achinghcarts

[achinghcarts]

JACOB IFAN as Charles George Gibson 'Pat' Riley in SAS: Rogue Heroes, Season 1

[achinghcarts]

[achinghcarts]

Fra Fee as Will Riley in The Clockmaker’s Daughter staged concert.

[achinghcarts]

my dearest and most talented @achinghcarts asked me to write a companion piece to this stunning writing of hers, from eoin's perspective. and because i'm weak and i have no chill and i'm always inspired by her, i did it.

i ended up rambling a lot, which is why it goes under a read more - but if you wanna read it i hope you enjoy! and thank you @achinghcarts for letting me play in your sandbox

he never planned for this to happen, but now that it had, he couldn't stop thinking about it. in fact, it's everything he seems to be able to think about - augustin's breath against his mouth, the grounding pressure of their lips on each other's, the peace he felt, like they had just done the most natural, right thing in the world. 

and yet that peace is the complete opposite of what he's feeling now that he can't stop thinking about it - everywhere under his skin there's an anxious buzzing, and he keeps worrying his lips, wetting them like he could extract the french's essence from them and just relieve that moment over and over. he wants to tell everyone - tell paddy every detail of what it was like, but also keep it all to himself, guard it close like a favourite poem or song. he wants to go and look for augustin and do it again, but also not see him ever again, scared about how their next meeting could unfold.

he'd never planned for that to happen, but now that it had, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

even when they go to the pub his mind keeps going back to that, and his heart quickens its pace the second augustin steps inside. he wants to hide, and he wants to kiss him, and he can't stop thinking about that - about augustin walking to him and grabbing his face and pressing their lips together like it's the most natural, right thing in the world.

but of course augustin doesn't. in fact, augustin does the opposite of that - he barely glances in his direction, and sits as far from him and paddy as he possibly can, all his attention immediately zeroing on whatever david has decided he needs to ramble about tonight. it makes eoin bite the inside of his lip, this time for entirely different reasons. he looks down into his pint, almost immediately gulping half of it down in hopes of not letting his expression show how much the french's attitude feels like a slap. however, his face must betray him in some way, because even admist his discussion with stirling, paddy glances back at him, the small frown in his brow shifting from annoyance to concern when their eyes meet. it's as heartwarming as it's awful.

but of course, eoin just smiles at him - just because he stumbled doesn't mean he'll willingly throw himself into his grave. and, just to drive the point home, he lets his hand set on paddy's leg, his thumb brushing just above the knee after a quick, light but affectionate squeeze. paddy doesn't even lose his train of thought as he drags david's arguments through the mud, but eoin sees the minute shift on his face, in his eyes; sees the frown turn back into annoyance and knows all is forgotten. all is well.

but of course, the feeling is short-lived - not only augustin all but ignores him completely, but is also quick to take his leave practically the moment eoin starts moving to get closer to him and maybe strike a little conversation. he mentions something about his thesis, which eoin doesn't doubt he has to take care of, but since when does augustin just leave his friends for it? when just the previous night he'd even stayed the longest, until it had been just the two of them and then--

eoin had not planned for it to happen, but it had, and maybe now augustin fled the moment eoin tried to get close because he regretted it having happened at all. 

it's hard to pretend the next sip of his beer doesn't taste like lead, that it doesn't burn like acid on his stomach. it's even harder to pretend he's still in any way engaged with the nonsense david tries pushing on everyone, when all he can think about is augustin. when he can't stop thinking about him.

eoin had not planned for it to happen, but it had, and now he couldn't stop thinking about it - about him- no matter how much he wanted to.

and, in truth, he really didn't want to.

and that's the reason why he ends up coming with some half-arsed excuse to leave the pub not too long afterwards. which, of course, gets him an inquisitive look from paddy that he tries his best to dismiss with a smile, head shaking halfway through him sort of offering to come with.

"maybe the walk will help me clear my head for that paper," he lies, and he doesn't think paddy fully believes him even four pints down, and so he gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze as he stands. he feels some of the tension drain from him. "see ya at the dorm, yeah? don't get into a brawl without me." and with that, (as well as a few howls of protest and mockery) he's off.

no one follows him, thankfully, and he's able to drop the easy smile from his face as soon as he's out the door. instead, his teeth start nibbling anxiously at the inside of his lips as his slightly trembling fingers type into his phone, searching for the closest coffee house that could be open so close to nighttime. it's a weak (pathetic, even!) excuse, he knows as much, but for all that he's always been quite open, direct and unafraid with paddy, he doesn't think he can have the same approach with augustin (not yet) - he can't just show up at his door demanding--...

he needs a trojan horse. which is exactly why he shoves the costa cup of espresso first thing the moment augustin opens the door.

"... figure you could use some coffee if you want to pull an all nighter," he lies, trying to hide his hesitation behind a small smile, too scared to grin any wider. his heart beats loud and hard against his ribcage and, briefly, he wonders if the greeks had felt this way too on the entrance of troy - eager yet afraid. he wonders if they, too, had also had to focus all their willpower on keeping their hands from shaking. if they had held their breath while the trojans inspected their bait the same way he is doing while augustin just stares at him, silent, unreadable.

he doubts the greeks had wanted to kiss the trojans really bad, though. 

eoin had not planned for this to happen - after the first time he had wanted more because he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it, he could confess that much to his own mind. but he hadn't planned for it, not back then and certainly not now, as much as he yearned, almost. but something must've shown in his face because next thing he knows, they're kissing. 

and jesus, mary and joseph, he might not have planned it, but it's happening and christ how he wants it. 

he stumbles into the room, into augustin's arms, into a hurricane that could rival that of paolo and francesca. he holds onto fabric, onto strands of hair, onto soft lips that don't let him care what way is up so long as they keep kissing him. 

augustin pulls him closer and eoin's whole body shivers, as if every atom of his wanted to rearrange itself to fit perfectly against the french, because he can't have any distance between them, or he might just get whisked out of here, of this warmth, of his mind. 

and so he moans against augustin's mouth, a sound so foreign to him yet so melodic, so right there between their lips, saying all the things his brain is too scrambled (too scared) to say, all the things his gripping and his nibbling cannot fully express - maybe because he doesn't really fully get them himself. 

but that's okay, because augustin gets them. as he kisses him deeper, as he grips him tighter, as he lies him down on the mattress; every action a reassurance, an understanding.

and eoin had not planned for this to happen, no. but christ, he might just have to start doing so.

[achinghcarts]

Flowers... I remember fields of Flowers... Soft beneath my heels...

Grace Hodgett Young as Eurydice + Flowers

( 📽️: @callmelasagna )

[achinghcarts]

iii

accidents happen. especially when it's late at night and there's alcohol involved. this isn't an excuse or a stretch of any kind, really - it's quite logical if you think about it. so, following that train of thought, what happened between him and eoin was an accident. a one time thing. until it wasn't. it was a little awkward at first. meeting the irish the next day, facing him after what they'd done. paddy's there with him, too, and the guilt the french feels is overwhelming. augustin barely acknowledges them, sticking to greeting them with a curt nod, choosing instead to focus on the maniac rambles of one david stirling. the guilt, which doesn't leave, turns into something else when he notices eoin's hand on paddy's leg. an attempt at calming him down, surely, as the words he exchanged with stirling grew more vapid. a simple, slow brush of the thumb and augustin is all but whining, suddenly faced with a hunger, a fire he has never felt before. this irrational reaction embarrasses him greatly and he downs the pint in front of him, excusing himself from the group gathering to go work on his thesis. later, when he's in his room, a bunch of nonsensical scribbling now adorning his newest draft, he hears a knock on the door. it's eoin mcgonigal himself, greeting him with a costa cup and a gentle smile. '--figured you could use some coffee if you want to pull an all nighter.' they stare at each other for a moment, idiotically so, in silence. then, somehow, a compromise is reached, and they stumble together into the room, lips locked together in a passionate fashion. augustin doesn't even know where the cup of coffee is dropped, for all he can focus on now is how incredible it all feels: the brushing of their lips, the pressing of their bodies; eoin shivering under his touch.

it doesn't make sense. they're not drunk, it's not the end of a long, tiring night. yet here they are, fervently kissing and seemingly unable to stop. he wraps his arm around the irishman's waist and tugs him closer, basking in his warmth, his receptiveness. eoin responds by moaning against his mouth, weakly, beautifully.

when they fall into bed together, augustin promises nothing serious will happen. it's just kissing.

it's just kissing, isn't it?

[achinghcarts]

JAMES GAISFORD as HAYMITCH ABERNATHY & STEFANIA BARR as MAYSILEE DONNER The Second Quarter Quell (2011), directed by John Lyde

[achinghcarts]

Tagged by @eoinmcgonigall (thank you sm, friend!!)

(post four interesting photos from your phone, from separate months, but no selfies allowed!)

i'll be tagging @anxiouslowercase & @bobparkhurst & @dukesoakedoats & @poetmayne & anyone who sees this & wants to reblog it from me & do it, i'd love to see your pictures!! :]

Helluuuuuurrr

Ich wurde von @disappointingsalad aufgefordert, vier Bilder zu posten, die keine Selfies sind.

Aus jedem Monat ein Bild. Go!

Ich tagge @keo6323 , @ctrsdoesart und @paperboatandink

Freue mich schon sehr auf eure Fotos!

[achinghcarts]

SAS: ROGUE HEROES - MODERN AU + tweets and textposts i find on pinterest

[achinghcarts]

@ladyalysoftheblueajah asked for a reaction gif for a mutual.

feel free to use these!

[achinghcarts]

Oh, and by the way, that Supreme Court ruling is where that Harry Potter money goes.

[achinghcarts]

sas rh: let eoin survive the fall au » what the gazelles dragged in

"Look what the gazelles dragged in!" calls someone, quite possibly Dave, looking to the side and interrupting the French cheers of victory. The rest of them turn just in time to see one Eoin McGonigal climb out the jeep. "Can't leave you fellas alone for a couple of days without you lot letting the siege of Orléans fall?" Eoin jokes as he leans against the vehicle, because of course he'd mention such thing, unpromted. It gets Augustin grinning, somehow wider than he already was, and he takes a step forward. "Well, monsieur McGonigal, there's always room for the Irish exiles within French--" "Like hell is Eoin gonna join you bunch of pretentious fuckers," interrupts Paddy right away, as it should've been expected, while getting up and promptly making his way towards Eoin, who really hasn't stopped beaming. "Get someone else not to get fucked in the rematch."

or - Eoin finally comes back to camp after getting injured during a raid.

[achinghcarts]

my honest reaction to this:

@achinghcarts i wrote this for you in one sitting straight onto tumblr, unbetaed. (!!!)

title: intimate; unidentifiable

pairing: paddy x eoin x augustin + established paddy x eoin

rating: m

also for background i'm basing this eoin off the other fic i wrote where he came back from the dead if you're wondering why he's a bit...off.

in a coffeehouse in paris, augustin feels that he is no longer himself.

a familiar compound ghost, paddy's once said.

this is home to him, yes, and the smell of freshly baked baguettes and patisseries and exquisite perfume is in the air. he's seen hardship in the desert, he's known thirst and hunger like no one's ever experienced. and now he struggles to reconcile with the lavish display laid out before him, after his escape from colditz.

he's well aware that after the liberation of paris, the city has all the reason to celebrate. christmas is just around the corner, the germans are gone.

he was lucky that he's managed to escape, when others have tried, and failed. he wonders if stirling's still alive. he's heard rumours that he still is. he wonders if paddy's still alive.

he's heard rumours from the french resistance that paddy still is.

--

the free french has no idea what to do with him. he's escaped just in time as the city's being liberated, and now he's just awaiting orders. he wonders if there's any way for him to rejoin the sas, if it's even in the cards.

but for now, he will just enjoy being here, being home, being a familiar compound ghost.

with the coffee and the cigarettes and a piece of mille-feuille served on a little dainty plate, with a little dainty cutlery.

"I am the Empire at the end of decadent days, Watching the pale tall Barbarians advance While composing acrostics, in my indolence, In a gilded style where the sun’s languor plays.

The lonely soul aches with a vast ennui. They say bloody battles are being fought down there. O lacking power, so feeble, such tardy prayer, O lacking the will to embellish reality!

O lacking the will and power to die a little! Ah! All is drunk! Bathyllus, life yet laughed away? Ah! All is eaten and drunk! No more to say!",[1]

he thinks.

--

the woman with the red lipstick and the red dress smiles at him, as if to say, come hither. augustin smiles back, but he doesn't move. he looks away. pulls out his newspaper, which he's scanned twice already, pretending that he's absorbing the words in, reading about the allies' progress across europe. wondering if the sas were ever part of those missions.

american soldiers braying at the table behind him. augustin pays them no mind.

and then:

'is this seat taken?'

it's a strange lilt, not quite american, not english either, though he looks up and the man is wearing a british uniform and a maroon beret; face scarred with gross lines on an otherwise gentle face. he's tall, and thin; almost regal in his bearing. eyes dark, narrowed, glinting; thin lips curving into a line of mischief.

augustin straightens his back and looks around. the cafe is busy, and his table has two extra seats. the man is alone. augustin studies the pips on his epaulettes -- he's a major, augustin thinks, and then looks up at the insignia on his beret, and realizes --

this man is sas.

'i've got a friend who's just coming, is it alright if he joins too?'

'is he sas as well?' augustin asks cautiously. something about this doesn't sit right, a voice inside his head warning him to be careful, to be on guard.

'yes, augustin,' the man says. 'in fact, i think you know him very well, when you were in jalo, together.'

--

paddy mayne hates him. he knows this from the moment the volatile, bearded, grey-eyed man stared up at him when they first met, those many years ago. it's the hard look in those iron-flint eyes, the frown lines on his forehead, the bunched-up tenseness in his jaw as he snarls orders at augustin, at georges, at those men of the free french.

at first he doesn't understand why paddy's targeted him, more so than the others. georges said that it's maybe because he's the only one who dares to tell him straight what he's doing is downright insane, that he's the only one able to openly scoff and question paddy's decisions, or actions, within and outwith training sessions. stirling told him that it was because he's a philosopher, a lawyer, and a poet too, but surely that's not the only reason.

he doesn't understand why paddy's decided to wrestle with him in the sand, with a knife against his throat, panting against his neck -- hard, and sweaty, and sharp. oh, and he knew that paddy was hard, and hot, savagely digging against his hip. with need. with want.

he doesn't understand why paddy's grieving, or who he is grieving for.

it's only much later, when he met stirling again, within the damp walls of colditz that he said: 'if you'd met eoin mcgonigal, augustin, you'd probably understand why.'

--

he thinks he's maybe stared at paddy too long when he sits down, tiny coffee cups in his hands, making clinking noises -- one for eoin, and one for himself. paddy looks good, his hair slicked back like honey, in the evening parisian light. he looks healthy, fresh, clean-shaven, handsome.

augustin catches himself, shuddering. he will not think of paddy mayne in this way. the cloying perfume of the women passing by makes him sick, he thinks, because he doesn't want to admit that he feels sick with the horror of this -- of paddy, suddenly reappearing in his life like this, looking smart in his uniform with his clear grey-blue eyes and eoin; this must be eoin, he thinks, with the perpetual smile, unknowable, mysterious.

he is acutely aware of eoin's constant gaze on him, and he has no idea why.

oh, but he now does understand why paddy's mourned so much, and why paddy's been so affected by augustin's presence in jalo. he's heard from stirling about eoin, about how much augustin probably has reminded paddy of eoin -- but he's pushed the thought away, because why would it be relevant? paddy's a hundred miles away and augustin's in colditz and eoin's dead. right?

except -- eoin's now sitting in front of him, almost a reflection of himself, dangerous -- and augustin wonders, who is the familiar compound ghost now, both intimate and unidentifiable?

'So I assumed a double part, and cried And heard another's voice cry: "What! are you here?" Although we were not. I was still the same, Knowing myself yet being someone other-- And he a face still forming; yet the words sufficed To compel the recognition they preceded,' [2]

augustin thinks.

but that was then, when eoin was dead, and paddy was mourning. then augustin was captured and paddy moved on.

if he'd moved on, why are they here?

what use is augustin to them?

--

eoin speaks, and his voice is rich, deep, plumy. it's nothing like paddy's sharp consonants, though the rhythm of it still compels augustin to listen, to be lost in the melody that he rarely ever hears from other british officers around him.

paddy is stunning, golden, like he's a lamp found in the desert and polished anew, eyes like burning sapphires. they're speaking in turns, now, eoin and paddy, about their exploits throughout italy and france, and how they have this leave, now, before they move out again to god knows where ghq will decide to send them. it's serendipity, they say, that paddy's seen augustin sitting alone outside this cafe, even for just one night that they'll have this reunion.

augustin speaks of his escape, and of stirling's attempt, except -- where stirling's failed, augustin got lucky -- mostly because he was able to speak german and pass as a local.

and eoin's got his long fingers steepled under his chin, nodding, nodding, with his easy going smile and his easy going laughter, it only makes augustin want to open up more, more, more. and with every word that he utters, eoin's watching him intently, as though he's interested, too interested, almost as though he's making moony eyes at augustin, his desires hidden by the shades of his lashes. augustin's heart skips a beat and despite himself he shivers, knowing full well it's not just from the chill in the weather.

paddy's look is still sceptical, still questioning, and augustin wonders is it that they truly want from him.

oh, but they are so close, sitting like this, and augustin sucks in his breath when the american gis behind him push their chairs backwards, making augustin stumble even closer towards paddy. augustin witnesses the flash of temper rising quickly in paddy's eyes, as if he's ready to whip their heads for jolting eoin and augustin, spilling the coffee onto the table. but he also witnesses the way eoin touches the sleeve of paddy's uniform, fingertips brushing against paddy's knuckles, as if to say, there, there. it's not worth it, and paddy's eyes soften.

what do they want from him? augustin wonders, and then -- another american gi stands up abruptly, spilling augustin's coffee onto his lap. 'i think you've got to apologise to my friend here,' eoin says, without rising his voice.

'oh? if not, then what?'

'if not, then maybe you'd like to pay for his coffee, seeing as you caused him to spill it on his lap. aye?'

augustin feels the need to intervene, before this goes any further. he attempt to stand up. eoin's warm hand is on his shoulder -- to steady him, to indicate that he's got this, and the warmth spreads all over him as if his body is on fire.

eoin's hand is still on his shoulder, his thumb absentmindedly caressing his clothed clavicle, under the crisp fabric of his uniform. augustin doesn't move. transfixed. eoin doesn't move, either. staring down this american gi with his wilful eyes, before the gi's mates holler, 'just let it go, man,' and he manages to utter a 'sorry, it was just an accident.' eoin holds up his other palm, asking for money compensation for a spilled cappuccino -- and as if entranced, the gi dumps a few francs and centimes, without counting them, into eoin's upturned hand. scrambling to get away, as if he's seen something in eoin's eyes that jolted him into fear.

'merci beaucoup,' eoin smiles, as the americans leave. 'that was easy, was it not?'

augustin chances a glance at paddy. he beams at eoin, proud, like a man in love, before he blinks and focuses his intense gaze at augustin.

his heart skids through the roof, quickly he looks away -- and makes the unwise decision of looking up at eoin again. at eoin, who's now beaming down at him -- not paddy, but him. as if to say, i didn't do it to impress paddy, i did it to impress you. as if to say, i want you, the way paddy's once wanted you too.

ah, putain, he thinks.

he will not want eoin, or paddy. or the both of them--

but he does.

he does.

--

'your uniform is ruined,' says eoin, when they walk back along the seine, indicating at the coffee stain on augustin's groin. 'our hotel is just around the corner. you could come with us, if you want. to wash up?'

behind him, paddy looks like a lost schoolboy, fidgeting, almost nervous, almost giddy -- with what?

and augustin thinks, he knows, he thinks he knows. though the words are unspoken but the want is in paddy's eyes; in eoin's eyes. but eoin's the one who's asking, because if paddy were to speak he will never get to the point, his words and poetry snaking around for days and slithering and taking too long lest augustin's interest will fade.

augustin opens his mouth -- to say something, anything -- but his mind goes blank with his own need, his own want, his own desire suddenly stirring inside his veins, curling in his toes. he has never done anything like this before. and why now? why not when he was in the desert, with half-undressed men, almost naked and hot and sweaty in the sun? why now, when he's walking along the seine, in the moonlight, when it's dark and cold and he's barely known eoin, he's barely been reacquainted with paddy mayne?

he cannot even blame wine, or rum -- he is as clear-headed as he can be. the caffeine in his system goes into overdrive mode, his heartbeat fluttering, stomach curling and hoisted up into a knot inside his throat. all he could think about is how close paddy is, if he just reaches out he could touch him, all full and muscular and almost god-like, no longer the skinny bearded savage of jalo. he could see how ethereal eoin is, with his dark curls and his dark lashes; the faint, sweet, citrusy smell of his skin, unlike the heady cloying perfume of those women on the champs-elysees.

'yes,' he says. 'yes, i'll come with you,' augustin says.

--

he undresses in paddy's bathroom, while eoin fusses with his uniform, tells him that he'll get it laundered by next morning. he luxuriates in a warm bath, the same soapy smell on eoin's skin, then dries himself and wraps a robe to cover his modesty.

paddy is sitting on the other side of the room, a glass of wine in his hand, face scrunched up in concentration. he's playing chess with eoin, who's looking a bit more tired now from the day's exertions. they look innocent, like this. eoin takes one of paddy's white knights, with his black bishop, and says 'check,' and somehow paddy then bursts into laughter, as if there's an inside joke here that augustin has not been made privy to. eoin sips on his wine, and smiles, but because paddy is laughing (for no good reason) eoin ends up chuckling too, he ends up spurting the wine out of his mouth. paddy reaches out to wipe at eoin's bottom lip -- an intimate gesture, a gesture that only does even crueller things to augustin's heart.

quickly he looks away, but not soon enough -- eoin's noticed him, calls out his name -- 'augustin,' and blood flushes in his face, his heart racing.

his feet moves before his brain could catch up, and soon he is standing next to them, waiting, yearning.

eoin's lips are ruby-red, lush rom the wine he's just drank. beside eoin, paddy reaches out towards him, towards the knot at the front of augustin's robes, though his fingers are not quite touching. just -- playing.

like two hunters, playing with their prey. a rabbit in their snare. eoin's mouth crimson as blood, paddy's eyes bright and unescapable.

'augustin jordan,' paddy says, his voice low, and husky --

and there's something in the way paddy utters his full name that makes augustin shudder, makes him swoon, though he is a grown man of thirty and not a schoolgirl of thirteen.

he lets himself be pulled closer, paddy's fingers untying his robe, gently parting them. gently revealing to them how painfully hard he is, how much he wants this, how much he wants them.

eoin stands behind him and removes the robe, ever so slowly, off his shoulder, letting it slide to the floor, before his wicked fingers traces the entire length of him, pushes it down slightly before it bounces back up with a spring.

paddy steps closer, and presses a gentle kiss on eoin's lips, before tilting his head towards augustin, and kisses him too.

chess game forgotten, rooks and kings fallen by the wayside, knocked off the table. maybe augustin is paddy's white knight, helplessly captured by eoin's dark wiles, after all.

there is something wicked about this, about how paddy and eoin are still in their full dress uniforms and augustin's as naked as the day he was born. there is something wicked about this, about how eoin turns his head so that he could kiss him too, and kiss him deeply, tasting of the coffee and the wine and the sweetness of the mille-feuille pastry, and also of paddy. there is something wicked about paddy's mouth, and eoin's tongue, and paddy's hands, and eoin's fingers.

it's an exquisite fever, it makes him delirious, it's hotter than the desert. this white-hot desire that shoots up inside of him, spilling over, onto eoin's mouth, onto paddy's hair, onto his own skin.

--

once, in a coffeehouse in paris, augustin felt that he was no longer himself.

a familiar compound ghost, paddy's once said.

--

'So I assumed a double part, and cried And heard another's voice cry: "What! are you here?" Although we were not. I was still the same, Knowing myself yet being someone other-- And he a face still forming; yet the words sufficed To compel the recognition they preceded,' [2]

Augustin thinks.

--

but maybe it's alright, he thinks. it will be alright.

when they're inside him and he's inside them and augustin's struggling to even know if he's eoin or eoin is him; maybe they're one and the same, when they're inside of each other --

-- when paddy's there, when paddy's everywhere:

both intimate;

-- and

unidentifiable.

--

. end

--

[1] - Languor, by Verlaine

[2] - Little Gidding, TS Eliot

[achinghcarts]

So I wrote a few fics about Paddy and Eoin as knights in the Third Crusade...

preudhomme - Paddy x Eoin, 3.5 k, rating M -

Summary : Paddy is a knight journeying the Holy Land, caught up in the events between the Second and Third Crusades. Whilst there, he found a long lost friend, and a long lost love --

-- Eoin McGonigal.

and;

mesnie - Paddy x Eoin (established), Paddy x Augustin x Eoin, from Augustin's POV, 6.7 k, rating M -

Summary: Augustin Jordan, a French knight, joins the Third Crusade -- and meets Eoin McGonigal, and Paddy Mayne, as part of Henry of Champagne's entourage. He learns a thing or two about them. He learns a thing or two about himself.

[achinghcarts]

google search that would send paddy mayne into a depressive spiral

[achinghcarts]

[achinghcarts]

i was going to casually watch this show just to see what the hell tumblr user @egsaurus was on about but then it grabbed me by the throat. crops at 100% zoom (tasty brush strokes) and sketches under the cut