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tysonrunningfox · 7 years ago

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Bickering Brothers

ROLF IS HERE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ROLF IS HERE AND I WOULD DIE FOR HIM. (No really, he’s my unexpected fave who came from the back of the pack and stole my heart)

There’s like some feret too and arvelia drama but whatevs, it’s about Rolf for me.

Tumblr | AO3 (Will update these in a bit)

The sun continues to rise and set. Snow continues to pile up and a handful of wild dragons trickle in from the West, skinny and crowding around feeding stations. Aurelia continues to sneak in late at night and I hear it better because I don’t sleep and when I do, it’s not well.

The chief holds Mom’s hand at breakfast. She laughs at his jokes, looking at me out of the corner of her eye like she’s worried I’m going to hit him. I would if I thought it would matter, even if I just thought it might make me feel better, but honestly, the face centered horror I used to feel when I looked at the chief is dimmer than ever because we look less alike than we ever have. I don’t think I’m capable of smiling that much and that means no one is going to confuse us any time soon.

They’re sharing a bedroom again except in the morning, Mom doesn’t look pissed off. She doesn’t look any different than she used to, back in a smaller house with a bigger breakfast table.

There’s almost a week that’s so frighteningly routine, I’m actually scared I just dropped into some permanent, stable existence that obviously shouldn’t have anything to do with me. I’m almost relieved when Aurelia stomps in before dinner one night, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and avoiding eye contact with the chief, who looks up from a treaty as soon as the door slams open.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, and it’s like he actually thinks she’ll tell him.

“Nothing,” she pauses in front of the fire, warming hands that look so cold they’re almost blue for a second before turning towards the stairs.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” The chief looks at me for help and I stand up, holding my arms out and testing to see if she’ll accept a hug or if she’ll shove me off for trying. I’m almost taken aback when she lets me hug her, pressing a freezing face into my chest for a second and making a low, frustrated sound that’s more growl than sob.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” I set my hands on her shoulders and take a step back so that I can see her face. “Also, you’re frozen solid, will you please stay by the fire until I know you get to keep all your fingers?”

“Now I know it’s serious,” the chief chuckles like he’s trying to break the tension and I glare at him, “Eret said please.”

“Arvid and I just had a stupid fight,” she blurts it out and sniffs again, wiping her face on her shirt and avoiding looking at the chief. “I—I don’t know why that just happened.”

“Uh,” I take a blanket off of the stack by the hearth, busying myself with tucking it around her shoulders. She’s shivering and Bang is concerned but hanging back the few feet he’s learned to do with her. “That’s no fun.”

“He wouldn’t just, you know, bring up whatever was upsetting him in the moment. He had to let it build up over days and days and—he’s so stubborn, why’s he have to be so fucking stubborn?” She rants for a second before her teeth start chattering too hard to talk through.

“It’s a Hofferson thing,” the chief just has to jump in and say something and now that he’s surrounded by the sadness proof armor of Mom’s renewed affection for him, my glare appears to do absolutely nothing.

“This is a private conversation,” I snap.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“It’s like once he decided that some bone-headed thing was the truth, nothing I said even mattered!” Aurelia sits down so quickly it’s more of a fall, like her legs thawed enough to move and suddenly couldn’t hold her weight anymore. “And I didn’t know it was coming! I thought everything was fine and then he was all pissed off at the world—”

“Hey, it’s ok,” I sit down beside her and put my arm over her shoulders, glaring at the chief again when he moves like he’s going to walk over here instead of melting into the floor where he would be gone and actually maybe helping the situation. “Did you walk all the way back over here? It’s freezing outside, I don’t care how mad he was, he should have flown you back over.”

“I didn’t want him to.” She wipes her nose on the blanket.

“Not like I’m going to sleep with that one later, but ok.”

“Not while he was looking at me like that.” She glowers at the chief like she didn’t realize he was still listening and I try to gesture him towards the bedroom.

“You can talk to me—” The chief tries and I talk over him.

“Probably not worth freezing to death over,” I rub her arm as another wave of shivering passes through her, “just for future reference.”

“He’d feel really guilty about it, I’d bet.” She snorts and it’s miserable and the chief is still just staring at us like if we’d just let his infinite wisdom in, all of our problems would disappear.

“Can I ask what the fight was about?” The chief turns his chair to give us his full attention and I’m rethinking that thing about hitting him not making me feel better.

“Sure,” Aurelia chirps, more furious than sad for a split second. “Doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help, I don’t want your ‘I told you so’—”

“I wasn’t going to say ‘I told you so’.” The chief smiles and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he actually looks kind of empathetic. “I didn’t tell you so, you’d have to talk to me for there to be things that I’d told you.”

“You’ve never liked him.”

“I like Eret’s beautiful face and the two have been mutually exclusive in the past,” the chief doesn’t usually direct this at her, this eager to please persona that drives me straight up the nearest wall, but I can feel Aurelia giving into it slightly. Maybe she’s already tired from fighting once today or maybe she just can’t quite say no to the idea of her dad trying with her. Either way, I want to tell him where to shove his sudden interest.

“Don’t make me blush.” I roll my eyes, willing Aurelia to stay strong against undoubtedly bad fatherly advice.

“But if you like him enough to be this upset about fighting with him, all I’m going to say is that after you cool down—and warm up, ironically, and Eret is right about freezing to death, I don’t know how you go outside without a dragon—”

“It’s called wool,” I cut him off, “Bang isn’t fire breathing and I do just fine.”

“Anyway. If you’re this upset about fighting with him, you should go back and talk to him. And keep talking to him until you figure it out.” The chief waits for a second for her to respond and Aurelia stares at her hands for a minute, spinning the silver ring she wanted me to fix last summer and proving once and for all that all her fingers still work.

“I didn’t ask for your advice.” She’s not as mad as I want her to be.

“I’m your dad, you don’t have to.” He sighs, “and another un-prompted tidbit. Don’t wait a couple of decades to do it.”

Aurelia snorts. The chief looks really satisfied with himself and this is just another interaction I don’t want to get used to.

00000

Aurelia goes back to her old kind of absence, so I assume she and Arvid must talk it out. I don’t ask and I don’t think the chief asks, but he’s a little nicer to her. Or at least they don’t fight in the next week, they just sort of peacefully exist next to each other. It’s weirder than Mom and the chief sitting next to each other and talking in low, happy voices. Weirder than the fact Mom hasn’t noticed that I’m not really talking to her or if she has, she’s assuming it’s something I should work out on my own.

I finally get that free afternoon that I promised Rolf almost three weeks after I promised it and I leave Bang with Stoick, who is almost constantly whining about dragon selection being delayed, even though he wouldn’t be old enough this year even if it weren’t. I’ve got the weird feeling that if I leave Bang at the house, it’s like another set of eyes keeping track of things there and it’s not like he minds Stoick using him as a jungle gym.

I know that Rolf was building his house just south of the Ingerman house, but I’ve never actually been there. I wasn’t exactly part of his ideal house-warming committee and that makes it stranger that I’m going over there now, by myself, with an intent almost completely opposite to familial obligation. But at the same time, if Rolf agrees with me about anything, that means I’ve still got a shot for other people to agree with me about the dragons. Well, other people than Fuse and kind of Smitelout and my siblings.

It’s almost annoying when Hotgut flies above me, coming from the vague direction of the Thorston house and Fuse lands her beside me.

“Are you actually reading my mind?” I laugh, “because I think of you and you magically appear.”

She blinks at me just long enough that I feel like I can’t even comprehend what an idiot she thinks I am.

“You were thinking of me?”

“Yeah, I’m just uh…as weird as it sounds, I’m going to Rolf’s place to help him catalog some stuff about the dragons we’re seeing less of and it made me think that if I can convince him I might know some things, I should be able to convince people other than you now.”

“Oh.” She clucks and Hotgut starts walking beside me, pausing just long enough to snuffle against my pockets for treats. “Don’t give her anything, I’ve got something volatile cooking in there.”

“I don’t have anything,” I scratch her knobby cheek, “unless she can’t have love.”

“She can have love, that won’t affect her stomach contents.” Fuse sounds like she almost knows how hilarious that is and I look at her to try and see whether she’s joking or not. She stares at me another weird second before clearing her throat. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me again, I haven’t seen you around like at all.”

“Ah, yeah,” I rest my hand on Hotgut’s head, scratching idly, “I guess I’ve kind of dusted off my whole, Eret the Absentee Hermit routine.”

“That doesn’t sound real.”

“I mean, I don’t have it written down but it’s a familiar set of…you know, antics.” I feel weird looking at her while talking, like she’s going to mention out loud how stupid I sound and like I really can’t take that sort of commentary right now. “I keep telling myself that I’m going to whine to you less, but in the interest of you not hating me for being even more annoying than normal, I…my parents are back together.”

“What?” She sounds like it’s actually news and I look back at her, “as in your Mom and Dad? Not the chief or…”

“No, oh Gods no, I’m not that…” I pause myself before I say lucky, because there’s no way that could feasibly happen while I’m still…alive. Or a concept, in general, really. “I don’t have anything that wild to report. My Mom and the chief are—to quote Aurelia, it’s no longer a political sham marriage.”

“I mean…that’s convenient.” She’s not quite as blunt as normal and I wonder what about how I’m standing made her think she couldn’t be. She’s right, of course, I probably would have cried on her or something, but I still don’t necessarily like her knowing it without me telling her.

“What?”

“Given that they’re already married, it’s a convenient decision on their parts.”

“Yeah, really efficient.” I gesture behind us at the great hall, “really saving the village another fancy feast. I’m sure they’re doing it for economical reasons.” I laugh, “you want to know the worst part?”

“I figure you’re going to tell me even if I don’t.” It’s Fuse level teasing and she’s still looking at me and I know that she doesn’t waste focus, so I take it as a joke.

“You know me so well.” I laugh and she blushes a weird, patchy blush that makes me wonder if she’s just cold. “Arvid guessed it. Weeks ago, apparently. How the Hel did he know?”

“I have no idea.”

“Me neither. It’s dumb.” I see what must be Rolf’s house ahead and pause, “that’s my brother’s house, right? I’ve never actually been.”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “you’ve really got to talk to him today?”

“I told him I’d come by when I had a free afternoon and that hasn’t happened since. Why?”

“I’m on the way to test that baffle out again on a little island I found up North and I guess it’d be more…informative if you came.” She’s still patchy looking and I almost offer her my coat. She’s not small like Aurelia and she has a dragon but still, flying over the water isn’t warm in summer, let alone now.

“How could I make it more informative? I don’t know anything about anything.”

“That’s not true,” she frowns slightly, “and you make it easier for me to put things together. You make them make sense in reality and not just in my head.”

“That’s a compliment.” I step a little closer to her, leaning on Hotgut’s shoulder and looking around for the baffle. “And where is that giant hunk of iron?”

“Oh, I just took two trips. I stashed it in a cave.” She laughs even though that’s not a joke.

“Is that why you look so cold?”

“What?” She cocks her head, “I’m not cold. I’m sitting on a gronckle that’s heating up about half a bushel of spark bomb powder.”

“Does that make her warm?” I put my hand under Hotgut’s armpit and pull it away almost instantly, my fingers grazing over Fuse’s boot. “Yep, yep it does. I see why you named her Hotgut.”

“Why did you think I was cold?”

“Your face.” I clear my throat because it’s suddenly dry, probably a side effect of hanging out so close to a dragon that’s boiling all the moisture out of the air. “It’s kind of red—” She reaches up to touch it and leaves an oily gray smudge across her cheek. “Well, now it’s not red, it’s soot colored with a touch of saddle grease.”

She frowns, “you tried to make me do that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t,” I take a step back because Hotgut’s hot guts are starting to make my own jacket feel too heavy, “but I’m glad you did. You never quite look like yourself without something flammable on your face.”

“I thought you had to go talk to Rolf,” she’s trying to look irritated, I think, but it’s not really sticking because of some combination of the corner of her mouth twitching and a new singed part of the end of her hair.

“I do. Have fun testing the baffle,” I step backwards so that she can take off, “and I’m still sorry about forgetting to make it, but don’t forget to tell me how it goes. Even though that would be fitting revenge.”

“You having to talk to Rolf is revenge enough. Drop it with the baffle thing, seriously, I’m over it.”

“You know Rolf?”

“He’s married to my cousin,” she says it like it’s obvious and I feel stupid, “I probably deal with him more than you.”

“I always forget that.”

She waits another moment before taking off and after she does, I shiver, already missing Hotgut’s warmth. The sudden chill makes it easier to walk the last little bit to Rolf’s house and knock on the door, even though it practically mounts when he opens it, staring at me for a second like he can’t imagine why I’m here.

“It’s my first free afternoon, I’ve been busy.”

“Not like I have trail mapping to get done by tomorrow or anything,” he brushes me off, gesturing me into his house. “And could you at least leave your boots at the door? They’re filthy and my son is at the age where he puts everything in his mouth.”

I always forget I’m half an uncle. Given the frosty welcome, I’m not sure I blame myself, but there’s a distinct sting of realizing there’s another family member that doesn’t want anything to do with me, at least by extension.

“If today doesn’t work—”

“Since you’re obviously here, I can’t accuse you of forgetting about me, so I have to assume that the chief really is keeping you this busy.” Rolf sits down at a table covered in scribbled on scraps of parchment and neatly drawn maps. “Gods know he needs someone helping him run things. If only he knew the paperwork was part of running things…”

“I thought I was here to talk about dragons,” I toe out of my boots and shut the door behind me, “but bitching about the chief, I can do that too.”

I try to think back to the last time we talked. I don’t know if I count that night when everything changed, because he was drunk and Arvid was still trying to protect me. All of that feels hazy now, part of that life that Mom’s trying so hard to pretend never happened, and I suddenly want to cling to it. That feeling that Rolf belonged in that old Hofferson house, taking up all the air with his gloom.

“The boulder class pages are surprisingly up to date, I shouldn’t be shocked given that Fishlegs wrote most of them, but the tidal class pages are abysmal.” He sets a thick stack of a mix of ancient and new parchment in front of me. The oldest of it shows evidence of being un-bound, one edge of them coated with glue and stuck slightly together. The front page shows a slightly inaccurate sketch of a Thunderdrum and a list of qualities that only take up half the second column.

“Well, to start, the tail is wrong, there’s an additional fin here at the top of the tail—”

“I don’t need to hear it, just start fixing it.” He pushes a few graphite sticks and a brush and closed ink pot towards me. “I know you think you know everything but this might take research.”

“I don’t think I know everything.” I pick up the paintbrush and dip the end of it in the ink. Adding the extra little fin feels official and I get a weird shadow of what it would have felt like for Rolf to try with me the way that I want to try with Stoick.

“Whatever.”

“I know I don’t know a lot of things,” I start tracing a harder line around the drawing. The old parchment wicks up the ink and it dries quickly, barely smudging when I accidentally brush it. I used to draw all the time as a kid, or when it was too cold to go outside. Even more before I got Bang and had more exciting things to do.

It reminds me of home the way nothing else has and that makes me feel bitter. Tired. Like I’m so sick of thinking about everyone else that I can’t take it.

“I grew up not knowing anything, that kind of thing eventually leaves a mark, even on a skull as thick as mine.”

“The chief’s life not living up to your lofty expectation?”

“I don’t have lofty expectations.” I blow over the dark outlined drawing, “that’s what everyone else has for me. You included, since you seem to think I know enough about dragons to fix all of this.”

“I know that you’re the only one saying out loud what I know to be true,” he stands up halfway, looking at a map from a couple of feet away before nodding and deeming it good enough, “that something with the dragons is changing and knowledge is always the way to deal with change.”

“That’s not quite a compliment.” I cock my head and start reading through the bullet point information on Thunderdrums. About half of it’s wrong. “Do I cross things out if they’re wrong or—”

“Here,” he slides me a small roll of parchment that’s sticky on one side like someone spread it with monstrous nightmare venom and let it dry gummy. Not great if there’s a fire, but otherwise, a quick way to hold things together. “Just paste it over the corrections. We want to preserve as much old parchment as possible.”

“That’s a lot of trust here, I could be messing all of this up.”

“Even I can admit that you’ve never done that on purpose.” He moves the top map he’s working on off of the stack. “Trouble just followed you.”

“Still does.” I start writing corrections over the new surface, pressing the paler parchment down with careful fingers. This reminds me of working at the forge, honestly, and I miss it all over again. “It keeps getting me as I…assess the rubble that was the family we both happened to grow up in that…well, that you don’t really feel like my brother.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m your half-brother.” Rolf looks up at me briefly only to scowl when I meet his eyes, like it’s my fault he got suckered into basic manners. “And I never really thought of you as a brother.”

“Yeah. That whole…angry, post-paternity comment about how I didn’t ask to be born still applies.”

“I don’t really remember that night.”

“You were drunk.” I start writing more after correcting what’s there and my handwriting looks right on the page. It’s older than the chief, kept by someone further back, and I wonder if I’m related to them too. There’s so much lost to the paperwork, isn’t there? The paperwork I don’t trust because I’m here where I am now, half a chief half of the time. “Mom’s back with the chief.”

“They got married last year, I believe you were there. Should I not be trusting you?”

“They weren’t then. It was kind of a political sham. It’s not now.”

“It was never a political sham.” He looks at me levelly, in that utterly assholish way that makes me think he’s seeing me now and has always seen me as exactly who I am.

Half Mom, half the chief, probably worse for both of them. Not another chief or a last hope or someone destined to be something more.

Here, I’m just a mistake.

“Do you have a drink?”

“You’re not my little brother who I’m going to hand hold through a sloppy rite of passage,” he holds up what he’s working on, “that looks like the North-west coast, right? You’ve probably flown off more than I have.”

“The point goes a little further out.”

“I’ll go scout it out tomorrow.”

“If you want to do a bunch of extra work, sure.” I shrug and when he glares at me, it feeds into the perverse brand of fun that I’m managing to have right now. Rolf isn’t afraid to be an asshole to me. Being one to him doesn’t carry the weight of responsibility.

I can’t hurt him if he doesn’t care. And no one has ever cared less.

“Unlike following the chief around, this is a job that has to be done right the first time.”

“Likely story,” I hold up the next page of the tidal class section of the book, “scauldrons don’t look like that. What is this? Half a whale grafted onto a monstrous nightmare neck?”

“These are older than our history of dragon training, there are bound to be some mistakes.”

“Like being chief, ok, I get it.”

“Yes, being chief seems to inevitably end in very loud, very irritating mistakes.” He glares at me the way he always used to when he knew he was right, even if he wasn’t, and he wasn’t willing to talk about it anymore. Somehow, this feels more like bickering across my childhood dinner table more than anything since it all fell apart.

“Mom keeps giving the chief these…mushy faces. I don’t like it. No one else seems to think it’s a problem.”

“I thought you came here to work,” he extends the point on his map like I told him to, “and that’s disgusting, I didn’t need to know that.”

“Neither did I. And my loud, selfish self isn’t very good at swallowing pain to provide for others’ happiness.” I shrug, “another Haddock trait.”

He grunts. We work silently for long enough that I get the scauldron drawing fixed and start on those bullet points. So much of this seems like common sense and I hate the idea that it might not be soon. That if dragons don’t start coming back or worse, they keep leaving, suddenly these pages left behind will be the surest evidence that they were ever here.

“You don’t call him dad.”

“Who?” I look up, swearing when I drip ink onto my sleeve and it soaks in immediately. It’s a new shirt, but hey, like I said, we’re rich. Or something.

“Your father.”

“The chief isn’t my father.” I shrug, “I know that he didn’t get your authorized approval first but…but your dad raised me. He’s still my dad.”

“Until you were sixteen.”

“Running the numbers, that’s significant.”

“I have to get this done for tomorrow.” He gestures at the map again and I sigh.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Have you ever enjoyed a single, individual thing? Like ever?” I set the charcoal stick down and lean forward on my elbows. He glares at me. It’s irritated and real and the most like a sibling-type stare I’ve felt in a while.

Aurelia feels like she’s trying to catch up to me and it always feels like she’s close. She feels like a version of me I don’t wholly understand. Stoick feels small and fragile. Arvid is…Ingrid is gone. Rolf is staring at me like I’m flicking spitballs into his breakfast and I can’t hurt him. I’m not responsible for him. He’s not trying to guide me.

“Of course I’ve enjoyed things,” he scoffs, “just not while I’m trying to work.”

“Like what kinds of things, specifically?”

“Nothing in your usual proximity, I’m sure.”

“Dragon racing?” I start trying to think of things typically liked by most people.

“Boring.”

“Thawfest?”

“I don’t need to sit around all day watching Ingrid win to know she did it.”

“Ingrid?” Saying her name hurts. She would like this game, she’d jump in along with me, asking things I haven��t thought of.

“She left.” Rolf, of all people, gets that too.

“Dessert?”

“Used to,” he looks miserably at the dusty war hammer hanging on the wall by the door, “until the wife stopped liking how it stuck to me now that I’ve stopped training.”

“You don’t like fighting?”

“Not when the other person is trying to win.”

“My beard? I’m thinking it’s an improvement.”

He grimaces at me, “that’s on purpose?”

“So’s the hair.”

“Ugh.”

“There’s got to be something you’ll admit to not hating.” I look at the page in front of me for a second before writing another fact about scauldrons down. I try to think of something neutral, something generally liked, something harder to hate than dessert or dragon racing. Or Ingrid, because admittedly, she is an acquired taste and she did leave. “Your house? Your son? The concept of being a father? The family you married into?” I sit up straight, the thought popping into my head right when it needs to for the second time today. “Fuse?”

“My house is creaky. My son puts everything in his mouth and I’d really, really hate him to choke. That and the entire concept of being a father keep me up at night. I married into a family of crazy people.” He shrugs, “Fuse is a good kid.”

“She is? I mean, yeah, she is.” I nod.

“She’s one of the only people at an Ingerman-Thorston family dinner who can hold a conversation about anything that deserves to be written down.”

“I mean, fair, but she’s eighteen now. I don’t know if you can call her a kid.”

“Anyone younger than me is a kid, anyone older than me is washed up.” He snorts to himself and I frown at him.

“Wait—”

“It seems like that’s all we’ve been doing. I thought you wanted to help.”

“I do and I will,” I lean forward slightly, “but was that a kind of Rolf version of a joke?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It was funny.” I nod, “I knew I got it from somewhere.”

He doesn’t have an answer for that besides an unnecessarily prolonged grunt and I hate that seeing him made me feel better. I don’t hate feeling better, though, even if it’s temporary.

#eret iii #festerverse #hiccstrid #fuse thorston #rolf hofferson #aurelia haddock #arvid hofferson #sorry i've just started tagging all the names #i realized it would be convenient for me to be able to read like #all the arvid appearances for characterization purposes and it was hard so i started tagging

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ao3feed-hiccstrid · 5 years ago

Text

Two Worlds, One Family

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/39UkPW2

by Kelblue_Fire18

The Dark One has haunted the inhabitants across the island of Everworld for years. The worst tragedy it had committed against the people was the Firebird Massacre, one that would be known soon. When the last survivor, a baby Phoenix, was found underneath the ashes.

Migo, a member of the Defenders, came across her one morning and took her in after saving her from the Dark One's claws. Without any way of knowing about her kind, Emery grows up believing herself to be an extraordinary warrior of Everworld.

That is until an expedition set of finding more about the island entered her life and helped her find out more than what is outside her hometowns. One of them being a blonde-haired, freckled boy who catches the eye of the last Phoenix...

Words: , Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Original Work, Smallfoot (2018), Frozen (Disney Movies), Book of Life (2014), Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Wreck-It Ralph (Movies), Robots (2005), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Wild Kratts, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Madagascar (Movies), Van Helsing (2004), Moana (2016), The Little Mermaid (1989), Tangled (2010), Coco (2017), The Road to El Dorado (2000), Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003), Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002), The Prince of Egypt (1998), Supernatural, Dinosaur (2000), Alien Series, How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Megamind (2010), Rise of the Guardians (2012), Missing Link (2019), Brave (2012), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), Hercules (1997), Treasure Planet (2002), Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001), Fantasia (1940), Fantasia 2000 (1999), Aladdin (1992), Aladdin (2019), Tarzan (1999), The Lion King (1994), The Lion King (2019), Brother Bear (2003), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast (1991), Enchanted (2007), Cinderella (1950), Cinderella (2015), Sleeping Beauty (1959), Maleficent (Disney Movies), Mulan (1998), Home on the Range (2004), Lilo & Stitch (2002), The Princess and the Frog (2009), WALL-E (2008), Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), Pocahontas (Disney 1995), Big Hero 6 (2014), Emperor's New Groove (2000), Zootopia (2016), Toy Story (Movies), Monsters Inc. (Movies), Monsters vs Aliens (2009), The Jungle Book (1967), Alice in Wonderland (1951), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Disney - All Media Types, Anastasia (1997), Balto (Movies), FernGully (Movies), Rock-a-Doodle (1991), The Secret of NIMH (1982), Cool World (1992), Quest for Camelot (1998), 10 Cloverfield Lane (2016), Cloverfield (2008), The Cloverfield Paradox (2018), The Meg (2018), Rampage (2018), Aquaman (2018), Geostorm (2017), Brightburn (2019), IT - Stephen King, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Godzilla (2014), Godzilla: King of The Monsters (2019), Godzilla: The Series, Star Wars - All Media Types, Sonic Boom (Cartoon), Sonic the Hedgehog (2020), Dreamworks Animated Fandom, Warner Bros. Animated Fandom, Sony Animations Fandom, Ice Age (Movies), Blue Sky Studios Animated Fandom, Minions (2015), Despicable Me (Movies), Venom (Movie 2018), Spiders (2013) - Fandom, Osmosis Jones (2001)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s), Original Non-Human Character(s)

Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Original Female Character & Original Female Character, Original Male Character & Original Male Character, Meechee & Migo (Smallfoot), Meechee/Migo (Smallfoot), Migo & Percy Patterson, Dorgle & Migo (Smallfoot), Anna/Kristoff (Disney), María Posada/Manolo Sánchez, Joaquín Mondragón & María Posada & Manolo Sánchez, Donatello/Leonardo/Michelangelo/April O'Neil/Raphael (TMNT), Gamora/Peter Quill, Rodney Copperbottom/Cappy, Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Alex/Gia (Madagascar), Anna Valerious/Gabriel Van Helsing, Carl (Van Helsing) & Gabriel Van Helsing, Ariel/Eric (Disney), Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel, Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera, Chel/Miguel/Tulio (Road to El Dorado), Marina/Sinbad (Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas), Rain/Spirit (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron), Moses/Tzipporah (Prince of Egypt), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Aladar/Neera (Disney), Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson, Megamind/Roxanne Ritchi, Phoebus de Châteaupers & Esméralda | Esmeralda & Quasimodo, Hercules/Megara (Disney), Kida Nedakh/Milo Thatch, Aladdin/Jasmine (Disney), Jane Porter/Tarzan (Disney), Nala/Simba (The Lion King), Kenai/Nita (Disney), Adam/Belle (Disney), Giselle/Robert Philip, Prince Charming/Cinderella (Disney), Aurora/Phillip (Disney), Fa Mulan/Li Shang, Lilo Pelekai & Stitch | Experiment 626, Naveen/Tiana (Disney), EVE/WALL-E (WALL-E), Prince/Snow White (Disney), Pocahontas/John Smith (Disney), Pocahontas/John Rolfe (Disney), Judy Hopps/Nick Wilde, Jessie/Buzz Lightyear/Bo Peep/Woody Pride, Celia Mae/Mike Wazowski, Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway), Balto/Jenna (Balto), Crysta/Zak Young, Garrett/Kayley (Quest for Camelot), Jonas Taylor/Suyin Zhang, Arthur Curry/Mera, Brandon Breyer and Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Amy Rose/Sonic the Hedgehog, Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote, Leah Estrogen/Osmosis "Ozzy" Jones

Additional Tags: the characters mentioned up on the fandom tags will be in this story, No worries, Alternate Universe - Tarzan Fusion, Inspired by Tarzan, Supernatural Elements, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Romance, Comedy, Major Character Injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/39UkPW2

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #hiccstrid #how to train your dragon #HTTYD

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astridthevalkyrie · 6 years ago

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call me, beep me, if you wanna reach me: chapter two

‘did you really just send me off with the kim possible theme song’ ‘if you just call my name!’ ‘wow, you’re a bit of a dork, aren’t you?’

dedicated to @twiggy242 because he promised me a review at the second chapter and i would like it the second he finished reading.

Hiccup is plain. Astrid is italicized. Ruffnut is underlined.

(10:11) knock knock

(10:15) really?

(10:15) this is how were gonna start the day?

(10:17) knock knock

(10:17) alright, fine

(10:17) whos there

(10:18) annie

(10:18) annie who?

(10:20) annie-thing you can do, i can do better!

(10:21) i can tell knock-knock jokes better than you!

(10:21) nice clapback.

(10:23) thanks, i try

(10:23) knock knock

(10:25) doctor

(10:25) DOCTOR WHO????

(10:26) nope, just the regular doctor!

(10:26) but then how will we time travel?

(10:27) wait, hang on

(10:27) before we go on

(10:27) i have to ask you something super important

(10:29) yeah?

(10:29) youre not…..

(10:30) a superhwolockian, are you?

(10:30) cause that is make or break for any possible friendship here

(10:33) okay listen

.(10:34) ...you didnt

(10:34) how could you do it?

(10:35) individually, those are some good shows!

(10:36) also

(10:36) for me

(10:36) it was

(10:36) uh

(10:38) dont do it

(10:38) superavengewholock

(10:39) oh my god

(10:39) I was young and impressionable!

(10:40) youre dead to me

(10:41) well then I guess this friendship is over before it even started.

(10:41) i wouldnt call us friends

(10:41) more like

(10:41) mutual joke tellers?

(10:42) at least before that god awful knock knock joke

(10:42) you don’t hold back, do you?

(10:46) nah, id rather not

(10:47) your dorkiness has terminated whatever this was

(10:48) you have gotten EVERY reference I’ve made so far.

(10:48) and I will bet 20 bucks that you are as big a dork as I am.

(10:50) nope, im one of the cool kids

(10:50) fine.

(10:51) but I hate when friendships end.

(10:52) like in the harry potter books

(10:52) when luna and neville stop being friends to date instead.

(10:54) what?

(10:55) luna and neville didnt end up with each other in the books, neville married hannah abbott

(10:55) and luna married rolf scamander

(10:55) HA

(10:55) THAT WASNT IN THE BOOKS.

(10:56) YOU JUST KNOW THAT

(10:56) BECAUSE YOU’RE

(10:56) goddammit

(10:56) A

(10:56) DORK

(10:57) ugh

(10:58) victory is sweet, viking.

*********

(10:32) hey so you know how i borrowed your hw that one time

(10:35) you dont wanna do this, ruff

(10:37) i may or may not want it again

(10:37) RUFF

(10:38) i dont wanna read the articles suuuuuue me!

(10:39) trump did blah blah and idiots are everywhere i dont need articles to tell me that

(10:58) it might do you some good

(11:00) wow respond late much

(11:00) i was texting someone else

(11:01) tuff?

(11:01) no

(11:01) that girl in your physics class?

(11:02) no

(11:02) your mom?

(11:02) no!

(11:06) who else do you have to text? i should be your one and only priority right now

(11:06) that guy i texted by accident yesterday

(11:07) he could be some serial killer or stalker you know

(11:07) eh, whats he gonna do, track me through my texts?

(11:10) yeah, thats EXACTLY it, dummy

(11:12) hard to believe teachers like you so much when you sound like an idiot half the time

(11:13) oh, relax, were just talking and joking around

(11:13) and if youre so smart, you can do those articles on your own

(11:14) nooooooooooo

(11:14) i promise not to say anything more

(11:14) text as many weird boys as you want

(11:14) do you want me to search up numbers for you

(11:15) will that make you give me the answers

(11:15) im not giving you jack SHIT, ruff

(11:19) what if i agree to hook up with you

(11:19) oh my gosh

(11:20) you make one passing comment and suddenly you friend thinks youre in love with her

(11:21) its okay, astrid, i know im hot

(11:23) youre not that hot when youre bugging me

(11:24) shall i whisper seductively in your ear instead

(11:24) *whispers* give me your homewoooork

(11:26) astrid

(11:28) are you texting your boy again i swear astrid

(11:28) aaaaastrid

*********

(11:24) hello gorgeous what is your name

(11:24) you have about three minutes to explain

(11:25) ajhgjhegfh

(11:25) rugerhgggggggggr45

(11:25) uh…

(11:25) dork?

(11:26) oh gods, i’m sorry.

(11:26) my cousin got my phone and he

(11:26) well, you know.

(11:27) is this the same cousin you were playing chess with?

(11:27) bingo.

(11:28) he seems like quite the character

(11:29) oh, he is.

(11:30) it’s always “look at hiccup and how small he is” and “hiccup is a loser but i am the benevolent cousin and i still love him”

(11:30) aww

(11:32) wait hold the fuck up

(11:32) okay, potty mouth.

(11:33) your name is HICCUP????????

(11:33) ah

(11:33) shit.

(11:34) tell me your name is not hiccup

(11:36) would if i could, viking.

(11:36) omg tell me your name is NOT hICCUP

(11:37) MY PARENTS THOUGHT IT WOULD WARD OFF GNOMES AND TROLLS

(11:37) gnomes and trolls?

(11:37) holy shit

(11:37) youre not from berk are you?

(11:38) uh, yeah.

(11:38) how’d you know?

(11:38) (creep).

(11:39) oh shush

(11:40) youre a few towns away from me everyone talks about you guys and your weird traditions

(11:40) YOU TOTALLY GO TO HOOLIGAN HIGH DONT YOU

(11:41) seriously is this information just common knowledge or

(11:41) YOUR TEAMS SUCKS AT TENNIS

(11:43) more of a basketball person myself, wouldn’t know.

(11:43) this is the greatest day of my life

(11:44) is this pick on hiccup day?????

(11:45) yes, HICCUP, it is

(11:45) oh gods.

(11:45) what do you call it when you have a stomach spasm

(11:46) NOT ORIGINAL.

(11:46) A HICCUP

(11:46) HA

*********

(11:48) his name is hiccup

(11:55) oh my gosh, what a loser

(11:56) oh noooo, youre into losers

(11:56) youre fucked

(11:56) were all doomed

(11:56) oh yeah i got the homework from an obscure website

(11:57) so suck on that hofferson

(11:59) (you nerd go get the weirdo)

#httyd #hiccstrid #hiccup #astrid #ruffnut #valkyrie stories

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thatsnicebutimmarried · 7 years ago

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@tysonrunningfox You tagged Fuse as a sinamon roll and that made me do a thing because this dumb AU has taken over my goddamn life. Feedback and corrections are welcome.

Looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you: Fuse Thorston

Looks like they could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll: Arvid Hofferson

Looks like a cinnamon roll and is actually a cinnamon roll: Stoick Haddock II

Looks like they could kill you and could actually kill you: Ingrid Hofferson

Looks like a cinnamon roll and actually is a cinnamon roll but could also kill you: Aurelia Haddock*

Burnt cinnamon roll: Eret III

Soggy Cheerios: Rolf Hofferson

Sinnamon roll: Smitelout Jorgenson, Fuse (honorary)

*I know Aurelia can't exactly fight, but I have no doubt that if she wanted you dead she could make it happen

#festerverse #you have taken over my life i hope you are happy #i had too much coffee this morning so now im shitposting #sorry

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ao3feed-starmora · 5 years ago

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Two Worlds, One Family

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/39UkPW2

by Kelblue_Fire18

Words: , Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s), Original Non-Human Character(s)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/39UkPW2

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #starmora #quillora #gamora x peter quill #peter quill x gamora #gamora x star lo

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ao3feed--symbrock · 5 years ago

Link

by Kelblue_Fire18

Words: , Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s), Original Non-Human Character(s)

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #venom movie #eddie brock #venom symbiote #symbrock #venom #venom fic

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bh6-fanfictionfeed · 5 years ago

Text

Two Worlds, One Family

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/39UkPW2

by Kelblue_Fire18

Words: , Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s), Original Non-Human Character(s)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/39UkPW2

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Big hero six fanfiction #big hero 6 fanfiction

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ao3feed-batb2017 · 5 years ago

Text

Two Worlds, One Family

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/39UkPW2

by Kelblue_Fire18

Words: , Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s), Original Non-Human Character(s)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/39UkPW2

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #batb #beauty and the beast #emma watson #dan stevens

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tysonrunningfox · 7 years ago

Note

I first did this as replying to the headcanon post but then it occurred to me that it might not work that way if it is a reblogged post (plus I thought of some more so): 49 for Fuse. I imagine the answer somehow involves the word 'bombs' but I kinda want to know. Also 33 for baby Stoick? 10 for Rolf, because baby boy is probably neurotic AF but does he know it? (Side note, will we ever get to really meet Rolf's baby? DOES ASTRID GET TO HUG HER GRANDCHILD EVER)

Aah, Just answered 49 and 33, but I’ll do 10 for Rolf here, because I love him.

10. Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Rolf is neurotic as all hell. It really serves him in working with documentation, actually, because he’s very clean and driven by accuracy, but it does pose a problem interacting with Vikings in general and especially his family. I don’t think he recognizes a lot of his grumpiness as neurotic at all, he puts most of it on other people for being loud or disorganized or just generally what he deems annoying, when to be completely honest he’s probably triggered by other people’s noise and messiness.

And all that ties into the fact that he’s a berserker so like, when he gets pissed off or scared he goes full ROLF SMASH even though most of the time he’s kind of benevolently grumpy and largely harmless. He’s also prone to drinking too much when things get to be too much to handle and if I were going to armchair diagnose any of my babies (with anything but anxiety, because they all have that and it’s not even mental health, it’s just their lives and the fact I keep hurting them) with anything, Rolf would veer towards OCD and probably a tendency in an almost agoraphobic direction.

#festerverse #rolf hofferson

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years ago

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Open Flames: Part 19

I...I mean...my baby boy, guys, my son. My child.

Ao3

I’m as familiar with the traditional Berkian wedding as I am with all of the other traditions I’ve never explicitly followed but have had the chance to assist in performing. I mean, sure, both my parents were there when I was named, but one was operating in the capacity of chief as I was named after the third parental figure present, so it wasn’t business as usual.

I didn’t go to dragon selection because Bang chose me a year early. I didn’t finish my apprenticeship because I learned I was Berk’s long-lost heir and started chief training before I could.

Really, nothing about my life has been according to tradition, down to the fact that Fuse is very obviously pregnant on our wedding day and I got arrested for grave robbing for a ceremonial sword, but explaining all of this to the chief doesn’t get me out of the ceremonial bath.

In a different period of my life, this group of people existing within the same hot spring would have been an utter impossibility. Hel, half of these people existing in proximity to each other would have been an inevitable brawl.

At the time, I would have been horrified by my own chances in that fight, but right now I’d take the nude, six-way brawl over sitting here surrounded by the chief, my dad, Snotlout, Arvid, and Rolf while waiting for their marital advice.

“Well,” Rolf clears his throat after a long, brutal silence, and I look at him, silently willing him to not say whatever he’s about to say. It doesn’t work. “You don’t need fertility advice.”

“I don’t,” I agree almost solemnly, hoping beyond hope that Rolf’s ability to kill any conversation he comes across applies in this setting. “I really don’t need advice.”

It doesn’t.

“What are you, like eighteen?” Snotlout asks and I raise an eyebrow, glancing at the chief. “I didn’t know anything at eighteen.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Arvid mumbles under his breath, too comfortable like he always is.

“Twenty-one, why are you here again?” I ask.

“My fault,” the chief admits from his place on my left and he accepts my half-hearted glare with grace.

“I’m your second uncle, or something,” Snotlout crosses his arms, puffing up in an obvious way that looks dumber next to my dad, “plus, as the only relation who’s managed to stay married to one woman for thirty years, I figured you could use my expertise.”

The subtle swirl of the hot mineral water is the only sound and I consider leaving, not for the first time.

I could get out of the spring, grab Bang and hide out in a cave somewhere until the ceremony later. The chief would perform my marriage anyway, Mom would make him, considering Fuse’s condition.

But the reason I didn’t do that the second Stoick woke me up pounding on my door and offering kissing advice still stands. Everyone else on the island is busy pulling the feast together and the last thing I want to be is alone right now.

I don’t feel any closer to ready to be a husband or a father and hours with nothing but the heavy silence of my own company would amplify those thoughts, and that would be bad for my composure and even worse for Fuse, having to spend her first night as my wife having to talk me off of yet another ledge of my own creation.

I look to my right at Arvid, hoping for some advice or something and he offers me a bottle half full of mead that he had the foresight to bring.

I think a second longer than usual before accepting the bottle and taking a sip.

“I don’t think any of us believe your marriage’s longevity is your doing,” Rolf holds his hand out for the bottle,’ and I hand it to him, eyebrows stuck in an awkward half-raised position.

The chief snorts.

Today is already out of control, and the thought makes me anxious to grab onto it and slam it back to Midgard, to ground it in my intention and force everything the way I want it, but it’s too late for that. It was too late for that when I got into this hot spring, it was too late for that when I came back with a sword, buying into the madness.

At least through this round of inevitable chaos thrust upon me, I get Fuse, and no one should be in any danger.

That is unless Stoick challenges me at the altar or something, but I’d like to think no one would see that as legitimate.

“Are you nervous?” Dad asks, steady and kind enough that I don’t bristle at the suggestion.

“I’ve seen plenty of weddings.”

“It’s different when it’s yours,” Dad shrugs. The chief agrees.

I kind of want Rolf to say something mean again. It almost seems like he’s enjoying this, and that makes sense, he’s always been most comfortable when everyone else is miserable.

“I got so drunk that my wedding night didn’t happen until the next day,” Arvid jokes, taking his bottle back from Rolf and having another sip. “Aurelia still won’t let me live it down.”

Everyone else chuckles.

The chief, of all people, opens his mouth and I snap.

“Gods,” I squint my eyes shut, finding a foreign leaf in my tangled, wet hair and steeling myself for the potential fallout of what I’m about to say. “Given that it’s my wedding day, can I possibly request that none of you remind me that you’re…” I avoid Arvid’s eye-line even as I accept the bottle of mead again, “um, happily married to women I’m related to—”

“Or previously married to,” Snotlout elbows my dad and when I look at Arvid, he’s also wondering if we’re about to have to exact Hofferson justice on Snotlout while naked.

“So, we start at the generic little man in the longboat and work from there?” The chief asks, clapping his hands together and splashing like he’s trying for a diversion and I nod, happy for even the nonsensical distraction.

“Ok, sure, I don’t know why we’re talking about boats but—”

“Poor Fuse,” Snotlout mutters under his breath and Rolf nods in cringing commiseration.

“I should have brought my diagram—”

“What diagram?” I ask carefully, Rolf and Snotlout agreeing even temporarily enough evidence that I said something stupid. “What am I missing here?”

“Not what you’re missing,” Arvid teases, “more about what Fuse is missing.”

“I never thought I’d miss you two hating each other,” I snap, hoping the hot water hides how red my face is getting. “What is Fuse missing that I don’t know about? Is it some married secret I’ll spontaneously understand after the ceremony?”

“Not spontaneously,” Arvid says cryptically and Dad laughs, trying and failing to conceal it, eyes the kind of pitying I hate that indicate I’m left out of some wealth of common knowledge.

“She is pregnant,” Snotlout shrugs, “women do not like that when they’re pregnant.”

“Not in my experience,” Dad brags, and he sounds like Arvid and I look at my brother to gage his reaction but he’s pulling a familiar grimace that takes me a second to place.

It’s wildly similar to my expression whenever he reminds me that he’s every definition of married to my sister. And he’s making it at Dad while Dad is talking about what women like while pregnant, of all things and I shake my head.

“No, that’s—I know that’s about Mom unless I have some other half-siblings you want to warn me about.” I wince, “no, don’t answer that—I just…do I want to ask about the boat?”

“That’s just um,” the chief clears his throat, gesturing aimlessly above the water, “colloquial term for, the uh, sensitive—between a woman’s legs, on the front—”

“I know about that!” I snap, but my voice cracks so it’s more of a squawk.

“He’s just saying that to not be embarrassed,” Snotlout whispers.

“I’m not—”

“It’s ok if you don’t know about the man in the boat, kid, that’s why we’re doing this—”

“I know about it!” I whisper yell so that the entire village doesn’t happen to hear this mortifying conversation, “I just don’t have a stupid name for it.”

“Then what do you call it?” Arvid asks, and if I’d known that we’d have to have this conversation, I would have had it in jail, away from the prying eyes and ears of dads.

“I don’t call it anything,” I hiss, “I’m usually not talking when it’s—when I—I’m doing things, not talking about them.”

“You aren’t talking?” Dad gets in on the fun, and it strikes me that I’m the last son he gets to embarrass this way. “Didn’t know that was possible.”

“Dad,” I plead, eyes wide, and Arvid snorts.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you and Thorston—” He blocks me with a hand on my forehead when I go for the headlock, frustration overcoming our unfortunate nudity, “that’s impressive.”

“Boys,” the chief makes the mistake of putting his hand on my shoulder and I shrug it off too hard.

“Must be because of how used to the open-door policy I got,” I can’t really glare at him with my eye twitching, but he at least tries not to laugh at me.

Tries being the operative word.

“That was supposed to be a preventative measure.”

“Didn’t work,” I huff, “obviously.”

“I still don’t think he knows what we’re talking about,” Snotlout whispers in front of a cupped palm aimed at the chief.

“How would I not—who doesn’t—don’t answer that!” I clear my throat, trying to dial it back to a murderous whisper and ending up with an indignant squeak. “In case you haven’t noticed, Fuse is pregnant, how would I have managed that without knowing about…things.” I finish lamely, trying not to think about it.

Oh Gods, Fuse is probably enduring the same right now.

She’s the one I should have asked to hide in a cave with me.

“I mean, it’s not essential knowledge for her to get pregnant,” Rolf says, instructional and glad for his trapped audience and I splash him, cutting across the sputter when he chokes on mineral water.

“I have knowledge,” I insist, and he glares at me, looking far too disturbingly much like Mom as he pushes wet hair off of his forehead. “Plenty of knowledge, in fact. Zero complaints. Probably too much knowledge, now that I think about it, given that the wedding isn’t until this afternoon.” I look around, wishing everyone were more embarrassed about the topic than my reaction and coming up disappointed, “which, just to re-iterate, Fuse kept coming back for more enough that she got pregnant, so, I think it’s safe to say that I’m covered in that department.”

“If you’re measuring by quantity over quality—” Rolf starts and I threaten to splash him again.

“Both!” My voice cracks. Again. I take a sip of the mead and sink down further into the hot spring like I can hide, “it’s both, aiming for both and I’ve got good aim, so…”

“The twins prove that,” the chief tries to compliment me, or something, and if I weren’t in water, I think I’d spontaneously combust.

“I get that I’m not escaping your advice, but is there any way I could get advice I might actually need?”

I look between him and my dad, trying to see myself in either of their expressions.

The chief as mortified as I feel. My dad as pissed off and reluctant. Both trying.

“I have no fucking idea how to…even begin being a dad?” I deflate, sinking into the water until it laps at my shoulders, “like I don’t know the first thing about babies or kids or—I spent the last few months freaking out because I didn’t have a place to put a crib—”

“The house is ready,” Arvid interjects and I nod, hand limply gesturing at nothing.

“I never thought past crib placement. I didn’t even get to crib acquisition—”

“Made you two,” Arvid adds and I glare at him, oddly glad for our bonding in jail, because I’m absolutely certain that he can read my face well enough to know I’m not really mad. He holds his hand up in a casual, joking surrender that makes me wish I’d invited him to hide in the cave with me. “Just an extra wedding present, congratulations.”

“Get all the sleep you can now,” Rolf rolls his eyes, “because you won’t be getting any more after you have twins in the house.”

“No, it’s the last time you can stay up all night without kids crying,” Snotlout complains, “and then the grandkids move in—oh wait, you guys wouldn’t know about that.”

“And none of you know about twins,” Rolf wins the special edition Thawfest misery competition and his smile is smug. “Not to mention with a third around—”

“How do I put on a diaper? Why do I have to hold the baby’s head when I hold it? What happens if I don’t?” The questions start pouring out like the aquifer feeding the spring at our feet and maybe it’s good that I couldn’t possibly be more embarrassed than I am, because it’s freeing me to be as stupid as I need to be. “How do I know when it’s time? How bad does it really hurt?” My voice drops slightly, and I ask the question I haven’t even really asked myself, “Is Fuse going to be ok?”

“Eret,” the chief says in the voice he uses when he’s everyone else’s chief, and I’m strung out enough that I let myself be comforted, “Fuse is strong.”

“I love her,” I shrug one shoulder, feeling young and narrow, like I’m going to slip between the bars accidentally, unable to help anyone. “We didn’t—I mean obviously, this wasn’t planned. What if something goes wrong? What if—”

“Fuse is going to be fine,” Rolf brushes me off, “statistically—”

“Oh, statistically? Women die in childbirth all the time—”

“Before my son was born, I familiarized myself with three generations of Thorston-Ingerman women’s birthing records.” He shrugs, “statistically, she’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.” I say after a long, dragging pause and the chief looks up at the sky, the sun migrating ever so slowly through the top of its arc.

“And the rest of those questions, you’ve got time for.” He points at me, “the big question now is what are you going to do about your beard?”

“My beard?” I reach up and touch my face, “what’s wrong with my beard?” I slide my fingers through the admittedly overgrown hair, right to left, stumbling upon the issue at the same time the chief continues.

“It’s um, half-burned.”

“Oh.” I wipe at the patch of unevenly stubbled chin I haven’t assessed in what might be years, my hand coming free with a few crumbles of black charred hair, “must be from the explosion at the jail.”

“So…what are you going to do about it?” The chief asks, the question sounding a little weird, like it’s someone else’s words in his mouth.

“What do you mean?” I laugh.

“It’s your wedding day.”

“Yes, that’s why we’re all doing this horrifically awkward thing.” I nod to the group at large and Dad and Rolf nod in agreement.

“Half your beard is burned off,” the chief repeats, elbowing Snotlout for backup.

“And it looks like shit.”

“Thanks,” I shake my head at him, “this has all been such an ego boost, is it over?”

“I think what Snotlout was trying to say is, don’t you want to fix your beard before you get married?” Dad tries, and I get that feeling everyone is leading me towards something obvious again, so I look at Arvid.

“Don’t make Fuse marry someone with a half-charred beard,” he shakes his head, “because it does look like shit.”

“See?” Snotlout snorts, “that’s what I said.”

“Oh, come on,” I gesture at myself, “Fuse—it’s been what? Four years? Fuse knows what mess she’s getting into.”

I’m not quite sure where that argument fails to gain support, but next thing I know, I’m sitting on a tree stump in half damp pants with Snotlout holding a mirror in front of me while the chief sharpens a razor on a nearby stone.

“It’s fine,” I rub my hand over my admittedly shaggy chin, covering the burned spot with my fingersand staring deep into the slightly warped reflection of my own eyes. “I’ll just trim it.”

At first, I think I look tired, but that’s not quite right. I look…serious. Even. If I weren’t surrounded, I’d smile to see if it drew out a hint of the goofy face I used to stare at in the surface of the pool by Raven’s Point, waiting for it to turn into someone else’s.

I always thought it would be Dad’s, and then I despaired over the fact that it would inevitably be the chief’s.

Right now, though, under the wet hair slicked back from my forehead and the shaggy, half-burned beard, it might be mine.

Suddenly, the beard is stifling, not as much of a choice as a bandage disguising a problem, and my hand is steady when I take the razor.

“Thor knows if you started wearing an asymmetrical beard, half the village would follow suit by tomorrow,” Rolf rolls his eyes, almost dutifully angling the mirror in Snotlout’s hands for me to see the damage better.

“You think so?” I grin, holding the razor to my cheek and sweeping down with a deep breath, taking off the burned patch. The skin underneath seems too pale, too fragile, like an enemy could see my pulse under my skin. “Like this?” I gesture at my cheek like it’s a fashion statement and Rolf rolls his eyes.

“Is that really the face you want Fuse to see at the altar?” Dad asks, teasing eyebrow raised and I shrug.

“I don’t have another face.” I ignore the groans and start on the opposite corner of my jaw, shaving down towards my chin.

“Wait, goatee,” Arvid suggests, leaning on my shoulder and looking at my reflection.

He has my eyes. They’re Mom’s, of course, but right now they look like mine, wondering when playing adult became permanent.

“Oh Gods, you’re right,” I laugh, scraping the razor down both sides of my chin and evening out the sides. I probably should have soaped up for this, but I was soaking long enough in my own personal Hel that the hairs are softened, and I clean up the edges with only a small nick on my jaw. “There.”

“That’s not bad,” Arvid squeezes my shoulder and stands back up, looking for Dad’s opinion, but the chief interjects first.

“No,” he laughs though, “that is bad.”

“What? It’s not burned anymore,” I twirl the end of the goatee around my finger, corners of my jaw cold in the unfamiliar breeze.

“I can’t take you seriously like that,” he snorts, and I assess my chin in the mirror.

“Like you take me seriously anyway.”

“I’m trying to,” the chief points at my reflection, “keep going. Please.”

“Fine,” I bite my lower lip to stretch it taut and hold the razor against it before dragging it straight down the center. No turning back now.

The angle of my jaw surprises me, the hardness of the line of it under the razor, the way I have to tilt my head so far back to see the hair on the under-side of it. It’s solid, like the resting expression that I almost didn’t recognize in my eyes.

I look back in the mirror, cleaning up a few straggling hairs and running my hand back and forth across my chin. I thought I’d look like a kid again, baby-faced and absolutely clueless about the world around me, but I don’t. I look clean. I look like I’m not hiding.

My chin is cold already, and I still feel exposed, and just thinking about the ruddy shadow that’s probably going to bloom on my cheeks tomorrow morning makes me think I’m not ready for the upkeep, but the new beard will feel different. A statement, not a costume, not a façade.

“I don’t mind the mustache,” I mutter, a bit shocked at the truth of it, smoothing the hairs on my upper lip with a still wrinkled fingertip.

“Are you serious?” Snotlout snorts before looking between the chief and my dad, “did my mustache look like that? Why didn’t any of you talk me out of it?”

“It most definitely did not look like that,” the chief looks over my shoulder in the mirror and the resemblance isn’t any more obvious without the beard. It’s not less obvious either, it just is. I don’t feel like an imperfect reflection anymore, and even though we have the same eyebrows, they seem less inherited on my face than Mom’s eyes do.

“So, it was better?”

“Worse,” Dad shakes his head, “if that’s even possible.”

“Hey!” I sit up straight, “I think it looks…pretty good.” I weigh the words carefully, testing them out against my appearance.

“What was your mom thinking?” Snotlout snorts, scratching his own upper lip and then curling it at my mustache.

“This again, really?” The chief rolls his eyes and there’s something familiar in his disgusted expression that simultaneously makes me feel very mature and included and very gross.

“Your mom?” I ask him, knuckles white around the razor, “I thought we weren’t talking about women I happen to be related to.” I look at the chief for corroboration but Snotlout keeps talking before it matters.

“It’s not like you knew her,” he scoffs, too smug.

“It’s not like anything happened,” the chief cushions, a little too sternly.

“Mustache goes,” I continue shaving before I can think too deeply into that, wiping the razor off on my leg when my face is bare for the first time in years.

00000

Mom is still gathering the feast, so I spend the next hour or so at the forge, working on a ring. It’s not last minute so much as it’s being perfected at the last minute, an old Hofferson family heirloom being augmented with some Thorston flair in the form of fireproofing. When I’m done, the previously silver ring is a shiny black that reflects purple like Hotgut’s scales when I hold it up to the sunlight.

There are more clothes than I know what to do with on my bed—no, the upstairs bed, as I won’t be sleeping here anymore—at the chief’s house, but I layer up without complaint, sliding the newly polished ceremonial sword into the holster on my hip. I squint at my reflection in the window, jumping when someone touches my shoulder.

“You shaved,” Mom says, fussing with my hair and I turn to face her, feeling paler and more obvious as I swallow hard and shrug. “It looks good.”

“I didn’t really have a choice, it was half burned off, apparently,” I smile, “probably should have noticed that when it happened but…”.

“It’s about time.” She doesn’t lecture me and I appreciate it, nodding slowly to myself and fidgeting with the bottom of the crisp new tunic. The cloak still smells like the dust in the attic, and even though he’s another grandparent I didn’t know, the weight of Stoick the Vast is heavier than usual.

More manageable though, even my half-assed attempts at following tradition helping to center the pressure of the past.

“Four years late, right?” I snort, seams of my tunic tight on my shoulders when I take a deep breath.

“Just on time, I think.” If it weren’t Mom, I’d think she’s just saying what she thinks I need to hear, but as is, it helps me relax.

“Right under the wire.”

“Hey, it’s still a clean finish.” She wipes away a tear and I feel clumsy and too bundled when I hug her. “I’m fine—”

“Maybe I need a hug from my mom,” I swallow hard, looking around the room I never wanted. The footprint on the wall from where I threw a boot at Stoick. The door no one would let me close. The home that fought tooth and nail for the title, no matter how hard I refused it.

I sniff because the dusty cloak is going to make me sneeze.

“You’re just down the road,” she insists, but I don’t let go. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with all the extra food. It’s going to take time to learn how to cook for three.”

“Hey,” I take a step back and pat her shoulders, “like you said, I’m just down the road.”

Yesterdays’s snow is back and picking up slightly, but not enough for people to duck their heads and refrain from commenting on my beard or congratulating me. There are a lot of comments that sound like ‘finally’ and I shrug them off, patting the sword at my side and focusing on keeping my chin up through the threshold to the great hall.

The chief is there, talking animatedly with Tuffnut as Toothless nudges his way between them like he’s part of the discussion. Aurelia is behind them, double checking a scroll, pointing animatedly at it while Arvid leans over her shoulder. Rolf is at his ledger at the table in the back, oldest son bouncing on his knee. Ingrid is reluctant in a new dress, hanging back with Finn while Smitelout talks to Fuse.

Fuse.

As soon as I see her, any and all confusion or trepidation or lack of direction flies out the window. I pat Bang’s head when it appears under my hand, but can’t spare the attention to look at him, not now, not when Fuse’s hair is arranged as a shiny pink curtain around her shoulders, half a dozen intricate braids holding a delicate crown of dried flowers in place on her head. Not when she looks concerned, rolling something between her palms, talking to Smitelout with that direct little frown, everything in me wanting to kiss away the wrinkle between her eyes.

And it hits me that after everything that’s happened to me in my life, everything that’s been thrown my way, every hit I’ve had to take, everything I’ve had to swallow, that Fuse is the only inevitability that I get to choose.

I’m so Odin-damned lucky that I can hardly breathe.

Smitelout sees me first, waggling her eyebrow at Fuse and nudging her on the arm before Fuse turns and sees me, stress melting off her face at the same instant as I feel the goofy smile I’d thought about earlier tug at my cheeks. And before I can cross the floor between us, before I can hug her like I barely got to yesterday, before I can even think about kissing her and home and every awkward, horrible thing I want to tell her about my day, the chief clears his throat.

“We’ll begin the ceremony with the exchange of the bride-price specified in the marriage contract,” he holds his hand out for the scroll Aurelia was reviewing, moving so slowly he might as well be swimming in Monstrous Nightmare gel.

“I accept my Gods-given post as the one true Laird of Thorstonton,” Tuffnut says, looking the chief up and down, “you may bow when you visit me.”

“Why are you saying ‘lord’ like that?” Ruffnut asks from the front of the crowd organizing into semi-neat rows along the length of the hall and Fishlegs grabs her arm, affectionately shushing her.

Maybe it’s the long, torturous morning or the single night’s sleep between me and that cold, damp jail cell, or maybe it’s the unveiled nerves in Fuse’s eyes, incongruous with her placid attempt to hold back a giggle, but standing across from her in front of the chief and the entire tribe feels false somehow. A daydream or a slow building plot moving from the back of my head to the forefront, independent of the rest of the passing time.

It feels a little like being in trouble, to be honest.

Like admitting to something I did wrong but don’t really regret, accepting a lecture that I only half-hear as the chief talks about familiar things like duty and family and how standing here right now has something to do with them all. And Fuse is twitchier than I’ve ever seen her, shifting between her feet, patting her stomach self-consciously, eyes dragging over my face again and again as she bites back laughter that doesn’t make any sense but makes me want to laugh too.

Our eye contact seems to hold a secret. We loved each other before this. We were devoted to each other before this. We knew all this already, and we’re just pretending like we didn’t for the sake of scamming the chief out of a house. And by the look of him, he thinks it’s his idea. It’s the perfect crime, we’re getting out golden with no one the wiser.

“…with the exchange of rings and weapons,” the chief pauses and stares at me for a second before I remember that there’s more to playing along than just standing here.

“Right!” I say too loudly, patting my numerous pockets and trying to ignore the laugh from the audience even though it makes my face heat up, bare jaw feeling more vulnerable than ever.

I’d forgotten about the entire tribe in attendance, lost in that separate little existence with Fuse, where none of this is happening.

“Here,” she finds her ring first, catching my flailing left hand and sliding it into place. It’s cold and I expect it to be heavy, but it’s just a ring, shiny against the scars on my hand.

It’s just a ring until I see Fuse’s face, territorial as Aurelia would say, but to me it’s more of a reflection of how badly I want to be fierce when I think about anything happening to her.

She frowns at her ring when I eventually find it in an inner pocket of my tunic, twisting her hand slowly in the light to show the purple gleam and trying to figure it out, fingers of her other hand tracing over the smooth surface.

“Fireproof,” I whisper, and she looks at me like she can’t believe I remembered and my heart pounds so hard I think I might choke on it.

“And weapons,” the chief clears his throat, taking a step back when I pull the ceremonial sword out too quickly and clanging it against his left shin.

The audience laughs again.

Fuse hands me a kind of dainty short sword that I don’t recognize, Eret the First’s ceremonial sword hanging a bit limply in her grip until Smitelout steps forward and offers to hold it for her while the chief pulls the ceremonial cloth out of his pocket.

I take Fuse’s hands, squeezing slightly when hers are shaking, trying to communicate that our scheme is right on schedule. She bites her lip, shuffling a step closer and it’s not close enough, the urge to grab her and fly Bang to the nearest cave resurfacing alarmingly close to the front of my conscience. But we’re so close to everything we need, and I nod at her, thumbs dragging across her cold knuckles.

She blushes and I grin, but the expression freezes on my face when the chief clears his throat.

“Wait.”

I want to sputter ‘for what?’ or something similarly coherent but all I can do is turn to stare at him, wide-eyed and swallowing hard.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he waves the ceremonial cloth and Mom’s jaw drops where she stands behind him.

She looks at me like this must be something of my doing and I shake my head as much as I can manage.

“Technically, I mean, I don’t know if I can technically do this.” The chief clarifies, except he doesn’t, because this whole thing is his idea. This wedding, me and Fuse standing here, this ring on my finger and that sword I risked my ass to go get.

“Wha—th—chief?” I shake my head in disbelief as I get something resembling a question out and he just cocks his head at me like I’m the one who sounds crazy.

Which I do.

But that’s not my fault, he’s acting crazy, I’m just reacting.

“That’s the thing,” he shrugs one shoulder like he’s weighing the pros and cons of some hallucination he’s refusing to clue the rest of us in on, even as the audience starts to whisper, “it’s the chief’s job to marry people.”

“Y-yeah?” I stutter, looking pointedly at Fuse and my hands, trying and failing to relax when she squeezes my fingers reassuringly.

“And I’ve decided it’s time for you to become chief,” his mouth moves in tandem with the sound of the words theoretically coming out of it, but it takes another moment for the sounds to mean anything in my brain, “which puts me into a precarious position as I officiate this wedding.”

“Chief?” I ask again, but it’s not a moniker this time, it’s a title floating somewhere between us, a title I’d started to think I’d never reach.

“Over the last few years, you’ve impressed me—no, I think you’ve impressed all of us,” he gestures to the audience, “with your willingness to help and learn and most importantly, to take charge.”

That garners a few claps and I look around, shocked to see people looking as happily surprised as I think I’ll feel when the rush of adrenaline calms down. Fuse lets go of one of my hands to rub my arm and when I look at her, one eyebrow is quirked to silently ask me if I’m ok and I nod so fast it feels like my head is going to pop off and roll away.

“But the last few months, and even more, the last few weeks, you’ve convinced me that you have a direction for the tribe in mind,” he takes a step back toward the fire pit, dragging his thumb through the char on the old stone, “a direction I’m excited to see you take us in from my happy, well-deserved retirement.”

He jokes and people laugh and he nods encouragingly at me as he draws on my forehead with the soot. Large half circle. Small half circle. Line between my eyebrows. The Berk seal etched onto my skin like fire only I can feel, a secret weight that feels lighter in Stoick the Vast’s cloak with all three of my parents staring at me like they trust me.

I look out at the audience then, trying to soak in the cheers that feel more like a cold bucket of water over my spinning head. Fuse’s hand in mine is the only thing that feels real and her smile is half pride and half ‘I told you so’, just enough to ground me in the moment when I was so sure I’d wake up and find myself still stagnant. Eternally a step and a half behind where I finally am.

“Now,” the chief—the ex-chief—Hiccup, maybe, if I can get used to it—clears his throat to quiet the crowd, “Chief,” he addresses me and it feels huge and right and terrifying all at once. He waits until I nod. “How would you feel about granting me chief’s power back for a second to finish this wedding?”

I don’t think that’s explicitly necessary, really, and any other time I might have argued with him about being ridiculous and dramatic and scaring me half to death but right now all I can do is cling to the idea that the chief’s power is a real thing, a thing I’m holding. A thing I can possess and hand off and be trusted to care for.

“Good,” I nod, and that doesn’t quite make sense, but it takes me an extra second to find the air to say more, “granted. Please finish the wedding.” I grab Fuse’s hand again and she’s really smiling now, fingernails biting into the my palms as the—Hiccup wraps the cloth around our hands.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” his smile relaxes like he feels the absence of the very real burden he handed off to me, “Chief and Chieftess.”

Fuse doesn’t wait for the ceremony to allow her to kiss me. She flings her arms around my neck, the ceremonial fabric wrapped somewhere in them, dragging across my jaw as her fingers tangle in my hair and yank me down to her.

The audience cheers, again, like this has something to do with them, and when I pull back to breathe, she has a sooty smeared chief’s mark cutting across her eyebrow, highlighting her smile like the dust of so many bombs. I smile and kiss her again, one hand cupping her chin, the other sliding down her back, pulling her as close as I can with the bulge of our future between us.

The chief—Hiccup, the retired chief—clears his throat, and I reluctantly pull back, dropping one more kiss on Fuse’s forehead and licking the familiar charred taste off of my lips as I look up.

There are more traditions.

I lift Fuse over the sword simulating a threshold at the mouth of the aisle as we’re already inside because of the weather. It doesn’t make much sense, but for once, I’m in the game of appeasing the Gods with the hope that they let me live in this moment a little while longer. I throw the ceremonial sword into the old splintered pillar at the front of the hall, relieved when it sticks in the wood with a thunk, splitting the old pine an inch on each side of the blade.

There’s a first drink of mead and a hundred raucous jokes about not needing to sacrifice a lamb for fertility. Smitelout punches me too hard in the arm and asks if I like the ring, assuring me that she melted the needle I ruined down into it, since it held me together once maybe it can do the trick long term.

The first ten times someone calls me ‘Chief’, I feel like I’m flying unassisted, the goal I’ve spun out towards for so long finally in my grasp. The next couple dozen times prime me for getting used to it, my ears pricking at the sound of the title, turning towards well-wishers with an automatic ease I didn’t expect, especially given the fact that my hand is absolutely refusing to let go of Fuse’s, even as she carries on her own conversations.

Then the title starts to be a question, a few workmen dropping the mood of the feast for just a moment before they leave, asking about dams I haven’t thought about in weeks and buildings showing strain under the slow accumulating early snow.

“I don’t know, Ack,” I gently push the man’s drawing back towards his chest, tugging at the collar of my cloak where the back of my neck is starting to sweat in the crowded hall as dancing starts up near the fire, “I’ll have to look at it later, I’m a little uh, distracted.” I squeeze Fuse’s hand and Ack looks a little too purposefully at her stomach, triggering a very un-chiefly urge to step between them and demonstrate just how new the ceremonial status of my weaponry is.

I swallow it, using the chief title’s weight as an anchor in the moment.

“Is there a problem?”

“I just figured you aren’t going to be getting any less distracted,” the man shrugs and I sigh.

“I’ll get to it,” I promise, and I think it’s the end of it until I notice the line forming behind him.

The next questions are similar, and there are enough of them that Fuse eventually kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear that she needs to sit down. The pull to go with her is almost too much to ignore and all of my questions from earlier start welling back up in my head, this time with a new addendum.

How do I put on a diaper when I’m busy being chief? What happens if I don’t hold the baby’s head because I’m busy being chief? How will I know when it’s time if I’m busy being Chief? Is Fuse going to be ok when I’m not with her because I’m busy being The Chief of The Tribe?

“Is everything ok?” The ch—Hiccup appears at my shoulder, looking between me and Gustav, who’s doing his trademark best at being difficult.

“The wood pile—”

“Can’t you let a guy enjoy his wedding?”

It creates enough of a pause for me to get a word in edgewise, “I’ll talk to you about this later.” My tone doesn’t leave room for questions, but I know Gustav would try anyway so I start walking, scanning the crowd for Fuse and trying not to feel babysat when the—Hiccup follows me.

Babysat. Baby. Babies who will need taken care of when I’m this busy all the time.

“Chief,” he calls me, and the title is still as exciting as ever, even with the nerve-wracking cord woven through it, and I turn to face him, hands in my pockets, “there’s one more wedding present I want to give you.”

“Is Chief a wedding present?” I laugh, an edge to the sound that I don’t quite hide, “because trust me, that is enough. I’m good, fully accounted for gift wise.”

“I think you’ll like this one.”

I open my mouth for a second, hoping something snarky will fall out, but when nothing does, I deflate slightly, gesturing him forward with a limp hand.

“Fine, what is it?”

“Now, I want you to know that I meant everything I said, and I absolutely think you’re ready to be chief—”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” my heart stutters, “and to be honest, I’m not a huge fan of the cryptic, last minute way you’ve been dropping things on me today—”

“But given the circumstances—”

“Here it comes,” I mumble.

“What would you say to my services as Acting Chief for hmm, I don’t know, three or four months?” He offers, so nonchalant that it takes me a second to make sense of it.

I hug him when I do, arms moving faster than I can account for, lifting him clear off the ground. I laugh when he yelps, kicking out in an attempt to find the floor again, before setting him down and standing up in a way that I hope is slightly more chiefly.

“That’d be…appreciated,” I straighten my cloak and look around to see if anyone saw. If they did, they’re giving me a pass, and my first most important order feels strange coming out of my mouth. “Put a notice on the door before you leave tonight?”

“Can do,” the Acting Chief accepts the order and lowers his voice slightly, “when are you getting out of here, by the way?”

“The feast is still going on,” I look around the room that’s slowly getting rowdier, barely spotting the back of Ingrid’s head as she slips out the front door holding Finn’s hand.

“Ruffnut and Fuse’s mom already walked her back home.” When he says ‘home’ I remember he doesn’t mean his, he means mine. The house of mine and Fuse’s, the one I haven’t seen, and my eyes widen slightly. “As Acting Chief, I’d say I’m a pretty reliable witness who can report that I saw you to your bride’s front door.”

“You mean leave?” I look at the heavy front doors of the great hall where Bang is sleeping, “now?”

“The feast is for everyone else, really,” he shrugs.

“You mean I can leave right now?” I swallow, the motion sticking in my suddenly dry throat, “and go home. To Fuse.” And no one else, I add silently, the thought of the quiet making my head spin.

“I mean, you are the chief.”

I take a big step back at that, remembering that the title comes with more than work.

“And you’ll put a notice up—”

“Yes, Eret, I said I would,” he laughs, “now go enjoy your honeymonth before someone else asks you something.”

“Right,” I nod, waving goodbye and taking advantage of my new title as I wake Bang and slip out into the slow falling snow.

He seems to know where the house is, coasting downwards before I see the new structure at the bottom of the hill that houses the Thorston-Ingerman complex. It’s smaller than the chief’s house, built more cleanly and painted what I imagine will be green and blue in the daylight. There’s a trickle of smoke pouring out of the chimney and Bang hops easily into the attic hanger sized for a Thunderdrum, grunting a greeting at a lump in the back that must be Hotgut.

I don’t knock and the door opens smoothly, whisking across a clean wooden floor to reveal a small common area with a padded bench and a chair that looks like my Dad’s favorite must have when it was new in the corner. There’s a handful of smoke-bomb casings on the table by the hearth and my axe is hanging on a rack by the door.

The door shuts tight and I flick the lock closed, breathing into the click and letting the quiet crackle of the fire displace the echoing cheers of the evening in my brain.

“Eret?” Fuse interrupts my moment and when I look up, she’s barefoot in the doorway to what I presume is the bedroom, flower crown slightly crooked, hair pulled forward over one shoulder.

“Hey,” I smile, crossing the room to hug her, burying my nose in her hair and ignoring the crackle of dried flowers against my chin.

“I figured you’d be out later.” She slides one cold hand under all my layers of shirts, tracing the divot at the base of my spine and breathing against the side of my neck. “You seemed busy.”

“Well, there are perks to being chief,” I pull back to look down at her, “like leaving when I want.” I smile, pushing some of her hair away from her face and looking around the room, “feel like giving me the grand tour?”

“Main room,” she points at the fireplace then back over her shoulder, voice flat as her eyes flick between mine and my chin, the vulnerability finally feeling like a good thing as she licks her lips, “bedroom, other room.” She points up on the way to tangling her hand in my hair, “loft.”

“Descriptive,” I laugh, hand sliding against the side of her stomach, hoping for a kick, but too overwhelmed to be disappointed when it doesn’t happen, “it’s like I was there.”

“It’s just a house,” she takes the tie out of my hair and lets that drop to the floor before reaching for the clasp on my cloak. I catch her hand and squeeze it.

“Our house.”

“Our house,” she concedes with a smile that quickly fades back into a determined expression, “don’t think I forgot that I didn’t have a chance to check if you upheld your half of our bargain.”

“Bargain?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Did you get hurt while getting the sword, or do I have to be disappointed in you?” She leans into me, hair smelling like the flowers in her crown and the soot on both of our foreheads and I smile.

“I didn’t realize you checking was part of the bargain.”

“Oh,” she frowns, tugging her hand from mine and going back to the closure of my cloak, “I figured that was obvious.”

“You know me, I’m oblivious.”

She weighs that for a second before nodding and dropping the cloak behind her on what I assume is the bed. Our bed. I start working on the little braids holding her flower crown in, heart racing when it comes free and I lift it off carefully before hanging it on the handle of my axe, all traditions but one finally over with.

One that’s not necessary, per say, especially with family commentary coming back to me all at once.

I groan, resting my head on her shoulder, hands fisting idly in the soft fabric of her dress at her sides as I nudge her backwards until she’s sitting on the bed.

“What?” She asks, at first concerned, then laughing as I flop down next to her, pawing at her shoulder for a second before she lays down next to me, hair half covering her face as I groan again.

“It was awful,” I whisper, kicking my boots off before curling one of my legs around hers, “I barely made it out alive. Hel, I didn’t make it out with my beard, they made me shave, they wouldn’t let it end until I was presentable.” I shudder for effect and she runs a curious finger along my jaw.

“Your family?”

“The men in my family, to be clear,” I rest my hand on the side of her stomach, “I thought the women were the ones to worry about, but I was wrong. They wouldn’t stop trying to advise me on how to…” I pause, because she’s my wife and I wasn’t good at talking about this before it felt so important, but this is our house and the privacy settles like a thick blanket of snow keeping the outside world away, and I lower my voice, “make sure you enjoyed yourself. Sexually.”

I cringe but Fuse looks down at her stomach then back up at me, expression deadpan.

“This wasn’t evidence enough?”

“That’s what I said,” I hollow my back around her stomach to rub my nose against hers, new blanket on our new bed soft against my cheek. “And they’re all married to women I’m related to. Snotlout was there.” I shudder, forehead against hers as her hand slides further under my shirt to rest against my heart. “It was awful. How about you?”

She pushes me onto my back, knees hanging over the side of the bed as she leans over me, hair tickling my face and surrounding us like another curtain of privacy.

“My aunt was there.” Her expression is battle hardened and I smile at her, hand rising habitually to her hip.

“Ruffnut?”

“Yes.” The word is clipped and I either can’t or don’t want to suppress the urge to tease her, watching the patchy blush on her cheeks spread down her neck when I smile.

“What was that even like?” Maybe my embarrassment quota for the day is so full that I can’t physically add more to it, because I don’t stutter. In fact, my smile widens when she bites her lip and breaks eye contact, looking at her hair as her fingers stiffen against my chest. “What did she even say? I’m sorry I just—the possibilities—”

“She gave me some suggestions,” Fuse mumbles, pulling her hand out of my shirt and fiddling with her hair.

I sit up, one leg curled on the bed so I can face her as I grab both of her forearms, kissing her briefly to get her eyes back to mine.

“Did you say you’d take them? Or…”

“I said that we’re fine,” she bites her lip, cheeks glowing in the soft light from the torch on the wall. “And that I have no complaints.”

“Did that make her stop?” I laugh, “because that kind of assurance did not work for me.” I wince again and she shakes her head, loosening slightly into the conversation like she feels the privacy I do, leeching into my bones as I think of how the chief said ‘honeymonth’ like it’s something I get to have. “Then what?”

“Nothing,” she lies, badly, smile off kilter as she distracts herself with the ties on the neck of my shirt, loosening them enough to guide it over my head. Or as far over my head as she can reach before her stomach shifts her balance and she braces herself on the bed. I get my shirts the rest of the way off, dropping them on the floor and catching her hand before she can probe my chest for any sign of bruising. “Eret,” she chastises, on the cusp of a whine and I raise my eyebrows.

“I had to endure sex advice from not one, but two people who have been married to my mom. Snotlout said something about my grandma, at one point.” I set her hand on my chest and reach for the fastening ties at the neckline of her dress, fingers shaking against the careful knots when I think about the fact that she’s my wife and this is our bed in our house. “What did you say to get Ruffnut off of our case?”

“Well,” she swallows hard, hand inching down my stomach and lingering at my belly button, “I told her I didn’t think you were that flexible.”

“Flexible?” I pause, cocking my head, “is that like a code for something or—”

“Not in this case.” Her face twists slightly like it does when she’s trying to conceptualize a really complicated bomb and I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me, chest deep and relieved in a way I can barely comprehend.

Relieved that today is over. Relieved that we’re alone. Relieved that after all that talk, this does still just feel like us, comfortable like it always has been even with rings on our fingers.

Fuse laughs too, hands on my shoulders as she kneels to kiss me, stomach firm and unfamiliar and welcome against mine as she leans into me on our bed, the endless haze of privacy thrumming in my veins. Her hand lands on my knee and inches upwards, thumb hooking in the waistband of my pants and tugging, sliding towards the center and making me shiver as I pull back.

“I’ve been thinking,” I mumble against her jaw, hands fumbling with the laces on her dress.

“Still?” She loosens my pants and I swear.

“Hear me out,” I pull back just enough to try and think straight, the ring on her finger cool against my lower stomach in a way that makes my hands shake, “I’ve got to be more flexible than Fishlegs.”

She blinks at me, licking her kiss swollen lips and cocking her head, hair tickling my chest and making me shiver, “you want…”

“I’m curious, I guess.”

“You guess?” She raises an eyebrow, kissing my jaw and leaning hard on my shoulder, dress loosening when I finally get the ties undone.

“I know that I only get more curious the more evasive you are.”

“Ok, Chief,” Fuse’s voice dips as she says the title, and everything about me stands at attention, warmth flooding my chest when my reaction makes her smile like she just discovered a new favorite form of ignition.

And for possibly the first time in my entire life, I feel like all points of my foundation are anchored deep enough into bedrock that I can trust my direction. Like my future is accounted for, finally out of the fire but still warm from the flames.

#eret iii #festerverse #open flames #feret #i'm so full of feelings

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tysonrunningfox · 7 years ago

Text

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.

#eret iii #festerverse #fuse thorston #aurelia haddock #arvid hofferson #feret #arvelia #ingrid hofferson #hiccstrid #smitelout jorgenson #stoick ii #i'm honestly going to cry #like...it's the end of an era #please come ask me about the boy

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tysonrunningfox · 7 years ago

Text

Smingrid Is Ruining My Life

Part 1 | Part 2

Why. They just keep...doing this. Smut incoming tonight after I get home, still haven’t decided how I’m going to post it but whatever. I can’t sit on it anymore. I’m so tired. I need to write an epilogue and smingrid won’t let me. I hate them.

Eret offers to fix Ingrid’s hand about three days after he wakes up, the kind of cavalier offer for help he keeps throwing out there to remind himself that he’s not in bed forever. It should be cheapened by the fact that he’s drunk and his head is on a sleeping Fuse’s lap, but Ingrid can’t help but be offended. Smitelout made her this hand and now she has to fix it, clearly.

But that means Ingrid going to the forge and asking her to and that’s not something she wants to do.

It’s not her problem that Smitelout suddenly likes her. That’s not something she has to deal with. She doesn’t have room for it and even if she did, she’s not sure why she should care. It’s Smitelout. Smitelout who has thrown a million petty little tantrums about losing to her. Smitelout who threatened to spread rumors about Eret’s real dad.

Smitelout who treats Ingrid like she did before she left. Smitelout who makes Ingrid a new hand without even being asked.

Ingrid still appreciates it even if it’s bent now. She didn’t bend on purpose or anything, it honestly surprised her when the healer was trying to set Eret’s arm and he resisted with that much force. And her fingers fit well enough that she just didn’t think about it, she braced him as well as she could and noticed after that they were bent out of shape.

She lives with it for a while. It’s hard to hold her axe but no one points it out until Aurelia is watching her attempt to hit the target in the chief’s front yard. The first two throws clip the side but the third misses entirely and Aurelia narrows those chiefly but less irritating eyes and pauses, bag of tightly rolled scrolls on her hip.

“What?” Ingrid collects her axe, holstering it and adjusting her fingers back to neutral. They still ratchet but not as well, the bend in the first digit making everything in them harder to move.

“Nothing,” Aurelia shifts the weight of the scrolls onto her slim hip and when she cocks her eyebrow, she looks so much like Eret a year ago that Ingrid can’t help but feel like she should listen. “Just that’s not really Hofferson aim.”

“I just lost half my hand, what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs, “it seems like the new one was working out for you pretty well before it got bent.”

“It’s a grip thing,” Ingrid clears her throat and she knows that a glare won’t help her. Aurelia wouldn’t be so comfortable with the rest of the family if glaring did anything.

“You know, I’m sure Smitelout could fix those.”

“What?” Ingrid hides her fingers behind her and Aurelia shrugs.

“She made them, I bet she could fix them.”

Aurelia was there. She heard all of that. Not that it should matter, because Ingrid doesn’t care, but it makes her feel like she needs to try. Like this stupid situation is something she needs to fix, like all the others were. A Jorgenson telling a Hofferson something like that with no answer is reason for issue.

Or it was, back in the world before Eret was next in line for chief. Ingrid isn’t quite sure how all of that works but she’s sure, at some level, that it’s ultimately in her favor.

“Like I have money for that,” Ingrid rolls her eyes and Aurelia contests Eret’s best deadpan with far less effort.

“Right. That’s the problem. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to her.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk to her?” Ingrid reaches for her axe to make an argument ending perfect yak’s eye before realizing it’s not guaranteed anymore and pausing.

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs, “I’m just thinking about how many weapons you have that need sharpening occasionally. And if Eret isn’t working in the forge anymore, are you planning to leave Berk to get that done—”

“No,” Ingrid scowls. “You were there, do you think I could just walk in and ask Smitelout to do something for me?”

Ingrid hates the idea that she could. That Smitelout might do it just because she likes her, and that’s fake too. If Smitelout really does like girls and she hasn’t minced words before so why would she start now? And that means that Ingrid is the only option Smitelout has ever known, aside from Spitleaf. And Spitleaf never had the same problems that Ingrid did with the forceful proposals. Her face isn’t so loud and people aren’t so presumptive.

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs and for a moment, Ingrid sees how pretty she is and how firmly she guards it. It makes Ingrid jealous, suddenly, because her looks are still causing problems for her and she doesn’t know how to stop them. But with Aurelia, it’s all words and no bite and somehow it works. “Have you tried?”

“My hand is fine,” Ingrid lies and Aurelia knows it just how Eret always used to. It’s irritating, she really didn’t need another Eret running around, especially one who seems to need less advice.

“Yeah, I can see that.” She rolls her eyes and Ingrid tries not to seethe.

Before her fingers bent, they were almost as good as the real thing as far as her axe was concerned. A good solid throw was a single ratchet and it happened perfectly halfway through the swing, just in time for the axe to release at the right angle. It felt alright if not perfect and that’s all she can ask for. Except she didn’t ask for it, Smitelout just decided to give it to her.

It was nice before Ingrid learned why. It kind of felt like maybe they could be friends or at least consistent rivals, the way they used to be. But now she knows that Smitelout wants something from her.

“It’s just bent.” Ingrid ratchets her fingers, acting like it’s not difficult and Aurelia blinks.

“Just a suggestion,” she rolls her eyes before starting down the hill without finishing the argument, like she knows she won without dealing the final blow, and Ingrid can’t say she’s currently overjoyed with having a new sister.

She knew it was an inevitability, what with having so many brothers, and Rolf’s wife is great but also more attached to Spitleaf than Ingrid wants to be. And it’s complicated, like everything is. But mostly, Aurelia is annoying and pushing her when she doesn’t want to be pushed. And that’s new too, she’s never had pressure feel so oppressive. It always felt like something to push back against, people who doubted her were just waiting to be proven wrong.

Now everything is a little more daunting and she’s lost her taste for being daunted.

What if Smitelout says no? Does she suddenly have to leave the island to get anything sharpened?

That scares her. She’s not doing that. Fuck that.

“Ugh, fine,” she stalks down the hill after Aurelia, turning before she sees the long red braid and almost jogging towards the forge, because might as well get this over with. It’s not like she’s going to fly off island to get her axe sharpened, that’s a fair point, she has to work this out at some level or she’ll be defenseless.

The forge is quiet and Smitelout is pounding away at some red hot hunk of metal on the other side of the window. Ingrid doesn’t let herself pause, she doesn’t let herself feel fourteen and confused and lonely and see Smitelout as safe, because at least she’s predictable. She doesn’t let herself see Smitelout’s arms, sweat slicked and intentional, or her hands, comfortable around her hammer.

She doesn’t take the hammer as a potential weapon and she doesn’t think of a thousand ways to stop an attack. She definitely doesn’t notice the way that Smitelout’s concentration looks more like avoidance, like she knew Ingrid was coming and didn’t want her to.

“Hey,” Ingrid starts, trying to be neutral and Smitelout fumbles and drops her hammer on the floor. It’d be funny if Smitelout didn’t like her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Ingrid tosses her braid over her shoulder, “just wanted to ask if you could fix my fingers but if you’re busy…”

“What needs fixed?” Smitelout doesn’t make eye contact but she moves purposefully, wiping off the counter with a wet, smudged rag.

“They got bent.” Ingrid avoids the eye contact that Smitelout attempts to make.

“So explanatory,” Smitelout rolls her eyes, “I need to see the actual damage to fix it.”

“Here.” Ingrid unstraps her fingers and throws them on the counter, wincing at the thunk of gronckle iron on wood. She didn’t mean to hurt them more. Hel, she didn’t mean to hurt them in the first place.

Smitelout picks it up, ratchets the joints that she made and sighs.

“What’d you do to it?” She glares, heavy eyebrows low over those hostile blue eyes. That look has always pissed Ingrid off and that’s no different now, except for the fact that she’s still preoccupied with the fact that Smitelout likes her.

Why?

She knows why, rationally. It’s always because she looks how she does. It’s because she’s this perfect Viking wife. Except Smitelout can’t be concerned about her line or the heirs Ingrid would make and there’s no carrot of redeeming the Hoffersons through marriage to dangle in front of her. Smitelout can’t have thought that admitting it like that would go well. But she still did it and it doesn’t make sense and Ingrid has no room right now for things that don’t make sense.

“I held Eret down while the healers were setting his arm,” Ingrid shrugs, “he’s stronger than he looks. Don’t tell him, because I can’t take his ego getting bigger than it is but…” She trails off. Smitelout looks between her and her fingers, frowning.

“Why would I tell him?” Smitelout picks up the fingers, quickly diassembling the rivets that hold leather to metal and moving it to her anvil, like she’s actually going to fix it.

“I don’t know,” Ingrid crosses her arms, her bad hand folded under her good arm so that no one looks at it. Smitelout doesn’t even try and that’s worse. “You might think it’s funny that he can gloat, or something.”

“He’s pretty hurt, isn’t he?” Smitelout starts taking apart the fingers, treating each part with delicate care that makes Ingrid feel not only guilty but ungrateful. “Yeah.”

“Is he…” Smitelout looks up at her and then back down, sorting the parts of her fingers into two piles, presumably damaged and undamaged. Not that Ingrid cares. She just wants them fixed. “Is he going to be ok? Or…”

“He’s going to be fine.” Ingrid sighs and she doesn’t remember the fight leaking out of her this quickly. The longer she tries to work this out, the less tainted the gift seems. Smitelout started in on insulting her the second her feet touched Berkian soil. Hel, she charged Ingrid for the hand in the first place. “Scarred up, but fine.”

“He looked pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah.” Ingrid leans her elbow on the window and looks across the square.

Smitelout rustles with the parts on the counter for a second before pausing, her voice rising in pitch and volume when she does speak again.

“Is it because of what I said?” She squawks, kind of like a baby terror and Ingrid looks at her slowly, cocking her head.

“What?”

“Are you acting weird because of what I said?” She clears her throat, slumping her shoulders forward and looking anywhere but at Ingrid. “About the liking you, or whatever. Is that why you’re being weird?”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’re kind of being weird,” Smitelout snorts.

“I’m not.”

“You—”

“It wasn’t the time to do that,” Ingrid snaps, slamming her good hand on the counter like punctuation. Smitelout doesn’t flinch. “I don’t care that you like me. I’m just here to get my hand fixed—”

“After you broke it.”

“After I bent it.”

“It’s pretty fucked up,” Smitelout holds up one of the finger joint pieces, running her finger along the pale seam where the metal bent. “Like, this used to be flat.”

“I told you, Eret’s stronger than he looks.”

“So are you,” she scoffs, “this took a lot of force from both ends. I can fix it, but it’s going to take a couple of days, I might have to re-forge a couple of parts.”

Ingrid doesn’t feel strong, not anymore, and the sideways remark resonates as a compliment in a way she doesn’t like. It feels like it might matter more because Smitelout likes her, and that’s absurd, because she really doesn’t care.

“How much?” Ingrid tries to bluff and Smitelout hems and haws, inspecting a couple more pieces with squinted eyes. Her face is sharper than it was when Ingrid left. Not lighter, but more purposeful. It’s not a face that can hide things and more importantly, Smitelout has never been tactful. Hel, any bartering she’s planning to try is already undermined by the way that she’s blushing. Ingrid wouldn’t have taken her for someone who blushes, honestly, she never seemed to get embarrassed about anything else. And in Ingrid’s mind, at least, throwing a tantrum about losing Thawfest is a lot more embarrassing than liking someone.

Ingrid catches herself staring and looks away. Smitelout doesn’t comment, for some reason, even though she’s never let Ingrid get away with anything, ever. She’s the one acting weird.

“I’ve got some scrap from making…the bombs,” Smitelout stutters through it, “it’s not good metal but this is just a draft, obviously, if you and Eret can fuck it up this bad. I’ll do it for free with shit materials but you’ll have to pay for the next try.”

“Fine.”

“Really?” Smitelout’s voice cracks again and Ingrid tries not to care that she’s nervous. Even so, it’s a weird thrill to make someone nervous even with her hand off and taken expertly apart in front of her. It makes Ingrid feel significant in a way she’s been missing ever since Haddocks started talking over her all the time. “I mean, it’s a deal, you should take it.”

“I already did,” Ingrid stands up, debating for a moment before leaving her bad hand out of her pocket, “that’s fair. When can I pick it up?”

“I’ll let you know,” Smitelout shrugs, “depends on how busy I get, it’s been pretty busy with kid saddles since the dragons came back. But I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”

“Don’t rush it for me,” Ingrid clears her throat. “I just mean—”

“I’m not going to make it weird,” she tosses the pile of good parts into a leather bag and sets it on the shelf beneath the counter. “I get it, I—”

“Ok.” Ingrid shrugs.

“Ok what?”

“You don’t get it,” she bites her lip and sighs, “but you won’t make it weird. That’s good, considering this is the only forge on Berk.” That’s too harsh and Ingrid sighs, “I don’t know what weird is. Everything is weird. I came back to a different Thor-damned island. You overcharging me for repairs is about the only thing that feels normal.”

Smitelout is quiet for a moment and it’s almost comfortable.

“This one’s free, Hofferson, in what world am I overcharging you? You’re just looking for something to complain about.”

Ingrid can’t quantify her relief and she doesn’t try, standing away from the counter and shaking her head at a very red Smitelout.

“Let me know when I can pick up the hand.”

“Fine,” Smitelout huffs, “don’t expect me to rush on it or anything though. It’s a free job—”

“I get it,” Ingrid takes a couple of backwards steps, heels dragging across hard packed dirt, “you know where to find me.”

“Fine, give me more work, now I have to come get you when it’s done,” Smitelout rolls her eyes even though she basically volunteered for it and if she’s putting on a show to make Ingrid feel better, it’s not exactly failing.

“I’ll come pick it up, you just have to let me know when.”

“Whatever,” Smitelout shrugs, picking her hammer up off of the floor and twirling it absentmindedly. “Are we done here?”

“Sure.” Ingrid rolls her eyes, “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Smitelout waves her off and Ingrid pauses another second before turning back towards the chief’s house. She’s not entirely sure what just happened. Smitelout likes her, it’s obvious and she didn’t take it back, but she didn’t shove it forward either. She didn’t expect Ingrid to do anything about it, at least. Maybe that’s ok, maybe it can just exist and Ingrid doesn’t have to do anything about it right now. Maybe it can just hold steady for a while and Ingrid will deal with it when she’s ready to.

For the first time, everyone’s constant advice that she doesn’t have to take everything on at once makes sense. This can wait.

#eret iii #festerverse #smingrid #ingrid hofferson #smitelout jorgenson #aurelia haddock #just gaaahhhhhhhhhhhh #it was a joke ship i swear #i don't know what happened

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tysonrunningfox · 7 years ago

Text

Odd One Out

Writing the first scene of this made me cry, by the way, this is one of the chapters where I cried on my keyboard like a baby. Because ungh. Hiccup actually really fucking gets me here, I was crying over Hiccup.

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The second time I go to Rolf’s, we don’t talk as much. His baby, my half nephew, is there, asleep in the other room and he twitches every time the baby makes a sound. I get through three pages and overwrite about half the Monstrous Nightmare master sheet that I can’t tell whether I suspect Snotlout or Smitelout more for the less than factual edits. I leave when my half nephew starts snoring and I start to truly feel out of place.

It’s still better than the chief’s house though, and it’s even worse that no one here would understand the significance of that, of the fact that this place is literally less homey than Rolf’s. When I get back, Stoick greets me, launching into some long-winded story about an adventure that he and Bang had, talking faster than even I can really keep up with. But that could be because I’m tired and my hand is cramping and my whole head starts throbbing when I look around and see a family I’m somehow buried at the center of even though I don’t really have a place in it.

Mom is sharpening her hatchet with a file fancier than anything we ever used to own and the chief keeps glancing over at her like it’s just as miraculous to him, except in a positive way that doesn’t make him want to wipe his eyes out with saddle polish. She looks gives the edge a few more rasps of the file before looking up and I get the impression that she’s waiting for me to get mad at her.

I’m not mad. Not really. Not at her at least.

I’m just tired.

“Hey.”

“Hey Eret,” the chief smiles in greeting, that stupid smile he can’t seem to keep off of his face lately. “You’re back late, doing anything fun?”

“If helping Rolf update the book of dragons counts as fun, then yeah, my eyes aren’t in pain from deciphering tiny runes at all or anything.”

“You’ve been talking to Rolf?” Mom sounds subdued like she hasn’t since Snoggletog and I want to yell at her that yes, Rolf is still alive. Arvid is probably around too and did she forget about Ingrid entirely?

I sigh, “yeah, I’ve been helping him update the book of dragons, like I just said. It involves some talking but mostly him lecturing me about being too rough on old parchment.”

“How is he?” She swallows and the chief looks worried for a second and I know she’s asking about my half nephew who I haven’t asked to hold because I have no idea how to do that.

That’s her grandchild and I don’t know when everyone got so old.

“He’s fine. Spirited as ever.”

“Spirited,” the chief scoffs, “that’s one way to put it.” It’s not as defensive as I want him to be, because if he were defensive that would mean he was threatened by the casual mention of Mom’s other kids, but it’s irritating all the same.

“Found it!” Aurelia comes bounding down the stairs, three or four scrolls under her arm and one half open in her hands. “It was hiding under the second bed in Stoick’s room.” The chief’s bed. It’s the chief’s bed but she doesn’t call it that because it isn’t anymore and her head doesn’t spin when she remembers that. “Oh, hey.” She sets what she’s holding down on the table, “you’re home late.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. I was just at Rolf’s.”

“Oh,” she looks between me and the chief and Mom goes back to filing the edge of her hatchet, almost pointedly. “I bet there’s still dinner at the mead hall.”

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” I laugh and she doesn’t and that means it’s not really a joke. “What’s so secret?”

“Nothing’s secret,” the chief shakes his head, picking up the scroll that Aurelia just set down. “Sit, I’d take your opinion too, we’re talking about fixing that bridge over by the third watering station.”

“I think we’ve about got it figured out, Dad.” Aurelia sits down across from the chief and gives me an almost pleading look and I remember her not managing to reject his stupid, unrequested relationship advice.

“Assuming I never have to deal with a bridge myself, yeah, that sounds legitimate,” I roll my eyes and sit down at the table, chair squeaking across the floor as I scoot up to read the scrolls.

Mom leans away slightly to make room, her elbow brushing casually over the chief’s arm. He kisses the top of her head like it’s a habit and like it’s normal and like it doesn’t make me feel odd and tired and uncomfortable.

“You know, I’m understanding this,” Aurelia doesn’t exactly sound understanding, it’s more of a partial challenge and the usual reminder that she’s not used to dealing with older siblings doesn’t quite cover it this time. “If you need help with a bridge in the future, I’m sure I’ll be around.”

“Yeah, but that’s not really the point of the chief asking me to help him out—”

“I’m not talking about the point, I’m saying that maybe you could share an individual component of the point as a whole.” She sets her jaw and smiles and it’s that pushy princess look that never quite fooled me into thinking she was tough.

“You both want to help?” The chief is as excited as Mom is doubtful and when she sets her hand on his arm, my stomach seizes like I just chugged a mug of icy seawater.

“I don’t think this is so much about helping, Hiccup.” Mom looks at me, “you had something else to do today, Aurelia can help your f—”

“Can you not?” I cut her off before she puts that on me and she sighs.

“The chief. Aurelia can help the chief sometimes.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

“Does that really matter?” She looks tired and almost sad as she reaches for my hand and I move it just enough to let her know that I’m not really wanting her to touch me with her chief loving hands right at this exact minute.

I’m glad she’s happy. I am. Or more I’m just glad that she’s not so sad anymore, but I kind of miss being at Rolf’s where I don’t have to pretend I’m happy quite so loud.

“I don’t need you to argue for me, Mom,” Aurelia seems happy too. Comfortable. Confident enough to push me when I’m sure she can tell I really don’t need to be pushed.

“Mom, right, it’s so easy for you. This is all so easy for you.” I want to stand up but I feel stuck, wedged into this house and family and life, and I think if the chief actually asked me right now if Aurelia could just have it all, I’d say yes.

I could go be mini-Rolf for a change and grouse about anything and everything while ignoring the problem.

I’d last about a day but it still sounds like the day I need right now.

“It was easier before you brought your attitude home—”

“My attitude,” I roll my eyes, “mine—”

“Both of you—” The chief tries but he has that delighted look in his eye, like the bickering family fantasy he always had is coming true when I don’t even remember how to argue with my sister without feeling like I’m losing at maces and talons.

“I’m not doing anything!” I stand up too fast and the chair tips over, clattering on the floor. Mom stands up too, dropping her hatchet on the table and crossing her arms. “I didn’t do anything but help my brother and come home to find her trying to—”

“Don’t take it out on your sister because—”

“Because what?” I bend down and pick up the chair, setting it back upright louder than I probably need to. “Because I can’t take it out on you? Or him?” I feel like I’m going to cry when the chief puts his hand on Mom’s arm and she relaxes, like he’s taking the fight right out of her and they both think it’s a good thing.

It makes me feel crazy, standing here surrounded by people who never want to fight, my mom’s hatchet on the table like she had to disarm before talking to me. I don’t know where to put all of my own fight, all this anger.

“Astrid, let me talk to him.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone.” I click my tongue and Bang turns from where he was watching the stairs and hoping that Stoick would come back down. “About anything.”

I grab my axe from the rack on the way out the door, swinging it over my shoulder and heading around the side of the house, towards the denser forest out back.

When I find a clearing, I’m not quiet. It’s not about stealth or training, it’s satisfying to send the blade of my axe into tree trunks fast enough that Bang starts to howl along with it, pacing antsy around behind me like he’s not sure what’s attacking.

We’re Vikings. I’m a Viking. It’s something I used to understand. Even if I was a Hofferson and that made me only part Berkian, I was a Viking and Vikings fight. Vikings get mad, Vikings push things, Vikings win even if that means someone else losing.

I’ve never been like Rolf, with his wind up temper that stays sullen and quiet until it’s not, until his voice ramped from irritated muttering to a bellow in a blink. I imagine this is kind of like that snap though, even though it starts to wind down after three or four trees are laying in firewood sized chunks at my feet.

My hair is out of its tail, sweaty and stuck to the back of my neck and I drop my axe, not caring about further dulling the already dull edge as I sit hard on one of the logs I just cut, hanging my head between my knees. My pulse slows after a minute, arms still sore and stinging and I know it’s the chief approaching me before I look up.

His steps are heavy and loud and uneven and I get the feeling he’s avoiding sneaking up on me on purpose, because even Toothless is stomping instead of snaking his way silently through the trees.

“I see the trees got what they deserved,” he opens like I’ll laugh and this will all be over. “I think we need to talk.”

“About what?” I look up, pushing sweaty hair off of my face and picking up my axe. The edge isn’t that bad. It hasn’t gotten much use lately.

“About what just happened.”

“What do you think just happened?” I want him to say that Mom almost called him my father and I freaked out. I want to see if it even still hurts or if he’s so deep into this family lie that I seem like a teenager throwing a tantrum for no reason.

“I don’t understand it.” He sighs and leans back against a tree and I hate him for saying something other than what I predicted. For saying something that makes me want to say something mean, to lean into a conversation that I don’t want to have. “What you’re feeling right now. I—I didn’t grow up seeing my parents together either—”

“No, I did grow up seeing my parents together.” I scratch the side of my head, fingers getting tangled in hair I’m still not used to, “my parents who raised me. The ones who I always thought were happy and now…now I see the right faces directed at the wrong people and it’s like…I don’t know. It’s like no one remembers how things used to be.”

“Maybe I’m choosing not to.” He wipes his hand over his face, “I’m definitely choosing not to.”

“And you can’t see why it’s hard for me to do that? It’s bad enough that Ingrid isn’t here and Arvid…is more my sister’s boyfriend than he is my brother. I…I don’t know why I’m telling you this—”

“Because as much as you need to kill trees, you probably need to talk too.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Eh, we’ve been living together a few months now. You’d be surprised how much that teaches you about a person. Hel, you learn a lot about neighbors just watching them come and go.”

“So you’ve been watching me, like a creep.”

“Can I tell you a story?” He laughs like it’d be easy to get drawn into whatever circle I’m spinning in and I raise my eyebrows.

“Like I get a choice?”

“You’re right, I’m going to tell you no matter what.” He rubs his chin like I’ll be more immersed in whatever this is if he projects an image of thinking really hard first. It might work, until he starts by repeating himself. “I didn’t grow up seeing my parents together—”

“So you literally came up here with some canned story to tell me, not to actually talk?”

“I didn’t dream of you coming up empty handed on responses.” He looks at me indulgently, like he’s willing to go around in this little dance that’s feeling dumber and dumber by the second. Just how the fallen trees are starting to feel cold and just generally sticky as they ooze sap onto the back of my pants.

I kind of hate it, how quickly I’m starting to adapt to the ever changing yakshit heap that is my life. Something like realizing that whatever feelings between my Mom and the chief weren’t as long dead as we’d all thought used to send me reeling for months. But I’m finding myself struggling to hold onto the anger after just a few weeks. I want to be furious, it feels like the only way to keep the old natural order of things alive. Maybe I’m petering out faster because there’s nothing I really liked about the most natural order of things, there’s nothing to hold onto there. Aureila was already challenging me, Arvid was already furious. Rolf wasn’t quite as…eh, pleasant isn’t the right word. I hate that the right word is somewhere close to brotherly, after all this time.

“Go ahead. Tell your story.” I don’t add on the usual reminder that it won’t change anything. It seems like everything changes everything these days.

“When I was a couple of years older than you, I was about in the same position—”

“Don’t tell me, you were so shocked to learn Gobber hadn’t given birth to you.”

“Not as shocked as Gobber was, believe me.” He almost looks stern and I get the feeling that this is hard for him. “I mean my dad was finally talking about chief. He was expecting me to do things I felt I wasn’t ready for and—and yeah, I was ahead of you in some ways, I’d had some leadership experience but all of that was different because—because it wasn’t Berk. I guess. He thought it prepared me more than it really did, I think, not that I ever really got the chance to ask him but—it’s different when it’s Berk and it’s where you grew up and—”

“What does this have to do with you and my mom?”

“Nothing.” He laughs and points at the chunk of log next to me. “I’m messing this up, do you mind if I sit?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“I hate that you feel like you don’t. That’s the last thing I wanted.” He shrugs and I get the feeling that Mom won’t be mad at me when I get back and I should probably thank him for that. I doubt he has any control over Aurelia but…still. “I guess I came into this whole thing hoping to be a choice. Or at least…to give you some answers over things you might have wondered about, things like…why you are the way you are and the rest of your family or Hel, most of the island aren’t that way.”

“Sit.” I scoot over slightly and try to ignore the way that his knees bend like mine when he sits down.

“When I was just a little older than you and my dad was prepping me to be chief, or well, the Stoick the Vast version of preparation where he’d just…drop eventualities on me like I’d be forced to figure it out by the deadline,” he smiles at that and I hate how it makes me curious. I hate how I feel that statue more and more every day.

“You miss him.”

“So much.” He idly gestures at me, “he’d know just what to do with you, I’d bet every dragon egg on dragon island.” Then he looks at me and I’m not quite sure what he’s seeing, “not that there’s evidence of that being quite as many as it used to be.”

“You were telling me about Stoick the Vast, we can circle back to me being right about the dragons later.”

“I don’t think I’d go that far but…yes, my dad was prepping me to be chief and it never felt like enough. It…I felt like I had to be him and I knew I couldn’t do that so I started searching for all the reasons why, all the things that felt like…insufficiencies back then. And aside from about twice my size…there were other things. There was the fact I didn’t feel so good about popping a warlord’s head off of his shoulders, the fact I’d rather talk, the whole…dragon thing and the fact I’d thought of it in the first place. And I thought about it so much I started dwelling on it and it took on kind of a life of its own. It started to feel like I was physically missing a mother I’d never known, some…impossible person who was neatly made up of everything I had that my dad didn’t.” He pauses long enough for that to resonate, long enough for it to echo back through a few stubborn months of hurt and distance and I shrug.

“I used to miss Berk. Not as an island but—I used to do whatever I could to make myself closer to it even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to.” It sounds stupid in the face of what he’s telling me and I feel stupid for caring. “Maybe that’s…I don’t know. Similar.”

“As I’m sure you know, I found my mom, and she was all that—and more! More, of course, I’m not saying she was just…exactly what I was looking for and nothing else, but more than that, I saw them together. It was just once, and it didn’t end well—”

“They fought?”

“No, I wish.” He drags his metal foot through the dirt I churned up in my near frantic chopping and it’s starting to frost over, reminding me how cold it is outside. I recognize the chill of my half damp hair against my neck and scoot away from him slightly, trying to pretend I’m not so interested in the conversation that I forgot to feel the cold. “Or maybe I don’t. I definitely don’t because my dad died. In the battle that happened right there.” He sighs, “we don’t really keep the timeline as part of the heroic narrative.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” He looks back down the hill at the house through the trees, the fire inside making windows glow orange even through the shutters. “About a lot of things. But not seeing them together, even just that one time. Because I—I can’t say how much more real it made me feel to see that even though their life wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot given the two decades of separation and…” He looks at me again and I actively try not to put this together, to not be led where he’s leading me. To not feel guilty about how I feel about it all. “But I saw them together and there was love there and that, more than anything, made me feel like even if I couldn’t be my dad, maybe I could be enough of myself to fill at least most of his truly gigantic shoes.”

It’s silent. There are no wild dragons chirping in the forest and Toothless is crouched low, listening to the story like a giant cat, eyes glowing like Stoick’s do when Mom teaches him something in front of the fire.

“Do you get what I’m trying to say?” He looks at me and I remember him commenting how my profile looks like my mom even if my face doesn’t seem to.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I get that when I see you and my mom…happy,” I let him have that, I don’t know why, but I do. Happy. It feels like I have to dig it out of somewhere deep and dark to even say it and the cold starts to sink into my chest as I do. “Yeah, I’ve got a sense of myself, I guess, but I hardly ever think that far because more—because mostly it makes it feel like the first sixteen years of my life were a lie. And I didn’t spend years cataloging what made me different, I spent them working to be…a part of it.”

“I thought you said you missed Berk.”

“No, not—A part of the family that doesn’t exist now. The one that’s getting forgotten every day.”

It’s his turn to be silent. I don’t like it. I don’t want time to think about what I’ve told him.

“I don’t think any of us are going to forget what happened, Eret, I…” When he says my name it sounds more like my dad’s then it does the rest of the time and I stand up, log chunk creaking and sap sticking to my pants.

“Right, because I’m here. I—what you talked about, the person made of all the traits that didn’t fit.” I pick up my axe, the axe that used to be Mom’s, that I’ve rebuilt twice. The one I always wanted to put a Thunderdrum weight on, before I knew what that might mean. “That’s me. Except no one is dwelling on putting it back together.”

00000

Unless I’m crazy, the chief tones it down with my mom in front of me, at least for a few days. It’s not everything, of course, it doesn’t fix anything, but I kind of appreciate it. Between that and some off island scouting for a new granite source, the next week is an improvement, full of more flying and adventure than I’ve had in a while. Well, if almost getting eaten by a flock of Night Terrors counts as adventure. Bang and I don’t agree on that particular point, given that my eardrums took about three hours to finish whining at me after he decided he needed to blast the bulk of them out of the sky instead of hiding in a perfectly serviceable cave, but well, it’s a nice break either way.

Aurelia even seems to find it in herself to get over the other night, and she stays up late with me after I get back, going over the bridge stuff that the chief showed her with me. It’s more complicated than I thought it would be, with each bridge installed changing the weight requirements of the other ones and weakening the rock beneath it. I suggest asking Fuse about how to anchor the supports deeper into the mountain and Aurelia rolls her eyes so hard that it apparently exhausts her and she has to go to bed.

The next morning, Mom is making tea when I wake up and I almost fake continue sleeping before I remember that it’s Mom and she’ll see right through me and I hate the fact that I think she’d let me get away with it.

I sit up with a big stretch, scratching behind Bang’s jaw and glancing over my shoulder at her.

“Good morning,” her tone is clipped as she sits down on the hearth, stirring tea that smells stronger than normal and vaguely minty, which draws my attention to the chill in the room. I let the fire die down the night before and it looks like she just built it up, the wood just charring around the edges.

“Should I have fake slept?” It falls out of my mouth almost accidentally and my face heats up, “I debated it, honestly, since we haven’t really talked since—”

“Of course you shouldn’t fake sleep,” she looks levelly at me, “and Hiccup talked to me about what you said. Not all of it, I don’t think, but he said I should go easy on you and…well, I listened to him about a lot of other stuff that got us all here so…”

“Does go easy on me mean that I’m not in trouble for yelling at you or that you’re going to forget it happened? Or…”

“No trouble,” she smiles slightly over her cup, “you’re getting a little too old for trouble, anyway. It’s not a good look for a grown man with a beard to be grounded.”

“I know, I know, I’m going to shave today.” I scratch my chin, “it gets itchy.”

“That’s because it’s not patchy anymore.”

“It was scruffy. Not patchy.” I feel like I’ve missed her even though she’s been here this whole time. It hasn’t felt like it though, it’s felt like her and the chief have been here and I’m not sure where I’m supposed to fit around them, because between them is pretty untouchable. “What exactly did the chief tell you?”

“He said you were pretty upset.” She takes a sip of her tea and winces slightly like it’s too hot. “And I guess…I didn’t think about this being hard for you. And it kind of makes sense, I guess. To you this all must seem pretty sudden.”

“For you it’s…” The culmination of decades of flipping and flopping and spinning and falling. “Not.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” I swallow, “but if you could lay off on the rubbing it in my face, I can work on not freaking out about it. Eventually. Maybe. If my nebulous acceptance of the whole Arvid and Aurelia thing is any indicator of my capacity for…weirdness.”

“Sounds about right.” She’s pale and more tired looking than she has been lately and I fidget with the edge of my blanket.

“Don’t like…lose any sleep about it though. I’ll be ok.”

“Is that your way of telling me I look tired?” There are the deadly accurate Mom eyes I remember, the ones that I’m pretty sure Loki himself couldn’t fool for more than a couple of seconds.

“Inferring.” I shrug, “making sure I’m not the reason.”

“Hopeful on your part,” she smiles, “but things have just been busy. Plus, I think Ruffnut gave me whatever she was complaining about last week. I’ve been a little off.”

“Is there anything you need? I can run out real quick before everyone wakes up and it becomes an endless slog of people needing things from me.”

“I hear you’re doing a good job as sometimes, partial chief.” She stands up and pats my head when I duck enough that she can’t quite get her fingers in it. It keeps tangling whenever people or the wind mess with it, but somehow the length is still better than someone confusing me for the chief every few minutes. “I heard you even got Gustav to do something you said. That’s impressive, I think I was probably the last person to do that without resorting to drinking.”

“I tried that,” I stand up slowly, stretching my arms over my head and shivering when my shirt lifts enough for a draft to get at my stomach. I tug it down and stretch my shoulders, because those seams feel weird and stiff too. I’m never going to stop hating new clothes, but not so much that I’d keep any of Arvid’s shirts that keep showing up in Aurelia’s room. “Rolf wouldn’t share.”

“Maybe he’s finally remembering he should look out for you.” There’s guilt there, guilt that feels validating and makes me wonder what all the chief told her.

Probably too much. But it’s not like they haven’t kept secrets before.

“I think it’s just that he’s Rolf and he doesn’t want me coming around too often.”

“How is he?”

“Like I said, he’s the same as always.” I start getting myself a cup of tea, “if you’re asking about…I mean, the baby’s cute. He snores a lot. Rolf didn’t hand him to me but I also didn’t ask. Maybe you should go see them, or something.”

She looks a little green and I backtrack.

“I mean, I thought it went well. Or not well, but—whoa!”

She lurches to her feet and runs past me to the door, shoving it open and hurling on the ground outside.

“Mom!” I reach out to help her stand up but she holds a hand in my direction, shooing me and wiping her mouth on her sleeve. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sick. Hurt, a couple of times, but never anything bad. She nursed all of us through every fever or runny nose or cough that ever came through the house but I don’t remember her ever getting one herself.

“I’m fine,” she stands up, looking at the mess on the ground and gagging again but managing to swallow it aback. “I’m good.”

“You just threw up,” I shut the door behind her when she steps back inside, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you throw up.”

“I’m fine, sweetie,” she uses the pet name she hasn’t used since I was seven or eight and it hits me more than anything else.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she walks back to the table and takes a gulp of her tea to wash away the taste, “really, it’s just Ruffnut’s stomach thing. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I’m me, I worry about everything.”

She laughs and it makes her gag again and she burps into the back of her hand like she would have gotten on any of us for.

“I’m fine.” She doesn’t look fine. She looks kind of gray and pale and her hand is shaking as she drains her tea.

“Who’s slamming doors this early?” The chief steps out of the bedroom, tugging his shirt the rest of the way on and looking at Mom with a concern that can only mean secrets.

“It was Eret, he doesn’t know his own strength.” Mom waves it off, “it’s fine. Can you get me another cup of tea?”

“Of course,” the chief takes her mug and stumbles over to the kettle, too close to asleep to be doting on her this much. “Why’s it urgent?”

“I’m just lazy,” she lies and the chief looks at me like he also knows better. “Eret, don’t, really—”

“She threw up.” It feels like a betrayal and she looks at me like she’s too exhausted to accuse. The chief nods.

“That’s three days in a row, you promised you’d go to a healer at three days.” He crosses his arms and looks so much like her for a second that I almost get what he meant the other night about seeing his parents with each other. He didn’t used to know how to make that face, I still don’t. That’s a face that takes more than seventeen years to learn.

“I’m fine, Hiccup, honestly. It’s just—Ruffnut was complaining about it, I’m sure she just sneezed in my food—”

“Like that matters, you promised me three days.”

“What’s going on?” I ask the chief and he doesn’t look as convinced as Mom that it’s nothing.

“New house rule, someone throws up three days in a row and they have to see someone about it.”

“It’s completely unnecessary,” Mom tries to shrug it off and I feel compelled to replicate the chief’s expression.

“I’ll respect if it you will,” I offer and she looks even paler than she did first thing this morning.

“I don’t need—”

“Can you handle the conference with the builders up by Raven’s point?” He asks and I shrug.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

“Cool. Today’s list is on the table, I’ll catch up to you when I’m done taking your lovely, stubborn mother to the healer.”

The lovely comment doesn’t feel as directly against me as it would usually and I nod.

“Sure, I got it.”

#eret iii #festerverse #aurelia haddock #hiccstrid #big events are happening guys #like things that were planned from the beginning

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tysonrunningfox · 7 years ago

Text

Spilled Secrets

Hey so I just had the workday from hell and now I get to go see the Shape of Water, which is exciting, but I have a need to feel like I accomplished one (1) individual thing on this useless, hapless day.

Tumblr | AO3 (will update links later)

Walking with Mom and the chief, I start to get the peculiar, awful feeling that I’m a third foot on a deadly Nadder. She’s laughing, and at first I think it’s at him, and that’s alright because I’m kind of laughing at him too, at that oh so eager to please expression I was happy to have aimed at somebody but me. It’s different than chiefing with him, almost entertaining, and it’s funny until it’s not.

Because I realize he’s laughing too, that he’s telling jokes and she thinks they’re funny. That she’s not too righteously pissed off to laugh at them.

I should have gone flying. I thought this was a rare opportunity to hang out with Mom without Stoick tagging along, but the chief invited himself along, walking between us, taking all of Mom’s attention like he’s putting on a show. I feel like he’s on my stage and that’s the worst feeling of all, like I’m competing for something that’s not quite wholly mine. Something that was never wholly mine.

He’s telling some story about some drunk chief down south who always thought he was a girl, and it would be hilarious and fodder for a few hundred jokes, if Mom didn’t laugh and punch his arm and the chief didn’t light up like a fucking Snoggletog torch.

“…and then he tried to marry me off to his third son, in exchange for the terror I had with me, like I’d brought him a dragon as a bride price or something and—”

“We get it, it’s a hilarious anecdote,” I cut him off, because Mom’s face is turning red and I’m starting to feel strange.

I don’t mind them getting along, I don’t mind him making my mom happy in a ‘they’re not fighting’ way, but I guess I thought that the chief would have to try a lot harder for a lot longer. You know, sacrifice a hand to make her look at him without being pissed off.

I didn’t think it’d be a few weeks and a few jokes. I didn’t think they’d keep being subtly…nice to each other for this long. I thought that the chief would at least keep things calm and quiet in front of me, I thought that maybe the last few weeks of covering for him would earn me some internal peace. Of course not. Chief Haddock always has his own plan and this time, my mom seems to be going along with it.

They haven’t fought in a long time. I don’t know why that feels like a realization.

“I thought you’d like this one, Eret,” Mom ruffles my hair, like I’m not sixteen and we’re not very much in public, and I bat her hand away, tucking the long hairs she pulled out of my tail behind my ears.

I look around to see if anyone saw and Fuse is on the other side of the square, looking down at a thick stack of pages and not paying any attention to where she’s going, if the way she runs into Hoark Jr. is any indication. She doesn’t quite stop to apologize, just waving absently over her head and turning the page. I’m both glad she didn’t see my mom messing with my hair and oddly concerned with the fact she’s not looking at me.

“Yeah, me making a fool of myself,” the chief is talking to me but he’s looking at Mom and smiling like he’s not ancient and miserable, “those are your favorite stories, right Eret?”

I wish Aurelia were here to absorb the full impact of my eyeroll, and I glance towards Fuse again, hoping she can look up long enough to at least commiserate. She doesn’t. I’m starting to feel miserable and alone again at the same time as I feel important, and as I’ve learned, that’s almost always a sign of nothing good in the inevitable slow fall that is my life.

“Yep, I love when I hear that you, at one time, looked very stupid.”

“Means I don’t now, right?” The chief is still talking to me while looking at Mom and she punches him, hard enough that he should flinch but he doesn’t and I look away like there’s something to look away from.

“Isn’t there something that requires your…input, or something?” I try and it’s not until I finish that I realize he’s not entirely listening. Neither is Mom.

They’re just looking at each other in a way that makes me feel gross. I clear my throat. Neither of them move and it feels significant.

“Oh Hel,” the chief breaks the eye contact and it doesn’t feel like it matters, it’s not a relief, and it’s one of those rare times where I know the hammer is going to make contact before it actually does. “I actually do have to be somewhere.” He laughs, he squints at the sun like he’s checking he’s not late.

Mom looks concerned and interested and like she doesn’t feel like this afternoon was anything other than she’d like it to be.

“What’s up?” She cocks her head and looks so interested and I should be the one asking that.

“Oh nothing,” the chief sighs like this is all the last thing he wants to do, “just, you know, no one’s going to know where to put all that wood if I don’t tell them. And we’ll all freeze to death and it’ll be horrible.”

Mom laughs. The chief leans in and kisses her and it’s in slow motion in my head. It’s not a big dramatic kiss, it’s a kiss like he does it all the time, and I stumble backwards.

“What the fuck?”

The chief pulls back and freezes, staring at me with wide eyes. He laughs. Mom laughs. They sound the same, startled and like they just made some insignificant and silly mistake.

“What the fuck?” I yell louder, “did you two just—”

“Keep your voice down,” Mom cuts me off I laugh, louder than I expect.

“You just aren’t going to say anything? You aren’t going to explain—”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” She sounds like she’s trying to parent me again, like I’m a kid and I don’t understand and maybe I am because I don’t. I don’t understand anything I’m looking at.

“No, you don’t,” I shake my head before stumbling a couple steps backwards. I should have brought Bang. I should have left as soon as I saw the chief was planning on tagging along. “I know what happened last time you two thought that was a good idea. I’m living it!” I’m yelling again and I can’t stop it and the chief is staring at me like he thinks he’s going to laugh again, like he’s seeing himself and it’s just thor-damned delightful.

“Eret, come with me, we can talk about this,” he offers like it’s just the best idea anyone in the history of Midgard has ever had.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” I shove my hands in my pockets, “I—there’s nothing to fucking talk about with me.”

Mom tries one more time to lecture me about my language, like she didn’t just betray everything I’ve always been or wanted to be, but I don’t stop. I don’t stop when Mrs. Ackson tries to pull me over or when I cross onto Arvid’s side of the island. I don’t stop until I reach the old Hofferson house, dark and quiet even in the middle of the day.

I—that wasn’t a kiss that culminates after thirty years of horrible decisions. Not that I know much about that kind of thing but, well, it reminded me of before. Of when Dad would be running late and he’d remind me to be good on the way out the door, like it ever could have mattered, like there was anything good in me to remember. It reminded me of normal, the normal that doesn’t exist anymore, the normal that was always a lie.

Nothing that happened here matters anymore. It’s like it’s all erased. It’s like I’ve been hating myself because that’s the most real thing that kept it alive, the feeling of wrongness that I wasn’t where I’m supposed to be. That the chief’s house isn’t home.

But like always, it wasn’t enough.

00000

It starts snowing. Honestly, if it hadn’t, I can say I probably would have just stayed in the woods, lurking around my old house and half waiting for Arvid to appear and kick my ass. But it starts getting cold enough for my breath to freeze hard in my stubble and I’m not really interested in getting matching father-son amputations with the chief so I start back to his house. My house. The house where my parents have been kissing casually like that’s not something that matters.

The village looks different than it used to, somehow, quieter even though I can hear people having dinner inside, fires crackling in fireplaces. It’s like I’m further from it than I have been, like I’m on the outside again.

I hate how I used to want to know everything. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself that more often than not, it’s painful. That learning new things is a process mostly made up of picking at old wounds with salty fingers and that honesty is overrated.

Everyone should lie to me, that’s the new thing I’m going to ask for. Not that anyone ever listens to what I ask for, not that it matters.

Like hey, if I’m making requests, the chief can probably keep his stupid, obnoxious everything away from my Mom. And she can probably stop laughing at him and letting him kiss her like it doesn’t matter, like Arvid and Ingrid and Rolf and Dad don’t matter. Like only I get to matter even though I’m the worst of everyone, even though I didn’t work for any of this.

I wait outside of the chief’s house when I get there, listening to Mom telling Stoick he needs to go to bed and Bang whining along with him. It sounds like a family. A family that exists around me and not in spite of me and I hate how lost in that I am. I hate how it makes me feel like I’m drowning, like I’m stupid, like I’m blind.

I’m here. Of course there’s some compulsion between those two.

I open the door. Mom is still upstairs putting Stoick to bed and the chief is sitting there, looking at the door like he hoped I’d show up and he jumps up when he sees me.

“Eret—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve loved her forever, all that shit.” I wish I’d taken him up on the offer of the upstairs bed just so I’d have somewhere to storm to, but Bang stops that too, crowding around my feet and jumping excitedly until I pet his head. “I don’t need to hear it—”

“But you should have heard it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I—I forget, I forget that you’re so much like your mom sometimes—”

“Yeah, because I’m walking around looking like this—”

“Your Mom needed to be told things. Or needs. I—”

“I know her. You don’t need to tell me about my mother, I know her. Or who she was—”

“She is who she always was and you’re…you’re so much like her and…” He reaches out like he wants to put his hand on my shoulder or something and I take a step backwards. “She always needed to be told, a few more words about how I appreciated—”

“Why are you telling me this?” I sit down on the rug in front of the fire and Bang curls around me, protective and one of the only things that feels the same as it always has. “I don’t want to know any of this—”

“Then why are you here if you’re not ready to talk?”

“Because it’s fucking cold outside.” I gesture at the window, “it’s snowing and I’m not really into a matching father-son amputation especially for a reason as lame as frostbite?” I recycle the bitterness from in my own head and the chief looks like he wants to laugh. Like he’s enjoying this. Like he likes that I’m not leaving and I’m not sure why I’m not.

I always used to leave. Before? Before I would have been off island and so far away I couldn’t think about any of this but now? Now I’m becoming someone who dwells.

Sometimes, Bang’s back feels like another world in a bad way. Like I can just…poof away to somewhere better and when I come back, this world is different again. I feel like I’m supposed to keep tabs on all of Midgard or I’ll end up with a bigger mess to hand off or give up and Eret The Helpful is a mantle that weighs about as much as the effort not to scream in the chief’s face right now.

That wouldn’t help.

Mom talked to me like I was a child earlier, like I was Stoick standing on a chair somewhere I shouldn’t be, and I can’t take that anymore. I can’t take the feeling that I’m more or less depending on who agrees with me at this instant.

“I didn’t want to keep it a secret,” the chief says like he doesn’t want it to hit me too hard, like it’s a weapon he’s wielding carefully and I want to ask him to hit me. Someone should hit me. I liked it when hitting people changed things but it feels like that’s never going to be anything but childish and being childish is my biggest enemy.

And somehow, Hofferson is childish. That’s the thing that’s hitting me hardest. The concept of loyalty and sticking to my values and holding on to things is childish. When people grow up they let go, except the chief, he gets to grab back on whenever he feels like it and somehow, he’s a hero. It’s a double standard to the highest degree.

“But you did?”

“Your mother—”

“You’ve never done anything else she asked you to—”

“That’s half the point.” He tries to look intimidated, or something, but then he’s smiling again, hopeful and beseeching like I could say some magic yakshit and everything would be better. “I—I took your advice. I tried to listen, I—”

“Do you want a fucking pat on the back?” I glare at him and it makes me feel useless. Because I’m angry and vicious and I don’t know any way to get it out of me. It’s just bouncing around inside, dense and brutal. “You got everything you’ve ever wanted, I’m not going to fucking congratulate you for it—”

“That’s not true.”

“I don’t give a shit if it’s true.” I feel that resolve to ask to be lied to cracking, “I—how long? When—I…I don’t get it.”

“It’s—since Snoggletog—”

“So you just get to drink some yaknog and make a few lame jokes and it erases…everything I ever had?”

“Sometimes, what we need is the last thing we’d ever want.”

“I’m not here for advice.” I swallow back a sob I don’t understand, a lonely sob that I don’t know where it’s coming from or where it’s going, or why my eyes are dry and my feet are still cold. It’s like I’m stuck here, scraped and scratched raw, unable to move forward or back or anywhere. “I’m here to not freeze.”

“Eret.” The chief tries what feels like a final time and my name still sounds like a weapon, it sounds like it tears him up on the way out and I hate how much I like it. I hate how it doesn’t change anything.

“I don’t want to be here, it’s just the warmest place that I’m…” I sigh and press hard on my eyes with the back of my hands like it can make crying less likely, “the only place I’m still welcome.”

He stands there a long time and it’s the first time it seems like there’s something more in me than my Mom and the chief combined in some toxic scramble, because he doesn’t have anything magical to say. He doesn’t have a key to this lock. He can’t get in or out of the way I feel right now and Berk has never been under siege while I’ve been alive but I imagine it feels a little like this.

00000

If I sleep, it’s bad. I’m not sure it’s really sleep, it’s more just…the brutal pain of silently existing when there’s no one to listen. There’s the realization that I’ve said plenty that no one really listened to, they just pretended to because it’s what they’re supposed to do. Bang can’t say anything relevant. He’d try, but that might just make it worse.

Aurelia isn’t here or I haven’t seen her. I don’t think I could talk to her anyway.

I don’t warm up the way I’m used to. Even sitting right in front of the fire with a blanket around my shoulders, and I start to think that maybe I’m just supposed to freeze. If I freeze, it feels like I’m giving him something, like I’m waiting for someone or something to catch up.

It’s nowhere near dawn when I decide leaving would be better. Even if it’s just for a couple of hours, more of a flight than an absence but when I haven’t been off island in this long they might as well be the same thing. It takes three sardines to get Bang outside and awake, but any drowsiness doesn’t last long with the frigid winter wind whipping at our faces.

I fly low over the waves, salt crusting the edges of frozen sleeves as Bang dives and splashes through the white tops, coating himself in salt and ice and it feels stupid in the way I know I need. Stupid and reckless and completely ineffectual. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t help me and it doesn’t hurt anyone and I’m shaking when we finally get back to Berk as the sun is going up.

I shake the worst of the ice off of my beard before going inside and this is the time that I truly wish I’d knocked.

Mom and Aurelia are at the table, mixing dough together, and they both stare at me for a too long second.

“It’s an iceman from the North come to conquer us all.” Aurelia acts sarcastically scared and I snort, scraping another handful of salty ice from my beard.

“Very funny.”

“Seriously, Eret, don’t track that all inside.” Mom is acting like everything is ok, or normal, or some version of normal that I’d believe in and I want her to fight with me about it. I want to figure it out. I want someone to help me and Aurelia seems as impenetrable as she used to but all the more familiar.

“Track it?” I snort, “you want me to leave my boots outside?”

“It’d be a start.” She says like she wants me to say sorry and I hate that I almost do. I hate that I’m mad at her and it’s real and I can’t explain it. That it doesn’t feel wrong.

“Let’s call it a finish,” I toe off my boots and drop my jacket onto them before stomping inside and slamming the door behind myself. Mom raises an eyebrow and I stop, “what? Is that a problem?”

“That’s a new jacket.”

“Ok.” I flop in front of the fire, holding my hands up to the fire.

“It’s new—”

“We’re rich now, or something, right?” I ask and I hate how much I sound like Ingrid, asking to stay out after Mom asked her to be home. I sound like Arvid, wanting different rules. Mom looks almost as unyielding and twice as happy to be.

“Eret—”

“I thought you weren’t going to explain anything to me?” It’s like my throat isn’t used to yelling anymore and my voice comes out gravelly and sad and I don’t know when I forgot how to slam doors and cause problems.

“What’s going on?” Aurelia steps away from Mom, towards me, and it’s more of a relief than I thought it could be to see her instinctively aligning herself with my side. Even though she’s been a pain lately, this isn’t broken yet.

“Nothing.” Mom looks like she hates lying and if she’s trying to make me feel bad for her again, it’s working.

“That’s not really true, is it?” I ring out my wet tail and Bang grouses at me for splashing him.

“He gets to know and I don’t?” Aurelia takes another backwards step towards me and Mom sighs.

“I—I guess there’s no point in lying about it anymore,” she sits down, “not that we lied, really, we just…”

“Didn’t tell the truth while also being all secretive?” I don’t want to be the one to say it. Mom can at least give me that, can’t she? She could at least be the one to say it out loud.

“Is it something bad?” Aurelia looks at me for help and I shrug.

“Eret thinks so.” Mom clears her throat, “I—your dad and I…we’re back with each other.”

“I’m aware of that,” Aurelia points at me, her hand moving slow and definite like she’s not quite sure if she’s joking or not, “that’s why this guy lives here. And we went to that wedding—”

“She’s not kidding,” I laugh, more tired than anything, “or senile.”

“Wait so…” Aurelia looks at my face and back at Mom, “your political sham marriage isn’t a sham anymore?”

Mom looks between us for a second and I get the feeling that she doesn’t mind being surrounded by so much of the chief.

“That’s not quite how we’re thinking of it—”

“Because it sounds too legitimate?” I scoff, “like my newly minted birthright?”

“That wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.” Mom doesn’t sound mad at me for the first time since I snapped at them yesterday and I wonder if she was avoiding me on purpose last night. She’s never done that before, she’s always been there and ready to talk when I calmed down and it feels like I just lost another part of her and what we had before the chief strolled back into her life.

“It seems like you didn’t want me to find out at all.”

“I didn’t,” she looks at Aurelia like she wishes she’d leave so we could have this conversation alone, but Aurelia sits down next to me, wrinkling her nose at my soaking clothes but not moving away. At least I’ve still got a sister. “I knew you’d act like this and—”

“And you didn’t want me ruining—”

“I didn’t want to upset you.” She cuts across me and it’s warm and kind and strong and I want to believe her but can’t find it in me right now. “I didn’t want to hurt you and I knew that this would, I…I’m not going to apologize for it—”

“It wouldn’t help if you did.” I want to explain it to her, this feeling of loss, the way that everything that happened before the last year of my life feels fake, like a story I told myself. And it’s worse because I’m so alone in it, because I used to have Arvid and Ingrid and Dad and now I hardly see them and when I do, it hurts. “Maybe you were right in the first place, maybe you shouldn’t explain it to me.”

“You shouldn’t have found out like this.” She sighs, rubbing her hands over her face like she can’t imagine what to do about the problem that I am. “Hiccup was right, we should have told you.”

“And me, I’d like to be in the know on these things too.” Aurelia doesn’t sound as mad as I’d like her to, but it’s the closest thing to support I’ve heard since the chief tried so hard to be understanding.

“We should have told both of you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.” I stand up, looking at the stairs and trying to avoid the way it hurts that Mom looks so sad. “I’m assuming the bed upstairs isn’t taken anymore so if I could just use that door to slam, maybe we could all just pretend I’m a normal sullen teenager.”

“Stoick’s still asleep.” Mom rubs her temple and I hate that it makes me feel better that she’s upset, that she’s going along with my newest dumb little scheme.

“My room’s free,” Aurelia is looking at me like she doesn’t quite recognize me and I’m not sure I would either. “Slam away.”

“Thanks,” I salute her and it’s awkward, but there’s no room in me to care as I stomp up the stairs, each step feeling heavier and less dramatic than the last. It’s an act. I wish I felt like that kid that used to flip out and yell and pick fights.

I half-heartedly slam the door and flop backwards onto Aurelia’s unmade bed.

I stare at the ceiling, listening to Mom and Aurelia murmur downstairs like they don’t want me to hear. Aurelia says something sarcastic. Mom laughs a tired little laugh that feels like it’s scraping out the inside of my ears with sharkskin. I can feel everyone moving on without me again, but faster, more seamlessly.

I feel left behind like Dad and Arvid, but it’s worse, because the very fact that I’m here right now is what let them move on from me. I’m not the miserable tether keeping Mom here anymore, I’m the reason she feels like she can be.

Someone knocks on the door a couple of minutes after it goes silent downstairs and I groan.

“Leave me alone.”

“It’s me,” Aurelia cracks the door, “good impression of a sullen teenager though.”

“It’s not an impression.”

“Ew,” she shuts the door behind her and walks over to kick my foot, “you got my bed all soggy. That’s gross.”

“I said leave me alone.��

“It’s my room,” she starts digging in her closet and throws a shirt at me. It’s Arvid’s. One of those that never quite made it to being mine and my hands clench around it like I want to tear it apart. I might as well. I seem to whether I’m actively trying to or not. “At least put on some dry clothes.”

“I don’t think your leggings will fit me.”

“It’s a weird line for me to loan you Arvid’s pants.” She laughs when I manage to make a grossed out face, “not that I have any here. I was just trying to make your face move.”

“Congratulations, it’s now stuck permanently in double disgust mode.”

“It jokes.” She starts pulling wet blankets off of her bed. “Maybe it’ll live.”

“What’d you say that made Mom laugh?”

“Honestly?” Aurelia shrugs the cavalier shrug of someone tiny who just said something really mean and miraculously got away with it. “I told her that it’s a downgrade from your Dad but that’s her decision so…”

“That’s gross.” I shake my head, looking at my hands and trying to find the will to take my soggy shirt off before the shirt she loaned me gets soaked against my pants. “He’s not my dad. And if Mom is suddenly happy with the chief again…”

“Since Snoggletog,” she sighs, “I can’t believe I lost another bet with Arvid. He’s been telling me something was going on with them. I don’t know how he knew, he’s going to be so smug.”

“Isn’t that just his baseline?”

“No, just his reaction to winning another stupid bet.”

“Hey, it’s only fair that he wins some while I’m losing all of them.”

“She looks happy,” Aurelia shrugs like it’s something she wants to play off as simple, “she has looked happy.”

“So you’re ok with it?” I hate the tremble in my voice, like I’m scared I’m about to crumble into something about as real as my entire childhood.

“I—I don’t see how we can change it. And I want Mom to be happy. If that means my dad getting everything he ever fucked all of us over for then…”

“It’s a Berkian tradition, basically.”

#eret iii #festerverse #aurelia haddock #hiccstrid #I...the boy is so grown up #he can't even tantrum right #I can't #my son

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