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coneygoil · 5 years ago

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The Home We Built Together, part 30

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Writer’s note: The 19th marked one year that I first posted this fic!! It’s amazing to see how far it’s come!

Her breathing was even now.

Astrid had fallen asleep against his side, her head resting upon his slender chest. Hiccup hadn’t loosened his hold on her. He couldn’t, not after almost losing her.

His heart had plummeted to the bottom of his stomach when he realized Astrid had fallen from the saddle. There was little comfort when he looked back to find she’d landed on a ledge. The red dragon had instantly sensed her presence there.

“We gotta go back, bud!”

Toothless didn’t hesitate firing at the red dragon. He aimed for its most vulnerable part – the eyes (and Night Furies never miss) -- and the dragon retreated, furious and snarling. The short window gave them enough time to rescue Astrid.

There was a lot to be said and discussed. A plan to formulate. A village and a whole fleet of dragons to protect. But now was not the time.

Hiccup had noticed Astrid’s behavior after the rescue. She was clearly shaken and upset, but when she collapsed in his arms sobbing uncontrollably, it was then that Hiccup realized how deeply it had affected her. Astrid was a pillar of strength, and to see her in such a state of distress had jarred him.

A new commitment welled up inside him. A fierce need to protect that he’d never experience before.

Hiccup was always the one in need of protection. He was the talking fishbone that could barely lift a weapon. He never had to worry about anyone but himself, really. But now? There was more at stake than just his puny well being.

Hiccup squeezed Astrid’s sleeping form a little closer against him, planting a tender kiss to her golden crown. He kept his lips pressed in her hair and whispered the three words he wished to utter aloud, “I love you.”

As if his confession stirred her from slumber, Astrid shifted in his arms. Her hair brushed his jawline as she lifted her head to sleepily look at him. Hiccup waited with bated breath. Had she heard his confession? Would she return the endearment? The first signs of daylight were peeking on the horizon, and the lamp continued to burn low on the bedside table. She blinked her eyes, still puffy from the breakdown she’d had not even a couple hours before.

Astrid cupped his cheek, her fingertips brushing softly on his skin. Hiccup nuzzled into her palm. He’d never had the chance to feel a loving touch before. He never knew his mother and his father only held him as a young boy. He’d longed for something his skin had never experienced. But now, he could have it and he closed his eyes to savor the caress of Astrid’s hand upon his cheek.

He was pleasantly surprised with a soft kiss that he returned in sweet pecks. They continued to plant little kisses on each other’s lips as Astrid pull him with her to sit up on the bed. They’d both gotten better at kissing, having lots of practice as of late. Hiccup was thankful they’d gotten passed the awkward dance of shyness of expressing their affections.

With hand upon the back of his neck, Astrid drew him into a deeper kiss. A kiss that told of unspoken need. A kiss that told of unspoken of love. Astrid broke away, though only mere inches from Hiccup’s face. Their heavy breathes warmed each other’s faces. He longed to capture her lips with his once more, to pour out the love that were overflowing inside of him.

Then Astrid spoke the words that made his heart soar, “I want to be your wife in every way.”

He searched her face, the reassurance of her gaze leading him on. This was what he’d longed for. “I want to be your husband in every way.”

***

Rap. Rap.

Hiccup’s face scrunched at the loud noise banging in his head.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

He groaned at the noise banging faster. He rolled over to hide under his pillow, or at least he would have if he wouldn’t have been held down. He blinked away the blur in his vision to find an arm strapped over his chest. The golden crown of his wife was cushioned against his shoulder, and her leg was thrown over his. She was cuddled up to him like he was an oversized stuffed toy.

“Hiccup? Astrid?” the all-too familiar heavy lilt of Gobber called from outside.

Why was Gobber at their front door? Hiccup peered out the window, eyes widening in realization. It had to at least be lunchtime!

“Astrid!” he hissed, taping her arm splayed over his chest. She’d never slept this deeply before, and Hiccup wondered why she was so tired-

Oh.

The thoughts of their union just a couple hours ago suddenly slammed into his memory like a magnificent, engulfing wave. The innocent exploration of each other’s bodies. The awkward positioning as they figured out how to fit together. The satisfying pants on one another’s faces at the height of pleasure that hit all too soon. The odd thought that, yes, there was blood afterwards mingled in just as Astrid had said on their wedding night. Heat flushed on his face when Hiccup remembered they didn’t bother redressing and were sleeping against each other in their birthday suits.

Astrid rolled off him, eyes slit open just enough to see him. “Huh?”

Hiccup jumped out of bed. “Gobber is here looking for us. I think it’s lunchtime already!” Glancing down at himself, he flushed at his bare skinny body. No time to linger on the fact that he was completely nude in the middle of the day in front of his wife. He fumbled with his shirt that had been strewn on the floor, shivering at the chill of it on his warm skin. Not bothering to put on undershorts, he tugged on pants, nearly falling over in the process. He dashed down the stairs to the bottom floor, dodging furniture on the way to the front door.

Hiccup yanked open the door, revealing Gobber with hook hand half raised to knock. “Hey, Gobber,” he greeted, slightly winded. Hiccup tried to look casual as he leaned against the door, planting the other hand on his hip and giving a toothy smile that wasn’t fooling a yak.

“Hiccup, you and Astrid missed dragon training this morning. I was wondering if one of those beasts had eaten you two for breakfast.”

Hiccup focused a chuckle, trying to hold up his pants that he carelessly tied on while stumbling down the stairs. “No. Me and Astrid had a long night.” He feigned an exaggerated yawn. “We uh… just overslept.”

Gobber narrowed his beady eyes suspiciously then the older man’s bushy eyebrows lifted into his forehead. His mustache spread into a wide smile. “Oh, I see.” He leaned in close as if there were people around that might hear. There was actually no one nearby. “Did you two finally decide to take your honeymonth?”

If this was anyone besides Gobber, Hiccup would have been terrified of the consequences. But even so, he went stock still.

Gobber chuckled lightly. “Oh, don’t worry, Hiccup. Your secret is safe with me. It’s okay that it didn’t happen right away. You two are young and still discovering your bodies. Ye just needed to get some practice in before the big event.”

Hiccup raked twitchy fingers through his hair that was most likely disheveled more than usual. As much as he wanted to sink into a hole talking about the private matter, he was thankful it was Gobber as the listening ear. Gobber was probably the only one in the entire village who’d take an understanding to their decision to wait. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Gobber straightened as he stood back. “You two kids take all the time ye need. I’ll see ye back at work when you’re ready.” He winked before lumbering off in the direction of the forge.

Hiccup stood there in the doorway wondering if that conversation actually just happened. They’d been a bit of controversy about him and Astrid not taking their honeymonth (but when was anything involving Hiccup not met with controversy). It was never addressed to them face to face, but Hiccup overheard hushed tones around the corners of buildings and passing conversation in the Great Hall. Why was the Chief’s son not spending the time with his new bride? But their consummation had been confirmed (though a little deceitfully), and they’d had permission from the Chief to continue their duties only because of the fast approaching winter months and the need to train the newest warriors for Berk’s defense against dragon raids.

Shaking himself out of his bewildering contemplation, Hiccup shut the door.

“Did Gobber give you an earful?”

Hiccup spun around to find Astrid at the top of the stairs. Dressed in a red tunic. His red tunic. With pale, bare legs extending from the hem. He stared, awestruck, mouth slightly gaping. He’d never seen her in red, but he knew instantly he wanted to see her in that color more often.

Hiccup swallowed. “He let us off the hook.” He gravitated toward Astrid descending the stairs like she was a magnet pulling him in. As if just the sheer act of kissing her wasn’t enough to make him think he was living in an amazing dream, his mind shifted once again to their marriage bed. How his lips yearned to kiss the column of her neck and beyond. “Somehow he figured out we hadn’t yet…y’know—” Hiccup laced his fingers together.

Astrid laughed softly. “If you wouldn’t have acted so obvious whenever he brought it up.”

“How am I supposed to act when talking about…that?” Most Viking men talked quite bluntly and with no shame about the makings of their marriage bed. If Hiccup was supposed to start talking that openly about his and Astrid’s privacy, then he’d rather stay in his perpetual awkward state.

Astrid sighed with a little grunt and met him in the middle of the room. “I don’t know.” Her hand found his shoulder while her other lingered on his chest, teasing the skin between his loosened shirt ties. “I’m happy we became husband and wife completely.”

Hiccup felt the breath in his lungs shudder in delight. His hands found her hips. Astrid snaked arms around his neck as he drew her closer. “Me too.” He couldn’t help the soft smile that crossed his lips. “Gobber excused us from our duties.”

Astrid grinned, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger. “That means we can—”

“Go fly Toothless farther again--Ow!” Hiccup retreated into a defensive position when Astrid’s fist smacked his shoulder. “What was that for!?”

Astrid crossed arms over her chest. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m competing with a dragon for your affection.” Her mouth was an unamused straight line, but her eyes still held a twinkle.

“Toothless can’t give me this,” he replied in a deep suave tone. He pulled her by the biceps, planting a gentle peck on her lips. He shrugged a shoulder, looking thoughtful. “I mean, he could but it’d be way slobberier.”

Astrid’s grin was back. “I can hit you again, if you’d like?”

They dissolved into laughter until the moment had passed.

“What’re we going to do about the dragon’s nest?” The question sobered the mood and laid a heavy blanket of burden around them.

Hiccup frowned. “I don’t know. Not yet, at least.” The fear that clinched his heart when the massive dragon emerged from the pit returned, but that was nothing compared to losing Astrid off the back of Toothless. He could still feel the sensation of her sobbing in his arms and the fierce need to protect her that had awoken inside him.

Caressing her cheek, he vowed to her with all that was inside him, “I promise, I’ll protect you.”

Astrid search his eyes then shook her head, determined and strong as the Astrid he knew. “No, Hiccup. We protect each other.”

They held each other there in the middle of the living room, the promise bonding them together. Hiccup never knew he could feel this intensely for anything, but as they stayed there, he knew without a shadow of doubt that he’d formulate a plan to protect Berk and the dragons and Toothless. But most of all, the girl that he loved.

***

Writer’s note: It finally happened! I’d gone back and forth ever since I started this fic with whether I’d have them consummate the marriage during this fic. As the story progressed, it felt like it should happen. I’m not completely satisfied how some of this chapter came out. There were two moments that I’d been working up to and I felt I didn’t emphasize them enough. But I’ve been working on this chapter for like nearly a month now and if those parts hadn’t improved yet, then they probably weren’t going to. I’m happy with how the story is playing out and there’s so many more big things that are about to happen!

Thank you to all y’all who are keeping up with this story! I really hoped y’all are getting the same enjoyment I’m getting from writing it <3

Tags: @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e @celtictreemuffin @hey-its-laura-again

#httyd fanfiction #hiccstrid #arranged marriage au #the home we built together

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years ago

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Open Flames: Chapter 20

Also known as...the epilogue

Ao3

If I asked Fuse what her favorite part of our honeymonth was, I’d guess it was when I told my mom to ‘go away’ a little less than charitably because she thought she could interrupt our second day of wedded bliss to ask some question about some random thing that Acting Chief Hiccup could obviously handle. If Fuse asked me the same question, I’d probably say what happened immediately after I told my mom to ‘go away’, because that was a memorable way to accidentally knock the weapons rack off of the wall and then realize no one could yell at us because it is our wall.

If this hypothetical conversation happened in the first few days after the wedding, in that wave of the novelty of true, uninterruptible privacy that momentarily made Fuse do her best and mostly succeed to forget that she was pretty miserably pregnant, my answer would have garnered an enthusiastic response. Any other time in the last month she probably would have rolled her eyes and asked me to rub her feet.

Which I would have done. Happily. Without question.

As always, I’d do anything to make Fuse safer or better.

But this morning, when she assured me that burning Snoggletog breakfast didn’t make her sick while her hands curled into white-knuckled balls of pain at her side, there was nothing I could do. She told me to get the midwife with the same even voice she uses to guide shaky hands into building bombs, and I did it, moving mechanically like she always wants me to around explosives.

All day, for the first time, I haven’t been able to stop what’s hurting her. My axe hanging useless on the crooked weapons rack, fists clenched against the urge to try and take control of the uncontrollable.

“Does he need to wait outside?” The midwife asks, yanking me out of my panic, and Fuse – Fuse, who I put into this situation – has the gall to look worried about me for a mortifying second. “If he forgot how to move, I can get Arvid to drag him out by his toes.”

Not a good look for a Chief. Or a man.

Or a dad.

“Fuck,” I swear at the situation. At the house. At myself. At the obligation to compose my face, to be a Chief, to be there for Fuse even when I want to apologize over and over every time I see the contents of one of those medical buckets. “I’m good. I’m good.”

And then Fuse is breaking my hand and the midwife is encouraging her and then silence. The worst thing I’ve ever heard.

It stretches. Seconds. Years. Eons.

My useless axe couldn’t cut the tension.

My knees shake.

Then there’s a cry.

A baby’s cry.

A shrill, instantly recognizable cry that makes me want to get that axe and face outwards from the doorway, but I can’t, because the baby is wrapped in a blanket and shoved hastily in my arms while the midwife works.

“It’s a girl,” she says, offhand, like it’s not the most important thing she’ll ever say.

And the silence in my head is the loudest, longest, beat of my life, looking down at that red little face.

The baby’s furious. Beyond pissed.

I get it.

Hel, I just spent a month with nothing but Fuse and after being forced into the world I feel like sobbing. And I have distractions.

There’s something Fuse-like in the twist of the little girl’s anger. Something righteous and unhinged and the weight of my two Fuse’s slams into my chest like a battering ram.

I don’t remember sagging down against the wall, bundle in my arms. I don’t remember crying. I just know I have to wipe tears from my eyes when I hear the second cry, this one higher pitched as a wriggling, arching little thing is wrapped in another blanket.

“Another girl,” the midwife says, holding the screaming bundle in my direction.

“You mean,” I jump upright as carefully as I can, still supporting myself on the wall, scared to take even a hand off of the bundle in my arms, “both? I—”

“You’re going to have to get used to having your hands full,” she adjusts my arms with brusque, bloody hands and sets the second baby in them.

In theory, she pats my shoulder in a matronly way. I theoretically feel it and nod like her words made some kind of sense. In practice, I float, lost in two tiny, indignant faces I almost recognize.

Here they are.

After all that, here they are.

“Hand me the older one,” the midwife prompts and I reflexively shake my head, holding both bundles closer to my chest. Her eyes are irritated but kind as she raises an eyebrow, “she needs to eat. Unless you were intending to feed her.”

“I’ll feed her,” I insist mindlessly. “How—I mean, how do I feed her?”

“By handing her to your wife, Chief.” The midwife says the title like a mild admonishment, and I flush.

“Right. I knew that. I know that.” I reluctantly allow her to take the older twin, clutching the younger one to my chest as I appear by the bed, my feet insubstantial against the floor as I allow myself to take in the scene.

Fuse. Obviously exhausted, pink hair stuck to her face, head back against a pile of pillows. A baby in her arms, expression placid and overwhelmed as she listens to the midwife and tries to position the squirming bundle against her chest.

I clear my throat. She glances at me and there’s all that understanding, all that coping, all that resilience that’s always left behind after the blast. It’s all familiar, all such a relief that I can barely breathe as I sit on the edge of the bed before my quaking knees dump me on my ass.

The older twin goes to sleep after she eats, a squishy little bundle with red-brown hair tucked under Fuse’s arm as I reluctantly hand over the younger girl, her hair just starting to show blonde where it’s brushed clean on the blanket. I was hoping for pink, but she has Fuse’s nose and I don’t remember the last time I was this lost for words.

Probably when I was our babies’ age and didn’t know any words.

Gods, they don’t know any words. I have to teach them everything and keep them safe and I cradle my head in my hands, trying not to dwell on how easy it’s going to be to mess up.

“I’m going to let you two get settled while I go tell your families,” the midwife starts picking up her supplies and I sit upright.

“You’re leaving?” I fumble for the words, “does that—what if—it’s over?” I look at Fuse, all three of my Fuses, impossibly safe and tired and terrifying, because of how much they need me. Because all that’s left in me is how much I need them.

“Unless you think there’s a third.” The midwife raises that eyebrow at me, and I get the feeling she’s thinking about moving to some other island with a chief who makes sense. “I’ll be back.”

“You’re alright.” I let myself say it once the heavy front door is shut and we’re alone, let the relief bleed around it, let my hand shake now that I can’t drop anything.

“That’s one word for it,” Fuse mutters under her breath, but my expression makes her pause and she sighs, shifting a bit uncomfortably, “I will be. Just…a long day.”

“Why?” I snort even though I don’t think it’s explicitly a joke, scooting a little closer and barely biting back a sigh of relief when she lifts her head for me to slip my arm behind it, like she doesn’t hate me even after what I just put her through. “Been busy?”

“A little bit.” She glares at me, eyes blue fire, and that’s the same too, like I really managed not to lose any of her in the multiplication.

“I’ll trade you for the next one,” I glance between the two babies, still more than a little in awe of how persistently they’re existing here, “I can do the hard part while you freak out and the midwife makes fun of you.”

“Next one?” She huffs, intact eyebrow raised.

“I was operating under the impression that the grumpiness was supposed to end when you weren’t pregnant anymore,” I joke, kissing her forehead, happy pang in my stomach when that little blonde head nestles against my chest.

“To be fair, I said I’d be grumpy as long as I couldn’t see my toes,” she leans back against my arm a little harder, circles under her eyes prominent as the other baby fusses, less furious than before, little hand fisting in the blanket.

I glance at Fuse’s foot peeking out from the blankets and laugh, “and you haven’t looked yet?”

“I don’t intend to.” She almost laughs, breathy and exhausted as she leans a little harder into my side. The older twin fusses again, bordering on a cry. “Can you take her?” She asks, a little unsure of herself, holding the little blonde bundle like some rare and exciting mineral she hasn’t worked with before, but believes will combust especially impressively.

“Sure. Yeah.” I nod, apologizing at least a dozen times under my breath throughout the clumsy shuffle as Fuse adjusts the blankets and picks up the older baby, steady hand gentle against the back of her neck.

My hands feel too big, too rough, ill-equipped and shaky as my thumb brushes a blonde curl away from a tiny furrowed eyebrow. Fuse’s eyebrow as if it had never been burned, focused on something no one else can see.

“Gods, she looks like you,” Fuse mumbles, looking down at the older twin in her arms, temple on my chest.

“Are you kidding me?” I kiss the top of her head, “did you hear her screaming? All you.”

“This is your morning face,” she insists, “exactly.”

I look down at the babies, the older one’s grumpy face and the younger one’s blonde curls, seeing Fuse in every twitch of tiny fingers.

“We have to name them,” I say a bit slowly, awkwardly, trying not to show how nervous I’ve been for this part. It’s obvious that Fuse picks up on it anyway because she kisses my shirt and sighs, settling in for a conversation she’s obviously too tired to want to have. “I can’t keep referring to them as ‘older’ and ‘younger’ in my head.”

“One and two?” She offers and I shake my head.

“Of course, when I have my first opportunity to mess a kid up for life, I double down.” I can’t imagine shoving some of my own generational baggage down onto either of the nameless girls’ beautiful, wrinkled faces. I’m not going to lie, I feel like I’ve gotten off the hook a little bit because Eret IV, Hiccup IV, and Stoick III are all out of the running just due to gender.

“Sounds like you,” Fuse wakes up enough to mull the problem over properly, “they don’t look like Nuts to me.”

“Do twins names have to go together? Like a set?” I love how our house feels like an extension of my mind, like anything I think, I can say out loud and it’ll find purchase, not judgement. “Thunder and Drum. Or rhyme? Inga and Helga.” Nothing sounds right, and Fuse agrees from the way she shifts, silence heavy, shoulder digging into my ribs. “Purchase,” I gesture to the baby in her arms, “and Free Gift The Merchant Threw In For A Loyal Customer.”

“That’s a little wordy.”

“Maybe we should work off your name?” I don’t bring up mine and she doesn’t either and I love her so much I don’t know where to put it all. I’m glad for the girls to collect the love that feels like it’s spilling over. “Fuse, Grenade, and Aftershock. Casing and Powder. Blast and Shrapnel.”

She snorts half a tired laugh before sitting up a little straighter, “wait, Shrapnel.”

“I was kidding.”

“I’m not,” she tickles a chubby foot that has escaped the blanket bundle on my lap, “she is the second wave of destruction after the explosion.”

“Fuse and Shrapnel.” I mull it over and nod, “I like it. Halfway done.”

“The easy half,” she bounces the little girl in her arms.

“Just because Shrapnel is a side effect of an explosion doesn’t mean she’s not destructive,” I chide gently, that heavy bond in my chest deepening when I look at the baby on my lap and tie a name to her.

“No, I—whatever we choose has to sound good with Chief in front of it.”

“Oh.” I swallow, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“The future Chief of Berk,” Fuse says quietly, messing with chubby fingers until the baby girl’s face furrows.

I want to deflect. To say something stupid about how Shrapnel could stage a coup at any time. I want to tell Fuse that she doesn’t have to worry about that now, just how I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to worry about the mantle of Chief’s wife.

But she’s right. And as much as I hate needing it, especially now, her support makes the hazy future feel possible.

How much can I really mess up this dad thing if Fuse is helping me?

“So, it’s got to be easy to pronounce,” I swallow hard, “you know how Christians have problems with Viking names.”

“And it has to be strong. If she looks like you this much already, of course she’s going to be strong.”

I don’t see any of my scrawny, freckled mess in the baby’s perfect little face, but it’s not the time to argue.

“I hope she’s smarter than me,” I rest my cheek on Fuse’s head, “a little quicker on the uptake, maybe. Some of your common sense couldn’t hurt.”

“So, something with some strength, some wisdom.” A smile leaks into her voice, the kind of sly smile that usually only follows billowing smoke and destruction, “something that looks good in an Edda claiming victory over an enemy.”

“There are a few Sigrids in my family tree,” I offer, “victorious, wise, easy for Christians to pronounce as they run away screaming.”

“Sigrid Haddock, Heir to the throne of Berk,” Fuse whispers like she’s scared to say it louder, like I’m not the only one who feels like I’m going to wake up to some other, worse reality. “How do we make it official?”

“I think I just tell Rolf to write it down,” I kiss her ear, the top of her head, trying to communicate how amazing she is and knowing I’ll never quite get there, “one of the perks of being Chief.”

Fuse hums in agreement, half asleep, and I’m settling in for a shift as her dedicated pillow when the front door swings open and the midwife steps inside, asking how Fuse is doing and leading a small group of people along with her.

Tuffnut is first, holding a stuffed Zippleback toy half his size with a white knuckled grip and a worried expression that I recognize as similar to my own before I realized that Fuse was ok. My mom is white faced but excited, eyes widening when she sees the baby on my lap. My dad is with her, also searching for the babies, counting really, like he also doesn’t trust the good news until he catalogs everyone.

Hiccup trails behind a little bit, as unsure if he’s invited as his name is in my head, and I kiss the top of Fuse’s head as I wiggle my arm out from behind her, standing slowly, carefully, Shrapnel’s tiny body more precious and fragile than anything I’ve ever held.

“Can you shut the door?” I ask when the Snoggletog wind whips through the room, trying not to panic when the gust of cold makes Shrapnel’s face screw up as she lets out a single, indignant cry. “It’s ok,” I bounce her like I’ve seen Rolf do, but it doesn’t seem to cheer her up any, “your grandpa is shutting the door.”

“On it,” he says too quickly, and if I weren’t so busy trying to prevent my baby from crying, I’d comment on how Hiccup sounds like he’s about to join in.

“Two healthy baby girls,” the midwife assures as the door clicks shut and my dad tosses a log on the fire without me having to ask, “one healthy mom.”

Mom.

Fuse is a mom.

It’s the first time I’ve heard it and I look up at her, again searching for some sort of change, something that’s getting away from me. But she’s still Fuse, thanking her dad for the Zippleback and rolling her eyes when he ruffles her hair.

“One overwhelmed new dad,” Hiccup jokes and I nod, willingly admitting to that much.

Dad.

I’m a dad. It’s different when people say it out loud.

“Do you want to hold her?” I ask, glancing at Fuse to double check that it’s ok, but she’s already handed off Sigrid to her dad, who’s cooing enthusiastically over her and saying something about the chaos she’ll cause.

“Y—Absolutely,” Hiccup nods and I carefully rest my daughter—I have a daughter. I have two daughters—in his arms.

“Hold her head.”

“Of course,” he says, humoring me, even as Mom steps up beside him and gives me a fond, exasperated smile.

“He has held a baby before.”

“You haven’t been a dad before,” he tells her gently, voice low as he rocks Shrapnel, “he’s got to be protective, he can’t help it.”

“She’s beautiful.” When Mom looks between her husband and me, there’s a ghost of that old ‘what if’ I used to hate on his face, but now it just makes me think about what it would have felt like not to be able to hold my baby the second they came into the world. “Older or younger?”

“Younger,” I nod, “by all of a few minutes, so I don’t know how much it matters but…”

“It’ll matter to them,” my dad points out, very carefully taking Sigrid from Tuffnut and smiling at her.

“Ruffnut never forgave me for beating her on the way out,” Tuffnut shakes his head, “you’ve got a long life of guilt trips ahead of you, little miss.” He frowns, “assuming this one is the girl twin.”

“They’re both girls,” I correct him, risking the few steps of distance from my parents to stand next to Fuse, hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah, but which one’s the boy?” He asks and Fuse sighs, exhausted.

“Dad, there’s no boy.”

“But they’re twins.” Tuffnut looks around the room confused and for the first time today, the midwife is looking at someone other than me like they’re the dumbest person on Midgard.

“Twins who are both girls,” Hiccup cradles the head, like I asked, as he hands Shrapnel carefully to my mom.

“Yeah, but which one’s the boy?”

“Neither,” I say, the room feeling a little smaller than it did a few minutes ago. A little more cramped. “Because they’re both girls.”

“No, really,” he laughs, “which one’s the boy?”

I look down at Fuse, her pale face barely sustaining her irritated expression, and sometimes, the Chief mantle isn’t as heavy as I feared it would be.

“Ok, everybody out,” I clap my hands together before reaching out towards my dad, “baby please.”

“I’m just asking—”

“Tuffnut,” I nudge my chin towards the door as I accept Sigrid, “get out of my house.”

“Mom needs her rest,” the midwife is finally my ally, helping me herd the extra family towards the door.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” My mom asks, hesitant to hand Shrapnel over.

“I’m good,” I insist, feeling overwhelmed but symmetrical when she sets the baby in my free arm.

“Come on,” Hiccup takes her hand and tugs, and I don’t know what to do with how easy it is for him to be on my side right now, but I’m glad for it, “let’s get back to the feast, I have a lot to brag about.”

“If you’re sure—”

“He’s sure,” Dad helps move her towards the door and then we’re alone again. The four of us.

My family within the family.

Fuse yawns, scooting down in bed a bit with a wince that makes my chest hurt.

“Get some rest,” I look down at the babies in my arms, both of their eyes closed, their barely there weight soothing. “I’ve got this for a while.”

“You could put them down and come rest with me,” she offers, already comfortable in the center of the bed and I smile.

“Maybe later,” I shrug, barely, my always moving hands finally forced still like Fuse is always trying to do. “I’ve got a lot to tell these girls, might as well get started.”

“They need to sleep too,” she says like she feels like she has to, but she’s looking at me with a soft, hazy expression I can’t possibly deserve before she yawns again.

“I’m not stopping them.” I adjust my grip and Sigrid’s little hand escapes the blanket, fingers curling reflexively against my shirt. “They like my voice, remember?”

“I love you,” she says, quiet and sleepy, tugging the blankets further around her shoulders.

“Love you too.” I’m not sure if she hears me, because her light snores start almost immediately, chest rising and falling evenly under the covers.

I walk to the small front window, mostly to check on the snow, but the torchlight in the village catches my eye. My village.

I look down at my daughters. Our village.

“This is Berk,” I whisper, swallowing hard and watching the fluffy snow drift towards the ground, casting shadows across my babies’ faces when it passes in front of the moon. “Our home for eight—well, nine generations. It snows so much that the only way you can really tell that it’s winter is when you haven’t seen the sun for the better part of a month. The food is…mostly mutton, I’m not going to lie to you. Lots of mutton now that we have fewer dragons than ever, but that’s alright, the ones sticking around are family.”

I’m unsure what to do with the feeling that this day, this conversation, this moment is the first of many, not part of a countdown, but I’m glad for the change.

#eret iii #festerverse #that's all folks #open flames #sigrid and shrapnel haddock #are my life

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cateredsolutions-blog · 7 years ago

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DID YOU KNOW THIS? https://www.pinterest.com/francillafreema/did-you-know-this/

National Honey Month!

#NationalHoneyMonth #HoneyMonth

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ilovesocksandsouls · 7 years ago

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Honey Month is a celebratory and promotional event held annually during the month of September. #Honey #honeymonth #september #socks #honeysocks #honeybear #socksofthemonth #socksandsouls

#honeybear #honey #socks #september #honeymonth #socksofthemonth #honeysocks #socksandsouls

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thatsnicebutimmarried · 7 years ago

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The Unfortunate Mrs. Haddock

Hey...so...I have had this thing in my head for like...years now, and I have no idea if anyone will even care about it, but I decided to write it anyway. I’m not cross posting this on ff.net or AO3, because I know how this fandom is and I don’t want to deal with all the people yelling at me because this isn’t their cup of tea and they don’t know how to just stop reading.

Because this is hiccstrid, but like...not openly? Like. I wanted to play with the idea of an arranged political marriage AU and it turned into angst and Hiccup and Astrid kind of being jerks but then Gustav showed up and became a major character? Like...I know what kind of response this would get. So I’m just posting it on tumblr. Plus I’ll probably only update it super sporadically, because I still need to finish posting Persephone (which I haven’t done because the last round of reviews pissed me off and I’m just avoiding it for a while) and because this is such a loose thread of a story. And there’s hiccstrid in the background, but it’s narrated by an OC that most fans would probably hate simply for existing so...I’m just posting this here for now. I like it and I wanted to write it. So here’s the first chapter of a weird AU in which everyone is kind of a jerk.

The room feels far too quiet after the revelry and noise of today. I mean, it was pretty quiet when the witnesses were here to watch my new husband remove my bridal crown, but at least then there was the shuffling of feet and the odd cough or cleared throat. Now even the sound of their footsteps leaving our new house has faded off into the distance, and it’s just the crackling fire and our breathing.

I’m not really sure what to do now. My mother told me what to expect from this night, but so far nothing has quite gone like I expected it to. I’m nervous, of course, but kind of excited. I guess I expected that as soon as our witnesses were out of earshot my husband would sweep me off my feet and into the big bed in the center of the room. Instead he just sighed, took a flask of something I assume to be alcoholic out of a drawer of the desk in the corner, and collapsed into the chair and started drinking, not looking at me the whole time.

He…he hasn’t really looked at me much at all today. I mean, he has looked at me. He has smiled vaguely in my direction at all the right times, but I don’t think he has met my eyes more than a handful of times all day, and never for longer than a second or so. I think he must be as nervous as I am. Maybe more?

Did I look that pretty today? Mama and the other women from my village spent hours braiding my hair, applying the kohl around my eyes and the paint on my lips just so, and my dress was so beautiful. Our island is known for our access to precious metals and gemstones, and my dress was decorated with hundreds of tiny gemstone beads. I thought I looked really beautiful, but my groom barely seemed to notice, I thought. Or maybe Mama was right; I was so pretty he couldn’t meet my eye.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and the sound makes my new husband look up. I give him my sweetest smile and pat the bed next to me. He stares at me for a moment before taking a long swig of his flask.

He’s been drinking a lot today. I know it’s a Viking wedding and those usually involve mass quantities of mead and ale, but I’m starting to wonder if the amount he’s been drinking is normal. He looks too skinny to have that high of an alcohol tolerance.

When he doesn’t look back at me I clear my throat but he ignores me, staring into a corner. He must just be really nervous. Or drunk. He seemed so nice when I met him before. Maybe that was the problem; we didn’t get to spend enough time together before the wedding.

Maybe I need to…maybe I need to entice him. I stand up, which earns me a quick glance, and start pulling my night dress over my head.

“Woah, woah, woah, stop! What do you think you’re doing?” I freeze, my night dress around my arms and chest, and look at my husband. He’s looking determinedly in the opposite direction with one hand outstretched towards me.

“I, um, I’m getting undressed?” I answer with a nervous giggle.

“Well stop, put your clothes back on!” He snaps, and I frown, letting my night dress fall back into place.

“Why?”

“Why,” he repeats, and chuckles bitterly under his breath before taking a drink from his flask. “Why the hell are you undressing in front of me to begin with?”

“Well,” I begin, trying to keep the nervous giggles at bay, and step slowly towards him, “I mean, today was our wedding day. So, tonight is our wedding night.” He actually looks at me this time, and I give him my biggest, sweetest smile.

He frowns at me. “How old are you again?” he asks.

“Sixteen.”

“Fuck me,” he groans, and drinks from his flask, but, he doesn’t say it the way I expected he might. It’s not a request, it’s a lamentation, and I frown.

“Is that a problem? Am I…too old or something? I promise I’m still a virgin.” I’m halfway through this sentence when he chokes on his mead.

“Too old?” he splutters, wide eyes staring at me. “Gods fucking…” He hasn’t even finished coughing up his first gulp before he starts chugging his flask again.

I start to fidget, picking at the lace hem of my sleeve. He’s definitely drunk, isn’t he? “If you’re nervous, don’t feel bad, I am too,” I say, trying for a smile again. “We can take things slow. I mean, we haven’t even properly kissed yet. You just sort of pecked my cheek at the ceremony.” I flop back onto the bed and strike a pose that I hope is seductive. “Come on, we’re married now.” I grin at him. “We’re allowed.” For all my bravado I’m honestly a bit terrified. I mean, I’m excited too, anxiety and anticipation all wrapped up into a ball of nervous energy in my stomach.

I did as Mama always said. I was the good girl. I waited, I kept myself pure, kept my honor intact, and the gods have rewarded me with a handsome and powerful husband. That’s part of why I’m nervous, to be honest. I know I’m pretty but I think I’m pretty in a young sort of way. The young chief of Berk is older than me, handsome and grown up and strong somehow despite how thin he looks. When I first met him I thought he had the kindest eyes I’d ever seen, all warm green and smiling. He was nice to me for those two days. He hasn’t been as nice to me today, but I guess planning a chief’s wedding is a lot of stress, and he’s probably just tired.

But I’m…I’m ready for this. I’m ready for this handsome young man to make me his wife.

My husband rubs his eyes and sighs. “Okay, look, Ma-mag, fuck, what was your name again? Something about maggots,” he mumbles, and my smile slips.

“Maggotha,” I offer.

“Right,” he looks at me, “Maggotha—“

“Or Maggie,” I cut in, smiling. “Or Mags.”

He blinks at me, swaying slightly. “That’s too many names. What do I-what do I call you? Pick one.”

I’m fighting to keep my smile now. “Um, I guess most people call me Maggie.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, Maggie, look, you need to—“ While he’s talking I start slowly pulling the hem of my dress up, uncovering my legs. The hem reaches my thighs when he notices, and his eyes bulge and he stops talking.

He lunges towards me and grabs the hem of my dress. For a moment my heart hammers because oh my gods it’s happening, but then he yanks my hem down over my legs and stumbles a few steps back, panting.

“For gods’s sake, Maggie, would you stop it!” It’s not a question, it’s an order, and he’s outright glaring at me now. All that kindness I saw in his eyes has evaporated, and he’s looking at me like an angry parent. “I’m not going to sleep with you!”

My smile is gone now, and I sit up. “What? Why? Are you too tired? Because it’s been a long day, and if you want to wait until tomorrow, I mean, we’ve got our whole honeymonth to—“

He’s been rubbing his eyes again and holds his hand out to stop me. “Stop, stop,” he interrupts finally, and turns a hard look my way. “I’m not sleeping with you tonight. I’m not sleeping with you tomorrow. I’m not having sex with you at all. Ever.”

My heart drops into my stomach. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. You’re teasing me. Right?” That hard look doesn’t leave his eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Because you’re fucking sixteen, that’s why. You’re a godsdamn child.” He starts back to his desk and his flask and I sit up on my knees glaring at him.

“I am not a child!” I proclaim, and almost wince when my voice goes shrill in just such a way to make me sound like a child. “I am a grown woman, and your wife. I am old enough to be fertile, and I’m old enough to be taken into my husband’s bed and bear him children and—“

“Oh my gods!” He exclaims to no one in particular. He looks at me over the rim of his flask. “You sound like such a kid right now and you don’t even realize it.” He takes another drink before fixing me with a stare. “You’re six-fucking-teen. You think you’re so grown up because that’s what everyone thinks at that age. Thor knows I did. But you’re a kid. And I know you’re a kid because I’m not.”

I frown indignantly. “You’re not that much older than me.”

“I’m five years older than you.”

“That’s not that many. My dad is almost a decade older than my mom.”

He rolls his eyes, and everything about this conversation feels unfair. He’s talking to me like I’m a child, and I’m not. “My dad was exactly a decade older than my mom, but she was at least an adult when they got married. If you were a few years older then five years wouldn’t be that big of a difference, but you’re not. You look like a kid, you act like a kid, and I’m not sleeping with you. That’s final.”

He turns away from me entirely and I feel fury rising in my chest and coursing like shockwaves through my whole body. I clumsily climb off the bed and stumble to my feet in front of him, standing my ground even though he has at least a foot on me. “I am not a child! I am a grown woman, and I am your wife, and this is my wedding night!”

He rounds on me. “It’s not supposed to be!” He roars, and I go silent. He’s glaring, practically snarling at me now. “This wasn’t supposed to be your wedding, or your wedding night! You were never supposed to be my wife!” He waves a hand around the room. “This isn’t supposed to be your house, or your bedroom, or your marriage bed!”

I find my voice. “Yes it is, and yes I was, that’s what the whole point of the contract you signed with my father was about!”

“Oh my gods,” he throws his hands up and turns away, pacing around the room for a moment before stalking back to tower over me. “Do you remember what I said to you the day we first met?”

I swallow. “You said a lot of things that day, how am I—“

“Come on, you’re not this stupid, what did I say to you, that very first day, the first moment we had alone, on the specific topic of us getting married?”

I lick my lips and clear my throat. “Mama said that men often pretend not to be interested in order to make you want them more, and that if I just continued to be sweet to you and---“

“Oh for fucks sake!” My husband looks ready to pull his own hair out. “You have no idea how naive you are, you stupid, selfish child!” I take a step back. He takes a deep breath and glares at me. “I told you that I didn’t want to marry you. I told you that the only reason it was even on the table was because your father was threatening war against my people, and even with dragons we’re still recovering from our last war and are in no position to start a new one if it can be avoided. I told you that I wouldn’t make a good husband for you. I told you that your father was the one pushing for the marriage contract, not me, and that he wouldn’t take no for an answer from me. I told you that he’d listen to you if you told him that you didn’t want to marry me. I told you to tell him that you didn’t like me, that you didn’t want to move to Berk to marry someone you didn’t even like and that he should make a different peace arrangement because you refused to marry me.

“He wouldn’t listen to me because he thought I was trying to get a better deal out of the negotiations, and he wanted his only daughter married to a powerful chief because he cares about you so much. But if you told him you wouldn’t marry me he would have listened. We would have worked out different terms, we would have avoided war, and I would be spending this night in bed with the woman I was supposed to marry!”

“M-mama said that-“

“Well your mother lied,” he snaps, and I flinch. “Or else she was overly optimistic. I had to set someone aside for you, do you realize that?” I can’t look at him anymore. I don’t like this. I don’t like being talked to like a naughty child on my godsdamn wedding night by my own husband. “I’d been engaged for over two years, and the only reason I wasn’t already married by the time your war-crazed father came into the picture was because I pushed my wedding back in order to grieve after my dad fucking died!” I hear him huff and I just want to leave. “You have no idea how many lives you’ve ruined because you believed that if you were just cute enough and nice enough I’d fall madly in love with you. I married you because I didn’t have any fucking choice, not because I wanted to.”

“If you just give me a chance-“

“Do you know what this has done to the girl I was supposed to marry?”

I don’t want to hear about this. I ball my hands into fists. “I’m sure she’ll find someone else.”

His bitter laughter is my answer. “You don’t know how anything works, do you? I was with her for six years. I’d already deflowered her and everyone knew it, but no one dared say anything because they all knew I was going to marry her and you don’t start calling the future chief’s future wife a slut. But now? Her prospects are shot. Her family isn’t nobility. The bride price I already paid has helped them but they were counting on the social standing this marriage would have given them. She won’t find another match like this. And fuck, it’s not like I want her to.” He sighs again. “I was supposed to be with the girl I love, and instead I’m stuck with some kid.”

I stare at the floor while he stomps back over to his desk and collapses into the chair. When I look up he’s got his elbows on his desk and his face buried in his hands. He breathes deeply for a moment, and we he lifts his face from his hands to speak he sounds calmer.

“I shouldn’t yell at you like this, I’m sorry,” he says, though there’s still an edge to his voice. “You didn’t do all this on purpose; you’re just too young and dumb to realize what you’ve done.” He turns to look at me, and his face is like stone. “I can’t promise to love you. I can promise you that I won’t ever love you. I can’t promise to make you happy or give you children. I won’t sleep with you. I won’t consummate this sham of a marriage, which will make it a lot easier when you wise up and decide to get out of it. I won’t give you children. If you try to get pregnant through someone else and claim it as mine then I won’t recognize it as my child and I sure as shit won’t make it my heir. If you want to sleep around then I don’t care, I won’t promise you fidelity anyway.” He shrugs. “I’ll try to be nice and I’ll try not to yell and I can promise I’ll never hit you, but I can’t promise that you will ever be happy here. This village doesn’t want to accept you and you’ll have a hard time fitting in. Your honest best bet for happiness is to go home and tell your father you want out.”

“You…you tried to tell me all of this once before.”

“And you didn’t fucking listen, and now we’re here. Here’s your chance to fix your mistake.”

I’m shaking. My whole body is shaking and I think I might cry. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I wanted. He’s supposed to fall for me. That’s what Mama said. I have to be sweet, and kind, and loving, and in time he’ll see me for the amazing person I am and he’ll fall in love with me. It takes time in arranged marriages, that’s what she said. It just takes time.

“I made my vows,” I say quietly, still staring at the floor. “I’m not backing out of this. I’m not giving up. You just don’t know me yet. Once you do, you’ll see. And…and we’ll be happy.”

I don’t look up at my husband’s disappointed sigh. “Then I guess we’ll all just be miserable then. That or I’ll wait until the rebuilding is done and go to fucking war.” I look up at that. Berk’s young chief, my handsome and unwilling new husband, is pulling on a jacket and slipping his flask into his pocket. “We’ve got dragons for Thor’s sake. I should have just taken the Honor Guard and decimated your father’s armada when I had the chance. But no, I wanted to be diplomatic. I didn’t want my first act as chief to be the destruction of another tribe’s fishing and trading ships.”

He walks to the bedroom door and yanks it open. “Wait!” I follow him through the main room and watch as he grabs his helmet and pulls open the front door, whistling for his dragon, who drops from the roof to meet him. I stop in the middle of the room, still too scared of that great big dragon he claims is friendly to go any closer. “Where are you going?” I try for demanding, but it just comes out sounding pitiful. He throws another dismissive glare over his shoulder as he mounts his dragon.

“It’s my wedding night,” he sneers derisively. “I’m going to get laid.” He takes off before I can say another word. The cold air blows in through the open door as I stand in my quiet house, that isn’t really my house.

I wrap my arms around myself. “Mama said marriage is hard,” I remind myself. “It takes time.” I try to hold it back but I start sniffling anyway. “It just takes time…right?”

There’s no one there to answer me.

I have been married for a week, and my new husband has said maybe seven words to me in that entire time, aside from all the yelling on what should have been our wedding night. That boils down to a word a day, and even that is being generous. He's the chief, so I get that he's busy, but I would have thought he'd carve some time out for his honeymonth...and maybe he would have, if I was the mysterious girl he set aside for me. As it stands though, I'm just me. Just some stupid kid that apparently ruined his life to such a degree that he feels justified taking out his anger in this petty childish way by ignoring my existence completely.

He's out so late there's no point in my waiting up for him, and he's always out the door before I wake up, assuming he came home at all. When he does sleep here, it's in his old twin bed in the loft upstairs, while I curl up alone in the big bed in what used to be his father's bedroom downstairs. I tried climbing into bed with him one night, but his stupid dragon woke him up and he yelled at me.

I think that accounted for most of those seven words. What other interaction has mainly been grunting. For my part I've spent most of my time trying to turn this house into a home, putting out my things, blankets on the back of chairs and tablecloths on any surface I can find. Anything to make it feel like I sort of belong here. I cook for him, because I'm good at cooking and Mama always joked the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, but I don't think he's touched a bite I've cooked, other than maybe some leftovers when he's desperate. He eats in the Meade Hall most meals, or else makes his own or eats at his mother's. I keep trying though. I don't know what else I can do.

The people from my village leave the day after our wedding, Mama nudging me and whispering that no one wants to tear me away from my honeymonth, and that the sooner I'm with child the sooner he'll fall for me completely.

I didn't have it in me to tell her how unlikely that seems.

I try doing his laundry, which he seems begrudgingly thankful for, though I get the feeling he would rather I didn't.

Maybe because there are stains in his pants that my gut tells me are evidence of infidelity. Maybe. Maybe not. I...I honestly wouldn't be able to tell. I have only a theoretical knowledge about what such stains are supposed to look like, and I can't know if this is the result of him...taking care of things himself, or if his former fiance helped him out.

Speaking of which, I still have no idea who she is, but I do know that the entire village probably likes her more than me. I’ve actually ventured out of the house today, heading down to the market to get more food so I can try yet again to entice my husband with my culinary skills. I try smiling at everyone I make eye contact with, and about half of them give me awkward, pitying smiles, like they know I don't belong here and don't want to say it to my face. The other half look away quickly and start whispering to those grouped around them.

I'm wondering through the market, taking in the sights and trying to get an idea of where everything is when I collide with someone. I stumble backwards and trip on the hem of my dress, nearly falling over, but hands catch my arms from behind and steady me. I glance back to see my savior, and a boy with black hair and a patchy beard grins at me. He looks about my age, maybe a little older, that awkward handsome stage between teenager and young man. “You okay?” he asks, and I nod, smiling in thanks. I turn back around to see the person I ran into. It’s a young woman, maybe my husband’s age, and she doesn’t look happy.

“Um, I’m sorry about that,” I tell her, stifling nervous giggles. It’s a terrible habit and I hate it, but I can’t seem to help it. I get nervous, I giggle. For years it was okay, because it made me seem younger, and I’ve always been short for my age, so it was like a defense mechanism; remind people I’m just some tiny helpless girl and they’re less likely to get mad at me. As I’ve gotten older and reached the age where I need people to see me as an adult, it’s been less of an effective form of defense and more of an effective way of ensuring that everyone sees me as a child. I clear my throat and put on my most diplomatic smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I really am sorry.”

The older girl continues to look at me with something like bored annoyance. Like I’m a minor inconvenience she’d rather ignore. Her blue eyes are piercing and I shift uncomfortably on my feet and offer her a hand. “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know who you are. It was a very public wedding.”

My smile fades but I try to keep it in place. “Well, I guess so, yeah, everyone kind of knows who I am, but um, no one really knows me yet, so I figure I should start introducing myself to people, properly, you know? So, uh, hi, I’m Maggie Haddock.”

To my surprise the older girl scoffs. “No, you’re not,” she says flatly, rolling her eyes again. She glances behind her, and I see a group of people her age standing near a stall nearby catch her eyes and start snickering amongst themselves.

My hand is still awkwardly hanging in the air and I’m honestly not sure what to do with it. “Uh, I mean, I kind of am.” There’s that stupid nervous giggle again. “I mean, like you said, public wedding—“

She rolls her eyes again, still not actually looking at me. “You’re the chief’s wife but you’re not Maggie Haddock,” she intones, like I’m a stupid child who should know better. “I don’t know how they do it where you’re from, but around here women don’t take their husband’s family name. You’re still Maggie…whoever.”

I frown and drop my hand. “But I’ve heard plenty of women around here introduced as Mrs. Whoever, and it’s always their husband’s name.”

The girl sighs and crosses her arms over a chest far more impressive than my own. “That’s different,” she explains, forced patience dripping from every word. “That’s a title, a formality. You’re Mrs. Haddock,” and honestly she says it like it’s an insult and I don’t understand why, “just like my mother is Mrs. Hofferson, because that’s the house she’s the lady of, just like you’re the lady of the Haddock house.” She sounds bitter as she says the last part, and I wonder if she’s friends with the girl I replaced. “But while Mrs. Hofferson is a title and a form of respect, my mother’s name is still Ingrid Bjarnsen, and always will be. So no, you’re not Maggie Haddock.”

I finally drop my hand. “Oh. I uh. I didn’t know that’s how it worked around here. Where I’m from women are usually called by their husband’s last names, and a chief’s wife always takes his surname.”

“Well you aren’t there anymore, are you?”

This isn’t going well. So much for good first impressions with my new citizens. “Well, no. But, um,” I try smiling and holding out my hand again, “I’ll try again. Nice to meet you, I’m Maggie Rolvsdottir. Or Mrs. Haddock. Whatever you prefer.”

She stares at me for a long moment and then mutters, “Yeah, no, I’m not doing this,” and turns on her heel, stalking away from me and back to the group of friends. When she gets there another girl puts a hand on her shoulder which is swiftly shrugged off.

“Oh, okay?” I say to no one, and drop my hand. Well. That went great.

“Yeah, you’re not going to get the warmest reception from her,” says a voice behind me, and I turn to see my savior scratching the back of his head and looking after the girl with a crooked grimace. He catches my eye and smiles, holding out his hand, which I shake gratefully. “Gustav Larsen, by the way.”

“Maggie, or Mags. Whatever. Nice to meet you. I think you’re the first person to actually be nice to me so far.”

He shrugs. “I figure you didn’t purposefully dive into this fireworm nest.”

I only manage a hum in response to that. I start browsing the fruit at a nearby stand and glance at the girl who snapped at me. “So, why won’t I get a warm reception from her?” I nod at the girl.

Gustav looks surprised. “Has no one told you? That’s Astrid Hofferson.”

When this fails to elicit the response he was expecting Gustav winces and starts scratching at his patchy bead. “Ooooh, you don’t know, do you? Ah, well, let’s just say that’s the Fireworm Queen whose nest you dove into.”

I’m not totally stupid. It takes me a second of staring at Astrid Hofferson’s back but Gustav’s words and her attitude click together in my head and my stomach drops. “That’s the girl my husband was supposed to marry.”

“Yeah,” Gustav says slowly, like he’s apologizing. “You’re probably better off avoiding her and anyone close to her for a while. A long while. She’s not really someone whose bad side you want to be on, believe me.”

Astrid is still talking to her friends and I try to observe her surreptitiously over the fruit stand. At first glance it’s easy to see that she’s everything I’m not. She’s tall and thin but there’s obvious strength in her arms, and her chest and hips are far more impressive than mine. I’m short and skinny. Not thin, not lithe but strong, like she is; just skinny. Skinny and straight with a waist roughly the same diameter of my chest and my hips and legs like sticks. Her sleek blonde braid falls over her shoulder and shines in the sunlight. My mousy brown hair never shines like that no matter how much I wash or condition it. My hazel eyes have nothing on her blue ones.

I’m pretty, but I’m not that pretty.

My shoulders slump. “So that’s what I’ve got to compete with. I’m screwed.”

Gustav sucks in a breath. “That’s…not quite how I’d put it,” he says, but the way his voice cracks tells me that’s exactly how he’d put it. “You’ve uh, you’ve got a bit of an uphill battle, that’s all.”

I sigh. This all seemed a lot more doable before I saw who I was up against. “So. You said I need to avoid anyone close to her. Who all does that mean?” It would be nice to know who else is going to be mean to me before I get yelled at again.

Gustav sighs. “Okay, well, pretty much everyone she’s talking to right now.” The group is ignoring us and he points as subtly as he can. “So for sure the Thorston twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut. They’re hardcore loyal to Astrid and she and Ruff are best friends. The guy with black hair, I don’t know if you’ve met him yet, but that’s Snotlout Jorgenson.”

“He’s Hiccup’s cousin,” I fill in. It’s strange, but it feels odd calling my husband by his name. Maybe it’s because I feel like I haven’t even actually met him yet. We’re married but still not on a first name basis. It somehow feels less personal to just call him ‘my husband’. “I met him during the negotiations.”

“Yeah, I thought you might,” Gustav says, “He and Hiccup were never exactly close, but they’ve been in the same circle of friends for years, and he’s one of the original dragon riders, so he’s loyal to Hiccup and Astrid. He’s got a thing for Ruffnut, that’s part of it too, I guess. Ruff is loyal to Astrid, and Snot’s gonna stay in Ruff’s good graces which means taking Astrid’s side too. Then next to him is Fishlegs. He’s way too nice of a guy to actually be mean to you or anything, but he’s one of the original riders and one of Hiccup and Astrid’s friends, which means you can expect him to be really awkward around you. The tall muscular guy is Eret. He might be nice to you just because he hasn’t been on Berk long enough to be as invested in the Hiccup/Astrid romance as the rest of the town has, but he was an outsider and they were the ones who made him a home here, and he owes a lot to them both so, he’ll definitely be on their side.”

“Great,” I murmur. “So I have to avoid all of my husband’s closest friends.”

“Unfortunately, pretty much yeah,” Gustav gives me an apologetic smile.

I sigh and idly examine and apple. “Anyone else I should avoid at all costs?”

Gustav leans against the stand and frowns pensively. “Well, the entire Hofferson clan is understandably pretty pissed off. And there are plenty of people in the village who aren’t happy about this but I don’t think that many are going to be openly hostile to you. Eh, you should maybe avoid any high-ranking military people though.”

That makes me frown. “Why? I’m the chief’s wife, I figure I’m going to have to interact with political people at some point.”

Gustav winces. “Oooh, yeah, that’s gonna make things awkward.” He sucks in air through his teeth. “I mean, the dragon riders are all on the council, and well, Astrid’s the military general.”

Wonderful. So everyone on this island hates me. I square my shoulders.

It doesn’t matter. Hiccup is the one that matters. If I can make my husband fall for me, the rest of the island will do the same. His old flame will just have to get over herself. I glance back at her despite myself. She’s just…so much prettier than me. And older. And apparently my husband has already slept with her.

I was always told men wanted their wives to be virgins. That feels stupid now. There have got to be some men who want wives who know what they’re doing.

“Hey Gustav,” I ask, because he’s been nice to me so far and hel if I know who else to ask these things, “You seem to know the chief and his friends pretty well, right?”

He shrugs. “I mean, I guess so. I’m a few years younger than them and while I’ve never qualified for Berk’s Honor Guard I’m still an official dragon rider, so yeah, I guess I know them as well as anyone outside that immediate circle could.”

“Do you…I mean, my husband made it pretty clear that he wasn’t exactly happy with this arrangement and that I wasn’t his first choice in a bride.” I can’t take my eyes off Astrid. I know what Hiccup said but… “Do you think that Hiccup would—I mean, he was drunk and angry when he said it but, he kind of implied he won’t be loyal to me. I don’t—I don’t know him well enough to know if that’s true.”

Gustav whistles. “Shit,” he swears. “I mean, I know Hiccup and Astrid were super serious and everything, but I think Hiccup is probably too honorable to cheat, even if he’s not exactly happily married. And last I heard Astrid wasn’t even talking to him she was so pissed.” He shrugs. “I wanna say no but this is all so complicated I really don’t know what to tell you.”

“Oh. Okay.” I’m screwed, aren’t I?

Or, actually, I’m not screwed, and that’s the whole problem.

Gustav places a conciliatory hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I know this is kind of a crazy, messed up situation, but I’m something of an expert in crazy messed up situations, so if you need someone to talk to, I’m around. I’m usually in the stables or at the academy. I teach the intermediate dragon handling classes.” He puffs out his chest. “They finally trusted me to teach. It took years of shoveling dragon dung but I finally moved up in the world.”

He’s as serious as he is joking and it makes me laugh for what must be the first time since my wedding day. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him, smiling.

He grins. “Speaking of which, I’ve got a class to teach soon so I gotta get going. But it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Haddock.”

I shake my head. “Maggie. Or Mags. Mrs. Haddock feels too formal.” And it’s not even technically true. But I’m not really comfortable broadcasting the unconsummated state of my marriage, even if most people probably assume that to be the case.

“Alright then, Mags, I’ll see you around. If you need anything, you can just count on, a-Gustav.” He winks, and it’s stupid and it makes me laugh, and then he’s whistling and being picked up by a purple Monstrous Nightmare and taking off before I have time to ask him about the dragon.

Well, at least today was worth leaving the house. I managed to make my husband’s jilted ex hate me even more but at least I made a friend.

Someone clears their throat and I turn to face the painfully polite smile of the woman running the fruit stall. “Are you going to pay for that?” She asks, nodding at the apple still in my hand.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

#megan writes fic #arranged marriage au #probs just gonna tag it like that #i needed to write something different today and this has been in my head for ages #maggotha is not meant to be hated pls don't hate her #she's a kid and she's kind of a naive kid #but she's not malicious #hiccstrid #tagging it after the search tags because?#httyd

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