it’s alive!

no change wasn't always easy, but she always tried to be adaptable to it. something about the current change she felt just hit differently. there were things about her sister that had changed that she couldn't quite place. the way she dressed wasn't like what she'd been used to. she assumed there was some hesitancy there, especially when the idea of a bow came up. then it felt like there were something weird between their sibling relationship. in her mind they'd been incredibly close, but then it felt like she just didn't know her that much. that whole day had been spent getting to know this new version of her sister. even as she now stood in the gardens the change felt strange.

The realm is healing, but the mess remains. The scars left by a madman have not disappeared entirely; Pink's desire to assess the welfare of Maddox's victims was only a matter of time. The gardens were a disaster. Broken branches laid scattered where once-tall trees were forced to bow; petals dispersed where they were trampled beneath careless boots; frightened creatures who startled at the slightest sound, cooped into hiding places. Together, she and Pink salvaged what - and who - they could, replanting flowers still with stems, coaxing animals out, assuring the threat was vanquished. Soon enough, things would go back to normal. IT'S NOT THE HOME RED REMEMBERS.

She isn't sure what to do. She fought battles without hesitation, faced monsters, time travel, difficult choices... her own mother. She'd stared down danger with unwavering resolve. But walking beside her sister? That's truly terrifying. The sister who looked at her with nothing but warmth, like Red could hold the weight of Wonderland on her shoulders and never stumble. She smiles as she watches Pink engage with the environment, as the magical flora and fauna practically jumps at the sight of her, longing for her companionship like she's Mother Nature herself. She'd been horrible, impatient, assuming; where in actuality, there's much more to Pink than initially believed. And here she is, surprising her (again!) with an intellect Red gave her far too little credit for. "I'm not sure I've ever known who I am. Or who I'm meant to be." She admits, voice carried amongst the late evening breeze.

Red wonders what it would be like to grow up believing everything could be soft, where the sunlight felt gentle and the world did not decay. "I spent so long just surviving, trying to be someone I thought everyone wanted, or expected. I..." She draws in a small breath, unsure how to explain any of this when Pink is kept so far in the dark. "I guess when that's all you're thinking about, you don't leave much room for figuring out who you really are." It's the cruellest kind of homesickness imaginable, to mourn a life you never knew. Her gaze drifts, seeking refuge among the landscape. Everywhere she looks, life unfolds with effortless extravagance. Roses spill over ivory arches in waterfalls of crimson and pearl; foxgloves reach toward a sky washed in luminous sapphire, blossoms dancing when the weather wanders through. SHE WANTS THIS LIFE SO BADLY IT ACHES.

Her mouth curves upwards before she chooses to smile, the reflection easily moulding her face for it has been rehearsed thousands of times, polished into something effortlessly Red. The practised ease of one comfortable in their own skin. "What if I said I preferred swords to sparkles?" A teasing edge weaves into her expression, clearly trying to make light of the situation, so when Pink inevitably rejects her - because they all do - it'll hurt less. IF I'M NOT WHAT YOU WANT, WILL YOU STAY WITH ME? "Or the idea of wearing bows in my hair makes me want to rip out my hair?" Tone lifts into a hint of humour; she gives Pink a sideways grin, one eyebrow arching as though setting up a joke. Then it falls, and for one, suspended second, Red stops in her tracks, saying nothing else. The silence isn't awkward, it unfurls naturally between them, like they've never needed endless conversations to fill patches of tranquillity.

Joyce  made  a  face  that  gave  away  she  was  unimpressed,  immediately  complaining  as  soon  as  the  clerk  was  out  of  earshot.  “Did  you  hear  what  that  woman  said  about  ' the ones in your price range? ',  what  the  hell  was  that  supposed  to  mean?  We  never  told  her  our  price  range,”  Joyce  muttered  under  her  breath,  resisting  the  urge  to  throw  a  glare  over  her  shoulder  in  the  clerk's  direction.  She  didn’t  care  about  being  judged  herself  but  she  didn’t  want  some  stranger  making  assumptions  about  her  son. “What  about  these  ones?”  Joyce  reached  to  pull  a  pair  down  from  the  display  rack.  They  were  black-rimmed  with  square-shaped  lenses. “They’ll  make  you  look  even  more  handsome.  What  do  you  think?”  She  held  them  out  for  him  to  try  with  an  encouraging  smile. 

A LAUGH ESCAPES BEFORE HE HAS THE CHANCE TO STOP IT. Between low chuckles he manages to intervene, "Mom," followed by a playful roll of the eyes, "I'm sure she meant nothing by it. And hey, if she did? I doubt they're gonna say anything else - not with your scary customer service face coming out." He nudges her shoulder, the movement small enough not to throw off his balance.

His palm tightens around the wooden handle of his cane, a short pulse of pain unfurling across his back, winding inside vertebrae that felt less like bones and more like fragile things someone painstakingly glued together. Walking was an exercise in negotiation, every step had terms, each shift in posture required permission from nerves, indecisive of whether they wished to cooperate or scream. But, for once, he can push it to the back of his mind and bring awareness to the task at hand. It's nice to be here, not because he particularly wanted glasses, certainly not because shopping had ever been a pastime he enjoyed. ⸻SIMPLY BEING OUT WITH HER IS A RATHER WELCOMED CHANGE. This level of normality is refreshing.

"I reckon you're legally required to say that," he quips in response to her flattery, but holds out his free hand to accept the gift. He knew from a young age he had poor eyesight, which is how he discovered that photography actually became easier than using his own eyes, for the camera possessed something he barely understood: the ability to focus on whatever demanded his attention. (IT NEVER SEEMED WORTH MENTIONING.) Not while Will outgrew clothes every six months or when Joyce apologised at Christmas for gifts failing to represent what she wanted to provide. He learned quickly to live in a hazy world. Only now, with hospital invoices silently sorted upon the arrival of government assistance; alongside the impossible weight of deciding between grocery and utility bills lifting from their shoulders, had the truth become tangible.

When he tries them on, the room doesn't turn brighter, but defined. Edges, which had spent his entire life dissolving into soft uncertainty, asserted themselves with astonishing confidence. The display shelves no longer blurred into broad horizontal shapes, revealing instead individual grooves carved into the wood. After a moment taken for silent clarity, he turns his focus towards her. All of a sudden he startles back, hand on his heart, dramatics weaving his every move. "Oh... Mom! Everything is so clear... I - I never realised how beautiful you are!" He beams, taking a half-step closer, pressing his palm against her cheek in a feather-light touch. "Wow... Not a single wrinkle in sight. I'm surprised." He teases with a toothy, boyish grin.

show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams and i'll show you a happy man.

there's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for.

i went to the woods because i wanted to live deliberately. i wanted to live deep and such out all the marrow of life.

we don't read and write poetry because it's cute.

the human race is filled with passion.

what will your verse be?

no matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.

you must strive to find your own voice.

the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all.

o captain! my captain!

sit down! do you hear me? sit down! this is your final warning!

sit down! i want you seated!

close your eyes. describe what you see.

forget them!

don't you forget this.

for the first time in my whole life, i know what i wanna do.

they're not that different from you, are they?

the world is their oyster.

they believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you.

if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you.

carpe diem. seize the day. make your life extraordinary.

what's going on?

is today your birthday? happy birthday!

what'd you get?

my parents gave me this.

they gave me the same thing as last year.

maybe they thought you needed another one.

you can feel it.

why do i stand up here? anybody?

we must constantly look at things in a different way.

sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone.

now we all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular.

what are the four pillars?

we're not laughing at you. we're laughing near you.

i was good. i was really good.

i just talked to my father.

i can't talk to him this way.

you have to show him who you are, what your heart is!

he'll tell me that acting's a whim and i should forget it.

they're counting on me.

isn't there an easier way?

i'm trapped.

i always thought the idea of education was to learn to think for yourself.

if i don't ask him, at least i won't be disobeying him.

i'll try anything once.

we're just trying very hard to understand why it is that you insist on defying us.

stop it! don't be so dramatic!

i've got to tell you what i feel!

we've been so worried about you!

time to inherit the earth.

it's a tragedy. a girl this beautiful in love with such a jerk.

all the good ones go for jerks. you know that.

i've only met her once, and already she's thinking about me.

tell me why they swoon!

you can't be in here. if they catch you, we're both gonna be in big trouble.

come with me.

they made everybody sign it.

"you're going to have to be more specific, max," chloe's expression remained neutral. she had her assumptions for what he referred to. in her mind there were only two kinds of possibilities. he'd want to know what she remembered of the old timeline from before red and herself changed the past. the other possibility being what had happened when she became the evil version of herself. perhaps he wanted to know about something else, but she isn't certain on that. chloe would be prepared for whatever he specifically wanted to know about her memories. really she remembered it all. whether that would be a good thing or not she'd likely find out soon enough.

He snorts, rolling his eyes, tone taking on a sharp, sarcastic edge. "A lot to unwrap? Well, if that's not the understatement of the century." But the softness in his features, the sheer yearning to understand, to cling to what little evidence has been provided, opens the window into his true nature. He's scared to ask, to grasp the full extent of what he's lost. (Just talk to her, like you should have in the first place, rather than persuading her to put on that damn bracelet. Part of him came here to apologise. ⸻He can get to that later.)

Maybe there once existed a version of Maddox whose smile came easily, for he'd never been consumed by an otherworldly obsession; who raised his son in a land untouched by the Isle and the countless tragedies emerging from its core. Such a marvellous possibility lived and died within the same breath, and not because fate naturally unfolded, but because someone changed it under the mere assumption that another future mattered more. How is he supposed to forgive that? No matter how desperately Max tries to will himself otherwise, he can't deny the uncomfortable truth coiling inside his very structure. When everything had been taken from him - when the knowledge of a better reality settled upon his chest like shattered glass - he hadn't reached for acceptance, forgiveness, or even grief. HE REACHED FOR REVENGE.

The realisation disgusted him as it took its course: HOW FRIGHTENINGLY EASY IT HAD BEEN. He'd judged his father all his life, through glimpses of a brilliant man whose heartbreak curdled into fixation, whose desire to reclaim what was stolen eclipsed every gentler inclination until vengeance became indistinguishable from purpose. Max always imagined a clear divide separating them, an invisible boundary he'd never cross. (THIS TIME I'M FINALLY BREAKING FREE?) But when shown a past now forever mourned, he crossed that line without noticing it was still there. He thinks only Chloe might empathise with what he's feeling - even if he, himself, can't. Max heeds her request, narrowing down his questions, asking the one that's weighed the heaviest thus far: "when you and Red - when you used the pocket watch that first time..." He still doesn't know all the details, what they deemed so important to drastically change everything. He shoves both hands deep into his coat pockets until the fabric pulls taut across his wrists, instinct over intention, attention turning uncharacteristically to the floor. It's an old habit, one that surfaces whenever uncertainty hollows out his confidence. "Did you know what would happen?"

He can't share this with Red - NOT YET. There's something unbearable about looking into a familiar face and realising they remembered a different version of you; someone you'd never be. Every conversation carried the weight of another history, one that vanished before granted the chance to endure. He's only left wondering what that forgotten self sounded like when he laughed, what stories he told, whether he stood a little straighter or smiled a little easier.

I bet he’s really frightened now.

his gaze travels from stormfly's saddle to astrid's earnest expression, a new wave of guilt washing over him after hearing her words. ❛ i do. ❜ he promises quickly. ❛ i do trust you. ❜ probably more than he trusted most people. there was something about her that was different, a tenderness that existed beneath her fierceness that will was able to recognize from their first interaction. ❛ but maybe i'm just not ... not meant for all of this. not like you or hiccup. ❜ he voices his fear, nervously fidgeting with his own fingers. he doesn't dare to look up, unable to face what he imagines is disappointment on her face. 

stormfly's nudge takes him by surprise but forces a giggle out of him, his hand reaching out to steady himself before resting on top of her head. she's comfortable, maybe not as comfortable as fireball but familiar enough to make him willing to accept the offer. astrid isn't trying to force him, she's simply offering the opportunity to show him something else. will could easily deny himself the experience and go back to spending his afternoons lazily sketching nature alongside fireball, the timberjack always more than happy to nap while will does his thing. 

before astrid hofferson ever opened her eyes beneath the skies of berk, the old gods had already imagined her. they shaped her from glacier walls, layering strength upon strength until her heart sat inside a cage sturdy enough to survive grief, battle, and love alike... but even gifts bestowed by ancient figures could falter, and unwanted vulnerability could shine. "you think we were made for this? will, nothing about what we do came easy, or is easy. for the love of freya - it's actually really hard most of the time." she admits, ( which to astrid, shield maiden, rider, survivor, is indeed a difficult feat ). she remembers being his age, assuming courage meant the absence of fear; a sentiment which couldn't be further from the truth. "you know you don't have to prove anything to us, right? we won't be disappointed if you decide dragon riding isn't for you."

as their deal is forged, she turns toward stormfly, reaching for the saddle with practiced ease - but her hand stops short of the leather, body stilling, like the atmosphere freezes around her. a breath escapes, slowly measured, and she laughs. it isn't loud or mocking; it's quieter than that, threaded with surprise, like she hadn't anticipated his question to reach so far back. she brushes hair from her face, tucks it behind her ear, and shifts her weight between both feet. itching hands prop on her hips as she looks over the endless expanse of sea, then back to the curious boy before her. it's not a tale she tends to sing from the rooftops, but perhaps a tune or two would help him. the confession arrives smoothly, "oh, i was terrified." when she flies now, the earth is tranquility made real. but back then...

"first time i flew wasn't even on stormfly… toothless had the honour." the name settles and is carried off almost reverently by the breeze. "i didn't trust him," she continues. "or hiccup. everything felt wrong, and unnatural." it's a memory she ponders upon more than she'd openly admit, when a very certain future abruptly changed paths. on the ground, she held herself like a drawn blade, sharp-backed and controlled, every gesture deliberate, every word carefully chosen before release. berk needed more warriors, so a warrior she became. then, at fifteen, she learnt that the sky demanded no performance, only asked for truth. flying stripped the heaviness living within her - the pressure of expectation, of constantly pushing harder and faster than everyone else.

"before that day, i knew exactly where my place was. in my life, the tribe, in the academy - i understood those things. but flying dragons?" she shakes her head. "it was different, i had no control, and it was pretty scary." in the air there is no judgement, no village politics, no concern of appearing weak... only velocity as freedom rushes through the veins so fiercely it bordered on pain. "i remember thinking i'd made a mistake, a huge one, and there was no turning back." not that there was any choice in the matter! "the ground just disappeared, and i didn't feel brave. i swore every movement would be the one that sent me falling." she recalled it the way sailors memorise storms that nearly drowned them: with awe sharpened by terror, every detail polished bright by endurance.

a faint, self-aware smile flickers across her lips, "but it got better." she fails to mention the reason toothless had been so rough with her. "the trust came eventually. not just in them, but in myself. in the knowledge that they wouldn't let me fall. and it became beautiful." before hiccup, she viewed the world as a battlefield divided cleanly between resolve and weakness, where glory was reached only by the hard-hearted. that impossible boy ruined her sole perception of reality, simply by believing things could be kinder. even today, dragons bear the power to unsettle her - not in fear, rather that they awaken something enormous, a primal awareness that humanity was not the centre of all. they belong to a deeper existence, one older than language. how she loved it.

she rolls her shoulders and straightens her back, shedding the weight of exposure. "yeah... safe to say i was scared. probably a hel of a lot more than you are right now." she steps closer, just for a moment, and lowers her voice so the wind can't steal it. "but you tell anyone i said that... and dragon riding will be the least of your concerns." before he has the chance to reply, she punches him lightly in the shoulder, playful, but firm enough to make her point. after its been made, she spins on her heels, signalling silently to stormfly; the nadder lowers herself down so her rider can easily climb atop. once comfortable, astrid throws her hand to @3demos, intending to pull him up next. "you're riding front, kid. so, you'll wanna hold this." with her free hand, she taps the handles attached to the saddle, "and i'll keep you steady from the back. one step at a time, just like i promised."