What if Louis came back from the dead years after his death, only to discover that Owen, the husband he had barely gotten to spend any time with after their marriage, had fallen in love again and built a life with Legundo?
This might need a name lol
The first real crack in the ice came entirely by accident. Legundo was making his way through the castle with an armful of freshly folded sheets balanced against his chest. The halls were quiet, save for the distant creaks of old stone settling and the occasional draft rattling against ancient windows.
It was peaceful.
Then he heard a low mechanical rumble. He paused. The sound seemed to come from somewhere down the servants' corridor. A few seconds passed.
Silence.
Then another rumble. Followed immediately by a sharp stream of French that sounded deeply offended.
Legundo blinked.
Slowly, he turned toward the laundry room. There was another rumble. Another curse. Then what sounded suspiciously like someone threatening the machine.
Curiosity won. Balancing the sheets against one hip, Legundo pushed open the door. The sight that greeted him nearly made him laugh on the spot. Louis stood in the center of the room with his arms folded tightly across his chest. Directly in front of him sat the washing machine. The washing machine was doing absolutely nothing remarkable. It simply spun the load inside with a steady rhythmic hum.
Louis stared at it with the same expression a knight might reserve for a dragon. The machine rumbled. Louis narrowed his eyes. The machine continued washing clothes. Louis somehow looked even more suspicious. For several seconds neither appeared willing to back down.
"What are you doing?"
Louis didn't look away from his opponent. "The box growls."
Legundo stared. "The washing machine?"
"It growls."
"That's what washing machines do."
Louis finally glanced toward him. His expression was entirely serious. "It sounds unhappy."
The sheer sincerity in his voice broke whatever resistance Legundo had. A laugh escaped before he could stop it. The sound echoed off the stone walls. Louis immediately looked offended. Not angry. Just offended. Like Legundo had failed to appreciate a very serious problem.
"I fail to see what is amusing."
Legundo tried and failed to compose himself. "I'm sorry. I just..." He shook his head. "You've been standing here arguing with the washing machine?"
"I have not been arguing with it." The machine rumbled again. Louis glared at it. Legundo raised an eyebrow. Louis hesitated. "...Much."
Another laugh escaped him. For a brief moment Louis looked ready to take offense again. Then something in his expression shifted. His gaze drifted back toward the machine.
Not annoyed.
Not irritated.
Confused.
Legundo found himself studying him. Really studying him.
Louis always carried himself with an air of confidence. Elegant clothes. Perfect posture. Sharp remarks. The sort of man who seemed impossible to catch off guard. Yet standing here in the laundry room, staring suspiciously at an appliance, he suddenly looked far younger than the centuries he carried.
Lost, almost. As though the world had moved on without him. Because it had.
The realization settled heavily in Legundo's chest. He'd spent weeks thinking of Louis as Owen's first husband. The vampire who had suddenly returned and complicated everything.
But Louis wasn't just that. He was someone who had died. Someone who had opened his eyes again centuries later to discover the world was unrecognizable.
Electricity.
Cars.
Phones.
Medicine.
Washing machines.
A thousand ordinary things that everyone else took for granted. Things Louis had never had the chance to learn. The annoyance Legundo had been carrying around for weeks suddenly felt much smaller.
The machine let out another low rumble. Louis frowned at it. "See?"
Legundo bit back a smile. "Come here."
Louis looked over immediately. Suspicious. "Why?"
"So I can show you how it works."
The suspicion deepened. "Why?"
"Because it's a washing machine, Louis. Not a hostile creature."
Louis glanced between him and the machine. His expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "It's making noises."
"That's normal."
"It shakes."
"That's normal too."
"It sounds upset."
Legundo set the sheets down on a nearby table. "It isn't upset."
"How do you know?"
"Because I own one."
Louis looked unconvinced. "You own many questionable things."
Legundo snorted. "Come here."
After a moment Louis reluctantly stepped closer. Legundo crouched beside the machine and gestured toward the glass door. "Look."
Louis leaned down. Inside, shirts and towels tumbled through soapy water. His eyes widened slightly. The reaction was so genuine that Legundo had to hide another smile.
"It spins them."
"Yes."
"And that cleans them?"
"Yes."
Louis stared. The machine continued its work. "That seems inefficient."
Legundo laughed. For a moment they stood side by side watching the laundry spin. The room filled with the steady hum of machinery.
For once, the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It simply existed.
Louis tilted his head. "So where does the water come from?"
"The pipes."
"And where do the pipes get it?"
Legundo launched into an explanation. Halfway through, he realized Louis was actually listening. Not pretending. Not waiting for his turn to speak. Listening with genuine curiosity. And for the first time since Louis had returned, Legundo found himself enjoying his company.
When he glanced over, he discovered Louis was smiling faintly at the machine. Not because he understood it. Because he finally didn't have to figure it out alone.
After the laundry room incident, things began improving in small, almost invisible ways. Not enough that either of them would have admitted it.
But enough.
Conversations became easier. The awkward silences became shorter. Sometimes Legundo would walk into a room and Louis wouldn't immediately leave. Sometimes Louis would make a dry comment and Legundo would catch himself smiling.
It wasn't friendship. Not yet. But it was heading somewhere.
The kitchen incident happened entirely because Owen had the terrible habit of encouraging things.
"Why don't you try cooking?"
Louis looked up from the book he was reading. Owen was sprawled across the couch beside him, one arm hooked around Louis's shoulders. Legundo was sitting nearby, sorting through patient notes.
Louis stared at Owen. "Because I do not eat."
"That's not the point."
"It is exactly the point."
Owen grinned. "You've never cooked before?"
Louis looked mildly offended. "Of course I have." Then he paused. A thoughtful look crossed his face. "...Actually, no."
Legundo snorted.
Owen immediately sat upright. "You've never cooked?"
"I've never needed to."
"Not once?"
Louis gestured vaguely. "Owen, I spent centuries drinking blood."
"Fair."
"I am a vampire."
"Also fair."
"I have no idea why either of you expect me to know how soup works."
Legundo laughed.
Owen pointed dramatically. "That's exactly why you should learn."
Louis narrowed his eyes. "Every terrible idea you've ever had has started with those words."
Several hours later, Legundo was in the infirmary organizing medical supplies when a strange smell drifted through the open doorway.
At first he ignored it. The castle was old. Strange smells happened. Then the smell grew stronger. Smoke. Not the comforting scent of firewood from one of the castle's fireplaces. Not a candle left burning too long.
This was thick. Acrid. The unmistakable smell of something going catastrophically wrong.
Legundo froze with a bottle still in his hand. "Oh no."
A second later hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Owen appeared in the doorway. "You smell that too?"
Legundo slowly lowered the bottle. "I smell that."
They stared at each other. The realization hit simultaneously.
"The kitchen."
"The kitchen."
Then both of them were running.
The closer they got, the worse it became. Smoke drifted through the corridor ahead. Something clattered loudly. A string of rapid French followed. Then silence. Then another loud clang.
Legundo immediately picked up his pace.
Owen looked worried. Which was concerning. Because Owen rarely worried about anything. The moment they reached the kitchen door, Owen shoved it open.
Both men stopped dead. The kitchen looked like a crime scene. Vegetables covered nearly every available surface. A knife was sticking upright out of a cutting board. An onion sat abandoned on the floor. Several more appeared to be attached to the ceiling somehow.
Neither of them wanted an explanation. A cookbook lay open on the counter. One page had been aggressively folded back. And standing in the center of the destruction was Louis. Arms folded. Perfect posture. Utterly composed. As if he hadn't single-handedly transformed the kitchen into a disaster zone.
In front of him sat a pot. The contents of the pot were on fire. Not the stove. Not the burner. The soup itself. The soup had become fire.
Louis looked up as they entered. "Oh." He pointed at the pot. "I believe there may be an issue."
For several seconds nobody spoke. The soup crackled. A small flame popped. Legundo blinked. Owen blinked. Louis waited patiently.
"What happened?" Legundo finally asked.
Louis gestured toward the cookbook. "I followed the instructions."
Owen looked at the pot. Then at Louis. Then back at the pot. "The soup is on fire."
"Oui."
"Soup should not be on fire."
Louis frowned thoughtfully. His gaze drifted toward the flames. The flames flickered back. After a moment he nodded.
"Je m'en doutais." (I suspected as much.)
The silence lasted exactly one second. Then Owen doubled over laughing. Legundo wasn't far behind.
Louis stared at both of them in disbelief. "I fail to see what is amusing."
"You burned soup!" Owen managed between laughs.
"I know that."
"How?"
"I don't know!"
That only made Owen laugh harder. He grabbed the nearest counter for support. Legundo had tears gathering in his eyes.
Louis looked personally offended by their reaction. "I followed the recipe."
"The soup is literally on fire," Legundo wheezed.
"Then perhaps the recipe is incorrect."
"You think the recipe told you to make fire?"
"It neglected to warn me against it."
Owen made a choking noise.
Eventually Legundo stepped forward to inspect the damage. Louis immediately moved aside.
Though not before muttering something under his breath. "Quelle humiliation..." (What a humiliation...)
Unfortunately for him, Owen understood French. The vampire immediately burst out laughing again.
"Oh, don't start."
"You are laughing at my suffering."
"You set soup on fire."
"I did not do it intentionally."
Legundo opened the lid. A cloud of smoke exploded upward. He immediately regretted every decision that had brought him here. Inside was a blackened substance that no longer resembled food.
Louis leaned over his shoulder. "What is that?"
"You made it."
"I am aware." Louis narrowed his eyes at the contents. "But what is it?"
Owen slid into a chair because his legs had apparently stopped functioning.
By the time the kitchen was restored, evening had settled outside the castle windows. The smoke had cleared. The ruined soup had been discarded. The surviving vegetables had been rescued. And somehow all three of them had ended up sitting around the kitchen table.
Nobody seemed particularly eager to leave.
Owen rested his chin in his hand. Still smiling.
Legundo looked exhausted.
Louis looked deeply offended by the entire concept of cooking.
For a while they sat in comfortable silence.
Then Owen spoke. "You know," he said softly, looking between them, "this is nice."
Louis raised an eyebrow. "The kitchen nearly burned down."
"A little."
"The soup attacked me."
"The soup did not attack you."
"It absolutely did." Louis pointed toward the discarded pot. "I was minding my own business."
Legundo and Owen laughed. And after a moment, Louis did too. A real laugh this time. Not one of his polite chuckles. Not the amused huff he sometimes gave Owen.
A genuine laugh.
Warm.
Bright.
Completely unguarded.
The sound surprised all three of them. For a brief moment, the room fell quiet. Owen looked at him. Really looked at him. And his smile softened. Because Louis was happy.
Not forcing it.
Not pretending.
Actually happy.
"Mon amour," (My love,) Louis said, looking toward Owen with fond exasperation, "you are a terrible influence."
Owen's grin widened immediately. "I know."
Louis shook his head. Then his gaze shifted toward Legundo. The doctor was still smiling. Still trying and failing not to laugh. Something warm flickered across Louis's expression.
Small.
But genuine.
"Though perhaps," he admitted, "you are not the only one."
Legundo snorted. "That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"I wouldn't get used to it."
Yet he was smiling when he said it. And somehow, sitting around a kitchen table after nearly burning down part of the castle, surrounded by smoke and ruined soup and ridiculous laughter, the three of them felt less like rivals and more like a family.
The weight of the heavy, red cloak of his uniform always felt twice as heavy at the end of the day.
Easthies unclasped the fastens at his collar, his fingers slightly stiff from hours of gripping his staff and signing disciplinary decrees. His eyes ached. As the captain of his squad, the burden of maintaining order among the Pointed Caps, of hunting down those who dared to transgress the laws of magic, rested squarely on his shoulders.
He closed the door to his private quarters, letting out a rare, exhaustive sigh. The room was sparse, functional, and devoid of the whimsical comforts other witches favored. He was looking forward to nothing more than a few hours of dreamless sleep.
Then, he stopped.
A cool draft brushed against the back of his neck. His gaze snapped to the stone arched window. It was unlatched. Barely a finger’s width ajar, but enough to set every instinct he possessed on a razor's edge.
Easthies didn’t hesitate. His hand gripped his pen instinctively, his posture locking into a defensive stance. He scanned the shadows of his room, his sharp eyes cutting through the dim candlelight, searching for the telltale glimmer of forbidden glyphs or an intruder’s silhouette.
Instead, a faint, unnatural mist began to roll over the sill. It swirled with a quiet, mesmerizing grace, pooling onto the stone floor before condensing into a shape right behind him.
Before he could spin around, a pair of arms wrapped gently over his shoulders from behind. A familiar, soft warmth pressed against his back, and a teasing voice whispered directly into his ear.
"Miss me?"
Easthies didn’t flinch. The rigid tension in his shoulders slowly, begrudgingly melted away. He let out a long, slow breath, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second.
"You are incredibly foolish," Easthies murmured, his voice low and raspy from the long day, though he made no move to push her away. "You could be killed just trying to cross into this territory. What are you doing here?"
You let out a soft, melodic laugh, resting your chin on his shoulder, completely unbothered by his stern tone. "Please, Easthies. Give me some grace. I wouldn't dare be that careless. Besides, you didn't answer my question. Did you miss me?"
He didn't answer right away. His mind drifted, pulling him back through the years, peeling away the layers of the hardened man he had become.
He remembered when you were both just small apprentices, studying under the same roof. Even back then, your genius was undeniable. You possessed a breathtaking prowess for magic, drawing clean glyphs with a creativity that left teachers marvelling. But alongside that talent was a bottomless, insatiable curiosity, a desire to know what lay beyond the rigid boundaries established by the dynamic of the pointed caps.
That curiosity had eventually led you down a forbidden path. You had chosen the Brimmed Cap, embracing the wild, restricted magic that the rest of society feared.
And he? He had joined the Knights Moralis. He became the shield and the sword meant to eradicate exactly what you had become.
By all rights, I should report you, he thought, a familiar, bitter irony twisting in his chest. I should draw my pen and execute the law on the spot.
He had told himself that the first night you snuck into his quarters years ago. He had told himself that dozens of times since. Yet, every single time you appeared like a phantom in the night, his resolve crumbled. He loved you too much. He was selfish—disgustingly so, by his own moral standards—for turning a blind eye to a Brim Hat.
But even with that love, he could never join you. The mere thought of becoming a Brim Hat himself, of breaking the fundamental laws of their world, filled him with a deep, visceral disgust. He was a creature of order; you were a creature of the forbidden. They were two forces that should have destroyed each other on sight.
Instead, he turned around in your embrace, his hands coming up to gently grip your wrists. He looked down into your eyes, his expression a mix of exhaustion and affection.
"Be careful," he said, his voice dropping to a fierce, quiet whisper. "If the guards catch even a whisper of your ink..." He trailed off, shaking his head. He looked toward his bed. "Spend the night. If you're going to risk your life to come here, you might as well stay put where it's safe."
A radiant smile broke across your face. "I'd love to."
With a soft sigh of contentment, you reached up and slid the wide-brimmed hat from your head, setting it carefully on his desk. Without an ounce of hesitation, you climbed into his bed, pulling the heavy, unadorned blankets up to your chin.
Easthies watched you, a faint, barely visible softening in his eyes. His bed was notoriously uncomfortable, stiff, practical, and meant for a soldier, not a regular witch. He complained about it to himself most days. But as he extinguished the candles, removed his heavy outer coat, and lay down beside you, the stiffness of the mattress seemed to vanish.
You immediately slid closer, snuggling into his side and resting your head against his chest. Easthies wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close, burying his face into your hair.
For a few hours, the rules didn't exist. The forbidden magic of the Brim Hats didn't exist. In the quiet sanctity of the dark room, listening to the steady rhythm of each other's breathing, they were just two small apprentices again, finding comfort in the only person who truly understood them.
In the episodes of Shell Shocked, Ruffnut and Tuffnut mention how Viggo would actually be fun to hang with if he didn't try to kill them all the time. Can you imagine Viggo being among the chaos of the Edge? I'm telling you, he wouldn't last a week.
.
Hiccup: Dragon Fly Four!
Hiccup: *jumps off a cliff*
Viggo:
.
Viggo: Fishlegs, are you alright?
Fishlegs: I will only tell you this once, senile old man, the name is Bonecrusher, Thor Bonecrusher
Viggo:
Viggo: wat
.
Viggo: should you not be at practice?
Snotlout: no, I quit the dragon riders. I will now be a beggar in the streets, all alone, cold, like my dead heart.
Viggo: oh--
.
Viggo: hello
Tuffnut: I kissed a frog :D
Viggo: goodbye
.
Viggo: finally, a sane person
Astrid, carrying two axes, five knives, a spear and a sword: kill
Viggo: understandable, have a great day
.
Ruffnut: *sitting behind a game board*
Viggo: ah! Maces and Talons, may I join?
Ruffnut: can't. I ate the pieces
Viggo: excuse-- you what
Ruffnut: I ate the pieces
Viggo:
Ruffnut: don't tell Hiccup
.
Ironically, Viggo finds dragons are the most sane creatures on the island.
I heard this metaphor growing up, and in my case, it backfired supremely, because I went out into my neighbor's backyard where a rose bush was growing, and the one I tested had like 30 petals (it was yellow, but definitely a rose of some kind), and as a very logical lass, I came to the conclusion that you could have premarital sex AT LEAST ten times before your future husband would even notice something was up. Moral of the story? Test your metaphors on the weirdest and most neurodivergent child you know before writing your weird religious propaganda.
let’s be a plush with baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby and baby
don’t talk to me or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my daughter or my–
Does anyone know about the OUAT Season 2 DVD bonus feature called Good Morning Storybrooke which is an entire twelve minute broadcast with the morning news and features the following highlights along with other content?:
Doctor Whale giving relationship advice
Belle reviewing books she hasn’t finished yet
Grumpy reuniting with Nova post-curse as they fold a fitted sheet (it’s very awkward)
(My favourite part) Mr Gold’s minute long ad for his pawnshop where he invites people, in a friendly customer service voice, to come back and reclaim their belongings for a price (if they dare), highlighting Gepetto’s puppet parents, a recipe for curds and whey and his special deal on poisons and curses which he advises you to purchase before your neighbours do, before ending with what I can only assume to be his tagline - “Mr Gold’s Pawnshop - I wheel and I deal”
It’s absolutely hilarious and I have a link to the whole thing right here, I promise you will not be disappointed:
tangentwithtanner
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
gracieabrams
