#Saxon End roll

[no-reference-georg]

2/2

1/2

[akuma-tenshi]

some new end roll posting for that one mutual who sent me an ask requesting more several months ago

spoilers + gory sprites under the cut (it's really just one post lmao)

[zonebirdie]

This is the End Roll video ever

[evilkitten3]

ah the resident old man

of 45

[lovelymylene]

I was wondering if you could do a Lochlan Ratliff x reader where she’s also visiting Thailand and they just have a whole romantic time together like puppy innocent love

SOMEONE NEW

lochlan ratliff and reader

The sun glistens on the surface of the pool, water shifting like liquid gold as guests lounge nearby, the soft hum of conversation mixing with the occasional splash. You let your hands drift through the cool water, your body weightless as you float, eyes half-lidded against the heat. Everything feels slow, dreamlike, the kind of afternoon where time doesn’t seem to move at all.

And then you notice him.

He’s at the far end of the pool, standing waist-deep in the water, running a hand through his damp hair. He looks out of place, not in a bad way, just… different. Like he’s unsure of what to do with himself. His light eyes flicker around the pool deck, glancing at the groups of people laughing and talking, before landing on you.

For a second, neither of you move. Then you smile, small, unsure, just enough to acknowledge the moment.

He smiles back, hesitant at first, then real.

“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight, the water rippling around him.

“Hi,” you reply softly.

It’s quiet for a beat, neither of you quite knowing what to say next. You’re not even sure why you say it, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“Wanna play mermaids?”

His brow furrows, his lips parting slightly in confusion. “Mermaids?”

You nod.

For a moment, he just stares at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a small laugh. He scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“I, uh… don’t think I know how to play mermaids.”

You grin, tilting your head. “It’s not that hard. You just have to swim like one. Kick your legs together instead of separately.”

He squints, like he’s considering it, then exhales through his nose, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not! Just try it.”

He sighs dramatically, like he’s about to do something humiliating, and then dives under. You follow, watching as he awkwardly keeps his legs together, barely making any progress through the water. When you both surface, you’re already laughing.

“Okay, that was terrible,” you tease.

“Yeah, no shit,” he breathes, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead. “How do you do it so fast?”

You shrug. “Years of experience. You’re talking to a pro.”

His lips twitch, like he wants to say something sarcastic, but he holds back. Instead, he just watches you for a second before blurting, “I’m Lochlan, by the way.”

You give him your name in return, and he repeats it like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth.

The afternoon drifts by in easy conversation, playful splashes, and attempts at swimming like mermaids that leave both of you breathless with laughter. You don’t expect to see him again after that—vacation friendships are fleeting, and the resort is big enough that you could easily go the rest of the trip without running into him.

But later, as you’re walking through the lobby, you hear someone call your name.

You turn and find Lochlan jogging toward you, slightly out of breath, as if he had to talk himself into doing this.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—do you wanna… umm.. walk around or something? Shop? Get food?”

Before you can even answer, a voice cuts in.

“You’re ditching me for her?”

You glance over and see a guy much older, very handsome, lounging on a nearby chair, watching Lochlan with a smirk. He looks between the two of you, then shakes his head in exaggerated disbelief.

Lochlan shrugs. “Yeah… sorry Saxon ”

Saxon rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Have fun with your little date.”

Lochlan’s face flushes, but he ignores him, turning back to you. “So?”

You nod. “Yeah. I can go.”

The streets are alive with movement, a warm glow settling over the market as the sky begins its slow descent into dusk. You and Lochlan weave through the crowd, stopping at every other stall, fingers brushing as you reach for the same thing more than once. Neither of you acknowledge it, but neither of you pull away, either.

“You would totally rock this,” he says, holding up a sequined button-down, his face completely serious.

You snort. “Oh, absolutely. I was just thinking I needed something to blind people with.”

He grins, shoving it back onto the rack. “What about this?” He pulls out a pair of neon pink shorts.

You deadpan. “I think you should get them.”

He holds them up to his waist. “Be honest—do they bring out my eyes?”

You pretend to consider. “You might be starting a whole new fashion trend.”

Lochlan laughs, tossing the shorts back. “Okay, so no pink shorts for me. Got it.”

As you move deeper into the market, the scent of grilled meat and spices fills the air. A street vendor calls out in Thai, waving a skewer of something unidentifiable.

“You ever had that?” Lochlan asks.

You shake your head. “Let’s try it.”

He gives you a skeptical look but doesn’t argue, ordering two. The first bite is a mistake. You both cough at the same time, grabbing for drinks as your faces scrunch up in unison.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, swallowing quickly. “What was that?”

“I have no idea, but I think my mouth is on fire,” Lochlan says, eyes watering as he fans his tongue.

You burst out laughing, and despite the disaster, he does too.

The evening air is warm as the two of you wander through the night market, weaving between stalls filled with silk scarves, carved elephants, and street food sizzling on open grills. The smell of grilled skewers and fresh mango fills the air, and Lochlan reaches for your hand without thinking, pulling you toward a stall selling colorful woven bracelets.

“You think this would suit me?” he asks, holding up a bright pink one.

You laugh. “Absolutely not.”

He smirks. “I’m getting it anyway.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s something soft about the way he looks at you as he hands over a few baht, slipping the bracelet onto his wrist.

“Now you have to get one too,” he says.

You shake your head. “That’s not how this works.”

“Sure it is,” he grins, grabbing another bracelet, this one blue, softer, the color of the ocean at dusk. Without asking, he takes your wrist, fastening it gently around you. His fingers linger just a little too long, his touch warm against your skin.

Your heart stumbles.

For the rest of the night, you don’t let go of each other’s hands.

As the night deepens, the market glows with lanterns, the energy shifting into something softer, quieter. Without really thinking about it, you slip your hand into his again even after only letting go for two minutes. He doesn’t hesitate to intertwine your fingers, squeezing lightly like he’s been waiting for this moment all day.

At the end of the market, you pause near a quiet corner, away from the crowd. The silence between you is comfortable, but there’s something else there, something unspoken.

Before you can overthink it, you lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

It’s barely a second, but when you pull away, Lochlan is already looking at you.

And then, without a word, he tilts his head down and catches your lips in his.

It’s quick, just a heartbeat, but it’s enough to leave your stomach in knots.

When you part, you meet his gaze, your breath still unsteady. His hand, still laced with yours, tightens slightly.

For a second, neither of you move.

And then, slowly, he leans in again.

This time, you don’t hesitate.

By the time you’re standing outside your room, the resort quiet except for the distant hum of the waves, neither of you want to say goodnight.

Lochlan hesitates, shifting on his feet, then reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against your cheek, feather-light, and you swear he’s closer than he was a second ago.

“Thanks for today,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Me too.”

And then, before you can second-guess it, you lean up and kiss his cheek.

It’s meant to be quick, a simple goodnight. But the second your lips touch his skin, he turns his head, just slightly, just enough.

Your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft, barely more than a breath, but it sends a rush of warmth through you, curling in your chest, your fingertips.

When you pull back, his eyes are wide, searching yours, like he’s wondering if that really just happened.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

He smiles, small, almost shy.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

“Night,” he murmurs, watching you as you step inside, closing the door behind you.

And when you press your fingers to your lips, still tingling from his, you already know—

sorry this is long I got lost in the sauce..

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @yearlyism @cinnamoncunt

[lesbiansforboromir]

Here's a more compact review of the War of the Rohirrim film for anyone interested! SPOILERS AHEAD!!

Positives;

The backgrounds were all very beautifully painted and the lighting really elevated the character design and smoothed over the janky animation. Where other aspects of the film fall off, often the background artistry and lighting over all of it still manages to convey a very dramatic and immersive moment to the viewer. It's probably the best part of the film.

The part where Helm's ice-ghost phase is teased was really cool and atmospheric and I got a little thrill of what I'd kind of always been wanting from this film.

Frealaf was pretty lovely (what little we got of him) and I appreciated that his darker skin tone was implicitely associated with his Gondorian heritage. I THINK I appreciate the idea that Frealaf's father was Gondorian, though I wish it had been better utilised.

I also really liked the moment where Helm is about to fight Freca and he gives his crown, signet ring and mantle over to Frealaf in this like... symbolic giving up of his Kingship in this moment where his actions are about to make him unworthy of it.

I appreciated Olwyn existing as an older female character in a purely action based roll.

Helm's voice actor and design were pretty cool, I came around to enjoying how much effort they put into making him extremely imposing.

Hama being a twink who was born to be a bard but forced to be a heroic second prince was a nice touch.

General Targg of Dunland might have been my favourite character, inspite of the fact that I am really curious to know where this organised military of Dunland is for him to reach the rank of 'General' in.

Negatives;

Gurl the racism. See here for more details.

The overall narrative seems to me direly lacking in like... basis. I am lead to believe Hera's journey is about her reclaiming her right to choose her own life for herself. But she is never actually pressured into any choice, nor does it appear that her father ever restricted her freedom in any way. So I don't really see where her choices were actually removed to such a degree. If her desire is to see her choices respected by the men in her life, well that never happens for either Helm nor Wulf, who force her to let them die or to kill them, respectively. It feels like in their rush to censor any negative aspects of Helm they kind of removed the reason Hera is frustrated in the first place, he cant be TOO much of a misogynist etc etc.

This is twisted up within 'gurl the racism' but Wulf's manner and presentation make me FEEL like he is a villain we are supposed to mildly feel for? We see him as a child, we see him struggle with what he's doing, we see his clear desperation and despair and hear him talk about loneliness and suffering... but at the end of the day in the way that it is presented Wulf is fundamentally foul and deluding himself and all his problems appear to be of his own making. In general it is extremely uncomfortable for the 'obsessive stalker' villain to also every now and then say 'I am devastated because of how my dunlending blood has been prejudiced against all my life by your family and the wider rohir society' like... by only him mentioning it but it never being actually acknowledged by anyone else it just comes across so shallow and unsettling.

This is a review from my book-biased perspective so understand it within that lense but still gurl... the lore. What the hell do you mean the eagles speak a language only a wizard can understand? No they can just speak! What do you mean there is A watcher in the water in some undisclosed lake in Rohan somewhere? There is one Watcher and it's name is very specific to the doomed Moria expedition! At least give this new squid fellow a rohir name. Speaking of!!

IS IT SO HARD TO NAME ROHIR CHARACTERS IN..... ROHIRRIC?? OLD ENGLISH IS RIGHT THERE... HERA HAS NO MEANING... THERE ARE SO MANY COOL HISTORICAL ANGLO SAXON PRINCESSES YOU COULD CHOOSE FROM...

Included in the 'gurl, the lore' segment but in need of it's own post so I will try to be brief; (Theoden voice) where was Gondor... when a herd of Mumakil were marched by Haradrim mercenaries across the Anduin, up through the Pelennor, across Calenadhon and over Rohan's southern border... did they sneak by... were they stealth Mumakil, did they have elven cloaks too.

But also Where Was Gondor just in general. Like to the detriment of the actual narrative, opening up plot holes that didn't even need to be there, the fact that Gondor is ALSO supposed to be at war right now is completely ignored and discarded.

THE BATTLE OF EDORAS... TF ARE YOU ALL DOING! Like I know it is kind of hypocritical of me to request sensible war tactics when we're adapting Tolkien, he did not give a good example, but like... where were the horse archers, why are you charging down an infantry-only army, why even be on a horse if you aren't going to use greater mobility to your advantage, this isn't a siege, this is YOUR territory this is an open field!! Come on! AND ANOTHER THING, did we really have to make the victory of the Dunlendings over Edoras so disconnected from their own effort? Like betrayal is fine, but this was also a well supplied and competant force, and that was a major part of their victory. These were matched combatants! Just kind of another way in which the dunlendings were robbed of any cohesive motive, narrative or skill.

To my admittedly untrained eye... the animation sucks? Like it's clunky and janky and you can see the frames transitioning between each other, the movements often feel awkward and a lot of the drawings are just bad! The Eagles are SO stiff, as are the horses which seems like a cardinal sin in the Horse Lord Film. And then I couple that with the multiple completely unnecessary spinning camera shots Hera gets which are annoying, superfluous and a bizarre thing to spend time on when the rest of the film needs so much more care and attention. In general the GULF of difference between how beautiful the backgrounds are vs how bland the character art is is kind of jarring.

Hera's design.... I hate it. Look I know it's anime but DID Hera have to have thigh high boots... did she really... Why is she so pale if she's supposedly riding sleeveless across the vast countryside everyday? Can a single supposedly feminist film about a 'wild' female protagonist let that woman be like... dirty, or not so agonisingly thin, or give her messy or god forbid short hair. At one point when she is grabbed by a troll and hung in the air they linger uncomfortably long on her ass which her costume design is specifically designed to allow for maximum viewing detail.

The designs of the Dunlendings, Haradrim and especially the Mumakil are all so grim. Like I liked Freca's design to a degree, it was more potent with symbolism and patterning and such, but the rest of it is just SO FUCKIN- well they're ugly! and therefore evil! Do you get it? The ugly grey animalistic people are evil! The Mumakil have literal red snake eyes just so you know they're 'evil animals'. I can't take it anymore, at one point the guy who Eomer throws a spear at in the trilogy just... turns up, like it's literally just him down to the facepaint. And speaking of...

SHUT UP ABOUT THE PJ TRILOGY, SHUT UP AB- besties this film's intro plays alongside the ring theme... THE RING MUSICAL THEME!!!!?? Lines from the films are reused so often and so WILDLY outside of their actual context and meaning that it makes me flinch.

There is a plump little fellow called Leif who is the royal Page I think and everytime someone called Freca fat in such a vitriolic way I was like wow... I mean Leif is right there guys!

Overall a 4/10 from me, it is a watcheable but shallow film that I suspect was more of a cynical attempt by Warner Bros to keep their death grip on the rights to the books, since I think they would have expired if they didn't do something with them soon.

[saxlochapologist]

thinking about now after Tim goes to prison, Saxon absolutely takes it upon himself to be the "man" of the family, specifically trying to fill that role for Victoria and Lochlan bc Piper is sure as fuck not gonna go for it. Victoria does, though. Lets Sax take care of all the logistics that come with a federal embezzlement investigation. Lets Sax carry the weight of his father's prison sentence on his shoulders. Lochlan though has even more complicated feelings about it. Now Saxon stands behind him as he accepts his spot at Duke. Saxon gets in his ear about everything he needs to do to ensure his success, to ensure he won't end up fucked up like their parents. Lochlan pretends to hate it of course. Rolls his eyes, huffs and puffs and pulls his hood over his head to play the role of a moody teenager. But inside, so far down he can barely even access the feelings himself, he likes it. Likes it when Sax acts like his dad. Likes the way it feels when he has to submit to Saxon's instructions and directions. Likes feeling the way Saxon really does care about him. Feels sick with the way he wishes Saxon really was his dad. hmm many thoughts about this lol

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Norsemen & Anglo-Saxons Chapter 1

Here's the new story! I hope y'all like it.

Summary: Princess Y/N has a secret that her parents are ashamed of.  A conquering Viking chief recognizes the gift she has.  Will they be able to bring peace between warring people, and maybe find love along the way? Viking!Bucky Warnings: eventual smut, abuse, violence, animal attack, blood

Next chapter

The New Year was upon them.  The castle was bustling with maids and squires decorating and scrambling to get everything ready in time. The halls were filled up with garlands, pinecones, dried oranges, berries, and candles lit every ten feet.  A large tree had been hauled into the great hall during Christmas Time and decorated with the same oranges, berries and pinecones, as well as ornamental pieces that shone through the branches in the candlelight.  The last seasonal ball was to be held that night, and the noble families from all over the Isles had traveled in to be part of the festivities.

Princess Y/N watched the chaos in boredom as her little brother Prince Alfred, or Alfie,  ran around the room with a stream of ribbon in hand, singing holiday songs at the top of his lungs.  As much as she loved and adored him their age difference was definitely apparent during these moments.  “I watched three ships come sailing in on Christmas day on Christmas day…”

“Alfie if you sing that wretched song one more time I will–”

“You will do nothing,” her mother, Queen Eugenia interrupted as she walked into the great hall to inspect the decorations.  “After all these years of training, you still resort to violence, you ridiculous child.”

“And you still call me a child when I near my thirtieth year, Mother,” Y/N spat back.  “Perhaps my penchant for violence comes from my frustration with said training and the constant degradation of my age and ability.”

“Your petulance and independence has made you unmarriable and therefore a thorn in my side,” Eugenia sighed.  

“There have been no, as you and Father called them, “suitable” suitors to marry me off to, Mother.  And this,” she held out her hand, opening her palm, wherein a green orb of light appeared, “scares you both to death.”

“Put your hand away!” Eugenia ran over and slapped Y/N’s hand down before anyone could see.  “Stop being so careless!”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  “Yes, Mother.”

Eugenia sat next to her.  “You will attend tonight’s ball, dressed appropriately, with a smile on your ungrateful face and nothing but patient, polite mannerisms escaping that mouth of yours.  And you will not play tricks,” she looked pointedly at Y/N’s hands.

Y/N glared at her.  “Yes, Mother.”

Eugenia sighed again.  “Go get ready.”

Y/N left the great hall as Alfie continued singing away.  Her lady’s maid followed her as she roamed the halls towards her room.  The only ones who knew about her ability were her family, the royal advisory court and her lady’s maid.  No one had been able to figure out what to do with it.  She didn’t have a handle on it, either.  She could manipulate objects and people’s bodies to move how she wanted, heal minor injuries, and when touching someone she was able to see their thoughts and feel their feelings.  She could feel that there was something more to it, that her power had the potential to grow, and yet she and her ability had been tamped down so heavily from the moment she first started exhibiting it that she was unable to truly hone it and see what she was capable of.  The advisors had researched their history and fairy tale books extensively and could not find a rhyme or reason as to why she had this power.  The only reason she had not been burned at the stake as a witch was because her father thought it could be useful to him and his never ending battle against the Norsemen.

Y/N had only seen one Norseman in her entire life.  Her father had captured one after a horrible battle and brought him back from the battlefield.  He was what they called a Berserker, a Norseman warrior that would lose all sense of self-preservation and run into battle like a feral animal, like they were out of their minds and drunk with bloodlust.  Her father had put them in a room together, separated by a line of thin prison bars.  The Norseman didn’t try to attack her, just watched her intently.  Her father told her to try her powers on him, see what she could make him do.  Y/N had refused, so her father flogged her to try and make her submit.  The Norseman had become so incensed by her father’s mistreatment that he had broken through the bars, bending them like they were butter, and just as he was about to lay his hands on her father she threw her hands up.  The Norseman was encircled in the green light, stopping him midair.  Her father gave the first genuine smile towards her she had seen in years.  

The guards had shackled him and took him away shortly after that.  The look in his eyes as they dragged him away was one of shock and betrayal.  Y/N couldn’t stand it, and that night snuck through the castle to the dungeon.  She had found secret passages as a child that she used regularly, and slipped through undetected.  She stole the keys and found his cell.  He was awake, and when he heard the jingle of the keys he looked up at her.  His eyes widened and he scurried towards the farthest wall from her.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Y/N had whispered, holding her hands up.  He watched her carefully as she unlocked the door and swung it open.  She had stepped away, giving him room to leave.  He had slowly walked out of the cell, watching her constantly.  He stepped away towards the nearest exiting door.  “Run,” she whispered as she backed away from him, keeping her hands up.

He stopped for a moment.  He cleared his throat and asked in perfect English, “Are you a witch?”

Y/N had blinked at him in surprise.  “I…I don’t know,” she answered honestly.  This man could kill her in a second without making a sound, and yet he merely nodded.  “Thank you, Drottning,” he bowed his head to her then ran off towards the door.

Y/N had never seen or heard from him again.  The castle had been abuzz with confusion and fear upon finding him missing the next morning, but they ultimately decided that the barbarian had his ways and wasn’t worth pursuing. 

Y/N had never trusted her father again after that day, and had steered clear of him whenever and however she could.  He only wanted her for her power and what it could do for him.  He didn’t love her, he didn’t love Alfie.  He was a true English King, hoarding power and wealth wherever he could.

Y/N dressed in her holiday best for the ball and begrudgingly entered the great hall later that night.  The party was in full swing, nobles dancing together as the music played, the King and Queen laughing madly at the jester performing in front of them.  The wine was flowing, making the crowd more rowdy by the second.  As Y/N ascended the stage where the King and Queen sat she saw two short legs poking out and found Alfie hiding behind the Queen’s wide throne chair.  She quickly walked over and pulled him into her arms.  “What are you doing here, Alfie?  It’s late, and this is no place for a young boy,” she scolded him.

“Papa said I had to be here, because I’m to be king, and this is what kings do,” he mumbled.  Y/N glared over at her father, who was drinking himself into a stupor.  Alfie was a mere 11 years old, and already her father was trying to sink his dirty claws into the little boy’s mind and heart.

“No, Alfie, this is not how kings should act,” Y/N reassured him as she ran her fingers through his hair.  “Let’s get you to bed.”

Suddenly there was a loud bang and a whistling as wind whipped through the hall from where the front doors burst open.  A thunderous roar from what seemed like hundreds of men swarming the hall filled the room, echoing through the high ceilings and making Alfie cover his ears.  Y/N held him close as she huddled behind the throne, concealing him and herself as best as possible.  There were shouts and screams from the nobles as the men started to cut many of them down, pushing and beating others as they made their way to the stage.

The King and Queen sat in shocked silence as they watched their guards and nobles die or be captured around them.  Y/N glanced around looking for an escape and saw men standing in the higher windows, pointing arrows at the royals.  She knew they were seen and so any attempt to run would be met with death.  

Heavy footsteps walked up the stage steps, and before she could even move large hands were hefting her and Alfie from behind the chair.  They ripped Alfie from her arms and she screamed, trying to get ahold of him again as he cried and tried to grab for her.  Y/N’s body was wrenched around and she came face to face with a familiar looking man.

“Hello, Drottning, remember me?” the Norseman from years earlier smiled at her.

“You!” Y/N breathed as her eyes widened.

The Norseman chuckled as he led her to the front of the stage to stand next to her Mother and Father who sat dumbfounded on their thrones, Alfie on the other side of them being held back by another man.  Y/N looked around and even through her fear was struck by the attractive nature of these men.  Most of them were spattered in blood and sweat from fighting, and yet she had never seen so many handsome men.  The yelling started to die down as one Norseman walked forward, assumedly the leader, the rest of them parting to let him through.  The one approaching her and her family was easily one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen in her life.  His long, dark brown hair was half tied back with braids that had ornaments of beads and metal cuffs attached to them.  His full beard was cut neatly and framed his pink lips, which were stretched into a menacing smirk.  His blue eyes shone bright like the ocean just after a storm, and she could see the mischievous glint in them as he scanned the family.  He was covered in Norse battle gear from just under his jaw to his feet, a large sheathed sword on his right side and a war hammer at his left.  His left arm was bare, and upon further inspection Y/N realized it wasn’t flesh, but some kind of metal, yet it looked and functioned like a normal arm.  He was huge, like all the other men, tall and broad.  His eyes settled on her and he appraised her, giving her a long look up and down.  Y/N straightened herself under his stare, refusing to bow or show weakness to him.  His smirk deepened at her as he looked back at her parents.

“King Henry, Queen Eugenia,” he greeted them in a deep, booming voice.  “I am James Barnes, Jarl of the Danes, or Norsemen as you like to call us.”  He nonchalantly took a half eaten pastry off the table closest to him and popped it in his mouth, chewing it slowly.  “What a lovely party.  We missed our invitation,” he said with a sly smile, making his men laugh heartily around him.

Henry just couldn’t help himself as he stood up.  “You aren’t wanted, heathens!  Leave immediately!”

“Now now, Henry, is that any way to speak to the ones who have conquered you?” James admonished him.  “I’ve come to make peace, and you want to scream insults?”

Y/N silently gasped.  Peace?  With the Norsemen?  

“Make peace?  While you murder my nobles and threaten my family?  That’s preposterous,” Henry scoffed.  Y/N glared at her father, silently wishing for him to shut up.

“Well you could either choose peace, or watch the rest of your nobles and your family die, starting with your heir,” James threatened, glancing at Alfie.  Y/N squirmed against the Norseman behind her at the threat.  “And we’ll make some stops along the way to some of your most prosperous cities and take what we need.  The choice is yours.”

“That’s no choice!” Henry yelled and then started to move towards James.  “You wretched, barbaric–”

A whistle sounded through the hall as an arrow was loosed.  It flew straight towards Alfie’s chest.  Y/N’s hand yanked out of the Norseman’s hand that was holding her and stretched toward her brother as she screamed, “NO!”

The arrow stopped, hovering right in front of Alfie’s heart, surrounded by the green light.  The men gasped, James staring at Y/N with an awestruck smile on his face.  “So it’s true,” he whispered.  Y/N flicked her wrist and the arrow went flying towards the wall and shattered.  Before she could even drop her hand James was in front of her.  He looked at the Norseman holding her back and nodded to him.  “Thor, is this the English witch of royal blood who freed you?”

The man behind her nodded and lightly shoved her into his arms.  James held her by her arms and looked down at her.  “What’s your name, Princess?”

Y/N could only stare at his bright blue eyes, her heart hammering in her chest at exposing herself and her ability.  “Y/N,” she whispered.  

“Y/N,” he repeated it like it was a prayer.  “I’ve been talking to the wrong person.”  He pulled her forward to face her family.  “Henry, you’ve been hiding something,” he chuckled as he plopped his chin on her shoulder so they were cheek to cheek and ran his fingers up and down her arms, the metal ones sending chills up her spine.  “She’s the one with power, not you.”  Henry glared at her, a hateful look on his face.  “Oh, I see,” James’ voice became sharper.  “You feel threatened by her, so you’ve hid her away, stomped on her potential to grow,” Y/N was nearly shaking as she felt the adrenaline rush through her.  “She’s a goddess among you pathetic royals,” he kissed the side of her head, “and you wanted to reduce her to a torture device.  You let the magic go to waste.”  He turned her towards him again and dipped his face to be at eye level with her.  “We have magic at home.  We can help you learn and grow,” Y/N’s eyes widened at him.  “So I ask you, Princess Y/N.  What do you choose, death or peace?”

Y/N exhaled a shaky breath as she stared at him.  As he touched her she let her ability slip into his mind.  She could find no lie in his words.  He and his people were tired, the constant war depleting their resources and wiping out families.  They won the battles more often than lost, but it had put a strain on their lives.  His mention of magic seemed real, too, with glimpses and flashes of things that were unexplainable popping up in his mind.  Y/N thought about her people and how the English had been begging for peace for years as well, all of it falling on her father’s greedy, prideful ears.  She could tell James was good, and only wanted good for his men and his people.

“I propose an allyship,” she said.  James blinked and his eyebrows furrowed at her.  “A peace treaty with a tradition as old as time,” she clarified, gulping quickly.  “We join our families in marriage.”  His eyes flicked between hers, like he was studying her.  His men around him mumbled as they considered the idea.  “If you are unmarried,” she amended, since she wasn’t sure, “or if someone in your nobility is unmarried, I will come with you as a peace offering, a marriage tribute.  You will have me, and my power, and leave my family and my people be,” she said, trying to look and sound every bit the princess her mother had always wanted her to be.  “And we will end this war and finally bring peace to our people.”

James stood straight, towering over her.  He watched her for another moment, then stepped back and looked to his men behind him.  Two of them walked up and spoke to him quietly.  Y/N waited on baited breath as they consulted with each other.  They stood back and he turned toward her again.  “Done,” he said simply, the smirk returning to his lips.  Y/N nodded and quietly sighed.  “My Drottning,” he spoke lowly, holding out his metal hand.  She put her right hand into his metal hand, admiring it.  

“What does that mean?” she asked him.

“My Queen,” he winked at her.  Y/N blushed deeply.  He turned to his men and held her hand up high in his.  “We have peace!” he yelled triumphantly.  The thunderous roar returned as they cheered, their hands and swords and axes held high as they hugged each other and drank some of the wine left on the tables around them.  James dropped their joined hands and kissed the hand he held, making her blush again.  “Say goodbye to your family, Drottning, we leave immediately.”

He let her go and she ran up the stairs towards her family.  She ignored her parents altogether, grabbing Alfie and holding him tight against her.  

“Don’t go,” Alfie cried as his fingers clutched her dress.

“I have to,” Y/N cried as she carded her fingers through his hair.  “You listen to me,” she knelt in front of him and held his face in her hands, “you remember what I’ve taught you.”  He nodded frantically.  “Do not listen to Father,” he nodded again, making her father sneer at them next to her.  “I’ve seen it in you,” she whispered, laying a hand against his heart then tapping her finger to her head.  “You will become one of the greatest kings England has ever known, as long as you don’t do as Father has done.  You will bring continued peace and prosperity, you hear me?”  She wiped his tears away.  “Because you are a good boy, and will become a great man.  My little king,” she kissed his forehead firmly before pulling away.

Alfie cried harder as she stepped away from him.  She turned to her father.  “Stay away from him,” she warned him, glancing at Alfie.  “I have procured a peace that you, and your father, and your father’s father could never have dreamed of,” she sneered back at him.  “Do good by our people, for once in your miserable life.”  She glared at him before turning back towards James who stood patiently waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.  

His men were slowly retreating out of the great hall as he held his hand out for her again.  She took it as he flashed one last glance and triumphant smile at her father before leading her out the front doors.  As they walked through the courtyard and towards the horses waiting for them he glanced at her attire.

“Hm, this won’t do while riding,” he said as he twirled her around.  Y/N furrowed her eyebrows at him.  “Where’s your lady’s maid?”

Y/N looked around and saw the telltale eyes peeking from behind the stables.  “May,” she pointed.

James summoned her forward out of hiding.  She quickly ran across the courtyard and into Y/N’s arms, sobbing as Y/N pet her hair.  “Miss May, go fetch your princess’ riding clothes and some simple dresses for travel,” James instructed her.  May stared at him with wide eyes, looking at Y/N who nodded to her.  She was escorted back inside with Thor to get Y/N’s things packed.

As they stood there waiting, the snow started to fall.  Y/N looked up and sighed as the cold kissed her face, a welcome reprieve to her inflamed cheeks from the night’s tension.  She looked towards James who was already looking at her.

“What do I call you?” she asked him.  

“You can call me Bucky,” he said.

“Bucky?” she asked, a small smirk pulling her lips.

“A nickname,” he laughed at her perplexed look.  “Saved for those closest to me.  And since you’ll be my queen–”

“So it is you I’ll be marrying then?”  Y/N asked.

“Yes,” Bucky laughed harder.  “I guess I didn’t make that very clear.”

“Hm,” Y/N hummed.  “You have a very English name...James.”

“Yes,” he agreed, sighing as he looked at the falling snowflakes.  “We Norsemen and you Anglo-Saxons are not that different from each other,” he said with a twinkle in his eye as he winked at her again.  

Y/N pondered that as May came out holding Y/N’s riding clothes and boots with Thor holding a small trunk that he loaded onto one of the wagons they had waiting.  May ran back to Y/N.

“Go change, and then we’ll be off,” Bucky excused Y/N, who led May over to the stables.  They went into an empty bay and May quickly stripped Y/N out of her gown and into her riding clothes.

“My lady,” May said as she held Y/N’s crown in her hands.  Y/N looked at it and gingerly took it from her.  She stared at it for a moment before giving it back to her.  She gave May another hug.  

“Take it, my love,” she said as May sobbed in her arms again.  “Run away and marry that stable boy, Ben, and use it to live long happy lives together,” she said as she pulled away.

May nodded as she cried, gathering up the gown as she said goodbye.

Y/N came back out in her riding clothes.  She approached Bucky who was preparing his horse.  He mounted it and held his hand out to her.  She took it and he helped hoist her behind him on the saddle.  He wrapped her hands around his waist then she felt him tying her wrists together.

“What–” she started, trying to look over his shoulder.

“So you don’t run off,” Bucky cocked an eyebrow at her in warning as he looked back at her.

“I won’t,” Y/N promised.

“That’s what they all say,” Bucky chuckled before he turned to his men who were all waiting.  “To Danmark!!”

“To Danmark!” they all yelled, and the pounding of hooves rang through the night as they all rode out of the courtyard and into the English countryside.

Y/N’s arms tightened around Bucky, her head tucking in between his shoulder blades as the winter wind stung her face.  She was not going to run and wanted to prove it to him.  She wanted peace, even if it meant giving up herself to get it. After about an hour they all started to slow as they reached the water’s edge where multiple ships were docked, secured by other Norsemen who waited anxiously for them.

Bucky untied the rope around her wrists then dismounted.  He held his hands up to her hips and helped her down as well.  He inspected her wrists, giving them a short rub.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to each wrist.  Y/N was surprised at his affection, but welcomed it in the moment.  He pulled her towards one of the boats.  He helped her step onto it and settled her into a corner of the stern that was covered in furs and quilts.  He pulled one of the furs up and covered her with it, securing it around her shoulders.  There was plenty of room around her as she got herself comfortable.

“It’s going to be a four day journey, Drottning,” Bucky kneeled in front of her.  “This area is for all of us to sleep, so you’ll have at least a few men next to you, but don’t fear,” he reassured her at the look on her face, “they’re harmless.  Just tired.”

Y/N looked around at the men loading themselves into the boat, many of them taking seats at the benches where the oars were sitting.  She felt worried but nodded at him.  He gave her a smile and stepped away to help load more things into the boats.  They all worked methodically together until in just a few minutes they were ready to pull off.  Bucky was stationed at one of the oars as well, giving the signal and they shoved off the shore.

Y/N watched the men in her boat and the others row in perfect unison.  She admired their strength and the way they all seemed to be of one mind as they worked together to get into a good rhythm, making the boat fly through the water.  The rhythmic rowing lulled her to sleep as she snuggled down into the furs below her.

She woke a few hours later.  It was still dark out, the rowing still going strong.  As she shifted to get more comfortable she felt a heavy weight around her waist.  She panicked until she turned and saw Bucky’s peaceful face sleeping next to her, his metal arm resting on her side.  Y/N looked down at the arm.  She admired its craftsmanship, unsure of how he was able to find or create such a thing.  Her fingers traced along the metal, the plates and divots carved like the muscles of a real arm would be.  When she reached his hand she lightly traced each finger with the tip of her pointer finger.  His hand suddenly moved to grasp her wrist.  She gasped as he gently maneuvered her to face him.  His eyes were still closed as he let go of her wrist then wound his metal arm around her back this time, holding her to his chest.  “Sleep, wife,” he mumbled, his voice coming out hoarsely as he kissed her forehead and rested his chin on top of her head.  

Y/N was stiff for a moment until the warmth enveloped her and she melted into his embrace.  She pressed her nose into his sternum and breathed deeply as her hands gripped the fur coat he was wearing.  He hummed as his breathing evened out and a soft snore rumbled in his chest.  It lulled her to sleep again, a small smile on her face.

**picture is A.I. from Pinterest, unknown original "artist" or "creator"**

[witchezandwonderz]

In the Heart of the Blood Month...

Aethelstan x reader

Quick A/N- If you enjoy my writing please could you like or reblog- this will help me find new accounts and mutuals to follow and enjoy others work. Thank you <3

The Blood Month had just begun, but our last argument still echoed between us, sharper than any silence. Will he, for just once, be able to see that this grudge he holds is pure and utter ridiculousness? This thought definitely weighs heavy on his mind too. We are both the absolute definition of stubbornness, and believe me, other times have been worse.

Sitting here, by this freezing cold lake, all I have is time to think and think and think again. Do I just get up now, march in there and demand that we reconcile? I could, I could definitely do that- but- that would mean dragging myself up from the dirt, walking into a room of men and admitting defeat. Absolutely not. Not my style.

Aethelstan feels as though he is at home, here, in Rumcofa. I do not. I suppose that I would not feel at home anywhere on this strange planet. I have never really had one of those. I was found, as a child, by a seer named Skade. Uhtred has never divulged the entire story to me but what I do know, is that I was passed from Saxon to Dane as though I was a possession. I do not remember much of this, nor do I remember Skade. I have, however, been told tales and stories about her bizarre and most extreme ways. I ended up with Uhtred and his band of merry men, whom I have grown to love, including Aethelstan, whom I love in a different way completely.

I barely think about my childhood and past, not due to an overload of emotion, but simply because if I do not think about such events then they refuse to be real.

A raspy voice brought my attention back to reality, where my backside was beginning to turn numb due to the amount of time I have been fixed into the frosty ground.

"Y/N, it is nearly time, why are you sulking here you little weirdo" Finan called breathlessly in an attempt to approach me quickly, while trying to stop his ale from spilling out completely. I kept my gaze in front of me, refusing to look away as I replied quietly "now you know that I am one of the tallest girls here, therefore meaning, I am not little" I rolled my eyes as I concluded my sentence. Finan collapsed next to me, in turn, causing me to move out of his way and turn my head to scowl at him. I was met by a bright, glassy eyed, smiley, drunk man who laughed and retorted "oh shut up will ya, you're missing all the fun Y/N, Aethelstan has had too much ale and is telling everyone the story about how you met" My head snapped up at this as Finan and I both stated the word "again?"- well, mine was a question, his was a matter of fact. Finan laughed, "well, you know how much he loves you".

"Yeah, he loves me so much that he cannot even approach me to ensure that I am well and instead would rather show off to a room of men" Finan's smile dropped at my words; he opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted- "AND also, why on earth does he think that getting drunk before his first hunt is a good idea-" by the end of my sentence, I began to unstick my backside from the dirt. As I stood up, I finished my words "what a fool". Before I was able to tear away, I felt a firm grip on my wrist "let go of me" I stated, looking down. Finan laughed, "Y/N, You had a weird fight over something minor, go and sort things out" He stated, his laughter reducing with each word. Me? Me sort it out? He must be humouring me.

"Finan, you do know why we had a 'weird fight'? Do you not? What did he tell you? Because from my point of view, I was practising with Cynlaef, minding my own business and then suddenly, Aethelstan starts throwing his weight about and screaming at both of us!"

"I know what happened, Y/N, you need to understand that for a man, seeing your woman practice fighting with another man, it does not feel, you know, great" Finan explained.

I concluded my conversation and shuffled my way to where the others were. Drinking, laughing, dancing and playing around- everyone is extremely excited about blood month, and believe me, no one is hiding it. It is rare to have something to look forward too these days.

It is not long before my eyes land on my Aethelstan's beautiful curly locks. It honestly does not matter how much him and I argue, I will always appreciate how unbelievably handsome he is. I honestly think that no matter how old and independent I grow, he will never fail to make me weak. It is a blessing and a curse, all at once.

I stood, briefly, while taking in the scenery, and breathing in the crisp air. A debate continued within my mind, part of me wanted to go up to him immediately and kiss him, the other part of me wanted to go up to him immediately and punch him. Unfortunately, before I had a chance to do either of those things a loud, familiar voice echoed through the air

"Aethelstan! Why have you left your post?" Uhtred announced, in turn earning the attention of everybody who gathered. Aethelstan's smile dropped, leaving him looking like a mood riddled teenager, which made me smirk, as he replied "It's good luck for blood month, Uhtred".

The conversation between them continued, and as it did, I found myself attempting to drift into the background as much as possible. Aethelstan may enjoy being cheered on by every soul in our presence but I, do not. I want to quietly, and without a fuss, go, fight, kill a beast and then brag about it when it is all done.

"Where is Y/N?" I heard Aethelstan ask, his voice getting louder and louder with each word. Everyone's eyes somehow found me, as I squatted down next to a nearby tree with a cup of ale in my hand. I rolled my eyes while standing up "I am here". I walked towards the men, Uhtred's happy demeanour forced a smile upon my face as he screamed "now, are YOU ready?". I laughed at this "am I ready? What do you think?". The men laughed and cheered, continuing with their small conversations- I expected this to be a moment where Aethelstan would approach me, but, to my surprise, he did not. He stood, pretending to be looking at something in the distance, not realising that I could see that his eyes were fixed upon me. I took a breath. Fine. I will swallow my pride.

I approached him, and looked up at him as I spoke, "my love, I-" my words were cut short,

"Y/N, I love you, but not now, we will speak after" his words were blunt and monotone. He kissed my forehead and with that, he walked away.

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

An hour passed, we all separated and made our own ways into the woods. I crept within the dark trees, attempting to make no noise. Admittedly, a very hard task when having an animal head sewn to your cloak- not the easiest endeavour. Things like this go very quickly, you see, you have to be focused constantly and consistently. I followed the squeals and crunches but could not locate the stupid beast for the life of me.

I did, however, hear a rustle a few metres away. I crept towards it, trying to be mindful of my surroundings, but, again, very difficult with an animal sewed to my head. With that, I pulled the head off, mumbling "screw it" to myself. Once removed, I could finally see within my peripheral vision once again. I heard the rustle again, looking left through the cracks in the trees, there he was. I chuckled and made it my next mission to frighten him. Will it make the argument worse? Yes. Will I do it anyway? Yes.

"Whose men are you?" Fear laced within his voice. Were there others? I crept closer, gaining a better view, where to my horror, I saw the love of my life surrounded by three men. Ugly fuckers they were too.

Fuck sake

Without a second thought, I leapt over the river that divided us to join. All four men looked at me, Aethelstan gasped in surprise while the other men started laughing. Laughing.

I hate most men, and I absolutely, will not be a joke to them.

I leapt forward once more, but this time, I swung my sword at one of the men, he dodged it. I ran behind him and swiped my pocket knife at his legs, slicing them both in a straight line. The man yelped in pain but did not back down. For a brief moment, I looked over and saw Aethelstan in a similar situation to myself, while a man I recognised watched on, somewhat amused by the events.

We continued for a little while longer, until I finally managed to get him onto the cold floor and slit his throat. When securing that he was dead, I jumped up to see, again, Aethelstan in a similar situation. He lunged towards me, engulfing me in a warm hug, blood and mud filling the small distance between us.

"Y/N, you should not have joined, you could have been killed" His voice stern, but his eyes soft.

"If I had not have come here, you may have been killed and that, my love, would have caused a war unlike any battle you have seen" I said softly.

"I am sorry, I should not have screamed at you in such a way" he said, I pulled away and looked up at him.

"Why were you so hurt?" He shrugged at my question , "I don't know, I just do not like seeing anyone other than Uhtred train you. Well and myself of course" He explained and then began to laugh as he said "it does sound quite idiotic when I speak it out loud though". I smiled as he laughed "It is okay, you are protective, I like it" I reasoned. Aethelstan's laugh continued as he said "clearly you are too" and pointed towards the two corpses on the floor.

Soon, the others joined us, and with that, Aethelstan bragged, with pride about what had happened.

[the-magiarcheologist]

Reading the Ancient Magic Book Pages

I propose to you today a short analysis of the sections of text on the pages of the Ancient Magic book we find below the restricted section.

High-res images of the book’s pages have been shared by a kind soul. Here they all are:

I was working on a completely different post when I realised that the text on the last 2 pages was easily readable and written in Latin. So I just did a quick search and discovered that these are verses from the Vulgate (4th century translation of the Bible in Latin), more precisely from the Gospel of Luke from the New Testament.

A bit more research and I could find exactly which source they got this text from: the Book of Kells, a Celtic Gospel book written in Latin and illuminated in the Insular style (a combination of Celtic and Anglo-Saxon styles). The precise origins of the Book of Kells are debated but many believe it was created around the year 800 at the monastery founded by St Colum Cille on Iona Island in western Scotland.

Here I put side by side the pages of the Ancient Magic book and the pages from the Books of Kells where the text is from (folio 204r and 275r):

The verses they used are Luke 22:23

Et ipsi coeperunt quaerere inter se quis esset ex eis qui hoc facturus esset.

Which translates to:

And they began to enquire among themselves, which of them it was that should do this thing.

And on the second page, Luke 4:8-14

Et respondens Jesus, dixit illi: Scriptum est: Dominum Deum tuum adorabis, et illi soli servies. Et duxit illum in Jerusalem, et statuit eum super pinnam templi, et dixit illi: Si Filius Dei es, mitte te hinc deorsum. Scriptum est enim quod angelis suis mandavit de te, ut conservent te: et quia in manibus tollent te, ne forte offendas ad lapidem pedem tuum. Et respondens Jesus, ait illi: Dictum est: Non tentabis Dominum Deum tuum. Et consummata omni tentatione, diabolus recessit ab illo, usque ad tempus. Et regressus est Jesus in virtute Spiritus in Galilaeam, et fama exiit per universam regionem de illo.

Which translates to:

And Jesus answered and said unto him, Get thee behind me, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve. And he brought him to Jerusalem, and set him on a pinnacle of the temple, and said unto him, If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down from hence: For it is written, He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee: And in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone. And Jesus answering said unto him, It is said, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God. And when the devil had ended all the temptation, he departed from him for a season. And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit into Galilee: and there went out a fame of him through all the region round about.

I’m not christian and don’t know much about the Bible so I have no idea why they chose these particular verses. Maybe someone more educated than me will be able to chime in. My hunch is that these verses were just chosen at random from old manuscripts that the artists for the game were using as reference for the art style.

Now, since I was on a roll, I also looked at the text on the other pages. Pages 1 and 3 have some text written in some old form of Icelandic (figured that out from the few words I could sort of read on those pages). So I started looking into old Icelandic manuscripts but it took me a ridiculously long time to find the exact source the text is from! I was starting to go mad but here it is! It’s from an illustration of the Prose Edda found in the Icelandic manuscript ÍB 299 4to., in particular the illustration of the god Týr presented as Mars (folio 60r).

They took the short text in the little box and copy/pasted it mosaic style to give the illusion of the full page of text but you can see it’s just short sections that repeat over and over on both pages.

(To note: this manuscript is from 1764 so it’s sort of anachronistic for them to use this source for an Ancient Magic book that already existed in the Keepers time, meaning the Ancient Magic book is from the 15th century or older.)

Týr is one of the principal war gods in Norse mythology (alongside Odin and Thor) but he also presides over justice and the law. Latin texts often identified him as Mars (hence the subject of the illustration).

I could not find any transcription or translation of the text on the image, I could only decipher some words here and there such as «sigir hielldu» which google translate tells me could mean «victories held» in Icelandic. A bit further down there is «orrustu guð» which could mean «god of war». So it seems to be a short description of the god Týr and at the end there are roman numerals that identify the section in the Prose Edda where the story of Týr can be found.

Again, I can’t really see how this text makes particular sense in the context of the Ancient Magic book, probably just placeholder text from some of the sources they were studying as inspiration.

There is one last book page, but the text on this one is so blurred I didn’t even try to decipher it. Although I do note that the artist has traced over some letters which are: W S M I(?) I(?) I(?) Z N R(?) P(?) G W Q O U(?) H W R(?)

Don’t know… some of them are hard to read or could be not from the Latin alphabet. Again, I just can’t make sense of that. There are not enough vowels for it to be an anagram of an English or Latin phrase so… what else? I leave this mystery to others with more powerful brains than mine!

Anyway, this is it! Not really much to say about this but I think other people are also planning on looking into these book pages so maybe these findings can help them out!

[archiveofmyownatsixinthemorning]

One Night in Bangkok

***

“Wanna go out?”

Saxon looked up from his cell phone in disbelief. „Huh?“ He definitely must have misheard.

Lochy leaned at the door, his hands in his pockets. “We didn't have time to see Bangkok on the way here.”

“What??” His pulse shot up in milliseconds. “How can you want to go out after everything that's happened? Dad is going to prison!”

Lochy shrugged his shoulders. “He could stay here, in Thailand.”

This was – “Loch, we've lost everything! I have lost everything!”

Lochy shrugged his shoulders again as if none of this were a problem. “Then what's the point of squatting here in the room? Maybe it'll take your mind off it.”

“Take your mind off it???” Saxon grimaced in complete disbelief. “What is wrong with you?”

As so often, his little brother just looked at him out of his big doe eyes. But something in his gaze was different than usual. “You know, I almost died today.”

Okay, now Lochy was apparently completely out of his mind. When was this supposed to have happened?

“I made myself a protein shake,” his brother continued calmly and unperturbed. “Apparently it still had some of the coconut milk in it, which was bad, you know. I vomited, passed out... Dad said he held me for minutes and thought I was dead.”

The naivety of his little brother was sometimes unbelievable. “You don't die from bad coconut milk!”

Lochy shrugged again. “Maybe in combination with the protein stuff...”

Saxon shook his head in frustration about Lochy, but said nothing more. Because something in him was triggered by this conversation, this thought of his little brother in danger, that made him afraid. Even terrified him.

Their dad appeared behind Lochy in the doorway. “Do me a favor and go outside for a bit. We can’t… ”

Had they all gone mad now? “Dad, I can't go out now! Do you think I can just have fun and pretend nothing's wrong?”

His dad sighed. “There's no point sitting here in the hotel room. You need to eat and I think your brother could do with a bit of company.” He looked briefly but worriedly at Lochy, which confused Saxon even more. “Come on… Please. Go get something nice to eat.”

Saxon rolled his eyes, they were all crazy here! Their world was coming to an end and they should go out for a nice meal! “Fine!” He threw his cell phone on the bed. Fuck it! If nobody cared then everything really didn't matter at all.

***

Lochy was somehow more eager than usual. He seemed to have a goal. While Saxon would have just gone to the nearest restaurant, Lochy seemed to want to go somewhere.

Saxon walked dully after him. His head was either too full or too empty to make any decisions. But he had to admit, the more they got into busy areas, the more the hustle and bustle captivated him. All the people, all the colourful lights, the still foreign-sounding music coming from all the stores, the spicy smells of the food on the street, the sultry air... It washed over his brain cells and made him drift. Every now and then Lochy turned to look at him, his glare widening each time, losing the sadness, beginning to glow instead, and Saxon wondered why some things were the way they were and not otherwise.

And then they were apparently there, walking into a blinking bar and only when they sat down on a soft, plush sofa and it glittered all around them, from decorations to people, did Saxon realize where Lochy had dragged him.

“A gay bar?” he asked snidely. But Lochy didn't seem to mind the snideness, he just beamed at his brother. “Martinis?”

“Well, anything but a pina colada,” he answered dryly.

Lochy laughed with joy and Saxon wished he was Lochy at that moment. You really had to be naïve enough not to care about what was happening to their family. And while Lochy ordered the martinis, shy and bold at the same time, and looked around the bar curiously and enthusiastically, just looking so happy, Saxon could only stare at him.

Lochy returned the gaze. “I think that's what people mean about near-death experiences. Afterwards, you kind of feel like you've been reborn.”

His little brother was truly incorrigible. “And that near-death experience also told you that you were gay now?”

Lochy shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know... But maybe I'll find out.”

Just at that moment, a scantily clad waiter in hot pants and a tank top and a mega toned body brought the drinks. He winked at Lochy with an “Enjoy, huns” and when Saxon saw Lochy's proud grin because of that, there was a feeling deep inside him again... It couldn't be jealousy, so maybe it was something like envy? Envy of being as carefree and free as Lochy?

“Ey, dude...You can't be serious!” It was meant to sound derogatory, but secretly Saxon was actually glad that there was an impressed tone to it. He knew that his brother needed more affection. Otherwise, perhaps certain things wouldn’t have happened... Lochy grinned mischievously, “Why not?” and held out his martini glass for him to clink glasses.

His shy little brother, happy in a gay bar.

It was all crazy shit here, Saxon couldn't help but laugh and clinked glasses with Lochy.

The bar was jam-packed with good-looking, well-trained guys and Saxon realized how this somehow unsettled him. He just wasn't used to it. He had always been the best-looking guy in the room. It was laughable that it intimidated him somehow now, but that was probably also simply due to the fact that he had just lost his entire life. If he didn't even stand out with his appearance now, what else did he have in his life? He looked at Lochy. A half-naked guy was leaning down and whispering something in his ear that made Lochy giggle. Lochy, 18, who had his whole life ahead of him. It had to be envy.

Another half-naked guy slid onto the sofa next to Saxon. Why did they all have to walk around here half-naked? “Hey, handsome,” the stranger whispered in his ear, his arm on Saxon's shoulder, his hand in Saxon's hair and Saxon was almost about to jump up. But somehow he was too tired for that, so he just raised his hands defensively instead. “Sorry, not interested, I'm just here for my brother.”

The stranger smirked. “Your brother?”

Saxon was unnerved, “What's there to smirk about?”

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. “Because you only seem to have eyes for your brother.”

Saxon took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, since there are no half-naked women here and I'm not into men, there's just not much to look at.”

The stranger nodded, but it was the nod of someone who doesn't believe you.

Saxon had to close his eyes for a second. Where was his defense? But it was all too much somehow. Could he be blamed? When he opened his eyes again, the stranger was looking at him sympathetically. He felt a thumb gently stroking the back of his neck.

“The world is going down the drain and people get upset when people love each other.... It's not really a problem, you know. Especially not here.”

He knew he should have told him how he felt about that bullshit insinuation, but for a second Saxon just wanted to let himself fall. Just let himself fall. With his thumb on the back of his neck. He was so tired. From everything.

The stranger rummaged in the pockets of his tight hot pants and a moment later held a small pill in front of Saxon’s mouth. “Here, love. You need it.”

It didn't matter now, did it? Everything was so irrelevant.

So he simply took the pill.

He saw the stranger offer Lochy and his guy pills too, they both laughed, popped them in each other's mouths and then kissed. His little brother Lochy was kissing some guy he didn’t know and Saxon was watching.

He was the most pathetic and sickest asshole there was.

The pill kicked in very quickly, but Saxon had the feeling it didn't seem as strong as the time before. Maybe it was because he hadn't been drinking as much alcohol. But to be honest, he didn't even know what he had taken. So much for it not mattering.

He simply leaned back into the sofa, not caring in the slightest that the stranger had put his arm around him and rested his head on his shoulders. They lay there like a couple in front of the TV and looked over at Lochy, having fun.

Lochy laughing with the guy, making out with him and looking at Saxon from time to time, happy and proud somehow.

It was impossible to put into words how Saxon felt. But since he didn't care, he didn't even try. The drugs and the stranger at his side did the rest. In his head, feelings of longing for closeness, warmth, security, safety, for a strong bond mixed with the images of Lochy kissing him, running his fingers through his hair, jerking him off. And he just let it go.

Saxon didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually Lochy crawled over to him and whispered in his ear. “Let's go.”

Saxon frowned. “What? Why? The guy thinks you're hot! Go for it, man! Don't mind me. My brain is fried anyway.”

Lochy tilted his head and grinned so warmly at him that he could almost have started crying. Closeness, safety.

The stranger next to Saxon beckoned Lochy over. He heard him say something like “Need a room?” or something similar and somehow Saxon was even happy for Lochy that he was going to get laid by this guy after all. At least one of their family should be happy. Even if only in some dirty hole in Bangkok.

They exchanged keys and money and then Lochy suddenly held out his hand to Saxon. “Come.”

Saxon grimaced questioningly. “No! You and this hot guy...”

Lochy smiled at him again. “I think you need a bed. Come on.”

Saxon sighed. Apparently he was more over it than he thought. And where was Lochy's guy even? And where was his guy?

Lochy heaved him up, then somehow out of the bar, into the hallway, up the stairs. When Lochy unlocked the door, he started laughing out loud, the room was just a rickety bed, the bed as big as the room, the room as big as the bed. A big fan on the ceiling. That was it.

It looked run-down and Saxon was amazed that he felt no aversion to it. It kind of suited him, didn't it? As run-down as he was.

Lochy gently pushed him onto the bed and closed the door behind them. “Well, that's a contrasting program, isn't it? We can practice for our new life.”

Saxon groaned. Why did Lochy have no problems with this at all?

Lochy lay down next to him and looked at Saxon, caring. “You ok?”

Damn Lochy… No. “Why aren't you with the guy? I... I don't mind if you're gay. You're still my little brother, ok?”

“Well, if I am, then I'm probably more bisexual...” And since when did his brother defend himself?

“And secondly, I'd rather have kissed someone else...”

Saxon swallowed. The fan on the ceiling squeaked and shook. None of it mattered. The world was going down. So he hesitantly asked, “Do you want to do it again?”

Lochy looked at him, closeness, safety, security and uncertainty, love, then nodded slowly and leaned toward Saxon.

Saxon held his breath.

None of it mattered.

Then their lips met.

It was just like the first time. Electrifying. It was painful to admit, but it had so much more meaning than any kiss before. He felt like he could let himself go for the first time in his life. Just let go. And he let himself fall.

Like the first time, Lochy was incredibly bold and as weird as it might seem, Saxon just gave himself to him. Lochy kissed him, his tongue meeting his, and Saxon responded because that was what he wanted to do. He liked the battle, he liked Lochy’s boyish eagerness. He didn't know how long they kissed, but soon he felt Lochy's fingertips gliding over his body, he felt Lochy's lips on his neck, on his skin, he just let it happen. Everything.

He had a major hard-on, he didn't mind. He enjoyed Lochy's closeness, his love for him, Lochy's hand on his cock and Lochy's hard-on brushing against his leg.

“Turn around,” Lochy said softly at one point.

Saxon gasped, startled and aroused. “No!” That was going too far! How could Lochy seriously... He only hoped Lochy hadn't realized how much the thought had aroused him.

But Lochy apparently had noticed the arousal, because he smiled at him and ignored the protest. His lips close to his ear, whispering, “Think about how it will make you feel… My tongue...” Fuck! Saxon moaned, he couldn't help it. And Lochy almost giggled, smiled. “Come on, I know you'll love it, Sax...” That fucking doe look.

Saxon closed his eyes. He had always been afraid. He had given himself so much tits and pussy 24/7 that he couldn’t even have thought about anything else. For his sake, everyone should do as they pleased, but not him, Saxon.

Lochy was nestling his neck, while his hand was pumping Saxon’s cock. “Please, Sax, let me try it, let me please you, let me love you. You know, I'll make it good for you. I know it. And you know it, too, right? Just this once.”

Just this once, because the world was coming to an end anyway. With little protest left Saxon rolled over onto his stomach and Lochy thanked him with kisses, on his shoulders, down his spine, lower and lower, ever lower. Just this once! Saxon closed his eyes, his pelvis ready to rise up to meet. He felt Lochy's hands on his butt cheeks, felt his butt cheeks being pulled apart and he groaned loudly as he felt Lochy's warm, wet tongue at his entrance. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He clawed his fingers into the sheet and moaned again and again as Lochy licked and tongued him, after some time additionally taking his thumb and massaging him, pushing slightly over the threshold and again Saxon almost panicked at what might come next. Not that too. But it all felt so good, why did it have to feel so fucking good?

“Just this once, it's between us,” Lochy whispered to him.

Just this once, just trying it out, and honestly, they'd gone so far now, it didn't make any difference after all, did it?

Lochy gently said “turn around” again and this time Saxon turned around without hesitation. Which wasn't to say he wasn't scared, he was panicking. It was ridiculous, he was ridiculous. What had become of him?

Lochy was above him, smiling at him, calming him down. “We don't have to go all the way... Just far enough for you to feel things you've never felt before.”

Saxon nodded slowly and relaxed as Lochy covered his upper body with kisses, this time moving further and further down his front. Towards his throbbing cock.

Lochy laughed nervously. “I hope I'm doing it right. This is different from a handjob...”

Saxon laugh hoarsely, too. But before he could even think about how incredibly pure and innocent Lochy was, Lochy had already his cock in his mouth and was sucking on it with such abandon that Saxon could only groan out loud. He was going to rot in hell, if that wasn't already clear.

“How much fucking porn did you watch to be this good?” he gasped in honest awe and he could see how proud Lochy was that he could satisfy his big brother so skillfully.

But if Saxon thought that was it for Lochy's boldness and wickedness, he was wrong. He saw Lochy briefly let go of his cock to wet his index and middle fingers, to then boldly shoving them between Saxon's ass cheeks. And this time the threshold was definitely crossed.

Fuck!

It also didn't take long for Lochy to find that spot that made Saxon feel things he'd never felt before and it made his body tremble, writhing with ecstasy. That feeling added to Lochy's hot, wet and way too skilled mouth around his cock, it was just too much.

“Lochy...!”

He wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. He wanted to warn him.

“Loch-...”

But somehow it had been clear that Lochy wanted to try what it was like.

Saxon came, came in Lochy's mouth, Lochy swallowed, coughed and laughed while Saxon struggled for breath and seeing his brother that happy it already hurt his soul that he wouldn't be able to love Lochy the way he deserved.

Lochy, his adorable little brother.

He needed to love him at least tonight.

Still laughing, Lochy dropped onto the bed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Saxon turned to him, “Come here.”

Lochy crawled closer to him, they looked into each other's eyes, safety and love, and Saxon cupped Lochy's hard cock with his hand. A small, pleasurable stretch in response, his nose wrinkling in pleasure, that was all it took to make Saxon's heart grow even heavier. He placed his other hand on Lochy's cheek as he slowly began to pump him. “You did good, Lochy.” “Yeah?” Lochy smiled proudly at him. “Yes, you did very good.” Saxon ran his finger over Lochy's cheek, stroking it before sliding his thumb between Lochy's lips. “You made me come so hard. You are a very good boy, Lochy,” Lochy moaned and began to suck Saxon's thumb while humping in Saxon's hand. What a sight! Saxon thought about how Lochy would make so many gays happy, his little pure brother, a cute little puppy and a horny twink, and then Lochy's body already shook, Lochy's head snapped back with a gasp and Saxon felt Lochy's warm, sticky cum on his hand.

He resisted the impulse to kiss Lochy.

It was already enough that he had brought Lochy to orgasm. That was now a fact.

But the bigger problem was that he wanted to do it again. In every conceivable way.

Lochy laid his head against Saxon's chest and Saxon put his arm around Lochy, softly stroking his hair. Lochy's pulse slowly calmed, his breathing became more even and a short time later he fell asleep.

And Saxon wasn't sure if he would ever be able to sleep again with all the thoughts running through his head.

***

Saxon had slept, but really badly.

When he saw Lochy sleeping next to him, so peaceful and innocent, Saxon had to close his eyes for a moment, he felt extremely dizzy. What the fuck had they done? Again!

He got out of bed, went into the 1 square 1 meter bathroom and washed Lochy's dried cum off his hand.

He felt sick again, he had the urge to vomit again. But he now knew why. It wasn’t Lochy, he wasn’t disgusted by Lochy. It was the fear of what it would mean. And the knowing that there was no solution to it. What was to happen now? How the hell was everything supposed to go on now?

He washed his face, but the lukewarm water didn't cool him down and certainly didn't solve anything.

When he stood in front of the bed again, Lochy looked at him out of sleepy eyes, mumbling a soft “Morning”. His brother was cute, that could be said objectively. Still...

Saxon sighed, “Lochy, yesterday… We can't-”

But Lochy interrupted him directly, “We said, it was one night only, right?”

Saxon nodded, too astonished to say anything about this prompt and strict statement. “Yeah... right.” Just this once. “So... we are good?”

Lochy pushed aside the sheet to crawl out of bed. “Yeah, sure.”

Naked as he was, he squeezed past Saxon into the bathroom. Saxon looked after him before Lochy let the door fall shut.

Okay.

Saxon tried to gather his thoughts as his clothes. He hadn't expected Lochy to react so indifferently. Maybe there was something to the near-death experience after all and he had changed somehow.

But then everything was fine.

Wasn’t it?

***

A short time later, they stepped out onto the street.

Lochy squinted into the sun, “Oh God, way too bright!”

A good-looking guy came towards them, winked at Saxon and turned to look at him again as he passed.

Lochy laughed and pulled on his sunglasses. “You've got a whole new set of options now. Loads of possibilities.”

Saxon laughed too and ruffled Lochy's hair.

What the hell had happened?

He realized that somehow Lochy had pleased him in more than one way.

He had shown him a new side of himself.

And he had shown him... love.

Saxon didn’t know what was going to happen.

In every way it would be a new beginning.

It wouldn’t be bright, it wouldn’t be easy.

But who knows: maybe he would manage to combine both love and sex.

*

[akuma-tenshi]

found a twitter thread of people sending their favourite tumblr posts and it was an absolute goldmine of new content to make into end roll shitposts

gory sprites and spoilers for the entire game under the cut

[lochlogie]

I'm kind of craving something really stupid. Like a mafia or assassin au or something. Anything where Lochy is like a valuable target or prize. He's constantly getting kidnapped by rival organizations. But he's nothing but eminently polite the entire time. He's so well mannered and pliant. But he also always warns "You shouldn't have done this..."

He often bonds with his kidnappers, listening to their life stories and offering the latest therapy babble he's learned. He usually wins them over with his autistic swag, his cute charm, his flighty giggles at their bad jokes, his dumb little smiles when they get Big Tony to feed him homemade eggplant parm. Big Tony dreams of being a chef with his own restaurant one day.

Lochy thinks Big Tony has what it takes. "It just sucks that you guys are really cool, I'm gonna miss you," he chirps. His kidnappers look confused. Oh, did Lochy not mention? His big brother Saxon is like, the top enforcer/assassin in the Ratliff Crime Syndicate and anyone who touches a hair on Lochy's head gets hunted down to the ends of the earth and dies a painful death? And that Saxon has never let anyone escape no matter how far they run? Good luck boys~

And Saxon is such an efficient and ruthless killer, proficient with all kinds of guns and knives. He takes that shit seriously; it's an artform to him. Killing is his passion. Like, he's wearing this $9500 suit with these $850 leather gloves:

As he breaks into whatever warehouse they're holding Lochy in and he murks them in a matter of seconds. Blood and guts and brains are all over the walls and floor, but of course Lochy himself is spotless.

"Did you have to kill all of them? Big Tony was just letting me try his ziti, he didn't do anything..." Lochy whines. He finds the extreme level of violence a little distasteful.

But let's be honest, Saxon gets off on this shit. His kills are erotic. Like, one of the rivals mobsters is incapacitated and begging for his life and Saxon holds the back of his neck and rubs his thumb along the guy's throat and shushes him, before plunging his knife into his heart. Maybe this freak kisses the poor guy on the mouth while he does it. Maybe Saxon burns the hot muzzle of his gun into the meat of his own thigh, better than any cigarette, after he's done. Maybe he licks the blood off his knife before throwing it at a mook trying to escape out the back door. Lochy rolls his eyes as Saxon surveys his work, pupils blown, bulge throbbing in his pants.

Is it because taking life excites him or is it the thrill of the game? He rescued the princess from the tower and now he gets to claim his reward. And Lochy will always drawl "my hero," as Saxon grinds against his leg, pressing him up against the wall, panting, sweating, needy, keening all high pitched and desperate, trying not to blow his load in his expensive pants too quickly.

And maybe Saxon will growl at Lochy's snide comments and pull Lochy's hair and accuse him of letting himself get taken. He was sloppy with the security detail, he didn't bring backup. Men died because of him, loyal Ratliff men. And maybe Saxon will attach his hot mouth to Lochy's neck, careful not to create any visible marks. Maybe Lochy will gasp and whimper and try to counter that he never plans for this to happen, maybe he flashes those big brown eyes at Saxon and says "Don't be mad."

And maybe that's what takes Saxon over the finish line as he moans into Lochy's ear and blows his load all over both of them. And maybe, just maybe, he promises that the next time Lochy is dumb enough to let himself get captured by the enemy, Saxon is going to punish him.

Lochy isn't intimidated. He knows for what a sadistic monster Saxon is, he's the one person who's absolutely unconditionally safe around Saxon. Has he let that fact make him smug over the years? Well wouldn't you?

[evilkitten3]

prediction: dogma and cody, tabasa and gardenia, mireille and kantera, me and yumi. could also be mireille and gardenia, and tabasa and kantera, but we shall see.

ok back to end roll!

i mean fair but like. the only cop-adjacent person i've seen in this game is yumi and she pretty much just stays in the town, sooooo

not even a little bit.

how are they going to run. they're mermaids. they have no legs.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Hold Me Like A Knife (v, ao3)

Chapter five: A lot can happen over a game of hnefatafl.

(Previous chapter // next chapter)

Between his thumb and forefinger, Cassian held up a small ivory carving, no bigger than Nesta’s little finger.

“Your aim,” he said, tilting the tiny statuette until the candlelight shifted across its carved face, revealing a man with wide, expressive eyes and a crown balanced upon his head, “is to get the king into a corner. Moving only in straight lines.”

His voice rolled over her like a wave hitting the sands, so smooth and expansive. Later, Nesta might blame the scent of honeyed wine in the air or the haze of woodsmoke that lingered in the hall like a fine veil. Later, she might find any reason she could to explain why she didn’t snort at that tone in his voice - the cadence and the lilt of it, an edge honed by those used to giving instruction - and why she didn’t get right up and leave.

Later.

For now, she watched as Cassian set the miniature king down in the centre of the board with a flourish, in the middle of a square surrounded by intricate, angular, patterns. 

“What happens when he gets to the corner?” she asked. 

The corner of his lips twitched. “You win.”

Nesta straightened in her seat. 

Easy enough.

“Your pieces protect the king,” he went on, setting out six smaller, faceless, statues in a circle around their ivory sovereign. A single line of black squares edged each side of the board, and as Nesta watched, Cassian laid out twelve more pieces - carved from ebony, this time - along those lines, like a horde of waiting soldiers. A wry smile flickered across his face as he set down the last of those ebony pieces and pulled his eyes up to hers. 

“Mine attack him,” he finished.

Nesta snorted. “Fitting.”

His eyes simmered as he shot her a wink that would likely give any other Saxon woman a heart attack. “Once a Dane, always a Dane, sweetheart.”

With a roll of her eyes, she didn’t bother to respond. Instead, she took the time to look her fill at the board sitting between them on the table, with its black and white squares and neat lines.

It was strategy; she could see that.

She would not only need to find a clear route to the corner of the board, but predict where Cassian would move his pieces, too— anticipate his every move and block him before he could trap her. Something inside her piqued at that, like a great slumbering beast opened its eyes after a decade in hibernation. She had always been a curious child, always asking questions her father hadn’t known how to answer, and in the end, Aedwulf had given her education over to a local priest for a year or two, just to silence her incessant string of queries. The priest had been a kindly old man who seemed to have an endless well of patience for a child’s questioning, and though he’d read to her from the scriptures, he’d taken the time to teach her her letters too, and regaled her with tales of beasts and monsters from the same kind of myths her father had banned all knowledge of. 

When she told her husband, Tomas had said that it had been a waste, teaching a woman to read. 

So she had learned to swallow her questions and stifle that burning desire to simply... learn. But as Nesta looked at that black-and-white board, she felt the age-old tug of curiosity that she hadn’t allowed to swell unchecked for years.

And for the first time in over a decade, Nesta embraced it. 

She lifted her eyes from the board, and found the Dane watching her like every move she made, every breath she took, revealed something to him. Some part of the puzzle he was trying to figure out. She quirked a brow, leaning back a little in her seat as she dragged her gaze over his face and felt defiance stirring in her breast— the kind that made her want to make a string of bad decisions.

“Why should I be the one to defend the king?” she asked flatly.

Those hazel eyes flashed with barely-contained delight as Cassian grinned, all teeth and mischief; a wolf in the dark. “Shall we trade, then? For once I’ll be the Saxon, and you can try your hand at being a Dane.”

“Is that what this is?” she countered dryly. “A game of Danes and Saxons?”

He shot her another wink, one that made her skin feel too tight. “Isn’t that what everything is these days?”

Nesta hummed before casting her eyes back to the board. Idly, she dragged a fingertip along its wooden edge, pausing when she reached the line of black pieces designed to capture the distressed little king.

“Who moves first?”

Cassian inclined his head, golden light catching on the planes of his jaw. 

“Ladies first.”

***

Like a fool, Nesta had thought she would pick up the game as easily as she did everything else.

After all, languages had always come to her easily, and she had a mind not just for numbers but for dates, too. She could think and she could plot as well as any man, and yet somehow, she found herself on the losing side of this damned game, watching with ire boiling in her gut as Cassian plucked yet another of her pieces off the board and laid it down beside his tankard of ale. 

Clenching her jaw and fighting the frustration that made her want to hurl the board at a wall, Nesta scowled. 

She wasn’t used to this— to losing.

And yet her pieces had yet to make it anywhere near the king she was supposed to be attacking, because at every single turn Cassian blocked her, like he knew her move minutes before she made it. 

Bastard.

He hadn’t been lying when he said he was good at this.

Drumming her fingers against the edge of the table, Nesta took a breath. Blinked. Tried to look at the board from a different perspective— from his perspective. No matter how much she wanted to turn over the table right now, the challenge he had proffered kept her sitting in that chair and kept her mind working harder than it had for years, and even as he moved another square closer to victory, Nesta hummed as she lifted a hand and hovered over one of her pieces. 

Her eyes flicked up, watching for any sign on his face that she was making the wrong move. But Cassian wasn’t watching the board or her hand or the move she was planning to make. He was studying her instead, so intently she half thought he was measuring her breaths, counting her heartbeats. Shrewd and sharp, even with that endlessly-amused glint shining in his eyes, he looked at her like he could figure her out entirely, just by keeping his eyes trained on her face. 

And Nesta understood, then. To win wasn’t just to understand the game. It was to understand the opponent, too.

With a cocksure grin, Cassian reclined in his chair, kicking an ankle over his knee as he waited— like he had all day. And, Nesta thought, maybe she had all day, too.

Softly, she hummed as she tilted her head, contemplating the board. With every breath she felt his eyes on her, felt her skin heat beneath her dress, and as the moment dragged, she realised that the game on the table wasn’t the only match being played. Another was going on too, with far more risks and fewer rules. With every pass of his eyes across her, Cassian sized her up, and Nesta would be damned if she wasn’t going to take the opportunity to do the same.

To better understand the opponent, she told herself. To win the game.

Not for any other reason did she ask, smoothly, whilst still dragging her eyes over the squares before her,

“Tell me. What is it like out there? On the sea?”

Surprise danced across his face for all of a single moment before a grin split his lips in two. In the warm light of the candles, the shards of gold in his hazel eyes seemed to be like shafts of sunlight filtering through the canopy of an autumn forest, warm and bright and yet somehow possessed of a hunger that Nesta half thought might have been mirrored in her own eyes, too.

“Curious are we, love?”

Nesta shrugged.

“I have never left this land,” she said slowly, letting her fingers drift across the board as she contemplated where to move next. Cassian watched her the whole time, like he knew her decision already and was just waiting for her to catch up. She flicked her gaze up; caught his. “Never seen beyond these shores.”

“A pity.”

“You sailed here,” she added, her hand stilling as, at last, she made up her mind. Before she could change it, she plucked up one of her pieces and moved it a single square to the left.

“Obviously,” Cassian drawled, crooked grin spreading as he gave her a pointed glance before flicking aside the piece she had just moved and replacing it with one of his own in a move so smooth, so confident, that Nesta scowled again. “I didn’t exactly part the North Sea like your god to get here now, did I?”

His eyes dipped to the cross at her neck, and Nesta fought the urge to tuck it beneath the fabric of her dress.

“Heathen,” she said calmly, rolling her eyes as he tried and failed to smother that damned smile that seemed to light up his entire face. But he didn’t answer, only took a deep pull from his ale as Nesta looked back at the board and tried to figure out what move he would least expect of her.

Still, she couldn’t quite get it out of her mind— the thought of a distant land, a foreign sky.

“Would you ever go back?” she asked.

For a long, long moment, Cassian was silent.

“Maybe,” he answered at last, his face turning pensive as he looked down into his tankard, like the honey-coloured liquid within might give him the answer he needed. “If the gods willed it so.”

He paused, setting the ale down with a shrug and trailing a finger along the rim. He wore a single silver ring on his finger, the muted gleam turning bronze in the light of the hundred candles that lit the space, and then, with a rumble in his throat that sounded something like an idle hum, he added,

“But I like it here.”

Bold, his eyes skimmed across her face, and Nesta swore she could feel every place those eyes alighted, like his attention was a stone skipping across the surface of a lake. She felt each ripple right down to her toes, felt it echo in her blood, and with a jolt she realised that not only did she not mind him looking at her that way, but she didn’t ever want him to stop, either. 

“I like it here very much,” he murmured, pulling his eyes down from her face to her chest and travelling back up again in a lazy, languid, stroke.

“And there’s no Danish woman waiting for you across the sea?” Nesta asked, wondering if her voice sounded breathless to his ears as well as to her own; wondering how long it would take for her heartbeat to steady and her flaming skin to cool.

Cassian tipped back his head and laughed. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sure there are several.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but he only leaned closer, as if he were about to confide in her a secret. This close, she could smell the honey and leather scent of him, tinged with a hint of woodsmoke. She swallowed as he said, his voice so low it was little more than a scrape of gravel in his throat, 

“But none so lovely as you.”

Slowly, as if moving through water, he dared to reach out across the space between them and brush his thumb across her chin, dragging his calloused touch along her skin for all of a single heartbeat before the shock of his touch had Nesta rearing back, her eyes turning sharp even as his danced, glimmering in the low light. 

And then—

Before he could do it again, and before Nesta could second-guess herself and lean into the touch he promised, she took her chance to turn back to the half-forgotten game and move one of her pieces into a square directly beside one of his, knowing full well that it left her vulnerable and open to attack.

Knowing full well that he would seize the chance to capture another one of her soldiers.

And Nesta watched as Cassian moved without missing a beat, barely even tearing his eyes away from her face long enough to pluck her small black game piece off the board.

But Nesta smiled.

Because in moving so swiftly to take her piece, he’d left one of his others vulnerable, just as she’d suspected he would. And as his eyes widened, Nesta took her first of Cassian’s game pieces.

Shock lit his beautiful face, melting swiftly into delight as he propped an elbow on the table and leaned his chin on his fist.

“Good,” he said, letting the word roll across his tongue like a tide. “You’re a fast learner.”

Nesta shrugged. “Perhaps I have a good teacher.”

He hummed low in his throat— a sound so sinful she was certain her soul would bear the weight of it forever. It rolled and roiled and sank right into her, and Nesta wondered what it would sound like if he were to press his lips against her ear and hum again; if the vibration of it against her skin would permanently mark her bones. 

“I’ll make a Dane of you yet,” he murmured. 

God— she should not have felt lightheaded at that.

He had yet to look away from her, and as the moment stretched the air between them tightened until suddenly Nesta found it difficult to breathe. The board lay between them, but she couldn’t quite remember why they were playing or why she’d even entered that hall in the first place. The smile he gave her turned wolfish, so sharp she wondered if it would make her bleed, and as she dragged her eyes over the planes of his face, she thought of how he really was the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on; all sharp lines and rugged edges that would engulf her if she gave him half the chance. She swallowed, feeling her heart hammer in her chest, and when he leaned forwards, as if pulled by an invisible string, so did she. 

But the space between them was nothing. This close, Nesta could count the flecks of gold in his eyes. She studied his face; noted the scar through his eyebrow and the small bump in his nose that said it had been broken once or twice. Without thought, her eyes dropped to his lips.

Whose move was it, now?

Did she care?

She didn’t think she could care, when he was looking at her like that— like he’d devour the entire world if it meant he’d get to taste her for even a moment. She wanted to shiver beneath his gaze, but her entire body was warm. Her eyes darted back to that generous mouth of his as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip. Somehow, she had leaned forward even further, her necklace with the small silver cross dangling in the space between them, hovering over the board where they had played their game. Hanging precariously, like a pendulum.

Cassian’s eyes drifted to it for only a moment before, torturously, he pulled his gaze back up. Something like a groan left him, like he was trying hard to control himself.

“Dangerous, sweetheart,” he whispered, so close that Nesta felt his breath on her cheeks.

“What is?”

“The way you’re looking at me.”

Nesta didn’t move.

All it would take was an inch - less - on her part, and their lips would touch. And God, she hadn’t ever kissed a man simply because she wanted to. Hadn’t ever felt that rush of desire that only seemed to belong to the lucky and the determined. She hadn’t ever thought such things could be within her grasp, but instinctively she knew that if she took that step and touched this man…

Her world would never be the same.

But Cassian didn’t move either, like the same war was waging inside his head, too.

He swallowed, and Nesta watched his throat move. His fingers were curled tight around the edge of the table, like if he uncurled his grip for even a second he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from plunging those fingers into her hair, and—

“Cassian.”

Oh God.

All at once, and with terrible clarity, the entire hall came screaming back into focus. 

The Dane from earlier - Azriel - stood behind Cassian’s shoulder, and suddenly Nesta heard the laughter, the voices, she had so entirely blocked out. The scrape of chairs being pushed back, of tankards being knocked together, the fire crackling loudly in the centre.

How had she forgotten so completely where they were? What she was surrounded by?

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she pulled herself back, but she noticed, with some small degree of satisfaction, that for a heartbeat Cassian seemed just as dazed as she was. Like he’d been just as caught up in her as she had been in him, and his eyes met hers only briefly as he cleared his throat and turned to the sound of the voice that had shattered their little illusion.

“Az,” Cassian said smoothly, although the expression on his face was so unimpressed that Nesta thought anybody else would have ran a mile. “Impeccable timing, as always.”

Azriel’s lips quirked in what might almost have been a smile, but then, grimly, he brought his scarred hand down hard on the table. Whatever veil of desire had lingered… it dissipated the second his palm made contact with the smooth wooden surface. Even the pieces on the game board shook.

“Rhys will meet with the Saxon,” he said, shooting Cassian a withering look before giving Nesta a single curt nod. “You can tell him that he’ll see him in an hour.”

Suddenly, brutally, reminded of what she had come for, Azriel’s presence was a pail of ice-cold water poured right down her spine, shocking her back into the present with a jolt that left her feeling like something precious had just slipped right through her fingers. All of the heat from a moment before faded like footprints in the sand, and coming to her senses Nesta shook her head, pushing back her chair and rising to her feet as she blinked once, twice, before letting her face settle back into the shape of the proper Saxon wife Tomas would be expecting.

But before she could leave, Cassian’s hand darted out, closing gently around her wrist.

“Come find me, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “When Rhys is done with the bastard. Or when he’s next in bed with someone else. Come find me.” He offered her another grin, another look that stirred the embers still burning between them. “I’ll show you what it is to be entertained by a real man.”

Nesta only blinked, smiling wryly as she eased herself from his grip.

“A real man?” she echoed, looking around the hall as she rounded the table and stood beside his chair. Lightly she laid a hand upon his shoulder, her fingers curling around solid muscle even as she forced herself not to notice the feel of him beneath her. She leaned down, close enough to whisper, but made no effort to keep her words quiet. “If you manage to find one, do let me know.”

Laughter burst from his chest, the sound rich and heady, and after Nesta patted his shoulder once before turning away, she found herself striding through that hall with her head high and a smile on her face, his laughter echoing inside her mind even as she went to fetch her husband. Even Azriel had smiled, she noticed.

Only when she reached the door did she realise that they had left their game unfinished.

***

“I believe I requested a private meeting.”

Tomas’ voice was a petulant rasp echoing through the silence of the lord’s hall, and the sneer on his face was as ill-chosen as it was ill-timed as Nesta watched her husband look up towards the small raised platform where Rhysand had set his carved wooden chair. 

The hall was just as full as it had been an hour ago, and Nesta had been surprised when, after bringing Tomas back to the hall, Azriel had met them at the door and, instead of escorting them to Rhysand’s private chambers, had taken them into the same cavernous hall where she’d just played half a game of strategy. 

Her husband was… vexed, to say the least.

But Rhysand only smirked, his hands braced on the arms of his chair, the curve of his lips absent any kind of humour.

“What you request doesn’t matter to me.” 

The mockery of a smile fell away as Rhysand’s lip curled with distaste. He leaned forwards in his seat, and Nesta wondered if it was deliberate, how much it looked like a throne. Tension thickened in the air, like every single Dane beneath that roof was holding their breath, and Nesta was grateful to linger by the wall, half-concealed by the shadows. Tomas hadn’t turned to look at her since they had entered, but Cassian, standing just to the side of Rhysand’s chair…

Oh, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her yet.

Like his attention had snagged on her the moment she’d walked in, and he had yet to free himself. She had expected a smile shot in her direction, or a wink as he inclined his head, but Cassian’s face was hard, like Tomas’ presence alone had sharpened his earlier good mood into something far more volatile.

She didn’t know why, but she wished he’d smile at her.

“My king has had word of an attack,” Tomas pressed on, lifting his chin with an arrogance that wasn’t just unwise, but lethally foolish too.

“How convenient,” Rhysand purred, his voice as dark and as cold as a mid-winter night. It brought a shiver across her skin, caused a chill to creep down her spine. “I, too, had news of this attack.”

Tomas stood in silence. Shock, Nesta realised, slithered briefly across his face. She saw it in the slight widening of his eyes, the incremental curl of his lips that he caught before it could turn into a grimace.

“Tell me,” Rhysand continued, “is it not curious? A Christian site is attacked but none are harmed? The building still stands? And the only thing of value taken, not gold or books or priceless treasure, but a handful of bones.”

Relics, Nesta realised. The only thing taken were relics.

Tomas had told her that the attackers had run off with all that they could carry. And she had no reason to trust Rhysand, but… her husband had seemed so calm when he received that letter.

Her eyes shifted from Tomas to the Norse lord and the cold expression he wore that didn’t just promise retribution but practically guaranteed it. Fury rippled from him, his entire frame lined with the threat of violence, and Cassian was no better. At his lord’s left, she didn’t miss how, every now and then, his fingers would drift idly along the belt at his waist, as if reaching for the seax tucked there. He caught her eye, but Nesta looked away— looked back to her husband, and wondered if he really had lied to her so brazenly. 

But when her gaze wandered back, and landed once more on the Dane standing with his back straight and a merciless glint in those now-familiar eyes, Cassian gave her a small, barely-noticeable, nod as he folded his arms over his powerful chest. 

And for reasons she couldn’t hope to understand, she trusted him far more than the man she had married. 

Tomas sniffed, his tone venomous when he said, “Your kind seem intent on destroying anything sacred to Christians.”

Rhysand smiled, but it was far from kind— a sinister, serpentine curve of lips that made Nesta wonder if her husband was ever going to make it out of that hall alive. 

“Your kind,” he echoed slowly, tilting his head. “Am I not a Christian now?”

Nesta didn’t think she was breathing.

It was a trap— she could see it as clear as anything. Whichever way Tomas answered, he’d put his foot in his mouth. He couldn’t answer. And after a long minute, where her husband’s silence stretched uncomfortably - and Rhysand let it, like he luxuriated in it - the Danish lord held up a rolled piece of parchment that she hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding.

“You will take this letter to your lord and master,” he said sharply. 

Tomas started. “The journey to Wessex takes days—“

“Then you had better leave quickly,” Rhysand advised cooly as Tomas stepped forward to take the proffered parchment, his boots thudding on the floor as he tucked it into his pocket with a look of consternation twisting his features. Rhysand blinked, bored. “Now, perhaps.”

The glower on Tomas’ face might have levelled mountains had he been a stronger man.

Instead Nesta watched as he said nothing else, only turned to leave, cutting a path through the Danes that had been silent witnesses to the entire ordeal. She made to follow, but as she peeled away from the shadows—

“Wait,” Rhysand called, his voice ringing out through the hall that was so still, Nesta could hear the wind outside.

Tomas paused, looking back over his shoulder and wrestling his features into something like neutrality as Rhysand blinked flatly before nodding once to her.

“Your wife stays here,” he added. “To ensure your… co-operation.”

Tomas blinked.

Nesta wanted to laugh. To remind the northern lord that Tomas was unlikely to care either way. But then she met Cassian’s eye from where he stood next to Rhysand’s chair, and the slight smirk that played at the corner of his mouth made her wonder…

Had he played some hand in this? Asked Rhysand to make such a ridiculous request?

It didn’t matter, she supposed. Not as Tomas looked to her and huffed sharply, raising no dispute or protest as, with a mocking bow of the head, he nodded his assent. He didn’t look at her again as he swept from the hall without another word, and he certainly didn’t offer her a goodbye.

Not that she wanted one.

But Nesta looked to the doors as they swung closed in her husband’s wake and felt herself oddly unmoored—  like the last truly familiar thing in this place, as lamentable and loathsome as he was, had just turned heel and walked away. Something pricked at her fingertips in his absence, something that felt like freedom, like possibility, and it was so dizzyingly foreign that Nesta was rooted to the spot, unable to move and unable to look away from that door, as if afraid that her husband was going to walk right back through it and change his mind.

Not that he could.

She was left alone - truly, utterly alone - as all around her the Danes fell back into a natural rhythm, like there hadn’t been an interruption at all. Games were taken back up, drinks refilled, and the tales told by the fireside were begun again as the logs cracked and the embers drifted up towards that gap in the roof where the darkening sky was visible through the clouds. Nesta lingered at the edge of it all, watching from the shadows and wondering if she ought to leave, when—

“I can’t say I’ll miss him, love.”

A hand brushed the back of Nesta’s elbow, fingers light and searching as Cassian trailed his touch down to her forearm. Even through the fabric of her dress his hand was warm, and the way he dragged his fingers so lightly over her sleeve was so casual, so practiced, it was as though he had grazed her arm a thousand times, in a thousand different lifetimes. 

Relief swelled in her at his sudden appearance by her side, but Nesta forced herself to shrug idly as she tore her eyes away from those doors and said,

“Neither will I.”

The smile he gave her was a knife in the dark, as beautiful as it was lethal, and as he inclined his head towards the long tables, laden with game pieces and half-finished tankards of ale, his hazel eyes glinted in the fading light, all green and gold and amber; a forest at sunset. Heat gathered beneath her skin as those eyes fixed on hers, and as he deepened the tilt of his head, the silver earrings lining his ear winked at her like the distant gleam of foreign stars. 

“It is a pity,” he said slowly, dragging out each word and letting it linger, like a kiss against her skin, “that your bed will be half empty tonight. It gets so terribly cold here when the sun goes down.”

Nesta snorted. “As subtle as an axe to the face, I see.”

He grinned; a wicked edge. “Who said anything about subtle?” He tsked, that smile turning lazy as those eyes continued to gleam. And then he nodded once more to those tables, extending a hand and exposing his palm. “Come. We never did finish our game earlier.”

Mildly, Nesta blinked. “Are you so desperate for my name?”

Cassian raised a scar-split brow. “Has it taken you this long to realise it?”

And she didn’t know why, but something about the way he looked at her - so brazen, so certain - had a blush rising to her cheeks. He dragged the edge of his thumb along his bottom lip, forcing back the smile that threatened to curve that generous mouth of his as he waited for her answer, and as his eyes dipped to her neck - lower - her heart hammered out an uneven beat that she didn’t have a hope in Hell of steadying. 

It was ridiculous. She was no maiden— no innocent, naive girl still hoping for a hero to come and rescue her. No romantic fool still hung up on notions of love or desire.

And yet.

Cassian watched her, amusement lining his face as he waited for her answer, bearing witness to the silent war she waged on herself. And as the candlelight caught the planes of his face, bathing him in gold, she looked up into his eyes and suddenly felt like she was fighting the current of a mighty tide, swimming and swimming and swimming against it for fear of being dashed against the rocks, when perhaps she shouldn’t have been fighting at all. And as Nesta blinked and looked at the Dane standing beside her…

“Nesta,” she said quietly. “It’s Nesta.”

She didn’t know why it felt like such a significant offering— like far more than just a name. And for a moment Cassian said nothing, his face empty as he blinked. But then his lips parted gently on a breath, a soft whisper leaving him as he tilted his head to one side and gave her a soft smile, the expression that crossed his face one nothing short of wonder. 

Like to know her name was to know religion.

“Nesta,” he repeated slowly, as if savouring the taste on his tongue. That wondrous smile lit up his face again, and hearing the way his accent made mountains and valleys out of the syllables of her name had her wishing he would say it again. Slowly, that smile began to consume his entire face, lighting up his eyes until she couldn’t believe that something as simple and as small as her name could have such a profound effect on a man so accustomed to bloodshed. “It is beautiful. Not a name I have heard before.”

“My father had ancestors in Gwynedd,” Nesta shrugged. “It is a Welsh name.”

“You are full of surprises,” he murmured. “Have you seen it? The lands of your forebears?”

“No.”

“I have heard tales of it,” he said gently, something wistful creeping into his tone. The wonder of a traveller speaking of distant lands; the awe of a man who had yet to find a piece of earth he wanted to plant his feet in for good. And yet Nesta wondered if the tales he had heard had been from marauding Danes, who had burned their way across the land. “Of it’s beauty. It’s mountains.”

“Then you have heard more of it than I,” she shrugged. 

Her father didn’t speak much of it. His grandfather had moved from the mountains of Gwynedd to the plains of Wessex, a merchant who taught his son and his grandson the ways of the trade. She had asked, once, why they had never even visited the land where her great-grandfather had been born. Her father had simply told her not to speak of it, because she was Wessex born and bred and naught else. 

A flicker of sadness drifted across Cassian’s eyes as he watched her, and with a sniff Nesta pulled herself out of it and blinked away the longing for a land she had never seen and a home she had never stepped foot in.

Perhaps that was what it was that drew her to this Dane. In her soul she sensed the same longing in him that she had spent years trying hard to bury— a yearning for someplace else.

“I am glad,” Cassian said after a moment, “that Rhys sent your husband away.”

Nesta offered him a small smile. “So am I,” she repeated.

And when he reached out to take her hand, she didn’t stop him. Didn’t stop him, either, as he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

His lips met her skin; he looked up and met her eyes, sending a line of fire straight down her spine. She shivered, and all at once his eyes darkened, like he’d like to do so much more than kiss her hand. Indeed, when he rose, Cassian didn’t let go of her fingers. Instead he used the grip he had on her hand to pull her closer; her chest so close to his.

Moving slowly, like he wanted to map every inch of her, Cassian slid his other hand across her waist; his palm rounding her middle, his fingers travelling to her spine as her entire body became naught more than a burning taper. 

But Nesta hissed, pulling away as her eyes darted to the tables around them. Her skin had practically sang beneath his touch, and his callouses scraped against her palm as she pulled her hand free of his, but still she looked around them and cursed.

He remained standing where he was, a pace away, his eyes still aflame even as he let out a laugh.

“Come now, love,” he said smoothly. “People don’t care who you are here.” He took a step closer, until her chest was pressed against his once more. She didn’t back away this time, feeling the heat of his body sink into her like an open flame. 

“Or who your husband is.” 

Her heart hammered, her pulse raced, and suddenly it felt like all the air had dried up like a creek in summer. 

A wicked smile graced his face as he brought his lips to her cheek, dragging the suggestion of a kiss along her cheekbone until he reached her ear, where his voice dipped and he added,

“Or who you choose to fuck.”

Nesta swore she stopped breathing altogether.

His language had a blush stealing onto her cheeks, and he laughed again, the sound so deep and thick it felt like an extravagance just to hear it twice in one day, and as he pulled his mouth back from her ear, his thumb swiped along the same cheekbone he’d just dragged his lips along.

Nesta forced herself to remain resolute. Not to melt into his embrace

“And where am I to stay?” she asked, her voice turning sharp as she looked over his shoulder to the carved wooden chair where his lord and brother still sat. “If I am to be Rhysand’s hostage, will you keep me in a dungeon?”

Cassian laughed again. “Hostage? Sweetheart, you are a guest.” Smoothly he moved to stand closer to the wall, leaning against it and tipping his head back. “Rooms will be set aside for you here, in the lord’s hall.”

She blinked.

She looked at the hall, at the strangers that were starting to feel familiar to her. Their women laughed and drank and played games as much as the men. Some of them even had swords at their hip— warriors, just like their male counterparts. How could she stand in that hall, surrounded by such folk, and want to go back to the home that scorned her even for learning to read?

The ghost of Cassian’s touch seemed to burn against every place he had touched her. Her cheek, her hand, her waist. So many small touches setting so many small fires in such a short space of time. She swallowed. It was not lost on her that he had placed his back against the wall, leaving her with all the leverage. She could take a step closer or she could walk away.

He had left the choice entirely down to her.

And if there was one thing Nesta had suffered a severe lack of her entire life, it was choice.

And maybe it was that thought alone that emboldened her. Closing the distance between them again, Nesta flattened a palm on his broad chest. 

“And if I didn’t like that room?” she breathed.

She watched his eyes darken. Watched as hunger overtook his features. His hand slid up his chest to cage hers against the fabric of his shirt.

“Then we’ll find one that suits you better,” he murmured. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, like they had done for a hundred times this evening alone. “Mine, perhaps.”

Nesta felt herself smile. “Perhaps,” she echoed.

He grinned, and with a flick of his hand he motioned for someone to bring him a tankard of ale. One of Rhysand’s household staff complied, striding over a moment later bearing not one, but two deep vessels filled to the brim with the liquid that made Nesta’s nose wrinkle as she remembered the bitter taste. Cassian only grinned again, lifting an eyebrow as he watched her wrap her hands around the tankard anyway.

“Skol,” he declared, knocking his cup against hers.

And like it was second nature, Nesta nodded and said in a perfect echo, 

“Skol.”

Taglist: @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise, @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab, @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @pyxxie @jmoonjones @unlikelypersonalknight1 @pham-tastical

[so-i-did-this-thing]

That wall paper is so fucking cool do you remember where you got it?

Thanks! The designer is "Mind the Gap" and the pattern is "Saxon Tapestry".

Below is the designer's site, but do a search to find the best price. Wallpaper prices for the same roll can vary by $100 USD.

Warning that this is pricey and is the paste-on sort - I'm only wallpapering accent walls for now in the new house, so feel like I can splurge a bit on higher end stuff.

https://mindtheg.com/en/products/saxon-tapestry-wallpaper.html