#i was COMPELLED

[fanghaunt]

theyre roommates. normal roommates

[murkyteas]

[galaxywinter]

Immediately thought of this meme while watching the first episode.

[aziles]

normal series of images

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

Who wore it better:

[aethernoise]

The joke all along has been how much Deryk looks like Rhodry - dresses like him, wears his hair like him, has similar speech and mannerisms. It's been funny for me, but at a certain point during this story, I realized maybe it wasn't a joke to Alyx.

She's an emotional person. She can become attached to people fairly easily, despite everything that's happened. This young man was odd, and lonely, and mysterious - but kind, and fascinating, and fun to be around. Hauntingly familiar. Rather like a ghost.

Anyway... regardless of any revelations that may have come from this, and regardless of what I decide to count as personal canon, the ending to this story I feel very strongly about. The entire concept of him leaving forever, but ultimately deciding to stay ...

It's very important to her.

Nobody can replace him, obviously, but at least she didn't have to let this one go, too.

[trans-mephisto]

Basically every one of their interactions

(pro/comshippers dni)

[thefememesarehere]

[theworsethingsgettheharderifight]

more like vamdeMOM amirite??

[wirm-boy]

hi majority star trek moots, guess what im into again

[schmeap]

Feat. Toci (mine) and Kaika from @krizeros!

[dreamyren]

I had to make a Jarlaxle to go with my fake dating sim screenshot of Artemis

[red-sea-itinerary]

abreha anbessa? nah what a jerk what a villain - *trips* *hundreds of pictures of abreha spill out of my jacket* fuck these aren't mine i swear i'm holding them for a friend i - *desperately trying to gather them up* listen i hate him i just *thousands of pictures of abreha scatter across the floor as i slip on them and fall to my knees* wait fuck these are all of PRIAMOS just LISTEN

(some of them are of priamos <3 and this meme is 9 years old)

[the-cooler-sidestep]

I'MSCAREDI'LLDIEINPAIN

"trypanophobia (trih-PAN-o-foe-bee-uh) is the overwhelming, extreme fear of medical procedures that involve needles."

(CW GORE, EYE GORE, BLOOD, NEEDLES) (oh my god i hope the mature tag works)

[e-wills-afterhours]

Wages Of A Betting Man

A/N: @winxrus asked me not to be a mere tease. I would never. Okay, I totally would, but this pretty much wrote itself.

It's been revealed by the HTTYD comic book cowriter that Hiccup possibly has a tattoo of Astrid's name on his chest or he's trolling us hard. If this is true, it was probably a cheesy gesture of love, canonically. But here I am, a realist. I'd headcanon it probably went down more like this:

Rating: T

-------

Hjalmar Arrickson was annoyed, to say the least. He was an artist of repute, having poured years into his craft. Every rune was placed with care; each line and curve danced together in immaculate designs meant to inspire. The ink was the medium for his soul, and he left a bit of himself beneath the skin.

What, then, was he to make of the bizarre scene unfolding in his living room? If it had been anyone else, he would have refused on the spot. The whole village knew he did not take such asinine requests; he turned away the drunken fools who would make a mockery of his work. But it was them--all six of them--spilling in through the front door in a fit of giggles, except for the stone-faced chief. Quite the hardheaded bunch, they were not known to backdown.

"No," Chief Hiccup had protested, as they dragged him over the threshold of Hjalmar's home and shop. He tried, in vain, to dig in his mismatched heels; but Snotlot was on one side, Tuffnut on the other, and Ruffnut was pushing from behind. "No! I'm not doing it!"

"You promised! You promised!" the Thorston twins had reminded him with sing-song glee and identical, wicked grins.

"You swore," Snotlout added, particularly delighted at the prospect of tattooing the chief again his will.

After more arguing and failed attempts to escape, they had wrestled their reluctant chief into Hjalmar's most comfortable chair. Many had sat there before him, ready and willing to lend their bodies in the pursuit of art. It was almost an insult that Hiccup sat there so bitterly. Snotlout now held him down with two commanding hands on his shoulders.

Admittedly, the chief had put up more of a fight that Hjalmar would have expected without a dragon. The older man was impressed, and he did not often have cause to be so. He wished the chief would simply flex his authority and Hjalmar would have been only too happy to end the charade. But Hiccup's friends did have a sway over him, even still. Perhaps, deep down, there was some part of him that saw his impeding tattoo as good sportsmanship.

The Hofferson girl found the whole ordeal rather amusing, laughing softly behind her hand. She offered the apologetic wince when the chief shot her a reproachful glare.

"I'm sorry, babe," she said, "but you did take the bet."

Fishlegs Ingerman passed a flask to Hiccup, who took it with a withering look that did not often grace his kind face. Fishlegs backed away quickly.

Hiccup gestured at Ruffnut. "I didn't think she'd throw the game! She's a far better shot than Fishlegs. Usually."

"HA!" Ruffnut exclaimed. "Oh, Hiccup--do you even know me at all? I wouldn't pass up a chance to see this." She rubbed her hands together with anticipation.

"I hate you," Hiccup deadpanned. He took a long swig of whatever libations were in the flask before adding, "Immeasurably."

As Ruffnut cackled, Snotlout turned to Hjalmar and said, "Make the runes big."

Hiccup sat up straighter, pleading--or more like threatening--the older man with, "No! I swear to the gods, if you do..."

"BIG," repeated Snotlout.

Hjalmar sighed, laying out his tools. He could not kick them out; how would the twins retaliate if he did? Getting the job done in record time was undoubtedly the lesser headache if they were involved. He hoped word would not get around Berk of this one exception, lest all the fools gather at his door for wild favors.

As he set up, he noticed the chief knocking back the flask on pace toward fast intoxication.

"I won't let him make it too big," he heard Astrid tell Hiccup, stooping down until their eyes met; her name was the image to be permanently etched into his skin.

"You're the one who's got to look at it," he muttered back.

Tuffnut wolf whistled at the implication and Astrid flashed him a rude hand gesture.

"It's kind of sweet," she said, though Hjalmar could not tell if she was trying to convince Hiccup or herself.

"It's kind of idiotic," the chief retorted.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

"Couldn't you all have settled on something a little more epic? Like a dragon? For my dignity, maybe?"

"But where's the fun in that?" Ruffnut replied.

"Yeah. If you actually want the tattoo, then there's no point!" Snotlout argued.

"Are you saying my name isn't epic enough for you?" Astrid teased.

Hiccup hesitated, narrowing his eyes. He studied her for a moment. "You're trying to trap me."

Astrid laughed and kissed him on the cheek. The other dragon riders gagged with peak theatrics.

"Alright," Hjalmar interjected. "Let's get started."

Everyone else cheered. Hiccup took another drink, then passed the flask back to Fishlegs.

"So, it'll be the chest, correct?" Hjalmar asked.

Hiccup nodded, mouth full of liquid courage, vaguely pointing two to three inches beneath his left clavicle.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Tuffnut chanted.

"Aye," Hjalmar confirmed. "Tunic's got to come off then, Chief."

Defeated, Hiccup deftly stripped until he sat half-naked in front of everyone, and considerably more ill-tempered about it. Ruffnut let out a titillated squeak and Astrid elbowed her hard. Indeed, his later adolescent years had been kind to the chief, and he looked more a young man than a walking beanpole; though he was still far from the ideal physique any Viking would aspire to. But it suited him, oddly enough. Hjalmar had endured his own daughter's girlish fawning for the chief more often than he care to. What he had not anticipated was the patchwork scars that covered Hiccup's torso. Some were old burns; those were easy enough to tell. Many more were curious in shape or placement, not at all consistent with the more common battle scars he saw on his clients. Hjalmar figured they were trophies from his dragon-related exploits. He did not ask; he simply did not want to tattoo over them for scars made unforgiving and unyielding canvas.

Fortunately, where he had been asked to work was in good shape, free from injury or blemish. At the first black mark applied to Hiccup's skin, there were claps and cries of triumph.

"Can't take it back now!" Snotlout declared, patting his shoulder and earning Hjalmar's deepest scowl as it nearly caused a stroke in error. Even steeped in nonsense, the older man was determined to do good work.

" You can shut up," Hiccup replied, eyes scrunched tight as Hjalmar branded him with needle and ink.

He breathed slow and steadily. His pain tolerance was better than many who sat in the same chair. He neither grimaced nor uttered a swear; but then again, the scars and the metal leg spoke of toughness one might not expect just by looking at him.

"Well, I'll be damned," Tuffnut mused, hovering closer than necessary, closer than Hjalmar desired. "You cried the whole time you got yours," he remarked to Fishlegs.

The larger boy crossed his arms, Gronckle ink on full display. "In my defense, I'm an emotional drunk."

"Yeah, but Hiccup's not even slurring his speech yet," Tuffnut replied.

"I am regrettably too sober for this," Hiccup agreed, eyes still closed.

"Maybe Astrid can go next," Ruffnut suggested. "This time, let's bet on the butt cheek."

"Hm. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not stupid enough to make any sort of bet with you." Astrid paused, her words hanging in the air. "Oh. No offense, Hiccup."

"That was fair," he said.

They carried on like that for the remainder of the tattoo, taking cheap shots at one another but laughing all the while. Even Hjalmar found himself cracking a grin or two in spite of his own determined indifference toward their shenanigans. For all the annoyance they had brought, the infamous six never failed to entertain in equal measure. Perhaps a small part of the older man was glad they stumbled through his door that evening. Perhaps they would even be welcomed back.

When Hjalmar had finished, he sat back to admire his handiwork. Stupid in concept, it was just about flawless in execution, from the spacing to the line width. He would stand by it, if anyone asked--and he hoped they never would. Tattooing names was against his better judgment, but he felt not the faintest tinge of regret then, the banter and the spirit in which Atrid's name had been requested proved too infectious.

"Done," he announced, then retreated as the other dragon riders crowded in.

"I mean, it looks nice," Fishlegs offered. "From afar, it could say anything."

"That's one more tattoo than either of these muttonheads have," Ruffnut added, nodding to Tuffnut and Snotlout, who had released his hold on Hiccup.

"You can compliment me all you want, but it only makes me hate you slightly less," Hiccup replied, but he smiled.

As Hjalmar reached for his salve, he too was grinning. He could not recall a more enjoyable tattoo in recent memory.