#honortodth

the moon is full, the wind is sweet and salted, and the city is alive, and still the air between them is quiet. an amicable, gentle silence, but silence nonetheless. zhenya reclines against the rough trunk of a nearby thick-barked tree and sets her eyes upon feanor. like many of the other gravetenders she's met in her travels, he's quiet; reflective. rumor had it the cleric had taken a vow of silence for a year; she isn't sure if this is true, but looking at him now, she believes it.

her breath rattled in her chest. her arms were cold, her palms somehow wet and warm and icy all at once, like her skin had decided, suddenly, to reject her. to become unrecognizable. the spill of blood from her side pooled beneath her side, vision blurring black as she felt feanor's arms around her, his palm to the gaping wound cleaving her torso open. she tried to smile, but the taste of copper in her mouth was especially poignant between her teeth; she had the sneaking suspicion blood spilled down her chin.

“ of course, ” she continues, thoughts spilling out, “ i doubt taking on an entire encampment will be as simple as fighting a wayward splinter of the group. it'd be easier if i could just. . . ” she motions with her hands – a mock explosion, something that would involve too much noise and too much fire.

“ is now a good time to mention that i’m not good at lying ? ”

@honortodth : what if they kissed !! / accepting

" feanoooor , " sings she , & her voice is like milk & honey ⏤ smooth , thick , & warm. ah , but it is sweet music , which cuts so clearly through the din of the party , & so fittingly draws attention to her entrance ! introducing , the inimitable aneska , who glides so easily through the crowd , appearing at once both completely at ease & entirely roused ! there is no doubt about it , she thrives here. of course she does. her childhood was an unending series of galas & balls : & it shows , in the practiced sway of her hips , & the warm , flirtatious smile with which she greets each & every attendee whom she happens to walk by. it's an impressive display of her pedigree , really.

but of course , here , now , things are ... a bit different. yes , those sharpened debonair instincts of hers have her fluttering about , smiling & batting her eyelashes at any guests that might need a bit more stirring. but tonight ? she intends to use them for more selfish purposes than that. yes , tonight she has her sights set on a certain someone ... a new fascination of hers , a man of the elven variety. " tut , tut ! are you hiding away , dragul meu ? don't you know the host is meant to mingle ? " but she's smiling , grinning , unabashedly amused , pearly fangs flashed with reckless abandon.

" well , it's alright. i brought you some wine ⏤ & some company. " & in one fluid movement , she props herself up on her toes , offers feanor a chaste kiss to each cheek , & easily slides a spare glass into his hand. she is suave , energetic , if not a bit overbearing. but above all else , she is radiant , in a way she is not so typically. & so it is with a giggle & a twirl of her hair 'round her finger that she addresses him next. " i mean , it'd be a terrible shame , if i left you here alone , wouldn't it ? shouldn't our hero , our knight in shining armour , be utterly drowning in gifts & praise by now ? i mean , i know you're a humble guy , but seriously ... i think you're deserving of a bit more ... how do you say ? positive attention ? "

sexual headcanons ! @honortodth

[ horny ] ― how high is their sex drive? do they have a lot of sex or is it a more occasional thing? is sex, in general, important to them?

his sex drive is relatively high and fairly healthy. he likes sex. his mood and situation absolutely affect it, but overall, he sees it as a good release and distraction and something that allows him to turn his mind off for a little while.

when in a position to do so, he'll have it as often as he feels like it, mostly casually. he's certainly not above going looking for it in taverns, etc, and just seeing where the evening goes.

in a relationship, it's fairly important. he's not pushy, and certainly will not press the issue if his partner doesn't want to, but he's a very affectionate and physical person, and an active sex life in general is fairly important.

zhenya's breath is held, though at the moment, she seems unconscious of the fact. she watches him as he kneels before her, runs the weight of her gaze over feanor's blackened temple, the set of his brow, the captivating blue of his eyes. handsome is a small word for what he is. attraction and love such simple, small words for what she feels for him, which is ancient and deep; primordial as the earth beneath their feet and the ether in the air.

zhenya's breath is held, and it stays that way until the moment she feels her chest is about to burst, and it comes rushing out in one exhale. ❝ you have said that, once or twice, ❞ she points out, understandably breathless, voice dry because she could be misreading this. there are many reasons a man would get on his knees for her. many more for feanor, whose lips have worshipped at the altar of her hips many nights over. ❝ ...but you are saying it again now. ❞ zhenya touches his face, a ghost-like graze.

❝ what are you saying, feanor? speak plainly, or not at all. ❞ her heart thuds hard, pulse quickening. ❝ tell me... why are you on your knees? ❞

her fingers rake through feanor's hair lazily, zhenya's voice a considering hum at the back of her throat. by now, no pretense is made to avoid sleeping in one another's tent. the others know how tightly entwined the two are –– they'd have better luck untangling the strings of fate themselves.

a small cut out at the top of her tent allows an unhindered view of the stars above. she watches them for a moment before glancing down at feanor, whose head is settled upon her bare stomach, his face turned in against her ribs. zhenya wonders if the fur along her navel bothers feanor... if it does, he's never said so.

❝ but if you fall asleep, who will I talk to then? ❞ she mutters with a grin, always so tongue-in-cheek. her fingernails drag along the back of his neck, tracing the impressions her teeth made in his shoulder when they'd fucked earlier in the woods. right before making love again, right here in her tent. hells, her back still bears the bruises from the bark. ❝ but, if you insist... I could tell you a story. one I grew up hearing told in the forests where I was raised. though... it's not without its fair share of blood, ❞ zhenya warns.

" perhaps i'll return the favor at some point. " @honortodth ⇢ bg3 sentences

The  evening  wanes,  and  the  camp  has  started  circling  'round  to  retire  for  the  night.  They’ve  luckily  found  a  little  sheltered  place,  and  in  good  time;  a  light  rain  is  falling  outside,  but  it’s  dry  and  warm  in  here.  And  he’s  no  healer,  no  caster  —  or,  at  least,  that’s  an  argument  he’s  adamant  on  making  — but  he’s  been  lending  a  hand  on  healing  in  the  evening  when  it’s  needed,  and  tonight  was  the  cleric’s  turn  to  deal  with  his  gruff  bedside  manner.

There’s  no  real  reluctance  in  his  bearing  to  help,  to  fight,  to  put  one  foot  in  front  of  the  other  — but  there’s  reservation,  and  maybe  an  exhaustion  that’s  far  older  than  just  the  last  few  weeks  have  caused.  A  keen  blue  eye  slips  sideways,  regarding  the  other;  that  regard  lingers  for  a  heartbeat,  and  then  it  breaks  with  an  exhale  as  he  braces  a  hand  on  his  knee  to  lever  to  stand.