Hey Do You Have Any Bkdk Fic Recs?

🎅🏿 it’s December 10th!!!!

TRUST and BELIEVE me when I say as Black model you draw Black people and POC in general so beautifully!! If whoever commented that were to see my drawings, they would think I’m some Rando drawing caricature of Black people, because I’m still a beginner and not that great at it yet!!!

But when I tell you when I see your art and your comics, hello from IG and discord by the way 💖!! You nail everything 10 out of 10 will come again down to the hairstyles to the facial expressions to the outfits that you put them in!! I’ve shown your comics to my black friends and they love your art!! You’re doing fantastic 💖💖!! I think whoever commented that was just trolling!!

I'm having a moment of severe weakness/anxiety but I got a very shocking anon a couple days ago that said the way I draw Black people seems racist and I guess I just wanted to ask any of my Black followers if you've ever had concerns about antiblack insensitivity from me or my art

I've read up on caricatures so I know what to avoid, but maybe I missed something? I've also asked friends and they all said it was likely a troll since the anon used a slur, but I want to use it as a learning opportunity in case I sincerely fucked up

Many of Horror (Chapter two - That awful dream and these awful feelings)

- N O T E S -

This chapter immediately begins with a dream, so sorry if you get confused or whatever haha lol bruh! This chapter does contain mentions of referenced suicide, panic attacks, past abuse and other depressing and relatable things lol! be warned! I’m releasing this on impulse because I really wanted to give you guys more and I’m halfway done with the next chapter, which is really fucking steamy by the way so, yeah, be excited for some horizontal tango action haha lol bruh! If you enjoy, please leave a comment or a critique or whatever, I love hearing feedback about my work like any other creator! (no tea, no shade)

Also, there is terrible terror called Pain from DOB and though they’re originally male, I’ve switched them to female because I felt like it haha lol bruh!

THIS CHAPTER HAS PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR AND POOR MENTAL HEALTH! BE FUCKING WEARY!

- C H A P T E R  S U M M A R Y -

It’s that awful dream again, he always has it when something goes wrong, when something changes suddenly. His head can’t take change, can’t take it when he messes up.

And he’s always so angry and afraid when he wakes up. Surely, he should be better by now.

He hates feeling like this, like he’s dying.

———————————————————————————————————–

He’s in his childhood home. He doesn’t know how he got here. They burnt that hut down years ago, a week after his father was exiled. He’s standing in front of the hearth, the fire within writhing maliciously and crackling with laughter as it mocks him don’t know where you are, little boy? You’re home, home, home- This place isn’t his home.

Snotlout doesn’t belong here.

He sniffs the air and cringes at the smell of stagnant water and old blood. Something’s died in here. Turning around, he stills at the sight of the corpse of a fawn lying mangled and blooded at the foot of the stairs, eyes bulging and guts tangled amongst its dainty legs, back so mauled that he can see the knobbly, pale arch of its spine.

Something innocent has died here, in this house, and it wasn’t her, it croaks through a swollen tongue, teeth cutting through its cheeks with each hallow word that crawls out of its twisted throat. It’s looking at him, stuck between life and death, and it’s like looking in a reflection.

A black rabbit hops down the stairs, leaping over the mutilated fawn and sitting beside it. It seems calm, serene, despite the heavy stench of blood and dead water that hangs in the air, it seems at peace amongst the smell of death. The rabbit, blacker than grief, turns its head to look at him and it’s like looking into a starless night, still and empty, but the flames appear in those eyes and dance in the blackness. An inferno in the dark.

There is something in the woods. You should go to speak to it, the black rabbit says and Snotlout can smell the blood in the air thicken, but there is still that undertone of stale water and he doesn’t know where it’s coming from.

I don’t want to speak to it, he replies honestly, voice distant and quiet, and there is something inside him that says Whatever is in that woods is something better left forgotten, its something that shouldn’t be spoken to.

But it wants to speak with you, the black rabbit replies and the fawn screams, It wants to speak with you, don’t disappoint, be quick, don’t be weak, it wants to speak with you, don’t become the shame, hurry, it waits, don’t make it wait, it wants to speak with you, don’t disappoint, no rest for the innocent, hurry shameful boy, it wants to speak with you-

The fawn just keeps screaming. Glimmering scarlet gathers beneath its yapping jaw as more flesh is ripped from its cheeks, teeth not meant to taste blood flashing through the torn fur and cutting deep into its purple tongue, its blind eyes rolling to the back of their sockets and revealing thin, throbbing veins. It screams and screams like a tortured thing begging for death, yet still, it hangs on to the faint pulse in its heart. The black rabbit looks to the wailing fawn, then back to him.

Come to the woods. Let the innocent one scream in peace, the black rabbit says softly, hopping past him, large feet thumping against the wooden floor. The fawn keeps screaming. He asks it to stop, politely too, but he must have been too quiet. Still, it screams and screams.

A white light catches his eyes and he looks up to the landing where the stairs lead. There is a door there, left a jar and spilling blinding white light in a rectangular beacon. Steam rolls from underneath the door and through the gap, it is tinged red and smells of stale water, of dead blood. That door leads to the washroom.

To the woods, he’ll go to the woods, he says simply, turning away from the screaming fawn whose body refuses to die and the door that leads to a room of blood and water.

Snotlout doesn’t belong there.

He follows the black rabbit into the old wood. The trees are tall and black, reaching towards the terribly blue sky like their hungry for the sun, and their thin branches scrape against his bare arms like ghosts begging for a body to live in. Spring flowers and damp ferns brush against his legs and they also feel like hands, softer but still starving, still wanting. He follows the black rabbit, not because he wants to but because he has to.

It wants to speak with you, he hears the fawn scream in the distance.

He stops walking and stands very still, like a dear caught in an ambush. A few yards ahead in a sunlit clearing is a copper bathtub. That shouldn’t be here, in the middle of the woods, it should be back at the house, in the washroom. The black rabbit runs ahead, a dark shadow against the pale grass, and disappears behind the tub.

Just like Snotlout, it doesn’t belong here.

He walks closer and he smells it again. That smell of damp death. He can taste it now too, it’s so strong, a coppery, stale wash across his tongue, between his teeth, down his throat. It’s what he imagines it’s like biting into a dead fish, all rotten blood and foul water. Suddenly his feet are bare, they make a slapping sound as he walks and he looks down to see that the ground is flooded with an inch of water. It looks dirty, wrong, tainted.

There’s an arm hanging over the side of the bath tub. Was that there before he looked down? He can’t remember, but it shouldn’t be there. The hand is ivory in pallor, bone-pale, and two long gashes run up the inner arm from wrist to elbow. Dark blood drips from the nimble fingertips, the sound a soft drip, drip, drip as it hits the sodden soil. The trees ache and groan, they feast on the given blood through their gnarling roots that toil the black, wet earth and he thinks that they are alive. Alive and hungry.

Just like Snotlout, it doesn’t belong there.

For some strange reason, he wants to hold that blood-slick hand. He imagines like that’s what home feels like, cradled in her scarlet palms, gathered in her savaged arms. Her. When did it become a her? His heart told him so, oh Gods, he’s so confused.

He stands at the foot of the copper tub and looks inside, expecting to see a woman with a painfully familiar face. But all he sees is blood. From bottom to brim, the tub is full of almost-black blood that glimmers red from the dappled sunlight above. The taste of blood on his tongue is so heavy that he thinks he might have a mouth full of it. A mouth full of blood and a heart full of water.

A single eye opens amongst the ocean of blood and he stares at it. It’s pale and blue like a blue jay’s feathers, like the terribly blue sky. He recognises those eyes, they look like his, just dead.

Always had her eyes, comes a snarling drawl and he spins around to see a great bear, stood tall and proud on the trunk of a fallen tree. He knows this place, he knows that tree, oh no, Gods, not this place. Great currents of slobber drool from the crooked mouth of the bear, sharp teeth yellow and glistening as a long tongue works around words it shouldn’t be possibly speaking. Bears can’t talk, but neither can black rabbits and mauled fawns.

It wants to speak with him.

Always had her eyes, wished I cut ‘em out, the bear slurs as it slams a clawed paw down upon the tree, white bark spraying everywhere and he watches as those black claws curl deeper into the soft bark. He cut that tree years ago, a month after his father left, he cut it down and screamed.

Yer sick, boyo, there's somethin' festerin’ inside ye, the bear bellows, spit flying and it leaves his ears ringing. He presses his hands to the side of his head and shakes it furiously. He’s gone, he got rid of him, he’s never coming back.

The bear laughs and it is a horrible sound, like cracking whips, like splitting flesh. I never left ye, lad, I’m always with ye, in that messed up head of yers, just as weak as yer mother’s was, just as easy to break, the bear steps closer, further shredding the bark from the tree, and he is full of so much fear that it feels like there is a rabid animal in his chest. His hands feel heavy all of a sudden and he looks down to see that they’re covered in blood, bright, terrible blood that falls from his fingers in great ribbons of scarlet that darken the water. The blood never stops oozing, like there is a great gash in his palms, but he can’t help thinking that this isn’t his blood. His heart is so scared, it’s going to climb up his throat and out his mouth so it can run away.

No nono no nono no no no no no- She wasn’t weak, she was brave, she was the strongest shield-maiden Berk has ever seen, she was-

WEAK! The bear roars, the sun in the sky trembles like it will fall, SHE WAS WEAK AND ILL, AND SHE’S GIVEN IT TO YE, SHE’S MADE YE SICK AND FOUL WITH WEAKNESS! The fallen tree flies across the clearing with a powerful swipe of its clawed paw and Snotlout watches it come closer, fearsome and monstrous and ugly, lips rolled up to reveal those gnashing teeth that glisten with starved spit, eyes blazing with an unimaginable evil. He looks down and sees that his hands are bound with rope, rope that burns and stings and cuts as he tries to escape, to run away.

YE WILL NEVER GET AWAY FROM ME, BOYO, IM YER OLD MAN AND YER MY SHAMEFUL SON, THE BOY WHO COULD NEVER GET IT RIGHT!

The bear rears back onto its back legs and its maw opens so wide that the flesh tears and the jaw breaks, leaving it and its tongue to hang loosely. A tremendous bellow fills the woods and the trees quiver, the earth quakes. Blood pours onto the heaving furred chest and streams down with a wet sound to the half-flooded earth, the already murky water staining pink. He stares up at the beast and gazes down its gaping throat, he has never felt so full of dread before.

Suddenly, the great bear begins to fall and he lets out a horrified scream as that open maw, that black throat, descends upon him. He leaps back into the copper tub to escape and finds himself consumed by blood.

Snotlout doesn’t belong anywhere.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Snotlout wakes up, screaming and falling.

He hits the floor with a sudden abruptness that knocks the air from his lungs and the scream still crawling from his throat comes to a stuttering halt, choking coughs now filling the blackness of his room. But that blackness soon retreats as the great blazing head of Hookfang forces its way through the skylight windows, looking around hastily before settling his cautious eyes on Snotlout, who lies pathetically on the floor beside his bed. The dragon crawls into his room and lowers the flame on his hide as Pain kindles a few candles in a short, fiery breath.

The dream? It came again? Hookfang rumbles, curling his large body up and resting his head on Snotlout’s lap, expelling easing smoke from his nostrils. The violet Terror crawls swiftly from her nest of charred tunics and other burnt fabrics on the dresser to nestle herself close to his side, her usual fiery temper simmering down to accommodate to his sensitive nerves. His skin is caked in a layer of cold sweat but he feels so hot, like a furnace is blazing inside him, like a fever is boiling beneath his flesh. It leaves him shivering.

“Yeah, yeah it did,” He responds, voice rough and cracked, breathing in the warm scent of smoke so it can overwhelm the still lingering smell of blood and water (it was a dream, but it follows him when he’s awake, it echoes around him like a ghost).

Rubbing a hand over the side of his face, Snotlout tries to collect his thoughts and rid the dream from his memory, tries to think about other things, tries to distract himself before he starts to feel… the Itch. But then he remembers the blood. Not the blood in the bathtub or the fawn-blood at the bottom of the stairs, but the blood on his hands, that heavy blood, that blood that wasn’t his. With panic rising in his throat, he lays his hands before him and inspects them with sharp eyes, expecting to see blood crusted in his callouses or dug beneath his nails, something to show that it was real. But there is no blood, there never is. But the candles flicker from a rogue breeze and in the shifting shadows, his hands go red and a scream is already gathering in his chest because, oh Gods, the blood is real and that means it was all real and the tub is in the woods and the bear- Oh Gods, not the bear- He’s back and he’s in the woods! A distant howl rings through his ear; He wants to speak with you! Hurry-

A guttural sound breaks the maddening spell Snotlout had caught himself in and he blinks, but he doesn’t stop staring in fear at his hands, they look clean now but in the dark, in the dark the blood comes and the hungry things in the shadows can smell it. Pain rises onto her hind legs and begins to lick at his hands, cleaning them thoroughly with her forked tongue, soft sounds chittering in the back of her lithe throat. No blood, see? I taste no blood, so there is none.

“I know,” He chokes out, the breath stuck in his chest forcing itself out harshly, and he sooths a hand over her head in a thankful gesture, her purple scales silk-like and warm beneath his palm, “I know, Pain,”

Hookfang’s purring fills the room like thunder. Snotlout can feel it in the floor, in his bones, a gentle tremble throughout his body that helps him try and regain his focus. Pain, always quick to doze off, starts to purr a lighter and chipper sound in her sleep. They know the routine; it’s been going on for years.

Snotlout sighs and wishes he was normal, wishes he didn’t have these awful, repetitive nightmares and these violent urges and these ugly thoughts. Wishes he could deal with it alone because it’s less trouble for the others, both his dragons and his friends, he wishes he wasn’t such a bother to them. He wishes he could go back, back before it all happened, and be the old him, be that innocent child before he died in the house.

Gods, he wishes Eret was here.

Eret is so good at getting Snotlout out of his head, whether it be by fucking him or talking to him or just by simply sitting with him, no one knows how to ease the wrongness in his head better than Eret. But, to Snotlout’s displeasure, Eret is traversing the archipelago on this good deed and Snotlout is here, alone and rotting. Damn the Gods, he hates feeling like this.

“Four times this week I’ve had that stupid dream, Hookfang, four times!” He emphasises this by holding up four fingers to the dragon, who nods in response with another plume of smoke to ease his frustration, “If this keeps up, I’m not going to be on top of my game, you know? And I bet Hiccup will notice like he notices everything, and he’ll ask if I’m okay and I’ll tell him fine and then I’ll feel bad because I lied and-”

Stopping abruptly, Snotlout shoves his face into his hands and screams as hard and as loud as he can, he feels it ripping through his throat. It’s lucky that he built his house so far away from anyone else. There is a crawling feeling moving across his flesh and its making him want to do something really stupid, something he’ll regret, something weak. Hookfang croons at him, lifting his head as Snotlout draws his legs up to his chest, his left leg bouncing rapidly. Rudely awoken, Pain rubs her horned-head lightly against his side in attempt to sooth him.

Not Snotlout fault, Snotlout done nothing wrong, Hookfang reassures as he rubs his lower jaw over Snotlout’s dishevelled hair, deep purrs vibrating throughout his body as he tries to sooth the harsh, ugly scents that pour from the Viking.

Yes, Snotlout done no bad, we promise, no bad has been done tonight, the Terror adds in earnest, nipping affectionately at his tunic as she hums to him.

“I know, I know,” He snarls into his palms, both legs now bouncing as he digs his blunt nails into his browbone, “But I will, I will, I’ll fuck up again and I’ll need it again,”

The dark thing in his head swells like a storm-sodden cloud and it thunders and rumbles and cracks behind his eyes, sending jolts of impulsive, disgusting thoughts through his head.

TEAR OUT YOUR EYES. FLAY YOUR SKIN. RIP OUT YOUR NAILS. KILL THEM BOTH.

He shakes his head violently, as if he could through them from his mind, and pulls his hands away from his face, fingers twitching and palms sweating. There have been nights where the smallest temptation sets him loose.

Go see Hiccup, he will help, he will give you council, Hookfang advices as always, but Snotlout, for the fourth night in a row, dismisses the idea with a savage scowl and a dark look in his eyes.

“I can’t run to Hiccup every time I want to hurt myself-”

The words trigger a reaction and in a sudden moment of impulse, Snotlout slams his fist into the floor, the wood splintering beneath the impact and his knuckles sting as they’re impaled with shards of wood. Pain makes shrieks at the loud impact and immediately goes to his injured hand to clean it but Snotlout makes a snarling sound and wraps his arms tightly around his chest, as if he’s trying to secure them so they can’t do any more damage. She snorts disapprovingly at him but she knows he will ask for help when he wants it, so she curls up at his side again, jasper eyes only half-closed.

“Or to anyone, for that matter! I’m not a kid anymore, okay?! I’m Twenty-two, I’m an adult. Everyone’s got their own problems and I’m not going to burden them with mine, not when I can deal with them myself,” Hookfang, as well as Pain, lets out a scoff at that and he doesn’t flinch at the death-stare thrown his way, which doesn’t surprise Snotlout but it still damages his ego a bit.

“I can! I don’t need you, or Hiccup, or anyone! You understand me, you stupid dragon!? I don’t need anyone, not even Eret!”

But the fury in his voice catches in his throat at the mention of Eret and again Snotlout is full of the overwhelming sense of loneliness that has flooded him since he left Berk. His heart, the traitorous thing, aches at the mere thought of him and his hands, the stupid things, feel so empty without someone to hold on to.

He doesn’t know why he’s denying the obvious truths in his life. That’s something the old him used to do, the angry boy who suffered alone because he believed he deserved it, because he thought asking for help was below him. Snotlout isn’t that angry boy anymore, no, he understands the wrongs that were done to him and understands that asking for help isn’t a weak thing. But old habits die hard, he guesses.

Without a shadow of a doubt, he needs Hookfang and Hiccup and, by the Gods, he doesn’t just need Eret, he wants him. And it’s beautiful because Eret wants him back and Snotlout is always left in awe at that.

“I’m being stupid again, aren’t I?” Snotlout mumbles sadly, looking up to see Hookfang gazing down at him, orange eyes unimpressed, and he nods his head with an additional snort to support his answer. He looks down to see Pain stood rigidly beside him, tiny-lethal teeth bared and arrow-head tail darting left and right, and to further prove her wrath, she lurches forward and give him a shallow slash of her claws. It doesn’t even cut the skin, just leaves three white lines on his forearms.

Snotlout exhales through a thin laugh, but the guilt is still heavy in his blood.

“I’m sorry, you guys, I’m not feeling myself again, with these dreams coming back and Eret gone. I just wish I could, you know, deal with things normally,”

Forgiving Snotlout, Hookfang again lowers his head and presses it up against Snotlout’s drawn up legs, Pain too scuttles back to her place at Snotlout’s side, teething devotedly on the corner of his tunic. A chill draft wafts in through the open windows and cools Snotlout’s skin, which feel hot and tight.

We understand, Snotlout miss mate and the bad dreams back, We understand, Hookfang grumbles reassuringly, tendrils of smoke rising from flared nostrils, and he watches as Snotlout lifts his injured hand, slowly picking out the splinters in his knuckles with a look of deep focus on his face.

“I’ll be back to my old self soon, pal, I just-”

He pauses, hissing as he methodically drags out a long splinter from the flesh between his index and middle knuckle. Holding it up against the candlelight, he marvels at the half-inch long shard of wood that had been nestled his flesh, thick syrupy blood dripping from the splinter onto his lap.

The pain that spreads across his hand and flares up his arm feels good, harsh and familiar and good, it brings a sigh of relief to his lips. The pain feels like absolution. His previous wrongs have been righted in the hotness of pain.

Then, Hookfang’s nostrils quiver and his head shoots up quickly, turning to the open skylight with his teeth bared and eyes narrowed., Pain too takes up an offensive stance with ferocious growls unfurling in her throat. Snotlout swallows thickly when he hears the heavy beating of wings outside, his stomach twisting in anxiety because no one should be here, no one is supposed to see him like this, not tonight. He wants to be alone tonight. The roof creaks when a great weight settles upon it, dust pouring down to the floor in chalky streams. He stares wide-eyed and apprehensive at the square-view of the black night, heart pounding because something inside him is say he’s back, he’s back and he’s going to take you to the woods.

But instead, Cloudjumper’s head peers into the room, owlish eyes gazing down at him with a curious concern.

Why are you here? Hookfang spits lowly, his tail swishing in a display of irritation, Yes! Why Four-Wing here?! Not allowed! Go or Die! Pain adds hotly, tiny wings thrashing as she claws threateningly into the floor.

Cloudjump, amused and unafraid, snorts at Hookfang’s brashness and Pain’s threats, replying with a garbled I heard screaming, it sounded painful, so help has come.

“Help isn’t needed right now, thank you, bye,” He says crassly, arms wrapping around his chest defensively as he glares up at the Storm-Cutter, who stares back with soft eyes, completely ignoring the yapping Terror and the glaring Nightmare.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” comes a serene voice and Snotlout watches as Valka descends downs into his room, perched on Cloudjumper’s clawed wing. She easily steps off and steps forth to cradle Hookfang’s jaw, the moody Nightmare instantly melting in her gentle touch. Pain forgets immediately why she was angry and scuttles swiftly to Valka, winding between her ankles like an affectionate alley cat begging for love (or food).

While crooning at the puppy-eyed Terror, Valka looks to Snotlout with a soft and reassuring expression, her eyes glimmering in the candlelight as they gloss over with empathy. She can see the tears stains that have yet to dry, see the stress and the tiredness and the fear. Snotlout stares back, jaw set and muscles stiff, she isn’t meant to be here.

“You look like ye need a bit of help there, dear,” Valka says as she crouches down, half crawling towards him, agile fingers gracing the floor.

It’s the same movement she does when she meets a dragon who’s wild and scared, ready to strike out in fear with its teeth bared and claws flexing. He feels a bit of pride that he’s seen as a deadly thing, but then he remembers that he doesn’t want to be feared anymore, that he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

Oh but you do, don’t you? You think about it, you imagine blood and you hunger for the taste. People are traitorous creatures and they deserve-

“Snotlout,”

The voice knocks the grating snarl from his head and Snotlout looks up to see Valka crouched a few feet before him, cautious yet calm as she gazes questioningly at him. Can I come closer? She asks with her eyes, eyes that are so painfully familiar to him.

Those are his mother’s eyes right there. Sister eyes.

He nods his head once, lungs still seized and heart still shaking, and then he nods again, firmer this time, trying to be braver because, Gods, it’s only Valka, his aunt, his heart-mother. Snotlout shouldn’t be afraid of her. But she’s got a heart full of kindness and that has always scared him, kindness.

Kindness was an unfamiliar hand to younger him and it was easier to cling onto the hand that beat him, the familiar closed fist that promised tough love would make a man out of him. He’d bite the hand of kindness because it was a stranger’s hand, he didn’t know kindness.

But that was years ago, that angry boy who bit and spat at empathy is no more and Snotlout can now gather the courage to ask for kindness, sometimes he doesn’t even have to ask. Still, it always leaves a tightness in his chest because… What does he do with all that kindness? Where does he put all the love given to him? In his heart, his black, scarred, twisted heart? No, but then where?

A hand, soft-skinned and porous-boned, cards through the hair on the back of his head and the trapped air is liberated from his seizing lungs, falling from his lips in a long, shaky exhale. He blinks the blurriness from his eyes and turns to sees Valka sat beside him with Pain coiled in her lap, a very gentle look on a face as she looks at him.

“A very bad habit that, gettin’ lost in ye head. I’m afraid ye might get it from me, you know, Hiccup’s always gettin’ himself roped up in his thoughts too.” She says quietly, as if she’s scared she’ll spook him if she speaks too loud, “Ye both think too much,”

He laughs at that, a dry, humourless laugh that’s sounds gravely and dark in the back of his scorned throat.

“You know, I’ve been told I do the exact opposite of thinking too much,” Snotlout replies, flexing his bloodied hand in front of him and revelling in the stinging pain that ripples through his nerves.

The deeper cuts on his knuckles have oozed heavy rivulets of blood down his fingers and have seeped into the callouses on his palms, a few veins of red have even made their way down his bare forearm. He looks down at the brilliant red and it looks like he’s killed someone, or something. This is the blood of his guilt.

Valka’s breath hisses as she inhales through her teeth, her hands reaching forward and cradling his gently as she looks over the weeping wounds. The careful gesture leaves him with goosebumps, it’s the distinctive touch of a mother’s hand. A hand he has longed to hold since he was a child.

“Yer stronger than ye realise, Snotlout, goin’ to hurt ye'self badly one of these days,” Valka whispers and Snotlout swallows, swallows the horrible urge to scream in her face-

THAT’S THE POINT! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?! I NEED TO! IT’LL MAKE ALL THAT GUILT GO AWAY IF IT HURTS BAD! THE PAIN, OH SWEET, FAMILIAR PAIN! IT STOPS ME FROM RUNNING BECAUSE IF I START, I WON’T BE ABLE TO STOP! I'LL RUN AWAY AND NEVER COME BACK!

Snotlout swallows all those terrible truths and oh how they swoon in his gut, like flocks of terrible birds in a terrible cage. It’s all so terrible.

“Can’t help it, you know, I’m brawn and no brains, all that stuff,” He smiles awkwardly, watching her inspect his bruising knuckles and pick out the smaller splinters he missed. The pain is small, a petty penance.

“Well, I know that’s not true, not when I see ye and Hiccup planning our raids-” Valka stands up and starts to roam around the room, stepping over Hookfang’s smoking snout to get to the chest at the foot of Snotlout’s bed, “You’re a great strategist and I have never known a time where your instincts have failed us,”

Pain steps onto his lap and begins to clean the bloody cuts, Snotlout lets her and places a hand on her back between her wings, thumbing at a soft spot along her spine. She chitters gratefully. The chest opens with a quiet sound and Valka delves her hands inside, rummaging for a few moments before retrieving a bundle of bandages.

It’s common knowledge among the gang where he keeps all his belongings, they all basically know his house better than he does at this point. It seems that so does Valka.

Hookfang grunts and babbles randomly as he shifts in his sleep, dragging his head across the floor and making Valka’s journey back more hazardous, but she deals with it with as much grace as a woman who’s lived amongst bumbling dragons for over twenty years. Curious, Snotlout looks to the skylight and sees Cloudjumper observing Valka with that fond and comfortable look he sometimes catches Hookfang giving him. The ceiling heaves with the Storm-Cutter’s great breaths, it looks the house is alive, alive and breathing.

Alive and hungry.

“Now let’s get these wrapped up, eh?” Valka crouches down in front of him, bandages weaved between her fingers as she gestures for his hand. “And in the mornin’ ye’ll go to Gothi, understood? Or I’ll send Hiccup after ye,”

Snotlout snorts as he nods in understanding, keenly watching the first layer of bandaging being folded over his knuckles, red blooming on white before disappearing beneath the next layer. The pressure against the more vicious cuts is morbidly pleasant to him.

They’re both quiet as she wraps his hand, nothing but the soft sound of their breathing and the rumbling tones of Hookfang’s snores to fill the silence. He looks are Valka now, really looks at her, and he really does see that they were sisters, her and his mum, he can see it in her the pale blue of her eyes, in the auburn tumble of her hair, in the gentle curve of her face.

He remembers his mum now, remembers her in a memory from when he was seven and it was the heart of winter, cold and grey outside and warm and amber inside. She was sat by the hearth, fletching her arrows and polishing her bow as he watched her with the wide-eyed curiosity of a child, chewing his lips as a question flickered in his head.

“Mum?” She hums in acknowledgment, fire glistening in her eyes and haloing the tresses of her hair (She’d always remove her braids when she came home for the night, usually it was twisted into a beautiful fauxhawk braid), “Did you make your bow?”

She’d paused then, the rag in her hand stilling along the agile wood, and looked up at him with a terrible sadness in her eyes. They no longer looked blue, they looked grey, drained of all warmth. They looked like the winter sky. He remembers feeling sad too.

“No,” She replied, a smile on her lips, but it was sad too and Snotlout didn’t understand how a smile could be sad, smiles were supposed to happy things (he knows better now), “Your aunt Valka made it, but not for more me, no, I used to be awful at archery,”

“I don’t believe you,” He’d gasped loudly, “You’re the best archer on Berk! Dad said you could hold a bow before you could walk!” She’d laughed at that, deep and hearty.

“Your dad’s a fool, Lout, haven’t I told you that before?”

Oh, mum, he was more than a fool. He was a monster in hiding and when you died he stopped hiding from me, he hid from everyone else but he didn’t hide from me. I saw the beast, I saw him alone and I looked into his eyes and saw evil and the evil looked into me. Mum, I should have listened to you. Mum, mum… please mum.

“Your aunt was the best before me, you know? Taught me that to hold a bow is like to hold the wind, you have to be gentle and focused, precise, true to your heart that you only need one shot,” His mum ghosted a hand over the dark wood of the bow, caressing it as if it were a lover’s arching neck, and Snotlout had scooted closer looking at the finer details carved long the upper and lower limbs of the bow. They looked like dragons, like the outlined silhouettes of Nightmares and Nadders and Zipplebacks soaring together in a blazing herd.

“What was Aunt Valka like? Was she, like, a great warrior like you too?” He’d asked hesitantly, his mum always got that awful dampness in her eyes whenever she spoke of her passed-on sister.

“Valka wasn’t much of a fighter, no,” His mum shook her head, gazing deep into the cackling hearth, “She had a tender heart on her, wore it on her sleeve night and day, and it made her… different, but she didn’t care,” A smile crawled across her face, mirthful and nostalgic, “She was stubborn and her kindness did not mean weakness, remember that, Lout, It’s not weak to be kind,”

I’m sorry, mum. I forgot. He made me forget. I’m sorry, I remember now.

The memory comes to an end, his mother’s fire-lit figure swimming from his mind as he focuses his eyes back onto Valka’s lithe fingers as they pin the bandages down and he remembers that bow for the first time in years. A grief fills him when he remembers what fate that great weapon met, snapped in two by hateful hands and thrown to the hungry hearth as his father spat she was weak, like her sister, they’re both dead because they were weak!

Snotlout wants to apologize to Valka but then he’ll have to explain the soft memory of his mum’s sad eyes and the angry memory of his dad’s bared teeth. The spitting embers as wood is consumed, as a relic is ruined in the flames.

“Were you surprised… When you found out?” He says instead and it’s a question that’s been brewing in his head for years.

Valka leans back onto her calves and gives him a confused look, tilting her head as she glides a hand along Hookfang’s snout.

“Found out about what?”

“About-” He swallows firmly, ridding himself of the swollen lump in his throat, “-about my mum, your sister… Where you surprised- no, not surprised but… Shocked? When you found out how she… How she died?”

The question leaves the air thick and suspenseful; it leaves his chest tight (or maybe that’s the anxiety because he’s never talked to Valka about how his mum died and this feels like forbidden territory). He doesn’t want to upset her but there are questions, fears, in his head that need to be answered because they’re keeping him up at night.

Valka opens her mouth then closes it again, voice lost and words unwilling. Instead, she worries her lower lip and turns her gaze to the floor, looking between the wood panelling as of it holds the answer she needs. He doesn’t rush her, Snotlout understands it’s an awful question to answer, his stomach always goes in knots whenever Hiccup or Eret try to push him into talking about things. They don’t force him, of course, but they believe it’ll help with that heaviness on his chest. Snotlout can’t say he agrees with them but he plays along now and again.

“I… I wasn’t… Expectin’ to see her again,” Valka starts slowly, “when I left Berk, I had no intentions of returnin’ so I had already mourned her, in a way, but… But I had hoped she’d live on happily, without me causing trouble for her to get me out of,”

A breathy chuckle comes from her and her eyes are sad too, but they aren’t cold like how his mum’s used to get, no, they still have that dragon-fire warmth. He’s glad about that. Valka rubs her hands along her thighs and she gives him a kind smile that is the mirror image of his mother’s. It leaves his heart swollen and aching.

“When Stoick told me… I wasn’t as… Shocked as I should have been, but it was still a blow to the heart, she was my big sister, the person I admired and went to when I was scared,” Valka speaks softly, as if she’s lost in a distant memory, “It’s terrible bein’ the one left behind,”

He nods his head in agreement because, yes, it is. There is no greater loss than being the one left alive, being the other half who escaped the flames. Scarred, ruined, but alive, not with them in those great halls, with that great music, drinking that great peace. Yes, it is lonely to be alive.

“Your mother was a brave woman and I see that same braveness in you too,” Valka extends a hand and touches her fingers to his chest, over the place that homes his heart, and he feels a swell of pride in that.

“But I also see the same sadness she had,” She brings her hand up and her touch ghosts under his eye.

He inhales sharply and turns from her touch, feeling ashamed because he hates it when people see the things he tries to hide most. It leaves him vulnerable and weak, naked and defenceless; they can touch him where it hurts most, they can see all that foulness, they can expose him for the rotten thing that he is.

But she’s right. Sometimes he’ll catch his reflection and he never really sees himself. He either sees the sorrow-blue of his mother’s eyes or the jaded-wrath of his father’s face. He never sees himself; he doesn’t quite know who he is.

“I see it too,” He admits quietly, eyes stuck on the floor where he had struck, the wood bent and splintered, cratered, and there is something inside him that says you shouldn’t have been able to do that, you shouldn’t be that strong, something is wrong with you, something is festering inside of you and it’s A N G R Y.

“It doesn’t make you weak, Snotlout, that sadness,” She says and he looks up at her from beneath his brow, jaw clenched as he tries to resit the urge to rip off his bandages and scratch feverishly at his wounds, “A weak person wouldn’t have been able to survive all those years with what he was doing to you,”

Ten years he’s been torturing you, Hiccup’s voice cuts in suddenly in his head, how are you still alive, Lout?

His reply to that had been dismissive and mumbled, but in his head, he was saying I don’t know, I don’t think I am alive. I think my body refuses to die, but inside I’m rotting, I’m supposed to be dead but I’m not, my body won’t allow it.

Gathering his words, gathering his confidence, Snotlout straightens his back and sighs harshly.

“But it’s been two years since he left, since he last took me into the woods, and I still feel… like an open wound, you know?” He starts quietly, the scarred skin beneath his tunic reacting to his words like they understand and he tries to not to fidget at the crawling feeling that spreads across his torso. It makes his chest tighter, the itching feeling that drives him to do something rash, violent, mad, so it will all stop.

“Shouldn’t I be better by now? Shouldn’t I be normal? Fuck, I think- No, I know I’ve gotten worse since he left and it doesn’t make sense!” His words begin to get frantic as he speaks more, as he pours his heart out to someone who might be able to help, and his eyes sting with tears because he’s so frustrated, so confused, so angry.

A delirious haze falls over him and he starts babbling and crying and yelling, begging it all to go away as he brings his hands to the side of his head, gripping at his hair and pulling painfully. Usually the pain would ease him, as morbid as that sounds, but he is so mad with this mental fever that it doesn’t even register and he can’t see, his eyes heavy with tears that fall and never stop falling.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore! I want it to stop!” Snotlout begs in a shallow breath, voice loud in his ears and echoing, a howl in the empty night, and his chest feels tight and heavy, it’s full of that foulness and it’s crushing his lungs. It’s happening, it’s all going wrong and he can’t stop it, he can’t even breathe, how can he stop it if he can’t breathe?!

He barely feels the arms that encircle him, hardly hears the soothing voice, the chittering purr, the easing rumble. He’s stuck in his head, in his loud and sick head, and the waves of impeding doom that wash over him are sending his heart mad, everything is going too fast yet not fast enough, he want’s it all to be over. Snotlout tugs at his hair, pants like a rabid beast amongst the keens and indecipherable begging, shivers and shakes. He feels like he’s dying.

“Yer alright, my dear boy, yer alright,” The gentle voice reassures and he almost believes it.

Hands cradle his face and they are so soft, so kind, they can’t be his hands, his hands were so hard, so cruel. They come for him in the night, and they come with a grinning evil that laughs like a bag full of bones, hallow and wrong. But these wind-touched hands, these love-soaked fingers, they won’t laugh or claw or hurt, they only hold with a great tenderness that has felled beasts. They swipe away the tumbling tears and ease the furrows from his brow, a face presses against his scalp and he feels a kiss being placed there, a kind whisper ghosting through his hair.

Snotlout, unknowingly, rocks back and forth in Valka’s arms like a child during a storm, tear-stained and afraid and confused, believing that this is the end of everything.

Slowly, surely, the haze begins to lift and Snotlout is free from the gross confines of his head. His heartbeat eases to a loud but easing beat that thrums in his ears and he can feel his lungs expand with each breath he takes, no long constricting beneath an invisible weight. The world around him comes back to view and he’s met with wide, draconic eyes that stared fearfully into his, Hookfang lets out an uncharacteristic whimper as he bumps his head against Snotlout’s heaving chest.

Snotlout breathing now, Snotlout okay, coos Pain as she scuttles along his neck and Hookfang snarls weakly at her, rumbling I know, I’ve seen before, I know Snotlout okay, I know. But it’s still scary. That part goes unsaid.

“I’m okay, Fang, It’s-” Snotlout tries to swallow the panting breaths, tries to slow his breathing, “It’s over now,”

The feeling of hands carding gently through his hair helps the tightness in his throat to loosen and the stiffness in his bones to lax, it’s a familiar gesture that Eret always finds himself doing when they’re together. But these are hands are small and soft, while Eret’s are big and rough. These hands are Valka’s and they are just as welcomed as Eret’s.

“How about we go for a flight?” Valka encourages as she stands on her feet, glancing up to the Storm-Cutter who watches from above before looking back down to him, “The sky is cool tonight and Me and Cloudjumper wouldn’t mind the company,”

Snotlout thinks for a moment before he nods and easily lifts himself up, rolling his shoulders and neck to relive the tension pent up in his muscles.

“Alright,” Is all he says and Valka beams down at him as she steps onto Cloudjumper’s extended claw, her partner lifting her up through the skylight.

Hookfang too readies himself and briefly looks begrudgingly to the purple Terror perched on top of his left horn, her wings spread smugly and claws flexing excitedly. He doesn’t bother saddling up, he’s gone without one before so many times that at this point, he finds it almost easier to fly bareback. It feels more free. With a calm sigh, he clambers expertly onto Hookfang’s lowered neck and looks up into the dark night, at the waxing moon, at the winking stars.

He closes his eyes and takes to the sky.

———————————————————————————————————–

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READY! YOU’RE A BEAUTIFUL BITCH/BASTARD AND I HOPE YOU GET LAID VERY SOON (if you’re of age, of course)

Many of Horror (Chapter one: This secret goodbye)

Fandom - How to train your dragon (movie franchise)

Ship - Eretlout (+ background relationships)

Wordcount - 3748 words

Fanfic summary - Moving on is hard, especially from something that doesn’t want to be forgotten. But it’s easier when you have someone with you who understands that mind-scarring agony, it’s easier when someone will hold you in the dark when all the monsters come out to play, it’s easier when you’re loved. But Eret is going overseas and Snotlout is left alone in a cold bed. 

The dream is back and he feels sick. Sick in the head. (I really can’t think of a good summary for this, so sorry my dudes)

Tags/Warnings for this chapter - Mentions of past child abuse

So I have yet to finish this Fic yet but I’m just so excited to show it to yall that i just had to give you a little teaser!!! This fic takes place a year after HTTYD3 but the dragons never leave and Stoick never died because Hiccup deserved a whole family for more than one day (Dreamworks, i’m talking to you asshole)!

Also please check out The colour of friendship by Sarahenany and The colour of family by Thurdsday26 on the Archive because it they are big inspirations for this fic and if you love Spitelout bashing and Snotlout whump and found family then, oh boy, that is truly the jackpot of all Snotlout whump fics! Also, the title of this fic is based on the song Many of Horror by Biffy Clyro and this to the first like three lines and you’ll understand why! 

Please enjoy and give me any feedback that you have, negative or positive, do not hold back bitches!!!! Haha lol bruh

———————————————————————————————————–

Eret is leaving today, but he’ll be back in a few weeks, a month maximum if the summer storms keep at bay (Ruffnut prayed briefly to Thor before bed last night. She doesn’t know why; it was an impulse thing). He, along with six other crewmates, will be sailing far up north to the port-island he once called home to establish a trading route for Berk and to perhaps arrange a meeting between Chief Stoick and the chief of his native village. The Northmen are good people, Eret had reassured during a council a week back, who’ve long been held under the sole of Drago’s boot and will gladly reward those who levered that pressure with both miscellaneous goods and a long-lasting alliance.

The only problem with this grand adventure is that they’ll have to travel dragon-less.

The Northmen too have been terrorised by dragons for generations and they will not hesitate to net, bludgeon, and flay the first dragon they see, even if said dragon has a rider on their back. Act first and ask later kind of folk, a mindset which Ruffnut is very familiar with. Eret predicts that the concept of living with dragons in peace and harmony is one his people will be suspicious of for a time, but he assures that they’ll warm up to it eventually. So, the first few trips will be dragon-less and slowly they’ll weasel their Berkian values in, a very cunning plan indeed if Ruff didn’t say so herself.

So today is the day of departure and she’s on her way to the docks for the send-off, alone for a change. Tuffnut, eager to be out the house and tired of waiting for her to finish braiding her hair, had nabbed Barf and Belch and left her on her lonesome to walk. At first, she’d been peeved to all Hel, rightfully so, muttering to herself about how easier life would be without her dolt of a twin till she remembered just how peaceful, well, peace was. As vexing as Tuff is, Ruff cannot deny her sibling love for him, but she also cannot deny the simple serene beauty of silence.

She’s striding down a street of huts, the docks insight, when she hears a terribly familiar voice.

“You better be back in two weeks, if you’re not, I’m coming after you,”

Snotlout.

Ruff pauses mid-stride and takes a step back, looking into a narrow alleyway between two huts. She steps closer and presses herself against the left hut wall, slyly peeking her head out to gaze searchingly into the shadowed alley where she’d definitely heard Snotlout’s voice. As mad as she is (and she is mad), she isn’t to the point of hearing imaginary voices in the shadows (not for a few years, at least).

There. Stuck between a wall and a bulky silhouette, is the short and distinctive shadow of Snotlout Jorgensen. The figure Snotlout is pressed against lets out a hushed laugh, head bowing and if wasn’t for that laugh, she’d definitely be able to identify him solely for the dark outline of his facial profile.

Eret, Son of Eret.

Oh, this… This is interesting, very interesting indeed.

“No promises, we might have to delay returning if we see a storm on the horizon,” Eret informs and Snotlout makes a displeased snort, to which Eret adds in response, “But if we don’t then, we’ll be back as soon as we can. Snotlout, you won’t even know I’ve left,”

“It already feels like you’ve left me,” Snotlout murmurs, head hung low, and it catches Ruffnut by surprise, that statement because it’s such a vulnerable thing for Snotlout to say and the way he says it, quiet and anxious, is so alien to her.

The use of the word “me” too, makes her mind turn and burn with theories because there is something so very deep in the small, added word. She doesn’t know what yet, but there is something painfully human about it.

Ruff watches the shadowed duo, transfixed as Eret lifts a hand to Snotlout’s chin, tipping his head up so that they are looking at each other.

It’s such an abnormal gesture for her to witness, especially between two people with whom she’s never associated such tenderness before.

Eret has always been this tall, handsome, foreign stranger with a silky voice and a self-assured walk, who is as handy with a sword as he is on a boat, who’s always there to help and give back to the people who gave him a better life. Snotlout has always been this hot-headed, confident loudmouth who is way too short to be as brave as he is and is way too good at singing for Ruff to admit, who’s full of unyielding loyalty and howling laughter. But most importantly, they hate each other.

Or, now that she thinks of it, they did hate each other.

The last few months have been lacking the usual rivalry between Snotlout and Eret and she doesn’t know why it’s only hitting her now. At some point, they two of them became friends and she’s pretty sure she isn’t the only one who hasn’t noticed, which is so peculiar because she, and the others, have seen the two of them hanging out at the sawmill and flying together at dusk to light the torches. Gods, they drank with each other last night and there hadn’t been a single crass word spoken. When did this happen? She and the rest of Berk have gone blind!

“Snotlout, I’ll be back. Soon. I can’t promise you when, but I’ll be back, and next time I go north, you can come with me,” Eret assures, and though Ruff can’t see Snotlout’s features, she can feel the atmosphere lifting and hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah?” There is something so hopeful and childish in the way he breathes that word, something that tugs at Ruff’s heartstrings.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can convince Hiccup to spare you of your very honourable duties for a few weeks,”

“Hey, shut up!” Snotlout’s foot jerks out sharply to jab Eret in the ankle, the former laughing breathlessly in response, “My work is honourable, okay? Someone has to test all those crazy weapons Hiccup cooks up and I’m the only man for the job, no one else is as brave as I am,” He exclaims, all confident and cocky and familiar to Ruffnut.

“You’re sure right about that,” Eret says as he again raises his hand and, this time, it comes in contact with Snotlout’s cheek, she can see the faint movement of his thumb smoothing over the skin beneath his eye. His voice is awfully soft with a terrible fondness that Ruffnut sometimes hears in Hiccup’s voice when he speaks about Astrid or vice versa, it’s a tone that she automatically links up to people who are fiercely in love.

Oh, Freya, they’re in love.

“You gotta head down to the docks, Eret, you’ll be late to leave… or whatever,” Again, that insecure whisper is back and by Gods, it sounds so brittle and shaky that Ruff almost considers the thought that Snotlout might be crying.

She would be if she was about to be separated from her lover for an unknown amount of time, Ruff ain’t afraid to admit that, but if Snotlout is afraid of anything, it’s expressing feelings and emotions (He’s afraid of proving he’s human, proving he’s weak). But then again, maybe it’s easier for Snotlout to air out his inner thoughts in front of Eret because, well, they’re in love and to be so intimate with someone, they’re eventually going to see all the ugly parts that you hide beneath the pretty façade. Eret has probably seen the old insecurity they all know that still lurks deep inside Snotlout, raw and unfiltered, a thing from his youth that made him angry and afraid, a thing that was just as damaging as the scars on his flesh.

Ruffnut, nor anyone else on Berk, will ever forgive Spitelout for what he did to Snotlout. She will gladly say that the day he was exiled was the best day of her life and she will not be alone in the statement. Cruel, merciless, cold-blooded bastard deserved to be Blood-eagled if you ask Ruff and Tuff (probably Hiccup too, no one was more enraged than he was.)

(Ruff has never been afraid of Hiccup, except for once. He’s far too lanky, too merciful, too kind, to be a scary guy. But that day, when Snotlout had lifted his tunic in the clubhouse and revealed the ivory scars that were striped across his back and chest, she’d taken a step back at the sight of the inferno that had kindled in his eyes, at the sudden look of mercilessness that had steeled his features, at the trembling fists clenched at his sides. He looked like a man ready to kill, like a man ready to burn then world to the ground, like a man ready to give it all up just for revenge. She was afraid of him that day. So, so afraid that she had nightmares about him for days afterwards.)

“I’ll be a bit late, the lads won’t mind,” Eret says lowly, drawing Ruffnut from her walk-in memory-lane, and she feels her heart tug as he bows his head to press against Snotlout’s, “I’ll stay here. With you,”

Forehead touching, especially in Viking culture, is the tenderest way to touch the ones who mean dearest to you. Be it a lover, a blood-relative, a shield-brother, anyone who is buried deep in your heart. And here, in the shadows of an alley, hidden and quiet like a forbidden dream, two people hold each other. Soon, they will have to let go and isn’t that the most heart-breaking thing? Letting go?

Her heart feels too big for her chest and she almost feels like a changed person by witnessing this, witnessing something she was never meant to see. Will love be like this for her too? Terribly tender and awfully soft? She doesn’t know, Gods, she shouldn’t be here.

Ruff tries to drag herself back but she’s like a moth to a flame, unable to pull herself away from this blindingly beautiful display of love, so raw, so real. She never imaged Snotlout to fall so easily to soft caresses, but of course, he would. It is always our deepest wants that will bring us to our knees and all Snotlout has ever wanted is love, a gentle hand, a place to bury his heart.

They share a deep and long kiss. It makes her feel lonely and she doesn’t know why. They part, breathing on each other’s lips and holding each other tightly because they know, they know, they have to let go any moment. Their foreheads are still touching.

“Promise me,” Snotlout whispers and she sees the silhouette of his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, “promise me you’ll come back. To me. Eret, promise you’ll come ba-”

A quick but meaningful kiss quietens Snotlout’s desperate pleas and Ruffnut has never heard him beg before, not like that, not like he’s afraid that Ragnarök is about to fall upon them. Eret cradles Snotlout’s face with his large hands. They are so close, they’ve almost become one shadow.

“I promise you, Snotlout,” Eret vows, quiet but vehement, his lips brushing against Snotlout’s, “I promise that I will come back to you,”

Another kiss is shared between them, sealing the oath that Eret has made and therefore making it unbreakable. Eret will return, he has to, and Ruff doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t. Something tragic, something unbearable to watch, something she can’t allow to happen. She will not see Snotlout ruined again. So, she promises herself that if Eret does not return, she’ll fly herself up to Valhalla, drag him back to Berk and the Gods best keep themselves to themselves and not get in the way of her mission, lest the know the true wrath of a Thorston woman.

“Come on, before Hiccup starts a search party,” Snotlout says, voice stronger now that the promise of returning has been made, “Selkie’s gonna want a proper goodbye too or she’s gonna follow you the whole way,”

Eret nods in agreement and peeks his head out of the alleyway, looking up and down the street in search of any unwanted bystanders. In the sunlight, his eyes glitter amber and Ruffnut can make out his hand, large and golden, curled around Snotlout’s.

“You sure you can handle her? I know that-”

“Gods, Eret, she’s the timidest Thunderdrum I’ve ever seen! If I can handle Hookfang and a borderline psychotic Terror, among other things, then she’s going to be a piece of cake,” He reassures, almost sounding offended, and Eret chuckles softly as he gives Snotlout a fond look.

Ruff watches them step out from the alley into the sunlit street, hands no longer intertwined. She can make out the red flush on Snotlout’s cheeks and the faint wetness beneath his eyes, which he wipes away hastily. The two of them share a look, secret and quiet, lips curled into gentle smiles, fingers twitching with the longing to touch. Then, as sudden as lightning, the tender-faces fall away and they leave, together but still somehow so far apart. They enter the real world not as lovers, but as friends, as a secret waiting to reveal itself.

For a few moments, she stays where she is, staring into the unlikely place of a secret lovers’ farewell. Who knew that a place like this, small and dark, would hold such a tragic and beautiful moment? Ruffnut feels a mixture of emotions, the biggest one being happiness because bless the Gods, Snotlout has found love and if anyone deserves it, it’s him.

At the after ceremony of Hiccup and Astrid’s wedding a year back, a drunk Snotlout had suddenly embraced her tight and long and said; I’m gonna be alone forever, Ruffy, but that’s okay, I got you guys, so… I not really alone. And being just as drunk as he was, she’d laughed and poured him another drink, dancing with him till the sun came to steal the night. She didn’t remember what he said till a few days after and it had filled up with such a fierce and sudden sadness that Tuffnut had dragged her home, demanding an explanation for the terrible look in her eyes.

That’s the thing with a twin like Tuff, the second her mood changes, he can sense it like a hunting dog catching the scent of blood. She can do it too, but Tuff has never been one to hide his true feelings while she, similar to Snotlout, would rather avoid the conflict of talking sentiments (even with Tuff). Her brother has to drag it out of her most times, corner her and say stupidly melancholic stuff like;

I can smell it, sister. You’re sad.

Tuffnut is a curse and blessing all at once and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

But anyway, she’s overjoyed to see Snotlout in love and loved, but she’s also anxious about it. Anxious in a way an older sibling is over a younger sibling when they start to dabble in dangerous things, in things that can get them hurt. And if love is anything, it’s dangerous. If love can do anything, it can get you hurt.

Snotlout has been hurt enough. Snotlout has endured and lived through torture and torment, through betrayal and loss, through things she can’t imagine surviving. She will not see him hurt again, not by Eret, not by love, not by anything. He doesn’t deserve it.

The others will also share her feelings when they discover this secret love story, that she is sure of. Especially Hiccup, who in the past few years has become like an older brother to Snotlout (like the same way that Stoick has become a father to him, the same way Valka has become a mother to him). He takes his new sibling occupation very seriously and it is comical, the wiser brother and the reckless brother always at odds but always there to protect each other.

There’s a headache brewing in her temple. Gods, she’s been thinking and overthinking again.

It’ll be fine, she reassures herself, stepping away from the alley and making towards the docks, the Gods wouldn’t curse them all with more bad fortune, would they?

It’s probably the most stupid question she’s ever thought, in hindsight.

When she gets to the docks, it’s jam-packed with dragons and Vikings alike, friends and family saying farewell to the crew and wishing them good fortune on their journey. The sky is clear and blue, perfect for sailing, and Ruff concludes that she wasn’t the only one begging Thor to keep his storms to himself.

Immediately, her eyes are drawn to Tuffnut, dangling upside down from Belch’s neck as he converses with a bemused Fishlegs. She’s tempted to go over, but not yet, she has to do something first.

She quickly surveys the area, seeing one of the Berkian members of Eret’s crew giving his vermilion Nadder a thorough farewell and a Northman kissing his Shield-maiden fiancé goodbye.

The Northmen, Eret included, were intrigued to see such wild and free women when they first came to Berk. Berkian women are hearty and frightening and hard to impress, daughters of wolves, bearers of warriors, the fiercest things on the battlefield.

So it had been a cultural shock to them, Eret had admitted one day, for their home only holds women who sew the clothes and make the food, who bear the children and tend to the house, who are quiet and timid and easily won over by a half-assed sonnet. Most marriages are arranged and many daughters are traded for land or gold, true love is a rarity to come by. Eret is proud of his home, but these are the parts he is ashamed of.

Astrid was the first woman Eret had ever seen to hold a weapon and he’d never met a woman as savage as Ruffnut before. Ruff will forever be proud that she was Eret’s first taste of wildness.

There. She’s found who she’s looking for.

Eret kneels on one knee before Selkie, his beauty of Thunderdrum. She’s orange like a sunset, pale and washed-out, with white flecks scattering her hide like parted clouds, matching her ivory belly, and Ruffnut has never seen a dragon with eyes that blue before. Selkie lets out an unhappy groan as she presses her face further into Eret’s hand, eyes low in her grief as she listens to his whispers. Ruffnut can’t make out what he’s saying, but she’s sure it’s everything soft and reassuring.

Snotlout is close by, she notices, watching Eret with an open fondness. If Hiccup or Astrid walked by right now and took notice of the raw love in Snotlout’s gaze, they would immediately know the truth. Clearly, she isn’t the only one thinking this because Hookfang, stood beside his rider, nudges Snotlout with a warning hiss in the back of his throat. Never let it be said that Hookfang doesn’t look out for Snotlout, he’s ornery and easily distracted, but he makes up for it all with his loyalty.

Soon enough, the ship is ready and it’s time to go. People gather along the docks and make their last hurried farewells. The drums begin and the chants of fortune echo across the waters, there’s an intoxicating atmosphere permeating the air. Ruffnut hurries through the crowd, easily shoving unmoving folk to the deck in her haste because she has yet to speak with Eret. He’s shaking hands with Chief Stoick and is about to go up the gang walk when she suddenly lunges herself at him.

“Ruffnut!” He gasps, surprised and clearly a bit uncomfortable, but he’ll have to deal with her for the moment, “Thought you weren’t going to- uh- show,”

“Course I was, idiot, and anyways-” She leans her head close to his ear and wraps a hand around his bicep, digging her sharp nails into his flesh threateningly as she whispers, “-I have to remind you to keep to that promise, Eret, son of Eret, I’m not going to have Snotlout hurt again. I was robbed of my revenge last time, I won’t be again,”

When she pulls back, she flashes him a smile with too many teeth and bats her lashes with an intimidating gleam in her eyes. She’s given this look to men who are now dead and it is Eret’s choice if he wishes to be added to that mass grave. Eret stares back at her with shocked eyes, cheeks slightly red, and he clenches his jaw as he swallows thickly, rubbing a hand over the raised welts on his bicep. The drums echo across the water and the chanting voices chase after in earnest. After a bewildering moment, Eret gives her an awkward but thankful smile and nods his head in understanding.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He says and all the tension in his muscles seem to slip away as Ruffnut softens her menacing gaze on him, clapping him boisterously on the already injured shoulder.

“Atta boy,” She cackles, shoving him up the gang walk as she calls after him, a throaty laugh colouring her words, “You better be back in two weeks, you son of an Eret, or I’m coming after you!”

To her delight, she hears him laugh back at her.

The ship finally departs from the dock, sail high and proud as its pushed by the encouraging wind and the waves part smoothly as the bow cuts through the water, sure and steady. Some of the crew hang off the ratlines, saying goodbye to Berk (for now), and Eret stands, tall and almost warrior-like, on the stern. The salt-touched wind carries his dark hair and the sun reflects off his dark eyes, they glitter with a sadness that Ruffnut wouldn’t have noticed if she didn’t know the things she knew. His smile is melancholic, Gods, he already looks homesick. He’s looking at someone and she already knows who.

Turning to look at Snotlout, she can see that his hands are balled up into white-knuckled fists, that his smile is forced and pained, that his eyes shimmer with tears.

Snotlout has always hated goodbyes. Especially ones that aren’t supposed to last. Because they always do.

A middle school in Achille, Oklahoma is closed following violent threats by parents on social media against Maddie, a 12-year-old transgender student who identifies as female and used the girls’ bathroom.

Maddie had been using the staff bathroom at her old school but used the girls’ bathroom at the new school because she wasn’t sure where the staff bathroom was. She was then accused of peeping under a bathroom stall. Her mother said it was probably because she “leans very far forward to use the bathroom.”

Then the threats began on a private parents’ Facebook group for the school. The parents called Maddie “it” and “thing”, suggested that her genitalia be mutilated to make her female (“a good sharp knife will do the job real quick”). One said it was “hunting season on them kind” and said there was “no bag limit.”

Maddie’s mother Brandy Rose said she fears for her life: “These are adults making threats– I don’t understand it. She’s an awesome kid. To see any fear in her, I can’t explain how bad that hurts me for them to hurt her.”

KXII reports: “The sheriff said the mother filed a protective order against one parent but no other arrests have been made, however several agencies including the FBI are stepping in to see if any comments constitute a hate crime.”

See the screenshots:

Sorry to say this but if we have to think about whether or not threatening to cut a 12 year old child is a hate crime means there is no hope for us. What has this nation become when it’s citizens feel they have a right to threaten minorities with no fear of repercussion. The only ringing heard now is the death knell of freedom..

Savages…

THIS IS SENSATIONAL!!!😍😍😍

Can you tell I'm obsessed? Cowboy Hobie from @the-kr8tor fic 🫶

so cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute

Don’t say anything, just reblog

baby animals blog

hahahahahHaHaHaHaHAHAHAHAHAH 😆😆😆😆😆!!!!

Pin for survivors

Reblog if you like Sonic Characters:

Sonic | Shadow | Silver | Blaze | Knuckles | Cream | Tails | Super Sonic | Rouge | Espio