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italianpersonwithashippersheart · 2 months

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You know what pisses me off about this all PheeJin stuff. It's taken over.

No matter what happens having TaCopper be such a huge part of the anticipation, them being promoted so heavily as a ship with this series was a mistake.

About 50% of all the comments under the BTS videos and reddit posts are about PheeJin.

Either that they love the ship, or the actors, or they are mad the writers "ruined" Jin by confirming he was the one that leaked the video.

Side note: Everyone seems to be pretty much treating the confession as confirmation. So do I. It would be a stupid as fuck writing decision to have Jin be not the person that realeased the video and confess to it anyway.

Instead of focusing on the show's themes like this excellent post outlines by @syrena-del-mar or even the topics of sex and voyerism like this post by @shannankle or another post I can't find discussing the way the show subverts the tipical way sex is punished in horror. EDIT: @shannankle found the post and linked it in the notes it was from @brifrischu with addition from @lurkingshan. Or even just enjoying the theorizing like this post by @mikuni14 or this one by @tbhimnoteasyonmyself. Most of the fans (again other places I am not looking at the tag here on tumblr) are mostly discussing Jin, PheeJin and whining that Tan is a killer and lost his mind.

Also not saying anything about the Jin fans on Tumblr I am not going in the tag for a reasons. But a lot of PheeJin shippers and Jin fans on other sites are using words I fucking hate to describing New and it's starting to low-key piss me off. All the: he lost his mind, he is derenged (i also saw lost his mind like his brother - which you know ew) it's getting on my last nerve and I would appriciate if we could be a little lighter with that kind of language please.

It sucks that such a great show now wrote itself into this conrner where it only has two options: Stick to the genre and revenge plot, have team masked killer win (and kill Jin and Phee if he is indeed a traitor); everyone is dead, depressing ending no one is happy; or Phee and Jin succed in bringing down "crazy" killer New, we get some nice violence is not the answear after school message and Phee and Jin live happly ever after.

The first two will make the fans crazy, and we know the BOC shipper fans are on all other level of insane. And the third will leave the rest of us with a show that detroyed his own message for the sake of a ship, AGAIN (might I add, ofts fans will know the struggle). Leaving the show bad reviews and claim outrage because TaCopper wasn't endgame and they got ruined.

And let me very clear, If I have too see the well-off/rich character all alive while the poor characters all die and get called crazy because they dared take revenge and be angry at their mistreatment. I will actually consider this the worse BL ending ever. That will piss me off more then the Last Twilight ending ever did.

#txt #dead friend forever #typed this just to get this out of my head #i will not be entertaining the notion that the Jin confession was fake or a lie or that he only believes he did it #because it would make no sense and it would be a such a colossally bad writing decision I can't even thinking about it #hope nobody minds getting tagged in this rant post #if you do i will take it off #no problem

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 4 months

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Happy holidays! I hope you have a good time with your family, friends, etc.

Thanks for writing about Hiccup, there are few tumblrs that write about him and I appreciate it <3

Castoff pt 4

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,279

You have no pick nor savior so, in typical fashion, you use your words instead. It turns out that they can be just as sharp as any weapon.

Tags: Angst, fem!reader, heartbreak, villain reader, unresolved insecurity, anger, canon divergent, RTTE, Httyd 2, dark content, Angst, kidnapping, spiraling

<Previous

You caught someone in the eye, you were sure. At least somewhere under the brow. You hoped he went blind.

Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to stay awake, back in the hull, crusted blood marking a worn trail down your forehead.

You had your knife, still, which you clutched close to your middle at all times. You were sure they could wrench it from your hands if they really wanted.

Maybe it was the pity which kept them from taking it from you, or the fact that they remembered how difficult it was to get you here in the first place, lashing out like an animal, kicking and clawing as they threw you back into the cage.

Maybe it was because they had scant time nor regard for anything else but their eager need to nurse their own wounds.

It meant very little, trapped back in the hull as you were.

You lived that moment over and over in your mind.

How you carried the burden of guilt on your shoulders, you wanted to beg and plead like you were kneeled before the altar of a broken God. You were ready to repent, and in that moment the smoke smelt like nothing more than forgiveness.

How at that time, you weren’t the one holding the knife. This time you were the beast at the sharp end of a masked figure’s staff. You were the one who begged and pleaded and writhed. How even before the mask figure could move, you knew the answer they would give, just as you knew the way flesh felt under knife.

Even the Vikings on Berk held honor, none willing to take a slave, none willing to turn an unwillful hand, none dishonorable enough to slay a man, none cowardly enough not to own up to it.

As a soft soul, you’d vowed albeit unconsciously to never draw a lick of blood.

You stared at the slowly shifting body of a small terror, chained and beaten and scarred so bad it could barely move, laid still and sad in its own waste.

It had driven you mad, constant whining and hacking filling the hours you should have spent sleeping with strife and restless shifting. Your neck ached from the hard floor even now, and you’d not a moment of respite to show for it.

You weren’t the dragon with the large yellow eyes. You weren’t the trapper, fallen to the knife.

You hated it; just as it was bound, so were you. You seemed to reflect each other, two sides of the same coin, neither the wielder, both the bearers of the sharp end of the knife, slaves to a much crueler fate.

It was a mockery.

And as a child, you’d kept a bird, wings torn and chest kicked in, picked up from the road and stowed away in a wooden box filled with hay. You had been too young to recognize that it had been long gone and so you took to it with the passion of a child bound to be disappointed.

You watched it all night, by the fire as its chest rose and fell gently, alone.

You fell asleep to an empty hearth and woke to a cold, still body.

When your friend, when a small Hiccup had come to you with his own bird, showed it to you, cradled and swaddled with all the fine cloth the son of a Chief could afford, when he had found success where you did not and whose hands healed when yours couldn’t.

You listened to his stories, you watched with a bitten tongue and a held breath as he cared for it, wrought with a sympathy and a grief you’d never voice. You hadn’t anything but sadness, then, and, in a way, a measure of happiness. You were happy for his success.

You had wondered for so many nights what you had done wrong.

You thought that made him greater.

You imagined it dead, run over by the wheel of a wagon, perhaps begging for scraps yet only facing the hard hearts and shoulders of Vikings who had better things to do than entertain the whims of a small bird, unfamiliar to the cold world, the only life it had known being wrapped warm as a fire and soft as fur.

Lost to the cruel grip of nature.

You glared at the man before you.

You wanted to tell him to shovel his eyes out, to cut open his chest, to suffocate on his own spit and blood. You held your tongue.

Was there something cruel in that, too; leaving something so weak and frail to live when it begged for nothing but reprieve? To leave it alive, choking on its own spit and filth, driving you mad with anguish and irritation and then rage, until you had wanted nothing more than to have seen it tossed overboard?

Was that what everyone else knew when they looked at you with those eyes and blocked you off with sturdy shoulders, filled with unease and love and companionship, laid just outside your reach?

Eret grit his jaw.

You blinked away the heavy weights of sleep which held down your eyes as you slept, and though you had the urge, you did not rub your lids.

Instead, you laid still, turned away from the entrance. The light.

It smelt terribly.

As the hold once again filled with dragons, they kept to the far side of their cages, away from the small terror- the lizard, that was slowly but surely beginning to rot, torn apart by the desperate, fearful midnight scrabblings of a rat. Starving, just as you were, but freer than anything above or below deck.

By the sound of it, you knew exactly who. Eret wasn’t your only visitor. No, you got others. This one, he sounded like one of the kinder ones, the one who brought you your meals. Who kept you from starving. The others, they visited with nothing but sharp, metal-toed boots and fists burning with all the rage of a man trapped, ready and willing to rip and tear.

You were under no illusion that he had done it of his own free will, and yet he carried a sort of hope during the exchanges you shared, the passing of food between the bars and into your small jail, waiting as you turned your back, sighing with heavy emotion and moving with heavy steps.

You kept your breathing slow and shallow, rocking with the rest of the boat, rain and water pounding against wood as the ship was tossed around. It would soon get too violent for you to stay still, violent enough to make you sick.

He probably had a family back home. A wife and a child. Or a brother, maybe; a family, something to hold him in the delusion that what he was doing was right. That motivated him to try and rise above the others, that allowed him the belief he had the right to turn the other cheek as both dragons and Vikings alike were beaten and bruised and tortured by his hand. That he wasn’t nor would ever be as bad as the rest of them which, in your eyes, ultimately made him worse.

It made him selfish, more than anyone else on this vessel, who took and beat and robbed as they pleased.

He had a very unique helmet when most of the others on this ship did not; something that covered most of his face the same way Dagur’s helmet did, with horny curly enough to match any Jorgenson.

“It’s not like you have a due date, do you?” You coughed viciously, teeth violently catching on the tip of your tongue, causing you to wince.

“How we operate is no business of yours,” Eret grit his jaw, arms crossed, legs crossed. A line of sweat ran down the side of his face.

“You won’t be able to keep this expedition going forever,” You mumbled, voice raspier than ever before, “You need my help.”

“Tell me what you know.”

You laughed at him mockingly, though your stomach sank.

Would you succumb just as it had, or would you rise above it?

Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was desperation. Maybe you were tired of listening to the crew members above deck, maybe you had a death wish.

You gave in.

You started small.

“Rub it under the chin,” You looked up at him, a sharp, tense grimace on your face, “The spot where the jawbone turns to soft meat, scratch it with your fingernails.”

“You didn’t come up with that,” Eret glared.

“No, I didn’t,” You rasped. The rough uncured leather hide of your muzzle dug into your jaw, the flesh there searing and surely wet with puss after you’d made a very passionate effort to bite one of the crewmates in another escape attempt.

You didn’t need to say anything fancy; it didn’t take much convincing. It wouldn’t.

It made it very difficult to speak, keeping your jaw nearly stuck in place, “But I know it, and that makes me better than you. Just try it.”

You dared him with your eyes, both embodying the hypnotic gaze of a snake, and speaking the vying notes of a charmer.

You taunted, “You’re not still behind, are you?”

“We’ve gotten... Farther, with your help,” Eret conceded.

Behind him, a green thunderdrum struggled, mouth bolted shut with a muzzle made of leather and metal not unlike your own, a set of chains binding its wings in the upwards position.

There were three men on its back and two more on each size, wrestling it down as it struggled, trying and failing to scream.

They had no trouble, with all the room they needed to swarm the beast and pin it down, your small hull and a large pull-down metal door opened to reveal another, larger chamber.

“Is it enough?”

“It has to be.”

“Are you willing to take that risk?” You learned to live with it; the stuffiness, the rattling, the pain, and as the nights grew colder and as the hold filled with the scraping and screaming of beasts, you slept sounder.

Eret was silent.

“There's grass,” You started, picking at your fingernails, short and bloody, with your knife, “It grows plentifully deep in the islands on the southern end of the archipelago. It should be around here, wherever we are, too.”

“The dragons like it?” Eret asked stiffly.

Like picking bits and pieces off a corpse, like a scavenger picking over carrion, you took old phrases and sullied comforts and wove them together to make a convincing argument. You tempted and you beckoned.

Hiccup would say it was all about trust. You said the same, once upon a time. But you knew better now.

“Well enough to bow,” You smiled.

“Unshackle me.”

“What if I chained you up and dropped you in with the beasts?” Eret shot back, “Everything you have, I fought for. You’re still alive by my good graces and mine only.”

You were the smaller animal, but the frustration, the raw injustice drove you mad. Once again, you wanted to gouge his eyes out, you wanted to fight and struggle and scream, but you held off.

You hesitated, and looked away, a tenuous expression kept neural only through sheer force of will, the broiling in your gut and the foul words resting on your tongue making you want to do nothing but spit fire.

He would regret that.

“A Whispering Death,” You croaked, trying to suppress the vicious wrinkle of your nose, “Pull it’s top spine, press just under the point, really dig your fingers in.”

“Where are we now?” You asked.

“Someone is dead,” Eret ground out, fists shaking, “A man is dead because of you.”

He threw something on the floor, which clattered loudly in front of your dim cage.

You recognized it. A helmet.

“And?” You let out a short laugh.

“And? And?!”

“Let me out.”

“You don’t deserve that,” He spat.

“Don’t I?” The irony was not lost on you. And so you laughed again, but much louder this time, with force enough to clutch at your stomach, to pull taut the your loosening muzzle.

You felt at your wrists, newly freed, and shook out your legs, donning a new pair of boots. Your clothing was still torn, ragged, stained, though you were certain you would be able to fix that soon.

You wore a helmet, weighty but fitting on your head, long and covering, secure, with large curly horns. It was patched and in parts covered in blood, thick and dried and congealing where there were dents.

You knew now that what you once called kindness had just been a veil, a sweet lie to cover what everyone else already knew.

You were a cruel, evil person.

A liar, to hold things with delicate hands and whisper hopeful words when there was only one result, to follow teachings and old sayings that would never work for you again.

And the sweetest lie was the one you told yourself; the one that kept you from the truth and told you that you weren’t.

There was no forgiveness here. Not for you.

Only condemnation.

You stretched your mouth open wide, worked your jaw where your muzzle had left a heavy mark, ignoring the desperate scrabbling and screeching of a dragon and the men behind you pulling, dragging it with fist and chain across splintered wood into a new cage.

You breathed in the fresh sea air, taking in the light of day for the first time in a long while.

And you reveled in it.

#no problem #you write what you want #thanks #how to train your dragon #httyd #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #fem reader #female reader

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