Okay but in all seriousness what do we think Yaknog's recipe is?
I don't mean like "oh what's a cool and yummy drink I could make?" No I want the most hideous genuinely disgusting frothy-chunky-chewy mixture that we see on screen?
I've always been convinced there's chunks of fat in it, but what else?
featuring. Astrid Hofferson, Kadlae Hrafnvættr (OC), Otkatla Hrafnvættr (OC)
setting: post- gift of the night fury
word count: 1k
fuck it. time to post content that caters exactly only to me. can be read as platonic or romantic. it's christmas season, aka rewatch-gotnf-every-day season, and this time I just couldn't get over how cute the hatchlings are ●_●
Stormfly snored in a corner by the hearth, her chest rising and falling in time with steady puffs of steam from her nostrils. She didn't stir when the door creaked open, didn't flinch at the rush of snow and cold air or the click of the handle that shut it out.
Her mate and father of her hatchlings, a turquoise Deadly Nadder by the name of Shiverthorn, had joined the first fishing expedition following the ice thaw. His rider wasn't much of a fisherman, though, so Kadlae Brodisson had stayed behind on Berk as one of the number of vikings enthusiastic to care for the new hatchlings.
He guided his little sister into the house, holding a finger to his lips so that she copied his silence. Still, a soft gasp escaped her lips as she spotted the nest of furs across the room.
"Hey Astrid," Kadlae murmured as he clung fast to his sister with one hand and pulled down his snow-sodden cloak with the other, "just making the rounds. Do you mind if Otta says hi?"
"Hi, of course not!" Astrid matched his volume, opening her arms to Otta from under the heavy bear pelt she was wrapped in. It was her father's; both her parents and older siblings were away on the fishing trip, leaving her in charge of the Hofferson house.
Otta rushed over, her little boots leaving snowy footprints. She jumped into Astrid's arms, who fell flat on her back upon impact, moaning balefully as if all the air in her lungs had been forced out. Stormfly cracked open an eye only to decide there was no trouble and settled again. Otta crawled over Astrid's chest to see her face, looking mildly worried. She giggled when Astrid smiled and righted herself.
Kadlae, reassured that Astrid could handle the bundle of adventure that was his sister, knelt by the nest of furs with them. He watched as the warrior helped Otta settle in her lap, then peered into the mess of thick pelts.
There, nestled in a warm purring pile, lay three Deadly Nadder hatchlings. The biggest was a bold violet, her tiny wings spread over her siblings. The green runt wriggled under his sister's head, trying to get comfortable, but only ended up with his sapphire sister's tail in his face instead. Lucky for him her spines were still soft and blunt; that would soon change.
Kadlae was currently the closest thing Berk had to a dragon doctor, so he carefully examined each of the hatchlings, gently lifting them from the nest. With each one he deemed healthy, they were handed to Otta to hold. Having just woken up, the hatchlings were mostly unbothered by being handled, happy enough to sit and enjoy pets. His sister was cautiously gentle, her touch feathery.
Otta stared at the green hatchling in her lap with wonder. He had been the last to be examined - and proven to be in perfect health - and looked right at home in the young girl's arms.
Astrid, cradling the other two, looked at Kadlae as he stoked the fire. "Have you checked in with the others yet?"
Kadlae nodded in the affirmative. "Everyone's doing alright. You know Fishlegs is right at home."
"And Snotlout?"
Kadlae paused, reflecting on his visit to the Jorgenson household. "Surprisingly in his element. When I got there, he and his mother were knitting little jumpers for the hatchlings."
"They were so cute!" Otta piped up.
Astrid giggled. "Can't they produce their own fire yet?"
"It seems not. For all their firepower as adults, they're the most vulnerable when young."
Astrid nodded. That seemed reasonable enough. This was Berk's first winter with dragons, and as such they were still learning about their tiny tooth stage. The whole Rookery Island fiasco had been a shock - to understate.
Before the peace, it had been rare for a Viking to hesitate upon seeing a defenseless dragon. There was so much they'd never known about dragons before, and this stage was the most delicate. Guessing could be the difference between life or death.
The conversation died down as their focus shifted to the hatchlings getting up to play in their nest. Stormfly rolled over in her sleep, easing out a long relaxed breath.
Astrid gave Otta a bone gnawed by tiny teeth to entertain them with, then caught Kadlae's eye. A silent conversation commenced - the outcome of which the healer had no chance of deciding. He sighed.
"Otta," he called, effectively getting his sister's attention, "would you like to train one of the hatchlings once they're old enough? You can go to the dragon academy with your friends."
"Have a Deadly Nadder like you?" The young girl gasped, wide eyed at the prospect.
Kadlae smiled, unexpectedly touched. He nodded. Otta hugged the green hatchling tighter to her chest. (He'd crawled back to her, tired out by his rambunctious siblings.)
"Do you want to choose his name?" Astrid asked softly. She bent to meet Otta's gaze, fringe falling over her left eye.
Otta took a long intense moment to decide, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the little Nadder, taking in his unique features. Finally, she declared proudly, "Spike!"
Kadlae's eye twitched. Astrid's passive smile transformed into something more frightening. "That's great," they hissed past creaking teeth.
Appeased, Otta went back to petting Spike, who was unfazed by what he had just been subjected to.
Maybe letting children name creatures wasn't such a good idea. Stabby the sword they could handle. Chicken the chicken was niche. But the shame of giving a living breathing intelligent fire-breathing animal a name howlingly worse than anything Vikings could conceive for their own children? There had to be a line drawn somewhere.
(Ultimately, Spike was renamed Crumb in lieu of adolescent shenanigans when his rider was older and so wiser to her unfashionable choice. If Otta hated one thing it was allowing herself to be predictable. 'Crumb' was a marginal improvement.)
If you don’t own the Gift of the Night Fury on dvd like I do, look up Dreamworks Holiday Classics on Netflix and it’s like the second story! I happen to be watching Netflix with my nephews and got so excited when it came on. Don’t search GotNF on Netflix tho or you won’t find it!
