This is an au post I originally created on Tumblr and promised a few that I would actually do my best to write it into a fanfiction story, so, here we are. It will follow the movie as closely as possible but if it receives enough praise and push I will continue it beyond that.

This is Berk. It's twelve days north of hopeless and a few degrees south of freezing to death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery. My village; in a word- sturdy. It's been here for seven generations, but every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests. You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes..we have dragons. Most people would leave, but not us. We're Vikings, we have stubbornness issues. My names Hiccup. Great name, I know. But it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn't do that.

That's Stoick the Vast, Chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby he popped a dragons heads clean off its' shoulders. Do I believe it? Yes, I do.

The meat-head with attitude and inter-changeable hands is Gobber. I've been his apprentice ever since I was little, well, littler.

See? Old village, lots and lots of new houses. Oh, and that's Fishlegs, Snotlout, the twins Ruffnut and Tuffnut, and..Astrid. Ah, their job is so much cooler.

One day I'll get out there, because killing a dragon is everything around here. A Nadder Head is sure to get me at least noticed. Gronckles are tough, taking down one of those would definitely get me a girlfriend. A Zipple-back: exotic: two heads twice the stats. And then, there is the Monstrous Nightmare; only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

But the ultimate prize is the dragon no ones ever seen. We call it the-

Stormcutter! (Get down!)

This thing never steals food, never shows itself and never misses. No one has ever killed a Stormcutter, that's why I'm gonna be the first.

Hiccup knows he dreams big, it's something that has always set him apart from the other Vikings of Berk. He's creative and thinks perhaps he'd like to pride himself on his intelligence and because of that he questions things the others don't. They blindly follow Stoick as though they too were the herds of sheep they pushed around and they go through life never asking and just do what is expected of them. Men become warriors, women, too. but they're also expected to look after the children; the children who will one day grow up to be warriors and dragon hunters just like the others. He thinks that all anyone of Berk will ever be is a meaty soldier. Hiccup isn't like that though. In fact, he's never even had the chance to be like that.

Fire crackles to life all around the shop and bustling, sweaty bodies run across the charred ground. Yells echo everywhere and the occasional cry of pain or terror, too. From his position of (what he hopes, anyway) safety inside the shop Hiccup can't help but wonder what drives him to want to actually be a part of the carnage. Sparks leap off of the sword he's been told to sharpen by Gobber and he jumps, eyes flying back to what he's doing because, with his luck, one of the sparks will land on his hand or in his eye. That would ruin "all of this" as Gobber so graciously titled him and Hiccup's more than happy to be able to keep his hands intact.

Someone shouts "Stormcutter!", off in the distance and that grabs his attention away from the sword. Enough so that he drops it to the wood floor and, after looking out the windows to try and see it, making his way over to the door. Gobber's thrown away one hand in favor of a double edged axe and as he screws it into place (he thinks that would be uncomfortable) he sets his eyes on Hiccup.

"Man the fort, Hiccup, they need me out there," he orders as he fumbles to limp out the door. Just as he reaches the door he whirls around and points a beefy finger at the much smaller frame. "Stay put-there. You know what I mean," he tacks on before running outside with a yell and into the chaos.

No sooner is Gobber gone does he grab his maneuverable catapult launcher and race out the door, nearly running over other Vikings in his haste. Briefly he hears shouts of complaint behind him and someone demand he get back there. He throws his head back in the genera direction of the voice and half yells, "Yep, I know, be right back!" And he's glad that despite how small he is to the others he's fast, and away from them in no time.

Getting to the hill is a blur; it had to be secluded and at least a bit quiet and he has to focus. Springs pop into place, ropes tighten, metal bends, and he pulls back the launch piece. When he grasps the wood handle it's just perhaps a bit too tight and he wouldn't be surprised is he found splinters in his hands the next morning. but he can't be bothered with troublesome wood right now as he scrunches up his muscles and squint his eyes to try and see movement against the sprinkle white star sky, muttering, "Come on, give me something to shoot at, give me something to shoot at."

When an echoing roar cuts the air Hiccup can't deny the liquid fire adrenaline mixing with shots of fear to create a rush strong enough to make his head spin. Another splits the air and it's so strong it bounces off the ricks behind him, creating a nauseating sense of being overwhelmed. He's practically bouncing on the launcher now, out of fear of excitement he doesn't know, and when the beast suddenly breaths a torrent of fire at an unlit fire pit he almost misses seeing the silhouette against the red, almost. Though, he doesn't know how he would have ever been able to miss it because the outline of the wings alone is massive. When the black shape reaches the edge of the light source and raises into the air Hiccup shuts his eyes tight and fires blindly in that direction. Almost not believing it when a faint shape begins falling to the earth where a forest lays and letting loose a deafening cry of outraged shock.

Scrambling from his place of the ground where he'd been thrown from the force of the launch he stares, jaw dropped.

"Oh, I hit it?" he asks aloud in dismay. Before the joy and excitement take over, and he's throwing his skinny arms into the air, fists clenched, "Yes, I hit it! Did anyone see that?" he bellows.

His victory is cut short however when mud color claws grasps the over hang of the hill, and a horned Monstrous Nightmare halls itself up before him. His shoulders slump, "Except for you."