#sharpened hammer

[stimpry]

gweheh

[dailykugisaki]

Day ninety-one

Everyday I am low-key thinking about Nobara in the official light novel.

Doodled sumn from it.

[yrlocalghost]

oh my god. the nails in hollow knight are just like swords without hilts

[afieldinengland]

thinking about those articles that describe christopher lee’s broodingly suave and yet almost mute dracula as “feral”. exactly

[recurringwriter]

pro wire tip:

aluminum wire tends to be low temper which means as wonderful and thick as it looks, it's going to bend very easily to the touch. and as i've discovered in this process, tempering it with a rubber ended hammer or nylon pliers isn't going to make that big of a difference.

if i'd been smart i would have reinforced the shaft of areadbhar with the 18 gauge value wire i used for the fingers, especially since it was getting wrapped with thread anyway. on the other hand, then it would have lost the roundness. so it's a tradeoff i guess.

[worldnewads]

Imarku Dark Red Japanese Knife Set: Sharp, Durable, and Stylish Knives for Any Kitchen!

Sharp, Versatile Knives for Better Cooking!

Maximum versatility, minimum counter space: These are the essential knives you need to start cooking better.

Our knife block set features a unique hammered design for enhanced sharpness. Combining German practicality with Japanese precision, our knives are strong, rust-resistant, and razor-sharp at a 13°-15° angle for lasting durability.

[silver-tangent]

Sometimes I think about how the entire history of the advancement of human weapons can be boiled down to: “we found more elaborate ways to hit things with rocks…”

Spears? Sharpened rocks.

Slingshot? Ranged rocks.

Arrows? Sharpened rocks with range.

Hammers/Clubs? Refined rocks.

Swords/axes? Sharpened refined rocks.

Guns? Sharpened, refined rocks, propelled by explosives…

We discovered how to make explosives, and we fine tuned that technology to better propel refined and sharpened rocks at insane distances… we are still hitting things with rocks… we just became experts in the science of hitting things with rocks… The human race is basically just a “dump everything into geology” build…

[twi-liight]

Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[ohproserpine]

vii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, vox being painfully obvious, vox malfunctions (lmao L), allusion to death, valentino warning, alastor's demon form

Rocks and twigs dug into your knees as you crawled forward, the jagged edges cutting your skin as you reached Alastor's side. With trembling hands, you cradled his face against your lap.

"Alastor," you called for him, desperately clutching onto his body, trying to pull him back down to Earth and hold him there "Al, Al, please."

"What did I do? What can I do?" More tears dribbled down your cheeks as you looked down at your husband, leaning in to press tender kisses to the apples of his cheeks. You held him as tightly as you could, careful not to cause him any more pain.

"I can figure out a way to help you, I can. I know I can, baby," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. Your gaze remained locked with your husband's lifeless eyes, the world spinning around you as panic tightened its grip on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

"Al. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

˚୨୧₊♱

You woke with a startle.

Gasping for breath, your chest heaved with each inhale, the rapid beat of your pulse slamming against your ribcage, the sound hammering in your head. Blinking repeatedly, your vision slowly adjusted to the unfamiliar sight of a ceiling painted with outrageously colorful prints. Faint traces of neon lights filtered through the thin curtains, casting erratic patterns across the room, accompanied by the distant thump of music.

A gentle knocking at the door broke through the haze, accompanied by the muted tones of a familiar voice seeping through the metal barrier.

"Dollface? Are you up?" Vox's voice, though muffled, was unmistakable as it filtered through the door.

Shakily, you pushed yourself up and sat for a while, gathering your composure. The room spun around you, the vibrant colors of the walls and lights blurring into a dizzying kaleidoscope. Eventually, with a deep breath, you pushed yourself into action, moving to open the door.

As you swung it open, Vox stood on the other side, his signature smirk etched onto his features. His mechanical eyes gleamed as they scanned you for any signs of distress or fatigue. And despite your disorientation, you straightened your posture, trying to maintain your usual demeanor in front of him.

"Good morning," Vox greeted smoothly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

Of course, he wasn't interrupting anything. It was clear to both of you that you had just rolled out of bed. Your hair tousled in disarray, your sleepwear crumpled and creased, and your bed behind you a mess of twisted sheets and pillows.

Still, you forced a polite smile and shook your head.

"No, not at all," you replied.

"Excellent," Vox grinned, stepping a foot past your doorway. "May I come in?"

Despite the internal alarm bells ringing in your mind, you nodded, moving aside to let him in. As he passed by, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized, like prey under the gaze of a predator before the pounce.

Closing the door, you leaned against it, feeling the cool surface against your back, and turned to face Vox, attempting to hide the unease simmering within.

"What can I help you with?" you asked, keeping your tone steady.

Vox's gaze pierced yours, his mechanical eyes glinting with a hunger that unsettled you.

"I thought of how we could discuss the details of our partnership," he hummed, running his fingers along your dresser. "Over dinner, perhaps?"

The proposal hung in the air, heavy with implications you weren't sure you wanted to explore. Despite your best efforts to hide it, a seething sense of unease bubbled beneath the surface, twisting your features into a grimace.

"Dinner?" The word felt like acid on your tongue as you struggled to maintain your façade, your gaze sharpening into a glare aimed directly at the overlord. "I'm sorry, but… I'm not interested."

Vox's laughter cut through the tense atmosphere, but it sounded forced and hollow.

"I meant a professional meeting, love," he covered up with a wave of his hand, the charm in his voice slightly strained. "Let's go over your contract."

Relieved, you nodded, though beneath, a whirlwind of thoughts swirled.

This could be a chance for you to really have a gauge on your situation. Everything had happened so fast, and you found yourself stumbling in the dark. You knew the Vees were a powerhouse in the entertainment district, their influence stretching far and wide, extending into every corner of hell. They were notorious for their employment methods, for their ability to shape destinies and manipulate lives with the stroke of a pen.

Who knows what was even in your contract?

"Wonderful!" Vox's cheerful interruption jolted you from your thoughts as he extended his arm. "Well then, let's not waste any more time. Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" you spoke slowly, your tone guarded.

"Shall we get to your duties, my dear?" Vox clarified smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his words laden with expectation. "Velvette is waiting."

"Oh—" you jolted. Quickly, you gathered yourself, smoothing down the wrinkles of your robe and adjusting your disheveled hair with clumsy fingers.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you reached out and linked your arm with Vox's. The overlord smirked as he led you out of the room and through the corridors, already launching into conversation about his latest product line.

A part of you found it amusing how similar he was to your husband—both of them chatterboxes who couldn't keep their mouths shut if they tried.

Nodding along to Vox's conversation, you fell into step beside him. As you two walked, it was impossible not to notice the subtle shift in demeanor among the demons and imps, who hastily cleared a path for Vox, some even bowing respectfully as you passed by.

"And here we are!"

Arriving at Velvette's office, you entered cautiously, the tension thick in the air. Models lounged around in various states of undress, their statuesque figures draped in luxurious fabrics. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to suspicion as they observed your every move. Some whispered amongst themselves in hushed tones, casting wary glances in your direction, while others maintained an aloof demeanor, their gazes piercing yet blank.

Velvette stood at the front, her figure partially obscured by the tall curtains behind her. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over you with open scorn.

"Finally! Took ya long enough," Velvette scowled. "Edna, will you please go get her dressed?!"

Edna, a tall and slender imp with delicate horns curved against her head, nodded obediently before gliding over to you. With a gentle tug on your arm, she beckoned you to follow her backstage. You stumbled nervously, clutching your robe as you obeyed.

As you stepped away, Vox chuckled, waving you off with a flourish. You offered a cautious wave back before being enveloped by the heavy fabric of the curtains.

"I know what you're trying," Velvette scoffed as she tapped away on her phone, her perfectly manicured nails, painted in a glossy shade of neon pink, clacking against the screen. Vox turned to her, his expression one of exaggerated innocence.

"Whatever do you mean?" he retorted, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"Oh, please don't act as if you weren't sending marionnette over there heart eyes," Velvette accused, her crimson lips forming a thin line of disapproval. "Listen, I don't care what you do with your little girl toy. Just make sure you don't get in the way of my show."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Vox hummed, taking a seat on one of the plush couches.

Velvette turned to him, surprised, her curls bouncing from the abruptness of her movement. "You're staying?"

"Of course. I'm eager to see your dazzling ideas, my dear," Vox replied smoothly, spreading his long legs across the expanse of the couch. "After all, your show is going to be featured on my channels. It's all anyone has been raving about on Voxtagram lately."

"Cut the crap. You just want an excuse to ogle at her," Velvette scoffed.

Vox leaned back against the cushions, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Can you blame me? She's quite the sight to behold."

Before Velvette could snap back, Edna returned, leading you out from behind the curtains. You emerged, feeling somewhat exposed under the scrutinizing gazes of the two overlords.

No surprise, as the main act, you were dressed in one of Velvette's main designs. Black netted stockings hugged your legs as they met the bright red stilettos that adorned your feet. A red corset cinched your waist and emphasized the curve of your hips, accentuating your figure. Below the corset, you wore a dark miniskirt with cream ruffles and lace, its fabric swaying with every step.

You felt abash as you stood in the outfit. In the past, you had been considered a flapper girl with your bold demeanor and penchant for daring fashion choices, but even you couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise at the lack of modesty of the skirt in this particular outfit. It barely grazed past your crotch, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

"Let's see…" Velvette hummed, completely absorbed in her task as she approached you, Vox long forgotten. With a couple of snaps of her fingers, the clothing and accessories you wore began to shift and change, transforming before your eyes.

Velvette's fingers danced through the air, conjuring delicate lace and cascading ruffles that stuck onto the corset. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a cream fur coat, draping it over your shoulders with a flourish. The colors morphed, the fabrics transformed, until finally, with a satisfied clap of her hands, she took a step back to admire your new look.

"Makeup!"

Suddenly, you yelped as a chair was dragged over, pushing against the back of your knees and causing you to fall right into it. A bunch of imps swarmed around you and they wasted no time in getting to work, dabbing various products onto your face and expertly brushing powder along your cheeks.

Once they were finished, they handed you a mirror, allowing you to inspect their handiwork. Unlike the outfit, the makeup look wasn't as unsettling. Your face was adorned with makeup reminiscent of classic clown makeup, featuring exaggerated lashes, a layer of white face paint, and a bold red lip.

"That's it! That's the one," Velvette grinned, delighted with the makeover. Her grin turned into a smirk as she turned to Vox. "Well, what do you think—Satan!"

Vox's screen began to glitch and buffer, emitting sparks of electricity that charred the couch beneath him. The sudden noise startled some of the models, their eyes widening in alarm as they scrambled to move away from the malfunctioning android.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Velvette shouted.

Vox tried to respond, but all that came out was static.

Concerned, you approached him, the clicking of your heels against the floor echoing.

As you settled beside Vox, there was a momentary pause in the static, and he stared at you with wide eyes, the malfunction seemingly halted by your presence.

Part of you screamed at yourself to leave, to let him handle his problems alone. But another part of you remained, despite everything. Somehow, you still felt a sliver of sympathy for the overlord.

Leaning in closer, you furrowed your brow, the red gloss on your lips catching the studio lights. The corset pushed your chest up, and Vox found his eyes shamelessly drifting.

"Are you okay?" you whispered, your voice laced with genuine worry.

But before Vox could respond, he short-circuited, a burst of sparks and smoke emitting from his malfunctioning screen. You recoiled instinctively, your hand reaching out to shield yourself from any potential danger. With a final surge of electricity, he powered down completely, leaving behind a smoldering heap of metal and wires.

"Is he… okay?"

Velvette waved a dismissive hand. "He's always doing this. Probably overloaded his circuits again."

"Now, can someone please get this thing out of here?!" she commanded, snapping her fingers and tapping her foot impatiently.

As the models and attendants hurried to comply, you were pulled back up to your feet by the overlord. "He'll reboot eventually. Now, let's get back to work."

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from Vox, you followed after Velvette as she led the way to a photo studio within the boutique.

The scene before you was akin to a circus, with vibrant hues of bright reds and pinks resembling a Valentine's Day massacre. A carousel in the background spun slowly, its eerie music echoing through the studio. Beating hearts hung suspended from the ceiling, their rhythmic pulses visible as they dripped with blood.

"Alright! Let's get the rehearsal started!" Velvette shouted out as she began to direct the crew. Cameras were adjusted, lights were fine-tuned, and the set was re-arranged to her satisfaction.

Turning to you with a tablet in hand, Velvette tossed it into your hands. You caught the device and quickly read through the document on the screen, realizing it was lyrics to a song. Your eyes rushed to memorize the words, the familiarity of the process washing over you.

Decades in the show industry had honed your skills to perfection, making this routine feel like second nature. A small pang of nostalgia tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you of simpler times before everything went amiss.

“Alright.”

Barely giving you ten minutes to prepare, Velvette deftly plucked the tablet from your hands as she stepped back and settled into a director's chair. The chair creaked softly under her weight as she made herself comfortable, slipping on heart-shaped glasses that glinted in the studio lights.

"Let's see what you've got.”

Lifting the scepter to your lips, you pressed it against your mouth, leaving a trace of red lipstick staining the surface, a stark contrast against the sleek metal. As the lights dimmed, signaling the start of your performance, you took a deep breath and began to recite the lyrics.

I write poems to burn by firelight Drink champagne and guzzle gin Good girls call me "the town bicycle" Don't knock it 'til you've tried my life of sin

With a flick of your hand, you pushed back the curls of your hair, the strands catching the studio lights as you kept your gaze glued to the camera lens. From her chair, Velvette smirked and captured the moment with her phone, the flash briefly blinding the dimly lit set.

Oh, my pimp, knows never mess with me Last prick did that faded quick to black I have no idea where to find him, officers But if you do, please mention that I'd Like to have returned the pretty knife That I stuck ten times in his back—

Before you could even finish, the door burst open with a deafening bang, causing everyone in the room to jump in surprise. Valentino stormed into the boutique, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. Without uttering a single word, he launched into a violent rampage, his movements wild and unpredictable.

The air was filled with the sound of crashing props and the desperate, panicked screams of assistants as they scrambled to evade Valentino's wrath. You jerked back instinctively as an arm was thrown in your direction, narrowly avoiding the chaotic fray unfolding around you.

"Damn it, Valentino! What are you doing?!" Velvette shouted over the commotion, her voice strained with anger and disbelief as she dug her fingers into her hair, her perfectly styled locks now in disarray.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" the moth demon screamed back, his voice seething with rage as he held poor Edna by her throat, his grip like a vice around her delicate neck.

"I'm airing out my frustrations!" he spat, his eyes wild with fury.

A sickening tearing sound filled the room as Valentino viciously tore Edna apart, blood splattering across the floor and staining the nearby racks of clothing.

"Fuck!" Velvette cursed under her breath. Fumbling, she retrieved her phone, her fingers tapping against the screen in agitation as she dialed Vox's number.

"My dear," the businessman's smooth voice echoed through the speakers, a calming presence amidst the storm. "What can I do for you?"

"Cut the shit. Are you functioning now?" Velvette's words were clipped, forceful, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Functioning?" The overlord's response was hesitant, his movements jerky as he twisted his head, the wires on his neck audibly cracking with a spark. "I… suppose so."

"Good, because I need you up here now!" Velvette's voice crackled with urgency. "Mothboy is wrecking my department! And I'm waiting for a certain flat-faced prince to come and help!"

Without another word, Vox nodded with a weary groan, the weight of responsibility settling heavily upon him like an oppressive cloak.

"Just another fuckin' day with Val," he scoffed bitterly, his tone tinged with resignation as he pushed himself to his feet with a mechanical whir. "Fuck my life."

In an instant, he transformed into a crackling spark of electricity, zipping up into the CCTV camera before seamlessly teleporting into another one located in Velvette's studio.

"What's going on?" Vox sighed wearily as he materialized, his voice tinged with exhaustion, hands folding behind his back as he surveyed the chaotic scene before him.

"Valentino's lost it again. And he's tearing everything apart," Velvette hissed as her hand shot up, grabbing Vox by the collar of his metallic frame.

Her nails dug into the surface, leaving faint marks as she pulled him down to her eye level. "You need to stop him before he causes any more damage!"

"Consider it done," Vox muttered, rolling his eyes before moving toward Valentino. With a firm grip, he halted the demon mid-carnage, spinning Valentino around to face him. An unsettling grin stretched across Vox's metallic features as he locked eyes with the enraged demon.

"Val! What's got you out of sorts today?"

“That piece of shit! Can you believe what he did?” Valentino snarled, his voice dripping with venom as he flung a small imp across the room, the helpless girl crashing into a clothing rack. “The ungrateful whore!”

"Uh huh, which whore are we talking about now?” Vox spoke nonchalantly as he pulled his phone out and idly scrolled through it. Before he could react, Valentino lunged forward, his claws snatching the device from Vox's grasp.

"Who else would I be talking about?!" Valentino spat, his grip tightening around the phone until it crushed in his hands. With a primal scream, he hurled the remains of the tech against a nearby wall, the impact causing the column to crack under the force of the blow.

You watched with a frown as Vox attempted to calm Valentino, but his efforts fell short against the demon's relentless anger. Despite Vox's attempts, Valentino continued to rage, his voice echoing through the room as he screamed about hotels, phone calls, and among other things you didn't bother picking up.

“Fuck. Alright, he's not calming down anytime soon,” Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. She turned to you and motioned for you to follow as she began storming out. “Come on."

Quickly, you nodded, falling into step behind Velvette as she navigated through the gory scene. Blood stained the bottom of your heels as you stepped past limbs and puddles of blood, bones cracked underfoot, and muscles squished beneath your weight. The overpowering scent of iron filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of fear.

The overlord guided you out of the room and towards the other side of the building, where a door adorned with your name on a golden plaque awaited.

"This is your dressing room. We'll have another shoot in a few hours, so get yourself prepped in here while I go take care of the piss baby," Velvette scowled, already busying herself with her phone again.

"Will do," you sighed, running a hand through your hair, grateful for the moment of rest.

"Good. I'll see you then," Velvette declared with dramatic flair, her vibrant curls swirling around her face as she turned on her heels and walked away, leaving a trail of her perfume lingering in the air.

As you were about to step into your dressing room, the door beside you suddenly swung open with a creak, revealing a slice of the pink-filled bedroom beyond. To your surprise, you were met with the familiar sight of a fluff of white hair. An accented voice filled the air, screaming into a phone, the sound echoing down the corridor.

"I told ya, I didn't mean to—," The demon turned to you and froze, his eyes widening as he dropped his cigar in shock. The carpet beneath your feet caught fire from the dropped cigar, but neither of you seemed to care.

He stared at you, wide-eyed.

Hands flying up to your mouth, you stared back.

For a minute, all you could hear was the muted sounds of Valentino's screaming from the phone speaker and the building's hustle and bustle

"Dollface?" Angel Dust finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he blinked dumbfounded. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Your heart dropped like a heavy stone, sinking into the depths of your chest. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stood there.

Everything was becoming too much to even process. Your body betrayed you as you lost your balance, collapsing and hitting the floor. A high-pitched ringing pierced your ears, drowning out all other sounds, as warmth seeped from them.

"Aw, shit," Angel Dust hissed in panic. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled you into his arms, dragging you into his room, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Ending the call, he tossed his phone away and guided you to a plush couch, the fabric soft and inviting beneath your touch as you sank into its embrace. Angel Dust settled beside you, his presence comforting like a warm blanket on a cold night. He offered you a sympathetic smile, though slightly awkward, his eyes filled with understanding.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, his words a gentle caress to your troubled soul.

Opening his arms wide, Angel offered you a hug, and you leaned into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his arms as he enveloped you in a comforting hug. Slowly, your senses came together as you nestled against him, the gentle rhythm of his breathing calming the storm of emotions raging within you.

"It's gonna be alright," he whispered softly, his voice a comforting murmur. Moving closer, he wiped away the warm liquid seeping from your ears. You could faintly see his hands moving away, stained with red. "You alright? What happened, mama?"

"A lot," you sighed, raising a hand to massage your temple as you recounted the events of the past 24 hours, from Mimzy's lounge getting busted down to your soul exchange with Vox.

Angel listened intently as you recounted the events, his expression shifting from concern to disbelief as he processed the gravity of what you had experienced.

"Damn, you've been through hell twice. You're one tough cookie, mama," Angel said with a warm smile as he reached for a brush on his vanity and gently ran it through your messed-up hair.

Despite the heaviness of the situation, a hint of laughter escaped you.

"You could say that," you sniffed, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you let out a long-held sigh. "It's been a while since I've been able to let it all out like this. Most demons aren't exactly the nicest."

Angel Dust chuckled with a shrug, his hands gentle as he worked through the knots in your hair. "Yeah, I've… ah, been tryn'a to stay 'good' for a while now. Charlie's been real pushy with the redemption thing, and I thought, what the hell, why not?"

Suddenly, he paused his brushing and gawked at you, his eyes widening in realization. "Charlie! The hotel!"

Your heart skipped a beat as Angel Dust's words sank in. "The hotel," you echoed, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place in your mind.

"Shit!" Angel laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, there ya go! I get off shift tonight, and I sure as hell can get my ass over there. Hell, I can leave right this instant if you want!"

"Won't Valentino be pissed?" you asked, a flicker of concern crossing your features. "You'll be—" Your gaze darted over to his discarded phone on the floor, which was buzzing with calls. "Well, already are in deep shit."

Angel Dust frowned, his expression hardening with resolve. He grabbed your coat and swiftly removed it, tossing it aside to cover the buzzing phone. "Fuck 'im. He can bark all he wants in the studio, but outside of it, he's got no power over me."

The spider leaned in, his touch as gentle as a soft breeze against your skin, his fingers delicate as they brushed a stray hair from your face. "I'll help you. So don't get your pretty little tits in a twist anymore, alright?"

With a heavy heart, you whispered your gratitude, bowing your head as tears continued to stream down your cheeks. Today had been bleak, but a glimmer of hope lingered for a brighter tomorrow.

"But I don't want to get you in trouble, Angel," you said softly, wiping away your tears, exhaustion washing over you. "I can wait until tonight."

Angel Dust's expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Nah, babe, ain't no trouble for me. Besides, waiting ain't my style, and I ain't about to let you deal with this mess alone."

"Plus," Angel grinned devilishly, his eyes sparkling with mischief, the corners of his lips curling up. "I know your man is going to tear shit down. And I want front row seats to all that drama."

˚୨୧₊♱

"NO!"

Charlie shrieked, her voice piercing the air as she lunged forward, her fingers grasping desperately at Alastor's piece on the gameboard. "Al! You can't just do whatever you want! You have to follow the rules!"

Alastor leaned back in his chair, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he regarded Charlie with amusement. "But my dear, where's the entertainment in that?" he purred as he tilted his head in mock innocence. "Rules are made to be broken, after all. So, I had a little fun with it."

"A little fun?" Vaggie scoffed from her spot on the floor, her brows furrowed in frustration as she idly shuffled the cards.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, dickhead," she muttered, her voice laced with irritation. "That's what you've been doing these past 2 hours. If you don't start playing properly, might as well not play. I mean—why did you even bother?"

"For the entertainment!" Alastor cheered, his grin widening as he rolled the dice once the turn landed on him again. With a flourish of his claws, he moved his piece three spaces, landing on an unclaimed building which he quickly purchased. "I came here because I love seeing you wayward souls struggle to accomplish something great, and fail spectacularly!"

Vaggie scoffed and rolled the dice, her hand deftly moving the piece along the board with a flick of her wrist. However, her expression soured noticeably when the piece landed on the Jail panel. She seethed and sank back, silently cursing her streak of horrible luck.

"Ah, like you are doing now!" Alastor smirked down at her like the asshole he was, punctuating his words with a clap of his hand. "Good job!"

Vaggie clenched her jaw tightly, her knuckles whitening as she lifted the board, readying herself to strike Alastor. However, before she could make her move, the door burst open, and Angel Dust rushed in with a gasp. He looked every bit disheveled, as if he had just run through all nine circles of hell.

Charlie's eyes lit up at the sight of him, and she lifted her hand, waving him over excitedly.

"Angel! Perfect timing. We need one more player for Monopurgatory," she exclaimed, gesturing excitedly towards the game board. With a gleeful expression, she plucked a piece from the board and held up a small metal figurine with a wide smile. "You can be the cupcake~!"

"Sorry, princess, I've got business," Angel huffed, brushing his hair back as he turned to Alastor. "Alright, freaks. We need to talk."

Alastor hummed, studying Angel with mild amusement. "My, my, such urgency," he remarked, his smile widening into a grin. "What's got you in such a hurry?"

"It's about Vox," Angel replied, pressing his hands flat against each other. "I need to speak with you in private."

Alastor's grin faded slightly, and he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing at Angel. Well, this was certainly getting very entertaining.

After a moment of contemplation, Alastor shook his head, snapping himself out of whatever daze he had briefly fallen into.

"Vox, you say?" Alastor mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. With a nonchalant shrug, he pushed himself up, twirling his cane in the air. "Oh, well, in that case, let's chat."

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor moved forward and gestured towards the door, indicating for Angel to follow him. Charlie and Vaggie exchanged puzzled glances, but they remained silent, watching as both men left the room.

"You know, I'd usually never even think of entertaining you, and I'd rather let you deal with your own issues. But you seem to be in a great deal of suffering!” Alastor laughed heartily as he shut the door.

"So, pray tell, what happened? Did you get yourself entangled in another deal from a whim decision? My! I certainly hope you don't bring any of this into the hotel. What will the papers say?"

Angel rolled his eyes and cut Alastor's rambling short, jabbing a gloved finger into the Radio Demon's chest. "It ain't about me. And you're gonna want to listen because it's your missus that's in deep shit right now."

Alastor's eye twitched at the mention of you, a brief flicker of static and symbols dancing in the air. His crimson eyes bore into Angel Dust, his expression unreadable, save for the wide curl of his lips.

Inwardly, Angel smirked. If he didn't have Alastor's attention before, he sure as fuck had it now.

"What does my wife have to do with this?" Alastor quipped sharply, his claws delicately removing Angel Dust's finger from his chest. "I fail to see the connection. Do enlighten me."

"Wanna be enlightened?" Angel waved him over, "Then follow me."

Without waiting for a response, Angel turned on his heels and strode out of the hotel. Alastor followed closely behind, his red-clad figure cutting through the streets of hell like fire against the night.

A few streets later, they approached the border edge of the entertainment district, and Alastor halted abruptly, his gaze narrowing in suspicion.

"I don't particularly fancy this area, and I'd rather not enter," he scoffed, adjusting his coat and brushing away dust from his sleeves with a disdainful flick. "It's rather unsavory."

"Just look," Angel rolled his eyes, gesturing upwards towards the towering Vee tower, where a new advertisement had just been erected.

Alastor's gaze shifted upward, and he froze as he beheld your face plastered across the billboard, larger than life, dominating the skyline of the entertainment district. The vibrant colors of the advertisement clashed with the dark hues of the surrounding buildings, drawing attention like a beacon in the night. Beneath the image, in bold letters, was a sign that read: "Sponsored by VoxTek," stark against the backdrop of your image.

There was silence for a minute, then another, before a sharp crack split the air.

"Angel?" Alastor's chipper voice rang out as he stared up at the billboard with a manic grin. Crackling began to be heard as his limbs lengthened, each movement accompanied by the sound of bones shifting and sinewy muscles stretching beneath his ashen flesh.

"Would you be so kind as to…" His antlers began to grow in size, curling and twisting like the branches of a gnarled tree.

"—explain…" His eyes darkened, the whites turning to a deep, swirling black, while the pupils glowed with a golden light, resembling the flickering dials of an old radio.

"—what exactly am I looking at right now?" His hands elongated into grotesque claws, the fingers stretching and sharpening into razor-sharp blades capable of ripping flesh—or in this case, wires—with ease. As his claws extended, they stretched his glove to its limit until it tore right off, revealing the glint of his wedding ring.

"Vox got her soul," Angel replied immediately, his voice steady despite the horrifying sight in front of him. "Screens has her wrapped around his finger, and he's not planning to let go anytime soon."

Alastor's head snapped to the side with a sickening crack accompanying the movement.

"Show me," he snarled, his voice taking on an inhuman quality, heavily filtered by radio waves.

Without hesitation, Angel gestured towards the billboard, his expression blank.

"Get in there, and see for ya'self."

˚୨୧₊♱

[delphi-shield]

contact high // leon s. kennedy

Leon x Reader Pointless Fluff wc: ~1.5k this fic was just an excuse to practice dialogue. [insert kermit 'its not fucking weed you piece of shit stoner' meme here] i think getting obliterated and falling asleep on leon could fix me.

summary: You're gone. No text, no voicemail - disappeared off the face of the earth. or Leon forgets you're at a party and finally has an excuse to practice those breathing exercises his therapist recommended.

content: drugs, leon's POV, gender neutral reader. intended as post-vendetta, pre-death island leon. bro's in therapy and he hates that it's working.

The door's unlocked.

Leon's brow furrows. He stands in the doorway a moment, turning the key again just to be sure he's not falling asleep on his feet. No such luck.

He steps into the apartment and calls your name, a hint of scolding sharpening the edges. How many times has he got to remind you? "Babe, you can't leave the door unlocked. Seriously, I could be anyone."

His own voice mocks him, bouncing back off the empty halls of the apartment. He pauses, shutting the door quietly behind him. He listens for the telltale sound of your presence - your voice drifting from the back room, loud and raucous laughter on a call with your friends, the drone of your latest period drama on TV - anything.

Worry overpowers exhaustion. He doesn't think to check his phone, gets right to snooping instead. Minds like his jump to the worst case scenario first, first responder born and bred.

Start from the top. Leon lets the evidence guide him around the room. Your shoes are in disarray by the shoe rack - not as if they had been disturbed in an altercation, but in your usual, messy way. Indecision, not foul play. The blanket on the back of the couch is wadded up and left in a heap on your side. A half-empty water glass drowns in its condensation, leaves a ring that won't come out later. You’d been in a hurry, but was it forced or absent-minded?

Leon’s hand curls over his sidearm. He's not taking any chances. He's already blown his cover by calling out. Stupid, he thinks. Getting slow in his old age. He spins into the kitchen, checking corners before he checks countertops.

Your keys lay in a heap on top of the mail.

It doesn't mean anything, he tells himself. Not yet, anyway. He scans the rest of the room, looking for other traces of you. Your bag, your phone, anything. Dinner hasn't been left out. The dishes have been put up. There's no sign of a struggle anywhere. It's entirely possible you just stepped out. But at this time of night? It’s almost two in the morning. No - it must have been someone that you had trusted. He flips through every friend you’ve ever introduced him to. Every ex, every bad date –

His therapist's voice nags at the back of his mind, babbling about jumping to conclusions, about assuming the worst case scenario and turning every uncomfortable moment into an operation, clinging to control through procedure, through swift, decisive action.

Deep breath. Look for alternative, easier answers. Not everything is life or death. Taking a hammer to every problem will only break things.

He fishes his personal phone out from his jacket, flips through messages. No new texts or missed calls from you. Not encouraging. Breathe in for four, hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.

Can’t believe these stupid breathing exercises work.

He should just call you. What the hell is he thinking? If he calls and you don't answer, then he can give himself permission to panic.

The phone rings. Once. Twice. By the third time, he's already pacing back to the front door, ready to take his investigation from top to bottom again. He’s already crouched by the shoe rack, searching for anything he could have missed, when you answer.

"Hey!" Thank fucking god. It sounds like you're in the middle of a warzone, but at least you picked up. 

Not a warzone, he reminds himself. That’s laughter, not the wail of the dead and dying. He tries to speak past the lump in his throat, but the words get stuck. Breathe, he reminds himself. He tries again.

“Hey.”

The noise of the crowd dims, the latch of a door shut a little too hard - where the hell are you? 

"What's up? How was work?"

Are you serious? It’s nearly two in the morning and all you can say for yourself is how was work?

"Fine," he says, trying his best not to be curt. He presses his fingers to his temples, massages the headache away. "Where are you?"

"Jen's birthday."

Shit. That was right. You had that party. Leon marches back into the kitchen, stares at the whiteboard you had plastered to the fridge. You insisted on writing your schedule out for him. He'd thought it was stupid, at the time. He didn't need help remembering.

There it is. Your spidery handwriting haphazardly circled, confetti and noisemakers poorly drawn around it - B-DAY PARTY, 8PM

He drops his head against the fridge door, tries not to sigh into the phone.

“We talked about it last week.”

“I know.”

"I left you a note."

"Yeah, I know."

"Sorry, baby. I would have invited you but there's, like, so much weed here," you laugh. It lights his chest up with warmth - or maybe that’s relief. “In good conscience, I couldn’t invite a fed.”

In good conscience, you say. He snorts, bonks his head against the fridge again. Yeah. You’re high, all right.

“You forgot your keys.” “Fuck!” You’re pouting. He can hear it over the phone. “Sorry. Can you leave the door unlocked for me? I’ll get an Uber. Party’s kinda over anyway.”

Like hell you will. He doesn’t trust those things. A cute little thing like you, getting into a stranger’s car in the middle of the night, high off your ass?

“No, no.” He slips his shoes back on, fishes his keys from his pocket. “Send me the address. I’ll come get you.”

It’s the same roulette wheel of questions you ask him every time he offers to do something for you. Are you sure? Yes, of course he is. I don’t want to bother you. He was literally made to be bothered by you, that’s what he signed up for. Can we watch a movie? Sure, why not. He’ll probably fall asleep, but he knows you’ll beat him to it. Probably won’t even make it past the first scene.

You’re waiting for him on the curb, hands tucked into your armpits to keep warm. Your face splits into a grin when he pulls up to you. There’s that damn warmth again, spreading down his limbs. He leans over to pop the door for you. You’re a little wobbly on your feet, got him worried for a moment that you might have the spins, but you plop into the seat and kiss him in lieu of hello, and his worries evaporate.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs against your lips. Before you can give him your smug little reply, he straightens up, puts the car in gear. “You’re gonna give me a contact high. Gonna fail my drug test. Lose my job.” “Yeah, right. You could be on, like, mega-coke and they’d keep you around.”

“Mega-coke, huh? That the big new thing with kids?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

You babble at him the whole ride home, catching him up on the latest drama, pausing for him to interject with no, she didn’t and what a bitch at the appropriate moments. He has to fend off your encroaching hands at stop lights, knowing damn well you want more than just to rest your hand on his thigh. You laugh every time he moves your hand back to your side, your nose scrunching and the corner of your eyes creasing, and he knows there’s no staying mad at a face he’s mapped out countless times before bed, whether he was right next to you or half a world away.

By the time he pulls into the parking lot, your head has knocked against the car window, your babbling slowed. He nudges you gently, big palm splayed against the point of your shoulder.

“Want me to carry you in?” He asks, his voice low. He meant it to sound teasing, but his heart’s not in it.

You stir, fumbling with your seatbelt. “Neighbor’s are gonna see.”

“It’s almost three in the morning.” He reaches across the console and unbuckles your seatbelt for you. You pop the door open and stumble out on your own two feet before he can round the car. He settles for looping his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him.

He guides you inside, makes a teasing joke about locking the door – now, this is called a ‘lock’, you put your key in and turn it so no one can get in. That way your stuff doesn’t get stolen and your boyfriend doesn’t freak out - just to hear you grouse at him and smack his shoulder.

After making a show of locking the door, he drops you off on the couch. He presses a kiss to your hair and trots off to get you a glass of water. He can’t have been gone more than a handful of minutes, but when he returns, you’re crashed out against the arm of the couch, mouth open, snoring softly.

“Didn’t even make it to the movie,” Leon muses. He pulls you to lean against his chest and unfurls the wadded up blanket, draping it over the both of you.

The arm of the couch jams into his back at an awkward angle. He tries to shift down, but you whine and cling to him tighter. It feels like kicking a puppy. He’s going to regret this tomorrow, but he lets you rest. You’re home. That’s all that matters.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Nail of Mundanity
Weapon (dagger), rare ___ This leather-wrapped spike has been hammered into a sharpened edge. Eldritch runes run along the back of its blade, and a crude, eye-like rune has been gouged into its side. A creature hit with this weapon takes an extra 1d8 force damage from the attack. An aberration always takes the maximum amount of force damage from the dagger. When you reduce an aberration to 0 hit points using the dagger, you can choose to speak the dagger’s command phrase (no action required). When you do, the creature is transformed into a humanoid commoner (as if by the “true polymorph” spell) with 1 hit point and the dagger magically buried within its chest, with only the head of the nail showing. The commoner’s race is random, although it is typically related to the surrounding terrain. Roll a d4 to determine its general age: child (1), adolescent (2), adult (3), or elderly (4). A creature is immune to this effect if it has the Legendary Resistance trait. For the next 7 days, you have advantage on Charisma checks you make to interact with the commoner. The dagger remains in the creature’s chest until the effect is dispelled, the creature dies, or until you use an action to speak the command word again (provided that you’re both on the same plane of existence). If the dagger is removed, the creature is immediately slain. The dagger then falls from its chest, and this property can’t be used again until 7 days have passed. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[stimpry]

hello yes i will post more im gonna do the requests i promise im gonna do the requests im gonna do the requests im go

[unichrome]

I remember attending those "girls in technology" programs and they just felt very alienating. You visited several places involving tech and they were all guys talking like you had no idea what anything is. No women in sight except receptionists/cleaners.

The program that intended me to join the tech industry just further hammered home that I don't belong there.

The best "girls in tech" was me working my way in by myself and gaining the self-esteem and confidence to not only not give a shit, but also thinking the men don't know shit more than I did, and are in most cases hired because they're men who feels entitled to a position in IT because they man and man logical.

I don't know how many incompetent men I've met in my career path that think they are a gift from the IT gods.

My tip for the girls/women reading this is gain the self-esteem enough to ignore what men are doing and wants us to be. Find your own path based on your skill. I can guarantee that an incompetent male will take many job positions but as your skill grow and as the men fail (often upwards) sooner or later the employer don't have any choice other than hiring you.

And then it's your time to shine. I almost immediately became the top malware analyst they had as I sharpened my skills every day while the men thought they did a good enough job because they were hired after all.

Then they'll ask you how you're so good at it, and that's worth the struggle you went through.

So don't give up on your dream blah blah basically ignore men, ignore their strategies for getting hired, you know what to do and you know how to get better. Find other women and encourage each other ok? You can do this! 💕

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

The Other Man

Note: lovely request by a lovely anon! I hope you enjoy this, and thank you for this request, I really enjoyed writing this.

Warnings: 18+! angst, smut, mention of death and arranged marriage.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You fell in love with the warrior who was tasked to protect you and your husband.

wordcount: 7,5k

Masterlist

Your husband was fifteen years older than you, and your marriage had been arranged because your husband possessed quite some land. His status had been good for that of your poor family, and he had treated you kindly too. Despite being treated kindly, there had been little to no romance in your marriage and no pups were ever born. You did not mind the lack of intimacy. What bothered you was that your husband was free to whore around, but god forbid a lady bedded a man that was not her husband. 

You had loved your husband at some point, at least you think you did, when he was a bit younger and still participated in battles to protect the Saxon land. But during one of those battles he had gotten injured badly, and had lost one arm and his ability to walk. All he did was lay in bed ever since or sit in a chair and stare at a wall, as he could do little else, and therefore your life also stopped when he became injured. But he was still an important and rich man. And when there was word that his life and yours were threatened by a witch named Skade, so that the Danes could eventually take claim of his wealth, the Lord Uhtred arranged one of his men to protect you and your husband for as long as needed. Your husband would pay the tasked man for his protection, and the warrior would be provided with residence in a cottage on your husband's land.

You watched him from your kitchen, through the open wooden shutters, as he sat outside merely a few paces away from you. Sihtric. That was his name, the name of the warrior who was tasked to protect you and your husband from a possible attack. He sat on a large broken tree log, basking in the early morning sun. It was to be another hot summer day, just like the past few days had been. His bare muscular arms glistened with sweat as his biceps flexed with each stroking movement he made to sharpen his axe. His jaw was clenched and his face serious, eyes fixated on his weapon as he took care of her with care and smooth motions.

You observed him. You had been observing him ever since his arrival a few days ago, but you hadn't exchanged a word, only a glimpse of eye contact when you were introduced after his arrival late in the evening. Sihtric spent most of the day outside in the fields surrounding your husband's home, scouting for enemies, while you were trapped inside to take care of your bitter and grumpy husband when the maid couldn't. But now that your husband was still asleep, because the pain in his body was too much for him to bear today, you could secretly observe Sihtric without being called away for a while.

Sihtric was clearly younger than your husband, closer to your own age, and it was evident that he was a Dane. His sweat coated neck showed a Danish tattoo that ran up the side of his head and he wore a hammer pendant. His dark hair was short and shaved off on both sides, he had a hint of facial hair and when he suddenly looked back over his shoulder and locked eyes with you, after you had dropped a plate because you were too distracted by his physique, you suddenly noticed his eyes were two different colours. Sihtric was unlike any man you had ever seen before. You hadn't seen many men actually, as you married your husband young and didn't get to leave the house much as he swore it was safer for you to stay inside. And like a fool you believed him.

A hint of a smirk appeared on Sihtric's face before he brought his attention back to his weapon again, but seconds later he stopped sharpening the axe head and got up. He wiped his tattooed hands on his leather jerkin and turned to you, then leaned on the window sill with his elbows and looked at you, his playful smirk still gracing his beautiful and slightly scarred face.

'My lady,' he simply said, his voice soft and warm, 'can I help you?'

'No,' you stammered, 'thank you.'

Sihtric chuckled lightly at your flushed face and licked his lips, amused.

'Why are you inside on a day like this?' he asked, 'does your husband not want to enjoy the sun with you?'

'My husband is sleeping.'

'Then do you not want to enjoy the sun? Pick flowers or just go for a walk?'

You looked at the warrior in silence for a few long seconds, then picked up the dropped plate.

'I do,' you confessed with a whisper, 'but…'

'But?' Sihtric asked after a pause.

'My husband...'

'... Is sleeping?'

'Yes.'

'Then why must you stay inside?' he wondered.

'My husband believes it is safer inside for me.'

Sihtric laughed at that, then pushed himself up and grabbed his axe which he swung over his shoulder.

'What's so funny?' you almost snarled, but your eyes betrayed that you weren't truly offended, as you couldn't tear your gaze away from his impressive arms.

'Nothing, my lady,' he composed himself, 'but if you change your mind and want to enjoy the sun…'

He didn't finish his words, but you knew what he meant. You knew you could find him in the fields, scouting, and he wouldn't mind for you to join him. But you were married. To an important man nonetheless, so Sihtric could not try and persuade you directly. But it had only taken him one day to tell that you weren't happily married and he thought you were too beautiful to be with a man like your husband, and it was a shame you rarely appeared outside of your home. And Sihtric also knew you had been watching him, which amused him greatly, but had to be careful with his approach. Sihtric was paid royally by your husband for his protection and he did not want to let Uhtred down by getting sent away from the job, because he had been pursuing the wife of a nobleman.

A few days passed and your husband's condition didn't improve. The warm summer caused him to feel unwell and dizzy. He had no appetite and barely consumed any water. The heat made his old wounds ooze pus and smell foul, for they never successfully healed and often became infected. And it was your duty to take care of him while the maid looked after the house and made food. But now that his condition became worse you had to fetch a healer, who arrived the same afternoon. Her name was Eadith, she was very friendly, wise and above all incredibly beautiful. And your husband seemed to feel better too at the sight of Eadith alone already, for he suddenly drank water and allowed her to feed him fresh fruits from the garden. If you were in love with him you would have been jealous, but it only made you reconsider Sihtric's offer from a few days ago to join him scouting the lands. 

You were sick of always being a good and loyal wife, while your husband's eyes and hands had always wandered to other ladies. It is not that he thought you weren't beautiful, but due to the lack of intimacy he just had no interest in you anymore, and after his injury  you were merely his caregiver. You had warned Eadith immediately after you saw his interest in her, but she reassured you that she had no desire to bed an older and sick man, but she would look after him which also meant you could finally take a break.

And so you decided to go outside and find Sihtric. You were dressed in a yellow linen dress, which was simple but pretty, as it hugged your shape and showed your figure in all the right places but also swayed in the summer breeze. You did not want to make it obvious that you were looking for the Dane, so you carried a twig woven basket and strolled to collect apples. That way you could scan the surrounding area without it being suspicious, as you only really left the house to gather fruits and herbs that grew in the garden.

You soon felt droplets of sweat on your back as the sun was at its peak, and the blush on your face grew warmer when your eyes landed on Sihtric in the distance, who was naked after he had taken a refreshing swim in the river that crossed your lands. The basket with apples fell out of your hands, which drew Sihtric's attention, and you quickly averted your eyes after you had already caught a glimpse of his entire body. And an impressive body it was, even from afar. You squeezed your thighs together as you sat down, your heart pounding wildly in your chest while you gathered the fallen apples back into the basket. Your mind wandered while your hands searched the tall grass for the round fruits, and you couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have Sihtric's arms around you. Those strong arms, much stronger than your husband's arms ever had been. And you craved to know what Sihtric would taste like when he kissed you, and how his hands felt on your bare skin, and how it would feel to rake your fingers through his short hair as you felt him inside you. You were so caught up in your sudden erotic fantasy that you didn't notice Sihtric had walked up to you, and he startled you when he suddenly cleared his throat behind you.

'Goodness!' you gasped and jumped up.

'Apologies, my lady,' Sihtric said with a sly smile, and he held an apple out to you, 'I did not mean to scare you, but I believe you dropped this.'

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were immediately distracted at the sight of his naked torso as he was only wearing his breeches. You snatched the apple out of his big hand, the same hand you had just imagined wrapped around your throat as he had pushed you down in the field to kiss you lustfully. And while you tried to shake that thought and put the apple back in your basket, your eyes darted over the numerous scars on his still wet and muscular body, and then your lust took over.

You dropped the basket and grabbed his face, pulling his lips onto yours, and you kissed him with a fiery passion you never felt before. You placed one hand on his neck and the other moved through his short hair while his damp hands grabbed your waist firmly. Sihtric pulled you flush against his wet body, hiked your skirt partly up and then lifted your knee to hook it around his bare waist. You wrapped both arms around his neck and he smoothly laid you down in the tall grass. His lips trailed down your neck and to your shoulders, leaving wet kisses and love bites, and he shoved his fingers underneath the shoulder straps of your linen dress. He lowered the top hastily but with care, and soon you felt his warm lips trail down further to your breasts and he teased your nipple with his tongue and teeth while he pinched your other nipple with his fingers. You moaned at his touch and the overall sensations, and you pulled his face back up to yours, desperate to disappear into his kiss while you removed his breeches, and he pushed the skirt of your dress up to gain access to your cunt. Sihtric kissed you roughly, as if he tried to still a hunger that could not be satisfied until he had devoured you completely. Your ragged breaths felt warm on each other's faces while he began to tease you, grinding the tip of his hard cock against your wet folds. You were desperate and ready for him. 

You were desperate to feel his entire length inside you, stretching you and filling you up completely, and you wanted to be ravaged by him. You wanted him to do with you as he pleased and to use you up until you were exhausted and sore and begging for him to stop as tears ran down your face, because the pleasantness would be too much to handle for you. You wanted him to cum over and over again inside you while your legs were shaking underneath him, just so you could finally experience what it would be like to leave a man satisfied after he had been with you.

 But then you heard him call your name and suddenly you snapped out of your fantasy.

'Are you okay, my lady?' Sihtric frowned as he still held his hand out to you, holding the apple he had picked up.

'I, yes, fine,' you rasped and took the apple out of his hand, 'thank you.'

You gave the Dane a curt smile and turned on your heels. Sihtric watched you walk back to the house, and he once again thought it was a real shame how someone with such beauty as yours was kept hidden inside.

You sat across from Sihtric at the dinner table that evening. It was not common for the warrior to dine with you, but as Eadith was invited by your husband, you insisted for Sihtric to be there too, for it would be unfair to neglect the man who protected your lives. Dinner had been served by the maid and you tried to enjoy the food as much as you could, but the atmosphere was tense and awkward. You sat next to your sickly husband while Eadith, who was staying several days longer to take care of him, sat next to Sihtric. Everyone ate quietly while occasionally glancing at one another. Your husband's eyes were mainly fixated on his healer, while you tried your hardest to not gaze at Sihtric the entire time you looked up from your plate. And yet each time you did look up at the Dane, who you had fantasised about earlier that day and had seen completely naked from a distance, you found his eyes were already fixated on you. And his eyes seemed darker than usual.

While you had dessert your husband tried to make some small talk with Eadith. Everyone saw right through him and knew he was trying to see if she was interested. And Eadith, the saint, played along to not make it more awkward than it already was. As she engaged in conversation with your husband, you and Sihtric kept glancing at each other and soon you felt his leather boot lightly tap your ankle under the table. Sihtric smiled faintly, barely noticeable, but you could tell the mischief in his eyes when you looked into them. You shifted in your chair, desperate to feel some friction between your legs, but nothing could give you a relief of the feeling Sihtric gave you, unless he shoved his hand between your thighs and inside you.

'I shall take the Lord to his room and clean his wounds,' Eadith announced after dinner.

You agreed and, once they had left the room, you helped the maid gather the dishes and cups from the table and brought them to the kitchen, where the maid would clean them. Sihtric helped you clear the table, handing you the used cutlery, and his fingers lightly caressed yours each time he handed you something. And he loved how you would try and hide your hungry eyes for him each time he touched you. You walked Sihtric to the front door afterwards, as he would need to scout the land once again before he could retreat to his cottage for the night, and you thanked him for watching over you and your husband as you hadn't thanked him before.

'Just my duty,' he smiled and leaned against the doorpost.

Sihtric then suddenly leaned in and brought his hand up to your neck. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt his warm hand on your skin, slowly moving up as he brought his face closer to yours. He took your chin gently and brushed his thumb over your lips, tracing in circles as he stared down into your eyes. He towered over you and smiled softly, his eyes were hooded and he then slowly wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue as he looked you up and down.

'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,' he whispered, 'it is a shame your husband keeps you inside. But,' he paused and chuckled, 'I understand it too.'

'How so?' you breathed, his voice causing a pool of heat to rise in your core.

'Because you have no idea how I wish to hump you, my lady,' Sihtric whispered, 'and I too would not want any other man to talk to my wife if I was married to you.'

'Would you also hide me?'

'No,' he smiled, 'no, the opposite,' he cupped your cheek and brought his face even closer to yours, his lips grazed yours when he spoke again, 'I would show you off. I would let everyone know that you're mine.'

You were both silent. In the distance some crickets sung their song while the moon lit up the fields around the house, and the candles inside illuminated your faces as you gazed at each other.

'I know you saw me earlier,' he continued, 'at the river.'

'I… I don't know what you're talking about,' you lied.

Sihtric chuckled and hummed softly, the sound made your knees tremble and caused you to feel lightheaded. You both anticipated each other's next move as no one spoke anymore, and then you both gave in at the same time. Without any hesitation your lips crashed together in a heated kiss. And this time you weren't just fantasising, you knew it was real because you could actually taste the ale on his lips that had been served during dinner. And you finally felt his hair as you raked your hands through it, it was soft and just long enough to grab onto. You felt the silver beads which were braided into his locks on both sides, and the parts that were shaved were pleasantly soft as his hair had begun to grow back slightly.

Sihtric deepened the kiss and picked you up in his arms, and he was as strong as you had imagined. He effortlessly held you as your legs were around his waist, and he carried you over to an oaken cabinet that stood in the hallway. He sat you on top of the cabinet, his lips still locked with yours and his tongue still in your mouth, and he cupped your cheeks firmly while he grinded his hips against yours. Your skirt was hiked up and his arousal pressed against your clit through his breeches, and you moaned into his mouth at the feeling. You both breathed hard and fast, equally desperately trying to stay quiet and to keep self control, knowing that your husband was only a few rooms away. You tugged at his leather armour, wanting to keep him as close as possible while he pulled at the laces of your dark blue dress. You wanted nothing more than to pull down his breeches and free his cock, take him in your mouth before you'd let him rut into you like a beast, but then you broke the kiss, and it took all your strength.

'I… I'm sorry,' you panted, 'I'm sorry,' you said again and gave him a slight push away from you. You got off the cabinet and strengthened your dress, then wiped your mouth, the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips. 'I'm married,' you almost whispered, 'I'm sorry, but I can't… I shouldn't… it's wrong.'

Sihtric listened as you rambled on and he tried to regain his composure. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat as he adjusted his armour, and then looked back at you again.

'I understand,' he said politely, 'I apologise if my behaviour was out of line. I did not mean to disrespect you or your husband. I am sorry, my lady.'

You silently stared into each other's eyes again for long, long seconds. The air was thick and it seemed as if the crickets outside had gone quiet in anticipation.

'You did not disrespect me,' you reassured him.

Sihtric gave you a curt nod in acceptance, then said, 'I should go, my lady, scout the lands once more before I shall retreat to my bed. I wish you a good night.'

'Wait,' you said as he turned on his heels, and you took his hand.

Sihtric turned back to face you as you held his hand, and you then pulled him back in. You took his face in your hands and you kissed him. You kissed him as if it was the last thing you'd ever do, and he did not hesitate to kiss you back. And he kissed you passionately and deep. He kissed you in a way your husband had never done. He kissed you in a way that told you he desired you, all of you. And then it was him who broke the kiss, as he knew he would not be able to stop himself once more if he continued now.

'In another life,' you whispered against his lips as you lightly traced the scar on his cheek with your thumb, 'in an unmarried life, I would be entirely yours, Sihtric.'

'What is holding you back in this life?' he asked, then gave you another firm kiss and, without waiting for your answer, he turned on his heels again and left out the door.

You took a deep breath and closed the door, then anxiously fidgeted with your wedding ring as you leaned back against the door. You tried to collect your thoughts but they were all over the place. And you were so caught up in your own head, that you never realised that Eadith had seen everything.

The next morning Eadith found you in the kitchen, just after you had seen Sihtric leave your husband's room. You had hid yourself when you saw Sihtric, with shaky knees and a dry mouth, and you cursed yourself for the effect the warrior had on you.

'Your husband asked for me to fetch you,' Eadith said, 'he wishes to speak with you.'

You thanked her and made way for your husband. Your heart was beating in your throat, because your husband never wished to just speak with you. You suddenly began to fear that Sihtric told him what had happened the night before, as he only left your husband's room minutes ago. And if he had told him, what would your husband do? You nervously entered his room and stood next to his bed.

'You wanted to speak to me?' you almost whispered.

You were afraid to speak up, as your voice would betray you nerves, and therefore you could betray yourself.

'Yes,' your husband said, his voice was feeble and he spoke slowly, 'that warrior, Sihtric… he asked me for permission to teach you how to fight. He said it would be good for your own protection in case the Danes will come. I stand no chance to defend this place,' he coughed and groaned in pain, then continued, 'so I agreed that it might be a good idea for you to learn some skills. I told him you will meet him at the stables in an hour.'

You were speechless and relieved, and before you could even reply your husband already dismissed you. You left his room and dressed in comfortable clothing, no linen dress today, but a leather jerkin that was suitable to learn how to fight in. You braid your hair and, when it was time, you made way to the stables. You found Sihtric as he saddled his horse and he smiled sweetly when he saw you.

'Good morning, my lady.'

'Good morning,' you smiled, nervously.

'You look beautiful,' he almost purred.

'Thank you,' you blushed, 'you look good today as well.'

Sihtric chuckled and then held his hand out, 'Are you ready?'

'I suppose I am.'

He helped you mount his horse and climbed in the saddle behind you, then spurred the beast into a gallop. Sihtric held the reins as his horse ran through the fields and crossed the river's bridge, all while you were kept in place between his strong arms. And you didn't speak until the horse slowed down when you were far from your home, with no one else around.

Sihtric dismounted and helped you safely back on your feet, his hands lingered on your waist and he then pulled you closer. Your hands settled on his chest, fingers curled around the neck of his leather armour and you pulled him towards you. The kiss was pleasant and familiar, and it was as good and passionate as it had been the night before. But the kiss was also calmer, as there was no worry now to get caught. You soon ran out of breath and the kiss became hotter and deeper. You impatiently tugged at each other's clothes, loosening the laces while you wished your tongues could tangle together into a tight knot, so you'd never have to leave each other again. You removed each other's clothing and Sihtric used his own clothes as an improvised blanket and laid you down upon it. The tall grass made for a shield wall around you, hiding you both, and the sound of the river close by covered the soft moans and ragged breaths that left both your lips. Trees sheltered you from the hot summer sun, but your bodies were damp and slippery and glistening with sweat regardless of the shade.

The Dane was tender with his hands but needy with his mouth, sucking and biting your lips in between kisses. He grinded his bare erection between your thighs, teasing your folds with just the tip of his cock without entering you. You clawed at his back, desperate to feel him inside you and you kissed until you became dizzy and overwhelmed with lust.

'I need you,' you breathed against his lips.

'Are you sure?' Sihtric asked out of breath, his sweaty forehead leaning against yours as he cupped your cheek, 'your husband-'

'Doesn't love me,' you said and silenced him with a kiss.

The kiss was heated and deep, almost aggressive. Your braided hair was dishevelled, as was his short hair after you repeatedly grabbed onto it and raked through it with your fingers. Your hands were on the back of his neck, keeping him close as your tongues explored each other with urgence. You slowly surrendered to Sihtric, knowing this was an act of adultery and if your husband would find out your life would be over. But you had to have Sihtric. You had to know what he felt like now that you already knew what he tasted like. You had fantasised about him all night and touched yourself at the idea of him. And you wanted more than just his kiss, you wanted all of him and to feel him everywhere. Now. The kiss gradually became less aggressive while his warm hands roamed your body, grazing your skin lightly and kneading your flesh firmly when he began to ache for you. You opened yourself fully for him, and your pulse quickened when you felt his tip enter you slowly, teasing you and coating it with your wetness. And a sharp gasp escaped your mouth when he finally pushed inside you, to the hilt, and you had never felt so full and complete before.

He thrusted into you slowly, then picked up his pace as his self control began to falter. You had only barely adjusted to him when he started to slam into you. Your lips weaved together in an attempt to silence your desperate whimpers and his heavy grunts as he rutted against you. Sihtric enveloped his hand under your knee and brought it up, your leg resting on his back, the new angle allowing him to bury his cock even deeper inside of you. You gasped and moaned with each trust, feeling his rough leather armour underneath you bruising your skin with each movement as he kept you firmly pressed down onto it. 

He continued to slide in and out of you frantically, and he grabbed your face to look into your eyes. His lips were parted and curled into a smile, his eyes glazed over while his Mjölnir pendant dangled around his neck above you. He traced your lips with his thumb and pushed his digit inside your mouth when you moaned for him. Your tongue swirled around his finger, causing him to growl in pleasure while his free hand squeezed your thigh. Sihtric buried his face in your neck and murmured praises against your skin when you clenched your walls around his twitching cock, feeling your climax approach. You grabbed his broad shoulders and arched your back at the feeling, and he was quick to wrap his arms around you and pulled you up to him. You rode him as he sat back on his heels, your sweaty faces leaned against each other as you moaned and sighed, and you rocked your hips until your legs started to tremble when you finally released with a loud moan. Sihtric moaned sweetly in your ear, and soon you felt his warmth erupt inside of you while his arms were tightly wrapped around you. You collapsed on him and he laid down on his back, keeping you close as you laid on top of him, both exhausted and satisfied. And he slowly raked his fingers through your messy hair while you both caught your breath, smiling… and in love.

'So,' you said once you were both dressed again, 'weren't you supposed to teach me how to fight?'

Sihtric chuckled as he held you in his arms, sitting back against one of the trees, and his lips grazed your ear when he spoke.

'I never planned on teaching you how to fight,' he confessed, 'I've been here for a little while now and there have been so signs of any serious threat. I just needed an excuse to get you out of the house with the permission of your husband.'

'Really?' you scoffed, then laughed and shook your head.

'Really,' Sihtric said softly and intertwined his fingers with yours as he held you, 'I just wanted to see you outside. You always smile when you're outside, you know?' he paused, 'but I never see you smile when you're inside the house. And I just wanted to see you smile.'

You sat in silence and your eyes teared up. Sihtric heard you sniffle and squeezed you in his arms while he remained silent for a moment.

'Why are you still with him if you are so unhappy and feel so unloved?' he asked carefully, 'why don't you leave him?'

'It's not that simple.'

'But it is.'

'It's not. I can't just leave him, because I have nowhere to go,' you whispered and wiped away a tear that rolled down your cheek, 'I have nothing, Sihtric. I owe everything I have to him. If I leave him I have no home and no money. I will have nothing. And you know a woman can't just leave her husband. It would be a disgrace.'

'You could come with me,' he whispered and kissed your ear, 'stay with me. I will take care of you. If you marry me you would be under Uhtred's protection too. You would be safe.'

'I can't,' you sniffled again, 'you know I can't marry you while I am still married to him.'

Sihtric sighed softly and held you tight, until the sun began to lower into the sky and it was time to return back home. You adjusted your clothes and hair once more in the stables back home and you kissed each other deeply one more time before you had to part ways. You slowly walked to your house while Sihtric took care of his horse, before he would retreat to the cottage he resided in. And you wouldn't see each other until the next day.

And because you hadn't seen him anymore, Sihtric was also unaware of what had happened during the night. Eadith told you that your husband had grown very sick when you and Sihtric were out. The summer warmth had gotten to him completely and she did not know how to help him anymore.

'This is beyond my knowledge,' Eadith told you, 'he needs to be brought to the city, where he can get better aid. I can take a horse and transport him in a carriage, but I must do it now.'

And so she left in the night with your husband, not knowing when she would return.

You had told Sihtric the news the next morning. And at first you had been a little distraught, but Sihtric soon made you forget about your disloyal and ill husband. While your husband was being treated somewhere else, you and Sihtric made love in the bed you used to sleep in with your husband before he got injured. And you made love in the kitchen, after the maid was sent home for a few days, and you made love in the living room, on the carpet, multiple times until you were both physically exhausted. You and Sihtric became more fond of each other as the hours passed, and you felt happy for the first time in many years. And you secretly wished that your husband would never return. But he did.

He returned three days later with Eadith, merely an hour after you and Sihtric had made love in the river behind your house while you were bathing together in the first rays of the morning sun. And your husband noticed something was different about you when he saw you again, after you and Sihtric had kissed goodbye in secret and both returned to your daily duties. Your husband looked awful, he looked so much older than a few days before, and he was thin with his skin wrinkled and pale, whereas you were glowing. You had a glow about you that you never had before, and he became suspicious.

He questioned what you had done when he had been away, and you lied and said you only rested and took a forbidden walk in the fields. Your husband was angry that you had left the house, but too weak to argue and whenever he spoke he coughed and groaned, until Eadith hurried in the room and brought him tea. Eadith then asked to have a word with you, and you both left the room.

'Your husband has made advances again, despite him being terribly ill,' she told you, 'I am not interested in an affair with him, but I just want to be honest with you and let you know he is not an honourable man. And I want you to be honest with yourself too,' she suddenly said.

'What do you mean?' you asked, 'I know my husband is not a loyal one, I never lied to myself about that-'

'No,' Eadith interrupted you and took your hands, 'I have seen you,' she whispered, 'with Sihtric. I saw you kiss that night after we all had dinner. But I promise I never said a word to your husband,' she added quickly, 'but you need to stop lying to yourself. Your husband is a piece of weaselshit and he does not deserve you. And look how you are glowing right now, after being away from that miserable man for just a few days. He is old and in pain, he struggles. This man will never make you happy as he is not happy himself. You deserve a man who can satisfy you and protect you. Do not live an unhappy life here, but chase a happy life with the warrior. Because I know you are in love with each other.'

'But I… I can't leave him,' you stammered, 'he will never let me divorce him. And even if he would agree, I will have nothing to my name.'

Eadith gave you a saddened but compassionate look, she told you once again you should pursue a life with Sihtric, but she understood you were torn and it was not an easy choice. When your husband coughed violently again from his room, Eadith said she would make him some more tea and told you to visit the Dane, while she would keep your husband's attention away from you and look after him.

You visited Sihtric in his cottage and told him about your husband's condition and the advances he had made to Eadith despite his illness. Sihtric was furious that you allowed your husband to treat you with this disrespect, and he did not understand why you did not leave him. You argued, respectfully and calmly, and told him once again things are not that simple. You were scared, you could barely remember your life before marriage, you only knew that before your husband you had nothing. And you knew that after leaving your husband you would once again have nothing, if a divorce would even be allowed. 

Sihtric kept reminding you that he would take care of you, and the arguing was eventually silenced with a heated kiss. Sihtric had grabbed your face and kissed you aggressively. You had torn off his leather jerkin and pulled down your dress. And not much later you were laying down on the soft furs on his bed, while candles illuminated the cottage and your ragged breaths filled the already thick air. And you made love, emotional and hard love, like beasts. Sihtric covered your mouth with his hand, silencing your moans while he took you from behind, and after you had both finished you cried in his arms until you fell asleep.

Your husband's condition worsened as the days passed by. He did not improve despite the summer heat finally cooling down as autumn was near. He grew weaker and paler with each day, and you did not understand what was happening. You thought he would heal after his treatment in the city, but ever since he returned home his health declined rapidly. You asked Eadith about it, and she finally revealed something shocking to you. You did not know what to do with this information, and so you ran to Sihtric, who was feeding his horse after he had scouted the lands again.

'Did you tell her to stop?' Sihtric asked after he had a moment to process the news.

You didn't answer his question. 'She has been poisoning him,' you repeated yourself, 'ever since they returned from the city. She told me, Sihtric, she told me she has been putting poisonous herbs in his tea.'

'But did you tell her to stop?' he asked again.

You remained silent, and Sihtric dropped the bucket he was feeding his horse from.

'Look,' he said and wiped his hands on his clothes, then raked one hand through his dusty hair, 'I have to leave here soon.'

'What?' you gasped, 'w-what do you mean?'

He took your hand and walked you to his cottage. You followed him inside and sat down on a wooden stool next to him, and he held your hands carefully. He lightly stroked his thumbs over the back of your hands, then looked at you.

'Skade is dead.'

'What? The… the witch?'

'She is dead,' Sihtric said softly, 'she has been dead for a few days already. Uhtred killed her. I just,' he paused, 'I did not want to leave you yet, so I didn't say anything. But there is no more threat to your life, nor that of your husband's. Unless you count Eadith's attempt to kill him,' he chuckled and composed himself quickly when he saw your disapproving look, 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled.

'But… so… you will leave?'

'Yes, my lady,' his voice was pained.

'When?'

'Soon, but,' he cleared his throat and sighed, 'I will not leave here without you.'

'Sihtric…'

'I won't leave without you,' he said sternly, 'you hear me? I want to leave with you as my wife.'

'But I'm still married,' you whispered and pulled your hands away.

You got up and reached for the door, wanting to leave as you did not have the emotional strength to argue about this again. But Sihtric stepped in and grabbed your arm, he pulled you towards him and then backed you up against the cottage's wooden door.

'Do you love him? Be honest.'

His eyes were soft yet threatening as he towered over you.

'No,' you said after a silence.

'Do you care for him?'

'No. Not anymore.'

'Would you mourn him?'

'Sihtric,' you scoffed, 'you can't ask me-'

'Would you mourn him?' he asked again, his breath hot on your lips and his hand trailing up your thigh, 'be honest with me.'

'... No.'

'Then be my wife,' he breathed and kissed under your ear, his hands squeezing your waist, 'then let Eadith take his life slowly and let me take you as my wife once he is dead,' he whispered in your ear, then gently bit your earlobe and dragged his lips up to yours. 

He captured you in a passionate kiss and the sexual tension soon sparked again. You moaned against each other's lips, but he stopped you when you began to tug the laces of his leather jerkin.

'I want you more than anything,' Sihtric whispered against your lips, 'but I need to know you will be mine when this is over.'

'I will be,' you whispered and kissed him, 'I promise. I… I love you.'

'I love you too.'

Three days later.

It was a sunny afternoon, a late and hot summer day. Sihtric wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, collecting the drops of sweat before they'd run down his face. You had travelled off the lands your husband owned, and crossed the river to an empty and neglected field. Sihtric threw the shovel out of the hole he had dug and then climbed out. His arms, face, hair and his clothes were covered with layers of dry sand. You and Eadith watched in silence how Sihtric carried your husband's body, wrapped in sheets, to his final resting place.

You had never stopped Eadith and your husband had died earlier that day. Eadith knew this would be your only way out of the marriage without losing everything, and she also knew this was your husband's only way out of his painful and worthless life. You had shed a tear, but you weren't sure if it was of sadness or relief. Sihtric stood back, his hammer pendant clutched in his fist as he watched you say your final goodbye and throw a small bouquet of hand picked flowers into the hole. Eadith stood next to you and held your hand, but she knew that you were not sad. After a moment of silence you looked back over your shoulder to Sihtric, and you signalled him to close the grave. He spoke with Eadith before he shovelled the sand back, and you watched her depart on horseback to inform Uhtred of what had happened. And once the ground was even again and a wooden cross marked the grave, you and Sihtric mounted the same horse and rode back in silence, his arm wrapped around you and his chin resting on your shoulder.

Sihtric stopped by the river, wanting to bathe and rinse himself off the sand that had stuck to his sweaty skin. You watched him undress and he soon asked you to join him, which you did. You rid yourself of your black linen dress and stepped into the water. Sihtric took your hand and pulled you with him, further into the water where you both dunked under completely and kissed in the silence of the river underneath the surface.

You were finally free. Free if your miserable marriage and free to marry Sihtric. Your name was never disgraced or brought to shame, and you owned everything your husband had owned prior to his death, as he left everything to his wife. You knew Sihtric was a warrior and that he often had to travel, but you were now free to travel with him when possible and if it was safe. And you also knew it was good for Sihtric to have a place he could always come home to and spend time at when there were no battles to fight or messages to be sent. 

And you married him several weeks later, and a happy and passionate marriage it would be, unlike the one you had been trapped in for so long.

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @succnfuccubus @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @diiickbrainn @sihtricsafin @lexwolfhale @dixie-elocin @m-a-s-h-k-a

[pinknipszz]

adagio for strings 1/4

↷ ˊ- true form!ryomen sukuna/f!reader | next >

"you know where to find me, and i know where to look."

(a/n: gift for my baby @mania-sama)

sellers of the market shout at you for standing idly on the edge of the street, their sun-kissed faces pulled taut from age and ire. they have been keeping a keen eye on you, muttering to themselves over what trouble the illegitimate daughter of a whore and a local businessman would stir. but you, so bony and brittle, find their fears irrational. how could you possibly be capable of anything else, other than swatting away the mosquitoes that threaten to drink all that you had left?

you thought that the day was too pleasant to waste away, so you had crawled out of the woven walls that keep you cool from the summer haze. it is more like a pile of scraps than a house, but it feels like home. it doesn’t look down on you with hate and pity and everything in between. when nights grow too cold, you pull the walls closer and hug your body. when the sun smiles at you relentlessly, as if it was laughing at your predicament, you push back further into the shade.

home is the only thing you could control, and for that, it is your prized possession. your stomach twists into tight knots at the idea of leaving, but you want to stretch your legs. the calluses on your feet are softening. if you don’t get up and move now, your feet won’t be ready for a sprint down the gravel streets if a mob finally decides to chase you out. so you visit the market, silently greeting their looks of apprehension like an old friend. 

you grip the hatchet that you stole, remembering how the old farmer had chased after you, throwing rocks and curses laced with venom, when he realized that the village vagrant had snatched his favorite tool. that was many years ago. you don’t know how he’s doing now. maybe he found a better one, something sharper to hack bamboo stalks with, and has long forgotten about you. or maybe he hammered a headsman’s block near his front porch, where he sits sharpening his sword, waiting for you to come back. 

mindlessly tracing the grooves in the weathered wood, you limp from stall to stall. the closest seller eyes you warily. her gaze flits between your haggard appearance and the dull weapon at your side, her lips tight and nose turned upwards, most likely upset over your proximity to her precious baskets of fresh pomelos and persimmons. it leaves a bad impression on her more than you. she is an esteemed seller with the finest fruits, and you are people repellent. bad for business.

she watches you with ferocious intensity, half-expecting you to reach for a fruit to quell the gnawing hunger in your gut. she knows how you feel. she could see it in your eyes, in the bones that peek under the dirty robes that you stole from a dead man you had found on the side of the road. she knows about your hunger, but she doesn’t offer a single fruit, even when she has baskets upon baskets to spare, like you are nothing more than a thief or a pauper. if selfishness was a monster, you wondered if it would look like her.

but miraculously, she doesn’t say anything. the feeling never gets old. you don’t know if it is the dull hatchet or the rest of your unsightly figure that frightens her just enough, but it leaves you with sick gratitude for whatever gods are up there. if you could only have a handful of good things in this lifetime, let this moment be one of them. you flee deeper into the market before the seller could reach for something to hit you with.

it is busier than usual today, you realize, limping past a group of giggling kids drawing figures in the dirt. the shouts are louder here. those wise enough to not waste their attention on you continue their hollering, eager to reel in unsuspecting customers with a net spun from deceptive words. you don’t know a lick of business. what it meant or how it worked. based on what you’ve seen, however, is that the loudest caught the most fish. you don’t think twice about the quiet sellers you had seen during your last visit that are no longer here. 

sometimes you think it is just the laws of nature. the strongest survive and forget the weak, who are branded for death the second they leave the womb. it’s a promising thought. the sellers who had been too meek to adapt with their competition had been overturned by the changing tides of an uncertain economy. they were weak, unfit to survive. you don’t know if your assumption is correct, but you find that things in nature can easily be applied in real life. you scratch the itch under your jaw.

further along the path, you see a stranger standing by a stall that sold fowl meat. the stark white of their hair, reminiscent of winter nights, ceases your limping. their robes are clean, and they wear socks with sandals. they aren’t local. you have never seen something so close to snow standing in the heat of summer. briefly, you wonder if thirst and hunger finally caught up with you, until the stranger turns. their muddy eyes rake over your form, picking apart your robes and hatchet and matted hair. they hold a small bag of pomelos.

quite a sight for sore eyes, you think bitterly. while they don’t entirely look like a pompous bastard, anyone with clean clothes and warm food in their belly is sure to look down on you in one way or another. so you continue to watch the interaction in silence, even when the stranger looks away in favor of the butcher, handing him a heavy satchel of gems you never knew existed. then they leave, with a bag of raw meat, for the other side of the market, the opposite of where you are standing. 

you pull yourself to where they stood, dropping your hatchet to hold out your hands. you wait expectantly for your fill. “the hell d’you think yer’ looking at,” the butcher spits, eyes narrowing at you. fury rolls off of him in waves at your audacity. “got a lot of nerve to show up here.” you don’t know why he’s so upset. well, everyone is upset with you, but you don’t know what unsettles him today. perhaps the white-haired stranger was someone important, and you shouldn’t be standing in the footprints they left in the dirt.

“trimmings,” you rasp, your voice curling around each syllable harshly. it is the first word you utter in weeks. it is also the only word you said during your last visit, and the one before that. seriously, you would think that the butcher had it down to routine by now. he scoffs but reaches for the bloodied basket anyway, throwing it in your chest. your weak arms catch it quickly before you peer inside. it is mostly fat, but food is food. you can’t wait to savor it back home. 

“t’s the last time yer’ getting anything from me,” the butcher breathes and leans in to jab a roughened finger into your shoulder. “better get out of here before i hang you on a jointed hook.” the cruel threat falls on deaf ears. you know the butcher wouldn’t do that. not because he is kind, no. far from it. your dead body simply has nothing to offer. there’s no way to make money off of you, unless someone decides to throw your bones to a dog. nonetheless, you retrieve your hatchet and scurry off without saying a thank-you or a goodbye. 

there’s no point in wasting a breath on a man who looks at you with equal hatred. with one arm, you hold the bucket close to your chest protectively, while your other hand holds the hatchet. you follow the path from whence you came. the dirty robes cling to your skin uncomfortably, and your raw feet ache, but you can’t afford to let your guard down, not when you finally have proper food again. the sun dips into the horizon, and sellers are dismantling their stalls. soon, they will reach home, and so will you.

the hatchet continues to work its miracles, warding off evil like a talisman. however, you know deep down that you shouldn’t overdo it. it won't be long until someone calls you out on your bluff. when they realize that you can’t even lift it past your waist, they’ll come rushing towards you with bags over their heads and poison on their pitchforks. you let your mind wander. perhaps you could pay another visit to the butcher and weasel through a hole in his house, tiptoeing around for his favorite cleaver. you quite like the thought.

you hardly hear passing gossip over the pulse in your ears. however, one frantic conversation bleeds through your excitement. you pay no mind to it at first, thinking you are the subject that leaves them so tense, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but the words “white” and “monk” and “curse” stop you in your tracks. you nearly forgot about the uncanny stranger who stood out like a sore thumb, much like you for reasons entirely different.

the hairs behind your neck stand pin-straight, and you tilt your head towards them. it is two ladies who frequent the market often, you realize. their houmongi kimonos juxtapose with the plain wear of village folk. their wealth couldn’t be any more obvious. kamo. the name tastes like metal in your mouth. great. more pompous bastards. you want to resume the walk home, but something in you feels inclined to listen, to eavesdrop on what leaves their pretty little heads spinning.

so you listen and you eavesdrop, keeping yourself a safe distance away to ensure they don’t see you. 

“this is the third time this week,” one who wears a sparkling pin says first. she leans closer to her friend’s side. “you know about the rumors. nothing good comes out of seeing him.” him. for a moment, you think that she’s referring to the white-haired stranger, until you hear what she says next. “the monk-child is just a bad omen. it’s the cursed object we have to worry about.” it comes out of her mouth like a slur. you think it’s a euphemism for something else.

but you don’t have time to dwell. you must return home, so you do.

you like to think that things would have turned out differently if you had stayed at the market a little longer. maybe then, you would have heard them talk more about the supposed monster among men, and how the villagers suspect you having something to do with it. how your sudden appearance somehow aligned with the monk-child, another bad omen second only to you. you would have heard them chortle over the troops they had sent to your home while you had been away. 

maybe then, you would have lifted your hatchet over your waist for the first time in your life, and hack down on their shoulders, through the thick material of their beautiful kimonos, and into unmarred flesh. but no amount of dreaming could save you from the anguish, as the grip around your bucket and hatchet slacken. they fall to the ground, and the fatty meat spills all over. your finger twitches, as well as the edge of your lips, the corner of your eyes, and the base of your spine. the sun is long gone, replaced by moonlight. 

you find it sick how you wouldn't have known who destroyed your humble home if it weren't for the insignia left behind. you recognize the colors. kamo. kamo. kamo. the torn fabric lies above the ashes and taunts you.

your legs give up under you, and you fall to your knees. the sound that leaves you is nothing short of primal. animalistic. closer to grief more than anything, when you grab handfuls of dirt and ash and squeeze hard. you think about the village. about the stranger you are wrongly accused of associating with. about the butcher and the kamo women. the butcher. you wouldn’t be surprised if he had been the one to ask for military intervention, like the goddamn coward he is. you claw at the ground until your nails bleed.

you are too angry to weep. you don’t care about the blood collecting at your knees, seeping into the robes that you had stolen, or around the precious hatchet. is this penance? your soiled hands find purchase in your hair, and they tug at the roots. how could the gods be so cruel? it still smells like smoke. the residual warmth taunts you, as if reminding you what a real fire is like. nothing that a couple of makeshift walls of a home could emulate. you shakily reach for the wooden handle.

you push yourself up, ignoring the protests of your aching body, and bite the inside of your cheek. you are staring hard at the remains when you feel a heavy weight bump into your foot. with the last bits of your patience, you look down. a pomelo. it sways side-to-side before coming to a complete stop, as if someone rolled it towards you. someone did. when you look back up, you find the same muddy eyes that studied you at the market. 

they didn’t say a word then, and they don’t now. they simply watch, hidden between trees in the distance. you reach down for the ripe pomelo and tear it open. when you bite, you realize you don’t like pomelos, but you finish anyways. you're still starving. you throw the tart flesh into the ashes with no intention of returning, before tightening your grip on the hatchet and turning towards the village. you miss the ghost of a smile on the stranger’s face.

“are you pleased with her actions?” they ask the darkness beside them. their words are met with silence.

(masterlist) | listen to adagio for strings!

[faeriichaii]

hiii! Since your requests are open, could I ask for a Legolas × avari!reader (it's a type of elf in Tolkien lore)? I just have in my mind a repeat scene where Legolas invites Gimli and his partner to Mirkwood and Thranduil having a mini heart attack like "One of my only son's best friends is a dwarf and his betrothed is an avari".

But later on he ends up liking them :)

Blessing ~ Legolas x Avari!Reader

A/N: Hi :) omg I love it!! I struggled like a lot and idk why haha because like I kinda was lacking in a bit of knowledge idk idk but I still hope I nailed the avari part?? But yeah I hope you enjoy the story <33

Avari: a branch of elven race, who never journeyd to Aman and instead stayed in Middle-Earth

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: fluff, Thranduil being a bit cold at the beginning :( ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 1.3k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes (thank you <33) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ

Summary: The journey of the fellowship ended a long time ago and suddenly you receive the invitation of the prince to join him in Mirkwood, meeting his father. But how will Thranduil react to seeing his sons best friend being a dwarf and his betrothed being an Avari?

A smile graced your lips, as you saw Legolas standing beside his father. Both of them waiting for you and Gimlis arrival. You had received a letter a few weeks ago. The letter was written by Legolas, who invited you, as well as the dwarf, to meet up in Mirkwood. You remember that the three of you constantly joked and laughed about your different hometowns. Gimli, for example, always bragged about his home and the customs. You always expected to first travel there instead of Mirkwood. You especially remember that one time while you guys were eating the food prepared by one of the hobbits. The orange hue of the fire dancing away, as the laughter of the group filled the place.

“And I definitely would like to challenge the elvling to a little duel.” Gimli said, as he finished his dinner. You raised an eyebrow while looking at Legolas, who sat beside you. “Which one of us do you mean exactly?” You asked the dwarf. “How about the both of you against me? You won’t even stand a chance, so you might as well team up!” “A little bit confident don’t you think?” The elven prince set the arrow down, that he just finished. “I remember getting around ten more kills than you.” A smirk plastered his face, enraging the dwarf. “You did NOT have ten more kills than me!” Laughing slightly at their little antics, you smiled at them.

“Well, what kind of challenge would await us, if we would visit your hometown?”  You asked him, also preparing new arrows for your bow. “It’s called the rite of sigin-tarâg. We will use hammers to smash up stones and the first one to lose normally gets banished from all dwarven realms. But we will just do the challenge.” “So you want to test our strength against yours?” The elven prince asks, as he hands you a finished arrow to put away with your own. A small smile formed on your lips at his sweet gesture. “This won’t even be a test, because I already know the results. I will beat the both of ya.”

“Whatever you say Gimli.” He began to grumble at you while searching for his axe, in order to sharpen it a little more. “I think you should visit me at Mirkwood after the journey ends.” Legolas suddenly said. You halted your movements. Visit him in Mirkwood? You bit the inside of your cheek, as you thought about visiting Legolas at some point in your life. You have to visit him. The both of you are courting, so of course you have to. But what would his father think if he suddenly introduces him to you? You were an elf yes, but you were an Avari. It was known, that most elves do not like your kind. Avari doesn’t mean ‘The Unwilling’ without reason. “Meleth Nin, are you alright?” The prince carefully asks you, laying a hand on your thigh. “Yes, I am alright. I think visiting sounds like a splendid idea. But only if Gimli is also joining us.” You say, while taking his hand on your thigh into your own, intertwining your fingers. If you had to face his father for the first time, then at least you would drag the dwarf into it as well. A laugh escaped his lips. “Oh, my father will be so excited to meet the both of you.”   

And now you and Gimli were standing in front of the king of Mirkwood, while Legolas stood beside him. His eyebrow was raised, as he scanned Gimli from head to toe. “So, this is your… friend?” The dwarf let out a grunt, followed by a few grumbles at the attitude received right after his arrival. “Yes, I have told you quite a few stories about Gimli.” Thranduils eyes moved from the dwarf to you. You did a quick curtsy as a polite introduction followed suit. “My king, it is wonderful to finally make your acquaintance.” “So, you are the betrothed my son has mentioned?” His tone was slightly cold, which in result made you worry a tide bit. You didn’t wish for him to already dislike you. Especially if you haven’t given him a reason to do so. “Yes, yes I am. Which is why I am very grateful to be able to visit Mirkwood for a few days. And of course, to meet you, my king.” A small smile graced your lips, as you tried your best to get on Thranduils good side. He nodded gently at your words, before turning around and leading you through the castle grounds. Legolas walked beside you, gently taking your hand in his. “How are you doing Meleth Nin?” He whispered into your ear. A sigh left your lips, as you squeezed his hand. “I am alright. I just worry that your father might not give us his blessing. That he might already dislike me for who I am.”

Your gaze wandered to the floor. Suddenly Legolas stopped walking, making you halt in your steps. He took your face in his hands. The warmth of his palms made your face heat up, making you feel safe and sound. “Meleth Nin, I love you through middle earth and back. I only wish to spend my lifetime with you by my side. It doesn’t matter if he gives us his blessing, because nothing could ever prevent me from being with you. A soft blush dusted your cheeks. Your heart beating a little bit faster at the sweet words he just whispered. “I love you too Meleth Nin.” You whispered, before giving him a quick kiss on the lips. Taking his hands from your face, you intertwined your fingers with his once more.

The day passed rather quickly with the three of you being together once more. Even the king seemed to slowly warm up to the both of you, his welcoming scowl long gone. “I did not expect you to be so well read, dwarf.” “Don’t underestimate me too much.” Gimli said, as he laughed heartedly, the chalice filled with the elven wine in his hand swaying from side to side. You could already tell that the dwarf began to get tipsy from the alcoholic beverage. A small smile graced your lips at the scene in front of you, the light atmosphere making you feel more relaxed than at the beginning.

“I also must admit, that I am very impressed by your knowledge (Y/N). I did not expect an Avari to know so much about the elven history.” “Thank you for the praise my king. But it is only natural for me to know about the elven history. It is after all a very important subject and part of my culture.” The king took a sip from his golden rimmed chalice, before continuing his chat with you. “I do have to confess one more thing. That upon first hearing about you and my son’s courtship I saw it as… ill-starred. A misfortune bound to happen. I did not want to accept that he was willing to court an Avari out of all elves who roam the realm.” Legolas immediately grasped your hand, giving you a sense of security. You took a shaky breath as you looked at the king. “But now, after seeing you with him and the tender care and love you both share, I deem it cruel to rip the both of you apart. I also seem to start to grow fond of you, as well as his little friend.”

A bright smile adored your lips at the kings’ words. Squeezing Legolas’ hand, the both of you shared a look. “Thank you, my king. Your words mean the world to me.” You watched as a gentle smiled graced his lips, before they were covered by his chalice once more. “See, I told you my father would start to warm up to you. He might seem cold at the beginning but he still has a heart deep within.” The prince whispered to you, before giving you a soft kiss on your cheek. Warmth filled your heart, as all your worries disappeared into thin air. You got the blessing of the King of Mirkwood.