#mmmm love some good old fashioned eye horror

[starship-suggestion]

the heat rises from below in paralyzing waves, threatening to drag you away with it. something's melting, something's dripping like tears from what used to be your eyes.

#my post #suggestion #mmmm love some good old fashioned eye horror

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

The Witcher Fanfic, Maiden of Steel

"....Geralt?"

"Dandelion?"

"What are you doing here?" The Witcher and the bard asked in unison. The bard had come for a night of fun, preferably away from The Chameleon. It was fun and all but the stress was starting to get to the bard. So he'd ventured a few days out to Velen. A small bar filled with people happily drinking and laughing. The bard had been regaling the men and women at his table about his adventures. Some would say they were a bit exaggerated, but that's what story telling was for. It was around his third or fourth mug of ale when a black dress caught his eye. Fancy, belonging to someone rich enough to afford that kind of dye.

The woman was turned around, hunched over an empty table. Hey hair was pulled back in a long braid. Instantly he was interested as he made his way over, sitting on the table where her elbows rested.

"Excuse me madam, I couldn't help but notice you're all alone over here. Perhaps I could help remedy that...." The bard trailed off when he saw the face of the person in the said dress. Leading them to the confused exchange before Geralt grabbed the bard by his doublet. Dragging him into a private corner of the bar away from the prying eyes of the others there.

"Oh man Gods...Geralt...that dress..."

"Not a word."

"What? I was just going to say it's not your color." The bard stifled a laugh. Geralt of Rivia. The so called Butcher of Blaviken. In a dress at a bar. If it wasn't for the death glare pointed at him it would be hysterical. "I see you took some of Elihal's pointers in fashion."

"This is for a contract. That's it." Geralt growled out. But Dandelion didn't much care, staring at the hem of the dress. Did the shoes match or was he still wearing the old ugly hunting boots her never seemed to part with?

"And may I ask exactly what kind of contract has you looking so lovely?" The bard batted his eyes in a gesture the Witcher way severely confused by.

"Women are being attacked. Found almost completely drained of their blood. My current bet is a higher vampire."

"I thought they didn't need to drink blood." The bard asked as he took a seat on a nearby bench.

"They don't," Geralt sat across from Dandelion. "This one is doing it for fun. I can't find any trail and my medallion won't work around them. So..."

"You're dressed like a woman in hopes of getting attacked." Dandelion realised.

"Exactly."

"The dress...is it Yennefer's?"

".....maybe." Dandelion held back a snort. To be fair, Geralt looked a lot better in a dress than some women he'd been with.

"And you came to a bar because...?"

"Had to wait until nightfall. Half the idiots here are too drunk to even notice my face. That, and I really needed a drink to be able to do this." Geralt took a swig of his drink and the bard tilted his head.

"What exactly is your plan anyway? Just wander around at night until it comes for you?"

"I've tracked it's basic location. All the woman came from or around this bar. Considering most other women are to afraid to leave their homes right now it should be easy."

"How are you going to defend yourself?"

"A....sword?"

"Where are you...oh." Jaskier's eyes were back to the dress skirt. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I'm wearing a dress. That doesn't suddenly mean I can't fight." Geralt rolled his eyes as he got up to leave. Dandelion sighed at his friend as the Witcher left the bar. About to go back to his table when his eyes caught a man dressed in dark clothing leave just behind Geralt. He already knew what Geralt would say about him getting involved. But really, there were so many things that could go wrong....

Leaving the tavern the bard looked around before seeing the coat of the man who was following Geralt. It was late at night and his bright clothes stood out like a metaphorical black sheep. The bard's attempts at sneaking around could best be described as laughable at best. So when he lost the man it wasn't a surprise. Glancing around the roads he was surprised when a hand grabbed him by the shoulder yanking him back. His yelp cut off by a hand over his mouth. Eyes looking up to see Geralt glaring at him.

"Shhhh," he hissed. Staring at the path in front of their alley way. Moments letter the man from the bar walking by as Geralt moved. "Stay here." The Witcher asked as he pulled out the sword from under the dress. The bard flushed. Flashing back to his time in the Skelliege Islands with one of the sword maidens. Gunhilde, now that was a woman he'd never forget.

Geralt swung the sword towards the vampire but a hand extended out to catch the blade. The Witcher looked surprised as the man pushed him back on the ground. Scrambling for the weapon the vampire laughed.

"You think I didn't notice it was you at the tavern? The great Geralt of Rivia, actually thinking I could be fooled by, that?" He gestured to the dress. Geralt didn't say anything as he approached again.

"You're still here so I don't think it matters." The Witcher hissed out. Dandelion blinked and in a moment the vampire was gone before reappearing behind Geralt. Grabbing him by his left arm and smashing the Witcher's face into a nearby building.

"Hey!" The bard called out from his hiding place, rushing out. Both Geralt and the vampire turned.

"Dandelion..." Geralt tried to warn the bard but he either didn't notice or care.

"Get your hands of him this instant!" The vampire looked down at the Witcher confused.

"Do you know him?"

"Sadly, yes." Geralt took this moment of confusion to turn the creature around. Planting his sword in the vampire's shoulder. It screeched out in pain, face shifting as it's body contorted. Dandelion watched in horror when Geralt pushed him back. "Dandelion, go!" Geralt yelled but the bard didn't move.

"Geralt, let me help! I-" The Bard was cut off by one of the creature's arms...wings? Knocking him back. He landed on the ground with a loud thump. Geralt was about to rush over when the creature shrieked again. Now completely in it's katakan form, even more ugly than before.

"God damn it," Geralt went to move but the dress limited his ability. Barely dodging a side swipe from the creature the Witcher looked down at the skirt. Grabbing the edges he ripped a slit down the side allowing his legs more movement. The creature bristled, getting ready to disappear again when Geralt cast the axii sign. The creature froze, stunned for just a moment. Long enough for Geralt to swing hid sword down on the creature's neck in a killing blow.

There was a wet squelch as it fell to the floor but Geralt paid it no mind. Rushing over to his bard and checking the man over.

"Dandelion, are you okay?" Geralt asked as he shook the bard. The man groaned, eyes slowly opening.

"Mmmm....Ciri?" He mumbled. Geralt sighed.

"Other one." Geralt let a small smile cross his face as he helped the bard up.

"I had the weirdest dream....you were fighting a vampire in a dress...."

"Not a dream. Let's get you to a healer."

" 'm fine," the bard attempted to push off Geralt. He failed miserably.

"I don't think so." Geralt manuevered the concussed and inebriated Dandelion.

"You know....you should wear dresses more often. You look good in them."

"I'll keep that in mind next time."

#the witcher 3 #the witcher #the witcher au #geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #fanfiction

[a-butterfly-on-his-tummy]

Without Kale

“I’m gonna take Ethan upstairs. He needs to be fed and put down for a nap,” you say, bouncing your chunky thirteen month old son in your arms. “Would you mind making Grace some lunch?”

“I can do that.” Harry stands from his desk and makes his way towards you and your son, planting a sweet kiss on your temple before leaning down and giving one to your son as well.

“I think we have some extra chicken in the fridge and a few pitas. You could make the chicken and kale salad sandwich she loves so much.” Smiling at Harry, you make your way out of the office and into the living area.

“I’ll have to look and see if we have kale. I think I used all of it yesterday in my smoothie.” Harry’s teeth clench in an awkward way and his lips spread in a grimace as if he is saying “oops”, worried we may be out of a tasty part of the meal. “We might have to compromise, then go to the store after Stud wakes up from his nap.” He searches the living room for his daughter, but she is nowhere to be found. “Where is she?” Harry asks as you make your way up the stairs to Ethan’s bedroom.

“Outside with Poppy! Will you feed the dog as well? Please?” You ask with a pleading look because feeding Poppy isn’t your favorite thing. Harry insists on wet dog food multiple days during the week to mix things up for her, and let’s be honest, the smell makes you want to vomit. Today is a stinky food day for Poppy.

“Will do. Have a good nap, Stud.” Harry calls to your son as you continue to his bedroom.

Harry saunters into the kitchen, humming a upbeat tune softly. The water pours from the faucet, and he pulls off his rings, the metal clinking against the stone of the countertop adding percussion to his song before squirting soap on his hands. He watches out the window as his daughter throws the green tennis ball across the yard for her furry best friend. His fingers intertwine and rub together, bubbles forming as he scrubs his skin free of all germs. Sliding his four go to fashion accessory on his fingers, he turns towards the refrigerator.

“Blast….” Harry exclaims when he opens the fridge, his eyes searching the shelves for the clear container that typically houses the leafy vegetable. Eyes landing on the vessel, Harry notices a crisp paper towel lining the bottom, prepared for fresh kale to be added after a trip to the store.  Biting his lip, he is hopeful that the meal will taste fine even if missing the best part. Harry mixes the chicken, lemon juice, salt and pepper, chopped apples, and cheese in a bowl, combining the ingredients before filling half of a pita. Cutting up a pear, Harry spreads the fruit artfully on the pink princess plate next to the Mediterranean bread and a handful of cherry tomatoes. Throwing a red ball of deliciousness into his mouth, the skin pops open and the juice squirts flavor on his tongue. “Mmm, that’s good.”

Wiping his hands on a towel, Harry makes his way to the back door, sliding it open towards the vast yard. “Bug, come eat some lunch.” Grace stops mid-throw, the ball falling from her hand and bouncing on the green grass, her head whipping towards her father. She happily calls for Poppy before they both run towards the house, excited for their respective meals.

“What’s for lunch?” Grace’s breathing is labored after her sprint into the kitchen. Her eyes land on the pink princess plate before her father can answer.  “Oh, Chicken and Kale pita. Yummy.” Licking her lips she climbs on the barstool, ready to chow down.

“Hey, before you eat, I need you to wash your hands.” Harry instructs his daughter, who rolls her eyes before hopping off the stool. She drags her feet around the island, opening the cupboard under the sink.  Placing her hands on either side of the stool she pulls back, shuffling her feet, her bum leading the way. Standing on the first step, she squirts a tiny drop of soap on the edge of her fingers, rubbing them together fast, missing the obvious spots of dirt. Looking over at her father who is pouring food into Poppy’s dish, Grace dries her hands and calls her subpar hand washing good enough.

“Bad news, Grace; we are out of kale. But I made everything else the same so it should taste fine.” Harry leans on the counter as his daughter hops back on the seat.

“We are out of kale?” The expression that appears on Grace’s face is akin to the moment when a child’s favorite toy breaks, that middle emotion of horror and sadness. “I don’t want it.” She drops her head on her hands. “The kale is the only good part.”

“Oh Bug, I promise it tastes good. Plus you need the protein and energy.” Harry pushes. “If you eat, then after Ethan wakes up we can go to the store. Get more kale.”

“I don’t want it.” Grace pushes her food towards her father, not making eye contact with Harry. Frustrated puffs of air escape her mouth as she looks at her plate that is missing a key ingredient.

“Well, this is what we are having. You know the rule, Bug. You eat what we make, or you can choose to go hungry.” Harry shrugs his shoulders and pops another tomato into his mouth.

“But I’m starving.” Grace whines.

“Then here is your lunch.” Harry pushes the plate towards his daughter.

“I want good food. That’s gross food. I don’t want that!” She yells back at her dad, pushing the plate hard enough for it to almost fall off the edge.

“Grace Gemma.” Harry says softly in a tone that means business. “Please keep your voice down. Ethan is trying to nap.”

“But. I’m. Hungry.” She lets out. Her eyes fill with tears the size of the raindrops that pour from the London sky, creating rivers down her cheeks, wetting her shirt with sadness.

“Then eat.” Harry places the plate in front of her again. “Food is available right here. See, Poppy likes her lunch.” Pointing towards the dog, Harry shows his daughter that their pet is almost done with her meal.

“I want kale.” Grace cries, throwing her head in the crook of her elbow as she sobs for the leafy vegetable. Harry watches as his daughter cries. Taking a deep breath, Harry feels for his child. If he woke up in the morning and all the kale was gone, he would have the same reaction. A light bulb pings above his head with an idea. If he was in this predicament, he knows what would help him.  So he decides to try and make light of the situation.

“Just stop your cryin’ and eat your lunch.”  Harry begins. “I know that we’re out of kale, but that doesn’t mean you’re in jail.” Harry continues as he smiles at his clever wording, the pride wafting off of him like a kale and cheese omelette fresh off the pan.  

“I want kale; that's why I’m crying.” Grace sobs dramatically. “I want kale.” Harry decides his new rendition of Sign of the Times isn’t working and feels the need to change it up.

“Eat your pita. WOO HOO. Tasty Pita. WOO HOO. It has chicken, WOO HOO and yummy cheese WOOOO HOOOO.” Harry sings, but his song just makes things worse. Grace pushes the plate further away and cries louder.

“Stop singing, Daddy!” Grace whines, throwing her hands over her eyes. “I just want kale. No more music.”

Harry chuckles at his daughter’s reaction. Kale over music. Whose child is she? As sad as it is to watch her cry, Harry feels that he needs to stick to the rules. Eat what we have or nothing at all. A new song pops in his head, and he begins to try again to make her smile.

“Just a little bit of your lunch, Just a little bit of your lunch, Just a little bit of your lunch is all you need.” Harry tickles her arm and Grace pulls away, her pout so big it would sour a beautiful sunny day, upset at the fact that he is trying to brighten her mood. So he changes the song again.

“I’m tempted you know, to send you away without eating. (Quack)” Harry sways to the beat of his song. “Grace. G-Grace. La la la la la la la la G-Grace. Grace.”

“Stop.” Grace cries louder as her father grooves to the music. “I’m hungry, and I want kale.”

“Well my love, I am not sure what to tell you. We don’t have any kale, and I’m sorry. I wish I did. If you eat your lunch, then we can go get more kale from the store.” Harry tries to rationally explain the situation to his daughter. Lifting her head and letting it drop backwards, she wails at her father's words. At this, Harry decides that his songs aren’t going to work, and it is time to bring in the big guns. Picking up a pear, he holds it between his two fingers and begins a masterpiece of his lifetime.

“Eat the pear. Do do do do do do. Eat the pear. Do do do do do do.” He dances the pear towards Grace as he sings one of the most annoying songs ever to exists. “Eat the pear do do do do do do.” The pear comes to a halt as close as it can to Grace’s lips without touching. Harry says a silent prayer in his head as Grace’s eyes move from the pear to his face and back to the pear. Opening her mouth, she snaps the end off the pear and starts to chew, the final tears that have pooled in her eyes releasing and rolling down her rosy cheeks.

“Was that good? Do do do do do do. Was that good? Do do do do do do. Was that good? Do do do do do do do do.” Harry stops and waits for her to nod yes. His fingers dance towards the plate and pick up the red vegetable and he swims the food towards her lips. “How ‘bout tomato? Do do do do do. How ‘bout Tomato? Do do do do do do. How ‘bout tomato? Do do do do do do do do.” Grace has stopped crying as she opens her mouth with a giggle. Allowing the vegetable to drop in her mouth and crunch under her teeth, her bite sprays the juice around her mouth.

“Mmmm, that was yummy.” Grace giggles, a smile spreading across her face. Harry grins back at his daughter and decides to take a risk. Grasping the pita in his hands he begins to fly it towards his daughter.

“This is yummy, do do do do do do do. This is yummy, do do do do do do. This is yummy, do do do do do do do do.” Harry stops the sandwich in front of her face. Grace looks down at the concoction in her father’s hand and sniffs it before sticking out her tongue and licking the chicken that is sticking out of the top.

“Are you sure?” Grace says, unconvinced that it will still taste good without the leafy green.

“Try it. If you don’t like it, we can go to the store right now and buy some kale. Deal?” Harry negotiates.

“Okay.” Grace opens her mouth and takes a bite, chewing the chicken salad in her mouth, allowing her taste buds to take in the flavor. “The kale makes it better.” She says after swallowing. “But it’s okay.”

“You like it?” Harry shouts in excitement.

“Shhh daddy. Ethan is sleeping, ‘member?” Grace reprimands and then begins to giggle.

“Oh yea. I’m glad you like it.” He smiles. “Should we continue?” Harry picks up a pear and smirks at his daughter.

“Eat a pear. Do do do do do do.” Grace starts, tilting her head back and forth with the tune. Harry joins his daughter and they make their way through lunch singing different variations of Baby Shark, giggling until their tummies are full and hurt from the laughter.

#Without Kale #The adventures of Harry and Grace #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #dad!harry #dad harry #original writing #harry fluff

[tysonrunningfox]

Eret III: New Traditions

Ok, so this is only like half of the chapter I had planned, but I need some fuel in my audience tanks because my dickbag father learned I wrote fanfiction and mocked me for a good while about it so...take this?  It’s good?  I think, it’s really funny to me, at least.  

Previous Chapters (Updated until this chapter)

One time, when I was nine, I put a live worm into Mom’s batch of Yaknog.  Dad said it tasted better that year.  

Aurelia is young, so young, and naïve, so naïve.  She looks excited when she sees Mom setting out mugs on the table next to this big, frothy pot.  Stoick wrinkles his nose and I like him more every day.  

“I left it a little later this year,” Mom grins at me apologetically, like she forgot to feed Bang, “planning the feast and everything and I asked Ruffnut if I should make enough for the tribe and she said no, but this is what I have so far.”

“What is it?”  Aurelia frowns when she peeks over the edge of the pot.

“It’s Yaknog,” I step up beside her and grab a mug, holding it out with a big, plastic smile as I step carefully on her toe, “we love Yaknog.”  

“We do?”  Stoick sniffs again and Mom stirs the pot like she’s not sure that it’s right.  

I don’t know why we do this. We’ve always done it, as long as I can remember, and Arvid and I made it a game, dumping it out the door and into Bang’s mouth in the most creative way possible.  One time Arvid arced his into the fireplace and smoked us out of the living room.  He always said I was cheating because Bang was willing to come to any window for me. Dad always choked down a mug, Ingrid tended to take hers outside to ‘share’.  Rolf was the only one who refused, staring at mom with that irritatingly superior glare of his.  

Mom loves Snoggletog, more than I loved it as a tiny kid when it was all presents and legends. The dragons were gone, I was never a fan.  

“I didn’t like it so much at Stoick’s age either, Mom, it’s an ah…acquired taste.”  I barely hold back a laugh as Aurelia takes her first sip and her eyes bulge out of her face.  She spits it back into the mug and I give her a hard look.  Then a pleading look.  

“I’ll work on acquiring it,” Aurelia smiles, her fakest, most princess smile.  

“It’s worth acquiring.” I knock my mug against hers and fake a big gulp.  The smell is worse this year, which is always true even though it always seems impossible.

“I’m not ready yet, Mommy.” Stoick shakes his head, looking at me with baby terror eyes for approval I’m somehow now sanctioned to give.  

I wink at him and he laughs, “don’t waste it on me.”  

Never mind, he’s a little shit.  

“Can you go wake your dad up?”  Mom seems a little deflated that Stoick isn’t saying any so I take a careful fake gulp. Aurelia mimics me, but she actually takes a sip, her eyebrows practically curling at the taste as she forces it down.  

Ha, sucker.  

“Yeah, sure,” Stoick turns to run up the stairs and Mom looks at Aurelia like she expects her to betray me and give up more than two decades of Snoggletog tradition.  

“Aurelia, I wanted to talk to you.”  Mom says in her serious voice and Aurelia raises an eyebrow at me like I owe her a warning.  

“Yeah?”  Opening her mouth must intensify that…yakky taste in the yaknog and she almost gags, eyes bulging slightly.  Mom apparently thinks it looks enough like fear and she nods at one of the chairs at the table.  

“Sit.”  

“Why?”  Aurelia hedges, like she thinks there’s a way out of this and I fake another sip glancing around for the nearest place to dump it, because if the level in my mug doesn’t go down soon, Mom will get suspicious all over me instead.  

“Sit,” she repeats and it’s not a suggestion that time.  

I see my goal. Aurelia isn’t playing, of course, because she doesn’t know the game yet, but maybe I can teach her if I make a first spectacular play.  I’m going to dump my yaknog back into the pot.  

Aurelia does sit, crossing her arms like she knows she can’t defy the order but she’s also not thrilled about having to follow it and I edge around the table to stand closer to Mom, faking another sip and crossing my arms like I’m with the lecturer, not the lecturee.  I just have to wait until Mom looks away and when I can just…plop it in.  Maybe even pretend I’m getting another ladleful. Aurelia won’t tell on me if she gets that there’s the potential to kick my ass, I know her that well.  

Mom looks at me expectantly for a moment, and I know she wants me to leave, but I take another fake contented fake sip, hiding the grimace as I lick the foam mustache off my upper lip.  It’s prickly like I never let it get, but shaving over the bruise has been too irritating so I’m scruffier than I think I’ve ever been.  I don’t hate it the way I used to, even when it tastes like yaknog.

“Fine,” Mom sighs, shaking her head like she’s more tired than she’s been looking lately, “Aurelia, I want you to be careful with Arvid.”  

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Aurelia holds her fingers a few inches apart, “I’m like this big.”  

“I’m not talking about you hurting him, I’m talking about him hurting you.”  Mom looks at me again like it’s another opportunity for me to leave and I almost take her up on it, but if she goes to talk to Aurelia any more earnestly I’ll have my opportunity.  

That and I don’t like secrets.  I want to hear everything so that nothing never comes out of nowhere again.  Even if it’s gross.  

“Do you really need to hear this, Eret?”  Mom asks and I shrug.  

“Don’t I also need to worry about Arvid hurting me?”  I point at my eye.  Mom frowns. One of those very real, terrifying frowns that tells me there might be something I still don’t know.  

“You need to get out of the house, that’s what you need.”  She shakes her head.  Aurelia snickers.  

“The chief says I’m not ready.”  

Mom rolls her eyes and looks back at Aurelia like she’s determined to ignore me.  

“He’s your son, shouldn’t you trust him?”  It’s a play Aurelia shouldn’t use, because Mom sees right through it, face hardening in that way that always made me want to listen.  

“Right, because this one’s never up to anything,” she points at me.  

“Hey!  Don’t bring me into this—”

“Then leave,” Aurelia and Mom say in almost unison and I shrug.  

“I’ll be quiet.”  

“Right,” Mom sighs, “that’s likely.  But, Aurelia, just let me get this out before Stoick and your father come back down but…but it’s not that I don’t trust Arvid.  It’s that I know him very well.”  She swallows, “and I know that he’s softer than he looks—”

“Not his fists,” I mumble. They both ignore me.  

“—and that he won’t own up to that.  And that makes him dangerous.”  

“Not to me.”  Aurelia sounds like the chief, for a second, and I think Mom catches it too.  I think Mom’s caught it before, I think Mom’s heard it in me more times than she can count. Aurelia sounds like a skinny, sixteen year old twerp insisting that a Night Fury or a Forest Fire or an Arvid isn’t going to destroy her.  

“To everyone.”  Mom sighs, “he’s a lot like—like his father,” she catches herself and I wonder what she was going to say because nothing that she’s saying sounds anything like the dad I knew before I betrayed him by growing into my face, “he has everything he needs to hurt everyone around him.  I’m just saying be careful.”  She looks at me again and I realized I missed my in depth conversational chance to dump the yaknog.  It doesn’t seem to matter as much as it did.  

“Daddy’s up!” Stoick bounds down the stairs, giving the Yaknog pot a wide berth and hugging Mom. She turns away long enough for me to dump my mug and Aurelia opens her mouth at me, insulted.  

I mouth ‘do better’ and she looks down at her own mug, then out the window, like she’s four.  

“Took you a while,” Mom ruffles his hair and he runs back over to Bang, sitting down in my blankets and looking suspiciously at my empty yaknog mug.  Mom follows his gaze and holds out the ladle.  “Want another?”  

“Mom, come on, I do have a figure to maintain.”  I say it just to make her and Aurelia roll their eyes and it works and the chief strolls in, frowning at them and then me.  

“What’s funny?”  He asks.  

“No one’s laughing, why would you think anything’s funny?”  Aurelia gets up to stalk away, the way she has been since the last incident with her and Bang and the chief.  She grins at me, only me, and dumps her yaknog out the nearest window when no one’s looking.  

I give her a thumbs down and she narrows her eyes.  

“That’s how you all act when I’m funny, I just assumed.”  The chief laughs at his own joke.  Which isn’t even really a joke, let alone a funny joke, and Mom smiles because she has no sense of humor.  

“Are you sure you don’t want more, Eret?”  Mom offers again and I shake my head.  

“Nah, I gotta leave some for the chief.  It’s been decades probably, since he’s had some good old fashioned Hofferson yaknog. If he’s ever had the privelage, I don’t know.”  I shrug. I do know because the chief is looking at me with half horror and half confusion, like he thinks I might actually be trying to be nice but my taste buds are confused.  “I don’t want to know either, but…”

“Oh yeah, I guess.” Mom frowns but when she looks at the chief it softens slightly in that way I hate.  “Do you want some?”  

“Do I want some?  The smell woke me up.”  He picks up a mug and she ladles into it, “in the best way possible. Like mmmm, yaknog.”  

“Oh,” Mom brightens the way she used to when Dad asked for it.  I hate that too.  It’s better when she acts different around the chief, when they speak in some language that died out only to be briefly revived for the vast mistake of my birth.

She watches him take a sip. His eyes bulge out of his head and he barely grimaces at me as he swallows before forcing a big, yaknog stained grin onto his face.  

“Tastes like ‘Snoggletog’ sounds.”  He makes a fake sound of satisfaction and ok, if Aurelia is going to be a lame opponent, this is a game I can play.  

“I’ll have another cup, Mom.”

I take a big fake gulp of what she hands me and when the chief tries to counter, wincing the whole time, I pour half my mug into Bang’s eager mouth.  Stoick’s old enough to get the joke and his eyes light up when I shush him.  

The chief’s eyes bug out when he sees how much I ‘drank’ and I shrug.  

“It’s good this year, what can I say?”  

“And here I thought you forgot all your manners.”  Mom’s smiling though as she looks around, “now, who wants to go outside and decorate?” She looks at me.  

Aurelia looks at her dad and shrugs, “I’ll do it.”  

“How are you going to get up to the hooks on the roof?”  The chief frowns at her and I see all that defiant fire light up behind Aurelia’s expression.  

“It’s called a ladder.”

“You could borrow—”

“I don’t want a dragon,” she snaps.  “There’s a ladder in the barn, I’ve got it—”

“I’ll help you with the ladder,” Mom offers, glaring at the chief in a way that I shouldn’t like so much.

“I’ve got it, Mom, where are the decorations?”  

I almost get up to help but Mom nods, “in that crate above where Stormfly likes to sleep in the back corner.”  

“Ok,” Aurelia nods, patting Stoick’s shoulder on the way out of the front door.  

It’s considerably colder inside once she leaves and the chief tries to break the silence with a hearty swallow of yaknog.  I fake follow him, slipping the rest of my mug to Bang’s mouth.  Bang’s stomach growls and Stoick giggles.  

“I just don’t know why she’s making everything so hard for herself,” the chief says, chugging his yaknog to avoid Mom glaring at him.  He gags. I get up to ask for more because I know for a fact that Bang can hold four mugs before he throws up.  

“You of all people should know that,” Mom rolls her eyes as she gives me another mug.  I don’t know why she never has any, but it’s the one thing that’s probably kept this tradition going for so long.  Knowing Mom she probably just doesn’t want to take it from anyone else.  

“She knows Bang isn’t going to eat her by now,” the chief looks at Stoick like he can lighten the mood, “right?”  

“She doesn’t like flying, daddy,” he shrugs, standing up and scrambling over Bang’s back to lay on top of him.  Bang sighs, content with the attention, the gust of air ruffling the chief’s ever present stack of to do lists.  

“I’ll uh…I’ll take some more yaknog?”  The chief asks and Mom’s irritated expression softens slightly.  She takes his mug and refills it and he takes a sip with a strangled little hum.  

I wonder how long it’s going to take him to turn green, honestly.  I wonder how much yaknog one chief can take before it goes badly.  

There’s a thud on the wall and a creak and Bang lifts his head to look at me, worried.  He burps.  It smells like yak and nog and death and I’m not sure which is more prominent.

“Do you think she’s ok?” It’s the most worried I’ve ever heard the chief sound about Aurelia but it’s also clear that he doesn’t know at any level just how resourceful she is.  

“I’m sure she’s fine. She’s sixteen, Hiccup, it’s a ladder.” Mom doesn’t sound as harsh as I want her to and the chief drinks more yaknog.  

Stoick leans down to pull Bang’s lower lip back for me to pour some in.  It makes me miss what Rolf and I never had, because damn, if Rolf had been cool, being a little, innocent looking partner in crime would have been fun.

The chief looks at me for a second and I’m scared I’m caught so I take a real sip, barely holding back a shiver as it accidentally touches the side of my tongue.  

“How long has it been since you shaved?”  He asks and I scratch my cheek.  

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably the morning this happened,” I gesture to the still green bruise on my cheek and eye and he raises his eyebrows.

“That all happened in a couple of weeks?  When did your beard come in, holy Thor?”  

“I started shaving when I was twelve.”  I try not to sound too proud, but it’s the one thing I’ve always had when everyone else had muscles and above average balance.  “I had the same shaving lesson as Rolf, that really pissed him off given he was eighteen and only had 3 chin hairs.”  

“I guess that skips a generation,” the chief scratches his face and I fake gulp to cover that smug grin.

I think of the Stoick statue, the beard hanging down to its chest.  That’s another comparison I can live with.  

“Maybe it’s the yaknog. I bet it puts hair on anyone’s face if they drink enough.”  

He looks at me almost desperately for a moment before taking a sip.  

Stoick holds his hand out, “can I try it, Eret?  I’m ready for my beard.”  He winks.

“Sure, it’s a lot of responsibility though.  Shaving every day, it’s itchy.  Everyone calls it patchy even though it’s not.”  

“It used to be,” Mom cuts in, “remember when you tried to grow it out when you were what? Thirteen? It was patchy then.”  

“It was not,” I scratch my chin again, suddenly hyperaware of the scruff while everyone talks about it, “it was just itchy.  And too warm.”  

“And patchy,” Mom looks at the chief like they’re sharing some joke and I look away.  Stoick takes a very convincing fake sip for an eight year old and rubs his stomach, making an exaggerated yum sound.  “You want your own?”  

“No thanks,” Stoick barely doesn’t wince as he licks the residue off of his lip.  “I don’t know if I’m ready to shave yet.”  

“Good call,” I slip another sip to Bang.  

“Well it’s not patchy now,” the chief looks at Mom again like he’s trying to get her attention. Like they have some inside joke he’s trying to reference.  “Any girls notice it yet?”  

“Is it just the morning of dating lectures?”  I snort. The truth is girls as a concept is still utterly tainted by the fact I held a torch for my sister for the better part of a decade.  I don’t say that though, because everyone else needs to forget about it before it can disappear wholly from my life and be stuck in the gloomiest, most forbidden, bewilderbeast guarded corner of my memory.  

“I’m just asking,” the chief looks at me like he knows something I don’t and I scoff.

“Yes, all the ladies are absolutely climbing over each other to pet my beard.  It is the talk of the village, don’t you hear them all pounding on the door to get in?”  

Aurelia’s ladder thumps against the side of the house again.  I wince.  Mom and the chief laugh, sharing a look I don’t really understand.  Stoick laughs too, looking at me purposefully and tugging at Bang’s lip.  I pour the rest of my mug in and hold it up.  

“Can I get some more, Mom?”

“It must be good this year.”

“Oh.  It is.”  The chief is starting to look pale as he holds out his mug for another.  I don’t know why he doesn’t just stop but then Mom smiles at him and I know why.  

Because he thinks he loves her.  He might even, he’s not being a dick anymore.  

“I didn’t do anything different.”  

“You never had to,” the chief says and that’s too much.  That’s…Mom’s looking at him like she believes it, like she wants to hear it and I wish Aurelia were here to roll her eyes with me and make it seem obnoxious not…quietly devastating.  

Because I still remember her and my dad and that look without the questions.  

I chug the yaknog.  I do it for real, because it’s the play I have, because I know the chief will do it too, because I want him too green and miserable to say things like that.  I make an exaggerated refreshed sound when I finish the mug, smacking my lips together and licking the foam out of my moustache.  I’m going to puke later.  It’s cool.  It’s worth it because apparently the chief is going to puke now, because he lurches to his feet and out the back door, spilling his guts off of the porch.  

Mom stares after him, confused and more concerned than I want her to be.  Stoick laughs and asks for a high five, because he’s an eight year old boy and I’m not afraid to admit that he’s right in tune with my sense of humor.

Mom follows the chief out the back and I go out the front, rounding to corner to tell Aurelia, because if anyone’s going to think this is as funny as I do, it’s her.  

She’s standing backwards on the second rung of the ladder, face attached to Arvid’s like a whispering death who just found the ideal place to dig a deep, dark, disgusting hole.  

“Oh.  Shit.”  

Arvid pulls back but it’s not on my account because he’s looking at Aurelia in a super gross, really baffled way and she says something I can’t hear, cheeks bright red.  

“Am I interrupting something?”  

“Just decorating,” she looks at me levelly, like she’s just daring me to go punch him because he is on my side of the island after all.  He still hardly seem to notice that I’m here.  “Isn’t the house beautiful?”  

I should go punch him.

I don’t want to.  I don’t want to fight with him, and he’s not forcing it on me right now.  My stomach churns and I can’t tell if it’s yaknog or the build up to another fight.

“Never mind, I’ll just—”

She takes her hands off of Arvid, finally, which…eww.  

“What is it?”

“Nothing just…the chief drank three mugs of yaknog and he’s outside puking.”  

“Oh,” Aurelia climbs down, looking at Arvid semi-seriously, “We should probably get Wingspark out of here before she has to put up with my dad trying to charm her—”

“That’s probably—”  I mean to say that’s a good idea, because it also deals with Arvid getting off my half of the island.  But then I gag, and it’s definitely yaknog, made no better by the fact that my siblings were just viscerally, visually making out in front of my face.  “Oh shit,” I run around the corner and join the chief, emptying my stomach onto the grass.  

He’s just straightening up.  Mom’s hand is on his back.  I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and don’t hear Wingspark take off.  Aurelia’s laughing about something.  The chief is still pale and shivering.  

It’d be funny if I didn’t feel another heave coming on.  

“Did you two eat something?”  Mom asks and the chief laughs.  

“More like drank something.”  

“Don’t,” I caution him, even though the secret’s out.  

“What are you talking about?”  

“In the name of uh…gastric honesty,” the chief shudders and stands up. Mom’s hand is still on his back. I slump down and sit against the side of the house, ignoring the tinkle of chain and Aurelia’s laugh because apparently they’re still here.  “Yaknog isn’t—”

“C’mon chief.”  My head flops back against the wall, “this tradition is older than I am.”  

“Yaknog isn’t…great.”  

Mom looks at him then at me, then at the mess in the snow in front of us. She wrinkles her nose.  

“I…I never was a fan, myself.”  

“Then why’d you keep making it?”  The chief laughs, wiping sweat off of his brow.  

“Everyone seemed to like it so much.”  Mom laughs too, and she doesn’t look devastated like I feared she would.

“Because it made you so happy,” he swallows, wincing, “and it’s so endearing that you like Snoggletog so much.  No one wanted to ruin it.”  

She punches him in the arm, “so you all lied to me and drank it for decades?”

“Dad told us never to tell you it sucked,” I scratch my head, “Arvid and I had a game for years of disposing of it secretively.”  

Aurelia stops laughing.  I hear a rustle then Wingspark taking off.  He heard that and I don’t know how to feel about it.  It didn’t make him any less mad or he wouldn’t have left.  

“Instead of hurting my feelings about a drink, you all put on an elaborate act of liking it and made yourselves sick?”  

“Eret made me sick,” the chief rubs his arm like he doesn’t mind that it hurts, “I didn’t realize he wasn’t drinking that much of it and I was trying to keep up.”  

“Sucker.”  I snort. Mom thwacks the top of my head.  

“You’re both ridiculous.  You could have just told me.”  She goes back inside and the chief offers me his hand to help me up.  

I look at it for a second before taking it and standing, brushing snow off of the back of my pants.  

“We couldn’t have told her,” he shakes his head, “she’s only barely mature enough not to kill us both over it now, let alone years ago.”  

“I wouldn’t trust it.  I’m gonna watch my back,” I take a step backwards because this feels weird.  It feels conspiratorial.  It feels like that common ground I try so hard to avoid.  

“Probably best.”  

It’s a quiet day before Snoggletog.  Quiet compared to what I’m used to.  Aurelia isn’t back and Dad isn’t telling stories and Ingrid isn’t throwing axes. Arvid and I aren’t trying to sneak away for a flight on Bang because by Snoggletog it always feels like it’s been years and Mom never wanted me to ride when my siblings couldn’t.  

Mom’s fixing something.  The chief is reading a document, but he doesn’t seem that preoccupied by it, because he keeps getting caught staring at Mom.  He doesn’t care when I catch him, just gives me some hapless look that makes me wonder how anyone’s ever been scared of The Great Chief Hiccup of Berk. When Mom catches him he shrugs and looks at Stoick like him staring has something to do with his son.  

Stoick is playing maces and talons with Bang.  Bang is winning.  

I’m sharpening my dagger and waiting for Aurelia to come back, as pathetic as that sounds.  It’s one of those days where without the forge or chiefing duties or aimlessly flying around, I don’t really have many hobbies anymore.  They were all about this way of life that just doesn’t pertain to me anymore, they were about messing with things I just have to fix now or learning things I now wish I never had.  

It’s been a couple of hours when someone knocks on the door and Mom moves to get it.  The chief jumps up and stares at her for a second before stepping forward.  

“I got it, Astrid.”  

“Oh.  Ok, thanks.” She sits back down.  She avoids looking at me.  I make a stupid face and she still doesn’t look and it’s wrong.  

The chief opens the door.  

“Oh, hey Fuse, what’s up?”  

“Nothing, I was just supposed to meet—”

“Eret?” The chief supplies before looking at me, too excited.  Like he’s excited for alone time with Mom, because we all know Stoick isn’t watching out for what he needs to be.  

I stand up and look around the door and Fuse raises a hand in greeting.

“Well, I was actually here to see Aurelia, but hey—”

“Hey Fuse, come in!”  The chief waves her inside and she hesitates a moment before listening.  She nods at Stoick.  Stoick looks at her with that disarming and oddly terrifying curiosity and she looks at me.  

“Nice beard.”  

“Oh.  I haven’t shaved.”  I scratch my cheek.  She gives me that face like I’m an idiot and I smile.  “What are you doing here?”  

“Like I said, Aurelia was supposed to meet me but she didn’t show up.”  

“Ah.  She’s uh…busy,” I shrug.  “I’d offer you some yaknog but—”

“But thirty years is enough for a joke on your mother,” Mom stands up, “long time no bombing my house, huh Fuse?”  

“It was never your house,” Fuse looks almost authentically apologetic, “it was always Arvid’s house.”  

“Right,” Mom seems to accept the not apology and honestly, I don’t think I’m ever going to understand women.  

The chief is just…staring at us like he’s expecting us to do something and Stoick climbs off of Bang, cocking his head at Fuse.  

“Are you going to blow us up again?”  

“No, I’ve never blown you up.”  She looks at me for help and I nod, encouraging her.  She’s a youngest kid too and kids are hard.  “You’re still here.”  

“Uh, she doesn’t mean that.”  I say before Stoick can be scared and the chief is still staring and Mom looks pissed like she lost something, not like she’s defending me and I direct Fuse towards the door, “let’s talk outside.”  

“I’ll give you kids your privacy,” the chief looks like he’s won something, which is scarier than Mom losing.  

“We don’t need privacy,” I say, looking at Stoick again, because all we really need is lack of fragility.  

“Ok.”  The chief shugs, “whatever you want.  I’m just saying none of us are going anywhere—”

“Why would I care if you went anywhere?”  

“Drop it, Hiccup,” Mom rolls her eyes but she doesn’t necessarily look upset. I stare at her for a second before turning back to Fuse.  

“Yes, outside, that’s a good idea.”  I follow her out and we walk around the side of the house, the same side where Arvid and Aurelia were kissing earlier, which, gross, I have to talk about now.  “So what’s up?  Why are you looking for Aurelia?”  

“Like I’ve said twice now, we were supposed to meet and she didn’t show up.”

“Oh.  About what? Can I help?”  

“No,” she shakes her head and looks at me a second too long.  She glances down at the beard.  

“So it’s not about dragons?  What else would you two be talking about?”    

“I didn’t come to be interrogated.”  She raises an eyebrow but halfway smiles at the same time.  “Where is she, anyway?”  

“She and Arvid…have uh…escalated,” I do something with my hands that’s meant to be kissing and Fuse laughs.  At me, not with me, and gods, the beard must look worse than I thought.  

“Figures.”  

“Yeah, I mean, it’s about time.”  I shake my head, “things were getting a little too uncomplicated around here, something had to happen.”  

She nods.  It’s too quiet, and I don’t do well with quiet.  I shrug and point at the door, “want to go for a ride?”  

“What?”  

“On Bang, I mean, Hotgut’s been gone for a while now, right?  You must be missing flying?  If you don’t want to, I mean, it’s cold, but—”

“I can’t, right now, I mean I would but I really had to talk to Aurelia.” She shrugs and punches me in the arm, not hard enough.  “And it’s cold but maybe some other time?”  

“Yeah, sure.  Gotta get everyone their dragon fix, chief’s duty, I guess.”  

She raises an eyebrow and waves again, “so I’m going to go now.”  

“And I’m going to go on that flight.  I think.  In case, you know, anyone else is missing their dragon more than you, or whatever.”

“Ok.”  She turns to leave and I feel like I should offer her a ride home, again, but she didn’t want that and…

And I could really use a flight.  

#eret iii #festerverse #the tragic son #hiccstrid #whoop there's that tag again...