#on the bright side tumblr got much more usable when i took out the trash myself

[simple-sheep]

Its really funny in a sad way when an antisemitic post floats across your feed, so you go into notes to block every antisemite that commented or reblogged it before blocking op

And the hundreds of comments and thousand of reblogs are empty because you just clean house every day.

[tysonrunningfox]

Goodbyes

But not forever because I’d die like...please keep talking to me about the boy?  And the siblings?  And the Fuse, my girl, and fifty one year old second chance Hiccstrid who stole my heart and just...that’s an open door, alright?  Like, please keep it open?  I know I need to write something else but damn, I can’t have a complete separation here.  I can’t.  

Tumblr (Will be overhauling soon) | AO3

The noise in the Mead Hall hits me like a physical weight after almost two months in the chief’s house and I pause in the doorway for a second, searching the crowd and maybe even waiting for a lull.  For the crowd to pointedly look away like they all know something I don’t and confirm that the last year has been an elaborate dream during a coma from some unrelated head injury.  At some level, it still makes more sense for me to have knocked myself out in that forest fire a year ago than it does for me to be at Arvid and Aurelia’s wedding feast with the Haddock crest on my pin.  But the Hofferson sword he dug up this morning remains firmly planted in the center ceiling joist above me.

“I figured you might need this,” the chief appears out of the crowd beside me, holding a mug of what smells like mead towards my left and only unbandaged hand.  The smell turns my stomach with its sickeningly sweet familiarity and I shake my head.

“Nothing hurts. Promise.” I try to show him by lifting my bandaged right arm as much as I can against the sling and the thick wool shirt and cape combination that Mom insisted I had to wear, but I don’t get too far.  Stupid fancy clothes.  Pouting got me out of some of the jewelry, although I’m still not sure how worth it that was, given how Ingrid was glaring at me the whole time from under her own pile of new clothes.

“No, I just--I mean, good, that’s good news, but I thought you might need it because your half-siblings just married each other.”  He shrugs, wincing slightly like he’s not sure it’s something he should say, and it probably isn’t, but his daughter just married his wife’s son so I’m not judging the word vomit too much. 

“That’s not the hardest thing I’ve made peace with lately.”

Maybe it’s temporary, but I can’t get annoyed at him the way I want or even the way that I used to. Maybe being stuck inside the last couple months with a rotating shift of family who all worked together to make sure I didn’t do anything myself or have any fun at all made the chief feel more like part of that family.  In some strange, annoying, non-parental way, but part of it just the same.

Like Rolf keeps saying, it’s a documentation nightmare, and like with all documentation nightmares, I’m trying and succeeding at not getting too hung up on it.

“Are you sure?”  He offers the mead again and if I’m not crazy, he’s swaying a little bit.  “Might be your last wedding feast for a while without people pestering you with advice the whole time.”  He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Whatever that means…” I laugh, brushing him off.  As little I’ve been allowed out, it’s not really at the top of my freedom agenda to figure out whatever cryptic thing the chief wants to talk about.  

“Well, are you going to see Fuse tonight?”  This eyebrow wiggle is definitely drunk and it looks dumber against silver hair that it looks like he tried to comb.  More likely Mom insisted on combing it, considering how many times today she threatened to trim mine.  “Liquid courage in case you need to have any big conversations…”

I saw Fuse at the ceremony, but she was further back in the crowd.  And I know she comes by the chief’s house almost every day, but seeing her will be different when she’s not taking care of me.  Even though I haven’t needed that much care, because I’m fine and I’ve been fine for weeks.

“I spent enough of the last two months drunk, chief, I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“That makes one of us,” he sighs and the red shade of his face is sneaking past jubilant, heading quickly through tipsy and coming out somewhere in trashed drunk, “I avoided it for years, but it finally caught up to me.”

“What are you talking about?”  I resist the urge to laugh at the way his head is bobbing slightly off center, even though it’s kind of my turn, given that everyone has repeated the greatest hits of my drunken sleep talking back to me for months now.  But sometimes, a future chief is the bigger person.  

Well, that and I’m hoping he says something ridiculous.  I’m not chief yet.  

“I have a married daughter,” he drinks from the mug he brought for me, “I’m old.”

“Is that how that works?” I snort, “I hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve been old for a while.”

“That’s what Astrid said,” he shakes his head, “guess I should just accept it as truth at this point.” He raises his mug in a sad sort of cheers and something over my shoulder catches his eye.  Before I can check what it is, a familiar hand slides into mine.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Fuse squeezes my fingers and drops them and no matter how comfortably she’s been touching me, somehow it’s never enough.

It’s definitely not enough when I look at her and she’s smiling at me unguarded, her hair pulled back from her face with soft, pink-hued braids.

“Huh?”

“You know,” she tugs on the edge of my bear skin cape and bites her lip like she’s looking for the right words.  “In actual clothes.”

“Oh,” I slide my arm around her waist, the ends of her hair tickling my wrist, and it’s still thrilling that she leans into me.  “You should have seen me trying to get a shirt on over this,” I hold up my bandaged arm and the armpit of my crisp new shirt tugs at my skin where it’s not hanging quite straight.  “It took me three tries. Ingrid was laughing so hard I thought she was going to pass out.”

“Maybe you need help out of it,” the chief says and I’d entirely forgotten he was standing there. I jump, reflexively pulling Fuse closer as she flushes, looking down at her feet.  The blush adorably reaches her earlobes and stretches partially down her neck in a way I never get to see when her hair is in it’s usual messy braids and my chest tightens.

And of course, in parsing through that, I realize that the chief just has to make me sound like an idiot who can’t take care of myself when Fuse is around.   I try to tell him to go away with my eyes but unfortunately, the last couple months have vastly depleted the potency of the Hofferson glare and he wasn’t ever that susceptible in the first place.

“I can get it off by myself,” I huff at him and he snorts.  Fuse looks at me and blinks like Aurelia does when she’s waiting for me to catch up and I freeze.

Oh gods.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” my face feels like it could light the forge from a distance and he still looks so smug and drunk and oh gods, that even worse.  “But you did, that’s...disgusting, for one--”

“Eret,” Fuse laughs, tips of her ears bright red as she pats me on the shoulder with a rare, unbandaged hand.

“It’s just,” I look up at the chief, “not funny.  And none of your business.  And I’m going to go find Arvid and Aurelia now so…” I try and tug Fuse with me but of course the chief has to keep talking.

“Wait, just a second, while you’re here there’s something I actually wanted to ask you about,” he looks at Fuse, patting his pockets and spilling mead down his arm, “I don’t have my notes right now, but there’s a cliff over on Bogsbreath island that looks like good granite for the sea wall that we talked about--”

“Sea wall?”  I hate being out of the loop with everything that’s going on.  I keep hearing snippets and seeing half finished drawings, but apparently a broken arm means my head is useless. “What sea wall?”

“With that volcano gone, waves are higher from that direction.  Last week’s thunderstorm had them breaking about five feet below the hanger.”  The chief is one of the only people who can talk to me about what happened without staring at my arm or my scars and I appreciate it even more when Fuse flinches, eyes darting to my sling as the corners of her mouth tilt down.  I pull her closer to my side with the hand on her hip and she lets me, her shoulder curling under my arm.  “I was thinking a kind of primitive sea wall a couple miles off of the coast might fix it without getting in the way of the thermal vent.” It’s the chief’s turn to be sheepish, but it’s different, because it’s about him being wrong not me being hurt, “dragons are still migrating towards it.  Mostly old ones, and numbers are stable but--”

“It’s probably best we stay out of their way.”  I’ve earned the right to be smug about it but the chief sighs at my tone anyway.

“But, as I was saying, we don’t really have the material available right now so…” He looks back at Fuse and she’s surprisingly silent, leaning into my side a little harder and staring flatly at him.  “Ok, I’ll spell it out, I was wondering if you could try to break down this cliff I found on Bogsbreath island into usable material.”

“I…” Fuse exhales and shakes her head, oddly stiff, “a whole cliff?  And granite?  I…” She looks up at me, fully regrown eyebrows knitting together, “that might be a little...out of my abilities, Chief.”

“Fuse,” the chief chuckles, “it’s not like it’s an entire volcano.”

“No, I mean it.”  Fuse shrugs and definitely doesn’t sound like she means it.  Her voice is thin, like her usual firepower isn’t there to back it up, “I’m not sure how to take down a cliff.  And Eret needs me here--”

“I’m fine.”  I’m not really, I’m worried that there’s none of my favorite giddiness on her face at the prospect of taking down an entire cliff. “You should go.”

“I really don’t think I know how to do what you’re asking.”  She shakes her head, shoulders stiff under my arm.

“You just blew up an island, I bet you can figure it out.”

“Really, Chief,” she shakes her head, her hair tickling the back of my hand, “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

That’s even more obviously a lie.  And a lie she sounds sad about, like there’s something in her way she doesn’t think she can ask for help with.

“Do you need parts or something?”  I look around the room, “is Smitelout giving you trouble?  I’ll--”

“No,” she steps out from under my arm, “I just don’t know if I can.”

That’s honest.  I look between her and the chief, who’s drunk enough he seems content to watch us talk with that weird smile on his face, like all his plans are working out.

“I’ll go scout it out with you.”  Those are truly the magic words, or more likely, any words suggesting I do anything fun or more than ten feet off of the ground, because Mom chooses this moment to walk up next to the chief, leaning her head on his shoulder.  Her mug of mead looks less than full and her face is almost as red as his is.  “Hey, Mom,” I try to act casual, “great feast, right?”

“You look suspicious,” she smacks her lips and takes a drink, “what’s going on?”

“He wants to come scout a cliff with me,” Fuse crosses her arms, making eye contact with my mom, I’m assuming to avoid my betrayed expression.  “That I’m supposed to blow up.”

“And who told you that you were supposed to blow it up?”  Mom glares at the chief and he’s drunk enough to be brave enough to tap her chin with his knuckle in answer.  She sighs, nostrils flaring and eyes sappy and fond and I look away because that’s still gross.  “Hiccup...”

“I want to go, Mom.” I look back at Fuse and her eyes are oddly, pleadingly wide.  “It’s been two months.  Imagine what a pain in the ass I’ll be if you try to keep me locked up any longer.”  I point at my arm, “these bandages?  Coming off next week, allegedly, just try keeping me inside when I’ve got two arms at my disposal.”

“Locked up? Uh huh, I can see how shackled down you are right now.”  She shakes her head and the chief grins at her again, all lovesick and gray-haired and irritating and I should have walked away when I had the chance.

“Doesn’t seem like he minds that much.”  

“I’m right here,” I look at Fuse for backup, “I want to go with you.”  I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom drunk, but I hope she actually is as I weigh my next tactic.  “I mean, I’m still the future chief, I’m pretty sure I can go without asking anyone, but I’d rather go with you.”

Fuse’s cheeks color a little more and I jut my lower lip out like worked when I was newly injured.  I thought at some point, she’d realize how stupid it looks and stop falling for it, but that hasn’t happened yet.  Hel, maybe she does know it’s stupid, but still likes it for some reason because she sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking back at the chief and my mom.

“I really don’t think I can do it, but I’ll scout it out.”

“And I’ll go with you,” I nod, waiting for my mom to shut me down.  She’s tired when she sighs and takes more of a gulp than a sip out of her drink.

“I know how trying to stop you works out.”  There’s a strange moment of that terrifying female telepathy that I’ll never understand when she nods at Fuse.

Even with the look, it doesn’t feel like permission and I relax.  After months being chief or at least partly in charge, going back to being someone who had to ask for water was more shocking than I could have anticipated.  And this is just another piece of proof that things have changed and the changes are sticking.  Mom can’t tell me not to do things.  She can give advice and I should probably take it the majority of the time, but they aren’t orders anymore.

“In that case, I should go tell Stoick I’m taking my dragon back tomorrow,” I offer Fuse my hand and the escape from the chief’s weird attention that it implies and she takes it. She follows me towards the other end of the hall but more importantly, away from the chief and my mom before they can make any more gross faces at each other.  Or comment anymore on Fuse and me.  Especially that one.  Especially the chief.

But I also need to talk to her, because Fuse not wanting to blow something up is unheard of and she has some reason she wouldn’t say in front of the chief. I pause in a slightly quieter bubble next to the line of ale casks against the wall and Fuse drops my hand to pick up a mug for herself.  I can’t help but notice that her long pale fingers are uncharacteristically soot free and unbandaged and I feel bad that she’s spent so much time with me that she hasn’t had any in her workshed.  

It’s silly, but I miss the soot.  I like how her bandaged fingers leave streaks on me that I find later, like greasy little souvenirs.  

“Do you want some?” She offers, voice brightly off kilter and I narrow my eyes, leaning back against the edge of the table.

“You’re trying to distract me.”  I gesture at her and my eyes follow, lingering for a second on the deep green belt around her waist before flicking back to her face.  “Why don’t you want to blow up that cliff?”

“The chief said it was granite,” she shrugs one shoulder, not quite holding eye contact.

“You love blowing up granite.”

“No,” she sighs, mouth twitching to the side slightly and I try not to smile at what a profoundly bad liar she is.  She avoids me for her mug for a second before looking back at my face and shaking her head. “It’s my third favorite, maybe, but how did you know that?”

“I just knew you liked it, I didn’t know you had a definitive ranking.”  I tease her and she blushes, always unsure if I’m insulting her until I smile.  This is better than being so drunk it reoccurred to me that I was nearly naked every few minutes and sputtered about it all over again.  Sometimes, I almost hate how much I remember more than I hate the long fuzzy periods that I can’t quite put together.

“I don’t,” she shrugs, a strand of shiny pink falling over her shoulder, “I should have said in the top five, but—”

“But what?”  I reach out and grab her wrist, sloshing ale on the ground between us but pulling her in anyway.  I don’t know why it’s cute that she has a ranking system or cuter that she’s defending it.  I do know that it almost makes me more concerned that she’s so hesitant to blow something up, because that means something might really be wrong.  “I’m sorry, I’m just going to need an actual, scientific reason to believe you can’t at least try to obliterate something.” My hand slides from her wrist to her shoulder and I kiss her forehead.

“Eret,” she sighs, almost chastising, and it makes me all too aware of my knee against hers and her shoulder blade that’s obvious against my palm without the vest I haven’t seen in weeks.  And as overwhelming as the crowd was when I first walked in, now the background hum is only making it easier to focus on her, even if being this close makes it hard to focus on anything except the fact that she’d let me kiss her.  

More than that, she’d kiss me back.  Maybe I could use my fully clothed disguise to convince her that I’m not hurt and she’d keep kissing me instead of acting like I’m going to break.  

“What?”  I pull her closer and she freezes when her arm bumps against my sling, pulling back slightly.  “It’s fine.  It doesn’t hurt.”

“You wouldn’t tell me if it did.”

“Probably not,” I look down at my pale hand sticking out of the linen and wiggle my fingers, “but it doesn’t.”

She looks up at me through her eyelashes and if it weren’t for my brother appearing in my peripheral vision, I could almost pretend that we were somewhere more private.

“There you are!”  He points at me, the new silver ring on his finger startlingly obvious in a way I wouldn’t have expected.  I stand away from the table and Fuse shifts away from me, tucking her hair behind her ear like she can hide her red face behind her hand. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” He’s too loud and I almost expect everyone to be irritated at a Hofferson acting up, but the people who glance over at us laugh and shake their heads.  “Thorston!”

Fuse opens her mouth to respond but doesn’t get the chance because Arvid hugs her, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her a good foot off of the ground.  She yelps, looking at me with adorably wide eyes and he squeezes her another second before setting her down and turning to me.  He wobbles slightly and I raise my eyebrow.

“Are you drunk?”  I ask and he shakes his head.

“I’m married.”  He shows me his silver band.  I recognize a ring of Wingspark’s scales inlaid in divots that are Smitelout’s obvious handiwork.  It doesn’t look half bad, not that I’m going to tell her that.  “Look at this, I’m completely married.”

“As opposed to partially?” I look at Fuse, who still seems a little startled, and pat her shoulder.  “You’re actually drunk, aren’t you?  I didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re my favorite brother,” he grins and claps his hand on my shoulder hard enough that my teeth clack together.  “Where’s Rolf? Fuck that guy, you’re my favorite.”                  

“He’s drunk,” Aurelia walks up next to Fuse and shakes her head, sighing with obvious fondness at my brother.  Somehow, it’s weird that she doesn’t look any different than she did this morning, and it occurs to me that my younger sister is someone’s wife.  “He’s so drunk.”

“I’ve never seen him drunk,” I laugh, “I didn’t think it was possible, honestly.”

“He’s a friendly drunk,” Fuse frowns, patchy red clinging high on her cheeks.  I’d guess she’s used to being explosive and even after a couple of months defused -- ok, that’s funny-- she’s probably not used to bear hugs sweeping her off of her feet.  I’m just glad she and Arvid have reached some kind of truce after a decade of stinkbombs and glaring at each other.  

Arvid kisses Aurelia on the temple, picking her up with one arm and swinging her in a circle. She’s resigned to it but smacks his forearm after a second, signaling for him to set her down and he does, remarkably gently considering how hard he squeezed Fuse. Aurelia shakes her head at him and looks at her own ring with an almost calm smile.

“Apparently,” Aurelia sighs, “and he chose a great day to do it.  Really,” she looks at Fuse for another of those confounding female moments. “I’m guessing he’ll fall right asleep tonight.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I look him up and down, taking in the slow sway of his shoulders relative to his feet.  Being the only drunk one is miserable, being the sober one while my drunk siblings make a fool of themselves isn’t as bad.

“It’s not.”  Aurelia shakes her head and Fuse grabs my hand.

“Why not?”  I try to intertwine our fingers but she seems more interested in steering me than actually holding hands.  “Sleeping it off is usually a good tactic.”

“You wanted to find Stoick, didn’t you?”  She tugs but I don’t move, looking between her and Aurelia.  It feels like another secret and I narrow my eyes.

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t done with the rare opportunity to make fun of Arvid while he’s drunk.”

“Hey,” Arvid frowns. “I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re drunk enough, husband,” Aurelia smiles through what seems like secret-associated irritation when she uses the title and I get a little stuck on the fact that Arvid is someone’s husband.  Arvid has a wife.  “Drunk enough that I don’t think that title will actually be official until you’re done nursing your hangover.”

“What?”  I look at Fuse for clarification and her nostrils flare slightly as she tugs on my hand again.  That’s the face she makes when she’s embarrassed for me, and I’m more familiar with it than I should be comfortable with, but I don’t see what I’m doing right now.  If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s Aurelia, of course he’s her husband—“No!” I glare at her, my sling straining against the reflex to point at her, “no, don’t talk about…that—”

“It’s my wedding, it’s kind of a part of a wedding,” Aurelia rolls her eyes, apparently too irked with my drunk brother to be embarrassed, “the consummation is implied—”

“I’m your brother. He’s my brother,” I take my hand from Fuse’s to point at Arvid and he laughs, sharing a mushy, mutual expression that makes fun of me in a context I don’t want to think about.  “You guys are so gross.”

“Gross?”  Arvid snorts and Aurelia shakes her head at me before looking at Fuse.

“Good luck with him,” she scoffs, a tinge of the chief’s joking suggestion in her expression and I shake my head.

“I’m going to go find Stoick, who isn’t gross—”

“Because he’s nine?” She has to try and get in the last word and I scratch the back of my reddening neck where it’s chafed against the strap of my sling.  Fuse links her elbow through mine and I let her tug me away this time, shouting over my shoulder.

“And congratulations, by the way, because at least one of us has manners!”  I shake my head when Arvid laughs and look over at Fuse.  “I didn’t need to think about that.  I was doing so well not thinking about that.”

“I tried to interrupt,” she must see Bang’s tail slash above the crowd when I do because she changes direction towards it without me nudging her, “but you were determined.”

“I’m too stupid for you to protect, apparently,” I sigh, bumping my shoulder against hers and grinning when Bang spots me and warbles, shaking his wings and making Stoick laugh from where he’s perched on his back.  “Hey bud,” I untangle my arm from Fuse’s to set my hand on Bang’s nose and he croons, tail whisking across the wood floor.

“Hi Fuse,” Stoick greets her before me and I can’t really blame him, especially when she seems so pleasantly surprised, her eyes lighting up even as her shoulders stiffen slightly. She still doesn’t quite know what to do with him and she waves, chewing on her bottom lip.  “Hey Eret.”

“I’ve got some news, dude,” I lean on Bang’s head with my left hand, scratching behind a short frill on his neck.  Mom hasn’t been letting him inside enough because she has some crazy belief that if Bang and I were left even momentarily in the same room, I’d suddenly be in the sky and far away from the chief’s stuffy house.  She’s right, but it’s still not fair.  “Do you want to hear the news?  Oh hey, guess what, I’m telling you anyway.  I’m cleared to fly,” I pat Bang’s head again, “so tomorrow morning, you’ve got to give me my dragon back.”

“No,” he whines, laying down across Bang’s back and hugging him, “who am I going to take to class?”

“It’s terror training,” I nudge his back, “you have your own terror—”

“But then I can’t fly there,” he sits up cross-legged, “you could just fly with Fuse and I could keep him one more day?  Pretty please?”  He asks Fuse more than me and she shrugs.

“He could, but I think he’s been missing Bang as much as he’s been missing flying.”

“Fine,” Stoick puts his biggest, greenest eyes on, “could you give me a ride to training then? Please?  If Eret is taking Bang away?”

“Squirt, I already told you I’d take you to training,” Ingrid walks up behind me and when she doesn’t give me her usual punch in greeting I look and see her holding Rolf’s baby.  My half-nephew, or whatever the term for that is.  He’s been around the house a couple of times since I’ve been coherent enough to help Rolf flesh out a few pages in the dragon manual and it’s not as awkward as it could have been.  Rolf even let the chief help, some, likely because he was constantly pre-occupied with the fact that Ingrid kept practically stealing his firstborn.

“I’m hurt,” I put my hand over my sling in the vague location of my heart, “squirt is supposed to be my nickname. You’re replacing me?”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she rolls her eyes, bouncing her nephew on her hip and cooing at him.  He takes her metal hand in his pudgy, tiny one and starts gumming at it.  “We’ve got enough of those around here.”

“Speaking of that, does Rolf know you have him?”

“What?  Are you going to tattle on me to Rolf?”  She laughs, “that would make your Uncle Eret a traitorous little twerp.  Yes, it would.”

“Ingrid,” Stoick clambers off of Bang’s back and adjusts his stiff new clothes, standing in front of Ingrid and tugging on the baby’s sock.  “Fuse can take me to training tomorrow, you don’t have to.”

“I didn’t actually say that,” Fuse looks at me a little panicked, like she’s not sure how to get out of it, “Eret and I are supposed to go scout something for the chief.”

“Mom’s letting you leave the island?”  Ingrid raises her eyebrow at me, “are you sure that’s safe?”

“I’ll be with Fuse.”

“That didn’t protect you last time,” Ingrid doesn’t snap but it’s not gentle either and the baby hiccups around her metal finger, his little face crumpling like he might cry that easily. He looks like Rolf more than his wife, I think, and maybe I’m projecting but there’s something like Dad’s brow there above warm brown eyes.

“That’s not fair,” I sigh and Bang presses his face to my leg.  Stoick gets bored with the lack of attention and runs off and Ingrid and Fuse stand tensely opposite each other for a minute.

They didn’t hit it off right away, or so I heard.  I was mad when I first heard it, because Ingrid owes Fuse more than anyone except for me, because Fuse was the one who talked her down when I didn’t know where to start, but they came to some kind of an arrangement after a couple days. Or I think it was a couple days. I don’t remember much except it was a lot easier to be quiet when Fuse was holding my hand instead of a family member looking at me like I was going to break.

“It kind of is,” Fuse says simply and I shake my head at her.

“No, it’s not—”

“I’m not even bringing any bombs.”  Her voice is as serious as the determined look in her eye as she looks between me and Ingrid so quickly I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince.

“Dad’s been out a few times,” I add, “he hasn’t seen any signs of trappers anywhere nearby.”

“You don’t have to convince me that I can’t change your mind,” Ingrid shakes her head, adjusting the baby’s weight against her hip, “that’s why I have a new squirt.  He still thinks I’m cool enough that he listens to try and impress me.”

“I still think you’re cool,” I make some stupid face that makes the baby smile and tug on her fingers. I haven’t minded having him around. Maybe that’s because no one makes me hold him or change his diaper, and he always laughs at my funny faces.  Not that it means much, he laughs at the chief too, but I like to pretend it’s nicer when it’s me.

“Really Hofferson?” Smitelout spills half a mug of ale on Bang’s back when she stomps over, pointing at Ingrid’s hand, “you’re letting the best contender for this year’s ugliest baby contest chew on that?”

Bang nips at her heel and I nudge him away with my foot, glaring at her.  

“This is my nephew,” Ingrid rolls her eyes, taking her metal fingers out of his mouth and wiping them on her new dress.  Mom made her dress acceptably too and I think she hates it as much as I do if the way she’s really rubbing that baby drool into the wool is any indication.  

“Well,” Smitelout blushes and stutters, taking another gulp of her ale before continuing, “look at him, how could I have guessed that?”

“Oh my gods,” Ingrid cocks her hip, ignoring her nephew tugging on her loose hair as she turns on Smitelout.  “You can’t walk around insulting people’s babies.”

“I knew it wasn’t your baby,” she rolls her eyes and Fuse raises her eyebrows at me in a way I read as her wanting us to make our exit.

“Ok, but you still shouldn’t really insult babies—”

“There you are,” Rolf steps nonchalantly over Bang’s tail and holds both his hands out, lifting his son under his armpits and cradling him comfortably with a glare at Ingrid. “You can’t just walk off with him.”

He sounds worried and that just reminds me that Rolf is a dad and Ingrid is an aunt and Arvid is a husband.  I’d say I’m the only one lacking a new title but it hits me that it’s future chief and I really wish I’d been allowed into the public before this because all of these changes at once are overwhelming for all the right reasons and that’s a phenomenon I’m not used to at all.

I’m good at dealing with parallel lines of sadness, but tonight feels like so many happy strings weaving with the ends of the sad and towards a future I hope is better than the last year has been.  And I know that making it better is more my responsibility than ever because my title carries a different kind of pressure than anyone else’s.

“Oh, it’s Rolf’s kid?” Smitelout snorts, “the ugly makes sense.”

“Always a pleasure,” Rolf sighs, his voice taking on a deep, bitter character like he thinks better of himself than to stoop to this level, “Jorgenson.”

“Yeah sure,” Smitelout waves him off.

“No, not yeah sure,” Ingrid doubles down on the argument with her hands empty, poking Smitelout in the shoulder, “that’s my nephew.”

“And that wasn’t enough to overwhelm the Rolf in his appearance, that’s all I’m saying…”

“Let’s go,” Fuse takes my elbow and scratches Bang with her other hand.  He accepts it as a temporary goodbye, snuffling against her palm and crooning at me as we walk away from Ingrid and Smitelout’s escalating argument.

“At least they sound like they’re having fun,” I lean back on the table when she pauses to get herself another drink.  I can’t tell if it’s affecting her at all, but then again, she hasn’t really had a chance to drink much without the next interruption.  

“Who does?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug, “Ingrid and Smitelout in particular, but it seems like everyone is having fun.”

“Yeah,” she looks around and then back at me, the corner of her mouth twitching into half a smile. Her lower lip is damp and the shine makes it hard to look anywhere else, especially because the longer I’m out of the house, the less I feel like an invalid.

I know that the last few hundred times Fuse kissed me, it wasn’t strictly out of pity.  She did want to.  She wouldn’t have kissed me at all if she didn’t want to, but I can’t say that they all felt like kisses.  A lot were trying to keep me grounded and more were in an attempt to keep breathing worth the pain while my ribs formed back into one piece, and I appreciate them, but they didn’t do anything to quell the constant heat in my chest whenever I’m around her.  

And now I feel like I’m at a feast with Fuse and she looks beautiful in a clean, nervous way that I hardly ever get to see and my wrist tingles from where her hair has been tickling it all night.  And no matter how close to me she’s been, she was never wearing a dress that makes it so obvious how well the curve of her hip fits in my hand.  

“What?”  She cocks her head at me and I shrug.  “You’re staring.”  

“You just look really pretty tonight.”  Out of all the things I’m thinking, it’s the right thing to say out loud because she steps closer to me, resting her hand on my ribs on one of my fireworm scars. They’re still sensitive, not in a bad way, but I shiver slightly at the drag of clean wool against the edges of it.

“You too.”  She says quietly, biting her lip, and I frown.  

“Did you just call me pretty?”  

She blushes, stuttering slightly like she’s worried I’m actually offended. I don’t think I am, but I’ve also never been called pretty before.  Not that I’m drowning in praise about my appearance, but it still strikes me as weird.  I’m not sure I want Fuse to think I’m pretty.  

“I meant you look good tonight.”  

“But you said pretty. I’m pretty?”  I scratch my chin, “not that I don’t like a compliment but aren’t I a little...bearded to be pretty?”  

“What would you prefer, then?”  She sets her drink down and cups my jaw with her now free hand, fingernails scratching through my beard.  I rest my hand on her hip and her fingers curl slightly against my ribs.

Maybe she meant that we should leave further.  I’d be ok with that, I made my appearance.  

“I don’t know. Handsome, maybe?  Rugged?” Gods, I want my other hand back.  Next time I almost die, I’m breaking my left arm.  I feel like every time I touch Fuse, I’m getting inferior information.  “Because you’re pretty, and if you’re pretty, I’m definitely not pretty.”  

She kisses me, soft lips lingering a little longer than she usually lets them as she cups my jaw more firmly, her fingertips grazing my ear with a tickle that sends lightning down my spine.  I follow her as far as I can when she pulls back, getting in one last peck before my arm gets in the way.  

And I don’t want to be here, I’m sick of sharing Fuse with families and crowds.  She’s finally looking at me like I might be durable enough to kiss again and I really want to convince her that she’s onto something there.

“When you said let’s go…”

“What do you mean?” She cocks her head and picks up her drink, her blush highlighting freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“I just…I don’t know, we could keep talking somewhere that my crazy family doesn’t keep appearing.”

She narrows her eyes at me, the tips of her ears going a warm, pale pink shade that almost matches her hair.

“What do you want to talk about?”  Fuse is awkward and pretty and sweet when she asks questions she doesn’t know the answer to. It makes me want to hug her and again, this stupid sling is in the way of absolutely everything.

“Not much.  I’d just like to be alone with you,” I shrug, stroking the line of her hipbone with my thumb and smiling when she bites her lip. Her house is empty, I bet.  

“I figured you’d want to stay out as long as possible.”  

“Eh, crowds are overrated.” I kiss her forehead again and kind of miss her hair’s usual acrid smell.  I hope she does bring bombs tomorrow, I’m ready for some action and for her to be sooty again.   “And it’s a lot, you know, no one let me out of the house and suddenly the whole village is here.  I think I have a legitimate phobia that Mrs. Ack is going to spring up next and pinch my bicep.”

“The bandages should deter her,” Fuse looks at my sling again, frowning.

“It doesn’t hurt.”  I remind her, rubbing the side of her waist and stepping back to lift my arm as high as the sling will allow. “Really. No pain.”  

I’m not lying.  Worse than that, I’m scared about how my arm is going to look and feel when I finally get it back.  I tried not to care when the healers tightened the bandages but there’s that looming feeling that when it comes off I’m going to look scrawnier than I did a year ago, like the chief’s influence finally found a crack to manifest in.  

She doubts me.  Then she looks over my shoulder and sighs, her cheeks puffing out with a momentary roundness that makes me want to kiss them.

“My dad’s walking over here.”

I drop her hip and stand up straight, tugging at the seam of my shirt that isn’t quite right against my side.  She shakes her hair behind her shoulders and takes another sip of her ale before raising it in a feeble toast.

“Just the adorable young couple I was looking to interrupt,” Fuse’s dad—and he feels like Fuse’s dad and not Tuffnut right now when I’m thinking so hard about how good her side feels under my hand—sizes me up like a dragon he doesn’t know is threatening yet or not.  I stand up straight.  The sling digs into the back of my neck and I swallow, fidgeting to shift it sideways.

“Dad,” Fuse glares at him, shifting half a step away from me and crossing her arms.

“Uh, good evening.”  I hold out my left hand and he shakes it with is right, grinning like the awkwardness of the grip is a good thing and not like it’s making my heart drop.  “Sir.”

“Pretty sweet feast,” he looks around and nods and then looks back at me, “a wedding feast, even.”

“Uh,” I look at Fuse, wondering if there’s some secret way to answer her dad and she shrugs, “yeah. It is.”  

“You said you were looking for us,” Fuse prompts him and he looks at me another second before shrugging. He’s not hostile, like I guess I was scared of after seeing some fathers’ opinion of Arvid.  If anything he kind of reminds me of the chief in that he’s happy to see us standing together.  This is more of a vicious happiness, like he’s thriving on the awkward anxiety I can feel leaking out of my pores, but I’ll take it.

“Yeah.”  He nods.

Especially because I keep thinking about how many times Fuse and I have napped in the same bed and I didn’t ask her dad’s permission and I don’t know how to do this.  He’s staring right at me, does he know how much I want to kiss his daughter?  Did he see us kissing a second ago?  Does he know that I’ve been in her bedroom?  And that she talked like she was planning to get me there again even after I well...was really happy to be there.  Or parts of me were.

He’s staring at me. What if he can read my mind and I just gave away everything?  I’m not really sure what to do with my hand.  The sling is finally making a positive impact on my life because I only have one arm to flail around.

“Is there anything I can do for you?  Like, do you need me to do anything or talk to the chief about anything or--I can weapon?” I cough, “I mean, I can make weapons. Theoretically,” I point at my sling, “when this comes off.  If my arm still works.”

“You don’t know if your arm is still going to work?”  He raises an eyebrow and looks more like Fuse than usual with the expression.

“I’m assuming it is.” I shrug, “hoping, really.  I guess.”

“Hmm,” he strokes his chin and looks between Fuse and I again before laughing, reaching over and trying to ruffle her hair.  “That was fun.  Ok, that was really fun.”

“Not for me,” Fuse glares at him, straightening her hair.

“I just had to make you squirm a little bit,” he explains with another shrug, “it’s tradition.  Or it is now, because that was hilarious, you look like you think I’m going to beat you up.  Or hang you upside down off of some precarious perch.  Which I’m not.  Probably.”  He narrows his eyes and I shake my head.

“No, uh, sir, I wouldn’t do anything to make you have to beat me up.  Or...the other thing.”

“Sir?  That’s funny, kid.”  He pats me on the bad shoulder and I’m relieved when my arm doesn’t throb. “No, really though, if you weren’t good enough for my Fuseykins, you not only wouldn’t be standing here, you would have ceased to exist in solid form long before I ever got the chance to threaten you.”

“That’s not funny,” Fuse says with that vulnerable edge I can’t quite place and her dad scoffs.

“You think I’m funny, right Eret?”

I think that this is bizarre and uncomfortable, but in a very real way I want him to like me.  I want him to like me the way that I wanted the village to like me when I was first trying to fill the chief’s shoes, but it’s more important because it’s about Fuse.  If I’ve learned anything about romance, it’s that for everyone around me, it ends up being filled with hard choices, and I want to be the easy choice. I want to make things easier for her, finally, after so much time tangling her in my impossible problems.

“Yeah,” I nod, “I bet I looked really scared.”

“I like you,” he claims, pointing at me, “and I mean, I’m like the lowest possible bar here. You’ll have to talk to her brothers. And her cousins.  She’s all of our little girl--”

“Stop,” Fuse cuts him off, voice hushed and almost nasal, like it’s half a whine.  And that’s cute the way that all cracks in her calm exterior are and I try not to look like I’m thinking about how cute she is.  “Just invite him for dinner like we talked about, this is all unnecessary.”

“But also fun,” he turns back to me, “tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Right, good answer,” he points at Fuse, “now I’ve got to talk to you about something, oh daughter of mine.”

“Can it wait?”  She leans back into my side, glancing purposefully at the side of my face, “I’m a little busy.”

“Nope.”

“Dad, please.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he scoffs at her, “and there’s a certain ambiance of the space right now that--”

“Fine,” she looks back at me and sighs before walking away with him, “I’ll see you later.”

“Or tomorrow morning. Either way.”  I hope it’s later tonight, but from the way her dad puts his arm over her shoulders and starts telling her something about ‘The Island of Thorstonton’, I kind of doubt it.

Without Fuse, the room is instantly overwhelming and even though I see my siblings sitting together, I almost think about grabbing Bang and going home.  Maybe I could even fly, considering Mom appears pretty busy with Rolf’s baby--her grandbaby, because she’s a grandmother now too-- and the chief and isn’t watching my every move.  Then again, there’s something kind of exciting about my first flight in two months being off island with Fuse tomorrow.  Waiting would make it more of an event, I guess.

I yawn, looking around until I see Gobber sitting in the corner, tapping his foot and looking bored. Or maybe me being bored makes him look bored, whatever.  Either way, he gestures at the bench next to him when I walk over and I take a seat, leaning my good elbow on the table and resting my chin on my hand.

“It’s good to see you up and about.”  He pats me on the back and I sigh.  

“Oh trust me, I’ve been up and about for a while,” I shake my head in my family’s general direction, “it’s just that I haven’t been allowed out.  It seems like everyone’s very sure I’ll spontaneously combust if I see the sunlight or an ounce of freedom.”  

“Well, you did give it your best shot,” he looks at my arm, “how much longer are you stuck in that thing?”

“I get it off next week, thank Thor,” I wiggle my fingers, “I’m worrying what’s left under it at this point.  I thought I was skinny before.”  

“Well, if you need to help out at the forge to get back up to well...I was going to say strength, but you’re still you.  I shouldn’t expect too much,” he laughs at his own joke and I roll my eyes.  

“What a kind and generous offer, rife with opportunities to make fun of me.  I’ll think about it,” I sigh, “I probably won’t have time though, I’m assuming, the chief needs someone to help him hold this place together.”  

“Now that all the drama settled down around here, I’m sure there’s something else on its way.  It’s never quiet for long.”  He looks at me strangely and I refuse to acknowledge that he’s aged from the image of him I have in my head, the one who scared me into showing up on time every day and kept me honest with a steady hook hand.  

“This is Berk when it’s quiet?”  I look back out at the crowd, now more adult than child, the liquor flowing a little more freely.  Arvid and Aurelia are kissing and a few rowdy voices usher them towards the door with suggestions I don’t want to think about.  “I’m not sure it’s ever quiet.”  

“You’re starting to get it, lad,” he uses my shoulder to stand up, “I should be getting to bed. Have to save some energy for the next wedding.  Coming up soon, I’m assuming...”  He laughs like that has something to do with me and pats my back.  

“I have no idea, the chief hasn’t told me anything.”  I shrug and he shakes his head at me before limping towards the door, peg thudding on the wood.  

I hear him mutter something about me being clueless, and that’s something I’m glad hasn’t changed.  

“I didn’t want to interrupt your date, but I wanted to say goodbye,” my dad nods at Gobber in passing before restraining himself from helping me up.  I appreciate it more than he knows.  

“Date?”  I laugh, “my date with Gobber?  I think it was going well.”  

“You know what I mean,” he adjusts a sac over his shoulder and I frown.  

“Wait, goodbye? You’re leaving now?” I knew he was leaving after the wedding, but I didn’t realize he meant the middle of the night.  

“The tide’s going out soon and I’ll make better time out of the archipelago,” he glances at Arvid and Aurelia.  She’s dragging him away from the mead, laughing, her feet slipping across the floor. “And I don’t think they want me in the house tonight any more than I want to be in the house tonight.”

“Gross,” I wince, “why does everyone have to keep reminding me that my siblings are going to...you know, tonight?  Wait, don’t answer that, then we’d have to talk about it more and...no.”  I shudder, shaking my head like I can rattle the thoughts out through my ears.  

“Come here,” he pulls me into a hug, ignoring the sling and squeezing a little too hard.  “Don’t grow up anymore while I’m gone, alright?”  He looks older too, but in a different way than Gobber does.  It’s a sturdy old, like an island that’s finally stopped shifting enough to be habitable.  I wonder if he still loves Mom and then kind of hate myself for even thinking that. Of course he does, otherwise I don’t know how I could be so sure that he still loves me.  

“How long do you think you’re going to be gone?” I pat his back and he stands back to look at me, like he’s taking a mental picture.  

“A few weeks, maybe six. I’ve got supplies for six but we’ll see how it goes.”  

“Maybe I can go with you next time,” I offer and I’m looking for acceptance more than permission.  I want him to be happy at the thought of me going along with him.  

“If you think the chief can handle Berk without you.”  He weighs the option and smiles, “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Really?”  I grin, “I’ll try and be back in fighting shape.”

“I can’t wait,” he ruffles my hair and it feels like as much as he wishes I were a little less grown up, he’s glad to have the offered backup.  

“Can the tides wait a minute?”  Mom’s voice is hesitant but not unkind as she approaches with Rolf’s son in her arms. The baby laughs and reaches two pudgy arms towards Dad, fingers wiggling in the air, “someone else needs to say goodbye.”  

“There’s my big boy!” Dad takes the baby and holds him over his head for a second before hugging him and Mom’s eyes go distant as she watches.  I wonder how much the baby looks like Rolf did and I feel like I’m getting a glimpse of what existed before I showed up and changed everything, for better or worse. “I couldn’t find him earlier, I thought he might already be asleep.”  

“Ingrid had him,” Mom scoffs, “as always.”  

“You’re just as bad,” I look at Dad and think Grandpa and another thing clicks into shape in preparation for whatever’s coming next. “Let me guess, Rolf doesn’t know where he is right now.”  

“Rolf knows everything, you know that,” she shakes her head at me, “and I’m just enjoying having a baby around.”  

Some things I’m not too sad about leaving behind and I can tell she shares that opinion from the way she looks between me and the baby with Rolf’s sandy hair and Dad’s eyebrows.

“You got everything?” The chief is a little more sober than he was earlier but he still leans on Mom’s shoulder, tickling the baby’s foot when Mom takes him back.  Now Dad is the one looking lost and I hope he finds what he’s looking for.  Maybe he can show me when he gets back because I’m still missing pieces.  

They feel like my ribs though, painful and slow closing, but healing in time.  It’s deciding which gaps I’d like to force back open, which ones are meant to be lessons and not scars.  

“Everything’s packed up, I’m looking at six weeks on the outside.”  

“Write when you can,” the chief instructs and it’s almost a friendly order, like the ones he gives Fuse. Transactional, like my dad is part of the chief’s sphere again instead of being a thorn jabbed into it.  

“Eret said he might want to come with me next time,” Dad squeezes my shoulder and Mom looks between us before deferring to the chief with worry in her face where anger used to rest so easily.  

“Depending on what you find, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a future chief of Berk investigating whatever’s going on.”  He shrugs and Mom gives me a stern look.  

“Provided that future chief of Berk is entirely healed.”  

“Of course, Mom.  I don’t have a deathwish.”

“No, you tried one of those and it didn’t stick.”  The chief holds his hand out and Dad doesn’t hesitate before shaking it, his grip just a little too firm if the chief’s white knuckles mean anything.  “Be careful out there.”  

“Yeah,” Mom gives him a brief, awkward side hug with a babbling baby between them, “take care of yourself, alright?”  

Bang chimes in with a croon from across the hall like he’s been listening this whole time and Stoick laughs, patting him on the head.  Dad hugs me one more time before walking out of the hall and Fuse catches my eye from where she’s still sitting with her dad, asking me if I’m ok with a twitch of her eyebrow.  I nod and she smiles at me before going back to listening to her Dad, pink hair glowing in the torchlight.  

Mom goes to give an impatient Rolf his baby back and the chief lingers, pausing for a minute before resting his hand on my shoulder.  I don’t shrug him off.  It would be ruining the wrong moment and I don’t have time for that.  

“You know, I don’t think you getting out there is a bad idea.  I have missed your help these last couple months, but maybe it’s best for you to see what you’re dealing with before I retire.”  He looks at me the way that Gobber did, like I make him feel younger or older and he’s not sure if he wants to narrow down which.  “I’ll work on your mother.”

He looks the same he always has, but the absence of fury about it makes him seem smaller, more human. Maybe that’s what the last year really did to us, we’re all more human than when we started.  

“I don’t think she’d stop me,” I shrug and look back at my family, the big, scrambled group of them, “until then, sticking around here isn’t so bad.”  

“No, it’s really not.” He squeezes before letting go and he feels just as much a part of my picture as everyone else does.  

This is Berk.  It’s more than the cliffs and dragons and seas. It’s the people.  The people in this room, my family and friends, the ones who pretend not to rely on me as much as I pretend not to rely on them. It’s the dragons.  The dragons who came back even when they could have left. It’s the collision of the two, the place where my family came together again and again until finally, one of them was right.

Because we’re Vikings, and that means danger is implied and stubbornness can sometimes win over sense and logic.  It means that fights only fizzle out when we stop picking them and that only happens when someone wins or a bigger enemy brings us together.  And it won’t stay calm for long, it never does, but when proverbial flaming shit hits the fan next time, at least now I know we all have each other.