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viridian-dagger · 10 days ago

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Seiðr of a Death Singer - 3

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: named/minimally described oc, mute!oc, miss girl is Traumatized and dealing with that, some fear and weapons, described deaths in Visions, mentioned vomiting/panic attack, Beocca and the Pretty Boys bicker, Christian entitlement, semi empty threats. And my dear Sihtric girlies... it's gonna get worse before it gets better but I promise I'll be nicer to him soon 🤭

Word count: 3.7k

Author's Note: I accidentally lied when I said Skade would be in ch 3 soooo she'll be in the next one. But taglist is open, this is cross posted on ao3, beta read by @witchoftheewilds and dividers by @zaldritzosrose here

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“Finan, what does this,” Osferth asked, making a motion with his hands, “mean again?”

“Baby monk, you don’t need to be learning this too, it’s for Røskva,” Finan laughed, turning his attention toward her where she sat on Sihtric’s horse. “Do you remember what it means, Lady?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, watching the smirk grow on his face. He had been teaching her a way to communicate with them using her hands — which she appreciated in the monotonous slog of endless travel days in the freezing, bitter cold. And Osferth had been hanging around while Finan tried to teach her as many gestures as he could remember, desperate to learn something new.

The baby monk was growing on her, all of them were. Even Sihtric had been spared in her ire as she pushed Dunholm from her mind. It had been nearly a week since Uhtred had brought it up in Eoferwic, and he had been avoiding discussing it with her; it wasn’t as if she could chase after him and demand answers. Every time she tried, he turned away from her and mumbled something about his horse needing tending.

“Finan, it is not wise to tempt the wrath of a seer,” Sihtric said, his voice rumbling his chest. His arms were loose around her waist as she rode in front of him. The days of continuous travel were wearing on her, but she was now more comfortable on a horse than she thought she’d ever be.

Despite attempting to let go of her anger towards him, she hated the way he had taken to treating her. Sihtric lorded over her as if she were a child, one who knew nothing of the world. And the longer she spent with him, the more the anger gave way to sadness; she wanted the Sihtric from her childhood back. Even the worst parts of Dunholm were softened by his boyish smile and gentle hands. The man he had become seemed to have killed the parts of him she had once loved the most. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get those parts of him back.

“And you, my friend, are too serious,” Finan laughed, winking at Røskva. “Do you remember what it is or am I going to have to remind you?” She nodded and rolled her eyes.

She remembered every gesture he taught her; they were the only way of communicating without pulling the ink and parchment out of her pocket.

“Have pity on our poor monk, Finan,” Uhtred laughed, shaking his head.

“It, more or less, means ‘Stop it or you’re gonna get yourself killed’. Figured it’d be useful for her, with bein’ a seer and all,” Finan shrugged, showing the gesture again. She rolled her eyes, but the smile that spread on her face couldn’t be denied. He wasn’t entirely wrong; it was something she wanted — no, something she needed to be able to communicate to them.

She held Finan’s attention, gesturing ‘It will be the one I use the most,’ back in his direction, making him smirk.

‘And I will try to listen,’ he gestured back silently, sending her a wink as she chuckled.

Osferth began asking for the meaning of more gestures, but his voice faded to nothing in her mind as a vision swam in the edges of her consciousness. The world dropped away as the vision bloomed: a cursed woman sat in a church, in a pool of blood as a monk was strung up from the beams. The man wept and begged as she screamed at him. But her skin fell away pooling on the ground where she once stood, leaving a snake in her wake. And the snake’s gaze turned away from the priest, finding a new target to torture — Uhtred. The snake lashed out, sinking its teeth into his neck before it disappeared into a haze of smoke. The vision swam long enough for her to see Uhtred going ashen and pale before collapsing, dead.

She jolted out of the vision with a start, Sihtric’s arms firm around her as she thrashed. “Røskva, it was just a vision. You are safe,” he said softly in her ear, crushing her into his embrace. Tears sprang to her eyes and blurred her vision as she gripped Sihtric’s arms, rooting herself in his grasp.

She allowed herself a moment to bask in the memory of his comfort. Sihtric’s arms had once meant safety, and she wished she could find the same feeling in them now. But the bitterness and questions lingering in her mind about Dunholm turned it to acid in her gut as her stomach lurched.

She ripped his arms away from her, sliding off the horse and falling to her knees in the soft grass. She retched, bile burning her throat as tears burned her eyes.

“What has happened, Sihtric?” Uhtred demanded, voice sounding firm despite the ringing in her ears. She ignored him to retch again, hands arms shaking as she dug her fingers into the soft earth under her, desperately trying to ground herself in some way.

“She had a vision, lord,” she heard Sihtric’s voice faintly. A gentle hand came to rest on her back, and she flinched away from the touch. “Be careful, Finan, she…” she heard him say, his voice fading away into the hum of her mind. The world was lost to her; the grief, memories, and vision had pulled her under a tidal wave and she fought to stay afloat.

When the ringing in her ears started to fade, feeling came back to her fingers first, aching and throbbing from the frozen earth she had desperately tried to bury them into as the haze receded in her mind. Awareness spread up her arms and down her back, and by the time the buzzing in her mind disappeared, she could hear Uhtred and Finan whispering above her head.

The world tilted and her stomach turned with nausea, but she swallowed it down as she lifted her head, eyes finding Uhtred’s bright blue eyes and Finan’s gentle brown ones staring back at her. Their pitying gazes made her want to snarl at them, but she couldn’t summon the energy.

“Christ alive, woman. Tryin’ to keep us on our toes now that you’ve been with us a few days now aye?” Finan laughed, but his eyes betrayed his distress as he looked her over.

“Are you well, Røskva?” Uhtred asked, eyes shining with earnest concern.

She opened her mouth to respond on instinct, but the croaking noise made both of the men wince as she grimaced. ‘Too much,’ she mouthed. Understanding bloomed on Uhtred’s face as Finan’s wrinkled in confusion.

“What?” Finan blurted out after staring between them in absolute bewilderment.

Uhtred laughed, rolling his eyes. “I forget you are a Christian and know nothing of these things. The vision, it was intense for her. The power of the Gods can weaken a seer, even one as strong as she is.”

She suppressed a laugh at his statement. She wasn't a powerful seer; a single vision had nearly sent her sprawling into unconsciousness on the back of Sihtric’s horse.

The desire to argue was far out of her grasp, but the sound of hooves on the road behind them sent the chill of fear down her spine and lodged her heart in her throat as she whipped around to look at the road.

“Lord, someone is coming!” Osferth hissed from behind her.

She turned back to face them, a desperate plea for safety or caution stuck in her useless throat, but the men who had thrown themselves into the dirt with her were gone; warriors were left in their place. “Finan, protect her with your life,” Uhtred said. His eyes had gone cold and sparkled with a desire for a fight as he sprang up onto his feet.

“Aye, lord,” Finan nodded. The comforting, gentle way he held her had been abandoned for a seax and sword, face grim with determination as he pulled her to her feet, pushing her behind him toward the horses. “Stay close to the horses. If things go badly, you get on and you ride west as hard and fast as you can until you find a village.”

Sihtric slid off his horse in her periphery, unsheathing his seax as he walked toward her. She wanted to say something to him, the complex emotions still warring in her mind, but his eyes burned with an emotion she couldn't recognize.

“You have the blade?” He asked in a whisper as he passed behind her. She nodded and pulled the small, narrow dagger out from its place in her boot. He nodded and stepped closer, whispering “Keep it close. If anyone tries to take you, take out their eyes,” before walking away.

The morning they left Eoferwic, Sihtric had slipped it to her in passing, walking away before she could question him, just as she had done to him the night before. The dagger was nicer than she had expected it to be when she asked him for something to protect herself with. She figured he could spare an old hunting dagger of his own, but the weapon was beautiful with runes inlaid on the leather sheath and on the flat of the metal.

The four men fanned out, weapons ready, as she backed herself up to the side of Finan’s horse. Røskva could feel her hands shaking and the skin stretch taught across her knuckles as she gripped the dagger. Black dots danced in her vision but she refused to give into the grip of fear.

A single rider on horseback appeared. She could tell by the drab grey of the rider’s robes it was a priest that approached. Her heart plummeted and her breath hitched in her throat, but Finan sent her a cocky smirk over her shoulder. “They will not take you again, Lady. What is one priest against four warriors?”

But the fear in her chest skyrocketed when she watched their postures relax, and Uhtred sheathed his sword before calling out, “Father Beocca!” He yelled, waving the priest over.

“Uhtred! Praise God it is you I find on the road!” the priest shouted back, riding up to them with a wide smile. The sound of Finan’s laugh made her flinch as she sank to the ground, desperate to stay out of the priest’s view. The priest was short and balding, his brows set in a furrow despite the smile on his face. “Finan, Osferth,” the priest nodded in greeting to them before turning to Sihtric, “Rat boy Dane.” The comment made something in her chest gnash its teeth in anger but she stamped the feeling down as far as she could — Sihtric’s feelings were no longer her responsibility. She wasn’t his wife or his woman, but the thought of him with a wife fanned the flames of anger she was trying to stamp out.

“I am Sihtric, priest,” Sihtric growled back, sounding only mildly annoyed, while Uhtred and Finan laughed. Røskva almost didn’t want to know how they had all become so familiar with a priest, because whatever the answer meant nothing but trouble for her.

The priest ignored the laughter and turned his attention toward Uhtred, eyes passing over where she was crouched. “You ride west to Aescengum? To the king?”

“Aye, Father, we’re on the way there now. Did Alfred send you for us?” Finan asked with a laugh.

The priest shook his head and frowned, lines deepening in his forehead. “No, I ride from Witancaester with news of the Earl Sigurd’s sack of Aweltun,” the priest said. The name snagged a memory in Røskva’s mind — she thought she could remember hearing Kjartan mention a warrior named Sigurd, but it could just as well have been Sigfried. Still, the faint familiarity tickled her mind.

“Who?” she saw Osferth whisper to Finan who waved the monk off.

“Bloodhair is in Aweltun? How do you know this?” Uhtred asked. The name Bloodhair nagged at her mind; she knew she had heard that before. The vague recollection of a man, broad and bulky with a jagged tattoo on his face sparked something, but as soon as the familiarity came it passed, moving out of grasp.

“News reached Witencaseter this morning that he arrived in the night with his men. They burned the village and took the church,” the priest said, making the sign of the cross in front of his chest. “The King must hear of this, immediately.”

But Uhtred only scoffed, “Alfred is a fool for leaving Witencaester undefended; Bloodhair will turn around and go there if he hears the King has fled.”

“He would not!” The priest shouted, making her flinch.

But Uhtred only smirked at the priest, “It is what I would do,” he shrugged. “Go to Alfred, but I must see Bloodhair for myself.”

She could tell the priest was growing increasingly agitated with Uhtred’s flippant attitude, but she could see Finan and Sihtric were chuckling to themselves. The relationship between the men and the priest was undeniable, but it sent a splinter of discomfort through her. “You will not! You lack permission from the King!”

Røskva watched Uhtred’s expression harden as he snapped at the man, “I will, Beocca, and you will either join me or go on your way!” His voice left no room for argument as Finan and Sihtric turned away from the pair.

Finan’s eyebrow raised in confusion as he caught sight of her, dagger out and ready, desperately trying to blend into the scenery, but his eyes softened and he hurried toward her, frame blocking the priest from view. “You have nothin’ to fear from Father Beocca, love,” he nearly cooed, reaching out to her. The hands reaching toward her, even though she was mostly sure Finan wouldn’t hurt her, made her flinch, and a deep, desperate sadness flickered in Finan’s warm brown gaze.

“God in Heaven, must you always make things more difficult than they should, boy?” the priest roared, and her breath caught in her throat. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed Finan’s arm.

“You don’t need to fear him,” Finan whispered, crowding closer to her, eyes soft and sparkling with something she couldn’t place. The proximity made her skin itch and set her nerves alight, but she trusted him more than the priest; and that was enough for the moment. “Beocca and Uhtred bicker, because they're family. The priest has got a foul temper, especially when it comes to Uhtred’s stubborn arse but—”

“And what of the woman you travel with? You would risk her life?” The priest roared again, and she felt Finan tense, pushing closer to her. Despite not being incredibly tall, Finan still towered over her, as did the other three men, but his sturdy frame blocked her from the priest’s view entirely.

“She is of no importance to you, Beocca,” Uhtred snapped, voice hard and cold. “Do not speak of her, least of all to the King. I will tell him of her when I arrive in Aescengum.”

“Uhtred you are acting a fool—” the priest groused, but his argument was quickly cut off.

“Breathe a word of her to the King, and you will lose your tongue,” she heard Sihtric seethe, voice flat and emotionless. But she heard the anger hidden — he could never disguise it from her. “I swear it on your God and all of mine.”

The priest muttered and mumbled absently, fear evident in his tone. “I would not test his patience, Father,” Osferth mumbled.

“Aye, he is correct, Beocca,” Uhtred said, huffing out a mirthless laugh. “She is protected; by me, my men, and the Gods. Do not tempt fate here, it would only lead to suffering — your suffering. For your sake and my sister’s, I hope you will listen.”

The priest was silent for a moment before he relented, “I swear I will not speak a word of her existence once I leave this place,” and she felt the tension bleed out from the men and from her own frame. “But you must keep her safe, Uhtred. It is said this Sigurd travels with a devil woman, a witch that can see the future.”

The way he spit the word, witch, sent a chill down her spine. “I would suggest you refrain from speakin’ on things you don’t understand, Father,” Finan said cooly, ushering her back toward his horse, hand hovering above her back as they walked. “Don’t worry about him,” Finan said, ducking down to speak into her ear. The wiry hairs of his beard tickled the shell of her ear and she shivered, not hating the feeling. His beard was softer and denser than the coarse facial hair Kjartan had.

‘Is he a cruel king?’ she gestured, keeping her movements small and hidden from prying eyes.

“No,” Finan whispered, “but he is complicated, and Uhtred tends to make things worse. But he would not take Uhtred’s mistakes out on you.”

She nodded in understanding, hoping he was right. But there was something she knew he was hiding — some truth she didn’t yet know about the king.

They spoke no more as he lifted her onto the saddle, hauling himself up behind her as she heard Uhtred say “Ride with us until the fork, but we will be going to Aweltun.”

“I should know better than to try and persuade you from foolishness. I did not dream that such a pig-headed child could become worse as a man,” the priest scoffed in return, making the men laugh as they started riding. She was surprised to hear the priest speak of Uhtred in such a way. How would he have known him as a child? Uhtred was clearly a Dane.

Their journey took a much more leisurely pace with the addition of Father Beocca while he and Osferth spoke behind her and Finan, and Sihtric and Uhtred rode ahead speaking in hushed tones. Røskva was grateful for the silence as questions whirled through her mind.

It wasn't long before the priest spoke up again, voice cutting over the silence like a knife, “May I at least know the lady’s name, Uhtred? If we are to be travelling together, even if it is only for an hour.”

“If she wishes for you to know it,” Uhtred replied, eyes cutting to hers as he glanced over his shoulder at her. Despite his impassive response to the priest, his gaze was questioning but not demanding in the slightest. He was truly giving her the option and gratitude bubbled in her gut. She nodded once, turning away to look at Osferth who had pulled his horse beside Finan’s. “Her name is Røskva.”

“She is a Dane?” The priest gasped and the metallic tang coated her tongue as she bit the inside of her cheek.

“Aye, as is your wife. Mind your manners, Father,” Finan said shortly. Røskva’s mind reeled — this priest had a Dane wife? And knew Uhtred as a child? The questions were becoming too much to bear.

“I meant no offense, Lady,” Father Beocca said sincerely. The title grated on her but she grit her teeth and stared ahead, not willing to acknowledge him. “I was merely shocked.”

“Røskva does not like to be called a lady, Father,” Osferth said softly, the young man giving her a bright smile, one she returned easily.

“As she has not found it dignified to speak to me herself I assumed she must be royalty or at least high born—”

“Sweet Mother of Christ, Father Beocca, leave the poor lass alone!” Finan shouted, cutting the priest off. “She can't bloody talk, it's not meant to be an offense!”

A tightness in her chest she hadn't realized was there eased at Finan’s staunch defense of her against Father Beocca, even though she understood his questions — she was wary of him as he was wary of her.

“Finan is right, she does not offer insult in her silence,” Uhtred said after a tense beat of quiet settled on the group.

“Then I apologize, Rosva,” Beocca said sincerely.

“It is Røskva, priest,” Sihtric corrected him.

“Rose-kava?” Beocca tried again.

“No,” Finan said, unhelpfully. Nonetheless it made her laugh, the near silent breathy exhale was foreign to her ears but the act left a bright feeling in her chest.

The rest of the ride to the fork was spent with Uhtred and Beocca plotting while she half eavesdropped and half joined Finan, Osferth, and Sihtric in going over gestures and their meanings.

When it was time for the priest to split away from them, she was both grateful for him to be leaving and dreading what his departure meant. Røskva had heard Beocca’s warnings to Uhtred about Bloodhair — there was a high likelihood of casualty or injury to befall one if not all of them.

But she couldn't decide if Uhtred’s ease about the situation made her anxious that he was being a fool, or confident that he knew he could handle whatever Bloodhair had in store.

Regardless, he waved Father Beocca off as he offered to join them to Aweltun. “Inform Alfred we will be there by tonight at the earliest, if not tomorrow at first light. I will have news of Bloodhair when we arrive,” the proud Dane said firmly.

“I am sure we will all live to regret this decision but I trust you, Uhtred,” Beocca said, sounding vexed before sighing. “I will see you in Aescengum then,” he said before turning and riding away into the West where they turned East.

As he rode away, Finan shouted after him, “Fret not, Father! We’ve outsmarted and out lasted many Danes before, and I, for one, am not dyin’ at the hand of anyone named Bloodhair!”

Røskva wanted to laugh along with the men, but the fear nagging in her gut made it impossible. But it was more than Bloodhair and the nagging in the back of her mind that worried her; it was the vision. The woman cursed by the Gods in the church was near and she could feel the tides of fate singing in her blood and thrumming in her ears.

She could do nothing but pray that the Gods would favor them.

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taglist: @blkflowergrl @whitedarkmoonflower

#the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom #tlk fic #tlk fanfic #uhtred fic #uhtred x oc #uhtred x reader #finan fic #finan x reader #finan the agile #sihtric x oc #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x reader #finan x oc #uhtred of bebbanburg #tlk uhtred #uhtred ragnarson

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ms-oswald · 5 months ago

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homesick | chapter one

author's note: and here we go with a new Finan series! A tad long, but hopefully still an enjoyable read :) a BIG thank you to @persephones-journey for helping me through this! ❤️ banner credit to @arcielee 💜 Lots of love & stay safe 💕

“I will be forever the man who killed the great warrior Uhtred.”

That was how their story started.

The ground quivered underneath heavy hooves, horses running on adrenaline as their riders intercepted the illicit briberies by the shore, the beach’s cold waves straddling the sand within its grasp.

Restlessness tightened the throats of the warriors, its claws urging movements of rescue.

The slavers scattered away, fear shadowing their hastened steps with the hefty trample of the cavalry and unsheathed swords harmonizing behind their backs.

The captives were nonmoving, confused as they watched the violent spectacle unfold in front of them. A mix of screams and the whistling of weapons ripping through flesh ached their ears, the gasps of breath and strangled voices caused shivers as they watched bodies falling over their pushed-in blades.

She climbed off her horse as Ragnar called for his brother, his feet following the path towards the sunken man.

She stayed behind, standing by Steapa’s side – a man of Alfred’s – and watched as she saw her friend cradling his younger kin softly sobbing in his arms.

“Did you believe we would abandon you?” A soft smile etched across his lips, his shoulders heavy at the sight. He was partly relieved to have found his brother while the other was distraught at how he came to be.

No response came from Uhtred, the air filled still with soft strained cries.

Ragnar lifted his head to meet another slave standing a couple of feet away and glanced down the line to his right, taking in the presence of the others.

“Free them all.” He ordered, somber, his mind racing and angry.

She followed his command and marched forward, going for the chains before breaking them at each of the captives’ ankles. She set them free one by one until she reached the last; by then he had undone it himself, and quietly picked up the sword that laid at his feet.

She stilled and let him be, curiosity prickling her skin as her eyes shadowed his movements.

He stumbled hastily towards the remaining villain trying to escape for his life, his venture destroyed.

She watched as the poorer man pointed the tip of his blade at his slaver, the cause of his infernal calamity.

Sverri turned slowly, now face to face with his demise.

The sudden shove of the blade through the throat startled her; she froze, unable to look away as death violently greeted the enemy, the body falling on the ground.

His eyes glistened as relief washed over the liberated, the soft panting bruising his chest while he turned to his right, meeting Uhtred’s gaze.

No words were exchanged, only a delirious grin stretched across the other man’s dirty cheeks, a long gaze holding them together.

She sighed and turned her head as Ragnar called for her. “Care for him.” She sent a firm nod his way and placed her sword back in its scabbard before shifting the other way and carefully approaching the newly freed man.

He hadn’t noticed her, still trapped in a thick fog, a void that seemed unescapable.

It was the sudden crackle of a fallen branch that awoke him, startling him. He focused his sight on the figure walking towards him and quickly lifted the sword at her.

She stopped, her hands in mid-air as her sign of surrender.

“I am not here to hurt you, I promise.” Her tone was soft, almost coaxing him to let go of his defense.

He stared back, dazed, and fell to the ground with a quiet breath out.

She drew near him and took a seat on her knees as her hands rested on his jawline, carefully tilting his head to see if he had any other bruises. She took note of the roughness of his skin and the older marks covering him.

“Do you have any fresh wounds that need tending to?” She was gentle with her words as she let him go, her fingers resting on her lap.

He shook his head, signaling a simple ‘no’.

“What is your name?”

The moment of silence settled between them, his eyes focusing on her with reality dragging him by the collar of his shirt. He took in the hint of worry, her gaze giving him attention that had gone missing in the recent years of his life.

“Finan.” His name left him, a last breath across his broken lips.

A faint twinge ran through her heart, leaving her aching. She hid it with a careful smile, introducing herself to him in return.

“I am Kára.”

Her name rung in his ears with his eyes taking in her features and retracing the way her darken hair was intricately braided into rows by the sides of her head and tied at the back, its texture looking soft – a sinful invitation to touch and caress the strands. To the way the tiniest of knife mark scarred the skin under the edge of her right eyebrow, a thin red line still looking fresh. He then glanced downwards, falling into steps with the harmonized colors hugging her pupils – the warmth of honey at the center, its sun bursting through the ripples of old oak trees sprinkled with flecks of moss at its roots. Such complexity in their design were cast his way, unconsciously enchanting him.

It took him a moment, but he continued his path, glancing to the fresh bruise on the right side of her jawline to the pink of her high cheekbones, a dimple nestled comfortably from the upward curve of her full lips.

He stared, unable to part from her – as if the delusion stripped him of his senses. An unexpected presence, he breathed her in slowly, her delicate endeavor weakening his muscles to a state of release and comfort.

A stranger had become his rescuer, aiding in his conquest to freedom and wiping clean his bloodied hands.

“Can you get up for me, Finan?” Once more, the symphony of his name coddled his ears. It was the cautious way she held his letters, a wounded animal – anxious and afraid.

He did not utter a word. He simply followed her movements as she placed his arm around her shoulders, helping him rejoin the others while slowly realizing that his worst nightmare was finally over.

The warmth of the campfire surrounded them, the air tranquil as they took comfort in the food filling some of their bellies and the gentle sound of the crackling flames tickling their ears.

A bowl in her hands, she quietly listened to the conversation unraveling in front of her, occasionally glancing up to follow the sound of voices. Her gaze eventually landed on Finan, the man sitting on the ground to her right, and took in the way his throat seemed to have softened, his chords clearer than earlier today; she noted as well the thickness of his accent rumbling at the back of his palette, bringing a light strain to her heart at the thought of her past.

“You’re... Uhtred’s brother?”

Sitting on the other side of the Irishman, Ragnar turned to him as he spoke. “I am.”

A sly smirk across his face, his eyes glanced from one to the other as he continued. “You look nothing like each other.”

The group shared a small chuckle, Ragnar smiling at the man’s comment; Kára hid her grin as she cast her gaze down her bowl.

“Uhtred, you should eat.” Hild took her turn, offering him a plate. Instead, he faintly shook his head, denying the gesture. She then turned to Finan.

He politely refused as well.

“Oh, we will eat, lady... but our tummies are small and our feet have barely touched dry land. It’ll take a little time to find them.” He gently spoke, his reasoning prompting her to simply nod as she placed the dish on the ground.

Ragnar picked up the conversation, his inquiry directed towards Uhtred’s apparent new friend. “Are you his brother?”

The answer came in slowly, his thoughts ravishing his tongue with revelations.

“We are... we are bound, I would say.” Uhtred eyed him, clear emotions striking the blue of his eyes.

Kára observed him, noting the depth of his words as they silenced their circle.

She remained wordless, a simple spectator as her eyes wandered with her mind traipsing amongst hundreds of thoughts.

She hadn’t noticed he turned to look at her until he called for her by simply tilting his head her way, his voice a tad louder as it echoed in her direction.

“What is ya story?”

She met his gaze, the darkness of his hues glowing against the gentle flames that danced in front of them.

She smiled at his question, the stretch of her lips dimpling her left cheek. “I do not have one. I am merely a loyal warrior of Ragnar.”

At the mention of his name, they met and lingered as they shared the smallest and comforting of grins for one another; such an expression had gone unnoticed to the Irishman as he turned to speak to Uhtred, a cheekiness laced in his pitch.

“Ah, so she is not one of yours then, Uhtred?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she fell back into her conversation with him. She teased, her demeanor slightly exaggerated for the laughs. “Luckily, I am not.”

She earned a chuckle from him, the rest of the group falling into the background.

Ragnar had dropped his gaze, his laughter calming, before lifting his head back up. “Kára has been- is, one of my closest and trusted friend.” He turned to her once again, an understanding passing between them – ships in the night.

The air settling down, she went on, taking away the chance for Finan to prod a bit more; she had preferred to keep parts of her past private – the peering gaze of a stranger throwing her off as attention was never her strong suit.

“Him and I have known each other for a very long time. We share some... common history.” She took a sip of her ale, swallowing before ending her take. “That is all I will say, Irishman.”

She gifted him a smirk, and swung her cup for another chug of her drink.

He let it be, their night continuing with timid conversation flowing around the fire until it had slowly dissipated, its need for sleep growing stronger as the flames slowed.

“I apologize.” He took a leap, standing close to her as she was reaching her tent. “I did not mean to be rude earlier.”

She smiled reassuringly, calming his worry. “I did not see rudeness in your questions.”

“I just wanted to get to know the woman who saved me.” She was left speechless for a moment, taken aback by his words. Her dimples carved further while nodding, his confession settled. “Hmm, another time, perhaps.”

He caught her grin, his own pushing for a soft stretch as he watched her; perhaps such small promise had rose the sparkle in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Finan.”

A light tug strung within his ribcage to such a short song, her voice spelling out his name with hidden mischief; he cleared his throat, recovering from the sudden summersault.

A shudder of courage coursed through him, giving himself the chance to unravel a built-in moment.

“Goodnight, Kára.”

To the first time he said her name out loud, any reason for solemnity had crumbled at their feet. Her ears tickled, oddly enjoying the way he pronounced her syllables, the lilt across his tongue sweet and gentle.

They tore themselves away from the small crowd, as she had promised him, finding a secluded spot where she could clean his wounds.

He had been hesitant at first, ashamed to bare himself in front of anyone’s eyes.

It had been the kindness in her words that made him leaned towards agreement; he was still capable of tolerating the wear out of his dry skin and the ache on his back, hiding the desperate need for a cleanse.

The sun sat warmly at the horizon, flickering its strokes of orange glow upon the high grass and wild flowers that surrounded them.

Finan sat facing the sun, his back bare to her; her heart stopped and pulled back her breath, clutching at the rag in her hand, while her eyes retraced every whipped mark that bore deep across his skin – fresh and old.

She stared silently, tears nestling the corners of her eyes.

He held onto his shirt against his chest – or whatever was left of it – his eyes following the path of the skyline, attempting enjoyment of its warmth as it sought his presence.

Kára swallowed a breath as she wet the piece of cloth and gently pressed it against him, starting from his shoulders.

There was a comforting stillness between them, a voiceless exchange that remained transparent in gestures; the sting of the newer lacerations transferred to tension in his muscles – she would stop, giving him a moment to adjust to the numbness as it carved his back.

“I brought some ointment to heal with the, hmm- with the cuts. Would it be alright if I use it on you?” She asked gently, her tone soft, sowed within the calmness of their space. He tilted his head to his right, his chin to his shoulder as he nodded wordlessly.

She swabbed some of the thick salve against her fingertips and gently pressed them across the fresher lashes; her movements were slow, giving him the chance to adjust to the texture rubbing against his skin.

He closed his eyes, the warmth of her palm moving alongside the bruised bones and torn muscles, a shadow cast from the path of his spine; she felt the tension vanish amongst his shoulders letting a pained smile grace the corner of her lips as she continued with her repetitive motion, dipping into the oil before brushing it against his cuts.

He focused back into the setting sun, the touch of her hands gone.

He turned his head and saw she had gotten up, walking around to find a seat in front of him.

Voiceless still, he watched her as she placed the small bucket of water by her side, the rag making another appearance.

The light’s glow was striking her adoringly, brightening the hazel of her eyes, as a soft golden glare cherished her pupils while sitting on her knees. She gifted him a passing faint smile as they met, pushing her hair behind her left ear before dipping the cloth into the water.

She leaned towards him, a curved finger under his chin to lead his tilts, and tenderly cleaned the scabs scarring his features.

She had been focused on caution, wanting to minimize the sting he would feel; she had not realized he had been staring, observing her with an undefined awe underlined within his hues.

They had known each other but a few days – words were scarce, glances curious, contact but a feather. But she could still see, examine, his presence, her mind wondering about the stories that tore him down, bruised his skin, shattered his bones and burned his clothes. The pieces of his past life woven into the strands of his dirty hair, anecdotes shaping his rough beard; the depth of his irises – an acute deception painted brown, were a strain of the earth within its streams, a river crying in silence.

It was all she could capture, stubborn cracks that remained shut, the surface threatened for rupture but never caving in.

A soft breeze had cross through them, stiffness holding his breath.

She stopped, pulling away. “Is something wrong?”

He met the frown sitting across her brows, the worry shadowed behind her stare.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, taking a breath as he shook his head and tightened his grip onto the muddied shirt stuck to his bare chest.

“N-no.”

Her hands fell upon her lap, the wet cloth limp as her head slightly tilted sideways. “Finan, you look pale- are you feeling ill?”

“Just nauseous.” He struggled to say. His lungs depleted once again, his breath carrying him on. “The smell of the seas… it haunts me.”

It had been the second faint breeze that made her realize the heaviness of his words; she glanced downwards, a saddened lip curve straining her cheek as she pushed her hair to rest behind her shoulders, regretting having undone her braids.

She was born with the sea carved into the marrow of her bones, its waves but a welcome embrace, its air – a comfort to her lungs, her skin forever finding treasure amongst the saltiness of the waters. Her darken locks, shadows to the wind, a disciple honoring a god at its altar.

“I-I am almost done.”

He tried to apologize, the attempt at the tip of his tongue.

She could only timidly smile, noticing the way his mouth had moved.

She stopped him, pushing herself to sit straight, with nothing but softness – understanding, at the edge of her words. “But if you wish, I can ask Hild to finish-”

He quickly interjected, guilt-ridden.

“No, it’s alright. Please, st-stay.”

“Are you certain? I don’t want-”

He grabbed her wrists, purposely interrupting her, eyes locked. “Aye. Please.”

The sliver of despair shaped the sunken figure in front of her.

She quietly breathed in, the ache in her chest seeping into the air in her lungs.

She then nodded, settling back as the rag swam back into the bucket, refreshed for its task.

Quiet relief hugged him, a child in its mother’s arms as she resumed cleaning his scars, her finger hugging his chin as she brushed his skin in a tender motion.

Cloth then gone, he silently watched her, his hues following the movements of her arms as she picked up her ointment, her fingertips covered in its texture before she leaned his way again and caressed the traces of dry skin that had comfortably settled over his brows down his cheeks.

An unfamiliar comfort settled within him, its breath like a gush of wind, a warm breeze welcomed under a summer sun.

He closed his eyes – a small gesture that came naturally; a way to take in the feel of her touch, to swallow such softness in repair against brute swings.

To his parched lips, she remained delicate, the gentle tickle across them almost timid.

“Do not eat the salve, Irishman. I know it might be tempting, but it does not have a taste suited for your stomach.” Gentle humor strung behind her words, her tone inciting light air between them.

He exhaled a chuckle and met her gaze. He saw a speck of mischief buried in her hazels, the tiniest of spark reaching for him by name.

Silence settled once again, her fingertips grazing over the edges of his mouth and stray strands of his beard as the thick texture coated his skin. It was a simple gesture, meant for nothing more but to progress healing yet intimacy brewed quietly – discreetly – to her every careful touch caressing him.

Finan couldn’t help but look at her; she had taken her curious chance as well, glancing every now and then to meet him. He could not shake away the wonder of her, his irises following her features once again, mindfully retracing every inch under his eyelids.

He needed her in memory, a calming presence to the storm drowning him.

A steady pulse to his ragged heart.

It had taken another moment before she broke away from his space, a satisfied sigh slipping through her.

The salve fresh on him, her eyes quickly fell to his covered chest before looking up at him, her teeth nibbling at the inside of her cheek as she sat back on her heels.

Shame had tied him down, the shackles ghosts on his ankles.

She wiped her hands on her trousers and took a breath before she reached for his hand, placing it between hers, ignoring the roughness across his knuckles.

She caught his attention, his focus placed on the way her mouth shaped her thoughts.

“There is nothing to be ashamed about, Finan...” She was careful with her words, not wanting to agitate him.

He listened, waiting.

“But if you are uncomfortable, I can leave and let you finish by yourself. I can leave the bucket and cloth, and the ointment if you need to apply it to any cuts on your chest and stomach.”

His left hand gripped tighter onto the shirt that pressed against him, keeping himself hidden away from her. Her heart broke, seeing him slightly pull away from her.

She eventually let him go and got up, fetching the bag she had brought with her. She turned and sat back down in front of him. “I’ve also brought these if you want to change.”

He remained mute, attentive to the way she remained on her toes, mindful – prudent.

Conflict within him had left him speechless, unable to conjure but a simple and hoarse ‘thank you’ her way.

She lingered, sharing a comforting smile his way before she got up to her feet and walked away.

He had remained put, only turning his head as he watched her go.

She was braiding her hair, gathering her locks over her shoulder for the finishing touches.

His heart sank in slight regret, his feet dipped in its cold waters.

Within the next year, uncertainty – shyness, had dissipated into the air.

Kára had remained in Winchester with Ragnar, waiting for the time to take on Dunholm and finally revenge his father’s death and save his sister.

Finan’s discomfort slowly broke down into pieces, dust in the ground, finding ease in knowing she would stay.

He was still growing accustomed to his freedom, searching for routines as he settled in his new home.

The sense of normalcy wrapped around them, roots crackled through the ground, binding itself to their feet; an intricate dance, it was a quiet pursuit of affection and banter.

It had been the way she had kept helping him with his wounds, making sure they were healing properly, re-applying her salve whenever it was needed and striking conversation on random topics, his need to solve her mystery – a desire that was burgeoning deep within him.

She had a flicker of intrigue gnawing at him, the scent of a delicious meal teasing him consistently.

He wanted more, ached for more of her.

Her sense of humor was in stride with his own, their banter instinctual with every playful remark naturally bouncing off of each other - a connection that seemed to have always been present, simply awaiting dawn.

From the timid lingering gazes they started to share, a subtlety hidden under the nights cover where the glow of fire hid their innocent secret - on the nights where men were gathering and drinking, a rowdy bunch causing playful ruckus amongst their space, or the times where settings were quiet and a longing would seep through the air, embers floating about, an ache for a touch squeezing beneath the breastbone.

To the taunting coquetry bursting under sunlight, its heat setting them ablaze; such as when he would call her out on her flirtatious manners, fumbling the poor blacksmith's apprentice heart with a witty smile and a wink - an attitude he teased he thought was reserved for the likes of him alone. Or the times where Kára would intrude on his attempt to court a barmaid as she would serve them drinks to their table, the words of his friend suffocating under exaggeration and leaving him embarrassed with the women's light laughter.

To the moment she swept him off his feet, her strength, his cause to stumble and fall as they initiated training, a need for refreshment into the art of combat; their swords clashed until she used her body, catching him off guard, and forced him to the ground. She had quickly followed, her knee pressed against his chest as she hovered above him, the smugness rosing her cheeks.

He could only chuckle, impressed at the way she had smoothly defeated him. His hands in the air, signaling surrender.

It was the abrupt physical closeness that threw her off, the adrenaline slipping away as she caught herself staring at him; he stilled, unbothered by the weight of her form while admiring the way the freckles of the green in her eyes seemed to have had a mind of their own, luring him into their dreamscape.

It was the air in their lungs, pushing through tirelessly until recusing itself from liberation, the violent pull of its body leaving his throat dry, her own parched.

The past circumstances were of no consequence - it had been but amicable foolery.

It was the sparkle in his eyes, his parted lips nudging her over the edge, the impromptu need to feel him close suddenly a necessity.

She had quickly pulled herself away as if nothing of importance transpired, both going on about their day, their weapons in hand, training still.

It hadn’t meant she never shook away the care and fondness she had been feeling for him, but she knew there was something more and hoped to the gods it was just a reverie.

“She’s just a friend, Uhtred.” He had repeatedly said, convinced there wouldn’t be anything less than that between them. A part of him was heartbroken, a sliver hopeful there was a possible chance there could be something else – attainable, at the reach of his fingertips.

It had been the short voyage she had done, visiting her father for a couple of months, that tugged the specks of truth out of the dirt; it was the days spent without her that unsettled him, solitude creeping through the shadows and haunting him until it became a part of him – a habit attached to his hip.

It was her arrival back in Winchester, her presence back into his life that tore away the desolate atmosphere, his mind slowly forgetting ever being separated from her.

The time had come.

It was the middle of the night when the small army of men traveled alongside the forest path leading to the Dunholm fortress.

The march was quiet, to each in their own mind as their feet carried the heavy weight of their armor and weapons.

"This is where we part.” Ragnar had stopped the troops, his hand held up in the air as his gaze landed at the top of a slope. “We will show ourselves only when we know the east door has been opened.”

Uhtred then met his gaze as he turned to him, listening still.

“We will attack. Then it is up to you to save us... We will be lambs to slaughter.” Brother to brother, their eyes met, Ragnar almost out of breath.

“Lord...” Their attention had shifted to Clapa, the gentle giant praying to Uhtred. “May the gods be with you.”

Beocca quickly intervened, rectifying in his own way the other man’s well-wishes. “Um, God, may God be with him, us.”

A small smile slipped across Kára’s face as a low chuckle escaped her; she had been standing by Hild and Brida’s side, silently watching the exchange.

Finan heard her, his eyes shifting to her where his own cheeks intuitively burned from the silent smirk he wore for himself.

Uhtred threw his own snicker, stepping closer to his brother, his words directed back to Clapa. “You just watch over Ragnar. Hmm?”

The brothers then joined hands, their grins fading into sober expressions.

“Good luck, little brother.”

Uhtred pressed his forehead to Ragnar’s, both looking into each other's eyes, preparing for what was to come.

“See you all in Dunholm.”

As they bid their goodbye, Finan quickly marched to find Kára just as she turned to look at him.

Even in the dark, he could see the hint of worry cast across her hazel gaze. Knowing she would be in the thick of the fight was heavy on his chest; he feared for her, a sentiment he hid from her.

He silently took her hand in his, their stare never breaking. He brought their hold to his lips, pressed a reassuring kiss to her knuckles and lingered for a moment – short enough, yet had given them the split of a second they needed for encouragement, for a hopeful victory.

He eventually broke away, letting go of her as he followed his group. She stayed and watched him go until a soft pat on her back from Clapa pushed her forward, walking in line behind Ragnar and Brida.

The night moved on, a half-moon hanging in the sky and casting a shadow above the fortress with its light hitting the serpents that draped around their crosses.

Ragnar and the others waited as they watched the fortress’s gate.

“We rest. We wait.”

At his words, his men started to relax, removing their helmets and setting down their weapons.

Kára still faced the stronghold, her heart thrumming between her ears; Ragnar noticed as he looked around, and turned back to her.

His hands clasping the neck of his armor, he leaned sideways and whispered in her ear.

“Your Irishman will be fine.”

She rolled her eyes, a low chuckle out as she glanced his way. “This is not the time, Ragnar.” She tried not to think of Finan, not wanting distraction to limit her focus on what they needed to do – a task that had become ineffective.

“This is the perfect time.” He teased, the smirk clear across his face as he bumped his shoulder against hers. He earned himself a genuine smile, her dimple apparent on her right cheek while she shoved him back playfully before walking away.

A breath exhaled as he watched her joining the others, his own grin slowly disappearing.

As morning rose, they waited for their signal; a fired arrow to be launched into the sky.

And when it showed, Kára’s heart stopped.

“Are you ready?” Ragnar’s voice pulled her out of her trance, the lump in her throat swallowed as she turned to him, silently nodding to his inquiry.

He lingered, catching the faint glow of the sunrise across her eyes. He was not convinced, a part of him sensing hesitation wavering within the streams of her pupils.

“You can stay with Brida-”

She stopped him, a hand to his chest. “I swore to be by your side, Ragnar. This means at the front as well. I won’t abandon you.”

He sighed, giving her a curt nod as they lifted fists for a quick bump.

“Let’s move on then.”

She held onto her weapons and followed him as the first unit marched away from the forest towards the north entrance of the fortress.

Adrenaline burst in her bloodstream, her body moving through the motion from the moment she held her shield by Ragnar’s side, forcing entry against the doors of Dunholm until they were inside, battling for victory as she took on some of Kjartan’s men coming her way.

She had no time to think, her mind sent astray as her muscles pushed through, the sound of swords clashing and boisterous screams filling her ears.

Within the horde of falling warriors – in the midst of chaos, Finan found her fighting fiercely against their opponents, her weapons gripped tightly as she swiftly pivoted and struck them down, protecting Ragnar who stood closely by as he was caught in his own battle.

The Irishman caught in combat as well, he could only quickly glance her way with slight panic gripping at his insides.

It was the sight of a soldier running towards her and Ragnar, spear in hand that pushed further strength to his bones.

He was about to intervene, coming to her defense, when she turned just in time. Without second thought, she dropped her shield and grab the shaft, its metal edge escaping her by an inch away from her waist to her back. She grabbed the weapon and pulled it towards her, dragging its owner as well, until he stopped her just as quickly and nudged her his way, violently grasping her by her throat.

She tried fighting him off, reaching for the small knife that was hiding behind her back when her assailant went down, crippled to the knees as blood seeped from his mouth.

She pushed herself away, slipping to the ground as the body landed in front of her. She then looked up, catching her breath and saw Finan standing with his hand stretched out for her to take.

Relief washing over her, she took his help and stood up, panting a grateful ‘thank you’ his way. He only nodded, breathing out a smile before they parted again, the battle dying down slowly with Uhtred calling for a shield wall.

The Dunholm troops stuck to a wall, they made the square. Kára found herself standing by Finan’s side once again as Ragnar entered in a duel with Kjartan.

Her heart stopped, anxiety crippling her to a frozen state as she watched her dearest friend face off his oldest enemy, revenge at the tip of his sword.

She watched as he tumbled back to the ground; worry carved deep into her form, she grabbed the hilt of her sword resting in its scabbard, ready to jump and help when Finan stopped her, taking her hand in his. She looked to him with a slight frown. All she received was a tight squeeze, a silent signal of reassurance, promising her the outcome will work out in their favor.

She held onto him, unable to let go as she watched the fight again, Ragnar’s strength overpowering Kajartan until the very end. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze fixated on the way the young Dane battered the dead body, partly horrified at what she was witnessing.

Her ears muffled at the sound of Brida’s voice, her own tears stinging the corners of her eyes without her knowledge.

It was the sound of his scream, a guttural sound leaving the crowd dismayed, that tore at her chest, an anguish searing through her heart.

She hadn’t realized she still had Finan next to her, hand in hand; he gave their hold another squeeze, waking her slightly as she mimicked the motion, adding pressure to his knuckles.

And when Thyra appeared, the sunken look across her face, the growling wolves by her side – the moment she had lost herself to a scream, vulnerable and confused, Kára flinched, taken aback.

Finan quietly pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her as if to protect her, hiding her away from the scene unraveling in front of them, heartbroken and distressed.

She was unable to find slumber, her eyes fixated over the fire that burned at her feet, the crinkle of the wood pieces its only sound.

She was lost in her thoughts, her mind drifting over and splitting her apart.

Her shoulders felt heavy revisiting today’s events – she had never seen Ragnar fight like he had done, his rage taking over every fiber of his being, destroying everything in his path.

Chills ran down her spine, the echo of his scream engraved into her ears – it had grown faint and distant but remained for now, a haunting image she tried to erase.

She found solace in his revenge complete, and knew that meant as well it was time to move on; her duty fulfilled by his side, she was now given the option of either staying in Dunholm with him or leave and continue with her sea-driven life.

She had known her answer already, the illusioned scent of the salt in the air filling her nose.

She snapped away from her wandering, a cup of ale floating in her view. Looking up, Finan was standing in front of her with a soft smile faintly glowing from the campfire light.

She quietly accepted his offering before he took a seat by her side, both of them taking heavy sips.

Concern etched across his brow as he glanced her way; she had yet to speak, noticing her thoughts still holding her hostage.

He said nothing as well, unable to voice out his worry, struck from the way she was being held upon the flames ahead of them; rogue locks of hair tickled her cheeks in the dark, her hues bursting in amber – sunset radiating across the horizon, with the corner of her lips caught between her teeth, pensive.

He hadn’t realized she had been staring back at him, her mug empty as she placed it on the floor, her attention shifting to him.

She moved closer to him, her knees purposely bumping into his, and laid her head on his shoulder.

He held in his breath, taking a moment for himself; it had been disrupted at the feel of her fingertips searching for him. He wound his arm around her, his other placed on his lap, mingling with her.

He then placed a soft peck on her forehead, his lips lingering in place before resting his cheek against her.

She closed her eyes, taking comfort in her friend’s arms; a refuge in the dark, a treasure she had recently found.

Her mind drifted, forcefully pushed away, unwanted. She was plagued no more, simply breathing in the scent of ember floating in the air with the faint breeze of a cool night. She nestled her nose further into his neck, the whiff of his scent easing her muscles, slowing down the thumping under her ribcage.

His shadow engulfed her, cradling her with care – a natural pull, pieces finding each other’s edges back into place.

She didn’t want to let it go – she needed more.

“Finan...” He heard her voice mumbled against his throat, inaudible to the remaining men around them.

She slowly pulled away to meet his hues, her breath, ghosts over his lips.

The air stuck in his lungs, he watched the shimmer of the flames dance around the colors in her eyes as they held his gaze – soundless secrets traipsing from one to the other.

Instinct called out to him, his wrist hovering above her shoulder as he delicately pushed strands of her hair behind her ear before he trailed downwards, stroking her cheek mindfully.

She leaned into his touch, air escaping her in comfort.

“I am in dire need of a distraction tonight.” She paused, tilting her head slightly as she reached the heel of his palm, her lips resting over his skin. Her eyes never left him, taking in the way he stared at her, the depth of his browns unwavering.

She felt the skip in her heartbeat, the sudden stumble of her pulse before falling back into step; she had been denying it, desperately needing to be unencumbered by a soul tethered to normalcy. She knew she was to leave, and so logic dictated she couldn’t grow attached.

But a part of her ignored her claim, pushing her to her knees as a way to free herself to her desires.

“Care to join me?”

And he was resolute in giving her whatever she wanted – a need of his own, even for just one night of companionship.

She pulled further away from him, his hand dropping to her lap. He then glanced at her lips, his throat dry, before meeting her again.

He picked up his drink, chugging down the last sip and placed the cup by his side, turning to her.

He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips as he kissed her knuckles. “Lead the way.” Determination hidden behind his voice, he spoke low, a slight rumble shaking his chest.

Lacking delay, Kára pulled him to his feet and marched away from the campfire, the fortress asleep under her light footsteps with the couple scurrying away into secrecy.

Once they reached her room, Finan walked towards the hearth as she locked the door behind him.

He took to lighting up the space while she made quick work of her armor, removing every piece and moved towards the bed.

She remained in her tunic just as Finan finished, the fire burning comfortably in its nest. She pulled him up to stand, her hands undoing his own, reaching for his sword belt, the pauldron covering his left shoulder down to the forearm's braces covering his wrists.

He let her be, helping her with the finishing touches until she grasped at the leather tunic he still wore and pivoted, making him sit at the edge of the bed. She straddled him and resumed her task, discarding the remaining of his clothes covering his chest until he was bare.

She then stopped, breathless.

She pulled back, on his knees, and admired the way his muscles had grown – she was not blind to the way his arms had taken heat, the tissues flexed and defined, naturally settling back into his body.

He stilled, watching her as her fingers slithered down to his stomach. He then reclined, lying on the mattress with his hands to her hips.

A shaky breath escaped him, a sudden wave of shyness crossing over his cheeks.

She cursed under her breath, mesmerized by his thriving strength, suddenly titillated by the thought of his body carnally pressed to hers.

“Are ya sure about this?”

She smiled, a smirk dimpling into her cheeks. “I am. Are you?” She could see a slight hesitation shimmering in his eyes, her smile dissipating as she waited for his answer.

She hovered above him, arm bent by the side of his head, the other tickling his chest hair into random patterns.

“Aye.”

She teased him, ghosting her lips over his as he chased her, desperate for a kiss.

She pulled away instead, wanting to spell out the intention of their night.

“We’re simply two friends helping each other wash off the day.”

She could not acknowledge the ache she felt in her heart, a craving she hadn’t felt for a time – a longing she needed to push aside as the night did not call for it.

‘Just for the next few hours...’ she repeated in her head, a prayer to herself.

"Whatever you say.” Lost in the intimacy gripping at them, veins tying them together through flesh and bones, Finan could hear the thrumming of his heart between his ears, her hazel hues eyeing him, unrestrained.

“This won’t mean anything in the morning, alright?”

Conviction – an attempt to keep such shady truth to herself.

He barely registered her words, enthralled by her presence – the sheer power she had over him in this moment, a feeling he willingly bowed down to.

He was aching for more, anticipation scorching his fingertips as he held her in his arms.

He grasped at the fabric of her shirt, tugging it from the back as he chased for her his lips faintly grazing over her own. She sighed against him, sudden urgency pulsing through her veins.

Pulling away from him, she reached for the hem, quickly pulling it over her head before discarding it.

She ignored the goosebumps traveling up her spine, her eyes cast down to meet him.

Finan muttered, cursing in pleasure at the sight above him; a faint throbbing between her legs, she bit her lip as she watched him fall in a trance with the feel of his palms warming her skin from her hips to her chest, his thumbs caressing the sides of her breasts, teasing her.

He then took notice of a small mark in the middle, a vague discolored shape nestled on her chest. He traced it over, earning a soft sigh to escape her as she dropped her head downwards, looking over his hand resting on her naked skin.

She kept her eyes on his hand, locking in the movement as he trailed further up until he reached her neck to her jaw, fingers stroking her chin and lips.

She shifted her eyes towards him as he sat up, nudging her closer until he felt the pink of her skin graze him.

Impatience settling between them, the rush to fall into oblivion was rapidly growing, ready to burst from the seams.

The soft breath they shared, intimate in its dance – the harmony of steps flowed back and forth in want, its essence playful, taunting.

They continued to undress each other, Kára grabbing onto the lace of his pants before Finan swiftly turned the tables, making her lie down on her back; the sudden movement had her squeal in shock though laughter caught up as he loomed above her, smugness clear in his eyes.

He took his chance, parting her covered thighs as he lowered himself atop her, his weight leaving her pleasurably breathless, and closed in the distance, finally pressing his lips firmly against hers.

It had been something he had wanted to do for a long time; to feel the warmth and softness of her skin affectionate upon his.

He grew intoxicated as he slowly devoured her, relishing in the way he easily quivered under her touch, its ringing descending into his core.

He could not stop, wanting to breathe her in continuously, swallowing the scent coating her limbs where even the remnants of the ale tasted sweet across her tongue.

The soft sound of her moans, captured at the back of his throat, trembled under his chest.

She lost sight of the moment, pursuing the sparks of delight he created, fervently licking at the crumbs – famished.

Eagerness clawed through veins, sinking them further into bliss and away from the shore.

The last piece of clothing fell to the ground, delivering her under his mercy as he started trailing down her chest, kissing her birthmark and sucking at her breasts while his hands slipped down to her hips, holding her in place.

Heavy breaths filled the air, her back snapped away from the mattress as she grasped onto the bed sheets, his dexterous fingers seeking warmth between her thighs.

The soft sounds of her moans, his name whispered pleasurably across her tongue – a sweet song he held onto, a savory feeling he needed to taste over and over again.

They spent the rest of the night entangled within each other, both bodies falling into the depth of ecstasy, flesh tainted in bruises and sweat, hardened grips and trembling chords at the helm of their embrace.

He had become addicting, constantly looking for more – begging for more.

The way he was taking care of her, making sure she found pleasure under his touch, dedicating every waking breath upon her body; he was unknowingly filling her need to be held, and protected, and cared for.

Following such a trying day, Finan was soothing her worries, hushing the noise away for the simple bliss burning at their feet.

He had expected her to leave as soon as they were done, uninterested in giving time to a calm afterglow.

He held in his surprise when she lingered, lying on top of him. She had been ready to leave, carrying on with the rest of the night but the timid caresses across her back had stopped her, finding comfort in the way the motion of his fingertips could easily soothe her.

She gave herself a moment before slipping away, a strained whimper escaping at the back of her throat as she fell next to him.

“Fuck, this felt good.” She exhaled, both of them staring up and breathless. He ran his fingers through his hair, chuckling softly before turning back to look at her.

“You’re welcome.” He teased.

He saw the stretch of her cheeks, her voice vibrating a laughter that shook her chest. She pivoted to him, a smirk gracing her reddened lips. “Are you boasting yourself now?” She shifted, lying sideways as she placed weight on her left elbow, her other hand against him. “Might I remind you, Irishman, you were practically begging heaven as you so dearly and desperately called for me.” She teased him, her nails lightly scratching his chest hair as they danced upon his skin, creating layers of shivers running amuck.

“Really?” He mimicked her movement, shifting to face her. “And do tell, show me how needy I was for you.” Hand to her jaw, the thickness in the roll of his tongue caught her off-guard as he tugged her his way, the smugness within his gaze heating up her cheeks.

She tried shaking it off, pretending to think it over. “Well, let’s see-” She turns to find his lap, sitting atop him as she pushed him to lie down. “Oh, fuck, Kára!” He chuckled as he watched her with a grin, enamored by her theatrics, the extravagance in her movements and tone. “Yes, oh god- Kára, you feel like fucking heaven-” A bellowed a laughter from the depth of his lungs, he caught her in his arms, retaliating as he started pinching her, tickling her until she gave up her guard and fell against him. He swiftly shifted, lying her on her back and hovered above her.

“Is that how you think I sound?” Her breathy giggles fanned across his lips as she nodded, biting her inner cheek.

Locking eyes, they were attempting catching their breaths as laughter gently died down; though amusement had filled them for this short moment, it had dissipated for heavier air, their chests heaving as Finan settled between her legs, his arms above her as he tenderly stroked her cheek down her chin, his rough fingertips nudging her bottom lip and giving them a quick glance before meeting her hazels.

He then leaned forward, a soft bump of her nose to his before kissing her.

She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, her knee bending by his waist as she fell in his embrace. She just as quickly kissed him back, her lips parting wantonly.

The caresses were slow as they took their time. It was the way he held on, the strokes languid – untidy, as if to coax secrets out of the marrow of her bones.

She followed, a beggar under the weight of his body as he lured her into a state of bliss; they stilled, bodies unmoving with only her soft sighs gracing his ears for every other split of a second apart, a short breath out of water before diving back in.

Her palms slid up, tracing the muscles of his arms as they rested above her head; she searched for him, wanting to hold his hands. He slowly pulled away, catching the soft honeyed glow around her pupils, silently reaching for her, fingers interlaced comfortably.

Once again, he brushed the tip of his nose against hers before trailing down to kiss her cheek, her jaw and down her neck, nestling against her.

She tilted her head his way and slipped her fingers away from him as she hugged him, gently scratching the back of his neck.

He sensed a change in her demeanor, slowing him down. “Are you alright?”

A small smile curved her lips. “I am now...”

He pulled away, looking at her, intrigued.

Solemnity covered her shades of brown in her gaze, casting shadows across her features. “You had my back today...”

There was wonder in the way she was looking at him, a soft hint of astonishment furrowing her brows.

A faint lopsided smile stretched his mouth, a reassuring gesture. “You were looking out for Ragnar. Someone had to look out for ya.”

“What of you?” She stroked his cheek, placing a soft peck to his lips as he settled next to her, arms around her with her back partially laying against his chest.

“I don’t need anyone to watch my back. I am too quick for anyone to catch.” He teased, the playful tone in his words making her chuckle.

“Your agility knows no bound, is that it?” He heard the grin in her response and only huffed a chortle, the sound shaking her.

Silence sought them afterwards.

They remained still with Finan nestling against her, taking in the warmth of her body as he pressed his lips across her neck and shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered shut, listening to his breathing and the faint sound of his beard scratching her skin; serenity smothered her bones, holding her tightly for safety and comfort.

“Thank you for this...” She whispered under her breath. She then turned around, settling against his chest.

“No need to thank me.” His tone – lullingly shaped into the way she pushed herself closer to him.

A coy smile across her face, she placed a kiss on his collarbone and mumbled against him, her hands slithering down to his stomach, rubbing palm to flesh. “I could definitely use someone of your... agility, for a good hump every once in a while.”

A throaty chuckle escaped him, resonating while smirking as he turned to her. “Does that mean we will be doing this again?”

She pivoted as well, one leg carelessly thrown around him, her breasts pressed to him. “Sure.” She gave him a nonchalant shrug and proceeded, leading him on, taunting him playfully. “I don’t see the harm unless you-”

“No harm at all. That is alright with me.” He held up his hands up in defense, tackling on the banter she had initiated.

“Good.” She bit the skin inside her lip as she moved to straddle him once again and straightened her back. Hands to her hips, he remained with the smug look across his face, stroking her bare skin, the callousness of his touch desperately welcomed.

His hues followed her silhouette, from the way desire had colored her cheeks to streams reaching the sparks across her eyes, to the way her braids had grown disheveled and pushed away to rest on her back, down the marks he had left earlier tonight, sweetly decorating her chest and further down to the way she hugged his hips, as if to anchor herself atop him, not wanting to part.

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her as his head fell backwards, meeting her gaze. She cupped his cheeks, her thumbs faintly running over the corners of his mouth and across his bottom lip.

“Now, do you think Uhtred will mind waiting for you?”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.” He caught the tip of her finger, as he locked gaze with her.

With a stifled giggle, mischief glowed within her hazel eyes, anticipation rising in the pit of her stomach.

“Let’s make him wait, then.”

--------

xoxo

taglist: @gemini-mama @iamfandomnerd @ladyinred2248 @gco95

#the last kingdom #finan #finan x oc #tlk fanfic #finan imagine #finan the agile #the last kingdom fanfic #finan fic #mark rowley #finan fanfic #tlk

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persephones-journey · 9 months ago

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Love Scratches

This was inspired (caused by) @itbmojojoejo and @gemini-mama comments on an incredibly beautiful and perfect gif set of Finan that Mojo created.

It's all their fault.

Finan/You (Reader) Enjoy!

The rain was coming down slowly and softly, running down the windows. The dark clouds caused an otherwise sunny day to become broody and grey.

But you didn't care.

You sat in the lap of your boyfriend, lover, best friend, Finan. He rested his head on the back of the couch and was giving you a soft smile as you scratched your nails against his beard. Your nails scraped along his cheeks, going down to his neck as you moved up and leaned in.

“I have been aching to kiss ya,” he whispered as he leaned in as well, expecting your lips on his.

A soft smile graced your lips as you leaned in as well. At the last moment, before your lips would touch his, you pulled away and pressed a feather soft kiss to his nose. He groaned and you laughed as you felt his fingers poke and pinch your sides.

“Such a tease,” he muttered.

You hummed and moved, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “I am your tease, though,” you whispered as you moved and pressed another kiss to his temple.

He sighed. “Aye, ya are,” he muttered.

You looked at him as he closed his dark eyes. You took the opportunity to place soft kisses on each of his eyes. You felt his hands rubbing your sides and your back.

Love filled you. You wanted to shower him with the same love he always showed you.

So, you placed more kisses along his face; his forehead, his cheeks, his temples. You pressed another kiss to his nose and began to scratch his beard again. He sighed and you felt his body relax.

It was what you wanted.

“Gods, woman, I love you,” he muttered softly as he let his fingers dance under your shirt to brush your skin of your sides.

“My name is not woman,” you muttered as you gently tugged on his beard.

He opened his eyes and gave you a wink. “Ya are right,” he muttered. “Ya name is my woman.”

You groaned but smirked. Finally, you leaned in and let your lips brush his. He sighed and grabbeed your hips, pulling you closer.

“And your name is my man,” you whispered before pressing your lips fully against his.

The kiss was soft and gentle. Neither of you wished for it to be sexual. It was just a moment between lovers; a soft, comforting moment.

You moved your lips from his, kissing the corners of his mouth as you raked your fingers through his hair. He hummed softly and sighed as you pressed soft kisses along his jaw.

“I needed this,” he muttered as you moved off his lap. You sat beside him and he immediately moved, pressing his face in your chest. You stroked his hair with one hand as you continued to scratch his beard with the other. “I just need to stay here with ya for a bit,” he added.

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his head. “Stay as long as you need to,” you whispered.

#my writing #finan/you #finan/reader #finan fic #the last kingdom fic #my friends poke my muse and this happens #I blame them completely

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charmedimsure · 8 months ago

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Fandom: The Last Kingdom (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Finan (The Last Kingdom)/Original Female Character(s), Finan (The Last Kingdom)/Original Character(s) Summary:

As Aethelwold's childhood friend and current unofficial babysitter, Lina is sent to Northumbria to help aid Uhtred of Bebbanburg with his fight against the Danish brothers Erik and Sigefrid. As the journey becomes longer than she anticipated, Lina finds herself getting rather distracted by one of Uhtred's men.

I’ve started a Last Kingdom fic on ao3 and I’m proud of it so far so feel free to check it out!

And yes, I do have the best username on ao3

#the last kingdom #finan the agile #finan #finan fic #finan x reader #the last kingdom fanfic

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thethyri · 2 years ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐰𝐲𝐧𝐧❟ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞❟ ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 ❞

𖦹. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ The day Wulfwynn was cruelly torn from the life she had always known was a crisp day of autumn. When the green leaves of the trees turn brown and the wind grows colder. The day Wulfwynn miraculously stumbled upon Uhtred and his companions in the depths of the woods was a cold day of autumn. When the lakes are blanketed with frost and the fields are bare. And yet, despite the frost and the wounds, Wulfwynn met her destiny that day.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 *𖧧₊‧ Days and days. Cold night and colder days yet. Days running, fleeing. Fearing for her life. Until God sent her Uhtred and his men.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson x Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Sihtric Kjartansson x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Osferth x Ealhflæd of Cent (Original Female Character), Leofric x Mereswyth of Wessex (Original Female Character).

𖦹. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Show Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Not Show Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Show Rewrite, Show Dialogues, Canonical Character Death, Non-Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Wounds, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Battles And Post-Battles, Blood On Several Occasions, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Sexual Content, Mild-Sexual Content, Multiple Graphic Smuts (Ratings Specified In Concerned Chapters), Multiple Non-Graphic Smuts, Protective Finan, Possessive Finan, Finan Needs A Hug, Finan Backstory, Protective Sihtric, Jealous Sihtric, Adorable Sihtric, Sihtric Backstory, Protective Uhtred, Uhtred Is A Little Shit, Soft Osferth, Adorable Osferth, Osferth Backstory, Leofric Lives, Clapa Lives.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Mild-Graphic Description of Bruises And Injuries.

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,912k.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 *𖧧₊‧ Just so you know, my timeline is just a bit different from the books and show. At first, I had planned to stick to the books' timeline, but it would have made Uhtred (and therefore Finan and Sihtric) too old for Wulfwynn. Well, I speak of Finan and Sihtric but, in the books, Finan's age is not precised (nor is Osferth's) and, as for Sihtric, when he meets Uhtred, he does not know his own age and Uhtred apparently guesses that he's somewhere around 14 years old. The show's timeline encapsulated two books per season, meaning that by season 3, Uhtred would have been between 34-44 years old (yes, because if we follow that logic, it means that each season stretches on a period of time of 10 years, which, you will agree, is clearly not the case). That is why I decided to twist the timeline a bit and rearrange the ages to my own preference. No, about Finan. It is my own headcanon that he is not younger than Uhtred, but just slightly older than him by 3 years. For Sihtric, I wanted him to younger than both Uhtred and Finan (as in the show and books) and therefore closer to Wulfwynn's age but still older than her. Now, about Osferth, in the books we know he is already born when Uhtred spies on Alfred at the age of 10 but it is not precised when he was born. So I just kind of guessed and twisted things again to make him the age I liked when he joined Uhtred. And, for Clapa, to me (in the show, at least, because I have only read the first book at the moment) he was clearly older than Uhtred by, at least, 9 years.

That being said, this story still contains huge age gaps. Uhtred is 16 years older than Wulfwynn, Finan is 19 years older, and Sihtric is 6 years older. Adding to that the gap that already exists between Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric, since Uhtred is 10 years older than him and Finan is 13 years older. In real life, these differences in ages would be quite problematic, but here, we are in a fictional story and as long as these examples are not transferred to real life, it is still acceptable.

Also, I mean to stretch my story from season 3 to season 5 and even perhaps to the Seven Kings Must Die, but I do not know yet. So I will keep a timeline updated in the notes at the beginning of each chapter so you do not lose yourself too much ahah!

𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ₊̇*⸼ 892-895 AD ⵓ 6th November 892 AD - 9th November 892 AD ⨾ Uhtred is 34-37 yo ⨾ Finan is 37-40 yo ⨾ Sihtric is 24-27 yo ⨾ Clapa is 43-44 yo ⨾ Osferth is 29-32 yo ⨾ Wulfwynn is 18-21 yo.

THE VODKAS MENU. + THE SERIE MENU. + CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CIPPANHAMM AND MELKSHAMM, WESSEX, 892 AD.

Fear. Dread . It crept its way into the heart, maliciously, viciously, its hideous claws jagged, and hooked, burrowing in its throbbing flesh. It gnawed venomously into the guts, tangled into hundreds of hundreds of tightly knitted knots. It crawled malevolently into the lungs, its coarse scales scraping, and into the throat, its rugged tongue scratching. It soaked bitterly into the bones, into the marrow, cold, terribly cold.

Wulfwynn was devoured with fear. Wrecked with dread. She felt the ache in her limbs, the burn in her lungs. She felt the cold whipping at the crusted scratches that littered her knuckles, her palms, her knees and her muddy heels. She felt the soreness of the swelled bruises that dotted her thighs, her arms and her wrists, her neck and her ankles, and her cheeks. They scattered across her body, mingled with her freckled flesh, scarlet and maroon, melded with her delicate moles, purply and olive.

Wulfwynn felt utterly terrified.

Twiddled branches and tangled roots scrapped at her calves and knees as she delved into the depths of the woods. Breathy sobs escaped her chapped lips, while the cold that chilled her lungs licked at the salty tears that soaked her cheeks. The writhed birches swallowed the misty, gloomy skies, engulfed the pallid gleam that shimmered between their leaves. And they’d swallow Wulfwynn too. They'd swallow her whimpers, and they'd choke her with their branches, they’d throttle her with their roots—

Wulfwynn sobbed panickedly, as she whisked hurriedly between the pines and the bushes, her heart onto her tongue.

They’d scratch, and scrape, and rasp, and snarl and sneer and—

A strangled yelp choked in her throat as she stumbled onto a root. She swayed abruptly and fell. Whimpers and whines of throbbing anguish and nauseous panic swirled through the cinnamon and crimson leaves that twirled around Wulfwynn as she hurtled down the muddy hill. And she gasped breathlessly as she slammed into a thick trunk.

Wulfwynn clutched the bark, chafing her fingers, and wobbled, then rose quiveringly, but rose nonetheless, before her heel slipped in the mud and she tumbled again. She grunted as she fell, and fell, and fell, down the hill, down, down, until she landed into the dirt. Wulfwynn laid into the leaves and the dirt, perhaps an eternity, perhaps an instant, furled and shuddering, her heart throbbing into her temples and her knees and elbows aching.

But, though she struggled, arose onto her palms. Bitter tears fell from her reddened cheeks, from her chin, onto her scratched, scarred fingers and between her knuckles. And then, a shout resonated through the pines,

“Lord !”

Fear gripped at Wulfwynn’s heart with it crooked claws. She fumbled panickedly with her kirtles and skirts, shuffled and tumbled, and wobblily arose, but fell onto her knees with a frustrated whine. She huffed shakily.

“Lord !” Wulfwynn prayed. She prayed fervently, as the worried yell swivelled in the chilly whiff. “Are ye— Are ye alright?” She’d have chuckled, but Wulfwynn merely sobbed. “Ye’re— Uhtred !”

She peered hesitantly and her glance landed onto the cross that dangled before her teary eyes. A heavy huff tickled her cheek.

“Ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright,” He murmured quietly as he knelt. She felt his pity, his gentleness and his kindheartedness, and she sniffled. Her heart swelled. “Ye’ll be alright, I promise.”

Wulfwynn nodded meekly. His soft promise poured onto her sore scratches and scrapes, syrupy and smooth and warm. Her heart seared with a sour tincture of gratitude and lament, with a driblet of reassurance and a splatter of solace. Her glance anchored into umber orbs, tinged with warmth and kindness, and worry.

“Finan.” A whistle tickled Wulfwynn's guts. “ Finan !”

“Lord,” Finan startled, as he leapt onto his muddy boots. Wulfwynn shivered as the chill tickled at her neck. "She's hurt, Lord."

“Hurt?” The Lord —Uhtred, she assumed— inquired, with doubt and incertitude. And a tinge of scepticism. “Quite hurt.” Finan affirmed, and nodded.

A chiffchaff chirped. “Lord?” Queried a soft murmur. “She indeed seems quite unwell.”

The Lord’s glance landed unto the salty tears that streaked her cheeks, unto her bruises, and her scratches and scrapes, and she felt oddly, yet agreeably, absorbed into the frosty depths her eyes plunged into. His stare felt cold, but she embraced that cold. She felt queerly reassured, comforted, shrouded into that cold. The Lord hummed quietly. And nodded. Wulfwynn huffed a breath of relief.

Finan knelt beside her, his knees in the mud, and she felt his warmth caress her as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Wulfwynn grabbed her tattered kirtles, and Finan muttered, “ Jesus .” as he glanced at her legs. She grasped his hand, hers frail and fragile in his callused palm. She grunted with anguish, as she struggled to arise, but her knees buckled.

Finan's hold tightened, "Gently, gently." he reassured her softly, "Osferth!" he beckoned with a whistle and a nod. Saddle buckles rattled, leaves rustled and an arm slithered across her back. “Apologies, Lady.” and Wulfwynn uttered a quavery huff.

“Gently.” Finan repeated as Wulfwynn arose slowly. “Alright. We’ll get ye onto Sihtric’s horse.”

Osferth nodded. He gently took ahold of her elbow, and they strode to the horses. They approached Sihtric’s horse, and Wulfwynn glanced at the silhouette sat astride its saddle, shrouded in furs, as Sihtric’s stare anchored into hers. She felt Finan’s warmth fade when he stepped back and unbuckled his cloak's buckle, before he wrapped the warm, woollen garment around Wulfwynn’s shuddery shoulders.

“It’ll keep ye warm.” Finan murmured as he tucked the hood on Wulfwynn's messy, tousled curls and tresses. “Ye’ll ride with Sihtric. Alright?”

She nodded. Finan approached the horse and leaned down. He cupped his callused hands, fingers knotted, and Wulfwynn grasped his arm as she hesitantly placed her heel in his palm. "Alright. I'll hoist ye there and Sihtric will get ye, huh?" Wulfwynn hummed and, quite facilely, Finan lifted her. She gracelessly threw her leg across the saddle and, as he told her, Sihtric grabbed her. “Ye’re good?”

“Good.” Wulfwynn muttered with a nod. Finan’s eyes widened at the hoarseness of her mutter but he nodded nonetheless.

He and Osferth hopped back onto their horses. Wulfwynn fidgeted a bit, and grabbed Sihtric's thick, woolly ebony mantle with her fingertips. But he felt it and turned, and gently grasped her wrist before he wrapped it across his chest.

Wulfwynn jolted when he softly spoke, “You may hold on.” And, although timidly, Wulfwynn slipped her arms around Sihtric’s waist. Her fingers gripped the crisscrossed leather of his cotte, and her fingertips stroked the fur that flanked its edges. The scents of cinders and smoke, of dust and caked mud and hay tickled her nostrils. Yet she felt oddly soothed as she faintly breathed into the heavy wool.

“We ride!” then hailed Uhtred.

Wulfwynn’s legs dangled from the horse’s rump, and swayed slightly with his sturdy strides. The muffled thud of hooves as they rustled dead leaves, the snorts of the horses, the chirps of the birds and the warmth of Sihtric's furs cradled Wulfwynn. And slowly, as she fell into slumber, her head lolled and bobbed, and then, settled between Sihtric's shoulders.

And Wulfwynn slept, as much as she hadn't slept in weeks.

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

The noisy hustle and bustle of Wintanceaster was quite pleasant. With the yells of its merchants, as they tempted the villagers with their trouts and lampreys, their hot loaves of oat breads, their goat cheeses, and their turnips and parsnips, and their pears. The bright, merry talks of the villagers. The jolly chuckles and giggles of the children.

Wintanceaster was noisy and Finan basked in its noisiness.

He particularly appreciated this noisiness, as it differed considerably from the howls and yells that engulfed the field. As well as the smells. The scents of mud sodden, thickened with blood, of tangy sweat and barf were, at Wintanceaster, the scents of roasted pork and latterly brewed barley ale that wafted from the taverns.

Yet, this bustle hadn't awakened the lass, whose scratched and scraped arms were wrapped across Sihtric's chest, and whose reddened, bruised cheek was squooshed against his back, although she was shrouded with Finan’s hood. But Sihtric wasn’t bothered in the least.

“We'll take her to mine." declared Finan, as they strided towards the stables.

A snort. "Really? Huh." Clapa chuckled wickedly. He glared at the Dane. "Well, we're not gonna get her to yers, are we?" Finan retorted.

“He’d frighten her.” Uhtred sniggered, as he glanced at the giant. Clapa smirked.

“Frighten her? I’m but meek, sweet and gentle as a lamb, Lord.” He protested, and Uhtred chuckled, “Huh-uh.”

They approached the stables and alighted from their steeds. Finan felt the soreness in his legs as he neared Sihtric’s horse. He nodded towards Clapa, “Can ye take her?” and the Dane contourned the horse. He held his arms towards the lass, and Sihtric gently peeled her hands from the crisscrosses of his cotte, before Clapa slithered an arm across her back, as she slipped into his arms, and then slithered a hand beneath her legs. “I’ve got her.”

"Alright." Finan nodded. The muddy strands of straw of the stables crumpled beneath the soles of Sihtric's boots, when he leaped from his horse.

The lass’ forehead was nestled in Clapa’s neck, and the hood had flopped back a tad from her head. Finan’s glance fell onto the maroon and olive bruises that dotted her cheeks and chin, the scarlet slit that carved in the slope of her nose and the split etched into her plump, chapped lip.��

He then turned to Osferth, “We’ll need yer balms and herbs.”

“Aye.” he nodded and hurried to fetch the leather satchel on his saddle.

They then took her to Finan's. He didn't quite considered it— well, considered it what? A haven? His? His haven? Nah, his haven was Coccham. This was but a humble, wooden hut, scarcely adorned, with a bed padded with straw and wool, draped with a few woollen and linen pillows and blankets, and a few furs. A table, scattered with bowls, melted candles and a hutch of trinkets, stood in the corner, with three stools. Light linen sheers flanked the walls, near the bed, while a wooden chest sat beside it, and a bench stood in the corner, near the entrance.

Clapa settled the lass onto the bed, with greater gentleness than Finan had hoped, and, with care, Finan unbuckled the buckle of his coat and slipped the wool from the lass' frail, delicate silhouette, before Clapa laid her tousled head onto the pillows.

“‘Tis still as modest as it was the last I was here.” enthused Uhtred, as he entered the hut with Osferth and Sihtric.

Finan stared at the lass an instant, and then turned to Osferth. He startled and hurried to the table and, amongst the wooden bowls, grabbed the dusty pestle and mortar. He then brought the herbs onto the table from his satchel, and glanced at the sleeper before he took the yarrow.

They stared quietly at the monk, as he grabbed the pestle and mashed the dried yarrow into the mortar. He then grabbed a bowl and poured a quaff of his gourd, and sprinkled the dried plant. Osferth then took the bowl and told Finan, “It’ll soothe her body.”

Finan took the bowl and nodded. Softly, he knelt onto the bed's edge, and slowly tickled the beverage between the lass' chapped lips.

“Then?” Sihtric queried as he neared the table. Osferth took the bowl back. "Then," he mumbled, as he tossed plants in the wooden bowl, and took the pestle, "I'll tend to those scrapes and scratches with chamomile," he grimaced, as though he was scraped and scratched, "and soothe her bruises with nettle."

Sihtric glanced at the lass and the frown between her brows. And a tinge of concern tickled his chest. Osferth grinded the chamomile and the nettle in the bowl, and then poured a quaff, “She’ll heal.” he assured, as he approached the bed and settled on the edge.

“But she’ll need a while. She’s quite enfeebled.” he murmured softly, and placed the bowl onto the woollen blankets. “But she’ll heal.”

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

Wulfwynn felt cradled.

Shrouded in the softness of the wool of Cynefrith's sleeves across her hips, and swaddled in the warmth of Eadgyth's skirts and kirtles, her legs entangled with hers. She felt utterly well.

She hadn’t felt well in quite a while. But between Cynefrith and Eadgyth, she felt soothed.

Yet, Wulfwynn stirred in her slumber. She nestled her nose in Eadgyth's tangled and tousled tresses, and hummed with contentment when the scents of chamomile tickled her nostrils. She felt Cynefrith’s gentle breath tickle the back of her neck.

Wulfwynn sighed with delight. She laced her fingers with Cynefrith’s, and Eadgyth wrapped her arm around them, and cuddled them.

And an ache clutched at her chest.

Wulfwynn’s brows furrowed. She huddled and clutched Cynefrith's lithe fingers, and snuggled into Eadgyth's neck. But she gasped as her chest tightened.

And she sobbed. Whiffs of cinders and embers, of nettle and of dust swamped her nostrils and tickled her guts. She sobbed, and sobbed, as the ache clawed at her heart.

Sleep left her, slowly, so slowly it felt an eternity.

Her sight remained blurred a moment before she discerned the shutters, and the pale gleams of the morn that crept between them. Then she glanced beside her. But Eadgyth was not there. And when she turned and peered above her shoulder, Cynefrith was not there either. And then, she remembered.

The yells, the tears. The lake. The sobs, the pleas. The plains. The blood.

Cynefrith was not there.

Eadgyth was not there.

They were not here.

Wulfwynn whimpered. There was neither Eadgyth nor Cynefrith. There were not their embraces, merely linen blankets and furs. There was not their warmth, just a woollen and straw mattress. They were not there.

She sobbed, her hands clutched at her chest. She sobbed, her scraped and scratched knees beneath her chin. She sobbed, muffled into the blankets. She did not hear the squeak of the wooden door and the creak of the boots onto the floorboards.

“Lass?”

Wulfwynn perked and winced. "Ye're awake, at last." Finan huffed, as the concern that etched his face melted into relief. Wulfwynn's tears trickled from her cheeks and wetted the blankets. Finan approached the bed.

“Ye’re alright, lass. Ye’re alright.” he reassured her. But Wulfwynn wasn’t alright.

Her lips quivered, “I,” she huffed quietly, feebly, “I fled, but I—” and faltered, “I fled,”

“Hey, hey,” Finan neared her, and she felt her heart thump, "I— I fled but I—" she sobbed, "But—" And Finan gently seated at the bed's edge, “Hey, ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright.” he repeated. “Ye’re fine,” he murmured softly.

Alright. She was alright. Wulfwynn nodded. Was she alright? She wasn not quite. But she nodded nonetheless. Her sobs ebbed. She felt, as she had felt with Uhtred, oddly, yet agreeably, comforted and reassured when her eyes anchored into Finan’s. But she felt terribly feeble too. And sore.

“Ye shouldn't tire yerself too much. Ye're still weak and ye haven't eaten yet.” he uttered prudently, as though he feared he might frighten her. “Ye’ve slept quite a bit and Osferth has tended to yer,” he swallowed, “wounds.”

Wulfwynn glanced down at her hands, wrapped in thin strips of linen, folded around her thumbs and knotted in the crook of her palms. The whiffs of chamomile and nettle wafted to her nose when she wiggled her fingers. She noticed she was no longer garbed in her shredded skirts and kirtles, drenched with sweat, sullied with guts and smeared with mud and dust, but a linen shift that smelt of sage. Hence why she had felt so comfortable in her slumber. And she frowned. If she’d been changed, then had they—

“We haven’t.” Finan assured, halting her thoughts, as though he knew what she was wondering. “Osferth merely tended to the wounds on yer arms and legs. Yer virtue is untarnished. Lord Uhtred's sister and Abbess Hild tended to those he couldn't. And then changed ye.”

She nodded shyly. “W-Where,” she licked her lips, “Where are we?”

“Wintanceaster, Lady.”

He stood from the bed and went to the table, in the corner, where there were three stools and, scattered onto the table, dusty baubles and wooden plates, bowls and cups. “Have I,” she straightened slightly and grimaced, “H-Have I slept long?”

He picked a goblet and grabbed the jug, near a plate in which there were the scraps of a meal. Wulfwynn then wondered if they had remained there while she slept. “About three days. Since we arrived.”

“Oh.” she murmured. Finan returned to the bed and handed her the goblet. She whispered her thanks, and wondered if he had heard her, but as he nodded, she thought he must have. She took a sip and felt the soreness of her throat.

Then her stomach rumbled.

Her cheeks dusted with embarrassment and she coughed. She had not eaten but a few berries in days, and had eaten aught but stale bread in weeks. The mere sight of the scraps of a meal had her stomach growl.

"Ye must be famished." Finan frowned, as if concerned. He then nodded, as though approving a thought he'd just had. "Alright. I'll get Hild fer ye and we'll take ye to the tavern. I'll be quick."

He then turned on his heels and strode out of the hut.

CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

©TheThyri. All rights content belong to @thethyri. Do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works in any way or on any other platform without my permission. Gifs rightfully belong to @dailytlk.

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csigeoblue · 2 years ago

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Amongst the Chaos - Finan x fem!Reader (The Last Kingdom fic)

Disclaimer: obvi don’t own any material for The Last Kingdom. I struggled with writing this or not cause I’m not usually good at period pieces so wish me luck 😆

______________________

The sound of many hooves and yells awoke you from your slumber unexpectedly setting your entire being on high alert and double as much once you saw Finan had not made it home yet. You sprung up out of bed and peered out the window to see the commotion.

Men on horseback dropping pieces of fire onto any houses close enough to their path.

You grabbed your knife as a last resort for protection.

As quickly and quietly as you could, you snuck out of the back of your house and said a prayer in hopes it would still be standing after this night. You had to find Sihtric’s brood and make sure they were all alright.

On the other side of the village, Finan jolted awake at the table he’d been drinking with Uhtred and Sihtric when he heard an arrow land close to him. To his surprise, it was on fire then he refocused and could hear the chaos going on around him.

His main priority was to find you and figure out what the hell was going on.

The trio quickly jumped into the fray outside. Swords clashing with the strangers dressed like Danes. The floor was wet from the rain earlier that night making it slippery as they fought.

“Y/n!” Shouted Finan.

“She’s not here. Must have gone after Sigeflead” Sihtric offered as he took his sword out of another man’s chest in order to keep moving. Finan grunted in acknowledgment as his opponent fell to his knees too.

“Aye she’s probably counting all your babes.”

It didn’t make him feel better to jest. You had grit that’s for sure but not a warrior by any means. You were a farmer through and through could grow anything anywhere with your skills. A gap in the path thru the fighting gave them enough of an opening to cover more ground and run to Sihtric’s just down the road in the direction the invaders likely came from.

You made it to Sihtric’s door and tried to catch your breath. The smoke in the air made it hard to see in front of you. For a moment you got caught up looking at the destruction around you when someone opened the door and pulled you inside by the collar of your night dress.

“What do we have ere, eh?” A man with a shaved head and dark look in his eye gave you the once over. To your surprise, this man had company… Sigeflaed and her four young children huddled in a corner. When your eyes met, she face hardened with a slight nod.

“Let them go. You only need one of us to have some fun.” You looked back at your captor hoping he’d consider it. He smirked at you and paused pretending to think it over.

Abruptly he threw you to the floor in the opposite direction of Sigeflaed. The fall hurt and your head bounced on the chair there but it was the perfect distraction.

“Siggy, now!”

Sigeflaed rushed the man from behind to throw him off balance as the oldest of the children led the rest outside. You slid your knife out of its sheath and slashed as quickly as you could towards both his ankles. With a shout, he threw Siggy out the open door and fell to his knees.

You stumbled onto your feet towards the door but he latched onto your ankle and pulled you down. As you went down you looked up and saw what you hoped was Finan’s figure in the distance.

“FINAN!”

His eyes widen as he saw you fall and call out his name. He shouted back “I’m Here!” and pushed himself faster to get to you when he saw the reason you fell. A man maneuvered himself over you and started choking you. Fínan’s blood boiled.

“Oi, get your hands off her”

He swung his sword around swiping at both forearms of your assailant causing him to loosen his grip on you. The man screamed in pain while you took deep panicked breaths gently soothing your neck. You kicked the man on the floor as Sihtric made a move to end him. Finan took you in his arms.

“Moh gra, I’m here.”

“Love, I’m alright.” Though it pained you to get the words out. You were grateful it was over.

#fanfiction #fanfic #fic #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #finan the last kingdom #finan the agile #sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #finan fanfic #finan fic #the last kingdom fanfic #uhtred #uhtred of bebbanburg #uhtred ragnarsson

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ladyinred2248 · 7 months ago

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Well, I finished my Part 12 of my King of the North series! It will be posted hopefully today or tomorrow. So I guess that’s a win; I did get some writing done after all! I planned for Part 12 to be the ending, because I know my interaction on that fic is very low. Well 🤣 there’s too much to cover for that to be the ending. So we’ll see. Thanks to those of you who keep supporting!

It has still been my pride and joy fic — where I can explore my creativity and my love for Finan and TLK, no matter how much it waxes and wanes. I’ve let go of perfectionism and just let it ride. After all, it’s the fun of it that counts, right?

Hehe love you all 💕

#finan fic #the last kingdom #finan the agile #tlk fandom #the last kingdom finan #finan tlk fanfic #finan tlk

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errruvande · 9 months ago

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I'm sorry but already can say the second part is gonna be the hottest fire I have ever read like DAMN

I can only dream of writing smut like that, it's so unbelievably fucking hot and smooth 🥵🥵🥵

And for gods sake being eaten out by both Sihtric and Finan? YES PLEASE 😭😭😭

"Figure You Out - Part One" - Sihtric x Whore!Reader x Finan

A/N my first reader fic for The Last Kingdom fandom! Still got to have both my boys though :) Part two is HERE

Summary: Finan decides that Sihtric needs to learn how to please a woman. He takes him to see a brothel worker and is then convinced to join in!

TW: Whore reader. Virgin Sihtric. Ladies man Finan. Light dom reader. Light fem dom. Oral sex (f recieving). Fingering (f recieving). Implied m/m. Finan is a hands on teacher. Multiple orgasms.

Word count: 1,702

Taglist: @gemini-mama @valeskafics

It had been a slow evening in the Inn when you were approached by a tall, dark haired man you recognized as one of Lord Uhtred's top warriors, Finan you thought his name was. The smirking Irishman pressed a handful of coins into your hands, enough to pay for the whole night and then some.

“The lad needs to learn how to properly please a woman.” Finan said while nodding his head at a younger man at his back. He flashed you a wink before he reached back and dragged the other warrior forward.

You gave the lad a once over, please by what you saw. He was of a height with Finan but slimmer in the shoulders, with well muscled arms which he bared with a sleeveless tunic. He was clearly a Dane, with his hair pulled back in braids across the top of his head and the pewter hammer hanging around his neck, but you didn't mind. He looked up at you through his eyes and you glimpsed the most beautiful set of eyes you had ever seen. His right eye was a warm brown while his left eye was a pale blue, they shone with nervousness but you could see the excitement peaking through.

“Will you be joining us to ensure he is adequately taught?” You teased looking back at the dark haired Irishman, not at all put off by the idea of having them both. Finan had a reputation of treating the girls well and virgins were usually so much fun to play with. It didn't hurt that the young Dane was exceptionally beautiful and you knew you would enjoy the experience of teaching him.

Sihtric could feel your gaze burning into the flushed skin of his face as the two men shared a look. He wasn't repulsed by the idea of Finan accompanying them, of the older man watching, helping, Sihtric had approached him for advice after all. A silent conversation passed between them, an arch of Finan brown in question before the young Dane nodded his consent with a shrug.

Sihtric ignored how the heat already coiled in his gut burned brighter as Finan flashed him a cheeky wink before the Irishman turned to look back at you. “Yeah alright, gotta make sure he does it properly, don't I?”

You reached your hand out towards Sihtric and after a moment's hesitation he took it in his, mindful of how soft and delicate your hand felt in his, rough with scars and years of handling a weapon. You smiled encouragingly at him before you introduced yourself and asked for his name.

“I'm Sihtric, miss,” he answered, voice soft and gentle as he met your gaze shyly.

You were the most beautiful woman Sihtric had ever laid eyes on. Your hair was tied back away from your face with a few stands loose to dance around your shoulders. Your dress hugged your form perfectly and left little to the imagination, pushing your breasts up and he couldn't help but think they would be the perfect handful.

But his favourite feature had to be your eyes. Your eyes were bright and expressive with long lashes that framed them perfectly, shining with mischief as you led the two men up the stairs to your room.

He couldn't stop his mouth from hanging open as you unlaced your bodice and exposed your breasts to their hungry eyes before you pulled your overdress over your head and dropped it in a heap on the floor before sitting on the edge of the bed. You leaned back on your hands and enjoyed having their undivided attention. You loved bringing men to their knees.

You tapped a foot on the floor. “On your knees boys.”

You watched with hooded eyes as Sihtric knelt on the floor with barely restrained eagerness, Finan close behind but with much more poise. You knew this was not the first time the Irishman had found himself on his knees in the bedroom. The other girl always had lots of stories about Uhtred's second in command, that he was a very giving lover and, if the stories were true, incredibly talented with his mouth.

Your core throbbed and you grew wet at the thought of putting that mouth to use but tonight was about the young Dane currently crawling his way between your spread legs. His inexperience was obvious as he began pressing sweet, hesitant kisses up the skin of your inner thigh, long fingers shaking as they worked your underdress up inch by inch as he went.

By the time he had worked your dress up around your waist you were soaked, your cunt and inner thighs slick with the proof of your arousal.

Confronted with the sight of your wet cunt the young Dane lost his nerve and looked over his shoulder at his friend for assistance. Finan pressed himself to Sihtric's back and hooked his chin over the Dane's shoulder.

“What a pretty sight” He growled, his eyes were dark, pupils blown with arousal as they moved over your exposed flesh.

You licked your lower lip slowly and flashed him a smirk when his gaze met yours. You cocked an eyebrow in challenge, taunting the Irishman to show what he knows.

The older man's brow furrowed before he wrapped himself tighter around the younger man and began his lesson. “Just gotta touch her a little, warm her up for yer cock.” He told the younger man, reaching out with one hand to demonstrate.

You threw your head back with a gasp as two thick fingers slid through your soaking folds, gathering the wetness there and using it to slick the way for him to push them inside you. You opened for him so easy, with a breathless moan as the stretch relieved the ache that had begun to throb through your core. They way they moved together, pressing against your inner walls perfectly, brushing against that spot inside you that made you see stars.

Finan curled his fingers inside so they pressed harder against that perfect spot and your mouth feel open on a whine. His thumb rubbed slow circles around your nub, the pleasure building heat in your core, stroking the flames higher and higher. You were so wet and dripping that his fingers made a wet squelching sound each time he pulled them back to the tip before he plunged them back between your folds. You were moaning continuously when Finan pulled his hand away and you whined at the momentary pause in your pleasure.

He chuckled deeply as he grabbed one of Sihtric's hands and guided it between your trembling thighs to take his place. “Your turn, boy.”

The way Finan kept himself wrapped around Sihtric made for a very enticing sight and you wondered what they would look like wrapped up together, bare of their armour and clothing, their battle hardened bodies pressed together. The picture in your mind and the way Sihtric worked between your thighs, just as Finan had shown him, unexpectedly pushed you to what you knew would only be the first orgasm of the night.

You lost all strength in your arms and found yourself fully on your back as you shuddered and moaned as Sihtric diligently kept his fingers thrusting inside of you at Finan's insistence. Drawing your pleasure out until you were reduced to a trembling, whining mess.

You had barely come down or caught your breath when Finan gave his next command to the young Dane.

“Give her cunt a kiss,” he commanded the other man, guiding him down with a hand on the back of Sihtric's head.

Sihtric didn't hesitate to get his mouth on you, soft and sweet at first, with gentle kisses and soft licks as he tasted your release, cleaning some of the slick from your inner thighs and between your folds. He groaned against your skin and doubled down, attacking you with lips and tongue. He was a natural as he licked and sucked, devouring your cunt like he was a man starving. Finan whispered advice from over his back, voice deep and raspy with his arousal.

You struggled to push yourself back upright on your elbows so you didn't miss a single moment. You watched as Sihtric pressed his arse back against the hard line of the Irishman's cock, the lad whining desperately against your cunt when he was confronted with the proof of his friend's arousal. You smirked at how clearly the poor boy wanted to get fucked. An idea formed in your mind, one you hoped you could sweet talk the two men into.

Your mind wiped clean as Sihtric sunk two fingers back into your dripping wet core and crooked them just right. No matter how his body begged for his friend he stayed focused on you and kept his mouth working on your core, making the pleasure build again. You gasped out encouragement and praise until you peaked a second time with a drawn out moan, head thrown back and shuddering as he kept lapping at you, soft and wet, drinking down your release until you pushed his head away with a breathless laugh.

Both men slid back on their heels and gave you space to recouver this time, which you needed as you found yourself sprawled on your back again with your whole body weak and trembling from the strength of your second orgasm.

You panted up at your ceiling as your heart rate slowed and you collected yourself. As fast a learner as the Dane was proving to be you still had knowledge to impart.

You rolled yourself over onto your hands and knees and crawled further up the bed, giving your arse a good shake for good measure, feeling both sets of eyes on you.

“Take your clothes off Sihtric,'' you commanded over your shoulder and smiled as the man was quick to obey, revealing a lithe, well muscled body, spotted with the occasional scar, signs of his life as a warrior. You pulled your underdress over your head, baring yourself complerely to the two warriors before you settled yourself on your back against the pillows and spread your legs invitingly. “Come here.”

#sihtric x reader #finan x reader #sihtric #finan #sihtric fic #finan fic #the last kingdom fic #tlk #the last kingdom

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witchthewriter · 17 days ago

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𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡-𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: thank you for the request anon!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: You're in an established relationship, known each other for a few months. ⋆.˚🦢⋆

𝑼𝒉𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒅

・Uhtred picks up on it instantly.

・Once Uhtred understands how touch-starved you are, he becomes a little obsessed with making sure you feel safe in his presence.

・So Uhtred starts to touch you more; a hand on your back when you walk together, holding your wrist and giving it a tight squeeze when he wants your attention, leaning against you casually, running a hand down your arm, holding your cheek for a few moments before he has to leave etc.

・And when you go out together, his focus is on you.

・Because if someone gets too close than his arm is around your waist, pulling you to his side.

・And if you're nervous in a crowd? Unsure of where to go because of the mass of people - then Uhtred places a hand on your back and guides you to somewhere less overwhelming.

・Oh ... and if somehow you ended up hurt; then he would hold you/set you on his lap while he checks your injuries. And in a low, serious voice says: “Let me see, love. Let me take care of you.”

・Once he notices that you’re leaning into his touch more and more, he starts teasing you mercilessly.

"Oh, now you have gone soft, now you whimper when I stop touching you!"

・And OBVIOUSLY, you aren't going to let that slide. So, you move out of his embrace and do not seek it out for some time.

・However... Uhtred didn't realise how much he needed your touch just as much (he would never admit it though)

・So, he seeks you out and kisses your hand.

"You need this, little one. Now come here.”

𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏

・Once Finan figures out just how touch-starved you are, a terrible mistake has been made! Now you are never getting rid of him!

“You were never meant to go without love. Never. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never do again.”

・Finan doesn't think much of it at first; he's a naturally touchy person; clapping people on the back, throwing an arm around shoulders, tugging at tunics etc,.

・But when he notices little things about you, for example: How you lean into his touches, watching longingly at others who so freely express their feelings through touch.

・He sees the flash of hurt, and sometimes jealousy.

・And once he puts two and two together...his heart crumbles, because he feels like he's let you down.

・From that moment on, he decided that this relationship just got a whole lot more clingier.

・The next time he saw you, he ran up and spun you around, setting you down and giving you kiss. An arm moved to your waist and he kept you close.

・Now, he always keeps you close. No matter where you are. He'll have an arm around your shoulders when you're walking. A hand on your knee when you sit together.

・Even pulls you onto his lap - at every chance he gets.

・Whenever he feels you pulling away, he says:

“If I go even a single hour without touching you, I fear I may wither away and die. Do you want my death on your hands, love? Do you?”

𝑺𝒊𝒉𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄

・Sihtric notices before you even realise it yourself

・He's always watching you; you are his afterall.

・And he noticed that every time he puts a hand on your waist, you lean into it, when you hug - you're never the first to pull away.

・Once he sees just how much you crave romantic touch, but are too hesitant to ask for it...he makes sure that it becomes apart of your daily life.

・For example: when you’re sitting by the fire, he casually tugs your legs over his lap, when you're together, you are connected somehow i.e., holding hands, playing with hair, sitting on his lap.

・And you know what, Sihtric is NOT the freely affectionate type. However you? You are the exception:

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

・Because of this, a thought found its way into Sihtric...maybe he was touch-starved too?

・Because he holds you like he's afraid to let go. He wasn't raised with affection and kindness. Hugs seemed like some sort of sign of respect. So, he felt he did not deserve them.

・But coming to know that you connect with that thought made him want to weep. Because you deserve everything.

・And Sihtric, being Sihtric, he becomes attuned to your every movements.

・So when it comes to you? He notices every single time you crave touch.

・And he acts accordingly. With him, you never feel unloved, or unworthy.

・Sihtric makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

“You feel like home.”

𝑶𝒔𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒉

・At first, Osferth doesn’t notice. Not because he’s oblivious, but because he’s so used to restraining himself.

・But when he finally realises, everything changes.

・And suddenly, you have a shadow who refuses to leave your side.

・The moment he realises it, was a complete accident. You're both in front of the fire, and exhaustion creeps up on you. And you fall asleep.

・Osferth, has no idea what to do. At first, he freezes. Then he realizes...you trust him enough to let your guard down. To fall asleep and do so on him, with your head in his lap, and hand gripping his wrist.

・Touch for Osferth makes his heart beat like nothing else has. And it's all to do with you:

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything the way I want you.”

・It nearly knocks the breath from his lungs. He feels so needed.

・He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, so he's slow about introducing more touch.

・I.e., a lingering hand on your wrist when he helps you up, a brush of his fingers against yours when he hands you something, his shoulder pressing against yours when you sit together.

・Osferth never thought he was the possessive type. But one day, someone got too close to you. Too touchy, too flirty.

・And suddenly Osferth's hand is on your waist, tugging you back against him.

"I suggest you leave. Now." And he says it with such conviction, you think he might actually start a fight...

・Now Osferth craves this touch just as much as you.

“I hope you never stop reaching for me.”

𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒈𝒈𝒓

・The moment he figures out you crave touch, specifically his touch, he becomes extremely territorial.

・His attention rarely leaves you.

・And he starts touching you effortlessly.

・When you sit next to him, his arm is draped over the back of your seat, trails his fingers down your arm absentmindedly, cups the back of your neck when he talks to you etc,.

・This one time, he noticed how much you wanted to touch him but you were hesitating. Sigtryggr did not like that.

・He leant close and whispered in your ear:

“You want something, little one? Take it.”

・From then on you felt comfortable showing your affection, and being open about the need for it as well.

・For a long time, Sigtryggr tells himself this is all about you.

・That he’s just giving you what you need.

・But then he starts to notice:

How he sleeps better when you’re curled against him.

How he misses your warmth when you’re gone too long.

How his hands itch to touch you when you’re too far away.

“I don’t just touch you because you need it. I do it because I like it.”

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viridian-dagger · 29 days ago

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Seiðr of a Death Singer - 2

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: named/minimally described oc, mute!oc, miss girl is Traumatized, some fear and weapons, various described deaths, blood sacrifice (done willingly), described animal death (in a vision), unintentional nakedness and subsequent awkwardness

Word count: 3.6k

Author's Note: taglist is open, cross posted on ao3, and beta read by @witchoftheewilds

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

Eoferwic was loud and crowded; Uhtred and his men didn’t seem to mind but Røskva’s skin itched with so many people — so many men — all around her. In her years after Dunhom, she had become a recluse in a way; she only saw the few who sought her services while she stayed with Gunda. Her time with the nuns, as short as it was, bordered on unbearable as they clucked about like hens in a coop, and thinking of her time with the monks and the priest had her flinching.

And worse, Eoferwic reminded her too much of Dunholm and Kjartan, but she lacked the reprieve of women to seek shelter with. The comfort of being surrounded by Danes was short lived as they leered at her and shouted bawdy comments at her as the group entered the alehouse. One drunken Dane had called her the Dane Slayer’s whore as they walked past. Finan had simply punched the man in the face and muttered something about manners as they found a table.

The alehouse was warm, she was grateful for it after spending the day on horseback, and the ale helped to soothe her even if she felt like a rabbit caught in a trap. Uhtred and Sihtric sat across from her while Finan and Osferth bracketed her in a dark corner. She hated how her skin prickled and she flinched when she heard footsteps behind her.

She tried to ignore the weight of Sihtric’s gaze, focusing on the contents of her bowl instead of the mismatched eyes of the man she once loved and trusted.

“Stop staring at her Sihtric,” Uhtred said, not bothering to look up from his own bowl. “She is already unsettled. You are making it worse.”

His eyes flickered up to meet hers, giving her a barely noticeable smile, before returning his gaze to his food. Once she felt the weight of Sihtric’s gaze off her, she took her opportunity to assess the man across from her. He looked every bit a Dane; he wore his hair long, shaved close on both sides, marked by scars, and wore his sword across his back. The familiarity of him tickled the back of her mind but she could not place it.

Uhtred did not speak again until after the first rounds of ale were dry and their bellies were full of stew. “Alfred marches to Aesengum. He received word that Bloodhair plans to take it, to taunt him. He plans to arrive before Bloodhair and defend it rather than lay siege to his own city.”

“And who gives him this news?” Sihtric asked.

“Haesten, no doubt,” Finan scoffed in return.

“It matters not; we must seek out this Bloodhair and stop him before more problems arise,” Uhtred sighed. “Steapa will no doubt return word of Røskva when he meets the King — and we must have answers. And if we do not believe he will like the answers… then a story we will tell instead.”

The heat of their stares bored into her skin as they turned toward her, eyes curious.

“Lady Røskva,” Osferth mumbled, everyone’s attention turning away from her. “Sihtric tells me you can read and write. If I can provide you with scraps of parchment and ink, would you answer our questions?” She nodded, and Osferth gave her a small smile. “Do you permit this, Lord?”

“Of course,” Uhtred said with a nod. Osferth’s smile widened as he pulled various scraps of parchment from the pockets of his robes, along with a small pot of ink and feather. He put them on the table in front of her, careful to keep his distance, which she was grateful for.

“Have you been carryin’ around ink and parchment like a scribe for months, baby monk?” Finan laughed, making the younger man’s brows furrow. She frowned and caught Osfterth’s gaze, mouthing ‘thank you’ to him. She was starting to find herself fond of the boy — but every time she looked at him she struggled not to grimace at the cross on his chest.

His smile brightened again, “Aye, Finan, I have. Comes in handy now though, does it not?”

The men chuckled at Osferth as she dipped the edge of the feather into the inkwell, eyes finding Uhtred’s across the table. For a second, she saw the question in his eyes — asking if she was prepared, if she would be honest, if he could trust her. She nodded once in return, hoping her gaze conveyed her answer.

Sihtric opened his mouth to speak, but Osferth beat him to it. “Why were you being executed, lady?”

She frowned and focused on the page, scribbling out an answer, conveying the gist of their claims against her being infested by a demon. She slid the note to Uhtred who read it and passed it to Finan, eyes on her.

“When we took Dunholm, the whores said you had gone mad and been killed. What happened?” Uhtred asked.

News that he had been part of the taking of Dunholm shocked her. Questions rattled in her brain as she stared at him dumbly.

“We will speak of Dunholm another time,” Uhtred said softly. She nodded, forcing the new bit of information into the back of her mind as she scribbled another answer onto the parchment, again passing it to Uhtred, whose brows knitted in concern. “Kjartan and Sven wander Niflheim for eternity what they have done,” he muttered, passing the note this time to Sihtric first. She didn’t look at him as he read her words, focusing her eyes back on Uhtred.

But it was Finan who spoke next. “Sihtric says you’re a seer, a witch, that you have visions of the future…” he whispered and she nodded, eyes cutting toward him to see him make the sign of the cross in front of his face with his hands. She saw the monks do the same gesture many times when she was with them. Her eyebrow was raised in confusion as to what his question was. “Well, have you seen anythin’ important lately?”

She hesitated, staring at the parchment in front of her for a moment. If she told them the truth, about the visions she’d had that morning, it might be able to prevent some of the unnecessary suffering. Because despite her anger, she did not relish the idea of Sihtric’s head on a pike, nor Finan’s or Osferth’s. And Uhtred had sworn to protect her, and she was not thrilled at the prospect of him dying an untimely death. But telling them also ran the risk of them not believing her, or worse, of Uhtred deciding to bind her to him like Kjartan had.

“Tell us, Røskva,” Sihtric said softly, his eyes kind and soft. “We will not harm you for speaking the truth, nor will Uhtred.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared him down, trying to convey the reason for her hesitation. Understanding bloomed in his eyes and he softened further, “Lord Uhtred will not bind you to him, Røskva.”

“I will not!” Uhtred all but shouted, sounding almost offended. “To bind a seer against their will is to bring wrath of the Gods they are bound to, Ravn taught me that as a boy!”

Sihtric sighed and cut his gaze toward Uhtred, “My father bound her to him, Lord,” he said softly, the pity in his eyes made rage flare in her gut. “She was ten,” he added quietly, making the men around her hiss in anger.

Uhtred’s bewildered and saddened eyes met hers, tears shining on the surface. “Kjartan was a coward and a fool, and I am sorry he did not suffer more for the wrongs he did in this lifetime” he said, voice thick with grief. “He caused my family more suffering than I ever thought I could bear, and to learn of the suffering he caused others, even now, so many years later, makes me regret not acting sooner.”

Røskva held his gaze for a moment, giving him a tight smile, before ducking her head down and writing the fragments of her visions, indicating which were clear and which still had the haze of indecision lingering on them.

She waited as they passed the page between themselves, each giving her a nervous look. “So much death, Lady,” Osferth muttered before turning to her. “How do you bear it?”

She shrugged, giving him a weak smile; he did not need to know how it weighed on her. None of them did. The fact that Sihtric knew how plagued she was by death made her stomach turn — she hoped he could keep it to himself.

“We need no more answers today,” Uhtred said finally, relief swarming her. “Thank you, Lady Røskva.”

She frowned and scribbled another note on the parchment and slapped it on the table in front of him, staring at him as he read.

Uhtred laughed and shook his head, “I know you are a Dane. You deserve the respect of the title as seer, a respect that has not been given to you thus far,” he said with a shrug. She shook her head again, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I’d listen to her, Lord,” Finan laughed. “She might curse you and your cock will fall right off.”

She heard Sihtric and Osferth choke on their ales, but she refused to back down from Uhtred’s gaze. The man relented with a chuckle and a dramatic eye roll. “Alright woman, you win. You will be a lady no more,” he grinned before adding, “So leave my cock clear of your curse.”

She couldn't help but laugh as the men dissolved into raucous laughter, Finan nearly falling out of his seat.

The conversation turned away from her, and Røskva felt immediately lighter. She hated being watched so intently — the weight of their gazes reminded her of how the monks’ gaze lingered, both in lust and distrust.

She still didn’t know what to make of Uhtred or his men, save Sihtric. There was something about them that felt too much like fate for her liking. Like the Gods had intertwined them somehow and she was still struggling to understand how.

She hadn’t realized how deep in her thoughts she had gotten until Uhtred startled her, his hand knocking softly on the table in front of her. “We have supplies to collect,” he said simply, “and Osferth will ensure you return to her room at the inn.”

“Yes, Lord,” the young monk said solemnly, eyes flicking to meet hers. She was grateful for the out; she wanted a moment of peace before they were to spend an unknown number of days on the road, most of which she assumed would be spent sleeping with nothing but furs to keep them warm until they reached Aesengum.

Her eyes were torn between Uhtred and Sihtric, both staring at her intently as if to convey some message she couldn’t glean from their gaze alone. Sihtric’s eyes held pity, which she immediately turned away from, but Uhtred’s gaze had something akin to reverence and respect. She had no idea what to make of it, but it made her shiver in discomfort all the same.

She couldn’t stand to bask in their confusing looks any longer. Pulling her gaze from the both of them, she picked up the feather, dipping it into the ink again and scribbled a message on the parchment and passed it to Sihtric. His eyes went wide, accepting it with a slow blink, eyes questioning.

Not bothering to stay and get his response, she gathered the feather and ink pot, slipping both in her pocket and fled toward the door. She could feel Osferth following behind her closely, near silent aside from the swish of his robes. The walk toward the inn was equally silent, but not dreadfully uncomfortable. When they reached her door, he seemed deep in thought, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he fumbled with something in his sleeve.

“I hope you do not find this improper Lady Røskva,” he muttered, trailing off as he pulled a small dagger from the sleeve of his robe. Fear clawed at her throat as she stepped backwards into the safety of her room, eyes darting around to find a weapon to protect herself.

Shame at her own stupidity bubbled in her gut — she should have known better than to trust a monk. Of course he would have wanted her dead after hearing her prophecies, he was just like the rest of them. Another grey rat ready to bathe in her blood and call it charity.

“No, please, I would not–could not,” he stammered, eyes going wide. He dropped the dagger to the floor at her feet, raising his hands in surrender. “I mean only to give it to you, Lady Røskva! To protect yourself, should you need to.”

She stared at him, fear and confusion battling in her body before he turned and scurried away, leaving her there in shock. Røskva didn’t think on it more, grabbing the dagger off the floor before closing the heavy door, barring it from the inside with the heavy wooden beam.

The muffled quiet of the room was welcome. The bare space reminded her of the room she had at Gunda’s inn — the reminder was a welcome pain, but a pain nonetheless. Røskva cleared space on the floor, pushing back the rug covering the worn wood.

The process was second nature as she prepared her offerings; she stripped the stiff material from her body and sank to her knees, placing the candle in front of her on the wood. The dagger made shearing a strip of material from the hem easier, cutting it into pieces methodically. The sharpened point of the dagger found home in the pad of her finger, crimson pooling easily on the surface as she marked the fabric. Ink came next, smaller inscriptions in the blood stained fabric. She hoped the Gods wouldn't find her offering lacking — she had wished to collect herbs but their journey hadn't allowed it.

As she burned each strip, she prayed to the Gods for their favor. She asked them to keep her safe, to aid her in preventing the unnecessary, unjust deaths in her visions, but to bring suffering to those who sought to make her suffer in return.

When each piece had been burned, and the blood burned off the edge of the dagger, she staggered to the bed. She slept, dagger tight in hand, but rest did not find her easily.

The visions came swiftly, each pulling her under like a current she couldn't escape, gasping for air between each one; a Dane slitting the throat of a white stallion and pouring blood over his head, the cursed woman slitting the throat of a warrior and sending him to Niflheim, a beautiful young woman stabbed in the stomach by a golden haired man wearing a crown, and the blond haired Dane who killed Kjartan again. His death woke her, hollow screams caught in her throat, burning like bile.

Light had yet to break across the horizon as she sank back to her knees on the floor, tears in her eyes as she lit the wick of the candle. She felt nothing as she sliced open her palm, letting the blood drip into the flames. She called out to the Norns, begging them to change this man’s fate. She didn’t care that she didn’t know him, the fact that he had killed Kjartan was enough to deem him worthy in her eyes, but something else tore at her heart, a tether of sorts she couldn't place. Røskva had to try to save him.

The fire lapped at her blood, the flame nearly dying off the wick before it surged in strength. The world went black, leaving nothing but the image of two ravens circling over a man as he clumsily slithered through the forest, attempting to hide himself from sight. He was shrouded in deceit and lies. She watched as he transformed into a brown rat, and the ravens swooped down on him. The rat screamed as the ravens plucked out his eyes. Then, the ravens made way for a fox, brilliant amber with two glowing blue eyes tore the rat’s head off, leaving the body decapitated on the ground.

“Open the bloody door, woman!” Finan’s voice called out, breaking her from the vision with a gasp. The sun was grazing the tops of the trees in the distance and her candle had long since burned out. She pushed herself off the floor, body feeling drained and achy, and shuffled toward the door. The bar across the door was heavy, heavier than she remembered it being the night before.

“She may be in a vision. I will go around and look through her window to see if she is well,” Sihtric said, his voice even and lacking emotion, but she knew how easy it was for him to hide his feelings.

She heard his footsteps retreating before Osferth’s mumble came from outside the door, “Lord, what if she was injured or attacked? I left her a dagger but—” he began, but stopped when she hissed, her hand sliding across the rough wood, catching on the open wound on her palm.

“Røskva, are you well?” Uhtred asked, sounding concerned.

Røskva ground her teeth in frustration, shoving the beam off the door, letting it fall to the ground with a bang before pulling it open just enough to fit her face in the gap, staring expectantly at the three men congregated outside her door.

“Good christ,” Finan coughed, head snapping away from her to stare up at the ceiling.

Osferth’s yelp startled her as she watched him turn beet red from his temples down his neck, turning fully away from her and all but running down the hall. “I will collect Sihtric and ready the horses,” he nearly shouted, sounding strangled. She stared at his retreating form in confusion, turning her gaze to Uhtred.

His eyes were fixed above her head, a lazy smirk on his lips and it dawned on her. She slammed the door shut.

“I apologize for Osferth’s poor behavior,” Uhtred said, tone light. “He is not used to women opening their door bare as the day they were born.”

“Aye, but we are not complaining,” Finan added.

She heard whispers outside the door as she forced the grey dress over her head, hating how it seemed to weigh on her, and how the material scratched her skin, stinging like nettles.

When she opened the door again, only Uhtred remained; face devoid of the smirk he had been wearing, but she could see it in his eyes. She wanted to be angry at herself, angry at him, disgusted that he had seen her in such a state — but she couldn’t summon the energy.

“May I enter?” He asked, eyes going tender as he looked her over. She didn’t bother trying to respond, simply moved away from the door. He pushed in easily, the wooden beam dragging across the floor as if it were nothing. She watched his icy gaze sweep over the room, eyes catching something unknown to her. They mapped across the floor, and then found her. His expression softened as he stepped toward her. “You cut your hand,” he sighed, stress seeming to fall off his shoulders.

She didn’t argue as he stepped toward her, dropping the parcel in his hand on the bed before reaching out to her, but stopped, eyes flicking up to meet hers. The question was clear, and she nodded, letting him grab her wrist, pulling up her injured hand to inspect.

“I need to wrap this,” he said softly, “You are weak from losing blood.” He grabbed the parcel, unfurling it. A pair of boots, a tunic, a pair of trousers, and a thick fur tumbled out onto the bed. Her mouth hung open in shock as she looked over the items.

She watched dumbly as he cut the fabric that had contained them into strips with the dagger she had abandoned on the floor before he took her hand in his. He pulled her to sit at the table with him and worked swiftly; she refused to flinch, neither from the feeling of the material pressed against her open flesh, nor at how close he was.

The feeling of his calluses skimming over the skin of her wrist spread gooseflesh and sent shivers down her spine as he tied off the strip. She couldn’t find it in herself to stop staring at his hands, even feeling the heat of his gaze pass over her.

His hands were big and strong, full of scars and calluses that marked him as a warrior. One who wielded his sword and seax with ease not won by cruelty, but showed his strength. The sinew and skin was stretched tight over the bones and veins. Such deadly hands were so gentle, and she found herself in awe of them.

“Lord! We must go! Steapa and the King will be waitin’,” Finan called from outside the window, breaking the spell over both of them.

Uhtred stood from the table, making his way across the room in long strides, “We will leave as soon as you have changed. There is a chill in the air, so keep both furs tight around you. You will ride with me today,” he said simply as he strutted out the door, closing it behind him with a muffled thud.

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#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #uhtred ragnarsson #finan the agile #sihtric kjartansson #fanfic #the last kingdom fanfic #finan x oc #uhtred x oc #uhtred x reader #finan x reader #finan fic #uhtred fic

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ms-oswald · 6 months ago

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homesick | introduction

author's note: back with another mini-Finan series. This time this is set in the TLK era and will include fluff-ish, smut-ish (18+ MDNI) and of course - angsty moments. Not much actions but hopefully, this will still be enjoyable for the intrigued. If you are interested and want to be part of the taglist, please let me know! A massive thank you to @persephones-journey for being my soundboard and helping me out 💕

Main Characters: Finan x Kára (OC) Length: 7 chapters

Summary: A series of cherished encounters between Finan, Uhtred’s second in command, and Kára, an unsettled and restless shield-maiden – her path dictated by the whims of Mother Nature while he remains true to his calling. An unlikely friendship forms as they live on opposite sides, their kindled flame bright and consuming to every conjured touch while forever wondering if such fire will burn out amongst the rubble crumbling over their years apart.

Lots of love & stay safe 💕

banners credit to @arcielee

Playlist under the cut

#the last kingdom #finan #finan x oc #tlk fanfic #finan imagine #finan the agile #the last kingdom fanfic #finan fic #mywriting #mark rowley #finan fanfic #tlk

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persephones-journey · 4 months ago

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Finan is a doctor that treats female hysteria.

Conall, his brother asks him to help treat Conall’s wife, Aine.

Finan and Aine do not plan to fall in love. But it happens…

#Finan #the last kingdom #finan fic #finan/oc

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whitedarkmoonflower · 1 year ago

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Little Seer

Pairing: Sihtric x reader(female) x Finan

Authors note: there was something in the air again 😅 Brainstorming and writing together with the talented and amazing @little-diable is an absolute pleasure. Thank you so much for co-writing this little story with me! 💖💖💖

Warnings: SMUT 18+, a bit of angst, the usual things

Summary: as if being Skade's sister wasn't challenge enough, you are faced with an impossible choice between two warriors, competing over your heart

Word Count: 4,8 K

You closed your eyes and inhaled the cool, crisp morning air. A fleeting aroma of freshly baked bread wafted toward you, evoking a vivid memory of work-worn hands kneading dough on a high table, so tall that your nose barely reached its surface.

"Go fetch your sister," a soft voice urged, and you giggled as a finger touched your nose, leaving a white flour mark on it.

"Skade, Skade, where are you? Mom is baking bread," you called out cheerfully, your voice ringing through the yard like a bright, joyful stream. Your small feet carried you from one building to the next.

"Shhh, what are you doing? Stop yelling! You just scared all my spirits away," an irritated hiss made you freeze in your tracks as your lively, smiling eyes met two stormy, piercing blue ones. Your face twisted into a mocking grimace as you stuck out your tongue at your sister. Her giggle was soft and sparkling, reminiscent of a tiny bell's chime, as she took your hand and you both skipped joyfully back to the house.

Long before the big wooden gates of Dunholm creaked open to welcome the small traveling party, you had already known she was approaching Dunholm. The runes never lied to you. Bound by the same blood and the same divine gift, your destinies were intricately woven together in a delicate tapestry of love and hate. You knew you couldn’t escape each other and no matter how hard you tried to defy this fate, you had always failed.

Your palm tightened around the shaft of the Nithstang you had crafted tonight, wet and sticky with the warm blood dripping down your fingers, as you forced your eyes open. Your steps, steady and resolute, carried you to the small paddock across the inner yard, now a makeshift prison.

"Release him!" Your voice, edged with a metallic tone, carried a hint of the anger simmering deep within you. Something stirred in the shadows at the back, and a silhouette began to move closer to the bars. Two familiar, deep pools of dazzling blue met your gaze.

"You know I won't," a challenge danced on the plush lips curved into a smirk. "You should know me better by now, little sis."

"Don't make me use my power against you," you warned, your breath forming small clouds of mist as you spoke, casting a shimmering, translucent veil over your sister's face and giving it a mysterious glow.

"You wouldn't dare," Skade smirked, tilting her head defiantly.

"You leave me no choice," you replied, not with anger but with a surge of resolve. With a loud cry, you swung the Nithstang high into the air, driving it deep into the ground to face the place where your sister was imprisoned.

Your love for her was deeply rooted in every fibre of your being, yet you despised the monster she had become, transformed by power-hungry men who sought to use her for their own ascension. It was this profound care for her, this need to protect her even from herself, that had driven you to carve the ancient runes into the wood under the cover of night. The power of love was stronger than the power of hate, yet your sister, as mighty as she might be, still failed to recognize this simple truth.

Fear and caution had long been your constant companions, often mingled with respect, but genuine fascination and appeal seldom visited your life. You struggled to suppress your smile as you constantly felt two pairs of eyes almost burning into your back each time when you turned away.

The dark brown eyes exuded warmth, strength, and protectiveness, creating a comforting presence that seemed to envelop you each time you entered the great hall. The peculiar, mismatched eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, radiating a sense of possessiveness. They darted around the room, absorbing every detail, as if laying claim to every word you spoke and every move you made.

An Irish-accented voice, rich and booming, reached you near the stream just as you were about to lift the heavy buckets brimming with water. "May I help you?"

"Thank you, that's very kind," you replied with a smile, watching the sturdy, well-built Irishman effortlessly lift your load and nod for you to lead the way.

To break the somewhat awkward silence, you inquired, "How's Lord Uhtred?"

"He's well, thanks to you, lady. On the way here, I had my doubts he'd even make it," the warrior replied, his voice thick with genuine worry and care. The soothing quality of his words made you turn and cast a warm smile back at him while noticing his shoulders straighten and his eyes light up with a friendly glow.

Having seen him spar before, it was clear that beneath his somewhat soft and pappy shell lay a core of steel, marked by agility and resolve.

"Lady, I was looking for you..." greeted a cheerful voice accompanied by a bright smile at the steps before your hut. "I... I was riding out the horses, and there, in the meadow, I thought of you when I saw these," stammered the young, handsome Dane, revealing a bouquet of wildflowers he had been hiding behind his back. His gaze quickly shifted to his feet.

The bouquet was not a mere haphazard cluster; it was artfully arranged—a vibrant swirl of colours with bright yellow flowers at the centre, gently transitioning to soft pink and white ones around the edges, framed by green leaves.

"They are beautiful, thank you so much, Sihtric," you said, your eyes widening in surprise. Your fingers lightly brushed against his as you accepted the flowers, inhaling their sweet scent. A muffled scoff from behind made you bury your face deeper into the bouquet to hide your amused smirk upon seeing Finan roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Lady, let me..." Sihtric hurriedly ascended the few steps and swung the door open for you, you stepped inside and Sihtric followed you, letting the door close just before Finan could enter. You turned to him with a surprised smile and, hearing Finan’s disgruntled curse behind the door, Sihtric quickly opened it again to let in the visibly annoyed Irishman.

"Please put the buckets there," you directed, pointing to a wooden bench in the corner while turning to fetch a vase for the flowers from the cupboard.

The sound of shuffling feet and muffled murmurs behind you indicated that both warriors were hesitant to leave. As you turned to face them, Finan spoke first, "I... I placed the buckets on the bench... I..." He scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting around the room, seemingly searching for something to say.

"Oh, your door is half ajar; it needs fixing," Sihtric suddenly exclaimed. "I'll fetch some tools and be right back."

"You've never held a hammer and nail in your life, you don’t even know what they look like, and now you want to pretend you can fix a door?" Finan scoffed, clearly upset he hadn’t noticed the issue first.

Sihtric hurried off to fetch the tools, leaving Finan behind, still bristling from the earlier mishap and determined not to be outdone by the young Dane. “I can fix that just fine without his help,” Finan muttered, eyeing the slightly ajar door as if it were a direct challenge to his capabilities.

When Sihtric returned, he clumsily carried a bundle of tools wrapped in cloth. Finan was already examining the door, squinting critically. “Here, let me show you how it’s done,” Sihtric announced with a confident swagger, setting the bundle down with a thud.

The two warriors stood side by side, peering at the assortment of tools, which included a couple of misshapen awls and a few worn hammers. “This one looks about right,” Sihtric said, picking up an awl with an uncertain glance.

“That’s not how you hold it, give it here,” Finan scoffed, snatching the tool and holding it upside down. You watched, amused, as they fumbled, each trying to outdo the other with bravado that was clearly unfounded.

“Here, you need to tighten the hinges,” Sihtric suggested.

“No, the alignment’s off. It needs a new hole,” Finan countered, eyeing the frame as if he could will it into compliance.

Sihtric attempted to use a hammer, gently tapping around the hinge as if coaxing it to tighten by itself. Meanwhile, Finan, now wielding an awl, tried to carve a new hole in the wood, his efforts resulting in a crooked and unnecessary indentation.

The result was a door that hung even more awkwardly than before.

“You know, maybe we should just ask the carpenter in the village,” Sihtric finally conceded, stepping back to examine their handiwork, which looked worse than when they started.

Finan, though reluctant to admit defeat, nodded in agreement. “Let’s just say woodworking isn’t our calling,” he said, chuckling awkwardly.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their earnest but bungled efforts, appreciating the entertainment, if not the craftsmanship. “I think that’s wise,” you agreed, still smiling. “But thank you both for trying. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Everything went quiet suddenly, with just shy glances and nervous shuffling of feet filling the air. It was getting awkward, but it was obvious neither warrior wanted to leave. The question in their eyes was so clear and so charming that this time, you couldn't help but let a grin slip.

Their fondness for you was apparent, neither attempting to conceal it, as they'd been playfully fighting for your attention for a week now, and you'd be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it. The two warriors were as different as fire and water, their contrasting energies sparking against each other with every word and gesture.

You really appreciated how Finan always looked out for you, always there to lend a hand, careful and attentive. His support was rock solid, his eyes always warm, and he never missed a chance to gently tease you.

Then there was Sihtric, with his wild, spontaneous streak that drew you in just as much. He’d show up at all sorts of odd times with flowers, or suddenly appear at your hut with a huge smile and a basket full of goodies, just because he’d found the perfect spot on a nearby hill to catch the sunset. No matter how tired you were, his laughter and sheer joy were contagious, always managing to sweep you up in another adventure.

Both warriors truly brightened up your life, even helping you momentarily forget the deep worry your sister's presence constantly evoked. As time passed, it was clear Uhtred was committed to his decision to stay with his brother, which only seemed to make the boys more hopeful whenever they looked your way. But what really amazed you was something quite rare, something you hadn’t seen before—even with their ongoing competition for your attention, their friendship didn’t waver—not even a bit.

They were both waiting for you to make a choice between them. And honestly, as much as you wanted to decide, making up your mind just seemed impossible.

Stars were twinkling in the sky as you rolled your head back, letting the river run through your hair as you took your bath. Darkness wrapped itself around you like a veil, hidden from the drunken men you didn’t want to cross paths with, the nosy fighters who’d give a lot for a good look at your naked frame.

Your body had ached as you found your way down to the river, desperate for some moments alone, away from the confusion of being close to Sihtric and Finan pushed through you and the confusion your sister managed to push through your veins with every rising of the sun. It was a steady back and forth you should be all too used to by now.

“Here’s good!” The raspy voice echoed through the air, dripping with his Irish accent while forcing your eyes away from the sky to watch the two men walk closer. For a moment, you didn’t move, letting your curious eyes watch the two as you waited for them to notice you. But Finan and Sihtric kept undressing, not picking up on your closeness just now.

“It’s not very honourable of you to disturb a woman’s bath, now is it?” Humour flushed through you as you spoke the word, chasing the protection the dark water offered. Only your head and throat were visible, hiding the body both Finan and Sihtric had been imagining the past days, chasing highs with their minds solemnly focused on you.

“Apologies, lady.” SIhtric stumbled over his words, drawing a loud laugh from you as you kept on watching them.

“Would you mind some company?” It was a bold question the Irishman asked, knowing that this could take an ugly turn. Perhaps it was the mead flushing through your system, perhaps it was the thrilling coldness of the river, whatever it was, it forced your mouth open once again, giving room to your words rolling off your tongue.

“If you can behave, I wouldn’t mind your company, no.” The hum leaving Finan seemed to snap Sihtric out of his trance, averting his gaze as the two kept undressing. For some more seconds, you allowed yourself to study their muscular frames, a sight that left you trembling with heat pooling between your thighs before you eventually let your eyes wander back up to the sky.

“It’s a beautiful sight, aye.” Finan’s voice wrapped itself around you as he moved closer, marvelling at the starry sky. Even though you kept your eyes focused on the sky, you couldn’t help but focus on the heat he emanated – a heat that only grew stronger as Sihtric also stepped towards you. “But we are fortunate men, us two, we don’t have to look that far for a beautiful sight.”

The words left you laughing, unable to bite down your smile as you turned towards the two men. Mischief was swimming in their pupils, it seemed as if whatever back-and-forth they had felt between one another had found some end, a compromise perhaps. Whatever it was, it drew them even closer, giving you the chance to pull away before overstepping any boundaries

“Others may no longer respect your honour if they see you here with us, lady.” Sihtric’s husky voice was about to draw a moan out of you, reminding you of the words you had imagined them to speak as you had chased your high just this morning, thinking of these two warriors now caging you between their bodies.

“And why is that?” Slowly, you rose, exposing your naked chest to Finan, who was standing in front of you. You felt Sihtric tugging himself against your back, with his tensed abs pressing into your soft skin, with his hardening cock pressed against your behind. An unfamiliar heat took over, guiding your every moment – you were about to slip up, about to give in while your mind was silenced. And for the first time, you were alright with letting go, diving head-first into an adventure you had been dreaming of for days.

Sihtric’s hands found your waist, keeping you pressed to him as Finan’s warm hand cupped your cheek. You could feel their breaths teasing your skin, making you feel as if you were their sacrifice, one with the fire they were about to toss you into, leaving you trembling and aching – all because of them.

“Once you lose your honour to us, we won’t let you go again, little lady.” You scoffed at the nickname Finan used for you, a sound that was turned into a moan as Sihtric’s fingers danced down your stomach, finding their way to your pulsing bundle. The moan that clawed through you had nothing human-like to it, torn between a warrior’s cry and an animalistic growl. A sound so sinful, you felt both men chuckle; a chuckle of victory; a chuckle of excitement.

Tonight you were theirs. Tonight you wouldn’t break free from their grasp. Not tonight.

“Oh, gods.” The words clawed through you as Sihtric’s fingers began to move in circular motions, rubbing your bundle of nerves just enough to make the hairs at the back of your neck rise. It felt as if you were trapped by some kind of spell, chaining you to these two men who explored your body with their lips. Finan’s beard scratched your skin as he kissed your throat, dipping his head down to find your hardening nipples, all while Sihtric’s teeth teased the spot where your shoulder met your neck.

“No gods will answer your prayers tonight, pretty lady. For now, you’re ours to play with.” Sihtric’s raspy words were about to push you over the edge, chasing your release without feeling either one of them buried deep inside of you yet. You were desperate for more, torn between different sensations that left you trembling and aching for more.

“I want you, please.” It was pathetic almost how needy you were, too far in to pick up on the sly grin tugging on Finan’s lips, wordlessly communicating with Sihtric.

“How do you want us?” Finan’s lips teased yours, not kissing you fully, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But nothing could pull you from these two, not tonight at least. Sihtric tightened his grip on you as you kept quiet, adding more pressure to his moving fingers, toying with your pulsing bundle.

“Speak when you’re asked to, don’t play any games.” You choked on your gasps at Sihtric’s demanding command, leaving you shuddering between them.

“Both of you, I don’t care how, I just need you.” Within moments you were shifted around, pressed down on a nearby stone to balance your body as Finan positioned himself behind you. You were close to passing out, letting your racing heart guide you as your glassy eyes wandered down Sihtric’s muscular front, straight to his twitching cock. The Dane positioned himself in front of you, fingers pulling your hair together to draw your mouth closer to him.

“Who are we to deny a pretty lady’s wish, huh?” Finan pushed into you without another warning, tearing another moan from you that was silenced by Sihtric’s cock. Your mouth engulfed him, lips wrapped around his tip to suck on him. His taste stuck to your tongue, a taste you’d forever remember, just like the feeling of Finan finally fucking you. The Irishman didn’t grant you any mercy, he fucked you as if the Devil himself was chasing him, a sensation so strong your walls kept fluttering around him.

“What a devilish mouth for such a sweet seer.” Sihtric’s praises shot shudders down your spine and drew sounds from you that vibrated on his cock as he pushed further down your throat. You were close to seeing stars, close to letting the darkness that called your name swallow you. Tonight you didn’t care about what may happen to you. Tonight you didn’t care about losing yourself to these two handsome warriors. Tonight you were simply theirs.

“You feel divine, lady.” Finan groaned his words as he fucked you even deeper, pressed down on the cold stone that would surely leave its marks on your body. This night would leave its bruises on you, bruises you’d forever remember, while silently hoping that they’d leave some more on your body in the upcoming days and weeks.

Tears ran down your warm cheeks, tears of desperation and lust, drawn from your eyes by the feeling of Sihtric’s cock nudging your throat, by the feeling of Finan’s calloused fingertips rubbing your overstimulated bundle, pushing you over the edge within moments.

Finan fucked you through your high as Sihtric groaned your name, painting your tongue and cheeks white with his release. You didn’t dare break eye contact with the handsome Dane as you swallowed, not even as you felt Finan stain your behind with his cum. It was a moment so intimate that you were sure neither Finan nor Sihtric could ever forget about it, just like you.

The three of you were heavily panting as silence wrapped itself around you, drawing a laugh out of you as you rose back to your feet. You couldn’t help but shake your head as you studied the two for another moment, trying to accept what had just happened.

“What’s so funny, lady?” Finan pulled you against his broad chest, grinning in success as you clung to him, wordlessly telling the two that you weren’t planning on running anytime soon.

“I’m just happy, I think.” Your eyes wandered towards Sihtric, grinning at the man who looked at you as if you had hung up the stars in the sky yourself, a true masterpiece only a few were fortunate enough to take in.

“We won’t let you go again, we stay true to our words.” As much as you wanted to give in, to let this dream suck you into its grasp for some more moments, you couldn’t, breaking out of your hazy trance. Carefully you stepped away from Finan to sink back into the cold water, cleaning yourself for one last time that evening.

“Don’t make any promises, Irishman. You don’t know what’s coming upon us, it will be cruel, guided by my sister’s hands.”

The clang of weapons and the wild shouts from the crowd echoed off the walls of Dunholm, deafening you with the force of a thunderstorm. You had always been certain of the foolishness and recklessness of men, yet they continued to surprise you.

Your decision to serve Ragnar was based on his ability to listen and consider matters without letting emotions cloud his judgement—a rare trait among men. But this time was different.

Your eyes shifted, catching a glimpse of Skade at the far end of the square. How had you missed it? Distracted by a fuzzy haze of love and admiration, you hadn't noticed the spider spinning its web behind you, the viper weaving its venom into the hearts of men. Now, you were forced to watch as arrogance and false pride shattered the fragile peace you had so carefully helped to nurture.

"Are you satisfied? Do you really think this will bring you anything?" you hissed into Skade's ear.

"I’ve won, little sister. I always win, whatever it takes. There’s no turning back. Uhtred is mine. He will come to rule all Danes and Saxons; he’s been born to lead. I’ve seen that. And I'll rise with him. He's bound to me, and there's nothing you can do about it," she whispered back, her words slicing through you like the sharpest knife, reopening old wounds you had struggled to heal.

“This is no game, Skade. Stop this madness. You’ve gone too far. You took a life that wasn’t yours to claim, just to replace her. This will have consequences, and you know it. Release him and stay here with me. Please, sister,” you pleaded, knowing deep down it was likely futile, but you had to try.

There was a subtle shuffle of feet before your sister finally turned to face you. Your pleading gaze met her icy stare, the chill from her eyes almost freezing your words in midair.

“Did you enjoy the company of those two fools, calling themselves warriors?” she asked coldly, her chin lifting slightly as she tilted her head to the right, scrutinising you through her long lashes. “Tell those two hounds to stay behind, or if they're foolish enough to follow their master, tell them not to interfere with me. You know better than anyone what happens to those who get in my way.”

You couldn’t remember how you got home, the sound of the door, shutting behind you with a loud thud as you slammed your back against the gnarled wood, startling you. You slid down the door to the floor, elbows on your knees, cradling your head in your hands.

Sobs wracked your body, starting quietly and gradually becoming louder and uncontrollable, until you threw back your head, releasing a loud, desperate cry that tore through you. Yes, you knew all too well what happened when someone interfered with your sister. You knew the agony of feeling like your heart was being ripped from your chest, leaving a wound that wouldn't heal, a wound that lingered for years.

She had taken everything from you once, and without a moment’s hesitation, she would do it again. Of that, you were certain.

"Come with us," Finan urged, his large, rough palm reaching out for yours while his thumb gently traced circles on your skin.

"We will care for you, protect you," Sihtric added, his two-coloured eyes searching for yours, but you stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. You pulled your hands away from Finan’s gentle grip and, needing something to occupy them, began nervously adjusting and straightening your clothes. You shook your head, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

"Stay here, both of you, stay with me," you countered, finally lifting your head, your eyes pleading as they moved between Sihtric and Finan.

Silence stretching between you, Finan stepped forward first. He enveloped you in a strong embrace, his arms a fortress that for a brief moment, warded off what was about to come. As he pulled back, his hands cupped your face, and he leaned in to place a tender, lingering kiss on your lips

Sihtric, his expression a complex tapestry of regret and resolve, moved closer. His farewell was quieter, more restrained, as if he feared that any show of passion might crumble his resolve. He took your hands in his, holding them between you both, his gaze finally locking with yours. Slowly, he brought your hands to his lips, kissing them softly, his breath warm against your skin.

Words were superfluous; everything that needed to be said shimmered in the air around you, poignant and bittersweet.

“Be careful. Don’t underestimate my sister,” you finally broke the silence, “She can turn Uhtred against you.”

You saw the disbelief in their eyes and sighed deeply. “You have no idea of what she is capable of. This is just the beginning.”

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thethyri · 2 years ago

Text

𖦹. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ The day Wulfwynn was cruelly torn from the life she had always known was a crisp day of autumn. When the green leaves of the trees turn brown and the wind grows colder. The day Wulfwynn miraculously stumbled upon Uhtred and his companions in the depths of the woods was a cold day of autumn. When the lakes are blanketed with frost and the fields are bare. And yet, despite the frost and the wounds, Wulfwynn met her destiny that day.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 ₊̇*⸼ Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson x Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Sihtric Kjartansson x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Osferth x Ealhflæd of Cent (Original Female Character), Leofric x Mereswyth of Wessex (Original Female Character).

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,919k.

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 Days and days. Cold nights and colder days yet. Days running, fleeing. Fearing for her life. Until God sent her Uhtred and his men. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 Mild-Graphic Description of Bruises And Injuries. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 2,919k. 𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ₊̇*⸼ 892-895 AD ⵓ 6th November 892 AD - 9th November 892 AD. (Season 3)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎❟ 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 Wulfwynn makes the acquaintance of her saviors, who care and tend to her while her memories and nightmares torment her. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ₊̇*⸼ 892-895 AD ⵓ 9th November 892 AD - 10th November 892 AD. (Season 3)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄❟ 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 Despite the healing of her wounds, Wulfwynn is swept up in a whirlwind of suffering and anguish that threatens to tempt her to throw herself off the cliff she teeters upon. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐈❟ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄❟ 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗❟ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓❟ 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐈❟ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆❟ 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘❟ 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐈❟ 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄.⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎❟ 𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄❟ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑❟ 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐈𝐈, 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄❟ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗❟ 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍❟ 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓❟ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘❟ 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎❟ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄❟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑❟ ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄�� .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘 ⊰‧₊˚･ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added ! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !

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14 notes · View notes