guild getting quickly overwhelmed by a Level 1 Wolf from Forge & Vein. Two Level 1 Avian animas circling each other awkwardly before one accidentally flew into a wall. Hiccup found his attention wandering, his thoughts drifting back to Astrid backstage. He felt a surge of pride, mixed with his usual anxiety.
Then, Buck Bludvist’s voice took on a new level of hype. "Alright, fight fans! Get ready! Our next competitor is the rookie sensation who burst onto the scene just a few months ago! The Panther powerhouse who’s already drawn comparisons to Apex legends! Give it up for Apex Guild's own… ASTRID HOFFERSON!"
A massive roar went up from the crowd, especially the Apex sections. Hiccup felt his heart swell with pride, applauding enthusiastically along with his parents.
"BUT WAIT!" Buck yelled, holding up a hand for dramatic effect. "The tabloids have been buzzing! The gossip networks are on fire! Our Panther prodigy isn't just making waves in the arena… she's also been seen around town with a VERY unlikely companion! That's right, folks, BNN might have been onto something! Put the spotlight on him, boys!"
Suddenly, Hiccup found himself blinded by a spotlight, his face plastered onto the massive jumbotron screen overlooking the arena. He froze, cheeks instantly flaming scarlet.
"There he is!" Buck crowed gleefully. "Hiccup Haddock! Son of the Apex Guild Leader himself, but, let's be honest folks, known more for his… uh… unique Level 0 manifestation! Can you believe it? What does the fierce Astrid Hofferson see in this… this charmingly awkward Logistics Assistant? Is it true love? A momentary lapse in judgment? Or is she just trying to get closer to Guild leadership?" The crowd roared with laughter. Hiccup wanted to crawl under his seat and disappear forever.
Astrid strode into the arena then, ignoring the announcer and the spotlight still lingering on Hiccup. She looked focused, intense, radiating lethal grace in her black Apex undersuit, her blonde braid swinging, cat ears alert. Her opponent, a smug-looking young man from Synapse Institute whose file Hiccup vaguely remembered seeing (Level 1 Electric Eel anima, mostly employed due to his uncle being a department head), smirked condescendingly at her.
"THAT'S MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW!" Stoick bellowed beside Hiccup, cupping his hands around his mouth. "SHOW HIM WHAT APEX IS MADE OF, LASS!"
Hiccup rolled his eyes, thankful his mother wasn't usually prone to such outbursts.
"Kick his ass, Astrid!" Valka suddenly shouted, her voice surprisingly fierce. "Show him what a powerful woman can do!"
Or not. Hiccup sighed, then found himself yelling anyway, cupping his hands like his father. "YOU GOT THIS, ASTRID! BABE! Uh… Honey? Sweetie?" He trailed off, feeling ridiculous. He could have sworn he saw Astrid’s tail give a single, irritated flick and her ears twitch almost imperceptibly – her ‘tell’ when she was embarrassed or annoyed, he was learning. But her focus remained locked on her opponent.
The starting gong sounded. The Synapse kid immediately tried some flashy move, crackling bio-electricity around his hands. Astrid didn't even seem to register it. She moved.
It was over in less than ten seconds. She flowed forward like liquid shadow, evading his clumsy electrical lunge with contemptuous ease. Her hybrid Panther form manifested in a blur of tawny fur and deadly grace – claws extended, fangs bared. Before the Synapse kid could even react, she delivered a single, precise, disabling blow – a strike to the shoulder with her claws retracted just enough not to draw blood, followed by a swift kick that sent him sprawling, unconscious, near the arena wall.
She shifted back to her human form smoothly, panting only slightly, not a hair out of place besides the twitching ears. The crowd went absolutely berserk.
Astrid ignored the roar, her gaze immediately scanning the VIP box. Her eyes found Hiccup's. A slow, dazzling smile spread across her face, meant only for him. Then, deliberately, she raised her hand to her lips and blew him a kiss across the arena.
The jumbotron immediately cut back to Hiccup's stunned, blushing face.
"Well, folks," Buck Bludvist's voice boomed over the continuing cheers, laced with disbelief. "She certainly seems… fond of him. Though for the life of me, I still don't know what she sees in him!"
Hiccup didn't care. He just smiled back at Astrid, his heart soaring. Let them laugh. Let them wonder. She saw him. And right now, that was all that mattered.
Chapter 14: Pouting, Playing and Proposals
Chapter Text
This was, Hiccup decided, officially the most surreal period of his entire existence. He sat nestled on a plush sofa in Astrid Hofferson’s ridiculously luxurious Apex penthouse prep room – a room larger than his entire apartment – while the roar of the Gauntlet crowd echoed faintly from the stadium far below. Astrid, the center of that roaring crowd's attention, the Panther powerhouse of Apex, was currently curled up beside him like an overgrown housecat, head resting comfortably on his lap, emitting a low, vibrating rumble as he absently scratched behind one of her ridiculously sensitive blonde cat ears.
He thought back to how he used to imagine his future love life, usually during particularly dull moments sorting obsolete inventory forms. He’d pictured maybe meeting someone quiet, unassuming, perhaps someone else overlooked by the Guild system. Maybe she’d be a bit mousy, probably wouldn't really like him for him, more likely angling for a connection to his father's Guild. She definitely wouldn’t be conventionally attractive, because why would someone like that look twice at him?
He glanced down at the young woman currently purring contentedly on his lap. Six-foot-eight of terrifyingly graceful muscle, stunningly beautiful even with her hair slightly mussed from leaning against his knee, capable of tearing training dummies limb from limb, and currently vibrating like a small engine because he was scratching just the right spot behind her ear. A celebrity. An Apex star. His childhood crush. His girlfriend.
Yeah. Reality had definitely taken a sharp left turn from his expectations. Was he dreaming? Had he maybe hit his head harder than he thought during that elevator incident? Or perhaps he’d actually died of mortification during one of Stoick’s matchmaking speeches and this was some bizarre corner of Valhalla reserved for awkward teenagers?
He shifted slightly, needing to check the time on his phone. He carefully withdrew his hand from Astrid’s head. Her purring instantly stopped. Her head followed his hand, bumping insistently against his knuckles, a silent demand for more scratches. When he didn’t immediately comply, distracted by the notification blinking on his screen (a reminder about a logistics report he’d completely forgotten), she made a small, disgruntled noise. Then, before he could react, she uncurled from the couch and launched herself bodily against his side, rubbing her head against his shoulder with surprising force, nearly knocking him and his phone off the sofa. It was exactly like his old pet cat used to do when he wanted attention, only Astrid was significantly larger and less… scratchy.
"Whoa! Astrid!" he yelped, fumbling with his phone. "Trying to dislocate my shoulder?"
She froze, pulling back instantly, her eyes wide as if snapping out of a trance. A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Oh! Gods, sorry! Instinct. Didn't mean to… uh… apply that much pressure." She looked genuinely embarrassed, fussing with the strap of her training top.
Hiccup couldn't help but chuckle, the absurdity of the situation overriding his usual awkwardness for a moment. "It's okay. Just… maybe warn me next time before you try to mark your territory?"
Her blush deepened, but a small smile played on her lips. She settled back beside him, though noticeably closer than before. Despite the brief moment of normalcy, Hiccup could feel the nervous energy radiating from her again. The Gauntlet semi-finals were up next.
"You're going to be fine, you know," he said softly, putting his phone away.
She sighed, tracing patterns on the sofa cushion with a clawed fingertip (Level 1 partial shift, she did it unconsciously when stressed, he’d noticed). "Easy for you to say. You're not the one facing Throk the Mauler in the semi-final."
"Throk?" Hiccup winced. "Synapse's top prospect? The one with the Rhino anima?"
"The very same," Astrid confirmed grimly. "Level 2 mastery, pure brute force. Not exactly subtle, but effective."
"Okay, yeah, he's tough," Hiccup conceded. "But Astrid, you're faster. You're smarter. You took down Dad in sparring!"
"For five seconds!" she protested, though a hint of pride flickered in her eyes. "Before he flattened me like a practice dummy!"
"Details!" Hiccup waved a dismissive hand, echoing her earlier teasing. "You have agility he can only dream of. You have strategy. You have claws that can shred reinforced plating. And," he added, leaning slightly closer, "you have ridiculously sensitive cat ears that probably let you hear him breathing from across the arena."
She swatted his arm playfully, but her smile widened. "Think so?"
"I know so," he repeated firmly. "You've got this."
A chime sounded, followed by the announcer's voice echoing faintly from the stadium speakers, summoning semi-finalists to the staging area. Astrid took a deep breath, standing up, her confidence seemingly restored.
"Okay. Showtime," she said, rolling her shoulders.
Hiccup stood up too, feeling suddenly useless again. "Right. I'll head to the box." He started to turn away.
"Wait!" He looked back. Astrid stepped forward quickly, biting her lip. "Good luck?" she asked again, her voice barely a whisper, vulnerability flashing in her eyes again.
His heart did its usual stupid flip-flop. He started to lean in, maybe aiming for a hug this time, or perhaps just fumbling for the right encouraging words. Before he could complete the awkward gesture, Astrid seemed to lose patience with his hesitation. With a soft sound that was half sigh, half growl, she reached out, grabbed a handful of the front of his tunic, and pulled him firmly towards her. Hiccup stumbled forward, completely off balance, ending up practically plastered against her front, his face somewhere around her sternum level. Before he could even register the surprise, she reached down and picked him up, raising him to eye level. There she gave him a gentle smile before leaning in and gracing his lips with a soft kiss. It was over almost before it began, leaving him blinking and breathless. She released his tunic, leaving him swaying slightly. Her confident smirk was firmly back in place, though her cheeks held a faint flush. A low purr rumbled in her chest. "Okay," she declared, tapping his nose playfully. "Let’s win this thing!" Her expression turned serious again, her blue eyes locking with his.
"I know you will, Astrid," he replied honestly, his voice thick with emotion he couldn't quite name, his brain still trying to catch up with the fact that Astrid Hofferson had just yanked him into a kiss.
He hurried out, making his way through the bustling backstage corridors towards the VIP section, his lips still tingling and his mind replaying the last ten seconds on a loop. He found his seat easily – front row, center, wedged firmly between his beaming father and his serenely smiling mother.
"There he is!" Stoick boomed, clapping him on the back. "Just in time! Ready to see your woman claim the trophy?"
"Dad!" Hiccup hissed, flushing.
Valka patted his hand. "He's just proud, dear. We both are. Of both of you."
As Hiccup settled in, another figure took the seat beside him – Director Kaelen Thorne, the sharp-featured Guild Leader of the Synapse Institute, whose assistant Hiccup vaguely recalled ejecting from Astrid's party. Thorne offered Hiccup a tight, insincere smile that didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. Great. Just what he needed.
The announcer, Buck Bludvist, was already hyping the semi-final match. Astrid entered the arena first, moving with fluid grace, acknowledging the roaring crowd with a brief nod. Then came her opponent, Throk – a mountain of a man whose Rhino anima was already partially manifested in his thick, grey, armor-like hide and the beginnings of a horn on his nose.
"Alright, folks!" Buck yelled. "The semi-finals! Apex's Panther Prodigy, Astrid Hofferson, versus Synapse's Unstoppable Juggernaut, Throk the Mauler! Who will move on to the final bout?!"
The fight began. It was immediately clear this was different from Astrid's earlier matches. Throk wasn't fast, but he was incredibly powerful, charging like his namesake, shaking the arena floor. Astrid flowed around him, a blur of motion, landing quick, stinging strikes with her claws, aiming for joints and weak points in his hide. Throk roared, swiping blindly, trying to corner her. Astrid was clearly faster, more skilled, but she wasn't dominating. She was being cautious, analytical, wearing him down. She was… playing with him, Hiccup realized, but this time it wasn't just for show; it was tactical.
"Your girlfriend seems hesitant," Director Thorne murmured beside Hiccup, his voice dripping with condescension. "Perhaps the pressure is too much? Or perhaps she recognizes true power when she sees it." He gestured vaguely at Throk. "Synapse builds them tough."
"She's assessing him," Hiccup retorted coolly, refusing to rise to the bait. "Astrid doesn't rush into things blindly."
"Hmm," Thorne sniffed. "A pity such talent is wasted on… well. Still, I suppose someone of your… unique status… shouldn't even be permitted in this section. This is for Guild Leaders, top prospects…"
"I'm Astrid Hofferson's boyfriend," Hiccup stated firmly, meeting the Director's gaze. "I have every right to be here."
Thorne just smirked dismissively. "Enjoy the phase while it lasts, boy. It's clearly just a stunt."
Before Hiccup could retort, Stoick cleared his throat loudly. "Son," he said, his voice carrying easily over the arena noise, seemingly addressing Hiccup but clearly intended for Thorne's ears. "Looking over the competitors today… putting Astrid aside, naturally… who among them do you think truly showed Apex potential?"
Hiccup blinked, surprised by the question, then caught the subtle glance Stoick flicked towards the fuming Synapse Director. Oh. OH. Game on.
Hiccup pretended to consider, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Honestly, Dad? None of them."
Stoick raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"
"Because," Hiccup said clearly, pitching his voice to carry, "none of them presented even a fraction of a challenge to Astrid. She hasn't broken a sweat all day. With all due respect to the other competitors, they simply aren't up to Apex standards if she can dismantle them that easily."
"What about this fellow?" Stoick pressed, gesturing towards Throk, who had just missed Astrid with a clumsy charge. "He seems to be holding his own."
Hiccup leaned forward, adopting an analytical tone. "Yes, it seems like that at first glance. Throk is powerful, durable, certainly putting up a fight." He let the faint praise hang in the air. "But look closer. His movements are entirely defensive. His focus is locked on survival, anticipating her next strike. He's reacting, not dictating." He paused, then pointed towards Astrid, who had just effortlessly dodged another blow and landed a sharp kick to Throk’s knee, making him stumble. "Now look at Astrid. She's relaxed. She's moving fluidly. She's smiling. Throk is trying to survive. Astrid," Hiccup declared, unable to keep the pride from his voice, "is playing with him."
Stoick let out a roar of delighted laughter, clapping Hiccup on the back again. "Ha! Well analyzed, son! Sharp eyes indeed!"
Beside Hiccup, Director Thorne went rigid. Hiccup saw the man's knuckles turn white around the armrest of his chair. There was a faint crack sound. Ribbing between Guild reps was normal at these events, but Thorne seemed disproportionately furious. Hiccup filed that reaction away mentally. Interesting.
Down in the arena, Astrid seemed to decide playtime was over. She dodged another charge, then suddenly exploded forward. She moved in a blur, landing a series of lightning-fast strikes. Throk roared in frustration, swinging wildly.
Then, something unexpected happened. As Throk charged again, there was a flicker, a momentary shimmer around him, almost like… static discharge? And he moved with a burst of speed that seemed entirely wrong for his bulky Rhino anima. It wasn't much, barely a half-second advantage, but it was enough.
Astrid, clearly caught off guard by the unnatural speed, couldn't evade completely. Throk’s fist, encased in thick, grey hide, slammed into her abdomen.
The blow landed solidly against her abs. Harder than she expected. She felt the impact, registered the force, but her enhanced musculature and Panther resilience absorbed it easily. No real damage done. But the speed… that wasn't right for a Rhino anima.
Interesting, she thought, easily sidestepping Throk’s follow-up swing. She landed lightly a few feet away, tilting her head, observing him with new curiosity. How did you do that? Manifest two animas? Some kind of unstable mutation? Synapse tech?
Whatever it was, he’d landed a hit. He’d surprised her. That meant he’d stopped being amusing and started being potentially dangerous. Time to end this.
She didn’t bother with fancy moves. She simply gathered her power, focused her intent, and launched herself forward again, a blur of controlled fury. This time, she didn't hold back. She met his next clumsy charge head-on, using his momentum against him, redirecting his force while simultaneously landing a series of rapid, disabling strikes – claws slicing tendons just enough to cripple, not sever; a powerful blow to his temple that snapped his head back. He crumpled to the arena floor like a felled tree, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Astrid shifted back to her human form, breathing only slightly harder, brushing a stray piece of fur from her bodysuit. I guess he wasn't that big of a deal after all, she shrugged internally.
She looked up, her gaze immediately finding the VIP box. Finding him. Hiccup was leaning forward, his expression a mixture of relief and awe. Their eyes met across the distance, and she felt that familiar, ridiculous flip in her stomach. Gods, he was adorable when he looked at her like that. Especially when his own eyes held that faint emerald glow – it meant his emotions were running high, that his attention was entirely, completely focused on her. It was… hot.
She noted Director Thorne practically vibrating with fury beside Hiccup, and Stoick beaming like a proud papa Lion. Figures. She started towards the exit, ready to head back, maybe find Hiccup…
"Miss Hofferson!" A Gauntlet coordinator, clipboard in hand, hurried over. "Excellent work! Your next match is scheduled in approximately fifteen minutes. Please remain in the staging area. Water?"
Fifteen minutes? Ugh. She took the offered water bottle. Just as she did, Buck Bludvist’s voice boomed over the speakers again. "An absolutely dominant performance by Astrid Hofferson! But the question remains, folks: can this incredible talent overcome her questionable taste in men? Or will the distraction prove too much in the final round?!"
Astrid felt her claws partially extend instinctively, her knuckles white around the water bottle. That announcer is really grinding my gears, she thought, taking a deep, calming breath, remembering Stoick’s advice about not giving them ammunition. Deep breaths, Hofferson. Just win.
Her next opponent was introduced – a Forge & Vein powerhouse named Mogdon the Massive, whose Bear anima was known for its sheer destructive force. He stomped into the arena, roaring, looking eager to brawl. Before the gong even sounded, Mogdon pointed a thick, clawed finger at Astrid.
"Think you're tough 'cause you beat up that Synapse weakling?" he sneered, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Everyone knows you only got this far 'cause you're Stoick's pet! Using his pathetic son to secure your position! There's no way a slip of a girl like you could actually earn a place in the final! You're probably just some brainless bimbo good at looking pretty for the cameras!" He was about to say something else, something undoubtedly cruder, judging by the leer on his face…
The gong sounded.
Astrid didn't wait. She didn't analyze. She didn't play. Pure, cold fury surged through her, overriding strategy. She shifted instantly, not just to hybrid, but faster, pushing harder than she ever had before. The world dissolved in a blur of instinct and rage.
When her vision cleared, Mogdon was on the floor beneath her, pinned flat on his back. Her claws – fully extended, lethally sharp for the first time in the Gauntlet – were digging slightly into the thick fur around his throat. One sharp claw tip hovered millimeters above his wide, terrified eye. He was babbling, screaming.
"Yield! Yield! I yield! Surrender! Done! Finished!"
Astrid leaned down, her voice a low, deadly whisper only he could hear. "Don't yield. I'm not done with you yet." She pressed the claw slightly, drawing a single drop of blood that welled up beside his eye.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her back forcibly. Apex security. Mogdon scrambled away, still screaming about yielding. The crowd was utterly silent, stunned by the sudden, brutal display.
Astrid stood there, panting, the red mist of fury slowly receding, leaving a cold clarity. She looked up towards the VIP box. Towards Hiccup. His face was pale, his green eyes wide with shock and… concern? Her anger cooled further, replaced by a pang of regret. She hadn't meant to lose control like that.
She glanced at Stoick. His expression wasn't proud this time. It was stern. Disappointed. And that look… it triggered something. A memory, sharp and clear.
Apex Training Arena, a few weeks ago.
She slammed her fist into the practice dummy, sending it flying into the wall. "It's not fair!" she yelled.
Stoick blocked her next wild swing easily. "What's not fair, lass?"
"The rumors! The way people talk about Hiccup! About us! Like he's nothing, like I'm just using him! It makes me furious!" She launched another flurry of attacks, reckless and aggressive.
Stoick deflected them patiently, then caught her wrist. "Astrid! Calm down." He pushed her gently away. "Anger makes you sloppy."
"How can I calm down?" she demanded, pacing like a caged panther. "Have you seen what BNN is saying? What those idiots online post?"
Stoick crossed his massive arms. "I told you when you signed that contract, lass. Being Apex, especially being good, draws attention. Draws flies. You told me you could handle it."
"I can handle it when it's about me!" she retorted fiercely. "But Hiccup? He hasn't done anything to deserve this! It makes me want to rip someone's throat out!"
Stoick sighed, his expression softening slightly. He placed a heavy, calming hand on her shoulder. "That fire, that protectiveness… that's one of the things I admire about you, lass. Thinking of others first. It's important." He paused, his gaze serious. "But you must realize, now you are not just Astrid Hofferson, Panther anima. You are Apex. Every action you take reflects on the Guild. You need to hold your head high, project control, and not play their games. Anything they can use against you, any loss of control, any public outburst… they can, and will, use it against Hiccup too. Don't give them the ammunition."
"So I should just ignore it?" she asked bitterly. "Why don't you do more? Shut them down? Keep him away from the media?"
Stoick shook his head sadly. "He doesn't want that, Astrid. He doesn't want my protection, not like that. He certainly doesn't want my pity. He wants me to treat him like anyone else, let him find his own way." His voice roughened slightly. "Gods know, I love my son more than anything. But the best way I can help him right now is to give him the space to become his own man, not to fight his battles for him."
"So I should leave him alone?" she asked, confused.
"No! That isn't what I am saying!" Stoick corrected gently. "My relationship is different – I'm his father and his Guild Leader. Yours… yours is different too." He looked at her intently. "If you want to lead this Guild someday, Astrid, you'll need to figure out how to navigate these waters. How to protect those you care about without compromising your position or their pride. The earlier you learn, the better. Just…" he added with a wry smile, "…don't let Hiccup know you're 'protecting' him. Hurts his pride something fierce."
Astrid took a shaky breath, the memory settling over her. Control, Hofferson. Control.
Her final opponent was already being announced – a raven-haired young woman named Heather, representing a smaller, independent Guild focused on exploration and reconnaissance. Astrid vaguely recognized the name – wasn't that who Fishlegs...? She shook the thought away. Focus.
Heather was good. Surprisingly good. Fast, agile, using what looked like a mix of martial arts and unpredictable anima-enhanced movements (Level 1 mastery, maybe touching Level 2, but inconsistent). The trickiest part, was that Astrid coulnd’t figure out what her anima actually was. She seemed like any normal human. But the anima strength was undeniable. Astrid found herself actually having to work, predicting feints, blocking quick strikes, looking for openings. This wasn't the brute force of Throk or the sloppy aggression of Mogdon; this was skill.
Frustration prickled at Astrid again. She shouldn't be struggling like this, not after Mogdon. She needed to end this decisively, prove her dominance, prove Stoick's faith in her wasn't misplaced, prove to the doubters… prove to Hiccup…
Enough. With a low growl, she pushed her power further, embracing the full hybrid transformation again. Tawny fur rippled across her skin, claws extended, senses sharpened. The crowd gasped as the 'werecougar' form fully materialized under the arena lights. Heather visibly faltered, her eyes widening at the sight of Astrid's fully controlled Level 2 shift.
That hesitation was all Astrid needed. She exploded forward, a blur of tawny fur and lethal intent. The fight ended swiftly after that, Heather overwhelmed by the sheer power and speed of Astrid's hybrid form. Astrid stood over her defeated opponent, letting out a roar – an attempt to mimic Stoick's intimidating display, though it came out as a slightly higher-pitched, less earth-shattering sound. Still, the crowd erupted, chanting her name. Hofferson! Hofferson! Apex!
She shifted back, breathing heavily, forcing herself calm. The Gauntlet officials hurried forward. Buck Bludvist was practically screaming into his microphone about her victory. They presented her with the ridiculously oversized Gauntlet trophy in the center of the arena. Flashbulbs popped.
"And now," Buck announced, shoving a microphone towards her, "a few words from our dominant champion, Astrid Hofferson! Astrid, an incredible performance! What do you have to say to your adoring fans?"
Astrid took the microphone, her heart pounding, not from the fight, but from the decision she’d made somewhere between pinning Mogdon and transforming against Heather. She scanned the crowd, finding Hiccup easily in the VIP box. He looked pale, worried, but his eyes held unwavering support. Okay, Hofferson, she told herself. No more games. No more subtle hints. Time to be direct. This is the only way. The only way to make him truly believe it, and the only way to silence them all for good.
She turned back to the microphone, addressing the entire stadium, the entire city watching on holo-broadcasts. "Thank you," she began, her voice clear and steady. "Winning the Gauntlet is an honor." She paused, taking a deep breath. "But victory doesn't mean much if you don't have someone to share it with. Someone who believes in you even when you don't deserve it, someone who sees past the anima, past the Guild rank…" Her gaze locked onto Hiccup's wide, shocked eyes on the jumbotron screen. "Someone brilliant, and kind, and ridiculously stubborn, who makes me better just by being himself."
She ignored the confused murmurs starting in the crowd, ignored Buck Bludvist’s frantic gesturing off-camera. She took another breath.
"The media, the gossips, they ask what I see in him. They ask if I'm serious." A fierce, determined smile spread across her face. "Well, I'll show you how serious I am."
And then, Astrid Hofferson, Apex Star, Gauntlet Champion, did the unthinkable. She dropped to one knee in the center of the arena, holding the microphone like a proposal ring, looking directly into the main camera feed broadcasting Hiccup’s stunned face to the world.
"Hiccup Haddock," she declared, her voice ringing with absolute conviction, silencing the entire stadium. "Forget the Guilds, forget the rumors, forget what anyone else thinks. Marry me?"
Down in the VIP box, Hiccup Haddock’s eyes went impossibly wide. His jaw dropped. He swayed slightly.
Then, quite distinctly, he fainted dead away.
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