#Tyr SWORE

[grievedeeply]

the less time the better. pt 8.

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pairing: heimdall x gn!reader

summary: days have passed since the kiss you shared with heimdall, and while you try to figure out what it means for your relationship— the group prepares for war.. and suffers a massive loss.

notes: this chapter is just straight angst. sorry in advance but it was a necessary evil.... ignore any plot holes please..... and also please let me know if you want to be tagged in this series! my taglist is really old and im sure ppl have lost interest, so let me know if you want to be removed as well.

you awoke from your sleep with a jolt. you had never gotten used to the rough feeling of wood pressed against your skin as you slept. even if it was the same material you usually slept on while you were home in midgard, your circumstances were different. back then, you didn't have to worry about a war with one of the most powerful gods in the realms. you only had to worry about what to make for dinner. now, you had much more to think about. including your strange relationship with the god of foresight, heimdall.

a part of you still regretted taking his wrist in your hand that day. it still wasn't that long ago, but you wondered how different things would be now if you hadn't.

the atmosphere was tense in the house. you swore there had been maybe 20 words spoken between everyone. people looked over their shoulder, wary of heimdall's every move. in a way, you couldn't blame them. after all, he was odin's son. the son of the man who had ruined their entire lives, and he had yet to state his side. but he wasn't fighting, either. ever since he had arrived.. you noticed that. he never fought the idea of being used as leverage. after your conversation. you supposed you understood why.

ratatoskr had since found out of heimdall's presence on his tree, and he was less than happy about it. but still, he had remained polite despite his grievances. you did notice how he seemed to be around less, though. you couldn't help but to assume that was due to heimdall.

freyr hadn't gotten any used to him being around, and you didn't think he ever would. he was quieter— less himself. you hated seeing him that way.. but the vote you had made days prior was a fair one. you thought he had trouble seeing him as anything but a member of the family who burned him. he couldn't even see him as leverage.

your father jumped into gear the morning after. he was completely prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect atreus.. and yourself, by extension. you knew little of his time in his homeland. it was something he didn't speak of much, but you did know he killed gods there. he seemed ready to have to do it again, but not at all eager about it.

"none of us are safe, even here." tyr murmured from where he sat at the end of of the table. it was far too small for him, and his knees hit at the wood on the edges, but it was almost a funny sight. "so we have no choice." freya responded simply. "we find surtr, sound gjallarhorn, and bring odin to justice. now."

you glanced uncomfortably over your shoulder at heimdall, who stared blankly at the group from where he stood, leaning against the wall. you watched as his hand fell to the horn on his hip.

"you'd incinerate every soul in asgard and call it self defense?"

"does he ever suggest plans or just crap on everyone elses?" freyr murmured, leaning back against the table in the kitchen.

"the obvious plan is staring you in the face," tyr ignored him, "we don't need odin to use this. we can slip into asgard and do it ourselves, right under his nose. we gain the knowledge we need to shatter his prophecy of war once and for all."

"except— begging your pardon— you don't have a way into asgard." sindri replied.

"they got the big horn, don't they?" brok called out from their working space.

"oh, so you expect them to sneak into asgard blowing a horn that sounds across all the realms?"

"i expect you to bite my blue buttcheek!"

"please. just.. think about it." tyr said.

you watched as atreus sat the mask down on the table. you had let him look at it. he had read the runes, inspected the design.. but nothing seemed to make sense outside of that crack you had told him about that odin had in his basement. your father sat mimir down next to it.

"this mask," he started, picking it up. "the easy answers that it promises. i know this.. shortcuts always have a price."

he turned his focus to you, brows knitted together. this expression that he wore wasn't one you saw often. he was worried. "you have carried it. what do you think?" he asked.

you let out a breath. "i don't know. at best.. it's a chance." you said with a shrug of your shoulders. you didn't know what it was or what it entailed, but you knew it was important to odin. "if nothing else, it's leverage. we have something he wants. if it really gives us all the answers, maybe no one has to die."

"grand. now all we need's a way to asgard." mimir replied simply.

you watched as your father's gaze shifted to tyr, and hesitantly, so did yours. "i know i've been a burden to you all," he started, readjusting himself in the seat, "i know you've questioned why you even pulled me out of that hole. i have too."

he stood, walking around the table. something changed in his stride. you wondered where his sudden boost of confidence seemed to come from. but maybe this was what you needed. "i have too. but it's clear now. this is what i'm needed for. this is my purpose. one last time. i will pick up my spear and.. i will lead us to asgard."

"'scuse me, but if you got a way to asgard, where's that idea been this whole fuckin' while?" brok asked.

"that's.. rather a fair question, brother."

"you.. withheld asgard?" your father asked, pushing himself to his feet. something in his eyes shifted. anger. you recognized that look all too well.

"you would've gotten us all killed. and we needed to give the champion time to find their destiny. here it is." tyr picked up the mask off the table, and you shrunk into yourself. you hated being called the champion. it didn't feel like you, really.

"it's all led to this."

"if we can get inside, i'm going after odin." freya said.

"i will not stop you. we can do both."

"spot on, brother. if the mask doesn't give us an out, we'll still have the drop on him."

"works for me." freyr spoke through his food.

"let's do it, then."

"and quickly, before he sees us coming."

"he does hate surprises."

you looked back over at heimdall, who had silently gotten much closer to you while you were involved in the conversation. he stood a foot or so behind you, brows knitted together. "heimdall," you started, cutting off anyone else from speaking before they even could. "is there.. another way into asgard?"

he looked over at you, then back at tyr. his eyes were filled with something else, something you couldn't exactly pinpoint.

"no." he replied after a pause, staring at the taller god. the rest of the group only stared at him.

"i still wanna hear the details on this, uh, new way to asgard you got. spill it!" brok said after a moment. if anyone knew another way to asgard out of everyone in the room, it would've been heimdall. he wouldn't have lied, would he? was that something he would do to you after everything that happened the other night? you decided not to think about it.

"it's an ancient path. we can't reach it from here." tyr said, moving around brok to continue walking.

"where then?" he pushed, following after him quickly.

"let me collect my things and i'll show you." tyr replied frustratedly. you furrowed your eyebrows together. brok was right. something about this just.. wasn't making sense.

"you ain't got no things. and where you goin' with that mask?" he smacked it out of tyr's hand, and you watched as it went flying. "that belongs to y/n, they earned it! all you done was make passable dirt soup!"

"brok, it's okay." you muttered in an attempt to de-escalate whatever you were watching unfold. "no, it ain't." he responds without missing a beat. "this ain't right. all the pieces ain't weldin' together true. like, what's with him calling you, 'loki,' anyway?" brok asked, turning his gaze to atreus.

now that he had mentioned it.. you had never heard tyr call him atreus. he had only called him loki. the name your mother gave for him to the giants. no one had ever called him loki.

"you know that ain't his name! hey, i'm talkin' to you!"

"do you NEVER shut up?"

you watched as tyr shifted into someone else. odin. his knife dug into brok, completely tearing through his clothing and diving into his skin. the weapon was covered in his blood, and you could only watched as he fell to the floor. "brok!" sindri called, kneeling at his side.

behind you, you could feel heimdall drawing his weapon. his eyes lingered on the scene before him. this is what odin did to people. this is what he would've done to him, had he stayed.

in your state of shock, odin wrapped an arm around your shoulders, the knife that was just used to stab brok held at the skin of your neck. he pulled you backwards, and even though you resisted, you knew it was ultimately no good. would you die here? would brok?

"of all the things.." odin murmured.

"odin." your father said, anger filling his eyes.

"let go and face me!" freya called, sword held in her hand. freyr stood at her side, and atreus at the other. heimdall took a place by your father. despite the risk of your life ending, you stared at him. he was facing his father. he had his sword drawn, his brows furrowed together. this was an expression you had never seen on his face before. anger.

"tell your brother to throw me the mask, and you've got a deal." odin said.

"stop moving."

"freya!" sindri called out, eyes focused on his dying brother. you wanted to sob. you wanted to do anything but be here in the grasp of the man you hated the most.

"if he dies.."

"now, now. wasn't part of the plan. but if he dies.." odin's gaze shifted to his son. "we are square for heimdall. and honestly, you got a bargain."

"i will kill you. plan on that."

"so nice spending time with you again."

"freya, please!" sindri begged, finally looking up at her.

"ah ah ah. can't be in two places at once, frigg."

freya shifted backwards, kneeling at brok's side. freyr stepped over, and with him, so did heimdall.

"hey, i don't move, you don't move. don't do anything you'll regret."

"i regret many things. killing you will not be one of them."

"i am in control here!" odin yelled. "throw me the mask, now!"

you watched as your father's gaze shifted from you to atreus, to freyr. he threw the mask after what felt like the longest few seconds of your life, and you lurched out of the allfather's grasp. atreus leaped at him, taking the form of a wolf as he did so. he was shoved out of the way, and he picked the mask up off of the floor.

"too bad." he said, looking directly at you. "looks like war after all."

as he stepped backwards into the doorway, your father hurled a spear at him. you hadn't seen this weapon before, but that was the least of your concerns. the tip of the spear pinned the mask against the wall, and odin slipped out of view. you breathed out a sigh of relief.. but that didn't last for long. you turned around and the view of brok and sindri together on the floor only broke your heart once again.

"please, you have to save him. you have to." sindri said, watching as freya tried her best to heal him. your heart sank into your stomach. there was nothing more she could do, and brok knew it. "he can't.. you can't.. maybe if i go back to the lake.."

"stop it. i know what you done. and i forgives ya. but y'gotta stop. y'gotta let go."

"brok?"

sindri stared down at his brother, now lifeless in his arms. he looked towards the ceiling, and disappeared.

"this.. whole time?" atreus murmured.

freyr appeared at your side, extending the mask out. you stared at it for a moment, before looking up at him. you took it out of his hands, your fingers pressing against it. you hated this thing. it took everything in you to not just destroy it right now.

"so.. what do we do now?" he questioned.

"now..?" freya repeated. she paused, picking up her sword. "now we kill odin. and anyone who gets in our way."

"atreus. y/n. come." your father said.

"what? where?" atreus asked.

"it does not matter." he muttered. you had never seen him look so.. defeated. you felt it too, but he was always so good at hiding how he felt. seeing him like this only hurt you further. brok meant a great deal to him, and you knew that. he meant a great deal to you, too.

"where are you going?" freya said.

"we are done."

he walked away and you were left standing with everyone else, watching as he turned to the door. you took in a deep breath. you squeezed your eyes closed, but followed after him. you stopped after a second, turning to look at heimdall.

you pressed the mask into his hands. "i'll be back." you said, your voice coarse. your throat felt dry. you wanted to scream. you wanted to cry. you probably would. but not right now.

you turned away from him, and followed after your father and brother wordlessly.

"you can't run away from this, kratos. odin won't stop until we stop him!" freya called after him, but her words were only meant with silence.

he pushed open the door, and you stepped onto the yggdrasil.

tags: @ic-yourface @alisblackgf @engardeitsme @venfia @dijanur @s1mpss @gorepitt @callalillie15 @bluehorizon987 @vanserrar @trippingoverstars @mysiax @beaniebear152 @rei64bit @neverendingdumptser @a-bunny13 @lei-leigha @candy4bonez @yyourmotherr @blobdrake-theory @zarizee @rainygamingstreamingturtle @kise-kae @aesthetic-of-a-director @unodostrescuatrolove @nixeustheclamity @aiciteaa @multifand0m-gal0re @chibi668 @wonderkive @lentillo @luffysoctopus @elizabeth-hatake @black-star1472 @lacm-ac @sxmirae @maggot-baggage @emc2beans @suzumi-hiddenmistclan @white-lyra @lmorg149 @iamverydreamy @giornos-curls @reinabxitch @ourchampionofthesun @paintmekala @the-eternal-sunflower @alextric-overload @lynn-haitani

[tixdixl]

Ya know what? 👁 For Both Kingsley AND Oisin!

Ooooh thank you thank you for this!

Send a 👁️ for a glimpse of their future

Kingsley

Just as he restabilized himself, an even more frantic call surged through the ship. The voice cracked as the words “MAN OVERBOARD” tore through the downpour. At first, Kingsley made no move, nor felt any emotional reaction to the announcement.

“WHO DID WE LOSE!?” came the return call of the First Mate.

“IT’S THE BOY!” this cry worse than the initial announcement, “TYR’S BOY HAS GONE UNDER THE WAVES!”

He never imagined the experience of his heart sinking faster than the bow of any ship. And yet, his eyes widened and his chest instantly grew tight. For just a moment, the ship grew silent. The chill of the rain and the sloshing waves grew numb. And the world slowed down just for a moment.

Davan went under the waves. The child who he swore to teach and protect was moments away from drowning.

He immediately recalled one of his axes, raising it high over his head in preparation to cut his own line. For once in his life, he contemplated recklessness. For once in his life, he hesitated.

The sudden cajun “SHIT” followed by the crack of gunfire recentered his focus and brought the king back to reality, and more importantly back to logic. His gaze sharply turned to the first mate who made direct eye contact with him as he hung, tied and secure from the mast’s bottom rung. With his free hand, Jamil flicked his wrist, releasing a surge of electricity from his fingertips. The bolt crackled as it danced through the droplets of water and crashed into the scales of the creature’s tail.

“TYR,” commanded the First Mate, “ON MY SIGNAL!”

The king raised his axe. The magestone inside dimly glowed with an acid green, shining off the iron blade like a burning beacon. In preparation for Jamil’s signal, he spread his stance momentarily and kept his eye to the reflection on the barnacle encrusted scales. The air scalded his lungs as he drew in a deep, steadying breath. And once again, seconds felt like minutes as he waited... and waited... and waited.

Oisín

Warning: Book 7 references ahead. Proceed at your own disgression

Like searing iron to flesh, their head began to pulse. The throbbing sensation, beating against their skull, could only be compared to that of a knife being stabbed into one's thigh over and over and over. Bursts of grey, tumultuous ash erupted from the collar of their armor. With smoke rising into the night sky like signals, the rhythm of the pulsations drove the smoke rising from their core into an involuntary dance.

Until it all came to a sudden halt. Akin to stained glass shattering upon concrete ground. A release of pain and tension all at once, and relief washed over them like the evening tide.

What... happened? And moreover, why did it feel like the past had just converged with the present in a horrific cacophony of events?

[Ah, I see you're finally with us,] came the ever familiar voice of one Idia Shroud. As the dullahan raised their lantern in search, they spotted the floating tablet, its occassional glow indicating that the Housewarden had turned on push to talk, [Welcome back to reality, Oisín.]

They felt the presence of others with them: Ortho, Silver, Sebek... and also the Ramshackle Prefect. And in that moment, they realized that the ensemble before them had likely witnessed some of their most intense, traumatic, and even vulnerable points in their life. If they could have, they would have shot Silver a glance. Curiousity welled up inside them, wondering how he was responding to everything that had unraveled before him. The things they deliberately left unsaid.

While he had always been one who struggled to emote, they could have sworn they caught a glimpse of tears pricking his eyes. The glint of their lantern's cerulean glow reflected off the edges of his eyes. Scarlet veins emergedin the whites of his eyes, like he had been on the brink of tears. And for what reason- what thoughts, they hadn't the slightest clue.

They rarely had time to process what exactly they were witnessing before the boy had thrown his arms around their chest, pulling them in so tightly, like he was desperate not to let go. The shifting and russling of leather and steel clattered as he buried his face into their chest.

"I'm... so sorry."

Prompt

Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @elenauaurs @rainesol @thehollowwriter @inmateofthemind

@cyanide-latte @blithesharem @theleechyskrunkly @boopshoops @starry-night-rose

@the-trinket-witch

Lmk if you want added/removed

[westrastorm]

My new Oathbreaker, Veracity!!!! They’re a fallen Aasimar trying to distance themself from the militant cult of Tyr they’d been brought up in. She broke the oath she swore to the group and now intends to dismantle it to atone for her participation in the group’s violence towards the outcast committed in the name of order and justice.

[tiredassmage]

From my Rook asks! 8, 15, and 19! 😁

As foretold, I really needed to think over some on this list... Anndd, admittedly, I got distracted more on making more Rooks. 😅 Which I think is more the culprit in this than anything else, but! It means I have more blorbos to rotate for these, so I'm gonna pick and choose for them, lol!

[ 20 Character Development Asks for Rook ]

8. What’s on Rook’s bucket list?

Admittedly, I'm not sure Fenyx had one. Not before the team, anyways, and... he's maybe kind of only just contemplating it now, on the other side of... Well, in short, the world challenged all of them with a lot of big questions.

As a Warden, he admittedly never took the future as promised. Very little ever feels promised in the Anderfels in general, and that's the kind of uncertainty and making do that raised him even before he swore an oath to the Wardens.

And that's... I think where at least some of his mind returns to - to Lavendel. To the kind of place that raised him - even if 'home' felt like a strange word for it then. Even after all the team's adventures, I'm really not certain he's convinced of the idea that any of it was necessarily 'heroic.' He's... made do with the hand he's been dealt. But now he's met the team, the world didn't end, even being a Warden seems to be changing..?

He's not really certain what tomorrow holds. But he'd like to see it. He'd like to stop and appreciate what's already in front of him, he thinks. Maybe a few more trips back home, to the Anderfels. Not necessarily on Warden business. Fenyx was never... certain he could live up to the title. And he's no more certain of that now.

He doesn't need a lot, he thinks. He doesn't need a grand adventure. Just... to be present. Maybe figure out whatever Taash and him want to call themselves and... just see where it takes them. One day at a time, if they must.

In short? It's... almost just to stop and smell the flowers - figuratively and literally. And maybe somewhere along the way, maybe he'll finally settle out some of his questions about who he wants to be.

15. If Rook were a color, what would they be and why?

Fenyx would be a sort of... muted shade of lavender or wisteria. Partially I'll admit because it's easy to pull from Lavendel being named after flowers, and it being a sort of... touchstone for him. There's plenty about growing up, particularly in the Anderfels, that was... difficult, in a word, for Fenyx - from matters of faith to the inherently harsh conditions of the landscape to figuring out how to be happy with who he was (which was not as a little girl, though that took years for him to understand, let alone begin expressing). A more muted shade sort of reflects that admittedly still-ongoing storm of uncertainties, but lavender I still think of generally as a softer color or scent.

Because I think, for all that Fenyx still carries doubts about himself and his purpose, if you will... He also has trust in the truth of it all being for himself. That a little kindness - for himself and with others, as people - still does a lot. He doesn't have all of the answers - on many days, he doesn't even have most of them. But that's okay.

At the very least, he's learned enough to give grace to himself while he tries and wonders. And that's a start.

19. What does Rook’s life look like in 20 years?

As you may have guessed already, Fenyx isn't really sure what his will look like within five years, let alone twenty, so we'll pass this one off to Tyr!

Not quite that he's too much more certain what Thedas'll look like in twenty years, but... Tyr's got some pretty good ideas about what he'd like to do in the next few...

In the short term, that's returning to Minrathous with Neve. They've got a city to rebuild with the Shadow Dragons, and he's practically eager to settle into the detective business with her outside of their own individual work and obligations to the Shadows. Tyr's an idealist, but even he's not sure what Tevinter's about to look like in the next twenty years with Maevaris up for Magister, but... well, stranger things than real, positive change for Soporati and the forgotten of Tevinter seeing some actual changes have happened in the last year, haven't they, all things considered? Maybe they'll live to see the Shadows as they currently are be less necessary within their own lifetimes, even...

And there's the little things, y'know... like warning Neve Gallus she won't be shaking him off that easily. Maybe a marriage proposal, in another year or two... Maybe even a family of their own..?

I have it on biased authority that they'd ah. Well. >.> See for yourself. /lh

Her name's Clementine and she'll have her father wrapped around her fingers as dearly as her mother does. I mean what? <.<

Ultimately for Tyr? For better or worse, probably still in Minrathous, at the very least. The blasted place is always going to be home. They'll need a few trips of course, to stay in touch with the friends they made on the team - to check in with Bellara and Davrin and the griffons in Arlathan and the likes. Those sort of things.

And Neve was right to call him Trouble. I'm sure he'll still be finding it, still keeping a nose out for it, not only to bring the light, but for whatever Thedas might need a team like theirs was for again. And he'll make sure to raise his daughter with a right good nose for it, too. 😉

[wild-magic-oops]

For the dark urge asks: 1, 19, and 24!

from left to right: Lucas, The Dark Urge, Damien

1. What circumstances led to your Dark Urge becoming their Class/Subclass?

Lucas - I initially played him as a life domain cleric of Tyr because I thought it'd be hilarious and it was! Tho in my latest playthrough I made a hireling out of him as a multi-class gloomstalker rogue which is fitting imo so I might change his class for some fics/ideas etc. But back to the cleric - Lucas woke up with a very acute feeling that he served a god before so he drew the conclusion that he must've been a cleric. And his violent urges felt imposed on him, so he thought that must be a curse of some sort and therefore he must've gotten it because he served a good-aligned god.

My guy was deep in the delulu, but yet partially correct. Still, he didn't know which god he served so he did the good old tested method of guessing, and started with Tyr who looked at this poor confused bhaalspawn who wanted to do good and decided "yeah sure why not". Another option is for Withers to have always been Lucas's deity and for Lucas to just not have realized it and thought it was Tyr instead.

The Dark Urge - he's the default sorcerer class so there was no choosing there. He realized he could do magic and stuck with that. It was a bonus that he could fry people on the spot with said magic. No need to improve upon perfection lmao

Damien - I still haven't 100% decided but since he's a paladin and it's canon that paladin!Durge has broken their oath before, I'm thinking that upon waking up from the pod, even through his amnesia he still could feel the remnants of an oath and that he was wronged in some way. And because of his violent and terrible urges that he very much doesn't like, he decided to go the complete opposite route. So he swore another oath - this time of vengeance.

19. Has your Dark Urge become particularly close to anyone romantically and/or platonically in their journey? If so, who, and what is the relationship like? If no, why not?

All my Durges are Galemancers so Gale's their closest companion by far. Aside from him:

Lucas - tried the most to get to know others and give them a chance. He really likes Wyll bc he's a hero and has the whole "do the right thing" going on. But Wyll's also a bit too morally uncompromising which in itself is fine, but Lucas with his urges (and sometimes hubris) felt like he would fuck up at some point and Wyll would not take it well, so their relationship is not as strong as it could've been. He gets along with selunite!Shadowheart as well.

The Dark Urge - He's not super close to anyone aside from Gale tbh. But he does like the good-aligned companions more. And he has the most developed relationship with Jaheira out of all my Durges. He's the only one to admit he's scared of Bhaal to her. I guess from the original companions he gets along the best with Wyll and Lae'zel.

Damien - gets along with Wyll the best. I didn't recruit Karlach this time even tho I like her bc I want to see how something plays out, but for narrative reasons I imagine I did and Damien gets along great with her as well. And since this is the first time I recruited Minthara, he has a funny relationship with her bc they're both vengeance paladins and sometimes he agrees with her and then she says something out of pocket and he's like "no...!" He also respects Lae'zel once she's seen through her indoctrination and wants to fix the system for her people.

24. Does your Dark Urge have a treasured item with them? If yes, what is it and why is it special? If no, how do they feel about item sentimentality in general?

That would be a no for all my Durges. In terms of sentimentality - Lucas is the most santimental when it comes to objects, followed by The Dark Urge. Damien is the least by far.

[jacksonroseroth]

~The Price~Chapter 23~

Moodboard made by @badwolf-in-the-impala none of the pictures are ours

Warnings: Some smut

~

After retrieving the silver sapphire ring, Thatcher slipped it onto her right ring finger before he took her hand and led her down to the library doors. She clasped his hand in both of hers as she still rode the high of their spontaneous quickie and hoped her cheeks weren’t still flush, at least not too flush. He opened one of the doors, letting her walk in first, then slipped behind her as she gasped and gaped at the room.

It was enormous, with bookcases going all the way to the ceiling and completely filled with books. She bit her lip and tried not to bounce on her toes as Thatcher held her waist and moved her further in. There was a large window seat where Tristan sat with Leah cuddled up in his lap. A Christmas tree was decorated and lit up beside the window, where Theo stood with Luna, his arms around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder as he swayed them from side to side. Taddie smiled at them, then her gaze settled on Thomas and Lara.

The stoic couple sat with their cups of coffee, sipping them as they muttered to themselves as they watched Thatcher guide Taddie to an oversized armchair where he sat down, then pulled her into his lap, making her let out a squeak, then a giggle as she pressed a hand to his chest. He guided her down for a deep kiss, her fingers beginning to unbutton his shirt before she let out a soft gasp and broke the kiss. She pushed her hands to his shoulders as she blushed and glanced around.

“Don’t be so shy, kitten.” Thatcher said, kissing her cheek before she looked back down at him with a chastising look.

“I’m not going to make out in front of your family. That’s weird.” She whispered back, settling in his lap and sliding her arm around his neck. She kissed across his cheek then teased, “There. Happy?”

“Not until I tear those clothes off and-”

Thatcher’s thought was cut off as the doors behind them opened, everyone turning as Tyr and Tora walked in, butlers behind them carrying trays of sweets and ciders, going to the table and setting them down. Theo and Tristan led their women over, while Thomas and Lara were content where they were, still sipping on their coffee and talking between themselves. Taddie chewed her lip and shifted in Thatcher’s lap, sitting a little straighter, though it was far more uncomfortable. Thatcher rubbed his hand over her back as he asked, “Do you want something, kitten? I’ll get it for you.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m not a big dessert person…I need to be in the mood for it.” Taddie said, lifting a hand to scratch at his chin, lightly. He nodded and gently took her hand to kiss the tips of her fingers as he muttered at her, making her giggle.

“You two are awfully happy over there.” Thomas called, watching his brother shoot him a glare and Taddie’s smile quickly fell off her face as she glanced at him, awkwardly shifting in Thatcher’s lap.

“Thomas-Be quiet. It’s new love, leave your brother alone.” Tora chastised her son, giving him a look as she lowered herself on a chaise lounge, Tyr bringing her a mug of cider. She spoke sweetly to her husband in Swedish, no doubt to thank him, and they exchanged a kiss before Tyr went back to the table.

“Is it, Mother?--Are you, Thatcher? Are you two in love?” Thomas questioned, lifting his cup to take a deep swig of coffee. Lara gave him a look and muttered at him.

“I’ve brought her home, haven’t I? None of you did the same unless you were in love? Why the sudden interest, brother?” Thatcher shot back, giving him a look.

“Patch, please, don’t…” Taddie pleaded, pushing her hand over his chest and brushing her fingers under his chin. Thatcher huffed at him and slid his hand over her legs, protectively.

“I’m just curious. You swore you’d never fall in love again after-”

“Thomas, that’s enough.” Tyr bellowed. Taddie let out a whimper and flinched, hard, cowering in Thatcher’s lap as her body shook. Thatcher tried to comfort her as he rubbed her back and slowly stood her up, holding her close. She shook her head and pressed her hands against his chest as she sniffled and sighed, angry with herself. Her visceral reaction was noticed by everyone and the room went silent as Thatcher’s hushed, comforting coos were the only thing that was heard.

“I’m fine-I’m fine…” Taddie sighed, turning from Thatcher and away from everyone else as she sniffled and wiped her face. She jumped several feet and spun around as another hand, not Thatcher’s touched her back and her heart nearly leapt from her chest. Thatcher caught her as she almost toppled over the chair, steadying her as Tyr raised his brows, shocked, then held out a hand to her.

“If I startled you, child-”

“Please stop calling me that…I--I’m sorry, I, um--” Taddie chewed her lip and twisted the ring around her finger, nervously. Tristan stepped forward and clapped his hand to the back of Tyr’s shoulder as he said, “Father--A word?...”

Tristan pulled his father aside and gave his father a brief explanation about Taddie’s ex in hushed Swedish as Thatcher wrapped an arm around Taddie’s waist, another around her shoulders as he guided her head to his chest. Tyr’s eyes widened in shock, then his brows furrowed in anger as he turned to his son and Taddie.

“-Vänta, vänta-Father, wait…” Tristan called as he tried to grasp his father’s arm, but Tyr was much faster and he was standing before the young couple, Taddie glancing out at him.

“Father-”

“I am sorry for raising my voice, Taddie…I did not know the burden you carried, my dear. I think, perhaps--Thatcher, you should take Taddie and retire for the evening. We shall see you both at breakfast tomorrow morning.” Tyr said, gently laying a hand on Taddie’s shoulder as he spoke softly to her. Taddie bit her lip and tried to pull herself together and protest, but Thatcher nodded as he said, “Yes, Father--Come on, kitten.”

“What? No, n-I’m fine. I--” Taddie started, but Thatcher shook his head at her, telling her not to protest, then led her from the library. Tyr watched after them then let out a deep sigh as he shook his head, sympathetically.

“Happy Christmas…” Thomas muttered, earning him a smack to the back of the head from Tora. “Ah! Mother-!”

Tora shot her son a look as well as a slew of disappointed Swedish. Thomas rubbed the back of his head, shooting a look at his mother, before Lara reached her hand behind his head, gently scratching and whispering to him, sweetly.

~

Thatcher led Taddie up to his room and inside, closing and locking the door behind them as Taddie took a few steps in, then stopped, twisting the ring around her finger. Thatcher moved around her, assuming she’d follow behind him to the bed, but when he turned, he stopped, seeing her still standing in the center of the room, and had pulled off her ring. Thatcher went to her and took her arms, gently.

“Taddie. What is it? What’s wrong?” Thatcher asked, drawing his brows together. She sighed and shook her head, holding up the ring as she said, quietly, “Ma-Maybe this wasn’t meant to be real…Thatcher, I can’t do this. I don’t belong here.”

“What? Kitten, it’s-”

“I-I know it’s only been less than a day…But, God, Thatcher, it’s like they can see right through me. I-I f-I feel-I feel like an imposter. Like a fucking peasant around them. And-And they know it too, I’m beneath them…You should never have brought me here.” She said with a sniffle. Thatcher shook his head and sighed, closing her fingers over the ring as he said, “No, Taddie--Kitten, if they didn’t like you they’d show it. If they didn’t like you, they’d be a lot meaner about it…Taddie-”

“Why did you choose me? Why-Why did-Why did you do all of this? What-What was the point?” Taddie sniffled as she shook her head and refused to look at him. Thatcher gently took the ring from her, then took her right hand to slip it back on as he said, “Because I’m in love with you, Taddie…I told you I’m doing this for a number of reasons…I’ve fallen in love with you over the past several months. Like I said, I know this isn’t exactly conventional…But, if you don’t feel the same at the end of the month, then I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never see me again…But I want to give this a real shot, here, kitten. Please don’t give up on me yet…”

“It’s not you that I’m giving up on, Thatcher…” Taddie said with a sniffle, her voice small and barely audible. Thatcher furrowed his brows in sadness for her, then gently scooped her up and carried her to the bed. She sniffled and wiped her face as he kissed over her forehead before slowly undressing her, then getting undressed himself before laying next to her, snaking his arm around her waist. Taddie stared at the ceiling as she let Thatcher move her around, then she felt his hand grip her chin, turning her head toward him.

“Tell me you’ll stay with me this weekend…Taddie, I promise you-Tristan loves you, Theo loves you, Luna and Leah are fond of you…Don’t pay attention to Lara and Thomas, they’ve always been like that. They don’t show emotion a lot, unless it comes to their kids…My Mother is hard on you because she wants to know you’ll fight for yourself, and that means, then, you’ll fight for me. She did the same thing to Leah, and Luna, and even Lara. We’re her sons, she’s not going to let us go that easily…Stay with me, Taddie. Please?” Thatcher said, softly, to her. He stroked over her jaw, then pushed his hand into her hair.

“How can you look at me, knowing what you know about me, and want me this bad? Thatcher, I’m fucking broken. Everything you see is just a fucking mask because I-I’m-I’m no one anymore. Who-Who am I? Just a bartender…” Taddie said, sniffling and turning her head away. He quickly jerked her head back and half pinned her down as he gave her a hard stare, furrowing his brows together.

“Because I see past it all, Taddie. I see what you really are, who you really are--You’re a fighter, you’re strong. You stand up for what you think is right. Don’t sit there and tell me I don’t know what I want when I went through a lot to get you here. I might be the black sheep in my family, but I’d never do something so low as to use you like that. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve told you has been genuine, Taddie. Don’t throw this away because one asshole thinks he has a power over you--He doesn’t. I’ll do whatever I can to show that to you, Taddie-But you’re mine and that means you’re worthy of whatever I say you are. Do you understand me?” Thatcher said, firmly, bracing his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. She let out a small whimper and bit her lip, gripping his wrists as she nodded. Thatcher shifted, sliding one hand down her arm, to her hip, pushing his other hand into her hair. “You’re mine, Taddie. You belong to me and no one is ever going to touch you again.”

Taddie’s eyes fluttered closed as he ducked down, pressing a deep, slow kiss to her lips. Her hands slowly lifted, gripping his hips as she kissed him back, a few sniffles escaping her between kisses. His hands pushed over her skin as he took off her bra and panties, her hands pushing his boxers down then sliding up his chest and into his hair, tugging the bun down. As the other half of his hair tumbled down, he broke the kiss and began kissing over her shoulder as her hand reached between them, stroking his cock. Thatcher moaned against her skin as he inched to her neck, then up, nipping at her jaw. Taddie sighed and hooked her legs over his hips, guiding him between her thighs and inside her. With a single thrust and a deep moan, Thatcher pushed inside her and began a steady pace, making Taddie cry out softly, then moan his name as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Thatcher-” Taddie sighed as she clung to him, moaning softly. Thatcher groaned and kissed up to her lips, sealing them together. She kissed him back and dragged her nails over his back with a soft moan as he sped up his cock inside her, making her whimper and begin to rock her hips in time with his.

“I only make my Princess feel like this. Only my kitten gets to have my cock inside her. My angel, my good, little girl--You deserve far more than anything I can ever give you, Taddie--Ohh, fuck--You’re fucking perfect, Taddie. You deserve, more than anyone, to be in this family and be treated like a fucking queen, do you understand me?” Thatcher growled in her ear. Taddie gasped, then let out a small whimper as she nodded. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Sir, I understand.” Taddie moaned out, her fingers sinking into his hair and curling around the root and she arched against him. Thatcher kissed across her chest and over her breasts as he panted against them. She gave his hair a soft tug as he latched onto a breast, suckling it as he pushed a hand between them, his fingers circling her clit and making her cry out again.

“Whenever my family looks at you in a way you think they’re judging you-I want you to remember my cock inside you tonight. I want you to remember who fucked you and made you come so hard you couldn’t think straight. Me-Your man, your protector, your guardian…If I say you belong and deserve to be here, then you are and they can deal with it, because I chose you and you chose me. Taddie, I would die before ever letting anything happen to you, do you understand me?” Thatcher growled against her skin, nipping to her other breast, showing it equal attention. Taddie pushed against his mouth with a moan, tugging at his hair, hard, as she came, another orgasm building quickly.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes-I-I understand. I understand--Ohh, Thatcher, please don’t stop. Don’t stop-Ohh-!” Taddie moaned as her legs and hips began to shake, unable to move and giving herself over to the pleasure. Thatcher had her pinned, while his fingers petted her clit, his arm laid across her lower abdomen, pressing against it as his cock tunneled in and out of her. All she could do was cling to him, moaning and whimpering as she came again, hard, a sweet tingling sensation spreading through her body.

Thatcher moaned against her breast as he continued to thrust until he spilled inside her, riding them both through their climaxes before they collapsed, panting and moaning each other’s name, softly. Taddie’s hands slid from his hair and dropped from him as her head rolled from side to side, mumbling softly. Thatcher bit her breast, gently, then slowly kissed over her chest, up her neck and over her cheek to her lips. He cupped her face then pushed his hand to the back of her neck, his fingers cradling it gently.

“I love you, Taddie.” Thatcher whispered against her lips. A soft whimper slipped from her throat before she took a breath, but he cut her off as he said, “Don’t say anything. It’s okay. I don’t expect you to say it back. I just wanted to say it to you-At least once.”

“Thatcher…” Taddie sighed, nuzzling into his cheek and she drew her brows together. Thatcher kissed over her skin before he pulled out of her and slipped behind her, holding her close. She slid her hands over his arms, snuggling back into him with a deep sigh before he tugged the blankets over them. Her fingers tangled with his and he gently brought her hand back to kiss over the backs of her fingers, then buried his face into her neck. “I love that you make me feel pretty. And safe, and wanted, and loved…I-I never thought I’d have that, ever.”

“You deserve far more, Princess. I’m willing to give it to you if you’ll let me.” He whispered before pressing a kiss to her cheek. She leaned into his touch and let out a deep, content sigh. “But we have time for all that later. Go to sleep, my love.”

Taddie turned her head to him, kissing him deep and slow as his hands stroked over skin, lulling her to sleep. Thatcher held her close and nuzzled into her curls, letting out a deep sigh. He soon fell asleep as well, but not before a sudden worry came over him that there was now a very real and very present chance that she really might leave and he’d lose her for good.

~

The next morning, Taddie’s eyes opened slowly as she came out of her sleep, inhaling deeply as she stretched. Thatcher stirred at her movement, then tightened his arms around her, dragging her back against him as he buried his face into her curls. Taddie giggled and gripped his arms as he kissed over her shoulder, then up her neck. With a deep sigh, Taddie snuggled back against him for a moment before she turned onto her back, looking up at him with a sweet smile.

“Morning, kitten. How did you sleep?” Thatcher whispered to her before pressing a deep kiss to her lips. Taddie kissed him back, lifting her hand to slide her fingers over his jawline.

“Good. No nightmares.” Taddie said, brushing her thumb over his lower lip a few times before stealing another kiss. Thatcher kissed across her cheek and pulled her in closer, squeezing her tight as he said, “Good. I’m glad…How do you feel? You know we can leave if you want to--Come back for dinners and such-”

“No. That would make me look worse if I took you away…I’m-I’m just nervous and-and I don’t want them to think I’m not good enough.” Taddie said, her hand dropping from his face as she glanced away.

“You’re good enough, Taddie. I wouldn’t have brought you home if I didn’t think you were good enough…And you’re not broken, baby. Don’t think I didn’t catch that last night.” Thatcher said as she tsk’d at him and rolled onto her side, turning away from him. He pulled her back against him as he said, “I’m serious, Taddie. He didn’t break you-You’re not broken. You’re-You’re fractured…And fractures can heal…When you take care of them properly.”

Slowly, Taddie turned to him again her lips shaking with a light smile. Thatcher slid his fingers over the side of her face, pushing them into her curls as he brought her face closer. She closed her eyes with a sigh, pushing her fingers over his as she said, softly, “You really think I’m not broken? I-I mean I--Last night, I basically had a fucking breakdown in front of everyone. Your dad didn’t even do anything to me…”

“You told me you don’t ever want me to get loud…You meant loud like that?” Thatcher asked. She bit her lip and nodded, drawing her brows together before she said, “Jack g-got-He got really, really loud, like screaming at the top of his lungs…Because I folded a shirt wrong, or-or I-I made his coffee wrong…He nitpicked at e-everything and it-it took me a long time to shake that when I left him…I thought that was all I needed to break because nothing else popped up.”

“Then as they do, let me help you with them. Talk to me, tell me what you’re feeling. I’ll do what I can, kitten, okay?” Thatcher said, kissing her deep and slow. Taddie kissed him back then broke it as she turned to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. Thatcher buried his hand in the back of her head as he held her tight, kissing over her bare shoulder. His lips curved into a smirk before he whispered in her ear, “Let’s go do something a little crazy today-What do you say?”

“Crazy, meaning what? We’re not flying to New York to get eloped.” Taddie said, pulling back enough to give him a look. Thatcher laughed and rolled her onto her back as he shook his head and said, “No! No, nothing like that…But I want you to do some painting first--Come on, let’s shower.”

~

Let me know what you guys think! <3 If you'd like to be added to the taglist, send me a message! <3

Taglist: @badwolf-in-the-impala @sweetwombatpizza

[thetantiger]

Feng Mi Summerstar

Race: Pandaren Class: Paladin Specialization: Retribution Pronouns: She/Her

Feng is a ginger and white furred mainland Pandaren with long yellow-streaked hair and golden eyes. Born to a silk farmer family in the Valley of the Four Winds, Feng Mi was chosen by Chi-Ji himself while she was very young to join the Golden Lotus and help protect the hidden Vale of Eternal Blossoms. Growing up, she became interested in the Titan magic that had helped to bloom the Vale in the first place, and swore herself to the brightness of the sun and the principles of order and goodness, though unofficially. Over time, serving as both a member of the Golden Lotus and a disciple of the Red Crane, Feng noticed that, as she swung her weapon, sparks would emit from her mace and paws, and decided to focus on this glint of magic. When the Alliance and Horde landed on Pandaria, Feng learned that this power was called "the Light" and that she had unintentionally found this entity and sworn herself to it, and now also helps to serve as a member of the Horde as well as Tyr's Guard.

Links: Body ref Introductory mog screenshots

Related Characters: N/A

<Toyhouse Page>

[afraidofchange]

Rama Wolfbluff Backstory - Baldur's Gate edition !

Born in a tavern on the outskirts of the city of Waterdeep, her barmaid mother Amira named her Rama Wolfbluff - a last name not of her own accord but of her father in the hopes the wayward wizard would someday claim paternity on his child (he never would).

Growing up, Rama saw all kinds of adventurers and knights come and go through the tavern. What inspired her most of all were paladins, brave and stoic, devoted to their faith and gods/goddess - from about the age of seven, Rama knew that was the path she wanted to take, to do good in a world of evil.

While Rama's mother instilled a hard working ethic in her daughter, she was reluctant to let her teenager leave the comfort of home in pursuit of such a noble goal, but seeing how determined she was, she let her go.

Rama first enlisted as a SOLDIER, serving the city-state of Waterdeep for the better part of a decade (6 years). Here, she learned how to use a sword and shield, a hand-axe, and throwing daggers.

After her stint in the army, Rama began her paladin pursuits at the age of 22. She swore her oath to the deity, TYR, pleading her allegiance to serve JUSTICE and RIGHTEOUSNESS through an Oath of Vengeance (with the core tenets of Fight the Greater Evil, No Mercy for the Wicked, By Any Means Necessary, & Restitution).

Over the years, Rama became a force to be reckoned with, wielding a powerful great sword and divine powers.

However, in her early 30s, Rama became involved with another paladin of the same oath - Meredith - and despite her commitment to her path of righteousness, became involved in a romantic relationship with her. Eventually, the two married in secret, continuing on their travels across the land to slay evil together for many years. However, Meredith became susceptible to corrupting forces, leading her to breaking her oath. She and Rama fought, but she wounded Rama by stabbing her in the back, literally, leaving her bloody outside of the tavern they had been staying at, going off into the night, never to be seen nor heard from ever again.

Because of this, Rama's commitment to her oath became lessened. The wind was knocked out of her proverbial sails. If even the most devout paladin could be corrupted by evil, then what was the point in fighting anymore? Her recovery from her wound left her bedridden for some time while she healed and regained the use of her right shoulder, and her mind went to dark places of depression and anxiety of her future.

However, despite this, she eventually continued her path, albeit with far less devotion to her cause. She would help people, but she would not go out of her way to fight evil - yet, evil seems to have found her in the form of the mindflayers, taking her prisoner and implanting her with one of their illithid worms, forcing her to find some kind of cure or else face the possibility of becoming one of them.

Today, in the story of Baldur's Gate 3, you will find her determined to find a cure for the worm, seeking out all possible avenues, while continuing to serve her oath (albeit not as much of a priority as it once was). Rama is an intimidating woman with a stern tone in a low, raspy voice used to give commands with ease. She stands at a mere 5'5" in height, but appears taller than she actually is. She has dark, raven black hair though some streaks of silver are threaded throughout. Her eyes are a golden brown that contrasts against her dark brown skin. She has a scar over her right eye from forehead to cheek as well as a deep cut scar on her jaw near her chin. These are the only visible scars on her face, but she has many more on her body. She is of a fairly muscular build, though she retains her womanly curves, but these too are hidden beneath armor and loose casual clothes. She appears older than she is - at age 47 she appears more like age 55, with deep set wrinkles, sun kissed skin, and rheumatoid arthritis in her knees. She prefers the company of women, and should men approach, she is liable to shy away or become agitated should they pursue her in such a way.

A few concluding bonus notes from my D&D campaign:

As a joke from my D&D group, because I always forget what god she serves (it's Aureon from the Eberron setting, sovereign of Law & Lore) Rama at this point in her life sometimes forgets that she serves Tyr.

Rama also experiences social anxiety and will often try to leave from uncomfortable social situations, sometimes in dramatic ways (e.g. she once jumped off a 2nd floor balcony to avoid being caught eavesdropping).

In a moment of panic and in an attempt to stay hidden from enemies, Rama once hid her moon-touched sword in her breast plate and nearly gave herself an involuntary mastectomy.

Rama has a girlfriend in her canon - Kaelehn, a half-elf ranger. In their story, they were together in a very passionate relationship, but Rama had wanted to settle down sooner rather than later. As Kaelehn is several years younger than Rama, she was uncertain of what she wanted, and they parted ways for seven years before finding one another again. It took two months for their relationship to be rekindled, and now consider themselves devoted to one another. For the purposes of a BG3 storyline, it takes place between these times and thus, Rama is single and ready to mingle.

[lumi-klovstad-games]

So I have to share my Tavs. Can't stop me.

So, I have three Baldur's Gate 3 Tavs.

Lorgan Greylight is easily my "main" character in that he's the one I always come back to, and the most frequently.

A port from an aborted TT campaign that was full of promise, Lorgan is a Paladin of Tyr who swore his Oath of Devotion to the Order of the Left Hand, a group of Crusaders and Knights Errant who fight for the Just God and seek to bring righteous justice to the lands. A kind man at heart, Lorgan is especially drawn to the cause of those who are being mocked and oppressed, a tendency that derives from the strong sense of justice he cultivated in childhood, defending his younger dhampir sister from bullies and religious zealots, going so far as to now bear on his cheek the scar made by a wild priest's burning thurible when the young Lorgan stepped in front and took a blow that had been meant for his sister.

Despite his religious bearing and his oath as a paladin, he stands in constant defense of Astarion, acknowledging that Astarion, though a vampire, is first and foremost a victim of evil, and while often frustrated by the Elf's unhealthy coping mechanisms, sees them for what they really are and tries to help his friend (though Astarion would not use that word) rehabilitate naturally. He is also quite friendly with Shadowheart as something about the girl reminds him of his sister, Shar worship aside. Even the worship of Shar doesn't bother him like it should, because beneath Shadowheart's practiced selfishness and callousness, he sees a good but lost soul that may yet be motivated to save itself, if given the right conditions to do so.

Though bothered by his tadpole and his potential fate, Lorgan looks to his future and the adventure it holds with a Crusader's excitement: for the Cult of the Absolute perpetrates one mighty injustice after another, and it seems that Tyr has made sure his devoted follower shall be in the right place to stop it once and for all.

Wilhelmina Tollebrook is a returning adventurer from an earlier Pathfinder campaign. A Halfling Bard in self-exile from her village due to a minor scandal involving the baker's daughter, 'Mina' has traveled far and wide in the years since, following her tribe's pre-settlement path as they wandered the Northlands as nomads before establishing their peaceful corner of the world. Mina has become a moderately popular bard and troubadour as she composes songs, tales, and yarns based on her own adventures and travels.

Having previously assisted in the defeat of the returned Dread Queen Menrae (her songs don't mention that her group of adventurers were also the REASON for the Queen's return, though to her credit she did tell them not to listen to the creepy old lady in the prison who very conveniently had a way out for said group), Mina was kidnapped by Mind Flayers after a raucous victory party in Baldur's Gate, and ended up with a tadpole in her head for her trouble. Mina is a self-described "ethical slut", "frequent legal clusterfuck", and genuinely good soul who has devoted her life and career as a hero to giving the people with nothing something to sing about, and giving those in power who would abuse their positions "something slightly worse than a scathingly worded pamphlet" to worry about.

Perhaps, one day, she will return home and make things right with her mother, but for now the story unfolding before her is simply too salacious to drop. And while she very much as a thing for tentacles, she'd rather they not be her own and would very much like a cure for "this whole Mind Flayer situation", as immediately as possible.

Elerina is a young Tiefling druid from the Circle of Stars. With a name that means "Crowned by Stars", she is constantly aware that greatness has been expected of her from birth. Born of a Star Circle Druid and a Waterdeep sorcerer, Elerina's existence as an Asmodeus-line Tiefling has added considerable magical potential far beyond that possessed by either of her parents. It's entirely possible that this was the point of her birth to begin with, for although she cannot remember the incident, her sorcerous Father immediately tried to use his newborn daughter as an offering to Asmodeus. The Archdevil's magical presence twisted the infant's flesh and bone into the cruel image of a Tiefling, and may have done worse had the ceremony not been interrupted by Elerina's mother. The recovering Druid had struggled from her recovery bed and taken the shape of a Saber-Toothed Tiger, leaving Elerina's father with grievous wounds, and also swearing revenge.

Elerina was then taken and raised by her mother and the druids of the Circle of Stars. She learned to listen to the subtle voices of the Moon and night sky, the spirits in the wind, and the harmonies of nature all around her, and has proved quite a prodigy, especially with Animal Shapes. Able to transform into at least a dozen shapes, from familiar cats and ravens, all the way to Owlbears, a fearsome acid-spitting Dilophosaurus, and even Elemental Archons, Elerina still has a fondness for the shape of the Saber-Toothed Tiger. Something about that particular shape stirs feelings of safety in her, for reasons she cannot put her finger on, and the shape has become her safe space when stressed.

Perhaps as a result of her kinship with taking the forms of animals, her more devilish Tiefling traits have been "sanded down", in her words: her horns have become antlers, and her skin has taken a more natural (though still pale and otherworldly) pallor, and her eyes have become the color of starlight.

While on a trip to Baldur's Gate to trade on behalf of the Circle with another druid, she was separated from her fellow, and subsequently attacked by a mad cultist with fearsome magic powers. Though she could not have known, this assailant was her own father, who had tracked her down with the intent of finally offering her life for his Lord, Asmodeus, and though likely far more powerful than her father, his greater experience had her on the back foot, and ultimately it was a Mind Flayer Nautiloid that proved her incredibly unorthodox salvation.

Elerina struggles to hold on to her Druidic stoicism in a world filled with fear and anger, and much of it directed at her and her fellow Tieflings for their mere outward appearance. One can always expect her to side with "her people" first and foremost on almost any issue concerning them, but a lifetime of being mistreated by those outside her circle has mostly just left her tired of suffering, not just her own, but of others as well. Quickly identifying the Cult of the Absolute as a major force in the manipulation and suffering of others, her heart has filled with anger for the victims of the cult, and the resolve to destroy it, even if it costs her life. After all, suffering is not a thing of nature, and it must be stamped out like an invasive weed.

[moreinterestingtimes]

Lycin Volk

Age: 25

Race: half high elf/bhaalspawn

Class: assassin rogue/draconic sorcerer

Gender: cis man adjacent (he/they)

Sexuality: queer

Dark Urge

Lycin is the younger of two children of a draconic bloodline sorcerer, the woman’s first son from a companion of her old adventuring days, while Lycin’s father was unknown, a ghost in the night. Still, she’d been raising one son on her own and was happy to take on another little one. Of course, while she didn’t know it, her second boy would be a bit harder, his father the god of murder, creating a terror who soon enough, even as a child, bit others to bleeding and expressed joy seeing pain. His mother wanted to believe it was just a phase, but since it only worsened as he got older, she had to weigh her options. After the death of the boy’s friend while playing hide and seek, she sent him to a monastery of Tyr to be cleansed. Soon enough, they knew the boy’s blood, and they did what they could, attempting to secure the part of him that wanted blood and keep it away. After years of “training”, Lycin lunged out at a priest in a fit of divine pain, biting into his skin and tearing into his flesh fully and ripping out his throat. Rather than trying to rehabilitate him or kill him this time, the rest of the church ran him out and swore they’d kill him if he ever came back.

The cult of Bhaal found the 16 year old covered in blood before either his mother or half-brother could. By this point, he’d found a dagger on the street and hacked his way through seven people to relieve the pain. They knew by his expression and the scent of death that he was a child of their god. While before, the cult took great interest in killing children of their god in sacrifice, there was now a powerful Bhaalspawn in their midst, one who wanted to train Lycin, not kill him. And so, he was trained by his older half-brother, spending much time with the man’s daughter/granddaughter Orin— of course Lycin knew, as Bhaal wanted him to —and he thought they were close as by the age of 20, he was now the leader of the cult after Sarevok’s stepped aside for the fresh blood (well, was convinced by knife point to do so), his dread father’s chosen. After all, Orin agreed with him that making an alliance with the chosen of the other Dead Three would be beneficial. She acted as if she supported him as he then became sexually and romantically entangled with Bane’s chosen, Enver Gortash. While they disagreed, the days of murder were delicious, and life became better with the plans centering a fake god.

But Orin betrayed him. Lycin was stabbed in the skull and forcibly given a mindflayer tadpole, at the time, seemingly dying in Gortash’s arms. The only reason Enver did not take his lover to be buried in Baldur’s Gate was because Orin claimed it to be ritualistically burned to honor him. Instead, he was thrown deep into the mindflayer colony and found by a wizard who healed him, but then tortured him. His memories faded at some point in this time, leaving him as nothing but a husk.

Lycin doesn’t know why he sees gore, why he craves it. Perhaps it is the tadpole’s fault. …yes. He will kill every mind flayer alive, and that will cure him of his amnesia and bloodlust. What a beautiful, delicious plan, to sit on a throne of mind flayer corpses.

[notthesomefather]

I also find it endlessly interesting to see how different deities respond to finality/fate in the myths.

Frigge and Odin both try so hard to prevent the inevitable (in Frigge's case, the death of her son and husband, and in Odin's case, the coming of Ragnarok).

Freyr is depicted as having more of a "come what may" mindset (as he gives up the sword that could have "won" Ragnarok in exchange for Gerd's companionship).

Other deities, like Tyr and Hlin, are put in positions where they are tasked with preventing disaster but ultimately can't (Tyr having to betray Fenrir for the postponement of Ragnarok and Hlin not being able to protect Odin and Baldr as she swore to do).

It makes me think about how I view finality/fate. It also makes me think of the Star Trek quote: "It is possible to do nothing wrong and still lose." Sometimes what will be will be, despite our best efforts. Maybe the outcome is better than what we had been aiming for, maybe not, but what matters is doing our best and meeting fate with honor.

It’s interesting to observe the role played by life and death in Óðinn’s myth. I’ve realized that though he’s often mentioned to be somewhat close to all-knowing, he’d also clearly stated to not be devoid of faults. He spends enormous amounts of effort trying to learn everything that’s possible for him to learn. And still, there are not one, but two mysteries which seem to systematically evade his understanding: the mystery of the Tree of Life, and the mystery of his own death. As a mythological figure, he reflects us humans in this manner. Both life and death are eternal mysteries.

[lacm-ac]

Tyr and Týr are in the same room and have to convince Freya that the other one is Odin and HE'S the real Týr.

Odin got got.

[infernalodie]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞 || 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐚

“'𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘓𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦“

Inspo: Giveon - All To Me

Pairing: Freya x Fem!reader

Summary: She had you all to herself...

Warnings: Just pure smut in a tree, fingering, queen kink, and use of petnames.

Words: 1845

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

You swore that each time you adventured far from home, the blistering colds would soon enough cause your limbs to freeze up and fall off. Mimir always took that moment to tease you while your father would tell you to stop your fussing and to endure it. But you never saw the reason for you, Atreus, and your father to go hunting when it wasn’t needed. Atreus was the hunter while you had preferred staying home and training. Father continued to say that although that was good, your need to learn hunting would benefit the group.

So, here you were, in the woods wandering around with your mother’s bow and your sword tight in your grasp. Alone as you were the second oldest and more trusted than Atreus ever would be. But your idea of hunting was wandering around until you found something worthy of your attention. Yet, your mind was already preoccupied with a specific woman, blurring your attention to the main task at hand.

“I don’t understand why she won’t let me see her,” you muttered to yourself, kicking a clump of snow out of your path. Since Fimbulwinter had washed over Midgard, the sight of snow had been more pleasing to your eyes. The sky was constantly grey from the clouds producing the white flecks that melted against your cheeks. And as much as you hated the massive gusts of wind, you tolerated it for the beauty that was given in return. “That bitch doesn’t even care, does she? Is all flirty with me and then suddenly doesn’t come and see me when I hunt.”

You scoffed, pulling your sword from its sheath and tossing it towards a tree. Propelling the blade towards the trunk and hopping onto it before beginning to climb the tree. The snow clingings to the branches causing a stinging sensation to bite at the tips of your fingers. Finally reaching the precipice where you kicked your feet across the thick branch and back propped up against the base. Retrieving the rope around your belt that held your 6 rabbits and meat from a wolf that you had encountered in your walk, and wrapped the rope around you and the trunk as a restriction for if you fall in your sleep.

Snuggling closer in the furs made by your father, you stared out at the frozen-over Lake of Nine. A perfect view of Tyr’s temple and all the different realm travel towers. It was a sight behold to anyone that had a sane mind in these parts. But as of late, raiders were senseless, murderous dumbasses that you had butchered for fun, and a certain Valkyrie Queen had been creating problems for your father.

Closing your eyes, to seek the moments of peace that would be needed when you get home. Likely to hear how your father would already make you feel more a disappointment than you already did. So, a nice nap up in a tree, away from danger, away from your brother and father was well-needed. Although, Mimir would be a rather nice company right about now. You were sure the man would look to take hold of the beauty of the landscape from up here-

“What are you doing up here, pup?” That soft and rather amused voice made you yelp and snap your eyes open. But when you saw the source of the voice, your face grimaced in disgust as you relaxed back into your position. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Y/n.”

“I’m going to give you whatever look I feel like, Freya,” you scoffed, closing your eyes and crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Face forming a pouty look that Freya found endearing. “You have a lot of balls showing up out here after attacking us yesterday.”

Freya rolled her eyes at the mention. “I don’t seek to hurt you or Atreus, Y/n,” she sighed. “Your father took Baldur from me. You can’t be surprised.” The mention of the once invulnerable Aesir God made the mood shift slightly.

You understood where the woman stood and why she was doing what she was doing. Just as much as she understood why you would defend your family. There were certain things you kept from your brother about your mother because you knew it was better that way. Everything you did was meaningful, as do her decisions. Hell, you hadn’t even done anything when she last held Baldur in her arms. Kratos and Atreus were the ones responsible as you stood by, silent and tense.

But now, she was angry and fueled by the simple need for revenge. Leaving her a relentless, frightening, and rather hot “enemy” that came to visit you occasionally. In secret, of course.

Noticing the shift, Freya smiled and leaned toward you with a mischievous grin. “Don’t tell me you don’t like the thrill-” She inhaled sharply with her lips an inch away from yours. Problem was, your quick reflexes of your knife pressing to the belly of her jaw. Eyes now open and lips parted, teeth baring in a grin. Moving and pressing the knife further into her flesh, forcing her to turn her face for you to examine,

Under her eyes, there were streams of eyeliner that hadn’t been smudged the day Baldur was killed. The constant reminder of your father’s decision was on her face in the shape of tears. Her eyes were now smeared in a thick black eyeliner with hair was slightly frizzed from the cold weather over the past three years. Yet, somehow, she was a sight to behold.

“I like when a person keeps their word, Freya,” you said, forcing her chin up further. A wicked grin formed on your lips when the woman held her breath, eyes fluttering shut. “And I hate to be kept waiting, and cold.”

Freya felt all restraint be ripped from her body as she jolted forward and crashed lips upon yours. A sigh fell from the older woman’s lips as her tattooed fingertips softly brushed a few strands of your hair out of your face before she cupped your cheek, pulling you incredibly closer. You smiled, taking your dagger and stabbing it into the tree before wrapping your arms around her neck.

In what had occurred years ago, the death of Baldur had only brought you and Freya closer. It was sick and twisted, the Valkyrie knew this, but even before Baldur’s death, the two of you flirted and made feelings apparent for one another. Kratos hadn’t wanted you two to see one another after Freya swore vengeance, but you nor Freya cared. Because in this eternal winter, the both of you sought the warmth of one another’s bodies. That’s because you brought the best out of Freya and she’d needed a sense of rejuvenation, and you were that source.

“I missed you,” Freya breathed, lips barely parting as her hands moved feverishly against your clothes. You broke apart, panting, lips bruised, and heart hammering against your chest as you help shimmy your pants down just enough to give the Queen access to your soaking core. Although snow nipped at your lower back, the feeling of her warm fingers flicking across your drenched heat made it all the more worth it. The contrast was better than anything you’d ever felt or seen. “And I see someone has missed me as well.”

“Shut it.” Your hand wrapped around her throat, tugging her towards you to where your lips met once more. Teeth classing and tongue fighting for dominance over the other. Freya pressed the pads of her fingers to your clit, rubbing fast shapes in the sensitive bud. A gasp erupted in the back of your throat, your head was thrown back with Freya sliding her attention to the edge of your jaw. Kissing and sucking as you trembled underneath her.

Although you were the daughter of the Greek God of War, you were far more submissive than Freya took you for when she met you. Of course, on the battlefield, you showed your capabilities. But every now and then, with only Freya around, you showed yourself more perspective to her touch or words. Practically mewling at the faintest of holds she would have on your hand or your waist. And slowly, she broke away the shyness you held and now left you a far more dominant girl than when she found you.

Finally, Freya pushed her fingers past your clenching pussy, grinning when you moaned loudly, unapologetic as to who could possibly hear or see. Your walls quivered around her finger as she thrust into you with urgency. Either for you to reciprocate the relief you were feeling or to pay back for her mishap. Because even if she didn’t say it aloud, she hated that she left you waiting.

“You’re a gift from the gods, Y/n,” Freya whispered, breath hot against your neck as she nibbled at your pulse point. Feeling you twitch and let out shaky choked moans into her ear. Hands holding her tattered garments as she smiled softly against your cheek. “You are never leaving my side, pup.”

Her possessive words made you bristle with warmth as that knot in your stomach grew tenser. A groan falls from your lips. You tried to focus on her kisses, wanting nothing more than to reciprocate them. But the more her fingers gently nudged the sweet spot in you, you grew focused on that sensation. Melting more and more with each thrust of her fingers that weren’t afraid to scissor inside you, sweetening the bliss that flowed through your body.

“My Queen, I-” You shivered with a moan as your hold on her clothes grew tighter. Neck straining as your head rolled back. Freya took in the sight with admiring eyes, smiling widely, especially with the familiar title you had given her. Sending a wave of adrenaline through her system as her fingers sped up. “My Queen, I’m going to cum!” You whined, pulling her closer in case she even thought about pulling away.

But she would never do such a thing. Especially to her pup.

Her fingers curled and curled until they finally pushed you over the edge. Leaving you gasping and letting out a cry with your back arching. Toes curling in your boots as your legs curled and straightened with the explosive orgasm. Freya followed your pulse point with her lips, knowing just how much the feeling drew you feral. And her fingers slowly worked you down when your body twitched from the aftershocks.

Soon panting and slowly regain your bearings with a wave of exhaustion written on your face. But when your gaze met Freya’s, your lips curled into a cheeky smile. “I never thought I would fuck in a tree, but I guess we can cross that off our list.” Freya couldn’t contain the laugh that fell from her lips as you smiled cheerfully. She rested her forehead against yours, shaking her head slightly as she stared up at you adoringly.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

[apxstle]

Tyr chuckled, resting his forehead against his wife's. His breaths rumbled in his throat. Midas would be taken care of, should he be gone. Yet, as much as he wanted to accept that he was to die in this war...Calliope brought out the fighter in him. He was going to fight to live, come what may. "Then we both make a promise to one another today, wife." He said. "Under the eyes of our gods...I swear to return to you, should you do the same for me." Tyr swore.

The sounds outside were of metal clanking against itself. War drums were heard in the distance, a call to one's own death. It was the first time, in all his years of warfare, that Tyr felt afraid. When Astrid was live, he had a purpose that allowed him to forget himself. He was a body, nothing more. Now...under the weak sunlight, he had something to fight for...Tyr had someone who would cry should he die. And that scared Tyr. With a gentle kiss to the forehead, Tyr distanced himself from his wife.

"I can trust you to have Ravarr saddled and ready to at dusk?"

it ought to have eased the coil of dread that had settled in her heart, yet calliope finds no relief in his reassurance that she might join him in the fight to come. "you speak as if the gods have already made their choice, that your fate has been set and you will not be returning alongside me." it might be an outcome they might have to face ⸺ but it was one she would fight tooth and nail to avoid. the fact he seemed to resigned frightened her.

brow furrowing as her husband stepped away, midas' roar was answered by ravar ⸺ as if the great beasts were expressing the discontent and turmoil reflected by their riders. "i will swear to fulfil your request, so long as you so swear to do your best to avoid such a thing becoming true. if you do not, i will go against the gods to ensure you remain at my side."

[heliads]

Hiii! I love love loveee your "the Sea Calls" series, and I was just wondering if you could do Hiccup x fem reader where the reader is like Maleficent? Like, Angelina Jolie Maleficent? She's got the same personality as Maleficent, except like, in the MCU you have Hela, right? Like, instead of Hela, it's Mal-reader, but she's not power hungry, so she isn't banished, and is the heir to Asgard and Goddess of Magic? And like, she has her wings, and, while she loves Asgard dearly, she loves flying above Earth (the Moor specifically, where she stays in as much as Asgard) and the fairies tell her about Hiccup, and a couple of weeks later, just as she's about to visit him because of her curiosity, but Hiccup gets to the Moore while trying to discover more dragons (pre-HTTYD 2), and he's awed by the place, and even more awed by her? and Toothless bounds over to her because she has *wings* and *magic*

the sea calls reference <33

masterlist

You manage to last about a week at Asgard before you know that you have to leave.

It’s not that you mind the golden palaces, nor the many gods that fill its halls. Far from it, actually- the Asgardians are the last line of people who actually understand you, who are cut from the very same unnatural cloth as you. They are the only people who could possibly understand half the things going through your head.

They are also, admittedly, rather terrible company. The gods have had centuries to partake in small, petty arguments with everyone here; they cut off other immortals one by one until they realize that they have no one left, and even the longest lasting peninsulas have become islands. They make up with everyone, and millennia later, they’ll do it all over again, rejoining old alliances just to break them over petty squabbles.

Right now, you’re briskly departing one of many in a long line of festivals, all put on to celebrate one of Thor’s latest achievements in ridding the worlds of another ungodly beast, or perhaps just engaging in enough bloodlust to target the envy of any other Asgardian. Celebrations like these can last for months, but you don’t know that you can stand the posturing and posing long enough to survive the entirety of it.

From your vantage point, slipping down amongst the stands of trees, you can just make out the forms of Odin’s sons, engaged in various methods of conversation. Thor is boasting loudly to any who will listen about how close he came to risking his neck, how tough the fight became, how deeply the blood of his foes watered the soil.

Loki, on the other hand, seems to be the polar opposite. He wends his way through groups of gods, casually mentioning how he swore one of Thor’s latest acquisitions actually came from Tyr, not him, or how much the golden prince’s stories have changed over the course of several evenings. You can practically imagine a forked tongue slipping out over his lips, dropping poison in the ears of those who believe him.

The palaces are beautiful, and you say a fond farewell as you flee their borders, but you cannot say that you are not grateful to go. Asgard is your rightful home, yes, but there is another place that calls your name even more. That is where you must go, now that you’ve successfully freed yourself from the bonds of polite conversation.

It takes some time to find the Moor, even as its guardian. Presently, you discover yourself on the outskirts of a wild forest, its sturdy branches weaving a net to keep out intruders. The tree limbs part when you bid them move, however, and soon enough you’re passing by the natural barricades and into the place itself.

How can one describe the Moor? You could start, perhaps, by rendering it indescribable. As the native goddess of magic, you’ve poured your finest spells into the place, making the roots firm and skies crystalline. It is a garden, a utopia, a paradise few other than you have ever claimed to see. It is home.

Soft wildflowers disappear beneath your feet, melding with the tufts of spring grass to form a pleasant carpet. A line of trees cross your path, branches so laden with fruit that they dip almost to waist height. You pluck one from a flowered bough as you go; no mortal fruit grows in this place, and the sweet tang of your chosen sustenance certainly proves that point.

A gurgling brook splashes by your ankles, the water tall enough to reach your knees, if you dared step inside. It courses through the Moor, as clear as glass, and far more pure than even the proudest church’s holy water.

You could gladly wander this place for days on end, and indeed you have many times before, but you are tired from the past week, so you look instead for a place to rest.

After a while, you find such a place. There’s a hollow on a bank of flowers, under the protective shade of an oak. The grass is warm and dry, and the wild herbs you’ve planted curl protectively towards you when you lie down. A faint breeze caresses your face, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep.

You wake well-rested and well-prepared to face the oncoming day. You take a leisurely pace around the barriers of the Moor, just checking that all seems to be in order. At last, you feel secure in your garden home, and take a seat on a grassy knell to practice a couple spells.

You’ve only been at your task for a few minutes, though, before you start to sense something. The wild rushes bend over with the weight of this whisper, the stones kick up dust from where it flies above them, the flowers bend their petal-soft heads to avoid the blow of it. Someone is coming. Someone is here.

You can hear it too, now. There’s a crunching of feet against dried grass, a murmur of hands against bark. You are no longer alone here, but you don’t know how. No one should be able to pass through the gates of your Eden without your permission, or have some way of breaking the spells. You can tell that the integrity of your protective enchantments is still intact, yet the intruder is here, and in fact, drawing closer.

Soon enough, a figure bursts into your clearing, charging towards you in a shower of tossed dandelion heads and uprooted grass stems. You startle, but remain seated when you realize that this figure is not a warrior, nor an enemy, but a dragon.

The dragon gambols towards you, sparing a few moments to appreciate a cloud of errant flower fairies who scatter at his arrival. The dragon is also followed in by a young man, one clad in dark leather armor who looks immediately chagrined at the fact that his dragon is disturbing you.

Then the young man really looks at you, realizing that something isn’t quite right. In all fairness, you do make quite the sight. You, half-draped in residual magic from your spells, one hand on his dragon’s head, alone in this garden and away from all of the mortal lands.

The young man swallows hard. “Uh, sorry about the dragon. He gets over excited sometimes.”

This last bit inflects his tone with chastisement, as if he fully expects the dragon to understand what he’s saying and respond in turn. It actually somewhat works, too, and the dragon sadly tilts his head towards the ground in remonstration.

You can’t help a grin. “It’s no problem at all. I would like to know, however, how you were able to enter the Moor. I did not let you in, yet you are here.”

The young man scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Right. I’m Hiccup, this is Toothless, and we stumbled here through a portal. We’re trying to find more dragons, you know.”

You nod solemnly. “As one does.”

Hiccup squints at you, as if he’s trying to tell whether or not you’re making fun of him. You’re fairly sure that you are, and he evidently concludes the same.

“So, do you have dragons? All I’m really seeing are dryads and the occasional water nymph.”

You gesture towards a path leading away deeper into the forest. You happen to know that it will cross rocky glens and empty hollows until culminating in a dark chain of caves. The caverns house crystals and gems so fantastic that a single one could purchase an entire kingdom. In addition, they also are home to scores of dragons, many of them older than the earth itself.

Any mortal should be called to follow the path, either for personal gain or glory. Hiccup’s head turns towards its mouth, and he considers it, but he glances back at you just as quickly.

“Actually, I think I’ll wait on that.”

You look at him curiously. “Don’t you want to get your dragons? I’ve never met a mortal who’d wait on achieving his grand dreams of glory.”

Hiccup grins. “Well, you’ve met one now. I happen to like talking to people, and my grand dreams of glory aren’t all that important. I doubt all the dragons are going to get up and fly away in the ten minutes I spend getting to know you.”

You decide that you like this boy, with his genuine eagerness. He outpaces the other Asgardians with ease.

“Well then, Hiccup, what do you want to talk about? Secrets of the universe? Impossibilities that have yet to be discovered?”

Hiccup takes a seat on a low, flat rock a few paces away from you. “I’m going to start with your name. I’d like to know that.”

“Y/N,” you offer, “Y/N L/N. Will that be all?”

Hiccup pretends to think this through. “Not in the slightest. Why is it that Y/N L/N and Y/N L/N alone would be in a place such as this? Surely more people would have found it by now.”

You shrug. “The Moor is difficult to find without purpose. You cannot make your way inside unless you have permission, or you cheat by following a portal.”

Hiccup laughs shamelessly. “I’m beginning to think that you might not approve of my being here.”

You feel a sudden rush to correct his opinion of you, and although you’re not sure why, it seems as important as any Asgardian business.

“I do approve of you being here, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I’m not usually in the habit of speaking to strangers.”

Hiccup leans forward, a knowing gleam in his eye. “I’m glad that I’m the exception.”

You nod. “As am I.”

This seems to please him, as the corners of his mouth twist up in a surprised smile. “I didn’t know goddesses complimented humans. I thought most of them just ignored us.”

You lift a shoulder. “I suppose that makes me an exception as well.”

Hiccup considers this, then stands and extends a hand to you. “I don’t know my way around this place as well as you do. Would you be available to help me find my way?”

You stare at him a moment, then smile and take his hand, rising to your feet. “I’d like nothing more.”

Hiccup allows himself to hesitate here for a moment, his hand wrapped around yours and your bodies just a hair closer than most would deem proper, then releases you. You miss his touch the second it is gone, but you don’t have time to contemplate what this all means, because he’s already striding away from you and into the undergrowth.

Hiccup turns back briefly, as if he can sense that you are still frozen in place.

“Well?” He asks. “Are we to go or not?”

At last, you allow yourself to smile and begin your own journey. “I think we will. Let’s go find some dragons.”

The sun is shining blithely on the two of you, the path to certain adventure lies ahead, and you have a charming boy at your side. Life has never seemed so sweet.

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @avadakadabra93

[vikingnerd793]

Do we still need spoiler tags because if so, spoiler.

Everyone keeps talking about how the last chapter retconned Eivor’s entire base game arc, which is entirely true. She was so OOC it was insane. But as someone who played every single DLC and defended the DLCs of year 2 as building up to something, I am also really upset.

Let’s start with Dawn of Ragnarok. The entire lesson she learned from that 40 dollar premium DLC we had to pay for was that Odin was apathetic and selfish (literally was the caution of Valka that Eivor said she understood and SHE is the one who said she felt emotionless as she did so many bad things, this was actually her lesson in Asgard when she let Tyr lose his arm in base game!!). She saw how Odin caused Ragnarok and she saw the light she brought down that started the end of the world. Her behavior in The Last Chapter not only was like she never learned her lesson about how Odin’s legacy was actually really poor, she acted in the EXACT WAY she felt so alarmed by in base game’s Asgard arc and in DOR because it was so foreign to her!!!!And Valka acted like she never warned her and also like she didn’t work with her to actually understand her memories already. Did she fully understand? No. But she took lessons from her memories. She already learned. It’s like I never even played Dawn of Ragnarok because it didn’t matter. And like I never played the other arcs in base game that set up DOR. Oh, and it’s like the fireside stories never happened, as she took zero lessons from those, and the monologue at the end where she swore to give her life to protecting her people from the wolves coming for them never happened. It’s legit like the DLC didn’t even exist.

And Forgotten Saga was an even more obvious cautionary tale. Odin was seen as darkness. Verbatim. Something to be left behind to make way for light. Baldur’s own words. So you’re telling me she sought out darkness….?! To learn from DARKNESS?!

The most egregious thing they left out of the two DLCs is she learned she had a son and she didn’t even mention him at all. She was so upset by her son’s death in her past life she said “my son” and she just acted like he didn’t exist in this last chapter. What was the point of introducing him and then he doesn’t even exist as a character in this? Not even a mention?

It’s not just the retcon of it all, it’s the feeling like so much she learned meant absolutely nothing over the last two years of content. Nothing feels as connected anymore as it did prior to the last chapter existing. How could someone have done this. How did someone write this. I am convinced no one cared about her story at all in the end and the story had to be about her and Odin and Basim to set up the next game. I’m just horrified by the feeling that my time was genuinely wasted by Year 2. They should have stopped at year 1 if none of year 2 even mattered.

EDIT: confirmed they excluded this entirely from consideration for the last chapter to not alienate people who didn’t own the content. So unfortunately, yes, everything above was meaningless for me to play.