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primrose-path-of-dalliance · 3 years

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on bren and feeblemind.

(cw: lots of caleb backstory. self-explanatory, i think?)

this isn’t something i’ve talked about on my blog yet, but since the campaign has begun drawing to a close, i want to make sure i say my piece on the popular theory that bren/caleb was institutionalized because trent ikithon feebleminded him to disable him.

my piece being that it’s exceptionally unlikely he did—at least as a premeditated plan. this kind of theory also falls prey to the exact beliefs ikithon has tried to exploit in caleb.

for our mutual reference, i’ll quote the spell description of feeblemind.

FEEBLEMIND (PHB) 8th level enchantment

Casting time: 1 action Range: 150 feet Components: VSM (a handful of clay, crystal, glass, or mineral spheres) Duration: Instantaneous

You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shatter its intellect and personality. The target takes 4d6 psychic damage and must make an Intelligence saving throw.

On a failed save, the creature’s Intelligence and Charisma scores become 1. The creature can’t cast spells, activate magic items, understand language, or communicate in any intelligible way. The creature can, however, identify its friends, follow them, and even protect them.

At the end of every 30 days, the creature can repeat its saving throw against this spell. If it succeeds on its saving throw, the spell ends. The spell can also be ended by Greater Restoration, Heal, or Wish.

considering the characteristics described and implied by actors other than ikithon—caleb and astrid prominently—who are not motivated to deceive on ikithon’s behalf, feeblemind is not consistent with caleb’s mental break.

fact the first: when bren broke, he became violent and spellcasted.

when astrid describes the circumstances in which he was taken to the vergessen sanatorium (e89, 1:49:30), she refers to his lashing out as “creat[ing] a lot of sparks everywhere else” and rubs at burn scars across her neck. she says that they had to subdue him because he was too dangerous. all of these statements add up to a bren who was viciously spellcasting at his friends and mentor when he broke down.

this wouldn’t have been possible if he’d been feebleminded. feeblemind explicitly prevents the affected creature from casting spells or activating magic items. in that scenario, the only thing bren would’ve been capable of is throwing hands. from him? not very dangerous at all.

how do we know astrid wasn’t lying or intentionally deceptive? because she (and eadwulf) still cares so much for caleb that she risked her life multiple times to aid him. no one who would give caleb a map to a secret volstrucker vault with her own handwriting on it (e127, 29:29; and 30:57)—or intentionally fail to counterspell him when ikithon could’ve seen her do so—would lie to caleb about ikithon attempting to permanently feeblemind him if she knew.

to preempt the idea that astrid had set the m9 up: it’s very obvious she didn’t, since trent ikithon had clearly had no forewarning of a break-in. he would’ve at least been waiting in the vault, already prepared to subdue them quickly, if he’d known.

so it’s fair to determine that astrid would either be honest to the extent of her knowledge to caleb or make it clear that she couldn’t answer him. since she didn’t imply the latter, we can assume she was being honest. and because of astrid’s competence, it’s highly probable she would’ve noticed if his behavior was symptomatic of feeblemind over the years.

fact the second: bren’s mental condition repeatedly improved and regressed while he was institutionalized.

astrid states this in the same conversation about their subduing him after his breakdown (e89, 1:50:50). considering this with the context of their romantic relationship prior to his breakdown, her genuine care for him, and her rise to power that included accompanying ikithon frequently to the sanatorium (e127, 31:07)—astrid would’ve had the motivation and the opportunities to visit bren in person. she could’ve also kept well-abreast of his condition.

actual times of improvement and decline in the mental state that astrid first observed during his breakdown wouldn’t be consistent with feeblemind. although it reduces the victim’s intelligence score to 1, they still retain thought and their sense of identity without problems.

this is a maintenance of consistency and (relative) reason. feeblemind does not actually damage a person’s basic perception of reality. but the health of bren’s behavior throughout the years was instead very unstable.

fact the third: caleb doesn’t remember anything from the burning of his home up to his healing by the unknown cleric.

in the conversation with astrid in e89, he asks her what happened when he broke and explicitly says, “the last thing i remember is my home” (1:46:58). when he first tells beau and nott about his past, he explains that he doesn’t remember much of what happened to him there (e18, 2:51:54).

beyond the reduction to their intelligence, feeblemind doesn’t affect the victim’s ability to form memories. caleb’s keen mind feat and established narrative element of his eidetic memory would’ve still been present as well. therefore, feeblemind alone can’t explain such a significant, near-empty gap in his memory. he would still remember something.

even the possibility of trent ikithon altering them directly is precluded by the fact that the cleric’s healing removed the alterations to caleb’s memory. if all those years had been magically blocked away, they’d have returned when he was healed of everything else.

fact the fourth: sometimes, people really do just break.

nothing about caleb’s backstory is inconsistent with just... being a person living their life, even a terrible one. he was a young man that believed so zealously in his country and his purpose, abused by a powerful older man, that he did many horrible things and believed they were right. until finally he did something that he couldn’t process and broke down.

there’s two reoccurring, underlying assumptions i’ve noticed behind why this theory seems to be so compelling and popular:

caleb just seems so remorseful and traumatized by his double patricide. there’s no way he would’ve willingly murdered his parents. ikithon must have known and decided to preempt his inevitable betrayal.

everything we know about bren, especially from the horse’s own mouth, suggests that he had been willing (at least up until his mental break) to murder his parents. he was literally an extreme nationalist—a fascist, if you will. he was lawful evil (twitter source). he gratefully executed many “criminals” put in front of him, more than likely by burning them to death based on his ptsd. victims whom we now understand may not have been guilty of anything at all.

he was glad to do what he thought was best for the dwendalian empire, and he truly thought being volstrucker was the correct path. trent ikithon, his abuser, treated him as his favorite (e110, 3:30:58). because he believed.

that fervent faith, in fact, is the key to something like his breakdown in the first place. hearing the dying screams of his parents, bren was forced to confront a violent dissonance between his radical beliefs that condemned traitors (as he believed until the cleric’s healing) and the intuitive horror of murdering his parents that he couldn’t reconcile. this fathomless sense of betrayal is why caleb so deeply despised ikithon and himself.

a young evocation wizard who didn’t want his parents dead would’ve run into that burning house, feebleminded or not. someone magically compelled to set that fire would’ve understood what happened as soon as the charm left him and would definitely remember every detail once the cleric healed him.

caleb is remorseful and traumatized because he willingly murdered his parents. as well as many others.

it can’t be that simple. caleb was institutionalized for eleven years just because his abuser pushed him too far? there must be a more nefarious reason. ikithon even said he basically stored him for later.

putting aside the fact that bren having a breakdown in the way he did makes complete sense for his situation, ikithon’s “claim” that he orchestrated all of caleb’s subsequent years is not only something he never actually says (e110, 3:16:34)—it is a claim that’s patently absurd.

i’ve written meta that discusses this in the past (link here). essentially though, the number of moving pieces and assumptions that would be needed for such a series of events is ridiculously improbable. even assuming that ikithon feebleminded him—so that caleb’s mind would be intact when he ‘woke up’—even assuming that ikithon somehow procured the service of a cleric of the archeart—a banned deity in the empire that would oppose ikithon...

why in the world would he ever reasonably believe that caleb widogast, the man he viciously betrayed and lied to and abused, would do anything to benefit ikithon?

trent ikithon is a mortal man. he has power, yes; enchantment magic, authority, and a history of abuse and manipulation over caleb’s head, yes. but ikithon is a mortal man. not a puppeteer in the sky piloting people’s bodies.

he certainly wouldn’t have led caleb to a whole new family that would change everything about his life for the better. a family that would love him, truly—a family that would help him heal, bear the weight of his guilt, and find a real future waiting for him again instead of a self-destructive end. a family that would fight tooth and nail for caleb’s sake against ikithon.

abusers lie. their biggest lie, the one they always circle back to in the end, is that their victim is unique: that there is something which makes them deserving of abuse, and that their abuser is both right and inescapable.

ikithon is read as honest because he chooses his words carefully and has the self-confidence to believe it. everything he’s claimed about caleb and his past have either been implications that he encouraged others to reach for him or platitudes empty of everything except gaslighting intent.

caleb has escaped. and everything ikithon wants is to convince caleb and his friends that he continues to control caleb’s life, that caleb is special, so he can regain some influence over a man who’s come to command so much power.

the idea that caleb must’ve been feebleminded—that he couldn’t have just had a mental breakdown like so many other prospective volstrucker before miraculously, then strenuously, recovering to create a hopeful future for himself—falls into the trap of validating ikithon’s lies.

trent ikithon didn’t see and believe in caleb’s ‘full potential’ before anyone else did. he didn’t foresee a single ounce of the man’s struggle to put himself back together after what he suffered. caleb was not institutionalized to serve as a toy to one day pull back out of the closet. there was no feeblemind or other secretive plan that could only serve to obfuscate the brutal truth:

ikithon abused a boy until he shattered, and tried to hide the evidence. a crime that he’s committed against countless other children. plain and simple.

so that’s my piece.

caleb widogast—bren ermendrud—was not the victim of a premeditated feeblemind from ikithon, based on the mechanics of the spell. even more importantly, the narrative of his and ikithon’s stories would suffer if he was.

now,

A LOGICAL POSSIBILITY I WON’T DENY.

what if ikithon feebleminded him as a method to subdue him after the breakdown?

this is more or less an alternate theory that’s irrelevant to the points i actually wanted to make. but i want to talk about it anyway because it’s kind of fun.

fact the bonus: bren spent eleven years in the sanatorium.

eleven years is a long time. he would’ve been able to save every 30 days after the initial failed save. the exandrian calendar has about eleven 30-day periods every year. assuming a feeblemind spell cast on him just prior to his institutionalization, that’s somewhere around 121 possible save attempts, give or take a few.

what’s the likelihood of him actually saving? to go through the mechanics:

normally, feeblemind reduces a person’s intelligence score to 1, modifier -5. caleb, as a variant human, possessed the feat keen mind from the beginning both mechanically and story-wise. this would make his intelligence score 2, modifier -4, even after feeblemind.

as a level 1-2 wizard, he would’ve had proficiency in intelligence saves. this would be +2 to his save.

in total, the modifier to bren’s intelligence saves would be -2.

in order to cast feeblemind, trent ikithon would have to have been a minimum level 15 wizard. this leaves two possible proficiency bonuses to determine his spell save dc: +5 or +6.

it’s probably safe to assume that his intelligence score is at least 18–20, likely 20. this would be a modifier of +4 or +5. (his intelligence could be 22+ if matt wanted to be a real dick, but let’s assume otherwise.)

spell save dc = 8 + spellcasting score mod (for wizards, this is intelligence) + proficiency bonus.

this means trent ikithon’s possible spell save dc is somewhere from 17–19.

therefore:

at minimum—17 being ikithon as a level 15–16 wizard with an intelligence score of 18–19 at the time of casting—bren would have to roll a 19 or nat 20 to make the save with his -2 save modifier.

at a dc of 18—ikithon either being level 17–20 or having an intelligence score of 20, but not both—bren would have to roll a nat 20.

at a dc of 19(+), it would be impossible for bren to save without additional bonuses such as bless.

i don’t have the brainpower to calculate some real statistical probabilities, but depending on your opinion of trent ikithon’s probable capabilities at the time of bren’s mental break, he may have been able to save against feeblemind sometime during the eleven years he spent at the sanatorium.

naturally, this has the earlier-mentioned conundrum of remembering that return of clarity once he was healed by the cleric, should ikithon have been retrieved to recast the feeblemind and altered his memories. nevertheless, it may or may not be a fun thought to play around with.

#caleb widogast #trent ikithon #blumendrei #cr #cr meta #critical role #critical role meta #critrole #bren aldric ermendrud #bren ermendrud #abuse cw #mental institution cw #prim post #prim says some things #long post

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nochiquinn · 4 years

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campaign 2 episode 131: at dawn we plan

(I feel like I’ve used that one before)

my alarm didn't go off, I came in partway through the BOOK that I am super excited for

I would go to a critrole bookstore. I would fly to LA to go to a critrole bookstore.

"final rest" don't you call it that, I'm sensitive

"think on the stormlord" get high, find a god

"I FUCKING TOLD YOU. DID YOU THINK I WAS LYING?!"

oh that's cool, avoiding them having to sit with their thumbs up their butts for an hour while ashley fights

"I am kord, the stormlord" can you imagine

"that's just travis standing on the map"

"grog's like 'let's go'" man I miss grog

sam stop helping

the first thing these motherfuckers ever do with new feats is use all of them as soon as possible as recklessly as possible, I don't know what she expected

you've heard of the stormlord get ready for stormylaura

travis gets so hype for anything barbarian thing ashley does, it's great

imagine if travis had rolled another barbarian but with an actual intelligence score

(I have to at least get my dailies done in genshin impact, I can do that while ashley kills all her friends)

samuel

point at the wrestlemania sign

"geeze read your SPELLS"

laura's storm acting is the best

sam why are you *like this*

I can't wait until they all get jabbed and they can be at the table again

y'all weren't supposed to ACTUALLY KILL HER

ashley apologizing for swearing, around this bunch

storm head a splode

quick lay hands on self

(does that work)

mala: lesbian immortality

get high, punch a god

"zealot-like" I see you

ashley getting stressed out by people watching :(

"I want to scry on vandran" travis' face

laura blocking travis' face

"50 Shades of Green"

between this and sending astrid a nigerian prince scam, I'm starting to think jester might have a problem with staying out of other people's backstories

"I deserve this frigidityyyyy"

t-pose to assert dominance

tbh I would be upset with jester

like it turned out well so that's good but like. what if it hadn't. what if the scry had been intercepted. also just the fact that he explicitly asked her not to.

I LOVE HER I JUST THINK SHE MADE A POOR DECISION

please make one (1) non-magic friend

(go get kima)

caleb: ikithon is not a temptation I need to worry about

beau: (x) doubt

fjord's pecs cast modify memory

"challenging tidings" episode title

"CALLIOPE ARE YOU UP" "she is NOW"

hey no fuck you sam

"fate/stay night?" "name more anime"

hilarious to me that the ones travis mentioned are from a million years ago. travis you're literally in anime. travis you're one of the most famous anime characters in existence. travis keep up.

who's ready for them to roll initiative on lucien at 1 am

oh it's clairvoyance from skyrim

yes good that's how boulder parchment shears works

oh goddammit

I don't have an attention span tonight

roll to dislocate

"I've been pumping it into you"

okay jester the first time was bad enough, this is. hmm.

he's on rumblecusp

hey you know what? fuck this. fuck this whole conversation.

HEY I HAVE AN IDEA ACTUALLY FUCK THIS

mala:Beau gets taken over by the eyes and Yasha has to stab her

mala is only sending me sad things, I'm blocking

"tarrasque" liam you shut the FUCK up

matt pls call it I gotta pee

"is there something that should not be shared?" look man they're justifiably paranoid, give them a break

I hate this plan, incidentally

trent is NOT gonna play by y'all's rules, he's gonna fuck you up and fuck off at the first opportunity

YEAH essek knows

man fuck trent take essek

YEAH SEE listen to essek

liam do not do the thing where you have locked a plan in your head and bully the narrative until you get what you want

pls fail this check

GOOD

the answer is to tell trent to go fuck himself and take essek instead

THE GOOD ANSWER IS TELL TRENT TO GO FUCK HIMSELF

"I will not stop you" YOU SHOULD

YEAH BEAU KNOWS

he. he's got a point.

ducks from the shrapnel from the tumblr tag exploding

thank you liam

okay that was a decent idea tho

laura

every time. every FUCKING time.

god bless you, matt

"I popped a vein between my skin and my skull"

it has been 131 episodes, how are they still so BAD at this

that did not answer any of their questions

the instant I get up he's gonna call it

"that guy can't float"

"like a small hit to the heart" ;-;

someone give this boy a hug and also therapy

he has a mini!!

everyone can have a little war crime. as a treat.

#critical role #spoilers #liveblog #reaction post #crititag

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shipmistress9 · 4 years

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FTLOAP: Chapter 47: All Of My Memories Keep You Near

For The Love Of A Princess Masterpost

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

Taglist: @drchee5e @hey-its-laura-again @thepixiedustfactory

AN: Okay, I'm going to be honest with you guys. I expected much more of an outcry after the last chapter, and for a day or two, I was even a tiny bit disappointed. But then I realised my mistake. This is an HTTYD fanfiction! So, naturally, there are certain expectations when it comes to certain future plot points. You can't know what I've planned so you're not worried. After this truth sank in, my disappointment vanished. And got replaced by…

Anyway, it's been ages since I updated. That wasn't planned, but you might have noticed that the world is a crazy place. Me and my family are all good, but being under lockdown with three kids doesn't exactly leave much time for leisure activities. So I'm really happy that I'm able to finally update again! (It's also meant as a gift for my birthday next week from myself. :D)

This chapter's title comes from the song Memories by Within Temptation. It's one of my favourite bands, and I'm so happy that I can use some of their lyrics again. It wasn't a title I had planned for long, but when I listened to that song a while back, I knew that I had found the perfect title for this chapter.

PS: I made some minor changes in the previous chapter. Namely, the number of days scheduled for the Hunt and its preparation.

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

No matter how hard she tried, Astrid couldn’t keep her hands from shaking. Standing in the corridor behind the audience room – alone safe for Ruff and Tuff – all she allowed herself to do was focus on her fingers, on keeping them still.

It wasn’t working.

Over and over, her father’s announcement repeated itself in her mind, how he’d snatched away what she'd thought already firmly in her grasp – again. It wasn’t fair!

All that had kept her from screaming out in frustration right there in front of everyone had been Eret, his hand on her arm and whispering soothingly into her ear. “Breathe. Don’t panic, okay? This can work in our favour. You’ll see, everything will be okay.”

So she’d followed his advice, had taken a deep shaky breath and had focused on staying calm. Just like she was doing now. She concentrated on her chest, rising and falling with her breathing, and deliberately relaxed part of her body on each exhale. Her shoulders, her jaw, her forehead. It wasn’t easy; everything she’d been so sure of only an hour ago was slipping through her fingers yet again.

But… she trusted Eret. If he said that it would be okay then, maybe, not everything was lost.

“All right. I’m done,” he said when he finally joined her in the corridor.

“What took you so long?” It didn’t concern her, not really. But it had been odd that he’d sent her ahead with a whispered ‘Wait outside, I’ll be there in a minute’. And it provided a little distraction.

Eret shrugged. “Nothing major. I just had to talk to Dagur for a moment and didn’t want to risk for your governess to come up with some new plan for your day. But let’s go now.”

Astrid nodded gratefully. Enduring another lesson in etiquette now – no, that would have been unbearable. She tried to keep up appearances as long as they were in the more public area of the castle, but once they were alone in the corridors that led back to Eret’s rooms, she abruptly stopped. “What did you mean?” she demanded, turning on the spot to address Eret. Her voice was close to breaking, her hands still trembling. “How can this work in our favour?”

She really hoped he had a solution, because, frankly, she was running out of patience and strength to come up with something new every time again. She had enough of all this heartache, the anxiety. She just wanted to leave it all behind her and live the peaceful life she and Hiccup had seen in their vision. Even though, logically, she still knew that eloping wasn’t an option... it became tempting again.

“Because if we do this right, it will draw less suspicion,” Eret said calmly, then raised a hand to ward off her next question. “Not here. Let’s head back to– We should talk this through together.” Eret’s eyes burned into hers, reminding her that these corridors might not be as deserted as they looked.

Astrid nodded, fighting again to release the tension from her body and thought of Hiccup and how everything would somehow work out. It kept the panic at bay, for the moment at least.

Eret had a point. Even if they tried to be vague, any discussion they had here in the corridors was bound to draw attention eventually. But even as she tried to appear composed and unaffected, she still had to fight hard not to rush or outright run to Eret’s rooms. Toward Hiccup. And once they were there, she threw herself directly into his arms, clinging to him as tightly as she could.

“Uh... okay?” Hiccup was clearly worried, his own tension tangible even as he rubbed her back to soothe her. “I assume you have bad news?”

Astrid didn’t know what to say, just stifled her sobs against his chest and tried to keep from trembling. Why, why, why couldn’t things be simple and work as planned at least once?

“How did you even guess that?” Tuff commented dryly, closing the door after he and his sister had entered the room behind Eret.

“We should have talked to them last night,” Astrid whispered, not sure if anyone could even hear her. But it had been more to herself anyway. If they hadn’t – admittedly sensibly – waited until the morning to approach their fathers, then their plan could have worked. She wanted to kick herself but knew that it was futile to lament past mistakes. She neither had the energy nor the time for that.

“Eh, bad but not too bad news, I’d say,” Eret replied. He walked over to a sideboard to pick up an apple.

Feeling his gaze on her, Astrid looked up into Hiccup’s eyes, filled with determination and reassurance. It’ll be all right! they seemed to say, his hands on her back comforting her as he turned toward Eret. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” Eret mumbled past a mouthful of fruit, swallowed, then went on, “that using Astrid’s boon won’t work. But don’t worry, I already have an idea. You see, instead of the planned entertainment of the coming days, the King’s holding a Dragon Hunt. The winner earns glory and honour – and will become the new Count Ravenledge.”

“A Dragon Hunt?” Hiccup paled, his whole body becoming rigid.

Eret took another bite of his apple and nodded. “Yep. They just explained the rules and the plan for the next week. We have three days to prepare, then we’re all going to travel to Oramond. From there, we’ll start the Hunt on the following day. It’ll go on for five days before we’re all coming back here. Just in time for the betrothal. The winner is going to be whoever managed to kill a dragon and bring its head, or, in case more than one man accomplished that deed, the dragon species and size of the head are going to be deciding. There was a ranking… Terrible Terrors rank lowest, then Deadly Nadders, Gronkles, Hid–”

“A Nadder head is sure to get you noticed,“ Hiccup murmured, interrupting Eret. His eyes were cast to the far wall and he sounded as if he was quoting some well-learned lines. “Gronckles are tough. Taking down one of those will definitely get you a date. A Zippleback? Exotic. Two heads – twice the status. And then there are the Nightmares. Only the best fighters go after those. But the ultimate prize…” He trailed off, shaking his head, then looked back at Eret. “Yeah, I know that ‘ranking’. It’s what–”

Hiccup broke off when the door opened without a knock, both he and Astrid reflexively shying away from each other. But it was only Dagur, rushing in and shutting the door behind him again before he looked around the room. “Ah, everyone’s already here, good.”

“Where else would we be?” Eret replied, tossing the apple core to be put away later. “Did you find out something helpful?”

Astrid cocked her head, bewildered.

“He went to talk to his father,” Eret explained helpfully. “County Ravenledge belongs to Southshore, so we figured this would make more sense than me approaching my father for further information.”

“Yeah, and I got some interesting information,” Dagur said, uncharacteristically grim for once. He slumped down into a nearby chair and ran both his hands through his already messy hair. “The call for help from Oramond is almost entirely just a front, just like you expected. Yes, they had a dragon attack or two, but they have those every year at this season. Nothing uncommon. The destroyed storehouse was bad luck, but still no major problem. No, the real reason, or at least part of it, is to keep you alive.” He pointed at Eret, who grimaced and absentmindedly scratched at his chest. “All these tournaments don’t serve their purpose anymore, and apparently our old men decided that it’s not worth risking you getting killed. Very kind of them, don’t you think?”

There was something off in Dagur’s voice, something that didn’t quite fit his words. There was underlying anger that felt oddly out of place given that keeping his lover safe was in his interest, too.

Unsurprisingly, Eret noticed it too. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes fixed on his boyfriend. “What is it, Dag? What do you mean by ‘they don't serve their purpose anymore’? What did you learn?”

Dagur snorted harshly. “It’s all been just a charade. And I mean everything. The festivities for old King Ragnvald’s anniversary, Astrid’s wedding, all these tournaments and hunts; they all only served one purpose: to reign in the endless riots over land and titles by making the overly greedy among the noblemen fight and kill each other.”

Stunned silence followed. Astrid stared at Dagur, eyes wide as her mind tried to comprehend.

“Well, I’d say it worked wonderfully,” Tuff commented dryly.

His sister nodded, grimacing. “The death toll certainly looks like it. And, you know… That explains a lot.”

Astrid closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against Hiccup’s chest. His arms around her drew her closer and she was grateful yet again for his never-ending support. Here, surrounded by his warmth, she was able to tune out the others completely and think.

Ruff was right. All these events where her suitors had competed for her attention even though her father knew she wouldn’t enjoy them. Setting her up as a coveted prize. Even pulling her wedding forth in the first place. With this new information, it all made sense now.

And she hated it!

She hated having been set up like nothing but a piece of meat simply for such a political gain. Of course, her wedding had always been meant to be about politics, about the alliance she could gain for the crown. But this? This was different. Worse! It had all been only for political intrigues, with her as just another figure to be pushed around on the board. No, even worse. She'd been nothing but a bait to lure countless men into death. Maybe they were men who deserved it, but that thought still made her sick. So much death...

Although... In a surreal and twisted way, it was also oddly soothing. Her father hadn’t been out to destroy her dreams, hadn’t deliberately aimed at hurting her. He was just doing what he thought was in the best interest of the Kingdom. She might not like that, but she could respect it.

And, well… In hindsight, it had even been to their advantage, even through some painful detours. If it wasn't for this whole mess about her marriage and the tight time limit it had given her, she and Hiccup would still be hiding in the outer stables without anyone knowing. No, not even that. They would be separated for months without knowing when or if they would see each other again.

Instead, they now had the support of their friends, and even though they still had no solid plan, she was glad to be here now. She just had to focus on their goal and not lose herself in worries and hopelessness.

Pushing away all troublesome thoughts for the moment, she snuggled closer against Hiccup's chest and smiled when she felt his breath in her hair. It wasn't long now anymore until she and Hiccup would be married – she refused to believe anything else.

"So, this Dragon Hunt is just another plan to set the overly greedy lords up against each other?"

Eret's voice pierced through her thoughts and drew her attention back to her surroundings. She stayed where she was, her head still leaned against Hiccup, but she opened her eyes to at least follow the conversation around them.

Dagur nodded. "Yep. Now that 'gaining the Princess's favour' isn't a viable decoy anymore, they had to come up with something else."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Tuff threw in. He sounded confused. "I thought County Ravenledge is in too bad a state. Wouldn’t that make it a rather bad decoy? Why would anyone go to such length to gain it?"

"Oh, that," Dagur grinned grimly. "Aye, what you and Astrid overheard was the truth; it really is in a horrible state. But that's not exactly common knowledge yet. From what Father hinted at, it's like this. For now, County Ravenledge is hot property, a large piece of fertile land that's not too close to the war with Maladur, and it even comes with a good title. If it were commonly known that it's vacant, many would apply immediately. But it is as I thought, they want to use it as a White Elephant, want to ruin a rival or three before they put effort into saving it. Or its people..." His hands balled into angry fists, but he kept himself focused. "Anyway, simply gifting the County to a rivalling lord wouldn't work, even the stupidest of them would get suspicious. So they set up this Dragon Hunt, for more than one reason. One, this way, it looks like a valuable prize and people will put much effort into gaining it along with the glory of winning. And even if nobody actually wins the Dragon Hunt, they can keep using it as bait. And the second reason..." He paused, grinding his teeth and shaking his head. "Well, the second reason is that... that with everyone being out in the countryside, away from watching eyes, they expect even more accidents to happen. Rivals taking each other out. And even though I hate this plan, I have to admit it has value. Gods, what would I give to see such an accident happening to Thuggory, for example."

During Dagur's words, Astrid paled. Certainly not for Thuggory's sake, but he wasn't the only one who could be affected by this plan. "But what about those who are loyal to the crown, the innocent?" she asked, disbelievingly. "Does my... does the King really risk them getting killed, too?"

Dagur shook his head. "Not quite," he sighed, tiredly. "This is how they see it. In the old days, a Dragon Hunt wasn't taken very seriously. It's incredibly hard to find and bring down a dragon on your own, so many didn't even bother trying. Our fathers expect that those who are content with the current situation of the Kingdom won’t actually participate in any real fashion. In fact, they don’t expect anyone to win at all. The inns and temples around Oramond will be rather crowded during these days as many noblemen will simply use the Hunt as an opportunity to rest and relax. Only those greedy enough to fight and risk lives – their own or those of others – for land and title will actually be out in the countryside. And those will be the ones that are going to kill each other. In addition, there will be guards patrolling the area, keeping an eye open to protect those loyal to the crown."

Astrid pressed her lips together and nodded. She didn't like the plan; there were far too many deaths involved. But she could see the merit in it, if grudgingly.

"Okay, that's a nice plan, and all," Ruff commented, wrinkling her nose. "But that’s not really our problem? This Hunt puts a heavy dent into your idea of Hiccup becoming the new Count. So now, we have to come up with something new, right?"

Astrid's shoulders slumped. Ruff was right. Dagur’s news had momentarily distracted her, but now, the realisation came crashing down on her again. If Hiccup couldn’t become the new Count Ravenledge, then they needed to come up with something else. Maybe they could use the Hunt as a distraction. Maybe they could come up with a way to run away after all, without causing any troubles for others. Maybe–

"Not necessarily."

Eret's interjection kept her thoughts from spiralling downwards. He looked thoughtful and then nodded to himself, even as everyone in the room was curiously watching him.

"Well, first things first. It’s as I said, we can’t use Astrid’s boon anymore. But that doesn’t mean all is lost. All we have to do is make sure that Hiccup wins this Hunt. Sure, the boon would have been the easier option, but this one might be safer. If Hiccup becomes a count by legally winning this Hunt – and nobody ever mentioned that the winner has to be one of the formerly appointed noblemen! – then that would be far less suspicious than the King just handing it over as a gift on Astrid's request. This way, it'll draw less attention and you can keep your relationship hidden until the betrothal ceremony. We’d have to talk to them right after the hunt, but if we’re all vouching for his character, then that should be enough to convince our fathers of his worth. The announcement and remuneration of him as the winner could be part of the festivity of the betrothal. And once Astrid openly declares to marry him instead of me and they’re officially betrothed, Hiccup will be under the crown’s protection."

"Yeah, but that's assuming he actually wins," Dagur deadpanned. "First, he has to find and kill a dragon. Not an easy deed, as far as I know. And it has to happen in a way that won't look like it's your success, with him being your servant and all. And that's not even taking into account the men who won't hesitate to attack us if they see us as rivals, with or without guards. How are we supposed to avoid them? This is going to be dangerous!"

Astrid shuddered, her heart pounding. She didn’t like this plan, not one bit! Because Dagur was right. Odin, even her father counted on a certain death toll during this hunt. And Eret planned to go out there? With that target already on his back, after he’d just escaped an assassination attempt? What if something happened to him? Or, by extent, to Dagur? Or to...

A low whimper escaped her, her hands clutching tightly at Hiccup’s tunic. No, she wouldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about that. Not now!

Desperately, she looked at Eret, hoping for some kind of explanation, an indication that he hadn’t been serious, that he had another idea. A safer one! But for a minute or two, Eret simply chewed his lip, thinking as all eyes lingered on him. Even Hiccup was oddly quiet when Astrid looked up at him. In fact, he hadn’t said a single word in a long while now. Instead, he seemed to be lost in his thoughts, as if he was far away and hardly even listening to what was happening around them.

"I think that’s all manageable," Eret eventually said. He looked around at them all, and the optimism in his eyes gave Astrid hope despite the dire circumstances. "First, Hiccup will have to travel alone – no, hear me out."

He warded off her protest before she’d even opened her mouth. He had to be joking! He couldn’t be serious, couldn’t send Hiccup on this hunt, not alone, not with all the men willing to kill for it!

But apparently, he was serious.

"People will set out in small groups,” he went on. “Some with their squires, some with friends, some with guards. But Dagur's right, if we did that too then it wouldn't matter whether Hiccup killed a dragon; I would be declared the winner. Plus, it would be seen as odd if I were to participate for real. I'm heir to a Grand-Dukedom, I don't need a county on the other side of the Kingdom and my father would end up having to distribute it to one of our loyal vassals. No, that wouldn’t work.”

She was shaking now, clinging to Hiccup as if she could keep him safe. This was a bad idea, bad bad bad… She jumped when Hiccup placed a quick kiss to her forehead before prying her hands off him. Confused, Astrid followed him with her eyes as he walked over to where a carafe of wine stood and poured himself a glass. Not a bad idea, she thought with a grimace and even found herself longing for some wine for herself as well. She didn’t trust her legs, though, and instead turned back to Eret, hoping desperately that he was about to come up with a twist that would keep Hiccup safe.

“So what we're going to do is this. Dagur and I – along with our retinue, as I assume our fathers will give us an escort to ensure our safety – will travel together until we find a nice inn to spend this short vacation. Once we've settled, Hiccup can sneak away and head out on his own. That way, I’m not involved and it’s all his glory. But it’s also important that he ditches us, because he’ll be able to travel faster as a single man than as part of a noble’s retinue. I know Oramond and the surrounding area. There are no dragons living close by; travelling distance is not a problem if you can fly like these beasts. Now, if we only have five days, then even those who try to win this Hunt will only travel for one day, if that, before they start searching the woods. But that close to the city, they won't have any luck. You have to travel north until you reach the edge of the swamps before you're likely to encounter any dragons. If Hiccup rides hard and brings a spare mount to swap out or has the means to change them, he can reach the swampland on the second day, leaving everyone else far behind. Then it's just him out there, no threat of any rivalry or even competition."

"Aye, that could work," Dagur nodded.

There was a grin on his face now as he shared a look with Eret, but even though a part of her understood why Dagur would enjoy certain aspects of this plan, Astrid couldn’t be happy for them. She was still shaking, her arms wrapped around herself. There was logic in Eret’s words; if Hiccup rode ahead of all other participants, then he would be relatively safe. But still… She didn’t like this idea. Somehow, she had a bad feeling about it.

“It will,” Eret nodded at Dagur, not feeling the same reluctance as Astrid. "And as for finding and killing a dragon… There is not a single man among Astrid's former suitors who I think capable of actually succeeding, except for Hiccup. Lucky for us, the Tribes didn't send anyone to gain her favour, so Hiccup is the only one who actually has any experience with fighting dragons. He’d have two and a half days, that should be enough to find and kill one before he has to travel back. We just have to prepare and equip him suffic–”

CRASH!

Astrid jumped, as did everyone else, at the sound of glass shattering. She whirled just in time to see Hiccup fall down onto his knees, crying out in apparent agony.

Her heart was racing as she rushed toward him in an instant, trying to understand what had happened. Had he somehow hurt himself? Or was it some form of attack? Was he injured?

To her relief, he appeared to be unharmed, even though he was crouching on the ground, hunched over, and his hands were clenched into white knuckles as they clutched at his hair. But at least he wasn’t bleeding...

Scared and confused, she kneeled down at his side. “Hiccup?” she said, her voice quiet but urgent.

He didn’t respond though, so she tried to draw his attention by placing a hand on his arm. He flinched at the contact, but when he still didn’t react Astrid decided to give him a few moments. He clearly needed time to calm down, so instead of demanding an answer, she looked around and tried to understand what had happened. There were shards of glass on the ground from where the noise had come from, a dark red spot on the tapestries. Wine? Had Hiccup thrown the glass? But why?

With a low groan, Hiccup stirred, and Astrid turned back to him immediately. She could see his face now, ashen white and his eyes hollow.

“So it’s happening again,” he gasped, his voice trembling with an odd humourless laugh. “It all boils down to me killing a dragon. Again!”

. o O o .

Hiccup’s hands were shaking, his mind in shambles. Only dimly, he was aware of how the others were talking around him. It was something important, he was sure of that much. Probably something he should listen to. They were all doing so much for him and Astrid, Eret especially; Hiccup owed it to him to at least listen. But no matter how hard he’d tried, he wasn’t able to pay attention.

His mind was too full, flowing over with memories, images, impressions. Like a cup of wine having a full jug poured into it, the feelings spilling over the sides. Heat and pain, sorrow and fear, a wild beast, burned wood and smoke.

And guilt.

So, so very much guilt...

The thought raced through his head, dominating everything else.

Fire.

It wasn't my fault...

Smoke.

It wasn't my fault!

Burned flesh.

It wasn't my fault!

“The chief and his family are dead.”

It wasn’t... my... fault...

The mantra against his own sense of overwhelming guilt echoed in his head, drowning out all other noises around him, his eyes screwed shut. He felt like curling into a ball, like covering his ears with his hands, like screaming until these memories left him in peace. There was a pain in his chest, like a burning hole, the pain of losing his family as intense as on the day it had happened. At that moment, he just wanted to crumble and dissolve into dust, anything to escape the pain.

But then there was something else, something holding him back. It was strong, like a soothing warmth, thrumming and glowing. It was enough to dull the pain, to balance the sorrow. Enough to keep going.

"Hiccup?"

Hiccup sighed, shakily. Her voice was like a lighthouse, an anchor. Something to hold on to and to lead him out of the darkness.

He needed a few moments, blinking to clear his vision. Astrid was kneeling right in front of him, looking at him with those deep blue eyes of hers. They were so full of life, of love, of trust and support. Something to focus on until his thoughts had settled.

With a low strangled sob, he pulled her into his arms, his face once more buried in her hair. She was all he had left. All he needed. His future. He had to focus on that or he’d drown in sorrow again.

"Hiccup, are you all right? What happened?"

Her voice was muffled against his chest and yet he felt as if it was ringing cristal clear directly in his head. What happened? Never before had she asked. She had always been patient with him, had never pushed him to say more than he could. And he knew that she didn’t mean it like that now, either. All she wanted to know was why he'd thrown that glass, why he'd screamed. Had he screamed? He wasn't sure anymore.

But that didn't matter. What happened? She might not have asked after his past, but that wasn't the point. The point was that he had to tell her. It wasn't about admitting his weakness and reliving that nightmare, not anymore. If their plan actually and honestly depended on him killing a dragon...

His eyes wandered around from one confused face to the other. They didn’t understand why he’d reacted so strongly, and how could they? They couldn’t know what ‘fighting a dragon’ would mean to him. Which was why it was important now to tell them everything. Eret might suspect something, depending on what he’d heard, and Astrid… she only knew that something bad had happened. But if their plan was based on him going up against a dragon… then they had to know the truth. That he might not be able to win.

"No," he mumbled. His voice felt weak, brittle. "No, I'm not all right. But it's okay. I'll be okay."

Astrid grunted, clearly confused and not fully believing him, and from around them, similar noises echoed to his ears. When he looked up, he saw Eret, Dagur, and the twins all throwing puzzled looks, at him and each other. Sighing, he closed his eyes again, breathing in her mayweed scent to gather his courage.

"You ask what happened? If you really want to know, then we better sit down. It's a long story..."

. o O o .

Once more, they all settled in the chairs around the room. It made the atmosphere a little cosier than it had been during their discussion before, and Astrid had a feeling that this might be needed. She and Hiccup sat on a cushioned bench, and since he hadn’t let go of her even once, she opted to cuddle as close to him as she could. He didn’t say anything, but she got the impression that he was grateful for it, his arm around her trembling as he returned her hug. And if he really would talk about what she thought, then he would need her support. His head was angled to the side, and with his face half-buried in her hair, he took a deep breath before he began to speak.

“I… better start at the beginning,” he said in a low voice. He wasn’t looking at anyone now, his gaze fixed on the floor. Maybe that made it easier to talk. “Among the Tribes, we have this… this rite of passage, you can call it. Maybe you’ve heard about it, I don’t know… Being a warrior is less a job or profession but a title. It’s an honour. Everyone, men and women alike, who wants to call themselves a warrior once they legally become an adult, at the age of eighteen at the earliest, has to kill a dragon first. Most people who’re willing and able to become warriors kill a dragon during one raid or the other, it’s practically unavoidable. And even if it takes them months or even years longer… it doesn’t matter too much, doesn’t make a difference.”

Astrid listened apprehensively. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but from how he’d always shied away from even thinking about his past… Well, it wouldn’t be anything good.

“For me, it was different, though,” he went on. “As the son of the High Chief and heir to the title, everyone’s attention was on me. And on the fact that I hadn’t killed a dragon by the time I turned eighteen. Me becoming a warrior was an important event, a sign of my strength, that I would be able to lead our people in battle. There were voices of concern, worried that I might not be capable. And, well... To be honest, they weren’t entirely unfounded. I wasn’t bad at fighting per se; not overly strong but fast and good at learning different techniques. But when it came to fighting dragons, I was… I guess you can say I was not as enthusiastic as others.”

There was a low snort coming from Eret. Did he know what Hiccup was talking about? When the two shared a quick glance, she noticed pain in Hiccup’s eyes and understanding in Eret’s before Hiccup continued his explanation.

“You see, the Tribes… We’ve been fighting dragons for generations now. I don’t know whether the beasts have difficulty catching their own food where we hunt and fish or whether they’re just lazy, but they regularly steal our livestock and stored fish. And when we ward them off, they typically set things on fire, like houses. So, in order to keep us and our food storages safe, we fight them off whenever we see them. It’s like a reflex, self-defence.

“This sounds like I’m trying to excuse what we did when it should be normal to defend your life. But you see, it wasn’t always like that. Or… at least not if you believe in the old legends. Most say they are nothing but fairy tales the elderly like to tell around campfires and nobody believes them to be true. According to these legends, we didn’t always fight the dragons. Reportedly, there were times when the dragons and the Tribesmen were friends and some even claim we once rode on their backs through the air. And ever since I can remember… These legends always fascinated me. I always wished they were true. I mean, wouldn’t that be amazing? I often dreamed about how that would be, not just riding a horse or the waves on a fast ship, but soaring high through the winds.” He paused, a wistful expression on his face, then added with a sad smile, “Dad wasn’t exactly thrilled, often cursed the decision to name me Hiccup. I’m still not sure how serious he was.”

Confused, Astrid stirred. “Why? What does your name have to do with everything else?” she asked, her forehead wrinkled.

Hiccup’s lips twitched, but before he could answer, Eret beat him to it. “Did you never think that ‘Hiccup’ is a rather odd name?” he asked, a slight chuckle in his voice.

Astrid felt Hiccup’s eyes on her, curious for her reaction. But she merely shrugged. “Not really. I know that it’s a relatively common name among the Tribes. The entire Royal Guard is made of Tribesmen, remember? I’ve met a few Hiccups before.” She looked up, relieved to see Hiccup smile, if tentatively.

“You’re right, it’s a common name,” he confirmed. “But there’s a reason for that. You see, according to the old legends, it was a man named Hiccup who was the first to ever befriend and ride a dragon. As children, we often hear these stories, fairy tales to keep us entertained on stormy days. But they fascinated me long after that age, and I often spent my time reading about these old legends and digging through archives for more information when I instead was supposed to practice dragon fighting or help in the forge to build more weapons. And every time the dragons raided our food supplies, I found myself reluctant to fight them. So, yeah… Dad wasn’t thrilled that I apparently took after my namesake.

"But... I couldn’t get rid of these thoughts. What if these old legends were true and the dragons could be our friends instead? I always did my best to chase them off, but it became noticeable that I wouldn’t harm them. I just couldn’t bring myself to hurt them, not with these stories always fresh in my mind from when I told them every night to Tooth–"

Hiccup suddenly broke off and Astrid cocked her head. "Tooth?" she asked. The way he’d said that word had made it sound like a name, if a strange one. But what drew her attention even more thoroughly was how Hiccup flinched as the name slipped off his lips and how his face crumpled in pain.

His hand around her own tightened noticeably, and he took a moment to hide his face in her hair before he answered, his voice nearly breaking.

"Toothless,” he gasped in a weak whisper. “My… my little brother. His real name was Teitr, but my sister and I often called him Toothless. It was… an in-joke of some sort.” He paused, taking a deep shaky breath before he continued in a sober voice. “According to the old legends, the dragon that Hiccup back then rode was a Night Fury named Toothless. And when Teitr took nearly a year to eventually get his first teeth… well, it seemed fitting and the nickname stuck somehow."

. o O o .

Just as expected, the pain was almost overwhelming. Hiccup clung to Astrid as if to dear life, deeply inhaling the scent of mayweed and her to keep himself sane as the memories came crashing down on him.

…

"...and this is why you should never anger a Death Song."

Hiccup closed the book and placed it onto the table next to him.

"No, read another one! Please?" Teitr looked up with a pout, his green eyes wide and pleading.

Hiccup groaned, but was spared an answer when unexpected laughter sounded from behind them.

"It's your own fault, Hic. You are the one who started his obsession for these legends. Now live with it."

Arndis threw him a smirk, then grabbed one of the swords from a stash near the door. She made a few steps until she’d reached the open area in the workshop’s middle, then whirled around with the sword in hand, going through a series of motions and battle stances. When she was done, she nodded approvingly. "This one is balanced perfectly, good job. Who's is it?"

“Uh, the one with the big pommel?” Hiccup had to crane his neck to take a look at the list at the other end of his desk. "That's for Master Svenson." He took a pen and made a sign behind that order. When Arndis said the sword was balanced, then he didn't need to double-check for himself.

She came over and placed the sword onto the table, a safe distance away from Teitr's pudgy hands.

"Read more?" their little brother demanded, holding up the book to his big sister.

But Arndis just shook her head, chuckling as she ruffled through Teitr's auburn locks; the same colour as hers and Hiccup's. "Sorry, Toothless, but Mother asked me to sew something for her. A traditional shieldmaiden's outfit. I think it's supposed to be a gift?" She shrugged. "Anyway, I don't have time today, little monster. Stay here and play with Hiccup, okay?"

Hiccup threw her a deadpan look. As if he didn't have enough work to do, too. But then, he loved spending time with his little brother, and luckily, Teitr loved to help him wherever he could.

"All right, how about we go to the stables and see if they have something to do for us?"

The little boy squealed at that suggestion, eager to pet his little pony, so Hiccup lifted him up and onto his shoulders.

Arndis chuckled. "You realise that's kind of the wrong way around?" She gestured at her two brothers, Toothless riding on Hiccup’s back.

Hiccup rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling fondly as Teitr giggled.

“Giddyup!”

…

"So, what happened then? I guess they made you fight in the arena?”

Eret’s voice tore him back into the here and now with painful brutality. It took Hiccup a few moments to push his painful memories aside and focus on his surroundings again. Gods, he missed them so much! But once his mind was clear again, he gratefully nodded at his cousin. His words hadn’t been just curiosity, Hiccup knew, but also a deliberate distraction, and he appreciated the sentiment.

He nodded. "It's the official version of the rite of passage," he explained for the others. "A one-against-one fight in Berk's grand arena. As I said, it doesn’t happen often, but my case was special enough…”

At his side, Astrid became rigid, her hand twitching. “You fought a dragon,” she whispered. “And you didn’t win.”

Pained, Hiccup looked at her. How did she know? Or was she finally realising the obvious, how much of a failure he was?

“That’s what you told me once,” she reminded him. “When you showed me your leg and I asked what had happened.”

Hiccup relaxed, if only a little. Stupid, stupid thought!, he reminded himself. Her feelings for him were just as strong as his were for her… even if, for a moment, his self-doubts had let him forget.

“Right…” He nodded. Out of reflex, his free hand moved down to rub at his leg, the memory alone enough to make the pain flare up again. “Yeah, that’s when it happened. The leg and…”

...and so much more!

“What happened?” Eret coaxed, gently.

Hiccup pressed his eyes shut. As if that was enough to keep the painful memories away… But, of course, it was no good. And it wouldn’t get any better, not until he’d told the whole story and could move on.

“I don’t even know what exactly went wrong,” he said in a low voice. “They set me up against a Monstrous Nightmare, of course, they did. The most dangerous dragon they could get a hold on. After all, I had to prove that I was worthy of becoming High Chief one day. And… and I was confident that I could do it. I’d practised fighting dragons for so long and I’d been preparing myself for weeks, knew what to do. I should have been able to do it! From what I remember, I had done my best in that fight.” He sighed. “But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t able to defeat it. And even now, I’m still not sure whether I held back for some reason, maybe because I didn’t want Teitr to watch me kill a dragon, or whether I was just not good enough, whether I was too slow or made a mistake or…”

He shrugged, feeling useless.

“Either way, I couldn’t defeat it. It was too fast, too fierce. It… it’s all a blur. In one moment, I was facing it with my sword and shield, and in the next…” He sucked in a sharp breath. “In the next, I was lying on the ground, unable to move as guards rushed into the arena to capture the beast and put it back into its cell. All I remembered was that I had somehow lost my weapon in-between. And the pain. I didn’t notice at first, only when the other men rushed past me and I tried to get up and help. The Nightmare had hit me with its claw, one long gash from my ankle up and past my knee, bleeding and... I must have passed out then. The next thing I remembered was that I got carried out of the arena, the dragon contained again.”

He trailed off, his head dropping until his unruly hair fell around his face to hide it. The sober words he used to tell his story didn’t do his memories justice. But how could he put into words how it had been to face that monstrous beast in an open fight? How could he explain how disoriented he’d been, surrounded by flames and noises? How could he admit how frightened he’d been, how helpless and useless he’d felt. How could he make them understand how all-consuming the pain had been, even when his mind had numbed the actual sensation?

Or how crushing the guilt and embarrassment still was…

“It was mortifying,” he eventually went on, murmuring quietly, and if the others hadn’t been listening attentively, they surely would have missed his words. “I was the firstborn son of the High Chief, the heir to his title. The one who was supposed to lead the Tribes in a couple of years. And I wasn’t capable of fighting and killing a dragon. Nobody said anything to me, but I could feel it in the way they looked at me, the pity and disappointment in their eyes. And I-I couldn’t stand it.”

Hiccup trembled as he remembered how ashamed he’d been. He’d failed...

“They’d brought me to the healers. But before anyone had tended to my leg, I had slipped out again. I know how foolish that had been but…” Again, he shook his head. “I just wanted to get away, to hide from everything and everyone. Somehow I made it into the forest behind the village, limping and without anyone noticing. I can’t say for how long I stumbled through the woods. I had lost all sense of time. It must have been hours though because eventually, night fell. It was cold and my leg hurt terribly, but it was too dark to find my way back and… and I didn’t want to go back anyway. I didn’t want my mother to comfort me, didn’t want to listen to Arndis teasing me, not even gently, didn’t want to hear Teitr’s innocent encouragements. And most of all, I didn’t want to see the disappointment in my father’s eyes… I couldn’t stand even thinking about it!”

But, oh, what would he give if he could go back, could see and hear them all again. Just one more time…

“It was cold that night, especially in the forest. Icy. Sleet and rain and wind, and I didn’t even have a coat, much less a blanket or any other equipment. And my leg hurt. I knew I’d been stupid to not let anyone treat it, but even worse was the dirt that had gotten into the wound out there in the forest. I thought I would die that night, bleed out or maybe freeze to death. And a part of me thought that it would be better that way, that it was what I deserved for failing and for running away.”

It took Hiccup a moment to realise that the trembling of his hand wasn’t his own. Astrid was shaking, her hands holding his not tight enough to cover it. He squeezed them and dared to look up into her eyes. As expected they were wide, unshed tears shimmering along the edges. Tears for him, for his former self.

Almost involuntarily, his lips twitched into something like a smile. He brought her hand to his lips to brush a soft kiss onto her knuckles, then sat up to huddle against her. Her warmth, her strength, her love. That was all he needed.

“It was past dawn before I returned to the village. I barely remember the night or how I made it back, only that I was freezing and wet and that my leg hurt somewhat terribly. I was barely lucid, stumbling around, and at first, I didn’t even notice that something was off. There were far too many people up already, all agitated and running around. And that horrible smell in the air…” He shuddered involuntarily. “I wanted to go home, to let my mother take a look at my leg and to rest. But I couldn’t find it. I remember laughing at myself at how confused I was, not even finding my own home anymore… And it took me far too long to understand that… that my home was gone.”

“What do you mean by ‘it was gone’?” Astrid asked into the silence that followed, tentatively.

Hiccup stared at the floor, eyes empty. “It was simply gone,” he whispered. “I’d been looking for the colourfully decorated front and the high roof with the dragon emblem on top of it. But none of that existed anymore. Instead, there was only a large group of people, gathered around some burned ruins. And it took me far too long to understand.” Behind his unseeing eyes, the memories rose once more, of burned beams reaching into the morning sky, of smoke and still-glowing embers here and there. And of the dread that overcame him at that moment – a feeling that had never really left since then.

“I later learned,” he went on in a hollow voice, “that during the night, the entire building had burned to the ground. And… and that nobody had made it out alive. I only saw them when they carried the bodies outside; they wouldn’t let me into the ruins. But from what I’ve heard… My parents had apparently been lucky.” He scoffed. “They died in their sleep. They were still in their bed; my father had been easy to identify with his massive body and the same was true for my mother as well, taller than most and lying next to him. My only solace is tha-that they died peacefully. My siblings didn’t have that luck.” He gulped, leaning into Astrid’s arm as she squeezed his shoulder. “They must have woken up and tried to escape along with a couple of serving girls. Their bodies had been found on the floor of the living room. Teitr’s body had been clutched in the arms of one of the girls and… and it hadn’t even been possible to determine if it had been Arndis or not. They couldn’t tell the girls apart.”

“Oh, Hiccup. That… that’s horrible.” The pain in Astrid’s voice was real, as was the sincere sympathy he felt thrumming through their bond. It felt like a comforting touch to his soul, soothing and maybe even a little healing.

Dagur and the twins were silent, radiating sorrow. Only Eret reacted, leaning forward on his chair and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, we heard about the fire,” he said in a bleak voice. If anyone could understand his pain then it was Eret. He’d known his parents, had practised sword-fighting with Anrdis and had let Teitr ride on his back. For him, the loss had been painful, too.

It was… funny, in a way. No, not funny. Weird. He’d thought that reliving all these memories would be impossible, that he’d break down like he’d broken down before whenever he’d thought about his dead family. But instead, he felt… lighter somehow. As if by talking about them, a burden had been lifted off his shoulders. They might be gone, but they weren’t forgotten. He would always remember them, always keep them close to his heart.

“But how did you end up disowned and exiled?” Eret continued after a short pause. “How could they blame you for something that must have been an accident? You weren’t even there.”

“Exactly,” Hiccup muttered. He took a deep breath, then straightened. “It’s never been a secret how the fire happened. The Nightmare I’d been supposed to kill the day before escaped from its cage and, presumably following my scent, went straight to our house. It was brought down quickly, but by then, the fire was already too big to be contained.”

The body of the dead dragon had still been there, carelessly left to be dealt with later. A silent reminder of his failure.

“You ask why they exiled me?” His eyes met Eret’s, finding comfort in his earnest concern just like Astrid next to him gave him strength and courage. Here, he was among friends. They wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t believe what his fellow Tribesmen had accused him of. “Because they suspected me of having caused the fire on purpose. What a ‘lucky coincidence’ that I hadn’t been there, that I had survived. As if me hiding in the forest hadn’t been an act of cowardice but just a fake alibi instead.” He shook his head. “They only had suspicions and leads, of course, no solid proof. But that was enough for them to distrust me. The dragon couldn’t have escaped on its own, it was securely locked away. Had I released it, not knowing it would directly go to our house? Or had I directed it there on purpose? Had it been an act of spite to cover up my weakness and failure of the lost fight or had I actively planned for my father to die so that they had to appoint me as High Chief?”

Seeing the disbelief and anger in Eret’s eyes helped to keep his own in check. Hiccup took another deep breath and let it out slowly, focussing on Astrid’s warmth next to him instead of the pain of betrayal and guilt he still felt. “The rest you know. They locked me up until judgement was spoken and then exiled me. They… they didn’t even let me attend my family’s funeral. And even though I didn’t do what they accused me of… they were also right on one point. It was all my fault...”

“Hiccup,” Eret said, but he didn’t let him finish whatever he wanted to say.

“If I hadn’t run away like a petulant child then maybe I could have prevented it. I often stayed up late, maybe I would have noticed the fire in time. Maybe I could have saved them, or–”

“Or maybe you’d be dead now, too,” Tuff deadpanned.

Pressing his lips into a tense line, Hiccup nodded. “Or that,” he agreed, quietly. “And I’ve often thought that, maybe, that would have been the better option.”

Next to him, Astrid flinched and sucked in a sharp breath. Hiccup turned toward her and threw her an apologetic look. He couldn’t help that those had been his thoughts in his weakest moments. But not anymore, he tried to convey with every ounce of sincerity he had, and she seemed to understand, nodding with her lips pressed tightly together. She snuggled closer to his side, equally offering and seeking comfort and strength. Sighing, Hiccup leaned into her, pressed a soft kiss into her hair, and gave himself a moment to bask in her presence. With her around, he felt lighter, as if nothing was impossible.

“I don’t see how any of this was your fault,” Dagur eventually threw in. “To me, it sounds as if they’d only been looking for a reason. Weren’t there some riots before that already? Some groups rebelling against House Haddock’s lead? I think I remember having heard about that.”

Sighing, Hiccup nodded. “Yes, you heard right. Not everyone was happy with how my father and the King used to be friends. They thought it would make us weak, that we should rebel and rule ourselves again, without a King. And that’s probably what happened, that these voices then grew stronger and took over. But it’s still my fault.” He held up a hand to ward off any protest. “If I’d simply killed the dragon as I’d been supposed to, had proven myself worthy of our people’s respect, then nothing would have happened. They would still be alive…”

There was a heavy silence as nobody was able to contradict him. Hiccup pressed his lips together and nodded. It had been his fault, even if only indirectly.

Eventually, Eret cleared his throat to draw everyone’s attention. “You know… as much as I’d like to give you time to process now – we don’t really have much time. But before we dive head-first into further planning and preparations, there’s one question we need to address above all others.”

Hiccup looked up and cocked his head, wondering what Eret meant.

“Do you think you can do it? Can you kill a dragon?”

. o O o .

*Once again hides under rocks and waits for the storm to blow over*

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#For The Love Of A Princess #FTLOAP #Hiccstrid #fanfiction #httyd #Medieval AU #Royalty AU #feels #ALL THE FEELS

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seagreen-meets-grey · 5 years

Text

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 6

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

“Alright,” Eret said, put his empty pizza plate on the couch table and turned his body so he was facing Astrid.

“What?” she looked up from her cold, half-eaten food and frowned.

Eret gestured at her plate. “You usually love tuna.”

“I’m not that hungry,” she shrugged, turning her attention back to the TV screen. A CGI man was advertising a toilet cleaner.

Eret followed her eyes. “What are we watching?”

“Ads.”

“And what have we been watching before?”

She scowled at him. “Is this an interrogation?”

He sighed and put his arm on the backrest of the couch, shuffling closer. “Love, you’ve been kind of distracted lately. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

She averted her face, afraid that, if he looked into her eyes right now, he would see everything, read every thought and emotion she’d battled in the past few months. “I’m fine.”

His fingertips lightly grazed her shoulder as he whispered her name. “You know you can tell me anything.”

She knew that. She trusted him. Otherwise she wouldn’t have agreed to marry him. And she had been entertaining the thought of spilling everything to Eret, but every time she opened her mouth, it closed all on its own before she could get out a single word. Telling him she’d been drawn to another man for a while now didn’t seem like something to share with your fiancé, especially this close to the wedding.

She was sure that she could deal with it herself. There was no need to further complicate things by getting Eret involved; it would only create unnecessary drama between them. Besides, the moment she said yes in front of the officiator and a whole lot of witnesses, this little problem of hers wouldn’t matter anymore anyway.

“It’s just…” She put her plate away and crossed her arms. “I’m just worried that something will go wrong, that something will get messed up and our perfect day is ruined.” She convinced herself that she wasn’t essentially lying to Eret. What she’d just said was the truth, after all; it just wasn’t the main reason why she’d been distracted.

He laid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. “Everything will be fine. And do you know how I know that?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because I know you, and I know that you won’t let it come that far. Because you’re a force to be reckoned with. And dare I say, even more so than myself.”

She shrugged with one shoulder and nodded. “True. But it only needs one moron to drop the cake or break the camera. And what if the officiator drops out or someone loses the rings, or what if one of us gets sick? A perfect day would be ruined.”

“I think everyone’s too afraid of you to mess anything up.” When Eret’s smile met her unamused expression, he kissed the top of her head and looked at her softly and earnestly. “Even if something should go differently than how we’d planned it, it will still be magical. No spoiled cake or dirty dress could keep me from marrying you, because as long as I’m with you, nothing else matters.”

He had a point. The whole purpose of the event was for them to tie the knot, to commit to their love, and everything else came second. It didn’t keep her from worrying, but it soothed her concerns a little. She turned her head to kiss him. “Love you.” As his smile widened, she poked his chest with a stern finger. “But I’ll still make everyone’s lives hell so that everything goes as planned!”

Eret chuckled. “I’m sure you will, love.” He turned back to the TV show they’d been watching, but Astrid still wasn’t able to concentrate on TV cops and their precinct shenanigans. Her thoughts kept circling back to her wedding and everything that could go wrong, and that included distractions from certain green-eyed heart snatchers.

At least Eret had dropped the subject.

_______________

Astrid counted each stroke of her arms as she cut through the water. She pushed herself to swim faster, tasted chlorine on her tongue as her breaths cut shorter and her lungs started to burn. Pushing off of the end of the pool, she started on her last lap. As her remaining bit of energy began to subside, the rhythm of her strokes became messier and when her hand touched the tiles, she was a few feet off of her lane.

Breathing heavily, she pushed her swimming goggles on top of her cap and swam over to where her mother had been timing her.

“How– how was it?” she panted, brushing her wet bangs out of her face, scowling when one strand of hair kept sticking to her skin.

Wilma Hofferson squinted at the timer in her hand. “Ten seconds slower than before. And twelve slower than last week.”

Astrid huffed. Ten seconds?! She was slacking off. “Great…” she mumbled, lungs still burning, and went to swim a lazy lap. How could that have happened? She’d not been this bad since she’d broken her arm in her last year of school.

Her mother came up beside her and silently swam with her, once in a while casting sideway glances at her daughter. They passed an old couple and their grandchildren treading water in the middle of their lane. Astrid shot them annoyed looks they didn’t notice, her frustration incompatible with the kids’ jolly laughter. One of them had green eyes. She swam faster.

“Astrid,” her mother called after her but Astrid didn’t stop before she reached the edge of the pool. She put her arms on the tiles and placed her head on top, listening to the slurping sound of water sloshing over the edge and disappearing down the drain, until her mother caught up with her.

Wilma set her eagle eyes on her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Astrid huffed again. “About what, my abysmal times?”

“I mean the reason for why you’re so tense and unconcentrated. Are you stressed?”

“Of course I’m stressed, the wedding’s only a week away and my veil is still at the cleaner, the band cancelled on us and none of the other available ones have called us back.”

“Hm.”

Astrid met her mother’s thoughtful gaze. “What?”

“That’s not it.”

“What do you mean, that’s not it?”

“Those are reasons to be stressed about, yes, but not for you. At least not to this extent.”

She tilted her head at her mother with raised eyebrows. “It’s my wedding, mom. I want it to be perfect.”

Wilma wasn’t convinced. “But is it the real reason why you’re so distracted?”

“Oh please, don’t you start with this as well.” Eret still kept reassuring her that everything would be fine, each time throwing another rock on the pile on top of her chest. “It’s like I said, I want everything to be perfect, and so far, it doesn’t look perfect.”

She turned away from her mother’s eyes scanning her like an ultrasound and swam another lap on her back, staring at the ceiling, water in her ears drowning out the screams and shouts echoing around the swimming hall.

She relished the weightless feeling of floating on water. It took away the suffocating heaviness of the rocks on her chest. She needed to get rid of them. They wouldn’t look pretty on her wedding dress.

Her mom was waiting for her when she returned, face of concern still in place. “Astrid…” she started again and Astrid sensed at the tone that a motherly lecture was coming. But what she asked was the same question Astrid had already found stupid the first time she’d heard it. “Are you happy, dear?”

“Mom–“

“And don’t brush me off, I know my own child.”

Astrid resisted to ask why they were having this conversation then. Instead, she pointed at the diving pool. “Look, the three meter is open. I want to jump.” She hefted herself out of the water and ignored her mom’s calls. She climbed the tower and did a perfect dive. At least one achievement today.

It was when she was blow-drying her hair later that her mother tried again. She waved her over to the swimming hall’s coffee area and Astrid knew she wouldn’t get out of this one. She bit her lip in hesitation. When she was young, her mother had always been stern, always pushing her to be better, to achieve the next best level. Astrid had inherited her stubbornness, her persistence and ambition, but there had been times when all she’d wanted was to go out with her friends or spend a lazy afternoon on the couch instead of doing rigorous training.

That had put a strain on their relationship and when Astrid had moved out after school, it had taken them a few years of awkward talks, hardheaded fights and rocky reconciliations to grow closer again. Now, she felt like she could understand her mother better, seeing a lot of herself in her. But that exactly meant that she still hesitated to talk to her about emotional matters, knowing full well about both their usually direct and practical nature.

She dried and combed her hair, taking her time putting it in a neat braid over her shoulder, before she grabbed her back and sauntered over. Sitting down at the table, she found her mother had already ordered for her. One black coffee, one shot of milk, no sugar. The same order as her mom’s.

“Astrid,” she started again and Astrid looked to the side, through the glass wall providing her a panorama view over the entire swimming hall. The line at the waterslide was growing. A group of kids was being reprimanded by a pool attendant. A water aerobics class was beginning in a corner.

“You can talk to me.”

The eyes that met her own wanted nothing but to help her, to see her happy, a deep attachment that could only exist between mother and child encouraging her to open up, to let herself fall into her arms and be protected.

“You want this wedding to be perfect but whatever you do, it doesn’t meet your standards. I think that maybe it’s because it’s not what you want.”

Astrid stared at her, struggling with the gate in her protective wall.

“What do you want?” The soft tone of her voice and the honest concern in her eyes conflated into the key that finally fit. It turned and the gate swung open.

“I’m having doubts, mom,” she confessed, voice almost a whisper, and the first boulder rolled off her chest, back to the pool, into the water, sinking to the ground. She gulped, but when her mother’s eyes were nothing but encouraging, she told her everything.

She told her about Hiccup, about the first time she saw him, about the way her heart was still beating when she thought back to that night. About how he was with her in almost every thought and dream. How drawn she was to him. But she also talked about her feelings for Eret. There was still love and a connection, a deep friendship, a bond. A passion, different to the one she felt for Hiccup. She told her about how she’d been so sure of herself and what she wanted her whole life, but now? There was a new variable in the equation and she didn’t know what to do with it. She’d never been particularly good at math.

When she finished, her mother considered her silently for a few minutes in which Astrid sipped her lukewarm coffee and fiddled with a sugar pack, awaiting the judgement. She stared at a point on the water’s surface close to the edge of the pool right behind the glass, watched tiny wave after tiny wave climb the tiles and crash back down.

Wilma took a deep breath, catching her daughter’s attention. “I feel like I’m repeating myself here, but I want you to be happy, my dear. I know that this situation is not easy for you, but your decision should be quite simple.” She placed a gentle hand over Astrid’s on the table. “Do what makes you happy, and only you. This is your life. Don’t fit it to someone else’s feelings, because if you only do that, you will keep coming up short.”

“I know,” Astrid whispered, “but I don’t know what to do.”

“And I can’t make that decision for you. Getting married is a big step, and an impactful one at that. Do what’s right for you. Do what feels right. And don’t let others influence what it is you want. You mold your own life.”

Astrid nodded absently. She couldn’t control what she felt for Hiccup. But she could control her own life, with Eret. With him, she had certainty, security, a promise – even if she was missing that certain something that her heart sought from Hiccup. That something that kept her on her toes, that made her feel like a thousand volts whenever she was near him.

“No matter what you decide,” her mother said, “I’ll be there to support your decision.”

Astrid reached over the table and pulled her mother into a hug, whispering “thank you” into her ear and both of them knew that she meant it.

She closed her eyes and pictured her future. Her life, her image of herself, the people who were by her side, through thick and thin.

And she made a decision.

________________

When Hiccup woke in the morning, the air around him tasted stale and heavy, like darkness before a murder. Something was sitting on his chest, something weighing him down. He blinked his eyes open and found only his blanket where he’d assumed a coffin stacked with the remnants of the Library of Alexandria.

He moved to stretch his arms and something clattered to the floor, something sounding suspiciously like the book he was supposed to start illustrating. Perhaps he should stop reading shortly before going to bed. But last night he’d found himself unable to fall asleep, thoughts of the next day plaguing his mind until early in the morning. Reading had been the only distraction that had worked.

Now that he remembered why he’d needed a distraction in the first place, the wolves in his mind started howling, clouds covering the moon, while his mood sunk deeper and deeper into the ocean, pulling him down into the abyss. He reached out to the sirens hunting above him, hoping they would dive down and add him to their meal, alongside the unlucky survivors of a fatal storm, wood and debris floating in tandem with the pale, blue bodies. Their eyes were black and dead, their mouths open in a never-ending silent scream.

But the sirens didn’t see him and he couldn’t make a sound, water filling his lungs, his ears, his heart, like the sad tune of a pirate folk song. Funeral chants had never spoken to him more. He watched the light at the surface disappear behind miles and miles of impending darkness.

His back landed softly on the bottom of the ocean, rousing millions of tiny glowing particles. They performed a dance with the waves in front of his eyes before coming together in the shape of mighty trees. Their gnarly limbs, rich with green and the sound of chirping, embraced him, shielded him from the black gravity holding him in its grasp.

He took a cautious breath and the trees fragmented to ash, glittering in the vast space around him. Inhaling thick dust, his entire body contracted, his left leg went numb. A piercing howl shot through his ears, reverberating in his skull. The wolves were back, fiery giants under the dead moon. One of them came closer. He tried to run but found that he couldn’t move. His left leg was gone. The wolf spread his jaws wide, revealing razor-sharp fangs that it sunk into his neck.

Hiccup flinched and opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground next to his bed, wrapped in his blanket. His left leg was asleep. Groaning, he freed his arms from his little cocoon and rubbed his face. No more reading before bed, for sure.

Craning his neck to check the time on his alarm clock, he slowly pushed himself off the ground, only to fall back on his bed when he saw it was almost twelve. Had he really slept so long after the first few minutes he’d been awake in the morning?

“Apparently,” he mumbled to himself and closed his eyes, willing the day to pass by just as fast as the morning. But it didn’t do him that favor, and what felt like an hour turned out to be barely five minutes.

He could check if his alarm clock was broken. Maybe it was so messed up it would take him all day. One look at the time on his phone and his hope dwindled. The clock was working just fine. It was him who wasn’t right.

Because today was the day.

His stomach cramped at the thought. But he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t start a new game, couldn’t program himself a mod, couldn’t take a rubber to erase the fact that today, the girl he lo– the girl he liked was getting married.

Following a grumbling stomach, he heaved himself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and peered inside for several minutes, lack of appetite making a decision impossible. Grabbing a slice of cheese, he returned to his bedroom and flopped back down. Chewing was arduous with his face buried in the pillow.

Not bothering to change out of his pajamas, he eventually managed to move to the living room, sitting down on the couch with a dramatic sigh. One of his butt cheeks landed on the corner of a book and he winced. He could read, flee into a different world. But when every other word got lost between his thoughts about Astrid, he flung the book to the other end of the couch and switched on the TV.

Every channel seemed to have it out for him. There was a show about a wedding planner, rom-coms about true love, even the news was covering some minor celebrity’s big day. Only the last channel he tried was a bit more up his alley right now; reality TV about people getting divorced, with a lot of drama and even more bad acting.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed his controller, changing the input source on the TV screen with the other hand. Shooting a bunch of mercenaries trying to get to the treasure before him, or playing a card game against a poor villager in danger who urgently wanted him to kill a monster would surely hold his attention for a while.

It didn’t.

After switching between ten different games for an hour, he gave up and leaned his head back. Dark clouds were covering the sky outside. It looked like it was going to pour soon. He didn’t care. If anything, it fit his mood perfectly.

Staring at the ceiling for a good twenty minutes, his legs fidgeting, he waited for the telltale sound of raindrops drumming against glass, but nothing happened.

There were a few spots on the ceiling. Tiny flies, tiny flies’ poop, other squashed insects, maybe splatter of some kind. When he squinted, the spots took the shape of her eyes when she laughed, until one of them moved and the image distorted.

His fingers tapped against the rayon surface of the couch. In his mind, she was sitting in a room with her mom and maid of honor, maybe a stylist, an aunt or more friends, and she was giddy. They were doing her hair and makeup and she had a blinding smile on her face, lighting up the whole room. Her deep blue eyes were bright, rivaling the sun that would surely show in her honor as soon as she started to walk down the aisle. She was happy, she was laughing, she was practicing her vows. This Astrid was beautiful, but she was moving further away from him than she had ever been.

His stomach hurt and every breath was hard, so many needles piercing their way through his heart and lungs and skin that he was certain he had to go to the doctor to have all these hedgehogs removed from his body. Would he have to go to a vet or a general practitioner? Were there specialists on animals living inside a person?

The theme from his favorite movie franchise tore him out of his thoughts. It came from his bedroom and he tried to remember where he had thrown his phone this time. He leapt at the chance of a distraction and sprinted into the other room, grabbing the source of the music and eagerly accepting the call. His secret hope that it was Astrid evaporated the second he heard his dad’s voice.

“Hello, son,” his deep voice came booming through the speaker. “I’m just calling to ask if my screwdriver set is still at yours.”

“Dad, hey!” Hiccup answered enthusiastically. “How– how are you? How’s it going? We never talk anymore. How’s… um, how– how’s work? How’s the wife?” He mentally facepalmed immediately after he said that. He could hear his mother laughing in the background.

“I’m fine, work is fine, your mother’s fine, too. You sound chipper.” Hiccup could see his dad’s frown through the phone, if that was possible.

“Am I not supposed to? I’m just very delighted to hear your voice!” Or any voice, for that matter. “Soo… What’cha doin’?”

“Um… Reading the newspaper. Mom’s making coffee.”

Hiccup was pacing through his apartment like a headless chicken, gesturing at everything and nothing. “Oh, coffee, yeah, that’s– that’s cool. I’m–” he looked at the general mess that was his living space, “I’m also thinking about making coffee.”

Stoick’s voice was dry. “Are you sure you need caffeine right now?”

“What, me? Why? I’m totally fine, I love coffee. I’m– I’m chill.” He hit his hand on a windowsill while talking.

There was an unconvinced silence in which Hiccup grimaced and rubbed his hurting hand on his pajama shirt.

Finally, Stoick coughed slightly. “Clearly. So… Screwdrivers?”

“Right!” Hiccup did a quick one-eighty in the middle of his kitchen and sprinted to the next moving crate, rummaging through it without really looking for anything. He knew the small box his dad was talking about was on the shelf over his coat rack. “I can’t seem to find it right now, dad, so sorry. But come on, tell me something, anything. Any…” he gulped, “any childhood stories I might like to hear again?”

“Bored much, son?” For the first time in this conversation, Hiccup could hear something like amusement in his dad’s voice.

“Who, me? Naah, I’ve got a ton of work, not bored at all.”

“Alright, then I won’t keep you from that any longer.”

“I actually meant–“

“Good talking to you.”

“No, wait, dad–” But it was too late. Stoick had already hung up. At once, the apartment was silent, in such a suffocating way that Hiccup opened all the windows and shivered as soon as the cold November air gusted inside.

His fingers dialed a number before he could think twice. His mom answered after the third ring.

“Hiccup?”

“Mom! So good to hear you! Tell me about– about your… your coffee. How’s dad?”

“Still fine, honey. Dad had you on speaker.”

Hiccup scratched his head. “Sure, yeah. Speaker.”

His mother chuckled softly. “Stop procrastinating and get to work, son. You can call again when you’re done, okay?”

With a deep sigh, Hiccup waited for her to end the call. Maybe he should just do his work.

He threw himself on the couch and hummed a few flat tunes, tapping his fingers in an uneven rhythm against his legs. If only it would start raining already. The sound had always been able to soothe him when nothing else could. And if it rained long enough, he could make some quip about the length of November Rain.

Eyeing the handful of boxes that still littered his apartment, he decided that actually having something to do might be good. With the motivation of someone who desperately needed to forget about his tragic love life, he emptied the boxes and sorted through everything. When the loneliness of his apartment kept breathing down his neck, he turned on his mini stereo and listened to November Rain on repeat to compensate the lack of actual rain – fully aware that the song wouldn’t leave his head for at least a few days now. By the time he was done, he’d managed to make the place even messier than before, and on top of that his stomach was complaining uproariously about its empty existence.

Now that he didn’t have anything that occupied his thoughts anymore, Astrid settled back in, as if she’d never left. He was still hoping, like the loser he was, that she was suddenly standing in front of his door, telling him she blew off the wedding to come to him.

He felt like he was supposed to be with her, like the world wasn’t right if they weren’t together. But he couldn’t force his feelings onto her. And who was he, even? Some random dude she’d met at a party and crossed paths with twice after that? It wasn’t like she knew what she’d done to him, what she was still doing. And above all else, he doubted that he meant much to her, if anything at all. He was an acquaintance, at best.

His eyes fell on his disorganized pile of video games. If only there was a guide somewhere on what he had to do and which decisions would influence which outcome, like a video game with 36 different possible endings. He’d seen it happen. Just not for a game that wasn’t finished yet and that wasn’t even a game to begin with. Maybe he could create one, one in which the main character got the girl of his dreams, like star-crossed lovers with a happy ending.

When the doorbell rang, his heart started hammering against his ribcage and his breath caught in his lungs, frozen in place, like a strange scarecrow in the middle of his living room. A few eternal seconds later, he remembered the pizza he had ordered and went to open the door, heart still beating madly, but in a rhythm that spoke of tragedy.

Hiccup opened the door and his eyes went wide when they settled on blonde hair.

“Pizza?”

Her hair only went down to her shoulders, split ends dyed pink. Her eyes were brown and she had a nose ring.

Unable to speak, he nodded and paid the bored-looking teenager. He could spot the purple bubblegum between her teeth.

He’d already known it couldn’t have been her, but a lump still formed in his throat. It stayed there when he poured himself a glass of water, after he drained it, when he sat down with his pizza. It was still there when he finished his food.

The apartment was silent, apart from the ticking of his clock on the kitchen wall. It was driving him insane, and the doorbell didn’t ring again.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. Throwing the empty pizza carton to the side, not caring if any of the grease leaked out, he grabbed his jacket and keys. He was already half out in the hallway when he looked at his dragon-patterned slippers and pajama-clad limbs.

Putting on the next best jeans and sweater, he fumbled with his mismatched socks and took the time to roughly clean his shoes with a wet wipe before he gave up. The state of his shoes wouldn’t matter much now anyway. He brushed his teeth in record speed and didn’t bother with his hair; brushing was of no use since the wind would mess it up again the second it was exposed to the weather.

Hiccup barely remembered to turn off the lights before the door fell closed behind him when he left to the venue, a storm brewing in the distance.

_______________

If we could take the time To lay it on the line I could rest my head Just knowin' that you were mine All mine So if you want to love me Then darlin' don't refrain Or I'll just end up walkin' In the cold November rain.

#httyd #hiccstrid #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #eret #when lightning strikes #stoick #valka #modern au #a bit of angst with a dash of drama #or the other way around #maja writes #ff #fic

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped: Part 15

This took me forever because life was kicking my ass but it’s Here and there are things I’m really stoked about in it. Many things.

Ao3

Astrid was assigned a single roommate freshman year, but she really ended up with two. Tuffnut was just always around. At first he was just a nuisance and unexpected ally in her newly acquired role of getting Ruffnut to class, but that task practically battle hardened their friendship.

Astrid (6:15pm): hey Tuff, another murder happened, your sister is freaking out, we’re at the police station Astrid (6:16pm): call me Astrid (6:17pm): come on tuff pick up your phone Astrid (6:18pm): pick up pick up pick up

“Goddammit,” Astrid nearly throws her phone across the police station lobby when Tuffnut’s phone goes to voicemail for what must be the twentieth time. If she hears ‘you’ve reached Tuffnut, the boy twin, and unless you’re my mom just text me’ one more time, she’s going to scream.

“I wonder if his phone is ringing in some back room or police van,” Ruffnut hugs her knees on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, her eyes fixed on the wall in a vacant, thousand-yard stare.

“It really looked like Gruffnut,” Hiccup says gently, hand hovering over her shoulder like he’s scared to touch her. Snotlout seems to have made the same assessment, leaning on his desk a few yards away instead of lurking in the lobby like the rest of them.

“You don’t know my brother,” Ruffnut shakes her head, “they look—people look different when they’re dead, anyway, but it could be…I saw…”

“Hey, I’m calling him, ok?” Astrid tries to sound gentle even as the panicked bubble in her throat expands. Tuffnut. Tuffnut who drove two hours out of his way to pick her up from that disastrous last Thanksgiving at her uncle’s.

Tuffnut’s eyes half lidded and empty, skin ashy on an alley floor, demolished in a way no one ever should be.

“If he doesn’t pick up soon, I’ll get someone to do a home check,” Snotlout offers, arms crossed and foot tapping, irritated at being on this side of the action. Astrid remembers him offering to check her apartment for murderers after Hiccup’s tour…ended prematurely and she doesn’t doubt that if he didn’t have to give his own statement, he’d be tracking Tuffnut down. She doesn’t quite have room to appreciate that right now, but she thinks she will later.

“I swear, I bet his phone is just ringing and ringing and ringing—”

“You know what? No, I’ll go check evidence,” Snotlout kicks off of the side of his desk, “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re not in uniform,” Hiccup calls the reminder after him but gets no response. “Really, Ruffnut, it was Gruff—”

“You don’t know my brother!” Ruffnut snaps and Eretson gives Astrid a worried look through the window next to his office door before waving to her.

“What’s going on out there?” He asks quietly when she has the door cracked an inch and Astrid sighs, glancing at Ruffnut before slipping entirely into the office.

“The victim looks a lot like her brother,” she swallows back the tremor in her own voice, “and he’s not picking up his phone.”

“We’re working as fast as we can on ID,” Eretson rubs his temple. The fact that speedy identification will lead into looking for connections with other victims remains unspoken and Astrid has to bite her tongue to stop from blurting out that she’s seen the note.

She’s used to looking through closed cases and seeing strings that could have been tied up sooner. She’s not used to being the string. Being a loose end fits her about as well as inaction.

“Can I step outside to keep calling him?” Even just mentioning outside makes the police station air feel oppressive and heavy, like it doesn’t get all the way into her lungs before she’s forced to gulp down another unsatisfying breath. “I won’t go anywhere, I just—”

“Fine,” Eretson waves her off with the kind of pitying dismissal that means he clearly doesn’t think she knows anything. If she weren’t so preoccupied, she might tell him otherwise, but as is she’s glad for something more pertinent to do.

Back in the lobby, Snotlout is kneeling in front of Ruffnut’s chair, one gloved hand holding a wallet open.

“See? Gruffnut Thorston, with a G, it’s not your brother. Look at the picture, clearly Gruffnut,” he points at it with his other hand and Ruffnut goes paler.

“That won’t work,” Astrid hopes she sounds more assuring than she feels, “they’ve switched ID’s before.”

“Fine, what else can I get from evidence to convince her?” Snotlout stands back up and his gloved hand gains new significance.

“Wait, you actually went and grabbed that from evidence?” She looks at Hiccup for confirmation and he shrugs, washing his hands of the problem.

“Duh.”

“Go put it back,” she snaps, the air heavy like guilt trying to cement itself in her chest.

“As the police officer of the friendgroup—“

“Friendgroup?” Hiccup snorts, arms crossed, right heel tapping. The shoulder he has turned towards her is awkward and cold and she scowls.

“Yes, as the only officer out here, I think I know what I’m allowed to get from evidence.”

Eretson’s door cracks open and he peeks his head out, “you got something from evidence?”

“N—“

“Put it back.” The detective looks purposefully at Astrid and she heads towards the door with a nod.

“I’m going to keep trying Tuff outside.”

The breeze helps until she gets Tuffnut’s voicemail again. And again. Every time the recording mentions his mom, she thinks of Mrs. Thorston and her collection of ceramic figurines padlocked in a safe whenever her kids are home. Mrs. Thorston with her tired smile, always offering Astrid a place over the holidays.

She’s halfway through another text, this one openly threatening what exactly what she’ll do to him if he doesn’t get off his ass and answer his fucking phone, when a familiar creaky car pulls into the parking lot and stops between two out of service cruisers. When Tuffnut climbs out of the driver’s seat, concerned and wearing the band tee-shirt he doesn’t even let Ruffnut borrow, Astrid launches herself at him.

“Why the hell weren’t you answering?” She shoves his shoulders and he stumbles back, hands raised.

“Whoa, Astrid—”

“I must have heard your stupid voicemail message a thousand times by now, why didn’t you pick up? Or answer any of my texts?” She pushes him again but with less gusto, voice shaking like her hands.

“I got in the car as soon as you said my sister was freaking out at the police station,” his hands are still up and it makes her want to shove him again, just to make sure he’s real. “And as you know, it’s not safe to be on the phone while operating a motor vehicle—”

She hugs him hard enough that it’s practically a shove, and he yelps.

“Oh god, Astrid attack! Where does it hurt? Am I hurt?” He flails until his hands land very gently on her shoulders, “oh. Wait. It’s affection.” He hugs her back, resting his cheek on her head as she hides sudden tears in his shoulder, “I like it.”

“Idiot,” she sniffs, trying to calm her fluttering pulse.

“Quick question, As, is that snot or tears on my neck right now?”

“A bit of both,” she sighs, pulling back and wiping her face on her sleeve. “Sorry.”

“No problem-o,” he awkwardly pats her shoulders before rubbing his hands together, “so, my sister is freaking out? And considering you just cried all over me like a girl, I’m getting that the threshold for a so-called freak-out is different than usual.”

“Um, just…before we go in,” Astrid winces, “the murder, this time, it’s…well, now I’m pretty sure it’s Gruffnut.”

“What?” He blanches, “Gruffnut can’t die. I know he can’t, he told me when I was nine that he’s immortal, it has to be someone else—”

“Tuff,” she cuts him off, “trust me, it was either Gruffnut or well…you, and Ruffnut thinks it’s you right now.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, “I cry when I see deer at the side of the road because they remind me of my sister. Those long legs…” he sniffs, “where is she?”

“Inside,” Astrid nods at Eretson on the way into the waiting room then joins Hiccup where he’s migrated to lean against Snotlout’s desk.

“Oh my god,” Hiccup wrinkles his nose, mouth gaping open slightly as he watches Tuffnut kneel in front of Ruffnut and grab her face, “that’s…Gruff.”

“Shh,” she glares at him as much as she can through eyes she’s pretending aren’t teary, “it’s definitely Tuff.”

“How can you be sure?” Hiccup whispers, “you said they looked alike but…”

“It’s Tuff,” she nods, exhaling deep breath that seems to take some of her shakiness with it.

“When is our birthday?” Ruffnut asks carefully, staring her brother deep in the eyes like she’s trying to root out a rat.

“Bold of you to assume I was born.”

“Definitely Tuff,” Astrid’s laugh is brittle, and Hiccup reaches halfway towards her face but then decides against it. “What?”

“You have a little, umm,” he scratches the back of his neck and points to his cheek, “on your—”

“Oh,” she wipes her face and comes away with a streak of snot. Great. “I—he’s a friend, I was worried too. I was trying to keep it together for Ruff, but seeing him—”

“No, it’s—that makes sense, it’s an emotional…situation,” he nods, and she’s shocked by how comfortable she is under the weight of his concern. Her assurance that she’s absolutely fine and there’s no reason for him to worry dies in her throat and she nods quietly.

He gets it. He gets it more than anyone else she can think of.

“Yeah.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and hugs her middle, letting herself lean a little sideways against his shoulder as she watches the twins.

“What color was your cast in second grade when you broke your wrist?” Ruffnut continues her interrogation, holding Tuffnut’s hand as he gets off of the floor to sit in the chair next to her.

“Green like the tree I fell out of, until you colored it brown when all the leaves fell off, then I had to wear a gross green cast covered in brown sharpie that no one could even sign for like a month.”

“Holy shit,” Snotlout walks out from the hallway and freezes, looking between Tuffnut and Hiccup. “That’s—”

“It’s not Gruff,” Astrid doesn’t let him finish.

“And I thought you were stupid for loaning money to the wrong dude,” Snotlout shakes his head, looking Tuffnut up and down.

“We were stupid,” Ruffnut sighs, color coming back to her face even as her knuckles stay white and gripped tight around her brother’s hand, “that’s a thousand dollars I’m never getting back now.”

“Maybe Gruffnut willed us the treasure,” Tuffnut shrugs, “you know, the one he buried in our backyard as kids? The one we could never find?”

“There’s no treasure, Tuff,” Ruffnut sniffs, her voice cloudy with reluctant, happy tears, “idiot.”

“Forensics is an hour out on another case,” Eretson stops short in his office door, blinking at Tuffnut with a flicker of something other than his usual boredom. Not quite fascination, but leaning in that direction, “that’s my victim.” He looks at Astrid for corroboration and she shrugs.

“No it’s not, Eretson, use your eyes, this guy is clearly alive, while the victim is clearly dead,” Snotlout goes on tip toes against the wall, “do you need me to do the rest of your job for you?”

“Ruffnut’s brother is the victim’s cousin.” Astrid glares at Snotlout, trying to remind him that it’s probably not the time to harass the detective investigating the body they just happened to find. “Presumably, I know you don’t have ID yet but the family resemblance is—”

“Significant,” Eretson agrees, nodding slowly.

“Yes, Mr. Officer, sir,” Tuffnut cups his hand to his mouth like he’s telling the whole room except Ruffnut a secret, “are you sure that my cousin is dead? I have reason to believe that’s not actually possible—”

“Super dead, dude,” Snotlout answers and Eretson glares at him, “what? I’m an officer too, I can’t answer the question?”

“I’ll take your statement first, Jorgenson,” Eretson points at his office, “that way you can get out of here and enjoy your day off.”

“I was going to ask my actual boss if he needs me to come in—”

“He does not,” a hair-raising, accented voice chimes from the mouth of the hallway and Mr. Grisly walks into the room, footfalls crisp and measured, like an actor walking to a specific marker on a stage.

“Like I said, I’m going to ask my actual boss, who is neither of you—”

“Your boss takes my recommendations and I can assure you that I’ll recommend the absolute truth, which is that we are not in need of your…” Grisly looks Snotlout up and down cold eyes lingering on his tip toes, “help.”

“Statement, Jorgenson,” Eretson gestures back at his office, his posture stiff and faced wholly towards Mr. Grisly, the line of his shoulders an impromptu fortification against an oncoming threat, “now.”

“Fine,” Snotlout growls, shouldering Eretson on his way into the office and grumbling under his breath when the other man doesn’t appear to notice. Eretson stares at Grisly for another second before reluctantly retreating and as soon as the door is shut, Grisly laughs. There’s nothing amused about the sound. It’s brittle, like dead leaves in drafty corners, musty like breeze from a basement that should have been forgotten.

“A matched set,” he gestures at Tuffnut with a long, waxy hand.

“There might be something sexy in the coffee at this police station, but twin stuff is creepy, pal,” Ruffnut holds her brother’s hand tighter and Grisly chuckles.

“I meant that your brother looks like the victim on the slab in back,” Grisly shrugs, hands folded behind his back, “parts of the resemblance are up to my imagination to fill in, of course…”

Ruffnut blanches, obviously remembering the scene in the alley and Hiccup bristles, his sudden protectiveness more inspiring than insulting.

“Good to know that your imagination has such involvement in this case,” he stands up from Snotlout’s desk, back rigid, and Astrid can see how he felt like a safe harbor in an alley three murders ago. Or two, she guesses the first had technically already happened at that point. “Gives me real faith in the system.”

“And you two,” Mr. Grisly ignores Hiccup’s words like someone ignoring movie theater chatter at a long-awaited midnight premier, “together again. Together always, really, I can’t be the only one who notices.”

“And they still aren’t boning,” Ruffnut bemoans, resting her head on Tuff’s shoulder. “It’s pathetic.”

“Ruff!” Astrid hisses, lacking her usual enthusiasm for it but feeling beholden to at least try and lecture her friend.

“Trauma,” she shrugs, “did a real number on my filter, I guess.”

“You don’t have a filter,” Astrid grits her teeth, turning back to Mr. Grisly and wishing she’d never looked away. Feeling his eyes on hers is like finding predator footprints in snow that was unbroken before she blinked. She should apologize to stay on authority’s good side, like she did to Snotlout or Eretson, but something instinctive in the back of her brain assures her that she might as well roll over and bare her throat.

“Is an actual officer going to be taking our statements?” Hiccup sounds nothing like the guy who bought her a pizza or hung curtains to diffuse a situation. He sounds like he half hopes this one catches on fire.

“Everything you do or say goes through me eventually,” Grisly’s smile is tepid, teasing, and Hiccup’s jaw twitches.

“Well I’ve never been a fan of efficiency,” he shoves forced casual hands into his pockets, stiff arms moving like they’re pivoting on rusty hinges, “makes things too easy.”

“Too easy,” Grisly shakes his head, “where’s the fun in that?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, humming under his breath as he disappears back down the hallway and through a door to the right. Astrid wishes she hadn’t caught the tiniest glimpse of the corner of a steel table as she stares back at her feet.

“I guess that was a rhetorical question,” Hiccup stares down the hallway after him, gears picking up speed behind his expression.

Eretson takes their statements one by one. Ruffnut goes in after Snotlout, then Astrid, then Hiccup. The twins have an uncharacteristically quiet conversation with each other and Snotlout disappears into a different room down the hallway and Astrid finds herself flicking through Facebook, anything to distract herself. She’s scrolling past high school friends trying to make a glamorous living from the comfort of their own homes when she sees a picture of a shiny ring on an almost familiar finger and pauses.

Her cousin is engaged, apparently. Maybe it’s because her cousin is a year younger than her, but it’s not the usual, sick and envious feeling of being left behind that floods her chest. Right now, someone she grew up with, someone she caught fireflies with while Uncle Finn started the bonfire, is wearing a ring and planning a whole life around it. Meanwhile, Astrid has been privy to the murder of three people and the discovery of two mutilated bodies and seen the inside of a police station more than she ever dreamed.

She’s always believed that where someone starts out has something to do with where they end up, but that doesn’t feel particularly true at the moment.

It better not be, she thinks fiercely all at once, given that Ruff and Tuff started out next to Gruff.

“Alright then,” Eretson opens the door and Hiccup walks out of his office, taking up easy space next to Astrid and looking more casual than anyone has a right to look right after an interrogation. “I’ll be in touch with all of you, it’d be best if you didn’t—”

“Leave town, I get it,” Hiccup rolls his eyes, “I know the drill by now.”

“But we can go?” Tuffnut asks, “because we’ve been sitting here so long that my ass isn’t even asleep anymore, it’s technically crossed the line into coma.”

“You could have left at any time, dude,” Snotlout reappears from the back, obviously not pleased with whatever news he got.

“Given the…situation,” Eretson gestures almost awkwardly at Tuffnut, stern expression masklike for a second, “it would be best for you to be available too.”

“In case Gruffnut contacts me because of our deep and abiding bond?” Tuffnut nods to himself and Ruffnut smacks him on the chest.

“He’s dead, idiot, let’s go home.”

Snotlout walks the twins to their car, protective in a way that feels like a weight off of Astrid’s shoulders, and Hiccup rolls his shoulders like the concept of freedom makes him want to take up more space.

“Do I sound like a sociopath if I say I’m almost getting used to this?” He snorts, pulling out his phone and typing, “you know, I only used to cancel tours because of weather.”

“At least you know they’ll be more crowded than ever when you start back up,” Astrid doesn’t quite joke, because it’s not funny, and Hiccup doesn’t quite laugh. It’s more of a wheeze, an exhausted search for a laugh that falls flat in a way that resonates.

It’s been a long day.

“There’ll be so many more questions to dodge,” he shakes his head, “lucky me.”

Before Astrid can offer to help him dodge those questions, as seems to be her bizarre impulse, Snotlout reappears at Hiccup’s side and elbows him hard enough that he stumbles sideways.

“Why are you lucky? Is it because you got to find another creepy body, because that’s gross dude. Like you didn’t look guilty enough.”

“Right, thanks for reminding me that it’s frowned upon in the eyes of the law to discover three mutilated murder victims. I forgot.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Snotlout glares at the police station’s front door, “and probably why my boss doesn’t want me to come in and work this one.”

“They said that?” Astrid lowers her voice, almost sure that Mr. Grisly could be listening through the brick wall.

“I’m ‘too close’ to this one, apparently, as if I wouldn’t arrest you for way less than killing people.” Snotlout shakes his head.

“Right, just because you let me get away with some light trespassing doesn’t mean you aren’t itching to lock me up for something real,” Hiccup snorts, “after all, what are cousins for?”

“Exactly,” Snotlout looks between them, “so, what are we doing?”

“We?” Hiccup raises an eyebrow and Snotlout nods.

“Yeah, I get why Ruff ditched, but we could go get a drink or something.”

“We, as in you’re inviting yourself along?” Hiccup shoots Astrid a questioning look.

“You still want to go get frozen yogurt?” She scoffs, “now? After…”

After they found Gruffnut’s body, torn apart in an alley as part of a likely Viggo Grimborn emulating copy cat killer’s mysterious agenda.

“I could go for fro-yo,” Snotlout nods.

“How could you eat right now?” Hiccup shakes his head, incredulous.

“You’re the one who brought up frozen yogurt.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to eat it,” Hiccup gestures at himself with a broad hand, “I haven’t actually descended to the level of self-loathing that would lead me to torture myself on purpose with imposter ice-cream.”

“Fine, I’ll eat yours too.”

“Snotlout,” his hissing tone is familiar and Astrid reminds herself to text Ruffnut and make sure she got home ok, “I was going to go with Astrid. Alone.”

“Oh,” Snotlout grins, “you’re actually taking my excellent advice for once.”

“I’m really not,” Hiccup’s blush stretches to the tips of his ears, half hidden in floppy chestnut hair.

“Say no more, I’ll borrow your fancy headphones as soon as I get home,” Snotlout waves as he walks away and Hiccup calls after him.

“Don’t touch my headphones.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “we don’t have to go now, if you don’t want—”

“No, I want to. As long as you don’t expect me to eat,” she laughs, counting the freckles across the bridge of Hiccup’s nose to avoid remembering why she’s not hungry.

“Great,” he nods, leading her across the street.

The walk is quiet, not awkward but tired, but Hiccup can’t restrain himself from pointing out a couple of landmarks along the way. They’re not all Grimborn, he points out the spot where Snotlout allegedly arrested a mob boss with an eye roll, but most are. Or at least Grimborn era. Something about walking with Hiccup makes the city feel older and more alive, like the buildings trust him enough to tell a bit of what they’ve seen.

Today they’re mourning.

The frozen yogurt shop is as soulless as the alleys aren’t, a bouncy pop song playing entirely at odds with Astrid’s mood as she half fills the smallest size with something orange she doesn’t intend to eat. The toppings are mildly more interesting and she gets enough chocolate chips to cover the sad heap of already melting frozen yogurt at the bottom of her cup.

“We don’t do gift cards,” the girl at the counter hands the card back to Hiccup.

“The person who gave me this swore they bought it here,” Hiccup insists, “there’s ten bucks on it. I’ve never touched it.”

“We aren’t Yogurt Palace anymore, the place got bought last year,” the girl shrugs and he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. It’s thick with folded bills, mostly tens and twenties, and he drops a couple of dollars into the tip jar on the counter when he gets his change, proving his chivalry even though she said he didn’t have to. They sit at the table furthest from the door and Astrid watches the yogurt spin in the dispensers.

The black cherry sorbet looks like blood.

“So, what was Snotlout’s advice?” She looks back at Hiccup, idly stirring chocolate chips into her yogurt soup. It’s the right thing to say, because he blushes again, the rise in color highlighting the stubble along his jaw.

“You caught that, huh?” He laughs, “what he didn’t mention is that he gave me the advice while letting his self-tanner set, so he rendered it null and void in the instant.”

“If it’s void, there can’t be any harm in telling me.”

“Trust me, there’s usually harm in repeating anything Snotlout says in front of girls I want to like me.” He’s almost smug under the layer of embarrassment that she still wants to peel back, “or in your case, continue to like me. I guess.”

She takes a chocolate chip out of her cup and flicks it at him. It bounces off of his cheek and leaves a little smudge of yogurt behind.

“Did you just use me for target practice?” His quiet laugh fills the space and makes it feel smaller, more private. It’s an extension of his ability to make alleys feel safe and Astrid has never felt compelled to get closer to someone who shifts her perception away from reality before. “And waste chocolate?”

“I like you, we confirmed that.” She tries to think about kissing him without thinking about where it last happened and how it’s connected to the rest of her day. It doesn’t work. She can’t untangle Hiccup from Grimborn and she doesn’t want to, as convenient as it might seem.

And she can’t untangle Grimborn from what they saw in the alley.

“What’s up?” He puts his hand on hers, frowning and leaning closer across the small table. “Was this a bad idea?”

“Wasn’t that the point? You wanted to go on a bad date to do something you don’t like,” she snorts, “if anything starting at the police station rounds out the experience.”

“Finding the murder first does seem to lessen the chances of being interrupted by murder,” he idly traces between freckles on her wrist with a light fingertip, “you know, just, statistically.”

“Plus, they seem to be happening a couple weeks apart.” She bites her lip and lets the dam break open. “I’m trying not to jump to conclusions here, but I keep looping back to the fact that the next one is going to be at my place.”

“I wouldn’t call that a jump.” Hiccup worries about her like she’s capable, like he wants to help but won’t try and fix the problem for her. He’s soundproof curtains she can close when she wants, not a bricked in window to eliminate the possibility of a problem. “More of a dainty little step. A shuffle, even.”

“And the fact that they aren’t letting Snotlout work on the case…maybe you’re right about the Ryker finger parallel,” she leans in and lowers her voice, “it can’t be coincidence that you keep…you know, that you’re involved.”

“I think it’s a ‘we’re involved’ at this point, alibi,” he squeezes her hand and it’s definitely a term of endearment this time.

Her laugh startles her, too loud, and Hiccup raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I just—while you were being interrogated due to the third murder victim you’ve stumbled across, I checked Facebook—”

“As you do while waiting to make your witness statement about the second mutilated body you’ve discovered, of course.”

“Exactly, it’s—apparently my cousin is engaged, she’s a year younger than me and she’s wedding planning right now while I’m…and that’s a really awkward thing to bring up on a first date,” she shakes her head and laughs again, glad when Hiccup laughs with her.

“I’ll tell you what, if I’m not in jail for murders I didn’t commit, I’ll go to the wedding with you.” It’s too much and not enough all at once and Astrid hates that she doesn’t even have room to wonder if she wants that. She can’t decide if she wants Hiccup in a suit in a hotel ballroom taking advantage of an open bar with her a year from now because her head is full of Grimborn and worrying about the locks on her front door. She can’t even think about her parents making Hiccup sleep on the pullout couch in the den because they aren’t married because she’s sure there’s some answer in that creepy note.

“I’m on a date that’s been postponed due to anonymously mailed body parts and you called me alibi like a pet name and a serial killer is probably targeting my apartment and she’s looking at dresses that probably cost more than my rent and we’re the same age, essentially. It’s…”

“No, I get it, I think being in your mid-twenties is like that for everyone to some degree. Some of my high school friends are married with children and some of them are still posting pictures of them smoking weed on the internet,” Hiccup laughs, “none of them are being framed for murder though. Hey, that would have been a good yearbook superlative, Most Likely to be Suspected of Murder.”

Astrid doesn’t like to hear him say it. Like everything he says, he makes it more real. More immediate.

“I would not have won, for the record.” He goes back to tracing freckles on her arm and she ducks down to meet his eyeline.

“Do you think you’re really a suspect?”

“I think I don’t look good,” he shrugs, “I don’t think Eretson thinks I did it but…it seems like there’s pressure to investigate me further.”

“From Grisly?” Astrid guesses and Hiccup’s lips twitch.

“You know, I have no concrete evidence of that, but he’s just so creepy that I really think so.” He reaches into her bowl for a chocolate chip and eats it, wrinkling his nose, “what flavor is that, spoiled milk?”

“I didn’t even look,” she tries a piece of chocolate and comes to a similar conclusion, “but isn’t all yogurt technically spoiled milk?”

“What person decided eating spoiled milk was a good idea?” He picks up his spoon, putting on a silly voice, “this food definitely smells different than yesterday and also sour, guess I’ll just dig in even though grandma died from eating old chicken last week.”

“I bet it was morbid curiosity,” she looks down at her bowl.

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Hiccup is the only person Astrid has ever met who is so self-assured about being weird. Maybe Ruffnut, except it’s different, Ruffnut just doesn’t care what people think of her. Hiccup does care. She can see it in his eyes every time he tries to make her laugh.

“Of course not,” she meshes her fingers with his and he grins.

“You know, while I was being interrogated for the fourth time about finding murder victims or parts of them—”

“As you do.”

“Yes, I don’t even know why I even count anymore, I should get an app or something to do that for me, but I kept thinking about what you said in the bar about the note being a clue or something, and I think you’re right.” He’s happy that she overthought again and her stomach flutters. “Not just about the whole ‘all right’ versus ‘alright’ thing describing Dave. But I think there was a clue there, the whole ‘rudderless grime’ thing.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I think I could have described Gruffnut as ‘rudderless grime’.” Astrid was raised not to speak ill of the dead, but it’s what Gruff would have wanted. If there’s an afterlife, he’s probably thrilled to know that she is in fact still pissed about the fifty bucks and that anger is the best monument she can give him.

“And his bar is coated in layers of grime,” Hiccup nods, “and it wasn’t going anywhere, he was still affording rent even though other places are struggling because this neighborhood has it’s whole new direction thing.” He looks suspiciously around the frozen yogurt shop, “and a seedy bar doesn’t fit in with micro-distilleries and the thirteen yoga shops that sprung up on that block overnight. And Gruff had no intention of changing direction, hence rudderless--”

“I think that’s a leap,” Astrid shakes her head, “to say that someone wrote a threatening note on a foot they sent to Snotlout planning to kill Gruffnut because his shitty bar was miraculously succeeding is…that’s a whole basket of leaps.”

“I know,” he bites his lip, puffing his cheeks out and sighing, “I need more proof.”

“That’s usually not how it works. Usually you make the theory around the evidence, not the other way around.”

“I know that, or well, I don’t, because everyone goes the wrong way all the time. Or at least Heather does which…” He pauses to breathe then continues in a whisper, his eyes deadly serious, “the thing is if I’m right, and that’s a big if, I know that, but…if I’m right…I think it leads back to Mr. Grisly.”

#ripped #hiccstrid #httyd fic #hiccstrid fic #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #tuffstrid is best friends fight me

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analisegrey · 6 years

Text

Februwhump Prompt!

“Where are you?” (Read on AO3)

Warnings: spoilers for C2:e49- Game of Names, spoilers for Caleb’s backstory, teacher-student relationship, power imbalance, manipulation, child abuse/neglect, Trent Ikithon (he’s his own warning), also my sincerest apologies to Mr. Tolkien.

Day 1

Trent��s voice in his mind is as cool and clear as ever, the distance doing nothing to interfere with the clarity of his Sending spell. “You will return to the estate at precisely six pm on whichever day you return. If you come back too early or too late the-” There’s a brief pause, and then, “-exercise will reset. If you don't return, I will assume you were not strong enough. Am I clear?”

Bren is still groggy, his head aching from whatever Trent had done to knock him out and bring him here, but he doesn’t keep his instructor waiting. “Yes sir.”

There’s no response, but he doesn’t expect one.

He’s known for awhile that even among the three of them, Trent has been singling him out for extra training, running him through mental exercises Astrid and Eodwulf are excused from; it’s only fitting for the boy who will become their team leader one day.

He’s not sure where he is beyond ‘in the woods’. He takes stock of what Trent has left him with- basic clothes, a hunting knife, one healing potion. He has no components with him, but that’s not really an issue; his preferred spells use mostly verbal and somatic components, so it could be worse. If it were Astrid or Eodwulf out here, they might have more of a problem.

He looks around, taking in his surroundings. There’s the quiet sounds of the woods- the rustling of the wind through leaves, the musical call of birds (finch, robin, bluejay, cardinal), and from somewhere close, the burble of water.

It’s not that late, he thinks, just past midday if the position of the sun is any indication. If he can figure out where he is, and what direction the estate might be in, he can conceivably finish this exercise today and have a late dinner with Astrid and Eodwulf. No problem.

So, first things first, he thinks, where are you?

He climbs a tree with little difficulty, the bark rough against his hands as he climbs. It’s been a few years since he had the time and inclination to climb a tree, but it’s a skill that comes back quickly. When he’s high enough up, he gets a look at his surroundings, and a better look at the sun’s position. He’s got a decent idea of where north is, and therefore where the estate might be. He’s seen maps of the area in Trent’s study, knows where the woods are in relation to the house, and thinks he remembers the path of the stream he heard before; with that added confidence he shimmies back down the tree and heads out.

He’s feeling pretty good about things until he gets to the front gate of the estate and Trent is waiting, arms crossed over his chest with a frown of blatant disapproval. “I specified a time, Bren. What did I say?”

“Six pm, sir.”

“And what time is it now?”

Bren pauses, glancing up at the sun. He’d thought he was pretty close, time-wise, but maybe not as close as he’d thought. He hazards a guess, “Five-thirty?”

Trent’s frown deepens, and it’s all Bren can do to keep himself from taking a reflexive step back.

“No, that is incorrect.” Trent’s words are cold and clipped, and Bren’s stomach twists in shame. “I am training you to become a powerful mage, Bren; not just a war mage to help protect the Empire, but the leader of your squad. That is a position that will require specificity and precision. You can’t just guess.” Trent's lip curls in disgust as he moves forward, and Bren straightens, shoulders back, forcing himself to maintain eye contact when what he wants most is to just sink into the ground and disappear. “A wizard of the level I am training you to be is neither early nor late. They arrive precisely when they mean to. You will do the exercise again.”

Trent puts a hand on Bren’s shoulder, and the world twists and warps around him, then abruptly goes dark.

Day 3

The easy confidence Bren had on day one has long since left him. He’s gotten better at finding directions without having to climb up a tree which is good; Trent has been leaving him further and further from the estate since the first day, always in a different location than the days before. When he wakes up the third day, he finds the healing potion he’d used the second day hasn’t been replenished.

“Perhaps you will learn be more mindful of both yourself and your resources. The exercise starts now.”

The day before he’d fallen down a steep incline he hadn't seen when the light had started to fade under the tree canopy, and hurt his leg. At the time, he’d thought it was an obvious need, but maybe he’d been wrong. He wonders now if he should have waited, should have tried walking on it. It’s possible it was only badly strained, and not actually broken, but it’s too late to worry about it now. He’ll just have to be more careful.

He locates the stream again and drinks his fill, letting the water take away the edge of hunger. He hasn’t been able to catch anything useable since the exercise started; he’d spotted a small rabbit the day before, and without thinking had tossed a Firebolt at it. His aim had been true, but it has practically incinerated the creature, rendering it useless. He’ll need to figure out something to eat, and soon, but he knows from his studies how long a person can actually go without food so long as they have water. He knows that while this is uncomfortable, and will eventually have negative effects, he isn’t in immediate danger.

He keeps a close eye on the position of the sun, tracking it’s path through the sky in his head from when he woke up, doing his best to gauge how long until sundown. The first day he’d been too early. Yesterday he’d been too late. He thinks he’s got a better grasp on it this go round, his sense of time improving.

When he arrives at the gate, Trent doesn’t even address him before stalking forward, his dismay evident in his expression. He clamps a hand down on Bren’s shoulder with bruising force, mutters a word, gestures with his other hand, and sends Bren off again.

The exercise restarts.

Day 6

Things are not going as well.

He’d gotten turned around somehow the day before, following the stream in the wrong direction for long enough that by the time he’d realized his error, he knew that there was no way he’d get back to the estate before dark. He’d spent the night up in a tree, far too tense for sleep, waiting in the cool night air for sunrise.

The morning dawns overcast and gray, and soon it’s raining, which is doing nothing to improve Bren’s mood. He’s cold, wet, and hungry, his irritation with the whole situation, with himself, a low-burning fire in his gut. He wants the exercise to be over and done with, to be inside, somewhere dry and warm, to have the company of his friends, his teammates. He takes a deep breath, centers himself, thinks about why he’s doing this. He needs to become strong, to be the leader that Trent thinks he can be. Trent wouldn’t have sent him out here if he didn’t think Bren was up to the task.

He’s so deep in his own head he doesn’t hear the movement in the bushes nearby until it’s too late. A sharp squeal rends the air, startling him from his thoughts, and something crashes from the underbrush, slamming into him at hip height. It knocks him sideways and to the ground, and the creature is on him almost immediately. Something sharp digs along the outside of his thigh, pulling a scream from him, but his training kicks in and he gets his hands up, thumbs hooked, a blast of fire shooting out as he casts. The beast tries to get out of the way, but isn’t quick enough, and the cone of flame catches it along one side, eliciting a pained noise. It rounds on him and he has a second to recognize it as a wild boar, though thankfully not a full-grown one, before it's charging again. He rolls at the last moment, evading the tusks it’s aimed at him. He gets up to his feet, though his injured leg threatens to give, and the forest around them goes still, the two of them just watching each other for a long, frozen moment. Then the boar charges again, and Bren unleashes the fire a second time, hitting it head-on. It drops, but its momentum carries its still-burning carcass through the mud a few feet toward him.

He has his hands up, still shaking as he gasps for breath, and he waits a moment to be certain it’s dead before he lowers his arms and moves toward it. The rain has put out most of the remaining flames, and he drops to his knees next to it. The outer layer of hide and bristle is burned, charred-through, and the scent of roast pig makes his stomach twist and pang. He has his knife out and digging into it before he can stop himself, tearing aside the skin to get to the cooked-through layers of flesh closest to the surface. There’s a part of his mind that worries this is a bad idea, that the pig as a whole isn’t cooked enough, that it will make him sick. That part of him is quickly subsumed by the rest of him which is starving and hasn’t eaten anything other than berries and roots in days.

By the time he stops, his belly is full, and he feels a bit queasy from all the blood, but it’s preferable to the yawning emptiness he’s been dealing with. He forces himself to get up, knowing that the smell of cooked meat and blood will draw attention from predators. He also knows that this boar wasn’t anywhere near full-grown, and there might be other ones, bigger ones, nearby, which he has no interest in tangling with. He wipes his knife off against the grass and tears off strips of his shirt to bandage the gash in the side of his leg before he gets moving.

It’s nearing dusk when he arrives back at the estate, and Trent is once again waiting for him, mouth pressed into a pale, turned-down line. “Bren, it is not-”

A flash of something, a sudden burst of stupidity, irritation, and brashness comes bubbling up out of him, and he does something he’s never dared before- he interrupts Trent.

“No, sir, it is not six pm. It is five fifty-five, but I am here precisely when I mean to be.”

Trent blinks at him, one elegant eyebrow arched in surprise as he takes in the soaking wet, blood-stained teen shivering yet standing tall before him. He takes in the sight, and after a moment in which Bren is convinced he’s about to be struck down or sent away, Trent smiles.

“Well done, Bren.” Trent stands to the side of the gate and gestures toward the house. “Come along. We’ll see to your injuries, and you can tell me about what you've learned during the exercise.”

Pride swells up on a wave of warmth in Bren’s chest, and everything he’s gone through in the past week- the exhaustion, the deprivation, the injuries and self-doubt- all of it has been worth it for this moment of praise, for knowing that- at least this once- he’s managed to live up to Trent’s high expectations.

Schooling his features to careful neutrality, he holds his head high, and steps through the gate.

#analisegrey fics #Februwhump #spoilers #critical role #critical role spoilers #Caleb Widogast #bren aldric ermendrud #Trent Ikithon #Trent Ikithon is a dick #general warnings for Trent's brand of fuckery

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margarethelstone · 6 years

Text

That Hopelessness of Mine

"She was weary, she was sick, she was completely unable to focus. She, the Astrid Hofferson, the most hard-working student the University of Berk had ever taught, suddenly appeared to be perfectly indifferent to what was happening around her. Her life was an utter mess – and a ridiculously handsome, green-eyed stranger was the last person she needed to meet." Hiccstrid modern AU.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Chapter 1

It looked like Eret had finally gathered the courage to ask Heather out. So what.

She was happy for him. For both of them, really. She had no right to be jealous or disappointed – after all, Eret had only been her best friend for like, her entire life. But hey, that did not mean the bond they had was going anywhere beyond that point, so it would be foolish of her to imagine any kind of romantic future with the bulky brunette by her side. Not that she hadn’t done that, but again, that was not the point. She and Eret were just a pair of crazy friends, the born-together-die-together type, who could never built anything stronger than this weird, a bit flirtatious kind of relationship.

Besides, she cared for Heather even more than she did for him, and she was well aware that the two made in fact a perfect match. She was probably more sure of this than either of them was at the moment.

So why on earth did it hurt so much?

Astrid spluttered in irritation, and threw her books into her old, worn-out bag, trying to ignore the curious glances Ruffnut had been casting on her for the greatest part of the day. She knew she was rather rude ignoring her like she was, but honestly, she couldn’t be bothered. The day had been way too long already, with more than ten hours spent at the university and with no gaps between their classes, and the last thing she needed was explaining her current state to the blonde girl beside her, no matter how well the latter meant.

She was ready to leave the minute her teacher said his goodbyes. She had no idea what he’d been telling them earlier, that however, was no different from her general oblivion to that particular day’s events. She was weary, she was sick, she was completely unable to focus. She, the Astrid Hofferson, the most hard-working student the University of Berk had ever had a chance to teach, suddenly appeared to be perfectly indifferent to what was happening in there, literally. If anything, she wondered why she’d even bothered to get up from her bed that morning.

However determined she was to escape, she failed miserably, as Rachael Thorston once again proved she could conquer the laws of space and time, somehow managing to bar her way just a few steps from the entrance.

Astrid groaned.

“Ruff, I’m too tired for this.”

“Oh, sure, and you think I’ll just let you run away with it, missie? Well, I don’t think so,” the other girl snorted. “You’ve been acting like a beaten dog for the entire day, and that’s not something that happens that often. The Astrid I know doesn’t get all sullen for no reason.”

“Ruffnut, please. Just let go.”

“Let go? So you can walk alone in the night, in that weather, shambling like some sick, light-headed shadow? You won’t even make it to that lousy flat of yours, and I’m certainly not going to scratch off your corpse from some lousy car after you drag your lousy butt on the street and are hit by it. You’re not going anywhere.”

Astrid sighed, praying to all the Saints she could think of that she’d find the strength to deal with her friend for a little bit longer.

“Okay, look,” she started, hoping she would manage to be assertive enough, even though every fibre of her being wished to be anything but that. “First of all, my flat isn’t lousy. Small, uncomfortable, boring maybe, yes, but otherwise it’s fine. Second, my block of flats is literally three minutes away from here, and I only have to cross one narrow street, so I think my butt is pretty safe. Oh, and by the way, thank you for not wanting to deal with my dead body, I always knew I could count on you.”

“You’re not making any sense, Hofferson.”

“Neither are you, Thorston.” Astrid forced herself to smile weakly, not wanting to worry her companion more than she already had. “Listen, you’ve got one more class ahead of you, and we both know you can’t skip this one. And I really don’t feel like spending another hour and a half here, waiting until you’ll be able to walk me home.”

“Fine, then I’m gonna call Tuff,” Ruffnut retorted.

“No! I mean… Oh gosh.”

“What?”

“I don’t need Tuff to walk me home. I don’t need anyone to walk me home! Just let me get out of here, and I promise you I’ll be in my room in no time. I can even text you so you know I’ve made it. Deal?”

Rachael raised her eyebrows in a disbelieving grimace, but nodded nevertheless. Her interlocutor sighed with relief.

“Only promise me you’ll let me know if you need anything,” the former added, relentlessly.

“All I need right now is to change into my pyjamas, get to my bed, and spend the rest of the evening curled up in it drinking tea, eating chocolate and probably mixing those with all the junk food I can find at my place. I’ll be fine.”

“You better be. See you tomorrow, you stubborn mutton head.”

“I love you, too.”

Astrid waved her hand carelessly, and grinned a bit more widely, seeing her friend shake her head in piteous disappointment. It was good to know at least one person cared.

The girl decided to waste no more time, and having turned on her heel, she crossed the threshold, making sure she didn’t jog anyone she was forced to pass.

Even at such an ungodly hour, there were still quite a lot of students buzzing around.

She shivered when a chilly blast of the wind stroke her, and wrapped her long scarf around her head and neck. It really was cold, and rather windy too, and she couldn’t help but think it would be a good idea to finally buy herself a hat, or earmuffs, or better, both. She could also use a jacket that would not be lacking a hood.

Oh, and gloves. She never remembered about gloves.

Either way, Astrid knew that the sooner she stopped pitying herself, the sooner she’d start walking, and as a result, the sooner she’d reach her own bedroom. Her evening plans might’ve been pathetic, but that didn’t make them any less urgent, and if she wanted to make the best of them (however ironic that sounded), she had to hurry.

You couldn’t call an evening special if you went to bed at the usual hour, right?

The young woman folded her arms on her chest, trying to keep as much warmth as possible, thinking about how worried Ruffnut had seemed that day. She understood she must have looked really bad to make her friends act the way she had – to the point when she’d been ready to call her brother and ask him to make sure Astrid’s journey would not be interrupted by any unwanted adventures. She was almost surprised Ruffnut had not suggest asking Snotlout to do that.

‘And that’s another problem we’ll have to deal with,’ she mused inwardly, feeling an unpleasant twinge in her chest. She couldn’t quite tell why watching her friends’ relationship blossom was so unsettling, considering how much impressed she was to see it actually work. And yet, Ruff and Snot being a couple was one thing, them being a successful one was another… but Snotlout actually popping the question was something none of the girls had expected.

Although the poor guy had been turned down at first (“I’m not going to marry you now, idiot!”) Astrid realised that he would not give up, eventually repeating the proposal – and she knew that when that would happen, Ruff would no longer play the unreachable and simply say yes.

To sum up: her best male friend had just started dating her roommate, her best girl friend was inches from being engaged, and from what she’d heard, even Tuff had managed to find someone strong – or crazy – enough to put up with him and his antics. She wasn’t sure what the poor girl’s name was (Cameron? Cambria? Camilla?), but the fact remained – she was the only one in the gang left behind as single.

Except Fishlegs, that is. It wasn’t like he was an option, though.

She blinked repeatedly when a snowflake flew into her eye. It wasn’t snowing too heavily yet, which was why she felt taken aback at first, however, it was enough to make her stumble. She balanced herself easily – unfortunately for her, her great physical skills could not prevent her bag’s strap from falling off, which happened almost simultaneously. Had she not been busy focusing on the snow, she might have caught the bag in time – instead, all she could do was watch it hit the ground with a heavy thud, while its contents spilled all over the footpath, while she couldn’t even fully comprehend the absurdity of the situation.

She snapped out of her stupefaction soon enough, seeing her papers being tossed by the heavy gust that seemed to be growing stronger and stronger with every passing second. She fell on her knees to grab her phone, which was lying just next to the bag, and reached for a notebook that had landed nearby; she was up again the next moment, trying to catch the loose sheets of paper, filled with her precious notes – and she would have succeeded, if not for a thin layer of ice under her shoe. She stumbled again, only this time her reflex didn’t work, causing her to fall forwards, miraculously avoiding meeting the floor with her face.

Her bag hit the ground close to her right hand, once again allowing her belongings to be spread all around. Astrid raised her head a few inches, only to let it fall on the footpath again a moment later.

Now she really wanted to cry.

She felt someone crutch before her; at first, she wanted to jerk up her head and look up at the stranger, probably snapping at them to mind their own business and leave her the hell alone on the ground. Then she realised she didn’t even have the strength to do that much. She was pathetic, and she knew it – but Thor strike her if there was anything she could do about it.

In her mind’s eyes she could see her notes gliding above the pavement, twirling around her, or maybe just flying away in the direction she didn’t even care to check.

She heard the other person clear their throat before her – she was pretty sure it was a man coughing, but then again, she really couldn’t tell for sure; not with her face pressed to the ground, and her thoughts focused on everything but the reality she wanted to escape so badly. The next moment she felt the person shift, stand up and walk away in a hurried pace, as if disgusted by the thought of standing near her for another second. Even though she knew it wouldn't solve anything, Astrid couldn't help but groan.

It was probably the thousandth time she did that day.

‘Go, go, hurry up,’ she yelled inwardly at the stranger, feeling the tears well in her eyes for real. ‘Run away before you get infected with that hopelessness of mine, before you get yourself a virus of being Berk's greatest loser. Leave me here, all alone, just like everybody else, and I'll just die, lonely and forgotten and -’

"Are you alright?"

Good Heaven, he hadn't left.

And yes, it definitely was a man speaking.

Her first reflex was to cover her head with her trembling, freezing arms, and block that part of reality that somehow still managed to get to her; and that's what she did, right before she realised how ridiculous she must have looked, and decided that if she couldn't make herself seem any more reasonable, at least she shouldn't do the opposite, and embarrass herself even further.

She took a deep breath, then another, and using all of the strength she had left, she lifted herself to a sitting position, wiping the tears away in what she hoped to be a discreet manner. She blinked a few times and, assuming the most peaceful expression she could afford, she finally turned towards the man in front of her.

#fanfiction #hiccstrid #modern AU #httyd #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #ruffnut thorston #mrs hofferson

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darklingandy · 6 years

Text

Spirits of the Earth and Air

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cold Blooded

Jack used to love the night.

Now the night was black as ink. No moon, no stars; the stifling low clouds obscured it all.

Jack used to love the night: he loved it because it was quiet and peaceful, because he wasn't surrounded by people who couldn't see his existence, because he talked to the moon and the moon listened. At some point — he didn't know when — that had changed. Now the night felt lonely; someone Saw him — two someones — and the moon wasn't listening because the moon was an impersonal rock millions of miles away. And he couldn't see it tonight anyway.

Maybe the night had always been lonely. Maybe he just hadn't noticed because being lonely was who he was, and he didn't know how else to be.

Deep in the woods, Jack was hiding. Two gigantic trees leaned against one another; the earth between their roots had eroded away to create an alcove shadowed by ferns. Jack crouched here, hidden away. He was hiding from a lot of things. Himself. His feelings and actions. His fear that he was failing at what he'd set out to do. But most importantly — so he told himself — he didn’t want to take the chance that any of the court fey might find him.

He pulled Hiccup's hoodie higher around his shoulders and buried his nose in the worn fabric.

Where was Sandy? He should have been here hours ago, and every additional passing minute made Jack more and more anxious, afraid that something had happened to him. Meeting with Sandy was supposed to be a quick rendezvous; now he wouldn't even make it back to Berk by morning. Hiccup might worry. If Jack took too long, he might start to think Jack had abandoned him.

A distant golden glow appeared through the trees. Jack held his breath and watched; he had to know it was a friend, not a foe, approaching. The glow drifted closer, bobbing its way through the forest toward Jack until he could distinguish Sandy fumbling his way along with his eyes closed. At the sight of him, some of Jack's anxiety left him in a rushed sigh, until he remembered. Any court fey that sees you must report it back to him.

He leapt up. "Sandy!"

Sandy startled. His neat sand cloud fell apart like annoyed confetti and fluttered down. He pulled himself together and formed exclamation points, throwing them in the direction of Jack's head. Not all of them missed.

"Sorry!" Jack threw his hands up and ducked.

Sandy withdrew. His face turned toward Jack — well, turned his face to the left of Jack actually — and somehow managed to radiate disapproval. What are you doing? he signed. Don't you know Pitch is still hunting for you?

He was being reckless. Avoiding one problem by trying to figure out another. Avoiding Hiccup, like a coward. Jack sucked in a deep breath of the clean forest air and pushed his jumbled thoughts out of the way. "I'm here to find out whatever you can tell me. I'm…gathering information."

You have a plan?

He wished. Shame burned in his gut. "Maybe," he hedged. "I. Just. What's going on at the court? The fearlings are gone but I haven't heard anything about what Pitch is doing. What can you tell me?"

The shadow king is angry. Sandy shook his head in despair. I fear for you. I don't like to think about what he'll do when he captures you. And he is determined to capture you.

"What about Hiccup?"

Hiccup? Confusion clouded Sandy's face. The boy? What of him?

Jack clenched his teeth, fear tightening his throat, but determined to force through it. "What is Pitch planning for Hiccup? What does he know of him?"

Pitch is bent on finding the Sight boy who beguiled his lackey away from him. There's not just orders to report on you anymore; there's a reward. For anyone who brings news of either of you, a boon from the king himself will be granted. Some have tried to bring him pretend news, and the punishment was …severe when their deception was revealed.

Jack couldn't breathe. He sunk down onto the earth, knees pulled up to his chest, willing himself to stay calm.

Sandy's hands kept moving. But some have brought real news. There's word of another human besides your Hiccup. A girl with knives. He paused in his frantic motions and felt his way toward Jack, to put a hand on his shoulder. Jack, what have you gotten yourself into?

"Astrid," Jack breathed. So, word about her had got back to the court already. Jack scrubbed a hand through his tangled hair. "Things are getting worse then."

Sandy nodded, serious. I don't know what else I can tell you.

"Something… helpful." Jack stared at Sandy. As if Sandy knew what he was supposed to do. As if Sandy could have answers for him. "Please! There must be some information you have that can help! Something! Anything! Advice, maybe! I just — I don't know what to do, Sandy."

But Sandy just shook his head sadly, a troubled crease between his eyebrows, and Jack shook his head and got up, pacing back and forth, wearing tracks into the dirt.

He was such a fool. Now the reason that he'd come bubbled to the surface of his mind: that he'd come here because he didn't know what else to do. He'd known, deep down, there wasn't anything anyone could tell him that would help. He was in uncharted territory now. He was on his own.

"I have no idea what I'm doing, Sandy." The admission hurt his throat as it clawed its way out; his voice cracked. He swallowed and couldn't meet Sandy's eyes.

Sandy hesitated. Then… why…

"I promised Hiccup that I would get him back his life, but how am I supposed to do that?!" Jack glared up at the brumous sky where he knew the moon would be, behind the thick layer of clouds. His voice was too loud; it reached through the trees enough that if anyone were nearby, they would hear him. "I have to protect him, and I don't even know if I can! But I have to."

Sandy fell silent. He watched Jack, and waited, and listened. He'd known Jack a long time.

"I know he keeps saying that we'll come up with a plan, but how can we do that? We're one human, one faery, one bairseach, and one Sighted boy — that I don't even know what he is right now, exactly — against an entire court of knights and tricksters and—and—and everything!" His face contorted with terror: pupils constricted, mouth working as his breathing sped up, skin pale white. He ran out of steam and crumpled onto the ground, curling up on himself like a wilting leaf. "I've asked too much of him," he said, voice coming out small. "And I've… I hurt him."

You have… a… bairseach? Sandy’s face went slack with awe, but Jack wasn’t looking at him.

Memories of what he'd originally planned for Hiccup came back to him: the sacrifice, the kidnapping. Hiccup saying things like you came here to kidnap someone and when were you going to tell me and you could have told me. And Hiccup was right: Jack should have told him sooner. He should have trusted Hiccup. Should have been more honest with him.

Shame smothered him so strongly it was hard to focus on anything else or think about what he needed to do now.

Sandy drifted toward him, hands moving gently. You know what the odds are. He will not likely come out of this alive.

A shudder went through Jack but he folded his arms and jutted his chin out. "Then neither will I."

Sandy's eyebrows rose toward his hair. You… feel that strongly about this human boy?

Jack opened his mouth. He was going to explain, to say something sane like yes I care for him, we're friends. But instead, what came out was laughter. Impossible, hysterical laughter. He fell back and his limbs sprawled out and he was staring upward at the black sky, laughing his heart out. Brittle frozen pine needles cracked and snapped underneath him; he grabbed a handful and threw them into the air, letting them flutter down around him like confetti. "How could I not?" he shouted. "How could I do anything else?" The laughter faded into the stifling, watchful silence of the night. A deep, weary sigh. Just a breath. "He's…" Jack searched for words. "Impossible. Brave. Fearsome, sometimes. I…" His voice trailed away, following the laugh into nothingness.

Sandy wasn't quite facing the right direction, but Jack could still see his face. Could still see the expression of dawning awe and horror, mingled on his kind features. …love him. His hands signed the sentence that Jack left unfinished. His expression was hesitant, horrified, incredulous. Like he couldn't believe that even Jack would so stupid as to fall in love with a human. How could you do this?

No. No no no no no. Jack choked as he cast a sideways glance at Sandy. Oh gods. Was he really so transparent? "……what?"

As if there were any way he could deny it. A faery cannot tell a lie.

Fall like this, Sandy signed.

Jack said nothing. The word ‘love’ left him reeling, feeling punch-drunk and dazed like he’d been hit. His mouth opened and closed. Sandy’s question — How could you do this? — loomed in his mind. How? He was fey, one of the ancient aos sídhe; things weren’t supposed to work like this. The fey were said to be heartless, cold-blooded creatures like fishes.

Jack had no proof that it was true but he had no proof that it wasn't either. What would it feel like, Jack wondered distantly, if he had a heart to beat? Did it feel like this, terrifying and vivid? Or was he imagining the warmth pulsing in his jugular when he put his hand to his throat?

Did he have a heart, or did he not?

Fall in love so dangerously.

He wrinkled up his nose and turned his face away from Sandy, cheek pressing into the cold ground with a groan. "What?" he breathed again, only half aloud. The ground, hard with frost, remained unyielding beneath him. No more soft loam of the autumn. "I…I don't…"

You're my friend. Sandy's shoulders drooped. I don't want to you die, but if you stick by this boy…Maybe you should leave.

"What?"

Sandy just kept shaking his head, still stunned like he couldn't believe what was happening to Jack. Leave Berk. You managed to get away before Pitch could manipulate the nature of your servitude. Now is the time, before he finds you again.

"I can't just run away!"

Yes, you can, signed Sandy, confused over Jack's resistance. There are no orders binding you here.

But the idea sickened Jack; emotions sitting heavy at the bottom of his stomach and chest, squeezing him. Leave Hiccup? To save himself? He could scarcely breathe."You don't understand. I'm not going to abandon Hiccup!"

Sandy held his hands up. Alright. But at least tell me you have a plan.

"No," Jack admitted. He pressed his hands over his eyes, blocking Sandy out. "But we will."

Nevermind. Just tell me you'll come out of this alive and… whole.

"I will, uh …do my best."

Sandy let out a slow, tired sigh, his head bowed. It is exhausting to be your friend, you know.

Jack propped himself up, grinning through his exhaustion. "But what a good job you do of it."

I know. Sandy preened a little. Then his face became serious again. I'm sorry I can't help you. This is getting more dangerous. Pitch has been combing every corner of the court for anyone who's helped you. I don't think I'll be able to meet you again.

Jack felt a twinge of guilt that he'd asked Sandy here. Sandy was a good friend to put himself in danger for him in the first place. He nodded. "I understand. Thanks, Sandy." He patted Sandy awkwardly on the shoulder. "For everything. I appreciate it. What would I do without you?"

Probably die.

"Always such an optimist." Jack stood up, brushing pieces of pine needles and clumps of dirt off himself. "Well… I guess I'll see you when I see you."

You're leaving?

"Yeah." Jack nodded, more to himself than to Sandy. "I need to go talk to… to the... to Hiccup."

next chapter >>

#soteaa #hijack #frostcup #spirits of the earth and air #my writing #fanfic

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ryes-up · 6 years

Text

The End Is Starting Now || Self-Para

Between the tournament in Belladonna which Rye had begged away from, the unexpected meeting with and revelation of Freya’s father, and the near constant feeling that he was being watched, and subtle confirmations that it was true, Rye’s mind was more than a little distracted as he returned to Belladonna. It was the final day of the tournament, as he understood, and he’d sent the entirety of the tournament in Wisteria, his time split between making sure that Robin was safe, and accompanying two castle servants in facilitating open trade routes between the Courts. It was a new job for Rye and a few other Unseelie Knights, and it wasn’t one that he minded. It meant that he was able to travel between the Courts more regularly and without suspicion, as well as having a careful guiding hand in the trade, ensuring the smaller local merchants that saw less trade had at least the potential to barter their wares across the two Courts.

Still, after seeing the servants in their carriage back to the castle, Rye turned Nissa towards Nightshade Row. He should go home, he’d been gone more than a week this trip, but there was someone he needed to see first. Someone who had been there, just out of the corner of his eye, and gone when he turned to look, for far too long. Ever since the King had slaughtered more than two dozen servants on Rye’s land, actually. At first, Rye thought he was imagining it. Then he thought the halfling simply wasn’t being as careful as she’d been the first time she’d all but stalked him.

Now though, he knew it was purposeful. It was always the same, always careful and planned. He mostly saw her on the path leading to the entrance to Nightshade Row, though he sometimes saw her in the market place, and a few times in the Shambles. He always saw her three times out of the corner of his eye, sometimes up an hour apart in glimpses. That was how he knew it was purposeful. Three times. Never more, never less. She was baiting him. Waiting for him. He was fairly certain that if he tried to look for her more than a glance over his shoulder, she would let him find her. He had been debating doing just that for weeks. He almost had, multiple times. But something held him back.

Something small and unspoken. Hope, perhaps? But that was long dead. Robin had been the turning point, or rather, Puck had. The moment that Rye could no longer trust the King. Then his servants. Then Sunny. Now Freya. Sweet Freya, who never knew her father until three years ago, because Astrid had known the dangers of anyone finding out that her father was a Seelie. Rye wanted to tell himself that she wouldn’t have been in danger, that Astrid had been overly cautious. But he knew that was a lie. A Wolf having a Seelie’s child? Even if she was conceived before the war, before the alliance, the King would’ve seen little Freya’s existence as a betrayal. He didn’t need another reason to seek out the halfling girl that had once approached him about turning his back on the King. He had a list of reasons for that. But now, with the tiniest of nudges further, he felt ready to take the irreversible step forward.

Movement in the corner of Rye’s eye made him pause, but only for a moment before he continued on. That was twice. He’d seen her once out of the corner of his eye as he and Nissa rode alongside the carriage towards Roheim Castle. Just once more now.

Nissa grunted her disapproval as they approached the entrance to Nightshade Row. He knew she hated it. The dark, underground cavernous city often had uneven ground for her to walk on, and her eyes didn’t adjust to the dark as well as his did. But they made it down the path, and through the entrance to Nightshade Row when he glimpsed the girl again, and he stopped this time. Nissa turned, and he jumped down form her back, leading her towards the alleyway between two buildings on the edge of the Row, not quite as seedy looking as the rest of the Row, though they clearly belonged more here than elsewhere in Belladonna.

The girl didn’t immediately show herself when Rye stopped in the alleyway, Nissa alert beside him. “You were far more subtle the first time you stalked me. Must be losing your touch,” he said, not loudly enough to be heard outside of the alleyway, but he was certain she would hear him, wherever she was.

A soft giggle confirmed his suspicions as she materialized, the invisible glamour falling away from her as she tilted her head to the side, eyeing him curiously. Her dark hair fell to the side like a thick curtain, dark eyes holding a spark of mischief as she watched him. “Rest assured, you’ll only see me if I want you to.”

Rye smiled a bit. “I figured out that much,” he said. “So why have you wanted me to see you now? I didn’t see you for several months after the first time you approached me.”

“You weren’t ready then,” she said. “I’ve been watching you the entire time, but you weren’t ready. Not yet.”

“Why are you so certain I am now?”

The smile fell from her lips, and her eyes held something close to regret. “Rumors travel fast, particularly in regards to nobility. I heard what happened to your servants, and I went to the forest near your home. I watched you bury them.” She paused, as though waiting for Rye to speak, but he didn’t. She hadn’t had any right to be out there, to watch him. The only indication he gave that he registered her words was how his jaw tightened, and she was quick to continue. “I didn’t stay long, I only wanted to see how bad the damage was that your brother caused.”

“I have no brother,” Rye finally spoke, his voice quiet, but firm. The girl didn’t have any reaction to his words. She looked neither surprised nor impressed, but like she’d expected that reaction from him.

“I have to admit, I thought you’d have sought me out sooner,” she said, taking a couple steps closer, so that she only about two feet from him. Her arms were crossed, not appearing at all intimated by him, even as she drew closer and their size difference became more apparent as she had to turn her chin up to keep eye contact. “I thought he broke you. I thought you’d be desperate to join us after that.” Her words were close to accusatory, silently demanding an explanation for his hesitation.

“Why didn’t you approach me then? You had no problem doing so the first time.”

“You had to come to me,” she said simply. “You needed to decide that you were ready, that you wanted to join us. No matter what I thought of where you were at the time, I couldn’t make that decision for you. So why did it take you so long?” She was more straightforward that time, and Rye could respect her for that.

“I’ve been a part of an uprising before. It’s not just being upset. It’s not feeling betrayed and wanting to upset a man that I used to call family, to get back at him for hurting me and those I care about. I knew that I couldn’t join you until I was all in. Until I could tell you, tell your superiors and whoever you work alongside, that I will fight and die by this cause, to tear down the Aven family and their supporters.”

“And you can say that now?” She asked, her half-smirk returning.

“Without a doubt,” Rye answered. “They have and would kill, torture, and destroy families based on a feigned sense of superiority. Too many have already suffered by their hands.”

“That they have,” she agreed. “Well, then in that case, I’m glad you waited.” She held a hand out to him. “You can call me Damira.”

Rye shook her hand, though the whole thing was far from a done deal. “I do have a couple of conditions, for my joining you.” He felt her tense before she pulled her hand back, but her eyes betrayed nothing of her hesitation as she gestured for hi to continue. “Finn, and Hyacinth. They might make some bad decisions, but they’re not bad people, they’re harmless. They remain safe. They’re not bargaining chips, they’re not to be used as threats, or hurt in any way.” He paused a moment before he continued. “That extends to any offspring either of them have.”

“We don’t hurt children, Lord Hawthorne,” Damira said, though her smile widened a bit, her tone changing to something more teasing, “Especially not halfling bastards. We have a bit of a soft spot for those. Is that all?”

“One other thing. When this comes to bloodshed—and we both know that it will—Ambrose Gold is mine to kill.” As much as Rye hated so many of the Unseelie Court, as much as they’d treated him and the other Wolves horribly, and as many lives as the King had taken, Gold was the one name that he kept coming back to. The one that he could never forgive, for the torture he’d inflicted on Robin. There were very few people, less than he could count on one hand, that Rye would kill in cold blood without hesitation or guilt, and Gold was at the top of the short list.

“I think we can arrange that.” Damira’s smile, while laced with the kind of menacing nature that could spell trouble for anyone near her, was becoming something almost familiar. Something of a comfort, that they were on the same side. She nodded her head towards the entrance to the alleyway and walked past him. He watched as her hair shortened and took on a lighter blonde color. “You should cast a glamour as well,” he said quietly as he fell in step beside her, leading Nissa on foot. A second later, when they emerged form the end of the alleyway, she looked like a petite blonde fae, and Rye had taken on the appearance of a glamour known to many as Ryden. He appeared to have broader shoulders, paler skin, and short, dark blonde hair.

“How many people do you work with?” He asked as they walked.

“You’ll meet them soon,” she answered vaguely, before cutting her eyes over to look at him. “I’ve seen you meet with the fae that goes by Glen.”

“You’ve been watching me a while, then,” Rye answered. “Yes. Have you met him?”

“Personally, no. But others have had run-ins with him. We don’t know him all that well though, and we suspect he’s not quite who he claims to be.” Rye only grunted a simple acknowledgement. He certainly wasn’t. “You must know him better, then,” she continued with a wry smile. “Can we trust him?”

“I don’t know,” Rye answered honestly.

Damira fell silent for a moment before she rephrased the question. “Do you trust him?”

“No.”

She nodded, and they remained silent for several minutes. They made it out of Nightshade Row and began the trek back towards Hemlock City from the Oliana Mountains. Rye didn’t know where they were going, but he knew all of Belladonna almost as well as he knew the Wildlands. When they reached the main road, Damira took the route leading to the Roheim Castle, and Rye couldn’t help wondering exactly where they were going.

“Do you know what became of the knight Longfellow?” Damira broke the silence. If she noticed how Rye tensed at the question, she didn’t comment on it.

“Why do you ask?”

“We’ve been in contact with him,” she said bluntly. He wondered if she knew already that Rye had been in contact with Robin as well, and was just testing to see how much he knew. She seemed to sense his hesitation, because her smile this time was lighter. “The time for games is over, Lord Hawthorne. We’re on the same side.” She spoke the words as she led him down what he knew to be the long way around the castle, far enough away that they couldn’t be seen from the castle, but close enough that there was nowhere else he knew that they could be heading towards.

“It’s Lalune, and yes, I’ve seen him,” Rye began slowly. She didn’t comment or make sort of reaction, so he guessed she already knew that much. She only stayed silent and waited for him to elaborate. “I’ve seen him several times since he escaped. He’s safe.”

“That’s good,” Damira said. “We’d like him to join us. We know he wasn’t… in the best place, after he got out. But we’d like him to join us when he is.”

“He needs to learn to cast a glamour again before he can come back,” Rye said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “He’s getting there, but. He can’t be caught again.” As far as he knew, Robin was more than just getting there. He was making a lot of progress in casting glamour magic again, but the idea of Robin returning to Belladonna, even with a perfect glamour, was terrifying.

“Of course, we don’t want him in danger anymore than you do, I assure you,” Damira said. “We only know that he could be very useful, and he has more reason than most to want to tear down the Unseelie hierarchy and all that are a part of it. We’re here,” she broke off suddenly, leading Rye forward towards what looked like a storage shed.

Even though Rye could feel the glamour magic all around them, he still couldn’t help but think this was a minuscule place for operations.

“Is that….” Rye’s voice trailed off, a bit in disbelief of how close they were to the castle. Several meters back, he could see the back of the Queen’s garden, just outside of Roheim Castle. The land was vast that the castle sat on, the shed Damira had brought him to was bit outside of the gates of the garden, but it was close enough to send a spark of danger through Rye’s veins.

“The Devil’s Garden, it certainly is,” Damira somehow sounded proud, as though they were getting away with something by being so close. Which they likely were.

“There must be powerful magic protecting this place,” Rye commented. Damira only offered him that same secretive, mischievous smile as she approached the old shed, overgrown with weeds and plants across a door that didn’t even look like it would open.

“And glamour magic is the only way to get inside,” she said, holding her hand out, palm up in front of the door. A small bird formed in her hand, the size of a sparrow, but with the ink black feathers of a crow, and the long, sharp beak of a hawk. “It has to be exactly the same as this, size, shape, color, and a very particular spark of magic inside of it. I’ll teach you,” she explained, just before the bird gave a sharp, though muted screech, and darted forward into the door. It disappeared as soon as it hit the door, and Rye could’ve sworn for a moment that he saw the glamour magic ripple over the door in physical waves. A second later, the door swung open just a crack, and Damira pushed it open, stepping inside.

“Do you not have humans? Or halflings that can’t cast—” Rye’s question broke off as he stepped inside. It was massive, though not grand or overstated. A massive room stretched out before him. To the left, several desks where a couple of hob fae were pouring over a book in between them. Rye did a double take, staring for a moment before he recognized that one of them was the guard that had let him into Robin’s cell more than once. To the right of the room, it looked as though there were card tables and other games, though no one sat there. Two hallways branched off, with closed doors lining them both.

“We always go out on jobs together,” Damira’s voice broke through Rye’s observations. “Two people at least. Each pair has to have someone with them that can cast glamour. It’s one of the rules, for safety, of course. The hallway on the right has rooms where several of our members stay that don’t have anywhere else to go, or are escaped slaves, traitors on the run—we have all kinds here. Kitchen’s at the end of that hall. Down the left here, private offices for the higher ranking members—high ranking in work and status here, not the arbitrary hierarchy system of the Courts, of course—and a few rooms for strategy meetings.” She spoke as she started to lead Rye down the left hallway. “Time for you to meet the woman that brought us all together, that brought us all here. Lady Moon will be very pleased you’ve decided to join us.”

Rye stopped in the middle of the room, staring opening at her. “Asa Moon?”

Damira’s grin was bright, clearly pleased with his surprise. “You’ll find we’re full of surprises here, Lord Hawthorne. Welcome to the Nighthawks.”

#long post #Selfpara #title is from the song Firing Squad by David Cook #Which is basically the Nighthawk anthem fight me #Rye is finally a nighthawk guys!!!#Also damira's fc is chloe bennet and i'm excited about it #she'll be added to rye's connections page soon #also admins i wasn't sure much about the nighthawks or their base of operations so let me know if i need to change any of that #npc: Damira

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p-artsypants · 7 years

Text

320 State Street (19)- April 14, 2017 (Final Chapter)

FF.net | AO3

There is a special guest included in this chapter.

—

“So who are we looking for?” Astrid asked, her backpack slung over her shoulder, suitcase in one hand and Stormfly’s cage in the other.

“The pastor of the church is picking us up. You can’t miss him.”

Julius Nyerere International Airport was smaller than O’Hare had been. She peered outside to see palm trees, green green grass, and the bluest sky she’d ever seen, which was quite the difference from the gray dismal early spring weather that they left in Michigan. She was ecstatic to be in shorts.

The flight had gone well enough. Astrid, who had only been out of state a handful of times, was nervous to fly. Luckily, Hiccup was beside her the whole time, his fingers intertwined with hers. Next to him on the other side, was Toothless. Astrid was still completely baffled by the logistics of it, but sure enough, the airline allowed a panther to fly coach. When she asked about it, Hiccup explained that Toothless was a certified service animal, and he in turn was a caregiver for Toothless. It was a double service situation. He and Valka had made the accommodations months ago and it was known in advance that yes, there was a big cat on this flight. No one seemed to mind, since he just sat there, doing his thing. Which was really impressive, for a 20 hour flight. Astrid was more impressed that he could go that long. Eventually, he stretched out across the seats and fell asleep on their laps.

Valka had her own seat mate, Stormfly, in the way of a cage. The bird occasionally sang and made noise, but nothing obnoxious. Valka had a fun time talking to her as well.

After the first hour in the air, Astrid felt herself calm down enough and she began to relax. Still, she held Hiccup’s hand, occasionally lifting it to kiss his knuckles.

“There he is!” Called Valka, pointing to an extremely tall man. He held a sign with ‘Haddock’ written on it. The family rushed over to him, only to be caught up in a hug.

“Mwaba!” Hiccup laughed. “How are you?”

“If it isn’t my little Kwikwi! Look at how big you’ve grown! And who is this pretty girl?”

Astrid held her hand out. “Jambo, I’m Astrid, Hiccup’s girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” He playfully elbowed his friend in the gut, and then took Astrid’s hand. “My name is Pastor Mwaba Musonda, but Mwaba is fine. Welcome to the family!” And he yanked her into a hug.

Oh, she was going to like it here.

Mwaba gathered everyone into the church van, where Toothless had plenty of room to stretch out and relax. Not so the case with Hiccup and Astrid, however.

Traffic rules were different here. Mostly a free for all. Not to mention most of the roads weren’t paved. Astrid bounced in her seat, fear creeping in every time they took a corner too fast. Stormfly, likewise, squawked when her cage was rattled.

“You okay back there Stormfly?”

“Earthquake!” she cried.

While they were still in the city, Mwaba stopped at a grocer, and they stocked up on food. Astrid was surprised to see that most of the foods she had come to love were no where to be found.

Hiccup had three, 10 gallon jugs of water in a cart. “Do you remember the rules about tap water?”

“It’s okay to shower with, but don’t drink it.”

“Very good,” he confirmed. “But even so, you may feel sick until you get used to being here. Whether it’s altitude sickness or something in the food…Just let me know if you feel crummy at any point and we’ll come home and take a nap. Okay?”

She smiled at him, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. But you need to let me know if you feel sick too, okay? You’re not as immune as you think.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay okay.”

Back in the van, Hiccup tapped her shoulder, and held out a dramamine. “You’re going to want this,” he assured.

“Kanganya is about an hour from here, Astrid.” Mwaba explained. “I’ll take the scenic route!”

“Yay…” she said, nausea starting to take root in her stomach.

Despite the conditions, she was in awe of the landscape around her. Everything was much different than it had been in the lakeside town in Michigan. Soon, they were in the mountains, climbing up narrow, dizzying roads.

“How far are we from Kilimanjaro?”

“Those are still a few hours north. You and Kwikwi should go sometime!”

“Kwikwi?” she asked her seat mate.

“It’s Swahili for ‘Hiccup’. They used to call me Kuku, which is the word for chicken…because my name is Henry. Hen…get it?”

“That’s…really complicated.”

“Hey, complicated is my second middle name.” Hiccup said proudly.

“…what’s your first middle name?”

“Unnecessarily.”

She snorted.

They continued through the mountains, going crazy speeds and weaving around other cars and buses. The landscape seemed to stretch on forever, over mountains and valleys, just rich green framed with terra-cotta soil and dotted with brightly colored stucco buildings. Finally, they pulled off the road and into a cluster of buildings. Some were big, made of cement, bricks, and clay and others were just thatched grassed huts. There were about 20 to 30 homes scattered about the hub.

“This is it! Welcome to Kanganya!” Mwaba gestured out the window, proud of his village.

“There’s the church, up there.” Hiccup pointed to a building that sat on a cliff, with a sign outside that said, ‘Bird Mountain Church’.

“The hospital that you’ll be at is about a mile down the road,” explained Valka. “But if you don’t want to walk it, we have a jeep.”

“I can walk it, no problem.” Astrid assured. “What about you Hiccup?”

“I’ll be fine…most of the time,” He shrugged.

As they passed through the village, she spotted a number of big buildings, labelled in English and Swahili.

Then, finally, they turned to the road that went to the church, and veered off slightly into the woods. There, the house Astrid would call home waited. It was decently sized, not as big as Hiccup’s house had been back in the US, but still bigger than she was expecting.

“A group of missionaries lived here before us,” Hiccup stated as they pulled into the driveway. “They had nine kids. When they retired back to the US, my mom and dad bought the house from them and picked up where they left off.”

“It’s convenient for our purposes.” Valka stated. “Sometimes tragedy befalls the village and people need a place to stay. They never like to intrude, but just having a place to stay for a few weeks makes a difference.”

Astrid nodded in understanding.

Mwaba helped carry all the bags into the house, down a long entry way. They passed two closed bedrooms before they got to the living room. Inside, the air was hot and muggy.

“Let me just the A/C running, and we’ll open the windows.” Valka said, going over to the window unit. “We had everything shut up while we were gone to avoid any bugs getting in.”

“Oh right, aren’t mosquitos a big deal here?”

Hiccup opened a window on the other side of the room. “In the country, yes. That’s why you had to get those vaccinations. But our village is pretty safe, since we’re in the mountains.” He popped open a second window. “But I wouldn’t remove the screen from your window.”

“Got it.”

There was a loud ‘whump’ from the roof, and only Astrid jumped. “What was that?”

“Toothless, making himself at home.” Hiccup said without hesitation.

“Astrid,” Valka beckoned in the entryway. “This will be your room. It’s next to Hiccup’s, but the floor squeaks, so you two shouldn’t try any funny business.”

Astrid blushed hotly, while Hiccup whined a pained ‘mooooommmmmm!’

Valka laughed and dragged her suitcase to the stairs. “Mwaba and I are going to go meet with the deacons at the church. You two can unpack or rest…whatever you want. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

Mwaba added, “I heard a rumor that some of the ladies are making a meal tonight.”

“Oh! I don’t have to cook!” The woman laughed. “They certainly know how to make a woman feel at home.” She slipped her shoes back on. “See you kids later.”

“Bye mom.” Hiccup called over his shoulder.

The house furnishings were modest. A plush couch sat against the wall, with two soft chairs and a round coffee table. On the wall opposite of the entry, there were a pair of doors that seemed to lead to a balcony. Next to that, a dining table with several seats sat across from the open kitchen. The kitchen had a small oven and a microwave, much akin to Astrid’s dorm room. It was a nice size, perfect for three people and a leopard to live comfortably.

Her room was small, containing a bunk bed, a small table, and a closet. She dropped her suitcase on the floor and started putting away her clothes. “I am exhausted from that flight. Forget dinner, I’m ready to crash!”

Her boyfriend didn’t respond.

“Hiccup?” She poked her head out into the main room. The balcony doors were open, giving view to the wide, mountain side view. The sun would be setting soon, and it cast the pale yellow room into warm pink light. The landscape just seemed to go on for forever.

She found him lounging on a hammock out on the porch, gazing at the view.

“It’s a lot like back home. But…bigger. In a way.” She assessed.

“The lake view shows nothing. When the mist rolls in, it looks like the map just ends, and that’s it. But this…the hills and valleys, the trees and houses…it just seems to go on infinitely.”

“Hmmm, I guess I never thought about how big the world really is.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, peacefully carrying the sacred moment.

It was broken when a goat pleaded nearby, in a human-like scream.

The duo devolved into laughter.

Hiccup sat up carefully. “Hey, come and lay with me.”

“Isn’t that super dangerous? Like, on a hammock.”

“I’m a professional hammock balancer. Trust me.”

“Okay…” She carefully edged her way onto the hammock, but it promptly flipped and dumped them out on the floor.

“Ow…”

“Professional, huh?” Astrid asked, from where her knee was jammed into his stomach.

“Well, we just need to get in it at the same time.”

They both rolled over and clambered up to their feet. Hiccup took one edge and pulled, then rested his knee on it. Astrid did the same. “Kay, on the count of three, we both sit down.”

“Got it.”

“1…2…3!”

And like poetry, they both fell into the net, being cradled on each side.

“Nice,” Astrid appraised, snuggling closer to him, and draping a leg over his. “This is nice.”

He wrapped an arm around her, cuddling her to his side. “You said it.”

The moment they had lost was back, as they both rested peacefully in each other’s presence. Birds chirped as the cool mountain breeze whistled through the trees. The air was fresh.

“Astrid?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you love me?”

Should could have just said ‘yes’, as she always did when he asked that question, but instead, she pondered it for a moment. “You know…we haven’t been together very long. Just a few months.”

“Uh…yeah?”

“In fact, it was a year ago today, that we met.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, I saw it in my facebook memories this morning when we were at the airport.”

He chuckled.

“But in that time…I’ve come to see you as something else, not just my boyfriend. I guess I started taking you for granted. It didn’t really occur to me that I could lose you.”

Hiccup pulled away, and looked down at her, the hammock threatening to tip again. “…you aren’t going to lose me…not if I can help it.”

She smiled and tugged him to lay down again. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s just…after a certain point, I stopped seeing you as a person, and started seeing you as an extension of myself that I never knew I was missing.”

Hiccup reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing an invisible line over her skin.

She continued, “In only six months, we’ve been through…some really awful stuff.”

Once the situation with Scott had been resolved, both had begged the other to let it be and never speak of it again. Still, it was a part of their tainted pasts and it would forever be with them, if not in word, then in meaning.

“But if I had to do any of that…without you? I…I can’t even imagine it. You made life worth living. Without you…things would have been so much different.”

He swallowed. “I feel the same.” He leaned in a placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “I didn’t have to go through what you did. I didn’t lose my dad, and I wasn’t in an abusive relationship. But I had my own struggles, my own doubts. But every time you smiled and laughed with me…they didn’t matter. I felt like I belonged beside you, laughing everyday. Because that’s all I ever want, is to make you happy.”

“That’s all I could ever ask for, and to make you happy in return.”

“Then…” He leaned closer, snaking his other arm around her. “Will you marry me?”

She starred at him, wide-eyed and confused.

“I…I don’t have a ring, or anything, but…gosh I didn’t really think this proposal through. I just…needed to say it.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

She nodded, briefly kissing his lips. “I know it won’t happen right away, but I can’t imagine being with anyone but you. So yes, I will marry you.”

In his ecstasy, he crushed her to him, the hammock rocking like a ship in a storm. “Oh Astrid!”

She giggled, struggling to return the embrace, since he had pinned her arms to her sides.

He caught her lips in a deep and tender embrace.

Mark 10:9 “Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate."

#320 state street #httyd #astrid #Astrid Hofferson #hiccup #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #hiccstrid #toothless #fanfiction #modern au #how to train your dragon

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hutchhitched · 7 years

Text

Black and Blue

Written by: @hutchhitched

Rating: E

Prompt 23: Everlark gets drunk for the first time (one or both, canon or AU) [submitted by @xerxia31]

Summary: On Katniss and Peeta’s graduation night, they attend a party to celebrate completing high school. Armed with a whiskey bottle and fear that he’ll miss his chance, Peeta approaches Katniss and asks her to share his company and the alcohol. Both of them are surprised when she agrees.

Author’s note: Like my other story for the @everlarkficexchange, this one is tardy. My apologies for the delay, but I know @javistg and @xerxia31 understand. Val, I hope this makes you smile all the smiles. ILY!

“Want some company?”

Katniss startles and glances upward at the sound of the gentle, masculine voice. Her incredibly popular and equally good-looking classmate stands to her right, a sheepish smile on his face and a hint of humor in his insanely blue eyes. He gestures to her side with the bottle in his hand, and she nods without saying a word.

“Happy graduation, Katniss.”

She huffs and stares into the distance. “I didn’t realize you knew my name.”

“I make it a point to know the names of all my classmates, especially ones as pretty as you.”

She coughs to cover her laugh. His line is so contrived, she can’t believe Peeta Mellark, the wordsmith and valedictorian of their senior class, said it out loud.

“Thanks, Peeta. That almost sounded sincere. Happy graduation to you too.”

He grins and drops his head before responding, “Almost sincere, huh? Maybe I need to work on my game.”

“So, I’m a game?”

“No! That’s not—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head before trying again. “Yeah, can we start over? Hi, Katniss. Happy graduation. Can I sit with you? I’d like a chance to talk to you before we never see each other again.”

“Why would you care if we never see each other again?” Peeta’s audible sigh slices through her, and she shoves aside the rush of guilt it causes.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he murmurs and unscrews the lid on the bottle he holds.

“You’ve always been the nice one. I’ve never been any good at making friends. We both know that.”

Peeta doesn’t attempt to dissuade her or agree. He simply sits next to her and focuses on a spot in the dark. When the silence between them stretches to an uncomfortable length, he lifts the bottle, takes a swig, and then asks, “You want some?”

“Pretty personal question,” she deadpans and then bursts into laughter at his chagrined expression. When he starts to rise, she grabs his elbow and pulls him back down beside her. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop being contrary on purpose. And yes. I would love some.”

He hands her the bottle, and she glances at the label briefly before rubbing her palm over the opening and lifting it to her lips. Peeta studies her as she gulps down the swig of whiskey and gasps when the liquid burns down her throat.

“First drink?” he asks as she hands it back to him.

“I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to drink. It’s not like it’s a character flaw to have my first drink at my graduation party.”

His lip twitches at her words, and he reminds her, “I thought you were going to stop being contrary, and I didn’t say there was anything wrong with not having had a drink before. I just asked if this was your first. It’s my attempt to try to get to know you. You know, the deep stuff.”

She waits for him to swallow some more before taking the bottle from him again. She guzzles a fair amount, and then leans back on her elbows as her face flushes slightly.

“That tastes terrible. Why do people drink it?”

“Not sure,” he admits. “To get drunk, I guess. It can’t be because people think it’s good.”

“What’s that feel like, I wonder,” she muses and flips her braid back over her left shoulder. Warmth radiates from Peeta and practically burns against her skin.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been before.”

“Never been drunk or never good?”

He pauses for a moment and smiles wryly. “Maybe both.”

She turns to study him and is struck by the steady set of his jaw and the pinkness of his lips and cheeks. Dark blonde curls flop over his forehead and tumble over the tops of his ears. From the side, his long eyelashes tangle together in the light from the fire where the rest of their classmates joke and laugh together. Plenty of others are drinking too, and several couples are wound together—some kissing while others paw at each other before slipping into the darkened forest. The soft sound of lapping water reminds her of the river she can’t see, but it doesn’t stop either her or her companion from trying to make out the other shore in the dimness.

“You want to try it?” she inquires and watches his face as he considers her proposition. “It’s the first night of our adult lives. Might as well do something new, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not the biggest fan of change. I kind of like things the way they’ve been for the last few years.”

“Peeta… I’m sorry I never said thank you.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he offers quietly. “Just drink with me tonight.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is that what you want? Why is that enough?”

She’s serious. She doesn’t understand how someone as kind and gentle and thoughtful as Peeta is and as has always been wants so little from other people—especially her when she owes him so much.

“I just want to spend some time with you,” he answers with a shrug.

There’s no irony in his voice, nothing that indicates he’s anything other than sincere, which makes no sense to her. No one is that selfless and giving in her experience. No one else she’s ever known has taken so little from her without wanting more. No one else has given her so much without expecting something in return. It’s unnerving, but it seems to be genuine coming from her classmate.

“I’m not that interesting,” she says.

“I think you are. I always have.”

She sighs in response, unwilling to argue with him about her merits or lack thereof. She knows better, but if he wants to think she’s amazing, that’s his problem.

“Fine,” she snaps. “Hand me the bottle.”

He hands it to her, and she takes another slug before passing it back to him. They sit quietly for several minutes, listening to the sounds of their classmates and the gentle current of the creek.

His bulk next to her is nice. His presence is comforting, and his body heat warms her chilled skin. She didn’t think to grab a jacket before she left her house this afternoon. The May evening is chilly in the river valley.

When she shivers, he glances at her and asks, “May I?” before slipping his arm over her shoulder and tugging her into his side. She gasps at his solidness and goes rigid before sagging into him.

“You’re so warm.”

“I’ve had quite a bit to drink,” he confesses and hands her the bottle again.

She swallows and burps, which then turns to an uncharacteristic giggle. “I think maybe I have too.”

She grins as she shakes her head and realizes the trees sway as she does so. The combination of Peeta and the alcohol she’s consumed makes her head swim, and she drops it onto his shoulder.

“You smell amazing,” she drawls and nuzzles into the crook of his neck where she inhales against his heated skin. “What is that? Cinnamon… And something else. Something spicy.”

His fingers trail along the inside of her elbow. Goosebumps follow where he caresses her, and she wonders what it would feel like if he ran his hands over more intimate places.

He chuckles and murmurs, “Dill. I made some bread this afternoon. You probably smell it on my clothes.”

She looks up at him and falls into his cornflower blue eyes. His breathing slows as he studies her face, and her lips part slightly. Her limbs weigh thousands of pounds, and her lids won’t stay open as he leans toward her and brushes his lips against hers. She moans softly as sparks erupt between them, and he tilts her head backward and increases the pressure of his mouth.

His lips are soft in places and chapped in others, but she doesn’t mind. The texture sends ripples through her, and she wonders why she doesn’t care about anything—including whether or not any of their classmates will see her kissing one of the most popular guys in the entire school. She, a nobody with hardly any friends and almost no credit to her name, is kissing Peeta Mellark.

Katniss turns her body to face him squarely and wraps her arms around his neck. Intertwining her fingers in his mane of curls, she leans into him until he tumbles onto his back and pulls her astride him. His mouth and tongue slide against hers, and he emits barely perceptible pleasured grunts every few moments.

She stretches over him and gasps when she feels something hard against her thigh. Instinct drives her to shift so her knees grip his sides and her center presses against him. He pushes up into her, and they both moan so loudly they break the kiss.

“Katniss,” he hisses, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You are…”

His eyes are glazed. She’s not sure if it’s from booze or lust, but she smirks while he struggles to finish his sentence. When he can’t seem to find the words, she lowers her face to his and kisses him again. This time she controls the pace, and it’s not long before her hips pulse in rhythm to the languid coupling of their tongues.

Heat builds between her legs, and she hums her approval when she feels slickness increasing where the fire grows. She adds a circular rotation as she rocks against him, and it’s not long before she realizes he’s making noises that are much too loud for their public setting.

She stops abruptly, and he whimpers his displeasure. She raises her head and glances around the clearing. A few people around the fire cast sidelong looks at them, and her face floods with shame so hot it scorches her cheeks. She scrambles off him and grabs the bottle before stumbling into a grove of trees a few hundred yards away.

“Katniss, wait!” he calls to her in a stage whisper. “Wait!”

She trips over something and lands in a heap, allowing him to catch up with her. He drops to his knees in front of her, and she raises the bottle to her lips and takes long, slow sips that make her throat bob. He licks his lips and traces the sinews of her neck with his thumb before pressing his mouth to her jawline.

Katniss isn’t sure how it happens, but suddenly he’s on top of her. His weight presses her into the uneven grass, and she wraps her legs around his waist. He snaps his hips against hers as he kisses her, and she slips her hands under the hem of his shirt to run her short nails over the bunching muscles in his back.

He pumps against her, his hard length pressing the seam of her jeans against a pressure point that sends sparks radiating through her limbs. He breaks the kiss and ducks his head so his lips graze her earlobe. He pants her name with incoherent sounds until he yelps and shudders against her.

“Katniss,” he groans and stills instantly.

She bucks upward again, and he rolls off her quickly. Confused, she opens her eyes and props herself up on her shoulders to stare at him. She can barely make out his features in the dark, but he won’t meet her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she grumbles. “Why’d you stop?”

Her ragged breath matches his as he gulps air. He curls onto his side away from her, and she fights a rush of humiliation.

“Peeta,” she barks, “what the hell is going on?”

“I need to stop.”

“What?! What do you mean?”

“I need to stop,” he repeats without moving.

“I don’t understand,” she retorts and shoves his shoulder. She shakes her head and a wave of dizziness washes over her, which only fuels her anger. “I thought you wanted to spend time with me.”

Peeta rolls from his position to sitting but still refuses to face her. His shoulders droop, and he hangs his head while she fumes behind him.

“I, uh…” he stammers. “I kind of, um… I need a towel or something.”

“Stop talking in riddles.”

“I came in my pants.”

His words are barely audible, and she’s not sure she heard him correctly or wants what he said to be true. They’re both still drunk, she knows that, and her stomach is roiling more than it was when he started kissing her.

“You… You what?”

She bites her bottom lip as soon as the words leave her mouth. He’s clearly already embarrassed; there’s no need to shame him. He doesn’t answer, so she lifts her hand to his shoulder.

“Catnip, where are you?”

Her best friend’s voice slices through the trees, and she swivels to locate him. She doesn’t want him to find her like this, so she scrambles to her feet and steps sideways into a tree. Righting herself, she stumbles a few dozen feet to her left before replying.

“Here! I’m here, Gale.”

Only a few seconds pass before he emerges in front of her. Tall with dark hair and gray eyes almost exactly the same as hers, he’s an imposing figure as he glowers at her in the darkness.

“Are you drunk?”

“Noooooo…” she scoffs and waves her hand at him. She lists sideways and almost falls, but he catches her.

“We’re leaving. Your mom asked me to make sure you got home safely tonight. I think you’ve had more than your share of fun.”

She shrugs and sags against him. “You might have to carry me.”

Her knees buckle, and she stops fighting. She barely registers Gale’s concerned questioning before she slips into blackness haunted by Peeta’s blue eyes.

****

“Rise and shine, Katniss! Welcome to post-high school!” Prim chirps as she bursts into her sister’s room and pounces on the bed.

Katniss groans and grimaces. Her head pounds, and she claps a hand over her mouth as her bed rocks. “I’m going to throw up,” she garbles and springs from the bed to stumble into the bathroom. She makes it just in time, falling on her knees to empty her stomach into the porcelain bowl. She has enough presence of mind to pull her braid over her shoulder as she purges the bottle of whiskey she and Peeta shared the night before. She collapses onto the bathroom floor, shivering and sweaty, and wishes for death.

“I see you’re making good decisions now that you’re an adult,” Prim drawls. “You looked better when Gale dragged you home last night, and that was bad enough.”

“Oh, fuck. Gale…” she groans. “He’s going to give me so much shit for this.”

“Especially since you’ve never so much as had a drop of alcohol before last night.”

“I’ve never had a reason to before last night.”

“Oooooooooooh, tell me,” Prim insists and leans against the doorjamb. “What happened? I’m still floored you actually bothered to go to the senior bonfire. Never thought my serious, goal-oriented older sis would let down her hair for something like that.”

Katniss curls into herself and squeezes her eyes closed against the verbal onslaught. She gags and struggles to control herself before she can force herself to speak.

“I didn’t exactly have time to spend my life partying, Prim. You should know that better than anybody.”

Water runs, and Katniss sighs as a cold washcloth cools her forehead. Her younger sister helps her into a sitting position and forces a cup of water and a few pills into her hand.

“Take those. Doctor’s orders,” she chides gently. “Drink the entire glass, and then get back in bed. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

Katniss collapses onto her mattress and pulls the covers over her head. Despite how awful she feels, a glimmer of excitement sparks at the back of her consciousness. The memory of Peeta’s mouth on hers and him rigid and bucking against her flashes behind her eyes as she tries to ward off her hangover.

She wonders briefly what happened to him after she staggered away last night and into her best friend’s company. Had he returned to the party with the rest of their classmates, or had he slunk off and escaped the rest of the revelry? Something nags at her, but she can’t put her finger on it. All she can really register is how much she enjoyed making out with him and wonders if it’ll ever happen again.

She’s startled awake by a dip in the mattress next to her and the smell of bacon. Her stomach turns at the aroma, but the greasy breakfast food causes it to rumble so loudly, she startles herself.

She moans contentedly as the salt hits her tongue and nods to her sister. “Thank you, Prim. I really needed this.”

“You’re welcome. Better enjoy it because you still have to buy groceries before Mom gets home from work tonight.”

Katniss curses and chomps on a bacon strip. “Why?” she wails dramatically. “Why me?”

Prim giggles and crosses to the door. “Sleep it off, drunk girl. I’ll wake you up in time to go to the store.”

****

“Oranges, rolls, milk, ground beef,” Katniss mumbles repetitively in an attempt to remember her grocery list without having to look at it constantly.

She hates grocery shopping. She always has, but her throbbing headache and cotton mouth make this trip to the local market more irritating that normal. When she turned sixteen, her mother put her in charge of shopping for food. She pauses in the produce section and glances over to the bakery where she first noticed Peeta two years prior. Shuddering with embarrassment, she shakes off the memory of the day she forgot her wallet and couldn’t buy the items in her cart. Her kind, blonde, blue-eyed classmate saved her by insisting he pay. Too mortified to argue, she’d accepted and run without bothering to thank him.

And then she’d dry humped him on the forest floor when they were both hammered.

“I’m the worst,” she mutters and stuffs a few oranges into a plastic bag and stomps back to the dairy section where she bumps into a solid wall of muscle.

“I’m so sorry. I—” Peeta stammers to a stop and steps back, his cheeks flaming. “Katniss. Hi.”

“Peeta…” She racks her brain trying to figure out what to say, but there’s nothing. Suddenly, her stomach rolls, and she drops her basket and sprints to the restroom.

Several minutes later, she emerges to find her grocery basket sitting on the bench outside the bathrooms. There’s also a receipt. He’s paid for her again, and he’s nowhere to be found.

****

It’s been three weeks since graduation, and Katniss is struggling to keep her mind off the night of the bonfire. She lies awake at night remembering how the aroma of the burning wood mixed with the way Peeta’s skin smelled of cinnamon when she inhaled against his neck. When she’s restless and can’t fall asleep, she remembers the feel of his hands on her bare skin and the hardness between her legs as he moaned her name. When she’s particularly frustrated, she slips her fingers between her legs and circles her clit as she grows wetter. She rubs until her back arches off the bed, and she pulses and groans in relief.

Peeta awakened something inside her that night—a hunger she didn’t even realize she had—and now she wants more.

****

The air is hot and muggy as she settles into her bed. Her thin nightgown clings to her moist skin, and she can barely stand the light sheet that covers her. Her braid clings wetly to the back of her neck, and she feels feverish. Frantically, she kicks of her underwear and gasps when she dips her fingers into a puddle of moisture between her legs. She’s so slick already, and she just started touching herself.

Spreading her legs and lifting her knees into the air, she concentrates on recreating the graduation party in her mind. The heaviness of Peeta between her legs, the rasping of his voice in her ear, and the sheen of perspiration on his forehead as his eyes slipped closed in ecstasy.

She’s almost too slippery, and she grunts in frustration as her fingers work to find purchase on her clit. She bucks under her hand, and one finger slips slightly downward just enough to spark something much more intense. She bites her bottom lip and slides her finger into the waiting warmth. Experimenting, she pulls it out and skims her nub before dipping it back in again. Heat floods from her core and through her limbs, and she closes her eyes as she pleasures herself in this new way.

A gentle breeze wafts in her open window, and she hears the cicadas and other insects that haunt the mountains where her hometown lies. Her hips move of their own accord, and she’s just about to reach a pinnacle when her cell phone vibrates on the table beside her. She grabs for it and stares at the number, confused why someone she doesn’t know is calling her in the moments before midnight.

“Hello,” she answers roughly and grimaces at the huskiness in her voice.

“Katniss?”

“Who is this?” she demands and pulls her fingers free from the juncture between her thighs and wipes them on the hem of her nightgown. She’s lost her chance to finish.

“It’s Peeta. I’m sorry for calling so late.”

Stunned into silence, she waits for him to continue as the corners of her mouth twitch upward. He couldn’t have known, but knowing he called her while she was masturbating to thoughts of him sends a rush of power through her.

“Peeta,” she whispers, pleased beyond words that he’s reaching out to her.

He coughs, an embarrassed one to hide his nervousness, and continues. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Katniss. I know we were drunk, and you left with Gale, but—”

“But what?” she asks, practically breathless with desire.

“But I meant it all,” he admits, his voice a caress of velvet in her ear. “I’ve liked you for years, Katniss, and I finally worked up the nerve to talk to you, and I’m scared about leaving for college without seeing this through. I’d really like to spend some time with you again this summer.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, I, uh…” he stammers as she trails her hand downward.

“Maybe you can convince me,” she offers. “It’s okay to try.”

She’d been so close before, and the sound of his voice in her ear sends shivers through her. He falters and stutters, but he does as she asks and tries hard to persuade her to meet him later in the week. She makes encouraging noises into the phone as she drives herself closer to the edge. He proposes a specific day and time just as she climaxes. She mumbles a contented “yes,” and he happily thanks her and disconnects the call. Sated, she drops her phone onto the mattress and slips into a deep, dreamless sleep.

****

Their first date is as fun as anything Katniss has experienced, and it turns into another meeting followed by another. Before she knows it, she’s spending every free moment with Peeta and every night alone in her bed furiously relieving her frustration that he hasn’t laid a hand on her since that night in the woods.

Two weeks before he’s supposed to leave for college, she decides she’s going to have to do something to get him to act before it’s too late. When he picks her up, she suggests they head to the Slag Heap, the affectionate name given to the wooded area where high school kids park when they want privacy. Peeta stammers over his words for a few moments before snapping his mouth shut and nodding. He shifts the car into park and taps his fingers on the steering wheel instead of looking at her.

“You think anybody else is going to show up here tonight?” she asks softly and reaches over to put her hand on his leg.

“I—I don’t know.” His voice cracks when he answers, and he coughs nervously.

“Do you know how many times I’ve relived the night of our graduation party?”

“No,” he wheezes as she slides her fingers up his thigh and teases the flap of his jeans. She’s inordinately pleased he seems to be hardening before they’ve even kissed.

“Almost every night, Peeta. Lying in bed…thinking about you…mmm.”

“Thinking about me losing it in my pants?” he asks sheepishly. “I’m sure that’s exactly what you wanted that night.”

“Then maybe we should try again. See if your control is any better.”

She leans forward and kisses him, catching him by surprise and throwing him off balance. She moans at the feel of his lips on hers, and she gasps when Peeta opens his mouth and slides his tongue against hers. Longing so intense it physically hurts floods her, and she fists his t-shirt as she pulls him closer to her.

“Why did it take so long for this to happen?” she groans and twines his curls around her fingers.

“Fear of rejection,” he grunts in response and wraps her braid around his hand.

“None of that here. I want more.”

He kisses her hard and then climbs into the backseat. She scrambles after him and sighs when he runs his palms under her shirt and against her feverish skin. She arches into him, desperate to feel his body against hers. He hesitates briefly and then slips her shirt over her head and tosses it onto the floor. He dips his hand inside her bra and cups her breast as she squirms under his touch. With trembling hands, she reaches for his waist and unbuttons his jeans. He wriggles out of them, and she leans back so he can settle between her legs.

He’s hard, the same way he was the night in the woods, and with only his cotton briefs covering him, he juts upward impressively. Suddenly shy, she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and kisses him deeply. They buck together for a few moments, and she can feel him shudder.

“Peeta, I—”

“I have a condom,” he blurts. “If you want to, I mean. I don’t— I mean, no pressure. Whatever you—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she answers before shedding her clothes. When they’re both naked, they gasp as their skin fuses together.

She hears a tearing sound and presses her forehead to his shoulder as she waits for him to be ready. He nudges her open and rubs the tip of his cock along her slit. She mewls and begs for something she’s not completely sure she understands but wants so desperately she can’t put it into words.

He pushes in slowly as desperate grunts rip from him. She yelps as he fills her, stretching her so far it hurts. He stills for a few moments, trying to control himself, but then he gives in and thrusts into her.

She clutches at his back, her nails digging into his skin as he pumps into her. The pain mingles with the delicious warmth spilling from their joined bodies. His skin slaps against hers, and both of them emit noises that urge the other to continue.

He tenses, and she chants, “Keep going. Don’t stop. Keep going. Don’t stop.”

“Katniss, I can’t— I’m so close,” he whines, clearly trying to hold on as long as possible.

He loses his rhythm, and she flexes around him. With a hoarse groan, he quakes, and she feels him pulse inside her. She rocks her hips against him in a futile attempt to chase him over the edge, but she’s not there yet. Disappointed, she cradles him against her as he struggles to regain his breath.

“Hell,” Peeta finally manages to sputter, “that was… holy hell. And I think I need to work on that stamina thing.”

Katniss bursts into laughter. He’s so droll, so charming, so self-effacing. It’s adorable beyond words, and she rarely uses those anyway.

“I probably wouldn’t complain if you did, but I won’t anyway,” she teases and grins at the bemused smile on his face.

“You’re so considerate.”

“It’s true. I am. That’s what people always say about Katniss Everdeen. Considerate.”

Peeta’s bark of laughter rolls from him and reverberates through her where their skin touches. She’s still so turned on, and she shivers as the waves ripple under her skin. His eyes darken slightly, and she swallows a flash of apprehension.

“Maybe I can make it up to you,” he suggests and shifts to slide down her body.

“Peeta, what are—? Oh my god…”

His tongue traces her slit, and her head falls backward with a thud against the car door. He settles between her legs and pushes her thighs apart so he can gain better access. When she’s splayed open, he proceeds to bury his face in her pussy.

What he’s doing to her feels so good, she can hardly breathe. She tries to stay quiet, but sharp yelps and squeals fall from her lips before she can stop them. When he lays his tongue flat against her clit, she stops thinking and grips his hair to hold on. She curses as he winds her tighter and screams her surrender when she snaps. As she spirals back to earth, she wipes the sweat from her brow and releases an awkward laugh.

“You’re forgiven.”

He chuckles and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before kissing her. “See? You are considerate.”

“No, I think that’s you. You were just very, very, very thorough…I mean, thoughtful. I can’t form sentences.”

“And you haven’t even had anything to drink.”

She hugs him closer and whispers into his ear, “The second best idea you ever had was getting me drunk.”

“Second best, huh?” he asks. “What was the first?”

“Asking me out.”

“Asking or eating?”

His blue eyes are all she can see when he leans in to kiss her again and smothers her bark of laughter. When he finally breaks the kiss, she murmurs her answer.

“Both.”

#everlark fic exchange #springtime edition 2017 #hutchhitched #prompt 23 #xerxia31

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movetogetherau · 7 years

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Move together. A Yousana AU - Chapter 11

Summary, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9 , Chapter 10