#cooldadtuffnut
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Open Flames: Part 14
I know 3 things: Smitelout is too powerful for this world, Festercup makes me fucking cry, and Tuffnut is my favorite
This is a big chapter, both content and length, and tbh, I sat on it way too long, it just took me forever to stab my boy and get here.
Masterpost (Note to self, update tonight, part 13 has .1, .2, and .3)
“Odin’s saggy ballsack,” I swear under my breath as the bandage around my forearm bleeds through for the third time. I can’t even feel it, I’m too sick from fighting with Fuse and tired from dealing with Elva’s visit and my head is throbbing worse than the knife wound. It reminds me that the fucker who did it is alive and in our one jail cell, because I don’t even get to make that decision.
I pause at the edge of the dark square, pressing my torn sleeve hard against the wound to try and stop the bleeding with pressure. The linen and wool soak through in a few seconds and I swear under my breath, looking up at the chief’s dark house and sighing.
I don’t want to go up there.
I don’t want the chief to see me bleed, not after tonight.
And Fuse is mad at me and I deserve it and I don’t remember the last time I felt so absolutely alone.
And my arm does need stitches, clearly, because it’s still oozing through my sleeve and dripping down the back of my hand and off my fingertips. I’m glad Bang isn’t with me, he’d be freaking out. I almost think I’d be freaking out if I had any energy left to put into it.
I look around the square again, hoping some option will jump out at me, and my eye catches on the forge’s dark windows. I bet Smitelout has a needle and some thread in there, she has to for saddles, and I’ve stitched Arvid up before. It wasn’t this big of a cut but it wasn’t hard. Luckily it’s my left arm.
I use the key I know is hidden above the door frame to let myself in and shove my bloody sleeve up to see the wound before throwing some kindling on the fire and giving myself some light. It takes a minute to tie a clean rag around my arm, just below my elbow, and tighten it enough that my fingers start to go numb and the bleeding slows down enough for me to clean the cut. It’s not even that bad, I don’t know why it won’t stop bleeding. I know it didn’t hit any big vessels because it never spurted blood, only infuriatingly oozed for hours and hours.
Finding Smitelout’s sewing kit is easy too. There aren’t any curved needles and the thinnest thread in the box is thicker than I would really like it to be, but this is better than going to the chief’s house. It’s better than admitting I fought with Fuse and not being able to tell anyone why.
She cried and I couldn’t make it better. She was crying and she was right and somehow, I really am as bad as the chief if I’ve made Fuse feel so alone. Godsdammit, I don’t know how to make this up to her or myself or anyone. I don’t know what to do.
The first stitch through my arm provides some sense of clarity, because right now, I actually do know what to do. At least for as long as it takes to sew myself up. And it’s harder to focus than I would have imagined because the slow pinch and drag of the too thick thread through my skin hurts more than I expected, even with my fingers numb from my makeshift tourniquet. My right hand starts to shake by the third stitch and luckily I’m taking a quick break when the door slams open.
“What the Hel are you doing in here, Twerp?” Smitelout stomps inside, dropping an armful of weapons on her anvil and pausing when she sees my arm on the counter.
“Oh, you know, catching up on some forging. How about yourself?” I want her to leave and unfortunately, being nice is the quickest way to make that happen.
“Are you stitching up your own fucking arm?” Her tone is irritatingly familiar and I scowl at her.
“Are you using your mom voice on me?”
“You break into my forge,” she pulls a stool over with her toe, plopping down on it and trying to take the needle from my hand. I reflexively try to keep it from her and the cord yanks my arm hard enough that I wince and whimper. She uses my one moment of weakness to snatch the needle away from me, her touch on my hand surprisingly gentle as she pulls it towards her. “You steal my favorite rag, you steal my needle and my favorite thread--”
“I’m just borrowing the needle, technically--”
“I don’t want it back, Twerp, that’s disgusting.” She presses my arm to the table and wrinkles her nose, “these stitches are awful, I really should take them out and start over.”
“I can do it myself.”
“You can botch it yourself,” she scoffs, “are you trying to prove how tough you are or something? Because I think you already bragged about that enough by taking a knife to the arm for no reason.”
“Right, I should have just let it stab the chief of an ally tribe, gotcha, I’ll keep that under advisement.”
“Hold still,” she grabs my hand, pressing the back of it flat to the counter and moving to pinch my skin together with disconcertingly gentle fingers that don’t match her tone at all. Her stitches hurt less and are closer together, her wrist moving smoothly like she does this all the time. “You should really let a healer do this, as much as I fully believe you’re as dumb as a saddle, you’re probably at least a little more complicated to put back together.”
“I always knew you liked me.”
She slaps me.
Hard, with the back of her hand, her knuckles knocking against my cheekbone as my teeth clack together with a bright burst of pain through my jaw.
“What the Hel--”
“Stop it with the tough guy shit, Eret.” She goes back to stitching up my arm, which admittedly hurts enough to distract me from the ringing in my ear from where she fucking slapped me for no reason. “You’re a mess. You apparently spent the entire evening bleeding out from the giant knife wound in your arm and no one even noticed.”
“You hit me.” I’m pouting. I’ll admit it. As if my day hasn’t been bad enough, then Smitelout has to haul off and hit me. I open and close my mouth to make sure my jaw still works and my cheek starts to prickle as I’m sure it turns red enough to match my beard.
“Someone had to.”
“I really don’t think anyone had to hit me--”
“Well, I didn’t know what else would get through that dense head of yours, Twerp.” She ties off the stitches and cuts the thread. “The first few are botched but it should hold. I can’t believe you’re so proud or stupid or I don’t even know--”
“As much as I love you propping up my self-esteem--”
“Thor-dammit, Eret, this isn’t funny.” She looks like she wants to slap me again and I almost ask her to get the other side and make it even, but the words die in my dry throat.
Smitelout looks worried.
More than that, I think she’s worried about me.
“I’m fine, Smite--”
“Don’t make me fucking hit you again,” she shoves me in the chest and I almost fall backwards off of the stool, barely managing to catch myself on the edge of the workbench. My arm flexes against the new stitches and I hiss to hold in a groan at the pain. “And don’t stress those, Thor’s beard, Twerp, you have to start taking care of yourself.”
“Not you too,” I scowl, “sorry, I’ve been a bit busy, a week long trip to the spa isn’t really in the realm of possibility right now--”
“Cut the shit. How the fuck do you expect to take care of those kids you have coming if you can’t even take care of yourself? How are you going to take care of Fuse?” She asks almost gently and that makes it sting worse.
“Fuse and I had a fight.” I cradle my forehead in my left hand, squeezing my temples like it can fend off the headache or the throbbing in my arm or the tired, itchy film across my eyes. “She’s...Gods, I don’t know what to do.”
“Are you asking me what to do?”
I look back up at her and shrug, “if you’re giving advice, I mean...Ingrid is too good for you almost as dramatically as Fuse is too good for me.”
“Gods, you’re so exhausted you can’t talk right.” She shakes her head, “go home. Talk to your mother. I have my own kid to worry about, I can’t be on your case too.”
“What do I say to her?”
“I don’t know, Twerp, have you thought about the fucking truth?” She sighs, “you know, we’re all keeping this secret for you and Fuse but what are you going to do when there are babies coming out of her? It’s already near impossible to hide.”
“I know that,” I squint my eyes shut, “I know it’s--can I just sleep here? I’ll be out by morning--”
“No, you can’t,” she grabs my left hand and yanks me to my feet before shoving me at the door with rough hands on my shoulders, “I’m officially evicting you. Go talk to your mother. Try and infuse some of the truth in there. Do you need a snack?”
“Huh?” I trip on the door jamb and turn back to look at her. “A snack?”
“You lost a lot of blood, you must be light-headed. Do you want a snack?”
My stomach growls, answering for me, and I don’t actually remember eating anything at the feast, I was so busy running interference for Fuse and Elva and diving in front of throwing knives.
“Yeah, I could use a snack.”
She reaches into her pocket and tosses me a small bag of what feels and smells like fish jerky and I open it, shoving two pieces into my mouth and swallowing almost before I can chew them. She wrinkles her nose.
“Go home, Twerp.”
“Yeah.” I look up at the chief’s house and scuff my boot on the ground. “Thanks. Why do you have snacks in your pocket anyway?”
“I have a two year old.” She rolls her eyes, “don’t make me chase you home.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “I’m going, I just--”
“I don’t care,” she slams the forge door behind her, taking the spare key from it’s hiding place, “I’ve got to find a new place for this so that bleeding future chiefs don’t fuck with my shit anymore.”
Future chief. Yeah. Right. Like that’s ever going to happen.
Oddly, it’s just the depressing thought I need to force my feet to move.
“Goodnight, Smitelout.” I wave at her as I start shuffling up the hill, staring at the stitches on my arm briefly before pulling my sleeve down to cover them. Mom doesn’t need to know about those. She’d just worry.
I feel like anyone I tell the truth to would worry. Maybe I’m worried.
Gods, I’m so worried. I’m worried about Fuse and the fact that I’m at exactly the same point in my life that I was at four years ago. Everyone else is moving forward and I’m just stuck here, almost chief, still not good enough.
The house is quiet except for the crackle of a low fire in the hearth and Stoick’s dragon is snoozing peacefully in front of it. I pause in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust, and more than that deciding whether I’m staying or not. Smitelout is right, as hard as it is to admit. I need to talk to Mom.
But the thing that no one ever says is that even if the right thing is obvious, it still takes effort.
I’d still have to walk inside, walk up to the bedroom door, knock, wake Mom up. Ask her to come talk to me. And that’s the easy part, then I’d have to sit down and tell her the truth while she’s looking straight through me and worrying. I should be able to handle this myself. I shouldn’t have to bring her into it.
“Fuck,” I sigh, stepping inside and shutting the door hard behind me.
“What did that door do to you?” The chief's voice startles me as he comes down the stairs, barely there smile apologetic and irritatingly hopeful that I'm not mad. I wish I were, that'd be easier. “I thought you’d grown out of slamming things.”
"Never," I barely get the word out, throat closing in on itself, threatening to make me sob or pass out or I don't know what else. I swallow hard and try to cough, the world spinning around me when I close my eyes. I open them to the same chief standing in the same place, but he looks more like a mirror than ever, more like a sad inevitability I don't know if I'll never live up to. "Where's Mom?"
"Are you ok?" He asks, taking a hesitant step towards me, hand outstretched like I'm a dragon in need of training. He's not mad anymore, he's worried too, and I wish he'd yell at me instead of looking concerned. I walked out on a direct order, he should yell at me. If he yells at me, I'll yell back, but I don't know what I'll do if he's calm.
"No," I laugh, chest tight and eyes prickling like I'm going to cry. That's the last thing I want him to see. "I'm really not, but..." My knees wobble, I catch myself on the edge of the table and my arm smarts, the sting traveling straight up my arm to my eyes, making them blur.
"What's wrong?" His voice is low, comforting, and I want it to work, I want it to make my heart stop throbbing and my head stop spinning. "Is it your arm?"
"No, I'm fine." The words echo in my head like it's a cave with no exit, each repetition making me feel more and more trapped.
"You just said you weren't, Eret," he takes a step towards me, a dwindling candle on the table catching his face at the right angle to make him look younger, like he's just another person I should be able to take care of. "Do you--"
"I'm good," I lie, voice shaking, back of my throat again threatening to sob. Or maybe throw up this time, I'm not sure, and I wish I hadn't eaten anything. "Really, Chief."
It hurts him when I call him chief. I know that it used to, but I would have thought he'd be used to it by now. Maybe he is used to it and that's why the flicker in his expression is so quickly glossed over. He puts himself together faster than he fell apart and it almost makes me want to lean on him, like I could learn how to be that sturdy if I did.
"Do you need anything?" He offers, easy smile as disarming as Aurelia's but completely lacking intent. His usual will to make me like him is replaced with something genuine, but it's so seamless that I think maybe I've been wrong about it for a while. "Some water? A doctor? A hug?"
I tug at my sleeve, making sure the stitches are covered. I probably should have washed the blood off of my hand. And my shirt. And my other hand.
"I'm good." Saying it doesn't make it more true and I double down, "do you need anything, Chief?"
"If you're offering, I could go with that hug." He opens his arms, ready to laugh about being rejected, and I just don't have the energy to hate him right now. I don't want to. I want to lean on something I'm not holding up.
"Ok," I cross the room and hug him, hooking my chin over his shoulder and squeezing tight enough that the new stitches on my arm burn. I really might cry now, I'm not sure why this is pushing it over the edge, but my eyes prickle and I glare at the wall behind him, trying to slow my breathing. It doesn't work. He thumps me on the shoulder, gently, carefully, and the sobs I couldn't put onto Fuse start coming out, burning in my throat, scraping every raw thing that was said and making it hurt all over again.
"Whoa," the chief starts rubbing my back like my mom used to when I was little and couldn't stop crying.
I feel pathetic but trying to stop makes it worse, my chest throbbing with the force of the sobs tearing their way out as the chief keeps rubbing my back, coaxing it out of me. Maybe it's good, maybe I just need to get rid of some of it and then I can deal with the rest.
"Hey, it's ok," his tone is easy, controlled, and I cling to it, pressing my face into his shoulder where the wool absorbs the tears. I'm probably getting snot on him, but he doesn't seem to care. "It's ok."
"It's really not," I blubber, pulling away and scrubbing my eyes with my clean sleeve like I can rub away the outer layer and start fresh with one that's less pathetic. When I cough out another sob, the chief hugs me again, thumping on my back like I'm choking and he's shaking it loose. Maybe it works. Maybe it was already loose and he's just willing to catch anything I throw at him. "Fuse and I had a fight, I don't think we've ever had an actual fight before."
"Do you want to talk about it?" He lets me take a step back and I wipe my eyes again, breath shaky. He's shorter than me but it doesn't stop the sudden urge to tuck myself into his chest, to get small and easier to shelter and protect.
I could tell him. I don't know how Fuse would ever forgive me if I did, but I don't know how she's going to forgive me anyway. If it were Mom, I'd want it to be a happy thing, I'd want to be excited and not crying like a pathetic child, but it's the chief. He knows what it feels like to be conflicted about being a dad, to feel alone, to be unprepared and outside where he wants to be.
I nod, not quite trusting my voice yet.
"Ok," he pulls out a chair at the table and sits down, "let's talk, I'm sure we can figure this out."
I sit across from him, staring at my hands.
"What did you and Fuse fight about?"
"She was mad that I took that knife to the arm," I shrug, sniffing and wiping my dripping nose on my sleeve, "or at least that's how it started. I--and it spiraled. And I made her cry and I couldn't make it better and I just...I ask too much of her, you know? I'm asking so much of her."
"Hey, from what I know about Fuse, she's not exactly going around doing what's asked of her," the chief puts his hand on mine and I don't shove it off, "so I don't think you can put that all on yourself."
"This is different."
"How so?"
I take a deep breath and look up at him, "she's pregnant."
His face is blank for a long second, his hand cool and still on mine. I wait for him to brag or be cocky or yell at me. I wait for him to produce a contract from one of his pockets and try and make me sign it. He doesn't do any of those things. His smile is slow and cautious, eyebrows worried as he squeezes my hand.
"Ok, that's--give me just a second here," he sits up straight and runs his hands back through his hair, "I'm going to be a grandpa, wow, that's--how long have you known?" He redirects the focus to me and I don't know why I laugh, probably because I'm straight out of tears, but it's hoarse and tired.
"About four months."
The chief doesn't answer immediately, face waffling between happy and solid and excited. I try and tuck my hair back into its tie but give up, taking it out entirely and barely resisting the urge to start hitting my head on the table.
"A reaction would be--"
"So it's been a secret," the chief cuts me off. "Probably a pretty big secret if you've known for four months."
"Honestly, probably a larger secret than you're thinking because it's probably twins." I laugh again, miserable, and he exhales like the revelation physically hit him in the chest. "Fuse doesn't want to tell anyone, she's going to be pissed that I told you. Pissed and confused, you're the last person I thought I'd tell."
"Sounds about right."
"I couldn't take the thought of you hearing and thinking you won, that you finally had your chance to force me into marriage, but..."
"Would I be forcing you?" He asks gently and I shrug one shoulder.
"Not really. Not anymore, I--Fuse though." Her words from earlier ring in my ears in time with my arm's throbbing and I wipe my nose again, "neither of us were ready for things to change, but they're changing anyway and well, I--earlier when we were fighting, she said maybe it's better if our kids are Thorstons if I'm going to keep being so reckless," I push my sleeve up and show him my stitches, "because of the whole Haddock mess with heirs, I guess."
"Eret--"
"And I'm starting to wonder if she's right." All the thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head start to crystallize and I think about Smitelout being worried about me and Aurelia's fond annoyance and Fuse. Mostly Fuse. Fuse crying. Fuse needing me to be something I should be able to be. "I'm not someone she can trust or follow or depend on, I'm...and she sees it now and I'm scared. I'm so scared." I jump up, pacing back and forth. Before tonight, I never really put much thought into why Fuse never pushed to marry me, instead assuming it was contingent on me being chief or something. But maybe she just couldn't handle her kids being half-Haddock disasters like their dad. "Hel, do you think Ingrid would honor kill me? I don't think I want Tuffnut doing it, that sounds painful--"
"No one is honor killing anyone," the chief says in the tone that makes it law, "you and Fuse are going to have fights, Eret, you're going to have so many fights and something like a single fight isn't enough to change how she sees you."
"This is bigger than that. It's not just a fight, it's--"
"Can I ask you something?" He cuts me off before I can find the word for what a frost giant sized turd of a situation I'm in. I shrug. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" I laugh, "that's funny, chief--"
"No, it's not. I'm serious. I see you running yourself into the ground trying to make everyone around you happy, trying to be who everyone else thinks you should be. What would you do to make yourself happy? What do you want?"
"I..." I sigh, deflating slightly, "I want everyone to be safe."
"No, that's not an answer," he insists and anger flares enough to overwhelm my sadness, even for just a second.
"What do you want me to say then?"
"You don't see it," he sighs, "you're so much like your mom. And my dad," his smile is sad and proud and I could crumple under it, the weight of that statue's eyes on my shoulders on top of everything else. "You don't get to decide for everyone to be safe."
"Because I'm not chief yet," I snap and his eyes drop to my arm.
"Trust me, if being chief could keep people safe, you'd be a lot less stabbed all the time."
"I'm fine," I don't believe it and he doesn't either. It's too close to what Fuse said, to what Smitelout said, to what must be the truth because the most unapologetic people I know are all orbiting around it.
"What do you want, Eret? If instead of making up some answer that you think I want to hear or you think is the most self-sacrificial you actually thought about what you want, what would it be?"
The chief is the last person who'd ever call me selfish and I hate that it feels protective right now. I hate how good it feels to let myself think selfishly, to catalog the mental and physical bumps and bruises and weaknesses I want to hide and to put them first, even theoretically. I swallow hard, forcing my voice louder than the scared whisper it wants to be.
"I want Fuse." I sit back down, collapsing into how tired I am, arm throbbing like it's on fire, head aching, "I want Fuse and I want to wake up next to her more often than not. I want everything with the babies to be ok, and I know I'm not supposed to decide for other people to be safe right now, but I'm going to anyway. I want them to be safe. And I want to start living my life instead of waiting for it to start." I want to be chief but I don't say it, because something about this conversation with...my father is making me feel like nearly killing myself for the title hasn't convinced him of anything. "And I think I could go with being stabbed a little less. It does really hurt, it just hurts less than anyone else getting stabbed."
"Sounds to me like you need to go talk to Fuse."
I nod, "I'll go now, I doubt she's sleeping any better than I am." I jump to my feet but he stops me with a wincing look. "What now? Is that not the right decision or--"
"Stop second guessing yourself," he gestures at me, "I was just going to suggest that you change out of your bloody clothes. Maybe get a bandage on those stitches. If you're feeling really wild you could wash the blood off your hand. Gods, you're a mess." He laughs and I join him, wiping my hand over my face and nodding.
"Yeah. I am, aren't I?" I shake my head, "I'll change and then I'll go talk to her."
"Good plan." He pats my shoulder as he stands up and I let him, "and you know you have to tell your mother about this tomorrow, right?"
"You won't?"
"It's not my secret to tell, but I think you know how much trouble we'll both be in if we make her wait much longer." His whisper is conspiratorial and I scoff.
"What do you mean? I'm already in trouble."
"But I'm not. I could still help you if you stay ahead of that."
I hug him again before I can convince myself not to, thumping on his back with my good hand and laughing when it makes him wheeze, "I'll take you up on that." Maybe it's because he's not looking at me hopefully or expectantly when I pull away, but I can't call him chief, not now. "Grandpa."
"Don't go making me cry," he points towards the stairs, "go change, go figure this out."
"I'm going," I tiptoe upstairs, trying to think of what the Hel I'm going to say.
I need to propose, I know that much, but more than that I need to do it in a way Fuse will agree with. And not just agree with, I need her to get it, I need it to be a decision that feels right to her, because she doesn't do anything that doesn't feel right and I love that about her. She's more gut feeling than I am, she can't push through months and months of being generally uncomfortable with her convictions for a cause. I finally feel like that's straightened out for me though and I try not to fixate now on the fact that the chief is the one who helped me reorient.
A bandage over my arm makes the stitches throb more but burn less and clean clothes make me feel like I'm not quite so walking wounded. My eyes are dry though and no amount of blinking lets me forget the crying I just did, but maybe it'll incite some pity to make Fuse listen to me.
I've never doubted that she'd talk to me quite like this, except maybe when I feared she'd heard I was engaged to someone else, and even then I assumed she would know it wasn't my doing.
I hope the chief is wrong about how many fights we're going to have, but I doubt it. All my siblings bicker with their wives or in Aurelia's case, husband, but that's kind of double counting. Maybe I thought if Fuse and I didn't get married, we wouldn't have to deal with all of the supposedly normal married things that I didn't and don't like the sound of, but there's no benefits either, not anymore. Not for a while, probably even before she got pregnant.
It's almost sunrise when I go back downstairs, a thin gray line breaking the dark horizon, and the chief isn't anywhere to be seen, which means he probably went to bed. I'm glad about that, as much as I appreciate last night, I don't want a rehash right now because if there's ever a time I need to keep myself together it's now, and I'm worried I'm still unfortunately close to crying again if someone were nice to me. And that's why I stop short when I open the front door to see Mom and Dad climbing the hill, chatting comfortably in a way that makes me wary for whatever brought them pleasantly together, because usually that only happens when one of us does something wrong.
"Glad we caught you," Mom zeroes in on me with peak efficiency and I look over my shoulder, like the closed front door will either produce an escape route or an answer to who got my parents involved. Oddly, I don't blame the chief, it seemed like he meant it when he said he wouldn't tell her until I had a chance to figure things out with Fuse. "Can I make you breakfast?"
My stomach growls. She drives a hard bargain and I look at Dad, trying to figure out their intent. If it's just a stitches check, I could stay for some food, but Dad's face is a trap, easy going smile luring me into some sort of lecture that requires their joined forces.
"I already ate," I lie, patting my stomach and half expecting it to echo like a drum.
"A second breakfast then," she bribes me and I must have done something really objectionable for her to be luring me back inside this hard.
"I can't right now," I take Smitelout's advice and infuse a little truth into the situation, and it's not even a lie, I really can't focus on anything until I see Fuse and know there's some chance of her forgiving me and marrying me and moving forward.
She looks like she's going to argue with that but Dad puts a hand on her arm, and she closes her mouth and nods, "dinner then?"
"I really don't know how my day's going to go, guys." I take a side step to move around them and I think Mom is going to try and stop me, but instead she hugs me, too tight, hooking her chin over my shoulder and squeezing. "Hi, Mom, what's going on?" I look over at Dad, "is everything ok?"
"As long as you're ok," he nods towards my arm, the bandage peeking out from under my half-pushed up sleeve, "did you get that taken care of?"
"Yeah, it's fine," I hug Mom back with the hope that it'll make her let me go so that I can breathe, but it doesn't quite work like that. Her hair smells like saltwater and she's still wearing her clothes from the feast last night, so there's no armor or thick leather jabbing me and making this uncomfortable, and it's about comforting enough to restart the tears, so I put gentle hands on her shoulders and try to pry her off. "You good?" I ask when I'm finally successful, even though she's still holding one of my arms like she doesn't want me to get away.
"I won't keep you," she takes a step back and I have all of a second to breathe before Dad is picking me up in an Arvid style bear hug that makes me feel small for the first time in a while.
"Dad! Put me down!"
"Sorry," he brushes off my shoulders when he does, grinning in a way that's out of place with the majority gray of his hairline. "Just wanted to see if I still could."
"I think you knew you could, it's whether you should," I jokingly chastise him, straightening my shirt and pointing over my shoulder, "so I've got to go if neither of you have to assault me again."
"I'm good for now," Mom hesitates a little before continuing, "try and have fun today."
I look at Dad for confirmation that she's been hit very hard on the head but he just nods at me like this is normal and that's a normal Mom thing to say.
"What's fun?" I joke, playing into whatever strange act this is and Mom's fragile smile evaporates. She looks at Dad and they share some silently communicated thing, like they used to when I was little and they were trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. It looks weird to me now and maybe it's the lack of sleep or the blood loss or the crying, but everything is starting to feel off kilter, like I'm on an island very similar to the Berk I know. "I'll uh...see you guys later, alright?"
"Sure," Dad nods, hand on Mom's elbow as the urges her towards the door. She doesn't shrug him off, just keeps looking at me with that worried expression, and I hop onto Bang for the short distance rather than feel their eyes on me as I walk away.
Bang finds a soft pile of hay with Hotgut outside of the Thorston-Ingerman barn and I walk the rest of the way to the Thorston front door, wiping my hands on my pants and building up the courage to knock. I still don't know exactly what I'm going to say, but I guess it depends on how Fuse acts when she sees me. I brace other hand to catch the door and hold it if she tries to slam it in my face and then knock three times, like I do on her shed door, the sound of the fire proof wood echoing around my rattled brain.
The door opens.
Tuffnut has a black eye that he's holding an ice block to but he sets it down when he sees me, gesturing at my face with an easy, wincing smile.
"Hey, twins."
My heart drops, "she told you?"
This is when it happens. The honor kill. I think he has a mace in there somewhere and of all the days to be honor killed, I think that's at the bottom of my list. It's a bone crunching, blood-spraying way to go and I don't trust him to do it in a single hit. I should have asked Ingrid, I should have brought Ingrid alone, just in case it came to this.
"What?" He cocks his head and then nods, "oh, yeah, she did, but I wasn't talking about that." He points at his eye and then to my face, "we're facial bruising twins, looks good dude."
"Huh?" I pat my cheek to figure out what he's talking about and hiss, because it's tender along my cheekbone and jaw, pulpy and slightly swollen in that new bruise way. "Fuck," I wince, testing my expression and flinching when a deep frown pulls at the skin, "Smitelout."
"Mine is my sister's handiwork," he picks up the block of ice and hesitates before offering it to me, "I can get another."
"No thanks," I shift between my feet, trying to figure out what to do with my hands. Pockets seems too casual and not optimal for blocking the mace swing I'm sure is coming. Hands out in front feel like surrender, which is only half what I'm here to do, except it's not really a surrender, it's just a new understanding of the solution. "Um, I'm here to see Fuse." I point vaguely towards her closed door.
"She's asleep."
"Oh," I hadn't thought of that and the barely brightening dawn makes me feel dumber for it, "I can come back, I guess." Maybe I still have time for that second breakfast Mom offered, except maybe I don't want that because she and Dad were acting so weird. I could go by the Great Hall, I guess, I know there will be food there for Elva and her remaining people.
Fuck, she's still here, John is still imprisoned at the arena. Fuck. There's too much going on.
"You can wait here if you want," he gestures for me to come inside and I'm sure the mace is going to come down the second I'm inside, but it doesn't, and I take an awkward seat on a bench near the mostly burned down fire.
"Thanks."
Chicken VII pecks at my boot and I lean down to pet her head. She bites me. I tuck my hands in my pockets so she can't do it again.
"So, pretty crazy feast last night, huh?" He sits on the ground near the hearth and feeds Chicken VII a handful of grain with the hand not holding ice to his face. "Not as crazy as Fuse hiding being pregnant for months--"
"Sorry about that--"
"No, I'm kind of impressed, you might just be trickier than you look." He points at me and I frown.
"Thanks?"
"Don't mention it."
Another minute of awkward, heart racing silence passes and I spend it staring at Fuse's door. I want nothing more than to open it and wake her up or even lay down beside her to finish sleeping, but the fact is she might not want me to and that makes me kind of want the random mace attack to hurry up and happen. If it even has to happen, I am here to propose, however unconventionally that might end up looking, and now I'm sitting here with Fuse's father, whose opinion she respects more than almost anyone's and I haven't run it by him.
I clear my throat and he doesn't look up.
"Uh, Tuffnut?" I start, heel tapping anxiously as I try to figure out how to say this, "I'm actually here to talk to Fuse."
"You could try that through the door, if you want, but she's a heavy sleeper."
"No, I mean I could, I guess." It's a weird enough suggestion to trip me up, not that it would take much right now, "but I want to both see and talk to her, if that makes sense." It does, but I doubt it when I say it out loud. "I'm here to ask her to marry me though, and I just realized I didn't ask you first, which I should, theoretically."
"Theoretically, yeah, and probably before she was pregnant, but considering I already signed a contract with Hiccup like four years ago, I think the rules are slightly different in this case."
"Right, I always forget that everything is already all...agreed upon."
"Except you and Fuse," he pauses, "well, you seem to be agreed upon it now so it's just Fuse."
"Yep." That doesn't inspire a lot of confidence and I bite my lip. "Any idea how this is going to go for me?"
"You aren't mad at her, right?"
"No," I shake my head and pause, "she told you about our fight?"
"A little bit," he shrugs, "she was pretty upset, but the future potential babies stole the spotlight a little bit, as they do. You'll get used to that." He nods over my shoulder at Fuse's slowly opening door and stands up, "I'm being overshadowed as we speak, I'll give you two the house for all the yelling and throwing stuff that might be about to happen."
"Thanks for that," I glare at his back as he walks away.
Fuse stands in the doorway, groggy and squinting at me, like she's not sure I'm actually here and I wince when the front door slams shut behind her fleeing father.
"I think I did enough yelling last night," she says quietly, stepping out of her room and making cautious eye contact that I hate. I hate her being shy around me or more reserved than she usually is, it's like salt in my stitches and I find the chief's question echoing in my head. What do I want?
"Any less yelling and I don't know if you would have gotten your point across."
"That's why I said enough yelling." She clarifies, sitting down on the bench next to me, "as in I don't need to do anymore."
I love how precise she is. I love how she doesn't doubt herself and how clear and honest and direct she is. And I want more of that, I want it tempering my overwhelming urge to make other people happy, I want it helping me see a straight line through whatever mess is ahead of us. I clear my throat, looking down at my hands and trying to string the right words together the first time.
"I think...no, I know we both have a lot of reasons why getting married seems...negative, and I don't think we've talked about them all, because I was so caught up in my own that I never asked about yours."
"There was no reason to," she dodges the suggestion with the same precision, reaching for my arm and pulling my sleeve up to show the bandage. She peeks underneath like she's making sure I'm not hiding a festering wound and I hate that I made her worry about me so much.
"You're right, it did need stitches." I gesture at my cheek with my other hand, "Smitelout did me the favor in exchange for hitting me." That makes her jaw twitch and I sigh, "and maybe before there wasn't a reason to ask about your reasons, but now there are two, and they're setting the schedule here."
#open flames#eret iii#festerverse#smitelout jorgenson#festercup the good dad#cooldadtuffnut#feret#all the best tags guys#all in one chapter
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Mending Bridges
So this is so late that it’s early because I needed to add the whole giant scene that’s most of it because I was missing some fuse/feret/smitelout/smingrid/arvid development as I read through. So it’s like 8000 words. I’m not even going to apologize.
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Ingrid doesn’t cry when Gobber sees her hand. She unwraps the bandage herself and holds it out, more annoyed than anything, and like I expected, he declares it clean and healing. I give Gobber a ride to the chief’s house but come back afterwards, feeling like I need to check on her because bringing Gobber in was my idea in the first place and after this morning, I’m not really sure what might set her off. When I get back, she’s asleep in the chair in front of the fire where she’s slept every night since getting home and I cross the room, thinking about taking her boots off for her but well…that’s the kind of thing she might react badly to, isn’t it?
I build up the fire and look at Arvid’s cracked opened door down the hallway. He’s snoring but he’s here and I can leave and go get some actual rest but I feel bad.
Arvid doesn’t know the truth. Dad doesn’t even know the truth and what if she gets upset again? What if it’s as bad as earlier or the other day?
I sit down at the table and rest my head on my hands, trying and failing not to think too hard about it. It’s Ingrid. She was never affected by anything, let alone a week later.
And I can’t help think about all of us, about how it was safe enough off island for the chief to be gone for months at a time and nothing like this ever happened to him. And yeah, he had a night fury but…it’s Ingrid. Ingrid who never lost a fight, Ingrid who was strong and with someone and had a dragon too. What if it’s not just the dragons leaving Berk, what if the whole world is changing? What if I’ve been looking at one tiny part of a whole big problem?
Or what if it was just random?
That’s almost worse, because well…I’ve always dreamed of leaving, in some way. Not often, not for forever, but there’s a whole world I’ve never seen out there and never before now has that fact felt threatening. It makes me think about Fuse, going to neighboring islands for supplies and just…being a fixture there even though it could be dangerous. And Fuse isn’t someone I’ve ever felt I had to protect, maybe from my own idiocy, but neither was Ingrid.
If this can happen to Ingrid, it feels like it can happen to anyone anytime and that’s terrifying.
If the dragons are sick, does that mean people are turning on each other everywhere? When there’s no monster in the woods does something have to replace it?
And that makes me want to go out there and fight it, it makes me want to push back. And that’s scary too because well…when Arvid fought me, I fought back. That was the last time I made a decision like this, really maybe the only time because yes, I’m a Viking, my childhood was skirmishes and bloody noses and hiding torn clothes from Mom but none of those people actually wanted to hurt me in any real way. Arvid did, for a while, because like me he thought that if I hurt he might hurt a little less, but even then he was my brother. He’s tough but—
Well, he’d never cut off half my hand.
For the first time, going out there, beyond the extension of Berk’s reach feels truly dangerous. Flying out there with a bunch of bombs like I know what I’m going to find when I haven’t been to the dragon island in months feels dangerous. Like it could fail. Like someone could get hurt.
The door opens and Dad walks in, pausing when he sees me. I nod at him and look back at the table, thoughts jumbled but still very much there and very much depressing.
“Are you staying here?” He asks and I almost don’t look up, because it seems more likely that I’m finally snapping and imagining things. “Arvid said he was taking a shift.”
“He is.” I look around, trying to find something to focus on other than him and the weight of the stretching silence. “I’m just…here.”
“Do you not trust him?” Dad asks me like he actually wants to hear an answer and I shake my head.
“I trust him fine. There are what? Three dragons in the barn, Bang’s…” I gesture to him where he’s snoring gently in front of the fire. “Nothing’s going to happen to her, I know that.”
“You look tired.” He looks at his old chair like he’s thinking about sitting down but I don’t hold my breath.
“You care?”
“Odin,” he looks old and sad and I miss him like it should be impossible to miss someone right in front of you. I miss him calming me down and building me up and being there, steady the way the chief isn’t, the way the chief could never be. “Of course I care.”
“Of course.” I mimic, tone hollow, and he sits down, the chair dragging loud across the floor. Ingrid shifts in her sleep, curling further into the pile of blankets on top of her and I’m not sure where to look. Dad’s looking at me like he used to when I was doing something he didn’t understand. Something that wasn’t part of him or Mom or the part of the chief he accepted as necessary.
“It’s been good having you here. It almost feels normal again.” He doesn’t sound like he’s lying and I hate that I know what his lies sound like. That my definition of normal is shattered while other people’s still exist.
But I can’t help but hear that maybe in some way, I’m still a part of his normal.
“Normal but without Mom.” It comes out at the same time as I’m thinking it and I remind myself of Arvid earlier, poking old wounds just to check that the conflict is dead.
“Maybe it was always without her.” He’s the sad kind of resigned that I can’t get to. He and Arvid and even Ingrid can let things go, they can give up without falling apart. They don’t drive themselves insane for months, pecking at the same problem even if they know they can’t get anywhere.
“That’s not true,” I shake my head and look up at him, feeling my placid mask start to slip. I want to talk to him, I want this to feel final the way that everything else is starting to and I want it to be somewhere else when it does. “She was here every day. If anyone was half-hearted about it, I’d have to put that on Rolf.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” Dad rolls his eyes, “now that he’s heard a council seat might be empty soon, he’ll barely talk to me, let alone in public.”
“I’ll keep him in line,” I mime punching my palm, “the council pretty much follows me around all the time and asks me to make their decisions for them so…”
“The chief thinks you’re doing a good job.” Dad passes on the compliment like a package he didn’t necessarily want to deliver but got roped into it and it makes me feel strange because I shouldn’t care but I do. “He told me. You’re about the only thing he can talk about without me wanting to throttle him.”
“I’m the new ‘how’s the weather’?” I weigh that for a second before shrugging, “that’s kind of a compliment, I guess.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About the weather?” I think of Fuse as I say it and that makes this even weirder because he doesn’t know and he always knew everything about me.
“About whatever has you sitting in the dark and staring into space.”
“You aren’t really someone I talk to about stuff like that anymore.” I don’t say it to hurt anyone but his face falls.
“And that’s my fault.”
“I haven’t been the most exemplary son this year either.” I look at my hands, “if, you know, for the record, you still think of me that way after—”
“Of course I do.”
“Of course.” I repeat, nodding to myself and trying to count all the things I should have known but didn’t over the years. “If…can it be a secret?”
“That’s not what I like to hear.”
“I mean—it’s Ingrid’s secret.” I bite my lip, betrayal foreign and acrid in my throat, “and if you keep a secret like that from Mom it’s not like it’s in the way of your marriage or anything, right? Ha, that’s not funny. None of this is funny. I—I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m glad to know you aren’t quite as grown up as you were pretending to be.” He looks at me with some of that old, confused fondness I never quite understood. “And if it’s Ingrid’s secret, she should tell me herself.”
“She’s not going to.” I sigh and rub my eyes with my knuckles, pressing until my vision goes fuzzy like out of the snow some perfect clarity as to what I should do will appear. But that’s never how it works, it’s all just…binary decisions that don’t line up with right and wrong or smart and dumb and somehow, I’m supposed to know better. “It’s just…it’s something that could hurt her, and I’m worried it’s something that could hurt someone else and—and it’s…if we’re going to help her, she needs us to know even if she doesn’t know that.”
“I can’t tell you what to do.”
I snort, “a year ago, that would have been pretty much my favorite phrase in the whole world. I—growing up sucks.”
He laughs and shrugs like he doesn’t have anything to say and I missed that. I missed his patience, the way he’d wait until I wound myself down before trying to get through to me instead of winding myself up until I end up dizzy but somewhere in the vicinity of the right answer. I wonder if Mom misses it too.
“I—she’s lying.” I start, pausing and waiting for a reaction.
“Ingrid’s lying about something?”
“About how she got hurt. It wasn’t an accident. She and Spitleaf got attacked by some obviously sadistic and horrible excuses for human beings and she…didn’t win, which, I don’t even want to think about who she was fighting.”
“She knew it was dangerous when she left, we’ve always told her how dangerous it is.”
“But she’s lying about it, Dad, she’s lying about it and crying and—she told Spitleaf to give her space and she—when she saw her earlier, she hid and I stepped in front of her and for a second I swear she saw someone else and…Spitleaf had to leave her? To save the dragon she had to leave and come back and…” I trail off, and swallow, “she’s not ok. It’s more than her hand, she’s not ok and no one knows why except me.”
“It’s not going to get better overnight.” He’s pale and his hair is grayer than it was at Snoggletog and I steel myself reflexively before he continues. “It was years before I didn’t see Drago Bludvist in crowds, before I really accepted that he was dead—”
“At least he was dead! At least you knew that! The people who did that to Ingrid are still out there and no one’s going to do anything about it unless they know which—”
“Is this about helping your sister or is it about getting revenge?”
“Both!” I cross my arms and sit back, “I don’t know. It’s not revenge if they deserve it.”
“That’s not how revenge works. It’s revenge if it’s about yourself.”
“Maybe it is,” it sounds selfish and I hate how he makes me admit that to myself. “Maybe I’m supposed to be chief or something, I’m sure working enough for it, but—but I’m still not making anything better. I’m not protecting anyone, I—Ingrid isn’t the first or last person to go out there and now they’re all my people too.”
“It was always dangerous.”
“Yeah, but I never saw it like this.” I look over at Ingrid again and think about her flying away, excited if weighed down by her stupid little brother tagging along. “I could have been with them. I was but I left, and if I’d been there, I could have done something. She wouldn’t have been left behind, I—It’s my fault. Oh my gods, it’s my fault.” I sag down in the chair, “if I’d been there—”
“You have no way of knowing what would have happened if you’d been there.”
“Not this—”
“You can’t blame yourself for everything.”
“You say that,” I shake my head and look at her, “you say that, but it always comes back to me.”
“Well, Eret,” he says my name like it’s significant, like he’s claiming me again like he did when I was born and I think about Gobber telling me about my mopey third like it had something to do with my Dad. And maybe it does, but maybe moping is just another word for thinking about the dark angles, the sad angles, the regrettable things I can’t change but should still recognize. “You can’t choose your family, and you happen to have one that always ends up at the center of everything.”
“I’m not sure about that either,” I blink, more earnestly, calmly tired than I’ve felt since Ingrid came home, “I think I’ve spent about a year choosing my dad.”
He doesn’t say anything and I clear my throat.
“You, just to be clear.”
“I missed you,” he points at the door, “and I hope you keep coming around, but right now, you should go sleep in your own bed and stop thinking about chasing anyone down.”
“I thought you couldn’t tell me what to do.” I yawn and stretch my arms over my head.
“I’m your dad, let me pretend.”
00000
When Fuse asks me to help her build some bombs, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t show up early on purpose. I’d be lying even more if I said I wasn’t disappointed when she’s already sitting between Aurelia and Smitelout in her shed, all three of them loading jars and shells and muttering to each other. I was hoping we could have a few minutes without everyone needing something from me, but she’s happy to see me anyway, smiling briefly over her shoulder before turning back to whatever she’s doing.
“Then you tie the top off with the oil slicked cord…triple knot…” she demonstrates, bandaged fingers knotting quickly and when she wipes her forehead she leaves a deep blue streak along her eyebrow.
I pause in the doorway, staring for a minute and trying to decide how this isn’t weird even though I feel weird about it. Only Aurelia knows about me and Fuse, I guess, Smitelout’s just guessing. Well, Fuse knows, and I’m not even sure what she knows. She knows we went on half a date until everyone interrupted us and I haven’t seen her since, because between the chief keeps still assigning me things and watching Ingrid, I’ve been a bit busy.
“Are you going to help?” Smitelout huffs, struggling with a second attempt to tie the knot that Fuse got easily the first time. “Your girlfriend needs someone else to boss around.”
“You don’t have to help,” Fuse is measured like whatever she’s touching is extremely explosive and like Smitelout calling her my girlfriend doesn’t make her heart jump, “Arvid should be here soon to help you pack some of these into bundles…” She puffs a lock of hair out of her face and ties another careful knot in the twine before pushing the jar away from her.
Then she smiles at me again and my face heats up.
“Hi.” Why did I say that? She knows I’m here, I don’t need to say hi for no reason.
Aurelia rolls her eyes at me and this is so much harder when other people are around. Especially people who have so much vested interest in making fun of me. All I need is for Ingrid to show up and they can go around in a circle pointing out the goofiest things about me until Fuse decides that letting me use the ‘date’ word was a mistake.
“Hey,” she points at the tall shelf on the wall of her shed behind her. “Can you hand me that green jar?”
“Oh? Yeah, sure.” I should probably use the stool she has leaning against the back corner but it’s easier to jump, grabbing the jar and turning to give it to her. She frowns at me.
“This is a stabilizer,” she takes it, her fingers brushing against mine and making me feel even redder than I already did. “Which is lucky because if it hadn’t been, you would have just blown the roof off.”
“Nice going, Twerp.” Smitelout snorts, tying a knot so messy even I know it’s wrong and pushing her jar away from herself.
“Nothing happened,” Fuse gives Smitelout an almost dirty look and opens the green jar. I’m still standing behind her and it’s a view I’m not used to, the pale back of her neck under her tied up hair and the tense line of her shoulders. She’s focused, because she doesn’t have time to say anything else, muttering under her breath as she counts spoonfuls of bright yellow powder.
“That reeks,” Smitelout comments, ever useful, and Fuse’s shoulders tense up further.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her stressed but it strikes me that this is what it would look like. I look around at the dozens of mostly assembled bombs strewn across her work space and feel bad that I haven’t been helping more. I know I’m busy but I didn’t intend to put this all on her. At least Aurelia seems competent, working without instruction and stacking another sealed jar against the wall.
“Maybe if you didn’t have to comment so much, you’d be keeping up,” Aurelia gestures at her pile of completed jars and Smitelout frowns.
“It’s not my fault you skinny fingered twerps tie faster knots than me.”
“…ten, eleven…” Fuse counts louder, like their bickering made her lose her place, and her hair smells like smoke and I don’t know why I’m still standing here right behind her. It’s probably creepy. I feel kind of creepy. Maybe I only feel creepy because I want to touch her and while I don’t think she’d say no, Aurelia and Smitelout are here and that makes it different.
Aurelia looks over her shoulder like she can hear my internal panic and raises an eyebrow. I shrug. She shakes her head like she’s embarrassed for me and Fuse sets down her spoon, pulling a spool of coated string towards her and measuring it around a couple of fingers, the twine digging into the bandage around her middle finger and leaving a gray smear across the clean fabric.
“What else do we need to get done today?” Smitelout leans back in her chair, kicking her feet up on the workbench. “Believe it or not, I actually have plans elsewhere so…”
“Leave whenever,” Aurelia reaches for another jar and starts filling it, “I bet we figure it out without you.”
Her animosity towards Smitelout seems a little more cutting than anyone else’s and I know at some level, it’s more about someone infringing on the original group than it is on the inevitable personality conflict at hand.
“Hey, I’m here to help—” Smitelout insists.
“So. Help.” Fuse halfway snaps, unraveling the twine from her hand and starting again. My hands kind of hover in front of me, still debating on touching her, and Aureila gives me one more unimpressed look that pushes me over that awkward edge. I take a step forward and put my hands on her shoulders and she relaxes slightly, rolling her head from side to side and spooling the twine a little faster.
She’s cool to the touch, which seems strange because of how warm touching her makes me feel, and I tentatively rub the knotted muscle at the base of her neck with my thumb. She relaxes even further and snips off the twine, pulling the loaded jars into a circle and wrapping it around all of them to tie it off. Aurelia finishes the one that she’s working on and Fuse sets it in the middle, tightening the twine around the outside to hold everything in place.
“What can I do?” I lean forward to look down at her face over the top of her head and she blushes slightly, shrugging under my hands.
“You’re good there, but Smitelout, if you could start taking the finished shells outside and sorting them by size?”
“Can’t Eret do that?” Smitelout whines, “it’s not really skilled labor.”
“Eret’s busy,” Fuse sighs, leaning back into my hands slightly. I rub the back of her neck a little more firmly and she hums, a content little sound that I can feel in her shoulders.
“Sheesh, get a room,” Smitelout stands up and pushes past me and Fuse’s head bumps back into my chest.
“Sorry,” I take a step back but my hands feel like they’re glued to her shoulders. And she’s not shrugging me off, so I start rubbing again, working outwards along the stiff muscle between her shoulder and neck.
“Why are you sorry?” She goes back to working, braiding some twine into a thicker cable. “My neck’s been killing me.”
“Because he’s an idiot.” Aurelia stands up and looks down the hill, “isn’t Arvid supposed to be here by now?”
“I told him to come at the same time as Eret,” she threads the thicker cable through slits in the leather on top of the jars.
“I was early,” I admit and Fuse pauses.
“Oh, that makes sense, I thought we’d have more done by the time you got here.”
“Still, Arvid’s not usually late,” Aurelia wipes her hands off on her skirt. “I’m just going to check down the hill.” And then she leaves and Fuse and I are almost alone. Almost because Smitelout is outside, sorting bombs and of course she has to make some comment about how lazy Aurelia is as she walks by. But aside from that, we’re alone.
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” she looks over at my hand on her shoulder, “Smitelout isn’t interrupting me every few seconds, I’m not that tense anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” I stop anyway, because maybe it’s weird and now it definitely feels weird. Maybe she thinks it’s weird. “Unless you mind. Then I mind.”
“I don’t mind,” she grins, “like I said, my neck was killing me. Sit,” she pulls Aurelia’s stool back out with her foot, “I need steady hands for this part anyway.”
She leans down, threading the cable through the last lid and tying it off with a tight knot. There’s a smudge of something blue on her chin and her teeth dig into her lower lip as she tucks the knot carefully into the tight groove between two of the jars. A piece of hair slips out from behind her ear and she puffs it out of her face, adjusting one more thing and sitting up to wipe her hands on her knees.
“What’s this for?” I point at whatever she just finished and she smiles a smaller version of the smile she saves for when something very large is on fire.
“I’m going to tar coat it and mount it to the baffle charge, it should heat the shell more evenly and cause a hotter, more front facing blast.” She tucks her hair back behind her ear and leaves a sooty streak across her cheek. And she’s still smiling that half-crazy smile and we’re the most alone that we’ve been since the night Ingrid came back.
“Cool.”
“I wish we had time to test it first, but it’d take another month to get this many supplies again, so I think at this point we’re better off just going for it,” she picks up a writing stick on the counter and makes a couple notes on a wrinkled piece of paper. “Maybe even amp up the charge in the main shell, that couldn’t hurt anything.” She laughs to herself, “or it could hurt a lot. It is an island, after all.”
“Remind me not to piss you off,” I laugh and she narrows her eyes, still smiling. Joking with me in a way that makes my skin feel too tight because it can’t be real. Out of everything that’s happened this last year, somehow Fuse looking at me like that is the most unbelievable. Also, the best. Not that it’s competing with a bunch of sunshine and dragon kisses, but still.
“Was that ever the plan?” She stands and offers me her hand.
“Oh yeah,” I let her help me up and wiggle my other hand at her, “I was just going to lull you into a false sense of security with my magic fingers and then just…piss you off. I hadn’t worked out how yet.”
“Magic fingers?” She raises a half-singed eyebrow and her cheeks flush slightly. “That’s bold.”
“Are you minimizing my shoulder rubbing skills?” I step closer and it’s the first time this has felt easy. Hel, it’s the first time I’ve managed to joke with her since realizing that looking at her made my heart beat in my throat.
“Not exactly,” she turns redder and coughs and she’s still holding my hand from helping me up and it makes me want to pull her in closer.
“Are you two going to fucking help me?” Smitelout sticks her head through the doorway. “Or are you just going to stand in the dark and hold hands.”
I almost blurt out that I’m going to stand in the dark and hold hands but Fuse drops mine, cheeks still pink as she peeks around me to look at the piles outside.
“Is everything sorted?”
“Go see for yourself.”
Fuse doesn’t get a step closer to the door before Aurelia reappears, dodging around Smitelout and nearly running into me.
“We’ve got to get everything back inside. Now.” She starts shoving things across the workbench to make room. One of the jars smacks the wall a little too hard and starts smoking and Fuse steps between her and the bench.
“What’s going on?”
“Arvid’s coming.” Aurelia is out of breath like she just sprinted up the hill, “and Ingrid is with him.”
“What?” I look at Fuse but she’s already looking at me, like she’s waiting for my reaction.
“Ingrid’s coming,” Aurelia repeats, dodging past Smitelout to grab an armful of loaded shells and carrying them inside.
“Did you have to mess up my piles?” Smitelout whines, “really?”
“What do you want to do?” Fuse asks me and of course the split-second decision in on me, again, and I knew I should have picked the stand in the dark and hold hands option.
“Fuck, we have to hide everything.” I follow Aurelia outside and start grabbing shells, handing them to Fuse over my shoulder while Smitelout continues to complain about her piles. “Ingrid can’t know, she’s got enough going on without thinking about dragons.”
“So I literally sorted all of that for no reason?” Smitelout, against all reasonable odds, starts helping, handing larger shells off to Aurelia, who stashes them under Fuse’s workbench.
“Yes,” Fuse and Aurelia snap in unison and we’re just cramming the baffle into the shed when Arvid’s head crests the hill. He’s walking backwards in front of Ingrid, trying to block her view and maybe some of that old ability to reach each other’s minds is back because as soon as we shove the door shut, he turns around.
“You’re late,” Aurelia says, too loud and out of breath, walking up to hug him and whisper something in the direction of his ear. He shrugs and looks frustrated.
“He was being suspicious,” Ingrid tucks her bandaged hand in the pocket of a jacket I think is Dad’s and steps up closer to Fuse’s shed. “Outhouse?”
“Workshop,” Fuse lunges to shut the door tighter when it tries to creak open under the weight of the baffle rocking against it.
“Can I see?” Ingrid reaches for the handle and I step in front of her.
“Nope,” I shake my head and look at Fuse for an idea, “I…spilled something. Because I’m so clumsy.”
“Yeah,” Fuse nods, “and it may or may not explode.”
“So better safe than sorry,” I clear my throat, “which is my idea because that’s a sentence a Thorston has never said.” I punch her in the arm because it feels casual but it must be harder than I intended because she rubs the spot, elbowing the door shut one last time and stepping away from it.
“And I thought Arvid was acting weird,” Ingrid frowns.
“If he was acting so weird, why did you want to go with him?”
“Because he told me no,” she shrugs. Smitelout barks out a laugh and Ingrid looks at her like she’s the craziest of all of us. “What are you guys doing, really?”
“Nothing.” I lie, badly. Aurelia glares at me and I shrug, urging her to come up with something better.
“That’s convincing.”
“We’re having…a double date,” Aurelia gets out, grabbing Arvid’s hand like that sells it. Ingrid narrows her eyes at me and I loop my arm over Fuse’s shoulders, pulling her into my side. She fits there better than I remember and I hope she doesn’t mind, because it’s going to be hard to let her go.
“Isn’t that weird?” Ingrid looks between Arvid and me and I shrug, my arm sliding down to Fuse’s mid-back. That lines my hand up with her waist, which makes her feel even closer, and she doesn’t shove me off.
“Why would it be weird?” Aurelia bumps her shoulder against Arvid’s side, smile stiff and unmoving on her face.
“It just seems like there’s a lot of…siblings for a double date.”
“That makes it better,” I nod, “sibling bonding and a date. Two dragons, one stone. I’m a busy guy.”
Arvid laughs he expected everyone else to, but he’s the only one, and he cuts it off as quickly as possible. Ingrid crosses her arms, looking between us like she’s not buying this in the slightest.
“Why’s Smitelout here?”
“They invited me,” Smitelout shrugs, “well, actually my date cancelled—I mean, I totally had a date. That I ditched. I did the ditching.”
“To hang out with my little brothers on their double date?” Ingrid raises an eyebrow and Smitelout scoffs.
“Yeah. Keep up.”
“What was the plan for this double date?” Ingrid looks at me and Fuse in particular and I lean my head against hers.
“A…bonfire.” Fuse bounces slightly when she thinks of it, and it’s adorable, and I almost forget that this is a lie for a second because that sounds like fun. It’s definitely nowhere near dark and it’s not cold either, but still. And it’s a distraction, and it sounds like something that we might actually do. You know, if Arvid and I were even on the kind of speaking terms where we’d ever consider a double date.
Fuck, if Arvid and I having nothing to talk about is what messes this up I’m going to have to attempt to kick his ass again. I give him a stony, don’t-blow-this-for-us look and he looks down at his feet like if he’s not willing to have my back, he’s at least not going to get in my way.
“Which is why we needed stuff from the workshop, to start it,” Aurelia explains, “but then Eret was clumsy and spilled it and now we’re here.”
“Guilty.” I nod.
“I’ve got flints though,” Fuse pulls some out of her pocket and her knuckles glance across my hip as she tosses them in the air so they spark and then catches them. And she’s cool and she has to show it now and I can’t believe she likes me. And our last date was a mess that I didn’t even mean to be a date and our second date is now a lie and both my sisters are here and I can just feel that I’m messing this all up.
“The clumsiness is redeemable.” Aurelia squeezes Arvid’s hand and tugs him, “the firepit is over here, right?”
“Yep,” Fuse leans against me a little harder for a second before pulling away and walking a little too fast, like she only does towards fire. Ingrid falls into step next to me and elbows me in the arm, always too hard.
“I was just trying to get out of the house, if Arvid had just told me this was a date I wouldn’t have followed him.” She looks genuinely apologetic and I can’t help my eyes flicking to the hand still tucked in her pocket. I sigh.
“Well, since Smitelout already crashed, we might as well back the title back from date to a more generic group activity.” I scratch the back of my head and she looks at me for a second with narrowed eyes.
“You couldn’t put on a not wrinkled shirt for a date?” She tugs at my sleeve with her good hand and I bat it away.
“You know what? No, you’re uninvited if this is a game of tease Eret in his unnatural habitat.” I glance up at Fuse to see if she heard any of that but she’s helping Aurelia stack a pyramid of kindling into the center of a well-used fire circle, rimmed by flat rocks.
“You don’t let me have any fun,” she sits down on one of the three logs around the fire pit and Smitelout freezes.
“I was going to sit there,” she points at Ingrid who rolls her eyes and scoots over from the center of the log.
“I bet there’s still room given it’s about ten feet long.”
“Fine,” Smitelout huffs and sits down hard enough to rock the log slightly, “just don’t make me sit next to any of those twerps, I don’t want to catch the lame.”
“I’m not,” Ingrid looks at her good hand, nibbling on her nail and watching Fuse strike her flint next to a handful of dried grass and push it under the kindling when it catches. I move towards one of the other logs but Arvid is doing the same and he freezes, pointing at it.
“Do you want—”
“I’m fine with either—”
“You can have this one, it’s fine,” he backs off and I almost wish he’d fight me for it. Or act like he knows me, at all. Like we could be on the same side here too, when we’re both hiding the same thing from the same person.
“Thanks,” I sit down instead of arguing about it and Fuse feeds the fire a couple of dry logs before sitting next to me. Close next to me, close enough that the length of her thigh is pressed against mine and there’s not really room for my shoulder until I wrap my arm around her, hand on the log beside her other hip.
Aurelia sits between Arvid and Ingrid, holding his hand but looking purposefully at me like I’m supposed to start talking. I don’t know why she’s putting it on me, I don’t know how to be on a date, let alone a double date. I can barely hear myself think when Fuse shifts and her shoulder presses into my chest and reminds me how close she is and her hair is still pulled back so I can see her face better than usual. And she smells like wood smoke and girl and my whole side is starting to feel too warm and I don’t think I have anything to say that wouldn’t be mortally embarrassing, especially with the way Ingrid is looking between me and Arvid.
“Are they going to talk or do people not do that on dates anymore?” Ingrid jokes with Smitelout and her eyes widen.
“Normally I can’t get them to shut up,” she coughs out, too loud, and Ingrid raises an eyebrow.
“Maybe we don’t have anything to talk about,” Arvid mumbles, glancing up at me like it’s meant to be an insult and that makes me want to laugh. Even more so when Aurelia elbows him and he sighs. “I’m just saying, it’s not like Thorston and I ever had anything in common.”
“We had dragon training together for eight years.” Fuse reminds him. “Didn’t you call me your sworn enemy or something?”
“That was dumb kid stuff.” Arvid shrugs and looks at Aurelia for help.
“Yeah, I guess you moved on to a new sworn enemy,” Fuse laughs like it’s a joke and sets her hand on my knee and I don’t know how she says stuff like that or touches me so easily or how I’m not on fire being so close to her for this long.
“Thinly veiled threats are not a normal date activity, guys,” Ingrid shakes her head and leans forward, chin on her good hand.
“It’s not a threat,” Aurelia sighs and shakes her head at Arvid in a way that manages to be fond and irritated all at once. “I think they’re bonding.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t all bad,” Fuse shrugs, drumming her fingers on my knee, “I perfected my stink bomb recipe years earlier than I would have otherwise.”
“You should name it after me,” Arvid suggests and Fuse cocks her head. “You know, for my pain and suffering.”
“It never hurt you,” she shrugs, “but I’ll think about it.”
It’s petty, but I don’t like that I’m on a fake date and Fuse is looking at Arvid instead of me. After trying to get a couple hours alone in the mead hall and then this, I don’t think group dates are my thing. I think I’d rather have her full attention, my eyes flick to her hand on my knee and I remember what that might imply and my heart jumps in my chest.
“That’s not fair,” I say and she turns her head to frown at me. And again, if all of these people weren’t here, I could kiss her, and it’s worse that they’re my family. Well, except Smitelout. Second cousins or whatever doesn’t count. “I want an explosive named after me.”
“I’ll name one of the new ones after you.” She offers, wrinkling her nose. And I don’t think it’s normal to get the impulse to kiss someone’s nose, but I want to kiss hers and I’m never consenting to another double date again, even a fake one. “Not a stinkbomb, that’s not a comparison I’d like to make.”
“You haven’t smelled his socks,” Aurelia interrupts and Ingrid laughs.
“I said no commentary.” I point between the two of them, “especially because it’s not fair because no one is picking on Arvid.”
“Thorston picked on me.” He points out, actually managing eye contact and Aurelia nods in agreement.
“When you were nine.” I adjust my seat slightly and Fuse doesn’t seem to mind when my hand rests against her hip. If anything she leans closer to me, the knot of her hair pressing into my shoulder.
“I hold a grudge.” He shrugs and it’s half a joke and I half want to laugh at it but I still feel like that’s going to pull me into another brawl I don’t want to have.
“It’s like watching a yak learn to fly,” Ingrid rolls her eyes and looks at Smitelout for back up. It makes sense that somehow they ended up paired up here, because they’re both older and everyone else is coupled off, but it still doesn’t make sense to look at. Maybe it’s because I can’t believe that Fuse is choosing to be this close to me or because seeing Arvid look so normal with Aurelia still doesn’t make sense. “I was never this stupid, right? Someone would have told me?”
“I did,” Smitelout inflates slightly, “still do. Because you are.”
“Oh my gods,” Ingrid rolls her eyes, “I almost forgot who I was talking to for a second.”
“Fire’s getting low,” Fuse uses my knee to stand up and I’m instantly cold without her under my arm. She grabs a log off of the stack behind Arvid and tosses it on the fire, wiping away some ash that lands on her arm and leaving a gray streak on the back of her hand. Her sleeves are pushed up and she’s not wearing her vest and I realize she’s been leaving it off a lot lately. Like she’s actually making that effort to occasionally not be around explosives.
And that just makes me think of being alone in the forge with her and my face heats up. I lean forward to try and blame it on the fire but it feels different when she sits back down next to me, I’m too aware of her hipbone against mine and I jump when she puts her hand on my back.
“Sorry,” she tries to pull it off and I shake my head.
“No, it’s fine, I’m just jumpy.”
“Why?” She looks self-conscious, briefly, eyebrows furrowed, and I hate it.
“Because three of my siblings are here and I don’t think group dates are my thing,” I blurt out and Arvid meets my eyes across the fire. He nods in agreement and Aurelia looks slightly miffed at me.
“I thought it would be fun,” she lies better than the rest of us seem to be able to, “I won’t suggest it again.”
Meaning, next time she’ll just let me bumble through the lie alone. She doesn’t know what a bad idea that is, last time that happened I spilled the secret to Smitelout.
“Plus it’s not a group date,” Smitelout holds her hands out to Ingrid like she’s trying to pacify her, “not that—”
“Yeah, I know we’re not on a date,” Ingrid shakes her head, “you don’t have to clarify that.”
Fuse’s hand starts moving on my back, not really rubbing, just sort of tracing the line of my spine and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It feels better than it probably should, relaxing in a way that’s going to make me say something else stupid.
“I was just going to say that twerp commentary is more fun than a random bonfire when it’s not even dark yet,” Smitelout tosses a chip of wood into the fire and Fuse tenses like she doesn’t want anyone else feeding her fire. It’s cute that she’s possessive of the fire. It’s weird that she’s still feeling my back, because I don’t see how it could still be interesting to her, but I guess I didn’t get bored rubbing her shoulders. Not that it’s the same thing, because glancing sideways at her profile and the way her sharp blue eyes are taking in the interaction, I’m hit with another wave of disbelief that she likes me, of all people.
“Yeah, kind of a weird choice of activity, guys,” Ingrid agrees, just for the sake of teasing me, I’m sure, “maybe Smitelout shouldn’t have ditched her date.”
“I’m playing hard to get,” Smitelout looks at Ingrid like she’s stupid.
“Isn’t that self-defeating when you’re also playing hard to want?” Ingrid snorts at her own joke and Smitelout tosses her braid over her shoulder.
“You know, your axe is in pretty rough shape, I might not have time to get it fixed before Thawfest this year…” Smitelout sighs like this is deeply tragic for her and I tense when Ingrid glances down at her bad hand. I know she said it’s just Smitelout but still. No one gets to mention it.
I can tell Arvid agrees with the sentiment from the way he gently disentangles his hand from Aurelia’s and glances at me.
“Right. Thawfest,” Ingrid deflates as she pulls her hand out of her pocket, “it might just be your year, Lout.”
“Yeah, no, I don’t want to win like a loser,” Smitelout scoffs, “I don’t care if you borrow the twerp’s axe, it’s not a win if you don’t lose, fair and square.”
Ingrid stares at her for a second before nodding, “it’s almost like you’ve been hiding an honorable streak this whole time.”
“Don’t tell my dad,” Smitelout snorts and looks around at the rest of us and our collective expression that she just grew a second head. “What? Thorston’s the one with something on her face.”
“Not again,” Fuse mutters, taking her hand from my back and wiping her cheek. It just leaves a new black streak on top of the old one and I don’t think before reaching up and wiping at it with my thumb. That just smears it around and I laugh.
“And I just made it worse.”
“Really?” She looks embarrassed and that’s another reason to punch Smitelout.
“Here,” I take my black smeared thumb and wipe it on my cheek, “now we match.”
“We should go see if my shed blew up or not,” she almost deadpans, color rising high in her cheeks, “I think I know how to clean up what you spilled.”
And of course she’s brilliant, that’s a way out of this disaster of a fake group date. Maybe we can even hide the bombs better while we’re at it.
“Yeah, sure,” I stand up and offer her my hand, “my clumsiness in the first place. Yak butter fingers, am I right?” I show the hand she’s not holding to the group like they’ll take it as an explanation.
“Oh shit,” Fuse curses under her breath and drops my hand and I’m sure I said something wrong until she waves up the hill. “Hi dad, what are you doing?”
“I heard teenage merriment and thought the firepit must be haunted,” Tuffnut walks up to the firepit and puts his hands on his hips, “because there’s no way that my lifelong dream of my daughter having friends over is finally coming true.”
“Dad,” Fuse flushes up to her hairline, crossing her arms, “Darren has friends over all the time.”
“Which makes it less of an occasion,” Tuffnut looks at me in particular and it hits me, specifically, for the first time that he’s her father. Before I guess I haven’t thought about it except in the context of avoiding repeating the Aurelia situation, but now I’m just picturing every angry father figure I’ve ever seen glaring at Arvid. “And a part time Acting Chief in attendance, this is quite the high brow chill sesh.”
“Oh my gods, Dad, don’t say that.” Fuse hides her face in her hands, “I’ll be in later, alright?”
“Now I just feel like you’re trying to get rid of me,” Tuffnut—or is it Mr. Thorston? Am I suddenly supposed to call him Mr. Thorston because I’m hoping to kiss his daughter again sometime soon? Oh Gods, I shouldn’t think that now—sits down between Ingrid and Smitelout and claps Ingrid on the shoulder. “I haven’t seen you since you got back, glad we get this chance to hang.”
“I am trying to get rid of you,” Fuse looks at me apologetically and I’m as disappointed as she must have been when Gobber interrupted us the other night.
“No, I think we want to chill with your dad,” Smitelout laughs and Ingrid nods along.
“I don’t remember the last time we hanged. Hung?” Ingrid looks at Tuffnut and cocks her head. “What is the past tense of to hang?”
“Who cares?” Tuffnut shrugs and Fuse’s nostrils flare, cutely, and that’s another thought I shouldn’t have when her dad is here. “I’m a cool dad, grammar is lame.”
“Dad, why’d you come out here?”
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Ok, let’s go inside then,” she gives me one last sad look and walks behind her dad to grab his arm and tug. He falls backwards off of the log and Ingrid shoves his feet to the side, laughing. “I’ll see you,” she says to me in particular and I wave, trying not to look as miffed as I feel about it. She looks disappointed enough for the both of us.
“Well, this has been lame,” Smitelout stands up next, rubbing her hands together, “I better go get to salvaging that axe. Assuming you’re still ready to pay for it.”
“Like I said, I think I lucked into chief money,” Ingrid stands up and loops her good arm through mine, “but take your time. I don’t want you questioning your craftsmanship when I still kick your ass. Come on, Fuse will still be there tomorrow. I’m hungry too,” Ingrid starts dragging me back down the hill towards the old Hofferson house and I’m surprised when Arvid and Aurelia follow.
“Remind me to never have friends over,” Aurelia shudders, “it’s bad enough when my dad tries to be cool to get Eret to like him.”
Arvid falls into step beside me and watches me look back at the Thorston house twice before it’s out of view.
“Do you think he wants to beat me up?” I ask him, because he’s the authority on this that I’ve wanted this whole time. He’s silent for a second and I think he’s not going to answer but then he shrugs.
“Probably.”
“Great.”
#eret iii#festerverse#eret sr#fuse thorston#ingrid hofferson#arvid hofferson#aurelia haddock#smitelout jorgenson#feret#cooldadtuffnut#fuse the sinnamon roll#because oh my god he's a child fuse#a small child
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#19 Fuse
What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song?
So Fuse is largely the kind of person who could, feasibly, sit in complete silence for hours. It disturbs Eret viscerally, because how can she think with all that silence eating away at her?
But also, she does prefer to put on some music, if available to her. I think she tends towards techno and classical and those don’t necessarily sound like they go together but they do in the way that time can get lost to both of them. Fuse likes music that just kind of continues in the background of whatever she’s doing and also doesn’t have any sort of emotional arc. Like, each song sounds different enough to know that it’s not the same but she also has an hour of the same background noise easily lined up.
I also headcanon that Fuse likes metal because #cooldadtuffnut was clearly in a garage metal band in the early nineties and that’s how he met her mom and one time, when she was fifteen, she set a fireworks show to Korn and Tuffnut literally cried with pride.
OC Asks Please and Thank You
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Open Flames: Part 13.1
So at my job we use something called bubble numbers where basically if you think you’re going to have multiple files between organizational levels, you pick a division you’re 3000% sure will fit them all. There’s not going to be 9 things between this chapter and the next, but there are a few, so I’ll call this one 13.1.
And it’s one I need, because it has Supportive Dad Tuffnut and I need Support after that last chapter.
Masterpost
Fuse feels blasted open. Only Eret does this to her, only he makes her feel so many things at once that she can't pick any of them apart. He defies logic, both in action and in practice and in the moment, she almost hates him for it, even though that makes the desperate, anxious, terrified love feel even heavier. She can't get the image out of her mind of him holding the tear in his nicest shirt, the one his mom made to fit his shoulders, blood oozing again and again into the fabric until she couldn't believe it'd ever been white.
And maybe it's the pregnancy, or the fact that she can't keep Eret from bleeding, no matter how hard she tries, but she knows there's no chance of hiding anymore.
She pauses at the front door of her house, listening against the heavy, reinforced wood until she hears Chicken VII's soft clucking inside. Her dad is home. She doesn't think he'll be mad, he doesn't really get mad, not at her. Her mom might be, later, after everything is figured out and there's time to panic, and the size of her consequences compared to Eret's make her feel like a coward. She unclasps the vest that she barely got away with wearing to an official ceremony and the memory of how Astrid looked at her plays again in her head, even though it doesn't matter. Even though thinking about it can't change anything.
Fuse looks down at her stomach, smoothing her dress over it and holding the roundness from underneath with both palms. She's not going to make her dad ask, she's going to tell him. That's the last thing she has control over here and she hates how it feels like spiting Eret in some aspects. Well, more than that she hates that she likes the idea of spiting Eret right now and it makes her want to put her vest back on so that she can breathe with the confidence that she won't explode accidentally. She's not a shaped charge right now, she knows that much, she's built to vaporize and primed with tears.
She wipes her eyes one more time on her sleeve before opening the front door and taking a careful, light-footed step inside. Her dad's back is to her and he doesn't look over immediately, probably expecting her to sneak off to her bedroom like she has been.
"Dad?" She clears her throat against the sob that threatens to escape the second she opens her mouth, clenching her vest tight in a fist like it can still ground her from there. It's sturdy, every inch of it covered in Eret's concern, and she hates that she said what she said. She hates more that it aligned with what she felt. Feels. Hearing how horrible it sounds didn't manage to change how she feels. "I have to tell you something."
"Oh, sure," her dad sounds a little too excited and Fuse resolves to fix the guilt she feels over not talking to him enough lately. That's another thing she can get through. "Also, how's Eret? I have to say, I like the kid for the drama, Hiccup never got knifed in front of the whole tribe like that, but it's getting a little excessive."
"He's..." Fuse's throat twitches again with a barely held back sob and she gives into the urge to shuffle across the room and curl up next to her dad on the fur covered bench. Not that she can curl up, not really, she can't even wrap her arms around her knees, and irrationally, that's the realization that makes her start crying again. Useless, stupid crying. It doesn't fix anything, it doesn't make her feel better. Even her dad's worried arm over her shoulders doesn't help because she's not ready for it. The rubble has to settle before anyone can try and put it back together.
"Nod once for 'dead' and twice for 'needs to be dead'," her dad says seriously, "and thrice for 'other'. Not sure what 'other' would make you cry though. Gods, you haven't cried since you were little."
Fuse feels Eret's influence in every part of her when that makes her laugh, a miserable, soggy sound that doesn't make any sense. It's not funny, but Eret would think it is, given how many stupid tears she's shed over the past few months. Maybe she started agreeing with him about funny when she realized how much she likes laughing with him.
The thought that he might not want to anymore after what she said triggers a new wave of tears and she hides her face in her dad's shoulder. It would be logical for him to be wary after an explosion like that and she hates that the only thing she can count on to bring him back to her is the complete lack of self-preservation that she's still so rightfully furious about.
"Did you hit your head?" Her dad checks her hair for a bump and that makes Fuse laugh again, raw and oddly more relieving than the tears, "get hit by lightning? This is the bad kind of mortal terror, Fusey, I only like that when it's about me."
"No," she shakes her head, making herself sit up enough to look him in the eye, "no, it was just funny when you said I don't cry because I cry all the time these days. And you don't know that because I've been avoiding you." The words hit in a way Fuse doesn't expect and her dad's crushed face reminds her of Eret's again and the way he swore when he reached out to touch her but his bloody hand made him pull away. "Not because of anything you did or because I didn't want to talk to you," she clarifies and it only makes her dad look more worried, and there's no putting this off any longer, "I was avoiding you because I'm pregnant."
Chicken VII squawks. Fuse's dad, in a motion that's almost more shocking than Fuse laughing while crying, raises a finger to his mouth and shushes the bird.
"We're having a conversation that doesn't involve you," he hisses, "I taught you better manners than that, young lady." He looks sheepishly back up at Fuse, eyes flicking to her stomach and widening slightly, but he doesn't say anything further. "Not you, I didn't even try on the manners with you, I knew they wouldn't stick."
"I've known about four months," Fuse ignores the interruption as best as she can, focusing on the instant relief that comes with shedding the secret. She's not good at secrets and as awful as it was to tell Eret what she's been thinking and fearing, she does feel lighter. Mostly a terrifying, untethered kind of lighter, like the bomb blasted her free of something with no plan for a soft landing. That's what her dad's for, though, she hopes. "I knew you couldn't keep the secret if I told you and I knew I couldn't lie to you, so I avoided you."
"This is a talk I always expected to have with Darren."
"Girls don't talk to Darren." Fuse frowns and her dad shakes his head, expression still a little blank at the news.
"No, he'd be the pregnant one. Nevermind, not important." He looks at her stomach again, "you're not just a little bit pregnant there, honey, that's--I don't know whether I should tell you I'm impressed at how you hid it or not, but I am. Vest off and just, bam, Loki-ing me in my own house."
"We think it might be twins." It seems important to dispense information slowly, a pebble at a time, like she's balancing a scale against something volatile and precious.
"Twins," her dad blinks, "it has been a little boring around here."
"No, it hasn't," Fuse corrects him matter-of-factly, "it's been a mess. Eret and I just fought, I said some really hard things and now I'm worried he'll never talk to me again." Saying it plainly makes it hurt more and less at the same time, like Nightmare Gel on a burn to ward off infection.
"He's dramatic and twitchy and has that whole nasal voice thing--anyway, he's not stupid, Fuse. I don't think there's anything you could say to change the weird, glazed-eyed, sappy way he looks at you." Her dad looks at her stomach again, nodding like he's getting used to the idea, "and that's a good thing, considering you two probably have to get married now. Oh Hel, you were pregnant when the chief was asking me about that, does he know?"
"Not unless Eret told him," Fuse sighs, "which I doubt. If anything he went straight to tell his mom."
"I don't think that door is Astrid proof, maybe we should move this conversation to your shed."
"I'm not scared of her."
"This is a truth zone, honey, no brave face necessary."
"No," Fuse insists, "I'm not scared of her. That's part of what I said, I--I don't know where to start, Dad. It was just everything all at once and I've been trying so hard to be calm while Eret fixes the mess that I made of that princess's island, but I can't do it. I couldn't do it."
"Oh, Fuse," her dad kisses her forehead, "you're terrifying and since you were eight years old, I've been more than a little intimidated by the force of nature I'd created. Now, I know I'm right." He takes her hand in his, "and you're pregnant. When your mom was pregnant with you, she burned all my pants one time because hers didn't fit. It's not a logical time, even for you."
"That's another part of it," she sighs, "I have to be more than myself, like Eret is, he's always better than what he should be. He always has more to give even when logically, he shouldn't have anything left. Hel, tonight he was trying to comfort me while I just listed off everything I could throw at him."
"You know, if I'd known you were pregnant, I might have acted a little differently when the chief asked me to help him talk to you about it." Her dad shrugs, "might have, it was really fun to get the vein in his forehead going, just like old times but...you know Hiccup really dragged his foot about getting married and it got him and Astrid and Eret the Original into a lot of dragon dung. Why aren't you marching Eret the Second Draft into a marriage contract with some fancy bomb held over his head?"
Fuse never expects the anger that flashes through her when people suggest that she'd blow Eret up. This is no different and she yanks her hand away from her dad.
"That's not funny."
"I'm not joking, Fuse," her dad is unusually grim and serious and Fuse freezes, "you've got a couple of Haddock heirs cooking there and they'll only be Haddocks if you and Eret are married. I won't, unless you ask me to, but I could kill that kid for leaving you with this decision--"
"He's not," Fuse shakes her head, "he asked me months ago to let the princess marry us, but I don't want to. I'm not ready for everything to change." For the first time in her life, Fuse understands the way that Eret's eyes light up when he struggles through saying something painful out loud. She didn't know the truth until she heard it and it's like her compass needle finding North after spinning for what feels like months. "I'm happy with the way things are, I'm happy being a Thorston, I'm happy with Eret. But everything is changing anyway. I didn't want to tell anyone that I'm pregnant because if I could hide it, no one else acted like things were different. But that's not logical, things were different--are different--whether people see it or not."
It feels like grieving, in a way. All of a sudden realizing that she'll never do anything again without thinking of babies and eventually kids. And she's happy about it in theory, she didn't lie to Eret. She's happy when she thinks of a little red-head, rolling their eyes and setting their jaw in fearless determination. But she's losing things too, flexibility, freedom, the choice to apply all of herself to solving a problem or making something. And it hurts to realize that she's already lost it, babies don't start changing things when they're born, it starts way earlier than that. It started the first time she moved a charge to her shoulder pocket, already planning to shield the slow growing idea of child from the pain that she doesn't think about.
Bombs didn't used to feel dangerous at all. Then they felt dangerous around Eret and now, she's always around Eret because she hopes to all the Gods in Valhalla that all the best parts of him are happening again.
"I have to ask," her dad smiles slightly, "what were you going to do if you ended up having these babies without anyone to claim them?"
"That wouldn't happen," Fuse frowns, "they'd be Thorstons."
"And you're ok with that?"
"More than ok with it," she looks at her hands, scarred but not bandaged, the line under her fingernails uncomfortably clean. She can imagine a ring on these hands the way she usually can't. "I hate thinking about giving it up."
"Oh honey," her dad pulls her into a tight hug, patting her on the shoulder unusually gently, "wow, you're really pregnant there. This is a lot. Where was I? Oh right, I love you, and you're the best Thorston Loki has ever imbued with a talent for chaos and the good looks to get away with it." He pulls back to look at her purposefully, "but you've got to do what's right for you and now those babies. And if I'm a grandpa to Thorstons, great. As long as it's not a Jorgenson and you're happy, I'm fine with it."
"That doesn't help me decide what to do."
"I can't do that," he stands up, "I can only back you up. Well, and I can feed you. And loan you half of a zippleback, if you need it, but you have to leave the other half attached and I don't have Ruffnut on board with loaning out Barf and Belch right now so I'd have to ask her first."
"Thanks, Dad." Fuse accepts the hand he offers and stands up, leaning back slightly to find her balance. It's been shifting the past couple of weeks and her lower back feels like molten iron hardening on her bones. Eret would rub it, even if he were mad, and thinking about it almost restarts the stupid, tired tears. "Don't tell anyone. I shouldn't have told you without talking to Eret first."
He nods, "you should get some sleep. You're sleeping for three now."
"That's not how that works," she shakes her head at him, wanting one last hug but wanting more to feel like she can support herself, so she holds off, looking purposefully at her door. "But I am tired, so goodnight, Dad. Thanks."
She expects falling asleep to be hard, to be stuck on the day and everything that happened, but she's out before she takes her boots off.
#open flames#fuse thorston#eret iii#festerverse#cooldadtuffnut#that's the tag and I"m sticking to it
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I would die for Cool Dad Tuffnut, this has been a PSA, Cool Dad Tuffnut is the best thing I’ve ever created
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Cool Dad Tuffnut is here. I don't even care about anything else. Cool Dad Tuffnut is meeting the boyfriend.
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Sinnamon Roll Fuse remains to be my favorite thing I’ve ever thought of. The boy isn’t ready Fuse, be gentle with him.
Takes place after Mending Bridges and includes more #cooldadtuffnut
“Dinner’s ready,” Fuse’s Mom announces as she walks inside and Fuse drops her dad’s arm, ignoring her older brother laughing at her. Her face is probably still red. She’s not even sure why, there’s too many reasons. Eret has an irritating way of making her feel everything at once until she can’t quite sort through it all without pausing.
“I’m not hungry,” she steps over Chicken VI on the way to her room, pulling the curtain shut too fast behind her.
“Why not?” Her mom asks as she flops on the bed, toeing her shoes off and pulling her pillow over her face.
“Ask Dad.”
She hears her Mom smack her dad in what sounds like the shoulder.
“What’d you do?”
“She had friends over, I had to go be cool.” Her dad says like it’s obvious.
“Was Eret there, you idiot?” Her mom sighs and her brother laughs and she doesn’t know why she’d be embarrassed that they’re talking about it, but it feels private. Everything about Eret feels like it should be private but somehow, it never gets a chance to be.
“The little one?” Her dad pulls out a chair, the legs squeaking across the floor and Chicken VI squawking as she jumps into his lap. “Yeah.”
“Idiot,” her mom scoffs and her brother starts talking about something Fuse doesn’t care about and she tunes them out.
That went…not how she expected it to. And that’s a bad thing, when it involves anyone but Eret. He’s the only one who manages to make her expectations better. She thought she’d get more done, yeah, but he couldn’t help his sister tagging along. And he couldn’t help the lie that Aurelia told and that lie led to a lot of his arm around her.
But more than that, he did something no one has ever done and it got to her in the way he keeps getting to her. When he showed up, she was full. She was trying to teach two people to do things they’d never done before and that’s stressful, even more so when a mistake will blow the roof and all of them sky high. And she didn’t think it showed, it never does, she doesn’t let it. People get uncomfortable when they think the person handling explosives is nervous. But Eret was different, like he always is.
He didn’t think about blowing up, he thought about her. He was worried about her. He tried to make her feel better even though she didn’t say she felt bad.
She pulls the pillow off her face and back under her head, exhaling and staring at the ceiling.
He keeps touching her.
When she least expects it and before she realizes she needs it or even wants it. But he realizes it. He sees her and she should hate it but she doesn’t. She likes his hands on her shoulders and the way that he looks at her, even if she can’t quite figure it out.
It’s not how she looks at him. She knows that much.
He really doesn’t see himself, does he? He still sees how scrawny he was a year ago and even though she liked him then, it was more passive. She wished they could be friends because he seemed like someone who might be hers. He didn’t think she was weird, or maybe he was just as weird. She didn’t think about it too much, honestly, it was almost gravitational. She just felt compelled to check in on him and at some point she started looking forward to it. He was interesting. She couldn’t figure him out and maybe it’s because he hadn’t figured himself out yet. And unlike everyone else, he didn’t pretend that he had.
Then his family fell apart and he started talking to her more and he started growing. And it’s not like he even grew all that much but he was around her all the time and maybe that’s why she noticed. Maybe the beard makes his shoulders look broader. Or maybe it just makes him look more touchable. Because as much as he keeps touching her, she can’t seem to touch him back enough. And he lets her, that’s not the problem. Maybe there isn’t a problem, it just feels like a problem because usually, when something makes Fuse as excited as the prospect of touching him does, the situation is a lot deadlier.
And it’s not deadly with Eret. She trusts him. She trusts him more than she’s ever trusted anyone else. And he likes her. It took him a while to catch up but she believes him. He’s never lied to her. He has no reason to start now.
And somehow, as hard as she tried not to, she built up expectations in her head those long months when he was around and distracting. It’s like imagining the explosion she’s trying to make before she can make the bomb to do it and now that he’s here and doesn’t mind, she keeps wanting to see how close her expectation was to reality. His back was warmer than she expected it to be, somehow, and she didn’t think touching it would make her want to put her hand in his hair quite so much. Maybe it’s because his hair always looks warm too or because when he pushes it out of his face, his arms flex and she wants to check those too.
He’s not the first boy to ever kiss her. One of the Larson twins did when she was thirteen and she doesn’t even remember which because it left so small of an impact. But when Eret does, it’s like being almost close enough to a fire.
Then he has to make comments about his magic fingers. Like she hadn’t been trying to focus while her brain was stuck on how large his hands were on her shoulders and how warm he felt behind her. And she trusts him and he wants to make her happy. He keeps proving it, he keeps complimenting her and holding her hand and touching her with that impenetrable, eye racing look like he might be thinking about the same things she is.
Because he said he had a filter and at the time, she didn’t quite believe it. But the more she thought about it, the more that meant he was thinking things about her that he didn’t think he could say. And he makes her feel safe in a way that makes her want to search out something more dangerous. He stutters around her like he’s nervous and holding it together and it makes her want to blow it apart.
And it’s his fault. He kisses her like he expects her to shove him off, he touches her so kindly and carefully that she can feel how strong he is and how much he’d never hurt her.
She wants to kiss him until he relaxes. She wants who he is when he’s not thinking so hard to slow himself down. She wants him alone, like they never get to be. She wanted to push him against the door so that no one could get it open and interrupt them.
And for the first time, what she wants isn’t just up to her. She’s always just been able to make it happen, one way or another. But this? Eret is important, it’s not his fault he’s busy. It’s not something she can blow up to get out of her way. She can’t remember the last time she worked around something instead of through. She doesn’t think she’s good at it.
“Hey kiddo,” her dad says on the other side of the curtain in her doorway and she sighs, sitting up.
“Come in.”
“When exactly did you turn into a stereotypical teenager?” Her dad pulls the curtain aside enough to stick his head in. “And please tell me it’s temporary.”
“When you became the dorky dad who mis-uses slang to embarrass me.” Fuse blinks at her dad until he laughs.
“How the turns have tabled, I came in here to remind you that you’re too exceptional to feel embarrassed and you run me through.” He goes to pull the curtain back closed, “I made Darren save you some food but I don’t know how long it’ll last so…”
“I’ll eat,” Fuse stands up, grabbing her vest from where it’s crumpled on her shelf. It’s not like Eret is going to be around any time soon. The vest makes her feel like she’s got a bigger chance at solving this too. Maybe there is a way straight through.
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The Origin Story of Fuse Thorston
So I’m trying to write in Fuse’s POV and I was having some trouble dialing her in and I started thinking more about why she is the way that she is and I figured it out and it is delightful, so I need to share.
Fuse as we know her is composed. She moves carefully and doesn’t really talk more than she has to and she’s reliable and gets places on time and can be trusted to deal with stressful things. She’s meticulous and brilliant and only damages what she wants to and all of those things have always been kind of strange to reconcile with the fact that she’s Tuffnut’s daughter, but also, it always made sense to me and today I figured out why.
Because as a child? She was the most hellish hellion that Berk had ever seen.
She was worse than the twins ever were. She set fires just to watch them burn, she let yaks out of their pens just so they’d destroy stuff, she painted sheep black to mess up dragon racing. She set off stink bombs in the great hall because it caused mass puking. The works. She was uncontrollable chaos in a tiny, strawberry blonde body.
And Tuffnut? He was a proud father. His boys did some great stuff but nothing like his girl. His girl was a force of destructive nature, Loki had clearly blessed her.
Until Arvid Hofferson (who might have had a slight crush on 8 year old hellion Fuse) pulled her braid in dragon training and she retaliated by stink bombing his house. Then it wasn’t as funny, because Tuffnut had to answer to Mama Bear Astrid who’d just been bombed. Death threats were dealt, Tuffnut saw his life flash before his eyes. And he realized he’d have to sit down and do the thing he feared impossible: control his daughter.
And I’m all about good dad Tuffnut. I think he’s oddly suited to children because children tend to bring a lot of noise and mess and chaos to your life and he’s like, that’s fair, I too like throwing blocks across the room and drawing on the wall, I think I will join. And as his kids got older and had weird interests he’s like, you delightful and bizarre little person, please go gross my sister out with that. But I’m not going to joke around and call him an authoritarian. Punishments were few and far between and frequently not stuck to because the grounded child won’t play pranks with him and what’s the point of children if you don’t have anyone to help you play pranks?
So he sits down with his wife after Astrid scares the entire shit out of his whole body and tries to come up with some sort of solution to not only punish but possibly mold the terror they’ve created into someone who could reasonably exist in society. And it goes something like this:
Tuffnut: We’ve got to get Fuse to stop destroying things
Tuffnut’s Wife: Why? (She married Tuffnut)
T: Because she bombed Astrid’s house and if she’s willing to do that, she doesn’t know fear and that doesn’t set her up for a long and full life
TW: Fair but she doesn’t have a dragon yet, what are we going to do? We can’t ground her.
T: Maybe we can distract her. Maybe if she had a hobby she’d have something to do besides create chaos and destruction.
TW: Well, what does she like? What kind of hobby could we try to get her into?
T: She likes chaos and destruction. Shit.
TW: Maybe chaos and destruction could be a hobby. If we could figure out how she could do it without destroying things.
T: Maybe we could set her up with a mace or a war hammer? Something that really smashes targets? But she hasn’t really shown any interest in weapons. She’s only ever liked those stink bombs I gave her last Snoggletog. Looks like she figured out how to make her own and used it on Astrid’s house, I would have been impressed if Astrid hadn’t threatened to hang me upside down with my own intestines tied around my ankles.
TW: Maybe she could sell stinkbombs, or something, I bet someone would buy them.
T: I knew there was a reason I married you. When the answer has both profit and stink bombs in it, how can it be wrong?
So Tuffnut goes and proposes the idea. More than that, it’s kind of a punishment, he tells her that she has to make fifty before she can set off any. And they have a day collecting supplies and she probably has to buy some with her own money and generally, Tuffnut is a decent ass dad and it’s my favorite thing. But then she sits down to make them...and she makes 100. And she also makes something that’ll shatter her brother’s rock collection and she replicates that about twenty times, because Berk is made of rock and that would be awesome.
And Tuffnut is like, oh shit, I’ve armed the psychopath. So he does what he never wants to do, and asks Hiccup for help. Because Hiccup can train anything, right? Maybe the hand thing will work where parenting didn’t. It’s not science but Ruffnut didn’t have anything to say except thinly veiled jealousy because none of her kids have damaged Berk’s infrastructure before, but that’s her fault for marrying Fishlegs.
So he goes to talk to Hiccup and it’s like...
Tuffnut: Chief, do you have a minute?
Hiccup: Sure, is something wrong?
T: I don’t know if you’ve heard about my daughter destroying everything all the time, but I think I need some help directing all of her chaotic energy. Because there’s a lot. Loki has blessed us all but sometimes Loki works in mysterious and dangerous ways.
H: Oh, that thing at the Hofferson house? I guess I heard about it. I don’t know. It was just a stink bomb, right?
T: Well, that and the dam that broke and flooded half the village. That was her too.
H: I’m sure she’ll grow out of it. I”m the last person to make a big deal out of a kid accidentally burning a few buildings. She probably didn’t know what she was doing. (Probably right after Eret III burned down the forge. Isabella is pregnant and primed to leave, Hiccup is pretending he’s never seen Astrid in his life.)
T: Oh. That’s the thing uh...she did. She thought it would be bigger, honestly, she told me that. And the bombs she used she kind of made herself? I thought that after she made the stinkbomb it might be a good creative outlet but now there are a lot of explosives in my house? And they were all made by an eight year old and to be honest, I trust their power more than their shelf life
H: She blew stuff up so you helped her make explosives?
T: Yeah.
H: Maybe I’m not fucking Aurelia up so bad after all.
T: So do you have anything that she could blow up for like...the forces of good, or whatever?
H: You want her to blow up more things?
T: I’m at a loss here, dude
H: You could take away the explosives
T: She was the one that let all of the sheep out of their pen last week and painted ten of them black right before the dragon race. You think she needs bombs? She’s too powerful, I’m in awe of the force of nature that came from my loins--
H: I’m gonna stop you there. There’s a rock wall I tried to blast down but Toothless couldn’t get it after a couple and I gave up. Let’s see if she has any luck and if she doesn’t, I’ll take the explosives.
Fuse has luck. In fact, when only half of it comes down in the first try, she starts stacking bombs to get the rest in one go. It’s a talent. Hiccup is impressed even though he doesn’t really want to be. He asks for her help taking out some walls between caves and she starts sophisticating, rapidly.
And that means she’s building with scarier stuff. The first time she gets excited about how much bigger this next one is going to be, she sets it off in her room and takes her eyebrows with it. She learns to be still and sure and to move carefully and it’s all self rewarding, because it means bigger, badder, cooler bombs. She feeds meatlug some ingredients and gets something more powerful out and blows up the Ingerman barn. Fishlegs is mad and Fuse chooses a gronckle when it’s her turn.
And the twins always had a scientific outlook, and Fuse inherited that. She experiments to particular jobs and Hiccup likes having someone around who can literally move a mountain if he needs it. Instead of destroying everything all the time, she saves it up for bigger blasts. She’s used to having explosives on her person and it keeps her calm because she has to be, and it keeps the village in one piece.
And even though Tuffnut is a little sad that he had to direct her chaotic energy, he never snuffed it out. The reason Fuse can deal with stuff so well is because she’s constantly dealing with herself.
#fuse thorston#eret iii#festerverse#cooldadtuffnut#this is legit how I talk#this reads how I talk and I hate it#this has been my ted talk about fuse
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