(A/N: Welcome to the first and much-anticipated chapter of "Defying the Norm", the "Jörmungadr Rising" rewrite. Consider it my little gift to you, this amazing piece of literature here. And if you cannot tell, I have been living in the Homestuck fandom as of late so my writing is very reminiscent of the common style there. I constantly had to correct my second-person and present-tense writing. And I'm afraid you can't expect too frequent an update schedule, and I'm sorry. RL is kicking my butt and I was lazy to begin with so…I suppose I can try. No promises though! Also, many thanks to inuyashas-grrl97 for the motivation and the eventual cover art. :3 THANKS LOVE! Now…on to the only warning and disclaimer you will get through this entire series (partially because I hate making these warnings, and partially because...well...I'm lazy)!)

¡DISCLAIMER!
I, Illisandria Carthain, do not claim anything in this story that you recognize. How to Train Your Dragon the series belongs to Cressidia Cowell and How to Train Your Dragon the movie and TV series Riders of Berk belong to Dreamworks SKG. Anything you see that comes from either of these two sources are not mine. However, the song lyrics by Jörmungadr are written by me, as are some of the characters (yes, there are OCs; they're SUPPORTIVE only).
¡/DISCLAIMER!

¡WARNING!
This story, in its entirety, is an M-rated AU and therefore will contain copious amounts of some, if not all, of these things: soft drug use/hard drug abuse, sex/mentions of sex/explicit descriptions of sexual situations, rape of both men and women, mentions of sexual paraphernalia, phallic/morbid/disgusting or otherwise offensive imagery, racist jokes, gay jokes/slang/bashing, religion wars, lots and lots of colorful language, sarcasm out the wazoo, teenage hormones and drama and other teenage shit, alcohol, parties that your parents never let you go to because the thought you'd get completely smashed (and they were right), swearing, emotional tension, familial issues, homosexuality, heterosexuality, bisexuality, way too much sexuality, cursing, MMORPGs, examples of bullying (verbal, physical, and emotional), abuse (physical, mental, emotional, and sexual), politics (did I mention there are naughty words?), seven-letter-words, mentions of/contraction of sexually transmitted diseases, possible character death, sloppy makeouts, filling of all four quadrants (although not necessarily directly mentioned…let the shipping begin!), the Talk, self-harm, internet shenanigans, typical fame-based bullshit, adultery, crossdressing, genderbending, human!Toothless, names you may not recognize but actually belong to someone you know, mental-disorders, high school, and general M-rated naughtiness. If any of these things bother you, may be triggers, or make you uncomfortable then turn away. Matters such as rape and self-harm are not taken lightly here, while all others are usually humorous. Flames do not bother me because if CU decides to hate on me, I can always move this to AO3 when my account gets approved. That is all.
¡/WARNING!

NORMAL IS BORING — DEFY EXPECTATIONS

Berk High School is the very definition of Hell. Honestly, look up the word in your nearest dictionary and you will find a picture of a decrepit, run-down, disgusting schoolhouse with the caption "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." If you think that's a joke, that you can't judge a book by it's cover, then you are horribly mistaken.

"Oh," you say, "surely it can't be that bad," you argue. "The building's horrifying front is just that, a front used to scare off any that are unworthy to step into its lavish halls and begin the wonderful art of learning in an unbiased environment," you surmise.

Bull. Shit.

The hallways are anything but lavish and, supposedly were once a white color, but that's rather hard to believe considering the paint has long peeled off and the walls are now a combination of cinderblock-grey and rotting-wood-green. The carpeting looks like my grandmother's cat before she died of mange and the tile is so scuffed that you tend to make it cleaner by kicking at it. The roof leaks everywhere, when it holds out any water at all; the pipes rattle and groan like zombies are trying to crawl from their bowels, hungry for human flesh; the bathrooms are clogged up or covered in shit ninety-nine times out of one hundred; if the windows close, they don't open and if they open, they'll never close again; the thermostat is so broken that outside is actually warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer compared to the classrooms; the gymnasium is more of a health hazard than the bathrooms, what with all the massive amounts of broken equipment everywhere; the lunch room is like a roach hotel except when they check in, you'll never check out again. Supposedly, the animals you dissect in biology are actually caught in the building itself, and most of them come from the kitchen. And that's just the building.

There's only one math teacher and he's as old as numbers himself. You'd be lucky if he remembers to put on his pants, let alone grade your finals. The history teacher belongs in the Middle Ages with how prudish she is. Granted, it's not like everyone is vying for a glance at her A-cups, but the lady wears a chastity belt for God's sake. There are two science teachers: one teaches biology and anatomy and the other teaches general and life sciences and both are as mad as a hatter. The bio-slash-anatomy teacher is a nymphomaniac and a necrophile and likes to prostate himself before the entire class. Yes, himself. The life-slash-general science teacher is a mad scientist and brings in her latest "experiments" to test on the students. The gym teacher is a she-male who almost runs by the Mean Girls book when it comes to health classes. "You will get Chlamydia and die", end-quote. The literary arts teacher is the most normal one there: she's a vegan hippy with a thing for hardcore drug use and radical liberalism.

And there is no such thing as unbiased opinion there. The jocks scare/sex the teachers into getting good grades, the nerds earn their grades, and everyone else fails because they aren't "good enough".

So please, reiterate that "books should not be judged by their covers" line; because this book's contents seem to be as nasty as the outside.

So, in short: Hell is for Berk High School.

BE UNIQUE — DON'T LET OTHERS GET YOU DOWN

Okay…maybe I was exaggerating. However, I will point out that every teenager has gone through high school, and each and every one believes that their school is the portal to the fourth dimension. Most of them are just as wrong as I am, and just as bored.

I should have the advantage here! My dad designs MMOs for a living, I have an IQ above average and I have stellar grades, yet I cannot find a single thing to do for the last five minutes before the bell rings to dismiss us for fifth period. My life sucks ass and I am powerless to stop it from devouring that sweet nougat-y center being evicted from failure's bung-hole—and yes, ladies and gentlemen, I just went with the scat joke. Thankfully, Fishlegs takes this moment to text me, interrupting my wallowing with awkward vibrations a tad too close to my Johnny-boy.

"hey hiccup

you up for some mad gaming tonight?

or are you going to wallow in self pity again, eating marshmallow peeps and listening to deadly nadder croon your favorite love songs as you whack off to a mental image of her undressing

and just as she gets in close, some of the marshmallow fluff gets all sticky, preventing further guilty pleasures

and you have to go wash it off but when you finish, the moments gone."

That ass-hat

"No, I figured I'd whack off to the image of you getting it up the ass with Horrorcow

Your fingers twining in his hair

His breath coming in pants

He calls your name

'Fishlegs' he groans

And then you

Jizz

In

Your

Pants

Because that will never happen.

Horrorcow is as tight as an alligator's jaw

Never gonna put out

EVER"

My phone buzzes again and I grin, here comes the shitstorm…

"you bastard!

i wanted that so bad!

how DARE you write me/horrorcow porn via text!"

"Then don't be a jerk." I stop and think for a minute and then shoot Fishlegs one last text before the bell rings: "And yes, I will be gaming tonight. Same server as always."

Fifth was Phys-Ed and, despite what I said about the school facilities, we have a pretty sweet gymnasium. Top-of-the-line equipment, pristine floors, and an excellent coach; anything an active teenager could ever want. It's the students that are the problem.

Almost one-hundred-percent of the bullying done in Berk High School occurred in the locker rooms of the gymnasium. Teenage girls went home crying on a daily basis, nerds got swirlies and wedgies and rat-tailed into a world of pain and stinging welts, and the smaller, weaker kids were laughed at for their inadequacies. The locker rooms are a swirling torrent of pain and suffering and that is why I am deeply grateful I have fifth period Phys-Ed; I get to go home after that particularly harrowing daily experience.

Today we had a rousing game of dodgeball and I was covered head to ass in slowly-darkening bruises. I was the target for the day, on and off the court, and so I was glad when the day was over. As per the norm, I had waited until everyone was gone before I entered the showers to soak and change into my street clothes. I pulled the curtain closed behind me and stepped into the stream of steaming hot water and sighed; thank God I live a short walk away from school, that way I can take my own sweet time and not miss my dad yelling about how Big-Boobied-Bertha's breast physics are messed up again. It is one of the most amusing parts of my day.

As I scrubbed my hair free of any hormone-induced oil, I began to sing one of my favorite Jörmungadr songs—Odin's Wisdom. "I traded my eye for all the things I cannot see. My ravens cry for blood as I am chained to this tree. What I gave for knowledge will haunt me. What I got was more than enough to taunt me. My wisdom was ill-gotten. My suff'ring will never be forgotten. I learned the truth of ev'rything that breathes and lives on Miðgard. I worked so hard and earned this wisdom."

Suddenly I heard a peal of soft laughter and someone hiss "No, shh…shut up! He's gonna hear us!"

Fuck it all…dammit…not them again! Haven't I suffered enough already? From the sounds of their snickering, probably not. "You guys are dickheads! Do you really want me to tell your slut-ass girlfriend that you've been spying on me in the showers because you have a big homo-crush on me?"

From outside the translucent shower curtain, I saw someone straighten up and step away, "Yeah, right! Like I'd want to see your skinny ass you under-endowed faggot!" The bully began to walk off only to turn around and laugh, "And for your information, she is not a slut! …skinny-dick cum-sucker…"

That's going on the internet I assume…The only reason the posse of bullies would even be caught dead watching some other guy in the shower is if they were filming it and going to put it on YouTube. So I suppose there goes the last living part of my high school credentials. Like I had much living cred to begin with. Whatever… I got out of the shower and put on my clothes, relieved that my underwear was still there—the last incident with the posse resulted in my underwear hanging from the flagpole, which was immature but effective. Once I was dressed, I grabbed my backpack and started my pilgrimage home. About half of the way there, my phone went off with the familiar ringtone indicating Fishlegs. "So JK JK JK LOLOLOL; I heart your fucking makeup. Oh my God I love your hair. Is that a new tattoo? Did your piercing fucking hurt? So JK JK JK LOLOLOL."

"Hello."

"Oh-em-gee, Hiccup, you will not believe this!"

"What?" I will admit, as much as I like my bisexual buddy, he is a notorious gossip-whore, so anytime he calls me and it starts out with "oh-em-gee" I know it's gotta be someone's dirty secret coming out into the realm of teenage gossip.

"So Horrorcow and I were sitting around, making out and stuff, when he gets a call from his ex and guess what!"

"What?"

"Noooooooo, you have to guess!"

I sighed, dammit Fishlegs, this is so not the time for this! "The bitch gave him HIV?"

Fishlegs shrieked in disapproval, "No! Turns out, at one point he knocked her up and she had the baby!" Oh holy Hell… "So her dad is instigating a shotgun wedding! Either Horrorcow marries the chick and takes care of her and her baby or he pops a cap in his ass!"

"And you sound so upset about this…"

"I am! I'm so mad! Nothing can express the amount of madness I'm feeling! It's just…," there's a long pause followed by a sigh.

"It's just what?" Even though he couldn't see me, I had one eyebrow arched in what Fishlegs liked to call the "what-the-fuck-are-you-trying-to-say" eyebrow thing.

"I…I don't know," his voice fell from its usual chipper falsetto and he sighed again, this time through his nose. Then he sniffled a little, "My relationship with Horrorcow has gotten stagnant and you were right, he won't put out and I guess I'm just sexually frustrated or something because —and I swear to Loki hierself that I will smack the ever-loving shit out of you if you tell anyone about this—but I've been thinking about other guys and girls when I masturbate because I can never picture him naked and when I do…it's just disappointing."

Too. Much. Information. Shut the hell up Fishlegs! I tried to sound as concerned as I could without letting on to how squicked out I really was, "Well who have you…masturbated to…?" Dear God, please tell me I did not just ask my friend that…we're supposed to tell each other everything but that's a bit too much. Then it hit me; please don't say me, please don't say me, please don't say me!

"We-ell…," Fishlegs sucked his teeth for a second, making a small "tch" sound, "Billy James, Andrea Sarkasion, Peter Jameson, Jacqi Terrance, Lyron Tyler, Donovan Dirk, David Dirk, the Stryker triplets…all at the same time—"

Shut up, shut up, shut up! I didn't need to know that Fishlegs…thankfully I have a large supply of Brain-Bleach at home. There was nothing in this world scarier than walking in on your dad whacking away to your supposedly "hidden" porn tapes. Except this, apparently.

Fishlegs was still talking, even after listing the first ten people. The boy had some serious unresolved sexual tension. If I wasn't a bigger virgin than him, I would have just hooked him up with a hooker and told him to make sure the condom made her feel good; but I've never even seen a vagina, let alone fingered one like Fishlegs. And don't even get me started on Fishleg's supposed "abso-fucking-lutely amazing" oral skills. Both male and female recipients say that nine times out of ten, they come first when he's on the giving end. How he got those skills are none of my business and I liked to leave it that way since Fishlegs is a bit touchy about his home life. Everyone else's home life is free game apparently, but his is so off-limits that if you even think about it, warning bells go off and you get arrested by the mind-your-own-damn-business police.

"—Nichole Euring, Chriss Allen, Sam Drake, Lacie-Lynn Smith, Seren Amp," and he was still going…how the hell does he do that?

"Fishlegs, look, I'd love to hear about who you masturbated to—and it sounds like you've done it to just about every person in Berk—but we need to work on your issue with Horrorcow. If he's going to marry that bitch, what are you going to do?"

Fishlegs stopped and sobbed slightly. And here come the waterworks… "Probably diiiieeee!"

Shit, shit, shit! "Look, just calm down and log on. I'll be home in a minute and I'll help you there while we slaughter some Erlking-spawn. Sound good?" Over the line I could hear Fishlegs' wailing increase. Dammit!

He hiccupped a couple of times and then snorked a huge goober back in his nose with a wet noise that made me gag. "B-but I…"

"Darren Elton Ingerman! You shut your God-fucking-damn whining this instant!" Faint in the background echoed the raucous shrieks of the elusive and much-hated beast known as "that fat cunt" or "Mrs. Ingerman". "Because if you don't, so help me God, I will come up there and show you how to be quiet again and we don't want that do we?"

"No ma'am…," Fishlegs shouted loudly back at the twatzilla he called a maternal figure, "Sorry Hiccup, gotta' go. Talk to you on the 'net, alright? XOXO hon!" Then the line went dead.

"Bye 'Legs," I finished lamely. Then, slipping my phone in my pocket, I dashed towards home because there's only one thing worse than Fishlegs when he's depressed, and that's Fishlegs when he's depressed and his mother is home. I had bandaged one-too-many scars to be poking that bear again. Nope, not this time. So many fucks would be given that they would have to declare it "fuck-hunting season" just to keep the population of wild fucks at a reasonable level.

Shit was just about to go down and I was gonna be there when it hit the fan and sprayed all over every inch of this small town. Every. Last. Inch.