#tyr brief

[kendrew600]

[khywren]

「 Oathbreaker 」

summary: Her brazen defiance of his allegations and her insistence on proving her piety has angered Astarion in a way he can't quite put into words, but he knows that the way she rejects what he knows so intimately to be true in service of her own self-preservation is maddening and incompatible with reality.

“You vex me.”

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Or, Paladin Tav's insistence on helping everyone the party comes across irritates Astarion to no end. He decides to test the limits of her virtue.

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader rating: 18+ MDNI status: complete tags/warnings: oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, blood drinking, shameless smut, hate sex/angry sex, rough sex, dirty talk, biting, brief mentions of past trauma/abuse, reader insert word count: 4.7k spoiler warning: minor spoilers for astarion's past through act 1.

a/n: cross-posted as always from AO3.

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It’s nearing dusk when the party decides to stop and make camp for the evening on the edge of the forest that they’ve just spent the last several days trudging through tirelessly. As they emerge wearily from the trees, Tav is the first to spot the small stone building at the crest of a small hill and can barely contain her excitement as she recognizes the colors adorning its walls.

“I can’t believe there’s a temple of Tyr all the way out here,” she says, finding a sudden surge of newfound strength as she bounds towards the foot of the hill. Her exhausted party follows after an exchange of disgruntled looks, lest there be some sort of ambush waiting for them inside.

As endearing as she often is, Tav is nothing if not recklessly optimistic.

The temple is thankfully deserted, and they all take a quick look inside before most of them excuse themselves to make camp. Tav, however, lingers after the others have left. As a paladin who has dedicated herself to Tyr, she is thankful to have found a place to stop and offer her prayers – and hopefully receive some blessings for the long journey ahead of them.

As the heavy oak doors swing shut, Tav suspects that she is alone, but a small noise alerts her and she turns to see Astarion not too far away, watching her carefully.

She’s surprised he’s still here.

“I didn't take you for a religious man, Astarion,” Tav says. She approaches the altar in the center of the temple, draped with the familiar blue and gold colors that represent Tyr and his followers. Overhead, twin banners frame a marble statue of Tyr himself, the fabric emblazoned with the golden hammer and scales that signify his creed of law and justice.

She bows her head in reverence, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“I'm not,” Astarion says blandly, making his way lazily throughout the open hall. “Call it mere... curiosity. But go on, don't let me distract you.”

He waves his hand dismissively, but Tav pauses what she's doing anyway and beckons him towards her.

“Would you... like me to show you how to pray?” she asks him. “You could do with a little positive influence.” The smile she offers him is kind.

“Tempting,” Astarion says, placing his index finger on his chin and pretending to consider the offer. “But I'll pass. You've already got the market cornered, I'm afraid.”

It's clear he has no intentions pf humoring her, and she heaves a heavy sigh.

“It wouldn't hurt you, you know - to be a little kinder,” she admonishes. “You can't solve all your problems with a dagger.”

His eyes gleam playfully as a graceful smirk slides effortlessly across his face. “That's what the short bow is for, darling.”

It's all Tav can do not to glare at him. She settles instead for a less enthusiastic scowl, her face full of disappointment.

“Must you always be so frustrating?”

“I prefer the term ‘pragmatic,’” Astarion quips back, not missing a beat. “It's all part of my charm.”

“Look,” Tav says evenly, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “All I'm saying is that maybe if you acted a little more heroic every once in a while, you'd realize that people are far more receptive to kindness than violence.”

Astarion huffs and rolls his eyes. “Those who claim to be heroes are either fools or martyrs,” he says simply. There is no inclination that he's being insincere with his words.

“This world is full of nothing but cruelty, and those who take advantage of that fact will always use that power to bring the weak to heel.”

It's a simple fact of life that has been ingrained into Astarion in the most painful way for the last two hundred years of his life. It is, perhaps, the greatest truth that he knows.

Tav's naive valor has always been one of her most exhausting traits, Astarion thinks grimly.

Tav, meanwhile, expresses her indignation as she turns sharply on her heel to face him, brows knit and her lips drawn tight.

“You're wrong, Astarion,” she says sternly. “There are plenty of good people out there, people like me, who –”

Astarion interrupts her retort with a mocking scoff and stalks closer to her, the soft sound of his boots across the stonework the only sound he makes. He levels a glance at her, and when she meets his eyes she find them full of menace.

“People like you?” he parrots back. “You don't seriously expect me to believe that you risk your life for every wretched soul who stumbles across your path purely out of the goodness of your heart.”

Tav has never seen him this upset before. She can practically feel the anger radiating off of him now, his whole body tense, his hands balled into fists at his sides. 

She isn't sure what to make of it and doesn't have the time to consider why this, of all things, seems so personal to him before Astarion suddenly relaxes his posture, as if he's trying to regain his composure.

Astarion narrows his eyes and regards her silently, and she feels as though he's staring right through her. The tadpole in her head squirms suddenly, and she has the inkling that he's considering trying to pry his way into her innermost thoughts to drag the truth from her if she will not freely give it to him.

Then as quickly as it came, the sensation fades, and Tav's mind steadies, though the exchange has set her on edge.

“You have something to gain, just like everyone else,” Astarion concludes. “The only difference,” he says with a wry smile, “is that you're hiding behind righteous selflessness. I, on the other hand, have no such compunction.”

Tav considers his words carefully, the accusation that she is only helping other people because it somehow benefits her own sense of self-worth cutting her to the bone.

She's angry because she knows there is some truth to what he's saying, but she won't give him the satisfaction.

“No,” she bites out, “I help people because it's the right thing to do. I swore an oath to defend those who can't defend themselves. That alone is reward enough.”

Astarion seems to sense her deception and seizes on it. The smirk on his face is nothing if not wicked as he leans in close, his brows arched.

“Really?” he says. “Then I have to wonder, how long did it take for you to become so blindly obedient that you no longer allow yourself to act on your own self interests?”

His voice lowers an octave, and when he speaks again it sends a cold shiver down her spine.

“No matter how much you'd like to do otherwise?”

He could almost laugh at the irony of his words if the reality wasn’t so tragic. The obedience he sees in her, a sick, twisted reflection of his relationship with Cazador, is enough to make him seethe with rage. The only difference is that Tav had a choice - she chose to surrender her autonomy when he never had that luxury.

Tav rounds on him now, her face hot with anger.

“That's not true! Just because I choose to follow Tyr's teachings doesn't mean that I don't have free will. I'm not a slave.”

Astarion bristles as the word leaves her mouth.

She doesn't know, she couldn't know, but it doesn't make her words any less destructive.

He's towing over her now, his expression dark. When she tips her chin up to look at him, Tav flinches at the scorned look on his face. In the back of her mind, a voice tells her to run, but she reasons with herself that Astarion, as prickly as he can be, would never hurt her.

Instead, she steels herself and gathers the courage to stare him down.

“You're wrong,” she repeats again.

“Then prove me wrong,” he snarls. “Do one thing, just one, that you want to do just for the sake of doing it. Not because you think it will win the favor of some pathetic god who probably doesn't even care that you exist.”

Tav ignores the casual dismissal of her beliefs and does something that surprises even Astarion. Fisting her hand in his doublet, she grabs Astarion firmly and tugs him forward, crashing their lips together in an awkward, clumsy kiss.

His lips are cold to the touch, a detail that she had not anticipated, and she considers pulling away. After all, her point has been made, has it not?

The kiss feels liberating, in a way. Astarion had been shamelessly flirting with her since the first night they made camp, and despite her repeatedly rebuffing his advances, it was never because she hadn't found him suitable to her tastes.

But Astarion's hand is immediately behind her back, holding her firmly against him and preventing her from escaping. He presses his mouth against her as tongue glides across her lower lip, a growl rumbling low in his throat.

When Tav parts her lips to suck in a breath, Astarion plunges his tongue into her mouth, tasting her with a hungry fervor. The hand on her back crushes her against his body, and she kisses him back, gasping breathlessly as she feels the sudden prick of his fangs.

Astarion's grip on Tav's thighs is possessive as he hoists her up onto the altar, scattering the unlit candles and other trinkets in his way. The sharp edge of the stone bites into her skin, granting her a moment of clarity. She realizes his intentions as Astarion fumbles impatiently with the leather straps of her armor, tugging at the buckles on her waist.

“Astarion,” she says, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, “we shouldn't – it's not proper – not here.” She casts her eyes up to the statue of Tyr that looms over them, its cold marble eyes watching them in silent judgement.

“And why not, love?” Astarion says smoothly, freeing the last buckles of Tav's cuirass and casting it hastily aside. It hits the floor with a muffled thud, and his fingers quickly turn to the buttons of her undershirt.

“I can think of no better place for you to give yourself up as an offering.” 

When Astarion cranes his neck to look at Tav through half-lidded eyes, he flashes her a sly smile, his fangs bared.

“I will enjoy corrupting you,” he croons softly. “I do so hope Tyr will be watching as you come apart for me.”

The way he says it sends a tendril of searing heat directly to her core, and she feels herself growing desperate and needy. The slick arousal between her legs betrays any remaining reluctance she had left, and she gives up trying to talk him out of taking her in such a sacred place.

Astarion tugs fervently at the buttons on Tav's shirt, but he's not making progress fast enough. In a bout of frustration, he balls his fists up in the fabric and callously wrenches it open, scattering the remaining buttons as the shirt tears beneath his hands.

Tav makes a short noise of protest for her ruined shirt, but Astarion silences her with another punishing kiss and pushes himself between her open thighs.

After shrugging out of his doublet, Astarion makes quick work of Tav's shirt and her underclothes, which swiftly join the unceremonious pile with Tav's discarded leathers.

Her brazen defiance of his allegations and her insistence on proving her piety has angered Astarion in a way he can't quite put into words, but he knows that the way she rejects what he knows so intimately to be true in service of her own self-preservation is maddening and incompatible with reality.

Too many times Cazador had taken advantage of Astarion. Too many times he had tortured and used him for his own personal gain, and not once did anyone reach out to intervene. 

Not once did anyone save him from his suffering. Not until the mind flayers snatched him right out from under Cazador's clutches and implanted the godsdamned parasite in his brain.

“You vex me,” mutters bitterly, brows furrowed.

Tav regards him curiously, her expression questioning, but she says nothing.

When Astarion presses his face into the crook of her neck and his lips find her pulse point, Tav hitches a breath and her body moves of its own accord, her back arching into him as though it craves the contact. The cold from his pallid skin seeps into her body, and when his hand trails up her torso before finally cupping her bare breast, she lets out the moan she's been holding back since he first returned her kiss.

Astarion grins triumphantly against Tav's neck and presses his fangs into the soft, smooth skin above her carotid artery. 

She's no better than the rest of them. Defiant as she is, she's succumbed to him like so many others before her.

There is no true good in this world, he reminds himself. Only those who take advantage and those who allow themselves to become their prey.

The hand on Tav's breast squeezes roughly as his fingers find her nipple; when he pinches the tender bud, Tav cries out beneath him, writhing in pleasure. She grasps at him feebly, one hand tangling in his hair as the other finds purchase in his tunic.

“Tell me,” he muses, “why did you let me have your blood that night?”

“I - what?”

Tav wills herself to focus on his question, eventually realizing that he's talking about the night he had tried to bite her when everyone else was sleeping. He had asked so sweetly to let him drink her blood, she remembers. Of course, she hadn't been able to say no to him.

“Was it pity?” Astarion sneers. “Did you see me as yet another one of your little charity cases?” His tone is scathing and dripping with venom. 

Tav sees no point in lying to him any longer, not when he already knows the truth. 

“You said you needed it,” she responds flatly. “I was only trying to help.”

“How predictable,” he scoffs. “I don't need your pity.”

With his free hand, Astarion grips Tav firmly by the chin and forces her head to the side, baring the full column of her throat to him. She anticipates his bite before it happens, and when his teeth sink into her neck it feels like ice being injected into her veins.

Tav moans pitifully as Astarion's tongue laps over her skin to encourage the flow of her blood, and she can hear him swallow greedily as it surges into his mouth.

A thin rivulet of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth and Tav feels a few crimson droplets pepper her chest, causing her to shudder as they grow cold on her skin.

Desperate for something more substantial to cling to, Tav throws her arms around Astarion's body, digging her nails into his back and dragging them across his shirt, hard enough to leave marks even through his tunic. 

Astarion groans at the sensation but does not stop her.

He drinks greedily from her veins, gorging himself on her blood, feeling the warmth flooding through his body. The taste is just as he remembered, so sweet and agonizingly addictive.

It requires a great effort for Astarion to pry his mouth away from Tav’s neck. When he finally wills himself to pull back, she looks up at him through dark, unsteady eyes, her lips parted to allow her shallow, panting breaths.

He draws his thumb over his mouth and gathers any remaining traces of blood before running his tongue across it, savoring every last drop.

“Exquisite,” he breathes. “But now… I have to wonder if the rest of your sinful little body is as delectable as your blood.”

Tav moves without hesitation, unlacing her boots and kicking them off. Astarion’s hands are already at her waist, tugging at her pants and underwear. She lifts her hips just enough for him to yank them down around her ankles, where they fall forgotten to the floor.

When Astarion kneels before the altar, she lets him spread her legs even farther apart, wide enough to bare her body to him. She’s already trembling with anticipation, and she can tell by the pleased noise he makes that he’s noticed how wet she is before he’s even touched her.

“Look at you, sweet thing,” Astarion purrs. “Look how eager you are to have me. You want it, don't you? My mouth on you, tasting you, savoring every last bit of your needy little cunt?”

He drawls out the last few words in a low, possessive tone, and Tav struggles not to whimper.

“Oh gods...” she croaks. “Yes, Astarion. Yes.”

When Tav feels his mouth on the inside of her thigh, she bucks her hips, frustrated by the way he’s purposefully stalling before giving her what she wants.

“Please,” she whines, reaching to grab his hair and push him where she needs him most. Astarion avoids her grasping hands and snatches her wrists in his hand, holding her firmly.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts. “Patience.”

Astarion slowly drags his lips across her thigh as he continues to tease her, occasionally nipping her sensitive skin as he continues his torturous path. When she’s all but certain she’s going to explode, he finally gives in, releasing her wrists as his tongue slides through her slick folds and flicks against her aching clit.

“Fuck, Astarion –!”

Tav keens against him as her body ignites under his mouth, her nerves alight with arousal as he sets to work at pleasuring her, his lips and his tongue bringing her almost immediately to the edge of orgasm. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and she whimpers incoherently, gathering her hands in the blue and gold drapery still strewn across the altar.

Astarion slowly drags his tongue across the slick heat of her core, grazing her entrance. When she feels his tongue probe inside of her, her back arches sharply, and he splays his hands across her waist to keep her from moving.

“Stay still,” he hisses, digging his fingers into her hips.

When Tav appears to comply with his demands, Astarion returns his attention to her clit, using the flat of his tongue to press into her and swirls the tip in practiced, lazy circles. Before long, he presses two fingers inside of her, stretching her open with slow, languid thrusts.

Damn him for being so good at this, Tav thinks sourly, tipping her head back and indulging in the feel of him against and inside her. She knows she’s already lost whatever moral advantage she had over him, and she realizes with only a little shame that she can’t even be bothered to care anymore.

Maybe he was right. Maybe restricting herself this entire time had been nothing but folly. She doesn’t want to interrogate what that means for… well, everything moving forward.

So instead, she focuses on Astarion as he sends wave after wave of pleasure cresting over her, pulling her closer and closer to the edge. She can feel her orgasm building, and as he curls his fingers inside of her, Tav feels her legs begin to shake and prepares herself to give into him completely and let herself go.

The whimper she makes when he suddenly pulls away from her and leaves her gasping and desperate is nothing short of obscene. Astarion rises to his feet, and she searches his face for an explanation, her pupils blown wide as she tries to focus on his face.

“Why –?”

“Not yet,” Astarion answers her bluntly. “I'm not yet through with you.”

He flips Tav unceremoniously onto her stomach and grabs her around the waist, yanking her back so that her legs hang over the side of the altar far enough for her feet to find purchase on the floor. She can hear him behind her as he slips his tunic over his head and unlaces his trousers, the soft leather gliding quietly over his body as he sheds the last of his clothes.

His cock springs free and Tav feels its heavy weight against the swell of her ass as he slides behind her, trailing a single icy finger down the curve of her spine.

“Fuck you,” she grits out through clenched teeth, shifting to make herself more comfortable.

“Ahh,” Astarion says, an amused lilt to his voice as he laughs quietly. “So the little pup has a bite after all. That's good.”

He lifts one of her legs onto the altar to give him better access to her body and spreads her slick folds apart with his fingertips. Tav feels him guide the blunt head of his cock to her entrance, and she groans in frustration, pushing her hips back into him impatiently.

“Astarion... gods, just fuck me already.”

“So impatient,” he scolds her, his fingers digging into her thigh. “But very well. As you wish.”

He slams into her in a single thrust, and Tav moans loudly at the sudden intrusion, his cock stretching her wide as what was initially a sharp pain melts away into pure pleasure. He’s already so deep inside her, and she can feel his cock twitch as he adjusts to her tight, wet heat.

Astarion wastes no time setting a punishing pace, fucking into her hard and fast, coaxing a string of filthy noises from her with every thrust of his hips.

He pins her effortlessly to the altar, one hand secured around her waist and the other pressed between her shoulder blades. The obscene, wet slap of their bodies coming together echoes loudly in Tav’s ears, and she buries her face into the altar in a vain attempt to muffle her cries.

“You're taking my cock so well, pet,” Astarion groans. “What must Tyr think of you now, laid out as you are and moaning like a common whore?”

 Tav shoots a scathing glance at him over her shoulder, her teeth bared in a snarl.

“Gods, do you ever stop talking?” she mutters. “You're the last person who should be lecturing me about morality.”

“Hmm, have I struck a nerve?” Astarion asks. “My sincerest apologies.”

His tone is nothing but derisive, and Tav feels her anger rising yet again.

“Asshole.”

Astarion responds by smacking her ass roughly with the flat of his palm, leaving a bright red mark on her skin. The sting and the heat that accompanies it makes her bite her lip, even as she yelps in pain. But she holds her tongue, nevertheless, lest he repeat the punishment.

“And such a mouthy little thing you are. If I had known how feisty you were,” Astarion says, “I would have done this so much sooner.”

His hips continue their relentless pace, snapping into her with enough force to push her across the altar, and several times Astarion grabs her by the hips and pull her back again so that he has enough leverage to fuck her as deeply as he wants to.

Her body feels so incomprehensibly good, and as Astarion continues to pound into her, he feels the tension in his body start to dissipate. If only Tav could see the state she’s in now, so thoroughly disheveled and at his mercy. It gives him endless satisfaction to know that even she can be ruined in such a manner despite all her noble claims of virtue.

Presently Astarion tangles his fingers in Tav’s hair and tugs her body upright, so her back is flush against his chest. She braces herself against the altar with splayed palms, struggling to hold herself up as her aching limbs threaten to give out beneath her.

Astarion can sense her failing strength and wraps an arm around her body as he adjusts himself inside of her, thrusting up into her as he holds her firmly, his hand pressed against the base of her throat. With his spare hand, he brushes the hair away from her shoulder and slots his mouth over her skin once more, sinking his teeth into her tender skin.

Tav cries out weakly as Astarion finds himself indulging in her blood for the second time that evening, pacing himself so that he doesn’t take too much from her. He’s already had more than his fill, and yet he still wants more – he needs more. The sweat on her skin mingles with the heady taste of her blood, and he feels positively intoxicated on her, unable to deny himself the pleasures of her body.

Despite her outbursts, Astarion feels that he should reward her for being so good for him, and he slowly slides his free hand down the length of her stomach, his fingers finding her clit as he teases her back towards sweet, blissful oblivion.

“Fuck, you look so good beneath me,” he groans. “As righteous as you claim to be, darling, you will come on my cock all the same.”

“A-Astarion...” Tav moans, each syllable of his name punctuated by the thrusts of his cock inside her.

“Louder,” he commands, his fingers busy with pleasuring her as he places deceptively affectionate kisses across her shoulder blades, sending a jolt of indescribable pleasure directly through her.

“Let Tyr hear you. Let them all hear you.”

“Astarion...!” Tav rasps out his name, more audibly than her last attempt, her throat raw.

“Almost, love,” he croons.

His fingers swipe across her clit now in just the right way, and his cock hits her sweet spot with one particularly deep thrust inside her.

“Astarion!”

She cries his name with every ounce of energy she has left, begging him to grant her the release she needs. At last she finds it, her entire body shaking as she comes hard for him, her body clenching tightly around his cock.

Astarion keeps up his frantic pace as Tav comes undone around him, his fingers once again gripping her hips with a force that she knows will leave bruises behind. He buries his face in her neck once again, inhaling the scent of her blood as he rides out his own orgasm, his cock pulsing as he empties himself inside of her.

Tav can feel him growing soft after a few moments, and he pulls out of her, leaving her to slump to her knees against the altar, her chest heaving as she pants heavily.

Astarion gathers the drapery on the altar and uses it to clean himself off; Tav scowls indignantly at him but he ignores her, long past the point of continuing their disagreement. He dresses silently, almost too casually, as if nothing of note had just transpired between them. With one last smoothing of his clothes, he runs his hand through his hair to style his trademark curls back into place, his face a perfect mask of indifference.

“That was… rather enlightening,” Astarion says flicking Tav a teasing glance as she gathers up her clothes and begins to make herself decent. “Perhaps I’ll turn to religion after all.” “You are absolutely incorrigible,” Tav responds with a grimace.

“Undoubtedly,” Astarion smirks, “but that certainly didn’t stop you from enjoying me, did it?”

He dismisses her angry huff with a wave of his hand and turns to leave as Tav rises to her feet and begins to dress herself. Her undershirt is in tatters, but she dons it anyway, hoping her leathers will hide the evidence of her shame when she returns to camp.

She tends to the mess they’ve made of Tyr’s altar with hurried hands – the less time she has to spend here, the worse she thinks she’ll feel about the whole ordeal.

When the pair of them rejoin the rest of the party, the group is none the wiser, too caught up in setting up their own tents and getting ready for bed. She can feel Astarion’s eyes watching her from across the camp as she does the same, and her tadpole wriggles behind her eye as Astarion reaches across the psionic bond that links their minds together.

“Sleep well, darling,” his voice echoes in her mind, smug and self-satisfied. “Try not to miss me too much.”

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 3: Beach Day (R)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it give you happy thoughts.

The next afternoon, the squad gathered on the beach behind The Hard Deck for a team-building exercise that, unsurprisingly, turned into a wild game of dogfight football.

You had opted for a black TYR bikini with a sporty design—a supportive bra-style top paired with boy shorts—that highlighted your toned, athletic physique. Your shoulder-length hair was swept up in a ponytail, and a beach bag hung from your left shoulder. A pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses shielded your eyes from the sun as you took in the lively scene.

The game was in full swing as you strolled up to Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, who was lounging in a beach chair, observing the squad with a relaxed smile.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” you greeted, your tone polite.

Phoenix caught sight of you and waved enthusiastically. You waved back, your eyes inadvertently drifting toward Hangman.

He was clad in a pair of black board shorts and wore Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses identical to yours. His shirtless, sun-kissed chest glistened with sweat under the afternoon sun, and the sight sent a spark of excitement through you—an unfamiliar sensation you hadn’t felt in a long time.

As if sensing your gaze, he glanced briefly in your direction before calling out to his teammates, urging the game to continue.

“Doctor, Y/N. Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair next to him.

You nodded and took a seat. “Thank you, but please—Y/N is just fine. No need for formalities.”

He chuckled. “Phoenix said you’d say that. But still, you should be proud of your accomplishments.”

“Oh, I am,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s just that on vacation, I prefer to keep things low-key.”

He chuckled again. “With my position and years in the game, I’ve got nothing left to prove.”

A brief silence fell between you as you both watched the game unfold. You made an effort not to watch Hangman’s every move, but your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to him time and time again.

“He may be arrogant and cocky with one hell of an ego, but he’s got a heart,” Maverick said, his tone light but sincere.

“Sorry?” You turned to him, slightly taken aback.

“Hangman,” he clarified, nodding toward the game.

“Oh.” You shook your head dismissively. “I wouldn’t know. I really wasn’t paying attention to him,” you replied, though your voice betrayed a hint of defensiveness.

Maverick chuckled knowingly. “Well, if you didn’t notice him, he’s definitely been noticing you.” With that, he stood and stretched. “Excuse me,” he added before making his way toward The Hard Deck.

You turned your gaze back to the game, determined to focus on it. Or at least, you tried.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the beach bathed in the warm glow of a bonfire. The squad had gathered around, laughter and conversation filling the air.

Phoenix sat next to Rooster across from you, the two of them chatting animatedly about who knows what. Their easy smiles and the subtle way they leaned toward each other had you wondering about your best friend’s relationship with him.

The warm weather had turned a bit chilly, and you felt a slight shiver run through your body. You had put on a tank top earlier, but it wasn’t enough to ward off the cool evening breeze. Crossing your arms, you rubbed them to warm up.

Then, you felt something drape over your shoulders. Turning, you saw Hangman sitting to your left, a blanket now settled over you.

“Penny said you looked a bit chilled,” Hangman said, taking a sip of his beer as you wrapped the blanket around your shoulders.

“Penny, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I may or may not have noticed too.”

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice softer now, and turned your gaze back to the fire.

Jake stood there for a moment, watching you, the warmth of the fire casting shadows on his face. His grin faded slightly, replaced by a quiet curiosity as he took another sip of his beer. The air around you both seemed to settle into a comfortable silence, and for once, it felt like the chaos of the bar had faded away, leaving just the two of you by the fire.

“So,” he started, breaking the quiet, “what’s life like for someone who’s not all about fighter jets and bar games? You live in Wisconsin, but that’s a far cry from this place. What do you do when you're not taking breaks from all the noise?”

You chuckled softly, the sound of it mixing with the crackling of the fire. “I’m a biologist. I work for the Department of Natural Resources up there,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the distant horizon as if it somehow captured the essence of where you were from. “Mostly conservation stuff. Studying wildlife, managing habitats... that kind of thing.”

His eyes softened a little, his usual cocky grin replaced by genuine interest. "That sounds... peaceful," he said, leaning slightly closer. "Far different from the world I live in."

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the flames. "It is. But I love it. There’s something calming about being surrounded by nature. And it gives me a chance to... think." You glanced at him then, a slight vulnerability creeping into your voice. "Sometimes that’s the hardest part, you know? Finding time to just think."

Jake’s gaze lingered on you, his posture loosening slightly as he adjusted his stance, his beer bottle now resting loosely in his hand. He looked like he might say something, but instead, he simply nodded, as if understanding what you meant without needing to ask.

After a few beats, he finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. "I get that. Sometimes I need the quiet, too. But it’s hard to find out here. Always something happening, always someone pulling you in a hundred different directions."

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, sensing an unexpected depth beneath the confident exterior. "Seems like you could use a break too, huh?" you teased gently, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Jake’s grin returned, but this time it was softer, more genuine. "Maybe I’ll take a page from your book. Get away from the noise for a while."

There was a comfortable silence again, and for a moment, it almost felt like you weren’t two strangers who had just met under the most unlikely of circumstances. The fire crackled between you, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cool breeze in the air, and for once, you allowed yourself to just be in the moment.

"Anyway," Jake added, breaking the quiet with his familiar mischievous tone, "if you’re ever in need of a break from all that peace and quiet, you know where to find me."

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “Oh? And what would I find there?”

He shrugged casually, his grin returning with a bit more swagger. "Maybe some pool. A little banter. And definitely no shortage of fighter pilots."

You laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even yourself. "I’ll keep that in mind."

He studied you for a moment, his head cocked. “You don’t say much, do you?”

You shrugged. “There’s not much to say.”

Jake’s grin softened as he took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "Funny. I get the feeling there's more to you than just the quiet side." He leaned forward casually, his elbows resting on his thighs, the beer bottle cradled between his hands.

You met his stare, a flicker of something deeper crossing your mind. "I suppose that's true," you replied slowly, your voice quieter now. "But people like things neat. Easy to understand. And sometimes, it’s easier if I don’t explain everything."

Jake’s expression remained thoughtful, not pressing you, but clearly curious. "You don’t have to explain anything you’re not ready to," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "But don’t let the silence fool anyone. I can tell there’s more to you than just the calm exterior."

A small, rueful smile played at the corner of your lips. "Maybe. Or maybe it’s just easier not to let people in too far."

He nodded, seeming to understand without you needing to say much more. There was a quiet respect between you now, an unspoken agreement that this conversation, like the evening, could simply unfold at its own pace.

"Fair enough," he said with a shrug, his teasing grin returning. "But if you ever feel like letting someone in—" he paused, his eyes twinkling, "—you know where to find me."

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you quickly masked it with a teasing look. "You sure know how to make an offer sound dangerous."

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and easy. "I’m full of surprises," he said with a wink, before taking another sip of his beer.

You found yourself wondering if that was true—if Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was really as unpredictable as he appeared or if there was something more beneath that cocky, confident exterior. And, for the first time in a long while, you actually thought about discovering the answer.

Tags: @smoothdogsgirl @alwayshave-faith @devil-angel-winchester @khouse712 @illisea @hookslove1592 @tgmreader

[whencyclopedia]

Ragnarök

Ragnarök is the cataclysmic battle between the forces of chaos and those of order in Norse mythology, ending the world and killing most of the gods and their adversaries, leading to the birth of a new world. It has been claimed, however, that in pre-Christian Norse belief there was no rebirth after the fall of the gods.

Ragnarök ("Fate of the Gods") is also given as Ragnarokkr ("Twilight of the Gods") and is the pivotal event that ends the mythic cycle beginning with the birth of the gods of Asgard (the Aesir) and the creation of the Nine Realms of Norse cosmology. The gods established order and restrained the forces of chaos, but at Ragnarök, these forces break free, and even though the gods know they are doomed, they march to battle to save the world they have created.

The gods fail and most are killed, including Odin, Thor, Tyr, and Heimdall, but order is preserved, and a new world emerges from the destruction of the old. Traditionally, since the 13th century, Ragnarök has been understood as the end of the Nine Realms through dramatic climate changes, the breakdown of traditional values, and a final battle which destroys the present cycle of existence to birth a new one. After Ragnarök, the surviving gods return to the place where their city once stood, and the last surviving human couple repopulates the earth for a new age.

This vision of Ragnarök is almost certainly influenced by Christianity, and it is possible that an earlier understanding of the event ended with complete destruction without resurrection. This claim is challenged, however, as the Norse myths were passed down orally prior to the advent of Christianity in the region and there is no written record of how Ragnarök may have once been understood. In the present day, the event is best known through popular media including a film, video game, and a TV series all suggesting rebirth after death.

Origin & Sources

The story of Ragnarök is suggested through runestones dated to between the 10th-11th centuries – notably the Gosforth Cross in England, Thorwald’s Cross on the Isle of Man, and the Ledberg Stone in Sweden – and is only attested to in writing from the 13th century CE in the Poetic Edda and Prose Edda. The Poetic Edda is a collection of earlier Norse poems while the Prose Edda was composed by the Icelandic mythographer Snorri Sturluson (l. 1179-1241) from older sources and oral tradition.

Prior to the acceptance of Christianity in the region c. 1000, myths, legends, and histories were transmitted orally. Runes were used for memorial stones and brief messages, not for longer works, and so all extant Norse mythology was recorded through a Christian lens. Scholar John Lindow comments:

Scandinavian mythology was, with virtually no exceptions, written down by Christians…At least some of the monks were literate and they composed both Latin and Icelandic texts. Some lay persons of higher status were also apparently literate, at least in Icelandic, but all writing, whether in the international language of the church or in the vernacular, was the result of the conversion to Christianity, which brought with it the technology of manuscript writing. (10)

Even the poems from the compilation known as the Codex Regius ("King’s Book", written c. 1270), some dating to the 10th century and included in the Poetic Edda, were therefore written down either by Christians or scribes influenced by the Christian vision. Among these is the Völuspá ("The Witch’s Prophecy", c. 10th century) in which Odin summons a völva (seeress) who tells of the creation of the world, predicts Ragnarök, and describes its aftermath, including the rebirth of creation after the end of the present cycle.

Other works in the Poetic Edda, such as Baldrs Draumar ("Baldur’s Dreams"), Vafþrúðnismál ("The Lay of Valthrudnir"), and the Völuspá hin skamma ("Short Voluspa") also touch on or describe Ragnarök. These works, and others, were drawn on by Sturluson for his Prose Edda in which Ragnarök receives its fullest treatment in the section Gylfaginning, describing in detail the fall of the gods and the Nine Realms.

Continue reading...

[kendrew600]

[she-whatshername]

Tyrrish Men Headcanons you didn't ask for

Getting ready to post the first chapter of 'Drifted' this week and I've just been headcanoning (is this a word, lol) what Bodhi would be like in a relationship. Knowing he's brothers related to Xaden and a Tyr I think he'd be similar and, in some cases, worse than Xaden haha. I'm listing them out and trying not to give too much away for when I publish 'Drifted' but maybe this will entice you to read it lol

Bodhi in Relationships

Like Xaden, Would 100% have pet names for his S/O, but It would be in Tyrrsih and not the common language. I can absolutely see this man calling you ' my darling' or ' my lover'. We love a sweet with a lil possessive mix man, don't we? Even if you had a 'violence' like nickname, it would still be in Tyrrish.

This man is unbelievably patient. You would set the pace for the relationship; he would be at your sides through any trauma you may have or face. He's really observant of emotional cues and just knows the right thing to say and when. He's the Voice of Reason for the revolution and would probably be your voice of reason too. He is not the person to share reckless ideas with.

Unlike Xaden he's not secretive, but he's boundaried, which may read the same to some, I think differently. I don't see him lying or omitting stuff but would say. "I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. I know that isn't what you want to hear right now."

Would absolutely be about PDA. Unlike Xaden who's more behind closed doors in most cases, Bodhi would be public about it. Discrete, but public. Examples would be standing next to you in Battle Brief and touching shoulders, would give a gift or two in public, or put a hand on your knee if you were sitting next to eachother. I do think if he was around very close friends or people he trusted he may get a little handsy.

Which leads me to, he's an ass man. He would 100% take a pinch or a handful when walking past you but would do with such subliminalness no one would even notice he did it but you. And, because he's a fucking angel, no one would believe you.

I think there is a cultural thing that Tyrrish men are mostly tall, built, handsome and a little egotistical about it (I explore this theory HEAVILY in 'Drifted') so I think he was made aware growing up that he was handsome and is a bit of a charmer. I don't think its to a Xaden Garrick level (literally peacocks in human form), but he knows he fine and uses it to fluster you sometimes.

Also my made up cultural thing about Tyrrish folk is they go HARD for their partners. They are all in, fly or die, you jump I jump etc. Which is why I think that Bodhi's "Who hurt you" moment would be 10 times worse than Xaden. Like, if someone hurt his S/O and he found out...He would display such vengeance it would probably scare Xaden. In fact, he'd probably make sure Bodhi would be the last person to find out his S/O got hurt.

I think Bodhi has equal parts trauma as Xaden does and it comes out in his relationships. So their partner needs to prepare for that.

Just my thoughts, what do y'all think? Also, check out Drifted when its out.

[tapioca-puddingg]

Why GoWR Valhalla Is Important

Hey. It's me again. This time I'm not yelling about Kingdom Hearts or Drakengard, but I wanted to talk about God of War Ragnarök: Valhalla today and why I think it's important in trauma-centered narratives. This isn't a detailed analysis, just me spitballing.

SPOILER WARNING: There will be spoilers for God of War Ragnarök: Valhalla, so please proceed with caution!

EDITED: 2/26/24

As a brief summary, Kratos spent almost the entirety of GoW 2018 refusing to talk about his past. His guilt, shame, and trauma deeply affected his relationship with his son, to the point where he didn't want to be around Atreus bc he was terrified of being a bad influence on him. It was only when Atreus' life was in danger did it force him to finally admit just a sliver of the truth. Now I don't mean to say that Kratos revealing his godhood wasn't a big deal because it absolutely was, I'm just saying that it's just one piece of a MUCH bigger story. Anyway, he recognized his past mistakes, but the shame was too much for him to openly acknowledge it until damn near the end of the game.

Come Ragnarök, Kratos was pretty much an open book. He had grown SO much in those short years of fimbulwinter: He openly talked about his trauma to Mimir and Freya. He worked so hard to be a good father and a good support system to his friends. He went out of his way to make amends with Freya and restore their friendship. And he fought to restore peace to the Nine Realms.

But come Valhalla, Freya wants to recruit Kratos to be the new God of War of the nine realms, or at least to be a part of the new peacekeeping council that she's putting together. Kratos is extremely hesitant to take up the mantle. He doesn't feel worthy or deserving enough to hold this position given all that he's done. He and Mimir (and later on, Tyr) are constantly going back and forth about it. Both perspectives are completely valid. Valhalla is about Kratos facing his past in a more literal sense; parts of Greece have been manifested from Kratos' memories of it, so it's like he gets to be there in real time again. This is about helping him process what happened and to add some nuance to the conversation. It's like free therapy for Kratos.

It's funny too bc you have both opposing viewpoints being represented. On one hand, you have Mimir and Tyr being the supporting/validating voice, and Helios is the contrarian. Since he's a manifestation of Kratos' memories, he represents the doubts that Kratos has about himself. The harsh voice to show how hard he is on himself, and not without good reason.

The reason why I think Valhalla is so important is bc in media, survivor narratives are often linear. The character just "gets over" their trauma and then that trauma isn't addressed again. It's presented more as a hurdle than a lifelong battle. I guess this goes to show how misunderstood survivorhood is. But that isn't how healing works. We regress sometimes, and sometimes we still mull over the things that have happened to us. We might heal, but that trauma does leave emotional scars. So even after the many leaps and bounds Kratos has made, he's not "over" his past, far from it! It still haunts him every day and every night. Valhalla is Kratos still processing everything. From my own healing journey, I've learned that it takes a long, long time to fully process your trauma, if there even is a "fully", anyway. It takes a long time to learn and understand all the complexities and how it affects you in current day. And it takes even longer to process such a complicated history like Kratos'.

Generally speaking about the idea of processing trauma, I said earlier that survivorhood is extremely misunderstood by the masses. Imo, our society is very anti-victim/anti-survivor. So with that in mind, from the perspective of the audience, some might perceive the processing trauma bit as repetitive or "milking it". These are mediums of entertainment after all, so ofc I understand wanting to put out an engaging story where the audience doesn't lose interest. But screw those ppl lol. We have to understand why we do what we do if we want to do better, and it's amazing that a video game is willing to have these conversations. Being more open about all the nuances of processing trauma, grief, healing, etc will go such a long way.

Even the roguelite gameplay style perfectly reflects this theme. Processing this stuff is slow. It doesn't happen overnight. Unless you're in Valhalla, I suppose.

Okay I said this wasn't a detailed analysis but I lied. I'm a liar now

[cyanide-latte]

TWST Ficlet: Happy Birthday Kingsley!

Words: 1.4K

Warnings: none

Characters: Kingsley Tyr ( @tixdixl 's OC,) Copper Benoit and Jackie the monkey (my OCs,) Gia Yugo ( @ramshacklerumble 's OC, briefly mentioned,) and Sebek Zigvolt

There was something rather…morose about the Diasomnia dorm, Copper Benoit reflected. Dignified, but morose. He supposed the sense of that came from the green flames that burned in the sconces along the walls and the candles in the occasional chandelier. It was meant to honor the Thorn Fairy's own fire magic, he knew that, but Copper couldn't help but also think that the green flames meant something quite different in his particular circle, and therefore carried a slightly different mood for him.

A small whoop by his ear and tiny tugs at his hair broke his musing as they walked along.

"Oi, calm now, Jackie," he muttered, but the monkey shifted his weight on Copper's shoulder and stood on his little feet, leaning like he was about to climb onto the young man's head. "What's up with you—ah, Sebek!"

His fellow freshman had rounded the corner, walking stiffly upright and serious as ever, and when he saw Copper there was a brief flash of surprise across his face before he relaxed the barest fraction.

"Benoit," he said, always speaking a little louder and firmer and with more direct eye contact than was necessary, like he was overcorrecting at all times. "What brings you to Diasomnia? Normally visitors aren't allowed in without being checked at the front gate."

He said this last with a slightly testy edge, as though to remind Copper that he too, was subject to scrutiny even if they had good rapport. Copper tried not to be too surprised; Sebek took his duties as one of Malleus Draconia's bodyguards more seriously than was expected of anyone.

"Ah, no worries, the boys at the gate let me in after I answered their questions," he said, turning slightly to face Sebek and lift the package in his arms for emphasis. "I just need to drop this off with Mr. Tyr."

Sebek immediately narrowed his eyes and scowled in irritation, drawing an anxious chitter out of Jackie.

"Hmph! Tyr? I won't ask what business you have with him, but I suppose if you're looking for him, he's probably shut up in his room."

Copper nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral as much as possible. He considered both Sebek and Kingsley to be allies, possibly individuals he could potentially call his friends, but you couldn't be around either of them for more than two seconds without being aware of their mutual animosity for one another. This proved to be plenty of reason on its own to avoid saying exactly why he'd come all the way here, as he couldn't predict how Sebek might respond.

"Thanks, Sebek," he said, nodding and turning away. "Good to see you, I'll drop this off and be on my way."

He hadn't gone very far when he heard a quiet mutter that sounded like "be careful", but when he paused and looked back, Sebek crossed his arms and added in a quick, louder tone, "K- keep hold of your monkey, too!"

"Aye, don't worry, Jackie'll behave," Copper said with a shrug and a light chuckle, even as Jackie grumbled and twisted around to keep watching Sebek. He gave it a couple more strides before, just for good measure, he hissed at the monkey, "You make a liar outta me, I'll hand ya t'Vil and say 'have at' for a few hours."

Instantly Jackie became the picture of domesticated innocence and sweetness, and Copper felt satisfied that he would stay that way. At least for a couple more minutes.

They reached Kingsley's door in record time, and Copper adjusted his grip on the box so he could free up a hand to knock on the door.

"Oi, Kingsley, it's me. You in? I'm here, like I said I'd be," he called out.

There was a considering pause, and then a brief, "Enter."

Copper opened the door and stepped in, unsurprised to find Kingsley seated at a desk and turned to face him, mask still on his face. As Copper looked briefly around the room to take it in—and found he was unsurprised at how militant Kingsley's side of the room seemed to be—he smelled something unexpectedly sweet and appetizing. Apparently Jackie smelled it too, because he gave a little hop and stood upright on Copper's shoulder, letting out a warbling trill.

"Oh don't you even think about it," he warned, but Kingsley seemed to already be considering this and placed a hand over something covered in foil on the desk.

"They're from Yugo," he remarked, staring down the capuchin. "Not for Jackie."

Normally he might have gotten a hiss of thwarted displeasure, but Kingsley had already been moving as he spoke and, with the same deadly accuracy he threw his hand axes with, he pitched something at the monkey. Jackie caught it and left out another troll, hopping from Copper's shoulder to his head and dangling his new prize down in front of his master's face.

"Woe," Copper remarked as he looked at the apple before the monkey yanked it back out of sight. "He's got your number now, ya furry blackguard." In truth he felt a smidge of affection at the display and thus used it as an opening to proffer the box he held to Kingsley. "As I promised. Whether or not you're concerned with celebrating, least I can do is acknowledge the date today."

"January fourteenth," Kingsley said pointedly, but he took the box anyway. It was plain, unwrapped, but it rattled slightly and he gave Copper a sharp, questioning look.

"You remember when ya first approached me and we talked?" Copper asked, folding his arms. "What I pointed out to you?"

A flare of recognition in the Diasomnia freshman's eyes, then a nod.

"I should be careful not to tip my hand," he said, the words a little hushed.

Copper nodded, then gestured to the box. Without a word, Kingsley started to open it, methodical and precise.

"The phrase is used in card games mostly," Copper said, watching as Kingsley revealed three sizable cups carved from wood and wrapped with leather, and a large velvet pouch with its drawstrings pulled closed. "And most people turn to chess for a game of strategy. But if you're going to be running with pirates—" here Copper took a moment to smile wryly and flip his hand in a sweeping gesture to indicate himself, "—then I say ya need to learn our game. Liar's Dice."

Kingsley gently lifted the velvet bag, listening to the soft, churning rattle-clack of dice spilling over each other and clicking together. "A bluffing game," he guessed without looking up from the bag.

"And a battle of wits," Copper said. "Given the fact everyone downstairs seems to be settin' up for a party…"

"Pointless," Kingsley commented without an ounce of affect, and Copper had to restrain the urge to roll his eyes before he continued.

"Then whene'er ya wanna learn or test out your skill…well, I'm not hard to find."

Jackie gave a chirp at this, and Copper held out his arm so the monkey could hop onto it. Kingsley looked up as Jackie moved, and the monkey reached out to him, holding out a small object and making soft cooing sounds. Kingsley gave him a look, but accepted the object anyway, setting the box aside and turning this new thing over.

"A new whittling knife," Copper explained, seconds before Kingsley opened the blade. "Jackie wouldn't leave the Mystery Shop without it, and Sam…encouraged it be given to you as well. Cups for Liar's Dice like those you've got can be carved, personalized. And, if ya don't care to, never hurts to have a new tool, right?"

Kingsley said nothing, but he looked up at Copper with a nod and, if there was no change to the set of his mouth or his brow, his eyes said plenty. The Pomefiore freshman gave a crooked little grin, brought Jackie in close to his chest, and offered Kingsley a brief salute.

"Whenever ya feel like it," Copper said as he turned to leave. "Ya already know the first and most important point anyhow. Never tip your hand."

And though he didn't see it and doubted it was an actual physical thing, Copper got the faintest impression by some subtle shift in the air that perhaps, in his own way, Kingsley was giving him a grim, lethal smile, pleased enough.

Yes I wrote this and immediately pictured the Protagonist Trio (Kingsley, Gia and Copper) playing Liar's Dice with Grim. Also I headcanon that Sebek keeps intentionally acting like it's not Kingsley's birthday, but also, he probably doesn't genuinely know that Copper is forming a friendship with Kingsley. So there we go. Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

@jovieinramshackle @natsukishinomiyaswife @the-trinket-witch (DM me if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist for my TWST OCs stuff)

Dividers used

[amorgansgal]

So inspired by a post I reblogged (if Gale ascended to godhood and your tav did as well, what would they be god/goddess of), I said my character, Lilith, would be the goddess of whores, bastards and broken things as a fuck you to both the gods and a bit of a fuck you to Gale because she would fundementally disagree with it but want to stay with him. Anyway, I was inspired, so wrote a little piece for that!

CW: Brief mentions of sex work, brief mention of abuse

Journal of Salaia Navine, High Priestess of the Goddess Lilith

Where does the goddess Lilith come from?

It’s a question so often asked by children when they first gain awareness of the gods being a part of their lives and those around them. Some gods have simpler answers than others. But when speaking of Lilith, goddess of the fallen and broken (or as she’s more commonly called goddess of whores, bastards and broken things), it’s a more complicated answer. What can you tell a child about the goddess who takes especial interest in prostitutes and brothel workers, whose blessings are for those running from their abusers, who keeps the abandoned babies left on her temples’ steps warm and safe? Many of those who belong to the upper echelons don’t even like to acknowledge her existence. How can they? When her existence speaks of the darkness in the world, unkindness, cruelty and a willingness to look away. They are protected by Tyr, comforted by Selune and eagerly seek the approval of Gale, god of ambition. Though how they can face him but ignore his lover is a strange thing. But then, who can say if she’s his lover anymore.

The goddess Lilith is the lover of Gale, god of ambition?

Perhaps, and the irony of the goddess of the broken and destitute being the lover of the god of hungry ambition, fame and fortune is not lost on any who serve in her temples. But then many couples speak of being opposites or complimenting one another’s strengths and weaknesses, though, and it may be blasphemy to say, I do not know if they meet in the heavens to spend their evenings together. Perhaps they do, perhaps they worship each other, as the humble mortals on the earth worship them. But I have my doubts. Can the god of ambition love a goddess who loves the broken, the desperate, the afraid, those whose greatest ambition is having enough food in their belly or a place to shelter during the cold nights? Those who follow the god, Gale, seem convinced he has cast her aside, that she could not compare with the other goddesses and he could have his pick of them. And while I may be biased, as the high priestess of her temple within Baldur’s Gate, I believe she is very fair. 

Is she not just a weaker form of Ilmater? Is it true that she is the lover of Ilmater?

There are some folk who have argued this matter of her being a minor form of Ilmater, though I believe such notions bely their foolishness. Those who worship Ilmater recognise her own unique place in caring for those that sometimes they cannot reach, either because such people will not come to them for aid or they will be told by the patriars to not offer as they call them ‘undesirables’ aid. She is quicker to act than Ilmater, she does not take pride in suffering or not seeking revenge for those who have suffered. Those who worship Ilmater do not always wholly agree with us, we see nothing wrong with defending ourselves or righting wrongs quickly and efficiently.

I cannot say whether she is the lover of Ilmater. I have communed with her and when we have talked upon such matters like lovers, she is cagey. But that is why I am not wholly convinced on the matter of her lover being the god of ambition. The gods have emotions beyond the petty concerns and trifles of mortals, but I must confess, when I asked she seemed wounded by the question. A great and unbearable sadness filled her eyes and she demanded I not ask further upon it. So I will respect her wishes in that regard.

Did you know Lilith and Gale when they were mortals?

I did not. I am not so old! But I have met those who did know of them. Halsin, the Archdruid for the Emerald Enclave, and Jaheira, leader of Baldur Gate’s Harpers, knew them when they defeated the Netherbrain that threatened the lives and free will of everyone in Faerûn. There are other companions, as I’m sure you are aware, that are still with us. But they do not wish to speak on the relationship. 

Halsin said they were well suited to one another. Lilith was sharp, quick and not above manipulating others when she needed, but had a good, kind heart that she did not easily give away and was at first cautious when Gale offered himself to her. He said Gale was intelligent, verbose and utterly enamoured with her. Halsin believed both had fallen in love with one another, before they had even realised it. They would keep an eye on one another in battle, they had one another’s backs and for a long time their goals, ambitions and desires aligned. He said he had never seen Lilith smile with such joy than when Gale confessed his feelings and kissed her. Jaheira doubted Lilith wished to be a goddess, but said Lilith loved Gale more than anything in the wide world and did not wish to leave his side. If such a matter is true and if he has cast her aside, then my heart weeps for her. I hope she is comforted by how many priests and priestesses know her pain. 

How do I worship the goddess Lilith?

Like the temple of Ilmater we very much appreciate donations to help those who come to us, but the goddess Lilith will smile upon you and bless you when you do not treat those who work in brothels as lesser, if you offer aid to those on the streets, if you petition your lord to not turn his back on us and to not consider some poor folk worthy of help whilst others are only worthy of contempt. If you do not believe that all tieflings are thieves, that all gnomes are weak, that all dwarves only care for wealth, if we offer our brothers and sisters a chance to prove who and what they are, rather than letting society dictate what they should be, then you will be welcomed in Lilith’s embrace.

[tiredassmage]

wip wednesday

woe! for it be wednesday and the desire to make words domed me in the head last night, so you may all have more 'dot what au are you on now?' wonderings! the premise context on this one is a bit long-winded, so the short of it is aus with friends! au where friends blorbo was the inquisitor! [it... does not go well. for most involved, lol press f, etc.] so! this piece is several(?) years post-nathema conspiracy, a little drabble on... tyr and theron and trying to heal through the aftermath of an eternal alliance era that... wasn't so kind to them.

“Theron…” Tyr sighs heavily with a hint of frustration that Theron wants to flinch from. He struggles to swallow down the urge wriggling at the back of his throat if only because Tyr’s hand draws steadily up and down his arm.

“Look at me.” Two fingers reach out and gently tap under Theron’s chin with the softly rasped words.

Theron nearly frowns a moment, nearly shrugs his chin out of his partner’s embrace, but reluctantly gives to the request. Tyr rewards the tilt of his head by caressing his jaw. A soft, easy smile starts to paint across the ex-Cipher’s lips.

He’s tired - a very different kind of ‘tired’ than Theron remembers when they stood together in the Alliance. The Kaasi edge has started to bleed from his voice after the many years separated from the capital planet for something a bit more roaming, for something warmed by a sun more commonly seen than that which may or may not have broken through the storm clouds.

Theron leans faintly into his calloused palm. A few more silver threads mix with sun-muddied blonde at Tyr’s temples. He used to say Darth Nox - Emperor? It… Well. It doesn’t much matter what the dead prefer.., does it? - would drive him to it earlier. He’d smiled less and less about it as the Alliance matured.

But now..? Now, the ‘tired’ looking back at him has a gentler kind of warmth - the kind he hasn’t felt… maybe since Rishi.

The thought’s almost enough to make Theron tremble.

Tyr shuffles a bit against the pillows, squirming to lay a bit more on his back, to steady Theron against him. The brief grunt of effort dispels the smile for something more…

Theron’s eyes drop, blindly skimming along, eager to find some indeterminate distraction to settle on. His hand moves towards Tyr’s wrist. He shouldn’t need to-

“Theron.” He can hear the frown without having to look back. That was more like it.

Except the caress moulds firmer and directs his fleeing eyes back to Tyr’s knitting brow.

“Stay. Please?”

Theron blinks, breath stilling in his stiff shoulders.

Tyr’s next smile is fragile, framed with barely a breath of a tight chuckle. “I… I’ve lost quite enough, by now… Or so I thought, at least.”

Theron’s jaw shifts. Tyr’s touch softens to fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, his thumb brushing along his cheek.

And his eyes follow. “I’ve thought I’d lost everything so many times.” He swallows. His touch drops lower once more, cupping under his jaw to steady his thumb against Theron’s chin. “I’d thought… Finally… Finally, I’d lost everything, and I had no more to lose… Only to find there was always just… one more thing… Always something more to lose…”

The tightness around Tyr’s eyes threatens to shorten Theron’s already arrested breathing. He faintly realizes his other hand has tightened, twisted into Tyr’s shirt against his side. His grip nearly flexes to release, but-

“Always some… part of me to lose, I guess,” Tyr breathes shakily.

The same hands that hadn’t followed when Tyr left Odessen… however many cursed years ago it’d been now. The same hands that had strangled any hope of better out on Nathema - had strung it up in odd tresses and shot it bloody before it could even realize it’d waltzed into a trap. Tyr closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath with some unsteadiness. His thumb works uneasily across Theron’s chin, drawing their eyes back together. “And then I…” Another sharp exhale that cracks the painful veil threatening to constrict around him once more. “And then I didn’t… I haven’t lost you, Theron. Not yet.”

[vikings-til-valhalla]

Speaking of worship, I'm grateful.

Odin, Thor, Loki, and Tyr, have all heard my prayers to them, it seems.

As of late August/early September, I was unable to continue my arthritis medication. Mind you, it's the only known type of medication that is effective for my pain, it's the only medication for pain that is safe to take at all due to my other conditions, and without it, I have no quality of life because I can't work, walk, stand, attend school, anything. The brief month I was on meds gave me my entire life back in a way I hadn't known for 15 years. And being taken off those meds devastated me.

I've been in severe pain since, but as of yesterday I finally FINALLY got my new meds straightened out after more than 16 phone calls across 2 hours.

The company wanted more than $1,000 for a 28 day supply, even with instuance. I don't even make $750 per month. I can't afford that, nobody can, so I went ahead and got copay assistance.

The meds are now entirely free for me.

Today they were finalized, and I was told they'd be here in a week.

I asked for a sooner date because I was desperate and in pain.

Now I have the meds being delivered tomorrow free of charge. :) And so tomorrow the pain ends. Tomorrow is a better day, and I will be ok.

I prayed to the gods to give me a change and to let me be strong enough to bear through this pain until I got meds, and to give me the justice that I deserve in health management when I spent my whole life with neglected health by doctors until now, and to grant me the wisdom to know I was strong enough to make it through.

I've made it.

Tomorrow is a better day. :) A new beginning.

[kendrew600]

[blackjackkent]

The ceremony ends. The patriars begin to file out. Rakha stands unmoving in the corner of the room where Gortash left her, and it's hard to say how long she might continue standing there if it weren't for Wyll breaking away from her and moving at a trot, uncaring of consequence, towards his father.

Narrator: Your father, once the Grand Duke, now a pawn in the Absolute's game. Your infected minds smolder in each others' presence.

Wyll's movement jars Rakha from her thoughts and she follows him, just in time to see Ulder lift his head and his eyes widen in greeting.

"My dearest boy ," Ravengard says. His voice is soft, almost gentle, a contrast to the ringing speech he performed at the ceremony. It would seem affectionate, except that his eyes are blank. "The Hells have touched you. But you've come to me - just as Gortash said you would."

Rakha sees a muscle work in Wyll's cheek. She can guess at his thoughts. How many times has he wished to hear his father express joy at his return, gentleness at the change he has undergone. And yet... this is not his father speaking, this is the worm, and that very gentleness makes it all too clear.

Ravengard takes half a step forward, his eyes locked with Wyll's. "Father and son," he murmurs. "Unstoppable generals. Together, we will usher in a new dawn."

It's subtle, but Rakha can see a shudder run through Wyll's body.

"My father..." he whispers. "My hero. I'll save you from the Absolute's thrall..."

It won't work, Rakha thinks bitterly. And it doesn't.

Ravengard smiles broadly, an expression that seems ill-fitted to his face. "What is a hero, my son," he says, "if not an actor for the greater good. Faerun suffers in darkness. Tyr has abandoned us. Helm's eye has strayed. But Baldur's Gate will soon burn bright, a beacon to light the heavens. You, Gortash, and I will ignite the final spark, my son. And that is the greatest of goods!"

Wyll swallows and shakes his head unsteadily. "Don't you understand?" he asks weakly, though Rakha can hear the hopelessness in it now. "You are infected with an illithid parasite..."

Narrator: For a brief moment, uncertainty clouds his mind, then dissipates. The Astral Prism vibrates in concord.

Ravengard staggers, his head swaying suddenly to one side. "What nonsense is this-- I--" he stammers. For a moment his poise is gone; his eyes go wide and frightened, showing the whites.

Narrator: The Prism quivers once more. Ravengard falters.

"Help me..."

Narrator: Your tadpole seizes, the Prism stills. Ravengard's empty eyes meet yours.

"As I said... Baldur's Gate will ascend," Ravengard says, the moment of instability gone as quickly as it came. His voice returns to its monotone. "Toril's first and only Grand City."

Rakha sees Wyll swallow. She should take his hand, pull him away; there's nothing here for him. But she is still feeling too empty herself, too rattled and broken by the struggle inside her. She just watches as Wyll's eyes roll back in his head and the parasite connection surges through them all - including Ravengard.

[WISDOM][ILLTHID] Call on your tadpole. Explore Ravengard's uncertainty.

Narrator: First comes a vision of terror. The city of Baldur's Gate taken by illithids. But beyond terror, there is hope. You see a beaming Ravengard presiding over the sunlit city, applauded by the people - a people at peace.

Rakha frowns bitterly. This, then, is like what Zevlor described in the base of Moonrise Towers - the vision used to lure him, to soften him, to prevent him from striking while his people died around him. This is what Ravengard wants, how the tadpole is blinding him.

"The illithids have not erased him entire," Jaheira mutters almost inaudibly. "Perhaps there is hope yet..."

Ravengard's blank gaze drifts over Wyll's left shoulder. "Have we finished, then?" he asks vaguely.

Rakha finally musters the energy to reach out towards Wyll's arm, but he turns away before she can reach him, and stalks away down the hall.

-----

"To hear his voice speak those words," he says bitterly after a while, speaking out of nowhere as Rakha falls into step with him again. "Like a stranger wrapped in his flesh..."

He looks at Rakha. Perhaps he expects a response, but she doesn't know what to say.

His eyes turn front again, studying the floor in front of them. "But there's still a glimmer of him in there, calling for release. I feel it. I know it."

He would know, she thinks. He is the one who has seen her "light" when it has felt utterly buried by the darkness of the beast in her. If he says Ravengard can be salvaged, she believes him.

She wants him to look at her and tell her it's going to be all right, that he sees the way out of the terrible battle that has been raging inside her since Gortash told her of her past. But she can't ask it of him, not now. Too much is tearing at him as well, both of them battered and broken by the ever-tangling knot of this situation.

"I won't let the Absolute keep him," Wyll mutters, more to himself than to her. "This is my pledge."

She says nothing, but nods, and drifts her steps just enough that her arm brushes up against his. It's all she can offer, right now.

[skaldish]

do you know if any of the norse gods are connected with justice and/or revenge. its not within my sphere of practice, but im currently in a lawsuit against my abuser and is love to know of anything

Forseti, Fenrir, and Tyr would all be in this wheelhouse.

Forseti is associated with law and reconciliation. I don't know much about him personally, but "law" is pretty squarely his area of expertise so I'd reach out to him for sure.

Fenrir is associated with revenge and "just desserts." From my brief encounters with him, he not only knows how to get revenge, but also how to masterfully channel your anger towards this endeavor, so it becomes a driving force rather than something that consumes you.

Tyr's role is a bit more foggy due to how his prominence as a deity changed throughout history, but the positions he's occupied seem to deal with the intersecting forces of law/politics/society/the individual. I imagine he'd be good at coordinating these things in a way that's favorable to you.

I would also ask Thor for general protection. If you're never sure who or what you need or where to go or what to do, you can always call on Thor.

Lastly, you can ask the goddess Syn to help you hold boundaries and bring accountability to underhanded tactics and lies lauded against you.

[runningw-thewolves]

Stray Kids X Fenrir Post (LONG POST)

(Cause why the Hell not?)

Today I found out that 1) someone made a Fenrir based tattoo sleeve design for Bang Chan and 2) not only has Bang Chan seen it, he has stated he might possibly get it. Now, I am a STAY, a Norse Pagan and a follower of Fenrir. I think you can figure out what my brain was doing processing all this.

(Also; THERE HAS BEEN HINTS TO NORSE MYTHOLOGY IN STRAY KIDS MUSIC VIDEOS!? STAY, do a wolf some assistance and pinpoint me to the videos and moments cause I NEED MY STRAY KIDS NORSE/VIKING CONTENT. Anyways...)

I am very Autistic when it comes to several of my favourite things coming together and creating a *chef's kiss* moment. This is no exception. It's why INK are my favourite band (metal, Emo and horror together? YES PLEASE) and now I have Stray Kids, Norse mythology AND LITERALLY MY FUCKING RELIGION? Holy fuck! *insert brain melt moment from Indiana Jones here*

So, I figured; let's talk about some of Stray Kids past works and Fenrir at the same time. Yep, a Stray Kids Fenrir themed playlist in the format of a Tumblr post by someone with Autism currently losing their damn mind.

Before we begin, let's get everyone acquainted who may be unfamiliar.

The Binding of Fenrir

'The Binding of Fenrir' is arguably the most famous tale involving Fenrir. Fenrir is the eldest child to Loki and Angrboda, his younger siblings being the Midgard Serpent, Jormungandr (who has beef with Thor, to keep it brief) and the future death Goddess, ruler and caretaker of the dead and arguably an important figure in Baldur's tragedy, Hel (or Hela).

Why was Odin interested in Fenrir? For one simple reason; he had been told a prophecy where a large and powerful wolf would kill him. I should point out this part of Odin and Fenrir's story is a very medieval trope of the paranoid king and his son destined to kill him. This case is no different; the downfall of the king is because of his own paranoia. Everything he does to try and prevent his downfall only solidifies it into existence. It's a common belief among many of us Heathens that Fenrir might have never considered going after Odin if Odin had just left Fenrir alone the whole time. Hell, there was the distinct possibility that Fenrir could've likely been an ally to Odin and the Aesir if it weren't for their fear and paranoia.

So, how does Fenrir get bound? Odin and a few others ride to the Iron Wood, the home of the Jotunn and Chieftess of the Chieftains of the Iron Wood, Angrboda, and forcefully take her children from her. Jormungandr strikes and either Odin or Thor (heavily debated) throws Jormungandr into the oceans of Midgard. Hel is immediately exiled from Asgard and sent to what is often dubbed 'Helheim'. Fenrir was kept in Asgard, primarily to keep an eye on him. He was scorned and mocked and treated with fear by the Gods, and no one dare approach him to feed him. Aside from one God; Tyr, the God of Justice. (Also a God of War himself but ssh.) Tyr befriended the young wolf and fed him.

Naturally, Fenrir grew. And very quickly. He soon domineered over the buildings of Asgard and the Gods grew paranoid of his strength and size. It was then decided for him to be bound. They tried on three separate occasions, telling Fenrir it was a game. The first time was some normal, ordinary chains. Fenrir broke those with a single movement of his paw. The second was a reinforced chain. These were a little tougher but they too were shattered. The Gods then got in contact with the Dwarves to create for them a special chain, named Gleipnir. This chain was presented to Fenrir, and its appearance - similar to that of a ribbon or thread - immediately made Fenrir suspicious. He only agreed to have himself bound if one person were to lose their hand should they go back on their word. Tyr was the one who offered (this is a HUGE deal, as Tyr is basically associated with business transactions, oaths and the likes. Loki even goes on to call this out in the poem 'Lokasenna' (Loki's Flyting)). Naturally, Fenrir is bound, he can't break free, Tyr loses an arm. Fenrir snaps at the laughing Gods' ankles and Odin shoves a sword through Fenrir's jaws. Fenrir will only be freed by the violent thrashing of his brother come Ragnarok, to which Fenrir will kill Odin. Some sources also say Fenrir eats the sun and moon, however this is a tricky subject as that act is often attested to two other wolves. There's plenty of theories but for this post, they are irrelevant.

Stray Kids Everywhere All Around The World

Stray Kids first became known by a survival TV show in late 2017. At the time, there was nine members. (For the sake of avoiding drama and cause the matter is done, I will be talking about Woojin but sticking to the facts. Everything from the drama was false (which I learned the hard way and am still trying to learn from); do not attempt to bring up the controversy in reblogs or replies or I will block you.) The members included (in order, starting with team leader then oldest to youngest); Bang Chan, Kim Woojin, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Han Jisung, Lee Felix, Kim Seungmin, and Yang Jeongin. The group would debut in 2018 with the track "District 9". Upon debut, most of the members would continue using their names except for the following; Minho (would debut as Lee Know), Jisung (would debut as Han) and Jeongin (would debut as I.N.). Kim Woojin left the group in late 2019 around the time of the "Double Knot"/"Levanter" promotions. (Hence forth, Woojin is irrelevant. This is where we shall leave any mention of Woojin hence forth.

Stray Kids would go on to become a pretty big deal, even winning the competition TV show 'Kingdom' (let's not go over the whole MAMA bullshit, that would take a whole tray of paracetamol to get through), leading to the band being noticed by Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman. In the past year, several of the members have appeared or modeled for various designer brands (ignoring the politics of this for now; good on them for their success however).

Bang Chan and Fenrir's Connection

As was mentioned in the TikTok I linked earlier, Bang Chan is the member of the group who was a trainee for the longest amount of time. Chan had been training under JYP Entertainment for seven years by the time of the pre-debut TV show. Chan has mentioned several times in the past the anger and sadness he felt, connecting with other trainees only for them to leave (either from being fired, changing career paths or debuting before him - this was especially noted to be the case with groups TWICE and GOT7, where Chan is friends with members of the groups and even shared a dorm room with members of GOT7). It's not hard to imagine the amount of pressure Chan was under to debut on the survival show. Or the amount of pressure he put on himself and the rest of Stray Kids. This amount of pressure would rear its head when members Lee Know and Felix were eliminated (but would be brought back later and debut with the group). A clip from Felix's elimination gives a glimpse into how hard Chan was on himself.

I will not speculate Chan's thoughts or feelings, but if you dig into it, you can come to some conclusions quickly based on the surrounding context and what we know about Chan and Felix's friendship post-debut.

Fenrir is bound and thus cannot be free to show his true strength and power, held back by the Gods for fear of what or who he could be. In essence, some could argue that this is what made Fenrir stronger and the wolf we know today but that comes with the ridiculous amount of pain and torture the wolf felt. Sure, he became stronger, but at what cost? I would say this is the same question to consider when talking about Chan and Fenrir. Sure, Chan is a wise and strong leader now, but what was the cost? He's made it clear that at one point before debut (and other members have backed this up), he actively avoided connecting with people cause of how many friendships he watched crumble for one reason or another. There's even a clip from a livestream where Chan was noticeably angry with staff and you can see the visible fear and awkwardness from the other members. Again, will not speculate on what any of it could mean, but it does point to something Fenrir and Chan may also have in common. When they are angry, they are

PISSED.

However, it's also important to keep in mind the sort of things Fenrir teaches and encourages from a Norse Pagan/Heathen perspective, so...

Fenrir in Norse Spirituality

A common name attributed to Fenrir is "breaker of chains". When we're talking about what this means from a spiritual standpoint, it means to free yourself from your past, free yourself from expectations or demands of others that holds you down and to let go and live free. For many, this can meaning learning how to cope with mental illness and trauma, learning how to manage (not control) one's anger, how to fuel emotions into actions and remain within the present and not think about the past or the future.

I've also heard many people describe Fenrir as a special kind of 'military boot camp' strict. This is the best way I can describe it; imagine, if you will, that you are a house. Fenrir is the property surveyor (the person who checks houses for faults). Fenrir will go around and tell you everything that isn't sturdy, that has cracks or other faults. Not out of malice, but because if you don't fix this, all it takes is one bad day and your self-worth comes crashing to the ground. Fenrir will even go out of his way to test these parts of yourself, again not out of malice but to make sure you can withstand it. Going back to the house metaphor; imagine Fenrir pointed out your foundations were made with weak cement, so you redo the foundations. Fenrir isn't convinced until he can push into it or stand on it and find it can withstand the weight. (This doesn't go into how our emotions fluctuate daily, but hopefully you get what I'm trying to say.)

Fenrir is also oftentimes seen as an example of justified rage. The rage of youth being mocked by their elders for simply being young. The rage Black people feel when another officer shoots yet another unarmed Black person. The rage LGBTQIA+ people feel when one of their own is killed or assaulted for simply being in love or expressing who they are. The rage women feel when men try to take advantage of or gaslight them into accepting lower. The rage of Indigenous people watching as their lands get bombed, farmed, and in general colonized and ripped of all its worth until nothing remains.

With all these factors in mind, let's finally get to the meet of this. The Stray Kids songs one (like myself) can associate with Fenrir. I will include lyrics, and you're more than welcome to reply or reblog with songs I may have missed. So, without further ado; let's get cracking! (Please note I will be using OT8 songs primarily for this post, again to avoid drama or anyone dogpiling about the controversy.)

'Placebo' (3RACHA original; 2017, Stray Kids original; 2018, re-recorded; 2021.)

"The positive belief that will even heal my wounds Keep going, the Placebo that works on me Honestly, there’s no need to be negative Trust myself, throw away those extra thoughts"

'Placebo' is a song essentially about relying on yourself to get through your challenges, while acknowledging what is currently making you feel weak. The fear and worry about wondering if you will actually make it, but telling yourself you can despite your worries, being your own friends in your darkest moments. Felix's verse I think is almost entirely applicable to Fenrir (Felix even says "drop these rusty chains" - remember, Fenrir was first bound by chains before Gleipnir.)

"Miroh" (original; 2019, re-recorded; 2020)

"Poison, trap, toadstool you can set them up I'll survive in the end, whatever it takes I know your traps, you set them up And I stomp on them tougher There's only one answer, you just have to open it"

"Miroh" (Korean word for 'maze') is an EDM-style song about persevering through the challenges you face, head held high, trusting your instincts and knowing that one way or another you have prepared for this moment and you will make it out the other side. The chorus starts with a line explaining that the narrator (Stray Kids) decided to go into the city (the challenges) themselves and know what is coming, are ready for it and know they can make it through the trial. The song also uses various animal sound effects, including a tiger's roar in the chorus, a hawk's caw and a bird-filled jungle soundscape. (Fenrir is often reported to be associated with swamps and mountains, so the inclusion of wild animal noises fits perfectly here.)

'Red Lights' (2021)

"No matter how hard I try to escape, there's no answer Until I fall asleep in the sun, even deeper I really wanna know, yeah I've already lost control"

This song is performed by Bang Chan and Hyunjin, and according to Genius the song "about compulsion and confusion of ego and about obsession about doing something". One would think, with the sexy sound and concept of the track, it would imply something of a sexy nature. However, it can also be about anything that someone can grow obsessed with. Another person, a feeling, an action, a moment, etc. The line "Tell me you hate me" makes me think of Fenrir talking to Tyr. The music video for the track also heavily features Chan and Hyunjin in chains, so one could also argue the obsession to be the desire to escape from their chains.

"MANIAC" (2022)

"The real self has been released (Yup, yup) Barely holding on (Yup, yup) After blinking once, back Again, back to cosplaying as what society Defines normal to be pow"

'MANIAC' is a song with a visible influence from Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' as it explores one's individual uniqueness, the expectations of society (which can delve into toxic perfectionism/happiness, conformity etc) and how we as a people have hidden our inner 'maniac' to fit in with the world. Even when in Asgard, surrounded by the Aesir and Vanir, Fenrir was always gonna be Fenrir. Just by his mere nature, he was deemed an outcast for being a larger and stronger wolf than they had encountered before, something that within itself isn't a crime. Fenrir would likely always be looked down upon if he showed discomfort, anger or any sort of negative emotion. In this song, Stray Kids basically asks the listener to open up their true self, live their authentic selves and enjoy the life they've been given, essentially; "shed the chains society has forced upon you."

"BEWARE" (original; 2018, re-recorded; 2020)

"My current state, the way I talk, my actions I know I shouldn't be like this But everything goes the opposite way I want you to understand me I don't know what will happen Again today, I'm barking"

Remember when I talked about Fenrir and justifiable rage and I brought up youth being angry with elders being condescending with them? This song is my 'case and point'. Going back to what I mentioned in 'MANIAC', no matter what Fenrir did the Aesir were likely not going to view him in a positive light. Ask any person who has tried to get on the good side of someone who couldn't care for them and you'll often find descriptions of growing tire, frustration and rage. Sometimes, we are going to encounter this in life - whether it be a boss who treats us poorly, a colleague/acquaintance/friend gossiping or lying about us behind our back, a family member who has expectations for you that you can't reach no matter what you try etc. Fenrir is no stranger to this; he experienced it firsthand living amongst the Aesir. That rage one feels in these moments is a healthy rage, a voice, which you will find is either being encouraged by Fenrir or is Fenrir himself, screaming at you "This isn't right, I shouldn't be treated like this!"

"SCARS" (2021)

"I'll never cry because I know that it'll never change I'll stay standing and endure it in an unknown place There will be many times I'll almost fall, but Alone, I reach out my hand, alone, I stand back up"

Sometimes, when we face hurdles in our lives we will feel sadness, sorrow or despair. If there's one thing I want to end this made tangent about, it's this; you will face challenges and it's OK to not be happy about it. It's alright to cry, to scream and wail and sob, to shed tears, feel fear, embarrassment, etc. It's alright if you need to punch a pillow or cry yourself to sleep. Remember; Chan probably did the same. For seven years. Fenrir probably did too, stuck within his personal Hell. But if there's one thing you should take from both of them, it's that you are stronger than you think you are. You can survive, you will survive. You will see the light on the other side one day; all it requires is fighting through the pain, even if that means crying from the hurt. We don't leave this life unscathed; we all will die with countless scars, both physical and mental. Be kind to yourself, know you are worthy of being alive right now, and you have the strength to push onwards. Carry the strength of Fenrir - and the strength of Bang Chan and Stray Kids - with you and remember you aren't alone fighting against the chains you've found yourself bound in.

(TLDR; an Autistic Norse Pagan loses were mind when were discovers a Fenrir tattoo design for Chan, goes on a long Stray Kids and Fenrir rant.)

[noa-de-cajou]

Day 9 : The Father

Jargalsaikhan, Kaizarz and Skuld belong to @corneille-but-not-the-author

Tyr belongs to @hel-phoenyx

_____

Father and Mother are dead.

Jargalsaikhan left the position of Khan to me. I don’t understand why. They only had two sons, I'm the youngest, he should be the one leading. But he’s not.

I don’t know if I'm good enough, but it doesn't matter. I have to be. I have my wife and brother by my side, that's all I need.

Glory to the Amarsaikhan. Glory to the Khamgaalaltyn baavgai.

Death to the Tyrant?

That’s what my brother seems to want and think. I used to be the same.

But our clan is not supposed to be built on death.

I’d rather choose life.

***

My first daughter is born. I named her Nomin, after my late mother. Some elders looked disappointed. A girl. I don't care what they think. This is my child. I will protect her with my life, as I should, and teach her how to protect herself.

Jargalsaikhan seemed a little teary-eyed when I let him hold her. I teased him about it, but I was sobbing, so it sounded ridiculous.

Narantsetseg said given the pain she was in, she should be the one to cry. I have never loved a woman more than this one. I love her with a sword in her hand, I love her with a baby in her arms.

Giving life is much more glorious than spreading death, if you ask me.

***

Mandakh took her first steps today. Her three older sisters all cheered in unison. Me and Narantsetseg were just returning for a mission, it's like she was waiting for us to come home.

For once, Jargalsaikhan was not off somewhere we couldn't reach him, so he took care of them for two days. He looked so exhausted by the time we came back, I think this definitely convinced him of never having children.

I can't believe Nomin is seven already. Tungalag is going on five, Khaliun just turned four. I feel like it was yesterday when they were just infants in my arms, but now they’re all little girls with their own character.

Nomin is quiet, serious, sometimes a bit brutal, but determined. Tungalag is more gentle, talks as much as she listens, but is the most headstrong out of all of them. Khaliun has the biggest smile and shows a lot of intuition for her young age. Mandakh is still a baby, but already takes after her uncle in terms of stubbornness.

I can't stop watching them. They make Jargalsaikhan forget, although for a brief moment, about his desire for vengeance. They make me forget about the blood on my hands.

There's nothing I love more than being their father.

***

We're leaving for the Tournament of Glory, just like every year, but this time Khaliun is old and trained enough to accompany us. She's a bit of a late bloomer, at seventeen, but that doesn't matter.

Narantsetseg is pregnant again, with our seventh child, so she won't be there. When Jargalsaikhan learned about it, he jokingly asked how many more daughters we were planning on having. My wife asked him how much more time he was planning on being single. That evened out the score.

I will not be participating this year. Jargalsaikhan didn't like that. He gave me a whole speech about glory and honor and wasted potential but I don’t care much. I’ve made my decision.

The King of the Kraken Coast should be here, with his suit. My brother seems to have something in mind for him. Given the international situation, I don't like that.

Nomin said she’d love to fight him, I said she should focus on mentoring her sister.

I won't let them be dragged into this. I refuse to.

***

Children.

The King, the Norn, the dragon descendant, they’re all just children.

Powerful children, one could argue. But they're kids, nonetheless. I felt the gaze of Tyrfing on me and my daughters, the sadness in it. Jargalsaikhan went to talk to him, I don’t like the look in his eyes.

The Norn hides behind the two others, like a small child. She gave a magnificent fight, frightening. But she is frightened too, I can tell.

And the King… Kaizarz defeated my brother, the best warrior in our clan. Instead of being humiliated, Jargalsaikhan said he had plans.

Death to the Tyrant.

I told him I wouldn't be joining them. He wasn’t pleased, to say the least.

“Since when are you content with being my shadow, Batuhan?”

Brother, I have told you many times, but you don’t seem to understand.

Killing a man, no matter how evil, no matter what greater good lies after, brings me no satisfaction. Even bandits, even slave owners, criminals, it doesn’t matter. I don't think of myself as any better than the Tyrant.

Brother, you looked at Kaizarz and saw hope. So did I.

This is why I refuse to send this hope to death, be it his own or another’s. That's the reason I refused to train all my daughters to fight unless they wanted to.

I don't care if they think I'm a coward.

I will protect the hope we have while others fight bravely to get more of it.

I had hesitations before, but now that I saw this king and his companions, there is no way I can abide.

They’re children. No child should have to fight in a war they didn't start. I know it's idealistic of me. Stupid, maybe.

But gods, they’re just kids. War have mercy on them, they're just kids.

I can't be part of an expedition where the main weapon is the same age as Khaliun. I just can't.

“You will never get to the Hall of Glory like this.”

Perhaps he's right. But if the Hall of Glory is a place that values killing a man over raising children, then maybe I don’t want to go there.

Let me find my Glory elsewhere.

I am a warrior. I am a Khan. I am a brother. I am a husband.

But first and foremost, I'm a father.

I will live and die as such.