#Ragnar deserved better

[fulltimecatwitch]

no funeral for Paz? no visible reaction to his death from Ragnar? no mention or hint of who is going to take care of him now ??? :(

[idkyetxoxo]

Three | Allure | The Last Kingdom

"No, I would never fall for your seductress traps,"

"You just might darling you never know"

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I sat outside, the metallic clang of my blades against the whetstone echoing in the air as a man approached, urgency etched into his features. "Forty, maybe fifty men, marching toward us on horseback," the Dane announced, directing his words toward Ragnar, who rose from his spot beside me.

"Close the gate and await their approach," Ragnar ordered briskly. The messenger nodded, hastening to carry out his assigned task. With practised precision, I carefully sheathed my daggers, their edges gleaming in the fading light, before rising to my feet.

Soon enough, the silhouette of approaching riders emerged, led by none other than Bloodhair himself. They sought food, shelter, and parley, seemingly willing to negotiate their grievances with Uhtred through peaceful means.

Ragnar, to my dismay, ordered the gates opened, allowing the Danes entry. I shot him a frustrated glance, my disapproval evident as they strode in unimpeded. "That man knows no honour," I muttered under my breath, my irritation simmering just beneath the surface as Ragnar glanced at me and then simply walked away.

A dry laugh escaped me as I spotted Aethelwold among the Danes. Turning to Sihtric and Finan, I voiced my exasperation, seeking consolation in their shared disbelief. "Surely, this is ridiculous," I remarked, running a hand through my hair in frustration.

"They're your brothers," Sihtric reminded me, his words carrying a hint of resignation and accusation. With a heavy sigh, I acknowledged the truth in his statement. "They'll be the death of me," I muttered, watching with a mix of resignation and apprehension as Uhtred entered Skade's cell, walking straight into her web of manipulation.

"Another fun night?" Sihtric's voice caressed the air as Finan departed, leaving behind a trail of lingering intrigue. My brows knitted in curiosity until his gaze slid down to my neck, where the bruising lovebites peeked out from beneath the exposed skin.

A smirk played on my lips as I crossed my arms, "Jealous it wasn't you?" I teased, my tone dripping with mischief as I raised an eyebrow in challenge.

His response came swift and sharp, a tut of denial escaping his lips. "No, I would never fall for your seductress traps," he retorted, his voice tinged with a hint of defiance.

A low chuckle escaped me, laced with allure. "You just might darling you never know" I whispered, my breath teasing his ear as I leaned in, a suggestive pat on his shoulder accompanying my words. 

With a coy smile lingering on my lips, I glided away in the direction of Uhtred, ready to scold him for whatever dalliance he found himself in with Skade.

──☆⋅☾⋅☆──

In the grand hall, a cacophony of cheers echoed as my brother, Haestan, Cnut, and Bloodhair forged an alliance, pooling their strength to lay claim to Wessex.

Beside me stood Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and reluctance toward the impending conflict. "As their sister, I should be standing with them, but I can see this will not end well," I remarked, taking a measured sip from my cup.

"You're the only one with sense in this lot," Finan quipped, earning a smirk from me. "Aren't I just the complete package, then?" I teased, eliciting laughter from him. Sihtric interjected quickly, "Maybe if you weren't so evil."

"Am I evil?" I asked, turning to Osferth, who shook his head vehemently. Leaning back with a satisfied grin, I responded, "See, even the baby monk knows better." 

Sihtric's retort came swift and practiced, "he fears the darkness of your mind and what you might do to him if disagreed with," he added, eliciting a wide-eyed response from Osferth.

With a reassuring pat on Osferth's shoulder, I leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "Rest assured, Osferth, I only reserve my darkness for the deserving." Tousling his hair, I added with a mischievous glint, "The only one in danger is the rat over there," casting a pointed glance at Sihtric, who rolled his eyes.

"Beauty and brains, what more could you want?" Finan's voice, smooth as honey, accompanied by a grin as he leaned towards me, wrapping an arm around my waist and drawing me closer. With a wink directed at Sihtric and Osferth, he seemed to revel in the attention his teasing garnered.

"A woman who can also behead a man with a weapon smaller than the palm of your hand," I countered in a low whisper, gently moving Finan's hand from my side to the sheath holding my dagger at my waist. Fluttering my lashes at him, I watched as amusement flickered in his eyes before he teasingly pushed me away.

Turning towards Sihtric, I couldn't resist the opportunity to provoke him further, sticking my tongue out at him as he rolled his eyes once more. The tension in his clenched jaw betrayed his inner thoughts, his gaze fixed on the exchange between Finan and me.

Before our banter could escalate further, one of Ragnar's men seized my arm, pulling me into the midst of my brothers' celebration, where the revelry and anticipation for the battles ahead were notable.

Yet, even as I celebrated with the man at my side, my gaze continually drifted towards Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth. They stood apart, their expressions guarded behind tight-lipped smiles.

──☆⋅☾⋅☆──

I watched as Ragnar warmly greeted the two newcomers, and my heart leapt with joy once I recognized Thyra's familiar face. "Thyra!" I exclaimed, rushing to envelop her in a heartfelt hug. 

"I've missed you terribly. These men give me nothing but headaches," I teased, prompting laughter from her as she held me affectionately.

The joyous reunion was swiftly interrupted by Beocca's solemn announcement to Ragnar and Brida. He had come to fulfill the king's order, to formally banish Uhtred and myself from Wessex. Yet, I sensed there was more to his visit as Thyra instinctively guided us away.

Alone with Beocca, we received alarming news of Aethelflaed's peril, orchestrated by Aethelred. Aethelwold's visit to Aethelred hinted at a treacherous bid for the Wessex throne. With Haesten's imminent return, Aethelflaed's hiding place was at risk of exposure. Beocca reiterated Uhtred's promise to Aethelflaed and her unwavering trust in him.

"Uhtred, you cannot turn a blind eye to this," I implored softly, meeting his frustration with understanding. "I know you cannot forsake Ragnar, he is my brother too, but this army he's assembled is not going to stand," I reasoned. 

Uhtred's conflicted expression mirrored the turmoil within him as he deliberated, eventually deciding to confer with Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth as well.

As Uhtred departed, I lingered with Beocca, noticing the conflict etched upon his face. He acknowledged the inner struggle I endured, torn between the loyalty to my brothers, grappling with the weight of a decision made difficult by the relentless pull of destiny.

I made my way to where Ragnar and Uhtred stood, having savoured some much-needed moments with Thyra. As I approached, Ragnar's sharp words cut through the air, questioning Uhtred's allegiance. My steps quickened, sensing tension in the air.

Uhtred echoed my earlier sentiments, asserting that the hastily assembled army was bound to crumble. Ragnar's anger flared as he demanded Uhtred's unwavering loyalty. My gaze shifted between them.

Just as Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth entered, Uhtred declared his intent to rescue Aethelflaed. Ragnar's hurt was unmistakable as he confronted Uhtred, revoking our name for betraying their bond. He was no longer Uhtred Ragnarsson.

"Ragnar do not do this" I interjected, pleading with him to see reason. "These men will only tear you apart further, you're brothers," I implored, gesturing to the men gathered around us, hoping to appeal to the bond that once united them.

Ragnar remained resolute. "My decision is final," he declared firmly. His words cut through the air like a blade, leaving a tension in their wake.

Unable to contain my dismay, I confronted him. "So you would deny your own sister as well?" I questioned, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, a shield against his rejection. 

"If she wishes to side with the traitor, she is no sister of mine," he declared, his tone final and unyielding. Thyra's gasp of shock echoed my own disbelief, a testament to the rift that had formed between us. 

With a heavy heart, I made my own declaration. "Then I suppose I am no sister of yours," I declared, my voice quivering with wounded pride. Swallowing back tears threatening to spill, I turned away, unwilling to let anyone witness my vulnerability.

Retreating to the solitude of a secluded corner, I leaned against a sturdy tree trunk, allowing the weight of my emotions to overwhelm me. Tears lightly marked my cheeks as I sank to my knees, the weight of betrayal pressing down upon me like a suffocating blanket.

Tears rarely stained my cheeks, even in the face of physical torment. I often find humour in pain, a trait others found disturbing, even barbaric or creepy at times but pain has become all too familiar, something I've learned to embrace.

Yet, this moment was different. One of the few men other than my father who embraced the darkness the world draped upon me, who accepted me despite the labels, treated our bond as if it were nothing. As if I were nothing.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped me out of my reverie. As I quickly brushed away my tears, I locked eyes with Sihtric, bracing myself for his reaction. I anticipated mockery, jest, anything but what followed.

Without a word, he knelt beside me, awkwardness evident in the air between us. With a hesitant gentleness, he pulled me into his embrace, and though I accepted it, the unfamiliarity of the gesture left a lingering sense of apprehension.

Despite the discomfort, in that moment, as he held me close, I allowed myself to surrender to the pain, as he held me close.

He was personally experienced with the anguish of being treated harshly or forsaken because of titles, if anyone understood that pain, it was him.

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

Ragnar said not today sis 😔 and dw they aren't getting together for a while there's still a lot more suffering and challenges before they even contemplate any meaningful connection.

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you are a younger sister to Uhtred Ragnarsson who is rescued by Osferth when a Viking nobleman decides to make Uhtred suffer by kidnapping you. The result? You and Osferth fall in love.

Warnings: long post// explicit smut // *fluff*

***

Your name is Y/N Uhtreddottir. You have been raised with little significance by your father within the four walls of Bebbanburg. Even so, your brother, who was baptized as Uhtred after your eldest brother died, always looked after you.

By the time your uncle usurped Uhtred’s inheritance, you had been swept away for a safe place by Father Beocca. In fact, you were fully raised at King Ælfred’s court, who started to plan a betrothal for you when Uhtred came to your life again and thought you deserved better.

Just like that you left the luxuries and comfort of the king’s religious court and started to spend some time within Uhtred’s own friends—although you found the Danes a bit wild for your liking, you got eventually used to their company.

So here you are, following Uhtred’s steps with his friends. You are already acquainted with Brida and Ragnar, treating them fondly. And it’s right in the midst of such people where you now meet a monk.

“Little sis”, says Uhtred arrogantly as usual. “Amidst our group, you might be pleased to know there is rather a Christian within us.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Why, Uhtred, must you always reinforce the fact I was educated a Christian as if this was not my destiny? I thought you said yourself that destiny is all, didn’t you?”

Uhtred pulls a face at you.

“Well, Y/Nickname, you could have been raised better, but I must not complain since the Gods spared you and we are reunited. But either way I will ignore your mockeries for your own good.” Saying so he pulls a younger male next to his side and smiles. “This is our baby monk. Osferth, meet my sister, Y/N.”

You giggle softly at how he is addressed, but the moment he raises his eyes, looking shy—you are speechless. There is something so tender around him, so kind, so good….

Oh no.

“My lady”, Osferth mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “I am mostly pleased to meet you.”

“As am I”, you respond in the same tone, detesting how easily you seem transfixed by his presence, so ethereal to you. “Where do you come from, lord?”

“I am no lord, m’lady”, he protests in a whisper. “I am merely me.”

But Uhtred breaks the spell by intruding with a snort:

“Oh please! He is the natural son of Ælfred.”

You raise your eyes epically.

“Ælfred? What Ælfred?”

Uhtred folds his arms when looking at you.

“Who do you think am I talking about, sister dear? This is not a very common name, specially amongst the Danes.”

“Or the Saxons of the North”, muses Osferth.

“Aye”, Uhtred agrees. “That king, overly zealous if you ask my opinion, and I am not attributing any sobriquet that might twist his reputation, felt guilty for fornicating and as a result sent his son away.”

“Oh”, you frown. “That is cruel. I lament it profoundly, Osferth.”

“I don’t”, says Uhtred. “He’s useful to us, isn’t he?”

You cast an apologetic glance towards Osferth, as if you could transmit him how sorry you are for the rude manners of your brother. Osferth, however, merely chuckles low and says:

“It is the will of the Lord and it’s wonderful in our eyes.”

“And here we go with the Christian crap again”, says Brida. “I’m out.”

Before you start to plan a way to get yourself closer to Osferth, however, an unusual event comes to your path. In that same day, a group of danes decide to raid against your brother. Naturally, it is a surprise attack which means this has been planned and there might possibly be a traitor amongst the folk Uhtred surrounded himself to.

No matter. The damage is done. You are terrified: having been raised as a lady in waiting by the king’s wife you are no warrior. A damsel, you find yourself in the midst of strange adventures, specially when raptors take you from his sight.

Just like that you are gone, made unconscious—for these are dangerous lads, sworn enemies of Uhtred, to deal with—as you are knocked down. No harm is done to you.

But a damsel in distress you are… and this is too much for some men to bear.

***

Osferth watches quietly as Uhtred, reasonably so, shows his discontent. He feels, rightly so, betrayed and is trying to find out the unfortunate person who attacked his honor.

However, leaving personal sentiments aside, his angst only grew intense when being told of your kidnapping.

Exasperated, he merged into despair. But Osferth, himself shaken to core, seems to find an atypical spirit of bravery when offering to pursuit you and bring you back alive, safe and sound.

“What are you saying?”, Uhtred asks him, perplexed. “Do you hear yourself, Osferth? Y/N was taken by someone who outwitted us.”

“Nothing is impossible for the follower of Christ Our Savior and Lord…”

“Oh please”, Brida meddles in with a heavy sigh. “Not that martyr crap again.”

“It is more than being martyred, lady”, Osferth insists anxiously. “Tis a quest upon which I must prove my worth. Give me this opportunity, sire. You shall not be disappointed.”

Uhtred is about to retort when Ragnar comes up with a better plan that pleases both sides. It is drawn such as this: the party will be divided in three; the first group of men is to lead the way as to attract the attention of their enemies, openly inviting them for a fight. This will open the pave so the other group takes their household and, as requested, Osferth has the lady rescued.

“Little wonder why people look up at you”, says Brida in awe.

“It is a good plan”, agrees Uhtred, reluctantly brought to reason. “But we must leave as soon as possible. I cannot tolerate…”

“Peace, brother. We must think before act. This plan will fail if we are imprudent”, says Ragnar.

And that is how it starts the plan to rescue Y/N Uhtreddottir.

***

You are located somewhere in Yorvic, locked up at a castle of rocks, praying every evening that no man touches you.

The Lord seems to be pleased with your piety, for your prayers are attended. This man, whom you suppose to be named Guthrid or something similar, is making sure that you remain untouched.

Since you are unable to speak Danish there is little you can do but to wait patiently, praying your brother rescues you soon. You decide to occupy yourself with prayers and sewing, watching from your prison window the day turn into night, appreciating, however, the few glimpses of freedom once you are brought to the river to clean yourself.

It is when suddenly this new routine suffers an immediate change. You are close to sleep in your old maid gown when you hear a strange noise—not one of the kind you’ve forced yourself to costume your ears—that promptly startles you.

Has their patience ran thin? Oh Lord.

But to your pleasant surprise it is a rescuer that comes to your sight, not otherwise.

“Osferth!”, you squeak when seeing him.

“Shh, lady. Silence is in our favor, come, come. We must not take long”, so he whispers.

You nod eagerly, prompted to do as he requests. Although embarrassed for leaving in an old, yellow-ish nightgown, there is no time to change robes as time is running out. One never knows how deep is the sleep of one’s captors, so it’s best not to take risk.

Soon, however, Osferth mounts in his dark horse and you ar right in front of him. You both don’t speak, holding your breaths for fear of being caught.

As he gallops fast and a noise is heard from a safe distance—indicating your escape has been discovered—, Osferth breaks the silence.

“My lady, your brother is avenging you”, his voice is husky like the wind, though soften than breeze. You smile to yourself. “Do forgive us for taking some time in rescuing you.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways”, you answer him softly. “I am only content that my prayers were heard.”

Osferth smiles at you, pleased to find you a pious damsel. It is still dark, but you could capture the first rays of the dawn.

“Do you know where we are going?”, you ask him.

“To a safe place, lady. There is a lord nearby Kent, within the walls of Mercia, that owns a castle. He is loyal to Uhtred, so we can stay there. At least until all of us are reunited”, Osferth explains.

“I appreciate it. Many thanks for rescuing me, lord.”

“I was being only an instrument to Jesus our Lord”, he answers.

Too restless to stay quiet, the thread motivates your talkative side.

“Are you not afraid of the dark, lord?”

“Nay, lady, for I am familiar with this road”, says the man confidently. “It is the King’s road I tend to follow. Far more trustworthy than other’s.”

“We ought to be mindful of wayward men nearby…”, you muse uneasy.

Osferth smiles, always looking ahead of him.

“There is little need to be concerned, lady. I am not letting any harm to befall you.”

Somehow his words make your heart at ease. It takes no more than a few hours before you reach the castle Osferth told you about.

***

The landowner receives you well. Giving you fancy robes that belonged to his late wife, you now occupy her privy bedchambers. It is indeed a fanciful castle, exhibiting a kind of richness that you don’t remember seeing at the king’s court.

All the while you begin to settle, Osferth remains at your side. The aforementioned lord had informed Osferth and you that he should keep you two safe until Uhtred’s personal war ends.

You can tell it frustrates lord Osferth, much to your internal disappointment.

“Well, lord. As a good knight, you should better rest before taking another quest to come. Let me tend you so I shall return you the favor you bestowed upon me by rescuing me from such evil men.”

“Lady, I had no intention in offending you. Forgive me if it seemed so”, says he, suddenly shy. “To have you brought to this castle safe and sound is a divine task to which I praise Lord for delivering it with no risks for the both of us. I was merely wishing I could borrow your brother my sword and to him be useful.”

You smile at his gallant manners.

“Well, lord, there are plenty of manners a knight such as yourself can be useful. For now, however, it is most wise to rest your energies before your lordship is called upon duty once more.”

“The lady is prudent”, muses the landowner.

As promised, you start tending his needs. You sew new robes to Osferth, earning his admiration at your skills with a needle—and you blush delightedly when he replaces his old robes for the new ones you make for him—, you prepare his bath and make sure to pray next to his side.

When the two of you are not spending the company at the landowner’s side or parting of his feast, Osferth finds himself pleased to walk with you around the gardens.

Soon, time begins to grow the fruition of a seed planted months ago. You and Osferth start discovering common tastes that go beyond piety and knightly values.

One day, though, as he watches you dance with other ladies, the landowner chuckles and says, as he raises his goblet.

“Lord, if I had not known you any better, I’d say you are besotted.”

Osferth furrows his eyebrows, but mutters a not so convincing protest.

“Why, the lady seems to correspond your fondness. Life is too short to shield your heart with pride, boy. Go ahead and court her”, says he who attends by the name of H/N.

“Lord, I see I have little argument to resist reason. However, she is my lord’s sister. I could not…”

“Nonsense”, the other interrupts him. “I shall speak to Uhtred. Do not mind that.”

Osferth hesitates. But one more sip of his wine and one more glance you cast him, he is suddenly urged by professing his sentiments to you.

***

It is late night. Osferth hesitates as he accompanies you to your bedchambers. There is an awkward silence hanging between you two after you bubbled about the dancing of tonight’s feast.

“Lord”, you muse it after a while when you finally get to your door. “Was I impertinent? Please forgive me if…”

“Nay, lady”, he interrupts you, sounding more agitated than his usual self. “I.. This is not it. I… I wish…”

You pale. Your mind seems not to comprehend what’s happening.

“Have I offended you in any manner, Osferth?”

And suddenly, just like that, words slip out of his tongue.

“It is my wish to espouse you, lady”, he whispers, lowering his eyes, though his hands are eagerly pursuing yours to hold. “I am unworthy of the greatest prize of world, which is your heart, but I dare to reclaim it. I promise you that although I have no significant surname, I…”

You barely have to think twice.

“Aye.”

Osferth could not believe his luck. His eyes, when raising again and meeting yours, go wide.

“What?”

“I take you as my husband, Osferth.”

His smile spreads before you throw your hands around his neck and press a soft kiss against his cheek. But right as you do, his face turns and you meet his lips instead.

You shiver at this first contact, but you do not shy away. Neither does Osferth.

***

This is more than a moment where the eyes speak words that no tongue can reach, for this is when two souls meet.

Osferth is as taken by you as you are taken by him. Beneath the glimpse of the moonlight that crosses through the courtins of your bedchambers, he is completely mesmerized as you lean closer to him, your fingers already unlacing his shirt.

"Don't, lady", he whispers, aching in desire as your delicate fingertips move from each muscle of his arms, shoulders and neck before slowly going below. "Let me do this first".

How he begs you moves with your body. You are patient as Osferth carefully places himself behind you, so he can enjoy a better view. You giggle as he intercalates soft kisses in your cheek and jaw with his fingers loosing your braided hair.

But every smirk dies the moment he holds your waist and kisses your neck, taking a long while in letting his tongue taste your skin.

"Lady", he humms, smirking when you start moaning softly; pleased to see you discovering these new sensations, Osferth is aroused in sharing such an experience with you. "Are you enjoying it?"

As he starts unlacing your nightgown, Osferth takes his time in denuding you. Had you turned your head in the slightest, you’d see his eyes shining with lust, devouring you just by admiring your y/c skin.

Yet, however aroused you too are, you are patient. As he slowly removes it, he now leans his chin over your right shoulder. Eyeing your full breasts, Osferth himself gets rigid in his pants.

“God, you are a gift from Heavens. Such a beauty…”, he whispers against your skin when he slowly moves his fingers from your hair to your neck, going to your arms before finally taking hold of each nipple.

“Osferth!”, you exclaim louder than you expected, head back against his shoulder as you experience such a great sensation, loving him with every bit of your flesh.

“Yes, my love”, he groans against your ear, finding almost unbearable to remain motionless when you are giving yourself to him like that. To feel your nipples hardening under his touch is already making his manhood ache. “Tell me… How do you find this of your liking?”

You arch lightly your back, rubbing one leg against the other due to the friction it gives you. Seeing it so, Osferth instinctly tosses away your gown, shushing your silent protests with a kiss before going back to your full breasts with his hands.

Yet now he moves another hand right to the between of your legs and seeing how soaked you are, both of you share a sloppy, moaning and lustful kiss.

He grins lightly at how impatient you are, trying to turn back at him so you can kiss him better and have him all over you. But Osferth is patient, nonetheless; he likes to take his time.

“Osferth…”, you whimper.

“Aye?”, he bites down your lip, smiling broadly at your reaction. “Say it, love. Come to me.”

You give up trying to turn at him, instead letting your body being under his control. As he inserts one and then two fingers in a slowly, but intensely move that makes you breathless… You soon arch your back, your legs are lifted almost out of control and you shake under his touch, much to his delight.

“Heavens!”, he groans, now kissing you fervently as he lays you down. “Perfection, Lady Y/N. Oh!”

“You are mine, and mine alone”, you vow, breathlessly, helping remove his pants and soon getting your hands at his manhood. “Please, Osferth. Please, let me feel you like you felt me.”

Before he could think twice, however, you are faster with your hands. It arouses you further to feel him with your delicate hands.. Never before had you held it.

“Let me help my lady”, he mumbles hotly, getting himself straight so he can show you how it’s done. Osferth smirks at your effort, pleased to see you enjoy taking it as much as he does when being taken. “Oh God.”

“Is it good?”, you ask him innocently, though there is no innocence in your eyes.

Osferth throws his head back at his pillow in response, his cut short breathing giving you a positive response. You feel yourself wet again as you please him, finding his manhood dripping wet as you make circular moves or when it’s throbbing under your delicate fingers.

You want him to come undone, and perhaps you are going on a similar fate. This is lust, a thought occurs you; the very type of lust the king’s wife would admonish you for. You would be a sinner, and a part of your conscience reprehends you for behaving in such a manner.

However, no thought ever reaches your heart the moment your name is out of your lips. No reason can argue it when he rolls his eyes, groaning under his breath. Nothing can dissociate you from the joy of making him feel the same climax he did to you.

You are still admiring the liquid that comes from his manhood when you are surprised by the urgency of his lips against yours. Suddenly he is all over you, your bodies are now linked as one.

“My lady”, he moans in between feverish kisses. “I have longed for you night and day”.

“As have I”, you admit it, holding him close against you. “I love you, Osferth.”

He stops a moment to contemplate the color that paints your eyes and smiles. His smile spreads when touching your face before wrapping his fingers around your curls. You blush at such an intimacy.

“I love you, Y/N. You are my lady”, he says firmly, leaning to kiss you slowly before the two of you lock hands and finally start making love.

***

By the time Uhtred had arrived, you and Osferth had secretly married—or perhaps not entirely secret since Lord H/N helped making all official, which included a grand feast.

Fearful, however, of how your brother would react to such news, you arrange an excuse to make a visit at a nearby convent. But the plan does not come out as any good as you wish for Uhtred comes sooner than planned.

“Sister dear! Y/nickname!”, he beams upon seeing you. “Riding a well a horse, I see. I almost thought you were running away from me”, he jests.

You blush, startled as you are when his thunderous voice comes to your ears. You dismount the horse and goes to greet him properly. In the end, you realize you have missed him too much to fear him.

Not from afar you reunite with Uhtred, Osferth is met by his friends in turn. It is all very gleeful, indeed, when father Breocca—always him—shares the news that Lady Y/N and Lord Osferth have been lawfully married before God.

“You did WHAT?!”

Uh-oh… Something is not going well, perhaps? Though most of Uhtred’s army is giggling like silly girls, he is too offended to join them. Giving you a look and then at Osferth, he seems to fail to understand what could you possibly have seen in the Baby Monk.

Brida, however, is not cutting any slack of his part. She sighs and says:

“Really now, Ragnarsson? How slow are you? It’s always been crystal clear that they have been attracted to each other. Must be the Christian vibe…”

“Not just that”, you protest shyly. “He is like the knight of the stories I’ve been told about. He is kind, generous, brave and good. He rescued me…”

Uhtred frowns at you, far from pleased. He then points his finger at Osferth, who barely blinks at his anger demonstration.

“You had only ONE job, Osferth!”

“Uhtred, let’s be reasonable…” father Breocca intervenes. “Isn’t it better that Lady Y/N is married to a man of your trust than let King Ælfred use her as his political pawn and thus marry her to some stranger lord?”

Uhtred is still frowning, but little by little every anxiety dies when he comes to reason. His face softens, but his shoulders remain tense when he admits, although unwillingly so:

“I see reason in your words, father. Very well. I give you two my blessing. But we must feast it in the right way.”

He smiles when seeing how relieved you and Osferth are. Uhtred beams and puts the young man to a hug:

“As much I hate to be closely related to that moron king of your father, welcome to the family, Osferth! You better watch over Y/N properly…”

He chuckles quietly and gives you a loving glance, one of the kind that warms your heart.

Now in a merrier scenario, all is well that ends up well.

“I vowed before the Lord and…”, he adds hesitantly (much to Uhtred’s pride, though), “your gods too sir that I will love my dearest Y/N until the day I die.”

“Excellent news! Now let us rejoice and drink!”

Osferth and you are finally left aside as the Lord H/N welcomes your brother and his party. Now alone, you lead him to the gardens, enjoying the peace harmony you’ve accomplished.

“I am glad everything ended perfectly well. It is the will of the Lord and it’s marvelous before our eyes”, you whisper, now gently caressing your husband’s face the moment you two stop under a tree.

“Indeed it is. I am blessed for having you here with me and finally able to call you lady wife”, he smiles warmly at you.

Resting your head against his, with no words but a smile stamped on your face, you move his hand and place it over your belly. Osferth’s eyes go wide.

You two exchange glances as if you speak silently with no words. Then comes the giggling and the embrace.

“A family! Our family! I love you, my lady!” He professes it as he spins you around. “I love you mostly ardently!”

“As I love you with my body and soul”, you whisper back. “We are having our family at long last, my handsome lord husband.”

You are finally living your own fairytale and that is enough for the two of you…

[bbvgggggghhg]

I’m still on my “PAZ VIZSLA DESERVED MORE!” rage but now I’m introducing, “I WANNA SEE MORE OF RAGNAR VIZSLA!”

I’d like to say that both Paz and Ragnar are the natural leaders in the covert (other than the armourer of course). Like in that one scene in Mandalorian S3, when Din Djarin comes back to the covert, Paz Vizsla got all these Mandalorians backing him up with their blasters when he goes to basically say, “You’re not welcome here, gtfo,” to Din ,(but Din is indeed welcomed because he bathed in the living waters, definitely irked Paz), like damn.

Also another scene where Din is tryna talk the covert into protecting Nevarro, every Mandalorian is skeptical until MANdalorian Paz Vizsla speaks up. Damn. That’s a guy with influence.

Ragnar probably picked that up from his dad. The smaller blue is confident in voicing out his thoughts, especially his displeasure about Grogu during training (leave the green thing alone :( the baby is like 6 decades older than you). Not to mention, he seems to already be the leader amongst the other foundlings in the covert.

I’m referring to that one scene where the two tribes finally meet and there’s tension cause ew one tribe is showing their faces and ew one of tribe is not. The tension is so bad Paz turns to his son and tells him to “bring the rest of the foundlings back into the tents,” and the little Mandalorians do follow Ragnar.

I find it adorable because that whole interaction suggests that Ragnar is responsible despite his young age and is clearly a confident kid who I can infer is sociable with the rest of the foundlings. Leaders are meant to have influence, social skills (to fuel that influence), strength and most of all they put their people first.

The death of Paz Vizsla was him sacrificing himself for the rest of the Mandalorians, for Mandalore. I have to agree with the people who said that he truly died a Mandalorian’s death, a fight till the end. He fought with honour and no matter how unnecessary I found his death to be, it had an impact and I cannot deny that.

I believe that Ragnar should know by now that his dad passed by fighting for Mandalore and Mandalorians and I’m hoping that if they ever show us Ragnar in the future, he has embodied the same characteristics his father had (perhaps even better).

Also I wanna see Ragnar as Manda’lorr. Give me Ragnar Vizsla, great leader big heart, Manda’lorr of Mandalore.

[eggdrawsthings]

Paz deserved so much better than to just be forgotten 😭 no mention at all from Din or even his own fucking son reacting. Where is the emotional payoff?? If you ever draw some soft Paz dad with Ragnar content I’ll be forever grateful 🙏

YES EXACTLY!!! Why is his son, his brother, and most importantly his mom never said shit about him afterward. It makes his death seems unimportant somehow. And they didn't even mention any of the fallen soldiers in the war either, even tho they established that the Mandalorians value respect and sacrifice so much it's literally in the Creed what the hell???? I'm currently stuck in the Jedi: Survivor hell and rushing both my school work and commissions so idk when I'll have time to draw more brainrot shit, but I do wanna draw sth for Paz and Ragnar again so we'll see haha (even tho drawing Paz's armor gave me a fucking headache like literally)

[mrsarnasdelicious]

DJ Sihtric Longfic - Ch 1

"Oh come on, you can't sit around and mope for ever." Says Ragnar firmly. "The bitch does not deserve a second thought." Brida crosses her arms under her breasts and looks down on you without a shred of pity. "It is not about her..." You mumble. You can't hate Aethelflaed. Not even for stealing your man.

You sort of had seen it coming already. You knew Aldhelm was smitten with her all along. You were just a stand-in. The moment Erik was no longer in the picture, Aldhelm moved in for the kill. And of course you were left broken hearted. Because despite it all, Aldhelm had been a good boyfriend. He was good to you and now he is good to Aethelflaed. You can't even fault her for giving him the chance.

"Come out with us." Ragnar says gently. "I'll be no fun." You protest feebly. "Nonsense." Brida replies sarcastically.

Three hours later, you find yourself at the local pub, sitting at the bar, chatting to Leofric, the bartender. Anxiety had you showing up way too early. You haven't agreed to meet Ragnar, Bride and their group in another half hour. Leofric is kind and gives you a fresh mnt tea on the house and ypu talk to him about little nothings.

Ragnar and Brida show up 45 minutes later. There is a whole group of other men and one woman with them. She is holding hands with the guy talking to Ragnar.

"Ah, there you are!" Ragnar shouts at you. "We were waiting for you outside!" One of his friends, a bloke with a surgical eyepatch, hoots. "Knowing Y/N, she was waaaay too early." Says Brida. You fluster, she is so right...

"Better early than late." Says the guy Ragnar has been talking to. You send him a small smile and he smiles widely back at you.

"Go, enjoy yourself." Leofric says encouragingly, handing you a bottle of Koparberg. You hop from your stool and follow Ragnar to a collection of high tables.

You end up seated beside a man who introduces himself as Sihtric.

The other men are called; Uhtred, Ragnar's adoptive brother, whom he was talking with, Knut and Rollo, both cousins of Ragnar, Finan, Uhtred's best friend, Osferth, Finan's Boyfriend and Aethelwold, hte bloke with the eyepatch. The woman, very obviously Uhtred's girlfriend, is called Gisela.

You sip your cider, savouring the sweet elder flower and lime flavour.

Ragnar and Finan talk loudest and the other let them dominate the conversation.

Over the course of the evening, you find out Finan and Osferth are the only Christians in the group and Aethelwold is anti-theistic. Though Aethelwold seems to be a rather fervent contrarian in almost every aspect.

He does try to convince you to 'ditch these supersticious morons' and go home with him. At his words, you briefly touch your mjolnir pendant and you can almost feel your Loki tattoo burn on your inner thigh.

It is Sihtric who gets up, though.

"Listen here, you sour little prick, insulting your friends does not make you cool. It won't make her like you. She wears Thor's hammer, too." He says fiercely. Aethelwold scoffs and glowers at Sihtric. But he does not get up.

You send Sihtric a sweet smile.

Rollo buys you another drink and Ragnar gets a couple plates of loaded nachos.

You let the others do most of the talking, keenly listening to their tall tales and adventures alike. Finan has a good few droll stories about a couple of local Karens that frequent his bakery and Uhtred adds to it by telling of the same group of ladies and their shenanigans in the aerobics class he teaches.

Osferth turns out to be Aethelflaed's halfbrother, the two being all but Irish twins. Of course, Osferth being the affair baby, he grew up away from his half siblings.

Aethelwold has a lot to say about Osferth's situation and no word of it is kind. Not even to Osferth, or Aethelflaed for that matter. Especially not when Ragnar blurts out Aethelflaed stole your boyfriend.

At that point you really want to disappear into the ether.

"You good?" Sihtric asks. Ge okaces a tattood hand on your thigh and your heart skips a beat. "Y-yeah." You stammer.

"Maybe if one-eye stopped being such a negative nancy, we'd all enjoy our eve better." Finan says loudly. Aethelwold glowers at him, too. "Very well then, Baker Bart, make Y/N's night, why don't you." He sneers.

"He's just salty you won't sleep with him." Sihtric whispers in your ear. You shudder a little and fluster. With Sihtric in your personal space like this, you notice how amazing he smells. Though you can't quite name what it is he smells of.

You last it out one more hour before you feel the yearning for the calmth of your own space win out over the delight of hearing Finan sum up all sorts of delicious pastries.

You hop down from your stool and smile apologetically to Ragnar. "I am calling it a night." You say softly. "Don't worry about the tab, your drinks are on me." Ragnar smiles back at you. "Thanks." You mumble.

You put your small bag over your shoulder and say your goodbye's.

Sihtric hips down from his stool. "I'll walk you home." He says with a lazy grin. "Thanks." You murmur.

He puts his warm hand on the small of your back and leads you out of the pub.

"Show me the way, pretty lady." He purrs.

So you head home, Sihtric's hand still on the small of your back. It makes you feel all fluttery inside.

"Well ... This is me." You say, once you have arrived at the low wooden fence of your tiny front garden. "Good night, then." Sihtric's hand slowly slips from your hip to your backpocket, pulling out your phone. You watch him grin and swipe for an emergency call, to put in a number and then his own phone rings.

He hands you your phone back with a wink.

"See you around, pretty one." He murmurs, before turning on his heel. "G-Good night..." You mutter, slightly starstruck. "Text me when you get home safe!" You then cry out to him. "I will!" Sihtric hollers back.

You watch until he has disappeared from sight. Then you head inside.

Your cat is immediately excited to see you. He bowls right over in all his juvenile happiness. You chuckle and pick his lanky form off of the floor. "Come here, you silly creature." You cooe, nuzzling into his fur.

Fifteen minutes later, you get a text from Sihtric.

'Hey there pretty woman. I got home all right!'

Your heart is racing and you curse yourself for it. You aren't some virginal teenager! But Sihtric sure as hell makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.

'I'm glad to hear that.'

'Sweet dreams.'

You stare at your phone, watching as he types his reply.

'You, too.'

'Dream of me.'

The winky face emoji he sends right after makes you throw your phone onto the bed. Remus, the cat, jumps right after it.

You change into your PJs and crawl into bed. Remus curls up on your ankles. You decide to play along.

'Only if you dream of me, too.'

With trembling finger you send along a kissy face emoji.

Sihtric sends back a devil face emoji.

'That's gona be a wet dream, then.'

You blush, even though you are well aware Sihtric can't see you. This is too blatent a flirt and you have no idea how to react.

'Good night...'

You don't want to leave him hanging, though.

You put your phone away and curl up with Remus to drift off to fitful dreamsm which alternate between Aldhelm and Sihtric.

In the morning you find you have gotten Instagram follows from almot all of Ragnar's friends and Aethelwold having slithered into your DMs.

It all pales in comparison to the pic Sihtric sent you via whatsapp though. He's shirtless, in the gym, his chest and abs glistening with chest.

Very impulsively you text him.

'Don't shower, I'll lick the swear off those muscles.'

You spend breakfast going through everyone's instagram profiles.

Finan's page consists almost entirely of baked goods in every shape and form. The baker is evidently a proud tradesman. And his handle @argylecupcakearmy cracks you up. You dish out a few likes and comment on Finan's most recent post. Uhtred seems to travel a lot, posting pictures of far away countries, usually featuring Gisela in beautiful dresses or bikini. He's got a few selfies with Ragnar and Thyrra, but barely any of himself alone. Osferth evidently does not post very often. His pictures are of beautiful churches and old architecture and handletterings of monks long dead.

You have only barely clicked on Sihtric's handle @thegreatdanemusic when he texts you back.

'Now I regret hitting the shower.'

His message is accompanied by another mirror selfie. All he is wearing is a towel. And by the Gods does he look sexy.

'Better luck next time.'

You send your reply with your heart beating in your throat.

'Promise?'

Sihtric sure is cheeky. He makes you blush with too much ease. You almost want to end the conversation then and there. But Sihtric's next text puts you at ease as much as it makes your heart race all over again.

'How about we go out first?'

'Like, on a date?'

'Yeah, a date. A date date!'

You squeal from joy and Remus gives you an offended glare. You giggle and reach down to scratch behind his ear. "It's okay, bud." You cooe.

'I'd love to. What are you up to for tomorrow?'

Nervously you await Sihtric's answer.

'I'm free tomorrow, but I got nothing on today, either.'

You ponder on a reply. Is it wisdom to go out with Sihtric right the fuck now?

'Want to go see a film?'

'Yeah, let me get out of my PJs and into something pretty.'

You fluster darkly all over again. This guy barely knows you, yet it is like he knows exactly what to tell you to butter you up.

You only reply with a blushing emoji. Sihtric in turn sends another devil.

'What film are we going to see?'

'Let me surprise you.'

You shower and dress in ripped skinny jeans, a lace tank top and a flannel over top.

The bell rings as you are hopping around to get your socks on. "Hang on!" You yell. "Okay!" Sihtric hollers back. You put your socks on, as quickly as you can. Then you race to the door, opening it for Sihtric.

He looks insanely good. His curls are lightly windswept and he's wearing black cargo jeans under a simple black tee. The shirt makes his mjolnir pendant stand out where it rests over his chest.

"H-hey." You stammer. "Hey beautiful." Sihtric purrs. "You ready?" You nod, toeing into your shoes. "Perfect." He takes you by the hand.

You shut and lock the door and Sihtric leads you to the local cinema. It is not a very long walk, as you live reasonably close to the town center. The cinema is not very large and mostly shows arthouse films, though a few box office films, though you have never been able to understand how those are selected.

"There is a showing of Barbie in an hour." Sihtric says. "Did you get tickets?" You ask. "I absolutely did." He replies. "You are the best." You grin widely and kiss his cheek.

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Shadows Dancing on the Walls

Chapter Six: The Clan

Summary: Signets, surprises, and some unexpected but not unwelcome guests…

Rating: General

Words: 5953

(Read on Ao3 or under the cut)

Take this cold heart till it beats again

And I will love you like a howling wind

. . . . .

The first time he watched a goran at work, Din was just a young foundling.

His body was small and soft and had never worn a scrap of armour. He stood there, cold little fingers clutching his buir’s gloved hand, eyes wide and captivated by the armourer looming before them: a fearsome, faceless being wielding strange tools, taming an even stranger fire, the smell and colour so foreign to him.

Din would never forget that first time. He would never forget the way his heart caught a fright at every pound of the hammer on the malleable metal, the way the smell and the heat overwhelmed him, wrenching him back to his whole world under siege, to blasterfire and bomb blasts and cellar doors and his parents’ unheard farewells.

He was terrified.

Terrified and yet awestruck.

He had yet to learn and grasp the rich meaning and heritage indelibly intertwined with beskar—he still had much to learn about these people who had saved him—but even so, even without a formal lesson on the matter, right there and then, he perceived its value and he glimpsed something in that moment which would go on to shape him into the man he would one day become.

He was just like beskar.

He could be reforged, he could be reshaped; the things that hurt him could make him stronger until nothing could hurt him ever again.

He used every subsequent occasion spent in a Mandalorian armourer’s forge to recall his loss, to let it be his furnace, let it break him, purify him, and then reform him.

The last time he found himself by the forge on Nevarro was the first time he broke the self-imposed ritual.

He could blame it on the blood-loss, the brain damage, the fatigue, the fact that they were running for their lives from Gideon’s troops, and those factors rightly deserved some credit, but, in moments of more candid reflection, he wondered if it traced back to something else entirely.

It was the first time he was there, not to transfer earnings or learn of what the tribe needed, not to have parts of his armour or gear repaired or remade, but to ask for help, for protection, for guidance. It was the first time since his adoption that he sought such things, and it was the first time since then that he received a piece of beskar not designed to shield him.

Just minutes earlier, he gave up his kyr’bes and shared his name, meaning them to be a kind of seal, a kind of guarantee for whatever Mandalorians Cara should find, a way to tell them: “These people are good; please protect them for me, for I no longer can.”

But the impending hadn’t come, he had survived, he was able to rejoin them and guide them to the decimated confines of the covert and it was there they found the Nevarran Armourer, and it was from that pile of empty armour that his signet and his clan was forged.

In the moment the Armourer welded the mudhorn skull to his pauldron, he thought only of the child, of their journey, of his mistakes, of his inadequacy, of the new fight he had taken upon himself: the fight for someone else to have a better life.

Now, many months and discoveries later, Din stood at a forge again, crafting a brand new signet. And he was not merely watching the crafting from a respectable distance; no, this time, he was right there helping.

Sabine had a forge set up in the base of the old LothNet Tower. It wasn’t as big as the forges in the various coverts Din had been attached to over the years but it didn’t need to be—she only ever used it to reshape her own armour. It was here she had added the jaig eyes to Din’s helmet and made a mythosaur pendant as well as a vambrace for Ragnar, crafting them from a plate of beskar Paz volunteered (one of Lindy’s cuisses he had been carrying as an arm guard, as it turned out).

It was strange, working in a forge above ground. Stranger still was the fact that this was a Mandalorian forge on his homeworld.

It seemed discordant, paradoxical, and yet poignant at the same time, like his story had splintered apart and had finally come back together, a place found for all the odd pieces he had accumulated over the years, the broken shards fitting together in bizarre, beautiful harmony like a stained glass mosaic.

As Sabine instructed him on how to temper the violet flame, he thought of his family, his entire perspective permanently altered by the things learned and the memories rekindled. He could no longer recall his parents in those last moments they were together without thinking about the fact they didn’t die there; they survived and grieved him, they left the ruins of their home and tried to build a new life, pouring their love and care on the second son they were blessed with… and it tore his heart open to think that they didn’t get any more time with Ezra than they got with him before the Empire came and ripped them apart.

He sewed Sabine’s family into his thoughts as well, mourning them silently alongside her as she brought out her mother’s helmet. They weren’t going to melt the entire helmet; just the crests would provide enough for what they needed.

After all he had learned, he marvelled at her resolve to keep the peace she had made with her family in their last meeting—fragile and limited though it was—to cherish their memory and to choose to forget their slights and scorn and rejection.

He took pains to let no word of it pass his lips but, privately, he found it difficult to forgive them for abandoning her as a child, for choosing Imperial favour over their own daughter, for leaving her to the wolves. Besides his love and regard for her, their actions violated the Mandalorian creed they supposedly upheld; for what they did, they had no more right to call themselves True Mandalorians than Death Watch.

But, even as those feelings churned like lava within his veins, he comprehended the uncomfortable, complicated truth of the matter.

She loved them.

And they had loved her.

Maybe not as fiercely and completely as she loved them but, in their own way and as much as they could, they did love her. And in their final moments together, they had sought, not to distance, not to prove who was right and who was wrong, not to settle scores, but to make amends.

Her mother gave her the clan crest, her father said he was proud of her: that was their way of conveying their blessing. And Sabine had accepted it, had perceived the weight of it, and so Din would, too.

Quietly, solemnly, they worked together.

They wore their armour in place of welder guards and aprons, keeping their expressions hidden. Even without seeing her face, Din knew this was not easy for her.

He had offered parts of his own armour for this, even considered melting a portion of the beskar spear, but Sabine had insisted on using her mother’s helmet: she had been struggling to find a purpose for it, and now she had one presented to her on a proverbial platter.

Grogu sat in his pram, hovering at a spot out of the way but close enough that he could observe the process. He kept his hands clasped before him, his legs folded, ears low and level, serene patience written in every inch of his posture, his eyes shining softly with a sharp discernment of the gravity of this occasion.

On a stone bench set against the wall, three pieces of armour lay in a neat line, arranged in order of size: biggest to smallest. Scrubbed of paint, they gleamed pure silver, the polished surfaces catching the lights and colours of the environment: the violet of the forge, the low flame of the surrounding lights, the gold of the noon sun.

They approached each piece in turn: his first, then hers, then Grogu’s, working in order of complexity. His was a simple adjustment, hers required a mold, and Grogu’s required first crafting then the addition of the signet.

The smell of the molten metal was familiar, nostalgic even; the pound of the hammer and the whistle of the welder was envigorating; and the hiss of heated beskar cooling rapidly in water was exciting.

In reality, the work didn’t take very long, but in the thick of it, it seemed all there was to life, and when it was done, it seemed to have lasted no longer than a dream.

Sabine did the last of the work while Din cleaned and replaced tools as requested. She sat back and assessed her craftsmanship, the whole world holding its breath in the beat before she nodded in satisfaction, sealing her work.

With his heart swelling, Din picked Grogu up out of his hover pram and carried him over to the work bench, a little claw latching automatically onto his thumb, squeezing in a kind of excited reassurance.

Sabine set down her tools and stood aside, shoulders setting back in something part pride, part anticipation.

“Well, there we have it,” she said, her modulated voice just a touch breathless, like she was trying to keep emotion under control. “What do you boys think?”

Din surveyed the collected armour plates: the proud, angular diamond of his right pauldron, the sleek, shaped oval of her left pauldron, and the minuscule wrist cuff for Grogu, each sporting an identical signet.

It was the mudhorn the Nevarran Armourer had designed for him but reimagined with the stylized quills of a feather fanning out from the inner curve of the skull’s swooping horn.

Grogu bounced in Din’s hold. Angling his helmet down, Din saw him stretching his arm out, eyes wide and asking.

Sabine laughed softly as she picked the little cuff up off the bench. Gently, she unclasped it and slipped it on over the boy’s sleeve, fastening it in place. She had spent an entire day just on the design of the clasping mechanism, making it so that he could continue wearing it even as he grew (which was anyone’s guess when and how much that would happen, but better to be prepared).

Grogu twisted his wrist, ears perking straight up as he admired his first piece of armour, a string of fascinated coos bubbling up. He raised his head and signed a thank you to Sabine, swivelling around in the arm holding him to show the cuff to Din.

“Looks good, buddy,” he said, his throat tight. He raised his free arm and nodded to it, anticipation glowing like the forge in his chest.

Grogu clanged his cuff against his father’s vambrace, eliciting a defined ting that bounced around the walls and escaped out the open door along with the child’s triumphant, ecstatic cry, vanishing into the afternoon air.

Din set the little one down on the bench, brushing a hand over his head before retrieving Sabine’s pauldron.

“May I?” he asked her, holding it like an ornament of glass.

She bowed her helmet and turned her unarmoured shoulder towards him.

He set the shaped plate down and it clicked and fastened into place. The bare beskar didn’t match the rest of her ensemble, but he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long: he suspected she would attack it with paint before the sun set this very day and he couldn’t wait to see what colour she would give it.

(He would match his to hers, no matter what she chose.)

Following suit, she placed his pauldron on his shoulder, her hand dropping down to squeeze his arm.

Taking in the sight of his little family, his mind travelled back to a young man standing before the tribe in his new helmet, vowing aloud that he would forge his own clan while resolving in his heart to remain unattached and unnamed.

That boy was naïve and cynical, so tired of loss and grief that he decided to get ahead of the pain by choosing a solitary existence. Even so, he carried a bleeding heart under that beskar cuirass and he couldn’t bring himself to turn it to stone, he just couldn’t do it, so he poured it into the tribe instead, perpetually seeking out ways to give them everything without getting involved.

He had not even the inkling of where and what he would be two decades later. He hadn’t the capacity to fathom how wide his heart would stretch, how much love he would discover it could hold. He could not conceive of the notion that that bleeding heart he once cursed would end up being the very thing that saved not only him but his whole family. If he could glimpse this life—the return to his homeworld, the friends and family he would collect, the new mission in life he would take on—he would think it all a wild fantasy.

And maybe it was that.

But he certainly was grateful for every moment he got of it.

Bringing his hand up, he traced the gleaming signet on Sabine’s pauldron, gloved fingers following the delicate, raised curves. She could have just painted the signet but she had opted, of her own accord, to craft it instead, a way to seal its permanence.

No fire, no blade, no blast could taint, erase, or purge it.

Forevermore, the Djarins and the Wrens would be remembered as one clan, forged by a foundling, a countess, and a Jedi.

She reached up, slowly, predictably. When her hands settled on either side of his helmet, when her thumbs caught and released the latches, he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He closed his eyes and leaned his head forward, contentment and belonging warm in his chest, no trace of worry or trepidation even crossing his mind as she slid his helmet off and set it down on the bench.

He took her helmet off in turn, placed it beside his, and let their foreheads meet, soft and unobstructed.

He felt her breathe out a light laugh.

“What?” he asked, softly.

She tilted her head, looking at him like he was a marvellous, strange thing that had just wandered in through a door she hadn’t meant to leave open. “I’m thinking… I’m glad you stayed,” she answered, eventually, words falling out like a simple statement of the obvious and yet like a confession all at once. “That first time we met; you could have left and we’d probably be on opposite sides of the galaxy right now, still strangers.”

A part of a frown crossed his face. “It’s… not because I stayed so much as it was you coming after me, even after I was…”

“Rude?” she supplied with a sliver of a smirk.

He huffed but smiled and ducked his head. “I was going to say ‘difficult.’”

“You weren’t difficult.” When her hand came and cupped his face, he lifted his gaze back to hers, found the mirth settling under a wave of sincerity.

It put his heart in a vice, her kindness.

He could never think back to their first meeting without intense remorse. He regretted the prejudice with which he had treated her, condemning her as a traitor, a dissident, blasphemous and unfaithful. He had had only one dealing with someone who called themselves Mandalorian but followed a different way and he let the sour experience paint her, filling in her story, her ways, her values before she even got the chance to speak.

Affronted though she rightly was, she still gave him a chance, still showed him respect and hospitality.

Truly, the strongest, kindest Wren had survived.

“I’m glad you stayed, too,” he told her, caressing the side of her face with the same delicacy he had admired the new signet adorning her pauldron. He traced the little lightning scar on her cheek and chuckled, a soft, indulgent sound that left a broad smile in its wake. “I’ve grown rather fond of your face,” he admitted.

As dusk ebbed into a cool, lavender twilight, they rode home.

The house was still and quiet, no lights spilling from the windows.

Din glanced to Sabine with a questioning frown but she just shrugged and shook her head, as surprised as he was.

The others may have gone out but, typically, they left the lamp in the front room on when they did so.

Din looked to Grogu, reading his countenance to gauge the situation, trusting his instincts to detect anything untoward. There wasn’t a single crease of concern in the little one’s expression, but his ears stood at attention, betraying the presence of others.

Din slid his helmet back on and switched the visor to X-ray and heat vision. A sweep of the house quickly found a collection of warm masses gathering in the yard.

They moved, not frantically, but busily. Turning up the audio sensors, he caught the trails of instructive whispers but no defined words crept through.

“They’re setting something up in the garden,” he relayed to Sabine.

“Take your helmet off,” she told him as she herself did so. “Pretend we don’t suspect anything.”

With a soft clip of a sigh, he conceded and removed his helmet. He motioned for Grogu’s pram to follow him a little closer as they entered the house.

They switched on only a few lights to help them navigate, making the effort not to go straight to the backyard but, rather, carving a beeline, like they didn’t know where everyone was.

They were hard to miss, though.

While they had been away at the forge, the others had worked quickly and efficiently to set up all the trappings of a decent festive occasion. The Azadis’ garden positively gleamed with string lights and paper lanterns casting a warm, bespeckled glow over the gathering of their kin, all dressed in their finest.

“Their kin” consisted of the Azadis, the Jarrus-Syndullas, Chopper, Ezra, Zeb, Kallus, Rex, Chi Drench and Sloan, a handful of neighbours who had become close friends over the course of the last few months (such as Barak the cook and his family), and—Din couldn’t believe his eyes at first—Boba, Fennec, Cara, and Mayfeld.

He froze on the threshold of the door leading to the back garden. He froze and stared at the familiar collection of faces framed by the night and the decorated garden, a sense of unreality like the moment one realizes they’re in a dreamscape overtaking him.

A round of cheerful applause burst—without any hearing aid, it was just a ball of static to Din.

His gaze wandered over the mixed company before snapping back to the ones most out of place.

Cara was most eye-catching in her white suit: clean white boots, smart white pants, and a tailored white jacket with padded shoulders and designs trailing along the sleeves. Vaguely, Din recognized the cut as something between Alderaanian formal wear and a New Republic officer’s uniform. Her hair was up, braided symmetrically and elaborately, with a white ribbon woven in along with her trademark teal cord.

Mayfeld was different, too. The past few months had been good to him. He had lost that lacklustre pallor he had soaked up from the scrapyard, his eyes weren’t flitting constantly, his muscles weren’t twitching with skittishness; he looked well, he looked at peace, he looked like something totally brand new wearing what Din knew to be Nevarran formalwear: tunic and loose pants overlaid with a sleeveless coat.

Fennec looked no different from the handful of times Din had seen her before (he had it on good authority that she looked the same today as she had thirty years ago when she started in the bounty hunter game). Though neither her hair nor her apparel had changed, there was something subtle in the bend of her reserved smile: something that was enjoying being here.

Boba’s armour hadn’t changed except for a few nicks and scratches in the paint. But his face was different. Din had to do a double take, sure for a moment that someone else had come along and taken up Fett’s armour (which was not an impossibility; according to Rex, there were hundreds of clones still roaming the galaxy). The scars and acid burns had healed significantly, leaving traces and stains, sure, but he looked so much younger, so much more vibrant than when Din first met him.

They came forward, led by Cara. She came and clapped a hand on his shoulder and that grounded him a bit—it forced him to accept she was real, if nothing else.

“But… how?” he felt himself ask, dumbly, looking around and still grappling with belief.

“Your brother called us,” she explained. “Told us to get our butts here for a party and, well, how can you refuse him?”

Din shifted his gaze past Cara and, sure enough, there was Ezra, grinning like an idiot and waving, his other arm occupied holding a cheerily babbling Depa who obliviously but happily joined in the waving.

“He extended a far more eloquent invitation than that, I promise you,” Boba chimed in as he came and clasped Din’s forearm, their vambraces meeting with a hearty clang he felt through his skin.

Just having them here at a time they weren’t desperately needed sparked some emotion Din couldn’t quite explain or name, but it unfurled in his veins, warm as medicine. “You all came,” he said, incredulously.

“We did indeed!”

The deep, booming voice filled the garden and people moved aside, parting like stage curtains. Din traced its source easily, his whole world falling silent in the moment his sights landed on the unhindered, unabashed grin of one Greef Karga.

“Mando!” he bellowed warmly, the way he had a hundred times before (and, for a slice of a moment, Din wondered if the older man’s fondness for him had sprung up much earlier than he had tracked). Opening his arms wide and welcoming, he drew closer, his floor-length coat tailoring the impression of intangible drifting.

It was utterly surreal, having him here: Greef was a solid fixture in his old life; for the five years he had operated from the Nevarro chapter, Din saw Greef more often than he did the covert.

His ties to the Guild had been dissolved and his position as magistrate reinstated, and he had flung himself into the transition from the leader of a hive of mercenaries to a just ruler, his warmth and joviality pouring through, genuine and unlimited, no longer a part of an act, a mere device to disarm.

And he had, to Din, shifted from a necessary acquaintance to a true friend.

With his grin so wide, his eyes had all but disappeared, the only trace of them left being two bright glints. He tipped his head to the side as he looked Din up and down, a twitch in his cheeks like he was trying not to cry.

“So good to see you, my boy,” he said. His hand hovered, uncharacteristically hesitant to come forward for the greeting they had shared so many times before.

Din didn’t know why but the only thing that seemed right to do right then was to embrace his old friend.

He wasn’t good at it. He had found himself drawn into so many arms these past few months that he fancied he had picked up some of the finer points, but he did it all wrong now: he pinned one of Greef’s arms to his side and he came in too suddenly and he held on too tight and for too long. But Greef didn’t recoil, didn’t try to push him away; his breath rushed out in surprise and he rocked a step back but there wasn’t a moment lost before he hugged him right back, his free arm wrapping around his armoured back, giving him a soft, sturdy shake.

When Din pulled away, he kept their arms linked, some part of him afraid to let go.

“Greef? I want you to meet Sabine,” he said, turning to nod to her. “My wife,” he added. He was sure the fact was well-known by now, a full week after its establishment, but he would never tire from saying it, just as he never tired from announcing Grogu as his son.

“A pleasure,” Greef said, all charm as he clasped Sabine’s armoured forearm, laying his other hand atop hers. “I finally get to meet the one who tamed our lone Mando.”

She slid a secret glance to Din, a slice of a knowing smile and a spring of her brow that played like a nudge in the ribs.

Grogu must’ve chirped or made some noise then as Greef’s attention switched to him. The kid was bouncing in his pram, holding his armoured wrist out and pointing to Din and Sabine, to their matching pauldrons, before bringing his hand back to sign in a flurry.

Greef likely didn’t understand the signs, but he understood the components and the enthusiasm. He looked like he chuckled as he lifted the little one out the pram and held him up before tucking him into the crook of his arm, responding to the boy’s babbling and gushing over the beskar cuff.

Winter was close.

The night air travelled slow and light, laced with a chill that sharpened and dulled capriciously.

But warmth saturated the garden, emanating from the convocation of hearts and the crackling fire tamed and ever attended in a stone pit in the middle of the yard.

There was no music but between the hum of conversation and the cracks of laughter, it was not missed.

The occasion arose to commemorate Din and Sabine’s marriage, but, really, it was a chance to pause, to reflect and reinforce bonds forged in battle, to come together and settle on common ground.

They drew closer to the fire, closer to one another as the evening progressed. When the fire reached that point where it glowed and pulsed rather than spat flames and sparks, voices and ambience mellowed to match.

The children abandoned their games and meandered towards their parents, instinctually seeking safe places to sleep. Barak held his son and one of his daughters while his wife held their other daughter; Jacen curled up next to Kanan, his bright green head heavy on his father’s chest while Hera cradled Depa.

Grogu had begun falling asleep in Din’s arms and he would’ve continued holding him all evening without a second thought just as he had countless times already, but Sabine came up to him with open hands and he transferred the little one to her hold, taking care not to disrupt the beginning sleep.

The child’s eyes flickered open just long enough to check whose arms he was moving to. He saw her and let his eyes slip closed again as he snuggled into her hold, little chest rising and collapsing with a comfortable, contented sigh.

“Nuhoyir, ner ad’ika,” she murumured, bringing him up close where she could press a kiss to his head before letting him burrow into her unarmoured side.

Sweeping his gaze over the gathering, Din took stock of all present, a part of him still struggling to believe this was real. He had seen things few individuals could fathom—everything from the inside of a Great Krayt Dragon to the heaven clouds of Wild Space—but it was this, this particular collection of souls that tested his belief.

There was one here who knew him from infancy, there were some who knew Mando far better than they knew Din, and there were ones here who had only known him as the unarmoured, soft-spoken neighbour who fixed everything from speeders to kettles. It was strange to have them all in one place, to watch them interact; though pulled here by their tie to him, they easily connected with the others despite their differences.

Rex and Boba were both clones but, apparently, they were different kinds or classes of clone. Besides that, something bitter lurked in their history, something that pushed them to avoid each other like opposing magnets until Chi pulled them into his ring. Whatever topic arose, it seemed to lay neutral ground for the men; what began as tolerance of one another soon caved into a tenuous acceptance.

Mayfeld made himself well-liked. His showmanship had not a stage but a fairground tonight with so many ears unacquainted with his anecdotes and jokes. He kept it tame, as Din was glad to hear (though his account of the prison break—the initial one involving Qin—was woefully embellished).

Cara was a little starstruck to meet the entire Ghost Crew, especially Kanan and Ezra who were something of a legend amongst the rebels of yesteryear.

As he looked around, Din noticed something was off, out of place.

He scanned the gathering with a sharper gaze, the discomforting sense that something was missing scratching at him until, like a bell toll, it became clear.

Ezra.

He wasn’t there.

When he realized, he felt both relief and worry. Relief because he had figured it out and he was no stranger to his brother’s random disappearing acts; worry because… well, it was his little brother.

Excusing himself with an apologetic tilt of the head, he slipped away from the gathering around the fire pit, the night’s chill latching onto him the instant he stepped out of the field of warmth.

He didn’t bother checking the house; Ezra never retreated there. He followed the garden path down to the gate and slipped out to the narrow lane slanting down to the shore, boots crunching on the sand-strewn stones.

Sure enough, Ezra was there: a solitary figure, standing with his arms folded, his bare feet planted in the lapping water, pant legs soaked dark up to his calves, his gaze distant and untethered.

“You alright?” Din asked, carefully, as he approached.

Ezra pulled a ghost of a smile and his gaze flicked down as if to check on the water. “I like your friends,” he remarked, utterly ignoring the question. “You attract the most bizarre creatures.”

Din chuckled and tipped his head, agreeing. “Family trait,” he tossed back.

He didn’t really consider them all that unusual—their occupations and life-stories were interesting and perhaps uncommon (after all, there was not one but two planetary rulers currently sipping spotchka and swapping battle stories around the fire), but Din didn’t see the titles. Maybe it was because he had learned long ago the meaninglessness of rank, having hunted everything from princes with less honour than petty thieves to vagabonds with the grace and manners of ancient lords; maybe it was because he knew them before their change in office, had seen them in adversity and had them stand both against and then beside him in battle, had seen their weakness, their fear, their honour and their mettle, and so could no longer see them as anything else but his equal.

Ezra snapped around, concern writ in his brow. “You don’t mind that I invited them, do you?”

Din shook his head. “No. No, I don’t mind. It’s… nice. Seeing them again. Thank you,” he added, just to be sure.

They lapsed into silence for a while, each looking out at the water, vast and as black as the space between stars, its life, its breathing betrayed by strokes of moonlight silver swaying and wavering.

A school of tiny fish came by, gathering around Ezra, their scales catching and throwing back glints that turned them into a handful of submerged diamonds. A seabird that should have been asleep hopped about on the sand, lingering near Ezra, canting its head this way and that as if checking the water, waiting to see if he might attract any bigger fish.

Eventually, Ezra took a slow, deep breath, purposely letting the motion move his shoulders and telegraph an end to the quiet.

“I was talking with Greef,” he began in an “oh, by the way” manner. “He told me it’s been a year almost to the day since you found Grogu.”

“Yeah. I know,” Din said, unsure what else to say. He hadn’t made any secret of the job that led him to Grogu, hadn’t sugarcoated any of the facts or twisted the narrative to justify his actions; Ezra knew all about it already.

Ezra let out a soft laugh, his head folding back to cast his gaze to the sky for a moment before sliding down to Din. “Can you recall where you predicted you would be today?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting in prompting.

“I didn’t… predict anything,” Din admitted, plainly. But, rather than drop the subject, he mulled over it. “I… suppose I thought I’d get the kid somewhere safe and then I’d just go back to what I was doing before. I didn’t—I didn’t really have ambitions.”

Ezra swayed closer to bump his arm. “Funny how that works out.”

“And you?” Din nudged, deciding it was only fair to drag him under the same spotlight. “A year ago—where did you predict you’d be today?”

“Well, prepare for a shock, brother, but, despite the discrepancy between our respective circumstances, my answer is the same as yours: I thought I’d be doing now exactly what I was doing back then.”

Din frowned, dissatisfied with the answer. “But I thought Kanan said Jedi could see the future.”

Ezra rolled his eyes, his expression more fond than exasperated. “We don’t ‘see the future.’ The future is unwritten, Dinar; you cannot read what’s unwritten. But when a certain chain of events are in motion, we can… glimpse the shape of the effects.” He cut out a rueful laugh. “Most of the time, it’s more a liability than an asset.”

“So you knew things were going to change,” Din pressed.

“I did,” Ezra confessed, “but I didn’t dwell on it enough to believe it.”

“Do you…?” Din began but stopped himself, letting the words fall away as the sense of stepping into dangerous territory crackled down his spine.

He would’ve left it at that, would’ve left it unsaid but something in the glint of Ezra’s eyes as he glanced sideways to him told him he had heard the question anyway, and he had an answer. Din wrestled for a moment between the desire to know and the desire to preserve his ignorance, the moral of childhood fables blaring in his mind, warning him that knowing can change things, knowing can be a hazard.

“Do you know what’s going to happen from here?” he went ahead and asked anyway.

“Not to the letter,” Ezra answered, a crafted casualness covering his care.

“But a chain of events are in motion.”

“Events are always in motion.”

“Don’t be vague.”

“You were vague first.”

Din sighed. “Alright, I get it. Can you tell me just one thing?”

Ezra raised an eyebrow but neither objected nor promised.

“Will you be there? When… whatever happens happens, will you be with us?”

“Of course,” Ezra answered without hesitation, an incredulous note in his voice like he couldn’t believe his brother would ever assume the contrary.

“Good.” Din nodded and took a breath, filling his lungs with cold sea-air laced with the smell of the fire back in the garden. “Then I won’t worry.”

. . . . .

Start this fire

Watch the embers fall

We’re just shadows dancing on the wall

Here we are, at the end of another instalment. I’ve really enjoyed sharing a softer story, dialling the pace down and just letting the characters rest and mend after all the action.

Now that we’ve had a good rest, though, I’m hoping in the next part to get back into the thick of adventure. There’s some storylines I have been dying to explore as well as characters I have been wanting to write since I started this series. I can’t wait to get started!

As ever, a heartfelt thank you for reading through! I appreciate all your kudos, comments, bookmarks, reblogs, likes, and contributions to the hit count. I hope you all have enjoyed the story as much as I’ve enjoyed writing and sharing it with you.

Sincerely,

Autumn 🍁

. . . . .

Mando’a

Goran — armourer / blacksmith / metalworker

Kyr’bes — skull, usually mythosaur skull

“Nuhoyir, ner ad’ika” — “sleep, my child”

Author’s Notes

“I’ve grown rather fond of your face” is a quote from My Fair Lady. My dad actually quoted it in the letter he wrote to my mom after asking her to marry him.

. . . . .

I’ve made the executive decision to label the team-up of Din, Sabine, Chopper, Cara, Mayfeld, Boba and Fennec “the rescue crew”… that is their name from henceforth.

(An alternative may be “the Grogu defence squad” but, really, that includes anyone with a shred of goodness who meets the tyke)

🎶 chapter playlist 🎶

Fine Way — Watershed

Caught in the Storm — The Goo Goo Dolls

Something We Just Know — Twin Forks

I Want to Spend It With You — The Satelite Station

Life With You — George Donaldson

Life in Color — OneRepublic

Someone I Can Love — John Dang

After All — Michael Bublé

The Best is Yet to Come — Tim Halperin

Coming Your Way — Drew McAlister

I Run to You — Lady A

I Hold On — Dierks Bentley

True Believers — Darius Rucker

For the Dancing and the Dreaming — The Hound + The Fox

Crowded Table — Joshua Radin

The Night Loves Us — Alan Doyle

Friends — Matchbox Twenty

Little Wonders — Rob Thomas

Legends — Kelsea Ballerini

. . . . .

<<< Previous Chapter

[namelessbutters-doodles]

''Let me Worship, You. The Star Prince.''

Characters : Gene Simmons, Paul Stanley, Velvet Von Ragnar.

Pairing : Stardemon/ Vonstar

Setting: Mid 80s

Au: Never Too Young to Die Au (Good Route).

Summary: ''I will not repeat those words, You've said in there Paul but I want to know....'' Velvet gently turns Paul's face towards her, seeing his sadden look. Wiping the tears that were threatening to fall away before they do, stroking his cheek. Paul opens his eyes, looking at her. sniffling a little.

''Do you really think that? About your body and Yourself?'' She asked.

She asked it. The inevitable thing he didn't to be asked yet it happened, it was out now. Right there...

Right out in front of him.

The question....

Do you really think that? About your body and yourself?

Was finally out.

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

⚠️Warnings: Body worship, Nudity, Angst, Comfort, Oral Sex Implied, Body dysmorphia, Negative thinking, Self hatred, Words of affirmation, Open/Ambiguous ending, Gentle touches, Cunnligous, Ask to tag, This was supposed to be a moodboard wtf-

AlsoOnAo3

''Let me worship, In a way you deserved to be worshipped...''

Velvet muttered,

Looming over Paul on the bed. Directly on top of him, staring directly down at him with nothing but care in this little world of there's. Staring at him as he stares in awe and scared of her, wearing nothing but a towel.

Scared of her seeing his body.

Coming out from a long shower, then being pushed onto the bed by her before he can think or speak. Confused at first on why she pushed him until she spoke to him in a way that made him stay quiet for a while, tears that almost started appearing. Lips quivering, throat clamping a little.

''Is that, what you think of your body?'' Velvet kindly asked, watching Paul's face changed. She moves a few curls out of the way, to get a better look at him.

''Wh-what d-do you mean?'' Paul Questioned, tightening the fluff of fabric against him. So nothing would show, nothing was showing but he did it anyway and she noticed.

She sighed.

''I've heard you, y'know?'' His eyes widen, turning his face away from her. Avoiding her stare and the question, focusing on the window beside him. ''In the bathroom, You were....''

Paul shuts his eyes, trying to shut her out.

''You were hurting yourself with words, in a way I've never imagined you to say. Degrading your body and perhaps mind with words that shouldn't never be uttered from anyone or to you for that matter...''

But he couldn't, he never could when she was around.

''Telling yourself you look horrendous in the mirror while looking exceptionally gorgeous, pointing out the things that may seem like flaws to you or the things on your body that been there since the beginning or starting to appear, while may seem awful to you but it's special to me....''

She goes on and on, proclaiming words to him while he lays there just taking the things she's saying. Gulping when she says the words like Beautiful, charming, pointing out some of thing that she thinks are radiant to her until...

''I will not repeat those words, You've said in there Paul but I want to know....'' Velvet gently turns Paul's face towards her, seeing his sadden look. Wiping the tears that were threatening to fall away before they do, stroking his cheek.

Paul opens his eyes, looking at her. sniffling a little.

''Do you really think that? About your body and Yourself?'' She asked.

She asked it. The inevitable thing he didn't to be asked yet it happened, it was out now. Right there...

Right out in front of him.

The question....

Do you really think that? About your body and yourself?

Was finally out.

Silenced filled the air except for the harsh rain hitting against the glass windows between them. Velvet sat up, waiting. Waiting the answer she doesn't want to hear or know but it's...

There. Right there in front of her, Laying down on the blankets in nothing but a towel concealing everything. Concealing the answer and thoughts. Thoughts that she sometimes wish she could enter and change them but couldn't, she wish it did work like that but it would never be.

Concealing his face with his hands to hide the expression that was starting to show from within him. Trying not to shake yet couldn't contain the muffled cries and wheezes that were coming out from him.

The air was soon filled with it.

Velvet watched him cry, tears staining the blankets. Fingers becoming wet from covering his face. Wheezes coming from him.

It Pained her to seem like this, to seem him cry. To see him...

Like this.

She reached her hand out to touch him and to hold him but pulled it back away not to startle him or make it worse.

She sat there hearing those cries until he went by her and thus letting her touch him. Letting her hold him as tears began to show on her, petting his head gently.

Crying into her chest, staining her clothing with tears and possibly ruining as well but Velvet didn't care about that.

It was just clothing, replaceable.

But unlike clothing, people weren't.

XxXx

The crying went away as soon as Paul calmed himself, wiping his tears and fixing himself. Laying his head in Velvet's lap as she gently stroke his hair.

He felt calmer now than before, the tears had stopped except for a few. Throat not clamping up, Lips were still quivering but not bad like it was before. He was good except...

it was out there.

However, the answer was still not said but he knew and Vel Definitely knew it as well. Knew from the way Paul reacted, Knew how everything just went, Just Knew from the feelings and the words that came from Velvet minutes before...They...

Just Knew, And It was time for Velvet to let him know how much love his body brings her the joy and appreciation it does, starting by moving there positions to be more accommodable and Going...

Slow.

For him.

Paul laid under her as he stared at her, holding the towel against him more as she leans towards him. Looking at him softly until he pulled her in with his lips slowly. Kissing her gently as her hands went up to hold his face. Pulling him in as well, tongues going over and touching each other.

Lathering them with saliva, Biting and pulling there lips with teeth. Mainly Velvet's doin with her fangs, but he didn't mind it. It felt good feeling those against his lips. letting pierced his skin, feeling her tongue licked up the blood from the small punctures.

Getting more heated, as they kissed each other. Paul hands went away from the towel the minute, his heat was starting to come, a fire within him starting. His hands grabbing Vel's face. Pushing her face against him more...

Until she yanked the towel away from, revealing his body. Rendering him nude as day.

''Velvet!!! What r'u-Mph!!!'' He yelled, being interrupted by a kiss from her for a long while until they pulled apart for some air, breaths hot and steamy from the action that happened.

He tried grabbing the pillow but was stopped before he can do so, his wrist being grabbed by Velvet. Pinning them above his hand, He looks at her with a worry expression.

''What are you doing?'' He nervously asked, trying to cover himself but it was no use. The blankets were all squabbled up, pillows were pushed far away. Towel was on the floor and Most of all,

The window wasn't covered, letting sunlight in. covering them both with it's presence, Velvet look monstrous yet enticing while Making Paul look like a Prince.

A heavenly prince.

An prince, who deserved to be worshipped.

Velvet doesn't say a word, letting her head drop by Paul's right ear. Mouthing the scarred parts of it and the skin, licking and suckling on it making Paul hold his breath for a while until she pulled away leaving little bites trailing down.

''Vel-velvet, wha-Ah!'' He cried, Feeling her tongue licking his tits. Doing the same thing she did to his ear but gripping the chest hair that was growing from him. Mouthing the tits like she was thirsty, using her one hand while the other was holding Paul's wrist down.

Lathering them in her saliva, kissing them passionately then roughly. Letting her other hand go, both of her hands squishing Paul's tit's together. Pushing her nails, into the tip of them. Making Paul let out a feverish moan, the fire becoming stronger bit by bit.

She then went towards his stomach, where his knees were hunched up. Covering the lower half of his body, concealing some of the parts he was mainly sensitive about.

Velvet look down at him, putting her hands on his knees. Rubbing her fingers against the skin, feeling the little hairs that were soon starting to grow.

She looks up at him, he was covering his face with a pillow. Breathing feverly into it, trying to conceal his moans from the gentle touches and kisses he was receiving. Face flushed, eyes half lidded even watery.

He looks up at her, twitching. Hating how sensitive his body was from her touches and how it's reacting to them. He never knew how really sensitive his body was until she entered the picture.

Her rough and sharp hands against his soft body did wonders to him, he never imagined such roughness would ever feel splendid to him, but it did and...

He loved it, just he was loving the touches he was receiving slowly bit by bit.

Warming up to them, as he warmed up to her.

Yet, wanting to know more why she was doing this to him. Why she was giving him such tenderness and love to a body like this, a body he disliked from the negativity from others he received in the past. A body that was put through hell time and time again, A body that was almost destroyed in a brutal encounter nearly dying.

A Body he wanted gone, but right now....

He's not too sure about it, from the Attention Velvet's giving him.

In a quick flash, Velvet open his legs. Revealing himself entirely, Almost going down on him on his hairy cunt before Paul yelled, reaching his hand out.

''Wait!!'' Hand almost making contact with Velvet's hair, a inch away from it. inches away from grabbing it, it was like a lifeline. A lifeline for him to get a response from her.

A response he deeply wanted to know...

From her.

Velvet stops and looks at him, her hands holding his legs open until letting them go gently. letting them sit on each side of her while she was in the middle looking directly up at him from below.

Breathing slowly, Paul sat up. Looking down at her, seeing her nestled between his legs looking alluring as ever with that face of hers, the face that brought up so many emotions and feelings within he couldn't ever explained even when asked.

Getting extremely shy or nervous, when it's about her.

Velvet stared at Paul in silence, just watching him and waiting for him to speak. Deep in thought until....

''Wh-Why?'' Paul questioned, Hair covering part of his eye.

''Why what?''

''Why are you doing this to me? Touching me with your hands and lips on my body when it looks bad? Giving me kisses, kisses I don't deserve from a person like you? A Kind and sweet person Planting them on things I hate. Caressing me and being gentle, when I know i don't deserve it? Being soft and...Gentle...

''With me?''

Velvet looks at him intensely, listening to him as speaks.

''Why can't you see the things that I see? What do you see in me and my body that I can't see? Why are you treating it with such love when I can't even love it?'' He croaks, tears starting to appear but he wipes them away.

''Why are you being....Kind to me, when I can't even do that....

''Just....why?'' He softly asks, sniffling. Watching Velvet for a while until she goes up to him slowly, at his level. Face to face, She moves the curls away from his face. Seeing the wrinkles, eyes bags and whatever he has that may be bothersome to him but isn't to her.

Deep in thought, she strokes his cheeks gently. Watching him look at her, wondering why she was doing this to him. As she was giving his body the attention it deserved when he think it doesn't when it does deserve it. The way his body reacted so positively to her touches was astonishing, Never before she touched someone and they yelp or moan from just being touched or kissed.

It seems like no ever, did that to him. Never giving him any gentleness or the worshipped he deserved. It seems....Like....

His body was always craving for anything to be touched by and how he wanted to be touched at times but never spoke about it or ignoring what he truly desire or crave....And.....

It's about time for her to change that.

''Why, You ask?'' Velvet goes, Seeing Paul nod.

''Yes...Why?'' Paul questioned, gulping.

''Because....''

She leans closer to him, her hand resting on his inner thigh. Looking down at it for a while before she spoke....

''Because someone like you deserved to be touched and worshipped, A prince that deserved to be showered with appreciation and be touched with it as well. A prince who looked radiant no matter what they look or feel, always bring such brightness when around...''

''A body n mind that been through the toughest of times, that may be shattered to you but you hold it together with one piece of it that you always had and will carry around with you forever until the end of time....''

''A-and what is that?'' He asked.

''Yourself.''

''Vel, what do you mean?'' He eyes her.

''Despite what you may think about yourself, your body, mind and everything about you. I think differently about it, even you don't see it for yourself. I do and others may too, but Mainly me....''

''I see the things, you can't see. And i want you to know what i see, after all this time. I want you to know how much i love you and your body when you don't at times, i want you to know....

''How much you deserved..it..when you think the opposite.''

''Velvet....i...''

''Don't say anything'' Shushing him, before going down between his legs. ''I know it may take a long time for you to love your body and you yourself as well but please....

Her eyes become watery, making eye contact with him.

''Let me worship, in a way you deserved to worshipped. Let me treat your body, as you would treat mine. Let me hear that angelic voice of yours's sing when I bring you to edge of ecstasy while the sun sets on the horizon, blessing us both with it's presence...Let me hear....

''The Star prince who should be worshipped, in the night while he sing to the heaven's above. Let him...

Know, how much I worship him in his time of need...''

''Let me Worship, You. The Star Prince.''

Paul stares at in awe, he doesn't know what to say or think to that. He doesn't know what to do until she spoke again.

''So...Paul...''

He looks at up her, heart beating slowly.

''Would you let me worship, like the prince you are? Right here, right now? Giving you the attention your body craves, yet you craved the most, Hearing you cry out in pleasure instead of pain? Would you let...

Me go down on you, the way you want it?''

Silenced filled the room until Paul nodded giving his answer, not saying a word or thought because....He can't...

Not right now, Not when he's being worshipped and beloved by her. Mind frozen, Throat couldn't be used. He couldn't do anything except...Let her worship him...His body...Everything about him.

He was frozen.

''Good boy.''

She said, going down on him. Before saying...

''Repeat after me....''

One lick.

''I'm beautiful.''

Two licks.

''I deserved this.''

Three licks.

''I Matter.''

Fourth lick.

''Sing for me, My Star prince. Sing'' She proclaimed, licking from the bottom to the very top. touching his clit, hearing him Feverly cry out as he was being pleasured while repeating the words quietly at first then louder minutes later. ''Let The world know how angelic your voice is to me and to everyone, granting us with your presence and voice...

''Letting me know.''

And Know he did, as this was the night everyone heard the cries, Moans and the Sweet Angelic voice of a prince, A Star prince. Who was worshipped and pleasured in the night, by a Queen.

A Queen who let him knew, how much his body and Most of all, Him. Brings so much to her, when no one else hadn't...The Queen...

Who Made the Star prince Know...How much he...

Mattered, By....

Worshipping him.

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

I need tissues, didn't expect this to be so long but it was and i really loved it. Anyway hoped you guys, enjoyed this.

Comment, Share, Like this, Anything to show support~

Anyway, hope you have a great night or day (been writing since 6 am XD)!

@elrohare @speckster @angelbambisworld (Happy belated birthday) @starry-eyed-never-satisfied @tanookikiss @kissismybbg0exceptformarkstjohn @simmonsgf @sagii24

@cei606 @insanityisdivine

if you like to be tagged, let me know by inbox or message. If you don't then let me know, reach out to me.

Anyway, going into the hole to cry my eyes from this bye!

;w;

[witchthewriter]

𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒇𝒐𝒓 @brewersbundle.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑩𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒚! Kindhearted, with a strong moral sense. He's resilient but also caring and I think you would work so well together. He isn't perfect, and of course, he comes from a life of piracy, so he's a little rough around the edges - but I think he's the most sensitive and receptive.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

He would be very respectful of you - he's the most moral out of all the male characters, and does his best to do the right thing (whilst also being a pirate)

I think Billy would see himself as tainted - as someone who doesn't deserve you. But you always think he's talking nonsense. Every time he feels like that, you take his hand and rest your forehead against his.

Whenever you walk past him and he's sitting down, he'll grab your waist and pull you to him. He loves it when you sit in his lap, and he can wrap his arms around you. Holding you close. Holding you tight.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

The Train by James Newton Howard

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

Character (Billy) That Doesn't Believe The Other (You) Could Ever Love Them Back But You Do

”I love you, wholeheartedly.” x “You shouldn’t, I don’t deserve it.”

The Sun (Billy) and the Moon (You)

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

He loves your empathy. You show him how to be a better man all the time. He realises that he can change for the better, rather than being vengeful or set in his ways.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅  

Max! Oh, you two would have a very emotionally open friendship. She would come to you when things get rough, and you would do the same with her. You both give great advice and it's a really powerful friendship.

𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑩𝒋𝒐𝒓𝒏! This is really difficult because you've only watched up until season 3, but without spoiling anything, just know that Bjorn becomes a mighty and well-known man. I think you two would get along, but buttheads at first. He would find you so intriguing, and interesting.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Wanted to get married quite quickly. It was you who wanted to slow down. But marrying the son of the great Ragnar Lothbrok brought a lot of pride to your family.

With Bjorn, your relationship is filled with banter and laughter. He's a bit of a tease - likes to poke good-hearted fun at you. He never says anything mean though. Because he knows you'll say something 10x meaner back.

It is a real Viking tradition to gift the bride a kitten on their wedding day in order for her to be able to set up her new household. (I'm 100% serious). And they're large fluffy ones too. You named yours after the goddess Freyja. Cats are a part of the deity's identity.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Lay All Your Love On Me by Pale Honey

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

Confident & Flirty (Bjorn) x Has Never Been Flirted With Before, Thinks They're Just Being Nice (You)

Places His Wife Above Everyone

 “Shut Up” x “Make Me”

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Bjorn loves that you're true to yourself. You have your opinions and stand firm in them. No matter how hard life gets, you do not yield.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅  

Would be Floki and Helga! You love this couple so much and whenever you visit them, they welcome you with open arms. Helga especially. You're the main person she really opens up to.

𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐂

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑻𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓! Although he's a pirate, he has morals and standards that he keeps to. What really got to me was when you wrote, 'just doing my best to be a better me,' which is very telling about a person. I've actually not once had someone say that when describing themselves. So, this tells me that you too have standards in life that you keep to - you have opinions and passions and that's why I think Will would be best suited to you.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

He's actually very intuitive, and would pick up on everyone else falling in love with you - but not that you had fallen for him.

Will knows when you're tired, hungry, and when you feel down. He's a very loving partner and doesn't want you to experience anything awful, so he does everything in his power to protect you (although you tell him time and time again that you can protect yourself)

Knows that you love books and a lot of his plunder includes just that. (Because I have a feeling that you'd both be pirates and run this armada together. But it's more of a Robin Hood type thing...)

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Dance of the Druids by Bear McCreary

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

Everyone else can see it but them

More Alike Than Different

Two Damaged People Swearing To Protect Each Other No Matter What

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Will absolutely loves that you're friendly but can switch up on a person if they treat you the wrong way. You know your worth, and that you're trying to be the best version of yourself.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅  

Tia Dalma and Jack Sparrow! I know that may seem intimidating, but you and Jack would hit it off, right from the beginning. And with Tia Dalma, you become so fascinated by everything she knows. I think you would just want to stay and learn from her.

[wantonlywindswept]

Good Dad Paz pt 4

one | two | three

wherein good dad paz has some bad dad trauma to work through, and dumb dad din tries to play devil’s advocate against himself

hoping the backstory comes through in a way that makes sense? feel free to lmk if not.

adding ‘vod’ (sibling, comrade) to the untranslated mando’a list b/c i needed ‘brother’ for other things. may or may not go back to change previous versions

---

Of the many issues Paz knew Din had, he'd never expected self-worth to be one of them.

In retrospect, he probably should have.

"My original task was to bring Grogu to his people," Din said, after sitting back by the fire and recounting his journeys since the massacre on Nevarro. They'd never had a chance to talk about it on Glavis; Paz had been too bitter to try. "I knew that I couldn't keep him. It was...easier, to remain unattached."

Paz looked down at the child. Grogu was leaning against apparently-not-his-father's thigh, cooing contentedly, little hands still wrapped around the now empty cup. Din's hand rested atop his head in a seemingly unconscious gesture, thumb absently smoothing down one ridiculously long ear.

Paz was pretty sure Din became attached to that kid within less than an hour of meeting him.

"You are no longer unattached," he pointed out, "And the Jedi are no longer his people. We are."

Din inhaled a sharp breath, stilling. 

Had he truly not considered that?

Paz studied him for a few more moments, taking in his protective posture, his hunched shoulders. The way he occasionally looked down at Grogu like he still wasn't sure why the kid was there; like he thought that at any moment, the child might change his mind and leave.

Ah. 

This, Paz understood.

"You think you would make a bad father," he concluded.

Din tensed, but didn't reply. Paz tilted his head in understanding.

After all, he knew the feeling.

Paz leaned back against the wall, tapping his fingers idly against one of his cuisses. A slow beat, calming: one of the old remembrance songs turned into a simple rhythm.

"We," he said, "Are not kind men."

Din did not object. Paz didn't expect him to.

"You have hunted bounties with no thought given to if they deserve it. I have killed beings whose only crime was wandering too near the covert. We chose to follow a Creed that put our people over all else. This is the Way."

"This is the Way," Din murmured. The words sounded flat on his tongue, hesitant, as if wondering if he had the right to speak them.

"We chose to be Mandalorian. And every day, Ragnar continues to choose to be my child. Every day, I am humbled by his choice. No matter what I think of myself or who I may be, he is the one who decided that I am a father worthy of him."

"Grogu is too young to choose," Din said flatly. 

Paz snorted. 

"To swear the Creed, maybe. But if he could choose between staying with the Jedi or being with you, he can choose to become your son. It sounds like he already has."

"He doesn't have to be," Din argued. "We are all raised together; he could be part of the covert without tying himself to me. I don't need to be his father."

Din had a very punchable face. Paz forgot that, sometimes. But he'd already taken off his gloves, and he wasn't in the mood to break his knuckles against that empty beskar skull.

The two of them tended to solve most of their disagreements with their fists: they were, after all, Mandalorian, and shouting matches were harder with broken ribs. It had been that way since they were children, squabbling over who got the last slice of uj'alayi, or who did better in training. The fights got longer and more bitter as they got older, but there was always a sense of catharsis afterward, no matter who won.

It was, frankly, better than the alternative.

Paz studied his vod, his friend, and remembered a shellshocked young face beneath a mop of brown curls. He remembered a quiet boy learning the Way and never once questioning his place in the covert--even when perhaps he should have.

"I never thought," Paz said slowly, deliberately, "That you would be so cruel to deny a child a Clan, as you were."

He'd heard Din make less agonized sounds from being stabbed. 

"No," Din choked out. His grip tightened on Grogu, enough to make the little one squeak in concern. "No, that's not what-- I would never--"

"You treat him as your own," Paz continued ruthlessly. "You have fought and bled for him, cared for him when no one else did. You broke the Creed to put his safety above all else. Are those not the actions of a parent?"

"But--"

Paz stood, frustration and real fury caught behind his teeth as he glared down at his stupid, ignorant almost-brother.

Din always knew best how to make him angry.

"He left safety with the Jedi and crossed the galaxy to return to you, and you would sit here and deny him a place at your side?" he demanded. "Would you have him also follow after you on his knees, hoping for a family that he will never be granted?"

"Paz--"

Paz wouldn't do this again. He wouldn't stand by and watch as another child was crushed by disappointment, strung along with promises of belonging to a Clan: pushing themselves to their limits to prove their worthiness, only to fail, because there was never the possibility of winning in the first place. Because love couldn't--shouldn't--be earned, and family wasn't something that should be used as a reward.

He wouldn't allow it. Not now, not when he actually had the ability to prevent it, now that he wasn't a fucking coward--

"Maybe," Paz snarled, "You really should have been a Vizsla."

Din's fist collided with his face. 

He hadn't removed his gloves.

Copper blossomed across Paz's tongue as his head snapped to the side. He immediately retaliated, kicking Din savagely in the gut just below his beskar. Din stumbled back with a gasping wheeze, and while Paz didn't delude himself about his normal chances against him--Din won their bouts seventy percent of the time--he, unlike apparently Din himself, was aware that one of them was still injured.

Grogu scurried over to Din, who was doubled over in pain. The child fixed Paz with what was unmistakably a glare, one tiny green hand resting on the top of Din's boot.

The accusatory expression on such a young face chased the rage from Paz's throat. He sighed, shoulders slumping, fists loosening into open hands.

He really did prefer fights where they could just hit each other. Those always hurt less.

"Din," he said, "That kid is already your son. So what kind of father are you going to be?"

[theserenityinviolence]

I will forever be a Lagertha apologist. She deserves better. Enough people betrayed her. She deserved better. I love Ragnar but fuck. I wish. yeah.

[filipinosamflynn]

Golden Son tier list + review! :D

These books are so fucking good, I want to continue with book 3 already. I have never read books this quickly, but DAMN that was good. You can see my live thoughts while I was reading from the tag "#sam flynn reads red rising", but here are my post reading thoughts below the cut.

Characters: 9/10, everyone served their purpose well and was great except for Antonia, who SOMEHOW still disappointed me.

Plot: 9/10, I have no clue if there was anything for me to complain about.

Personal Enjoyment: 10/10, I was unfortunately spoiled to 2 events within the book before I started reading, but I had so much fun regardless. I wish I had come in 100% blind :(

I have NO CLUE where to start. I guess I'll start with Fitchner. His identity as the founder of Ares was no secret to me when I came into the book, I strayed too far and accidentally got myself spoiled. Despite that, the reveal was still fucking brilliant. I'm surprised by how far he shot up in my tier list, from close to the bottom to being top 5. Wish he didn't die though 😭

Another character that shot pretty dramatically up the tier list was the Jackal. I knew he was gonna betray Darrow from the start based on intuition (thankfully not from spoilers) but DAMN HE DIDNT HAVE TO DO ALL THAT 😭 He's so sociopathic, I love that. I am no longer disappointed by him, and are excited to see what this little fucker has in store next! (Unlike with Antonia. Maybe I hyped myself up too highly for her, I expected her to play a larger role in everything but she feels so much like a pawn, it's embarrassing. She is my unironic least favorite character because of how plain disappointed I am in her, and it's not a fun hatred, it's a "oh she is here again. will she do anythin- nope. okay.")

Roque. Sweet Roque. I thought you were eh in the first book, just a cool voice for darrow to talk to I guess. But after the ending, fuck you 😍 I got spoiled by his betrayal, but honestly I saw his betrayal coming when Darrow kept being unable to reconcile with him. Either that or Roque dies, but uhhhhh I got spoiled anyways so it was going to be the latter. yeah I wish he had died instead of this! 🥰 but honestly and to be fair, yeah Darrow kind of deserved some of it for being such an ass of a friend, but:

Cassius went down the tier list because the gala fight was AMAZING but he doesn't show up after that again until the end, and that made me feel sort of hesitant? BUT HE IS CLEARLY STILL BEING SET UP FOR THE FUTURE SO HE BETTER NOT PULL AN ANTONIA AND DO NOTHING BUT BE A PAWN.

Sevro is half red, cool! I am so glad he's still such a lovable scamp. I got excited every time he showed up, I love him.

Darrow is still an amazing protagonist, and I am so glad we are past his angsty "I miss my wife" phase, but I can guarantee I will see more of it after the ending. At least I will be mentally prepared for the whump this time.

Mustang is at her prime here. The scene with her in Lykos was so... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH i fucking hope she returns for darrow because these two are awesome and they deserve all the happiness.

Oh yeah, the scene where they revisit Lykos? As I said in a previous post, it watered my crops and cleansed my skin. I am so glad we finally got to catch up with Darrow's family. AND HE GOT TO HUG HIS MOM AAAAAAAAAA- I hoped we would see Darrow talk with the rest of his family, but just everything about this was comfort enough. Rest in peace uncle Narol though. 😥 Even if the meeting with darrow and his mom was cut abruptly short by Kieran's kids, but my heart... 🥹

Ragnar spawns in and just gets to business, and I love him. I love stories where people raised for only one thing learn to break free of their mold (that's why i was so interested in this series in the first place). I think it's so iconic that every time he speaks, the text becomes bold, that instantly endeared me to him somehow.

Victra was good, but her insistence on Darrow was weird. Could be because I'm a hard Darrow × Mustang shipper.

That's all the characters I feel like talking about. Onto other things like the plot! The plot was SO much better than the first book. We're finally out of that fuckass academy and doing actual rebelling finally! I don't know what else to say, the twists and the plots were phenomenal. The fight scenes here are even better than the ones in the first book. Overall, y'all weren't kidding when people said book 1 was the weakest of the series because I am flabberghasted by how good this book is.

I don't know what else to say, all of this has just been rambling. Darrow better break those god damn chains at the end of it all.

[axelsagewrites]

A curios ask 🫣🤭Who is your favourite Vikings character and why 😊

Ahhh this is so hard yet so easy at the same time. Bc I refuse to just say one here are my top 5.

Helga - my girl deserved better

Bjorn - I started as a bjorn girl and will die a bjorn girl

Lagertha - she's been thro sm I wanna give her a hug and a knife to stab someone

Ragnar - if only he had stayed as a farmer

But my number one. My die hard. My red flags look green guy.

Ivar the boneless

I mainly started watching the show cause of edits of him lol but i just love him. He goes from really insecure moments to just pure rage and violence. Even though technically you're not supposed to root for the guy who kills his brother and is kind of a maniac he also is such a complex charecter. It also helps that he is played by Alex hogh Anderson lol

Let me know who your fav is tho since there's so many of them i love but I didn't wanna go on forever

[heavenlymorals]

A Grave in Autumn

Summary: After getting a call from his wife that his youngest son is at the hospital and may not make it, Ragnar Lothbrok takes a moment to visit the grave of his dead daughter. If his son were to die, it wouldn't be his first rodeo.

Modern AUs are always so fun to read and so hard to write. I did have fun with this though 🍂 (Gyda deserved better-). Also, small headcanon, but I picture modern Ivar to be a least somewhat into goth fashion/culture. Where does this headcanon come from? From the fact that he had no fucking color in his wardrobe in the series.

All around him, the leaves were an ombre of red, orange, and yellow. The wind blew viciously across the branches and leaves fluttered all around him like sparks of tepid fire. The leaves would wisp all around him, clinging to his coat, to his hair, to his beard. Ragnar got annoyed and would pinch the wonderfully dead foliage and drop it mindlessly on the ground. The leaf, whether red or orange or yellow, would cover up the drab brown leaves that crunched loudly under each heavy footprint. 

Autumn was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. All around him, he could see its beauty. Mother nature was a wonderful artist, no doubt. As far as Ragnar Lothbrok was concerned, no one could try to replicate her designs even if they wished to. Or maybe it was God’s design, who knew? He wore a golden cross with him almost all the time, a gift from his dearest friend Athelstan who either A. died a long time ago, or B. disappeared so he would never have to deal with the downward spiral that was Ragnar Lothbrok. If it was the latter, Ragnar couldn’t blame him. He was a toxic friend, a terrible person. Abandonment was far too kind of a fate for him. 

He kept walking along the trail. It was dusty and old. It seemed that the church to whom the cemetery belonged fell on hard times. The trail wasn’t crisp in its lines. All around it, one could see the breaching of sickly dead weeds strangling the grass. They were now a yellowish color, which reminded Ragnar heavily of vomit. He would know. He used to drink a lot. Did crack a lot. He threw up many times, the aroma becoming dimmer and dimmer on his nose each time it happened. After a while, it simply became an inconvenience, like how muscles would get sore after a good day at the gym. 

That was…terrifying, looking back at it, now, on the straight and narrow and sober. How he was so willing to overlook such significant things to escape his misery through artificial ecstasy. Getting high and getting drunk was his happiness. What made it worse was that he was still Ragnar Lothbrok, smart, lucky Ragnar Lothbrok, who could achieve whatever he wished. He was still running his business to a T. He was still making money. He was still skyrocketing into fame and fortune. Because of this, he couldn’t bring himself to care that this was wrong. 

Sober. He’s sober now. He’d still drink now and then, but he was still sober. He’d never touch any recreational drug ever again. 

As he kept walking across the trail, he came face to face with an iron fence. The fence itself was this fine between being of minimalist style and dabbling in the intricate gothic fashion that many cemeteries were fond of. As he opened the gate, it creaked loudly. Somewhat ought to oil the thing. 

He kept walking across that dingy trail until all around him were a plethora of tombstones. He absent-mindedly made note of the shapes. Square-top headstones. Ogee headstones. Arc tops and check tops. The iconic cross headstones, becoming dull at the edges from the constant wind and rain. Some of the headstones had angels carved onto them. One of them caught Ragnar’s eye. The angel was in the image of a young girl. Her hair was adorned with thick, Grecian curls as she looked down at the grave ledger with her hands clasped together and her eyes closed in a solemn expression. Her dress cascaded down her in intricate folds and from the back, two small wings spread out delicately. The whole headstone was made of marble and the ledger was a polished black ingrained with gold. 

It must have been expensive. 

Ragnar sighed and continued walking, passing more tombs, some simple, some not. Some were clean and others were forgotten, as evidenced by the green moss and the stained brown that defiled them. He kept walking up the trail till he made it up to a secluded corner in the cemetery. There weren't any other tombs in this area, thus it looked almost abandoned. Shading the entire thing was a proud Norway Maple. It looked like it was on fire, with how bright it was. If he touched a leaf, he was sure that he might’ve burned his finger. The ravens seem fine though, cawing proudly and dancing on the branches. Fitting that the ravens were here. Ever a companion of death. Ever since ‘God’ and ‘Jesus’ weren’t the ones who held dominion over the heavens, but Odin and his brood. 

The leaves fell again and covered what Ragnar was looking for. 

A flat tombstone.

Perhaps it would make sense to know why he was looking for this unassuming little slab of rock. Why he was trekking through this cemetery. Why he gazed so intently on the guardian angel that prayed over that anonymous deceased. 

A few days ago, he got a call from his wife, Aslaug. He used the term loosely. His marriage to Aslaug came from a place of practicality more than a place of love. He met the woman at a club and well, one thing led to another, and they slept together. Other than to relieve his hard-on with a beautiful woman, he also did it as an act of revenge. Before that fateful night, he learned that his  wife, now ex-wife, Lagertha, had been sleeping with his brother while they were together and that his oldest son, Bjorn, might’ve never been his child. Thankfully, one discreet DNA check later revealed that Bjorn WAS his son, but Ragnar was still pissed. He slept with Aslaug, made it rather easy for Lagertha to figure out, and then left. 

And being rather petty back then, he wasted no time courting Aslaug after he found out she was pregnant with his child and making her fall in love with him just as a final ‘fuck you’ to Lagertha. It rubbed salt in Lagertha’s wounds that Aslaug was pregnant as they tried many times after Bjorn’s birth to have another child but failed over and over again. 

Looking back at it now, since he is older and at least somewhat wiser, he could only cringe at how childish he was, how needlessly petty. 

In any case, he didn’t love Aslaug in the same way that he used to love Lagertha. He loved her as the mother of his children, but besides that? No. He didn’t love her. This then lead to many issues in their relationship, which could have contributed to his affairs with drugs and alcohol and her similar bouts with alcohol.

They managed to sort that whole business out, somehow. For now, they were simply married for convenience and neither of them was particularly keen on destroying that convenience. 

Anywho, yes, he got a call from Aslaug and a deep pit of blackness threatened to consume him whole. He still remembered how the phone buzzed in his pocket, how he narrowed his eyes as he saw the caller ID, how he swiped to answer, all of that.

And how his heart sank as he received this terrible news.

“Ragnar?”

“Who else then? What’s going on, Aslaug?” 

Silence on the other end of the line. He swore he could’ve heard a choked sound, one that came from a person trying to swallow their pain and misery. 

“Aslaug?”

“It’s Ivar. Oh, God, it’s Ivar,” the mother of his children seemed frantic, hysteric. Her breathing came out ragged.

“What about him,” Ragnar asked, trying to keep himself calm. He didn’t even know what was going on. 

“He was with Hvitserk. He was supposed to pick Ivar up from school. I don’t know what the hell they were doing, but they got into a crash. Hvitserk got out lucky with only a broken arm but Ivar- You know how fragile he is. The doctors are not sure if he’ll make it.”

Ragnar couldn’t bring himself to say much. Aslaug gave him the name of the hospital and that was that. He ended the call and quickly rushed into the closest car he could get to (Ubbe always muttered that he had too many cars), broke a couple of speed limits, and made it into the hospital.

It was a complete pain in the goddamn ass to get the workers to let him see his son, but eventually, he was escorted to a little hallway with shitty little plastic waiting chairs. Aslaug was not there at that moment. She went back to bring things for her boy when (if) he woke up. Ubbe was there, ever the responsible one, pacing back and forth, worry creased into his forehead, He always had that expression on, ever the worrier. He looked somewhat relieved when he saw Ragnar. Sigurd, to Ragnar’s surprise, was sitting on one of the chairs and crossed his arms. There was a look of worry on his pale face, and every now and then, he would look back at the sterile little room that housed his little brother. He didn’t bother to greet Ragnar. They didn’t have the best relationship (Ragnar’s fault, obviously) and Sigurd was a headstrong bastard, so there was little Ragnar could do to mend their relationship if Sigurd didn’t care to do so. Hvitserk was also sitting beside Sigurd and his face looked paralyzed in shock, fear, and worry. It had been a bit since Ragnar had seen Hvitserk in person, as his son seemed to inherit that addictive personality that Ragnar and his mother unfortunately had. He too fell into the vice of alcohol and drugs. A younger Ragnar probably would’ve blamed Hvitserk’s addictions on his lack of self-control and poor wisdom, but an older, somewhat wiser Ragnar, could sympathize with him. After all, he knew damn well that he had a part in Hvitserk’s benders. 

Hvitserk would party a lot and he was an elusive little bastard too, so he couldn’t be found unless he wanted to be found. Somehow, someway, Ivar managed to get his older brother out of hiding and force him into rehab. He was doing well for a bit, until now it seemed. 

Ragnar learned that Hvitserk was high as a kite when he was driving. Weed. He was supposed to pick up Ivar from school and bring him home.

And then this happened. 

Ragnar looked at Hvitserk, at his sunken eyes, at his too-pale skin, at his greasy long hair, and wanted to scream at him for being such a stupid, stupid fool- What the fuck made him relapse like this? 

He didn’t though. He didn’t scream at him. The horrified look on his face was enough for Ragnar to know that Hvitserk was already being punished enough by his own guilt. Ragnar could sympathize. He was a man who needed a good push to change, and for Ragnar, his push was the horrified expressions on Ubbe and Hvitserk’s faces when he tried to strangle his dealer for not giving him what he wanted. No, what he needed at that time. The girl, Yidu, quickly fled the scene and he was glad that she did. He would’ve killed her otherwise. 

Perhaps Hvitserk’s push would be this. 

Or maybe he would fall apart even further. 

Time can only tell. 

He sighed and sat next to Hvitserk, rubbing his face in his hands. Hvitserk didn’t even acknowledge him. His whole being seemed encased with ice, as he cradled his broken arm in his sling. Ragnar gently wrapped his arm around Hvitserk and Hvitserk all but sunk into his side. 

A few moments later the doctor quietly said that they could see him, but only one at a time. Ubbe went first, then Sigurd, and then Ragnar. Hvitserk didn’t move an inch. Too guilty for his part in this mess. 

Ivar’s life will never be one without complications. His youngest son was always going to have to live his life with some sort of complication. That was stamped on his head the second he was born with osteogenesis imperfecta, otherwise known as brittle bone disease. Now, Ivar was lucky in the sense that his OI wasn’t as severe as other cases, but it seemed to have taken a personal vendetta on his legs, as that was the part of him that was the most severely affected. Thanks to modern medicine and technology and whatnot, his legs are not as wasted as they could’ve been, but the breaks he suffered from them rendered him unable to walk without assistance. 

As he walked into the room, he felt as if he was dumped with a bucket of ice water. His little boy looked so small to him in that bed, in that familiar hospital gown, with all those wires and bandages attached to him. His face was covered with a breathing mask and Ragnar would think he was dead if it weren’t for the soft beeping of the machines singing in the background and the one stereotypical screen of a green line zig-zagging up and down. 

Ragnar felt overwhelmed with the same feeling that he had a million times over whenever Ivar had to go to the hospital. It never got better. He has been to hospitals so many times that he was honestly qualified enough to be a technician since he knew the machines so well. It never got any better and this time, it was worse, since this was the first time where the doctor was not entirely sure that his little boy will be ok. 

He stayed for a while and left the hospital later when the sun became occulted by night. 

He woke up the next day and went to go to the hospital but then did a detour to the old cemetery. 

It wasn’t the first time he lost a child. He knows that Ivar isn’t dead, but he knew if he would be, it would be a similar feeling to how he felt all those years ago when he lost his sweet little girl, Gyda, and how he wasn’t able to say goodbye to her because he was out chasing his two-faced dreams and making his two-faced name. That broke him the most. That he wasn’t able to say goodbye to her. If Ivar was to go, at least he would be able to cope. It wouldn’t be his first rodeo, after all. 

Sometimes, he thought about Gyda, about who she would be if she was given the chance to grow up. He sometimes had little dreams of a grown-up Gyda, who looked suspiciously like Lagertha except for dark hair and silver eyes, making him proud. In some dreams, she would jump into his arms with a diploma clutched in slender hands. In other dreams, she would proudly show off her successes in the fashion industry, as that was something he remembered his little girl obsessing over before she died. He tried to spoil her as much as he can back then, a father’s duty to his daughter, with whatever it is she wanted and that he could afford. If only he could spoil her now, with this multi-million (almost billion) dollar empire that he was able to procure with his blood, sweat, tears, and luck. A whole lot of luck. 

What would Gyda think of her old man today, now that was the question. How would she feel knowing that the father that she knew, the doting father who was always a rock in a raging ocean, ever so stalwart, was not that same father for his other kids? Gyda and Bjorn were lucky in that regard. They knew their father before he became obsessed with material life. They knew the best version of their father. And he was still that father in the first few years of Ubbe and Hvitserk’s lives, but soon afterward, he became distant and aloof. He couldn’t lie to himself. He was a bad father to his four other children. He had his moments of course, but most of the time, he was just a filthy, junky mess, and whatever relationship he could’ve had with his sons were either nipped at the bud or so fragile that eggshells would seem like titanium. 

Gyda would hate him, probably. He hated himself. He would probably continue hating himself till the end of times. For what he robbed of these poor boys, for how he left them to the wolves. If forgiveness would ever come from his sons, and Ragnar doubted it ever could, he would be able to die in the peace he never deserved. 

He sighed. He kneeled and wiped away the leaves that occulted the name on the flat marker.

Gyda Lothbrok. 

Ragnar felt guilt pierce through his heart when he saw the state of the thing. God, how long has it been since he has last been here? Or Lagertha? The stone was stained a sickly green, and some of the letters were discolored. As Ragnar looked at the marker, he thought about the more grandiose headstones that littered the cemetery. He then looked at this flat one, so unassuming and insignificant that he had to card through leaves for an entire two minutes before he could find the thing. She should’ve had a larger stone. One with an angel on it. She was an angel. 

However, it felt sordid to think about digging her back up to give her a better stone at a better plot. 

To make himself feel better, he would simply describe the headstone as humble. Yes, that. Humble. Gyda was a humble girl. 

Ivar will get the angel, then, if he doesn’t make it. He’d probably like that, considering his recent adventures in the gothic macabre. 

“Hello, Gyda…” 

His voice felt strange to him. As if it didn’t belong to him. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited for a while.” 

I’m sorry that I am only visiting because of the guilt I feel for my other sons. I am sorry that I am only visiting because I am not sure if my youngest, if my baby will survive. If he doesn’t, be kind to him, yes? He’s a stubborn boy. 

He didn’t say that out loud. 

The ravens kept cackling. The leaves kept stirring. Ragnar stayed there for a long time, speaking to this grave in cold Autumn before going back to the sterile haven of the hospital. 

[darlin-djarin]

so din becomes a cop at the end 😐 he starts working for the new republic. he… truly would NOT do that but. the writers did that. they made him a fucking cop.

honestly if people genuinely enjoyed the season, i’m happy for them. i’m not going to shame someone for enjoying something, but i wish there was a safe place to properly express my frustration at it without people coming out to defend the horrible writing and characterization. like god forbid that i ACTUALLY have opinions… damn.

making din a landowning cop was just so wrong. like i’m glad he got to settle down with grogu and thank god there’s no dinbo- but the finale felt so. sad. like it just wasn’t as amazing as it could’ve been. sure there were cool moments, but how the writers progressed the plot was anticlimactic and it was just so disappointing. i had so many high hopes for this season and the writers went fuck all and decided to make this season just as marketable as possible. istg we’re gonna start seeing ig-12 and grogu toys with stupid “yes” and “no” buttons. that’s DISGUSTING. and then they brought back ig-11 in the finale. like was his sacrifice NOTHING to you? was his death not enough for you guys to respect him? just because he’s a droid does not mean you can just fuck around with his corpse and bring him back. it’s always “respect the dead” until it’s a droid. blah blah “droids aren’t real people” it’s still borderline if not outright racism.

moff dying was sad. he kinda just stood there as fire exploded around him. i think there could’ve been better ways for him to go. the way he died in the finale left a LOT of opportunities for him to come back (like anakin after mustafar). him crushing the darksaber was also anticlimactic. it happened in half a second. as much as i’m glad the saber is gone, i think we could’ve explored SO much more with it’s lore and it’s force sensitivity or we could’ve seen it used better in action before it had to go.

also what the fuck was that “i’m going to deal with them myself” and then he WAITS and doesn’t appear until AFTER din destroys all his clones and fucks everything up. WHAT WAS HE DOING?? was he just standing there behind the door practicing his big villain monologue? that was stupid.

good for the armorer and bo-katan for their forge ceremony, that was really nice :) also koska fighting was super badass i actually loved the choreography. axe woves my MAN you were cool.

what i didn’t understand was what the hell happened to the sickly people that the armorer brought back up to the fleet. did they just. forget? what happened to them?

there was a scene with plant life growing on mandalore after the purge and it was fucking awful. it was supposed to be all “hopeful” and “meaningful” and they said “they just needed room to grow :)” like BITCH was satine NOTHING TO YOU? you don’t even have to like satine to know that it was utter bullshit and that satine would’ve JUMPED at the opportunity to help grow gardens of indigenous plant life. not just that- but the whole season REFUSED to bring up satine’s name at all. like NOTHING. truly NOTHING. just to erase bo-katan’s horrible past and to make her seemingly all innocent and the one who was being manipulated the whole time. i LOVED bo-katan in the clone wars because she was a horrible person. it made her INTERESTING. but this season just erased that to make her “honorable” and deserving to rule. good for her i guess 😐.

was paz’s death NOTHING to you as well? not even a fucking mention- not even a “your father would’ve been proud” to ragnar. did they never retrieve the body since the base blew up? and also din beating those red dudes with grogu in comparison to paz fighting by himself was so frustrating. paz deserved better.

the whole fandom is being so fucking annoying over “din grogu ahhhhh!!!!” like just CALM down and LISTEN. there are MANY naming conventions in the world. in my culture, incorporating your fathers name into your name is COMMON and completely normal. din’s first name is probably still din, not djarin. it’s not that deep, it’s probably just how their culture refers to clan/apprentices etc. for the love of god it’s not that deep. think outside of your own way of life for a moment. it’s fucking star wars.

i have so many opinions about this season and it’s hard to just put it all out at once. i truly TRULY don’t want to be a hater, but i just can’t help but express my frustration at the writing. i’m glad that SOME people enjoyed it, but i definitely didn’t.

[destinyisall-tlk]

seven kings must die (personal thoughts/opinions)

i finally watched the movie and here are some of the thoughts i had about it. this will not be spoiler free. so if you haven't watched the movie and plan to, then read this after if you wish:

first and foremost, it wasn't a bad movie. i would give it an average rating of C+. there were a few things that could have been done better, and some of the pacing throughout the movie felt a bit off. i did find the first half of the movie a bit slow, but during the last part it did pick up and find its footing. that said, there are still a few questions i have, and a few things i wish weren't either rushed or explained more.

firstly, i am confused about the timeline and what the gap is between S5 and seven kings because i don't recall them mentioning how many years had passed. quite a few must have because osbert looked older. and i remember aethelstan saying he was sorry for his behaviour the past year, but surely it hadn't only been a year since the end of S5 to the start of the movie?

now onto aethelstan. obviously, he was being emotionally manipulated by ingilmundr and that was made clear. there are a few questions i had, like how long was the manipulation going on for? when did aethelstan leave bebbanbuurg and how did ingilmundr end up in his service (it could have been mentioned and i missed it). i feel like the most simple questions help paint a clearer picture, and those questions may not matter to other people, but i would of liked to have known more. and because some things weren't explained, it made the movie feel rushed. but i did like in the end how aethelstan realized he was wrong (although he could of done so earlier and not had aldhelm killed...), and went to correct his mistakes, and showed guilt for his actions.

onto the dane villain/leader - anlaf - he felt very lackluster to me. but then again, being another dane from iralnd coming to conquer is a hard path to follow after sigtryggr (just saying). i just didn't find him as a convincing threat. and felt he could have been stronger in terms of portrayal and character depth. which is why it probably would have been better as a season format than a movie.

moving to the character deaths. the saddest one by far was aldhelm. he truly did not deserve a death like that. and i felt it was more for shock value then to further the story, because afterwards nothing really happened. uhtred, finan and sihtric were shocked, but that's it. i'm not even sure if father pyrlig knew of his death, there was no mention of it. i just hated how he died and the reason why he did, but at least his with aethelflaed. ingirth's death, again, felt meh. i wasn't sad that she died, i had no emotional connection towards her character, so it wasn't upsetting for me. but i was sad for finan that he lost his wife, the part where he screamed out was heartbreaking. overall, her death felt like they needed to fill the movie death quota so they just picked ingirth.

the decision to have finan narrate was interesting, i enjoyed it. whether you think uhtred went to valhalla or he stayed and died years later at bebbanburg is something for the fans to decide, and adding the small touch of finan narrating aligns well with how the movie ended. speaking of the ending, it was bittersweet. i wasn't expecting them to show valhalla. what would have made it even better is if we saw more of the characters that had died throughout the show, that would have been such a special moment. to see young ragnar, sigtryggr, bloodhair, etc. the emotional impact could have been bigger if there were more characters. but i understand if scheduling was an issue and they couldn't get them. speaking of scheduling, i assume that is the reason why they changed the character who played edgaiu in season 5? it took me half of the movie to realize it was her and edward didn't re-marry...it's a shame because i did like the actress who played her in S5, but what can you do.

out of all the new characters, osbert was my favourite one. his screen time was here and there, but i loved him. clearly, him and uhtred get along well. but the inner part of me that loves to know more details wonders if they ever talked about how uhtred basically abandoned him in S3. and i was waiting for someone to mention hild, i would have thought either uhtred or osbert would have, purely because hild was the one who looked after osbert when he was young, or at least checked in on him from time to time. but no mention of hild which is incredibly disappointing.

which leads me to talk about the absence of some other characters - eadith, stiorra and aelswith (i know with eliza it was scheduling issues). regardless, if you think they would have contributed much to the movie in terms of story, it still would have been nice to get a mention. especially, stiorra. clearly she isn't bebbanburg, so where did she go? is she with another dane clan? is she with her brother? did she go to irland?. same with eadith and aelswith, where did they go?. eadith could have gone back to frankia. aelswith at the end of S5 said she wanted to stay at bebbanburg. but because there isn't any confirmation it leaves a bad taste for me. because you want to know (or at least, i do) where these characters are. it didn't even have to be a whole speech, just a sentence or two about where they are. it leaves blanks, and i don't like blanks that could have been easily explained.

overall, it is sad that we aren't getting any more new last kingdom content (unless there are spin-offs). it was a good movie to end an amazing show. do i think a season 6 would have been better, yes. but at the end of the day, i am just super glad they didn't ruin the show with this movie (looking at you teen wolf).

all i can say is goodbye to the last kingdom. i am so glad i found this little gem of a show on netflix. it has become one of my favourites. so thank you for delivering iconic characters, beautiful storylines/scenery and epic battle scenes.

destiny is all. ⚔️