Hi, guys! I know it's not an update from the latest antics with Pervstrid and her little letters game (you guys seemed to like that XD), but I thought I'd give you guys a little more Hiccstrid stuff to skim through until I get to it. No actual smut here. ;)

Since some of you enjoyed the little headcanon/drabbles snippets (see chapter 23!) I decided to post some more. These are of Hiccup and Astrid. None of them contain spoilers.

Let me know how you feel about these. I have more to post, but I thought it would be too much to keep them all in the same document. Besides, the other ones contain spoilers, so I'll wait a bit more before posting them. If you follow me on Tumblr, you've probably already read these... unless you're distracted. :p

Which one's your favourite? Let me know!

Little Things - Part 2

FORMAL

If there's one thing Hiccup really, really hates, it's formalities. He can stick with a plan or a blueprint to a complex design, but when it comes to all the… political mambo-jambo his father wants him to memorize, his mind suddenly finds itself unable to focus.

Stoick rambles on about the traditional ways. The formal handshake. The formal curteous nod. The formal garbs. The formal cutlery. The formal stance.

Hiccup slouches, he picks up the wrong knife, he forgets some vest he's meant to wear, he tilts his head the wrong way and he always forgets when he's the one who's meant to extend his hand out first.

"One day, when I'm Chief," he whispers to his father after a particularly long meeting, "Everyone can eat with their hands and dress in rotten cabbage leaves for all I care."

Stoick laughs. "I'd like to see that! I'd wear pants made of cabbages myself. But fresh ones… these meetings already stink enough."

They laugh together. Thankfully, in their own home, the time for formalities was long gone.

INVENT

Hiccup isn't a romantic man, but at least he's creative.

He comes up with so many different gadgets and contraptions. He's always bubbling with new ideas for improvements, for adjustments, for changes. Hiccup's devices and plans are practical and they serve one purpose: to make life in Berk easier. More comfortable. More dynamic.

He always seeks to find a better way of doing things. Everything around him is in a constant process of change; he never truly claims one of his creations is finished or that it won't need any more retouches. It's a neverending cycle of creativity, and he gladly accepts it.

It's his life.

He might not be the man who comes up with wild gestures of grandeur, or who showers his beloved with extravagant displays of emotion. He loves, and he feels, but he'll not make a spectacle out of it.

It's funny, actually. In the end, he always invents a new way of showing his love. It's the small gestures — the ones he barely puts any thought into — that really showcase the passion he feels within.

MAPPING

There was no denying Astrid had a soft spot for Hiccup's hands. They were constantly moving, never standing still.

Hiccup waved his hands in the air when he talked, in gestures that spoke as much as his own words did. He distractedly fidgeted with his clothes or whatever object he held while he was lost in thought. He had a tendency to scratch his head if nervous, or to rub the back of his neck if sore.

She liked to watch him sow clothing or saddles. She admired his finesse when carving into wood or handling steel. His hands seemed to move as if guided by magic when he worked on his drawings, and he always wore a focused look – eyes scanning the horizon, drinking in every aspect of an unknown landscape – when he sketched newfound territories into his map.

Hiccup had a penchant for creating blueprints and charts, a precision and care that very few others could match, driven by his desire to uncover all of the secrets that lay within the vast area of the Barbaric Archipelago, and beyond.

A different desire motivated him when they were alone together. With his fingertips he roamed the surface of her skin; every touch was made to count, every caress meticulously intended. When they lay together, spent and panting and dizzyingly happy, his dank fingers would always seek to intertwine with hers.

In absolute silence and utter devotion, Hiccup took to mapping Astrid's body in his mind, yearning to memorize every detail underneath her clothes.

DISAGREEMENT

When Vikings have disagreements to solve, they usually resort to the same, age-old methods: an axe fight to the end, or a mace fight to the end. The occasional brawl using smelly codfish to smack the opponent senseless is also acceptable. If you manage to pull that one to the end, you're sure to gain notoriety for your fish-wielding skills.

It's just the viking way to deal with these things: fight it out. Preferably with weapons. Don't forget to call people so they can watch and cheer and drink afterwards. ((everyone enjoys a proper viking funeral))

Even between husband and wife, such are the preferred ways to handle any marital crisis. The weaponry usualy consists in heavy kitchenwear, however, or anything blunt.

But Hiccup isn't your ordinary Viking. Despite now being fully integrated among his people, this was all due to the way their own society changed; all thanks to him. He didn't really change his methods.

Some of his action courses are still viewed as different, of course. But instead of having a negative stigma attached to them, people actually regard these with a certain fondness. "It's a Hiccup thing," they'll say, and they'll smile and move along.

Even Astrid, who used to be such a great advocat for upholding their customs and traditions, grew to adhere to her boyfriend's ideals.

When they were children, she would handle any dispute with him through the goold old Viking practices. Little Astrid adored her axe. Little Hiccup hated it.

But now… unlike the other married couples, they tend to resolve their disagreements through word of mouth — including angry kisses and wordless moans — and their only physical strifes consist in rough caresses and heated thrusts. When there are no more arguments left to be spoken, they quarrel with naked bodies and trembling lips, until the issue is either forgotten amidst the passion or softened with tenderness.

ART

Hiccup wouldn't really call himself an artist per se. He was talented in drawing — mostly schematics and plans, blueprints and maps. Dragons and animals he could handle.

But people? He struggled. It was so difficult for him to translate the little details on a person's stance, their exact expression, the textures of their clothes and hair or the liveliness in their eyes.

Especially when it came to drawing Astrid. He would try countless times; to draw her from memory, for himself. A way to keep her close.

More often than not, when he found himself bored and with pencil and paper in hand, his drawing sheets would be covered in countless little Night Furies and smiling, feminine figures with attempted braids.

He thought himself incapable of capturing the detailed wonders of the human face.

But when he held his firstborn for the very first time, he fell speechless for a while. Stunned, as he admired the bundle in his arms. His breath caught. No words would suffice for the wonder he felt, no painting could do justice to this tiny, flawless little face. Even as his eyes brimmed with mist, he marvelled at the rosy pink lips and the puffy soft cheeks, the softness of the red hair and eyelashes, the little nails atop delicate fingers that wrapped up around his thumb.

He kissed his wife's moist brow and cradled the little one against his chest. "She's a work of art."

RECIPE

Hiccup closed the door of his home behind him, effectively blocking out the noise and light from outside. He was tired. He was hungry. And he was, above all else, fed up with all the noise people made. He just wanted to stay home and rest.

Astrid greeted him with a smile and grabbed the boiling pot from within the hearth at the center of their marital home. Hiccup stiffened; was she trying to cook?

Warily, he watched her take the boiled potatoes, one by one, out of the searing water with a utensil. She put a cloth over them.

And then, she began to punch the potatoes.

Toothess, who lay lazily on the floor near the crib where the baby slept, opened one eye at the commotion. Hiccup made a face; but the dragon just shrugged and smiled.

Hiccup cleared his throat. "Good evening, Milady. You, uh…" He hesitated. But she kept punching more potatoes. He had to know. "What are you doing?"

"I'm cooking, silly!" She placed the abused potatoes on a platter. "It's my own recipe. Come on, Toothless. Light me up!"

The Night Fury rose from the ground and stretched. He nosed the crib; it began to rock with a gentle motion, but the baby did not stir. Toothless pranced to the division of their wide house that was the kitchen and, softly, blew a fire inside the stone oven.

A stone oven that basically only Gobber used when he came over. Precisely because, hey, nobody else in their house had much of a hand in the kitchen.

"They're called punched potatoes," Astrid said as she carefully tucked each one into the fire. When she was done, she walked over to her husband and laced her hands around his neck, and her lips around his mouth.

Toothless gave out a disgusted groan as the couple climbed up the stairs to the loft where they slept. Hiccup thought to himself — he daren't say it — that it was good he worked up an appetite before facing one of Astrid's meals.

Hiccup was still flustered when he sat down at the table and speared a potato with his fork. It looked golden and soft, drizzled with hot olive oil and speckled with carefully minced bits of garlic.

He was surprised they weren't charred.

"Whoah. This is actually pretty good! Well done," he said as he chewed with pleasure. It was really good. Nothing she ever made tasted good, in all honesty… except for her breast milk. But that was a whole other matter.

He nearly choked on his food when her fist connected to his arm. "What do you mean, 'actually' good?"

SNOGGLETOG

The people of Berk became used to not having their dragons around during Snoggletog. Very few breeds remained, as most of them flew away to breed and hatch their young in the days prior to the yearly celebration.

Because of this, people learned to put up the Snoggletog decoration earlier than usual. It was easier to decorate with the dragons around, and this way they could spend some holiday-themed good times with their fire-breathing companions.

Of course, the one person who got a fair trade out of this whole business was Astrid. She did miss Stormfly, on one hand, but on the other this was always — always — a good excuse to go flying along with her boyfriend.

"But I haven't flown since Stormfly left… can I go with you guys?"

How could Hiccup refuse her pleading blue eyes, or the warm lips pressed against his cheeks and ears? And as the days were rather chilly, it was always nice to feel her wrapped up around his midriff, her chest pressed up against his back and her chin resting warmly over his shoulder.

They were each other's comfort against the cold, year after year after year. Every Snoggletog eve they would fly together, the three of them. Even when Astrid's belly required caution, even as their bones became brittle and frail with age.

It was their own little holiday tradition.

CASTLE

Hiccup remembered, with nostalgic fondness, the days when his father would bring him down to the beach to build sand castles. More often than not, he was left in the care of another parent; a Chief is a very busy person, after all.

All the children had the same behaviour: they built their tiny fortresses out of sand, and then kicked them down.

"It's a dragon raid! Oh Gods, my house!" And the little sand castles would be scattered to the wind, reduced back to nothing by the feet of small children.

It was all they knew. The dragons came, and they took their homes down. Burned them to the ground along with all their belongings, all their memories. Children didn't grow attached to their homes; they couldn't. Very few could claim the luxury.

To them, their homes were not a safe haven. They were a place to take cover and hide, but as soon as fire began to lick at the furniture and walls, it was time to run for a safer place. That was their reality.

One day, they all gathered together and built an enormous thing; it was enormous to them, of course. They were small.

"The Great Hall," Astrid announced once the imposing building was complete – a clump of sand with crevices and some form of added clumpy structures, with a staircase of sorts. It was their masterpiece. "The dragons won't win!"

They played around it. Some pretended to be dragons, others were Vikings bravely standing up to the winged beasts, fending them off one by one from destroying the stronghold that held in their island for centuries.

The weather changed suddenly; the light around them dimmed and a cold wind sent shivers down their spines. It wasn't clouds blocking out the sun – dragons had decided to strike during the day.

Hiccup remembered being whisked away in someone's arms. He remembered Astrid screaming her call to arms, with her little voice and her small fists clawing at the air. He remembered Fishlegs screaming, he remembered Tuffnut crying, he remembered watching in horror as a Monstrous Nightmare landed on their stronghold made of sand and thrashed it into the ground.

To the three and four year olds, it was a jarring experience. But they were Vikings, after all, and within the week they were back in the sand bringing more castles and houses and Great Halls to life in their imaginations. They were taught to endure, if they wanted to survive in this harsh world. If the dragons took their buildings down, they would rebuild everything as soon as possible.

But time has a funny way of changing everything...

Hiccup smiled widely, now. He watched this new generation – his children, and those of his companions – build sand castles just like he had, over two decades ago.

No beast ever came to blow these constructions to the sand. The little ones didn't pretend to be dragons attacking houses; they couldn't re-enact horrors they never came to know. Their homes were their sanctuaries.

In a way, knowing this brought him a sense of comfort.

CHIEF MEET

As a small child, Hiccup would often hide — under the table or behind the thick draperies — hoping to pass unseen from the eyes of the large adults as they gathered for their meetings. Usually the tribesmen were loud and sometimes disorderly, but his father would always be there to put them into place and restore order.

He particularly remembered one time, when he was six — it was a meeting of Chiefs from various tribes, and it lasted for hours. They drank and talked and yelled and whispered, they argued plans and treaties, they spoke of uniting their peoples and warring.

Hiccup didn't understand most of the conversations that were being held, but he did have quite a grasp on many of the subjects. He remember being caught and dragged back home, more often than not, and he remembered interrogating his father about things a small child shouldn't be discussing.

He remembered looking at Stoick The Vast — as the man and Chief, not as his father — standing tall and strong among the other clansmen and leaders. It made him feel so small in comparison.

It made him wish that he could, someday, inspire this much awe in someone else. He wanted to be like him.

Now, as he catches his own daughter hiding under the tables or behind draperies in the Great Hall during meetings, he looks into those bright green eyes of hers — the eyes of his father staring right back at him behind red lashes — and wonders what she thinks of him.

He wonders what kind of effect he will have over his daughter, destined to be the next leader of their Tribe.

He pulls her to his arms and kisses her forehead. She laughs, and suddenly the small sound drowns out the calls of other men and other Chiefs in the background.

"Some day, little one, you'll sit beside me at this very table. Then when the time comes, you will sit on my place… And if the Gods spare me some kindness, I will be the one sitting by your side." She smiles at him, bringing her little arms around his neck. Holding on to her, he prays that he'll be able to guide her through every step of this long way…

He then tickles her belly and loudly kisses her forehead a hundred times before setting her back on the cobblestone floor and ushering her away. "But for now — it's dinner time! Go to your mom."

DUTY

Astrid stood in front of the long mirror, brushing her golden hair with a silver-plated comb before weaving it into complex plaits. She could see Hiccup's reflection when he entered the bedroom. Both remained silent for a moment, contemplating each other through the mirror image.

"I like that dress," he said calmly, approaching her with unmasked reverence. His hands went to rest on her shoulders, but didn't stay there for long.

"Don't you have a meeting soon?" Her voice was low, hushed as her husband kneaded his fingers into her lower back.

"It's in twenty minutes," he smiled against the nape of her neck and nibbled her earlobe, just enough to send cold shivers running through her arms. "You can still change clothes." His lips grazed her jawline before settling on her growing pulse.

"Hmm," she closed her eyes. His hands circled her waistline with a slow, languorous motion before settling just under her navel. "Why would I change? You said you liked this dress."

The kiss he planted on the exposed skin of her collarbone resounded with a loud smack. "I do, Milady. I love it…" Astrid gasped when Hiccup's hands crushed her flush against him. He ground his hips against her rear for good measure. "…this much."

"Oh," she shuddered as he fisted the skirt of her dress, pulling it up her legs with undeniable urgency. She could feel him growing against her bare skin, while he worked to unlace the front of her dress.

"I don't think," he said, planting stray kisses on her temple, "you should wear crumpled clothes," the last piece of silk unravelled from its embroidery, "to such an important meeting." His hands were hot on her skin as he cupped her breasts, his breath jagged and wild.

"You're right," Astrid hissed when he pinched her slightly. Their passion fogged up the mirror, she noted; her gripping fingers left trails across the moisture on the glassy surface as she steadied herself against their reflection. "And neither should you."

Hiccup understood the insinuation. His heavy fur cloak crumpled to the floor with a muted thud, his linen tunic followed suit. "Even if my clothes look like crap, who cares… I'm the Ch– "

"Chief!"

Someone was knocking outside. Hiccup stiffened against Astrid. Then he frowned when the knock sounded again. And again.

"Chief Hiccup, we need you at the table!" It was one of his men's voice. Hoark, maybe?

Hiccup placed a rushed peck on his wife's cheek before stomping over to the other side of the chambers, bare-chested and all, muttering under his breath something about removing the man's hand if he rapped upon the wooden door one more time.

He opened it just enough for their voices to pass back and forth.

"What." There was an unusual bite in Hiccup's voice. "It's still early."

Hoark hesitated a little before speaking. He wasn't used to finding his young Chief in a temper.

"They've called upon you, to oversee the expansion plans to the–"

Hiccup's voice was calm and collected when he answered. "Bäel knows the plans. Tell him to brief the rest of you. I'll be there when it's time. Don't. Knock."

The wood clicked in place gently, leaving the confused man to weigh his options. A moment passed before Hoark decided not to knock again, but still he insisted on his missive. "But, Chief! It's your duty!"

The door creaked open one last time, and now Hiccup's freckled shoulders appeared as he poked his head through the frame.

"You know what else is my chiefly duty?" Hiccup nodded, gesturing at Hoark to step closer. "It's providing an heir," he whispered at the stunned man before shutting the door with a final slam.

END

I was thinking of reorganizing some of the oneshots, since there's a few of them that are supposed to be connected, or are continuations from ones to the others. When i first started this thing, I was just thinking of posting them as I wrote them out and leaving them in chronological order, instead of actually making sequences with the storylines, but maybe I should be a little more organised about them.

Also, maybe I gathered way too many little drabbles into one place. Was this too long?

What do you guys think?