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p-artsypants · 2 years ago

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No, You go First (9)

Ao3 | FF.net

Reminder, I’m not being historically accurate with wedding traditions in this fic. I’m only mentioning that because we get into the meat of ceremonies in this chapter.

—-

“Why don’t you go tell your mom where you’re going to be while I pop into the forge?” Hiccup asked.

“I suppose I should. Where’s Fishlegs?”

“I think he’s down at the arena with the others. They’re practicing with each other since no new dragons have been caught.”

“Oh no, how did the old dragons get out in the first place?�� She giggled at their little inside joke.

“Whoever freed them must be horribly attractive.” Hiccup feigned drama.

She snickered, and gave him an affectionate punch to the shoulder. “I’ll meet you at the arena.”

He nodded as they separated.

“Hey Gobber,” Hiccup greeted as he entered the forge.

“Back from lunch? I got an order for a new plow from Mildew!”

“No can do, boss. Astrid and I are going up to Gothi’s for wedding practice.”

“Need a translator?” He asked a bit too eagerly.

“We were actually going to ask Fishlegs.”

Gobber looked disappointed, but not offended. “Aye. That boy has a good intuition with Gothi’s drawings. I’m liable to say something wrong and get whacked. Have fun with your rehearsal!”

“I’ll try…” Hiccup mumbled as he went into his workshop. All he had to do was grab her ring, and then it was off to the arena.

As luck would have it, Astrid came out of her house just as he was passing by.

“Was Gobber bummed that we didn’t need him?”

“I think he was happy to not get reprimanded by Gothi.” He chuckled. “I also had to grab your ring. Do you want to see it now? Or keep it a surprise?”

“Oh I want to see it!” She said, eagerly.

Hiccup smirked as he handed her the little box.

Astrid knew that whatever Hiccup made, it would be perfect for her. But she hadn’t anticipated how ‘perfect’ it truly was. The ring was a pale golden color, with two circular black stones on the outside and three oblong blue stones making a fan shape in the center. It was simple, but elegant.

“It’s steel, brazen with gold for color, but that way it’s nice and stable.”

“Where did you get the stones?”

“They’re actually dragon scales. The black are from Toothless, and the blue from Stormfly. I figured…if you ever had a bad day, you could just look down at your hand and all three of your friends would be there.” He smiled as she examined the ring. He expected a compliment, or maybe even a hug, but he didn’t expect her to look up from his masterpiece with a quivering lip and eyes filling up with tears.

“Astrid…”

Then she started crying in earnest. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she fought to wipe them away. She hated showing weakness, and that’s what she considered crying to be.

“Come here,” he took her hand and led them into a narrow alley between two houses. Then he pulled her into a hug, a hand gently rubbing her back. “I’m sorry Astrid. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” she sobbed.

“But—“

“Hiccup, I’m upset because I wanted it to be you! You showed me so much kindness and understanding…your world was more than fighting and killing. You gave me Stormfly, and so many great memories. I thought, surely one day, when the time came, I’d get to marry you. It would be fun! It would be like—like the hayloft. Except everyday with no consequences! We would be able to sit up together at night and joke and laugh! I know there’s more to marriage than that, but I told myself, if I had to get married, then that’s what I wanted. I actually changed my mind! I didn’t want to get married at all! Ever!” She fell on his shoulder, still weeping.

Mourning.

“And this is just a reminder of what I don’t get to have. A husband that knows me better than I know myself.”

Hiccup squeezed her tightly, and confessed quietly, “I wanted to marry you someday too.”

—-

When Astrid had enough, she straightened up, wiped her face, and bravely asked, “how do I look?”

“Like a hot mess.”

She determined that was good enough, and together, they went down to the arena to find Fishlegs.

Since there were no dragons to train with, thanks to Hiccup and Astrid and also the eels, the teens in training were forced to train with each other. Ruffnut and Fishlegs were sparring, and Snotlout and Tuffnut were wrestling.

Hold on. That’s not accurate.

Ruffnut was bashing a mace against a shield Fishlegs was holding in terror, and Snotlout was tying Tuffnut into a pretzel.

“You kids having fun?” Astrid smirked from above.

“Yeah!” Cried Ruffnut.

“No!” Cried Fishlegs.

“You here to spar? I need a partner that’s not totally lame,” said Snotlout.

“Hey! I’m not lame! I’m just practicing the art of water. Just flow with the movement. Direct the energy through you.”

Snotlout cranked his arm over.

“Oh I’m hurt! I am very much hurt!”

“We came to borrow Fishlegs,” Astrid said, unbothered.

“Oh thank Thor!” Fishlegs threw the shield at Ruffnut and ran out of the arena.

“What do you need Fishface for?” Snotlout asked, still pinning a screaming Tuff.

Hiccup explained, “We’re going to Gothi’s to practice the wedding ceremony.” Then he added begrudgingly, “you should come too, Snotlout.”

Snotlout scoffed. “I don’t have to think about that crap for another month. I’d just as soon stay here and kick ass, if it’s all the same to you.”

Ruffnut took the momentary distraction to tackle Snotlout to the floor and free Tuffnut.

“Suit yourself,” Hiccup shrugged.

Fishlegs joined them up top, almost looking giddy. “Ohhh! This is so exciting!” He pranced as they started towards Gothi’s. “Aren’t you excited, Astrid?”

“To be eternally bound to the dumbest asshole on this island? I’m ecstatic.”

“Well…when you say it like that…”

“You’re good at interpreting Gothi’s drawings, right?” Hiccup asked.

“Better than I thought I’d be. Since my mom’s one of the healers, she wanted me to train with her and Gothi. I picked it up really fast.”

“Well, it’s always good to have a back up plan in case the whole dragon slaying deal doesn’t work out.” Astrid said, a sour note to her tone.

Fishlegs winced, but then proceeded. “I didn’t really want to fight dragons. I read the manual like 27 times, and once you memorize all the ways dragons can kill you…it kind of removes the desire to be anywhere near them.”

Hiccup and Astrid nodded at that, feeling differently, but appreciating what he meant.

“Oh! Is that your ring?” He pointed at the little box Astrid was holding. “Can I see?”

“Sure. Hiccup did a great job.”

Fishlegs held it up in the sunlight, “Oh wow, Hiccup, this is amazing…it’s kind of like you’re good at everything except killing dragons.”

Hiccup chuckled, “thank you for summing that up.”

“These blue scales are from a Nadder, right? Where’d you get the black ones?”

Hiccup was surprised he knew they were dragon scales, but it was Fishlegs. “I found them in the woods. Not sure what dragon they belong to. I’d like to think it’s a Nightfury.”

Fishlegs examined it closer. “You know, it could be! There aren’t a lot of black dragons. Nightfury’s are camouflaged at night, so they could be all black!”

If only he knew. Hopefully someday soon, they could introduce the dragons to the village, and they could all have warm relationships and fly. That was the dream.

Soon enough, they climbed the mountain to Gothi’s and knocked on her door.

The old woman gave them an appraising glare as she opened the door.

“Hi Gothi,” Hiccup began. “We’re here to—”

She held a hand up to silence him, and then wrote in the sand that covered the floor of her hut.

“Oh, already!” Fishlegs peered over Hiccup’s shoulder and interpreted the squiggles. “She says she knows why we’re here.”

“Oh. Okay. My father must have talked to her, then.”

Gothi gestured them inside and wandered around, collecting supplies. She gave Fishlegs instructions to move a pedestal over to an open area in the room. Then she drew a circle on the floor.

“She says, stand in the middle of the circle, facing each other, and join hands. Astrid on the right, Hiccup on the left.”

“Shouldn’t I be–?”

Gothi shook her staff at him, threateningly.

“Okay, okay!” He took his spot. “Guess we’re running through a mock ceremony?” He asked Astrid, quietly.

She shrugged, but didn’t speak, afraid of getting hit. She held out her hands, and he took them, his palms up, like he had seen only a couple of times.

Gothi brought over a tray with a bowl and a long strip of fabric, while Fishlegs lit the circle of candles around Hiccup and Astrid.

“Do you have the rings?”

Astrid nodded and took hers out of its box.

“I didn’t know I was—”

Gothi rolled her eyes and went to her dresser. There was a small chest filled with jewelry, and she picked out three or four rings to have Hiccup try on. The second, a plain silver band, fit, so she pocketed the rest.

“Give each other the rings,” Fishlegs instructed.

They did so, and then retook each other’s hands.

Gothi gave a short sigh, and seemed a lot more pleasant now. She reached up and pushed both of their bangs out of the way, then dipped her fingers into the bowl on the pedestal, and smeared what looked like blood on both of their foreheads.

“Is this…real blood?”

WHACK.

“Okay okay! I’ll stop talking!”

“Now you will place the rings on each other’s hands. Hiccup, you go first.”

Hiccup gave Astrid a little smile as he slid the ring onto her dainty finger. Once in place, she did the same, her hands shaking. It was kind of cruel to have them mock this out when it would be someone else in a month. But they needed the practice…at least, that’s what they kept telling themselves.

Once they both had the rings, they retook each other’s hands.

Gothi then wrapped the thin cloth around their hands and wrists.

“The cloth is wrapped 9 times, to represent the marriage transcending all 9 realms.”

Hiccup nodded heavily.

Then Gothi wrapped a red cord around their hands and tied a double knot.

“She says you can practice this knot on a tree or chair later, Hiccup. It’s not hard or complicated.”

Hiccup again nodded.

“Now it’s time for vows. Hiccup, you go first.”

“Uh…”

WHACK.

“She says, you will prompt the couple with the call and response of the following: Beloved, I seek to know of you, and ask of the Gods and Goddesses that I be given the wisdom to see you as you are, and love you as a Mystery.”

Hiccup took a deep breath and repeated Fishlegs.

I will take joy in you,

I delight in the love of you.

You are to me the whispering of the tides,

The seduction of summer’s heat.

You are my friend,

My lover,

Grow old and wise with me,

As I will do with you!

A life before us of rainbows and sunsets,

And a willingness to share in happiness and in sadness.

“I love you.” Prompted Fishlegs.

“I-I-I love you…”

“I adore you.”

Then it was Astrid’s turn to recite the vows, and she did it effortlessly, as she did most things. A sad smile crept over her face, though Hiccup couldn’t guess what it meant.

Gothi scratched the next part into the floor, and Fishlegs dutifully interpreted, too focused on the job to realize what was happening. “Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, do you take your chosen and beloved mate, Astrid Hofferson, to be your lawfully wedded companion, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part? Will you keep your love and trust, caring for and cherishing your beloved:

Will you keep the promise of this rite?”

“Yes?” Hiccup asked, more as a question. Why was his name being used? He’d been whacked enough times today to just trust Gothi’s methods.

“Astrid Hofferson, do you take your chosen and beloved mate, Hiccup Haddock, to be your lawfully wedded companion, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part? Will you keep your love and trust, caring for and cherishing your beloved:

Will you keep the promise of this rite?”

“I will.” Astrid smiled.

“You have declared your consent before your Gods and Goddesses within this holy circle. May our Mother Goddess Frigga strengthen your consent and fill you both with her blessings. By the witness of our Gods, Goddesses, and ancestors are these sacred vows made manifest. I hereby pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

“Oh, well that’s a lot to remember to say. Do you have it written down somewhere?” Hiccup asked.

WHACK.

“Ow! What did I do?! I thought we were done!”

Gothi circled a squiggle and pointed at Astrid.

“What’s she saying?”

Fishlegs blushed. “She wants you to kiss Astrid.”

“What? Why?”

Gothi looked at him wide-eyed and perplexed. Then she frantically scribbled in the sand.

As Fishlegs watched, he went wide-eyed and pale. “Uh Hiccup…you guys said you were coming here to practice, right?”

“Yeah?”

“She thought you were coming to elope…she married you. For real.”

Hiccup suddenly felt very light headed as he looked down to the wrappings over their hands, and then to Astrid. She was trying and failing to suppress a smile, like she was amused rather than surprised. He rounded on Gothi. “Astrid’s engaged to Snotlout! Why would you think we wanted to elope?!”

“She says everyone saw the hickey on your neck last winter after that blizzard.”

Hiccup blushed several shades of red, before looking back at his bride. His bride! “Astrid, I am so so sorry! I had no idea she would–I thought–you know I wasn’t trying to–!”

“Hiccup,” Astrid said softly, squeezing his hands. “It’s okay. It’s really okay. I wasn’t thrilled about getting married, but I resigned myself to it. So I was ready to marry, and anticipating it. This is…a preferable outcome.”

“I—My dad is going to kill me. He gave me this responsibility and I—no, forget my dad! Spitelout is going to actually murder me! Do you know how much money he paid me for all that stuff!?”

“Then pay him back? You didn’t spend everything did you?”

“I had to buy materials! Gah! Gothi! You have to undo this!”

WHACK.

Fishlegs read, “You made a sacred oath in front of the Gods. I will not annul this marriage.”

Then Gothi smiled as she wrote something else, almost as an afterthought.

“She says you guys make a better match anyway.”

“I’m dead. I’m so dead!” Hiccup tried to pull away, but his wrist was still tied. “Please help?”

Gothi soundlessly laughed as she untied them.

“Well, thanks for all that…I guess. I suppose we have to go face the music…” Hiccup imagined all the yelling and threats of bodily harm he was about to receive. Spitelout might actually try to kill him. Maybe they should tell Stoick and Axel first and have them present for Spitelout.

Gothi shook her head, and pointed at Astrid.

“She still wants you to kiss…” Fishlegs blushed. “And she said, ‘make it good.’”

“What’s that supposed to—”

Astrid hooked her ankle around his knee, making him lose his balance and start to fall backwards, but she caught him around the waist and dipped him, presenting a searing kiss to his lips.

Then, a moment later, he was righted, and she dusted him off. “Good enough for you?” Astrid asked Gothi.

The old woman and Fishlegs both clapped for them.

Winded and star struck, Hiccup wobbled towards the door. “At least I will have fond memories before I die…”

Astrid was a few steps behind him, and once they were outside, she started giggling.

“What’s got you so happy?” Hiccup asked, still pale and hopped up on adrenaline.

“I don’t have to marry Snotlout! No more dinners with the Jorgensons! No more forcing myself to be nice to him! And I get to move out of my parents house! I get to live with my best friend!” She stood up a little straighter. “And one day, I will be chieftess! Not too bad a catch, if I do say so.” She reached over to take his hand, but he pulled away from her. “Hiccup?”

He just looked at her, trying to find words, but was too gripped with dread.

“Just a few hours ago, you said you wanted to marry me…unless you were just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No!” He did take her hand then, holding it tightly in both of his. “Astrid…I didn’t lie. I did, do, want to marry–I guess be married to you. I’m sure tomorrow I’ll be singing and dancing, but right now…I feel like I cheated. I didn’t do anything to deserve to marry you. I didn’t make a contract with your dad…”

“But you made all the weapons for the bride price. You built me a house, you made me a ring. And you went to rehearsal with me. If you had been able to ask my dad for my hand, he would have given you permission in a heartbeat. You didn’t need to trick him to win me in a bet. If anything, Hiccup, you did more to deserve me than anyone.”

Hiccup let out a shuddering sigh. “That makes a lot of sense, thank you.”

“So you’re not going to try to get rid of me again, right?”

He chuckled helplessly. “No, dear.”

“Then let’s go tell our parents and Spitelout. I’ll be right here with you.”

“And so will I,” said Fishlegs, sneaking up behind them.

“Gah! Fishlegs! How long have you been there?”

“...You don’t want to know. But I’ll come along with you to explain what I saw.”

That eased the dread even more. “That will be a big help, Fishlegs. Why don’t you go ahead into town? I think my dad might be in his secret meditation spot in the woods. He doesn’t want anyone to be able to find him when he needs a break.”

“I can respect that! I have several secret meditation places on the island. We can tradesies!”

“Later, Fishlegs.”

“Oh right! I’ll go wait in the forge!” And they split up.

As they made their way back to the cove, Hiccup imagined all the words his father had to say. He gnawed on his lip. What would this turn into? Hiccup certainly didn’t have the money to pay Spitelout back for those materials. He didn’t think his father had that just ready to go, either. This was a nightmare!

As he spiraled, Astrid’s warm hand connected with his, and she twined their fingers together.

He looked at her.

“I get that you’re nervous, and I know why, but I’d like to hold my husband’s hand, if that’s alright.”

Wow. Husband. What a thought!

“Okay,” he said, dreamily.

When they arrived at the cove they saw Valka sitting by the shack with a sewing project. Stoick had left.

“Did Dad go back?” Hiccup asked, stating the obvious.

“Oh a little while ago. How did rehearsal go?”

“Depends on how you look at it…” he hesitated. “Astrid thinks it went really well. I think it was a disaster.”

“My my! What happened?”

This would be his litmus test. His mother probably wouldn’t react too badly to the news, being that she’d been removed from humans for so long.

“Well, mom…meet the wife.” And he gestured to Astrid.

“Wife? Your wife?!”

“Yeah…Gothi thought we came to elope, I thought she was doing a mock ceremony…” he rubbed his face. “Oh this is so messed up!”

Valka burst into laughter. Hard, loud, unrestrained laughter. She fell backwards off her seat, and still kept laughing.

Hiccup worried if his mother had actually gone insane. Considering what she had been through, it was only a matter of time.

“I’m-I’m sorry, my love!” She kept laughing, and slowly pulled herself off the ground. “It’s just–you and your father were both telling me how you’ve had…a bit of an unlucky streak with the village. And now this!”

“Yep. We all know that the gods hate me.”

“Oh honey…” she cooed. She stood and went to him, petting the hair from his face and wiping the blood from his forehead. “It’s not all bad. Astrid’s your good friend, afterall.”

“I’m thrilled about that part! I just don’t think I’m going to live long enough to enjoy it.”

Valka chuckled warmly, pulling him into a hug. “My little boy is a man! When you have the real ceremony, make sure it’s after peace comes, so I can be there, okay?”

“Can you not hear me? I’m. Going. To. Die!”

“You have your father’s dramatics. Have you told anyone else yet?”

“Not yet,” said Astrid. “We were looking for Stoick. But I’m glad you’re first to know.”

Valka went and gave Astrid a hug. “It makes me feel like I’m part of the community. Even though it was an accident, I’m happy for you two.”

“Well, if it all goes tits up, then I guess we can go live in your little ice palace,” Hiccup breathed.

Astrid chuckled then, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Alright look, bum arm or no, I’m not going to let Spitelout kill you, okay? Just relax. It’s going to be awkward, but we’ll be okay.” She took his hands and held them. “We are going to be okay, right?”

Hiccup nodded then, feeling slightly guilty for not being happy like she was.

Toothless noodled his way between them then, as if asking why they weren’t pampering him. Of course, they showered him with love and scritches.

—--

Once they returned to the village, they started looking around for Stoick.

“Pst!” Gobber called from the forge, a big grin on his face.

“Oh boy. I bet Fishlegs squealed.” Astrid chuckled as they went to the forge.

Once they crossed the threshold, both Hiccup and Astrid were scooped into a big bear hug. “OH LAD I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU!”

“Had…what…exactly…?” Hiccup grit out from his squashed lungs.

Gobber set them down. “A loophole! I knew you were determined to get Astrid out of this loveless marriage crock! And you did! Good on ya!”

Hiccup looked over to Fishlegs. “You didn’t tell him it was an accident?”

“I did! I mean–I wasn’t going to tell him anything! But then he started grilling me and…you know I don’t work well under pressure!”

“I mean, I figured you’d end up telling Gobber. By the end of the day, I’m sure everyone will know. But Gobber, it really was an accident.”

“Sure, lad.”

“I swear! We went for practice! We even invited Snotlout to help, but—”

“I know, I know. Fishlegs gave me every single detail. So…when Gothi asked you for your vows? And asked if you would take Astrid as your wife, you didn’t think to question it?”

“Well…she kept hitting me…”

“And now you’re married!” Gobber guffawed. “That’s rich! I’m happy for ya lad. I’ll give ya the next two weeks off for the honeymoon too!”

Hiccup blushed as he just hid his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“Come on, babe,” Astrid nudged him. “We still have parents to talk to.”

“Oooo babe!” Gobber sang. “They already started with the pet names!”

Hiccup just stuck his tongue out at him as they exited the forge.

—-

When they found Stoick, he was surrounded by multiple vikings, and seemed to be in the middle of settling an argument.

“Let’s go tell my folks first,” suggested Astrid. “I don’t think your dad will take it well right now.”

“Agreed.”

So they went to the Hofferson household. Axel would still be at work, but Phlegma was home. When they entered, Phlegma had Astrid’s wedding dress on a dress form, attempting to fix the stitching that Astrid had butchered.

Phlegma looked up to them to greet them, and then frowned. “You eloped.”

Hiccup sputtered. “H-h-h-how did you–?”

“Mothers know these kinds of things.”

Hiccup held back the retort ‘my mom didn’t’.

“You also still have blood on your foreheads.”

Hiccup and Astrid were quick to try and rub it off.

“Well, I suppose you won’t be needing this dress then. Honestly, Astrid. There were other ways to get out of sewing!”

Astrid laughed. “Mom! I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“We really did go for practice, but Gothi thought we were eloping…it’s kind of a mess.” Hiccup rubbed the back of his head.

“And don’t get rid of the dress, mom. We’d like to have a proper ceremony later, so I’ll wear it then.”

That seemed to flip Phlegma’s attitude as she ran to them with tears of joy and laughter. “My babies! All grown up!”

Yeah, that felt more appropriate.

They stayed and talked for about an hour, relaying the events as they happened. Then Phlegma turned her attention to packing up Astrid’s belongings.

“You don’t need to pack everything. I’ll be back.”

“Oh but I need to make sure you have anything you need for tonight at least! It’s your wedding night!”

While they both turned red in the face, Hiccup did have other concerns. Would he be allowed to live in that home he built? Spitelout had commissioned it for Astrid AND Snotlout. Perhaps his father could help figure that one out.

As they left the Hofferson house in search for Axel, Hiccup took Astrid’s hand. “Hey, uh…your mom made a good point. Tonight will be our wedding night. If you don’t want to…you know…we don’t have to. I’ll just say…I’m willing to do whatever, and follow your lead.”

She smiled at him then, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. She took on that delicate nature then, that was reserved for him. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “don’t worry, we’ll have fun.”

Goosebumps broke out over his arms and neck as Astrid pulled him away to find her dad.

—-

Axel Hofferson worked at the lumber mill, on the river at the edge of the village. He was no Stoick the Vast, but the man was huge from lifting tree trunks onto the mill.

He locked the blade when they arrived. “Hey kids! Need more wood for the house, Hiccup?” Because that was the reason Hiccup had come here so often in the past.

“I got this,” Astrid told Hiccup. She strutted right up to her father, swallowed, and said crisply. “Dad, Hiccup and I just got married.”

The pleasant customer service smile slowly slipped off of his face. “Pardon?”

“We went up to Gothi’s to practice the ceremony, but she assumed we wanted to elope. So, now we’re married.”

Hiccup was prepared for yelling. But he was not prepared for Axel’s screaming. A raw, primal scream, directed upwards towards the gods. He screamed once, for about 10 seconds, and then again, for about 20.

“What in Odin��s eye patch is going on over here, Axel?” Another worker, Olav, hurried over with an axe in hand. He calmed slightly when he saw the kids. “Oh Hiccup. What did you do?”

“MARRIED!” Axel screamed.

“Who? You two?” Olav pointed at Hiccup and Astrid. “That’s nice. But wasn’t she engaged to Spitelout’s boy?”

“It was an accident.”

“ACCIDENT!” Axel shouted again. He was red in the face and visibly shaking.

“Dad…maybe you should sit down?”

Instead, he scooped them both up into a hug, one in each arm, and started weeping.

“My ribs…will be so bruised…by the end of…the day!” Hiccup wheezed.

After a long while, Axel set them both down. “My beautiful children! This is what I wanted! Astrid couldn’t do better!”

“Dad,” Astrid rolled her eyes.

“I mean it! Sure, you’re a little rough around the edges, but you’re only 16! So much room to grow!”

“Gee…thanks, Mr. Hofferson.”

“Call me dad!” Axel beamed. “Oh I can’t wait to see the look on Spitelout’s face when he hears about this! That’ll teach him to trick me into that stupid bet!”

“Trick?” Asked Astrid.

“More or less,” Axel sighed. He pressed a kiss to Astrid’s hair. “I had been celebrating your upcoming battle with the Nightmare at the Great Hall. I had my fill of mead, but Spitelout kept giving me mugs. You know how he is. Telling me to relax, telling me I was being a killjoy…once I was pretty sloshed, he bet me on the fight. You know the rest.”

“Wait,” asked Hiccup. “Do you actually remember making the bet?”

“Yes, I do. And I say trick, but I should have known better…” Then he smiled again and tugged them to his sides. “But it doesn’t matter anymore! You two are going to be so happy!” He kissed Astrid and gave Hiccup a warm squeeze. “I’ll have to return all those weapons though, shame about that. They were beautiful.”

“Oh, uh, I think you can probably keep them. I made them. I’ll just refund Spitelout.”

“You made them? I thought Gobber did.”

“Nope. Spitelout specifically wanted me to make them.”

“He made my ring too!” Astrid held her hand up for him to see.

‘Oh, that’s lovely, lass. Many a woman would kill for a piece that pretty.”

Astrid beamed.

“And the house…” Axel mused. “You built that too, of course.”

Hiccup nodded. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I built it, yes, but it’s on Spitelout’s property.”

“You could always move it.” Axel smirked.

“Move it? You can do that?”

“Sure! That would really twist the knife, wouldn’t it? Spitelout thinks he can force his nephew into building his son’s house and then keep it when the marriage falls through? All he ends up with is an empty plot with a basement!”

“The basement is all that Snotlout wanted, anyways.” Said Astrid.

“So tell me, how does one get married by accident, anyways?”

So Astrid and Hiccup took turns recounting the ceremony. Axel just beamed and giggled the whole time, absolutely thrilled with the turn of events.

“Just wait until Spitelout gets a load of this!” Axel said, far too enthusiastically.

“Actually, I’d love to wait for Spitelout to hear this. Maybe if I wait long enough, he’ll forget all about the wedding and he won’t punt me into the sun.”

Axel laughed joyfully. “Oh Hiccup, you’re such a joker!”

“I mean, I wasn’t joking.”

“Who’s left to tell?”

“My father, and the Jorgensons. I was hoping to tell dad next so that you and him could be witnesses to my execution.”

Axel clapped his hands eagerly. “Then let’s go find your father!”

“What about work?” Astrid asked, pointing to the sawmill.

“My daughter just got married! To Helheim with work!”

Hiccup just hoped Axel’s joy was universal.

——

Axel, Fishlegs, Astrid, and Hiccup went back into town, looking for Stoick. The poor chief was still involved with a disagreement with some tribesmen. Stoick looked rather annoyed.

“Maybe we should…?” Hiccup began.

“This is more important, son.” Axel urged. “Go on.”

Hiccup took a deep breath and waded into the swamp of Vikings. “Dad? Dad!” He called.

“I know you’re not happy with the gold, but he’s being more than generous. Hiccup! I’m very busy!” Stoick shouted over the bickering.

“I need to talk to you!”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No!”

“Is it about your work with the raids?”

“No!”

“Then just spit it out!”

Hiccup swallowed thickly and blurted, “Astrid and I just got married!”

The arguing settled down as each of the assembled men digested what the boy said. All eyes were on him.

“What did you say?” Stoick asked, almost a whisper.

“You heard right,” Axel said, a smirk on his face.

The other Vikings started whispering then.

“Right,” Stoick cleared his throat and turned back to the group. “Sven, you stored your sail in a poor place, so it’s not unreasonable to believe that Hoffmere would take it, thinking it was garbage. He’s offered you gold to replace it, and I think that’s the fairest deal you’re going to get, since the vermin would have made a nest of it by winter anyway.”

“Aye,” Sven said breathlessly. He was staring at Hiccup, slack jawed.

Stoick turned to Hiccup and Astrid. “Have you had dinner?”

“No sir,” Hiccup said softly.

“Okay. Then let’s go get some dinner. I’ll be done here for the night.”

“But Stoick—“ someone tried to stop him.

“Later. I have some…very very important work to do.” He started towards his house, his hand grabbing Hiccup by the back of his shirt.

“Dad, first I need you to know it was an accident! We went up there to practice, just like you suggested, but Gothi thought we were there to elope! It was all just a big misunderstanding!”

Stoick didn’t say a word as he led all four up the hill to his house.

“And when I tried to get her to fix it, she said she wouldn’t because we made an oath in front of the gods! I swear we didn’t mean to do it! Please believe me!”

“It-it’s true sir!” Fishlegs bravely added. “I saw the whole thing! I was concentrating so hard on making sure that I was interpreting right, I didn’t even notice it was wrong! They even invited Snotlout to practice, but he refused!”

“We thought she was leading us in a mock ceremony,” Astrid continued. “It didn’t seem weird to me.”

Once at the house, Stoick became more gentle. He went to a pot on the hearth, and lifted the lid. “Roast beef with potatoes and carrots. A nice comfort meal for a crazy day. Are you staying for dinner, Axel?”

“Ah, no chief. Thank you for the offer. The wife should have something at home for me.”

“How about you, Fishlegs? This is your mother’s cooking.”

“O-o-oh, no no sir. No thank you! I just came as a witness.”

“Very well.” Stoick nodded as he went to the kitchen area and took out bowls. He was impossible to read.

True to the name, stoic.

“Dad…? Are you…mad?”

“No,” Said the man. Though he chunked off a messed up piece of bread from the loaf with one chop of a meat cleaver. “Just…thinking.”

Astrid and Hiccup were silent as he dished up their dinners and handed it to them.

Finally, he asked, “How much did Spitelout pay you for the weapons and the house?”

“He paid four gold for the weapons and fifty for the house. I kept sixteen for labor.”

Stoick nodded and went to his lock box. “I will pay the difference, if you will refund your gold.”

“I will! And I’ll pay you back!”

“You don’t have to do that, son. I would pay this price in the first place.”

Hiccup went and retrieved the coins he had made from Spitelout.

“Then Spitelout will owe you the dowry,” said Axel. “I paid him half the lumber for that house.”

“We will see what he has to say. I have a feeling negotiations won’t go well. It’s fine and good to pay back materials and wealth, but there’s something else we’ve taken from Spitelout.”

“Trust?” Hiccup winced.

“His dignity.”

Dread laid like a heavy blanket on Hiccup’s shoulders. Spitelout hated being made a fool of. He didn’t take any jokes on his behalf, and slights against him were dealt with severely.

“Are we going over there after dinner?” Hiccup asked, stirring his bowl.

“No. Spitelout will hear of this soon enough. Your little announcement in the town will no doubt spread to the entire tribe by morning. He will come to us.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“And what about you, Axel? You seem rather pleased with this turn of events.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I don’t like Spitelout or his son on good days. It killed me to see that bet fall through. I know it was my fault…but can you imagine how sweet it would have been if Astrid had won?”

“Wait, dad. What were you going to get out of it, if I did win?”

“He was going to pay your dowry, when the time came.”

Hiccup smirked to himself. That would have been sweet.

“Plus, it would have been great to get him to shut up for a while. But don’t beat yourself up over it, lass. You really did give that Nightmare a fair go. Not many warriors would have stayed in that ring after they lost their weapons. You went in with your bare hands! That’s courage unlike any other.”

If only Axel knew that dragons were actually rather tame, and that the Nightmare had ended up apologizing to Astrid. But they’d keep that secret for a while.

Like death itself, a heavy knock came from the door.

“Oh gods…” Hiccup stood and started pacing. He hadn’t touched his food.

“Let’s just see where this goes,” Stoick rose and went to the door.

Spitelout stood like a shadow in the door, and was just a blur as Stoick opened it. He shouldered passed Stoick and thundered across the room. Hiccup gave a high-pitched yelp of pure terror as he was hoisted from the ground by his neck.

“You little shit stain!” Spitelout seethed. “I’m going to crush you like a bug!”

Hiccup could only gasp and claw at the hands on his neck.

Luckily, Axel and Stoick quickly got the situation under control as they pried Hiccup free. Stoick hooked his arms under Spitelout’s to hold him behind his head. “Touch my son like that again, and I won’t hesitate to take away your ability to walk.”

Spitelout growled in anger.

“You okay?” Astrid asked Hiccup, touching his neck.

Hiccup panted while he sat on the floor. “Traumatized, winded, but I think I’m okay.”

Snotlout then ran into the room yelling like a banshee, battleaxe raised and aimed for Hiccup.

“Nononono!” Hiccup shouted.

Again, luckily Axel had much more fighting experience and quickly disarmed Snotlout and pinned him with the weapon. “Calm down, lad.”

“Calm down? Calm down?! That little twerp stole my girl!”

“That ‘little twerp’ is your future chief! And you better remember that!”

Spitelout scoffed. “Oh give me a break! That little pain in the ass? The tribe would rather see the entire village burn to the ground before that nuisance took up chiefdom. And you know it, Stoick!”

“Shut up.”

“I was trying to set up the perfect ruling couple for this tribe! Snotlout and Astrid would have been perfect for Chief and Chieftess! But you refuse to see that this boy of yours is rotten and a mistake! Everything he touches, he ruins!”

“And that’s why you had him make everything for Snotlout’s wedding?” Axel retorted.

“To keep him busy! I was doing the town a favor! Once he lulled everyone into a false sense of security with those eels, I knew it would only be a matter of time before he got someone killed!” He stared daggers at Hiccup. “But instead, he ruined my son’s life.”

“It was an accident,” Astrid bit. “I felt very strongly that you wanted the ceremony to be perfect, so I asked Hiccup to help me practice for it. We went to Gothi’s. She thought we were there to elope, but we didn’t know that until it was too late.”

Spitelout scoffed. “It doesn’t matter if it was on purpose or not. Everything that Hiccup gets involved with gets messed up. He’s a walking disaster. He’s a hazard.”

“He’s your blood,” Stoick reminded, tightening his grip.

“He’s all the worst parts of my sister. The parts that got her killed.”

“You take that back you bastard!” Stoick shouted.

“Dad, let him go.” Hiccup demanded.

“What?”

“I should talk to him, man to man.”

Stoick hesitated, but begrudgingly released Spitelout from his headlock. “Remember my warning.”

Spitelout rubbed his neck, but appraised Hiccup with narrowed eyes. He didn’t speak.

“Here,” Hiccup handed over the bag of coins. “What you paid me for all that work. I had nothing to do with this being an accident. If you really want to be upset with someone, take it up with Gothi, though I don’t recommend it.”

Spitelout took the coin, but still remained quiet.

Hiccup turned to Snotlout. “I know there is much more to be solved here than just what I owe your family. Accident or not, I did break your contract, and for that, I’m sorry. Stealing your bride brings offense and dishonor to your name, and that’s something I have to pay for.”

“Hiccup…” Astrid warned.

“What do I have to do to make this up to you?”

Spitelout continued to stare at Hiccup, as he stood tall.

Well, as tall as he could.

A smarmy grin took over Snotlout’s face. “You wanna make this up to me? Alright then, you can do my chores for two we–”

“A fight.” Spitelout interrupted. “In two weeks. You, Snotlout, no weapons, no armor, just fists. In front of the whole tribe. Then when you lose, everyone will see that you’re not fit to be chief.”

—-

Hiccup sat in his room, which might be the last time he’d be there for a while. Astrid went home to make sure everything she needed was packed.

Spitelout graciously allowed Hiccup and Astrid to live in the home Hiccup built, temporarily, until Hiccup built another home on Stoick’s property. The house had been commissioned for Snotlout, and Spitelout wanted him to live in it. Something about teaching him about responsibility.

When Snotlout heard he’d have to take care of the house by himself, he was less than thrilled, and stormed out.

Fishlegs had sheepishly slunked out at some point, but Hiccup hadn’t remembered when.

Now Axel, Stoick, and Spitelout were talking business. Who owed who what and how much. The conversation was much too quiet for Hiccup to hear, as Spitelout had mostly calmed down. Hiccup figured the man would never be over it, but hopefully once Hiccup figured out how to come to peace with the dragons, Valka would come back and things would be better.

Hiccup had most of his room packed up. He had been throwing out a lot of his work since he had found Toothless, since most of his blueprints and sketches had to do with killing dragons. The work for Toothless’ tail and saddle were at the forge.

So now, most of his room was packed into a large trunk. It was too heavy for him to lift, so he’d need his father’s help. And there was no way he was going downstairs while Spitelout was still there.

He heard the door open and close, and then the house became quiet.

A moment later, Stoick climbed the stairs and stood in the doorway.

“If you’re going to lecture me about how careless I was, or something like that, I already know I messed up and I’m feeling pretty low at the moment.”

“Son,” Stoick said softly, crossing the room to sit by Hiccup’s side. “What Spitelout said is ridiculous and unfounded.”

“No it’s not.” Hiccup shook his head. “Do you remember what you said to me the morning I shot Toothless down? Everytime I walk outside, disaster strikes.”

“That was said in anger, and I’m sorry. You have absolutely proven me wrong.”

“Yeah, because you saw Toothless. You see where my talents lie. The rest of the town sees…the spoiled, lazy heir of the chief weaseling out of Dragon Training because he’s a chicken. Killing dragons is everything to these people…and I’m nothing to them. And this fight with Snotlout will just prove it.”

“Do you think you could win against Snotlout?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“Do you think you could bring peace between vikings and dragons?”

Hiccup stopped then, his brow furrowing as he looked up to his dad. “I…I think I can.”

Stoick gripped his shoulder. “Lose this fight, Berk may not recognize you as chief. End the war on dragons, you’ll be the greatest viking that ever lived.”

“I…think you’re exaggerating…”

“I’m not, Hiccup. You will train and fight Snotlout. It will hurt, and you’ll feel awful. But it will all be forgotten. So don’t lose sight of what’s really important here.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know what will cheer you up.” Stoick smirked.

“Yeah?”

“Getting this trunk to your new house so you can start your wedding night!”

“DAD!!”

#httyd #how to train your dragon #fanfiction #no you go first #hiccup haddock #hiccstrid #hiccup horrendous haddock lll #astrid hofferson

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evilpol · 2 years ago

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Can I get 5, 11, and 13 for Mr Thunderjaw? (@commanderhorncleaver)

Aye, thank you so much for the ask! :D Glad to have a chance to talk about my old man cuz he ain't getting much attention from me lately ddjfgjkh

5. What would they look like as the side character in someone else's story?

Honestly like many of my characters, Thunderjaw is already more of a side character in the story, able to be involved in it regardless of the commander. He's an Iron tribune who appears in Drizzlewood coast as one of the commanding officers leading the assault, and is actually the one taking over the command of Iron forces instead of Efram after Smodur's... Untimely ending, as he's the highest ranking Iron soldier remaining in Drizzlewood. He stays a supporting character and a temporary "imperator" of the Iron Legion throughout the rest of Icebrood Saga, as Mia Kindleshot is far away from Shiverpeaks at the time and Iron needs someone to take command in the meantime, however would never run for or be interested in the position of an Imperator when all's said and done, preferring to stay as a tribune. Thunderjaw's a loyal soldier and a good officer, but he's always been much more of a follower. He's capable of leading forces and giving out orders, but he'd hate to be the one and only in charge, he prefers to still have someone 'above' him to get orders from, to follow. He also has incredibly complicated feelings about Smodur's, well, everything throughout the charr civil war as he trusts and follows his imperator, charr he knew for a long time and respects deeply, despite being very conflicted about some of his decisions and blind ambition of becoming the Khan-Ur, but that's a whole another talk.

11. How accurate is their reputation/image compared to how they really are?

Thunderjaw has the reputation of being much more relaxed and mellow than many of his fellow tribunes, some may even call him soft or too lenient with how he treats his subordinates, but Thunderjaw can be plenty harsh and violent when needed, some older soldiers still remember him as the most fearsome fighter in the Bane when he was just a young legionnaire. He's plenty serious when the time calls for it, but he prefers to relax and have fun much more nowadays, sit in his office with a glass of strong whiskey instead of rushing into a fight every opportunity he gets. He's not really as kind or forgiving as Efram, not at all, but he ain't getting younger and mellowed out a lot with age, and if someone thinks they can take on him or that he's going soft, well. Thunderjaw's more than happy to prove them wrong, he's a strong, experienced fighter who put down many overeager young soldiers who had issues with him in his time, and those who choose to stick by him respect him greatly.

13. What is the worst/funniest/dumbest article that could be written about them in Tyria's trashiest gossip mag?

Okay asdhgf that's an interesting one, but probably some dumb, incredibly inaccurate gossip about his relationship with his fellow Iron Tribune, Silverspine (who belongs to my darling partner @orrianreaper <3) or... Pretty much everything about his son, Teo, who's got a reputation of an unruly rebel and "Thunderjaw's shame", despite Thunderjaw himself loving his son deeply and being involved in his life much more than charr usually are.

#thank you so much for the ask again <3 #gw2 #charr #c: Avitus Thunderjaw

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the-firebird69 · 2 years ago

Text

Watch "Pink Floyd - Run Like Hell (PULSE Restored & Re-Edited)" on YouTube

youtube

So some a****** came in the sky is this bouchera but with blonde and look like in my mom and what it means is that the guy Randy root his father he doesn't know how to read or write and he's illiterate he has some decent businesses and he ran a lot of things but he is completely illiterate and he did not succeed and this guy Dave stager is illiterate he does not know how to be to write code and you need to be fast at it and accurate you need to have teams of people reading and writing code I can't just run around using hand signals and telling everybody that you're the best in your king Cuba and they hate you and they'll believe it and all the sudden crap because you're doing something to someone who's alone and defenseless it's really a disgusting scene but he's going to keep on doing it and so the other idiots from USF and I guess it's their choice to get rid of themselves suicide is not illegal really in this realm it's looked down on it's a shameful act it's cowardice but if they want to do that they can go ahead and they'll take your stuff

Zues Hera

I say is it is countless they're stupid and they're too dumb to be able to analyze it and they're ruining everything on top of it and enabled this other guy who's also suicidal and he's a wimp it's a massive wind caves every time that they're really destructive people and they don't have much for lives and then ruining everyone else's so it's a sweet move if it works and should then it's going to do it cuz you can't stand them no one else can it says we're doing it still and he won't stop saying it and we have to prepare for it because half these idiots believe that I also believe that they can take over by believing it and boy are they giving a friend a hard time they are such weasels and assholes he's diving hole too quite literally his monsters just walk up and eat huge handfuls about 10 million a handful and I like feelings cuz they don't understand what they're looking at

Mac

Mushugija

Zues Hera hahaha lol he says stop treating me like I'm a Jew

Yeah okay

Mac daddy

This is your father and mother calling stuff using those terms since aye aye captain and doing the best I can. So laughing but it's gross down there it's a heaping pile of complete moron he lives with a near y'all think they're an AI man and they're disgustingly ignorant it's huge pile of stupid guy to the right is threatening our son is saying to Nick him and the neck and stuff for other people and playing Mac so we're going to arrest them shortly not mad of course this is too idiots the head hung low guy hey look it's hung low

Olympus

#Youtube

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calamitys-child · 2 years ago

Text

Thinking abt that post abt picky eating and boundaries n like. Its funny too how people ay mocked me like "you'd never be vegetarian you hate everything except chicken nuggets and half the time you also hate those" but it turns out what I in fact hated was meat products that weren't consistent all the time and the reason I hated them was because they have weird textures like gristle or fat in them - when I stopped eating that and switched to meat substitutes, which are way more consistent and never have those specific Evil Textures, it turns out I love loads of foods and flavours. It wasn't the curry I hated, for example, it was the fact the sauce meant I couldn't accurately dissect the meat for Textures and it made me hate the whole dish. Swap that for quorn or chickpeas and it's second helpings and a tupperware for lunch the morra. Identifying the actual Thing that's the Bad Part for you in that experience can be so helpful both in explaining your dislikes to others and in potentially navigating other new things way more enjoyable

#Food tw #Ask to tag #Just thinking mthoughts

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indigobackfire · 3 years ago

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Oh, well, I hope you don't mind doing 15 for the kisses prompt for Chariper then (I was thinking maybe after Marwa's death) 👉👈

I sooo sorry for taking so long, but I kept going on and off writing this and then I got caught into it and ended up incredibly long 🙈 Also I think I derived from the initial prompt so sorry for that x)

I considered writing Scottishly but then I'd take double the time, so just pretend is there xD Tried using as much info as I could, still I'm sure it won't be all accurate x) Also a lil Indigo mention bc yes xD

I really hope you like it 😘

From this prompt list.

Ship: Juniper Moss × Charlie Weasley

Time: 1997

Wordcount: 3.5k (well...)

CW: Injury/torture description (nothing too graphic), mention of suicidal thoughts, grief, yearning, angst (like you asked xD)

/////

Charlie’s house isn’t exactly made for two, at least not comfortably, Juniper knows it well — it’s all too small, from the sofa to the bed, the tight kitchen, the few utensils, and the one bathroom. But she’s also aware he’s making his utmost to make this as comfortable for her as he can and it tears her up.

He gave up his bed for her and acquired more cutlery and plates, he did abundant grocery shopping, and with magic tried increasing every space possible. She felt like a waste of space and time with the way Charlie was bending backwards to serve her, but where else could she go? In her state travelling would be unsuitable and even if she could, go back home to who? Go back home just to witness the empty space left by Marwa’s absence, her sweet and welcoming smell still on her bedroom, her shoes by the bed and her books on the nightstand, unread, her clothes still in the wardrobe never to be worn again.

The thought plagues her every morning like a dull pain even worse than that of her physical self. But still, she gets up, for Marwa — to keep pushing through, to finish what she risked her life for —, but mostly, for Charlie, the one who has believed in her enough to carry the weight of her grieving soul in his arms, in his home, in his attentive care. Because, yes, she needs care and who better to get it from than somebody like him, somebody her heart is weak for.

She’s still exhausted, but gets out of bed, cleans herself and brushes her hair the best she can, looks in the mirror and tries her hardest not to hate her scars, her looks, herself. Marwa hated her self deprecation, hated how that treatment of herself made her reckless about her own safety. Juniper can almost see it, Marwa would shake her head and say, “You’re better than this”, she’d agree even if she didn’t believe in that but she’d try to, for Marwa, always for her. Living has been difficult, but surviving should be enough for now.

When she walks into the kitchen/living room and its delicious aroma, it almost seems like she’s dressed to go out into a snowy day in three layers of Charlie’s clothes — a thin long-sleeved sweater, a thicker one, and a sheep lining coat, not to mention the two layers of trousers and a cap to top it off —, but that’s the only clothes Juniper could stand to wear without shivering down to the bone, one of the side effects of the Ice Curse they used to torture her for days on end. Only God knows how she survived, very close to dying from hypothermia, skin battered and frostbitten, trembling like crazy once she was rescued, unable to be heated up fast due to the cursed nature of the cold.

Charlie tries a smile over his shoulder and it’s genuinely the warmest thing in the house. In comparison, Charlie’s simply in a sweatshirt and his favourite trousers, trying to flip pancakes using his wand. “Morning, Junie. Sleep well?”

“Aye. The earmuffs helped.”

“I’m glad it did.”

She tucks herself onto one of the chairs by the small round table. “Sorry, I woke up late.”

“Hey, don’t, don’t apologise.”

“You always insist on preparing me breakfast, you’ll be late for work.”

“I’m staying at home today. My superiors wanna see how the new girl does without my help, Ursula her name.” He levitates the pancake from the pan onto a sloppy pile on the plate. “Ha! Didn’t burn a single one this time.”

“Uhm, I was getting used to the sharp taste of coal in the morning.”

“Hillarious. Maple or honey?”

“Honey.” He places the plate and the bottle in front of her before sitting down with his on stack double the size of hers.

On the side of her pancakes, a little bunch of unevenly chopped banana slices. “I feel like a child when you do this.”

“I like doing something special for you.”

“You’ve already done enough. I won’t say I’m fine, I’m not naive, but… you don’t have to do so much.”

“Cutting a banana is not too much. Besides, I’m not doing it out of pity, Junie. I’m doing it because I like you and I take pleasure in taking care of you. Mom says it’s second nature to want to take care. Of kids, dragons, friends, plants.”

“Plants… maybe not.” She thinks for a second. “Yeah. I loved taking care of Marwa.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t want you to step on eggs around me, Charlie.” She takes a forkful of bananas to keep the teary sting from her eyes. “I also don’t wanna forget her, I don’t want her to be forgotten.”

“She won’t be. Especially considering her love will outlive her. Well, it’s too early for tears.” He points to her pancakes with his fork, smiling from ear to ear. “Come on, take a bite, tell me if they’re worth anything.”

“Should we take a walk?” Juniper asks, looking out the small window.

“Uhm… if you want to.” Charlie closes the book he was reading and gets up from his armchair to look out the window with her. “But isn’t too cold for you?”

“I can throw another layer on. I need to keep my muscles from atrophying. Winter soon will come and then I certainly won’t be in shape for any walks outdoors.” She smiles weakly. “Besides, in all the chaos I didn’t have a chance to enjoy the Autumn view.”

“You right, I’ll just fetch you something to keep warm.”

Juniper puts on her old loyal boots, tying them slowly. Any precise movement was still difficult — tying shoes, writing, folding clothes, cutting her own food, braiding her hair, even certain spells that required a more delicate hand movement —, suffering from her weak and stiff hands. Hands that are in such a state thanks to the torture she endured.

She watches her trembling hands and can recall the cold of the room she was held captive at, the foul smell, the cold, the hard ground, the magical ropes that bind her wrists behind her back, the bone crumbling muscle tearing pains, so cold. If she hadn’t resisted, if she had died soon, Marwa wouldn’t have come to her rescue, she’d be safe, she be alive. If only she had—

“I got something nice for you here,” Charlie exclaims from the other room bringing her back to her senses.

She takes a deep breath trying to steady her mind. Juniper believes herself to be strong, she knows she’s strong, but even she understands the limits of her body. She once thought cruciatus played only with the mind, simulating pain, but in doing so it also hurt the body, the soul. But Charlie, he’s an anchor, a strong and steady one. She focus on his existence and the world doesn’t seem as horrible.

“How is the tying?” He steps into the living room, soon placing a shawl over her shoulders.

She takes the gloves he’s handed and begins putting them on. “It’s fine.”

He gives a look. “It’s not, you’ll trip. Here, let me help.” He undoes her sloppy tying and reties it perfectly. “I told you a hundred times, ask when you need help.”

She gets up and he follows. “I can tie my own boots. It’s embarrassing enough that you had to cut my nails and cut my steak and brush my hair.”

“I love the way your hair feels.” She rolls her eyes and he laughs. “Stop complaining. Nobody’s forcing me to do this.”

She gets up. “I am. Indirectly I am.”

“Just say thank you and I’ll be the happiest guy.”

“Thank you, Charles. It’s a braw shawl,” she says, wrapping the thick tartan shawl tighter around herself as they walk out the door, wind hitting them first thing.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“I’m going with or without you.” She clears her throat at the harshness of her tone. “But I’d appreciate if you stay, I promise this is nothing.”

He simply shakes his head. “Indigo sent me it on my birthday, the shawl. I haven’t worn it yet.”

“She has good taste, I’ll give her that.”

“Kinda biassed coming from another Scot.”

She chuckles. “Have you seen her lately?” He shakes his head with a frown. “Me neither, it’s been quite about a year when we bumped into each other at the Ministry. Last I heard was that Barnaby’s parents escaped Azkaban.”

Charlie’s eyes darken in a frown. “They religiously write to me once or twice a month. I haven’t received any letter in three from neither. And if what I think it happened, happened, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Juniper feels a shiver run down her spine. “These are dark times we’re living in.”

“I just hope they’re well and together. Going through all this alone is hell.” He gives Juniper a pained smile. “I hate the circumstances but I’m glad you’re here with me. What happened to George, Bill… thank goodness it wasn’t fatal, but that did a number on me and even when your life was going into a spiral, you supported me.” He waits until she’s looking at him to continue. “That’s why I don’t mind doing what I’m doing for you, I know you’d do the same for me.”

Juniper can barely speak nor face him, nodding with undistinguishable sounds boiling in the back of her throat, words she’s refrained herself from muttering for years, now daring to emerge. A volcano, words hot and glowing like lava daring to erupt from her blazing heart, they’d burn her, they’d burn him as well. Of course she’d do the same for him, the same and much much more, whatever Charlie asked of her.

He touches her arm and she nearly jumps. “Are you alright, June?”

She nods roughly. “Yeah, I just— Let’s keep walking.”

Their walk is quiet from there on, taking in the red, orange, and green of the landscape, a much-needed sun shining down on them even if it didn’t offer much heat along with the light. Her feet ache but nothing her inner turmoil couldn’t distract her from. They walk for about twenty minutes before reaching the limits of the plateau where Charlie’s cabin house is located with an overview of a small muggle village below.

The view is, in fact, very beautiful, especially with the way the sun shines down at the landscape before them, the river running alongside the village glistening with the light. But all the while, her chest’s on fire from his words, smoke clouding up her mind, the sparks coming off of his mere presence not helping her case.

“I wanna take you there once you get better. There’s a little shop… not really a shop, an old lady’s house where she sells all types of cheese and sweets, you’ll love it.”

Again the lump returns, but she offers a weak smile. “I’d love that. But, uhm, can we go back?”

He takes a step towards her. “I can apparate us there if you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m well, I’m just… cold. I’ll get warmer on the walk back.”

It didn’t make sense considering the long walk they had to get there, but he wasn’t going to refute it. He offers her an arm and they make their way back in half the time, the warmth of the house like a sweet embrace once they walk in, the honeysuckle and cinnamon scent intoxicating her every sense, wrapping around her heart like Devil’s Snare.

She turns to him, his countenance visibly worried, and just watches him drunk in a semi-conscious haze, despite the blur of her vision, she can see him clear enough — his beautiful copper oranger amber hair falling over the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen, freckles over skin like a starry sky. And as her eyes slowly move down his body, she feels herself lose balance and he’s close enough to hold her up.

Her cheeks are flushed which drives him to touch her them with the back of his fingers. “You’re burning.”

He unwraps the scarf and the shawl from her, all the while knowing she’s out of herself. It had happened before, short lapses in consciousness and thought, yet another side effect from the extensive torture she went through, but nothing this aggravating.

Juniper herself can’t tell, brain glowing and quiet like a flame. He then takes her face in his hands to try and bring her back to herself but it works against his wishes and she practically melts. His face so close, his chocolatey eyes. It’s love, so solid and heavy and palpable, emanating from her, weighing her down down down down—

In her sinking, his voice, calling her name. It’s glorious.

Juniper first hears heaving, centimetres away from her face, then the overwhelming heat from fire irradiating so incredibly close. She blinks her eyes open, a little lightheaded still. She’s being embraced, if not that, held.

Charlie’s pupils almost overtake the honey brown, face pale like snow. He holds her face with one hand. “Junie? Juniper? How are you feeling? Merlin! I knew that walk wasn’t a good idea!”

She takes his wrist to stop him from shaking her. “Charlie, calm down. What happened?”

“You fainted. You were burning up then you went cold again in a minute.” Explaining why were they on the rug by the fireplace. He finally stabilizes himself, trying to breath normally. “Scared the shit outta me.”

“Fainted? I’m so dramatic,” she tries laughing it off, distracting herself from the fact she’s in his arms. “I bet it was just the… the exertion.”

“Dramatic!? You didn’t faint on purpose.”

“I know, but I’m better now, don’t worry. See? No fever.”

“We gotta take you to a hospital, June. There’s a decent one in Bucharest.”

White hot panic takes over her and she pulls away from him, suddenly is harder to breath. “I don’t need to.”

“Bucharest is not that far, you clearly need help—”

“I’d rather die.” She curls against the sofa’s base. “I am not going, Charlie. I refuse.”

She can already picture it, the prying eyes, the antiseptic smell, the cold, healer’s assuming this and that about her condition while she knows very well what’s going on. Paired with her lapses in consciousness and thought she hadn’t experienced when she was first rescued, her stay would certainly be long and definetly a not so pleasent one. They had brought her back to life back then, when she was found burned, bloody, starved, and so terribly weak, but she’s also aware that if it weren’t for Bill and Charlie’s beggin for them to save her, she wouldn’t have survived. She had decided since then to be careful, to never again be at their mercy.

He gets up, pacing in circle. “And you expect me to just watch you fall ill and do nothing about it? I brought you here so I could help you get better and care for you, if you don’t—”

Perhaps it was the gut wrenching panic, perhaps the sickness still left in her, perhaps his wide and glistening eyes shinning at her, but the words just spill. “Because it was you… who made me sick. And no healer can cure that.”

He looks at her as if she had spoken in another language. “Wh-What? How– Me?”

“Yes, you. You’ve been driving me mad. You treat me so well, you keep me close, you allow me in your little world, and it’s driving me over the edge, Charles. It’s too much for me.”

His tone becomes serious. “What do you mean, June?”

Juniper wants to get up, to run, to jump off a cliff and go underwater, to release the building adrenaline in any other way but through her words. But she’s too weak, too exposed. She has lost the most important thing in her life, yet there’s still so much to be lost, but now the feeling has become familiar, the feeling of letting go.

She lays down on the carpet, exhausted, releasing tears long held back. “I love you, Charlie!”

He freezes where he stands, loosening up his hands and shoulders.

She wipes a few tears away. “I’m sorry.”

The word seems so big, his mouth can barely hold it. “You lo-” He lowers himself back to the ground with her. “How long?”

“For almost as long as I’ve known you. Really known you.”

He can’t drive himself to talk any comprehensive words, he lowers even more to lay right beside her. A few minutes pass before he can speak. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

“Many reasons.”

“Examples?”

She sighs. “I was afraid, you weren't… emotionally available, I was a walking hurricane. So much I can't even put into words.”

“What about Talbott?”

It’s almost a slap to hear his name alone in Charlie’s presence. “I did love him, but… I never forgot you. There was always the shadow of what I felt for you looming over us until it wasn’t sustainable anymore.”

His breath trembles. “Bloody hell, Junie. Isn't even ten am yet.”

She chuckles. “I'm sorry for dropping this bomb on you like this.” Her voice is monotonous again, trying hard to swallow her feelings. “I'll leave if you-”

“I don't want you to leave.”

She turns to him. “But I don't know if I can stay.”

“Why couldn't you?”

“I can't stop this. These feelings, they're tenacious, like a little creature that'll only grow the longer I stay close to you.”

He turns his body her way. “What if I want it to grow?”

“It might consume me. You.”

“I'm used to it. To creatures that might consume me. Including you.”

She can’t help a smile. “What are you impling Charles?”

“That neither can I hold back what I feel for you. I didn’t have a word for it before but now I do.”

And just like that, things aren’t as heavy as Juniper had predicted for years. It is significant, but not heavy. She loves him, a fact like that of the grass being green or that of fire burning. (How many times had Marwa told her to stop cowarding away and just confess her feelings? If Juniper had only known it’d be this liberating, this soft.) And just as light, Charlie’s reciprocating affection.

He's staring directly at her, glancing at her lips indiscreetly — never feeling as seen as she does right now, even if she’s sure she definitely doesn’t look her best, having lost too much weight in the past months, distressed, and loss of her sunkissed glow, but it doesn’t matter, not when his eyes tell her otherwise. He then draws his hand up, slowly, to touch her cheek, palm hot against her cold skin.

“Juniper.”

“Charlie.”

His caloused thumb brushes its way to her lips, glancing at them as if asking for permission. She reaches out, fingers in his hair, streaks reflecting the firelight in colours she hasn't seen anywhere else.

“You don't have to do this alone,” he whispers.

She nods and he finally allows himself, leaning in a soft press of lips, slow and sure, the faintest flavour of honey in their mouths, the back of his fingers caressing her cheekbones. The house engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burning logs, but to Juniper it smells like desire mixed with Autumn. She reaches out and wraps her weak arms around him to bring him closer, she feels comfortable to do so — he’s the most important thing she has, equating only to her own life, she has to hold him the tightest she can.

Yet his lips remain soft and slow, savouring this moment of fresh blossom of love. Their first kiss together, therefore it has to be long and sweet and loving. She loves him and isn’t that enough? To know that across the table there’s someone who wants you, with her warm eyes like coffee in the morning and her french-blue hair, to know that throughout all those years most times her eyes had laid upon him with love, desire, affection.

He keeps their foreheads touching as he pulls away. “I’m not going anywhere, Junie. And I’m not letting you go either.”

“I know.”

“We’ll get through this.”

“We have to get through it.”

“And I’ll be with you on the other side. Marwa would be proud of you for living.”

She’s crying even before he’s done speaking. “Thank you.”

“No, no thank yous.” He brushes a strand of her hair back. “I love you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I love you, Juniper. I do.” He begins laughing — a weight immediately lifting from his chest as the words have finally been freed. He kisses her again and neither can help smiling against the other’s lips.

For the first time in a while she doesn’t feel bad doing so, doesn’t feel guilty for being happy without Marwa, because Charlie's right, because behind closed eyes she can almost hear it, her laugh from the kitchen, proud of her. I hope you're proud of me.

#beezwritez #juniper moss #charlie weasley #hphm ships #chariper #one shot #charlie x mc #hogwarts mystery

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bitch-im-your-biggest-nightmare · 4 years ago

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It Doesn’t Matter What They say [Corpse Husband]

Hey! This is my first time doing something on Tumblr. If you’d like, go to my Wattpad because thats where this story comes from! Also, sorry if its not accurate. Im still knew to the Corpse_Husband fanbase and the people the people he is seen playing with (-Cr1tiKal and Pewdiepie] and im not familiar with personalities

Summary: No one knew of Corpse and Y/Ns relationship. Until Corpse thought it was a good time to reveal it and maybe to make the people who simp way too much over him calm down a bit. he thought it was a good idea, so did Y/N. But the fans were not happy..

-------------------------------------------

Corpse really loved Y/N. He loved her so much that he let her see his face- a week after they met. They met online through Twitter and became best friends, and they totally hit it off. Y/N made Corpse happy, and he trusted her with all his life. Y/N was small, cute, and innocent. She had a soft high pitched voice and was short. She was the exact opposite of Corpse, and that's what he loved about her. He loved when she wore his hoodies, they were always way bigger on her and the sleeves went over her hands. He loved how kind she was. Y/N was a sweetheart, and Corpse didn't know how he was able to score this hard.

Y/N really loved Corpse. He loves so damn much it might kill her. She was happy she got her phone fixed after it stopped charging, if she didn't this wouldn't have happened. They became best friends and hit it off, and she loved when she made Corpse smile. She knows his real name- but calls him Corpse because that's what he prefers. She knows his birthday, his favorite foods, his favorite songs, his personality, how to cheer him up, she knows everything. She loved Corpses deep voice and how it soothed her to sleep. She loved how tall he was compared to her. She loved sitting on his lap while he made his videos and did his streams. He loved wearing his warm hoodies and snuggling up to his chest after long days. Corpse was the best, and Y/N didn't how she was able to score this hard.

Corpse and Y/N thought it would be a good idea to reveal their relationship to the world.

So they did.

In his last stream, he was playing Among Us and decided to tell everyone about Y/N. His exact words were "Guys by the way, I think it's pretty important to tell you guys that I now have a girlfriend. Her names Y/N, and shes the sweetest little thing."

"I'm not little!" Y/Ns voice rung out from behind him. She was sitting on his bed watching him play. Everyone he was playing with freaked out at how soft and high pitched her voice was.

"Her voice is the exact opposite of Corpses, how is this possible?" Felix said with a laugh.

"How can a demon score with an angel?" Charlie commented.

"She sounds so cuuuute!" Poki said, already falling in love with Y/N even she never heard her voice.

"Awwe now I feel lonely." Sykkuno said, sending a sad face in the chat which made them all laugh.

"Nice to meet you all!" Y/N said, walking over to sit on Corpses lap. She was wearing a familiar black hoodie that was way too big on her. Hmm.. wonder whose it is.

"Wha- are you wearing my hoodie again? I was looking for it all over." Corpse had a smirk plastered on his face and looked Y/N over. She was wasn't wearing any pants- but she knew that smirk meant he was just teasing her, they don't make love very often. They just have late night cuddle sessions and kisses.

"I hid it from you so I can wear it." Y/N said a little sheepishly. She was a little awkward talking to Corpse like this infront of everybody. But by how his friends greeted her, she knew they liked her. She was sure the fans would like her as well.

"Wow. You know I was very cold without that hoodie. I had to wear this plain white t-shirt that made me even more cold." Corpse shook his head in a teasing way. Though Y/N was very soft and innocent, so she thought he was being serious for a second.

She frowned, "I'm sorry! I'll give it to you now-" She started to take it off but was stopped by Corpse.

"Ay ay ay ay- no no no, it's fine I was just joking Y/N." He chuckled, hugging her tightly.

"How is she so pure?" Toast muttered, sitting there in disbelief.

"Shes so innocent." Aoc chuckled, already liking this Y/N girl. She really wanted to play a game of Among Us with her, she seemed like such a nice girl to play with.

"Corpse you better treat her like a queen or I swear to god I will-" Charlie was cut off by Sean.

"SHe sound so perfect for Corpse, I'm for ya dude." Sean said, knowing what to come with that sentence.

"Oh how dare you cut me off. I was about to speaks of wisdom!" Charlie said.

"You were about to say profanity. We need to protect this bean we know as Y/N" Poki said.

Charlie sighed, "Fine. But you better expect a fucking DM Corpse!"

Y/N decided to play along with this, She looked curiously at Corpse and said "Babe? Whats fucking?"

There was audible gasps, and Corpse looked at her in complete and utter disbelief. His little innocent bean just said the no no word, it was forbidden in her vocab.

"CHARLIE!"

"OH MY GOD!"

"NOOOooOOOOOOO!"

"DON'T TAKE HER INNOCENCE!!"

"pretty sure Corpse already took it if you know what I mean."

"Ew what the f--feck?"

--------

It was a fun night for Y/N and Corpse. Y/N enjoyed her time talking to the others and studying Corpses strategies as an imposter. She was excited for when she was gonna be able to play with them, she really looked forward to it. After the stream, Corpse went to record a video reading some more fan written horror stories. Y/N went and laid on the couch, waiting patiently for her boyfriend to finish up his recording- which was going to be a while. She scrolled through her phone, watching a few of Corpses videos and looking at photos of them on her camera roll.

But she made a mistake by going on Twitter.

"Corpses gf is so fake lmao"

"Y/N does not deserve Corpse! Shes sounds like such a bitch"

"I hope @T/N and @Corpse_Husband break up. I hate their relationship already 😭"

"Y/N sounds like a hoe and isn't worthy of Corpses time."

"I bet Corpse is so tired of @T/N lmao. its obvious in his voice loooooooool"

"I hope Y/N dies so i can get a piece of deep daddy 🤩🥰"

"I already hate Y/N and I haven't even seen her in any other vids XD"

"Yoo they sound like they hate her lol. I bet they're just putting on an act to make her feel better about herself."

The DMs, messages, and comments on her posts were even worse..

"You don't deserve Corpse. Fuck off hoe."

"You aren't worry of Corpses time."

"You're such a user."

"Bitch"

"User"

"I bet Corpse really hates you."

"I hope you fucking because Corpse doesn't need an ugly hoe like you in his life"

And they just got worse and worse. Y/N was shocked, why are they hating on her so fast? Does Corpse really not like her..? Is she really not worthy of his time..? NO! She pushed them away, Corpse loves you, and that's truth.

But even so, Y/N couldn't stop reading the messages. They were all so mean.. Only a few people stood up for her. She felt her heart break, everyone hates her... Just despises her! She felt tears run down her face. She cuddled into the hoodie, pulling the oversized hoodie her H/C hair. She felt hurt and hated, like no one wanted her, not even Corpse- the person who loved her the most.

--------

After an hour, Corpse decided to take a little break from recording and check on Y/N. He missed her soft voice and her cuddles, so he was on a mission to get just that thing. He stood up from his gaming chair and gave a nice long stretch and ran a hand through his black hair. He walked to his door, slowly opening it and quietly walking through the hallway. He planned to scare Y/N, and sense it usually takes him hours to finish his recording she wouldn't suspect a thing.

But when he got closer to the living room, he felt worry and concern overwhelm him. He heard the soft sobs and cries of his beloved girlfriend. He rushed into the living room, sitting on the couch and picking her up to hold her in his arms. "Hey babe- are you ok? Whats wrong?"

Y/N didn't say anything, she just snuggled into Corpses chest and hugged him tightly as she sobbed.

"Babe, you can tell me anything, you know that? What's wrong? Did someone say something that hurt you on stream? Wait- is it what Sykkuno said? Baby I'm not gay he's just a friend and you know that, it's just a joke that we're-"

"I-i-its not that.." Y/N muttered out.

"Then whats wrong?" Corpse asked, his voice full of nothing but worry and concern.

Y/N grabbed her phone and turned it on. She went on Twitter on looked up the hashtag 'HateY/N' and told Corpse to scroll through.

She watched as he scrolled through the tweets, and his expression twisted into one Y/N has never really seen before, anger. Oh he was livid. How could they say those things at his beautiful, sweet, and happy girlfriend? He thought his fans would support him and Y/Ns relationship. Why didn't they care?

He read some of the battles, some people loved Y/N.

"Bro stfu. Y/N is perfect for Corpse."

"lmao what? Shes ugly asf"

"Seriously? If you really cared about Corpse you would support him. Now fuck off."

Corpse pulled his own phone out and hopped on Twitter, instantly typing a response to everyone who has been hating on Y/N.

He said "To everybody who has been hating on @T/N, my girlfriend. I love her with all my life and I do not like how some of you guys have been treating her. She has changed my goddamn life, and all this bullshit you guys have been spitting has made Y/N cry. So please.. just please stop."

After that, Corpse threw his phone onto the carpet and hugged Y/N tightly, kissing her temple softly. "It doesn't matter what they say, I will always love you Y/N."

#corpse husband #corpse x reader

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hongism · 4 years ago

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mists of celeste ➻ twenty-one

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 7.2k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, fighting, smut ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

act three ➻ part three

“I said keep your leg straight!”

“It is straight,” you counter, huffing through your teeth as Yunho smacks the underside of your calf yet again. It’s probably the fourth time he’s done so in the past twenty minutes, and he tells you to straighten your leg each time even though it’s already perfectly straight.

“You need to get your eyes checked, because that is most definitely not straight.” Yunho pulls away from the bed you’re lying back on, and you let your leg fall back to the mattress so you can sit up and glare at the back of his head.

“You’re the doctor here, so why don’t you check them if you think there’s an issue?”

“Your attitude is the issue here.”

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be nice to me? Is that any way to talk to your patient?”

“If you did your exercises properly, maybe I would be nicer!” Yunho chastises, coming back to the edge of the bed with arms crossed over his chest. You resist the urge to roll your eyes but fall back to the mattress anyway and start doing the exercises again.

“I am doing them properly,” you grumble. Seonghwa laughs from off to the side. He leans up against the wall, arms crossed like Yunho’s, and in all honesty, you had forgotten that he was standing there all this time. You don’t quite understand why he’s on the ship today; the only thing you were told is that it was per Hongjoong’s request. The captain took Yeosang with him to the city instead of Seonghwa, and San went along again as well. Based on Seonghwa and Yunho’s exchanged whispers that ceased when you came into the medbay, it has something to do with you. You want to ask about it, but Yunho interrupts your train of thought by speaking again.

“I wish Hongjoong would let me off the damn ship for one day. Just one.” He glances over at Seonghwa and plops down on his rolling stool that he’s left near your bed. “I haven’t been back here in years.”

“Can I stop yet?” You interject, a slight whine to your words. Yunho pays you no mind though, so you just continue to do the exercises while he speaks to Seonghwa.

“It’s wintertime on Kebos, which means winter festivals! And snow! When do we ever get to see snow?” Yunho slaps his palms against the bed. You jolt a little, whipping your chin to look at him. “Do you remember me telling you about it, Y/N?”

“W-What?”

“The winter festivals on Kebos?”

“I – no, I don’t remember us ever having that conversation.”

Yunho sighs and sits up straight again. He leans forward to tap your knee. For a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to do the exercises properly again, so you prepare to smack him, but he doesn’t.

“That’s enough for today. I can’t wear you out too much before you go spar.”

“Thank goodness,” you mutter, falling back to the mattress with a deep heave.

“Okay, but back to the festival thing – we’re near the capital Reinig. Literally at the town right outside Reinig. I could take a day trip to the city to see the festival! But no, no, no. Not allowed. The healer has to stay on the ship even when there’s no one to heal!” Yunho waves his hand through the air before bringing it to his pale locks. Seonghwa offers a smile that’s filled with fondness. His arms fall away from his chest, and he blinks over at you for a few seconds then turns back to Yunho.

“Maybe Hongjoong can slow down for a day,” Seonghwa suggests. “Let everyone have some time for themselves to do… anything they want to do. That way you could go to the festival. Maybe you could bring Wooyoung along? You’d have to take Yeosang as well, but that might not be so bad.”

“Hm, that would be nice.” Yunho hums and thumbs over his chin as he considers Seonghwa’s offer. “Wooyoung doesn’t get to see many nice or relaxing things, so the festival might be a good opportunity for him to take a step back. Yeosang is just – well, he’s Yeosang. He hates everything.”

Seonghwa releases a loud snort. “You’ve never been more accurate.”

“If we did that, I would want to bring you along, Y/N.” You snap your chin back towards Yunho, eyes narrowing in a second. You don’t want to shoot the idea down, but Yunho is well aware of your desire to stay on the ship where it is safe and sound. Away from the military and the idea of being in such a dangerous sector of the universe. Out the corner of your eye, you spot Seonghwa opening his mouth as well, and he seems ready to refuse the suggestion for you. Yunho lifts a hand to stop him before he can talk. “Listen to what I have to say as the healer of this crew. One way to confront emotional and mental trauma is through trauma-focused cognitive-behavioral therapy. You know what that is?”

You blink away from Yunho, lips parted and expression contorted in a confused manner. Seonghwa is in a similar predicament, and when you lock gazes, he shrugs a little.

“Yeah, of course, we don’t, Yunho. You’re the doctor here.”

“It’s like talking to two brick walls, I swear.”

“Are we at least good-looking brick walls?” You tease with a cheeky grin.

“No comment, you little shit.” Yunho jabs his index finger at your face, so you take that answer as a ‘yes’ and pull yourself into a sitting position with a more pleased smile now. “Anyway, the process involves gradually exposing yourself to feelings and situations that remind you of a trauma and replacing distorted and irrational thoughts about the experience with a more balanced picture. So the idea is to expose you to a place that brings you discomfort and is tied to bad memories. Once exposed, we would try to replace those emotions with good ones and reshape your perception of the place, while breaking down some of the trauma you’ve faced. Overcome trauma, alleviate some of your pain and distress, and have a good time. Make sense now?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Seonghwa nods, eyes trailing over your form.

“Okay, so now you see why I want you to come with. As much as I want you to come with though, I want you to make the final decision. If Hongjoong allows it, that is.” Yunho’s gaze returns to Seonghwa, and he looks up at the lieutenant with a hopeful gleam in his dark eyes. Seonghwa shakes his head ever so slightly, but his smile persists even as he pushes away from the wall and walks closer to where Yunho is sitting. He punches the healer’s arm, swing light, and Yunho laughs in response.

“It’s up to Hongjoong and Y/N then.”

“Perfect!” Yunho grins. It quickly dissolves as he begins to make shooing motions towards Seonghwa. “Go wait in the hall for a few minutes now. I gotta ask some private doctor questions that you don’t need to be around for.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes but steps closer to the door. He stops to look back at you, a slight smile playing at his lips. “Yell if he starts acting weird.”

“Oh, quit it! Get out before I smack you.” Seonghwa has to dodge Yunho’s weakly swung arm, but he doesn’t get away completely unscathed as he runs into the doorframe on his way out, and you have to stifle your laughter along with Yunho until he’s completely gone. “Okay, okay,” Yunho exhales through a chuckle. “Now that we have some privacy let’s talk about how you’ve been mentally and emotionally. How are you sleeping? Flashbacks, nightmares, anything like that?”

“No,” you utter without thinking twice, and Yunho blinks back in surprise. You hesitate before correcting yourself. He’s told you already that you don’t need to be embarrassed about things not working or going well, that it’s part of the process, and there will be slip-ups along the way, but it still feels like you’ve failed in some way. Your old squad from the military – predominantly Jisung – has been haunting your dreams and intruding on your thoughts without rest. Even Yunho’s medications do nothing to cease their presence. Yet whenever one comes along, you can’t push it out or ignore it, which is probably what you should be doing. You just let yourself slip into the memories and be consumed by them. The only relief you get is when you talk to someone because that provides an ample amount of distraction for a while.

“Y/N?” Yunho snaps his fingers in front of your face. You shake your head a little and look him in the eye. “You spaced out on me. All good?”

“Y-Yeah, um, the medications aren’t working,” you admit. Yunho’s lips press into a delicate frown, but he doesn’t seem surprised at all by the information. “I haven’t been sleeping well, and it’s hard to get rest when I do sleep. I just… constantly have nightmares of my time in the military. Some flashbacks during the day as well.” Yunho nods at your words, then he hums to himself for a moment.

“Is that the only thing you’ve been struggling with?” He asks next.

“I mean, talking to San helped clear the air a lot about t-that whole issue. Not completely. Something still feels off and wrong, but thinking about it doesn’t make me as afraid as it used to.”

“That’s really good, Y/N. Even small steps are progress. I’m glad to hear it. As for sleeping issues, I can adjust your dosage and have the new medicine ready by tonight. We can test it out and see how well it works. Not a permanent solution, but something for now.”

“Okay, yeah, we can do that.”

“Now concerning your memories of the military… where do you think that’s coming from? Has it started since we entered Aurum, or is it something else? Is Kebos a source of trauma for you as well?” Yunho has that all too familiar tablet in his hands, and you resist the urge to clam up and panic at the thought of him having all your weaknesses written down in it.

“Um, no, Kebos isn’t.”

“I want to move back to Kebos once I retire from the military.”

You can’t keep the memory from slipping through. Your jaw stutters as you try to recover from the sudden lapse in speech, and if Yunho notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he settles for patiently waiting for you to continue your thought.

“It’s j-just Aurum. Uh, sorry, it’s Eros. The idea of being near Eros stresses me out. Makes me remember my time in the military and the things I experienced while there.” You look up to the ceiling as to avoid Yunho’s piercing gaze. The heat of his stare lingers on you. Silence envelops the air between you for what feels like hours. Then, Yunho pipes up again with another question.

“What is your earliest memory, Y/N?”

“My – my what?” You stammer. The question is random, the last thing you were expecting for him to ask, but Yunho just repeats himself without seeing the oddness of his inquiry.

“Your earliest memory. As far as you can remember.”

“I, um, I don’t really know,” you trail off, shaking your head a bit as you speak. It’s all honesty on your part for once, because you truly don’t recall much about your childhood or life before the military. Everything is hazy as though there is a film over your vision up until the moment you joined the military. “I remember… voices and, uh, people telling me things while growing up, but I can’t picture it or see it in my mind. I don’t know who the people talking are, I just hear their voices. Occasionally I think I remember an old man from my childhood, but he seems to be more of an extension of my dreams. I only see him there but have no memories of him. The earliest thing I remember is joining the military.”

Yunho’s hand hesitates over the tablet. “How old were you when you joined?”

“Around fourteen.”

“Ah…” Yunho’s voice dies almost immediately, expression crumbling a little. “Fourteen.” You don’t want to look at him, but you can hear what sounds like pity in his voice. “Do you remember anything at all about the first fourteen years of your life?”

“I have vague recollections of water. Flowing water and crashing waves and foggy skies. But I really can’t remember more than that,” you say after a slight pause.

“That’s strange,” Yunho mutters back. “No recollection of the first fourteen years of your life. How old are you again?”

“U-Uh, twenty-one.”

“So, two-thirds of your life are empty memories.”

“I’ve never really thought too much about it. Figured that what I went through in the military was enough to block it out.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s a possibility. Do you any happy or – or fond memories? A person or a place that brings you joy?”

Bright eyes and a round smile come to mind in an instant. It isn’t just Jisung this time though; everyone in your unit makes an appearance at the forefront of your mind. The oldest of your group, Hyunwoo, with his broad shoulders and towering persona that always felt so intimidating despite how harmless he was with you all. Jisung’s closest friend, Juyeon, with his dark blue hair and clear laugh that was always resounding through every room he stepped through. Soojin, the only other girl on the squad, as deadly as she was charming and beautiful. And Ash, barely older than you – maybe only a few weeks older at best – who always looked up to Jisung like he held the universe in his hands. If the universe was your ragtag group of neglected recruits, then perhaps Jisung did hold it in his hands. At one time, each and every single one of them brought you joy and happiness. Made you feel warm, comforted, and wanted.

How did it all end so badly?

You can only feel cold and desolate as you think about them now. Guilt eats away at your gut, and you frantically try to push the memories aside before it consumes you and sends you into a frenzy.

“N-No,” you rush to answer Yunho’s initial question. “No, none at all.”

A frown paints his lips, one that is painful to look at, so again, you avoid his face in favor of looking at the ceiling.

“Well, I want to try to make some happy memories for you then. And maybe show you that you have people here now who can bring you joy and comfort. Hopefully, Hongjoong will let us go down to Reinig for a day in the very least.” A sigh passes through Yunho’s lips, then the sound of him tapping away at his tablet resounds shortly after. “You’re free to go spar with Seonghwa now.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and getting to your feet. Yunho stops you before you move for the door though. He latches a hand around your wrist and blinks up at you all of a sudden.

“You’re doing well with the physical therapy, Y/N. Staying on top of it and putting in effort. I can tell you’re taking it seriously this time, and I’m proud of you for that. Not just as your doctor, but as a friend too. You’re doing well.”

The words shouldn’t hit you as hard as they do. You manage a weak nod and shaky smile, then step around Yunho’s chair to step through the door. His words linger like a bad taste on your tongue. You can’t tell whether they make you feel good or not; there was almost an ulterior meaning to what he said that causes your gut to twist and coil. Pushing out of the medbay, you heave a deep sigh and find Seonghwa standing just outside the door. He’s leaned up against the wall, arms back over his chest, and the second he sees you, he pushes himself into an upright position.

“Are you still up for some sparring?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” you mutter. Falling into step beside him, you press your hands against your sides, nails digging into your palms. Thinking about the squad was a bad idea, because now you can’t get them out of your mind. Jisung alone was bad enough, but you know where this train of thought is headed, and it’s going to take you straight to those tall brick walls and public execution again. The broad shoulders of the man under a black hood with chains around his wrists.

“You’re getting closer with Jongho and Wooyoung,” Seonghwa cuts through your impeding thoughts with his clear tone, almost sensing your sudden distress and pushing it to the side like it’s nothing. “I’m glad to see it.”

“If this is an attempt at small talk, you’re awful at it,” you tease. Seonghwa huffs a laugh through his nose and shakes his head, but he obviously isn’t too bothered by your comment. “But yes, I am. They don’t ask questions incessantly like some people do.”

“Is that a dig at me?” Seonghwa scoffs, clutching his chest as though offended.

“That’s for you to figure out, pretty boy.”

“It’s also nice to see that you haven’t forgotten your little nickname for me, princess.” Seonghwa rolls his eyes a little, punching at the keypad outside the training room. You smile in response. The memories of Jisung and your old squad are slowly fading away and leaving you with a new sense of peace, at least for the time being. “Do you need to warm up?”

“I’ll just do some stretches,” you answer, moving for the mat while Seonghwa heads for the cabinets to retrieve the tape as he always does. You plop down on the mat, a small oof leaving you. “By the way, how did things go yesterday?”

Seonghwa glances back at you, rifling through the cabinet, and he doesn’t answer right away. You keep your eyes on him while you stretch. His movements are languid even as he wraps the tape around his wrists and hands.

“Everything went well,” he says at last, coming to join you on the mat. He lingers at the edge and tosses the tape onto your lap before starting to stretch a bit himself. “Not much progress yet, but Hongjoong thinks it will take upwards of a week to take care of everything. He has to meet with several other captains of pirate crews while here – discuss business over the inventory in the cargo hold as well as figure out positions of military ships and units, those sorts of things. I’ll be joining him again tomorrow as we have some treaties to negotiate with a couple of crews concerning free travel. It isn’t free to fly around after all. We need to restock some basic necessities too. Food, drink, medical supplies, clothes. Hongjoong will be looking into bringing on some new crew members as well. And of course – Siren hunting.”

You exhale a huff. “He’s a busy man. I’m surprised. I figured he just didn’t give a flying fuck about anything other than Sirens.” Grabbing the tape from your lap, you pull yourself into a sitting position then start to wrap the material around your hands like Seonghwa did. He smiles at your words.

“Hongjoong takes care of many things and manages a lot as the captain. It may not seem like it at times because of his focus on Sirens, but he’s not a captain for nothing.”

You pull yourself up to your feet once you finish wrapping your wrists, not bothering to respond to Seonghwa’s comment, and kick your shoes off the side of the mat.

“Let’s go, pretty boy,” you tease, falling into an offensive stance. Seonghwa’s lips quirk further up as he mimics your position, his own shoes thrown off to the side as well.

“Someone is more confident than usual.”

You answer with a swift kick swung into Seonghwa’s side, and he’s caught off-guard by your haste and power. He rolls out of the way before you can hit him, a quiet laugh leaving his lips as he dodges you. Your moves are more confident and powerful, but only because of Yunho’s incessant urgings that you do your physical therapy and exercises so often. You haven’t sparred with Seonghwa in around a week; Jongho has been taking his place in recent days. Seonghwa would kill you if you said it out loud, but Jongho is a much harder opponent.

“You’re getting your strength back, I see.” Seonghwa catches your next swing, twisting you around, and you have to hook a foot around his ankle to maintain your balance. “Give it a few weeks and you’ll be better than ever.”

“You haven’t seen the half of it yet,” you laugh as you pull your arm out of his tightening grip. You slide back across the mat to put some more distance between the two of you, gaging his movements carefully.

“Oh, then I’d love to see the full thing.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, pretty boy.” He steps left, more weight on his left foot than his right. “You’ll lose your footing if you do.” You lunge forward and throw your right foot into his. The impact, along with his unbalanced weight, causes him to stumble backward. He nearly tumbles to the ground but catches himself at the last second.

“How about we make it a competition then?” He asks through a clear laugh. “Two of three falls. Five seconds down, just like we did during our first spar.”

You stand up straight and tap at your chin. “There’s no incentive for me to win.”

“Maybe I’ll let you pin me down if you win. Last time you tried it was cute.”

You roll your eyes at his cheeky comment. If it’s an effort to get you riled up and agree to the challenge, then it works quite well because now you really want to plant his ass on the mat and win. Thus, you drop your hands to your hips and tilt your head at the man across from you.

“Okay, if I win then… you get to clean up dinner dishes all by yourself. I normally do it with either Jongho or Wooyoung, and we get no help from anyone else. So, you deserve to do it alone for once. For fairness. You should know what it feels like. And it would be awfully amusing to see the Lieutenant of Death doing dishes.”

Seonghwa clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in response to your terms. “It’s a good thing that I am going to win then.”

“What do you want if you win?” He doesn’t answer right away; instead, he tilts his head from side to side a few times before letting his sharp gaze settle back on you.

“You’ll find out when I win.”

“You’re too cocky.”

Seonghwa takes the aggressive stance you had before, and he barely lets you finish speaking before he’s crossing the mat. You swing your arms up to block the oncoming attack. Despite the intensity in his moves, they are still quite simple and easy to read. You slip out of his way time and time again, but in your haste, you neglect to watch his feet. Seonghwa slides a foot between yours right as he swings a jab at your hip. You try to sidestep to avoid the attack, and your foot catches on his. The impact sends you to the ground, Seonghwa goes down with you, and a second later, you find yourself pinned to the mat. Seonghwa leans over you, a cocky smirk painting his lips. You struggle against his grip, but he’s too strong for you to escape in this awkward position.

“Five seconds. One for me. Zero for you.”

Seonghwa rolls off of you and gets to his feet. You stay down, however, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, and glare up at him. He extends a hand towards you, which you nearly take, but at the last second, you get an idea and shift your weight on the mat. Taking his hand, you wait for him to shift all his weight into his forward leg then yank hard. He stumbles and almost lands on top of you. You duck out of the way just before he hits you. Your grip on his hand persists, and you twist his arm behind his back and swing a leg over his back. Without the use of both arms, you have Seonghwa successfully pinned to the mat, your weight keeping him down with ease. Seonghwa manages to huff out a laugh as you bend at the waist to taunt him.

“That’s five seconds,” you whisper close to the shell of his ear. Releasing his wrists, you sit back and climb off Seonghwa’s body to let him get up properly. Before you have the chance to get to your feet, a sudden force hits you square in the chest, and you fall back to the mat. “Fuck.” Seonghwa’s weight is back on you a moment later. His knees press against your hips so hard that you can’t even try to wiggle out of the hold, and he keeps your wrists planted firmly on the mat.

“You were saying?”

“That’s a cheap trick, Park Seonghwa.”

“You played that card first, princess.”

“I’m at a disadvantage.”

“How so? Because you’re a girl? Weaker than me? No. You aren’t at a disadvantage because we’re equals in the ring and outside the ring. It’s only fair that I treat you as my equal no matter what.”

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. Seonghwa knocked most of the air out of your lungs when he sent you down to the mat again, but you’re also a bit worked up from the exercise. Seonghwa is in a similar predicament; sweat drips down the side of his face, a few stray drops hitting the mat near your head. Your body reacts before your mind does, but you blame the close proximity and intimate fighting for how you’re feeling.

“But anyway… I won, princess.”

“What do you want then?” Seonghwa dips his chin to his chest, a small laugh reverberating before he looks back into your eyes.

“I want no one else to be on the ship right now because I would love to fuck you into the mat.” You choke on your saliva, teeth clattering as you snap your lips together. The boldness of his words is shocking enough, but what he actually said has you getting flustered within a second. “But, I suppose I can settle for a kiss instead.”

“Y-You – you can’t just… say stuff like that,” you stammer, blinking away from his face. His gaze persists though, and even out the corner of your eye, you can see the way his stare lingers on your lips.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” The question is whispered, but it sounds so loud in your ears. You bring your chin forward again and look Seonghwa in the eye. He doesn’t move, watching and waiting for a sign of approval or denial from you.

“Please,” you whisper back. Seonghwa closes the already minimal distance between your lips. They’re just as soft as you remember them to be, but there’s a bit more hunger when he kisses you this time. He doesn’t let the touch stay sweet and innocent for long, tongue swiping over your bottom lip. A small whine slips through as you part your lips for him, and his tongue meets yours in a sudden clash for dominance. He hums against you, the grip on your wrists tightening ever so slightly, and you lean into his touch without second thought. His lips leave yours too soon for your liking. “W-We – we shouldn’t do th-this here.”

Seonghwa’s eyes drag over your face as he nods. “My room is closer than yours.” Again he hesitates, waiting for you to give some sort of response, and he alleviates the pressure on your wrists to sit back on his heels.

“Hurry up and take me there then before we get caught.” That’s all the permission Seonghwa needs. His hands dart down to your thighs, pulling them around his waist, and you let him hoist you up. He’s stronger than he looks, you have to give him that because the lithe form and lean muscles do not look like he should be able to lift you and stand up with the added weight with such ease. He manages to do it without batting an eye. “What if someone is in the corridor?” You ask under your breath, bringing a finger up to trace over his rosy lips.

“Do you want me to put you down already?”

“Not really but – but you probably should just to be safe.” Seonghwa’s lips twitch into a smile, and he helps you untangle from around his waist.

“Lead the way then, princess.” His smile is teasing as you turn towards the door. Then, the flat of his hand comes down on your ass, and you gasp, whipping your head back towards him. “You don’t know where my room is though, so I’ll take the lead.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he steps past you and leads the way out of the training room.

“Say that after I fuck you into the mattress.” The comment has you choking on your spit again, and you nearly trip over the threshold of the door. The walk to his room is both brief and awkward. He walks a little ways in front of you, and even though you’re trying to avoid looking suspicious, you think that your motives are quite obvious. Especially as you reach his room and he taps at the keypad to open the door. You follow his steps as closely as you can without stepping on his heels. Once you’re both in his room, the air of awkwardness is dispelled. His hand finds the back of your neck, the other traveling to your hip, and he pushes you back against the cool metal door. You meet him halfway, lips crashing together in a mess of skin and teeth.

He kisses you with a bruising force, hands slipping away to press against the door instead. You hum against him and loop your own hands around his back to pull him flush against your body. Both of your movements are frantic and rushed, a stark difference compared to last time’s slow ministrations. You fumble for the hem of his shirt, trying and failing to grab at it. Seonghwa pulls back from your lips and gasps for air. He simultaneously yanks his shirt up and off his body. The only noise you can make in response is a startled moan, then his hands return to your body, grabbing the hem of your shirt. Your hands move by instinct to cover his and stop him from pulling it off of you.

“We can stop if you want,” Seonghwa whispers. His forehead falls against yours, and you could cry at the gentleness of his tone and actions. Instead, you shake your head slowly.

“N-No, I don’t want to stop. I… I want you,” you reply, voice equally as quiet. You know you should talk this through with him first, especially after the first time you had sex, but you’ve already made up your mind about this. Something about Seonghwa makes you trust him, and his visual and sexual appeal is very tangible. Still, you aren’t much of the type to go for one-night stands or quick fucks. With Seonghwa, it feels different from a one night stand, as though there is some sort of connection between the two of you that spurs you to do this. His lips brush against yours as his hands find yours. Your fingers intertwine, the kiss growing deeper and deeper by the second.

Seonghwa doesn’t say anything else; he stumbles back to pull you towards the bed. He falls to the mattress when his knees hit the edge. You bring your legs up to the bed, straddling his lap without breaking the soft kiss. You pull your hands away from his to grab at the edge of your shirt, and Seonghwa sits back to look at you fondly as you peel the material off your sweat-slick skin. There is a sudden shyness to your movements, and Seonghwa picks up on it in an instant. He brings his hands to your bare sides, tracing small circles against the skin as a form of encouragement. You swallow around nothing and reach around your back to peel the band around your chest off as well.

Seonghwa’s gaze never wavers, eyes peering so intently into yours that your breath hitches a little. It’s only when you drop the band to the floor that he moves, and his lips find yours in an instant. The pads of his fingers trail goosebumps along your skin as he drags them upwards. You gasp into his mouth when his thumbs ghost over your perked nipples, and he pinches them lightly. He pinches them again with a bit more force, causing you to throw your head back and release a throaty moan that’s far too loud. Seonghwa takes it as an opportunity to let his lips trail down to your neck. He sucks softly at the skin, and you know that he’s leaving marks as he goes lower and lower, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The bulge in his pants is pressing hard against the inside of his thigh, straining painfully against the fabric around it, and you stretch a hesitant hand down to palm him through his pants. Seonghwa moans around your nipple, lips parting around the skin. The noise spurs you on, and you hasten your movements to press hard against his concealed member. It’s enough to cause Seonghwa to shift, and he suddenly gets to his feet with you still wrapped around him. He twists in and instant and places you flat on your back against the bed as gently as he can.

When he stands up straight, you whine at the loss of contact and warmth, but you understand why a moment later because he fiddles with the button of his pants. You mimic his movements and tug at your own pants. Seonghwa grabs your ankles before you can fully get them off though. His pants are gone and forgotten on the floor, and he focuses all his attention on you, slowly pulling the material off to completely expose you to him. He moves to kneel on the bed, but you extend a hand and press it against his hip, a sudden boldness to your actions.

“C-Can I… can I suck you off?” You ask, tone so quiet you can barely hear yourself over the sound of your racing heart. Seonghwa’s jaw stutters a little, but he nods nonetheless and lets you guide him back into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He groans as you slip off the mattress and between his legs. One hand trails over your forehead and brushes a few loose strands of hair out of the way. Now that you’re face to face with his member, you’re doubting yourself. You don’t do this often for obvious reasons; in fact, you think this might be only the second or third time to do this. Seonghwa keeps brushing over your skin with such gentle and soft touches that it pushes the insecurities to the side for the time being. You reach up to grip his member at the base then lean in to lick a long stripe up his cock.

A hiss leaves Seonghwa at the contact, and you repeat the motion once more before hesitating over his tip. You quickly blink up at him with fluttering lashes. His cheeks are already flushed, and sweat glistens on his skin. Still, his gaze is gentle on you, and you maintain that sweet eye contact as you begin to take his cock into your mouth. Seonghwa breaks the eye contact as your wet heat sinks down further. He throws his head back with a shaky groan, hand falling away from your head to grip the edge of the mattress tight. You hasten your bobs along his cock. His reaction spurs you along, the pretty string of moans escaping him like music to your ears. His hips twitch and jerk, but you can tell he’s holding back and trying to keep from fucking up into your mouth.

“H-Hold on, hold on, princess,” he stammers out, one hand returning to brush through your hair. You pull off him with a lewd pop and curious eyes. “I don’t wanna cum yet.”

“Oh,” you exhale and let your hand fall away from his hard cock. Seonghwa brings his fingers to your chin. You lean into the soft touch and bring yourself up again, Seonghwa’s hands guiding you to straddle his lap once more. Your lips brush over his, hot breath fanning your face as he exhales.

“Do you need me to prep you?” He whispers.

“I j-just want you to fuck me, please,” you plead and drape your arms over the man’s shoulders. He nods against you then reaches a hand down between your hips. You instinctively tighten your grip on him as he guides his cock to your entrance. Your gut coils a little when he pushes against you, but you do your best to relax your muscles to make it easier for the both of you.

“Relax, princess,” Seonghwa murmurs. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear before traveling lower to nip at the sensitive spot on your neck. He sinks further into you when your body relaxes around him. He bottoms out a moment later, and a breathy whine leaves you. “I’ve got you, princess. You’re okay.”

There’s so much warmth in his tone, the fire of his presence consuming you, and you shift your hips to bring him deeper in you.

“Fuck me, please.”

Seonghwa attaches his lips to your neck again, hands guiding your hips up and down along his cock. You try to help him a bit by bouncing a little on him, but the sensation of him being so deep in you is enough to have you slumping against his body like jelly after a minute. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit though; he just continues to nip and kiss your neck. Every once and a while, he’ll whisper soft praises against your skin. Each word sends shivers down your spine, and you clench around him at the sound of the praise.

You know you won’t last long like this, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem to be in a better predicament as he was already close before fucking you. You reach around the back of his head to tug at his hair. He pulls off your neck at the touch and looks you in the eye, brows furrowed in concentration as he continues to thrust into you. Your words die in your throat when you meet his gaze. Instead of speaking, you just lean in and press your lips to his. The gentle touch and soft prodding of his tongue against yours sends an orgasm crashing over you. You whine into his mouth, and Seonghwa just eats the sound up, thrusting into you only two more times before he cums as well. Your muscles fail you in that moment, but you cling to Seonghwa like he’s the only thing you have and ride out your orgasm with him. His lips are on your ear again, whispering and muttering sweet praises, but you can’t hear them through your pleasure.

You don’t know how long the two of you remain like that, clinging to each other and sucking in deep breaths of air with foreheads pressed together. The haze finally passes though, and you can hear his words clearly again.

“Do you want a shower?” Seonghwa asks, chest heaving from the exertion. You’re too fucked out to think straight, let alone speak, so you can only manage a few nods. “Am I going to need to carry you over there too?”

His teasing remark gives you just enough energy to slap his bicep. He tightens his arms around you and lifts you with ease though, and you settle into his touch as he carries you to the bathroom. You have to reassure him multiple times that’s you’ll be fine showering on your own, but he eventually lets you be and shuts the door to the bathroom to give you a bit of privacy. You don’t take too much time showering, only enough to get the rest of his cum out of you and wash the sweat off your body. Seonghwa left an impressive trail of marks from your collarbone down to your right hip. They vary in shade and color, but are quite visible nonetheless. A slight laugh escapes you as you trail a finger over them, then you shut the water off and step out to grab a towel from the rack. Only once you’ve fully dried off do you realize that he brought in a shirt and pants for you. They’re far too big for you, but it’ll do for the time being or at least until you get back to your own room later.

That might be much later than you anticipated, however, because when you step back into Seonghwa’s bedroom, you’re greeted by a sight that has you so stunned that you choke on air. The man – the supposed Elitist at that – has his back to you, and he’s pulling a shirt over his head when you step out. It gives you just enough time to trail your eyes over his bare back and spot a column of black tattoos lining his spine. Directly between his shoulder blades resides an insignia of flames. Aside from that, each and every tattoo is identical to the ones that decorate your own back.

“Holy fuck, no way–” Your voice fails you at the last second, but it’s loud enough for Seonghwa to hear you. He whips around, tugging the shirt all the way down as he looks back at you with wide eyes. “Y-You’re – you – holy shit, y-you’re–”

Seonghwa cuts you off, which is probably a good thing because you can’t come up with a coherent thought anyway.

“A Siren. Just like you.”

✧✧✧ a/n: okay okay OKAY i did it im 5 minutes late but i DID it jfc i didn’t expect it to be so long ;-; but in any case i hope you guys enjoy let me know what you think of this chapter it isn’t my best work but aslkdfjlkdsjf i tried and it’s crucial to the story ;-; so yeehaw woo i would love to hear your thoughts on this one!

if you would like to, you can take the survey here! you can take it at any point or again if you wanna or you’ve changed your mind, it’s up to you really laskdfjlkdf

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @yayhei @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 17/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Tim joins everyone at Elias’s house and pressure builds.

Chapter 17 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read above at AO3 or read here below.

My tumblr master post with links to other chapters is here.

***

The rest of the first full day ay Elias’s house passed in relative isolation; Martin had a feeling it wasn’t unintentional that Melanie, Georgie, and Sasha spent so long away from the house when they went to the store. Jon seemed intent on mulling over whatever thoughts their talk with Elias had put in his head that morning; Martin tried to break him out of with conversation a couple of times, but ultimately he felt like more of an annoyance than a help. He went back to their room and scrolled through social media until his brain couldn’t process posts anymore. When everyone came home from the store, he helped put the groceries away, but he couldn’t come up with much to say even when Sasha pulled him aside to ask him how he was. All right was the only thing he managed.

When it got late enough that he realized everyone was not likely to be eating dinner together, he made a sandwich for Jon and brought it to him in the great room. They were alone; he leaned over to set it on the table next to the armchair.

“Hey,” he said, lightly kissing the top of Jon’s head.

“Hm?” Jon looked up, and Martin redirected his attention to the sandwich. “Oh—thank you.”

“Take a bite, while I’m here.”

Jon did as Martin asked, still too distracted by his thoughts to make a fuss. “Did you eat already?”

“No,” Martin shook his head. “I’ll have something later. When I’m hungry.”

Jon gave him a look that Martin now understood well, but he simply squeezed Jon’s shoulder as he turned to leave.

“Wait, Martin—are you—” Jon grabbed his hand before it slid away. “I’m sorry. That I’ve been like this.”

“I get it,” Martin said, as reassuringly as he could. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“That isn’t the—” Jon sighed and let Martin’s hand drop, along with his thought. “What are you doing?”

Martin answered the question more generally than he knew Jon had intended it. “Waiting.”

“I think we all are,” Jon said. “But I was actually asking—”

“I know. And I don’t know what I’m doing. I was just going to head back to the bedroom, I guess.”

“All right. I’ll—I’ll be in before too long.”

Martin lay awake for a long time that night, even after Jon had fallen asleep.

***

When he woke in the morning, Jon was propped up on an elbow and looking at him.

“What’s going on?” Martin asked, slightly alarmed, trying to shake off the sleep.

“Nothing,” Jon said.

“Try again.”

“I just meant—nothing new.”

“Oh.” His eyes drifted closed, and he promised himself he wouldn’t let them stay that way very long. He felt Jon’s hand brush his cheek and travel gently up to his hairline; the feeling roused something in him.

“Wait,” he said. “Was I dreaming?” He had the vague impression he had been, although he couldn’t really remember it. He’d been looking for something, maybe. Trying to get somewhere, or find someone. Maybe someone had been lost. It was the kind of dream that made you feel like you hadn’t slept at all, and the more he tried to remember the more disquieted he felt.

“You were,” Jon said.

“But—wait, it wasn’t—”

“No,” Jon shook his head, pulling his hand back. “It was your dream.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” They both knew it wasn’t fine, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. Martin closed his eyes one more time, but his mind wandered as he felt Jon breathing next to him, and he opened them again sharply. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about this before.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Do you—you need the statements, right? You need to read them?”

“I—more or less.”

“So yes, then.”

Jon nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”

“And? How are you—doing that?”

“I brought a few with me when we left the archives.”

He sat up, prompting Jon to do the same. “I thought you were basically out of statements. I mean, they don’t really go back that far here.”

“There were—well, there were a few I’d just—skimmed before. I’m sure if I give them a proper read—”

“Jon.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“But what about when you’re not?”

Jon didn’t answer him.

“Jon.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Oh come on, you Martin me all the time.”

Silence fell between them again.

“Ok—what if—” Martin had to try several times to give voice to his thought. “If you need it—really need it—could you ask me to give you a—statement?”

To be fair, he hated the idea himself, and the pit he felt in his stomach was firmly reflected in Jon’s reply. “No.”

“Why not? You basically just asked Basira for one. I’ve given you one before. A few, depending on how you count. It—it wasn’t that bad.”

He ignored the part about Basira. “Absolutely not. That was—that was before. I don’t—I don’t even know that you can really give me a statement at this point.”

Jon was still a terrible liar.

“Look it’s—it’s not like I want to do it, ok? I really don’t. I just meant—what if you get really sick?”

“Then I get sick.”

“Jon—”

“It is not an option.”

“Look, I get that you don’t want—but we’re doing this together, and we need to weigh both—”

“No.” Jon slipped to the edge of the bed and was standing before Martin realized he was getting up.

“No what? We’re not doing this together?”

“Not that.” Jon pulled on the pants he’d worn yesterday, and grabbed a fresh shirt from the drawer he’d thrown them in.

“Oh,” Martin said, watching Jon head toward the bedroom door. “Good to know.”

Jon began to open the door, but then closed it. He did not turn to face Martin. “I realize that—” He stopped again.

“Go,” Martin said. He wished he was saying it for Jon—offering Jon time to gather his thoughts—but he knew he wasn’t. He knew was saying it out of hurt. Worse, Jon knew that was why he was saying it; he had to know. Either way, though, he supposed it achieved the same end.

After Jon left, he took a quick shower; Jon was not back when he was done, nor had he expected him to be. He got dressed and headed toward the kitchen. No one was in the hall or in the great room; Jon had probably gone for a walk, and it was just as well. He rummaged through a couple of cabinets and triumphantly emerged with a kettle. It wasn’t even electric, it was the kind that you set on the stove, and that was perfectly all right with Martin. It will boil water properly, he thought.

He had no intention of repeating the previous day; despite how big the house was, he had already started feeling claustrophobic. After his tea was ready, he left through the back door in the great room, walking across the relatively modest back porch to stepping down to the back lawn. Like the side lawn, it was expansive; unlike the side lawn, there were more than a few trees dotting the view. In fact, as Martin walked down and out on a dirt path cut into the lawn, he realized there was what amounted to a pretty legitimate wood behind the house. Not far in there was a small creek—so small that the little bridge passing over it seemed ridiculous and unnecessary—but it was scenic, nonetheless. A wooden bench, upkept with enough frequency that it remained sturdy if not pristine, stood nearby.

I would have liked this, Martin thought, as he sat down on the bench. I would have written poems about this.

Spring was finally in effect. The trees weren’t green yet, but they were starting to sprout small leaves; a few had tiny buds with hints of pink and white protruding from their smaller twigs and branches. It wasn’t exactly warm outside, but it was comfortable as the light shown through the trees in a mottled pattern on the leaf-covered ground. He sipped his tea and watched how the sun hit the water in the little creek. In some parts it shone straight to the bottom, and he could see small rocks and pebbles and silt; in others, it seemed to dance as it reflected off the top of the water.

It helped, to sit and breathe. After a while, he started to notice birds chirping in the trees, and the sounds of small animals—probably squirrels—rustling in the leaves. It reminded him how when he and Jon had come here, the first sign that they were really somewhere, that there were things that mattered here, had been the sound of birds chirping.

He was glad they were here, he realized. He was glad they were here because they were alive—or more accurately, because Jon was alive, and Martin was with him. They were together. That was what Jon had given him when he’d told him how to end it, and despite himself and everything they had brought with them, he was still grateful for it. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t let himself think about it much further than that; he had a feeling there would be plenty of time for that when they all finally started talking. He could decide then what he’d be willing to do again, what he regretted. There would be plenty of time for regrets. It’s not like having a plan had really helped before. Jon had done what he had done; likewise, Martin had done what he had done.

At least now they knew what mattered to them.

He wasn’t sure if he dozed off or just got lost in his thoughts and the woods, but when he finally checked his phone he was taken back by how late it was. He’d come out mid-morning, and it was already mid-afternoon. He hadn’t meant to stay away for that long—what if Jon was—well, no, Jon could pretty much figure out where he was, and he supposed technically any of the rest of them could message him, but it just didn’t sit well with him that he’d stayed out there for so long.

When he got back in, he found Jon alone, on the sofa in front of the fireplace; like the day before, it seemed no one was particularly eager to tackle the big conversations yet. Martin was glad, for several reasons.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“If you’d like,” Jon answered, not looking at Martin.

Martin took him at his word and sat down next to him. The sofa was wider than he was used to, and he felt like he was just a little bit too far away; he moved closer to Jon, and awkwardly ended up straddling two cushions.

“I didn’t mean to push so hard this morning,” he said. “I’m not saying it’s settled, but—”

“Wait,” Jon said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I mean wait. I’ve been thinking of the words to explain.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Martin—”

“Ok. I’m listening. Take your time. Just didn’t want to push again.”

“I—” Jon paused. “It’s difficult.”

Martin started to tell him it was ok, but changed his mind. Instead, he reached for Jon’s hand. Jon looked down as he did, watched their fingers intertwine, and seemed to find the words—some words, anyway.

“I—like—the statements. Or I don’t, actually, but—I do. Does that—do you understand?”

“Not totally,” Martin said honestly. “But I guess I really can’t. I’ve seen how they affect you, though. I know they help. I know you feel better after you read them. You—like feeling people’s fear. But I mean, I know you don’t, too.”

“Do you know how I felt after we spoke with Elias yesterday?”

“I—you seemed upset.”

“I was. What he was saying was terrible, and wrong. But also there was that part of me that felt—it felt—”

Martin hadn’t realized that. “Jon—you don’t have to say. Please. I—I get it.” It’s not your fault, he wanted to add, but he stopped himself.

Jon nodded and cleared his throat. “I never want to feel—I never want to feel that because of you. And if I don’t—if we don’t—I can still tell myself I wouldn’t. I can tell myself that it’s not so bad. That I’m not so bad. That I can still be—”

Jon’s next words caught, and Martin automatically wrapped his arms around him, the gesture made clumsy by the empty mug he was still holding. “It’s—it’s all right. You still—you heard him, you know—ok, this isn’t about that, really, but—I’m sorry. This isn’t helping. Let me—” Flustered, he somehow managed to set his mug down on the coffee table without entirely letting go; he turned his head to kiss Jon’s mouth, then kissed him again.

“I’m all right,” Jon said. He did not look all right to Martin.

“If I—if I got you some tea, would that—would you like it?”

“I—yes.”

Martin stood up, grabbed his mug to bring back to the kitchen, and then bent down to kiss Jon one more time. “Wait, did you—were you done? I don’t want to—”

“Martin, tea. Please.”

“Ok. All right.” The coffee machine that didn’t really boil water would have to do; in his heart, Martin knew Jon couldn’t really tell the difference anyway. It was the fastest cup of tea he’d made in a while. The supply of coffee cups that had been on the counter had dwindled, and Martin simply rinsed out the one he’d used rather than go searching for a clean one. It wasn’t like that had never happened at home.

As he walked back through the breakfast room, he heard a voice that wasn’t Jon’s, and based on volume alone he was pretty sure they weren’t happy. Just before he turned the corner, he realized who it was.

“—and here’s Martin with the tea,” Tim said. “Are you all on holiday? Having a nice time out in the country? Where is everyone?”

“Tim?” Sasha, who must have been in her room, had also heard Tim and spared Martin from having to answer him. “You didn’t tell me you were coming out today. I could have warned everyone.”

“What is going on? I thought you’d be at least halfway to figuring this out by now, and here everyone’s hiding. What are you all even doing?”

“Coping, Tim. Adjusting to the situation. Which is exactly what you’ve been doing, if you don’t mind me pointing it out. Welcome, by the way.”

Tim took a deep breath, looking as if he were going to resume at full rant volume, but then let it out again. “Ok, fine. That’s fair. But I’m here now. Get everyone. Come on.”

“Tim—”

“Look, is there a reason not to?”

Sasha sighed. “Fine. Hold on. I’ll go get Melanie and Georgie.”

Tim dropped the oversize bag he was carrying right where he was, and walked back in the direction of Elias’s room. “You two—stay.”

“Where would—” Martin was pretty sure Tim wasn’t listening, since he was already shouting Elias’s name in the hallway. He turned to Jon and pressed the mug into his hands. “Here. Sorry, I was hoping—”

“It’s all right. This is—this is good.”

Within a couple of minutes, everyone had converged on the great room. They stood, ignoring the awkward furniture. Georgie and Melanie stood back from the group a little way, Georgie’s arm over Melanie’s shoulder; Elias, in a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, seemed much more relaxed than the last time Martin had seen him.

“All right, Tim. We’re all here.” Sasha crossed her arms and implied she was waiting for Tim to speak.

“Well—don’t look at me. What are we doing about this?” He turned to Jon and Martin.

“Tim.” Sasha’s voice was stern, but Martin realized Georgie and Melanie had also turned to look at them.

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like the rest of you don’t feel the same way. At least I’m being honest about it.”

Sasha snorted. “I don’t feel that way, Tim. I think I can honestly say—”

“Sasha,” Melanie interrupted. “Tim has a point.”

Sasha closed her mouth as she turned to face Melanie; Martin instinctively took a half step closer to Jon.

“I’m just saying—they brought this here. We didn’t have anything to do with it. And if they aren’t fixing it—”

“What Melanie is saying,” Georgie said, with a quick look at Melanie before she turned back to Jon, “is that the two of you are the most familiar with—this. And if you don’t have any suggestions to stop them—it’s not likely that the rest of us are going to come up with something on our own.”

Melanie frowned. “That’s not exactly what I was—”

“Melanie, please.” Georgie squeezed her arm, and Melanie stopped, although she didn’t look happy about it. “Jon, is there—is there a point to this?”

Jon took a breath before he answered. “I’m—I’m not sure there is.”

“A point?” Tim broke into the conversation again. “You all want a point? Ok, here it is. I just went to go visit my brother. I had every intention of telling him about this, right after I figured out how, and—you know what? I didn’t. I didn’t figure out how. And I’m not going to. I’m never going to tell him about this. We’re going to fix it. You want a point? Danny’s the point. And—and Sasha’s the point.”

Sasha face softened slightly as Tim gestured toward her. “Tim—”

“Jon, Martin’s the point. Surely you understand that.”

Martin started to protest. “Tim, you’re missing the—”

“I’m not missing anything. You are. You’ve given up. Both of you have given up. And at some level, I can understand that. You got beaten, really badly, and I’m sure it hurts. But I can’t give up. I am not going to give up as long as I have Danny—as long as we have Sasha. I understand that you’ve been through this, and maybe you want to be done. But we’re here too, and we haven’t had a chance. And I hate it, but Georgie’s right, we can’t do this without you. For better or worse, Jon is the only one with any real power in this situation. You can’t just sit back. Give us our chance.”

Martin did everything but literally jump in front of Jon. “Hey. No one is sitting back and—”

“Martin,” Jon said quietly, touching his arm.

Unable to silence himself, Martin turned to Jon instead. “He has no idea—”

“They deserve to feel like they’ve had a chance.”

Martin had more to say, much more—but he wasn’t prepared to say it in front of everyone. Tim seemed momentarily surprised, but quickly recovered. “Thank you.”

“Where do we start then?” Georgie asked.

“I have a proposal,” Sasha said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use an actual meal. So—I’ll go start putting something together, and maybe we can have an early dinner after everyone takes a break.”

Georgie nodded. “What are you going to make?”

“I—” Sasha sighed. “I have no idea.”

“That’s what I thought,” Georgie said. “I’ll help. Melanie, want to come sit in the kitchen?”

Melanie looked pained. “I—I guess?”

As the three of them headed in that direction, Elias, who had really only watched everyone else talk, started back toward his room.

“Nope,” said Tim, grabbing his arm in both hands and redirecting him. “We are headed outside for some fresh air.”

Elias shrugged. “You know, I don’t really remember my mother, but I imagine you—”

“Funny, boss,” Tim said. “Move it.”

Martin thought this was extremely strange, until the two of them passed by him. Martin wrinkled his nose after they were gone.

“That smell—was that—”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Everyone always has to tell me, I can never—never mind. Jon, what—what was that?”

“Um—weed? I though that’s what—”

“No. Back there. I know you don’t think we can stop the fears.”

“Oh. I don’t.”

“So then why—”

“What Tim was asking isn’t unreasonable. I wanted a chance—even if all I learned from it was that there never was one. Of course they want theirs.”

“And ok, I’m glad you’re considering them. I mean, I kind of asked you to. I just don’t like—I don’t want that pressure on you.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“You mean you don’t want them pushing me, because you’re afraid of how that will end.”

“It’s—” Martin swallowed. “It’s both, all right?”

Jon was quiet for a moment, then moved toward the couch. “Sit with me?”

“Yeah,” Martin said. “Yeah.”

***

They moved the chairs and the couch out of the way and spread out on the floor. Martin had to admit it was a better use of the space. Now that some of the tension in the group had been so forcefully broken, there was again a sort of comfort in the conversation, in the company, at least at first. It didn’t feel so empty and dark.

“So… I was thinking about where to start,” Sasha said, after everyone was settled. “And maybe—we should start with the options you talked about before—in that other place—for what to do. Talk about them together, so there’s no misunderstandings.”

“Ok, but it’s important to keep in mind that—that was different,” Jon said.

“How?”

“There was—there was an apocalypse.”

“What about before the apocalypse?” Georgie asked. “Did you ever think about destroying the entities then? Getting rid of them or whatever?”

“No. Not really.”

“That’s weird, honestly,” Melanie said. “I would think that would be the first thing you’d consider. Why not?”

“A lot of reasons, I suppose.” Jon considered. “Mostly, they were just the way it was. We were much more worried about the people and the—things they acted through. And once we really understood, we were simply trying to avoid an apocalypse.”

“Think about a bad storm,” Martin added. “You don’t stop the weather. You just try to make sure there aren’t any trees that are going to fall on your house.”

Jon turned to look at him.

“What?”

“That—that’s a good metaphor, actually.”

“Why does that always surprise you?”

“I—”

“So,” Melanie said, “one option is to deal with it and just try to avoid the worst.”

“Yeah,” said Martin.

“No,” said Tim. “Danny, Sasha, Elias—all of that—that all happened before the apocalypse.”

“And you,” Jon added, but Tim did not acknowledge it.

“But they didn’t know about the—entities,” Sasha pointed out. “We do. That could change things.”

“But some people knew about them. Jonah Magnus knew about them,” Tim said. “I don’t think knowing about them is points in favor of dealing with it.”

Georgie spoke up again. “Jon, you also said you tried to avoid the apocalypse—objectively the worst part, if we’re trying to avoid the worst—and well, obviously it happened. So what about that? Could it be avoided this time?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think, though?”

“My belief is—no. No, I don’t believe it can be avoided.”

“But it could take a long time,” Martin said. “And people might—might figure something out that we don’t know now.”

“So you do think it could be avoided?” Georgie asked Martin.

“I, um—” he glanced at Jon, whose face did not change. “Maybe.”

“All right,” Sasha said, redirecting the conversation. “So option one, live with it and try for the best.”

“No,” Tim shook his head.

At least Tim and Jon can agree on that, Martin thought.

“It’s an option,” said Sasha. “We’re just laying out options. So after the apocalypse—that’s when you thought about destroying the fears themselves.”

“Destroying them?” Jon said. “No, not really. I don’t think that was ever a possibility.”

“Then—what?”

“There were, in essence, two options. Open the door to the other dimensions, let them go—or don’t.”

“We’ll come back the first one. If you hadn’t let them out—then what?”

“Then Jon became god,” Tim interjected.

“That isn’t fair,” Martin responded. “What you have to understand is—”

“Wait, I have been wondering about that,” Melanie said. “How exactly would that have worked?”

Jon replied before Martin could continue. “Well—first, to be clear, there was another choice. We could have let things go on. Just let the apocalypse continue as it was. That—seemed bad.”

“Ok.”

“Otherwise, I—we—could kill Jonah.” Martin’s stomach twisted in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and he set down his fork. “The Eye would then choose me as a replacement.”

“Because Jonah was in charge before that?” Melanie asked.

“In charge? No.” Martin thought he could hear a slight scoff in Jon’s voice, although he could have been imagining it. “It was never his place.”

“But it would have been yours?”

“Yes. More so, anyway. I—I couldn’t stop it, but I could have—changed it. Redirected the suffering.”

“So you would have actually been in charge of—torturing people. Choosing which people to torture?” Georgie frowned. “Forever?”

“Not forever. It would have ended eventually. Death is one of the fears.”

“Well, that’s messed up.” Melanie wiped at her mouth with a napkin. “If you were going to do that, it almost seems like it would have been a kindness to end it faster.”

Martin almost choked.

“Food goes down the other tube, Martin,” Tim said, unaware Martin hadn’t been eating.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Ok,” Sasha said, “so another option you considered was—taking over from Jonah. Making the apocalypse—better, I guess.”

“Is that what you heard?” Tim asked.

“In any case, that’s not something we need to consider,” said Sasha. “There’s no apocalypse.”

Martin’s chest tightened.

“So the last option—also after the apocalypse—was to let them out.”

“Right,” Jon said quietly.

“And ultimately, that’s what you chose.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Martin said. “It’s what the rest of us chose.”

“In the end, I chose it too.”

Silence fell over the group; Martin realized they were waiting for one of them to say more. He willed the tightness in his chest to dissipate.

“So the thing about that is—we didn’t really know. At the time, we’d only just learned there were other dimensions. And we still had no idea—what was in them. Or if there were other entities just like ours already out there, and maybe what we did didn’t matter so much. All we knew for certain was that we could end the apocalypse in our world. This—sending them here—we really didn’t know.”

Next to him, Jon remained silent.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Tim slowly, “and—given the options—if we could send them somewhere else again—that really doesn’t seem like the worst thing.”

“We’re not making any decisions right now, Tim.” Sasha was firm. “We’re just laying out options.”

“And if the options we are laying out are do nothing, Jon becomes god, or we get rid of them—getting rid of them seems reasonable. Why should we be the ones to live with them?”

“For one thing, as Jon said, this is a different situation. For another, we are not done with the options. There—there must be others. We’re just starting with what they considered before.”

“Sasha, that—that’s hopeful,” Melanie said, choosing her words carefully. “But I’m kind of wondering if Tim isn’t right.”

“Melanie.” Georgie sounded slightly reproachful. “Think about that, though. It’s not like they just disappear into the air. They—they go somewhere else. That’s how they got here.”

“But maybe they’d go somewhere—I don’t know, somewhere where they couldn’t really do any harm.”

“No.” Martin felt them all shift their attention to Jon when he spoke, but he continued to stare down at his plate. “They wouldn’t go somewhere next time. They would go everywhere. An infestation of fear, affecting thousands of worlds. I won’t allow that.”

“Now, how do you know that?” Tim asked.

“I just do.”

“Through your creepy monster powers?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess which option you want, Jon,” Melanie said.

Martin jerked his head up. “You really don’t get it, do you? I mean, of course you don’t, but—”

“Stop.” Sasha dropped her fork onto her plate with a deliberate clang. “All of you. We’re taking a break. Eat your food.”

Martin looked back down at his plate; his whole body was tense. He felt Jon touch his arm.

“Eat,” Jon said softly. “Come on.” He broke off a piece of a roll on his own plate, and chewed and swallowed in demonstration. Something about watching Jon do it helped, and he was able to relax enough to get down a few mouthfuls of the dinner that seemed to have turned to cardboard. He had been hungry when they had sat down.

Ten minutes passed in silence, except for the clinking of forks and glasses; eventually plates were emptied, and Sasha cleared her throat.

“Are we all—ready? Does anyone need a longer break?”

No one answered.

“All right. Then—I want to ask something. To Jon and Martin.”

Martin looked at Sasha and then at Jon.

“Go ahead,” Jon said.

“I think—I know a few of us have been—what actually happened? At the end?”

“Yeah,” said Tim. “I have been wondering about that.”

“Tim—”

“I’m being nice.”

“Good. Stay that way.”

Jon looked at Martin, asking permission with his eyes. Martin steeled himself and nodded.

“We—those of us who had survived—we talked. And it was decided that we would let them go. Martin would kill Jonah, severing the primary link between our world and the fears; Georgie, Melanie, and Basira would blow up the gas main underneath the panopticon, destroying the tower and what remained of the archives. That would release their power, and allow the fears to access the—the gateway to the other dimensions.”

“But it didn’t quite go like that,” Tim stated.

“Correct. I changed my mind.”

“Why?” Tim asked.

“Because I couldn’t live with it. It wasn’t right.” Martin was grateful he left out the part about his nightmares.

“So you snuck up by yourself, stabbed Jonah and—took over.”

“Yes.”

“But then you changed your mind again. Why?”

“I hadn’t accounted for everything. I didn’t realize that they could blow the gas main without my—help. There was—there was—” Jon stopped. “I don’t remember how they did it, honestly.”

Martin could never quite remember that part either. All he remembered was that he had told them to go ahead and do it. “It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Ok—just—what happened?”

“I told them to do it,” Martin said, “and then I went up after him. I didn’t think he’d—I thought I could stop him. I thought—I thought we could still leave. But we couldn’t. He couldn’t. He was part of it.”

“So they blew it up, and you lost control?”

“No. I could have kept them there. I could have. I was strong enough. If—” Jon looked at Martin and stopped. “I changed my mind. I let them go.”

Tim ignored the finality of Jon’s tone. “But why? How? And why was there so much blood? You said it was yours. Granted, you also said you didn’t kill anyone and you very much did—”

“He didn’t count,” Jon said disdainfully.

“Agreed, but that—that didn’t all come from Jonah. What happened?”

Jon sat back. “That is between me and Martin.”

“It’s ok,” Martin said. “You can—you can tell them. I just—I have to—I need another break.” He felt dizzy as he stood up; there wasn’t enough air.

“Martin?” Sasha started to get up too. “It’s all right, we don’t have to—”

“It’s fine. You should know why things are like this.”

He meant to go to their bedroom, he really did, but somehow he found himself in the hallway bathroom instead. Tears began to fall as soon as he closed the door; he sat on the toilet, the only real seat available.

“Jesus,” he said out loud to no one, as he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, willing it to stop. For once he was glad that Jon knew how he felt; Jon would stay, and he would tell them.

You bastard. His own words. He understood now why Jon had done it, but it still hurt. Understanding didn’t undo the past and what he had felt then. The moment he had seen Elias’s body on the ground—the moments afterward as the realization had dawned on him—

You bastard. He still didn’t know how much of Jon had been left then, how much would be left again if it came down to it. Maybe less this time. Maybe none. How long could a person stand up to something like that?

You bastard. In his mind, he felt the pressure of a body giving way at the point of the knife, heard Jon gasp as it entered his chest. He was so tired of feeling it, so tired of hearing it, and it was always there—it was part of him now. He could ignore it sometimes, most of the time, even, but it was always there. It was always just below the surface, just waiting for a moment like this one. He would always know now what it felt like to take the life of a person, the person, who loved him. It was the only thing he had said he wouldn’t do, yet in the end it had been the only thing he could do.

It had just gone so wrong.

He breathed; he tried to breathe. Breathe in a square, he told himself. He didn’t know where he’d learned it—maybe the internet. Probably the internet. He breathed in, held it; breathed out; held it. In, hold; out, hold. Slowly, gradually, he was able to take full breaths. He almost had control again when there was a knock on the door.

“Hang—hang on,” he said. “Sorry, I should have—”

“Martin?” It was Melanie. “Can I—can I come in?”

“Um—”

“Please?”

“It’s unlocked.”

Melanie slipped in and closed the door behind her; she walked slowly to the edge of the tub and sat down. They looked at each other for a long moment.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

“I just—I didn’t know.”

“We didn’t tell.”

“But I should have known. I mean, not the details, but—of course it had to be terrible. I think maybe I didn’t want to think about it.”

“What do you mean? Think about what?”

“I think—I think it was easier to imagine that you were hiding things because—well, Georgie said Jon wasn’t like that, but—” She shook her head. “When it comes down to it, I just didn’t want to think about how bad it could be, how bad it could get. I wanted to think I’d already seen the worst. I can’t imagine if Georgie—god. I’m just so sorry.”

“Me too.” He went to take another deep breath, but this one hitched at the top.

“Wait—hang on. I’ll be right—just hang on.” Melanie slipped out again, but quickly reappeared, this time with a large ball of black and white fluff in her arms. “I know this might be a bit silly, but—I don’t know. He really helped me after I—I mean, it feels like nothing now, but at the time—”

“It wasn’t nothing. I mean, that’s kind of the thing. It’s all awful.” Martin watched as Melanie set the Admiral down on the bathroom floor. The cat was cautious for a moment; he sniffed at the edge of the tub where Melanie had resumed her seat, then at the cabinet under the sink. Then, with no warning at all, he plunged his face against Martin’s legs, running his whole body along them before turning around and doing it again.

Somehow, Martin smiled.

“See?”

“Yeah.” He reached out a hand, and the Admiral sniffed it before he began to rub his face against it furiously. “Is he—is he purring?”

“Yeah. He’s weird,” Melanie said. “It’s pretty great. I didn’t think I was a cat person before I moved in with Georgie, but—he’s changed my mind.”

“I can see that.” He dangled his fingers above the Admiral’s face, who swatted at them with a soft paw. “Is Jon—ok?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s fine. He had a moment, but—he was talking to Georgie when I came to look for you.”

“Good.” He pulled his hand back, and the Admiral quickly switched his attention to something in the corner of the room that Martin couldn’t see. “Listen—are they still—do you think I need to go back out?”

“Oh—no. Not if you don’t want to. I mean, they’re still talking, but I think everyone’s had enough of the serious issues for tonight. Even Tim.”

“I think—I think I might go to bed early. Do you mind excusing me to everyone?”

“Not at all,” Melanie said, gathering up the Admiral; he protested with a small squeak. “I think they’ll all understand.”

“Thanks, Melanie. Sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble.” She opened the door, and they both stepped out into the hallway. “Goodnight, Martin.”

“Goodnight.”

He took one more deep breath, and headed back to their room. He was very, very tired.

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years ago

Text

The Loft Chapter 4

After a bad break-up, Hermione Granger moves into a messy and dysfunctional loft with four single men. What starts as a temporary home until she gets back on her feet becomes so much more, as she learns there's a lot of life - and love - that happens at rock-bottom.

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

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Also on A03 | FFN

More Chapters

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Chapter 4

[Ron]

Ron would best describe the loft as a mess, but a clean one. After hours of scrubbing, the windows are clear and smudge-free, and the concrete floor shimmers with its long-forgotten natural color. What makes him feel most at home, however, is not the fresh pine scent of the couch cushions, but the fact that they're strewn about the floor like plush stepping stones. The boys have arranged them around the trash can in the middle of the room, which is empty save for a dried-up bottle of Febreeze.

Ron's desperate to know Hermione's opinion on the new decor. Despite lifting an eyebrow at the bad doodles of United States presidents and the cardboard cutout of a bald eagle plastered to the wall, she doesn't say anything. She must know better than to think he'll offer an explanation.

After cleaning and decorating the loft, Neville, Seamus, and Harry dispersed into their rooms to make themselves presentable, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the kitchen to finish up the last of the dishes. He hands her a plate to dry, and she takes it with a smile.

"Thank you for helping, Hermione."

"Of course! But I'm not sure why we're cleaning so much if it's just going to get trashed."

Trashed might be an exaggeration, but she's right in the sense that the new cleanliness of the loft isn't going to last very long. Tonight they're throwing a party, Hermione's first as a loft resident, and she's in for a treat. The boys have been purposely vague regarding loft parties, as any accurate descriptions might turn her off attending. Ron would hate to have her make other plans tonight, whether those be with the girls, or worse, a date.

"Hey, we're not animals. But if it's going to get trashed, it's nice to know it's new-trashed, not old-trashed," he says, earning an eye-roll from Hermione.

"So I'm guessing that this party is America-themed?"

"No. Why would you guess that?"

"No reason," she says, eyeing the miniature blow-up Uncle Sam doll that the boys have been tossing around like a basketball.

"The decorations are just for the drinking game we're going to play," he says, motioning to the multiple cases of PBR lining the wall.

"Right, how do you play?"

"It's not really a game you can explain. You just have to experience it. Nice try, though."

"Then I look forward to experiencing it." She finishes drying the last dish and stacks it away neatly in the cupboard. "What else do we need to set up? Everyone's coming at eight, right?

Ron checks his watch. "Shit, you're right. People should be here soon. I'm going to get ready. Can you start on the beer castle?"

"The beer castle?"

"Yeah. Just stack beer cans in a castle shape around the trash can in the living room."

Ron doesn't wait for Hermione's reaction before he slips back into his room. He rummages around his closet in search of something to wear, something that makes him look both put-together and laid back, ready to party. He lands on a pair of khaki shorts and a pastel blue t-shirt that looks quite nice with his eyes.

He's pretty sure Hermione hasn't seen him in it. Not that it matters, anyway.

He pulls off his shirt and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Surprisingly, he looks pretty damn good. He's a bit skinny but firm and fit. It comes as a pleasant surprise because he's been slacking on his workouts ever since Hermione moved in and he lost his home gym. It's been difficult to exercise in his tiny bedroom, so he doesn't. He hasn't wanted to work out in the living room for fear of Hermione seeing him, but maybe he should give that a try…

With a shrug, Ron pulls off his pants and stands back up. He can't resist the urge to take another look at himself in the mirror. As much as he wishes he was a bit more muscular, there are pros to being lanky. By comparison, his scrawny self really does accentuate his already well-endowed state.

He checks himself out from a few more angles before deciding that physically, he doesn't have much to complain about.

Before he has the chance to put on his pants, the door to his bedroom swings open. Ron startles when it crashes against the wall and Hermione barges in uninvited.

"Hey Ron, I have a question about the beer can castle—"

"Hermione!" Ron, completely naked, scrambles for something to cover himself with but doesn't have time before she's standing right in front of him. "You have to knock!"

She's staring at the two cans in her hands until she pauses and looks up, but her gaze never makes it to his face. Instead, it lands directly on his penis, and she seems to stare at it for an eternity. Thanks to his utter panic, Ron can't move.

It almost feels like time has stopped, and he's frozen there like the statue of David while Hermione ogles him. She appears to be frozen too, eyes wide, mouth agape, staring.

If his dick could blush, it would match the color of his ears, which are bleeding scarlet.

For a split second, he wonders if it's truly as bad as it seems. Maybe Hermione likes what she sees. A tiny seed of hope takes root.

But that hope shatters when she opens her mouth to speak and lets out the worst sound he's ever heard. It's somewhere between a scream and a giggle, and he wouldn't wish such a reaction on his worst enemy.

Without further ado, a red-faced Hermione mutters a quick and useless 'sorry' and rushes out the door and slams it behind her.

Ron stands there for a few seconds, dumbfounded, before the reality of what just happened crashes down.

Hermione just laughed at his dick.

Well, fuck.

Now that he knows how she really feels, he'll never be able to look her in the eye again.

Ron stays in his room until there's a knock on the loft's door, and he has to show his face in order to let in his guests. He's opted for a hoodie over his shirt so he can hide behind the hood whenever Hermione looks at him, because when she does, his neck prickles with heatwaves, and he feels like he's naked again.

It doesn't make sense — Ron's never reacted so strongly to having a woman see him naked, and he's had a decent amount of experience in that arena. He's no Seamus, of course, but he's not a stranger to the occasional hookup.

It's just because she laughed—no other reason.

He opens the door to find his sister Ginny, her roommate Demelza, and two of their mutual friends—Dean and Luna.

"Welcome," says Ron, opening the door.

"Hey, Ron!" says Ginny. "Hermione!"

Ginny crashes into Hermione for a hug, then introduces her to everyone else. "This is Hermione, Ron's new roommate."

"Nice to meet you all!"

Hermione falls into easy conversation with Ron's friends before they get a chance to greet him, but they don't seem bothered by it. He watches her through narrowed eyes and doesn't even realize he's glaring at her until she looks at him and scowls.

"What?"

"Nothing." He turns back toward his friends, hoping they didn't notice their interaction. "Make yourselves at home. Drinks in the fridge, food on the counter, and you know where the beer is," he says, pointing at the beer castle.

Harry turns the music up just as their guests crack open their beers, and everyone starts to relax. Except for Ron, of course. Even though he's hyper-aware of Hermione, he still manages to bump into her and make more frequent eye contact than he'd like.

For some reason, they seem to gravitate toward the kitchen to replenish food and drinks at the same time, and they barely manage a conversation when they run into each other.

"Oh, sorry," she says, trying to slide past him, only for him to walk directly into her in an attempt to get out of her way.

"Erm—"

"I'll go left; you go right."

"Yeah, okay."

Are they always this awkward around each other?

Every time he tries to act normal, all he can hear is her weird little high-pitched scream-laugh, and he just wants to disappear into his hoodie. On occasion, Ron can sense Hermione watching him, but she looks away whenever he tries to catch her gaze. Not that he wants to make awkward eye contact with her, he just wants her to leave him alone.

He continues to keep himself at a safe distance to avoid talking to her, making sure he's always involved in a conversation with someone else. Over the course of the party, he becomes progressively more resentful of how much mental space it requires to avoid her.

Then, like a hawk, she swoops in and catches him alone while he's in the kitchen grabbing another beer.

"Ron!"

"Jesus," he says, nearly crashing into her. "You scared me."

"Why are you being so weird?"

"I'm not."

"Is it because I saw you naked?"

"No."

"It's not a big deal, Ron."

Of course, she has the nerve to act like he's the one who's being childish.

"Oh yeah, Hermione?" he says. "Then why did you laugh? Too immature?"

Hermione opens her mouth to answer, but in the moment before she does, he turns away from her and shouts to the crowd, "Who's ready for True American?"

The loft whoops their approval and begins to gather in the living room.

"Right now?" whispers Hermione behind him. "We're still talking."

But he ignores her.

"The game is True American," shouts Ron at a volume much louder than necessary for the size of the room. "Say 'aye' if you've played before."

There's a chorus of 'ayes' and a room-wide scrambling toward the furniture. When everyone hops onto a cushion, a table, or a chair, Ron notices Hermione looking around frantically, her expression disheartened.

"I'm the only one who's never played?" she asks.

"It's okay, Hermione," says Harry. "All you need to know is that it's about fifty percent drinking, fifty percent life-size Candy Land."

"I'd argue that it's seventy-five percent drinking, twenty percent Candy Land, and the floor is lava," says Ginny. "Which is why we're standing on the furniture. Hermione, you're melting."

"Oh no," she says, hopping up onto the coffee table between the beer castle and Demelza, who extends a hand to help her.

"Honestly, guys, it's ninety-percent drinking and has a very loose Candy Land-like structure to it," says Neville. "There's also a truth or dare component."

"I just need to know how to play—"

"You're smart; you'll catch on," says Ron. His tone comes off a little more terse than he'd intended, so he quickly continues, "I'll start. JFK!"

"FDR!"

Everyone but Hermione shuffles to a new location, avoiding the lava floor, and Hermione is left standing in her same spot between the beer castle and now, Luna.

"What just happened?" she asks, looking confused.

"Hermione, since you're the last to find a new spot, you have to pick someone, and they'll ask you a truth or dare question," explains Ginny. "Just answer and drink."

"Okay, then," she says. "Um, Neville. Truth."

"How do you like loft life?" asks Neville brightly, eliciting a groan from the crowd.

"Neville, you can do better—" starts Seamus.

"It's her first game!" he says. "Let's ease her in. So, Hermione?"

"Well, it's great so far."

"Just so you know, not every question will be that tame," says Ginny from her precarious perch on the armchair.

"Go figure," says Hermione before chugging back a gulp of her PBR.

As soon as she swallows her drink, Neville shouts out, "The only thing we have to fear is…"

"Fear itself!"

When the crowd joins in, Hermione looks around the room, dumbfounded.

"Hermione, you didn't complete the quote," says Harry.

"I didn't know I was supposed to!"

"Well, now you do! Drink, and then pick someone."

"I feel like I'm at a disadvantage since you didn't explain the game," she says, challenging Harry.

"We've all been there," Harry says, shrugging, "It's a rite of passage."

"Fine," Hermione takes a long swig and points at Ginny. "Ginny, truth."

"Sweet!" says Ginny, beaming mischievously. "Hermione, are you attracted to anyone in the loft?"

Ron's ears tingle at Ginny's question, and he tunes in for Hermione's answer.

"Nope," she says, taking a hasty drink.

In his curiosity, Ron has made prolonged eye contact with Hermione for the first time since the penis-incident, but when she catches his gaze, he quickly looks away. Ron's stomach clenches. Not that he wants Hermione to be attracted to him, but after she saw him naked, it's quite the low blow. Trying to look casual, he pulls back a swig of beer.

"Really?" presses Seamus. "None of us?"

"Ginny's turn!" says Hermione, ignoring Seamus' question.

"Alright, here we go," says Ginny, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "Abe Lincoln! George Washington!"

"Cherry Tree!" shouts Ron.

"Correct! Pick a person and an amendment!"

"Hermione, second."

Everyone looks at Hermione, and Ginny tosses her an unopened can of beer.

"I don't understand," she says. "You still haven't given me any information."

"You have to shotgun a beer! And then pick someone to ask truth or dare," says Dean.

"Wait, what? That doesn't make any sense."

"Give it time, Hermione," encourages Neville. "I didn't understand it at first either."

Hermione groans and sets down her half-full PBR, and reaches into her pocket for her key. She stabs the bottom of her can, then tips it into her mouth, chugging it down while the loft's onlookers cheer in the background.

Eyebrows raised, Ron watches her shotgun her beer, trying to ignore the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He never thought he'd see that, and he isn't complaining.

"Yeah, there's no going back now," says Hermione once she finishes. "Luna, truth."

"Yay!" says Luna. "Did you and Ron get into a fight? You've been avoiding each other all night."

Ron's face grows hot. He bores his gaze toward Luna, who is staring intently at Hermione and doesn't seem to notice Ron's glare.

"Is that really your question?" she asks.

"Yep!"

"Luna, you've never seen us interact," says Ron. "How would you know that?"

Luna shrugs. "I can just tell."

"You know what," says Harry as he looks between Ron and Hermione. "You two have been acting weird tonight."

"Is it that obvious?" asks Hermione.

Ron feels Hermione's eyes on him, and his palms break out in a sweat. Once again, his refusal to make direct eye contact probably serves as a sufficient answer to Hermione's question.

"Well, fine then," she says, turning back toward Luna. "Earlier, I walked in on him changing. But it wasn't a big deal."

"Ron, is this true?" asks Harry.

Everyone turns to look at Ron, who groans. "Yes, but as she said, it wasn't a big deal."

His roommates might as well be shining an interrogation light on him by the way they all continue to stare.

"If it wasn't a big deal, why are you all fidgety?" asks Seamus.

"I'm not," says Ron, but his defensive tone suggests otherwise.

"Yeah, women have seen you naked before, Ron," says Luna. "Why is it different with Hermione?"

"Whose turn is it?" says Ron, much louder than necessary. Anything to divert the attention from Luna's oddly specific question.

"Oh, it's my turn," says Luna. "One, two, three, go!"

Luna holds up the number five to her forehead, and everyone else follows suit with their own number. Ron looks frantically around the room and breathes a sigh of relief when he matches numbers with Harry.

It appears that Hermione, who was the last to catch on, as usual, is the only one without a partner.

"Not again!" she says. "But at least that one made sense. Seamus, truth."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" asks Ginny.

But it's too late. Seamus, who is already slurring his words, looks at Hermione and asks, "So, Hermione, what does Ron's dick look like?"

"Dude, what the fuck?" shouts Ron.

"Seriously, Seamus," adds Harry. "That's not even an interesting question."

"Sure, it is! I'm interested!"

"Old news," pipes in Neville. "We've all seen Ron's dick."

Embarrassed, Ron glances toward Hermione. She looks lost for words. "You don't have to answer, Hermione."

"No, we haven't!" says Seamus.

"Really?" says Dean as he side-eyes Seamus. "I've seen it, and I don't even live here."

Ron looks toward the loft door. Maybe he can make a run for it.

"Am I the only roommate who hasn't seen your dick?" asks Seamus, now appearing uninterested in Hermione's answer. When everyone in the room turns to look at Ron, he feels like he's naked in a crowd again.

Ron shrugs. "I guess so," he says, casually taking a sip of his beer.

"When? Where?"

"I don't know, dude. Locker rooms, penis fights, I'm sure you'll see it someday," says Ron. "Can we stop talking about my dick, now?"

"Yes, let's move on," says Hermione with an apologetic glance in Ron's direction. "Just ask me a different question."

"Fine," says Seamus, his words melding together, "Hermione, what did you think of Ron's dick?"

"Seriously, Seamus?"

"I guess we can't," mutters Ron.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Whatever. He has a very nice penis."

"I wouldn't know," says Seamus bitterly. Then, just as quickly, "JFK!"

"FDR!"

Everyone scrambles for a new spot, and this time Ron's the only one left out in the shuffle.

"Fuck," he says, looking around for someone who won't ask him a dick-related question. "Uh, Demelza, truth."

Demelza smiles. "How did Hermione react to seeing your dick?"

"I picked you because I thought you wouldn't ask about my dick, Demelza."

"Sorry," shrugs Demelza.

"It wasn't a big deal," says Hermione.

Before he can stop himself, Ron scoffs, and once again, everyone snaps their heads in his direction.

"Sounds like it was a big deal."

"It wasn't!" says Hermione. "I mean—"

"Hermione, don't," says Ron, but Hermione continues without a missed beat.

"I laughed at first, but only because I was nervous."

"You LAUGHED?" asked Demelza. "No wonder you two are being so weird."

"It was an accident!"

"Let's move on," growls Ron. "Demelza, your turn." He shoots a glare in Hermione's direction.

"Niagara!" says Demelza.

Everyone brings their drink to their mouth and begins chugging. As soon as each person finishes, they toss their empty cans to the PBR castle in the middle of the room. Hermione, having caught on a moment too late, is the last one to toss it.

Hermione groans. "Harry, dare."

Harry grins. "Well, to make Ron feel better, I dare you to repeat after me. I love Ron's cock."

Ron's ears grow warm again, but they're also buzzing from the beer, which takes precedence over his embarrassment. Also, it'll be interesting to hear Hermione follow through with this dare.

Hermione narrows her eyes at him. "Fine. I love Ron's penis."

Ron sends her a curious glance. She said it so… formally, like she was taking an oath in court.

There's a tense silence while everyone stares at Hermione. "Try again," says Harry.

"Why?"

"I love Ron's cock," he repeats. "Say it."

"I did."

"You said penis. Not cock."

"Same thing!" she protests.

"Hermione, why can't you say cock?" repeats Harry.

"Penis is the technical term," she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Ron chuckles at the argument playing out before him.

"What about dick?" suggests Demelza.

Hermione stares at Demelza, her cheeks flooding with color. "Why?"

"Schlong? Wang? Knob?" offers Seamus.

"Seriously, what's wrong with 'penis'?"

"Nothing, it's just weird that you won't say cock," says Harry. "I think that should require two drinks for refusing a dare."

Ron looks around the room; everyone nods in agreement.

"Fine," says Hermione before taking a second sip.

As soon as she finishes her sip, Harry shouts, "Give me liberty or—"

"Give me death!"

As assumed, Hermione is the only one who doesn't catch on.

"Ugh," she says. "Dean, dare."

"I dare you to make it even!" slurs Dean.

"What does that mean?"

"He showed you his; now you show him yours."

"Executive order," says Ginny. "Vetoed."

"Why?" asks Ron. "I don't think it's a bad idea. Plus, it would make me feel better." He pouts at Hermione with wide, puppy-dog eyes and grins when her cheeks flood with color. He's well aware that she never responded to Dean.

"Too far, that's why," says Ginny.

"Well," says Ron. "You guys are no fun."

There's a moment of silence when no one seems to remember where they are in the game or whose turn it is. Seamus breaks the silence with a question directed at Ron.

"Can I please just see it?"

Ron groans and rolls his eyes. "No. And I'm going to bed."

"Why?" whines Seamus.

"I didn't think my dick would be such a huge topic of conversation, yet here we are."

"More of a slightly above average topic if you ask me," says Harry.

"See what I mean?" says Ron, as he hops off his cushion and turns his back to the crowd. "Goodnight."

After chugging a tall glass of water, Ron retreats to his room for the night, ready to escape his roommates' drunken shenanigans. He changes into sweats, settles underneath the covers, and is about to turn off the lights when there's a knock at his door.

"Erm, come in."

The door creaks open, and Hermione pokes her head into his room. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," he responds, raising his eyebrows at his unexpected guest. "Thank you for knocking."

"So—"

"I'm not naked. Sorry to disappoint you." He cuts her off, aiming for an icy tone, but unfortunately, it comes off whiny.

Maybe he has been acting a bit petty and childish.

She stares at him, expressionless, for a few tense moments and then bursts out into laughter. He can't help but follow suit. Her laughter is quite contagious when he's fully clothed.

"For the record, I'm not laughing at the thought of you naked," she assures him as if reading his mind.

"Sure, Hermione. Sure," he says. His cheeks are heating up, but he's glad it's not from embarrassment this time.

"I meant it, you know," she says, as soon as her laughter dies down.

"You meant what?"

"That you have a very nice—" she clears her throat, "cock."

Ron beams — at both the compliment and her word choice. "You said cock!"

She stands a little taller. "I've been practicing."

"Say it again!" he urges.

"Please don't make me."

"Pretty please—"

"Fine," she says, taking a step, so she's fully in the room. The door closes behind her. "Cock. Dick. Schlong. Willy."

"Okay, now you're embarrassing yourself."

"Give me more words," she says, now grinning. "I want to prove that I can do it."

"Okay, why don't you try Peter Pecker. Big Red. The Orange Cannon."

Hermione's face flashes red, and she slaps a hand to her mouth.

"Too much for you?" asks Ron.

"Did you nickname your penis?"

"No!" Ron protests, although his flushing cheeks likely give him away. "Those are from former lovers."

"Oh, well, I'm not going to say them then."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not your former lover," she argues.

He catches a slight emphasis on' former' and forces himself to keep his expression neutral. Maybe some good will come from the penis incident. Either that, or he's imagining it.

"While technically true, I still want to hear you say them."

"Too bad."

Thankful that the awkwardness seems to be dissipating, Ron grins at her. "Then you'll have to make it up to me another way."

As soon he speaks, he winces, hearing the implication of his words a moment too late. Did he actually just say that?

Hermione doesn't waste any time with her response. "How? By making it even?"

Ron cannot interpret her expression — it almost looks like she's trying to keep it neutral. In his effort to decipher it, he hesitates for too long, and by leaving her comment hanging, he might as well have agreed.

"That was actually what I came in here to do," she says, biting her lip.

"Really?"

"Yes."

At this point, it feels like his whole face is on fire, and Hermione's smirk isn't helping at all. He can't bring himself to look away from her eyes nor say anything, as the air feels too thick with tension. She could be bluffing, but he has no desire to call her on it if she is.

Is she joking?

His question answers itself when Hermione averts her eyes to the ground and hooks her thumbs at the hem of her shirt.

Holy shit. She's not.

Hermione keeps her eyes on the ground, and Ron can't help but grin at how her cheeks turn bashfully pink. He wishes he could help it because he's definitely beaming like an idiot. With a deep, nervous breath, she pulls her shirt up and over her bra—

She's not wearing a bra.

Fuck.

Ron lets out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding. "Well damn, Hermione."

Still holding up her shirt, she meets his gaze. "Yes, Ron?"

"You have amazing… knockers."

"Ron!" she says, shoving her shirt back down. He immediately misses the view, but he doesn't regret his word choice. "They're called breasts."

"Boobies. Bing Bongs. Spongey love mountains."

"And I'm the immature one?"

"Jesus, woman, just take the compliment! I'm trying to tell you that I love your tatas." He speaks before he can filter himself, hoping she doesn't read too much into his phrasing. There's nothing wrong with showing appreciation, after all.

She lets a small smile at his admission but quickly narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her now fully-clothed chest. "If I have to say cock, you have to say breasts."

"Sorry, Hermione," says Ron, his tone veering dangerously close to flirtation. Then, feeling a bit bolder, he continues, "what I meant to say is you have wonderful breasts."

Her face tinges red, and she smiles smugly. "Thank you, Ron."

"You're very welcome. Your turn."

"What?"

He motions toward his pants. "I want to hear you say it again."

She groans. "Fine, but this is the last time."

"Sure it is."

She rolls her eyes before continuing. "Ron, you have a lovely cock."

His breath hitches in his throat. Hearing her say that again definitely does something to him, and it's not helped by the sincerity in her tone. She's not lying. As a result, his hair stands on end, heat pools in his stomach, and he's thankful for the positioning of his bed covers.

"Thank you, Hermione," he responds, looking directly into her warm brown eyes. Reflecting her slight smile, they appear softer and darker than usual, as if they're deep in thought.

Ron and Hermione keep eye contact for a few elongated seconds before the awkwardness of the interaction kicks in, and they avert their eyes, looking anywhere but each other. What an odd conversation to have with a roommate.

"I should go to bed," says Hermione, pointing at the door.

"Erm, yeah. Me too."

"So I guess I'll see you in the morning?"

"Good night," he says, but Hermione's already out the door. He sighs.

It shuts behind her, and Ron turns off the light and leans back in his bed. When he closes his eyes, the image of Hermione's perfect breasts is still fresh in his mind, and he makes no effort to let it morph into something else because who knows if he'll ever get to see them again.

Why would he? She's just his roommate.

Yeah. I'm definitely attracted to my roommate.

A smile creeps onto his face. It feels good to admit it, even if it's only to himself.

#muggle AU #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #Romione angst #Ron Weasley #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger #be11a_loft

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cavvaje · 4 years ago

Text

Hearth and Rime | Ch. 1

Pairing: M!Eivor x Reader

Summary: Eivor has had a rough day and you make him feel better :)

Words: 1600~

Genre: Fluff, Comfort?

Warnings: Spoilers for end of Cent Arc! | Somewhat suggestive fade to black

Note: Still a bit new to writing fics, so sorry if its a bit rough around the edges!

I actually finished this in time for valentines but just kept editing it and being too nervous to actually post it? Then decided to retake all the photos lol...

This is also a continuation of the first fic I put up, BUT you don’t need to read it to understand (it was like 200 words). Here’s a link!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The home is modest for its outwards appearance. According to Eivor, the last occupants were runaway Saxons, who fled the day after they saw him in the area. They didn’t leave much behind, but it’s serviceable.

“Smells good!” Eivor stands by a cooking pot in the corner, setting down the bright torch in his hand. He turns to you with a cheeky look.

“Here,” He says, untying his cloak. The Viking comes to you as you stand in front of the doorway. His cloak needs to go over, and so you squeeze your head through the hole. “This should help you warm up.”

Gentle arms reach around your shoulders, and instinctually, your arms begin to trace his waist to his back. Adrenaline surges in cold shivers: from your arms through to your spine. Your face is practically buried in the nook between his neck and shoulder. You hold each other a moment, checking off an imaginary checklist of things that make him real. His warmth, his scent, his breath...

A tight tug wakes you up; the cloak has been set, albeit loosely. He lets go of the embrace. Even as he leaves, the cloak maintains his warmth.

“It smells like blood…”

He chuckles lightly, “Does it now?... Surprise?” he flips his axe in one hand, starts drying the rainwater off the metal, then sets it down. He motions towards the steaming pot. “Can I dig in?”

You stare at him as he pulls off the bracers and his hidden blade. He looks back a moment later, puzzled.

“I missed you, Eivor.” You say, plainly.

“Ah…” he pulls you in for a proper hug this time; his arms hold you tight. “I missed you too.”

“Mmm… what’s bothering you Drengr?”

You feel the sigh heavily from the movement of his chest against yours. “Please, let me eat…”

“Of course! Sorry. Must’ve been a long trip...”

“No no, don’t be.” He lets go, but locks his eyes on yours, and gives a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’ll explain, I won’t be like Sigurd.”

“Like Sigurd?”

His weight falls heavy on the stool, as he grabs a bowl.

You pace towards him slowly, a hand gentle on his left shoulder. “...Did you find him?”

“Not exactly.”

You feel his rage beginning to simmer on your hand, but it sizzles down quickly. You wait for a few minutes as he ravages his stew, and then places the empty bowl down calmly and precisely.

“We found an arm.”

“Shit…”

“Aye, shit.”

He turns to you suddenly, his eyes focused. “Don’t tell the ravens. Please.” He scans your expression. “Can I trust you to this?”

You nod.

“..Thank you.” He sighs and slumps down onto the table.

You stand idly, unsure of how to proceed. The silence fills the room like a cursed fog.

“Perhaps we should talk more in the morning? After you’ve rested from your journey?” you perk up, sitting down next to him. Your hand moves to the Viking’s back reassuringly, and he arches to greet it. “For tonight, let me take care of you, ok?”

He stifles a small chuckle and looks at you earnestly. “That sounds great.”

You smile and get up from your seat. He follows, holds your hands, and leans in close. “Thank Freyja I found you…” His eyes meet yours. You put your hand up to his scarred cheek and… after a moment of hesitation, kiss him. He tastes like a paradise gritted by blood and steel, or maybe it’s the venison... A kiss that feels like a surging tide effortlessly enveloping you. His hands move to wrap around your waist and the back of your neck, and as you break the kiss, it moves back to fall on your cheek.

He lets out a satisfied breath and slowly removes his hands as well, instead moving them to hold yours. “I needed that.” His voice barely a whisper, yet still raspy and impassioned.

You coyly move away, tracing your fingers over his own as you leave. “Come… get comfy. Let me help you away with the stresses of your life, Wolf-Kissed.” You begin to move towards the other end of the room.

“Are you just telling me to take off my clothes, lover?” he returns, just as coy, but begins to remove his top anyway. His now shirtless figure is darkened against the light of the fire.

“And you? It’s only fair…” His voice and eyes gleam with a newfound playfulness.

“Ah… but my cloak is so heavy…”

He quickly moves to uncloak you, then slower to unclothe. His lightly calloused hands ‘accidentally’ feel your stomach and arms as you two connect in this growing heat. Both of you a little more exposed, you sit on the bearskin by the bed, absorbing each other’s presence.

“New scar?” A faded but deep red streak across the top of his wrist into the forearm. He smiles and shrugs. You feel it… still a bit fresh. “It looks good on you.”

He traces it with his other hand in empty thought, while you grab a nearby satchel containing medicinal herbs. He tries his best not to wince as you apply your treatment... he doesn’t wince once. He’s simply watching you in admiration.

“What’s that look for? Something wrong?” You ask, knowing the answer.

"You are stunning. Like a painting, framed in a lantern-lit gold. In comparison to you, even its fire seems dull and cold...”

You shove his shoulder playfully and he laughs, but his eyes stay on you to look for your smile, and he finds it, blushing. He looks proud of himself. Bastard.

You get behind him and slowly begin to unbraid his hair. It’s matted in parts, likely from blood and dirt. You move him to an empty spot in the room and begin to wash his hair with a nearby water basin, trying not to get him too wet...

“Mmph, you treat me too well…” He mumbles.

“Only what you deserve, and well, much more than just this,”

“...Why’d you say that?” his voice is sweet and innocent. You laugh in surprise.

“What? Eivor, you’re the leader of our clan! At least until Sigurd comes back...” You watch as his head swoops down in thought. You place your hand on his shoulder cautiously. “Hey… what’s this about?”

He doesn’t respond, and you continue to work through his hair. Eventually, though, you decide to break the silence.

“Why exactly… did you want to meet away from Ravensthorpe?”

You think back to the letter you got, Synin being a talented messenger bird. He never mentioned why you were to meet here, except that he wanted to meet first for a romantic getaway before he was whisked off elsewhere. At first, that was enough, but now...

“I just wanted to see you, is that too much to ask for?” he retorted.

“Eivor…”

“Fine. Why do you think I asked then?”

You pause. “Honestly, I thought you were gonna have a private issue that needed taking care of, one that needs my particular skill set…”

He looks at you with wild eyes and a smile about to be broken into laughter. “Well! I suppose that too!” he laughs.

“What? No! I mean if you needed someone, you know...” You imitate a neck being sliced. He laughs again. You slap his shoulder.

His laugh slowly trickles out, and he returns to his thousand-yard stare after a moment, but his mouth moves. “I think… I just needed a break from it all. Just for a moment.” He looks back at you. “With you.”

…You resist the urge to defuse the moment and hug him tightly from behind. “Well if you need anything else, I’m all ears.”

He shakes his head and gives a quick kiss on your cheek. “Let’s save that for tomorrow...”

He pauses.

"Because tonight..." He turns to you and puts his arms over your shoulders. His face slowly approaches yours— and you make eye contact, your face clearly anticipating the worst. He nearly laughs but quickly turns to whisper into your ear. "I have other plans..." he smiles, and lightly nibbles on your earlobe, pulling it ever so slightly. This is not what you meant by ‘all ears’. The actual sensation is nice enough, but the sudden waves of euphoria that washes through your headspace is what makes you a little dizzy.

"H-hey, I'm nearly done with your hair..." You manage to say, barely. He smiles both warm yet seductive, then turns around to let you finish.

As you finish up with his hair, he gives you a sweet look followed by a grateful kiss. It was a... mostly calming activity. As you get up, he childishly hops on the fur bed with a thud. You turn away to tidy up. However, a shuffling sound catches your attention.

He’s striking a pose... one eyebrow raised. He extends forward his hand and winks at you.

“Come… play with your Drengr, love…” he recites dramatically.

You stare at him, incredulous, then laugh in protest when he grabs your arm. He yanks you in... you fall, barely lit by the low lantern light, into your love dance.

Sleeping next to him is a warmth you always regret not cherishing more. Just his presence makes this cold and dangerous land feel safe. His fingers trace your arm ever so slightly— not enough to wake you, but just enough to send tingles rushing through to your brain. You return the favor and he smiles surprised, but welcome in his half-sleep.

…Time passes immeasurably through the night, as it always does. So when all you feel is a vacuum of cold air rushing in, you aren't sure what time it is. You try to open your eyes... you see him, barely.

But your eyelids hang heavy, and you fall back asleep.

Note: haha get it “barely” I hope this was ok and the warnings+genre were accurate! I didn’t wanna put earlobe nibbling as a warning so lmao. Also I hate small cottages and I’m never taking photos in them again.

If anyone has any advice/feedback I’d actually really love to hear it! Especially about how to make Eivor’s voice feel more accurate, or if the Reader character has too much personality. No pressure though!

#woo its done #writing things is kind of really fulfilling cuz its actually romantic #ac valhalla #ac valhalla fanfiction #m!eivor x reader #m!eivor #male eivor #eivor #pov fanfiction #male eivor x reader #eivor x reader #c:m

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