#buff! hiccup

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Found randomly on Pinterest, not sure if this is actually meant to be Hiccup (most likely is)but it is pretty close to my vision of Buffcup lol

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I have completed two Buffcup drawings. Do you wish to witness them?

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But no wait, Buff Hiccup on a bodybuilding competition being like

"Why did I let the others convince me to do this"

"I don't want to be here"

"I had to starve to do this"

"I don't even WANT to win-"

"...and that blonde girl is looking at me funny-"

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In my modern au, buff Hiccup is a wrestler. With a singlet. Do eith that information as you will.

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A big... obstacle I've always faced when trying to sell the idea of Buffcup, even to myself is that it destroys the correlation between Hiccup's physicality and character. Because let's be real, Hiccup's small stature and lack of strength defines him, at least in the first movie, it contributes to his motivation, and we can assume, to parts of his character.

Now theoretically, I could just bypass the implicated changes to his character. Being buff doesn't mean he'd have to be stupid or less kind, that trail of thought derives from a separation of mind and body caused by the whole "nerd vs/or jock" zeitgeist in the 90s, and is mostly in real life untrue. And besides, it's a crack fic idea.

But still, everytime I try to present the idea, the people I present it to can't simply shake of the feeling of general "wrong"., which is understandable. So that has been the main problem.

But what if it wasn't?

What if I made it not a bug, but a part of his character? The general feeling of wrongness, motivating him to keep working hard, but the feeling only increases and he hides it. What if he didn't exactly initially want to be that way, but had to do it and roll with it. And now can't fit inot his own skin, not unlike he did in canon, just stemming from the opposite direction.

See this all comes from the 16 ways Buffcup chapter I'm writing, and I genuinely believe, I've figured out the formula on how to make this quite outlandish prompt work.

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What is the mental image the concept of Buffcup procures for you? Like, is it something like "Hiccup, but like___" or something else?

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Want to know the fic that inspired it all (partially)? The Buffcup fic of all time?

Here it is!

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Inspired by that Buffcup drabble @grayghostgal gifted me with several months back, the idea came randomly to me today and I had to publish it.

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The afternoon atmosphere of the Haddock hall was as it always was, to the outsider's eye; Homely. The fire crackled softly , gifting it's warmth to the two figures on the comfortable armchairs brought close to it and shielding them from the autumn snow. Clean walls and shelves bearing trinkets and heirlooms that showed the long history of a great family decorated the hall.

But, despite appearances, the reality couldn't be more further from the truth. In a way it was almost familiar, as indeed this feeling used to be all too common in the old abode. The feeling of... emptiness. Despite the mugs of ale by the side of the figures-one half empty and the other barely touched- the house was empty of any sort of certainty of heart over one's own intended words, thoughts, feelings. Self.

Hiccup's fingers idly messed with the ring. The Gods-forsaken, stupid ring that had throw his life into bizarre disarray. He'd developed a habit to fiddle with it in moments of stress.

It was awkward. How couldn't it be? Hiccup honestly couldn't place himself in his fathers shoes. How should he react to seeing his son after so long, only to learn that he'd been enchanted to be the almost direct opposite of what he'd alway been all his life. His shoulders broad and his arms strong, it must be as bizarre for Stoick as it is for Hiccup.

It didn't help that he hadn't leant it from Hiccup himself. Ruff and Tuff had returned to Berk a bit earlier than the rest of the gang, and from what he heard, Ruff, in a bout of excitement, had told his father that he now had "a chest big enough to fit his heart."

So yes, Hiccup wasn't surprised by his father's loaded silence.

Absentmindedly, he squirmed a little in his seat. His clothes felt a little tight. Despite his and Astrid's best effort to craft new clothes for his new measurements back in the Edge, with him sewing the simple tunic and pants and Astrid taking the measurements, it still proved insufficient for his new muscled frame. He dreaded to even think about his armor. Furthermore, he still hadn't adjusted to the new feeling of receiving sensation from so much new mass. It was... strange and difficult to describe. His sense of direction was all off. He would constantly bump into things he used to have great ease weaving through.

An amused sigh left him then, too quiet for his father to hear. In a way, he was the son Stoick deserved more than ever now. The son he perhaps should have tried to be harder in the past.

Perhaps that could break the ice, he thought, so he tried to smile and say, "Hey," and his father turned to him, "a-at least now no one will doubt that I'm a Haddock." Hiccup chuckled, trying hard to make his cheer real.

But Stoick's head dropped a bit with a sigh and a soft, "Hiccup..."

"And maybe we'll be able to finally go logging o-or hunting together. Like proper Vikings!" Hiccup babbled on, not having heard his father through the sound of his beating heart. "I mean, I probably won't be...on your level per se, but mayb-"

"Hiccup." Stoick repeated, this time a little further, and his son's hurried eyes turned to him, never quite settling still though.

"When I was a boy," Stoick began to explain softly, "my father told me to bang my head against a rock-"

"And it split in two, I know." Hiccup interrupted and finished the tale off for him, his hands wringing together anxiously, "Hey, maybe I could give it a try now. I mean, maybe it won't split in two but a nice dent-"

"Son." This time Hiccup looked at his father, truly looked at him. The braids of his beard had partially come loose. More streaks of white run through the impressive red mane than he remembered. His hair was loose, and he'd taken of his mighty armor and was in a simple green tunic. His brow was furrowed and black circles surrounded his eyes. This was...his dad.

Stoick averted his eyes a cleared his throat before turning back to Hiccup. "Do you know what that taught me?"

"That...a Viking can do anything if he wants to?" Hiccup questioned, having heard this story so many times, yet his heart told him something was different this time.

"No." Stoick softly declared, confusing Hiccup even further, "It taught me who I am."

Hiccup's mouth was slightly ajar, and his brows furrowed, yet his attention peaked. What?

"And that knowledge," Stoick elaborated, "carried me. It made a Chief. It-somehow-made your mother fall in love with me and gift me a child." he said, and a small smile and a distant yet forlorn look his eyes momentarily overtook his face, and then he breathed in deep and it was gone. "But it didn't help much after that."

Hiccup tilted his head, not unlike how Toothless did when perplexed.

"I thought that that was the only way. That if just tried hard enough it would be the same." This time his father looked him straight in the eyes, s vulnerability in his gaze that Hiccup only saw at the anniversary of his mother's death, when Stoick thought he was asleep and not looking. "Wehn you tell your children, and they tell theirs, I want you to say, 'I trained a dragon. I rode a dragon.' Because that's who you are Hiccup."

"Dad..." Hiccup croaked out, tears brimming in his eyes. So many thoughts rushed to his head, and he wanted to hurry and get them out. But his father's face was calm and almost iviting, so witha deep breath eh tall teen let his thought marinate before he spoke.

"I never wanted to fail you," Hiccup explained, "I hated being a nuisance to you. B-but when I couldn't look like the son you derved, I tried to act like it." he looked down on his arms as he confessed. The enchanted ring on his finger, his considerably sized forearms, the callouses he earned through hours of labour in the forge.

a big sigh left him then. His whole body was bigger, and so were his lungs and his breath, "A-And now I look like...this", he gestured to all off him. The big chest. the broad waist and even broader shoulders, tree trunk arms and strong legs. And he still couldn't hold a candle to his father. "and it's three years too late, and-"

A massive hand settlend on his not as sizeable shoulder. When before it used to feel like a fur blaket that was too big, now it's warmth was comforting. His father gestured for him to go on despite it all. Right. He was rabling. He really ought to do something about that habit.

Calmer this time, Hiccup continued. "You were so..great a Viking and I...I wasn't. I thought if I tried hard enough..." Hiccup's arms gestured and waved around eachother in trying to find proper words, and wasn't unaware at the slight ripping noise that came from his tunic in the space betweeen his forearm and shoulder. Great. " I failed. A lot." he said, mostly to himself, "but I thought that one succes would right the wrongs." The worlds that tumbled out of him were thought up at the spot, realisations and cocnlusions about his past action

With hesitation, Hiccup unclanched his eyes and stressed his bottom lip between his teeth as he turned to his dad. But to theyoung man's surprise, Stoick's beard was riased in the signature shape of his smile. He looke alsmot proud.

"You take that from me." he declared.

Hiccup could only mumble "What...?" at his father's admission. What?

Stoick only nodded, clearly seeing that his son was about to ask him if he heard that right. "Oh yes. " And his gaze turned back to the crackling fireplace, once again his eyes growing a bit distant. "I thought that when we finally found the Nest, it would redeem all the failed attempts. Give peace to all we lost..." The Chief closed his eyes and let his head drop in silent grief for a moment, before he straightened up and once again earned his name. "But I failed. Again. And again."

Hiccup raised a brow.

"But in my wildest fantasy," Stoick carried on ,"I couldn't have imagined what you did son, how brave you were. How you ended The War despite..." the sentence was loaded and seemed to bare heavy on the Chief's heart, "despite me being a problem."

No! That wasn't true, "Dad, you weren't-" Hiccup tried to say.

"No, I was." Stoick put a palm up and silenced him, silently asking to let him finish, "We Haddocks are stubborn, even for Vikings." he said with a small smirk, and Hiccup couldn't help but smile back, feeling his heart lighten for the first time in weeks.

Stoick looked at him earnestly then, laying his face bare of any stoicness, "You are the most amazing, extraordinary Viking Berk has ever seen Hiccup." he whispered, pride lacing every word, "And I am sorry. For not being the father you deserved. " he declared with finality.

The next thing Stoick knew is that his son was hugging him. He was taller now, and could wrap his now muscled arms around Stoick more, but to Hiccup it still like hugging a bear. The Chief said nothing about the wet spots he felt on his tunic's shoulder, and just hugged his boy tighter.

When it was done, he rubbed his hands together and with contained excitement turned around and searched for something in a satchel on the nearby table. "Now!" Stoick exclaimed, "I have a gift for you."

Hiccup was taken aback by that, "What? Why?, what's the occasion?" He wrung his mind, trying to remember if the date carried some importance.

"No occasion," his father explained, "just because I can."

After a second of searching, he fished out a small package, no bigger than Hiccup's palm. Hiccup gently took it in his arms, and with a final questioning look to his father, he opened it.

It was...a ring. Made of silver and a circle on its top. Upon closer inspection, the symbol on it was one of a sharp toothed face, like a roaring dragon, with the horns of a traditional Berkian helmet on the top of it's head.

"The new sigil of house Haddock. " Stoick answered his question for him with pride, "or at least, it will be, once you take over, " he explained, "but for now, it will be your personal signature."

"Me and Gobber designed it," amusement laced his dad's voice now, "took us days to settle on a design. He kept insisting to give it your hair so it would be more recognisable." he said with a chuckle.

"I-I, dad..." Hiccup stammered, honoured beyond words but also moved on a personal level.

Seeing his father's proud grin, Hiccup gave up on words and simply smiled as he put the ring on his right hand-the one free of hexed jewelry-on the middle finger and looked at it, appreciating the creative design as well as the craftsmanship.

Stoick nodded at him, admiring his son for a moment. There was no need for words at that moment, as the enjoyed each others company in mutual admiration and gratitude. Sometimes less was more.

"Well," his father eventually said, "it's late. You should get some sleep."

Hiccup nodded in agreement, "Yeah...you too." he noted, and the two Haddock men sat around for a moment longer before Stoick clasped Hiccup across broad back back before leaving to his room.

Hiccup in kind also retreated to his room and gently shut the door behind him. A big exhale left his lungs, and tension left his muscles in droves. The day had gone better than he hoped.

He wasn't particularly tired yet, so he lingered in his room, unsure of what to really do. He looke at his father's gift again, felt it in his finger and let his thoughts wonder.

Finally, he decided to put his nightclothes on and get comfortable. Stoick had searched high and low on the house, and finally by some miracle, he had found some of his own everyday clothes from when he was Hiccup's age to serve as nightclothes for Hiccup. They were big enough to be comfortable and even a bit loose.

Taking his shirt off, Hiccup was distracted by the sight of his own form reflected on the window. It was a unique window, outfitted with a special construct. Glass, trader Johann had called it, an export from the south. The Southlanders liked to color it and put in the temples of their God, Johann had explained. It was a gift for Hiccup's sixteenth birthday. Stoick had paid it's weight in gold, but said he never regretted it. He understood that Hiccup always needed sight of the sky.

And now Hiccup could only stare and examine himself in it's reflective surface. It wasn't the first time he say his new body, but every time was as bizarre as the last one. He ran his hands across his shoulders, firm and infused with the strength of the Herwing and making him feel..odd. Three parallel scars still ran across the left one, earned from when a moody Nightmare had lashed out. The poor creature had an injury under its wing, he'd later discovered. Down across a great chest that jutted outward and protruded past his collarbone and ribcage and made him feel like a proud Nadder. Under the... underside was the term? Of said chest was a diagonal four inch scar the decorated his ribcage. A sick Nadder had developed to curious symptom of randomly launching spike from her tail every time she sneezed. Hiccup barely had time to turn his body sideways and avoid being impaled, only grazed by the deadly spike. If this were to happen now, he'd probably get hit in the chest by the spike.

Down bellow, his toro had widened alongside his new height, and felt strong and firm. On his stomach, if he stretched and the light hit right, he could sometimes see the neat little squares stacked on top of eachother, with shadows pooling between the dips, along with two deep lines angling down to his waistband. He had those before the ring, in fact they used to more pronounced and almost constantly visible. Hiccup was unsure if this was an improvement or not.

He remembers when the Edge was first being built, he and Fishlegs would spend hours over Gothi's medical books, with Astrid sometimes tagging along if she had time. They'd understood that in order to meet the new dangerous life that was ahead of them, then they'd needed to be fully prepared to act as healers should the need arise. The books had been imported from the south, from a land called Byzantion, and had only partially been translated, so Hiccup didn't know the names of all the new things that had changed his life so. On his forearms there still were the various nicks and burns that one would expect from a notorious klutz working in a forge. On his right arm, the sharp trail reminiscing of lightning that across its entirety stretched differently now, over the curve of the space between his shoulder and his forearm, like a lightning strike over a mountain.

Steeling himself, Hiccup turned around and craned his head to see his back. The Red Death had made sure to mark him in more ways than depriving him of a leg. A great red burn mark run started from the centre of his back and spread put across almost all it's surface. The scar tissue hadn't shrunk with his transformation, on the contrary, expanded so it would take as much space as it had before. Still, beneath the red skin he could still see the symmetrical bumps of muscle, responding to his various moves.

Shaking his head and forcing himself not think more about it, he put his shirt on and went to get the pants too. His legs had changed too, becoming thicker and firmer. But the strangest and yet smallest change was in his stump. It was still the same, but as his legs was widened so to had it, to be proportionate he supposed. The ring's magic had left no loose ends. Luckily, Gobber's prosthetics had proved it's craftsman's foresight and was able to still accommodate him with only a minor adjustment to the buckles holding it on place and the sockets that housed his stump.

Lingering on it wouldn't change anything, so Hiccup tried to force his mind to move on. It eventually circled back to his father gift. The design was ingenious really. A roaring dragon with the horns of a Viking, its meaning was obvious yet so clever. Touching, even.

Like a flash of lightning, and idea came to him then. Hiccup had been meaning to craft himself a new suit of armour, as the old one had been laid to rest for obvious reasons. But Hiccup couldn't say the timing was inconvenient, as the weaknesses of the old design had started to become apparent.

Rushing to his desk and bringing out a sheet of paper and a charcoal pencil, the brunette got to work with excitement and gusto. Being left handed meant that he needed to have his left shoulder more lightly armoured so he can have a bigger range of movement, while the protection of his right shoulder should be more intense as it was a difficult spot to defend, and he already knew what to put on it. The material used to protect his chest needed to be harder, though his ribcage should be left lightly armoured, with the same design the old armour used, so he can move and twist as he pleased. A new vambrace design was needed, and Hiccup had in mind a few gimmicks that would allow him to always have his compass, a pencil and his map on him at all times.

Taking pause, Hiccup smirked to himself. No matter what ridiculous or absurd curveballs life threw at him, Hiccup Haddock found comfort in gears, coils, pulleys and the complexity of semantics, regardless of how strong or frail he was.