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reddragon-cowboy · 1 year

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Earth Girl: an individual who deeply cares about the welfare and sustainability of the Earth.

Notes: A small poetic summary about Niah's life story on Mars, and snippets of her entanglement with Spike that features his own sentiments towards her.

.Niah’s most obvious quality would be her tendency to maintain a cordial, thoughtful demeanor when she interacts with others, whether their strangers or ones special enough to be called friends. But despite this, she’s also fairly reserved, quiet, and observant of people in general that some might misinterpret such traits as being standoffish, but it doesn’t quite dissuade her from offering them a small warm smile.

.A resident born on old earth at a different era, all she’s ever known was giving and showing love generously, for her heart brims with streams of life that it feels too full to just hold it all in, but the worlds hostile features repeatedly threaten to encapsulate her essence in a jar that would withhold all that she is.

.sometimes, she barely accepts her reality, rather thinking of it as a dream. What if she was still asleep in the freezer? Playing things inside her head, or what if she wakes up back at home in her bed? Underneath starry skies. sleepy eyes. That’s how her dreams at night appear, but she’s always preferred dreams to escape reality, likes to imagine the prospect of someone who could ( just ) only sincerely understand and cradle the weight of her heart in their lovingly hand.

.She does find some pleasure surrounded by nature, such as gardening and feeding the local birds, many of the things she used to do in the past before being reawakened. And poetry became her closest friend, giving her a voice on sheets of paper where she scribble down her deepest thoughts, desires heartfelt as they came into existence by mere scribbles of lead, fingertips often tainted by kisses of black ink, even smeared in watery tears that drip off the canopy of moist cheeks.

.in silence he sees her dabbling in ink, traces of it ensnared under her fingernails, and one time believed the filth that clings to him would also defile her light. Yet, it reminds him of the way those same fingers managed to taint his heart with touches of love, where the softest of roses began to bud - long ago, had taken root by seeds she planted unknown and watered with tears up above. But the warmth that her smile radiates simmers in pensive sadness, whispers something sweet to his soul, a foreign language he’s never known, dialect earthy and raw as fruitful soil where she swears all life begins.

.Niah’s not a fighter, not a soldier, far from it, can barely imagine the thought of inflicting pain onto another, even if well-deserved. She’s nothing like him, whose own skin has become worn and torn from the aftermath of fantastic battles miserable in their destruction – the glint of katana strikes and rounds of bullet holes, black feathers flutter where ravens dwell. And he’s grateful that she’s nothing like him, so, he makes sure that her heart isn’t led astray, yanked, or pulled by the claws of this world that hunger to strip her naked.

.Heat floods his cheeks. air hitches in throat between quiet breaths. His skin erupts in tingles at the ointment she smears along its ravaged surface, bandages up his wounds, applied by words she speaks gentle in comfort and breathes light as wind that drifts through the crack of an open window. He studies her from beneath messy hair, observes her face then with heavy-hooded eyes, again silent and mesmerized by the whiskey swimming in her lovely eyes, and he accepts how just one single drop, one measly drop of her taste, would be enough to get him drunk.

And he wonders if a ( ravenous) beast like him could ever understand the depth of her love, should he ever lay a foot into her secret garden.

#you're a piece of earth that sparkles like rare gems of old <> 🌹spike/niah #concrete roses: drabble #and yeah the icon and grapes and flowers is my art #spike spiegel x reader #cowboy bebop #cowboy bebop fanfic #spike spiegel #cowboy bebop fanfiction #spike spiegel x oc #spike x black reader #spike spiegel x black reader #black reader #x black reader #x black!reader #don't tempt the beast with promise of domestic life <> concrete rose #[ earth girl ] visage <> niah

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virtuousouls · 1 year

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spike tags

#「 ❛ spike • interactions ❜ 」#「 ❛ spike • musings ❜ 」#「 ❛ spike • visage ❜ 」#「 ❛ spike • answered ❜ 」

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tofeelthecold · 1 year

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buffy tags

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htub · 2 years

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That death scene made no sense. Again

#two watches smallville #episode: visage #tina runs into a long metal spike. gets impaled with over a foot before stopping #she probably stood on her tippy toes to get into that position too #like she tried real hard to get impaled juuuust right i swear

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lostxdrcams · 2 years

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Tag Drop | Spike | BtVS

#spike; visage | [ ain't got a bloody reflection ]#spike; interactions | [ i could be a morning sunrise all the time ]#spike && buffy; relationship | [ not a care in the world ; just me and my girl ]#spike; desires | [i don’t need you to sell me on reasons to want you ]#spike; headcanons | [ i don’t need you to fix what i’d rather forget ]#spike; musings | [ it is love but it won’t be enough ]#;tag drop #spike; loves | [ i think i could need this in my life ]#spike; verses | [ there’s never much to read between the lines of what we need and what we’ll take ]#spike; answered asks | [ seekers of truths must only ask the right question ]

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gildedkrone · 5 months

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As long as you're next to me, just the two of us

request from somebody asking for military reader with internalised homophobia. john price x male reader

"You really ought to not blow your cigar smoke onto me, you know?"

The warm embers of spent tobacco, an all too familiar sight in the dark, starry night, and he's smiling, albeit faintly. He takes an audible suck of air, and the embers glow brighter and fade into a dull orange.

"Thought yer used to it by now," Price blows the hints of something scorched gently across your nose and you fan the smoke away with a flick of your hand.

"I don't smoke, John." He blinks and nods to take another chuff of the cigar as you look away then back at him.

He says he knows. Infernally glorious bastard of a captain and he's content with the warm tranquility settled into the space and the cigar is the last thing the mind's got time for. On the rooftop, the stars are ever distant in the cosmos’s grasp and he moves to lay with his back to the railing, almost close enough to touch. But he doesn't come any closer than that and a healthy distance remains between you and him.

"How many years has it been?"

Five. Five years since he appeared in his lieutenant uniform with SAS patches sewn neatly onto the vest and now? Now, he's a captain of a famed task force and chasing a terrorist halfway across the world with a short break in between his ever-growing catalogue of missions. The rank suits him well, suits him and his beard nicely as he grew into the man standing before you.

All's well. If all's well, then why does it feel as if there's a divide between you and him?

"You know," his head angles towards you when the silence fills with murmurs, "I never did congratulate you on your promotion, John."

"Never too late to do so, sweetheart."

"You call everyone that? Bet your lieutenant wouldn't take it well. That mask—"

"Not him." The words are scented with woodsy, "Nobody else gets to be a sweetheart." And he's saying it so sincerely, it’s impossible to doubt the truth and intensity in his words.

"Exceptions? You're not being fair, captain."

He scoffs and you take the time to admire his visage with a subtle lean towards him. The left eyebrow hitches a little, then it falls back to its place and he's smiling warmly as the cigar burns away in crumbling ashes falling to the wind under the pale moonlight.

"How's your love life? Still seeing Sandy?" The sudden change of topic and you cock your head slightly and he grimaces slightly to have felt some sense of chagrin at poking the sore wound in your heart.

"We broke up a month ago." He lowers the cigar, "She just, didn't want to be in a relationship with a military man, you know? All the absences made her mad and she just ... left."

"On a Thursday afternoon."

He listens so attentively; he's reminiscent of the cadets under your care when they first arrive at sergeant bootcamp. A little awestruck and very much eager to learn and get going and you lean in closer for a look at the new-ish scar marring the area above his eyebrows.

"You've gone and hurt yourself again, eh?"

Fingers brush across the region of his face gently as his face is pliant in your hands and tilts with each nudge to facilitate your examination of his new battle scar. Eventually, you release his face and he runs a hand through his scar absentmindedly.

"You datin' again?"

"No such luck. Tinder's trash these days. All you'll ever find are people down to fuck and run. 's not much better on the other dating platforms too."

"Just women?" The parting of your lips and nothing comes out; the words don't come as they should.

"Just women. I-I ... I’ve never considered other men, John."

"Why not?"

It's a moment of confusion—you entertain his queries about manhood and love. What do you say to that? It's a minefield of emotions and memories tangled with barbs and spikes laden with the flags of youth and curiosity shaped into a spitball refusing to be verbalized.

"I don't think another man could ever love me. And ..." The forgotten cigar in his hands dull and the soft cerulean eyes are gently imploring you to continue, "I ... well, it's wrong and I ... don't know if I can do it."

He nods empathetically and you lean back into the railing to find fleeting interest in the moon. How did the conversation morph into this weird mess of clunky and awkward conversations?

"Well, I have a problem when it comes to dating." Oh? Go on, and he does go on.

"I met a man, and I don't know if he fancies me the way I fancy him."

"Really? I'm glad for you, John. What is he like?"

It's cute how his brows furrow slightly when he's in deep concentration and he says—valiant and resplendent. The vigor of the sun, the ferocity of the lion, and the tenacity of the stars.

"Valiant? Resplendent? You must really like him to hold him at such a regard."

"It's not an exaggeration, lieutenant."

Who had managed to capture John's heart to such a degree? You lose interest in the moon to lay the brunt of your attention on him. His eyes dart away into inkiness night then back at you and its kept steady as a sniper's hands in a high-tension scenario.

"Have you tried telling him? About how you feel?"

"You have tips? ‘M not sure quite how to break it to him."

He seems mildly amused by the chuckle and you regale him with strategies and tactics to win over the mystery man Price loves so much. Everything you’ve learnt from the trashy romance novels stashed in your drawers never to be seen any other service personnel. Even if they would never find their place with another man.

"So, a hand grasp and a head tilt, lots of eye contact, and a heartfelt confession? It’s certainly shorter than the list on the web.”

“Mmhm, it’s that simple.”

He asks if you would entertain his request to rehearse it. You humor him and step away from the railing to face him head on. He clears his throat and warmth envelops your hand in a hand shaped like John’s. His body posture is open and inviting, and he’s putting in the effort to treat it seriously.

His hands clasped with yours is so damn warm and fiercely domestic, and his fingers are gentle when they tilt your head upwards slightly. Something in your heart twists slightly at the endearment in his eyes; you’ve been privy to aggression, bloodlust, and anger in them. But not this. Blood hammers in your ears and you keep your face schooled in blasé calm even if his grasp is uncharacteristically soft and yet, harbored the love he had in his being.

“I love you, sweetheart.” The words are painful to hear on ears not meant for them and instincts are warring in your head in tumult.

You cough gently to realign his focus with the moment.

“Yeah, so, that is how you do it, John.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“That’s what you would say that to the man you love so much.”

His throat swallows harshly and his hand remains on your chin. He eyes search for something, and he says it again.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

What is he doing? He cuts you off before you can start.

“I’m saying it to the man I love.”

Whiplash. Whiplash at the revelation as your lips part to reveal hollow words and empty reconciliation of the revelation and your thoughts. No. This—

“I mean it. Whole heartedly. Fully.”

“John … I—I can’t love you, not—”

“I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

“Why? Why the fuck would you choose me? Of all the men and women in the world and you’ve gone and loved the one person who can’t give you anything! John, why?”

His hands are still clasped around yours and laced around your runaway heart. Don’t leave.

“Because it’s what the heart wants, love.” He tugs you in closer and in a moment of stupor, you feel the warmth emanating from him against the chilly night.

“It’s wrong—” And by god, it’s so fucking hard to tell him why it’s wrong when he’s looking at you like that. All worried and desperate to alleviate whatever you were feeling.

“I don’t want to be the fool who dies with a million regrets. And this is fixing it.”

He’s so close but he’s waiting for permission to breach the last barrier of that defensive wall built around the wastelands of the heart. He wipes away the tears which had formed, and soft lips are all you can feel when he closes the gap. Plush, soft lips press against yours and his embrace is all encompassing even as your eyes are shut to close out the world. He comes into view when warmth of his lips disappears and shakes rattle your body in his arms.

“I’ll be here for as long as you want me, sweetheart.”

He means it.

“’m not leaving, unless you tell me to.”

“John, I … I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll figure it out together. Me and you, we will find our way as a unit. Together, we’ll do it together.”

He is deadly serious again. “If you tell me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“No … I—I don’t want you to leave. I’m so fucking scared, John.”

“I’m here.” He is here. His hands on your back are proof of his existence in a world bending into a pinpoint of focus that is only John and his features and his exhales on your cheeks. What were you supposed to say? Or do?

There’s no need to do anything.

And maybe, just maybe, that is enough of a promise for you that everything is going to be ok—if it's John, and this was fine, more than fine. Your nod is what John needed to bring your foreheads together.

“Thanks fer trusting me, love.”

The hints of tobacco smoke don’t smell as acrid as they did a while ago and the night isn’t so cold anymore. Not when he wears his heart on his sleeves and draped over you in the moonlight.

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist

#fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #price fanfiction #cod x male reader

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pseudepigraphon · 2 years

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sibling honor

(image description under the cut due to length. pardon for that!)

A comic of humanized Hollow Knight characters, all in black and white except for a dash of red with a single source.

The swish of a bright red dress around scampering legs, quiet giggles, the cheeky grin on a little face: down an arcade of gothic arches runs a young princess Hornet, dressed in her best royal finery, her hair all done up under a double-horned hennin. She passes by statues of knights between each arch, with flowered branches growing up from their long, jamb-like carved forms. She smiles wider, elated to have gotten away with mischief, as she passes by a knight statue not between two arches but in one. She runs, then--

YANK! She's pulled up by the back of her cloak like a kitten by the scruff of her neck. "HEY!" She shouts. "Who--"

She pauses, eyes wide. Her voice dies down. Plucking her up from the ground, leaning over out of the arch with a stony look on their face, is the knight under the arch. Loose chunks of their hair flow over their chestplate. They are not, in fact, a statue.

Hornet flails and scrabbles in the air. "LET GO! I'LL BITE!" She shrieks.

The knight looks at her. Without a change in expression, they began turning and walking.

Hornet startles badly at that, falling practically limp. "Wait no--" she pleads, hands on her cheeks. "Don't take me back to the retainers, please, please, please!" She looks up at them pleadingly. "They'll be so mad, then mother will be so mad, and-- wait a second--"

She properly looks at them as they hold her in the air. She recognizes that long face, too pale to be properly human, or half-spider like her. She recognizes that horned helmet with the three spikes on each horn.

"I... I know you," she says slowly.

The epiphany comes to her and she leaps out of the knight's hand and leaps onto their shoulder, supporting herself with one pair of hands and clasping at the knight's cheeks with the other. "YEAH! I DO!" She cries, elated. "YOU'RE THE HOLLOW KNIGHT!"

She beams at them. "And that means we're siblings!"

The Hollow Knight returns her look with that same blank stony visage.

She gestures flippantly, her smile chilling out. "And--" she declares-- "that means you can't tell on me. Sibling honor, y'know."The Hollow Knight looks at her for a long moment. Lifts her by the underside of her arms off of their shoulder.

"Well?" She asks. They keep looking. Perhaps they would have been deliberating, if they were not a hollow vessel.

Far down at the end of the arcade, voices can clearly be heard coming from outside, the double doors wide open.

Everything rushes to the Hollow Knight at once. With a quick and lashing whip of their cloak, they drop Hornet and conceal her. "HEY!" She cries indignantly as they do so. "WHAT?!"

Two retainers, donned in find garb, walk down the hallway, talking about this and that. As they approach the Hollow Knight, standing still and straight and silent by the wall, they both slow.

"Ah, knight," says one retainer, looking up at them with a haughty expression. "Have you... by any chance... seen Hornet, daughter of Herrah, pass down this hall?" They ask with a pleasantly average smile, as if they are glad the Hollow Knight cannot ask why they do not know where she is.

It takes the Hollow Knight a moment to move. Slowly one hand leaves the hilt of their sword, making their cloak furl and swish, revealing a gloved forearm and a segmented elbow. They point further down the hall.

The retainer smiles, while the second one behind them has been sending the Hollow Knight a sour look. "Ah, I see," the retainer says. "Thank you."

The two depart quickly further down the arcade of flowers and statues until their statures are small, continuing to chatter all the while. The Hollow Knight watches them as they go.

They slip a hand down to give a thumbs up to Hornet, who is hiding most sneakily at the back of the Hollow Knight's cloak. She holds onto their cloak and gives a delighted and mischievous smile.

#hollow knight #hk gijinka #hornet #the hollow knight #newt art #newt comics #AUGHGHG i did this in like the middle of the night bc thats when i got the idea and motivation lmao #no regrets but still

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