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milksuu · 2 years ago

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Second Magic

Pairing(s): Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & II / witch!fem!reader

Word count: 2.OK

Content/Warnings: soulmates, reincarnation, immortal, soft magic, slice of life, fluff, minimal use of y/n, minor angst, implied sexual themes, minor blood

Summary: Death claims everyone at some point. Unfortunately for you, your gift of magic cursed you with eternal youth and an ability that has shunned you from the village of Berk. More than one-hundred years later, memories resurface when you’re visited for a potion from Berk’s next chief.

He was the spitting image of your long-lost love—your soulmate—Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.

a/n: hello there everyone! I'm back with something new to add to the hiccupxreader tags. still on my mythical/magical kick. I do plan to have about three parts to this. so please stay tuned for updates, or let me know if you'd like to join a tag list. thank you and please enjoy.

There came a knock at the door. No one ever knocked on a witch's door by accident.

From the bedroom window, you peeked through the muslin curtain. Below the two-story cottage, grew a garden of lush greens and wild flowers. Where the weeds and dandelions led a trail to your front porch, a figure stood at your door. More pestering thuds bothered the home and the skin of your nose wrinkled. Muttering a thing or two, you ambled down the aching stairs. Before reaching the door, you rummaged through a decorative drawer, procuring a gray river rock. It was enchanted with one of your magic spells—a screeching stone, you called it.

“You can stop trying to break down my door,” you said, pressing the stone against the entryway. “Didn’t you read the sign posted on the oak tree outside? Clearly, it said no trespassing.”

“No—think I might’ve missed it,” the muffled voice of a young man answered, and it seemed honest enough. The stone hummed at the response. “Are you [Y/N], by chance?”

“There’s a chance I could be,” you said with soured lips. “Not many people come this far into the woods. And fewer people know of me, let alone my name. Which leads me to ask, who exactly sent you?”

“Gothi sent me. She mentioned you two knowing each other,” he replied in truth, and the stone continued its soft hymns. “She said if there’s anyone who could help me, it would be you.”

She’s still alive?

“That all depends. I trust Gothi, but I’ll need to trust you as well. You can start by telling me your name.”

There was a beat in the air. “It’s Hiccup.”

The ghost of your breath trapped itself inside your chest. That name—it had been buried beneath over a century ago. Yet the stone sang sweetly, and your heart squeezed in a haunting delight. A part of you wished it would scream. Wretched and revolting as it was, it would give you reason to cast the stranger away.

To your grief, he wasn’t so much a stranger as you thought.

Pocketing the stone, you opened the door with a creak. Meeting the green meadow of his eyes, your magic dug its fiery claws between your ribs. With all your power, you tried not to let his familiar freckles unsettle you. Fearing if you did, your magic would spring out of control. The windows would shatter. The roof would crumble to dust. The fireplace would spark and scorch the floors. Or something much worse. Touch him, and reveal when death would knock on his own door.

You wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not ever.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in,” you said, "we can talk more inside.”

He tipped his chin and thanked you for the invitation. When he stepped through, his gaze swept about your home. Dried flowers, herbs and spices hung from every inch of ceiling by twine. Sunlight spilled from the white-painted windows, and warmed the cushions of two chairs perched near the fireplace. Bookcases stood on either side of the mantle, stretched tall enough to touch the rafters, and wide enough to cover the entire walls. At the back of the home was the kitchen and brewing space. With emerald cabinets and honied-countertops, stacked with jars and vials, scattered petals, and corked potions.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said. “I’ll prepare us something warm to drink.”

With a blink, he tore his gaze from the foliage and oddities. “Sure, I would appreciate it.”

When you left for the kitchen, he absently traced a hand against the chairs upholstery. Although it matched its counterpart, there were subtle differences; the legs were built taller, and arm rests crafted higher. When he took a seat, it felt made for someone of his stature—an odd thing to notice. His gaze raised to a row of books on one of the bookcase shelves. One particular book stood out among the jewel-toned backs of scarlet, green, and yellow. A simple spine of leather, softened over-time with use, and streaks of charcoal staining the edges.

Like a cool breeze, a sense of familiarity swept through him, touching the marrow of his bones. It begged the question.

“Have you always lived here by yourself?” Hiccup asked.

“You could say that.”

For a moment, you lost yourself in the fragrant pools. When was the last time you served someone tea? It may have been the day before a young man's mortal fate—the same day you couldn’t convince him to stay. Leaving you to join the collection of things he left behind. Your throat tightened around what felt like a ball of hot wax. Searing as it was, you swallowed its entirety.

Balancing the trembling porcelain, you returned to the next room and took a seat of your own.

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I’ve…never welcomed visitors. It’s always been safer that way.” With a smile, you offered him a cup. “But between Gothi sending you and your genuine nature, I’d like to help you.”

“Thanks—and you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m the one who decided to come here unannounced. So…” Hiccup trailed off, taking a drink. He stared at the ripples with solemnity. “My father isn’t doing so well. And you know Gothi, she’s the best Seer we have on Berk. She’s done all she can, but it’s not going to be enough. When I asked if there was anything more I could do, she recommended that I seek you out.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” you said, lowering your own cup. “If Gothi wasn’t able to help him, then he must be very sick.”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.” He worked the tension of his lips between his teeth. Then pitched a sincere look your way, and said, “So you know, I’m not worried about you being a witch. If anything, I find myself pretty lucky to ask for your help. Even if that does mean I have to sell my soul for it.”

“I have some good news for you, then. I won’t be needing it. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t even know what to do with yours,” you said with a laugh. “But most spells and potions require something of personal value. At least, the stronger ones do.”

Setting your tea cup aside, you hopped onto your toes. Approaching one of the bookcases, you trailed a finger against the backs of countless titles. Your search came to an end when you plucked one out; dense with musky pages, a silver lock clasped at the side, and a small wooden door carved into the cover.

Peering over your shoulder, you found your nosy company arched forward in his chair. You cleared your throat, “Don’t think about peeking over here. A witch never reveals her secrets.”

He apologized under his breath, and shifted his chin away. But like a child snuffed out of his curiosity, he wore a pout of disappointment. You smiled in amusement, and brought your attention back to the book.

You knocked against the small door in a melodic tempo. The little door sprang open, revealing a tiny ear inside. You brought your mouth close, whispering the incantation with the smallest voice you could muster. Too loud, and the door would snap shut against your lips.

An unpleasant experience you remembered from childhood.

The lock clicked open, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Page after page, you mumbled and zipped through each recipe. A couple more turns, you tapped against the right one. Breezing through the ingredients, you had all but one. Oh buttercups, you blushed.

“What is it?” Hiccup furrowed his brows at your dawning expression. “Everything all right?”

“It’s a bit hard to explain. I—I don’t have one of the ingredients any longer. But maybe you still do,” you exclaimed, taming the warmth of your cheeks. “Come with me.”

With a tilt of your head, you gestured to the kitchen. Your guest rose from his seat, following your footsteps. With instructions for him not to touch anything, you scrambled to find your proper ingredients; mugwort, newt tail, bog water, and a strand of witch hair. Tossed and muddled by mortar and pestle, you poured the mixed contents into a glass jar.

“Time for the last ingredient,” you said, picking up a kitchen knife, “hold out a finger.”

Although hesitant, he lifted a hand. “Tell me you’re not going to cut it off. I’m already down a leg, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Not at all. That would be more than what I actually need,” you answered, albeit a little too plainly. With your other hand, you touched the stone tucked in your dress pocket. “You only have to be honest when I ask you this question. If you’re not, then we’ll both hear about it.”

He nodded carefully. “Go ahead.”

“Have you ever—Oh, how should I put this?” Calming the storm of embarrassment brewing in your chest, you exhaled the words in one breath. “Have you ever committed the coupling act?”

There was a gulp. Then a twitch of his lips. Followed by a blush that bloomed from nose to ear. “What? No, I—I haven’t. What kind of question is that?”

Without a word, you sliced the tip of his finger. A hiss sizzled from his mouth when you squeezed it open. Aligning the bottle underneath, you caught the blood falling in pitter-patters. Once enough dripped into the brew, a plum of red smoke burst into the air. Both of you coughed and waved your hands around the space. When the pungent cloud faded into wisps, you corked the bubbling potion.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” He wrapped his finger in a handkerchief you provided. He went on to mutter, “Not sure why you couldn’t use your own finger.” By the delivery, the last part was meant to stay in his head.

Embarrassment washed through your veins, and painted every inch of your skin posy pink. The sight of it colored his own complexion.

“I didn’t mean to say that, honestly,” he apologized after the realization struck him. “It just sort of came out.”

“Absolutely no tact at all,” you chastised, snatching back the handkerchief. “Gods, you’re just as bad as him.”

He blinked with mystification. “Him?”

A slip of the tongue had the back hairs of your neck bristling. Magic pulsed like coils of lightning in your stomach. Crackling up through your chest, wanting to burn deeper holes in your heart. The roof groaned and creaked. Grains of wood dust fell onto your nose, dispelling the awful feeling.

“You have to go. Please, take it and leave. And don’t worry about repaying me.” Before he could argue, you forced the potion into his possession. With a clap of a hand, the wood beneath his feet shifted, motioning him out the front door.

“Wait a second.“ He wedged his prosthetic between the shutting door and frame. “Right bookcase, third shelf, leather back.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“There’s a book that belongs to my family. Ask me how I know.” The question was rhetorical, and in your bafflement, he continued. “My families crest is sealed in its spine. And the only way you could have it is if someone gave it to you. You said you never had visitors. Sorry to say, but I’m not buying it.”

“That book has nothing to do with you or your family,” you glowered, and the stone screeched and howled from your pocket. You clapped your hands against your splitting ears, with your company mimicking your movements. Over the prevailing wails, you cried, “You’re right—I lied and I’m sorry for it! It belonged to your great-grand uncle. And that’s the truth of it.”

The screeching stone fell to whispers. But the thumping of your heart continued to beat in your ears.

“Wait. My great-grand uncle?” He caught a breath in his throat. “You don’t mean—there’s no possible way you’re talking about—”

“I am.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “My only visitor before you; Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.”

#hiccup x reader #httyd #hiccup httyd #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #how to train your dragon #hiccup horrendous haddock ii #reader insert #httyd fanfiction #httyd 2 #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup x you #httyd book references #you bet we're going to get some flashbacks of hiccup the second #buckle up dragon riders #we're expecting some angst in this fanfic

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noctusfury · 8 days ago

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The Story Behind the Portraits (A HTTYD/Riders of Berk Theory)

Hello, my fellow Furians! And welcome to another HTTYD article!

Today, we’ll be diving into the background and mystery behind the Portraits of the Chieftains and their Heirs!

This is a continuation, sequel, and expansion of my original post here.

We know very little about Berkian history aside from the fact that Berk has been around for 7 generations (8 if you include the Gang... maybe?) and that Berk celebrated their 400th Anniversary (more on that in my previous article here).

Other events and people in Berkian history that were mentioned were the Dragon Wars (for 300 years), the Berserker Wars (during Stoick’s father’s and grandfather’s time), the skirmishes with the Outcasts, the Rise of Alvin the Treacherous, even about the fame of Hamish the First. There are mentions of other noteworthy people that were part of Berk’s history (at least, I assume they’re part of Berkian history since Fishlegs mentions them), but to regale you of them when I haven’t watched the series in a while isn’t worth it.

However, there is one glaring absence among the row of portraits on the wall: there is no portrait of Hamish the Second and his son. Why?

Let us go through the events of the Riders of Berk episode “Portrait of Hiccup as a Buff Man” to find out, since that is where we will receive the story of Hiccup the Second.

We know that Hamish the First was a famous chieftain in Berkian history, said by Fishlegs to have been: “the most successful and wealthiest chieftain in Berk’s history, who amassed a fabulous and massive treasury.”

However, there may be some conflict over who was actually Hamish the First, since according to the Wiki, the blonde Viking is NOT Hamish the First, but actually the first portrait on the wall, the dark-haired Viking, and that Hamish the Second was named after him.

Of course, I’m not sure if the animation error is true or not. If Hamish the First, according to the Wiki, truly was the first chieftain to take his portrait in this, then it doesn’t make sense that Hamish the Second would put the treasury spanning from the First Chieftain into a secret place several generations later. But could it be that his (the first chieftain’s) son is really Hamish the Second?

I don’t know. It’s difficult to tell. I’ll leave that to you guys, and I’ll think about it a little more. I might even write another article about this apparent discrepancy.

While it may be a stretch, it's possible that Hamish the Second switched the portraits and that the first chieftain’s portrait was actually the portrait posing as the two Hamishes (the blonds) while the true portrait of the Hamishes was put into the First Chieftain’s portrait spot.

Anyway, back to Hamish the Second’s background.

After leaving behind a literal golden and colorful legacy, Hamish the First stepped down (or died), leaving Hamish the Second to succeed him as the 5th-Generation Chieftain of Berk. After that, he hid the majority of his father’s treasure hoards and created the labyrinth and riddles for the next “hiccup” to find in the future. We don’t know the later events or accomplishments of his reign — or anything else about him, for that matter — before the succession of either Stoick’s grandfather or father.

But here’s where it’s gets even more hazy.

The Case of the Missing Portraits

If you count all of the portraits in total, there are only SIX of them, including Hiccup’s portrait! We’re missing Hamish the Second’s portrait with his son.

Where is it? What happened to it? Why is it missing?!

In the intro to the HTTYD 1 film, Hiccup stated that they have lived on Berk for “seven generations,” so whether you include his own generation as the 7th generation, or if the 7th generation is Stoick’s generation while Hiccup’s generation is the 8th is its own topic altogether.

Though you could argue that only Hamish the Second's portrait is missing, since if you HAD included that, it would've been 7 generations of portraits, including Hiccup's portrait with Stoick, and, even IF Hiccup was the 8th generation instead of the 7th, there wouldn't be an 8th portrait until the coming-of-age of Hiccup's OWN children.

We get an interesting hint by Fishlegs as they observe the line of portraits:

So according to him, Hiccup is one of the “few” who wasn’t killed by their successors — which usually implies that regicide was somewhat commonplace. Of course, “few” could just imply more than 3-4 individuals, and it’s possible that only a few in their history were actually killed by their successor.

Another theory is that Fishlegs is talking about successors and predecessors in general throughout the Archipelago in all of Viking history.

It’s not really stated what “the elite few” is referencing, whether it’s concerning the Berkian chieftain bloodline, or is including the chieftain bloodlines of other Tribes as well.

What do you guys think?

At any rate, let’s start with Hamish the Second.

Hamish the Second

Hamish the Second is definitely a curious individual in Berkian history, shown to be a nod to Grimbeard the Ghastly's son, Hiccup the Second, in the Books. Both are friends to dragons, both were Runts, both loved their fathers despite their grievances, and both their fathers were successful pirates who collecting a massive hoard of treasures.

Since after his father's death, Hamish the Second, being a brilliant engineer and nasty trapper and riddler, used his (presumedly) secret relationship with dragons to build a massive complex to hide his father's treasure (most likely due to the infighting over the said treasure, as was seen in HTTYD Book 2) and protect it from thieves and raiders.

That was his first job and project as the 5th(?) Chieftain of Berk.

So, if Hamish II became the next Chief, what happened to him and why isn't there a portrait of himself with his own son?

Well, we simply don't know, unfortunately. There are some theories and plausibilities that could explain its disappearance.

1. Hamish, much like his Book counterpart, perished at a young age — most likely as the victim of what Fishlegs mentioned as "being one of those killed by their successor."

2. Hamish could've died as a result of an accident, disease, injuries, battle, or even a shipwreck or a storm.

3. Hamish's secret of befriending dragons could've been discovered and was either killed or exiled for "betraying Berk". (Of course, this is assuming that Berk hadn't tamed dragons back then since Hamish the First obviously had time to raid and pillage to get this massive hoard of treasure without much problems with dragon raids. And the flashback with Stoick and Hiccup in HTTYD 2 and HTTYD 3 seem to support that.)

4. Hamish could've been killed or forced to leave due to people seeking his father's treasure.

5. Hamish could've had a son but, like Thugheart from the Books, decided to overthrow Hamish II and got rid of him.

6. Hamish, not wanting to endanger his dragon friends, pulled a Valka-move and either made it look like dragons killed him, or, like what Hiccup tried to do in HTTYD 1, decided to quietly leave Berk without telling anyone.

There might be more, but those are the main ones.

Heck, perhaps even one of these two portraits IS Hamish the Second and his son, presumedly Stoick's grandfather. Who knows? 🤷‍♂️

At any rate, for any or a combination of these reasons, this resulted in a tragic early death before having an heir, or he did have an heir but died before his son came of-age, thus the portrait couldn't be made.

Considering Hamish the Second is based off of Hiccup the Second from the Books, let's just assume the chieftainship was left vacant after his disappearance, for whatever reason it may be.

Of course, if this is true, does this simply mean that the portraits got switched? If so, then we can continue with the theory that a relative of Hamish the Second, Stoick's grandfather or father, became the new Chief of Berk — assuming there wasn't an upstart before that who tried to take advantage and take the throne for himself.

This would effectively make Stoick's family a new dynasty, even if they're part of the same family. Assuming that they're not just a family of Vikings that the residents voted in and that the official line of Berk ended with Hamish the Second.

If it's TRUE that the Hamishes WERE, in fact, the FIRST and SECOND Chiefs of Berk, then that would change things a bit.

For instance, if we were to be loyal to the Books, after the deaths of Grimbeard and Hiccup the Second, and the disownment and exile of Thugheart, Chucklehead would become the new Chieftain of Berk.

Meaning that after Hamish the First's death, and Hamish the Second's early death/disappearance, Chucklehead would be the next Chieftain of Berk.

And if you look at the portraits, the one on the right looks like what Chucklehead would look like, doesn't he? 👀

Conclusion

To conclude with this rather long article, regardless of Hamish the Second's fate, or what timeline he truly hails from, he left a seat vacant, and the absence of his theoretical portrait of himself and his heir is likely due to his early death or disappearance, or, if he HAD an heir, or contenders, they might've dealt with him and got rid of the portrait.

The only reason why I didn't mention the possibility of his secret — that of his friendship with dragons — being found out, and that's what caused his downfall, is that if that had been the case, then why didn't they destroy the portrait of Hamish the First and Hamish the Second as well?

If the Hamishes were the First- and Second-Generation Chieftains, then the next chieftain would've been [insert Viking] (I'm going with "Chucklehead").

If not, and it was during Stoick's grandfather's or father's time, then it's possible that Stoick's grandfather and father were part of the continuation of the dynasty left vacant by Hamish the Second. Assuming they're not a new dynasty altogether, which is unlikely.

<><><><><>

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this article. If you have any thoughts about this mystery, or about Berkian history, please feel free to give your thoughts.

Thank you for reading. I hope you have a good weekend.

Long Live the Night!

— Noctus Fury

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