Marischka
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Sizing people up is how he survives. To see who flinches, who folds first. Chin tipped up so his eyes aren’t level with yours, so you’re forced to look up at him while he peers down over the bridge of his nose.
You hold his gaze.
Longer than most people would dare, you can tell. It’s the faint twitch of irritation in his eyes that gives him away. All that swagger, all that posturing—nothing but a kid playing dress-up. A puppy barking at its own shadow.
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You mistake the deputy sheriff of this backwater county for a stripper. Cue the most disastrous meet-
cuteever.Bookmarked by Marischka
18 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“Ohh my god,” you gasp, stumbling toward him. “And he’s hot too.”
“Woah, what the—”
Too late.
You loop the bachelorette sash around his shoulders like a lasso and give it a sharp, sloppy tug, practically launching yourself forward. He grunts as he catches your weight, hands coming up instinctively around your waist. Your palms slide over the slope of his pecs, his shoulders, down his arms, gripping wherever you can reach with zero shame and even less coordination.
Half the party goes dead silent because the locals know exactly who this man is. The other half loses their minds, screaming encouragement like it’s a private show.
For a split second, he looks genuinely stunned.
He's got these big, adorable round eyes the color of dark whiskey, brown with a hazel glint, catching warm gold under the bar lights. They’ve gone wide with shock, his plush, baby-pink lips parted in disbelief.
You take full advantage of his disarmed state, crowding him back against the bar, sliding a hand into his slicked-back hair, fingers curling tight at the nape of his neck.
You manage to get in one good, solid tug before the world flips.
"Oof—!"
You’re spun around so fast your heels skid. Your chest bumps the bar as he bends you over, one broad hand pressed between your shoulder blades. The other pins your wrist to the small of your back in a clean, textbook hold.
The bar erupts into noise, one half clamoring in disbelief, the other whooping and hollering because the show just got a whole lot better.
“Ma’am,” he murmurs, low and close to your ear, voice smooth as sin, “’fraid I’m gonna have to arrest you for that.”
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Sif rests a night in Markarth and finds some very welcome company.
Bookmarked by Marischka
16 Jun 2026
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In death's other kingdom by lanyon for apiphile
Fandoms: Greek and Roman Mythology, Norse Mythology
08 Sep 2014
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One god's apocalypse is another god's whimper. (In which Ragnarök gives Zeus a mild headache.)
Bookmarked by Marischka
16 Jun 2026
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She should have known nothing good would come of all this. This is just what happens when you scheme with the guy who suspiciously slipped you a note during a murder, not minutes after you enter the gates. In the most suspicious hold in Skyrim. In the middle of the night.
Nim looked around at the few prisoners in the large main room as they stared at her. The one by the fire seemed unimpressed, and she’s pretty sure the orc over on the side actually snickered.
Wonderful
Bookmarked by Marischka
14 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“Borkul the Beast?”
"Madanach's guard. Big, even for an Orc. Heard he ripped a man's arm off and beat him to death with it. He's old-fashioned like that."
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No one escapes Cidhna Mine by Theo_Lannister
Fandoms: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls
03 Dec 2020
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The prisoner apeared to be a Nord. A rather tall Nord, with red-brown hair, shoulders that would make an ox envious, and yellow eyes that pierced the soul. But the most terrifying thing about him was his smile.
Bookmarked by Marischka
14 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
"I just wanted to write something that reminds people how scary the Dragonborn actually can be."
It worked.