#<- tagging her as just Astrid from now on | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ravencromwell · 10 months ago

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Headcanons for either or both of the Dane twins?

Going beneath a cut, because somehow this turned into 3k of Astrid stream-of-consciousness musings on ruling her city, bracketed with Holland's disgusted dead-pan snark.

The very worst thing, Holland thinks in the bleakest moments, is that the Danes aren't the worst rulers Makt has ever had.

***

Athos alone probably would be. He is the lord of infinite, fruitless defiance, and if the city wants to give him such gifts as rebellion, who is he to say no? He will simply fight them all as entertainment between bouts of indulging his insatiable curiosity about artifacts. Emerging victorious would soothe his terror that everyone lost the throne eventually even if it left the city in ruins and more corpses than living people.

But if Athos is lord of defiance, Astrid is lady of small mercies.

From the moment the old man was dead, Astrid knows she will show none of his faux love and camaraderie to her subjects. They might love her in return, and those who love a queen want to see it reflected back, need her words of praise for their devotion no matter how they prattle simple service will suffice.

Such displays are tedious, love reserved for Athos alone.

But gratitude? Gratitude has its uses.

She and her brother want to leave their mark on this world (and its people). If her brother's little stone is as strong as they believe, one day folk privileged to suffer beneath their blades may show their scars with pride and whisper what a gift they were given by Makt's saviors.

If they do not, well. More fool them.

But in the meantime, even an Antari cannot hold off a hundred angry citizens, if they decided to mob. And sometimes, the Danes satiation requires a few missing loved ones. And inevitably, discontented souls decide there must be new blood. In especially unfortunate moments, those close to traitors have chosen to mewl about her brother's punishments and must be put down in their turn.

Her beloved Athos never understood how the body forgets pain. Men and women drink. They promise themselves the blood they saw running in the gutter was not as red as all that. Besides, it will not happen to them. To live in this city is to become deaf to screams, even your own.

Look at her brother's pretty thing. How many times has Athos made him scream? (Enough it's added a permanent, graveled edge to his voice, Antari or no.) And still she and Athos catch those glimpses of defiant hatred that are almost better than the blood for her twin.

Profound appreciation, by contrast? Thankful obligation at holding a living, breathing child, where a month ago there was dying skin and bones? That will make a man hesitate before joining a revolution.

Appreciation may even bind the Antari better than the spell of which Athos is so proud.

'Obey and protect my sister' Athos always says when he won't be close to repeat an unheeded command.

Still, she has seen how he can resist myriad precautions binding every joint and muscle and bone ! Athos's will. Seen the foolish delays, misinterpretations. Seen him dare, if Athos' words are closer to suggestions ignore them outright, force her brother to the clearest possible command. She suspects he can withstand even better as Athos' proximity fades.

Wasted breaths are risk, when blood is in the balance. Fortunately, she is no fool, wrapping herself in enough amulets calling him to her aid is rarely necessary. He rides beside her to prove that even the Dane with slightly less black in her veins can easily control their demon.

But at almost every sign of threat, he moves unprompted. Not because he fears her brother's retribution, not because the seal compels. He comes too swiftly for either of those. Holland Vosijk comes because he knows if she died, he would never throw alms to the city that hates him. No subsidized wheat; Athos would love watching the men and women he trains to ride behind them—never beside, no one is given enough knowledge to stand as equal to they two—into Arnes—divide the city into wedges and make the people under their control scrabble and beg.

When she first saw the stacks and stacks of carefully labeled payments to spell-crafters and curse-makers, she'd thought none of Athos' experiments would be needed. The old man had found a way to open the doors, and now he was dead, and they could simply ride into Arnes and snatch the glory.

But a magical payment for each farmer to feed the city as a whole, rather than their chosen hoard, wasn't the worst idea. And Astrid would happily put the dead's ideas to fine use.

She graciously allows the pretty former knight over-see it, so long as he remembers the queen is always watching.

(Though when speaking of food and goods of all kinds, it is her brother who shines in trade. His tactic is so very simple. So very effective. A merchant enters the throne room. Athos informs them what they will bring to the city. Should they complain or protest, he does not even deign to blink. Merely says: "Unbutton your shirt." And while the merchant is gawping and spluttering, the Antari bears his Seal.

"Do you know what this is?" her brother asks, gently.

By the time he has demonstrated the Seal to his satisfaction—such a thorough tutor to the less accomplished, her twin— the question of whether the merchant's trade might improve under Athos' control does not need asking.

Once, Athos slipped a request for a woman's first-born into a contract revision and she signed without even looking, so desperate to flee from the throne before she had matching runes. She even dutifully paraded the child to the castle six months later. Athos had no interest now she behaved so well, but Astrid found gratitude at keeping her child made her a most excellent spy. within the city.)

And then there are the sick. Perhaps the Antari would be allowed his little preoccupation if her brother ruled alone, assuming the family were desperate enough to contribute a person to his servants' ranks. But even mindless, there's something in his guards that hungers to live, ducking blades and attacks on instincts most would swear puppets could not have. He rarely needs replacement.

On those occasions a petitioner dares bring the ill to their attention, Astrid takes whatever their pathetic tribute is. With gloves, of course, because assassins lurk everywhere. Takes the faded, wilted flowers and oddly shaped rocks with the tiniest bit of color lurking in stone veins from the children—so many are children, young and unscarred enough to believe facing the twins and their demon is a price gladly paid even as those they keep alive will likely betray them eventually.

Adults, when they come, bring carefully knitted blankets and finely spun clothes. Once, there were even the most lovely hair combs, made of some creature's shell far from the south the woman called a tortoise. Why she would surrender them for a squalling brat who has years and years to die while she has nothing else to barter, Astrid cannot guess. But she passed the combs to Albiz, her brother's favorite among the spell-working salon, to check for curses and let Holland do his work.

There are not many such petitioners, but every one will go back into the city and whisper of the queen's mercy, how she always stood between them and the demon, and when it was done, their friend or child or lover was alive. Whispers that will still other's discontent.

She keeps almost all those talismans, unless something catches her brother's fancy. Carves spells into the stones, wraps herself in the blankets, wears the finely made trousers.

Though she has little use for wilted posies. "Keep them," she says gently, savoring Holland's second flickering of desperate relief at being handed a token not steeped in blood.

Funny, how he is even responsible for Astrid's proudest creation, though he disdains her falcons. The complement to her brother's court of favored scholars and magicians. Where her brother's is equally spread between men and women, barely any of her falcons are men. Men are so terribly squeamish about having their bodies borrowed. And all her falcons wear a possession charm, so she may see any part of the city through their eyes whenever she wishes.

She could simply force her will, toss a charm over any likely-looking neck. But she wants keen servants, who will willingly call her attention to matters of interest. Made hungry enough from being overlooked they have the grit to never utter a word of complaint when she enters them abruptly. To never fight when she raises their hands or opens their mouths. To fall upon her prey in whatever manner she requires and ask no questions.

The obedience Athos must bind, given freely.

In return, they shall never starve, never offer their measly tributes to free family from pain, never serve anyone's will but she and Athos.

Years later, the keenest ferocity of them all, her magicless, intrepid Gudrun, under the thumb of a father who craved a drudge incapable of disobedience until she went to the market and ran to rumors of Astrid's glove, nets her flower boy. Whispers the most ridiculous, delightful story about forbidden letters and a knight-turned hound's vices that sees Astrid smiling even days later as she prepares to fully possess a prince. Whispers it with the sweet conviction she must have displayed to her father before Astrid murmurred he could not touch her. To do all the things she must have dreamed. (He learned then a knife could make even a magicless woman a man's greatest terror and Gudrun snarled in delight.) Whispers until the Antari falls to her talons, while Astrid watches from half a city away.

What she wants is easy. What she will call them does not come to her until after Holland's third visit to Arnes, feeling her brother's hand squeeze hers in delight at the wonders of this red city. Both their fingers ache pleasantly from expressing such delight at the hours-long recitation, as they have each time her brother told the Antari to 'account for each moment in the Red City'.

The prey-vulnerable Red Royals must think they are predators, dawdling with their letters, letting 'Master Holland' wander the city while they mull their answers, thinking themselves so safe with their doors. She would mock them more, save their complacency makes for beautiful tales.

Later, he will learn to speak of Arnesian wonders in a monotone as though they were fool enough to believe the city left him any less awestruck than they. But in these early days, even he cannot help closing his eyes at the thought of the fat, juicy rabbits a hunting party carried with them. Or perhaps it is the juice running in rivulets across her brother's fingers and lips as he savors the last few bites of apple. So sweet, that juice, when he had pressed it to her lips for the first bite. She had laughed until her sides ached, spun him about the throne room. She would offer her brother a bite of her own pasty—what a marvelous idea, to tell his pretty thing he must fetch back two things he had enjoyed most for them—but even three trips in, she knew his tastes ran to sweet and savory, not the burn that accompanied her meat and vegetables.

"Did you like it because it burned, pretty thing? Because everything in their world should carry the burn of their betrayal?" she had asked, hours ago, and relished the hiss of breath when he forced the Seal to jerk his head in affirmation.

"Even as you could not help wanting the sweet," Athos had laughed, graciously smearing some of the juice in a lingering kiss at the corner of the Antari's mouth. She could see the red shine of it still. Will he clean it away the second he is alone, or be unable to resist the last taste of sweetness even as he hates himself for it? she wondered, and then the Antari's voice cracked, and Athos gestured that he might fill one of the glasses beside the water pitcher and she exhaled her disappointment.

"We will scry his room and see what he does another day," Athos whispered, and of course he too had wondered if his pretty thing could resist temptation.

"The leader had a bird on his arm," the Antari continued barely a moment later, setting the emptied glass on the table and before he was done explaining how such a fierce thing rested so easily for bits of meat, she was striding to Athos' scrying basin, pulling Holland behind. "Clever, pretty thing, seeing what I need. Falcons."

Such beautiful ferocities, and she tried to touch the feathers even as she knew she would only ripple the water. "As Tosal," her brother said softly, pressing against her back and she blinked.

"Mhmm?"

"He will go back tonight and bring you one with As Tosal. It will make the bird still and silent, but not turn it to stone."

"Was it your favorite, when you made him demonstrate all his mysterious tricks to the salon?"

"You know me so well. We will send him jingling with compulsion coins and they will be none the wiser."

"It isn't a fruit I can have forgotten in a pocket if something goes wrong."

"Then you will not let it go awry, Holland. Do you think a week's silence on his return would make him more or less inclined to state the obvious. It is so very dull."

"More, to spite you. It is what comes of wanting a pet who bites. Athos, come here." She held her mad, foolhardy brother, who would weave a plan in an instant and risk all his great discoveries to bring her something marvelous without her even needing to ask, close to her chest. "The pretty thing is not wrong. Besides, I do not need a falcon, love, only their design. For my court. Can he-"

"Of course. Tell us the rest of the trip later. For now-"

"Holland-" This once, for bringing her such a gift, she will grant his name, since he has so little liking for her sobriquet, "Find the best silver smith in the city. A falcon, in flight. On a chain, small enough to slip beneath a shirt. Bring a finished one for approval by lunch tomorrow."

It was midnight, he would have to roust the Shal's leader from a warm bed to find a smith he would also disturb, he was tired. If the Antari thought any of these things, he did not say them, simply turned on his heel and left.

***

In the next seven years, Holland Vosijk can count, with fingers to spare, those Astrid Dane invites to her glove who flee the invitation. (Athos always let his magicians come grovelling, but Astrid's falcons were always keen-eared for new recruits) Perhaps it is his worst delusion, thinking they, too, see how much blood runs at the margins of a people who, if not content, are at least not especially restless.

There is fountains worth from the one hundred eighty-two killed by the Danes personally, and his sixty-four. The blood of fools who ran their mouths too freely to the innocuous-looking barmaid or shopkeeper or grandmother before a little silver charm emerged. Blood of crows know how many drunk by Athos' magicians for power.

When forced to collaborate or unearth magic, he can most easily hold his control near lady Albiz, who makes the job no crueler than necessary, heeds advice, and returns her dead to their people or buries them herself. And she still snuffed out two Maktahns the day she swanned into Athos' service. He will not forget that because she grants an ounce of respect.

Two lives she'd taken, that were merely one crime, on one day of two thousand five hundred fifty-five. Still full of all that blood, she'd strolled into morning court in a ragged tunic and skirt, pupils glassy from the sudden torrent of magic into a body that knew only a trickle.

Like Alox.

Fifteen and cocksure with it like him, too.

"I heard there was a place here for those who could take it. I'll be your best magician if you'll let me take enough. I'm tired of running dry."

There had always been people not even the king's knight could stop, no matter how it choked him to admit it. He could have wandered the streets, never sleeping, and still not stopped all the blood being shed. And sometimes. Sometimes, they had something Vor needed and he turned a blind eye and Holland fled to Arnes to be in a world where kings didn't have to allow atrocities for the greater good. Until the ache to smell ash and steel and the fear Vortalis was dead in his absence swamped the rage and tugged him home.

But Vortalis would never have leaned in and inhaled the blood clinging to her like a bouquet, licked the red from the corner of her mouth, mirth echoing off the walls until Holland's head throbbed when she moved like a desperate, striking snake to try for a kiss. As though he'd let it be stolen back from his tongue. Would never have said, for all to hear: "Defiant little thing, aren't you? You're the third most beautiful person I've seen all month."

How many lives might be saved, if Albiz and worse weren't infesting the city? How many slum magicians had killed some unwitting neighbor, watching them preen and knowing Athos and Astrid Dane would never care, so long as they were not challenged as the greatest sorcerers of the land?

Deluded or no, it is those few refusals Astrid grumbled over and insisted he keep an eye on ("If they dare not serve, they must have plans of their own. Look harder, pretty thing, and you'll find the rot they're tangled in.") he seeks when he returns for kingship. Hopes their refusal meant more than a disdain for fancy jewelry. Because Athos and Astrid Dane aren't the worst rulers Makt had, but he will be better by far.

#did you want? 3k of Astrid? Probably not #did I plan for "I'll drop a bucket of head-canons to turn into 3k of writing this utterly amoral but oddly compelling woman?#nope. nope I fucking did not. also didn't plan for the side characters that apparently make up Athos and Astrid's court in my head now #but here we fucking are. debuting the project which has obsessed my every free brain cell for the last two weeks #notes on names in here: Albiz is proto-Norse. meaning otherworldly/eerie.#which was perfect from the moment I conceived that first image of her in court #Gudrun is both Norse for battle and secret lore #which again. how could I resist when I realized who she was? This is the result of being obsessed! for months with: but who is the ADSOM #lady in the blue cloak?#Holland Vosijk #Astrid Dane #(because apparently I need a tag for her too now)#Athos Dane #for triggers: can we just go with they're Astrid and Athos they're their own warnings #getting way the fuck too touchy without permission. random dehumanization via refusal of given names #casual discussion of gruesome murder #etc. etc.#Shades of Magic

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veronicaphoenix · 7 months ago

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to hold you, to heal you | n.s.

Summary: Noah is exhausted. It feels as if he's failing at everything, including at being the boyfriend his girl deserves. She's there to reassure him that that couldn't be further from the truth.

Tags & trigger warnings: angst, implied poor mental health (self-doubt, anxiety, depression), mentions of sex, fluff, comfort, just pretend live 2024.

words: 1.9k | my works

to hold you, to heal you — noah sebastian x fem. reader

The house was shrouded in quietness, the calming fragance of incense lit half an hour ago still lingering in the air.

Noah had gone to bed an hour earlier; he was exhausted.

Silently, she made her way to the bedroom, careful not to disturb him.

He lay on his side of the bed as she entered, back turned to her, the covers barely draped over his bare torso.

The temperatures had risen in the past two weeks, making the house uncomfortably warm. They should've swapped the covers for summer sheets, but neither could muster the energy to change them just yet.

She tiptoed to her side of the bed and slipped under the covers, nestling herself right behind Noah, wrapping an arm around his stomach and pressing her chest to his back, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

It was often that they found each other like this: her spooning him. They loved to intertwine their legs beneath the sheets, and he loved to drag her hand to his chest, right where his heart beat. He wanted her to feel it, to feel how his heart’s rhythm transformed from a relentless dance to a gentle pulse at her touch.

She nuzzled the tip of her nose against the nape of his neck, delighting in the feel of his soft locks, growing longer by the day. His hand found hers and guided it to the spot where his heart resided. She focused on his heartbeat for a while, on his breathing. She let the warmth of his body transfer to hers, despite the heat already filling the room.

Cooconing him like that felt like a promise that would eventually break. When he was in her arms, she felt as though she could shield him from anything, everything. She could just keep him caged, safe and sound tucked against her body, much smaller than his yet capable of safeguarding him. She so desperately wanted to keep that promise…

Yet, she was aware that those we love eventually slip, one way or another, no matter how much we try to ease their fall.

Nobody is extempt from hurting.

And now Noah was hurting. Her promise hadn’t lasted.

She tightened her grip unconsciously when a wave of anger and sadness washed over her, her muscles pressing against Noah’s, her heart wanting —needing— to break through the skin and find Noah’s, merge with his, beat as one.

Love is always a constant battle of trying, trying, failing, trying, trying again, and sometimes, making it right.

Tonight, she would make it right. She would heal him one way or another; take some of his pain and store it in her own chest, in her veins, in her bones.

Blinking away the tears, she pulled back slightly, just enough to see his back. It was dark, but the moonlight filtering through the curtains revealed the faint lines of his tattoos. Unable to stop herself, she traced the designs with a gentle finger, following every curve and sharp edge.

Noah shivered beneath her touch, his muscles tensing.

In less than a minute, he turned onto his back, his hands seeking her. He grasped her and positioned her astride his lap, his hands resting on her hips while hers landed on his chest. He wore nothing but black boxers, and she was clad in his t-shirt and cotton panties.

Under the moonlight, she found his October eyes.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi,” Noah replied.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” he answered, their voices mere whispers in the night. “Couldn’t sleep,” he explained, a hint of resignation in his voice.

It was soft now, not the rough, visceral one he used on stage for some of Bad Omens’s songs. This was the voice she loved the most, the deep raw timbre that was yet so delicate, both tender and masculine, holding harmony within a quiet power. Every time she heard her name uttered with that voice, that tone so soft yet demanding, she melted in his hands.

“The voices?” she guessed.

Noah nodded, letting out a heavy sight that he’d tried to contain, his gaze falling. She hated seeing him so conflicted, but there was only so much she could do. She didn’t know what else to do beside be by his side, engulfed in the dark of the after hours and surrounded by white noise.

With nothing more than a hmm, she brushed some hairs away from his face, and spent the next few minutes tracing her thumb along his forehead and then down his left eyebrow, trying to push some of his worries away. His eyes closed momentarily, and his own fingers began to move in a soothing rhythm where they touched the skin of her thighs. The weight of her on top of him always felt delightful, a comforting pressure.

But the sensation lasted only a few seconds. He grasped her wrist, holding her hand away from him.

“You deserve someone better than me.”

His words caught her off ward, making her frown and shift back a little, trying to discern his expression in the dark.

But he looked resolute, no ounce of doubt on his face as the words seemed to fill the space they were in, threatening to suffocate them.

“Noah—”

“You should be with someone that doesn’t spend most of the time away,” he began, “someone who isn’t locked in the studio whenever he’s home. Someone who doesn’t take time off to get his mind straight instead of choosing time off to be with his girl.”

She was tempted to snort. He was being silly. Yet, she knew it wasn’t the time to take his confessions lightly. He was suffering, and her job was to ease that pain, even if it meant going through the same conversation they’d had many times before.

“Is that what the voices told you?” she inquired softly.

She was met with silence, the room charging up with his unspoken words.

“Noah,” she said, her tone determined as she tried to capture his full attention. She freed herself from his grasp and leaned forward, resting her forearms on his chest and reaching the sides of his face with her hands. He hadn’t shaved in the last three days and a little stubble was growing. “I love watching you work,” she said. “It’s what makes you happy, and I’d never do anything to keep your happiness away. Same goes for your health. You need this. There’s no arguing about it.”

He didn’t seem convinced by her words, his hands falling to the sides of her body, resting apathetically on the mattress. He felt defeated.

“Noah, baby,” she insisted, calling his name softly and touching his chin with two fingers. Look at me. Listen to me. “You’re driven by passion, and that same passion is the one that led you to me, so please, don’t say that I don’t deserve you. I deserve no one but you.”

She waited for her words to sink in. There was a little crease between his eyebrows now. He was still doubtful, torturing himself needlessly.

“I want you happy and healthy, and taking time off isn’t something you should feel guilty for. I’m proud of you for it. And I’ll be happy if you decide to stay locked up in the house for a month. I’ll stay here with you because a healthy Noah is my favorite Noah.”

Under other circumstance, he would have made a joke about that, probably a dirty one about her favorite Noah. But that night, the truth was that he didn’t feel like laughing. As much as he loved her smile and her little laughs, there was a demon on his shoulder reminding him of all his failures and all his weaknessses.

She was so sweet to him, though. Always making an effort to knock off that demon and step on the devilish creature, turn it to dust with her fierceless light.

His hand instinctively rose to her cheek, his thumb moving in a slow, almost reverent motion that stirred her heart. She leaned into his touch, her own hands cradling his face and keeping him safe, enveloped in her embrace.

She missed him. She had missed him terribly over the last few months. The entire year, in fact. But she was stronger than her own demons. She watched from afar as her boy made his way up, as his band grew, as their artistry gained recognition beyond the walls of their homemade studio with each passing day. She watched Noah’s tireless dedication to reaching out to the world with his music, his stories, the worlds capable of creating on his own. She watched as he poured his heart and soul into it, and how time began to consume him, both day and night.

Until he could bear it no longer.

She touched her lips to his. She kissed him for a brief moment. Soft and slow, emphasizing her presence, her connection to his very soul. And he responded delightfully, breaking the contact just for a few seconds, keeping the kiss a ghost, his lips hovering over hers beyond touch.

Inhaling his fresh breath, she wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to let herself drown in the kiss.

When he did kiss her, it was the most achingly slow kiss he had ever given her. It was a kiss that said, “I’m tired. I need slow. I need time to stop. Please, hold me.”

And she would hold him. Any time. Always.

As her body relaxed on top of his, he cupped her entire face in his hands, keeping their mouths locked together. She tasted divine, and he cursed every second he had to pause to take a breath before diving back in with a little sigh.

When she shifted on top of him and he felt her core hovering right where he should’ve had an erection, he felt instead another failing.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, withdrawing from her, his hands slipping away, turning his head so that his cheek pressed to the pillow. He exhaled with defeat.

“Sorry for what?” she asked, disconcerted.

“I’m not… I’m not in the mood for sex right now. I’m sorry.”

“Why do you have to be sorry for that?” she questioned, her confusion deepening. “I’m not here to demand that from you,” she added. Far from it. It pained her that he thought she needed that every time he kissed her. It pained her to see him punishing himself again for simply not feeling up to it, as if there was something wrong with it. “In fact, I just hoped I could just hold you all night.”

Noah looked back at her, somewhat taken aback. Not the reply he had expected.

He was definitely not his usual self.

“Would you let me?” she pleaded, blinking.

It took him a moment, but finally he relented, placing a hand behind her head to pull her down so that she rested against his chest. With each steady rise and fall, she smiled through watery eyes, hoping that tonight she could keep her promise: to hold him, to heal him, if only until the sun rose again.

She had just closed her eyes when his voice filled her ears again, soft, delicate, vulnerable.

“I’m so afraid, that the walls that I have made have locked me in. I’m not okay. But I can try my best to just pretend…”

He was singing to her.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health & well-being, you are not alone and there is always someone willing to listen and help. Reach out and keep fighting. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian one shot #noah sebastian x you #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

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Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part IV

1 2 3 4 5 6

Simon doesn't cry. The last time he cried was out of shock, coming home to see his entire family executed by who he thought were his allies, his friends, his comrades. Simon doesn't cry, but you can see how broken his soul is in the way his hands delicately hold you close to him. You can feel it in the way his heart is beating fast in your ear, his lips pressing gentle kisses on the top of your head while you're barely conscious, too tired from the late-night conversation you had with him.

The man who broke you a year ago is the same man whose touch pieces your soul together, his warm hands doing nothing but serve as a reassurance that he's here. He's here, alive, and he's not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He waits until you're snoring softly to gently settle you back down in bed, taking one last look at your peaceful sleeping expression before getting up from bed slowly, leaving the room and walking in the dark towards his baby's room. He closes the door behind him, approaching the crib with footsteps so quiet one would think he's still the ghost, but he's not, not when he's here. He's just Simon.

"Hey, sweet girl." He greets in a whisper, leaning down in front of the crib to look at his daughter. What a fucking sight, he thinks; brown eyes focused on the way his tiny girl is holding a bunny plushie close to her, wearing the skull pattern pajamas he bought her a few weeks ago. Simon has strong genes— the baby looks like a girly replica of him, her dark brown hair framing her pretty face, nose slightly rosy from the cold. He adjusts her beanie, lifting the blanket enough so more of her body can be covered even while she's asleep. His hand hesitates when he feels the baby stirring awake, taking a step back before her brown eyes open, peering at him.

"Good morning, sweetheart." He whispers, afraid to wake you up even while you're an entire room away. His big hands reach out for the baby, cradling her in his arms as he walks around the house until he reaches the living room, not bothering to turn on the light to not bother his baby. She's calm— not crying, simply babbling as she looks up at him, her hands balled into fists, too used to holding something. Simon can feel her tiny nails digging into his bare chest, yet he doesn't mind, gently rocking his girl under the comfort of the dark living room, the moonlight illuminating enough so they can both look at each other.

"Papa." His heart almost stops when he hears the little girl say her first word, looking down at her with wide eyes and a proud smile. He almost thinks he imagined it until she repeats it louder, tiny hands pulling on his dog tags. His hand dwarfs the baby's head as he presses her closer to his bare chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of her tiny body against his. He never thought he'd be a father— hell, the idea itself never went through his head even when his family was alive, yet ever since he first saw his baby girl? Simon fell in love.

"Papa's here, Astrid." He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead, her tiny balled up hands now holding his cheeks and pulling slightly on the stubble, making him groan in pain, something she finds amusing, a cheeky giggle coming out of her.

"Gentle." He reminds her, pulling her away so she's not able to keep torturing his scarred cheeks. He smiles down at her, one of his hands coming up to gently pinch her chubby cheeks, another giggle coming out of the tiny girl. She’s an angel— rarely cries and is always giggling, her gummy smile full on display for anyone lucky enough to see her.

His pretty angel. A split image of everything Simon could have been if he had a normal family and rather than feeling bitter about it, he feels happy. Happy to be able to see her grow, to give her and you the life you both deserve, even if you're not together.

He lays down on the couch with the baby resting on his chest, the chain and metal of his dog tags enough to keep her distracted as he admires her under the moonlight seeping through the window, wanting to memorize every single detail on her tiny face. The pain of losing a second brother to him is still there, yet this tiny girl heals his soul and gives him hope.

Johnny would have loved you. He thinks as he looks at her, imagining Johnny playing with his baby. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips as he thinks of the tiny girl pulling on his mowkhawk, her bad habit of pulling on people's hair something he became too familiar with, his buzzcut not saving him from his baby's surprisingly strong grip. His mind inevitably goes back to his family, thinking of Joseph playing with his baby, of Tommy experiencing being an uncle, or Beth and his mum gossiping with you while looking at Simon, proud smiles in their faces. He can't help the way his eyes sting, slightly rimming with tears in the company of his baby.

His eyes close as he takes a deep breath, allowing a stray tear to roll down his cheek while the rest dots his long eyelashes. His hand plays with his little girl's hair, the other one firmly holding her close to his bare chest while she babbles on, her innocence a complete contrast to who he is.

"Mum?" He begins, eyes still closed and voice shaky.

"This is my baby, Astrid. She's four months old... lovely girl, ain't she?" He speaks quietly to nothing, imagining his mum is there, watching over him, a bright smile on her lips.

"I still haven't won her mum over, but I'm trying. I'm gonna marry this girl, mummy, I know I will." Simon doesn't cry, but his stomach muscles tense as he holds back a sob, not wanting to startle the baby resting on him. Her silence finally makes his eyes open, tear-rimmed circles of darkness softening when he sees the peaceful sleeping expression on his baby.

"I love you so much." He confesses in a whisper, his short nails gently massaging her scalp, his warm chest working as a personal heater for the sleeping baby. His back is starting to hurt but he's not going to risk waking the girl up, simply closing his eyes again and focusing on getting some sleep. With how badly he has been sleeping since he came back, he doesn't even realize when he drifted off to sleep, only being awoken hours later by the smell of pancakes and tea.

He looks down at his chest, finding a blanket covering him, but no sight of his baby. That's enough to send him in a panic, immediately getting up and looking around the living room, his fast-beating heart only slowing down once he sees the baby sitting on a highchair in the kitchen, your back turned to him as you hum and prepare breakfast.

"Bloody hell— you scared the shit out of me." He lets out a deep breath, trying his best to calm down as he starts walking towards you, one of his hands resting on your waist as you look over your shoulder and shoot him a cheeky grin.

"You scared the shit out of me when I saw the empty crib." He gives you an apologetic smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head and laughing as he narrowly misses the kick thrown to his arse.

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taglist:@skulfan1 @survivalshxt @ghostslittlegf @yaebaal @thecubanator2 @juliediets @shescabob @kenz-ee @lothiriel9 @dragonstoneshortcake @lunamoonbby @alfie2401 @perfectus-in-morte @mxtokko @cloufie @killergoddess97 @imaracoon @thepurpleaccount

#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you #dad!simon riley #dad!ghost

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kennahjune · 1 year ago

Text

Teen Dad AU

Part 2!!

Starting the tag list with: @mugloversonly @jackiemonroe5512 @thestarslittleking @jonesen4coffee @virginlemontea @blackpanzy @littlebluejane @paintsplatteredandimperfect @astrid-nomically-steddie @maferisa-7 @phantomrose17 @child-of-cthuhlu @sofadofax @thoughtfulbreadpolice @fandomnerd103 @artemisiscursed @croatoan-like-its-hot @silenzioperso @myownworstenemyyy @feral-possums-in-the-bog @mente-sindescanso @mrslectermoriarty @y4r3luv @a-couchpotato @aknelimdoogladania @she-collects-smut

…

Thursday came in a false sense of security.

Steve woke up to the gentle sun in his face, the breeze of an open window in his hair, and his son’s chubby baby fingers wrapped around his hand.

Steve grinned sleepily at Louie and laughed when baby Louie smiled so wide back at him that his paci fell out.

Steve held Louie close while preparing a small breakfast of eggs and toast, then continued to hold him while making his bottle and setting out a few cheese puffs for him teethe on.

Steve made sure Louie ate first, helping him hold the bottle and then laughing at the pure mess he makes with the cheese puffs. Then Steve himself ate. Clean up was quick enough witch a wet rag and a speedy wipe-down.

Later on, just as Steve was thinking about preparing lunch, the front doors opened.

“Shit. Shit shit shit SHIT.” Steve angrily whispered to himself. Little Louie stared at him from where he was propped on the couch, not a thought behind his wide eyes. Though he obviously knew something was wrong with his dad.

Steve was quick to buckle Louie into his car seat, bundling him up with a blanket and giving him his bear.

“Stephan? Are you in the living room? Come grab our bags, please,” Cynthia Harrington called from down the hall.

There was no getting out of this. No way of getting Louie to the car without his parents seeing. But he’s sure they already knew of the baby, or suspected something. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln were nosy motherfuckers set on ruining Steve’s life.

Steve sighed and looked at Louie. He knelt in front of the car seat and rubbed a hand gently on his son’s face. Louie grabbed his finger and smiled around his paci.

Steve wanted to cry.

“Stephan! Your mother called you so answer her!” Richard Harrington yelled. Steve heard the wind outside pick up aggressively and cursed the mornings sunshine.

“Coming!”

Steve padded into the hallway where his parents were taking off their jackets. Cynthia and Richard were picture-perfect— or they would’ve been. If it weren’t for the pressed line of his mother’s mouth and the hard line of his father’s jaw. Steve knew what was coming before they did.

“Stephan, the bags.” Were his mothers first words to him. Not “Hi, son, how have you been?” Not “Sorry we’ve been gone for nearly 8 months.” Not “How are you feelings after that concussion from last November? We’re terribly sorry we couldn’t stop work to simply call and make sure you were ok.”

No. None of that. Instead he was demanded around like a fucking dog.

“Um. Actually, I had to talk to you both. If you don’t mind—“

“Save it. Take the bags upstairs and meet us in the living room,” Richard stated harshly.

Steve flinched. He hated himself for flinching. But they couldn’t go in the living room. Not while Louie was still in there.

“Actually, dad— it’s very important and I just really need to talk to you guys—“

“Stephan!”

Steve winced at the pitchy tone of his mother.

“Please, I promise— It’ll be worth your time, just— just give a minute, please.” He was begging now. He hated begging.

Richard had grown tired of Steve’s fumbling for words and shoved past him. Steve knocked into the wall with the harshness.

“Stephan, you will listen to your mother and take the bags upstairs and meet us—“

“Dad, wait—“

Richard stopped in the doorway to the living room, whatever insult or command he was going to throw Steve’s way dying on his tongue.

“Stephan. Why, in the Lord’s name, is there a baby’s car seat in my living room?”

His tone was calm. Steve knew better than to think he was actually anything other than furious.

“Thats— that’s what I needed to speak to you about. Please, I—“

Steve should’ve anticipated the slap.

But he didn’t. And his head snapped to the side with the force that left him seeing stars.

Steve didn’t stay long enough to listen to his dad yelling slurs or his mom crying. He simply grabbed Louie’s car seat, picked up his shoes by the door, and left.

Steve had been driving for near three hours before he pulled over. He’d circled the entirety of town before finally pulling into a small dirt path by the quarry. Belatedly he realized someone was crying.

He hurried to get out of the car, rounding to the back and sliding into the backseat to sit next to Louie’s car seat. But Louie wasn’t crying, he was sound asleep.

Steve realized he was crying.

He startled when a broken sob tore itself out of his throat. He hurried out of the car and dragged himself the few yards to the edge of the quarry.

He sat down and let the rain pelt him from all angles. His face stung. Steve knew the slap would bruise phenomenally in the morning. It’d probably affect his tips at work.

He swung his feet idly on the edge, belatedly realizing he wasn’t wearing his shoes or even socks for that matter. His heels where starting to bleed from each time he rammed them into the rocks on the edge of the cliff.

Steve doesn’t know how long he sat there in the rain. He snapped back to reality when a particularly loud burst of thunder rumbled in his gut. He went back to the car.

Louie was still sound asleep. Steve figured he himself should most likely sleep as well. He didn’t know when he’d be able to get a place for them, but he’d already been saving up.

He curled up in the back seat next to baby Louie. He didn’t bother with a blanket, and he knew he’d get a cold with his clothes still being wet, but he deemed it fine.

Steve’s sleep was fitful and restless. Filled with slurs and yelling and running from monsters that shouldn’t exist.

It was a week before he finally got a place.

Not that long, sure. But it was a week of pure dread and exhaustion and nightmares.

The trailer he was looking at was located near the edge of Forest Hills. It was two bedroom one bathroom and had a small living room (with no ceiling light) and a kitchen (that barely had any wiggle room). But it was his.

He’d been at work when he got the call— as that was where he told the landlord to call. Mason— the line cook— called him back.

“Hey Steve-o! That landlord guys on the phone!”

Steve jumped so hard he nearly spilled the waters he was carrying.

“Be right there, Mace!”

Steve was quick to get the waters to the table 7 and take their orders for the night before he rushed back. He tossed his notepad at Mason and snatched the phone.

“Hi, Mr. Gardison!” he greeted cheerily.

“Stephen, hi. So…”

And Steve was given the trailer.

He was vibrating with excitement by the end of his call. When Steve returned the phone to its holder he was picked up from the ground in a bear hug. He laughed and hugged Mason back.

“You got the place!” Mason cheered.

“I got the place!” Steve laughed.

The rest of his day went swimmingly. He would be able to officially move into the trailer on Friday— which was fine by him. Two days of waiting was nothing.

Steve was given congratulations from a few of the regulars. Mr. Jinkins gave him a good slap on the shoulder while Miss. Gladson pulled him into a hug. They tipped him an extra 5 dollars each before they left.

At the end of his Wednesday shift, Steve gave out hugs to most of his coworkers. Mason, Allya, and his boss Michelle got hugs while George and Gwen got high fives. Steve left feeling light on his feet with a to-go bag for dinner.

Thursday was filled with the lunch rush. Steve had to take his break early to check on baby Louie in the back. He felt bad turning George’s manager office into a daycare but George assured him it was fine.

“Hey honey,” Steve’s cooed at the baby in his arms. “How are you doing, huh love? You’ve been cooped up for so long I know.”

Louie gripped his baby hands into the front of Steve’s apron. He was back in the kitchens today, Allya taking his place up front waitressing.

Steve hopped around and lightly bounced Louie against his chest, humming quietly and gently.

Louie whined and continued to cry.

“I know Louie, I know. You hungry? Hang on baby.”

Steve made sure Louie was fed and burped and laid him done for a nap. He only had an hour of his shift left.

Thursday finished off normally and Steve left with his usual dinner. He drove out to the quarry and parked before sitting in the backseat with Louie to eat.

Eventually he took Louie out of the car and sat with him on the rocky ground of the quarry. Steve held Louie close in his lap, letting the baby play with his hands and fingers and babble about nothing and everything.

Steve occasionally answered with little gums of encouragement, but for the most part he let baby Louie talk to himself. He was lost in thought, daydreaming about the trailer and how they got to move in tomorrow.

Before Steve knew it Louie had fallen asleep and he himself was on the verge. He got them both settled in the backseat once more and allowed himself to drift off.

…

We’re finally, maybe, getting somewhere lol. Tag list is open to everyone still, feel free to ask for a place!! We’ll get into some of Steve’s school life in the next part hopefully 🤞

Part 3:

#stranger things #steve harrington #little louie harrington :)#teen dad steve harringon #teen dad au #i don’t remember what else I’m supposed to tag #uh #eventual steddie #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steddie #steve harrington is a damn good dad #steve harrington has bad parents #steve harrington needs a better family #steve harrington needs a hug #everyone wants to give him a hug #I’ve run out of things to tag

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torukmaktoskxawng · 2 years ago

Text

'anla - part two

Series Masterlist

Summary: Life on the reef has started to change the Sully kids for the better, while a storm looms overhead. Certain teenagers are in denial of each other.

Pairing: Ao'nung/Fem!Na'vi!Sully Reader

Warnings: Mature language, teenagers acting their age, time skips, strict parents, puppy love, canon compliance, slow burn, etc.

Word Count: 5k+

Tag: #'anla ao'nung fic

Na'vi Words: nivi - hammocks, marui - homes, ilu - dolphin like creatures, tulkun - whale like creatures, tsurak - skimwings, Sänrr Rong - the Glow Tunnel, spä - jump, olo'eyktan - clan leader, sa'sem - parents, Iknimaya - Rite of Passage, tsahik - spiritual leader, tsakarem - tsahik in training, tsmukan - brother, Utraya Moktri - Metkayina Spirit Tree, kuru - braid neural queue, fpxafaw - medusa

Taglist (red indicates "could not tag"): @timotheechalametishot @ghost-lantern @shadowmoonlight0604 @melsunshine @ocd-onut @purennn @themostegotisticalgirl124 @notsochillnerd @athenachu @yhern05 @amortencjja

A/N: I tagged everyone from the comment section of the first chapter who was excited or asking for part two. I couldn't respond to them in the comment section because this is a secondary account, so if you do or don't want to be on the taglist, please let me know via ask box or dm, thank you!

read it here on ao3

(I do not consent to my works being reposted or copied)

Kiri had woken shortly after, crying, but was otherwise unharmed and showing no signs what happened had affected her. They gave her a day to recover in their home while the rest of the Sullys went about their day normally, sending Norm and Max away with heartfelt goodbyes and returning to the sea life they had started to grow accustomed to.

Lo'ak and Y/n were put in charge of plucking barnacles off the bottom of canoes for the afternoon, and the young boy takes the time to avoid silence and boredom, "So what are you doing with Ao'nung?"

Y/n doesn't react or even bother looking up from her handiwork, "What do you mean?"

"I mean when did you guys become friends?"

She looked up then, puzzled as she stared at her younger brother, "I'm confused. Weren't we trying to all be friends?"

Lo'ak paused from working for a moment, shrugging, "Well, we were trying to just earn their respect and get along, but yeah, I guess we did come out as friends."

"I guess we're full of surprises."

"But the other night, you guys were being... weird."

Y/n huffed with mirth, "Look who's talking."

"Shut up." He snarled, "Have you guys been hanging out a lot?"

"Not really. Just a few times lately."

"Is that where you were the other night? This... Arch?"

"Yeah. Ao'nung said he had something to show me."

Lo'ak's expression goes blank, "Y/n. Dad taught us to literally never follow someone just because they said they have something to show you. He called it 'stranger danger' or something like that."

She tossed a barnacle at him, "Is this coming from the boy who willingly followed Ao'nung and his friends beyond the reef?"

"... Okay. Fine. You win."

"Besides, Ao'nung didn't phrase it like that. It was a lot less creepy."

"So why didn't he invite the rest of us to the Arch?"

"You guys had already gone for the day so he just took me." Y/n then reached over to mess with Lo'ak's hair, earning an annoyed hiss and she smiles, "Don't look too closely at it, alright? We're friends now."

~~~~~~~~~

A peaceful morning where the Sullys find themselves rolling up their nivi after a night's rest is interrupted by a horn, followed by whoops and hollers of celebration coming from outside. Confused and on edge, Jake and the kids emerge from the marui, looking around as the Metkayina jump around and dive into the water, making the newcomers curious as to what was going on.

Their answer came in the form of Tsireya, astride an ilu as she waves down her people from the water below their homes, "The tulkun have returned! Everybody! Our brothers and sisters have returned!"

Y/n looked up toward the atoll walls protecting the village from less docile nature. Emerging from the tunnels and pathways were rolling waves indicating something large underneath the water. Spurts of seaspray spring out like geysers from beneath the ocean's surface. It was a large pod of whale-like creatures, massive and slow. Their descent onto the village was graceful and one that brought much joy to the Metkayina as they couldn't get in the water fast enough.

The Sully kids couldn't wait either, jumping from the walkway around their home and into the water below. They scatter, exploring the new creatures one way or another. Tsireya had grabbed Lo'ak when she spotted him and pulled him onto her ilu, swimming away to introduce him to her Spirit Sister. Jake summoned his tsurak and both he and Neytiri take off to observe the sacred animals themselves. Rotxo had come around and pulled Kiri and Tuk away too, leaving the twins to their own devices. Ao'nung was not far behind his friend, inviting Neteyam and Y/n to come along with him to find his own Spirit Brother. All three teenagers grab an ilu and take off, making a game of chase with Ao'nung in the lead.

They weave through and around the large bodies of tulkun, dodging other ilu and Na'vi while keeping close to Ao'nung the entire time. He leads them through the chaos expertly, the three teenagers swimming quickly around a particular tulkun. Kiri, Tuk, and Rotxo were hanging onto the bull's fin and gliding peacefully through the water, the tulkun likely the reef boy's Spirit Brother. Neteyam and Y/n are only able to catch a glimpse of this as they swim by, keeping close to Ao'nung's tail until he slows down in front of a particular bull. This tulkun didn't have tattoos yet, much like Ao'nung as he signed to the twins, "My Spirit Brother."

Neteyam drifts close to the creature's eye, signing, "Greetings, mighty tulkun."

"I See you, Forest Brother." The tulkun sang as his form of speaking, and luckily, having had enough lessons, Neteyam and Y/n were able to grasp the old language.

Y/n ditched her ilu and swam up next, signing effortlessly, "I See you, Great Spirit Brother of Ao'nung."

"Hello, Forest Sister. I See you."

Ao'nung's hand gestures were too fast, and the twins were unable to read them but they had no need. The signing was not for them as Ao'nung was trying to relay a season's worth of events to his Spirit Brother, more excited than either Omatikaya have ever seen him. Ao'nung was smiling softly, and brightly as he tried to tell a story only to stumble over his own way of telling it. The tulkun in front of him chimed in as his way of laughing, urging the Na'vi boy to slow down. Y/n managed to pick up some of the gestures after Ao'nung slowed, not missing the words 'Sky People', 'Forest People', and 'new friends'.

Neteyam took a break to swim up and get some air, but Y/n managed to stay underwater a little longer. She didn't want to miss a second of this adorable interaction, and somehow found herself roped in it when the tulkun turned its eye to her.

"Ao'nung tells me that you are a mighty warrior, Y/n te Suli Neytiri'ite."

"He's being nice in your presence," Y/n signed back with a grin, "I have seen war but not been a part of it. I am too young. I am a hunter at best."

Neteyam, still treading water at the surface, takes a deep breath and simply dunks his face underwater, looking back down to locate Y/n and Ao'nung. He found them below, right where he had left them with the bull tulkun. Y/n was signing to the creature, keeping herself swimming next to his eye while Ao'nung floated off to the side, watching them. Neteyam didn't miss the way Ao'nung was staring at her, yet again, when she was not looking. The reef boy's face was calm, his lips relaxing into a soft, carefree smile, never taking his eyes off the Na'vi girl.

That evening was full of celebration, music and dancing a central part of it. Bonfires lined up the beach where the village people could still be close to their ocean brothers and sisters. Late night dives through bioluminescent waves, sending scattered stars up to the sky whenever a splash was made or a tulkun jumped through the air, cascading back down into the water.

Ao'nung kept Neteyam and Y/n with him most of the evening, adamantly talking about his Spirit Brother and the stories exchanged between them. At one point, the three of them were sitting on the edge of a rock fixture, their toes in the water below as they watched the tulkun dancing around in the distance. Neteyam rolled his eyes lightheartedly at a certain part of Ao'nung's story where his mischief had got the best of him. The Omatikaya boy took a moment to glance at his sister, then looked away-- only to double-check when he saw something that intrigued him.

Y/n was watching Ao'nung with a tender expression, her smile sweet and fond as her eyes locked onto every hand gesture and every laugh Ao'nung made, who was clearly unaware of her stares throughout his story-telling. She laughed and nodded whenever she was supposed to in between tales, urging the boy on when he knew he had an avid listening audience. Neteyam smiled, too, though he was sure it wasn't for the same reasons his sister was smiling.

~~~~~~~~~

After that fateful day, Ao'nung invited Neteyam and Y/n to everything. They spent whole afternoons together, sometimes sitting around on the rocks, soaking up the sun while they exchanged stories. After hearing all of Ao'nung's tales between him and his Spirit Brother, either one or both twins would tell him stories from the forest growing up. They told him everything, from their childhood to recent events before they had left their home. Ao'nung was actually a good listener if one sat him down to do so. He nodded in acknowledgment and asked questions between appropriate breaks in the stories. Neteyam could tell how much Y/n appreciated this side of Ao'nung, the girl perking up and gladly answering whatever questions he had. At the end of the day, Neteyam couldn't recall if he ever answered any of Ao'nung's questions himself, but he didn't have the heart to care.

The three were also fond of hunting together and sometimes brought Rotxo and Lo'ak along, this time within the reef and with higher spirits. Some days they would mess around too much and wouldn't catch anything, other times they used their newfound friendship and teamwork to coordinate and bring home enough fish to feed all their families combined.

Ao'nung and Y/n decide to bring all the kids to Sänrr Rong. Tuk was the more ecstatic out of all of them, but everyone was delighted by this new place they could use as a hideout away from their parents. This time, they got a chance to cliff dive from the very top of the arch. The reef kids showed them the path up but were shocked to watch the Sully kids effortlessly climb up the rock as if they were born to do so. Even Tuk showed zero signs of exhaustion as she took a stable vine hand and scurried up it like a monkey. The Omatikaya children were clearly faster and more agile climbers than the Metkayina and therefore made it to the top before the locals even had a chance.

"We'll throw you down a vine so you can catch up," Y/n jeers as she pointedly climbed over Ao'nung.

The reef boy hissed, though it appeared to be playful as he makes a point to tug her tail as she passed him. Y/n hissed back and made sure to gently shove his big forehead with her toes as she climbed before leaping out of reach. They all eventually make it to the top of the cliff, hair whipping wildly in the unforgivable winds, then the reef kids stood over the edge, looking down at the ocean water below.

"Okay! Everyone ready?" Tsireya beamed with excitement.

"For what?" Lo'ak questioned.

"SPÄ!" Rotxo hoots to the clouds as he jumps off the ledge, straightening his legs and stiffening his posture as he falls-- falls-- falls--

SPLASH.

"Who's next?" Ao'nung grinned.

Lo'ak was closest to the edge, peering over and even squinting when he couldn't spot Rotxo all the way down there, wadding in the sea, "Has anyone died doing this?"

The reef boy laughed, "If you wanna be the first, then don't stiffen your form as Rotxo did. Flail about like a screaming baby."

"Me next!" Tuk squealed.

"NO!" All four of her siblings, including Tsireya, shout in different ranges of emotion, such as fear, amusement, and seriousness.

The little girl stomps her foot, pouting as she crossed her arms, "Then why am I even here?"

"To keep me company," Y/n cut in, tugging her baby sister's arm until the shorter girl is pressed into her side. Y/n holds her tight while carefully watching the cliff, being sure to stay close to the middle and away from all edges.

"Aw, Forest Girl, you are scared," Ao'nung laughs, clapping his hands together once in amusement, "I thought you liked to fly?"

She glares at him, sticking her nose up in the direction of the cliff's edge, "That's not flying. It's falling."

Needless to say, Y/n and Tuk didn't do any cliff diving and left that to their other siblings. Kiri went first after Tsireya offered to go with her. Holding hands, the girls jump, screaming and laughing with both delight and horror. Neteyam paced along the edge of the cliff until he watched Kiri's head rise from the water, then relaxed. Once Ao'nung dared the Sully boys to race to the bottom, they were suddenly all for it, jumping off at the same time. Ao'nung took his time and teetered over the edge, grinning when he watched how nervous Y/n shuffled, keeping Tuk close to her side. The future olo'eyktan pretended to lose his balance, earning a laugh from Little Tuk and a scowl from Y/n before Ao'nung also jumped, hitting the water with practiced ease and a laugh still bubbling in his throat.

They climbed up and jumped back down several times, each time trying to persuade Y/n to jump. She put her foot down every time, even when her twin Neteyam offered to either go with her or stay with Tuk. Still, Y/n would not give into the peer pressure and Tuk was miserable by the time they returned home, squawking to her parents while stating that no one would let her cliff dive. Jake and Neytiri exchanged looks and appeared grateful when they nod to their older children with approval.

~~~~~~~~~

The Sully kids' lessons continue as usual, the older ones now granted permission to hunt in groups outside the reef if they pleased. Once they were fluent in signing, they learned to strengthen their knowledge in communicating with the tulkun for the next time. Their knowledge was tested when Tsireya, Ao'nung, and Rotxo refused to talk to them unless they used and perfected the language through signing. When Jake and Neytiri call their children home every night, they often find them sitting silently among each other, only using hand motions to communicate.

Many times, the group of friends return to the Glow Tunnel, to have fun or to enjoy the silence. Each time they all gathered at the center of the village, ready to go back to the Arch, everyone was so eager. All except one particular day, when Lo'ak was nowhere to be found once it was time to go. His absence did not go unnoticed. While Kiri decided to bring Tuk home, the others volunteered to go look for him, and hopefully, he wasn't in trouble like last time. With their newfound hunting party privileges, they go swimming beyond the reef in search of the Omatikaya boy.

They stumble upon Lo'ak by chance, and he wasn't alone. Swimming around him was an impressive tulkun, the left side of the bull scarred and missing a fin. Payakan. Neteyam and Y/n look at each other, worried, while the reef children watch curiously. Payakan and Lo'ak swam around each other like dancers, graceful and practiced. Then, the tulkun turned, fully facing Lo'ak, and opened his mouth, jaw unhinging to reveal the dark cave within. Lo'ak willingly swam in, and Payakan closed his mouth behind him. The twins went to scurry out of hiding as they watched this happen, but both Tsireya and Ao'nung stop them while Rotxo looked on, amazed.

Tsireya went on to further explain that Payakan had chosen Lo'ak to form tsaheylu, and while she appeared proud and excited at the idea, Ao'nung and Rotxo exchanged uncertain glances. Y/n had noticed this exchange, reaching out and grabbing Ao'nung's shoulder, forcing him to look back at her. When the reef boy met her curious gaze, she made movements in the water with her hands, "What is wrong?"

Ao'nung shakes his head and signs back, "Sa'sem will not be pleased."

They definitely were not. Once Lo'ak returned home with the other teenagers, word spread fast and reached Tonowari's ears. Together, he and Ronal round up the teens and brought them to their marui to have a stern lecture, berating the Metkayina children for allowing Lo'ak to bond with the tulkun outcast. It didn't go well as Lo'ak was adamant about Payakan being misunderstood and how he wasn't a killer, even by the Tulkun Way. Jake Sully refused to let his son explain and took him away to straighten him out, but the damage had already been done. Neytiri gathered the twins and followed the father and troubled son home.

They hadn't gone to the communal meal that night, instead, they ate together at home, as a family. Jake was certain that the Metkayina would only receive Lo'ak coldly should they turn up there now, so he suggested that they wait until things cooled down before returning to the village dinners. The Sullys' absence was missed that night, mostly by the children who had slowly become their friends.

Y/n was distressed when her family stayed close to their home the next morning, her father ordering the children to stay near and don't go further beyond the walkways of the village. It felt like a prison sentence to be stuck in one place when it was such a beautiful day out. Neytiri promised her children that they can move on with their lives tomorrow once Jake had calmed down and she spoke to him, but for now, "Listen to your father."

"I see that if one sibling gets punished, we all get punished now," Y/n snarled to Neteyam when she found a moment alone with her twin. Neytiri took Jake hunting with her so that they may talk, while the twins were ordered to look after their younger siblings for the night. Lo'ak and the girls went to sleep not long after their parents had gone, but the oldest son and daughter remained wide awake, talking quietly to one another just outside the marui.

Neteyam exhaled air through his nose, squinting at the dark ink of water in the distance, absently swinging one leg off the side of the walkway, "You don't mean that."

"No?"

"You're just saying that because you've been stuck here with all of us today, unable to go anywhere."

He turned and clocked the snarl on her nearly identical face, her eyebrow hairs furrowing together while she looked away, rocking herself by her heels, "I hate it."

Neteyam smiled fondly, "I know you do. You always hated small spaces. I can see why you like this place better than home."

A pregnant pause hangs in the air over the twins, the only sounds around them being the water and the village, still stirring with life as things begin to settle down. Y/n doesn't look back at Neteyam, sitting on his words for a moment until she slowly turns back, expression blank and immovable, "I don't like this place better than home. I miss home."

"Of course you do. Doesn't change the fact that you're far more free here than you were back there. You've adjusted well here, even if Dad doesn't see it," Neteyam leans over and pats his sister's knee, "He doesn't see how fast you caught onto the Metkayina ways, he just sees all the times we screwed up."

Her ears flatten as she glares at him through her eyelids, unimpressed, "You mean how Lo'ak screwed up."

"We, Y/n. We."

She rolls her sharp, yellow eyes, "If anything, Dad should be proud of him. Bonding with a tulkun is a young Metkayina's first step to their Iknimaya."

"And only you would know that because you've gotten so accustomed here."

She winced, batting his hand from her knee, "You can't talk like this when one day we're just gonna be heading home again. Stop it now. Talk less about how much we like this place and it might hurt less when we eventually leave."

"Do you want to leave?" He cocks his head, eyes scanning her face for an answer.

"... I want to see the forest again."

"That's not what I asked."

"... Do you?"

"Yes."

Y/n's eyes squint, confused, "Why?"

"I have nothing here."

"You have us. You have our friends."

"Yes, but that's all," Neteyam looks around and Y/n follows his gaze, "You have the ocean, the plant life, the sea life. The ilu, the Sänrr Rong-- everything. You love everything about this place. I only love the people. Don't get me wrong. It's a beautiful paradise and I loved experiencing every part of it... but I want to go home. I felt more at peace there."

"At peace?" The twin girl scowled, "We were at war, 'Teyam."

"Yes." She doesn't miss the way his eyes darken a shade, expression hardening into stone as he glares back out to the sea, "But war is what I was trained for."

The silence is chilling this time, Y/n's heart dropping to her stomach as guilt runs through her veins. Even as twins, Neteyam was still the older brother. He and Y/n might have been conceived during a war, but Neteyam had been bred for it, whether or not their parents realized this. Before Kiri was in the picture and before either she or Y/n had their own voices, Y/n was the one expected to be the next tsahik. With Little Y/n learning the Will of Eywa from her grandmother, Neteyam was learning to be the next olo'eyktan. He had to learn to be strong quick, to hunt quick, to think quick. Even when Y/n finally put her foot down and passed the torch of tsakarem to Kiri, she couldn't catch up to all Neteyam had already learned. She wasn't able to share that burden with her twin, and that guilt hung heavy in her heart.

"... That's not a good thing, tsmukan." She spoke gently, even her whisper sounding like a drum in the silence, "There's more to life than fighting."

"I know," Neteyam's posture shrinks, defeated, his smile not quite reaching his eyes when he glances back to Y/n, "But I haven't found what that 'more' is yet. Not for me at least... You did."

"I did?" She tilts her head curiously.

A glint sparkles in Neteyam's eye, like he knew a secret that not even his twin knew. His tail swings behind him with interest, teasing when he nudged her leg with his shoulder, "Ao'nung is good for you. And you're good for him."

He caught the flash in her eye. The flash of understanding behind the meaning of his words. The flash is there one moment and then gone the next. Y/n shifts uncomfortably in her sitting posture and nods, "He's a good friend."

"He is." Neteyam chuckles, "For me. For Lo'ak, and Kiri, and Tuk. But not for you. For you, he's 'more.'"

Quiet surrounds them once again, Y/n glaring down at her feet as if she had been caught stealing treats from Norm. She looked ashamed and belittled, likely wishing her own brother didn't know everything about her even before she knew those things herself. She swallows down whatever emotion came to mind before she looked up, stubbornly staring Neteyam down,

"I don't need 'more'. I just need this. This family is all I need."

~~~~~~~~~

The Sully family had been tense ever since Lo'ak bonded with Payakan, speaking few and far in between words to one another if found in the same space. It wasn't much significance to them whether or not Lo'ak had bonded with the outcast, but to Jake, it was all about principle. Whether or not the family was proud or disappointed in Lo'ak's accomplishment had not been said, but something heavy was floating in the air, like the calm before the storm. The idea of war was still fresh at the very back of their minds, ever looming like a vulture, waiting to strike. Something had changed the other night, shifting into place, deciding the Sullys' fates. Although, no one knew what kind of fate, and that unsettled them.

Unlike the rest of her family, however, Y/n wanted to do something about it. She started by finding the one person she knew would help her, "Take me to the Cove of the Ancestors."

Ao'nung looked up from sharpening his spear, ears immediately rising to the sound of her voice. He tilts his head and forms a closed-mouth smile, though his eyes squint in confusion, trying to solve whatever puzzle he found on Y/n's face, "Why?"

"Because you said you would take me there," Y/n quipped back, taking the spear out of his hands and backing away, "I'm cashing in the offer."

"What is 'cashing?'" He stood up, following her with his arm out, only half-heartedly trying to take the spear back from the Omatikaya girl.

When she purposely kept the weapon out of his reach, Ao'nung smirked, taking a huge step forward so he could stare smugly down at her with their subtle height difference. They were close, close enough to share the same air, and despite Neteyam's words playing back in her head, despite the shame and guilt in her gut, Y/n stomped it down and stood strong.

"It means I want you to stand behind your word." She matches his grin with one of her own, ignoring the heat threatening to rise up to her face as she purposely kept eye contact, "You promised to take me to the Cove. I want you to keep your promise."

She stepped away then, never taking her eyes off him until she fully turned back in the direction she came, walking away with the spear still in hand. She could feel his eyes on her, a thrill running up her spine at the mental image of it. An even bigger thrill, the one led by a horn of victory in her head, went through her whole body when she heard Ao'nung dutifully following her without complaint and without question.

They summoned nearby ilu and fled without another word. They dive down deep into the water and only resurfaced when they had left the sea wall and village behind. Once Y/n inhaled the crisp air, she tosses the spear back to Ao'nung, who effortlessly caught it with a grin of excitement and promise, "Follow me."

~~~~~~~~~

A feeling of familiarity took hold of Y/n when she emerged from the water and looked up to find floating islands all around her. An instant smile graces her face, looking around at all the floating rocks, surrounding a wide circle of water at the center of spectacularly arched rocks easily identifying this sacred place. It wasn't entirely like the Hallelujah Mountains. These floating islands were smaller and floated horizontally, like large stepping stones leading up to the heavens above.

Ao'nung emerged and looked around, unimpressed, "This is it."

"It's beautiful."

He shrugged, "It's not much."

"To you, maybe," she grinned while pointing up at the floating rocks, "To me, I see the potential of kicking your ass climbing up those islands."

He laughed, "Careful what you wish for, Forest Girl."

"Is the Tree on one of those islands?"

"Nope." He smiles slyly, "I'll give you another guess though."

She flashed an odd look before looking around, finally staring down below, into the water. Ao'nung dismounted from his ilu and drifted over to Y/n, "Remember, I'm just acting as your diving partner today. We always have to pair up here. One has to watch over and monitor the other while they connect to our ancestors. Got it?" She nods. "Let's go."

The Na'vi girl sinks into the water with him and they submerge after she takes a deep breath. They swim down, side by side, as they approach the large, underwater Spirit Tree. Instead of limbs hanging down like Y/n was used to, this tree's arms reached up, flowing in the water like an overlarge, glowing anemone. Y/n reaches out and gently touches one of the luminous, graceful fronds, smiling to herself when it tickled her palm to greet her.

Ao'nung chirps low in his throat, like a baby crocodile, to grab Y/n's attention. When she turned her head in his direction, he moves his hands about, "The Tree is called Utraya Mokri. It gives breath when the kuru is connected."

Y/n nods in understanding, reaching behind and taking her braid in hand. She gently offers the tendrils to reach out and curl into the ones belonging to the Tree and closed her eyes.

Ao'nung dutifully keeps watch while Y/n connects with his ancestors. The Tree glows and looms beautifully over him, but he's not paying attention. He's seen the Tree hundreds of times and while it is beautiful, it's nothing new. Y/n, on the other hand, is new, and his attention would rather fixate on her than the Tree he's grown bored of over his young life. Her braided hair floats around her like fpxafaw, and her tail, usually dormant, twitches occasionally in response to the bond. Her fingers, all five of them, still delicately hold her braid to the Tree's fronds. Her hands weren't as strange as Ao'nung initially thought. In many ways, he reasoned the extra finger was good for some things-- like the punch Lo'ak fooled him into taking. If nothing else, an extra finger just means more to hold.

Y/n's body jolts and Ao'nung is torn from his traitorous thoughts. He swims forward and wraps his whole hand around her arm and then her kuru lets go of the Tree. Y/n's eyes flutter, still closed, a little dazed and overwhelmed from the whole experience as expected. With Ao'nung's support, she's brought back up to the surface and she slowly remembers to breathe again, now that she didn't have the Spirit Tree to aid her. The two young Na'vi stay there, treading water as Y/n catches her breath, and once her head is no longer foggy, her eyes appeared saddened, an expression that irritated Ao'nung for some reason.

"Not what you were expecting?" He asked light-heartedly.

"It's just..." she shook her head, bottom lip pouting with her eyes lowered, the water reaching up to kiss her chin, "I was hoping for answers."

He didn't ask, but maybe he should have. It's something that would continue to gnaw at him as the rain clouds float overhead. It would gnaw at him as he expressed on returning home before the storm, it would gnaw at him as their swim back resulted in silence and pouring rain. It would continue to gnaw at him as they approached the village, his ears rising to attention when the horn sounds, his blood cooling in fear and worry.

"Find your family."

"Why?" Y/n asked as her ears lowered in concern, loose hairs plastered to her forehead, "What's wrong?"

"It's a war cry. My father has called for a war meeting."

A/N: Not sure when 'part three' will be out, but it'll likely be longer than normal. Thank you so much for all the support and love I have seen from my very first Avatar work! It motivates me to continue doing what I love!

part three

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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A Flame Torn (broken)

- Summary: Your father breaks Aegon, to avenge your broken heart.

- Paring: cousin!reader/Aegon (The Uncrowned) Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: unworthy

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @callsignwidow

The air around the God’s Eye was thick with mist and tension, the sun a pale disk veiled behind gray clouds. On the shores of the great lake, two dragons faced each other, their wings spread wide, casting long shadows across the water. The sky above roiled with the promise of a storm, as if the gods themselves were watching the confrontation that would reshape the fate of House Targaryen.

Maegor the Cruel sat astride Balerion the Black Dread, his armor gleaming black as the shadow of his dragon. The sight of the monstrous dragon, its scales dark as night and its eyes like pools of hot coals, was enough to strike fear into the heart of any man. But across from him, mounted upon the smaller yet valiant Quicksilver, was Aegon the Uncrowned, his silver-gold hair caught in the wind, his expression resolute.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind and the distant cry of a lone bird. Then Aegon’s voice cut through the silence, carrying across the water with a desperate determination. “Uncle, listen to reason! We do not have to spill each other’s blood today. I offer you peace—an alliance that will strengthen our family and unite our claims. Marry me to Y/N. Let me be her husband, and I will support your reign.”

Maegor’s eyes, cold and unfeeling, narrowed at Aegon’s words. He had anticipated many things, but not this—a plea for peace from the nephew who had once sought his throne. “You think you can mend what you broke, boy?” he growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “You think you can repair the heart you shattered with a few sweet words?”

Aegon’s grip tightened on Quicksilver’s reins, desperation flickering in his eyes. “I severed my betrothal to Rhaena when my father still lived! I did it for her, for Y/N, and for the hope that one day she might forgive me. I know I have done wrong, but this... this is a chance to make it right. Let me stand beside her. Let us unite our blood for the realm’s sake.”

Maegor’s expression twisted into a sneer. “You will never have her, Aegon. Not after what you did. And not after the way you grovel now, begging for scraps like a dog. My daughter deserves more than you—a weakling who hides behind words and hopes for mercy.”

Aegon’s face hardened, a steely resolve replacing the plea in his voice. “You claim to care for her, yet you refuse her happiness. I will not let you destroy all that is left of our family’s hope.”

Maegor’s laughter echoed across the lake, a dark, mocking sound that sent a shiver down Aegon’s spine. “You think yourself a hero, but you are a fool. You speak of family, yet you challenge me, the rightful king, for a throne you are too weak to hold.” He raised his hand, and Balerion bellowed, the sound reverberating like the roar of an erupting volcano. “Very well, then, boy. If you wish to play the hero, let us see how you fare in the flames.”

Without another word, Maegor spurred Balerion forward, the Black Dread surging into the sky with a terrifying speed. Aegon followed, Quicksilver’s wings beating rapidly as they ascended above the God’s Eye. The two dragons circled each other like dark stars, their riders grim and silent, preparing for the battle that could only end in blood.

Fire filled the air as Balerion unleashed a torrent of flame, the heat so intense that the waters of the lake below began to steam. Quicksilver darted through the air, smaller and faster, evading the worst of the flames, but the heat singed its silver wings. Aegon urged his dragon higher, guiding Quicksilver with precision, but each time he drew closer, Maegor drove them back with Balerion’s powerful dives and strikes.

“You were never meant for the throne, Aegon!” Maegor shouted, his voice carrying across the sky. “You do not have the strength to rule, nor the spine to keep it!”

“And you will never understand what it means to protect the realm!” Aegon shouted back, his voice hoarse with rage and pain. “All you know is blood and terror!”

Their dragons clashed, talons raking against scales, jaws snapping in a frenzy of rage. Quicksilver bit at Balerion’s neck, but the larger dragon swung its massive head, sending Quicksilver spiraling through the air. For a moment, it looked as if Aegon might recover, but Maegor directed Balerion down with a savage strike, and Balerion’s jaws closed around Quicksilver’s wing.

With a sickening crack, Quicksilver’s wing was torn apart. The smaller dragon’s roar of agony filled the air as it fell, its body twisting as it plummeted toward the lake below. Aegon’s grip on his saddle slipped, his face a mask of desperation as he struggled to regain control.

Balerion followed, a dark shadow against the stormy sky. With a final, vicious strike, Balerion’s massive maw closed around Quicksilver’s neck, ending the smaller dragon’s struggle in an instant. The two dragons, locked together in a deadly embrace, crashed into the waters of the God’s Eye, sending up a massive wave that rippled across the shore.

Aegon, mortally wounded, lay in the water, gasping as he tried to rise, blood pouring from the wounds inflicted by the fall and Balerion’s might. His eyes, filled with pain and a lingering hope, sought out Maegor as his uncle dismounted from Balerion’s back, the massive dragon looming behind him like the shadow of death.

Maegor stalked through the shallows, his expression cold as he looked down at the prince he had bested. “You speak of love, Aegon. Of peace. But you were always too weak to understand what it truly costs. You were never worthy of her.”

Aegon’s breath came in wet, shuddering gasps, his body trembling from the pain of his wounds. “And... you think... you know her heart?” he managed to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. “She... will never forgive you... for this.”

Maegor’s lips curled into a dark smile, his eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction. “She does not need to. She will understand, in time, that this is the only way. You were a lesson, Aegon. A lesson in what happens to those who overreach.”

With that, Maegor turned and walked away, leaving Aegon to his final breaths in the cold waters of the God’s Eye. The ripples of his passing spread out across the lake, mingling with the blood of the fallen dragon, a dark stain against the gray waters.

The healers who rushed to the shore found nothing but the broken body of a once-proud prince, his spirit fading with the last light of the dying sun.

And somewhere in the distance, you feel a chill wind brush against your skin as you wait, knowing that your father will soon return with victory—but at the cost of something that was once precious, something you will never be able to reclaim.

#fire and blood #fire and blood x reader #aegon the uncrowned #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon x y/n #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #got #asoiaf #asoif/got #a song of ice and fire

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 1 year ago

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Always an Angel, Never the God Full

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Runaway!Reader

Words: 13,104

Your plans to run away with Hiccup fall through. Three years later, you finally make it off Berk and away from the Edge. Here are the years that follow.

Tags: SUGGESTIVE ENDING, Runaway Reader, Angst, bitter reader, unrequited love, requited love, healing, conflicting emotions, compiles parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5

<Previous

You waited for hours, back aching against the flat rock, basket of your few chosen belongings hidden behind a small outcropping of rock as you waited for him, increasingly more worried as the sun began to set.

Scared, even. You’d seen the axe, laid plainly on the ground. You feared the worst, especially after your frantic search bore no fruit. That he’d been found, and that something terrible had happened to him.

But Hiccup was fine, with Astrid, this whole time.

Even Toothless seemed to like her well enough. He didn’t like you, glaring and snapping at you when you got too close, despite all of your efforts to get on his good side. He barely let you on, and he certainly wouldn’t without Hiccup. You had the sneaking suspicion he’d buck if you tried it on your lonesome.

While you understood, it hurt that even as close friends he’d not told you about Toothless at all, at first. You doubt he would’ve if he’d not seen you do so poorly at dragon training. He probably felt terrible, watching you fail over and over again when he could be doing something to help.

You hugged your knees tightly, hidden behind rock and moss, fighting not to make a sound as you peered around a corner, barely listening in as they conversed.

Even if he never inherited the chiefdom, It was still a heavy expectation that he’d marry. You two were an inevitable couple, if not because of love, out of a bond of solidarity. It’s not like either of you had any suitors. You were friends first, of course, but privately you hadn’t had a problem with that. You got along well, and you could see a future with him where you were both alright.

And you really, really liked him.

You knew he wanted someone else, someone who was confident, capable, who had good standing, who his father could be proud of. Someone who was more gorgeous than plain, someone like Astrid.

You weren’t the best viking, you couldn’t work in the forge, you hadn’t a lot of lucrative talents at all and a measure of clumsiness and troublemaking that could rival Hiccup’s own.

But you were friends, and that had to count for something.

He came to you with his plan to run away. You were running away together, you thought.

But somehow, she was here, and he left with her. He liked her. You knew that. And, you realized with mounting horror as she leaned in closer to him, she liked him too.

You knew you’d never had a chance, but knowing it is different from experiencing it. You had not a chance in the world.

You could never fault him for that.

You couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in your eyes, or the tiny bits of your heart from splitting apart and scattering across the grass.

Conversely, he didn’t tell you when he flew off to battle with the rest of your peers. The whole thing with the Red Death? You missed it completely. You only found out later after Hiccup had been towed back to Berk on death's door.

Constantly spilling his heart out to you but saving the rest of it for the other teens, the ones who used to jeer at him from the sidelines, who all of the sudden began to treat him well, but still jeered at you while he wasn’t looking.

A hangers-on to their group, not very useful or funny, just there, always. Not spoken with or talked to or considered at all by anyone who wasn’t Hiccup. Just there.

Your companionship had, for lack of a better word, remained the same, except now there was an undercurrent of something under the surface of a black ocean, broiling and writhing like an angry serpent.

Sometimes it felt like a sick corruption of the friendship you and Hiccup used to have, made up of long held hardship and what you had thought were good times. Sometimes it was better than it was before, and you could joke and laugh and play games the same way you had as children.

And sometimes it felt like you were speaking to a stranger, one you weren’t sure you’d ever known at all; sometimes his mannerisms, his ticks and even the way he stood were alien to you.

You weren’t even sure you recognized who he was anymore. You never asked why, afraid of the answer you might find.

“So, I’m hoping that if I place a spring there, when I pull the lever it wont catch so violently. The gear system around the side is to help turn the barrel while you’re aiming. Got it? What do you think?”

You nodded, eyeing the vast array of blueprints and open journals spread sideways in between the two of you. Brown leather met leather as Hiccup rubbed his shoulder, no doubt a result of a hard fall he’d taken earlier on Toothless.

“Yeah, I got it,” You say casually, “What about the wheels? If you’re going to be pulling it over grass, you might need to cover the space between the wheels and gears, because the plants might catch and pull up into the gear system.”

It feels fake. Slimy to say, like a lie, except you know it’s not. It feels like a product of something more larger and uglier.

Hiccup picks up a yellowed paper, scrutinizing his own design, “Yeah… Actually, you’re right. I don’t know If- maybe if I shift the base… Yeah, I think that would work. Thank you.”

“No problem,” You puff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

“Also, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Hiccup shifted in his seat, clenching and unclenching his fingers, a nervous tick he’d had since the two of you were little, “Your dragon. Have you picked a name for it yet?”

“Ah, no,” You sigh, looking down at your knees, “Honestly, I haven’t been able to find something he likes.”

The picky bastard./Picky beast.

Hiccup had helped you find a dragon before the lot of you had moved, a smallish nadder who still didn’t feel much like your own, but served you just as well as any other would and you did teh best to serve it fine as well. He turned out to have just as much propensity for social upset around the other dragons and seemed to get along with Stormfly, Toothless and no one else.

Speaking of, the black dragon, Toothless, had warmed up to you, and in the end you became no better or worse than anyone else on Berk to him, which you were okay with for the most part.

The others had gotten used to you, though remained relatively detached. Conversations wouldn’t stop nor would people give you the look once you entered a room. You didn’t try to strike up conversation anymore, learning that it was better to be silent than awkward.

It still did nothing to soothe the hurt, or all of the years you’d spent hurting, or any of the time now you spent on your lonesome.

“If you don’t mind, I can-...” Hiccup leans back, the both of you turning heads as your door creaked open, heavy boots moving across the threshold of your home, wood floors creaking.

You gave Astrid a nod of acknowledgement as she approached your table and she tilted her head, glancing in your direction.

“Hiccup,” Astrid called, “Are we still flying tonight?”

“Astrid,” Hiccup greeted as he stood up, a soft smile stretching half the length of his face as he gathered his assets, leaving a few papers scattered across the top that he knew he could come pick up later as he usually did, “Yeah, let me get my things first.”

You tuned them out as they began speaking in earnest, leaning back to stare at the ceiling, fingers tapping against your elbows almost antsily as they slowly took their leave.

“Hey,” Hiccup looks back at you as your heart beats rapidly in your chest, “I’ll see you later, right?”

“Right,” You say nearly at a mumble, refusing to look him in the eye, your stomach rolling guiltily as the door shuts behind him, “I’ll see you later.”

Your foot nudged the pack you’d prepared out from under the table in the small, shoddy hut you’d managed on the Edge, slinging it over your shoulder as you watched Hiccup and Astrid take off on their dragons through a crack in your window shutters.

He may have found his happiness with the others but you had not, and you fully intended to leave, the same way he’d planned it all those years ago.

You knew what you were doing was wrong. Not saying goodbye, just up and leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

What would you be leaving behind, anyways? You didn’t have much.

You waited until they were just a small speck in the distance before running out on your own, a pack slung up over your shoulders. The dragon, who you’d parked just behind your hut and who’d spent the past few hours almost patiently waiting for you as you’d spent your sudden and unexpected last few hours with Hiccup, stood to its feet and chirruped as you hoisted yourself up onto its saddle.

Fishlegs was busy in his hut. The twins and Snotlout, maybe they’d notice you leaving but you didn’t have much faith in them asking why or feeling much at all besides a vague expectation that you’d be back later. Everyone went out for a leisure flight every once in a while, it was just about time you’d finally taken yours, after all.

Hiccup and Astrid wouldn’t be back till late doing who knows what. You bit your lip, lightly tapping your Nadder’s side with your heel, signaling for him to take off in the opposite direction, shoving down a deep spike of jealousy at the thought. He was your friend first, and soon he would be nothing to you and it wouldn’t matter at all anymore.

You weren’t sure where exactly you were going. But you knew wherever it was, it would be good as long as it was as far, far away from here as possible.

You grind your teeth, eyes tearing up as a heavy booted foot pushes you down further into the wooden ship floor. The ship rocks angrily as does your dragon, struggling against the barbed netting.

“Who are you? A new vigilante?” The leading trapper, Erik son of Erik or something, asked, bending down above you. He had, coincidentally, been the one to shoot you down.

“Where is your… hideout?” He leaned down into your ear at your silence, speaking in a raspy whisper. You got the vague impression he was trying to be intimidating, though the end results were more in favor of making you blush.

You were thankful for the hard wood covering your face and, therefore, your embarrassment. Of your belongings, you were only able to manage a mask and had taken to running around ensconced in furs with nothing but a dagger to your name.

You’d recon you looked much like a wild animal, straddling your nadder bare of a saddle. You had not done too well on your own. It was hard. You had always been a team player if by team player you meant a leech on society. At least, you had been told so.

So of course you had, unwittingly, stumbled onto dragon trapping territory. Extreme sport dragon trapping territory. It didn’t help that you and your nadder hadn’t been on the same page, you two being unable to sync in the way you’d seen the other riders with their dragons, which left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’d go left when you were trying for right, and when you finally decided to just go with it, he would change his mind and throw you for a complete loop. It was safe to say that even if you got out of this mess you never wanted to step foot on his back again.

You breathed a silent sigh of relief just as the trapper let out an annoyed one, stepping off of you in favor of yelling at his men for damaging their goods. Meaning, your nadder. Was he really yours, though? He did try and make a break for it without you.

While debating whether or not you should try at the ropes shackling your arms together, you grunt frustratedly, noticing a new tear in your garb.

After running away and getting captured, you had not expected to be kidnapped again by some insane-looking madman in a mask. Though you did look like two of a kind, so it was fitting.

Your nadder had its wings torn irreparably, so, unfortunately, you had to retire him early.

You found small comfort in that it hadn’t abandoned you on the ship that one final time, though the irony that it had led you here was not lost on you.

He visited sometimes. He took to life in the sanctuary very well.

You didn’t, a borderline prisoner before you’d been able to win over the trust of the resident feral gorgon. Sort of. She was a woman who let you see her face, more on accident than anything else. You hadn’t let her see you or hear yours. However you weren’t inclined to speak of her nicely, least of all in your head, after the number of weeks you spent trapped in a cave at her behest.

Finally, you’d been let out. Let out enough to walk more than just the short stretch of stone and greenish ice that made up your prison. The endless turquoise was beginning to make you sick.

Recently, you found a real friend in the sanctuary, and this dragon, it was truly yours. Affectionately named, fed and groomed, you two were almost inseparable. It was the kind of friendship with a dragon you’d completely missed out on on Berk.

It was hard to maintain given your captive status, but that was alright.

There probably wasn’t any social profit involved in being a vigilante, which is why you assumed the crazy dragon lady had taken to speaking at you in her spare time. About the dragons, what they ate, what she had to do. Pointedly she gave away nothing of their true secrets, not that you wanted them, nor anything of her vigilant-ing. Not verbally, though the influx of injuries both on her and the dragons spoke volumes.

She did give away her name.

You groan, rubbing your eyes under your mask as you cradle the thing to your face with the other.

“You’re quite attached to your mask,” Valka said amusedly, shifting the logs roasting in the fire with a stick, pushing them back and forth as you sat in silence. You hardly ever spoke a word, nowadays.

Her dragon, the stormcutter, stared at you with large eyes through the licking flames.

Neither of you mentioned that the only real reason you’d been able to keep your mask so long was that she’d been kind enough to let you. An allowance you’d been given on a whim. One you clung to with all the nervous energy of Fishlegs to his dragon cards.

“... I’d rather not be,” You grumble, voice raspy from disuse, “It’s stuffy.”

“Oh,” Valka looked at you, amused and maybe a little surprised to hear you speak at last, before going back to tend to her fires, “I was starting to think you couldn’t speak.”

“Funny.” You said, lifting a sharpened stick off the ground, spearing it through a slimy, gutted fish from the basket beside you. Your nose wrinkled as you heard the sharp point break skin. No amount of faux stoicism could make it seem pleasant to you.

“I have a few questions,” You grimace under your mask as she asserts herself. She can ask them all she wants, but there’s no guarantee you’ll answer.

You might, probably, as keeping secrets hasn’t always been your strong suit. She’s certainly been trying to open you up for a while. You’ve not given her any leeway before though, no reason to give her any now.

“How did you tame your dragon?” She asked, pushing a particularly thick dragon searching for morsels. Valka guides its head gently away with her spare hand before any of the other dragons crowding around them get any ideas.

You wait for a moment, still wondering whether you should follow along. Eventually, you decide to answer.

“Wasn’t me. Someone else back home did it,” You huff, “I just followed along.”

“...But not very well,” Valka hums. It’s obvious she doesn’t believe you. Unfortunately for her, that is not your problem.

She pulls a small trout off her own stick, tossing it to a crowd of young dragons, who you knew had acquired a taste for the cooked, through no fault of your own.

You should feel offended, but you know she’s right. You lean away from a wandering dragon snout as it searches you for morsels. The stormcutter, after a look from Valka, shoos it away with a large wing.

“Where are you from?”

You feel the embers from the fire as they rise, the furs of your coat becoming nearly unbearable, your skin heated up rapidly. You wrinkle your brow with annoyance as you feel a drop of sweat slide down the side of your face.

“Where are you from?” You retort pointedly.

She studies you cautiously, as if she could glean your intentions from your body language. And she very well could. Or the heat was getting to you, the wells you’d spent in solitude had finally done some real damage to your psyche, and you were hallucinating.

“Berk,” She says. You sit back, surprised, “And you?”

“...None of your business.” You wonder how long it had been since she had left. You pray she would not know you.

Valka raised her eyebrow.

“I’m serious.” You ground your heel into the dirt. It was a touchy subject, still.

“Berk, too. …Stop looking at me like that.”

Valka leaned back against the ice wall where you rested, looking out over the empty ocean as dragons flooded to and fro the sanctuary. You squinted far into the distance, as if you thought you might be able to see through it if you tried hard enough.

Your hair tugged wildly by the winds out from behind your mask as you sat, one leg extended and the other bent as you leaned back against one arm.

You probably looked as you felt, weary and unkempt after a long flight over the seas with your dragon, who clambered among the icy spike-lined wall with clawed hands. You felt refreshed yet somehow at odds with yourself still.

You cared little for your bedraggled demeanor the same way you hadn’t cared for much at all in a while. It might have made a cool picture had you not slipped and fallen onto your face on the ice just a few minutes prior. Whether you had broken your nose or not on your mask had yet to be uncovered. All that mattered was that Valka hadn’t seen.

Dragons crowed. Through the cracks in the walls of the sanctuary, the wind would whistle through if it hit the right angle. Louder than anything else were the sounds of the waves crashing against rock.

But between you and Valka, it was silent. A contemplative silence, the kind of silence you shared with others after a long thought or a hard day’s work. That’s how you knew she was going to break it.

“Why did you leave?”

You are annoyed at the prospect but are no less expectant. After the moment passes, you are not surprised. However, it feels as if you are the one who should be asking.

“Why did I leave?” You ask, “Does it matter?”

A loose chunk of ice falls off the side of the sanctuary as a large titan scrambles violently down the side, chasing after a bright yellow baby. You spot a shape through the fog, distant and blurry enough to resemble a bird though there are no birds here. You pointedly do not think of your small hut, even less of green eyes, and tiny, fading freckles.

Valka tilted her head in your direction, reaching a hand out to scratch Cloudjumper under his chin as he lowered himself towards her, “It mattered to you.”

You open your mouth, but you are only able to choke on your breath. No one has ever said something like that to you, not in a long while. You don’t understand why it’s hitting you so hard. Maybe it’s the isolation.

You blame the burning of your eyes on the biting wind.

“Why did you leave?” You ask in return, once you’ve taken time for yourself, though you have an idea. You can’t keep your voice from sounding a little bit scratchy.

You unhook your dagger from your belt, trying not to seem so attentive. Instead, you take to carving random shapes into the ice. A gronkle. A nadder.

“I was taken.” She sighs, quieter now. Lost off in memory as you both often are.

The nadder’s spikes are much too long. The gronkle looks more like a sandwich than a dragon.

“Taken?” You prompt and you begin on the outline of a fury. The result is shallow and scratchy.

It’s one of your own designs, not the same as the one Berk uses. Astrid liked the other one better, not yours, so that was the one Hiccup went with.

“I didn’t leave,” She insisted, almost as if she was trying to convince herself of the fact, “I had a son, and a husband.”

You’ve seen her by the fires, while trying to sneak out of this hellish ice maze. She talks to herself then. On particularly paranoid days, she’s slept by you, in the same caverns, so you’ve heard it. She talks in her sleep and says things she would never say awake, or had you been around. It’s all so very unsettling.

“Really?” You remarked with false astonishment. The facade is flimsy, but you figured you’d give her the benefit of the doubt. The grace to assume that you’d no idea what she was on about.

With prompting, you might have seen it earlier. In her slim form, the one she kept hidden under thick furs and thicker armor. You squint. They have the same eye color. The same hair. They both have higher cheekbones, though her son more resembles his father in that aspect. That is all.

Valka shoots you a reprimanding look. Cloudjumper, now creeping down the wall behind you, taps you on the back of your head with its tail at her behest.

Valka was of the air. Though he had the same flighty tendencies, he was very grounded, like his father, though he might either be proud or loath to admit it. He loved flying, yes, but he loved inventing and processing and routine just as much, if not more.

He did when you were close. Of course he did, he spent his whole life on it. You couldn’t really say you knew him anymore.

You didn’t pin Valka as the type to enjoy the same in any sort of manner. But that suited you just as well. You found that as time went by and as you were granted more freedoms, you appreciated it. It made it easier for you to forget. To ignore.

In the end they, you and she, she and you, were one and the same.

“But what does it matter, if you never went back?” You grumble, pushing your dragon’s head away as it nudges you towards the cliff, crooning for more flying time.

You guessed that was why she clung so viciously to the safety of her sanctuary. Why she hated other people so much, why she’d had no faith in the humanity of other people, why she’d held you here so strictly. If things could have been different, then what did she give it all up for?

Though you’d never had something else. Not even the option. You’d never been given it. Valka hadn’t been given it either, but there was a sure difference between something being there and not.

The atmosphere is silent again, tainted with some darker undertones. If you’d had to put a name to it, you might have called it grief.

“I want to leave.”

Valka doesn’t look surprised at your request. And indeed, it’s been no secret that you wanted to leave. Maybe she was glad for it, or maybe she was sad at the news.

After all, you settled into each other's presence long ago. You had a good sort of companionship.

And from that companionship, you learned a lot without even trying, just by watching. Eventually she took notice and she took an active part in teaching you the truths she learned during all her years in self-imposed isolation.

You two weren’t incredibly close but you could tell Valka was grateful for the company, grateful to have someone maybe even a little bit like her, even if most of it was spent in silence.

You still left the Drago fighting for her. It wasn’t your fight, it was hers, and you made that clear.

Neither of you brought up Berk. Ever.

You were content to just come and go as you pleased, for a while. Nonetheless, despite your freedom, you felt restricted to the small world of the Sanctuary and the empty skies around it. There was no place for you on the ground or by the seas, where hunters and trappers swarmed by the thousands and Drago’s armies grew by the day.

You spent so much time learning from her and yet it felt like no time at all. Which was why you were shocked when you’d truly learned how much had come and gone in full.

You were out slinking in the shadows, seeking shelter from a storm on the same small rocky outcropping of island that had a shipful of trappers stranded, in a rage and a panic as they attempted to recover their assets. The winds had been too rough to fly, so you had no choice but to wait and listen.

You didn’t believe it at first. It had been…

Months.

You wondered if he’d been married, yet.

Years.

The idea hurt, not as much as you’d thought it would, still not as little as you’d hoped.

Under clear skies, you found an inn, untouched by everything except grass and trees.

You asked, “What day is it?”

The large man, a burly viking scrubbing down a wooden cup with a torn old rag, had looked down at you skeptically from behind a beaten pine and stone counter.

Two years. It had been nearly two years since you left Berk. Just as Valka’s attachments kept her at the Sanctuary, you needed to go. To run.

Since you had heard it, spoken it, the urge to run, to fly hadn’t abated at all, going from a wispy thought at the back of your mind to a full blown need. Your dragon too had become antsy, maybe feeding off of your nervous energy. Eager to take off, to fly new skies.

“Are you sure?” Valka asked searchingly. You two were stationed over a heavily planted cliff over a large main pool which consisted of the main cavern within the Sanctuary, once again in front of a fire, eating your own meals as the dragons below ate and exchanged fish.

You were already packed, your mask secured as it had been for all two years you had been in this place stuck between confinement and dwelling. You almost regretted it, not telling her your name, but you couldn’t bear yourself to her knowing who she was, not truly. Not until you’d washed yourself of that particular weight.

“Yes,” One day you would, if you ever saw her again. Once you were released from the heartache and pain of your own making, “I am. Thank you.”

You started out into the pale foggy sky, mounted your beast as smooth as you’d ever done, which is to say, not smooth at all. You’d only ever managed it right when Valka was watching, anyhow. It was odd how that worked, maybe the peer pressure was finally starting to kick in.

As you took off and the sanctuary became smaller and smaller both to your eyes and your mind, as the tight bundle of chains in your chest dropped and the world opened up to you once more, you felt light, and free.

Once again, there was no one to watch you and no one to hurt for besides your and your dragon. Endless opportunity. Thousands of ways to keep going.

You wondered what your face looked like.

You couldn’t wait to see it again.

Hiccup traced the faint outline of a Night Fury in the ice with his fingertips.

He tried to suppress the bubbling hope and dread at the thought his mother had been lying to him and his father about being alone all those years.

He had left to get some air and to give his parents time together to linger while the snowstorm outside abated, taking shelter under a misty overhang of ice just off one of the tunnels leading back into the main dwelling. One that had fortunately not fallen victim to the heavy layers of snow drowning the uncovered surfaces below.

Toothless had followed him out, of course, and sniffled curiously at the ground, giving the other few doodles littered across the ice an inspection of his own. Hiccup sat back, covering his mouth with his hand as he mulled over the implications.

He then stood, staring back into the tunnel leading back into the sanctuary. Much of the awe he had felt earlier at the discovery of his mother had washed away and a wave of uncertainty and hurt replaced it.

He knew he had been given grace. A lot more than he deserved.

Since everything had changed, terrible mistakes became minor inconveniences. People no longer whispered about Hiccup the weird, Hiccup the Useless, the Hiccup who just didn’t get it. Rather, every jest on his behalf was now just another one of his strange little quirks.

He did his part. He was happy to have a part now. A real one.

(He’d had a part. Blacksmith, inventor, friend.)

(Mistake.)

He thought they’d do the same for you. But you weren’t doing well. Even though he was busy with his new role, he noticed. He noticed when you fell behind, when you still couldn’t seem to find your place.

(His father, looking at him with shining eyes.)

He begged for you to not fumble this chance that you both had to be different. To be a part of something real, something tangible.

(He was so proud.)

Except.

(It made him sick.)

He knew what it was like. To be the odd one out, to not be able to do things quite the way you were supposed to. After all, if he hadn’t had Toothless then he would still be the same old Hiccup.

(He felt like the same old Hiccup.)

So yeah, it made sense that you weren’t always the first on call. It made sense, when you lagged behind. Why you weren’t part of the group the same way everyone else was.

(Was he?)

Like a wall had been shattered and the curtains pulled, he’d been witness to some of the moments between the other Dragon Riders he’d not been included in when he was ‘other.’ Moments that he just couldn’t quite indulge in, that used to be aimed at him, that caused something ugly and sad to curl tight in his stomach.

That left the sour taste of stomach acid on his tongue that he couldn’t wash away, no matter what he drank or how many times he tried.

So he vouched for you when the whispers started. Hounded them until they stopped, despite the creeping feeling that they were right. Clung tightly onto the few moments you were able to spend together. The way things used to be.

(Pushed down the tiny voice telling him he still didn’t belong.)

Days. It took days for them to notice you were gone. Truly gone. And they couldn’t be sure at all when it had happened, what or why.

They assumed you were dead. Once the next devastating winter set in, there was no way you could have made it on your own.

They locked your hut. An empty grave. The key, he’d taken and melted down into other things.

But. there was always a but.

Hiccup was a good handyman. For the most part. He’d caused a lot of handy-requiring, meaning he’d had a lot of practice.

He broke your lock.

Hiccup stared down at the piles of maps, noted, traced and copied sprawled across your desk, pulled out from underneath a loose floorboard by your bed. He clenched the various compasses and sea charts hidden in drawers and carelessly thrown under dishware.

It turned out you had a lot of free time on your hands.

There was something missing. Something missed when the other riders would joke and prod, wielding inside jokes he’d never been privy to just as easily as they wielded swords and hammers. And now he had no one to share with when they did.

There was something missing late at night working on a new tailfin, or a rig, or early in the morning when he was too tired to piece metal jigs together.

It just wasn’t the same, going to Fishlegs or Snotlout with these things, and heaven knows that Astrid wouldn’t entertain the idea at all. It was the dragons that appealed to her most. She was an early riser and an early sleeper and for many reasons she appealed to him, but she just couldn’t be what Hiccup needed. Not then.

You faded away as if you were a ghost, a door to a room no one used.

They didn’t get how it felt to spend all those years being the odd one out. He needed someone who got it. He needed someone who got him. A friend.

And like a note in the margins of a bad story, eventually no one mentioned you at all.

He flew as far and as fast as he could. Mapping the world, exploring farther and farther, as if he might somehow be able to trace your footsteps, following a lost trail that one day a long time ago you might have paved.

He’d flown as if, once he’d flown far enough, he might have been able to understand where you’d gone.

(Why you left him.)

They figured a way to identify dragons through scale patterns. It was a skill Fishlegs had perfected first, taking vague, long held knowledge and putting it into practice, doing the math.

Hiccup ran his hand down the side of this dragon, eyeing the torn wings, the spiked crown. The jaw.

Recording its age, its gender, his place of origin.

“You know this dragon?” Valka asked cautiously. Distrustfully. She was leaning against her staff, face guarded. He didn’t need to look to know that last bit, he heard it just fine.

Hiccup furrowed his brow. Two fish, a scratch under the chin. Dragon nip, a saddle, carefully woven and tenderly worn.

“I trained it.”

Hiccup leaned forward against Toothless, urging him ever onwards against the rough, buffeting winds and vicious onslaught of snow. Higher and higher until they cut above the clouds, breaching the threshold of the storm, evading it altogether.

Your absence had long since become an idea. Your person, a concept that eluded him time and time again, as inescapable yet unreachable as his own grieving heart.

But now, with the news from his father, his mother… he’d set out immediately, with not a word to spare despite Gobber warning him of the oncoming storm.

You were only two days departed. Two days out, a mirage turned real and he pursued it with all the desperation of a child. Finally, nearly, you were almost tangible. Reachable, physical, real.

There was no telling how far you’d gone or how far you’d go if you’d been given the chance to flee. He needed to catch up, catch you, see you.

Happy to be on your own again, you’d taken a few days rest just outside of Valka’s territory. You didn’t expect to be caught off guard like that. You didn’t expect to be found, even by accident. It was just your luck.

“Damn it!” Peering from around the bend, you spotted a man. And he was a man now, a long shot away from the kids you two were.

He was masked, hidden just out of view inside the crack between a rocky craig, where you’d set up camp. However the unmistakable form of Toothless followed suit as the two fought the wind and storm, searching for shelter.

You brushed your hand over your own mask, your dragon breathing over your shoulder as it too surveyed the newcomers. They had crash landed quite suddenly and you’d rushed to compensate, hiding before they could notice. Hopefully they hadn’t noticed. He nor Toothless wouldn’t ever notice, not if you played your cards right.

You wondered if he remembered you at all. If he knew or if he’d ever had the mind to think about you. What brought him here. Maybe he’d just been chasing a whim. You pushed back a large animal skull with your foot, the mangled remnants of your attempt to fashion a new helmet with no face.

Toothless shook his head, looking at Hiccup sourly as they trudged on towards an outcropping near the center of the small island they’d found themselves on.

Hiccup rubbed his arms grievously, staring out towards the sea, not sure the place wouldn’t be overtaken should a particularly large wave come to shore. There was no way he’d be able to catch up to you now, not in this rough weather. He prayed that the storm would give but the chances of that were low and he had little hope.

He stumbled slightly as he was buffeted forwards, finally making it to the entrance of a nigh hidden, narrow space carved into a crack in the large rock. Toothless snuffled at his back, urging him forward, though he had to take pause at the entrance as he spotted movement in the back.

A dragon? Or…

You hadn’t played your cards right.

You cursed as you ran further into the cave and towards the opening you knew lay at the back, your dragon already there, packed and ready. You had to run back after the realization you’d forgotten your dagger, which you probably should have just left behind.

“Hey, wait!”

You grit your teeth as Hiccup made chase, running past your dead fire and crumbling fish bones. You would have been caught had the passage not been too narrow for him and Toothless to run side-by-side. It was just luck that he hadn’t yet thought to jump back onto his saddle.

You increased your speed as the passage started to open up and swung onto your own dragon, kicking off and just missing Hiccup as he skidded to a stop. Toothless lept in front of him right after.

You could just imagine the two of them vaulting into the sky, a common scene turned frightening image as you and your own dragon bolted.

You’d had plenty of experience flying through this kind of weather. You hadn’t always, and the vikings on Berk hadn’t much at all, choosing to hole up with their dragons when the snow got too rough.

It gave you the advantage, one you needed if Hiccup decided to follow. There was no way to tell with the snow this thick, and with Toothless, he’d be nearly impossible to outmaneuver. You stayed under the clouds, hoping to keep your cover, as traveling into the open sky now would most definitely give you away.

What you could make out below between flurries of hail and flakes was nothing but open ocean and large mountains of ice, which passed you by in less than an instant as you sped as far away as possible, using the winds to uplift instead of hindering you.

You scanned the area around you, looking for a sound place to escape and hide. Something caught your eye but just barely and you swooped downwards.

With what happened next, you might have been caught off guard had it not been for the yelling you could make out just barely above the wind. Instead you were just incredibly scared as a large mass spiraled into you, sending the four of you tumbling and screaming down into the cavern below.

Through the vertigo you were able to kick Hiccup, untangling your limbs with force as your dragon took unsteadily to the air again.

“Wait- Come back!” He shouted, leaning forwards, arm extended towards you. Toothless roared.

“No!” You yelled stubbornly back as you twisted to glare at him through your mask.

Regrettably, it seems that the Night Fury remained undefeated in terms of speed and inescapability as he soon caught up to you again, Toothless grabbing onto your dragon’s tail and with a hard yank, forcing your landing onto a nearby ledge, large and long enough to facilitate your rough spill and roll against hard gravel.

Your mask cracked as it was thrown against the ground, loudly echoing as it clattered against hard stone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to- It was really rough out there, and I-” Hiccup stumbled to his feet, shaking his mechanical foot out of Toothless’ saddle, heart pounding as you looked up at him behind scraggly hair, crouched a good few strides forwards

He’d found the experience novel when he’d seen it on his Dad, an outsider looking in. But to experience it firsthand… He knew what his father meant, when he said ‘You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.’

Even seeing you as messed up and wild as you were squeezed his breath out of his chest. Maybe even made you more… Whatever this was. Whatever you were to him.

You definitely looked different, a little older, features more defined, but he’d die before he’d cease to recognize that face.

He had to shut his mouth, lips pursed as if to hold back all the memories flooding back into his mind, faster than the winds blowing up on the surface. You two, as kids in the meadows, complaining about life and dads, sneaking around the Great Hall, causing messes and being scolded.

He realized what it was that he’d felt and missed so deeply. It was something he’d known, hidden so deep inside, realized much too late.

You held back tears as the life you’d tried so hard to forget had finally caught up to you. Within an instant, this new life you had built for yourself had completely fallen apart.

You saw the man- because you begged for it not to be him, and you’d exhausted all your avenues, and the only option you had left was denial, took a shaky step forward, pulling his helmet back over his head with both hands, revealing a face lathered in sweat despite the cool conditions.

Trolls.

“Why…” Your voice, scratchy and ragged, was easily heard despite your whispering as there was nothing else to be heard, “Are you here?”

“Why… Am I…?” Hiccup asked incredulously, staring at you wide-eyed.

“Yes!” You shout, shoving the hair out of your face as you stood abruptly, “What in the world are you doing here?” Your dragon, laying behind you, began to stand, cautiously crouching against the ground.

“I came looking for you!” He looked like you’d kicked his puppy. You bared your teeth at him.

“You came looking for me? You chased me through a storm like a maniac! Can’t you take a hint?! Gods,” You grip your shoulder, “You probably broke my shoulder, curse it!”

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I hurt you, that I-” Hiccup stepped forward. Toothless growled, behind him, “But you left! What was I supposed to do with that?”

“What you were supposed to do with that? You tackled me to the ground!” It had been so long.

“You didn’t even say goodbye!”

“You’re mad about goodbyes? Was the goodbye I gave you not good enough?!” He had scruff now, a light dusting of peach fuzz spotting along his chin. His hair was redder, his eyes greener. Or maybe that was the lighting.

“You went missing for two years! So I chased after you. Who wouldn’t? In what world would ‘I’ll see you later’ ever be enough? Ever?” It’s not like he ever gave you a goodbye. Not before he’d left you in the dust.

“I was hurt! And what are you- how do you even remember that, anyways?” You scoff loudly. But in the end he was still the same boy. He would have taken anyone else at their whim as a friend or otherwise. Yet he didn’t even recognize your companionship or your silly little crush. Wasn’t that disheartening?

Hiccup stomped forwards, causing you to step back. Your dragon snarled and followed as Toothless began to circle, trapping you and Hiccup in the middle of a very dangerous tango.

“How could I-? You’d- Just- Have you ever considered that maybe I was hurting, too? I spent so long just trying to fix- everything! I spent so long doing, and then you just leave and I can’t do anything about it! Do you know how painful that was? Why didn’t- why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you talk to me? Why?” He had worked hard. So, so hard.

He probably would have chosen Ruffnut’s hand over yours. He thought she was terrible.

“Why?” You asked him, throwing your arms out, squishing the little ball of guilt worming around in your stomach, “Why didn’t you talk to me? Do you know how much it hurt, to be constantly left behind like- like your old scraps, and maybe I got tired of hearing about it! Hearing about all of it! Your standing, your dad, your stupid girlfriend! Could you not just be happy with what you had?”

“What-”

He did get Astrid, though. He pursued her even though, for the longest time, she remained just ever so out of his league. The same way he was and wasn’t out of yours. Yeah, you were jealous. So, so jealous.

Of her, of his cousin and all his other friends for pushing you around and squeezing you out of his life. You were mad at him for letting them, after all they’d done to the both of you.

“I got made fun of! All the damn time! And your head was so full of air- you were too busy jerking your own ego to notice!” Your eyes stung as you shouted at him.

“Up my own ego!” Hiccup stopped, “No one wanted me as I was. I spent so long trying to make everything work for everyone else! What I had-I wanted you to have it too! So why? Why did you leave?”

“You say that, but-” You grimace and, “Shouldn’t it be obvious? Maybe I didn't want that! Did- did you ever stop to consider that maybe I wanted you? You didn’t have to make anything up for me! You-! It was all about you!”

“I- Honestly, you have to- All my life, I-”

“I have to what?! We had the same life, Hiccup!”

“I know!” Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Then, quicker than you could react, he grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled you closer just enough- It wasn’t pleasant at all, all force and teeth against lip. But the next one.

He pulled back, readjusted and you slipped together seamlessly. Closed-mouthed, but he clearly knew what he was doing, kissing you that way. You held onto his elbows, unmoving yet still, frozen by shock. He’d gotten his practice in with Astrid.

The thought sent a wave of fury down your spine. You punched him.

He reared back from the blow, accepting yet more startled than physically hurt as, just like him, you’d never had much muscle. Still, you’d left what was quickly becoming a nice red welt on his face.

Your dragons stared at the both of you in shock, yours more in confusion than Toothless. There weren’t many Vikings in the sanctuary, so the meaning behind the gesture, the punch and the kiss, was probably lost.

“I thought…” He mumbled, eyes wide again, speaking as though whatever just happened, hadn’t, “I thought everything was fine. Fine enough. Between us.” You looked at him, the place where your heart used to be all twisted up and torn.

He was a liar. He was a liar, and you wouldn’t let him one over you. Not again. You didn’t want him to, more than anything else.

In spite of that, emotionally and physically, you were exhausted. You could only manage sadness. You weren’t sure you had the energy to push him away.

“You thought wrong.” You didn’t want to speak to him at all.

“Please, don’t-” he fell apart, voice hushed and cracking as he spoke. He took the final step towards you, burying his head against your shoulder. You stood stiff, staring out over into the scenery beyond his back and yet unseeing.

It was weird, having said everything you’d needed to say, that you’d bottled up for so many years. It defined you for so long that having it all out in the open kind of made you feel like you’d lost something essential.

“I see it. I see it now. I really do,” He whispered that last part tearfully, fingers gripping weakly onto the fabric of your sleeves. You felt as though a stiff breeze might blow him away, “Please, don’t leave me. Not again.”

He couldn’t say that.

“I can’t let you go again,” He really couldn’t say that.

“Just... Just tell me what you want.” He couldn’t say that, either. Toothless shot you a scathing glare, your dragon all but forgotten as he tugged Hiccup back. Your dragon unfurled its wings behind you, standing tall and proud as he pulled away towards the entrance to the cavern.

You met Hiccup’s gaze.

“Just do me this.” You choked out, watching as his expression switched from despaired to flat and back again, “Go away,”

“Please.” You said.

And he did. He turned tail and ran.

It was over.

As he flew away on Toothless, becoming nothing but a pinprick in your periphery before finally disappearing up the cavern entrance, you fell back down onto your knees.

You weren’t sure what to do anymore. The most important decision of your life was made with his ghost nipping at your heels. Truly, he haunted you. Whether he was with you or not, he always haunted you.

But the dragons here, untouched by the outside world, were kind. And curious. Once the threat was gone and the commotion was over, many came over to examine the newcomers, sniffing and prodding at you and your things.

They were welcoming enough. So you set up shop.

Hiccup laid flat against his bed, staring at the ceiling of his childhood home. He felt torn in every single direction all at once.

He’d left when his people needed him. When his father had needed him. Drago had attacked while he’d been gone, and all that was left of the sanctuary now was rubble. Then he’d gone after Berk. Hiccup had only just gotten there in time.

His father was fine, his mother… alive. After twenty years. Everyone was accounted for, but what if they hadn’t been? If he’d been there, maybe there would have been less damage, less people hurt.

But he wouldn’t have found you if he’d stayed. Finally, after all this time. He'd realized how long it truly had been since you left, lost to him even before you’d actually run off on your… the, nadder.

The floorboards creaked as someone made their way up the stairs to the loft, the front door swinging shut behind him. Hiccup didn’t move, just glancing to the side to see who it was that came to get him this time.

“Astrid,” He sighed. The two of them were distant and had been for a long while, despite the fact that they were supposed to be in a relationship. He’d been off a lot for that whole long while, which she hadn’t much minded as she’d found herself more interested in other things. And… he’d found his heart had a new owner.

“It’s been a month, Hiccup,” She rolled her head back, exhausted, as if reciting a tired script that she’d been reading off for ages, one that no one wanted to listen to anymore, “Everyone is fine. You don’t have to hole up so often. I don’t know why you did it, but no one is mad you left, you know. You couldn’t have known.”

“Yeah…” Hiccup sighed, “Yeah, I know.”

“You need to get out,” She looked around his room, which was very much a mess of parts and papers, and ran her hand down a large map, laid flat over the only remotely clear space he had, his desk, “if you don’t next thing you know, a month’ll be four.”

“Why are you so obsessed with this place? … Does it have anything to do with the time you spent missing?” Astrid questioned. Hiccup propped himself up, turning over alarmed as he heard the sound of skin on paper. It had been freshly inked.

“No,” He’d guessed at where the two of you had ended up. He was sure that he’d be able to find it again, given the chance. He would. After he worked up the courage.

After all, you’d… You didn’t want to be found.

“Hey, wait, that’s-” He scrambled onto his one leg, kicking aside his prosthetic and jamming his toe in the process.

“Ah, ow, ow, don’t touch that, please,” Astrid rolled her eyes and tossed the cylinder to his bed and he picked it up, examining it thoroughly as she sauntered off.

You weren’t sure why, but he kept coming back

“Hi,” He said awkwardly, shifting from foot to peg nervously. This was the first time he’d caught you. The first time he’d spotted you was the last but you’d made off that time before he could see you.

“Why are you here?” You stared at him, blank faced. Why didn’t you leave, curse it.

Your dragon waved its tail playful from the side, waiting for Hiccup to go. The other ones wouldn’t come out while he was here. It felt good in a vindictive sort of way, because dragons had always been this thing, except this time you were the one with the secret dragon knowledge. And the upper hand. Sort of. They didn’t hide from you.

“I like… “ He flushed, “I like hearing you talk?”

“Sure,” You suggested, turning and starting off again, basket under arm and over rock as you began unsteadily making your way back up to home cave. You liked it there because you didn’t have to leave much for anything.

“Wait, wait, wait wait,” Hiccup stuttered. As you had your arms over a particularly steep ledge, your legs waved nonsensically and scrambled against the side as you searched for a foot grip, “Just, uh, let me-”

“Come back tomorrow,” You grunted after you managed to finally get one leg up the side. You’d probably figure out what to say by then.

You felt better here, like maybe you weren’t meant for people. Not for dragons either, not really. The dragons here didn’t need defending or anything, it’s not like there was anyone down here to defend against besides other dragons. The most you’d had to go out for was food, and even that was made or stolen easily enough.

Being here gave you enough time to make you think that maybe you were meant just for yourself.

You sat by the spray by the falls, enjoying the mist as it sprayed onto your face and the echoing sounds of the water hitting gray stone.

“Toothless, come on- Just please, I know you don’t want- but-” Your eyes shot open, the distant voice of Hiccup bounced around the empty cavern, your moment ruined.

You looked around for the pair, trying to figure out which direction you should be running before. Suddenly, it felt like you’d been drenched by a whole lot more than a mist as Toothless landed messily behind you.

“What are you doing here?” You were careful to keep your balance as you shuffled further inland, looking a lot like a drenched cat as you came face-to-face with an also sopping wet Hiccup

You would never be rid of him.

“You said to come back tomorrow?” He asked, twisting his fingers and very purposefully refusing to look you in the eye.

Of course, you hadn’t figured out what to say.

You blew a raspberry as you adjusted the stolen, waterlogged basket which you had, again, under your arm. You needed more than two pairs of clothes.

“...Come back later,” You grumbled, “Later than tomorrow.”

You’d been free for a week. You’d been hoping for maybe two, to be frank.

“Please, I just-” Hiccup huffed, traveling by foot while you rode your dragon. Toothless followed behind, grumbling and gurgling at Hiccup judgmentally. Clearly whatever good will you’d built up with him before you ran left had been more than lost.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” You stare straight ahead, over the encroaching cliff, ducking round and under ledges as your dragon trotted onwards.

“I want to get to know you, again.”

Eventually, the cave dragons had warmed up to Hiccup and he was able to work his magic on them. Now they watched through stalagmites and stalactites with impassive eyes as he made chase.

“Uh huh,” You scoffed as you reached the edge of the ledge. You turned around and stuck out your tongue as your dragon took a violent leap into the open air. As the wind whistled around you, you pinwheeled your arms in an effort to try and keep balance.

“Come on, Toothless, bud,” Hiccup complained from way behind. You saw Toothless very decidedly sit down, refusing to move even as Hiccup tried to push him towards the cliff with his whole upper body, “Let’s go.”

“So,” Hiccup started, “You haven’t gone any deeper.”

The both of you stared out into the vast, glowing sea of towers and gigantic glowing mushrooms extending out of their jagged rock faces. In the distance you could spot gigantic crystals, protruding from the ground the same way the sanctuary did.

Seas of dragons crowed and chirped, bright patterns shifting and growing under hard muscle. It was very dizzying, if you were going to be honest.

“No,” You replied, “No, I haven’t. Not this far, but now I… I might.”

You hadn’t traveled too far into the cavern, deciding not to push your luck with the locals. You always figured there was some sort of nest farther in. Turns out there was, and a whole lot more locals than you expected, and a lot more to this small world besides the cold, empty cavern. At least you didn’t have to worry about flooding anymore. Or sea salt in your hair.

You swore to yourself that you were going to move further in, caught off guard and most definitely embarrassed at the fact that so much open space had been hiding right under your nose.

Free for three days.

“There has to be more. There’s no way- It doesn’t make sense how all these different kinds of dragons can live in the same environment. There’s- there’s so much here that-Gods, I have to map it,” Hiccup rambled, smiling gawkily.

He’d been here for a week.

You felt a pressure to supervise him as he ran rampant in your new home, unsure of when he’d become such a cartographer. Your dragons had gone missing a while ago, leaving you two to be babysat by the hands of the general public.

You watched as he painstakingly mapped each pillar, occasionally chiming in with your own advice, looking the same way he did the day he discovered honey when you were kids. It was almost pleasant.

The two of you had fallen off the edge of a pillar after being knocked down during a spat between two touchy Crimson Goregutters, which no Hiccup magic or dragon secret could stop. After an event with a vine, dangling over certain death and panic, you two had managed to swing your way onto a large glowing mushroom.

The downside to that was that now, you were stuck, owed to the fact that apparently, what made some of these mushrooms glow was very viscous and… sticky.

Hiccup’s arms were glued to the space on both sides of your head, and your hands were gripping his arms which were visibly shivering, because you two had been stuck like this for a while. You’d been tugged, prodded at and licked by various different dragons. Nothing helped and you were starting to think that maybe this was how you were going to die.

Well, you knew you weren't going to go to Valhalla. It was kind of really hard to die in battle if you spent most of your time avoiding people. But this just sucked.

“What's up with your pathological need to map everything?” You asked belligerently. To be honest, it didn’t really bother you. Hiccup’s rambling had never bothered you, because you were prone to rambling in the same exact way. Currently though you were hard pressed to find anyone else to hear it.

“I thought your thing was the forge? You spent half of my childhood there.”

“Well, yeah, I…” He rested his forehead against yours, eyes shut as his neck finally gave out, you weren’t too pleased as you felt his sweat drip onto your face, squirming rebelliously.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d want to hear it. I-I could talk about that instead?” No talking at all would be great.

“Yeah,” You gave in, closing your eyes and going limp against the slimy fungi, “That would be better.”

Lips pursed, then grimaced as he’d opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out, though. He just stared above your head, unmoving. You tried to see what he was looking at, but only got an eyeful of his scruff.

Next thing you know, you’re being smothered by a plushy pink tongue, then just licked and nosed a little bit. The spit of this dragon doing something odd to dissolve the slime trapping the two of you, fizzing as it touched shiny goo. When you finally had the facilities to move, you flipped your head back and your eyes widened slightly.

It looked like the two of you had just found Toothless a girlfriend.

Three months, two days and five visits- no, seven. Nine? Eleven? Seventeen?

“I don’t actually have a problem… with the mapping. Talking about it.”

You two were nestled between a rock and another rock, though this time whether it was a result of purpose or chance remained uncertain. You couldn’t remember. You were after something… There was barely any space between the two of you. You had been talking.

There was barely any green to Hiccup’s eyes, most of his iris consumed by large pupils as he mouthed around works that looked suspiciously like, “Can I…?”

Instead, he leaned forwards and your foreheads touched, the same way they did when you were trapped before. His eyes were clenched shut as he uttered, “I love you.”

You had a hard time believing that.

You turned your head to the side.

“I wonder how Astrid feels about her boyfriend flying off and doing who knows what.”

Some of the wild dragons lay in front of you, licking at the dying fire by your feet. A terror lay in the middle of it. You’d lined it with stones which were now giving off a pleasant warmth.

“I doubt she’d mind. We’re not really… together anymore. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to be.”

“Right,” You raised an eyebrow at him skeptically.

“Not since a little while after you left, actually.”

You found that hard to believe too, as you shook the burnt slice of fish off your knife onto your burnt slice of bread. You weren’t much better than Valka at cooking, but you were getting better. It was something about that sanctuary, or maybe something about that woman that just made you worse at cooking.

Hiccup wrinkled his nose over on the other side of your log as he shook his head at you.

It was a petty, but bitter sort of revenge.

Your first kiss had been lost to a fair bloke- his words, not yours- in the middle-of-nowhere inn. It had been a long time since you’d been out, but you were sure you’d easily be able to find somewhere similar to lose some other things. Hiccup had your heart but you’d never give him the opportunity to take any of your firsts.

Two months.

You were angry at him for playing with your heart again.

“There was a crisis-Berk…” His voice cracked.

You looked disinterestedly out over uncanny black waters. “Yeah, It’s fine.”

Seven days, seven visits. He might have been camping aboveground.

The two of you were between two large red fungi, settled on a mossy rock overlooking a new, larger, unmapped maze of rock pillars and black water rushing below. Dragons, glowing and colorful, mingled together off in the distance. Toothless was probably one, gone off to frolic with his new lady love.

“You never wanted me. As a friend, as a- …battle buddy, or as anything else. You would never have chosen me for anything. And I just… I didn’t want to be just what you settled for,” You mumbled into your knees, “You spent so long searching for better, and then you found it, and it just really hurt to realize that I wasn’t a part of that.”

You spilt your heart out as you faced the cliffside. Hiccup was facing you. You didn’t care what he heard. None of this was real anyways.

“I’m sorry,” Hiccup repeated, clenching his eyes shut as he buried his nose into your shoulder, barely there though he had to crane his head forwards, due to the uncomfortable angle.

What he had with Astrid these past few years, that was real. That was history. This thing between the two of you was just a mess of pain and turmoil and a little bit of childhood fantasy. An old infatuation rearing its head as you got everything nasty out of your system.

“It hurt to think that-That… the one person- Like everyone else did, you didn’t think I was good enough either.”

“I’m sorry.” You felt his arms come around your sides awkwardly before he squeezed.

“Me too. I…”

He’d remember that he didn’t want-need- you again soon enough.

“I haven’t told anyone. About you, or this place.”

“You haven’t?” You’d actually expected otherwise. It was nice to know you weren’t at risk of getting dropped in on.

Two months, thirty two visits.

You might be coming around to him.

“You’ve already-?” He asked, a little startled. You still felt a little silly about it but after you’d done it, you figured it wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t like you’d planned to marry or anything anyways, so his reaction was kind of funny.

“Yeah, I was pretty mad. So I went out, and… you know. It was a while ago, though.”

He looked a little disheartened at the idea, but he just scoffed, waving his hand off in your direction.

“What? You and Astrid kissed, yeah, but you haven’t done- anything? Not even before you ‘totally broke up,’” You didn’t have to specify what they hadn’t done, the innuendo was already pretty obvious.

“Nah.” Hiccup said, hair wiped out of his face, matched squares of parchment. Map pieces were strewn out in front of him as he made himself busy trying to create a complete chart of the underground, matching up the landscape he saw with the islands above it.

Unfortunately, the caverns seemed to stretch on forever and the islands only covered so much.

Three months, one day, thirty two hours.

You straddled him, crinkling some of the many, many blueprints scattered across the moss surface. You wiggled one out from under him, looking down as he looked up. It felt good, being the one in charge for once.

You leaned down, pressing your noses together. Just before, you’d been going over his things. His blueprints. Swapping ideas. Sharing minds. Like you used to, every single day. Like you’d been doing, almost every single day.

“Do you love me?” You asked.

Every day you’d been together. Your knees touched, shoulders pressed close together.

You had to know. And if he did… He had to mean it.

You played games, shared stories. You’d grappled and curled, not the way vikings could, but the way two hiccups did, a long, long time ago.

If he didn’t, well… You had all the time in the world to leave, to start again. But you didn’t think you could. You could go weeks without seeing him, and then sometimes it would be every other day.

This was it.

“I do love you,” He choked out, wheezing as you adjusted, your weight pressing against his chest. He glanced back at you, crumbling a little bit.

He spent a lot of time here, now. A lot more than before. With the time spent traveling in between, as he said it, it was a wonder he got anything done there at all. Most of his time was spent above mapping the islands or down here with you.

You read what his body language told you; he was insecure.

“... Do you love me?”

“I do.” Hesitantly, you nodded, “I do.” Was that even a question?

You trusted him. You didn’t trust him. You had no way to know if he stabbed you in the back again. Went back to Astrid. You didn’t really have a way to know if that’s what he did, every time he left.

You loved him, didn’t you?

He didn’t know that? Maybe not always and not all at once, since you left. You hadn’t done a very good job of making him know it. You hadn’t a lot of reason to.

Did you love him now?

You marveled at how easy it was to be around him, with him. It wasn’t the same as it was before, but it was still good. It could almost be better. You, against everything, wanted it. You wanted it so bad.

“I’d leave it all behind, for you,” Hiccup said.

You would make him know it.

“You would?” You asked, “Would you?”

You laid your heart bare to him, stitched and spiked. And you, as he said it, implied it, maybe you held his.

“Do you want me to?” He asked. He tugged lightly on one of the draws to your tunic, faking interest in it as he worried the inside of his cheek. You didn’t want his home, or his family.

“I don’t want anything,” You scoffed dismissively. You wanted his honesty. You wanted to know that he was yours. Yours truly. That was it.

Prove it. You urged him on, Prove it to me.

He smiled that goofy, awkward smile, half teeth and all closed at the edges. You could tell he was trying hard not to falter. You hadn’t seen that smile in such a long time.

Know me, You asked.

“So… Do you? Do you love me?” He asked again, offering his hand up to your face. His fingers were scabbed, and dirty and you leaned into his palm, pushing it down as he tangled his fingers clumsily into the roots of your hair. You pressed your lips together, again, again and over again until neither of you could breathe.

Have me, You pleaded.

“I do,” You gasped into his mouth, “I really, really do.” You offered no resistance. Not this time.

Love me.

There was no coming back.

(Deep in your mind, you wondered if maybe, possibly, he already did.)

Twelve months. Twelve months since he’d found you.

Hiccup stood at the edge of Berk, armor packed away in favor of a lighter tunic. He often wondered what it would have been like, if he’d really run away with you like he’d intended.

If things would have ended up the same.

Would he have seen you in time? In time for what he had now? For this?

No. no, probably not.

…

His father would notice. His mother might.

His father was fine. And now he had his mother. They were old, but they were tough. They could have a new kid. Or maybe they’d convince Snotlout or Astrid to take the mantle.

They’d-everyone-would be fine without him.Who was he kidding? He’d spent so long working so hard and they didn’t need him at all. And if he was honest, He didn’t need them.

He didn’t really care. Not anymore. He let go.

Life would go on just fine without him, just as it did before him and just as it would long after his name was lost to time. His distance only proved it. He spent so long away he’d been practically excommunicated again.

After a little bit of irritation, his travels became just another one of his quirks.

‘Oh, look, there’s Hiccup. Oh, well, he’s off again.’ He was barely missed. And rightly so. It was by his own doing, really. That was fine by him. In fact, It worked in his favor.

It was borderline hysterical how, the moment they found more furies, and his new paramour, Toothless went from devil’s advocate to his most eager accomplice.

The Sand Wraiths were especially cool… It cost him a lot less fish to get there now. To you.

Sometimes he had to wonder why he’d been so attached to Berk. Working for things that ultimately, he didn’t care about. Everything that kept him here, he also had with you. When he was here, all he wanted was to go back out.

A pebble-sized ball of guilt coil in his stomach. It used to be worse. But, he’d talked to you about it. The engagement.

The engagement with Astrid. The one that was basically moot at this point, anyways. She might even slap him if he brought it up, to expect anything after he’d left her for so long. Truly, officially. all he’d had to do was end it. He left a letter nearby her family home; they would find it if they bothered to search for him.

A scummy trick, yes. Was he a coward for doing it? Maybe. But he was a smart coward. He wasn’t lying when he’d told you that no one knew.

Hiccup exhaled, bouncing up and down on his heel and peg, as if to psych himself up. To dispel all of his nervous, excited energy.

It was a clear day, no risk of a storm. He strapped his saddle pack to Toothless. It was only slightly larger than usual, so as not to arouse suspicion, of course, but it held all of his essentials. Leatherworking tools, metalworking tools, more tools, his armor, spare armor, spare foot, spare charcoal. The small plush his mother had made for him as a child. His viking helmet, for memory’s sake.

Slung over his shoulder was a smaller pack with just his compass and his coin.

As the two of you grew closer and closer, it only made his decision more and more certain.

He wasn’t meant to be Chief. He wasn’t cut out for this life at all. He didn’t want this life. He wanted you.

As far as anyone else was concerned, you’d long since disappeared and now he had the feeling it was time for him to do the same.

He took a deep breath, one that pushed his lungs to his ribs. Then like his bag, he flung himself over Toothless’ saddle before he took off from Berk for the last time, closing his eyes. He’d left his helmet off this time so he felt the beating wind rip through his hair.

The two of you were there, half hidden from view under a large red plume. It was wasm, and your perspiring skin was trapped under hollow armor, same as his.

You gasped, hot air mingling every time his breath hit your face. The two of you huffed and panted as he pushed you unto the dirt and you pushed back, feeling the moss tickle your face and the backs of your hand.

Not your back, though. Just hands.

Gripped, interlaced fingers pressed firmly down by your head, sweaty palms melded to his. He’d been the one in charge, today.

He was hunched over you, his trousers unbuckled and unlaced as he pressed downwards, forwards, gently and not.

A line of sweat ran down your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered. His breath caught.

Men shouted their battle cries into the dark, never ending sky as Berk was set in flames. A skull, still fresh with blood and exposed brain, broke with a sickening, wet crunch as Stoick ground his head into it, bringing mercy to the poor, damaged creature.

“There is no fury here,” He bellowed as he towered menacingly against the hulking wall of flames by his door. Three Deathgrippers and their tails lay cut, prone and slain around him.

“We’ll see about that,” Grimmel crooned, standing tall with his hands linked behind his back, looking down on him with two more dragons hissing and spitting by his sides.

Sharp talons dug into the wood of the rafters, Cloudjumper’s head turning steering around as he hung by her feet. Valka, masked and fully covered, crouched down from where she was, nestled at the bend of his tail. She pulled her arms back, getting her hook, sharp and serrated, ready for a wicked swing.

Yes, he would see. She’d make sure of it.

#hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #how to train your dragon #httyd #x reader #fanfiction #httyd imagine #toothless #fem reader #gender neutral reader #female reader #male reader

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 4 months ago

Note

About the "send me a ship and one of these and i'll write a mini fic" you reblogged 🤭

I was thinking about the "things you didn't say at all" one (I think it was prompt 5) and about your Feyd x Reader fic 🤭 the latest chapter and it's first segment, Feyd being subby...

How about a small Feyd POV, things he didn't say but thought during this scene?? ♥️

Absolutely no pressure, I just saw the reblog and my mind went wandering hehe 🤭

*Breaks fingers* Let's do this!

TAGS/CW: Subspace!Feyd; sub!Feyd; dom!Reader; first time topping; mentions of switching; riding; service bottom Feyd; overstimulation, masochism; knifeplay; nipple play; multiple orgasms, creampie, oral sex (M+receiving); body worship; come eating; mentions of past self-harm; mentions of past dubcon, mentions of past noncon/CSA; mentions/fantasies about smothering kinks; references to Feyd's prescience; Feyd and the Reader matching each other's freak

ADULTS ONLY/UNDER 18 DNI

Link to AO3 fic here:

Link to previous chapter on tumblr here

Thank you so much @peggyao3! I hope you enjoy it!

Y/N leans down and kisses him, slow and languid. I want to keep you inside of me until you get hard again, and then I want to ride you again until I can’t anymore, she’d told him with utmost confidence as she sat astride him, and it won’t take long to make that first part happen. He’s been transfixed since she pressed his own dagger against his chest, since the crack of her palm against his cheek.

Oh, had been his only thought, the heat flooding to his dick during his struggle growing stronger, still covered at the time as it pressed against the apex of her thighs. He’d never gotten such a good view of her naked on top of him as he did when she sat, stunned, furious, and a fucking glorious vision of a woman.

Go on, he’d told her. Take your reward, and she had. It didn’t quite surprise him that she’d been aroused by the time she’d gotten his pants off–he’d felt her damp heat through the fabric of them, and she sank with slick ease onto him as she’d started at first holding his own blade against his collarbone, as if he wasn’t exactly where he’d wanted to be.

You wanna ride me? he’d asked as she’d gasped and shuddered, moving on him.

Is that what this is called? she’d asked, delighted and triumphant, and it had made him smile.

It didn’t surprise him that she’d take to riding him like it was what she was made to do, that she drove them both about out of their mind like this. Didn’t surprise him, except that he still hadn’t felt fully prepared for how quickly and easily he sunk into the feeling of not only being used but loving every moment of it. It’d been a long time since that had happened.

She’d come twice on top of him, exhilarated from their scuffle and from the power he was giving her–even as he’d felt himself slipping, stunned at how she’d fucked him and touched him and looked so unbearably beautiful doing it, he could see how thrilled she was at the power she had over him.

She holds it now, still straddling his hips. It feels like something tangible that settles between them in the combination of ease and excitement building in his chest as they kiss, waiting for him to stiffen inside of her again, content to caress her sides, her thighs, her hair, but aching to feel her moving on top of him again. It’ll happen; he’ll give her whatever she wants. He gives a soft sigh as she trails her mouth just below his ear, along the junction of his jaw and neck, and waits as she pauses, seeming to consider something.

He realizes what she’s about to do a second before she does it–takes the knife he’d had pressed against her throat not twenty minutes ago and makes a slow, shallow cut above his heart. He gasps at the sting, thinking, Oh yeah, that’ll do it, cock twitching and fully coming back to life as she laps up the beads of blood that well up, as she dips her head lower to scrape her teeth against his nipple. He hadn't allowed her access there before tonight, not so much because it was forbidden but nearly every time he’s been inside of her he’s taken her from behind or been just above her, where she didn’t have such easy access to him. He’s been so impatient to taste and touch and tease her that other than the times he’s guided his cock as far into her mouth as she can handle he just hasn't afforded her the same chance.

She takes it now, and he gives it freely, fascinated by her own fascination with him. She’s never been fucked by anyone else, that much he’d learned on their wedding night. Probably never even had another person touch her nipples or play with her clit except for herself.

Feyd’s train of thought is cut short as Y/N then sits up, her fingers collecting the thin trail of blood as she briefly rests her hands on Feyd’s chest, only to bring those same fingertips to her lips and lap them clean. A smear of blood remains on her lips as she breaks out into a slow smile, rocking her hips, readjusting to the movement and the angle, before she gives a small, stunned laugh. She’s captivating, the way she seems to revel in a new way to take him inside of her.

The last time anyone got him in this position…

He doesn’t want to think about it; how through that box of pain the Gesserit whore had reduced him to a trembling mess so aroused he was leaking precome through his robes, how her voice had invaded the deepest recesses of his mind, how she’s pushed him onto his back as soon as he withdrew his hand and perfunctorily pulled her skirts up, pulled his cock out, and sat on him with a grimace.

He doesn’t want to remember how he’d thought, helpless and trapped in a way he hadn’t felt in years, that she reminded him how his body didn’t truly belong to him, that it was only ever on loan, to be used by whoever needed him. He thought he’d kill her if he ever saw her again, watching her wince as he came inside of her despite himself and she got up, leaving him wrung out and burning with shame.

He doesn't want to think about it, and tonight it's easy to forget, because his wife’s riding him with shameless, unabashed enthusiasm as if there's nowhere else she'd be, and she's not taking anything that Feyd’s not happy to give her in spades. She can do whatever the fuck she wants with him.

“I–oh, fuck!--I could ride your fat cock all night. Would you like that, Feyd?” she asks.

I’d love it. I want to watch you come undone around me all night, he thinks, unable to manage more than a groan. He watches, rapt, painfully aroused, as her pert, pretty tits bounce along with her movements, dazedly realizing what a good idea it is for her to move his hands from her hips to her breasts. He'd mourn not being able to see them as clearly but that he enjoys touching them even more. He doesn't think about it, just fondles them how they both like it.

He stares, enraptured, as she comes undone around him, his hands still fondling her, her own hands braced behind her on his sweaty thighs. His cock pulses and he wants to follow her but also doesn’t want it to be so soon, especially since even as she shudders and clenches around him, her moans high and desperate, the part of him still capable of thought knows that she’s not truly finished with him yet.

I’ll be good. I’ll hold on, he thinks as she continues to rock her hips, barely catching her breath and riding her out of stubbornness to see her exhaustion through. He’s so fucking impressed with her.

“Don't come yet,” she commands him, voice thick. “Not until I come again.”

He groans. Couldn’t have picked a better woman to subjugate me if I tried, he thinks, every muscle clenching, back arching, trying to breathe normally, while he’s increasingly unraveled. Most of the past month he’s been married to her he’s felt half-out of his mind with desire every time they were alone together, but not quite like this. Not quite so excited to see how she can own him.

“If you want to come, then make yourself useful, Feyd,” Y/N adds, her lust and confidence a heady cocktail that set his nerves ablaze.

Yes, ma’am, he thinks immediately, spitting on his thumb and bringing it to her swollen clit. She must be aching. Going on four now; he realizes. He hasn’t gotten her that far before. Remnants of his spend leak out of where he’s buried inside of her, and still liquid from the heat between them.

And then clever, wicked Y/N smirks, moves her hands back to his chest, and pinches cruelly. He’d love to know if she’s still smirking when he cries out and bucks his hips, nearly spilling inside of her, but he shuts his eyes when he does it. She’s not merciful, and he’s all the more delighted for it.

“Look at me, Feyd,” he hears Y/N say and his eyes snap open as he reminds himself that he has a job to do, although he supposes it can’t quite be a job if he’s enjoying it so much. She’s so beautiful like this, natural in an element she might never have pictured inhabiting. He works her clit faster, presses down a little harder, shifts his thighs slightly to make his hips the right bridge to rock onto, and then she comes hard. It’s not the breathless moans and whimpers when he’s fucking her from behind; it’s a guttural cry from within Y/N’s chest that’s the sound of a woman who’s taken everything she’s wanted and she trembles, clenching around him so hard Feyd abandons his post rubbing her clit to grab onto her hips.

So will you let me come with you? he wants to ask, in awe of her and unsure what look she’s seeing on his face if she sees anything. She’s not drunk, he knows, but there’s a glazed-over look in her eyes as she stares open-mouthed down at him when he tries to center himself. The moment she gives her permission he can’t help it; he relishes her overwrought moans as he bucks up into her, fucking her from below, squeezing the supple flesh of her hips and ass as he comes so hard he sees stars–stars that don’t even fucking exist on this planet.

There’s a moment before he can really soften but while he’s too sensitive to keep moving, he realizes that she might still be able to ride him again. He’ll get hard again if she wants him to, if she gives him enough time. He’ll gladly let her use his mouth to grind on until then to get her over five, six, seven times. She’d take to it just as well, holding his head in place as she rides his face with enough fervor that he’d just barely be able to breathe, head swimming all the more for the taste of her, of the two of them mixed together and her shaking thighs bracketing his face. Dazed, he thinks about how there would be worse ways to go out than with his face buried in her cunt.

Next time he’ll let her collar him, use a chain to guide his face between her legs. He’ll gladly kneel for her, he thinks as he closes his eyes and pictures it, her leading him on a leash to a place he already loves visiting.

“Hey,” he hears, voice gentler this time, like he’s underwater and her voice is just above the surface. “Look at me.”

He does. She’s smiling down at him, her expression fond rather than mischievous or aroused or deliciously cruel. She strokes his face and he can’t help but tilt his face into it. His heartbeat is slowing down, his cock has softened again, but he’ll bring it back to rise, if she tells him to.

But she doesn’t. She slides off of him, letting him slip out of her, and leans down to ghost her lips over his neck, scrape them over his teeth, and a part of him, spent but eager, realizes that this touch and exploration isn’t really for him; it’s for her. He brings his hands to the sheets below him before she can ask.

“Yes, that’s good,” she assures him before going lower, licking and nipping at the muscles in his abdomen that clench and flutter at the contact. “Keep them there.”

Take whatever you want, Y/N. Everything I have, everything I am is yours, he thinks as she licks his spent cock, as she drags her tongue lower for the first time, exploring his body still as if he’s something beautiful and fascinating.

He pants and moans, hips twitching, cock not quite getting hard again, not yet, but that doesn’t appear to be what Y/N is even after. She just seems to want to touch and taste him, seems to enjoy it just as much as she enjoyed using him as a human dildo, not that he expects her to know what that is.

Is this what you like,Y/N? he wants to ask. Is getting me soaked and licking me clean something that makes you feel good? He groans and spreads his legs a little more. He feels dazed.

She asks him about his scars. Clever girl deduced that they were done on separate occasions. When he tells her how he got them, she nuzzles and licks at them. He'd almost forgotten how sensitive his inner thighs are. It's been a long time since anyone's touched them. Racking his brain, he’s hard-pressed to think if he's ever allowed himself to be laid out and thoroughly enjoyed like this. And she does enjoy this, he thinks, wanting to laugh. She nips and bites at them once she knows they come from a place of desire. A part of him, a part he quietly shelves away for later, can appreciate that she knows to tread lightly with his scars, even when he’s spent and malleable like this; she knows how the ones on his back got there. He doesn’t say it, doesn’t press the issue, wondering what she has planned next, when she comes back up, face to face, and kisses him slowly. Tenderly. It’s warm, affectionate, but without the same heat as before.

She’s done with him tonight, it seems. Or at least, she’s done playing with him, as she sets the knife on her nightstand and finesses getting them under the covers. When he’d ambushed her with a surprise drill the sheets and blankets had been kicked down to their ankles.

Her reflexes are good; she thinks quickly; she’s adaptable. And deceptively powerful, he thinks, imagining the possibilities of how much further they can keep going. He could show her how to put a cockring on him and use him for even longer. He will.

But apparently not tonight, as she turns onto her back and he turns to lay on her, first nestling the side of his face against the space between her breasts and then lower, to rest his head against the soft skin of her belly. It'll probably be around three months from now that she starts showing.

“Is this what you need, husband?” Y/N asks, stroking his back. He deflates, finally grounded. He nods. He exhales hard. He can hear the small smile in Y/N’s voice as she continues stroking his shoulders and the back of his neck while saying, “In a couple of days we’ll find out if life is growing in there.”

Feyd doesn’t think about it before he says, “There is. A boy.”

Y/N laughs above him, but Feyd doesn’t mind. It’s not like she’d know, not like he’s told her, and so he does, in not so many words as he’d normally manage if he didn’t feel drained. “I saw him. Dreamt about you giving birth to him,” he tells her.

Maybe at some point he’ll tell her about how the second night they were married, he’d dreamt about her in labor, pushing out a healthy baby boy, flushed and screaming so loud he practically vibrated. Feyd dreamt about her, exhausted and hairline damp with sweat but a smile on her face as she nursed their son for the first time.

Maybe at some point he’ll tell her how he’d dreamt about her a few times before they’d ever met.

Between when the Gesserit witch took his seed and when that coven told him their marriage plans of him, he’d dreamt of a young woman who whimpered and moaned as he lapped at her slick cunt, who’d cry out and wrap her legs around his waist when he was inside of her. There was never a clear picture, just flashes that would wake him up stiff and close to rutting against his bed, but they all made sense when he saw his bride-to-be, with a face he’d never seen in person nor in pictures but knew, even as he was far from really knowing her.

He can’t confirm it, won’t be able to confirm it for another couple of days when the Bene Gesserit witches arrive, but he knows, as certain as his own pulse, that their son is already growing inside of her.

That feels really nice, he doesn’t say. You smell good, he also doesn’t say. I want to have you and treasure you and break you and make you whole again and have you do the same to me, he doesn’t say.

He can’t help the enormity of what he’s feeling. He’s still only just getting to know the shape of her soul, and he wants more.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha smut #dune part 2 #dune 2 #austin butler smut #feyd smut #asks

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dandelionnfluff · 8 months ago

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Hello friends!

I finally finished my bind of I'm on Fire by the lovely @bettyfrommars 🧡

This is my favourite Eddie fic. Waiting and reading a new chapter of it truly helped me with my mental health at the time. It was a perfect escape from reality.

I wanted to bind this to show Betty how much her words truly helped me. Betty is also the one who made me feel welcomed to this community🧡 always cheking if I'm still here. She is truly a great friend to have.

To the bind:

Let me tell you that just about everything that can go wrong, did. This bind was a struggle! 😂 I'm trying to be more graceful to myself as this bind had a lot of firsts for me. First time using bookcloth, first time using Htv on the covers, first time foiling all of the chapter titles and first time sewing the headbands by hand.

I trim my pages with a knife and of course with this I fucked it up😅 had to do a lot of sanding and they're still kind of a mess. I burned some htv, had to individualy iron each letter on the front cover and spine..

That being said, even as everything is a bit wonky and all, I'm still ever so proud of it.

Fic by @bettyfrommars

Bind by me (@dandelionnfluff )

Typeset by me (@dandelionnfluff )

Beautiful artwork in the typeset of Eddie, Wayne, Steve & Astrid is by the talented: @dr-aculaaa

Edit. Ok, so I tagged the wrong dr-aculaaa🤦🏻‍♀️ it's fixed now!

#eddie munson #fic rec #fanfic bookbinding #bookbinding #i'm on fire

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captainkirkk · 1 year ago

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

The Bachelor: Robin Edition by Vamillepudding

Gotham loses its Robin and Bruce Wayne loses a son. Tim finds one of these too tragic to bear. In his quest to make sure Bruce Wayne lives to see the next year, he strikes upon the perfect solution: another son.

His best bet is, naturally, Crime Alley.

By 8 pm that day, Drake Manor is filled with ten black-haired, blue-eyed boys sitting around the large dining table, looking around the room suspiciously.

Well. Eleven. But Tim doesn’t think he counts.

ATLA

Dish Duty by Princeliest

All Zuko had been trying to do was wash some dishes. Or: The one where Zuko and Katara both mean well, but still can't find their footing around each other in time to prevent explosive shouting, broken dishes, an impromptu arrest, and Team Avatar's third- nay, fourth jailbreak. Fifth? They've lost count at this point, but at least they're not willing to lose Zuko... now, if only he realized that.

Merlin

all oak and iron bound by numinousnumbat

Some of those born with magic are repelled by iron. Merlin wished he knew how much iron there was in Camelot before he started his new life there.

HTTYD

Abandon Hope Who Enters Here (everyone who enters here) by JaggedEmeraldsOfGold

Eret had spoken about the mindless cruelty of Drago’s base and soldiers, but there’s nothing like seeing it in front of her to make it really, really sink in. She’d wanted to empathize, but she doesn’t think she really understood.

She does now.

Astrid leans her head back until it hits the wall behind her, and blinks up at the ceiling.

It’s going to be a long three days.

Or: Instead of facing the Monstrous Nightmare in the Kill Ring, Hiccup packs up and leaves Berk on Toothless, defeating the Red Death on his own as he goes. Six years later, Hiccup has royally fucked up– Hiccup has severely underestimated Drago, and now Hiccup is cramped, tired, hungry, without his prosthetic, and he really, really, really misses Toothless.

Imagine his surprise (read: complete and utter dread) when he wakes up one day to see absolutely none other than Astrid Hofferson, Snotlout Jorgenson, Fishlegs Ingerman, and Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston sitting in the cell across from him.

against the wind by underpassgraffiti

When Hiccup and Snotlout get stranded, they have to work together to stay alive.

Easier said than done.

To End a War by GhostStone

Stoick may not listen to Hiccup, but there is one person he does listen to on occasion. And that one person just happens to be someone who will listen to Hiccup.

An AU where the night before he is meant to kill the dragon, Hiccup realized how awful his plan is and goes to Gobber for help.

the soul of a dragon by castelia

Soulmarks amongst humans are easily identifiable: they are words tattooed on skin, words to be spoken during the first moment where two people truly connect. No one believes dragons have soulmarks, let alone that a dragon and a human can share a soul bond.

Until Hiccup.

#i fell down the httyd rabbit hole and i refuse to apologise for it #happy october everyone #my posts #fic recs #weekly fic round up #dc recs #httyd recs #merlin recs #atla recs

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seafoamdew · 8 months ago

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Thank you for tagging me @alkalinefrog and @bignostalgias !

Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

I'll give you more than a sentence actually as an apology for being away for so long. I'll give you some snippets of the arranged marriage au that I've been working to turn into an actual multichapter fic from the drabbles/one-shots it is now 😉

Snippet #1

“You would dare dishonour your wife’s words? Her promise to me?” Signy’s face is still, her voice a deadly calm as she stares the large Viking down. “They should be given the chance to find love,” Stoick implores instead of fanning her quiet rage by answering. “We are giving them that chance. They have already formed a great friendship, and there is no greater soil where love can grow.”

Snippet #2

“Take care of him for me will you?” Jack said as he pulled away from the hug with a grin. “I’d like him healthy and whole for our wedding.” “How whole could he be with a missing leg?” Astrid quipped sardonically. Jack laughed. “Fair point! I’ll trust you to keep him from losing any more limbs. You know how he is.” "I can hear you two, you know," Hiccup said flatly, joining them. "And I can keep my limbs attached just fine, thank you."

Snippet #3

“So, if you really think about it– under all that armour and tailored leather, he really is just the same scrawny runt you know and love. Fishbones and all.” Hiccup paused just before the clubhouse entrance, brows raised at the conversation that was most certainly about him. The fact that it came from Tuffnut’s mouth only smelled like trouble. “Well, not really all the same. Cuz of the… you know…” By Thor, if they’re talking about his leg- “The leg.” Alright, that's it!

I'm tagging you. That's right, you, you reading this very sentence. Ily 😘

#tag game #arranged marriage au #hijack #frostcup

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a-yellow-van · 8 months ago

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Wish You Were Here | Part 2

The aftermath of the previous evening.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC for part 2 : 5.9 k

Warnings for part 2 : swearing, implied sexual content

(I had this one already written, currently working on part 3 so it'll take me a bit of time before uploading again)

You’re jolted awake, face contorted in a silent scream, dry tears stinging your cheeks, fists clenching the sheets, heart beating at a wild pace. The last remnants of a nightmare fade away, leaving a shot ringing in your ears, as you try to focus on your surroundings. You’re here, in your bedroom, in your house, in Jackson. You’re safe. You breathe, slowly, in and out. Everything is fine. Everything is-

Images from last night flash before your eyes. Joel, laughing with you. His hands on your waist. His lips on yours. The desire. His rage. And the abandon.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

A wave of shame, along with nausea, hits you like a freight train. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry, an awful taste lingering in it. You gag, leap out of bed and run to the bathroom just in time.

When you’re done, you rinse your mouth and meet your reflection. Bloodshot eyes, heavy bags underneath them, knotted hair sticking out around a sickly pale face. You left the tavern without telling anyone and immediately collapsed into bed. Yesterday’s clothes, that you’re still wearing, smell like booze and sweat and something else too- or rather someone else. You shut your eyes and rub them with closed fists, applying so much pressure it hurts. You want to bash your face in the mirror.

God you’re a wreck.

You decide brushing your teeth and taking a shower is the best course of action right now. Your watch indicates it’s well past noon and there’s no way you can get back to sleep. Not with those thoughts swimming around your head. The scalding water does little to distract you from them. You scrub your skin raw, as if you can wash away Joel’s touch; it doesn’t work. You still feel him against you when you step out of the bathtub. You’re thinking about the kiss as you get dressed, as you run a comb through your wet hair, as you walk down to your kitchen, and as you put on the kettle for tea. Why can’t you stop thinking about it? And why the hell is part of you wishing that it went further? The kettle whistling shakes you out of the spiral. You wish you had a stronger beverage, that and a painkiller, but they’re rare supplies these days. You fill a mug with the tea and try sitting at your small kitchen island, but it quickly becomes claustrophobic, as though the walls are closing in on you. So you get up and grab a rainbow wool blanket, knitted by Astrid as a Christmas present, from the couch. Wrapping yourself in it, you go out to your back porch and sprawl on one of the lawn chairs, the bitter January air stinging your lungs, shocking you into alertness. The pain is refreshing.

What a fucking way to start the year.

You look out at the frosted mountains in the distance, peaceful giants protecting the town. They’re strong, grounded, indomitable. You think it’d be nice to float up to the top and lay there above the clouds, where what is happening down below wouldn’t matter at all. You take a sip of tea, which burns your tongue, and you curse under your breath. It brings you right back to reality. On the yard right of yours, the neighbour’s kids are playing in the snow, their high-pitched giggles filling the air. The girl, about seven years old, notices you and stops to call out your name. You give her a small wave back.

“Happy new year!” She yells enthusiastically, flashing the gap of fallen front teeth. Her younger brother imitates her but stumbles on half of the words. Their little faces are flushed, snowsuits soaking wet. You can’t help but find it adorable, even in your condition. It never ceases to impress you how resilient children can be, how they can keep their wonder, their innocence when the world has crumbled around them.

“Happy new year. Don’t get frostbite,” you reply.

“Look at our snowman!” the boy chips in, his lisp evident, pointing at a shapeless mount of snow.

You chuckle. “He’s cool. You should add a carrot.”

The kids beam, and run off inside to act upon your suggestion. And then a snowball flies out of nowhere and hits you on the shoulder, almost causing you to drop your tea. You shriek, jumping to your feet and putting the mug down on the railing as another snowball misses your head by a hair’s breadth. Max’s figure appears from behind a thick pine tree growing right outside your fence.

“HEY! WHAT THE F-” you catch yourself, remembering there are children closeby. Max steps fully into view, guffawing, their bright red beanie clashing with the ginger locks peaking out. They walk to the side and push the fence door open, entering your backyard.

“Moron.” There is no humour in your voice. You brush the snow off your clothes, muttering to yourself. Max walks up the old wooden stairs and joins you on the porch.

“Really? Not even a hi, how are you, happy new year?” They raise a hand to their chest in mock offence.

“You didn’t give me time for that did you? Nearly took my fucking head off.” You cross your arms tightly. You’re really not in the mood for Max’s antics. Not today.

“Jesus, so dramatic,” they sit down on the other lawn chair, while you remain standing. “Woke up on the wrong foot?”

Anger bubbles up inside, as does the urge to punch that smug little grin off Max’s face. “What are you doing here?” You ask, bluntly.

“Hm. Not much. Just, uh, checking in on you,” Max replies, purposefully evasive. The anger rises.

“Why?” You bark, already knowing the answer to that question.

“Well…Just heard you got into, uh, an interesting situation last night.” They look up at you with that smirk again. You glare back, fuming, and grunt in response.

God they can be such a fucking pain in the ass.

“So I’m just wondering what it is exactly that made you think oh, yeah,” they suspend their voice for a few seconds “Joel Miller?” They accentuate his name as if it were an insult, full of implication.

You’re trying to keep calm, but it’s getting very difficult. You choose your words carefully. “I was drunk. We were just talking. And it’s none of your business” Your voice trembles with the emotion.

“Just talking, uh?” Max is clinging on to this stronger than a dying man to his last breath.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but nothing happened,” you lie, through gritted teeth. You’re dangerously close to your tipping point.

“Hm. That’s weird, `cause Astrid told us she saw a lot more than-”

“Can you fucking drop it?” you shout. Max has done it.

They're taken aback by your outburst, pausing for a beat, before their expression hardens. They inhale sharply and speak up again, brows furrowed in frustration.

“You know, I’m getting sick of this closed up bullshit. We’ve been friends for what, 5 years, and you never tell me a single thing about how you’re feeling, or your past, or-“

“We’re not friends,” you interrupt them, harshly.

“Oh, okay, yeah, sure!” Their tone drips with sarcasm. “Then what are we?”

The question makes you hesitate. “I don’t know. Coworkers,” you say, your tone losing conviction.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Max exclaims. “Are you serious? So you’re telling me you- you came to your coworker’s house in the middle of the night after having a breakdown?

Your chest tightens at the memory. It’s a moment of weakness you really hate to be reminded of. “That’s not fair. It was a long time ago,” you grumble, looking down.

“Uh-huh,” Max continues, raising their voice. “You supported your coworker when they came out to you?” They wait, expecting you to interject, but you keep quiet, so they take it up a notch. “You helped your coworker when they were starving, bleeding out, half-frozen to death? That’s what you’re telling me?”

You still don’t respond, but the anger is starting to melt; Max’s words are stabbing at a sensitive spot. You’re brought back in time, to one of your first ever patrols, in the dead of winter, when you were still training. You had gone off the trail because you thought you heard a faint plea for help. That’s when you had found Max, curled up in the hollow of a tree, skeletally thin, shivering, the snow stained red from a fresh wound on their leg. You had brought them back to Jackson, had strongly insisted to Maria that they stay in town, took Max’s defence when other survivors argued they were a lost cause. You’d checked in on them nearly every day, and you were right; Max had made a complete recovery, eventually growing into an active, important member of the community. At the time, you didn’t know why you were doing all of this for a stranger. Maybe you just couldn’t bear losing anyone else, couldn’t take being powerless, unable to save them.

Max lets a few seconds pass by in silence. “Look, all I’m saying is I care about you. And I got worried when you left last night. It wasn’t like you” they explain, softer now, the concern honest. You feel a pang of guilt for snapping at them as the anger vanishes completely. Truth is, you care about them too. A lot. Of course you do. And you’re mainly upset at yourself for acting in such a senseless way last night. But admitting all of that out loud, it’d be too much. Instead, you give Max a meaningful nod, and squeeze their arm.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay. Just- I- I’m hungover.” There’s way more than that, and Max is well aware. But they don’t push further.

“Lightweight,” they tease, lightening the tension. You’re grateful for the change in mood.

“And you’re not? I think you burst the entire town’s eardrums last night,” you respond, relieved to fall back into the usual back-and-forth.

“Uh, I’ll have you know I’m proud of that performance,” they argue.

“I’ll give it to you. Wasn’t your worst,” you reply, feeling a smile pulling at your lips. Max gives you one back.

“Alright, can we go inside now? Fucking freezing” Max asks, rubbing their arms up and down.

“Yeah,” you answer, “want some breakfast?” It’s really the least you could do. Actions are much easier than words to show that you care.

“Would love some lunch.” They correct, as you slide open the glass door and let them pass first, following them in.

“Seriously though, Joel Miller?” they add, peering at you over their shoulder. You push them into the dining room.

“Mention it again and I’m hitting you,” you threaten, half-serious.

“Alright, alright,” Max concedes. “I just didn’t know you were into old men.” They snicker. You keep to your word and kick their ankle.

They squeal out in pain and you strike a second time. “I’m. Not.”

Max sits at the dining room table, massaging their hurt leg, while you scramble some eggs for the both of you. Along with some sourdough from Leanne at the bakery, it makes a decent meal. And, as you eat, you come to a conclusion. That thing with Joel, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It can’t mean anything. Because you’re not ready to accept the possibility that there might be something more. Something like feelings that you’d need to process. You’ve taken too long to build a thick, impenetrable shield around your heart. You can’t just drop it so quickly. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgement caused by the alcohol. You’re going to lock it away in a forgotten corner of your mind, like you usually do when emotions are involved. Just pretend it never happened, stay cordial with the man if ever have to interact again. It should be easy enough.

Right?

——————————

Joel is cruelly pulled out of sleep by a series of booming knocks. He sits up abruptly, in a panic, instinctively reaching at his side for a weapon but his fingers grasp only the pilled fabric of bed sheets. It takes a moment to situate himself, to remember he is out of danger. Whoever’s behind the noise doesn’t give him reprieve to slow down his pulse, however. Another round of knocks erupts as a muffled, irritated voice travels up to his bedroom.

“JOEL! HELLO? JOEELLLLL! WAKE UP!” It’s unmistakably Ellie.

The kid can be so damn loud for her size. Joel grumbles a string of curses, hurries out of bed and down the stairs despite strained muscles and the beginning of a migraine he’s certain will be terrible. He’s too old for hangovers like this. He jogs through the hallway, gets to the back door and flings it open before Ellie pipes up again. She’s standing on the porch, bundled up in her purple puffer jacket. Her balled fists are suspended in the air, mid-movement.

“WHAT?” He yells, making Ellie flinch. He immediately regrets his tone.

“Shit, no need to be rude,” the girl replies, arms dropping to her sides.

“Sorry, kid. You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s up?”

She gets straight to the point. “My heating’s busted. Can you fix it?”

Joel scoffs. “Good morning, Ellie! Happy new year to you too.”

“Uh, it’s almost 1 PM. And I didn’t think you celebrated,” Ellie answers matter-of-factly.

Little smartass.

Joel makes the motion to close the door in her face, but she’s faster and grabs the outer handle.

“Hey come on! It’s like 2 degrees in there!” She shouts.

Ellie stares up at him, impatient. Joel doesn’t budge. She sighs. “Please,” she mumbles, breaking eye contact.

Joel smirks. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear. He keeps her hanging for another few seconds before answering : “Okay.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“I still got Tommy’s tools. Can you wait 10 minutes?” He’s just giving Ellie a hard time, and she knows it. He’d do anything to help her, no matter what it entailed; he’s done a hell of a lot more than repair a broken heater.

“Yeah, sure, just drill me out of the block of ice,” Ellie says, spinning on her heels and walking off towards the garage that's been converted into her living quarters.

Joel smiles, watching her go. He gets back into the house and does his best to clean up in the bathroom while avoiding looking in the mirror. He still feels like he’s been run over by a truck, and sleeping the day off is very inviting, but he can’t just let the girl freeze. And the work will keep him busy, distract him from the pain. He puts on a coat over the clothes that he slept in, the same ones he was wearing at the tavern; he hadn’t bothered changing out of them after coming home. He ties his boots with difficulty and grabs the toolbox from a storage shelf in the utility room. He borrowed it from Tommy a few weeks ago when the upstairs bathroom nearly flooded, and hasn’t returned it yet. He makes a mental note of it. Joel’s house is a fixer upper for sure, but he’s done his best over the last six months, and it’s starting to become less of a temporary shelter and more of a home, something he never would have thought possible. Ellie’s presence at such a short distance definitely plays a role. He’s not hurt by the fact she insisted on having her separate space; he doesn’t think they’d have done well trying to fit into a normal family dynamic. That’s not what they are. And besides, he’s just happy she’s still talking to him, after what happened at the hospital. Joel brushes off the thought as he crosses the back garden, counting the steps it takes to reach the garage. There’s exactly thirteen. As always.

He lets himself in. Ellie’s waiting, laying on the loveseat wrapped in her duvet. She wasn’t lying; it’s glacial inside and Joel can see his breath. Ellie’s lit a fire in the wood stove, resourceful as she is, but it’s not doing much.

“Took you long enough,” she says, barely audible as half her face is covered by the blanket.

“Hey. Drop the attitude.” Joel orders, but a little smile curves up his lips. Ellie returns it. He can’t stay mad at her and she’s proud of it.

Joel looks around the room. Ellie’s bed is unmade, stripped of its cover; clothes are piling on a chair, random objects scattered around her desk, from coloured pencils to a used plate and utensils. Her guitar is held up by a sturdy stand in a corner, pristine; it’s apparent Ellie takes good care of it. And there, on the coffee table, a good amount of crumbs, and four empty bottles of beer. His gaze lingers on them long enough for Ellie to notice.

“Um, Cat came over last night she brought those, her mom was totally okay with it-” Ellie overexplains, the words coming out quickly.

Joel raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anythin’.” He likes that she gets anxious, it shows that she cares about his opinion, and doesn't want him to be disappointed. But how could he be? He’d do much worse than drinking a beer or two if he’d gone through as much as Ellie has at her age. “What’d you guys get up to?” Joel asks as he moves towards the space heater, plugged in a wall outlet not far from the loveseat. Ellie relaxes.

“Uh, we just watched a movie. Back to the Future,” she replies. Joel smiles. He’d found it out on a run and gave it to Ellie as a Christmas present. “Cat had such a crush on Marty. It was pretty funny,” the girl adds.

“And you didn’t?” He teases as he kneels in front of the heater, his back screaming in agony, and sets the toolbox down on the cold cement floor.

“Nah. Not my type.” Ellie shifts in her seat to get a good view of Joel. He starts by trying the power switch, to no avail. “I already did that,” she tells him in a condescending tone.

“Yeah, no shit,” Joel mutters. He takes out a screwdriver and finds the appropriate bit before starting to work on taking the heater apart. He opens up the electrical box and begins testing out the various components, face drawn out in concentration. Ellie observes him quietly for a few minutes, chewing on a nail. Joel’s completely focused on the pieces he’s turning over in his hands.

And then, he hears Ellie’s voice behind him again. “So. You were out pretty late last night,” she points out.

Joel freezes up, caught off guard. The tool he’s holding drops to the ground, clattering.

Last night. Fucking Hell.

Glimpses of the drunken evening assault his brain. Bribes of your conversation, how natural it felt talking to you. The sound of your laughter. How your eyes lit up when you smiled. The blushes you tried to hide. Your hands on his shoulders.

How smooth your lips were.

Wait.

The way the night ended suddenly comes back. A rush of anger, shame, and guilt engulfs him, the same one that pushed him to abandon you about ten hours ago. He has to stop himself from screaming, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. Why the fuck did he do that? How could he let you get so close? When did he get so weak as to let his walls down that much the second a pretty woman talks to him? And why did it feel so damn good?

Joel fights to somewhat regain his composure, to act casual as he replies to Ellie. He clears his throat and picks the tool back up. “Uh, yeah. Just out at the tavern with Tommy,” he deflects.

“Hm.” Ellie pauses, letting Joel think she’s off the scent. But then, she questions : “Just Tommy?”

Nervosity is added to the boiling pot of emotions, lighting up the wick of a bomb Joel’s trying his hardest not to let explode.

What does the kid know?

He struggles to recall another memory. Your friend, the tall blonde one who’s another patroller, she saw you too together. Not what happened outside, but enough to raise suspicion, Joel’s ninety-nine percent certain of it.

He breathes slowly before answering. “Yup.” He attempts to be firm, but he can hear the hesitation in his own voice. So he busies himself with the heater again.

“Well,” Ellie starts, but Joel cuts her off, not taking any chances.

“Didn’t you have farm duty today?” He changes the subject abruptly, pulling at a wire.

“Uh, yeah, I went already. They let me off early,” Ellie says, “I heard something interesting though.” Joel can practically see the smirk on her face from where he is crouched, but he refuses to look her in the eyes.

Damn it.

He stays silent. Ellie continues. “You were…dancing? With someone?” She adds your name, inquiring.

Joel tightens his grip on the tool handle, knuckles turning white. “You don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he utters. “We weren’t dancing.” He keeps his gaze stubbornly stuck to the heater.

Ellie holds back a laugh. “But you were with her?” She keeps up the interrogation.

The wick of the bomb burns more. “Just havin’ a conversation. With a coworker. I don’t know who told you that, but it ain’t true,” he replies harshly.

Ellie snorts. “Uh-huh. Okay. That’s-”

“Ellie. Stop.” Joel threatens, finally snapping his head up to glare at the girl. And the expression is enough to make her understand he isn’t joking. She listens to the command and shuts right up, however, she doesn’t lose the mocking grin.

He huffs, returning to the task. He’s mulling over everything in his head, beating himself up to a pulp, when Ellie decides to pick up her guitar. She begins practising Future Days, the song Joel has been teaching her. The notes are unsteady, the rhythm choppy, but the music is like a balm over Joel’s mind, soothing it. It helps him calm down, and soon enough, he finds the source of the heater’s malfunction : the fan is clogged with dust and debris. He dislodges it from the mechanism and cleans it out with a rag, whistling along to Ellie’s playing. He puts the pieces back together and wipes his hands on his jeans, before trying the power switch once more. The heater hums into life.

Ellie breathes a sigh of relief and puts down the guitar. “Oh fuck yeah.”

“Language,” Joel reprimands her. Ellie sticks out her tongue at him. He puts away the tools he’s used and stands up with the toolbox, knees creaking.

“Hey, thanks, Joel,” the girl says timidly, taking off the layers she’d put on, “and, uh, sorry I woke you up.” She’s genuine.

“It’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.” He awkwardly claps his free hand on his thigh, unsure if he should stay longer. He’d like to, but he doesn’t want to impose, or make it weird.

“You should go shower. You look like shit,” Ellie quips. “And we got dinner with Maria and Tommy later,” she adds.

“Hmm. Right,” he groans; he’d completely forgotten. He’s never wanted to do anything less in his life. The day just keeps getting better.

He follows Ellie’s advice once he’s back inside his house. As the hot water runs over his tired skin, he takes time to reflect, and he makes a decision. The encounter with you was simply a product of intoxication. The old, rusted feelings it stirred up within him were, too. It’s just been very long since he’s done anything…intimate. With anyone. That must explain it. He’s got to convince himself of that. Because the other alternative terrifies him, fills him with dread, and he can’t afford that. Not again. Not after Tess. So, he’s going to ignore it, push it away, bury it deep at the back of his mind, enough that it can’t affect him anymore. Just pretend it never happened, go back to the way he treated you before. Cold. Indifferent. He’s done that countless times.

Right.

It should be easy enough.

——————————

It has been two weeks. Two weeks that you’ve succeeded in avoiding Joel at all costs, and the weather has definitely helped. Winter has been ruthless, the temperature dropping below zero most mornings, the snowfall almost incessant, isolating the town. It’s mostly a positive; it prevents infected, or hunters, or worse, from discovering it. Survivors have been staying in as much as possible, going out only when absolutely necessary. You did your part with helping plough the snow on your horse, a dapple grey mare named Willow; Maria had assigned time slots to the capable survivors. Thankfully, you and Joel weren’t scheduled on the same one. You haven’t crossed paths with the man since New Year’s Eve, and you’re perfectly content with that.

Well, that isn’t the full truth. There’s a part of you that incomprehensibly wishes you could see him again. You absolutely despise it, and you’ve made an immense effort to silence those thoughts when they seize you. But they come often. Too often. You’ve thrown yourself into tasks, hobbies, anything to occupy your mind. Needless to say, your house has been extremely tidy lately, you’ve listened through your record collection multiple times, finished the novel you were reading (The Count of Monte Cristo which you had previously barely made a dent it), and started on at least three paintings which you hated and scrapped, and you’re not one to waste supplies. If the thoughts are hard to control during the day, it becomes impossible at night.

You’ve…dreamed about Joel. Doing things to you that you wouldn’t dare say out loud, to anyone, your inner thighs moist upon waking up. You think you might be going completely insane. So, you’re almost excited for your upcoming patrol, and the extended distraction it’ll provide.

It’s the evening of Sunday, January 14th, 2035. The sky is clear for once, the sun has started setting behind the mountains, casting Jackson in frigid twilight. You’re speed walking towards town hall, the icy wind piercing right through your coat, chilling you to the bone. Your scarf is pulled up to your nose, the flaps of your trapper hat down and tied, thick mittens protecting your hands. You reach the building in record time, its short clock tower illuminated. You pull the heavy door and get in, a gust of warmth from the heating blasted at maximum immediately relieving. The room is spacious, cosy, with a stone hearth at the back where a fire is crackling, chairs stacked in a corner, and a long table with a tall thermos of chicory coffee and some cups strewn about. You go up to the large rolling bulletin board standing in the middle of the room, where various organisational documents for the community are pinned. A handful of survivors are already gathered around it. One of them, a teenager with a long black braid, olive skin and sharp features (Tina? Or something similar), is adding a flyer to it, advertising her services to shovel pathways for trade. Brave move. You greet the group and look over to the patroller’s duty roster for the week. You’ve set for Hoback Pass, tomorrow, with Astrid. You spot Joel’s name on the list; he’s with Tommy, as usual, for Teton Village, at the end of the week. No chance of overlap.

Good. Great. Wonderful.

You don’t stay around much longer; you need to prepare for the next day’s run. Astrid likes to get an early start, and she’ll want to plan strict routes before leaving. You’ve forgiven her for snitching on what she saw you do at New Year’s Eve; she was drunk too, and she hasn’t mentioned it since. Max must have convinced her she hallucinated it, for your sake. So you go back out into the cold, empty streets, now plunged in darkness.

You met Astrid when she arrived in Jackson around three years ago, along with Fred. The two are like siblings; after the outbreak, they were raised in a small settlement in the Eastern Idaho forest. The group had left camp when resources were becoming scarce, travelling south in hopes of finding a new safe haven. Upon reaching Jackson, the two women were the only ones left alive. You don’t know the exact circumstances in which they lost their loved ones, but the reality is all too familiar to most people in this world. At least these two still have each other. You weren’t so lucky with that. Sometimes, when you look at them, you can’t help but get a glimpse of a future you were cruelly robbed of. In these instances, you’re hit with a burning, gut-wrenching pang of jealousy. You try not to dwell on it; it’s a useless sentiment and it’s impossible to get her back.

You jog up to your house a few minutes later. After a quick dinner, you put together your pack, checking items off a mental list: canteen, munitions, a few rations, first aid kit, flint rod, rope, hand-crank radio… You’re sharpening your knife, sitting at the dining room table, when you’re interrupted by a knock. You cross the hallway, puzzled, and undo the chain to crack open the front door. Tommy’s standing on the other side, bouncing on the spot, rapid breaths coming out in white volutes.

“Uh, hey,” you say, surprised to see him there.

“Hey,” he replies, “sorry to bother you this late.”

“Oh, it’s fine. What’s up?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile. You’ve known Tommy ever since you first came to Jackson. He’s the patrol chief; the one who teached you at your beginnings on the job. You like him as a leader; he’s fair, direct, dependable, and he’s got a sense of humour. He’s a good balance to Maria, who can be a bit too stern at times.

“Uh, well, it’s about your patrol tomorrow. I know you’re supposed to go with Astrid, but I’m gonna have to send her to train Jesse instead,” he explains, talking fast.

Jesse is the newest recruit. He’s a determined, strong young man who joined in late November, just as he turned eighteen, the required age for patrolling. He’s gone out with Astrid on practice runs a couple times before; she had volunteered to mentor him.

You furrow your brows. “Oh. Alright, sure, that’s okay. Uh, you want me to go by myself?”

“Uh, no” Tommy answers,“too risky with all the snow. I was gonna send Joel. You guys work well together and he knows Hoback.”

Your stomach drops.

Fuck.

Your expression must have changed noticeably, because Tommy tilts his head, perplexed.

“Somethin’ the matter?” He inquires.

You blink a few times, recovering from the blow. “Uh, yeah. I- I mean no. Just-” you search for the right words, “can’t Astrid do it another day?”

“Not really. We need Jesse ready ASAP. Why? Problem with Joel?” He asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

You pause, wondering whether to tell him the truth. Ultimately, you decide it would just create a bigger problem. “No, no, nevermind. All good,” you lie, averting Tommy’s eyes.

The man doesn’t seem convinced. “Alright… You know, it’s funny. Joel didn’t seem too happy either when I told ´im.”

So he’s been thinking about you too. He remembers. This makes it so much worse. You give a nervous chuckle in response, and attempt a joke. “Is he ever?”

Tommy snorts. “Yeah, you ain’t wrong.” He claps his gloved hands together. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning for briefing then.”

You give him a nod and he imitates you before walking off. You close the door behind him and rest your forehead against the hard surface, banging it a few times. You yell out in frustration. What did you just get yourself into?

That night, you restlessly lay in bed, tossing and turning, your mind racing, agitated, unable to shut itself off. You don’t get any sleep.

Joel doesn’t either.

You’re already exhausted by the time you’re out of the door the next morning, right at sunrise, which just intensifies your terrible mood. You stride down the street towards Jackson’s main gate, in full winter gear, pack hanging off a shoulder. The town is a muted grey, misty; a few snowflakes are slowly falling from heavy clouds. It matches your emotional state. You’re hoping to be the first one at the stables, giving you time to blow off some steam. But, upon arrival, you discover that the object of your torment has had the same idea. Joel’s saddling his horse, Old Beardy, an imposing black-coated male.

The bastard.

You curse him out in your head, your heartbeat quickening as you approach. You walk past him, heading towards Willow’s enclosure. Neither you nor Joel acknowledges the other. Willow neighs softly when she sees you, and you go to pet her on the nose, hyper aware of the man standing about twenty feet away from you. You quietly tend to your horse for a few minutes, every sound coming from Joel irritating you, before you finally dare steal a glance over at him. Right as you do so, he turns his head back quickly, caught in the act.

So that’s how it’s gonna go, huh?

You tie your pack to a hook on Willow’s saddle, your movements sharp, heated. Once you’re done, you take the horse’s reins and guide her out of the stable, passing by Joel once again; his back tenses as you do so, and you hear him sigh loudly. The feeling’s mutual.

You decide to take Willow for a trot around town while you wait for the other patrollers to show up. You don’t think you could stay there with Joel, in thick silence, pointlessly wondering what it is he’s thinking; it would drive you mad. You come back half an hour later, not an ounce more calm, as Tommy is about to start his report. You make sure to stand as far away from Joel as you can while you listen. The words enter one ear and come out the other; you’re too preoccupied with someone else. You’ve heard the speech a hundred times anyway: stay within sight of your partner, follow the routes, mark the logbooks, come back if you run into something you can’t handle. Once Tommy’s done, he gives the signal for the two townsfolk on guard duty to crank open the gate. You stick your right foot in the stirrup and hoist yourself up on Willow’s back, positioning yourself on the saddle. You let the other patrol team go first, staying behind, immobile, side by side with Joel. You’re not going to make the first move. And he doesn’t either. So you look over at him, and this time, he holds your gaze, fire ablaze in his deep brown eyes. Glowering. Taunting. Scornful. After thirty seconds, Tommy, posted at the wall, yells out to you.

“Guys! What are you waitin’ for? Get goin’!”

Joel capitulates first. He urges Old Beardy forward, not giving you another sight, as you internally scream in victory. You follow behind.

“Have a good one! Stay safe!” One of the guards says, as you pass the threshold. You have to hold yourself back from replying “We won’t.” Joel and you ride out of Jackson.

This day is about to be really fucking unpleasant.

Next chapter

To read on AO3

#tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel tlou #pedro pascal

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