#“ekky grunts”

[ratatatastic]

oh so the mikksyekky ritual...they bump shoulders on both sides...okay...we're really knocking ekky about huh...

do you know what its like rewatching a forsy clip and hearing ekky grunts in the background and sounds of (looks down at notes) smashing shoulders and going yeah its the mikksyekky ritual isnt it and being proven absolutely correct

[fanaticartisan]

The Legends always forgot how quiet he could be...

It was partly his doing, of course. When in the arena, he disengaged his shock absorbers fifteen percent so his teammates would hear him, clanking and clattering along beside them like some two-bit MRVN. That way, they knew where to look for him when shouting about their foes. They  wouldn’t jump at a crucial moment and miss their shot just because he spoke aloud. He liked when they jumped – didn’t like when he died because the enemy was still alive. So, he made himself audible.

And they forgot he could be silent.

Nights like this, where they were all aboard the ship, heading to a far-off arena in a journey that would take the better part of a day and a half, he wore that silence like an old, well-used coat. He was bored, bored, bored, and if he couldn’t kill any of his so-called companions until they got to the games, he’d settle for the next best thing: sneaking around and finding their little secrets for later torment. Sometimes a snide remark, a hint that he knew something he shouldn't and could spill their hidden weaknesses like entrails, was as good as a blade to the kidney. Some of his companions seemed like they’d prefer the latter, when certain subjects were involved.

He had to repress a laugh even now, as he crept past their doorways. He knew which Legends cried in the night. He knew who begged in their sleep, who reached for salvation that wasn’t there, for loved ones long gone, chances long lost. He knew who took comfort in ways that shamed them, and who couldn’t sleep at all for the worries that kept them up long, long after the others had succumbed to exhaustion. He’d heard it all before, a dozen times over.

But his stealthy steps slowed, then stopped, when he heard something new.

Singing.

‘Sofðu unga ástin mín. Úti regnið grætur.’

He recognized that voice, though usually its roughness and pitch were concealed through a respirator’s filter. It was strange to hear sound from within that familiar door when no light shone at the cracks.

Usually the Hound slept early, when they traveled long.

‘Mamma geymir gullin þín, gamla leggi og völuskrín.’

Revenant moved closer, drawn as if by a spider’s thinnest thread. He didn’t care if it was fascination that pulled him on, or eagerness to have caught the hunter in such a compromised situation. He didn’t let his mind calculate that far. He focused only on the stillness, the deliberation of each step placed without noise.

‘Við skulum ekki vaka um dimmar nætur.’

The metal of the door was cold against his palm as he turned the handle, slowly, so slowly. The fingers of his other hand slipped into the crack that opened just for him. He caught a glimpse of the hunter sitting on the floor – back straight, legs crossed, their form ever so slight without all that armor to protect them-

Then the axe slammed into his hand, the sparks of metal on metal illuminating a scarred face with eyes that promised death more eloquently than any spoken threat ever could. For a moment, for that flash of agony and light, he believed the promise, and knew his grunt of surprised pain would be the last noise he made before he woke up in his new body-

And then the moment was broken as a cough raked through that thin body with claws crueler than even his own. The hunter fell back, gasping and choking, fumbling in the dark until their desperate hands found their respirator. Once they’d pressed the mask to their face, once the cough stilled and their breathing steadied into a rhythm more suited to the living than the dying, did they look at him. Not the darkness, but their own self control hid their emotions from Revenant’s eye. 

Their voice had an edge of frost when they finally broke the silence. “Knocking is a courtesy that is not beneath your practice.”

“All courtesy is beneath my practice,” Revenant responded, scorn curling the edges of his words better than any smile ever could. 

He pulled his hand back through the door – or, tried to. It was stuck, nailed to the metal surface by that twice-cursed axe. He made a mental note to find another descendant of the programmer who had thought it a good idea to build pain receptors into his system and teach them the true meaning of the word, then looked back at the hunter. 

They were still standing, staring at him, one hand keeping the respirator clamped over their face, the other holding a sharp knife Revenant was more familiar with than he cared to admit.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” Revenant said. “Sounded like you were having a grand old time. Are you practicing for a concert?”

The sneer in his voice seemed to have no effect on the Hound who, after another moment of consideration, sat themselves on the floor once more, keeping the knife in plain view. “It is not for others that I practice,” they said.

“You just like the sound of your own voice that much, do you..?” Revenant wiggled his hand. Hurt zinged through his arm, but the axe stayed firm. He wondered if he could reach around with his other limb to pull it free. He didn’t much care for the amount of exposure that would grant to the blade that breathed so loudly not six feet away.

“It is not for my voice that I do this,” came the calm reply. 

Revenant hated all the Legends, but right now he hated the Hound most, for their unflappable honesty, for their unbreakable politeness. However much he needled them, they were ever unwilling, or perhaps even unable, to descend to his level of petty backtalk. “Tell me then, oh mighty hunter,” he said, using enough sarcasm for them both, “As it seems I won’t be going anywhere until you’ve had your say.”

Bloodhound watched him, their lenses reflecting the yellow light from Revenant’s own eyes back at him. When they next spoke, each word was measured, answering, but not confessing. “I would like, some day, to be able to breathe freely.” A pause. “If the gods will it.”

Revenant fell silent at that. His gaze lingered on the Hound’s face, on the hand holding the respirator over their mouth and nose, on the lingering scars that traced every visible surface of facial tissue. “...by singing to enhance your lung capacity?”

Bloodhound nodded once, some of the tension leaving their shoulders. 

That caught Revenant’s attention. 

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like understanding them, or them willingly trusting him with information he preferred to steal himself. He liked even less knowing there was nothing he could do with this confession of weakness that would be a satisfactory vengeance for his current position of compromise.

He tugged at his hand with more violence than before, making the door rattle. Bloodhound didn’t flinch, and neither did their axe.

“Get me out of here,” Revenant demanded.

The hunter stood, respirator still held firm, and walked close. They waited a moment, just long enough for Revanant to glare, and to see his own reflection in those stupid goggles, before taking firm hold of the axe handle and yanking it free with a crackle of sparks.

Their calm annoyed Revenant even more than the unwilling hiss of pain drawn from his voicebox. Without another word he slammed the door in their face, meaning to storm away and find someone more fun to bother.

But he didn’t. His feet stayed where they were, inches from the closed door.

Perhaps a minute passed this way, in silence. He didn’t let himself wonder why he stayed. He waited, telling himself he was the predator awaiting the footfalls of his prey. 

But when the noise came, it was not that of booted feet against the airship floor, but of cloth rustling as the Hound lowered themselves to the ground. It was the soft brush of a back against the door, of legs being folded. It was a deep breath taken before the respirator was set aside.

And then, once more, the rough, unfiltered voice in the darkness - but so close now Revenant could almost touch it.

‘Það er margt sem myrkrið veit, minn er hugur þungur.

Oft ég svarta sandinn leit svíða grænan engireit.

Í jöklinum hljóða dauðadjúpar sprungur.’

He was going to kill them for this. He was going to make them suffer, for forcing him to stand here and listen to their voice, as raw and vulnerable as any death cry, gentle and drifting as smoke on the wind. Were they doing it on purpose, twisting the melody so mournfully that it tugged at a soul Revenant was sure he no longer had?

‘Sofðu lengi, sofðu rótt, seint mun best að vakna.’

He was going to kill them. He would make that soft voice scream in agony.

‘Mæðan kenna mun þér fljótt,meðan hallar degi skjótt,’

He would learn the words to their song just to croon it in their ear while he plunged his fist into their chest and ripped out their heart.

‘að mennirnir elska, missa, gráta og sakna.’

He’d have to stay a bit longer, though, to study the thing properly. He wasn’t sure he remembered the beginning right.

But for a second the song faltered, and Revenant felt an unexplainable pang at the thought that it was over, and the Hound was done for the night.

A flap of feathered wings. An accusing caw. From the other side of the door came that rough voice, soft and soothing. “Hush. I know. It is alright.”

Another deep breath, and they began again.

‘Sofðu unga ástin mín…’

Revenant closed his eyes. No… killing them wouldn’t be punishment enough. They’d just be dead. Better would be to find someone else to kill, to make it very public, very bloody…

‘Úti regnið grætur.’

Then, when the newspapers reported his good work, when the survivors cried on television about a robotic voice chanting in an alien language, he would meet Bloodhound’s eye across the room, and the Hound would know, and Revenant would know they knew…

And that would surely be the sweetest revenge of all.

[boxofbonesfic]

i just want to say that good bones is probably one of the most well done pieces of fan fic (if not writing ever) i’ve ever read in my life! just wanted to say that, but for snippet saturday, how about something you’re just super duper excited to post! like a snippet or line you’re really excited about from it! 😘

wow, firstly thank you so much omg. i loved writing Good Bones, i kind of just winged the whole thing, considering it started from a oneshot.

i have a Viking!Steve x Thrall!Reader i’ve been sitting on for… a year and a half-ish, so here’s snippet from my very first chapter.

“Úr vegi, þræl!” He grunts, shouldering past you. You don’t understand him, but his gruff tone, coupled with the unfriendly way he glares at you cements your instant dislike. His lip curls, and you can tell the feeling is mutual. You don’t know what he called you, but by the laughter that echoes from some of the other men moving about on the deck, you can tell that it’s likely less than pleasant. There are twelve men that you can count, a few of them messing about with the ropes for what seems like rigging, and still more milling about, counting things, cleaning meat…

That’s when you see him.

You’d heard hushed tales of the giants from the north who feared no cold, felt no hunger, and thirsted only for blood—but you had never been certain of the truth in them. These people certainly walk like men, you think, casting a wary glance around, but then again, there are plenty of beasts that walk like men.

He is tall, taller by three heads than any man you’d ever seen, and a single dark scar marred his otherwise handsome features. Icy eyes regarded you as he sat forward in his seat, studying you. His hair was long and blonde, with braids throughout ending in what looked like different beads. Your people adorned their hair as well, but his was…different. The color of sand in the morning. And his eyes…

The color of the Nile.

The same angry voice from earlier rang out in the chill air, breaking your reverie.

“Hey, skipstjóri. Það lítur út fyrir að þræll þinn sé vakandi. Tók hana nógu lengi!” it was the man who’d shoved you, his tone mocking. There was that word again, þræll. What did it mean? Was it you? The man with the golden hair chuckles deeply. His gaze turns back to you, slithering over your form. Suddenly you are acutely aware of the wrappings that preserved your decency, and how thin they are. You shiver, telling yourself it must be the cold.

“Farðu varlega, Stark. Ég held að hún sé ekki hrifin af þér..” The other one laughs, clapping. You turned to glare at the man who’d spoken, and he blew you a kiss. You narrowed your eyes, clenching your burning palms into fists. The yellow haired giant snaps his fingers, the sound traveling sharply across the water to your ears. “Come.”

You can’t help the strangled gasp of surprise that escapes your mouth as a word you understand comes out. It isn’t relief that floods you then, but dread as you approach him, stumbling as you struggle to move with the rhythm of the boat beneath your feet. He isn’t far, seated just underneath the mast. He holds out a hand to you, but you don’t take it, eyeing it suspiciously. You don’t know where you are, or how you’ve come to be here, but you know you haven’t done it of your own accord.

“You…fear?” He asks, his deep voice amused. He knows you’re afraid. You can see it on his face. What he wants is confirmation. You stick your chin out defiantly—he won’t be getting it from you. You’re old for an acolyte, most of the girls your age were priestesses already, some of them for many summers past.

You weren’t ready yet; often scolded by the older priestesses, constantly getting into trouble, it was no wonder you hadn’t been chosen. Perhaps this was your punishment—the penance for your irreverence.

“Answer.” the jovial tone leaves his voice, and you find yourself nodding despite your earlier conviction. “You...mine. Þræll.”

You knew you had to choose your words carefully, each one cost you so dearly. “I am not...yours.” your voice was scratchy, like wind through the reeds. You hate it. It sounds nothing like you. You can’t stop the hunch of your shoulders or the set of your jaw at the pain that lanced through you as you spoke, and you curse yourself for your weakness, knowing he’d seen it too.

He laughs. “Not...before. Now? You, þræll.” He leans forward further, beckoning you closer. You took a few hesitant steps before stopping. “You..remember fire?” he asks, and you shake your head. He sits back, a strangely satisfied smirk on his features. “I remember fire. I save you. Your life? Mine.” he says it so matter of factly that you question whether or not it is true.

But he did.

He’d taken you from your temple, from your sisters, and now, you were in the middle of the vast, terrifying sea—with him as your only confidant.

translations:

þræll/ þræl

Thrall

“Úr vegi, þræl!”

“Out of the way, thrall!”

Hey, skipstjóri. Það lítur út fyrir að þræll þinn sé vakandi. Tók hana nógu lengi!

“Hey, Captain, your thrall is awake! Took it long enough.”

Farðu varlega, Stark. Ég held að hún sé ekki hrifin af þér.

“Careful, Stark. I don’t think she likes you.”

[whitewolfandthefox]

The Language of Love

Prompt: #someone write me a geraskier fic where geralt is trying to get information and doesnt speak the language #and then jaskier casually converses with the witness #and translates for geralt #meanwhile geralt is like hm #but internally hes all wtf?????

Summary: Geraskier fic. Jaskier comes to the rescue when Geralt runs into a language barrier during a hunt. Based on this post

A/N. Just a little drabble for @riviawitch3r! They posted about this a while back and it's been bouncing around in my brain. I’ve never written Geraskier before, so hopefully it comes through!

Add yourself to my taglist here!

Masterlist

The Language of Love

Geralt was fucking frustrated. He had been fighting a pack of werewolves, and one had gotten away. Jaskier had gotten a little too close to the fight and one of the creatures had gone after him. Geralt, in his panic, had abandoned the monster he had been fighting in favour of taking out the one near Jaskier, but ended up losing the alpha. The contract had specified that the alpha had to be taken out; if it wasn’t it would just move to a new area and start a new pack by turning unsuspecting humans.

Two days later, Geralt was cold and wet, having followed the werewolf to this town. Knowing it was hiding in the woods and wouldn’t appear until night, he had stopped at an inn, requesting a room for the night and a hot meal for himself and the bard. The innkeeper didn’t speak a language that Geralt knew, so they struggled to communicate but eventually figured it out.

Jaskier had been quiet ever since the attack. Geralt knew he felt bad that the alpha had gotten away, but he had no idea how to make sure Jaskier knew it wasn’t his fault. He had tried to comfort the bard but his gruff manner and lack of words made it hard.

Just as Geralt was opening his mouth to try again, unable to stand the uncomfortable silence that was so unusual from the bard, the door to the inn burst open.

“Varúlfar! Það eru varúlfar í bænum!” A man came running in, blood streaming from his shoulder. He stumbled as he tried to stop, collapsing against the bar. His chest heaved as his eyes flashed, gibberish continuing to fall from his mouth.

From the man’s injuries and terror, Geralt inferred that it was likely the werewolf he had been hunting. Varúlfar, werewolf. That was one of the few words that Geralt knew. Standing, Geralt approached the man as the crowd around them scattered. He knelt next to the man, golden eyes piercing as he stared at him.

“Varúlfar?” Geralt asked. The man nodded frantically.

“Það var á jaðri bæjarins, ég var ráðist!” The man gabbled, hand latching onto a strap on Geralt’s armour. “Mikið loðin dýra, það var það. Enginn eins og ég hef séð áður.”

“Slower, please, I can’t understand you.” Geralt was growing frustrated at the lack of communication. He knew it was the beast he was hunting, but had no idea where he could find it. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Geralt growled, turning to berate the poor villager who had tried to interrupt him only to see Jaskier standing there, concern in his eyes.

“Let me try, Geralt.” Jaskier murmured. “I might be able to help.”

Standing, Geralt gestured at the man. “Be my guest.” Turning, he stalked a few meters away as Jaskier took his place on the floor.

“Varúlfur? Hvar sástu það?” Jaskier asked, voice soft as he tried to soothe the distressed man.

Geralt stared.

“Já já já. Í norðurhlið þorpsins var þetta mikið dýr.” Latching onto someone who was able to understand him and would listen, he continued. “Það reyndi að fara á eftir börnunum, ég myndi ekki láta það vera.”

Turning to look at Geralt, Jaskier translated. “The werewolf went after some children on the northern side of the village.”

He grunted. “Ask him if it was just the one.”

As Jaskier turned back to the victim, Geralt was in disbelief. Since when did Jaskier speak Íslensku? He thought back to all of the times he would have trouble communicating with the locals in his travels and Jaskier would just sweep in with the answers. Had he been multilingual this whole time? Fuck, that would have made so many missions easier. He really needed to stop underestimating his bard.

Tuning back in, Geralt listened to the rest of the information Jaskier translated for him before gruffly telling Jaskier, “Stay here.”

Leaving the man once a healer arrived, Jaskier moved to where Geralt was preparing for the fight. Jaskier stretched up on his toes to place a kiss on Geralt’s cheek.

“Be careful,” he whispered, stepping back to allow Geralt out of the inn. The taller man stared down at him before nodding, brushing a gentle hand over the other’s cheek as he turned to exit the inn into the rain.

**~*~*~*~**

Later that night, after Geralt had returned from a successful hunt, the two were curled up in front of a fire. After Geralt had returned, the innkeeper had insisted on upgrading the two of them to a larger room, refusing any payment in return. Again, Geralt was astounded by the ease with which Jaskier was able to communicate, fluent in the language.

The smaller man looked up at him, “What are you so pensive about tonight?”

Geralt looked down, eyes soft. “I didn’t know you were fluent in Íslensku.”

Jaskier frowned. “I did go to Oxenfurt for four years, love. I had the opportunity to study a great many languages.”

Geralt lifted himself onto a forearm to stare at the man next to him. “Just how many languages do you know, Jaskier?”

“How many? That’s a good question.” He lifted a hand to tick off the languages as he listed them. “Common speech, Íslensku, Dwarvish, Nilfgaardian, Gnomish. There are also a great many dialects, did you want me to list those as well?”

When he received no response, he looked up at Geralt, who was staring. “Geralt?” he prodded the man. “Are you still with me?”

Geralt shook his head before laying back down, tugging the bard with him to tuck him into his chest. “I always forget you are so much more intelligent than I am. My educated bard.”

Squirming so he could see Geralt’s face, Jaskier poked at him. “Don’t say that, love, you are just as intelligent as me. Just in different ways.”

Geralt hummed, threading his hand through Jaskier’s hair to tug his head back down, stroking his other hand down his spine. Jaskier snuggled in closer, sighing as the warmth from his Witcher enveloped him. “I will just have to teach you then, make you just as smart as me.”

Geralt smiled softly, “I would love that.”

**~*~*~*~**

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[fuckyeahhiccuphaddock]

My Boy (Don't Love Me Like He Promised) - HTTYD - DagCup - Chapter One

TITLE: My Boy (Don't Love Me Like He Promised)

CHAPTER #: one.

MODERN AU: ON ✔

DESCRIPTION: years after being rejected by Hiccup Haddock in highschool, Dagur finds himself late at night at the now twenty year old's house, roughened up after an alleyway beating.

TAGS: some mild angst, longfic, not a oneshot, dagcup (hiccupxdagur), httyd, how to train your dragon.

GENRE: fanfiction

LANGUAGE: English

COPYRIGHT: characters do not belong to me. all rights reserved © to dreamworks and cressida cowell. plot is all rights reserved © "fuckyeahhiccuphaddock" 2019.

MATURE RATING: ON ✔ contains mature themes, such as strong language, sexuality, mild descriptions of violence, and other themes.

NOTE: this fanfiction will also be availiable on the Wattpad platform! the version on Wattpad has many more visuals and has a more aesthetically pleasing visual, so if you want to check that out here is the link, along with the link to my accounts which also have HTTYD content for you to read:

FIND THIS FANFIC:

FIND MY MAIN HTTYD ACCOUNT:

FIND MY SECOND HTTYD ACCOUNT:

2ND NOTE: this story is not beta read.

████████████

his breaths were ragged, and his chest moved with each one he took. puffs of white circled the air, disappearing in seconds. his foot nudged something heavy, one of the bodies that laid by his feet. not bodies, per say, considering these people weren't dead, but merely unconscious. he would have found the sight endearing and sadistically satisfying if it weren't for the fact he was practically a wet dog and the blood of his wounds was seeping through his clothes.

with an irritated grunt, he pulled his jacket off himself, holding it above his head. it made him even colder, but he wouldn't be able to focus on where to go if the rain kept beating down on him. the streets were beginning to flood. now was not a good time to be out. there was a gash on his right eyebrow, he knew that for sure. and a cut on his left thigh, left there perfunctorily by one of the men who decided to jump him. he was sure he had a couple of bruises on his torso as well.

now, it wasn't that dagur was weak -- because he sure as hell wasn't, but there had been a lot of people who decided to catch him by surprise. he fought them off, of course, but not without a couple of marks himself. he began walking, footsteps making the water splash below, and his eyes landed on the sight of a bus stop. there were two benches, accompanied by a roof and thin, hole poked walls on each side, but it'd have to do for now, at least until he found out where the hell he was.

he clawed for his phone that was deep in his pocket, tried turning it on, hoping miraculously, it would work despite it being completely drenched. the screen only remained black, and dagur couldn't help but growl -- stupid fucking 20$ phones. he shoved it back into his pocket.

he stood back up again, running a hand through his untamed hair. a kid had once ran up to him and told him he resembled hercules, from the disney movie. dagur himself didn't really see the similarity, but hey, kids had wild imaginations, and he didn't really want to put that to a halt. he started walking again, hands holding up his jacket.

it seemed like he'd walked for miles before he found a street sign. he had to squint through the rain to see it before reading it -- Escobar, is what it said. why had that sounded familiar?

despite not knowing why it held such an influence on him, he took the turn and went down the street. by the look of these houses, he was in the suburbs, with nicely trimmed grass and cleared sidewalks. he was sure it'd look a lot better one the sky cleared up, and it wasn't raining.

he was beginning to know where he was. yeah, he knew what this place was. wasn't associated personally, but hell if he didn't know it. he'd visited a few times, and at this point he knew the way back to his shitty, run-down apartment, but he hadn't seen hiccup haddock in what had been literal years. he didn't know what time it was, knew it was late and likely that hiccup wasn't going to answer the door, but at this point dagur didn't think there was much that mattered in his life, other than gambling, the occasional drink and the brooding in late night hours.

he let out a breath that he didn't realize he had been holding, and it made a white puff of air. he dragged his feet towards the light grey, almost bluish porch. he took a step up one of the stairs and knew he'd leave a muddy footprint, but it wasn't anything he couldn't clean after. really, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for hiccup haddock; even though the guy had broken his heart without knowing how much it hurt. it was in the past, but the memory was still so fresh in his mind; like popping a mint into your mouth. overpowering and sensual.

before he knew it he was at the door. it was a pale white, and he distantly heard the sound of a windchime. dagur lifted a calloused hand, curled it into a fist and had about to knock. there was something stopping him but he couldn't place what.

he'd knocked anyways, and standing there left him feeling both exhausted and anxious. weariness was started to settle on him, and his wounds were beginning to hurt now that his adrenaline had died down completely. upon his first knock there was no sound; no shuffling footprints, just silence.

"come on, hiccup," he whispered, giving another, stronger knock. "open up. please."

minutes passed and he had been about to leave; but the there was a thud from inside the house. dagur froze in his tracks, and he swore he saw the blinds of the windows twitched. after that, there was another, long pause of silence.

there was the sound of a lock, and dagur almost let go a sigh of relief. he hoped hiccup still lived here, and that he wasn't knocking on a stranger's house -- but then he decided that idea was a stupid one. if it was a stranger, the door wouldn't have opened at all.

hiccup looked different from highschool, dagur realized instantly. the scrawny, curled in on himself kid didn't look like that at all. hiccup's posture was open; confident than it had been before. he was slouching slightly, but dagur simply guessed it was because he was drowsy with sleep; and he was correct. hiccup's head was messy, tiny hairs sticking in every direction, and bags under his eyes that wouldn't be noticeable if you really looked. although he had just woken from sleeping, he still had his day clothes on; a black long sleeve and rumpled jeans adorning his body. a digital watch accompanied his left wrist; it was a sight to behold after years of not seeing him.

"dagur?" hiccup questioned, and god, it was so good to hear his voice after so long, so good to see him after such a long period of time. hiccup may have rejected him back in highschool, but dagur would be lying if he said hiccup haddock didn't have a specific, (albeit cliché) place in his heart. he couldn't help but stare. "what are you doing here? actually, what happened to your head?"

and too soon for his taste, dagur was snapping out of his thoughts. he gave a low chuckle from within his chest, rubbing the back of his neck. "it's a long story," he admitted quietly, glancing into emerald eyes. "could i come inside, please?"

hiccup shifted, giving a sigh and stuffing the hand that wasn't holding the door into his pocket. "dagur, i don't really think that's a good idea-"

"please," he responded, cutting hiccup off. "i'll be out of your hair by morning, hiccup... i'm freezing and my head hurts." saying that he would be gone so soon made his chest ache in protest.

hiccup squinted at him, silent for a good long moment before nodding slowly. "alright, dagur. just put your shoes there on the porch. don't want my floor covered with mud," he said, leaving the door open and retreating within the depth of his home.

without hesitation, dagur did as the other said. he toed his shoes off, and his socks, considering everything below his ankles was drenched. he left his jacket outside, too, letting it hang over the light besides the door before following hiccup inside, letting the door shut behind himself with a quiet thud.

he wasn't given any time to really look around the room before there was something soft being pressed into his hands. his green eyes flickered downwards, and in his palms was a soft, grey blanket.

"I'll get you some clothes," hiccup said. he'd been about to turn away before dagur spoke again.

"your clothes aren't going to fit me, hiccup."

"I wouldn't have guessed," the other said sarcastically, and dagur had been slightly relieved that his humour hadn't gone anywhere. he almost cracked a smile. "but you're cold. I'll get them for you anyways."

and like that, hiccup was gone. dagur didn't realize how tightly his fist had curled around the blanket, not until he found his hand loosening and a soreness in his knuckles. with a quiet sigh, he turned away as well and let his eyes scan the rest of the room.

the walls were a light grey, and it would have looked depressing if there weren't any sort of pictures hung up on them. upon entering the house, dagur's feet were met with warm, cream coloured carpet. to his left was a dark grey couch, and a transparent, glass coffee table in the middle. right across from it was a flatscreen TV; and dagur was just realizing how luxurious the house really was.

there was a fireplace, too. it wasn't lit, but it was there. on top of the fireplace was a brown shelf, holding two pictures on either side and in the center a little bowl filled with fake leaves, likely just for decor. dagur let himself draw closer to the pictures, and picked up the nearest one.

it was hiccup, but younger. hiccup in high school, he realized. but it wasn't just him, no, there was someone else in the picture. a blonde girl, and she looked all too familiar, and dagur knew who she was instantly. how could he not? this was the same girl who stole hiccup's heart as his own was shattered.

Astrid Hofferson. she looked the same as he remembered. both her arms were wrapped around his neck, eyes fluttered closed and a happy smile on her face as she was kissing hiccup's cheek. his heart sank into his own chest, and dagur hated the feeling.

hiccup was there, smiling with joy. he looked like he was laughing, if anything. behind them was what seemed to be a Ferris wheel, and dagur guessed that they were on a date at the carnival. his grip tightened on the frame of the picture, and he set it back into its original place before he broke it out of anger.

it should've been him in that photo. not Astrid.

slight guilt overcame him with that thought. it shouldn't have mattered who hiccup was with; as long as he was happy. and dagur told himself that too many times to count, yet he couldn't help the raw, sheer rage that came along with the thought of hiccup being with anyone other than him. it made him angry, and ridiculously so. he'd watched them too many times have fun together, while he was stuck on the sidelines, wondering why the hell hiccup had chosen her instead of him.

although, the picture made him distantly wonder where she was now. had they stayed together after highschool? was she just merely upstairs, asleep in hiccup's bed?

with a shaky exhale through his nose, dagur took a step back before he really grew unstable. he looked at another photo, and this time it was of hiccup and his father at graduation. stoick wore a fond smile, and he radiated how proud he was, even though it was just a photo. hiccup wore a black cap and gown, holding his certificates. the sight made dagur crack a tiny smile. he hadn't been there for the ceremony, but surprisingly, he had graudated.

"those are old memories," hiccup said from behind. dagur turned, still holding onto the blanket he was given. "here." he stuck out a fresh pair of clean clothes and dagur took them gratefully.

"thanks," dagur muttered in return, tossing the blanket over his shoulder, biting back his tongue so he wouldn't ask what had happened to astrid. "where's your restroom?"

hiccup gestured upstairs, rubbing one of his eyes. "first door to your right. when you're done, come back down here and i'll uh. tend your injuries."

"sure," dagur responded, despite his need to ask questions, but he could ask those once he wasn't a wet dog anymore. there was an awkward pause of silence before dagur turned and headed upstairs.

the carpet became wood once he was up. dagur had found the restroom wth ease, but there was just something naghing at him -- he wanted desperately to check.

he let the clothes and the blanket rest on the counter of the restroom, and he took a step to the door at the end of the hall, which was creaked open just slightly.

dagur peaked through the crack, opening the door just slightly more, giving himself a better view. it was hiccup's room, for sure -- and he glanced towards the bed, nearly shouting in relief when there was no other body in it.

there was a movement from the corner of his eye, but before he'd been given the chance to move, there was a large, black blob that was heading straight for him, all speed and power.

dagur shouted once the thing hit his face, his hands reaching up to grab at it. the thing let out a loud, screeching "yowl!", and there was a sudden, sharp pain at his eye.

he heard footsteps racing up the stairs, and at this point he had ran into something -- probably a desk, he couldn't see a damn thing -- and then there was hiccup's voice coming from into the room, "toothless!" hands were on top of dagur's own, and the black mass was wrenched away from his face, followed by a hiss sound.

dagur was too preocupied with the pain on his face to really pay attention. he raced out the room and back towards the restroom, fastily turning the light on, muttering strings of curses before he finally looked up at the mirror, letting his hand fall from his face.

his expression dropped at the sight. three claw marks were at his eye, diagnol and bleeding red. his jaw clenched at the pain, bringing his hand up and giving it a gentle touch before letting out a low growl. fuck, it stung, and he wanted to know what in the hell had done it. his face was fucked for life -- that much he was certain of.

"dagur? dagur, are you okay?" hiccup's voice drew near, and his teeth began to ache from how hard he set his jaw. he noticed hiccup standing at the doorway thanks to the mirror, and he turned abruptly to face the other, almost as if saying, ' do i LOOK okay? '

"o-oh gods. your eye!" hiccup shouted, and dagur couldn't help the snarl leave from his throat. his gaze drifted down and his (good) eye narrowed, pointing at the black mass hiccup currently held in his hands.

"what. the hell," dagur started, "is that?" he said, voice dripping of venom. suddenly the mass shifted and there were green eyes and dialated black pupils staring ferociously straight at him, and then he knew what it was -- a cat. a damn cat. hiccup had a fucking guard cat in his room!

"first of all, it is a he," hiccup said return, and dagur's (good) eye twitched irkingly. "and his name's toothless."

"well, excuse me," dagur said, glaring at the animal hiccup craddled as it if were a stuffed animal, "that i am so rude, even though he scratched my face!"

"you were tresspasing," hiccup said, like it provided any justification. "you were in my room, weren't you? or trying to peak inside, at least?"

"you're saying i deserve this?!"

"i wouldn't go that far."

at those words, dagur made a highly frustrated noise. "okay, you know what? fine! i'm going to change, and then you are going to tend to this," dagur gestured to his face, and to the rest of his wounds. after that, he didn't give hiccup a time to respond, shutting the door promptly in the cat's face.

it was going to be a hell of a night.

[pristinepastel]

jsus how has it been this long oops;; i’m sorry. here’s a new chapter!

Chapter 11: Planning and Proper Introductions

The next day, Cassandra leads me back to the chantry. I keep trying to stare at my hand, but my eyes keep getting tired. Damn halo effect of these glasses. When Dagna gets here, maybe she can help make me some new ones.

Cassandra finally notices my staring as we finally enter the building, and we stop for a moment. Shiloh is already here, so she comes over to join us.

“Ertu it... vandræðum með you?”

“No, don’t worry. I’m just trying to find out if I can see through it.”

Shiloh looks intrigued. “Ooh! Good spurning! Can I reynt?”

I show her my mark. She holds it up to her face, one eye squeezed shut and the other focusing on staring into my palm. After a moment, she lets go and rubs her eyes.

“Did you see something?”

“No, but there are blettur alls staðar now and höfuðið mitt er sárt!”

Aw, oh well.

Cassandra shakes her head and chuckles at our antics, and we continue to the war room.

Now that the explanation was over with, there aren’t as many people crammed into the room, and I can actually be introduced. Jaimie is still there, though- I guess the others understood she’d be a good advisor in terms of magic.

Cassandra clears her throat. “Now, þar sem we komumst ekki to kynna you everyone í gær ...

“May I kynna yfirmann Cullen, leader hersveitir Inquisition.”

Yfirmann means commander, ok.

He sighs. “Eins og þeir eru. We lost many men í dalnum and I óttast many fleiri before en þetta er lokið.”

Cassandra continues. “This is kona Josephine Montilyet, sendiherra our and yfirvaldsmaður.” This grammar is confusing. I hope I never have to say that last one out loud, I’d hurt myself.

“We hittumst í gær. Ég biðst afsökunar á ógæfu my, I am just mjög forvitinn um heiminn your.”

“And of course, you haver hitt sister Leliana.”

“I am viss um að you skilur nú þegar eðli vinnunnar.”

After Shiloh translates this for me, Leliana raises an eyebrow and I chuckle sheepishly.

Cassandra continues. “Og að lokum, this is kona Jaimie Trevelyan. She hefur umsjón með mages in inquisition.”

Jaimie gives a small smile. “I was not viss af hverju I was part til fundar of yesterday, but then spurðu þeir mig um að verða ráðgjafi. I guess that vegna? You knew that það myndi gerast?”

Not entirely, but I nod.

After a few moments of silence, I realize they’re waiting on my response.

“Ah! Right. It’s nice to meet you all. My name is Pristine.”

Nodding, Cassandra moves on.

“Þar sem we know now þegar nafn óvinarins our, verðum we to find out hvernig á to fight we him.”

Leliana continues, addressing me. “You áttir right about Hinterlands. Kirkjufræðingur með nafni mother Giselle hefur beðið um speak with you.”

“We know you want valið að nálgast bæði templar’s and mages for help, but enginn hópur mun tala with our ennþá. The Chantry, has of course, fordæmt us.” Josephine sounds a bit sheepish, but recovers. “But vegar I have unnið með tengiliðum mínum to bæta líkurnar á fundi með both sides.” She says, excitedly.

“Ok, then. Should I get ready for a long trip down the mountain, then?”

Cullen interjects. “Before that, we þurfum to talk about hæfileika your.”

“Abilities? Do you mean the mark, or my shoddy combat skills?”

He winces.

“Combat, then. Erm, yeah that’s going to be an issue. I’m not the best when it comes to physical health, especially compared to people here.”

Cassandra looks up at the ceiling, thinking. After a moment, she speaks. “Kannski ættum we should einbeita us to varnarmálum and svikum, for now. Móðgandi færni getur bíða þangað until you have breytt þér.”

Shiloh translates this as Learn to evade and block, Don’t worry about fighting!, Мы можем бороться за тебя! and I sigh with relief.

“Ok. I’m glad, I was worried we’d end up wasting time trying to teach me how to do something I can’t.” Before Cassandra continues, I add one last bit. “Ahh but don’t worry, I know this’ll still be work-intensive.”

She grunts with a nod.

Leliana cuts in. “Now that we höfum áætlun, I will send my scouts to the hinterlands to find upplýsingar and auðlindir meðan we undirbúum ferðina your.”

I nod, and after a moment of no one saying anything, I start to edge towards the door. Shiloh giggles, waving goodbye to the others, and walks back out of Haven’s chantry with me.

Translations:

———

Ertu it... vandræðum með you? - Does it... trouble you?

Good spurning! Can I reynt? - Good question! Can I try?

No, but there are blettur alls staðar now and höfuðið mitt er sárt! - No, but there are spots everywhere now and my head hurts!

Now, þar sem we komumst ekki to kynna you everyone í gær ... - Now, since we didn’t get the chance to introduce everyone yesterday...

May I kynna yfirmann Cullen, leader hersveitir Inquisition. - May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.

Eins og þeir eru. We lost many men í dalnum and I óttast many fleiri before en þetta er lokið. - Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.

This is kona Josephine Montilyet, sendiherra our and yfirvaldsmaður. - This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, Inquisition ambassador and our chief diplomat.

We hittumst í gær. Ég biðst afsökunar á ógæfu my, I am just mjög forvitinn um heiminn your. - We met yesterday. I apologize again for my rudeness, I am just so curious about your world.

And of course, you haver hitt sister Leliana. - And of course, you’ve met sister Leliana.

I am viss um að you skilur nú þegar eðli vinnunnar. - I am sure you already understand the nature of my work.

Og að lokum, this is kona Jaimie Trevelyan. She hefur umsjón með mages in inquisition. - And finally, this is lady Jaimie Trevelyan. She oversees the Inquisition’s mages.

I was not viss af hverju I was part til fundar of yesterday, but then spurðu þeir mig um að verða ráðgjafi. I guess that vegna? You knew that það myndi gerast? - I wasn’t sure why I’d been included in yesterday’s meeting, but then they asked me to become an advisor. I assume that’s why? You knew that would happen?

Þar sem we know now þegar nafn óvinarins our, verðum we to find out hvernig á to fight we him. - Since we now know our enemy’s name, we should move on to how we’ll fight him.

You áttir right about Hinterlands. Kirkjufræðingur með nafni mother Giselle hefur beðið um speak with you. - You were right about the Hinterlands. A chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you.

We know you want valið að nálgast bæði templar’s and mages for help, but enginn hópur mun tala with our ennþá. The Chantry, has of course, fordæmt us. - We know you want help from both the mages and the templars, but neither group will speak to us yet. The Chantry, of course, has denounced us.

But vegar I have unnið með tengiliðum mínum to bæta líkurnar á fundi með both sides. - But I’ve been working with my contacts to improve our chances to meet with both sides.

Before that, we þurfum to talk about hæfileika your. - Before that, we need to talk about your abilities.

Kannski ættum we should einbeita us to varnarmálum and svikum, for now. Móðgandi færni getur bíða þangað until you have breytt þér. - Maybe we should focus on defense and stealth, for now. Offensive skills can wait until you’ve adapted.

Мы можем бороться за тебя! - We can fight for you!

Now that we höfum áætlun, I will send my scouts to the hinterlands to find upplýsingar and auðlindir meðan we undirbúum ferðina your. - Now that we have a plan, I will send my scouts out to gather information and resources while we prepare for your trip.

[unabasheddinosaurkitten]

Rise Of Orthros

Chapter Eight

Sam, Stephen and Phillip had arrived at Gandor, when they witnessed more of Lord Ragnar's knights walking around, something seriously had to be wrong for a lot of them to be here.

"What kind of trouble are Amelia, Hanna and Hunter in?" Stephen asked.

Sam shrugged before a hand grabbed him on the shoulder pulling him back a little, he turned around to see who it was to see a girl in a cloak, she was covering her face with something.

"Quickly, before they see you" Abigail whispered quietly as she stepped back into the alleyway where Stephen, Phillip and Sam followed.

Abigail watched as the knights walked passed ignoring the alley they were now just in, she removed her hood from her face.

"How did this happen?" Sam asked.

"I am not sure but I heard one of the guys saying in the tavern that a man delivered a message to the king about an assassination attempt on his life, they said the person said it was Amelia, Hunter and Hanna" Abigail spoke quietly.

"That is ridiculous, why would Lord Ragnar think that?" Stephen asked, how could the Lord have so little faith in them especially after everything Amelia has done for them?

"I am not sure but apparently there was proof which is hard to believe, Amelia speaks very highly of Lord Ragnar and would never cause him harm in anyway possible," Abigail replied.

Phillip snickered at Abigail's words, he knew that mages couldn't be trusted and this proved it, "We've heard that before, I knew she was never good enough to be one of us."

Sam and Stephen stared at him before shaking their heads, they turned their attention back towards Abigail.

"Follow me, I'll take you to the dudgeon they are in," She said before heading out of the alley way.

Silence filled them as they walked through the alley ways to get to the eastern side of the island, Abigail made sure to keep her hood up so no one realised it was her, she couldn't have it especially at the moment with what is going on. They stood in front of the entrance to the dungeon.

Abigail held out her hands before whispering, "Eldur í ljósi, eldur að björtu, hjálpa mér að sjá, hjálpa mér að finna þá inni." Fire began to light in her hands, Stephen and Sam watched in awe, they've only seen Amelia use her spells and no one else, it was amazing to witness someone else use them.

A grand broken statue in a grim woods marks the entrance to this dungeon. Beyond the broken statue lies a massive, dark room. It's covered in rat droppings, dirt and remains. The fire on Abigail's hands allows them to see the remnants of a pillaged burial chamber, busted and taken by time itself.

Further ahead are three paths, "Which one do we take?" Sam asked in a hush tone.

"This way" Abigail pointed to the left, Its twisted trail leads passed broken and pillaged tombs and soon you enter a dank area. There's a demolished door with a sign that says "don't open".

"What happened in this place?" Stephen asked, he was so curious as to how this happened, "Don't they use it anymore?"

Abigail shook her head, "No I didn't think no one used it until they took Amelia, Hunter and Hanna away. A lot of bad things happened in here."

They continue onwards, deeper into the dungeon's shadows, they pass many rooms and passages, each leading to who knows where or to what. Abigail heard stories when she was young of a monster living in some part of the dungeon, she thought it was to keep children out, but seeing how it was now made her feel otherwise.

They eventually make it to what is likely the final room. A big wooden door blocks their path. Various odd symbols are all over it, somehow untouched by time and the elements. Abigail stepped closer to inspect it and she heard something coming from the inside, something she has heard before.

Screams filled the room, the screams of Amelia rose through the walls, "Is that Amelia?" Stephen asked in shock. "What are they doing to her?"

Abigail had no idea what until she thought of something, "Leyfđu mér ađ sjá hvađ getur ekki veriđ viđ ūessar dyr. Leyfðu mér og gestum mínum að jafna sig á veggnum, eins og fluga."

Sam looked at his hands as they began to shrink, his eyes widened as he watched the four of them become smaller, he closed his eyes hoping it would end, what did Abigail do? Was Phillip right not to trust her? He reopened his eyes after a few short moments, only to reveal that he was now inside the cell. Not only that but he was connected to the wall somehow, how was this possible?

Abigail’s eyes were widened as she noticed the priest Max had his hand placed on her chest while she was restrained to a chair that was mounted to the floor, his free hand slowly went to her head as he chanted words out, she looked around to see Hunter and Hanna tied against the wall in chains, Hunter was fighting against them to get out, only to cut his wrists in the process, he grunted in pain before screaming out.

“STOP!” he wanted it to end, especially when he heard Amelia scream in pain like she was having an exorcism done to her.

Her screams were so loud that, almost everyone in the town could hear her, the guards who were outside the dungeon having their lunch, dropped their food when they heard the screams, running inside. Amelia head began to droop down towards the ground: as blood streamed from her ears and nose, she gasped for air as she tried to breath, Max grabbed her hair harshly and pulled her head up before whispering in her ear as he chuckled deeply, "Third time is the charm, am I right?" He chuckled.

Amelia looked over at Hunter as her eyes began to close, her body offically losing the fight, Abigail wanted to apporch but knew it could breath the spell and that could get them all killed, she looked at the others giving them some sort of wording to get them to move, she also knew the spell would ware off soon.

"Taka líf hennar, hjarta hennar þarf að breyta, lýða." Max chanted out

"Amelia don't give in, fight this!" Hunter screamed out as he watched her body begin to slump, he turned his attention towards the door as it burst open, one of them pulling Max away from Amelia.

“What do you think you are doing?” The guard shouted as he checked over Amelia, seeing blood from her nose and ears, “Did you not hear Lord Ragnar? No harm comes to them, until he gets to see them and decides then what to do.” He finished, nodding to the other guards who helped Hunter and Hanna down from their shackles. Abigail, Sam, Phillip and Stephen

“Get a medical person in here now,” the guard shouted as he laid Amelia down onto the ground, Hunter pushed the guard out of the way before getting onto his knees and held her close to him.

“Yes Apollo sir.” The guards said back as they left the dungeon with Max in front of them.

Abigail, Sam, Phillip and Stephen turned back into themselves as soon as the guards vanished down the dark dungeon, Phillip was the first to check his body over to make sure he was okay.

“What did you do to us?” He asked as they ventured inside the spell.

“It was just a transformation spell,” Abigail replied

Hunter was shaking Amelia gently, as tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t believe what he witnessed, it seemed so awful, “Amelia... please wake up,” he whispered. He now figured out why her nightmares were awful and why she couldn’t sleep most nights.

“What did we just witness?” Sam asked as he kneeled down to be beside Hunter while checking on Hanna.

“Max, the priest used a spell to extract the soul from Amelia, it is a painful torture used on those who defy the mages, its one of the ways to keep everyone from leaving,” Abigail replied.

“What would have happened if he was able to finish what he wanted?” Stephen asked, he gulped.

“No one knows, people can die or sometimes they can survive and just become a shell of themselves, they wouldn’t be who you know,” she replied while taking Hunter’s hand, “She’ll be okay, she’s just very weak, we need to get her back to Rishnag, so she can rest.”

Hunter nodded as he cleared his throat, wiping away a stray tear from his eye

“I am so glad you are all safe,” Sam replied, he gave Hunter a bro hug before feeling something hard against his chest, making him frown, “What did you put in your top pocket?”

Hunter frowned as he felt around feeling something hard, had he no noticed before? He pulled out a scroll that had Richard’s estate symbol on it, “What the hell? What is this?” He asked.

“Do you know what this is?” Sam asked only for Hunter to shake his head.

Sam nodded, taking the scroll out of Hunter’s hands, undoing the knot it was in and read the piece of paper, his eyes widening as he read what was on it.

To Zachariah and guild

This is the estate of Gandor,

We request an assignation onto  Lord Ragnar, we need him out of the picture.

We will pay you 10 thousand krila pieces if you succeed in killing Lord Ragnar

Signed

Gandor Estate

“What is it?” Stephen asked as he grabbed Amelia, so Hunter could stand upwards.

“It is a seal from the Gandor Estate, I think we just found the proof we need to gain the trust back into Amelia, Hunter and Hanna. We must go now,” Sam ordered as the 7 of them left the dungeon, Hunter following quickly behind with Amelia in his arms

Ethrinria let out a roar as she broke out of the chains she was in, causing the men who were there to scream in horror, before Hillverion raised his head back and blew out fire out of its mouth. Only a short scream left their mouths after that before the bodies dropped to the ground in nothing but ash. Ethrinria, Hillverion and Atrastrasza left the stables they were locked in, in search for their riders. Hillverion spotted Hunter on the ground running towards them with Amelia in his arms, Ethrinria whined as she looked down at her rider.

She stood tall before bowing her head, giving Amelia's head a light nudge to try and wake her up, "We must go Hunter, before the guards notice we have gone," Hanna said as she climbed onto Atrastrasza.

Abigail placed her hand gently on Ethrinria's nostrils before placing her head against it, "I know you are worried about her, so am I. Please let me ride you back to Rishnag." Ethrinria breathed slowly, her chest rose and fell before she stepped back and leant down towards the ground.

Everyone stood in amazement as they witnessed, Ethrinria allowing someone who isn't Amelia ride her, they each got on their own dragon, Hunter held Amelia close to his chest making sure she was secure before letting the dragons take off to their home, they were hoping they weren't too late and could show Lord Ragnar there proof it was a set up.

Translations:

Eldur í ljósi, eldur að björtu, hjálpa mér að sjá, hjálpa mér að finna þá inni - Fire to light, fire to bright, help me see, help me locate those inside

Leyfđu mér ađ sjá hvađ getur ekki veriđ viđ ūessar dyr. Leyfðu mér og gestum mínum að jafna sig á veggnum, eins og fluga - Let me see, let me see what cannot be by this door. Let me and my guests peer on the wall, like a fly

[ratatatastic]

the things ekky has done or said that i cant stop thinking about. the 4 minute cut.

[ratatatastic]

thinking a lot about ekky organising a fishing trip (the sturgeon tagging trip if you will) for some of the boys back in like february-ish* and with the knowledge that ekky has taken forsy out deepsea fishing this season do you know what its like going oh so he took him lakefishing in BC...oh okay

and also we got this shot of ekky manning a rod while forsy stands behind him like thats not- okay

[ratatatastic]

there is nothing more delightful than hearing forsy talk about fishing absolutely nothing more delightful than that so behold. forsy talking about fishing.

"More than just hockey, you're also a big fisherman. Why fishing?" "I don't know, it's something that I did growing up with my grandpa, my dad and my two brothers. It's a good way to relax and get your mind off hockey—Everything really in life. You're focusing on fishing and that's it." "So, when are you buying your boat here in South Florida?" "Well...we'll see. It's mostly a summer thing but I wouldn't mind a boat. I'm pretty simple like that! It's hockey, fishing and family-life. Yeah, that is pretty much it for me." "You're a simple man!" "Yep!" "It's good! It's probably why you're a good player 'cuz you got your focuses. You're locked in!" "Yeah, yeah."

WSFL Inside South Florida | 4.11.24 (x)

"When you disconnect—When you step away from the rink, what are some of the things you like to do over the course of the summer?" "I'm a big fishing guy, so that's pretty much all I do when I'm working out back home." "Where do you go to fish? Where are the big spots in Sweden?" "Can't tell you the best spots. Just around—We actually—Me and my fiancée just bought a house back home. We haven't seen it yet so it's gonna be fun to see the house by the lake...I'm gonna fish that way." "It is furnished? Or are you walking into an empty house?" "No, it's gonna be empty!" "Oh, that's a summer project!" "Yeah, so we got a lot of things to do." "What do you go for? What's the most exciting thing you've pulled in?" "I enjoy pike fishing. I love big pikes. That's probably my favourite." "Is that part of the off-season workout? I mean, the upperbody gets a good workout fishing." "Oh, yeah. I think it's a lot of mental, too! Like, a mental game. So, you know, you gotta stay patient. It's a lot of fun."

Territory Talk | 6.15.22 (x)

"First question, I gotta ask you. What's something recently—off the ice, outside of hockey—that's brought you joy?" "Ooh! When I'm home during summer usually I fish a lot. So, that's something I really enjoy. I've been doing a lot this summer...Yeah, fishing, I would say." "Fishing. That's something you do with friends, with family, by yourself?" "Yeah. Actually both. I fish with my brothers and my dad, and a lot of buddies." "That sounds great! That sounds like a nice way to unwind!" "It is!" "—And the total opposite sort-of mentality of hockey which is so 'go-go-go-go!' physical in-your-face." "Yeah, it's still very competitive. Fishing it's—but it's fun!" "When you're dealing with a professional athlete I can't imagine theres anything that's not at least a little competitive." "Exactly!"

Miami Mic'd Up | 10.12.23 (x)

"We're seeing you're a big outdoorsman... ya like fishing?" "Yeah. I love—I'm a big fisherman." "Yeah? Do you have any—Have you been on a big fishing trip? Or you've just been fishing in Sweden? Down there in Florida? Where you at and what do you like to fish?" "In Florida it's mostly deep sea fishing. I'm more a lake guy. I mean, I'm starting to get into it more here in Florida. Ekblad is fishing a lot, so, he took me out a couple times. It's pretty cool to get a big Tuna and stuff like that...but I'm more of a lake guy, I would say." "Does Ekky make you pull in the big fish? 'Cuz he already said how big and strong you are, 'throwing a 250'... He's like—he gives it over to you or what?" "Yeah, but he's got the whole electric stuff so he's—" "Oh, he's cheating! With the big rod riggers!" "Yeah! He rigs—" "He got into that a few years ago when I was down there with him. He's still into it, he's still on that deep sea stuff. I can never do it, it made me sick." "Yeah. Yeah, he is."

NHL Network | 3.14.24 (x)

man who absolutely wanted to be asked to reel in a big one by his partner but absolutely did not get the privilege because ekkys gone electric mourn for him hes want to be a big strongman and useful but now he cant because of technology.

but also the lakeguy vs seaguy fishing fued we got here is utterly delightful im not surprised if ekky took him out fishing just to try and convince him that its better can you imagine the amount of squabbles theyve got in over fishing. but also ekky took him out fishing. several times. like that happened. okay im gonna normal about that 👍

also not them damsel in distressing ekky like ohhhhh does he make you do the heavy stuff he talks soooooo much about how big and strong you are does he put you to work *bats eyelashes*

forsy, who really desperately wants to be put to work: no no he doesnt 😔😔

and here are just the multitude of photos of forsy fishing (redfin perches and northern pikes) over the years and posting it to ig and the captions are all filled with the weight and length of the fish like oh hes a real fishin boi give me those numbers (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

[ratatatastic]

okay FIRST of all you cannot just TEASE that bobby was speaking from experience u menace!! luosty being a nightmare is so endearing but then i had to do a full brain reset at maffhew using lundy as a knot toy, that’s diabolical and true god bless! now i’m here begging sasha to reach the end of his metaphorical rope (pour one out for benny, maffhew is gonna be more insufferable not less when it happens) okay cool luv how we’re throwing the Yap back and forth

i can and i will we like to have twists and turns around here it adds a certain pizzazz if you will

i like to think when bobby doesnt want to spend his heats alone (which he usually does not for any lack of partners but sometimes he just does want to spend it alone as a goalie who missed scf practise to haunt the local beach for a bit is wont to do) he treats it like a lottery because its bobby ofc he does he doesnt have any particular preferences and anyone is honoured to be a part of it that theyre clamouring over each other to be first in line for heat privileges and like ofc sasha has been involved he knows how to treat his goalies well

and bobby would have more of his heats with sasha but sashas pretty adamant about not taking up his time

"No, you should spend more time with others," Sasha urges, already shaking his head to dissuade further dialogue. It's been how many times he's said that ever since Sergei brought it up. The tea has gotten cold by now, both of their mugs forgotten in front of them.

"Who will take care of Captain?" is all Sergei says back. The resounding silence is answer enough, the way Sasha diverts his gaze in shame is a treat though. "As I thought. Then I spend heats with others if you spend rut with me."

"Seryozha..."

"Sasha," Sergei answers back evenly.

"You make this difficult," Sasha sighs out.

"Not supposed to be easy." And concerning their Captain nothing ever is. "You spend ruts with me if and when you can. I'm not going to force you."

Because Sasha doesn't spend his ruts with anyone—at least not regularly. He doesn't mind helping out with heats, quite honestly if his Omegas don't have anyone else he's happy to step in. But his own ruts are spent mostly in solitude sans a stray packmate here and there but even that's rare. Sasha is private and that privacy extends to his own biology. If he barely invites the team over to his house, who's to say he invites someone over for his ruts? Sergei can relate though, to that isolation, it's why he offers.

Being alone together is better than being alone apart.

"I—..." Sasha's starting to run his fingers through his hair, obviously frustrated with how this conversation is going but his face doesn't give much away. It's only his fingers tightening as he combs his hair back that really signals anythings amiss—his scent is as even as ever at least to an untrained nose. Sergei can start to smell the hints of bitterness permeating the air—like the tea that's boiled over in front of them because they forgot their tea in the midst of this, leaving the strainer in for far longer than they should've. It's over-steeped, but Sergei has always left his tea in for far longer that he should've. Jam usually sweetens it enough, he finds.

"Just know I'm option like Aaron and Luosty. Sasha, you treat us so well. Let us treat you."

It could be hours that crawl by or it could be mere minutes, the only accompanying sound to the silence is Sergei's stirring, his spoon hitting the side of his mug in a rhythmic lull until eventually, eventually Sasha looks up again.

Defeated, he slumps his shoulders and nods. "Okay."

Sergei blinks, not quite expecting how easily Sasha gave in, he was expecting more convincing, more back and forth, more... well, just more. "Okay to spend rut?"

"...okay to spend rut..."

And if anything there's a particular reason why Sasha's last resort is a warm body during his rut. For someone who's so controlled, who's emotional highs at most reach mild in front of the cameras when he can help it—he's quietly intense.

Emphasis on quiet. Stress on intense. Which is the per usual for him, he's always quietly intense. But the focus is on something completely different, not hockey, not being a good captain or a good pack leader—it's on finding the nearest wet hole he can sink into.

Sergei can't say he's too shocked when Sasha pushes him onto his back, catching his ankles with a heavy hand to bully his legs up by his ear—he's a goalie, he's flexible after all, it doesn't faze him—he even lets out a hushed trill that his Alpha is using him as he likes, as he told him to. Not that Sasha needed any encouraging in the first place, he practically herded Sergei onto his bed, pushing him along, the second his rut started to first hit him.

In place of laying bites at his neck—a neck covered with a neck guard that Sasha urged him to put on—he litters marks elsewhere, and he's liberal in them. His canines dropping down means he's itching to place them somewhere, anywhere; Sergei's soft skin is a good a place as any.

The first knot is not so bad, Sasha for the most part is pushy but not overbearing. By the third, Sergei can't even shift to get more comfortable because he's met with a low growl rumbling from behind. A stern warning, despite the fact Sasha's knot has gone down considerably enough for Sergei move without tugging on it. So Sergei waits, waits until his member softens enough it can slip out before he attempts to shift again—he's met with the same growl, this time a lot more pointed, a nip leveled at his shoulder to stay still. Really the first thing Sasha has said the whole time.

Sometimes he wakes up with Sasha licking at the back of his neck, tongue wetting the polyester cover of his neck guard, making it stick even more to Sergei's already sweating skin, breath coming out in puffs that further dampen it. His hips nudging against the back of his thighs insistently as he waits for Sergei to come to enough. Sometimes he doesn't wait at all, arms encircling his hips as he pants into his ear, setting a punishing pace from the start and there's not much more he can do but take it. Despite the whines that get forced out of him from how tender he feels—Sasha merely shushes him, hips quickening their pace.

There's not much rest to be had when Sasha is adamant that he warms his cock even if Sergei is limp from exhaustion, crying out as he pulls him back.

In the moments of reprieve even that doesn't last long when Sasha finds that his seed is leaking out and the only solution is to stuff a few fingers inside when Sergei is already sensitive enough.

It's a lot, Sasha is big, his knot is big, everything about him is big and unapologetic and and

"...sorry..." Sasha breathes into his shoulder blade when he's finally conscious enough to not rut in between Sergei's thigh for the fifth time that night. In fact his hips are unmoving, his grip has gone terribly lax they feel soft instead of punishing.

Sergei reaches back to pat at his head, a soothing gesture, "Welcome back, Captain."

-

"Be prepared. Captain will work you hard."

Matthew laughs, "Yeah? I hope so."

Sergei just smiles serenely, pats him on the shoulder and doesn't elaborate whatsoever. Matthew will know soon enough—like they all have.