𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 ━ how to train your dragon¹

1│A NAME WELL-EARNED

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❛ sᴛᴏʀᴍʙᴏʀɴ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴡᴇʟʟ-ᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ꒱


❝ BUT YOU JUST
POINTED TO ALL OF ME ❞

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Hiccup has made many mistakes. Every time he's tried something new, it has gone terribly wrong. Maybe it's because most of what he's attempted hasn't kept his attention and he let his mind wander instead of listening to the instructions. Maybe it's because whenever he tries to help he always ends up making things worse. Whatever the reason is, he's caused enough catastrophes within the small archipelago of Berk to be christened with the epithet 'the Useless.'

As much as he'd like to, he couldn't really begrudge the villagers this moniker, but he felt that a part of it was due to how. . . disliked he was. After all, he was the least-Viking Viking there ever was. His skinny build was merely a shadow to some of Berk's strongest warriors. His higher-pitched voice (though he swore it would deepen at some point) couldn't carry like his father's. His logical mind governed most of his actions rather than jumping headfirst into battle like the other villagers. These differences set him apart and his lack of strength allowed him to be easily pushed aside.

While some wouldn't mind this, he felt the need to prove himself, to show that he wasn't as useless as everybody thought he was. But it seemed like the Fates had something against him as he was never given the chance. Every time the opportunity came up, he was shoved behind the armory where his boss, Gobber, kept a close eye on him as he tended to the weapons. What was this opportunity, you may ask?

Well, Berk wasn't like other archipelagos.

Instead of having mice or mosquitoes like most places, Berk had dragons. It was every good Viking's duty to kill the monstrous beasts. Hatred for dragons was bred into children from the moment they took their first breath and became their life goal to protect their island from them. Killing a dragon was everything to Berkians; a high kill count gave the best Vikings bragging rights and exotic trophies to show off on their walls. Hiccup wished that he had a chance to just kill one.

A Nadder would at least get him noticed. Gronckles were tough. Taking down one of those would definitely get him a girlfriend. A Zippleback? Exotic. Two heads, twice the status. And then there was the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the best Vikings went after those; they had this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire. But the ultimate prize was a dragon that no one had ever seen. They called it the Night Fury. The thing never stole food, never showed itself and never missed. No one had ever killed a Night Fury. That's why Hiccup was going to be the first. If. . . only he could actually get out there and have a shot at it.

"Oh, nice of you to join the party!" Gobber called to him as he entered the blacksmith's. "I thought you'd been carried off!"

Hiccup sighed, his attempts to stake his claim once again foiled by his father. He pulled on his apron and hastily tied it behind him. "Who, me? No, come on, I'm way too muscular for their taste." He grunted as he lifted a mallet to hang it on the wall. Once he'd set it down, he turned to Gobber and lifted his arms to show himself off. "They wouldn't know what to do with all this!"

Gobber, while an intimidating-looking man, had a very good sense of humor (at least, at his apprentice's expense) and chuckled at the boy's words. "They need toothpicks, don't they?"

Hiccup had worked under him ever since he was little (well, little-er.) Despite his gruff appearance, the large man was warm and friendly— much like a second father to him. Their banter didn't last long as the line of impatient Vikings outside the shop prompted them to get to work quickly. He took some of the swords from the villagers to the back where a fire roared in the hearth. He dropped them on the hottest part of the flame before taking the handles of the bellows. With a jump, he pushed air into the coals to increase the heat.