thevikingwoman
thevikingwoman
Mage Simp
26K posts
Dragon Age, Wayfarer, FFXIV, and other games. Writing and reading. Lover of mages, pirates, elves, losers and minor characters. I'm an adult, content occasionally explicit. I expect you to moderate your own online experience. Queer. Icon art by @sunshinemage. Banner by @impossible-rat-babies, @rickety-goose, @exotic-inquiry, @antivancorvo, @harumeau
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
thevikingwoman · 11 hours ago
Note
Planetarium for Venat
or
Dulaman for Hermes? 👀
(yeah im still on elpis why do you ask dkhdsj)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
i did both, i don't draw ancients enough!! thank you sm ♥
palette challenge
34 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 11 hours ago
Text
congrats to aymeric for becoming our subject for this “choose your own art” piece! One more thing before any lines are drawn:
13 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 14 hours ago
Text
Well good thing that some twt people who want to put rules up don’t really matter 😂 since anyone can do a kinktober prompt list and anyone can post and read on ao3 what ever they want
So there's gossip about some version of kinktober over on twitter adding a bunch of nonsensical rules this year, and I am fascinated. Studying this like a bug.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Like, what the hell.
(context link)
13K notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 1 day ago
Text
Tumblr media
By moonlight
11 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 1 day ago
Text
If you’re LGBT reblog and tag with your opinion on beer.
#no
184K notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 1 day ago
Text
hey y’all i’m creatively frustrated and don’t know what to start on so i’m doing another “choose your own art” thing to help shake off the rust :)
you can see the last “choose your own art” here!
you can see what a stained glass illustration is here!
39 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 2 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
she gets the best samurai hat now... beloved.
25 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 2 days ago
Text
hey so anyone else just, feel thin. sort of stretched. like butter scraped over too much bread. like you need a holiday. a very long holiday. and you don't expect you shall return? or is that just me and bilbo baggins
1K notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
AuRaugust 2025 :: Dungeon / Flow
Tumblr media
When they told me that I should just 'go with the flow', I wasn't aware that they meant literally when it came to these magicked maps!
30 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
mtg card art is so good, I was inspired to draw y'shtola
639 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 3 days ago
Text
okay final fantasy xiv fandom i have a serious question
and it requires the very scientific method of polling a specific subset of fandom
if you really want to go nuts with your justification please do. it will add to my enjoyment.
94 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 3 days ago
Text
Her Answer
—chapter 3: to listen, to suffer
Rating: Teen Pairings: Wolcred Characters: Aureia (WoL), Thancred Chapter Word Count: 4,685 Summary: As the sun sets on Aureia’s final day on Etheirys, what should be a moment to reflect and look to the future leaves her hollow. Despite Thancred—the person who loves and trusts her the most—being at her side, she has never felt the weight of Hydaelyn’s promise so keenly. But giving voice to the devastating conclusions that have plagued her since the Aitiascope proves to be far more difficult than she ever expected. Prompt: vi. sea | snow Tags: angst, heartbreak, discussions of faith and religion, loss of faith, hopepunk Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 Read on AO3
Tumblr media
“We define our worth, not the circumstances of our creation!” — Alphinaud, Amaurot [Shadowbringers]
Tumblr media
“Thancred, wait—please—”
“I told you enough, Aureia! You’ve said your piece, and I do not care to hear more of it!”
They move through Scholar’s Harbour—him ahead, her following—a storm of white and black. Passersby jump out of the way, startled by their aggressive pace, and watch them move on with wide eyes and hushed whispers. Their faces are recognized by all now, and it won’t be long before the gossip spreads. Old Sharlayan is abuzz with activity in preparation for tomorrow, and tonight the city will not sleep. News of the Warrior of Light and Thancred Waters arguing in the streets will spread like wildfire.   
Aureia grits her teeth as he turns a corner, leading the way up the hill to the Baldesion Annex. It wasn’t that long ago that she made this climb for the first time, one snowy night when he was eager to show her the sights… “Thancred, please! Wait—”
“You’ve done more than enough explaining—”
She pushes up the hill, calves burning from the effort, and dives ahead of him. “Please,” she begs, standing in his way. “Please. I don’t want to fight about this—”
His jaw clenches. “Nor do I—”
“Then why are we?”
Thancred stills, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and he looks away—out over the hill, following the river to the bay. Snow swirls about him  as the glow of a nearby lantern filters gently through his hair, outlining his profile in a hazy gold. If she didn’t know him as well as she does, she would say he looks at peace, as if taking this moment to reflect on himself this night before everything changes.
But she knows that look and it is the furthest thing from contemplative.
“Perhaps you know the answer to that,” he says at last. “It seems all we ever do now is fight.”
She lowers her gaze, eyes trained on the ground at his feet, and wraps her arms tight around herself. Guilt wrings deep in her heart, twisting over and over and over again until it is an impossible knot that cannot be undone. This is her fault. It’s always her fault. Every argument they have had, every quarrel that has raised its ugly head… The secrets she kept from him when she took up a Reaper’s armament, the way she morphed into an unrecognizable version of herself on the ice-crusted fields of Garlemald, how she nearly ended their marriage after Zenos stole her body—it’s always her actions and her words that are at the source of their grief.
Actions and words that come from a battered and bruised soul, breaking beneath the weight of a world’s burdens.
Maybe she is not strong enough to deserve him.
Maybe she never has been.
“You were the one who asked me to speak,” Aureia whispers to the howl of the wind.
Thancred bows his head. “Aye. That I did.”
“Why ask if you could not bear to hear the answer?”
He fall silent and looks away, unable to meet her gaze.
They’ve always been a mismatched pair. The rogue and the black mage. The Sharlayan archon and the former Garlean soldier. The faithful and the faithless. Different backgrounds, different philosophies, different points of view. Different lives. Even within their marriage, they’ve been incompatible. Adventurers, wandering independently from one another, with separate goals. Him, the lover who loves through touch and physical intimacy. Her, whose desires bloom late and often go forgotten in favour of other pastimes.
They should not be together. They do not fit perfectly, like old souls calling to one another from the echoes of past lives. And yet here they are, bound together by shared trust. An unspoken promise that has grown over a past decade of joy and grief, triumph and strife, to prove one certain truth: they are better together than they are alone. And if that unshakeable faith ever erodes…
She blinks, terror rising like bile in her throat. She can’t lose him—not like this. Never like this.
Maybe you should have just kept your mouth shut and kept on smiling like everyone expects you to.  
The thought is savage. Whether the anger is at herself or him or their friends or every last damn person on this star praising Hydaelyn’s name and her sacrifice, she doesn’t know.
“Tell me honestly,” Aureia says after a moment. “Why does what I am saying upset you so much?”
“Because it is—” Thancred cuts off and exhales a long breath, attempting to cool the sudden flare of anger. He runs a hand over his mouth and jaw, stalling for time as he musters his words, as if he is straining against an idea that cannot be. “Because the very things you are questioning… I do not know if I can stand with you while you do so.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know—”
“Then think of something. Tell me—” 
“I don’t know!” He raises his head, staring up the incline to meet her gaze. Even he cannot hide the fear and pain behind the dark look in his eyes. He is as terrified as she is. “By the gods, Aureia, think whatever you wish—save this. Anything but this. I am begging you—”
“Why?! Of all the gods, primals, spirits or whatever you want to call them, why believe in her?”
“Why don’t you?”
He closes the distance between them, his height now matching hers. They are pressed together, so close their foreheads are nearly touching, his hand on her elbow as if he is about to guide her away. The tread of passing boots on stone echoes in her ears, some fast, some slow, all distant. Whatever flow of traffic passes by now gives them a wide berth, keen not to be caught looking too closely; they may as well be as far away as the moon itself.   
Thancred ignores them; he only has eyes for her. Slowly, he raises a hand and presses it to her cheek, his touch as gentle and as urgent as a lover’s. “Why don’t you?” he whispers, searching her gaze for answers he will not find. Perhaps there is a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that the right words at the right time will change her mind. “You were her champion. She chose you. She loved you, as she loved the world. As She loved her children, one and all. How can you not see that?”
Aureia covers his hand with hers, her fingertips brushing against his skin. A gesture she has made a hundred times, intimate in its simplicity. “Because I don’t think she loved us,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I think she loved the idea of us. What she thought we were rather than what we are. She may have defined the circumstances of our creation, but that does not mean we must love her for it. We have worth because we defined it ourselves, not because we’re hers.”
He exhales a breath. “The Loporrits say—”
“The Loporrits are her creations, how can we ever take their word under serious consideration? Just like a nixie adores its summoner, they can only ever look upon her with admiration and devotion. She is everything to them, and for all we know, she made them that way—”
“Regardless, all of this is fruitless! Why are you yearning for ancient days gone by? What’s done is done. You cannot change the past.”
“I was there. Maybe I could have. Maybe I could—”
“Would you? And risk the future you know? The people you love for the people you hate?”
Her hand falls away. “Don’t make this about our existence versus theirs. Please don’t—”
“There are times, Aureia, when you must acknowledge the inevitability. You know as well as I that there is no world wherein every life can be saved. Think whatever you wish, but understand at least that our survival is predicated upon their destruction, and She saw it through. It is cause and effect, no? If She had not acted, the world would not have shaped itself this way. No matter how you view her actions, she forged out future. Us. Is that not enough to give Her the benefit of the doubt?”
“No! Because by doing so, she ensured that none of us ever had a choice. Mankind has never had a choice, not until the moment I dispatched her for good. She held our world in stasis for twelve thousand years, and only now are we finally free of it. Are we supposed to thank her for that? How does that not horrify you?”
“I see nothing to be horrified of.” His tone is cold, hollow—as if speaking by rote. “She was a goddess, and before that an Ancient woman, the wisest among them, perhaps a mere few steps away from a god Herself. There are some things mortals are not to know.”
“She was a primal. A reflection of the faith of the people who summoned her, and the woman at her core. I think you and I both know by now that faith can be misguided.”
“Then perhaps it was always meant to happen! Perhaps She was as bound as you seem to feel—”
“Bullshit! I don’t want anything in my life to have been meant to happen!”
Silence.
For the first time since they reached this spot, Aureia is uncomfortably aware of the onlookers watching her. A chill creeps down her spine and she pulls back, her clenched fist with Azem’s crystal pressed above her heart, and glances over her shoulder. The crowd moves on, startled by the wildness in her eyes and keen to pretend they were never listening in.
What must they think of her? Hydaelyn’s Chosen with no faith in Hydaelyn herself?
Laughter rises in the back of her throat, bitter like bile. It’s insanity, isn’t it? This position her has found herself in. The whole world is screaming at her that she is in the wrong, and yet for all the madness of the situation this is the clearest her mind has been in moons.
“You’re wrong, Aureia.”
Thancred’s voice washes over her, as fleeting and cold as the falling snow. She turns back to find him ahead of her now, his back to her.
“There is comfort in the knowledge that no matter what happens, this is how it was meant to be. It is how we make sense of tragedy, how we give purpose to futility. Meaning in a world with questions that can never be answered.”
Meant to be.  
The words hit her like a punch to the gut.
Elgara’s smile in pulsing red and blue as the shadow of an Imperial castrum rises high above them. Kallias croaking what she would believe is his last breath, his blood staining her fingertips as she shoves his dagger into her boot. The frozen cold of the Garlean wilds. The endless heat of the Thanalan deserts. Blood on the floor of the Waking Sands. Blood on the floor of the Praetorium. Blood on the floor of the Solar.
Thancred, possessed. Moenbryda, dead. Raubahn injured and Nanamo poisoned.
Dead heretics, dead Temple Knights. Fray’s crumpled corpse in an alleyway. The headless body of Rielle’s mother red upon the snow, Sidurgu’s greatsword thrust deep within the bank beside it. Burn scars upon Aymeric’s back. Haurchefant choking on his own blood as he breathes his last. Ysayle’s last stand. Papalymo vanishing in a torrent of light.
Blood on Zenos’ hands. Blood on her hands. Blood on more faces than she can count. Fordola, Yotsuyu, more.
Ardbert’s spirit falling to his knees, weeping amongst those who cannot see nor hear him. Ryne sobbing amidst the ruins of Nabaath Areng. The cry of a hundred sin eaters, echoed moons later by the cry of a hundred fell beasts. The wastes of Bozja, the ruins of Garlemald, the void of Zodiark’s prison…
For those we have lost. For those we can yet save.  
Azem’s crystal pulses in her hand, its warmth rising to a searing heat as fierce and unrelenting as the desert sun.
Has your journey been good? Has it been worthwhile?  
She raises her chin and sets her jaw. “There is nothing more horrifying than accepting that tragedy was meant to be.”
Thancred curses and takes up off the hill.
Gritting her teeth, Aureia races after him, ignoring the pounding of her heart in her throat. They weave through the crowd, faster and faster as they climb higher and higher, and yet she cannot seem to close the distance. Her head spins, light from the exertion and the snow and the crashing waves far below, and she chases after him, desperate not to let him go.
“This is about Minfilia, isn’t it?” she yells as they round the last corner to the Baldesion Annex. “Thancred! Isn’t it?”
He growls, low and guttural, his body still in motion even as he looks over his shoulder. “Leave her be. There is nothing more to be said about that.”
“There is. There always is with you. Even when you’re trying your damn hardest, you still manage to make everything about her—”
“Aureia—”
“You forget that I know you. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been gone. One way or another, it always comes back to her.”
At last he slows down. Though he is only a few yalms away, the distance between them has never felt more great. A yawning abyss, like a fracture in the earth going down and down and down, its jaws widening with each passing second. Too far to jump, too deep to climb. He stands on the cusp, his black clothing fading into the gloam even as his hair catches the lamplight—a figure of darkest shadow and brightest light.
“When will she finally be free of you, Thancred?” Aureia murmurs. “When will you finally let her memory go?”
“And what makes you believe I haven’t?” His voice is as cold as steel. “I have said goodbye to her a thousand times. I will say goodbye a thousand times more if I must. She was our founder, our leader, our purpose. And she was more than that. Friend. Family. Sister. My faith in her was everything—is everything. I am not the man I am without it.”
“And still you can never bring yourself to think beyond her for once in your life. She’s gone, Thancred. She’s been gone a long time. There’s a hole in your heart that can never be filled, but you can’t keep looking back. I know it because she was my friend, and I lost her too. She wouldn’t want this for either of us.”  
“Frankly, Aureia, you have no more insight into what she would have wanted than I do. I’ve been wrong. So have you. Besides—” He snorts, his laughter dark and cruel. “You’ve proven time and again this is not a topic you can understand. Family means little to someone like you, gods know I’ve seen how often and how desperately you’ve wished to drive a dagger through your own brother’s heart.”  
The words bite. Her jaw clenches, teeth grinding against one another. To bring up Kallias now is a low blow, and he expects her to falter. She will not give him that satisfaction. “You’re afraid,” she says, steeling herself. She’s come this far, there’s no backing out now. “That’s why you won’t even try to listen. You’re afraid of what it would mean if I’m right.”
He stills, hands held rigidly at his sides as she approaches, step by aching step.
“What it would mean for you, what it would mean for Ryne. What it would mean for Minfilia, and everyone who believed in her.” Another step. She passes through the lamplight, the golden glare washing over her one moment and vanishing the next. “She loved Hydaelyn. There was no one with greater faith, and that faith changed the world. Just as it shaped Eorzea, it saved Norvrandt. But Minfilia’s faith blinded her—”
“Do not say that—”
“Her whole life was defined by her love for her goddess and the purpose she found within her—and so did her death. She chose to leave me in the watercourse and pass into the aetherial sea. She answered Hydaelyn’s call. She saved the First.”
“Aureia—”
“And for her efforts, she was stripped of her identity and her body, only to be rewarded with death. A sacrifice she was more than willing to make, for the sake of her goddess.”
He is silent in the wake of her words. She is so close to him now, close enough to take his hand if she wanted to. He remains half-turned, his back to her, his face in shadow. Too dark to tell for certain, but behind the cold expression there are tears in his eyes. “Aureia,” he croaks, his voice breaking. “Please. Do not say this.”
She swallows hard and continues. “There is no one to blame for Minfilia’s loss save herself. Not me for failing to protect her in the watercourse. Not Urianger for colluding with Ardbert and the Warriors of Darkness. Perhaps it’s easier for you to accept it if you believe she was guided well. That her faith was well-placed. But if Hydaelyn was misguided? If Venat was blinded by her own biases, by her uncompromising nature and her love for this star—if she herself was in the wrong… Where does that leave her followers? Where does that leave you?”
He bows his head.
“It was never Hydaelyn you placed your faith in, it was Minfilia. But if Hydaelyn was misguided, then Minfilia was, too—an unwitting fool set down a predetermined path, no more able to change her fate than the rest of us. And that means she was never the guiding light you believed her to be, she was not the perfect sister you loved and idealized. She was a person, just as capable of failure as the rest of us. That is the truth you cannot come to terms with.”
He jerks up, glancing over his shoulder to meet her eyes. His brow furrows, hazel eyes narrowed. “It was by Hydaelyn’s will and Minfilia’s efforts that the First was saved. How can you say that it was for nothing? That Ryne—our daughter—was for nothing?”
Before she can answer, they are on the move again. He strides forcefully down the street in a rush and roughly pushes the doors to the Baldesion Annex open. She follows, catching the door as he passes through the threshold, biting her tongue as they cross the reception hall. They are heedless of the exhausted Sharlayans within, though none dare to wave in greeting while they are so clearly occupied.
“It wasn’t for nothing!” Aureia shouts once they’re through the doors and into the stairwell beyond. They climb, Thancred bounding up the steps two at a time while she patters one at a time behind him, anger simmering in her chest. She loves the First. She loves Norvrandt, she loves Ryne. For him to imply that she would rather they not exist at all… “Do you really believe Hydaelyn cared for the First? Cared for any of the shards? They were of her making, and yet she only had eyes for the Source. If she cared for the First at all, it was because my time there forged me into who I am today and she knew that because she knew the future!”
Thud, thud, thud. Their footsteps tread heavily on the steps, a strange accompaniment to her echoing voice.
“Don’t you see? Everything we have ever done—all the pain, all the hurt, all the suffering, all the people we have lost has been in service of making me who I was in Elpis. And you want me to thank her for that? To look upon her fondly as her brave little spark, the end result of a millennia-long gambit? It was not welcome. And it was not well met.” 
She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding as the anger bursts forth and flows free, like mana held in reserve only to be unleashed. Azem’s crystal burns in her hand, its orange light glowing through her closed fingers. If she could pray, perhaps it would be to its former owner now, a fervent wish for someone—anyone—to understand her.
Pushing the thought aside, she follows Thancred off the landing.  
“If we had failed her trial, what would have happened then?” she calls, reaching for his hand as he slips through the door to the hallway beyond. “If we had failed at any time, any stage, what would have happened then? Would you have willingly gone to the moon and allowed the Loporrits to save whatever vestiges of humanity they could, knowing all life on the shards would be destroyed? That Ryne and Gaia and all the rest would be lost, with no method granted to them to save themselves?”
He storms down the hall.
“She pitted us against in a pointless trial at the bottom of the aetherial sea. She risked everything to prove a point—”
“She determined our strength of will.” He turns sharply, drawing to a stop. There’s a stiffness to his voice, as if he is speaking by rote. “Can you blame Her for that? We are set to venture to the ends of creation, to face a foe we cannot comprehend. Do not fault Her for wanting us to prove our worth—”
“Why? Why were we required to prove ourselves to her? By what right did she become judge of the whole world, Ancient and present? Have you and I and all the others not done enough to prove our worth time and time again? You cannot know when you are ready to face the future. When the stakes are everything you hold dear, you cannot be beholden to an artificial trial. And I would rather go and fail and die knowing that I have tried than to be denied the opportunity to do what I can to save this star.”
She steps in front of him, moving into the light of a nearby lamp. Raising her chin, she meets his gaze and stares him straight in the eye. It’s easy enough to do—they’re of similar heights, after all—and there is no escaping her now. He cannot ignore her. He cannot avoid her. He cannot no longer be blind to the conclusion she has been racing towards this entire time.
“Venat was an Ancient through and through,” she  whispers. “A maverick in her own time, and yet she was the culmination of their very ideology. If it’s broken, if it’s flawed, if it’s not behaving the way you want it to—tear it down and start again. And she did that to her very own people, to pave the way for us. That’s who Minfilia was beholden to. That’s the being who has guided us all this time. That’s the primal whose will we carried out.”
Tears pang in her eyes. She blinks and lets them fall, her gaze locked on his.
He’s weeping, too.
“There’s only one explanation for it,” Aureia continues, her voice raw. “This unconditional sense of devotion and love you all have for her, the one that makes you all sound unlike yourself the moment she comes up in conversation.” 
“And what is that?”
“She tempered you.”
He looks away.
“Minfilia, Krile, all the rest. All tempered. The Loporrits would say it’s impossible—she’s not Zodiark, after all—but primals are primals. If Zodiark was Darkness and chaos unparalleled, then she was—by her own admittance—Light and stasis. And we both know all too well what happens when there is an imbalance of Light. She doesn’t get to be an exception to her nature because she loved us.”
For a moment, the anger subsides and her heart thumps faster and faster, hope rising in her chest. Perhaps he can now look the truth in the eye. Perhaps now he can finally understand. Perhaps now he can see the incalculable weight that has been pressing down on her shoulders ever since she returned from Elpis, this gift from a mother goddess that has never been a gift at all—
“Tempered?” Thancred growls. “You’ve lost your damn mind.”
“Have I? Think it through, I’m begging you—”
“Tempered? By all the gods—” He curses and runs a hand over his mouth and jaw. “Even if it were a possibility, do you think we would not know? Do you think Alisaie would not know? What in the seven hells has happened to you? I have told you once and I will tell you again—this conversation is over. If this is where your wretched theories have taken you, I will not entertain it.”  
“Thancred—”
“Let it rest. For the love of everything, please let it rest. You have become someone I do not know tonight—”
“As have you! Do you even hear yourself—?”
“Even the gods do not know what we will face on the morrow, and yet here you are fixated on something that simply cannot be. This is not what I wanted from my last night on this star with my wife—” 
“No, it isn’t, is it? You were imagining some quiet night where we had dinner with old friends, and then fucked one last time with the knowledge we might die tomorrow. Could still do that, gods know the sex is better when you’re pissed off.”
Without warning, he turns sharply and leans in close, his face pressed to hers, his lips a hair’s breadth away. “With my deepest sincerity, Aureia darling,” he growls. “Fuck you.”
She freezes, mouth half-open in shock, and watches as he turns and stalks away. She remains rooted to the spot as he storms the rest of the way down the hall, the door to their room swings shut with a final, deafening bang. She flinches at the sound, her mind spiralling in so many directions she can no longer keep track of her thoughts—memories of Ishgard, when she kissed him and shoved him away only to end up in Aymeric’s arms, memories of Garlemald and the night she nearly seared her skin off in the bath after Zenos took her body, memories of the Watcher’s Palace and the evening they spent on the steps, quietly acknowledging the unravelling of their marriage.
It’s happening again now. She has done something irreparable, and maybe this time—this time—is the time it well and truly ends.
She spins around and runs away, rushing desperately up the stairwell, higher and higher. So many rooms, so many halls—this landing would take her to Y’shtola, this one to Urianger. This one to Alphinaud, this one to Alisaie. G’raha and Krile and Tataru, too. But she can’t go to them. She can’t go to any of them. How could she explain it to them, this fracture she has created between her and Thancred? Any explanation would lead to a break with them as well.
They all believe in Hydaelyn.
At last, she bursts out onto the roof of the Annex and rams into the parapet, clutching the smooth marble as she sucks in heaving breaths. The cold sears her lungs, snow dances in her hair, and she cannot stop shaking. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about much now. Not when the one she trusts, the one who knows her best, the one who swore to love her despite it all has chosen to walk away from her.
A footstep on stone. A clearing of the throat.
She flinches at the sound, battle instincts whipping her around unprompted. Estinien is some distance away, perched on a makeshift stool—arms folded, eyebrow raised, and a look of confusion on his face.  
“Aureia?”
“Estinien…?”
She bursts into tears and runs into his arms.
Tumblr media
-> next chapter [updates next friday]
15 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 4 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
03. TARGET ↳ AURAUGUST2025 ∙
51 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 4 days ago
Text
8/3/25
Who inspired your wol(oc) when you first made them vs now?
48 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 4 days ago
Text
Def need a new blog title since I manage to not only hone in on mages anymore…
4 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 4 days ago
Text
I know some people use more than one. I usually use all 3, BUT what do you use the MOST? like the one you feel more comfortable posing with? feel free to elaborate !!
172 notes · View notes
thevikingwoman · 4 days ago
Text
Quaid Comms Open :]
Hey guys, just wanted to pop in here and put it out there that I've got some comms open rn!!
Been struggling a bit lately so I'm keeping these open for the foreseeable future.
Right now I've got two kinds:
Kiss Doodles and PWYW Sketches.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Any fandom, OCs or Canon, furries, mecha, armor, etc. I can do it all :]
Check out the link for more info or maybe buy some fun art 👇
REBLOGS AND SHARES APPRECIATED 💖 thank you muah muah
36 notes · View notes