no idea the names of the ''cold woman'' and the ''third wife'' so sorry

It’s way too early for that

So, here’s another Hiccstrid story I’ve managed to create. Rather sweet and teasing, canon based.

I’d like to dedicate this story to @wilderwestqueen, as a little thank-you for her sharing her incredible talent with us :)

She was roused by the sun and the screeching of Terrible Terrors singing from the rooftop.

The female Viking extended her arms behind her head, stretching leisurely, exactly like she would do on any other day. She rubbed her sleepy eyes; although there was nothing she wanted less than to leave the comfortable bed, which itself seemed to be persuading her to stay in for a little bit longer, she knew she couldn’t succumb to those imaginary whispers.

No matter how much she desired to avoid the meeting she’d promised to conduct, she wasn’t going to let her laziness win over her natural sense of duty. Astrid Hofferson would not be late.

Astrid Haddock wouldn’t either.

She turned her head, expecting to see her sleeping husband, peacefully breathing through his parted lips. To her surprise, it appeared the man wasn’t there at all. She frowned, dissatisfied. Hiccup never got up first.

Only then did she noticed the soft pressure put on her own belly. She raised her eyebrows and smiled piteously as her mind had been lightened by a few potential explanations of that state. As gently as she could, she lifted the edge of the blanket that was covering her and she peeked under it.

Of course, her intuition was right; arrayed in the most unnatural position, the young Chief of Berk was lying by her side, with his head rested exactly at the level of her stomach. Initially, she was sure he was asleep – it wouldn’t be the first time when, after the night spent on tossing in his sheets under the influence of the old nightmares, Hiccup would find solace in her presence, embracing her petite silhouette, and snuggling onto it. Besides, the way in which he was lying made it impossible to see his face, only showing the thick locks on the back of his head; and those weren’t easy to spot either, as their covering was still separating him from the daylight.

Astrid understood her mistake almost immediately. As soon as she raised the blanket, her husband’s steady breathing stopped, expectantly. It returned to its normal pace right away, sounding exactly the same as before – but the blonde woman knew, that it was nothing more than a window dressing. Her smile widened, and her eyebrows went even higher.

“What on Thor’s name are you doing?”

Keep reading

Luck — Fred Weasley Fiction

Wow! I actually WROTE something?? Sorry if it sucks hah. It’s actually based on a true story and if you’d like to hear it, i love telling it, even though it’s a bit tragic lol. Hope you like it(-:

PS: I might turn this into some sort of series? Maybe a few more parts? I’m not sure! Maybe if it’s popular I will!

July 1994, Paris, France

She had put on her favorite dress but she didn’t yet know why. She just felt like she should. She also spent extra time on her hair and minimal makeup for no reason at all, it seemed. She felt something different in the air when she walked through the doors of the hall.

“You’ve got to ask him tonight, it’s your last chance.”

“No way in hell will I ever be doing that, Cas.”

“You’ll never see him again! What’s there to lose?” Her friend sang, “look there he is!”

“Shhhh! Don’t point. I see him. Oh man is he cute.” The girl swooned.

“Would you like to dance?” They twirled around to find a boy offering his arm to Cassidy.

“If you don’t ask him, someone else will.” She said, leaving with the stranger.

The girl sighed and sat down on the benches lining the dimly lit dance floor. This was her favorite spot in all of Paris. She loved coming here each week to watch all the couples dance to real, live jazz! She’d been watching the boy for almost a month now, dreaming of him coming over to talk to her or ask her to dance. It was east coast swing, her favorite. The summer was ending and soon enough she’d have to go back to school and likely not come back for a long time. She sulked on the bench, daydreaming about how she wished her night was going when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Would you like to dance?”

She looked up and almost choked. She couldn’t hold back the grin that was now stretching ear to ear.

“I’d love to.”

He dragged her onto the dance floor and put his hand on her waist. The pair of them moved together slowly and gracefully.

“I’m Fred, what’s your name?”

“English!” She blurted out. She felt her cheeks blushing before she could even comprehend what had happened.

“Your name is ‘English’?” He asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“Oh my gosh no, I’m so sorry. My name is Annette, you can just call me Anna. If you want. Annette is fine too. It’s just kind of a mouthful, if you know what I mean. I mean, um. I’m so sorry.”

He was laughing hard now and other couples were starting to stare.

“I was expecting you to be French! That’s why I said English. I don’t know why I didn’t realize before when you asked me to dance. I have no idea what’s wrong with me. Oh my gosh but I’m not like… insane. Nothing is medically wrong with me. Except I have bad vision I guess.”

She couldn’t stop talking but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it.

“I like you, Anna. Or English. Which do you prefer?” He winked. She blushed. Her stomach was jumping up and down so high she could feel it in her throat. As they danced, all she could see was him and all she could hear was the band playing ‘La Vie En Rose’ and all she could feel was enchanted and charmed. It was as if the world around her didn’t exist.

They talked and laughed and danced the rest of the night away. He was from Devon and was on holiday with his family. He said he liked her American accent and she almost died. She explained that she too was on holiday but was visiting some family in Paris. They couldn’t stop talking and when the band finally played their last song, she still didn’t want to stop dancing.

“Do you live nearby? I’ll walk you home,” Fred said, walking towards the doors.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

They walked through the cold air, talking about anything and everything. He told her about his favorite songs and the way his brothers pull pranks on each other. She could not stop laughing at his insane stories.

“This is me.” She said when they arrived all too soon at her doorstep.

“Right. I’m never going to see you again, am I?” He smiled kindly but his eyes said different.

“Probably not,” She winked.

“So it won’t matter if I do this?”

He kissed her and again the world around her melted. Their hands found cheeks and hair and they embraced each other for what felt like eternity. They pulled away and kissed a few more times, smiling yet heartbroken. How could they have found each other on such a wonderful night only to never be able to see each other again?

“I like you quite a bit,” he said, unable to look away.

“Me too, I think. I haven’t known you that long.”

He laughed,

“Goodbye, Annette.”

“Au revoir, Fred.”

He smiled one last time and left with a heavy heart.


August, 1994, Devon, England

The house was very tall and very beat up. She could hear all sorts of sounds coming from inside. She hesitated before knocking but when she did, the door flew open immediately. The woman was short and stout and squealing with joy.

“You made it! Are you hungry? Tired? Too hot? Give me that bag, I’ll get you a snack. I’m so happy you’re here.”

She asked her a million more questions before she could even get through the door.

“Molly leave the girl alone, I’m sure she’s exhausted. That was quite the journey. Do you remember us at all? You were just a wee one when we saw you last, I don’t even think you know Ron or Ginny!”

She faintly remembered the pair of them, from pictures and stories.

“Yes, I remember you from pictures and such. My mom talks about how much she wants to see you all again at least once a week.” They all chuckled.

“Well don’t worry if you forget a name, Merlin knows I can’t remember how many children I’ve got. To jog your memory, I’m Arthur, my wife is Molly. Our oldest is Bill and then Charlie, Percy is third… who am I forgetting?”

“The twins, Arthur! Fred and George! Ron and Ginny! How did you forget four of your children? Merlin save us.”

Before he could respond, three kids about her age ran through the kitchen and were about to sprint up the stairs but Molly called them back.

“Ron! Introduce your friends to Annette. She’s also staying with us until September.”

“Mum! We don’t have enough rooms for all these people!”

“Sorry about him and his so called manners, I’m Hermione.” The girl shook Annette’s hand,

“Those nitwits are Harry and Ron.” She followed the other two up the flight of creaky stairs, leaving Annette in the kitchen again.

“You’ll stay with her and Ginny, why don’t you go up with your things. It’s the second story, door on the left.”

She walked up the creaky stairs. This had to be the most interesting house she’d ever been in. She reached the second floor and found three doors, two on the left. She wasn’t sure which one to choose so she knocked on the first. Ginny Weasley did not open it.

The two of them were speechless for a minute before finally he said,



She dropped her bag and wrapped her arms tight around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, pulling away, a grin stretching across his face from ear to ear.

“I’m staying here! Our families are good friends and I’m moving to Hogwarts this year so I’m staying with you all!”

He kissed her about a million times before pulling her into the room.

“God I’ve got so much to talk to you about. I cannot believe this is happening.”

“Hi there. George. I’ll leave you two alone. Merlin knows the stories I’ve heard. He has a surprising amount of material despite it being what? Four hours you spent together?”

“Six. And thank you, goodbye.”

George left the two of them sitting on Fred’s bed.

“I am not letting you out of my sight ever again, just so you know.”

“I think that might turn into a problem but I’ll let it slide for now.”

“My god” he said, leaning into kiss her. “I just cannot believe my luck.”

Heart of the Sea

read it on Ao3

happy les mis wlw and women week!

aka the Titanic fic no one asked for

Chapter One:

It was the ship of dreams, they said. Fifty-two thousand tons of steel, five cargo rooms, four chimneys. It was the largest ship of its day, and the most beautiful. For anyone lucky enough to witness the RMS Titanic, it was the ship of dreams. But to one young, rich girl from London, it was nothing but a slave ship, taking her to America in chains.

Euphrasie Tholomyes was a small creature of barely seventeen years old, with dark curly hair and dazzling blue eyes that hid overwhelming sadness. She was the only child of the late Felix Tholomyes, a giant in the steel industry, and was being carted away to New York to marry another young, wealthy man to tie their families together. It was a fixed arrangement, and a smart one at that. Even Euphrasie agreed that the match made perfect sense, but even still she did not believe in it. She could never love Caledon Hockley.

The Hockley family was known, besides for being rich, as a fate changer. Anyone who simply blinked at the family found themselves overflowing with riches and fame. They spent the money they raked in almost as soon as they made it, and posed with their fine things like sculptures amongst gardens. Furs, mahogany, diamonds- nothing was too much for the Hockleys. This motto carried onto the youngest son, Caledon, and he spoiled himself and his wife-to-be tremendously. Which is, to say, what led Euphrasie to the Titanic.

Stepping out of the carriage, the sound of shrieking crowds filled the air, along with seagulls cawing, horns honking, and crates scraping along the ground. It was a burdening amount of commotion, all with the beautiful Titanic as a backdrop.

“Here we are, Euphrasie.” Caledon grinned. “The best ship ever made.”

Euphrasie wrinkled her nose. “It’s quite loud here, isn’t it?”

Caledon rolled his eyes. “My god. Mary it seems your daughter is impossible to please!”

A young woman with fiery red hair stepped out of the carriage as well, smiling politely at Caledon. “Well, it’s just the way us Tholomyes women are. You should know this by now, especially of my daughter.”

Mary Tholomyes was everything that Euphrasie was not. She lived for the finer things in life and draped herself in luxury. Brand was everything, name was everything. To Mary, nothing could possibly be better than the life of the upper class. She donned the role of a wealthy man’s wife with a bright smile and a gracious cursty.

Caledon nodded. “You’re right. I should have known by now that Euphrasie is a woman with higher needs.”

“Cal,” Euphrasie said as she took the man’s arm and walked with him. “I believe it’s appropriate for you to call me Cosette, seeing as how we are going to be married in a few weeks.”

He scoffed. “Nonsense. Euphrasie is a beautiful name, your god given name. To call you by anything else would be an insult.”

“Yes.” Cosette sighed, looking up at the ship. “I suppose it would be.”

Then there they went, a rich man and his fiancee, to board a ship to their new lives.


“Please tell me you’ve got a good hand.” Azelma whispered to Eponine.

“Don’t worry,” her sister replied. “Trust me.”

Eponine and Azelma Thenardier sat in a dingy pub, the both of them holding worn out cards in their hands and facing a pair of burly men with stone cold looks on their faces. The game was poker, and the prize was freedom. The tallest of the two, when stakes got high, had bet their two tickets for the Titanic. Needless to say, there was tension at the table for who would win the ultimate prize. As for the Thenardier sisters, they had bet nearly all of their remaining money, and the last bit of gold they carried with them. For both the parties, it was all or nothing.

“Alright it’s time. Put them down.” The shorter man said uneasily.

Azelma laid her hand on the table- an 8, a 4, a 5, and a king. A high card, not the best, but not the worst. So far so good.

The shorter man laid his hand down. Nothing of importance. Now it was clear why he was uneasy.

“Now you, Sven.” Eponine demanded.

The taller man, Sven, flashed the two girls a wide smile and laid down his hand. Three of a kind. Confidence radiated from him.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry Azelma.” Eponine said sympathetically to her younger sister. “I am so sorry…that I didn’t give you enough time to pack. Because-” she slammed her hand on the table. “We’re going to America! Full house, baby!”

The two girls stood shouting and hugged each other in unspeakable joy. They were going to America. They were going on the Titanic.

“You idiot!” The short man yelled at Sven and lunged at him, the two wresting on the floor of the pub.

“Well thanks for the game, boys, but I think me and my sister have a fancy boat to catch.” Azelma grinned linking arms with Eponine.

A voice from behind them laughed. “Like they’re going to let two underage girls board the Titanic alone.” The man had a point. Azelma was only 15, Eponine barely 18, and they looked like it, even younger if anything else.

“He’s right, Zel.” Eponine agreed. “But I have an idea.”

Half an hour later, the Thenardier sisters embarked on the Titanic in third class, as Azelma and Po– brother and sister.


Out the window, Cosette could still see the hustle and bustle on the streets below, and in fact it had only increased in size. Everyone was itching to get a look at the great ship sailing away, and Cosette knew she should feel lucky to be on it. And yet she wasn’t. In her cabin, servants poured in carrying her mother’s and Cal’s bags as well as their personal items such as portraits, vases, rugs, and paintings. Cosette loved her paintings more than anything, they gave her a taste of life outside what she knew.

“I don’t understand why you adore these pieces.” Caledon grimaced. “Their subjects are unsightly.”

“It’s not always about the subject, darling. It’s the emotion. Art is more than just pretty things, it’s meant to encapsulate the world and the people around us.” She mused.

“What a statement to make coming from a ‘pretty thing’ such as yourself. Perhaps the only work of art we can agree on is one when you are the subject, hm?” Cal said, wrapping his arms around Cosette.


“Will you join me on the deck to see the ship off?”

“In a few minutes. I want to take in everything.”

“Well. I shall see you in a few moments then. Don’t be too long.” Cal walked out of the cabin, shutting the door behind him, and almost as soon as she was alone, Cosette collapsed and began to cry. Cry for herself, cry for her reality, and cry for her future. Life was grains of sand slipping through her fingers, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She rose from where she sat by the window and moved to look at her beloved paintings. They were her escape. In the brush strokes she ran free, in the colours she found her voice. With a gentle finger Cosette outlined Monet’s water lilies, admiring how though each hue was distinct, it blended with the others. It reminded her of people, however different they are they still come together. She wondered what picture she would make.

Realizing time had flown by, Cosette quickly hurried out of the cabin to the deck and found Cal and her mother waiting for her.

“Whatever took you so long?” Cal muttered beneath a smile.

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Thinking can be dangerous, Cosette.” Her mother chimed.

“Yes, I’d hate to use it as a weapon someday.” Mary frowned at this, but a part of Cosette was pleased on the inside. She could never oppose her mother openly, and in moments like these Cosette felt power she feared she had lost. She felt in control for just a few seconds.

“Now, enough of this squabble. The show is about to begin.” Cal pointed up towards the helm where the captain now stood. Captain Smith waved at the people on the deck then to those on the ground below. Without saying a single word, he saluted, and his crew hurried off to give orders to down below. A few seconds later, all passengers aboard felt the ship rumble to life, her engines creating a vibration throughout the vessel almost heartbeat-like. Slowly, the Titanic began to move away from the harbour. The smooth water underneath her mass parted gracefully, and the ship began to glide like an angel through the Atlantic water. Everyone was waving goodbye, shouting farewells with joyful laughs. The ship of dreams was sailing away, with more than two thousand people aboard. It was a sight to behold, it was a spark that would light a million fires. It was the beginning to a tragic end.

Bagginshield is Real---Ben Hur Theory

Theory: the Hobbit is ONE book that has been stretched into THREE movies. Bilbo, unlike, hella many protags has no forced heteromance to satiate the romantic audiences desire. One of the central conflicts and POIs is his growing and disintegrating relationship with Thorin (as well as the rest of the co. but Thorin specifically). To make some stretched and ‘eh’ movies slightly more interesting, like ben hur, the actors act out a non-textual story of Bilbo and Thorin falling in love with each other. And of course all of this would feel possible and without any repercussions for Jackson as far as following through on queerness goes because he knows Thorin is gonna die. 

Ben Hur & Queer Subtext:  x

Keep reading

Daddy's Little Girl

*group prompt*
David’s reaction to walking in on CS during a compromising/private moment

(Image Credit: @duathadun) 

A Snowing / Captain Swan story with a dash of musketeers on the side…

Saturday Night

The evening had started out well enough. David had gone for a drink with Hook, and Snow was enjoying a quiet evening at home with baby Neal and Netflix.

The first inkling she’d had that something was wrong was when two French soldiers, who she vaguely recognised as refugees from the Land of Untold Stories, had knocked on the door asking if she were Madame Nolan and to come quickly because her husband was in a spot of bother.

Keep reading