Look, It's My Foxen

Look, it's my foxen 🌝

Gift for  @dirtyfox9111 ^^

I mean, he was hitting on him, right xD

If anyone needs sassy kissy Viggo for profile pic - u welcome

What is your name? What is your quest? What is your favorite color?

My real name is Anastasia Kovalski *Madagascar intensifies* and that's the reason why I was called Penguin in school, sometimes offensive, sometimes as a buddy nickname. My quest is to bring this world as many unique and different from other content as possible, and find enough audience who would appreciate it. That's a true pleasure to create things and get responds about it.And my favorite color would be purple, or swampy-like green.But either way I just like dark and slightly grayish shades of every color.

Their age is not enough for this world yet

How old are the Grimborn Brothers?

I reckon Viggo is early 30s, or late 20s, with Ryker being around 4 years his senior. Though I’m willing to hear other opinions. What ya’ll think? :o

Oh my god! XD

I simply love it!

Where Have You Been!?

A small fanfic gift for @dirtyfox9111, inspired by this post of theirs. 

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, right? Well, I’m not the best of writers, so I pretended that a post is worth a thousand words and wrote this. Oh, and yeah, spoiler alert for people who haven’t seen RTTE Season 6 yet, namely the episode “Triple Cross.” 

“Viggo, there’s someone here to see you.”

Viggo Grimborn looked up from his paperwork with a sigh, but decided to allow whoever this visitor is to come see him, saying to the hunter who had informed him, “very well, let them in.” With that, he looked back down to the parchments in front of him. No matter what type of business one runs, there’s always the pesky formalities of bureaucracy that require tedious if reluctant completion. He sincerely hopes that this visitor bears news of genuine and critical importance; otherwise, he may just consider feeding them to his dragon.

Speaking of the Skrill, the dragon had decided it enjoyed sleeping indoors and in his company, refusing to allow anyone but him to interact with it. This was fine with the hunter-turned-trainer businessman, of course — after all, it simply meant less of a fear that someone would mess with his dragon without his knowledge or permission. Right now, it’s resting not far behind him, in the corner of his tent. To most, it may look like the dragon is sleeping, but Viggo knows such a misguided assumption could prove fatally dangerous to the unwary passerby. The Skrill is awake, its ears perked and listening to its familiar surroundings. The Skrill’s throat reverberates from a gentle growl, one that does not fall upon deaf ears. After years of constantly watching his back to avoid being cheated or stabbed, it is incredibly difficult for Viggo to let go of his constant acute awareness of his surroundings; of course, that is assuming he would choose to do so to begin with.

“Easy, dragon,” Viggo cautioned, knowing the dragon’s protective nature over him. While he appreciates the magnificent creature and its traits, the dragon is all too willing to deal with disturbances to its human in the quickest way possible, which usually involves a threatening roar and a lightning bolt. “We will see what this visitor wants before considering to fry him.”

The dragon gave a small huff, shifting to get more comfortable as it opens one of its eyes, watching the entrance to the tent boredly. Viggo finds himself agreeing with the dragon about one fact: this visitor is taking their sweet time in getting here, which means more wasted time for Viggo. But, such is life, and some people simply cannot respect the amount of work one must do when running a business.

When the tent flap finally opens, the dragon behind Viggo gives off a warning growl, one much darker than usual, as if the reptile recognizes the person who came in. Viggo does not bother looking up yet, however — if this person means him harm, then the Skrill will deal with them. Viggo is behind on paperwork enough as is, and looking up and wasting valuable time while waiting for this person to speak would not be beneficial to him in any way.

The dragon’s growl gets louder and sharper as footsteps approach Viggo’s desk, but the dragon has not struck yet despite its threats. There’s a creak as the visitor invites himself to reposition and sit on an old wooden chair on the opposite side of Viggo’s desk, the sound making a slight frown tighten Viggo’s face. Not only did this visitor come in without prior appointment, but he also settled in like he owned the place and seems to be prepared for a longer conversation that Viggo does not have the time nor willingness to put up with.

“Viggo.”

Time stops. The pen Viggo had been writing with falls from his grip, seeming to hover for a moment before making contact with the hardwood desk, thankfully not getting ink on any important documents. Viggo’s muscles stiffened, his ears recognizing the voice he had not heard in far too long yet the one he has been hearing in his thoughts often as a reminder of the one time he learned regret. As his head snaps up, focus no longer on his paperwork, his dark kobicha eye focuses on the man in front of him, the pale blind eye mirroring the action despite not bringing Viggo’s mind any new information. The man looks almost exactly as Viggo remembers him, except for one major difference. The younger Grimborn brother finds his words failing him at first, for before those can be chosen, an appropriate emotion must also surface, and such an emotion has not been found. There is a muddling of shock, anger, and hostility, but also more foreign emotions like gratitude and a sense of longing. He had ended up regretting the fiasco that was Project Shellfire, the one that cost him his brother but did little to improve the hunters’ status in their war against the dragon riders, a war Viggo has long since distanced himself with. The emotion that materialized in his voice proved to be an accurate muddling of all of the emotions he felt. For once, Viggo’s voice was not calm and collected as he spoke; instead, it was raised and almost upset as the man finally found his words and spoke vehemently.

“Where have you been!?” A pause, one to reorganize the thoughts this surprise visitor prevented Viggo from organizing. Paperwork forgotten, Viggo let his emotions go as his older brother, miraculously back from the dead, sat across the desk, the old wooden chair positioned facing sideways so Ryker could use the low backrest as an elbow rest. “I lost half of my face in the damn volcano, spent the last however many months looking like an ugly nugget, had to work with lunatic Arabian and ‘Jo-ho-ho, I’mma traitor,’ then got a mountain dropped on my head by the aforementioned lunatic and traitor, trained a Skrill, got shot with five arrows in the back and almost died, all while thinking you were dead all along, and you… you…”

Viggo could not find the proper words to express this, so Ryker finished the thought for his younger brother, looking cool and relaxed and almost smug as he spoke, “I grew my hair back.”