Herp derp. Here I am. Thanks for being patient. None of these five are requests from reviewers, but don't let that stop you from throwing ideas at me. I write them all down to use for later, when I'm too braindead to come up with any myself. Anyway, #135 is a continuation of #130, because the mental image was too good to pass up. Read and review and all that jazz. Enjoy. (:


131. Cripple

Toothless knows that Hiccup hates that word. They are not cripples. Neither of them.

Hiccup walks. He runs. Heck, he flies, which is more than most human beings can say, even if they do have two legs. And just like people with two legs, he can dance (although he doesn't claim to be gifted at it) and he can get out of bed in the morning and stand up (although he'd love to stay in bed until noon, if Toothless would let him) and he can chase down Tuffnut when the boy steals his books with the intention of using them as kindling for a bonfire (which happens on a frustratingly regular basis). Just like everybody else, Hiccup can climb staircases and hike mountains and, on days when he's feeling really good, do a cartwheel. Well, kind of. If he practiced more he'd be able to do a cartwheel.

Toothless flies. He's got some pretty nifty areal tricks up his metaphorical sleeve, too, ones that a lot of other dragons with all fins and wings and bits and bobs still attached couldn't do—let alone with a human on their back—even if they were crazy enough to try. Like other dragons, Toothless can fish (although usually he just waits for Hiccup to come feed him) and he can ride jet streams (although it's getting off them that's the issue) and he can still hit those astronomical flying speeds that Nightfuries are famous for (in your face, Gronkles!).

The fact that Toothless needs Hiccup to help him fly and that Hiccup needs Toothless there to help him up staircases doesn't matter. They're one and the same, after all. Toothless and Hiccup. Hiccup and Toothless. One makes up for what the other one lacks, and since they're attached at the hip, they're never lacking anything.

They are not cripples. Neither of them.

132. Gold

"Where the heck did you get that thing?"

Toothless blinked at the shiny little object in Snotlout's hand.

"It's pretty," Ruffnut commented. "Pretty useless, probably. What's the point of those things, anyway?"

Snotlout examined it. "I know, right? You can't even kill somebody with it. What's the point of carrying something around with you if you can't kill anybody with it?"

Perhaps it would be difficult to kill somebody with it (although Toothless figured Snotlout, if anybody, could find a way) the observing dragon reasoned, but people around the world would probably kill for it.

"You want it?"

"No. What would I do with it? Toss the thing."

Snotlout did, and the three of them watched the golden ring spin downward, swallowed with barely a ripple as it hit the blue ocean. They had no use for it, anyway.

133. Fireflies

Toothless has always thought that the sparks from a fire look like fireflies. Gentle and flickering, meandering lazily about on the currents with no real destination in mind. Little pinpoints of light in the darkness, like stars, but closer, more comprehensible. At any rate, he's always liked them.

They're everywhere now. The sparks. Or fireflies, whichever they are. He doesn't know for sure, since all the smoke he's inhaling is finally getting to his brain, making his thoughts slow and his vision fuzzy. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice that sounds a bit like Astrid is whispering Fly! Fly! but his wings hurt too much and he's reeling so badly he can barely stand, let alone lift off. The dragon thinks that maybe he should go find out where Hiccup went off to, but then he lets that go. Hiccup is safe. Even if he wasn't, Toothless couldn't do much for him right now anyway.

Fireflies are so pretty. It's a pity they're so hot, Toothless thinks. It's a pity that where there's sparks, there's fire. There are a lot of fireflies—too many, in fact. The burning building that gave birth to them is the one he's currently in, and as much as he likes fireflies, he'd really like to get out now. Pity his wings burn and his body aches and it hurts to breathe and he can't think straight, can't see straight, can't walk straight. Maybe he'll just lay here, where he fell, and watch the fireflies.

They're so pretty.

134. Mischief

"For the love of Thor! Don't sneak up on us like that, you freaks!"

Ruffnut claps a hand across her brother's mouth, and the four of them stare at each other for a moment. Hiccup and Toothless, Tuffnut and Ruffnut.

"What, exactly," Hiccup asks, "are you doing sneaking around at four in the morning with kitchen utensils and a box of rocks?"

"Well, what are you guys doing sneaking around at four in the morning with uncooked bacon and—what is that—a turtle?" Tuffnut shoots back.

There's an awkward moment of silence in which Toothless gives Tuffnut his best Evil Eye and Ruffnut riffles absently through her box of rocks.

"I'll make you a deal," Hiccup says. "We didn't see you, as long as you didn't see us. Or the bacon. Or the turtle."

"Did you hear somebody talking?" Ruffnut asks her twin. "There's nobody out here, sneaking around at four in the morning, but the two of us."

The two parties pass each other in silence and carry on their way.

135. Antidote

"Well, buddy, this should teach you not to go around drinking stuff if you don't know what it is."

Hiccup shoots a sheepishly grinning Toothless a stern look, and Astrid gives a snort of laughter. The dragon has learned his lesson, all right. Drinking one of Hiccup's experiments and turning himself yellow really wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat, even if the elixir tasted amazing.

"You did leave it sitting on the table where he could get to it," Astrid points out on Toothless' behalf, and Hiccup grills her with a don't-encourage-him kind of look as he pours the antidote into the yellow Nightfury's mouth. It doesn't taste nearly as good as the first one did—in fact, it's a not-so-delicious brownish-green color, and has a texture similar to that of mud and a taste that reminds Toothless vaguely of tree sap. A typical Hiccup concoction, no doubt about it. Toothless chokes it down regardless. Yellow isn't his color.

Toothless closes his eyes, waiting to see if he feels any different, or less yellow, perhaps. After several seconds, Hiccup gasps. Astrid claps slowly in a sarcastic round of applause.

"Congratulations, Hiccup," she says. "I thought Toothless looked awful yellow, but you've managed to turn him the one color that looks worse. Pink is atrocious!"