drakyns

[drakyns]

they should invent a grief that doesn’t define you in new and strange ways for the rest of your life

[drakyns]

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ PLOTTED STARTERㅤ⨳ㅤ@glimoon.

ㅤhe didn’t quite fit in here, did he? there was no wind in bright moon’s library; the lanterns hummed softly on the ceiling, hanging by invisible strings. or levitating. honestly, he wasn’t quite sure yet. he wasn’t certain of anything in that place. håkan felt like a trespasser in a dream: out of place among the velvet tables, the enchanted scroll racks, the sculptures of winged women that occasionally twinkled. the library also had no ladders; it didn’t need to. the shelves moved. he hadn’t trusted them at first—he still didn’t—but they’d brought him what he asked for. mostly. books on subterranean magical eruptions. scrolls on sleeping titans. bestiaries that avoided calling anything a dragon but clearly meant to. there were so, so many questions bubbling in his mind. were all southern lands like this? how did they even hear of berk? how—stop, focus. hiccup wasn’t there to ask questions. he was there to answer problems and avoid an entire pack of foreverwings from destroying a kingdom. no pressure.

ㅤtoothless had grown fond of a place by the window where rays shone brightest, nesting himself even as his rider seemed to be struggling. two weeks’ worth of flying, three more in a ship—the heir smiled down at the night fury and patted his head. his dragon deserved the rest. and although his own peg leg ached from the weight of the day, håkan kept reading, trying to examine the alive-not-alive map in front of him. it pulsed in blue light, and its forests shifted when he blinked or moved his hand, rivers rearranging themselves slightly every time he exhaled too loudly. he’d get the use of it, eventually—the guards had been kind enough to bring him parchment and bottles of ink for him to draw his personal maps. 

ㅤthe warmth of the place made him sweat beneath his northern leathers. he missed the cold. missed the clarity of frost and stone. the dragon rider had just about put down his fur coat and leathers on a chair when he caught a glimpse of something shiny on the corner of his eyes—“ó thor minn!” he jerked his head up, and his notes flew loose across the polished floor in his startle. hiccup tried to regain his composure, a hand over his heart to contain his beats, and laughed awkwardly. “q-queen glimmer, hello, hi, hey, hi!” he gave her a sheepish grin, far too out of breath. “i’m sorry, i didn’t… uh, hear or see you come in.” he saw an empty flask rolling over on the side and held it in place with his good foot, bringing it behind him with a boyish grin. “how-how’s your night?”

[drakyns]

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤCONTINUED THREADㅤ⨳ㅤ@ta1is.

ㅤ“eh, juuust a few toes when i inevitably step on your good ones.” hiccup’s shrug was theatrical, grin crooked; too wide and open for any proper hall. he tipped back the last of his mug: a final sip of courage as the ale burned his throat going down. he glanced back down at the open palm still extended to him and shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging against the weight of his role. he wasn’t supposed to dance. during farmers’ festivities, chieftains only watched and nodded from the firelight’s edge. but tonight the sky was starry, the ale warm, and there was company.

ㅤhe gestured toward the fires, where the music hung in the air like incense to the lazy rising smoke. “but if you’re feeling brave…” he took the offering at last, and it felt smooth. there was no soot beneath the nails, only a few calluses along the knuckles: hands of a ‘scientist’—the chieftain remembered this was how jayce had introduced himself when he first came to berk. håkan still didn’t know what the word meant, but he recognised the vestiges left behind by brass gears on naked palms. his leg whined at the weight shift when he stood at last, but the hand in his own steadied him more than expected. “... well, can’t really deny you a taste of the berkian spirit, can i?”

ㅤthe music was already rising again, a fast tune plucked by younger bards too drunk to slow down. somewhere behind them, laughter broke out over a spilled barrel. a dragon yawned on a thatched roof,  stretching a lazy wing as if to stir the wind into dancing, too. they fell into the old steps, arms looping, turning in half-circles, a clumsy pair, going slower than the rhythm so their legs wouldn't ache. they looked like two grandpas, a kid said. still, the two nearly tripped. or, well, hiccup almost did: his leg clanked too close to jayce’s only good foot. håkan let out a snort, half laughter, half apology. luckily, it was just a scare. “so,” he called over the riot of drums during a mid-turn, breathless, flushed from ale, movement and laughter, “how’ve you been finding your stay?” the beats were getting chaotic, reverberating against their chests. “loud bunch, huh?”

[drakyns]

for some reason I really like drawing dragons in forests

[drakyns]

do you guys mourn over lost media or things you can't access in general as if they were a part of the library of alexandria, or are you all normal? because (1) piece of media i think and grief over constantly is the very not-so-much known 《驯龙高手: 旅程》 aka "ho.w to train your dragon: [a] journey". it's a game that has been in development for a loooooong while, but it's only available to select CN players (as in, you literally need a CN ID to play it, get approved, etc). and it is!! so damn endearing and it looks so good. just to give you guys an idea, take a peek at hic:

HE IS SO SQUISHABLE!! and on his description, it reads: "hi.ccup: compared to the other vikings, he's petit/he should eat more. but he has a sharp mind for inventions, a very gentle heart, and he is the bravest. he is the first dragon trainer and rider. together with too.thless, he is proof that humans and dragons can coexist in peace. thanks to his efforts, berk has now become a paradise for humans and dragons. he also has a group of friends who are always there for him. anddd most importantly, he has the help of the greatest viking hero in the world, sn.otlout jor.genson! --- this was totally not written by sn.otlout, by the way!"

LIKE. HIS CHARACTER DESCRIPTION WAS WRITTEN BY SN.OTLOUT! his silly little cousin who is always trying to start a fight with him, but ADORES him more than anything in the world apparently?? like gods. people seeing håkan as brave, a role model....!! what if i cry. PLEASE DW, PLEASE!! finish your damn game.

[drakyns]

but do you love me enough to sit through my 2-hour-long explanation (summarised) on why the term "the dark ages" is wrong and western-centred. do you love me enough to watch an impromptu slide-show on historiography, basic medieval history and cultural sociopolitics with texts translated from latin, greek, french and arabic. do you love me enough to take me gushing over historical maps and history as a whole. do you love me enough. well. do you.

[drakyns]

Erika L. Sánchez, from "Departure"

[drakyns]

shoutout to alexander rybak for being like, the perfect faceclaim for modern day hic.cup/håkan, he is just so, so <3 while also being :0.... does that make sense. do you know what i mean??? like. the jaw, the nose, the hair, the body! the voiceeeee. although i love his og english voice, i think rybak has such a special voice that i associate a lot more with hic's character. so i'm making him my official faceclaim and voiceclaim! by the way, you should like, listen to him singing in english or in norwegian. this is my roundabout way of saying that hic/håkan knows how to sing, and he sounds really lovely doing so. <3

[drakyns]

ㅤa humble servant of the gods. the words echoed in his skull, but nothing about her matched the seers and healers of his homeland: hands built to hold swords rather than prayers. in the lands more to the northwest, they told folktales about people like that: the maddened berserker of rokjfall, for example, who once claimed thor had chosen him after lightning struck his helm mid-battle. the very same old alf would wade waist-deep into the fjord to challenge fishermen at dawn, screaming oaths to the sky, frantically swinging his axe as he called upon the gods to watch his ‘service’ be ‘performed’ against the ‘trout-stealing fools’. lucky for håkan, this one didn’t seem to be a religious fanatic of any sort. and thank the gods for that. / still—those ears. his gaze flickered to them again. pointed. too sharp to be human. accessories? ritual scars? some strange rite of body change? he blinked hard, reprimanding himself. stop staring. it’s best not to judge. more than he already had, anyway.

ㅤand as if a mirror of hers, his shoulders fell slightly as a grief-tainted chuckle rasped from his throat. “it’s always blessed and burdened, isn’t it?” he mused, voice low. “never one without the other.” he nevertheless took another step back, measuring the space between their boots. enough distance to run, if need be. she was also studying him, he noticed. she had yet to respond to what she was hoping to find in that forest no one came to. it felt like politics at a dinner table, the careful weighing of words, the sharpness of unspoken blades beneath smiling lips. hiccup hated that feeling in his stomach. so, like his father, he spoke openly, showing the palms of his hands in wide gestures; no hidden daggers. “i’m not here to hunt—erm, madam.” he dipped his head in something that could almost pass for a bow, sweating to keep up civility. or what he hoped it was.

ㅤhere came the real test, to see if they were on the same side: “i’m looking for a dragon’s nest. i heard there were some…”, the dragon rider shot a glance back at her sword, growingly uncomfortable by its presence, “... adventurers looking for it. i want to keep it safe.”

mercenary or hunter, the question nearly spurs something akin to a laugh from her. mouth clasps tight around words for a moment ... does he believe her a threat ? arguably, he was perhaps not wrong to find the nature of her existence somewhat imposing. elves were often rumored petite things around various parts beyond the yawn of known kingdoms and empires: she imagines it is perhaps jarring to see one of formidable stature and clad in armor. but there is also the nag of other options - the concept that he views her as threatening because she has reason to be hostile toward him. from the surface, she believes nothing of the sort: but the possibility lurks, ever-present and perpetually gnawing.

" are they not the same thing in some regard ? " tone is easy - she keeps body language open and relaxed, makes no effort to reach for weapon. if he does have reason to fear her, perhaps she already has the upper-hand. head inclines slightly, eithne ignores the basic instinct to simply ask his business in such grueling place. it doesn't really matter. certainly they were on two different missions, and she had no intention of involving herself in that which was not hers to begin with. even in the instance of coin perhaps stolen ... a rather nasty mindset less savory souls who found themselves particularly distant from any holy light.

" i am but a humble servant of the gods, " head bows slightly, earrings clinking in lobes as she raises it once more. it does no good to lie - his nature would reveal regardless. those of rotten core would always come to reek, even if it wasn't right away. eyes settle back over his features, mouth tipped into the whisper of a smile which neglects to reach light eyes. " blessed and burdened to carry a blade in their name to such places. " a pause, amusement plucks the undertones of voice, " but now i must extend the same question to you ... what is it that brings you to such a place ? what is your game of choice here ? "

[drakyns]

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ PROPHECIES OF ODINㅤ⨳ㅤplotted starter.

ㅤbreath left his lungs like something stolen when håkan’s back hit the dirt, hard enough to hurt. his enemy-not-quite-enemy was on him a second later, straddling him as surf breaking on rock, one knee pressing deep into his stomach and one bronze sword angled against håkan’s throat like a cruel kiss—or the promise of one. salt-sweat dripped from percy’s jaw, landing warm against håkan’s lip, and for a long, dangerous second, håkan forgot the fight entirely. / he knew better, of course, well of wisdom be damned. he understood, remembered, the weight prophecies brought, the names of monsters and their victims, and the putrid smell of smoke if his mission failed. but here—pinned beneath @implcde’s weight, bruised and burning, with those storm-bright eyes above him and that infuriating grin that tempted him like a dare—here felt like a good place to end. if ragnarök cried for him, it could wait. a little longer. he’d let the world crack open around him if it meant staying here just a little longer. jörmungandr wasn’t that hungry, was he?

ㅤbesides, percy’s left-handed grip was shaky on his wrists, pinning him like some beautiful executioner who’d forgotten which side he was on. and to that, the chosen by odin licked blood from the corner of his mouth, smiling sharply, teeth red, defiant, foolish, alive. “eight to twelve,” håkan murmured, soft like a secret, too aware of how easily he could lean up, close that inch of breath between them. “you’re not catching up fast enough, perseus.”

[drakyns]

DRUMROLL PLEASE!! 🥁 my webpage is finally done! (yes, i updated my pinned and the links on mobile right away, judge me). please, PLEASE i'm on walls for you to check it out because it includes: 1) freshened out and updated muse info for verses and general bits, 2) my gays aka my meow meows, 3) @aurivore's amazing and beautiful and showstopping web design <33 (raven, for whenever you read this, i'm absolutely fucking sobbing on your feet thank you so much). my guidelines were sliiightly updated, mostly to permanently include my interest tracker/checker (anyone can send a form in, mutuals or not!), as well as my new headcanons masterlist and worldbuilding navigation. LETS FUCKING GOOOO

[drakyns]

Nature Series

[drakyns]

ㅤhiccup had come in a hurry, throat tight, forge-coals still clinging to his skin: eret had dragged him out of his heath, crying an emergency. and for a moment—gods forgive him—he’d almost been glad; anything to keep his hands busy, thoughts numbed by things to fix. / debris sprawled across the square: shattered carts, splintered barrels, clay vases broken like rib bones, farmer tools snapped in two. the smiðr stared at it, the familiar map of ruin. he knew how to fix these things. he’d been taught by him—since he was eight years old, standing on wooden crates to reach the anvil. two days of smouldering the pieces back together, and everything would be good as new. / a roar split the earth and sky then: deep, raw, too full of sorrow to be rage alone, stretching and making its grief damn well known. this… this he didn’t know how to fix. 

ㅤthe weight of the chieftain’s mantle still sat wrong on his shoulders—he was still a son, still mourning. but he was also his son. he had to be. “hey…” the word left him softer than his usual voice, frayed at the edges. he almost said ‘it’s alright’, but he didn’t, he wasn’t very good at lying. and dragons knew better anyway. slowly, he lifted his hand, palm open, steady like the forge work that used to soothe him. his smile felt thinner now, worn by sleepless nights: “hey, big guy. i’m here.”

ㅤhe crossed the broken ground inch by inch, unflinching even as skullcrusher’s growls rose sharp around him. anger was part of grief. håkan knew as if it were his heartbeat. how many times had he seen his father drunk on sorrow, roaring at the walls, smashing plates before crumbling into sobs? always ashamed afterwards. always breaking, always apologising, always folding into håkan’s arms like something lost. / and at last, hiccup’s hand touched warm scales, rough and trembling beneath his palm. a chuckle came, loving yet hollow; “you’re just like him”, he whispered. you’re just like me. / his gaze fell to the saddle, fallen on the ground—an empty throne filled with the story of tragedy. it looked bigger than he remembered. “do you want me to take it off?”

shouting voices can be heard echoing throughout the village ,      accompanied by the thunderous sound of heavy paws colliding with the soil  .         a beast of lustrous green erupts into the marketplace ,      upending a laden cart with one great swing of a crimson head ,      demolishing another two as he turns ,      barbed tail lashing out in a great destructive sweep  .         some vikings scatter ,      other raise weapons in defense of themselves or their wares      —     it is a great cacophony of sound ,      a virulent storm of panic  .

the dragon continues to move ,      throwing around his considerable weight like a bucking yak ,      crest flared      &      maw open in an explosive roar      —     almost spinning in place  .         a saddle is bound to him ,      the thickest band of leather cinched tightly around his chest ,      the others loose      &      striking against his hide  .         the seat itself drags across the ground while skullcrusher struggles ,      turning again      &      snapping his jaws ,      attempting to tear what had once been the saddle of stoick the vast from his body  .

|            @drakyns 💖

[drakyns]

being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot

[drakyns]

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤOPEN STARTERㅤ⨳ㅤmutuals only.

ㅤbraids flying, cloaks spinning, boots pounding soft rhythms into the earth—that is to say, berk was alive in loud festival cheer. laughter clung to the rafters; the skalds worked their strings like fishermen pulling nets, loud, prideful and old songs, drawing everyone closer into the whirl of it while the flames from the pyres painted every face in gold and crimson. the scent of roasted yak made kids and dragons alike hungry, and the village’s cauldrons would soon go empty. he watched as a gronckle, barely past three moons of its hatching, devoured a farmer’s plate when it thought no one was looking. the chief of berk would keep its secret, if only to laugh in lonelier moments.

ㅤhåkan sat on the far back tables, ale sloshing lazily in his mug, peg leg tapping once, twice, with a blacksmith’s absent precision. hiccup watched his tribe waltz like a man might watch birds at a beach: awed, distant, happy, but slightly envious. he was in the middle of humming something when the hand appeared before him, open-palmed: a gesture of invitation, maybe even mischief.

ㅤthe first rider blinked at it, swallowed his next note, and laughed a bit more youthful than the black mantle of chiefdom generally allowed. “me? are you asking me for a dance?” he questioned, eyeing their fingers like one might do a clever trap, but way too warm to be seriously suspicious. for now, at least. gods knew the followers of loki were growing in size thanks to the twins. “you do know someone with two left feet is already a bad dancer, right? a guy with only one is even worse.”

[drakyns]

ㅤfunny, how their interaction had started: there were no words exchanged, only gazes. at first, at least. / håkan had been strolling through mistria, part of the curious bunch of outsiders that called themselves norsemen, summoned for a festivity event—one of those polite excuses for political dinners and discussions of alliance. that was for later, though. for now, riders lounged by their dragons; children laughed in the square; flowers bloomed in colours too vivid, too extravagant to belong to the humble village the royal letter had described. stone dragons curled around fountains and doorframes, guardians in stillness. he admired them all in passing. / but he stopped mid-step when he heard it: that sharp cadence of hammer striking down iron.

ㅤas if moth to a flame, his gaze found the busy forge. hiccup watched everything: the boxes of freshly mined ores from the roots of mountains, the table worn with work, the scattered notes and maps, the blazing metal laid on the anvil, the furnace’s flames growing hungrier. it was the first time he’d ever seen another blacksmith at work. it felt familiar, a piece of home across two oceans. his fingers itched for something to hold. / his curiosity must have made itself terribly obvious: ‘just help, then.’ and he must’ve been just awfully awkward when he just nodded, a bit too sheepish. “okay.” and he excitedly got to work, hauling a log from the pile to feed the blaze. another. four in total, to keep the heat steady, respectful. not too much, not too little, since he didn’t know if the other would need more fire for his creations. 

ㅤsoon enough, he hovered near the worktable like a stray. “a-are you, uh, w-working on a blade? or a tool?” he couldn’t yet tell from the vague, half-born shape of the metal, but his grin had already betrayed him. tooth-gap and all. and then, more softly, with that boyish mixture of pride and hope: “can i see your blueprints? i’m a smiðr, too.”

DEAR @drakyns , A STARTER FOR YOU .

❛  just help , then .  ❜  he sneers with a frown , shrugging toward a pile of chopped logs that need moving to the furnace . no time or room for conversation , he thinks , as he details the day's plans in a personal and silent itinerary that shan't be interrupted by this wanna - be do - gooder . doesn't know exactly why , but new people always have him on the defensive . he knows it , but there's something about it he's not interested in changing . it's safer this way . quieter . he likes his life the way it is  .  .  .  change isn't something he's shoved into his calendar .

❛  ‘n don’t complain if they get heavy  .  .  .   ❜

[drakyns]

ㅤthere were many, many questions he wanted to ask. what in hel’s name were those… those… things? they were all golden eyes and shadows, creeping through the forest and hungry enough to send a pack of terrible terrors flying and howling desperately in the skies. why didn’t fire seem to stop them? and what was that snap of silver and gold, followed by a freezing cloud? and then those creatures suddenly just disappeared, turning into ash? what? what?! was that magic? was he seeing things?! who was this mysterious hooded figure that showed up in the middle of the forest? why was she raising her hands as if she were a criminal? what was her name? what, by odin’s ghost and thor’s hammer, was going on?!

ㅤhiccup hadn’t realised he was holding his breath all this time without blinking. instead of maybe composing himself for a few more seconds, he just gestured towards the girl: “w-was that… was that ice? d-did you just shoot ice out of your hands?!” he ran his fingers through brunet strands, then looked at his dragon’s companion. toothless seemed to have no idea what was going on either. “am i going insane?”

@drakyns s.c

She   took   a   step   back,   caution   reflected   in   azure   eyes   as   they   shifted   from   the   towering   beast   to   the   figure   astride   it.   This   was   bad   ....   Xion   had   messed   up.   Even   if   her   goal   was   only   to   eliminate   the   Heartless,   staying   unnoticed   was   just   as   important.

The   last   thing   she   needed   was   trouble   with   the   locals…   especially   one   accompanied   by   a   dragon!!

“I…   I   didn’t   mean   to   intrude”   she   spoke   quietly,   lifting   gloved   hands   to   show   she   meant   no   harm.