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thatshowthingstarted · 1 year

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Tutankhamun's meteoric iron dagger,

Also known as Tutankhamun's iron dagger and King Tut's dagger, is an iron-bladed dagger from the tomb of the ancient Egyptian Pharaoh Tutankhamun (reigned c. 1334–1325 BC).

As the blade Composition and homogeneity closely correlate with meteorite composition and homogeneity, the material for the blade is determined to have originated by way of a meteoritic landing.

Since the 1960s, the high nickel content in the blade has been accepted as indicative of meteoric origin. A more recent study published in June 2016 derived from x-ray fluorescence spectrometer analysis show that the blade's composition is mostly iron (Fe) and 11% nickel (Ni) and 0.6% cobalt (Co). This means its composition is placed within the median of a group of 76 previously discovered iron meteorites.

The nickel content in the bulk metal of most iron meteorites ranges from 5% to 35%, whereas it never exceeds 4% in historical iron artifacts from terrestrial ores produced before the 19th century.

Also, the nickel to cobalt ratio of this blade is comparable to that of iron meteorite materials.[2]

At the time of King Tutankhamun's mummification in approximately 1323 BC (the Bronze Age), iron smelting and manufacture were rare. Iron objects were used for only artistic, ornamental, ritual, gift giving, and ceremonial purposes as well as for pigmentation. Hence, iron during this age was more valuable or precious than gold.

The dagger is currently displayed at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo

#art #design #Egypt #dagger #blade #meteorite #iron #tutankhamun #bronze age #alien #gold #king tut #style #history #nickel #cobalt #artifacts #ritual

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solradguy · 1 year

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wait- your name is 7oby (Toby) and you had a cat named toby- which came first your name or the cats name- who stole who's name ~pumpkin anon

The cat came first. I needed a name to sign my art with and didn't want to use my birth name so I borrowed the cat's. But then it started getting a little confusing because there was Toby (cat), Toby (me), and Toby (character), and I was super into Halo at the time so I swapped the T out for a 7 haha

Bungie, Halo's devs, used to hide references to the number 7 EVERYWHERE in their old games. Like map layouts would branch out into 7 directions, random numbers would add up to 7 or were a multiple of 7, characters would have 7s hidden in their textures, etc.

Somehow 7oby stuck. It's been 18 years. I'm indifferent about it at this point and honestly only still use it because Sol (character) and Sol (me) can get confusing. 5ol is out of the question, I've already laughed at that idea lol

#asks #Way back when I used to have an original setting that my very first fursona fit into #And there was a character for each number 0 through 9. 5 was 5oap and was an albino cat mechanic with biomecha wings #I didn't write any of it down so my memory is foggy...#But iirc they were all experiments in DNA splicing and they all had unique powers #5oap had sort of like an anti-gravity thing going on but it was hard to control hence the wings. He couldn't propel himself without them #7oby absorbed radiation and used it to power a magic sword that looked like a dragon head. It didn't have a blade by default but when it-#-was turned on it would flash-freeze moisture into a cobalt blue magic ice blade #I think there was a big downside to 7oby's radiation powers like it wasn't entirely safe to be around them when-#-they had a lot stored or something but I can't remember if I ever came up with a workaround for that or how 7oby dealt with it #7oby did have a red bandanna/headband though. /Hilarious/ in hindsight

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promethibot · 1 year

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Tried uploading on mobile the other day, but it looks like the app is messed up. Not dead!

#cobalt #agent cobalt #cobalt game #cobalt mojang #cobalt oxeye #oxeye daisy #oxeye #oxeye game studio #oxeye games #Blade Runner #blade runner 2049

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luminescen1-sapphire · 2 years

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Cobalt Warriors

(Impromptu Idea)

While their name sounds regal and honorable, Cobalt Warriors aren't a formal recognized guild or order in the known kingdoms. The community formation has more in common with a local smuggling ring or thieves guild, though Cobalt Warriors are just as likely to serve as king's guard as they are to be thieves.

The order only exists to propagate itself as a set of valuable tools, trying to be as unconnected with politics and social issues as possible. For some members who hold to a higher moral code, that can be a problem, and they may form subgroups which have codes of conduct beyond the technical tools the broader order is based on.

The Cobalt Warriors trademark is a blue-tinted steel blade. That might be a sword, knife, spear tip, or any other weapon that has a sharp edge. The magically skilled Warriors will often tweak their visible magic effect to include steely blue colors.

There are a couple signature blade flourishes which are often how Cobalt Warriors recognize each other in combat. For magic users, one of the most common is known as the Cobalt Knife Trick, which involves tossing a blade in the air, teleporting it a short distance, and catching it again.

The order emphasizes ingenuity over brute force. Most of the skills taught are in martial combat, tactics and combatant manipulation, and boosting the performance of your allies. Optimizing the results from effort you make is the goal, while also keeping an edge of experimentation. A Cobalt Warrior who has stopped trying to improve their craft has effectively left the order, and one of the core tenets is that you can always improve your own ability.

In a fight, Cobalt Warriors are rarely identifiable by any specific strategies or tactics. You can most easily identify them by their trademarks. You might expect that figuring out who isn't a Cobalt Warrior by how much effort they waste in combat might be easier, but it's just as possible that an order member is biding time and taking easy actions for their own schemes that may turn the tide in their favor.

Cobalt Warriors span the entire spectrum of magic to mundane. There is a strong belief that tactics and intelligent approaches to combat do not require magic, but that magic is very effective and efficient as a tool. Some of the highly renowned member of the order are powerful mages who only carry a blue edged knife as a signature. Simply because of the numbers difference between the magical and non-magical population, most Cobalt Warriors use mundane arts only.

(If you like this idea and use it in a ttrpg campaign or character, I would love to hear about it! One of my side projects right now is an alternative system for gaining and progressing through "features" (as in the D&D 5e term) where building a character with a theme like this might be easier. This is one idea I have kicking around for a mixed martial and magical "class".)

#dnd #d&d #writing #cobalt #warrior #ingenuity #blue steel blades #tactics

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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Run Away To Me (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, blood, angst, protective Johnny, violence, hurt/comfort, speedy relationship, talks of sex/intimacy (nothing in depth) & virginity pertaining to marriage, religious symbolism & mentions, etc.

A/N: That's it for this AU - onto Werewolf!Ghost next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You’re kept behind Johnny’s back as you both exit the treeline, and you feel yourself quivering with unease.

What would Lord Wilkin do to you? Drag you back? As the shelter of the trees leaves you, you tighten your grip on the blacksmith’s tunic, breathing out a shaky puff of air. Cobalt eyes look back at you, trying to reassure you as the first calls start up from the guards.

Johnny whispers out, his accent deep. “It’s gonna be just fine.”

“She’s here!”

Hounds dash forward but with a sharp bark of, “Get back!” They skid along the dewy grass and halt with rabid barks instead, fur bristled and spittle flying. The men surge forward, and you gasp as they grapple at Johnny’s arms.

One tries to snatch at the neck of your cloak, but a strong arm traps the armored wrist and twists it sideways, snapping the bone as you stare wide-eyed as the guard screams; jerking back and stumbling to his knees. With a fluid motion, Johnny grasps the handle of the downed guard’s sword as he writhes with agony, unsheathing the blade and laying it upon the breast of the other with a dim call.

He glowers and glares, eyes like burning coals.

“I suggest you step back,” you watch, holding your breath from over his shoulder as the blacksmith leans closer to the man, one arm kept behind him and resting on your hip. “‘Fore this gets bloody.” The guard raises his hands and backs up quickly, fear splashing his eyes.

All of the others watch nervously from the sidelines, either reigning in steeds or holding their hands to the pommels of their weapons. Waiting.

You swallow the saliva in your throat and ask, quietly, “Are you alright?”

“Don’t twist your head about me,” Johnny reassures, eyes traveling around the homestead as the guards shuffle and share glances. The Scot grits his teeth and tries to think of a way out of this.

If you had run, just as the man had anticipated, they would have caught up in no time.

The clop of hooves from your left draws both of yours’ attention in a quick succession of perked heads and pounding hearts. You feel your blood drop to pool in your feet at the face that meets you. Johnny growls and shoves you farther into his shadow as Lord Wilkin comes closer with a horse of bay coat, decorated with all the finery of his station. Gold, great coat with an embroidered tunic, and riding boots. Strapped at his waist was a dagger encrusted with gems made of blood and diamonds.

Never mind all that wealth, he looked ugly and cruel to you—a glint of arrogance in his eye. You glare and grit your teeth, rage coming off in waves from Johnny as well as yourself.

Wilkin’s old face is the same you remember smirking down at you as he drove the ceremonial blade into your palm, and your entire hand flinches in memory, digging your nails into the Scot’s waist.

He puffs a sound of reassurance but otherwise doesn’t move an inch from in front of you.

“And who might this be holding my bride hostage?” The Lord’s voice is sly. Black eyes dart up and down Johnny’s form and the man you latch to has to restrain a rabid grunt of anger. Stay his molten tongue. “A blacksmith?”

“It’s MacTavish, to you,” Johnny calls, tone dead and laced with danger. Your body restrains a shiver as his warm skin sinks into you; the memory of his lips on yours is addictive, even now. “Be best for you to remember it, eh? Considerin’ I’m the one who supplies your fucking guards with arms.”

Lord Wilkin utterly ignores him, his gaze sliding to you halfway through his sentence. You stay silent, lungs tight inside of your ribs. The unfortunate truth was that Johnny still had more standing here than you did, anything that you said would come up as null and void; in fact, it would be better to be completely mute.

But with how the Lord was looking at you, your teeth had to bite into your lip to silence yourself. You had to come up with a way out of this. Soon.

“Take my bride away from this brute. Chain him.” Wilkin hides a smirk, pulling at his steed’s reigns to shift the beast away with a snort and a flick of a dark tail. “I want his head on the block in the town square by tomorrow. I have a wedding to finalize.”

“Let the fires of hell go cold if I go anywhere with you,” you say, stepping out slightly from behind Johnny, much to his hesitation, but still, he watches over you and lets you do as you please. The blacksmith would rather not have this Lord’s eyes anywhere near you if he’s being honest with himself.

This Scot had made you bold—his words gave finality. If he said nothing would happen to you, you believed him. Perhaps that made you foolish, but his word meant far more than anyone else. Johnny kept his promises.

Lord Wilkin’s horse is jerked to a stop, its head snapping back and forth with a frothing mouth. His eyes travel back and a slow sneer pulls at his lips, sitting under a mustache of white hair. You restrain a cringe, and Johnny barks an order to the advancing guards to stay back as his large feet set themselves.

“If they grab me,” he mutters, speaking over his shoulder, “run, Little Lady. I’ll be sure to give you an opening.”

Your eyes widen in shock and horror, but before you can answer, your husband-to-be calls to you. The Blacksmith’s expression is the picture of defense as he angles the sword in his grip at the far-off Lord when even the barest hint of his tone indicates you.

A low grunt was ringing in his throat like that of an animal—as if the bear fur inside of the house had come to life and was a shield of muscle and iron shavings.

Your eyes blink, and something begins forming in your head, but it’s gone before you can really grasp it.

“My Lady,” Lord Wilkin states, his guards taking up places beside him, glaring. The hounds have still not gone silent, and Johnny eyes them nervously. “I believe you’ve been overcome by some…” He grumbles and gnashes his teeth in rage. “Spell of disobedience. I’ll have a physician examine you and keep you in my home for a stay of recovery—”

“The lady said she’s not goin’ with you,” Johnny seethes, pupils slits. Your hand rests on his back, spread over the swell of his broadness as you feel his pulse. Hot and racing. “So pack the fuck up and scatter! And take the bloody mutts with you!”

You spare a worried glance at the back of his head. The blacksmith can’t possibly believe that threatening them will make Wilkin pull back, and when he meets your eyes, you know he doesn’t just by the wrinkles by the sides of his lids.

He’s nervous, shifting his feet in small increments to try and push you nearer to the tree line. Your body hardens.

You’ve already made your mad dash—there was no more running. Certainly not if your new center of affection and protective build wasn’t coming with you.

Wilkin raises a brow. “Quite demanding for the man surrounded…Woman!” You flinch at the sudden shout, the quick rage of his snapping head, and the quick switch. Johnny glares and his hands are strangling the hilt of the sword, white and held still. The Lord barks, “Your parents gained valuable gifts for your well-bred hand—would you enjoy them being taken away? I can do so.” Dark eyes sweep over you. A smirk. “Forget this spark of madness and consummate what you know to be done.”

Johnny lunges with a snarl, eyes burning with horrible anger and the intent to cut the head off the snake. The guards meet him as he yells to you, “Run, Dearie!”

But your feet are stone.

When the man realizes you’re going nowhere without him, his eyes gain a sheen of panic as his blade clashes with sparks of steel with another. A dance of feet and wit that speaks to years of careful study; practice from both parties. Wilkin looks smug as Johnny lets off a loud curse and has to turn his attention back to the fight.

“Seems the woman’s come to her senses. Praise God, perhaps there’s hope for her yet.” You breathe heavily, hands clenched under your cloak. Your mind wished for a dagger—one to show this pathetic excuse of a man how much it hurt to try and have someone mark you for the pleasure of ownership. Like some common branded cow.

Wilkin nods to you as Johnny gazes on in horror, narrowly dodging a swipe at his side before he elbows a guard in the face, splaying him out along the ground in a heap of leather and fabric.

“What are you doing?” He yells, voice booming out over the forest. You don’t look at him before you suck down a breath and steady your nerves; standing taller and setting back your shoulders.

The trained grace that had been shoved down your throat on a silver platter came back easily. Forks and spoons sliding under your teeth, all engraved with images depicting holy scenes of sanctity while the blood of your flesh spills at the poke of thorns sitting on your head. A halo of bloody martyrdom.

A tool.

You can be a tool, you decide, flinching when Johnny’s body is tackled to the ground; form ricochetting as he growls and writhes. His sword clatters to the ground. They have him in binds, cheek shoved into the dirt, and great shackles that skirt the line between animal and human restraint. A guard’s hand forces his face deeper into the earth and Johnny bellows, ordering with wild eyes, “Run, dammit! Get out of here!”

Sending a stiff glance, you stare blankly into cobalt eyes and blink away just as quickly, standing and staring down Lord Wilkin as he watches in contentment at the scene of the raging blacksmith and his seemingly placated bride. At the twitch of his lips, you raise your voice high.

“Release him.” Dark eyes turn to slits before they slowly slither back to you.

“Pardon?” You grit your teeth and feel Johnny glaring, a snarl ripping out of his mouth as he coughs through the grass.

“Dearie, no!” A punch hits his stomach as he’s jerked up to his feet and attacked; chains rattling as hounds bay for blood. You sense your gut roll with bile as Johnny fights back—tree-like legs laying a kick square into one's abdomen.

The two guards hang onto his arms, shouting at each other to try and restrain him further.

“I ask my husband-to-be to release the man that graciously gave me shelter during the storm,” staring hard, you’re trying to stop yourself from running to Johnny. You know you have nothing to help him with—it would be pointless and utterly stupid.

Your brow raises, but a nervous twinge is still in your voice. “Does My Lord not take pride in the fact that the men of his fiefdom are so open to taking in those less fortunate than themselves?”

Wilkin’s cheeks go tight, skin pulling as the eyes of the free guards travel to him. The struggle gradually dies down across the way; cobalt eyes darting back and forth with panic.

“Don’t bloody do what I think you’re doin’!”

A trade would happen, but only for a moment. In your head, you were whipping past possibilities and scenarios. There was something on the cusp of discovery—so close to giving you the upper hand, but what was it? Like a thorn in your foot, you continue to walk over it; ready and willing.

Johnny had your back last night, it was time you had his.

“Let the honorable blacksmith go,” you level. “And name your price.”

The response is immediate. A flashing smirk. “Deal. I’ll take my bride back, just as was intended.”

“No!” Johnny’s tunic is all ripped up, tears from gripping hands only making the damage larger—nail scrapes along his hardened flesh from the guard’s ruthless hold. Skin white from the force.

If you look at him, you’ll lose your mind.

Under your cloak, your hands shake as Wilkin descends his horse, coming closer.

“Keep your fuckin’ bastard hands off of ‘er!”

Think. His footsteps march closer—thin and sly-looking like a sharp-eyed Egret. Think!

Before his hand can snap at your wrist your mind sparks in a panicked moment, and you’re exclaiming with a loud voice before you can stop yourself or think the sentence through. You stutter at first but quickly gain your footing.

“I-In good faith, I cannot accept—I am unfaithful to you, Lord!”

The entire homestead goes still, and those struggling with Johnny’s binds freeze. Lord Wilkin goes confused, his wrinkled visage peeling in like a rotted corpse. But no faces are quite as good as the blacksmith’s, who goes so pale and wide-eyed before he can school himself in secrecy; his jaw loose. His heart pounds in his breast, shreds of tunic waving in the wind. You continue with utter conviction, so much so that you even start to believe the lie you’ve crafted with a swift mind. “See the evidence upon the blacksmith’s sheets—where we lay last night in the throes of lust; I am no longer a pure bride.” Breaths get caught in throats; eyes bugging to a nonsensical degree. You swear someone choke. Your face burns as you continue, faking a shameful falling of your chin.

“I cannot marry you!” It’s almost enough to break you, the realization on Johnny’s expression as he darts his vision to your hand—which you hide inside your cloak; wrapped around your waist with false fear. Blood on your hand.

Blood on the sheets.

“It would be shameful to do so, do you not understand? I am not but a used good.” Fake or not, the last comment still makes Johnny’s hands clench his jaw working itself with a restrained growl.

But pride furrows his brow. A smirk was forced back from his lips.

You just took away what Wilkin loves more than anything else—control.

The older man halts, his mouth going agape and a vile sheen coming to his cheeks. He stutters, “I...what?” It’s a violent snarl, but the man balks back from you as if you’re infected. “You dare lie to me, Girl? Play off this fallacy?”

“It’s no lie,” you say, gaining confidence with how Johnny watches you closely, only once rumbling at the guards that hold him when they tighten their grip. “The evidence is plain as day in the Blacksmith’s bed.”

Wilkin’s eyes flash, and he barks an order to one of his men to enter the main house. Only when his dark eyes are off of you do you spare a look at Johnny.

You sag softly, shoulders losing some tension.

Blue eyes lock with yours, firm. Sending an apologetic squint of your eyes, the man only slightly shakes his head, mouthing out, “Don’t worry your little head about it.” A quick, barely-there smile flashes his lips—but then you have to look away before you let the shaking of your body be known. No matter how hard you plead with your muscles to stop vibrating, they do so instinctually.

You know what lying about this will cost you, successfully or not. You’d be labeled for the rest of your life; separate. But Johnny’s eyes on you ease the pain. Lets you breathe. If the worst thing that could happen to you was living out your life in his homestead and being at his side, then perhaps social execution was the only thing that pleased you at the moment.

You just hoped that it didn’t lead to an actual execution.

“Lord!” The guard returns as Johnny continues to watch you, panting, with sweat dripping down his chin. His ribs hurt something awful, but he only glowered at the men holding him and stayed his violent tongue to let you work your strengths like fine iron wrought in the fire of his hearth.

Wilkin’s lackey was hurriedly carting the length of the Blacksmith’s sheets behind him—clutching in his fist the vibrant red stain of your blood and displaying it to the light. Thinking about what they saw it as, instead of your wound opening, you cringe and restrain a sound of disgust.

Even being around Johnny for as little time as you had, despite the kiss and infatuation, you had forgotten how crude the rest of these men could be. It’s like this sanctuary of trees and dew-soaked ground was in an entirely different world, and these intruders were wrecking it. By Johnny’s face, he felt the exact same.

Half of the Scot wanted to save your honor and tell them you were lying, but the desperation of the situation was far more serious than that. He couldn’t let you go back to Wilkin—he’d promised. So Johnny took down a tight breath and stayed silent; face burning and glaring at the ground with clenched fists shaking for blood.

The guards holding his arms slightly release their grip, listening intently themselves.

Blanking, the Lord’s eyes lock onto the stain as the man brings him the fabric. Not a moment later his hand snaps out to drag it to his face, looking daggers into the redness as his eyes snap from place to place.

“...You did this on purpose,” the slow dead tone takes you aback, hands around your abdomen digging further into your flesh as a dread spills into your stomach with blossoming unease.

“M-my Lord?” Johnny tenses, eyes sharp like a wolf.

“You did this so you could spite me, you little,” the encrusted dagger is unsheathed from its scabbard. “Whore!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The blacksmith bursts with wrath, jerking forward so violently that he drags the guards holding him along the ground, their calls of alarms making the hounds go ballistic.

You take a small step back as Wilkin gets nearer to you—the point of the blade setting itself right under your chin; tilting your head up. Breath going tight, you stare with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

He wouldn’t kill you…would he?

The Lord’s eyes are brimstone and deeper than Hell, holding sinners in the bars of his pupils while devils of brown specks prod the pool of obsidian. If a man could be on fire and still be living, Wilkin was an inferno incarnate.

“You belong to me,” he grits his teeth as Johnny’s voice blurs in the background, having to be forced to his knees by three men yet still nearly throttling one with the force of his arms. “I paid for you.”

“Then you should find it a lost investment,” you shakily reply, not knowing how you have the strength to stare into Wilkin’s eyes. But you do. You stare and you hold your hands tight into your flesh until the skin under your gifted fabric aches. A small prick of the blade makes you suck in a tight inhalation, a tiny droplet of crimson sneaking down your throat.

It’s a battle of wills, and before you say what you’re thinking, you’re nearly sure that in less than three seconds you’ll be grasping a slit throat.

You clear your throat softly and speak in a dim whisper. “How will your guards react to you killing a woman in anger?” Expressions freeze. “What does God say about that?” You swallow, throat bobbing. Hit him where it hurts. “...What would the townspeople say? Mercy is not above our great Lord, that is an earthly prospect. I believed that was your greatest quality, is that not what everyone believes?”

Wilkin stares, his mustache twitching. Dead face. Dead eyes.

It’s a long, long moment before anything else happens, and when it does, you flinch.

The dagger disappears from your chin and you instantly back up several steps, breathing unevenly. Pointedly, you place your uninjured hand on your slowly dripping skin.

Johnny’s taken down three of the guards, their faces bloody and your blacksmith’s nose broken. He yells and screams curses. You feel your heart constrict at the sight, pain zooming down your veins in bursts of adrenaline, but it’s seconds later that Wilkin speaks, loudly so that everyone can hear.

“I would never harm a woman,” you hold back a violent scoff as your hands shake, wanting to be taken into Johnny’s arms now more than ever—feel his heat and inhale his scent. Wrapped in a blanket of steel and ash. “In my good graces, I will pray for your salvation, Miss. But being soiled—”

“Bloody piss off!” You send Johnny a quick glance at the outburst. He’s forced back face-first into the ground with a grunt and sputtering of grass in his mouth.

“I no longer wish to be joined with you in holy matrimony. It would be dishonorable to my station.” Dark eyes swim with hatred, but the tone of his voice is easy and pliable. The Lord was a good fake—he plasters on an appeasing smile for his men and waves a quick hand in the air as he turns to his horse. “Release the brute. Let the pair roll in their sin of carnal desire. God will be their judge.”

Johnny struggles as they unlock his chains, but the second he’s out he’s springing full-force towards you; his skin sliding across your cloak as you’re guarded far better than any loyal hound or King might be.

“Johnny,” you grapple at his biceps, sighing raggedly in relief. He doesn’t brush you off, only curling his side around you and angling his head to the mounted horses; pupils slits and lungs heaving. His nose looks awful. “Don’t, don’t,” you plead, “It’s over.”

The man doesn't respond, looking feral as his hair goes this way and that; coiled around your body about to strike at anything that comes close.

“I’ll kill him,” Johnny grunts. “I’ll rip his damn throat out for speakin’ to you like that—for puttin’ a knife to your throat. I’ll rip him into bloody bits and pieces, you just say the word, Little Lady.”

Your arms encase the one of his you’re holding, dragging the limb to your chest. Cobalt eyes dart back to your face. It’s a long moment, but his expression softens slightly—the wrinkles beside his eyes easing while his lips twitch down. Blood drips off his lower face, spread around his under eyes, and stains his stubble with crimson gore.

“Please,” you mutter.

He looks down and nods stiffly, even if he doesn’t like it.

The horses are rallied, the hounds called, and with a throw of dirt from their hooves the convoy is off. Silence returns in slow increments of nothingness.

Wind, the call of a bird, and the babble of a far-off stream echo through the pines. Only when they’re entirely out of sight and the dust has cleared that Johnny swiftly moves, picking you up into his arm. You squeak as he carries you speedily into the main house, rushing to place your backside on the table.

His large hands immediately tilt your head up to spy the tiny mark from Wilkin’s blade, and you feel his shuttered breath against your throat as you go heated.

“J-Johnny, what are you…” But you don’t get an answer, the man disappearing before coming back with a wetted rag. Once more, the man cleans your wounds with delicate presses of the cloth—ridding you of all blood.

His jaw is clenched, and as you watch, your hand in your lap twitches.

In a broken act of pain, you lightly run your fingertips over the swelling of his nose. The man stops, but serious eyes stick to your throat—unable to meet your gaze; there’s a red sheen to his neck and ears. Anger or embarrassment, you know not.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, guilty, and his widened gaze rips itself to lock with yours. Your vision blurs, afraid to touch him fully as if it might burn him.

“No,” he’s shaking his head. “No, you never tell me that. What you did, Dearie…I,” Johnny stutters, closing his mouth before opening it again. “I should be apologizing to you. It wasn’t fair to make you do that. Any of it.”

A wobbly smile flicks your lips.

“Are you saying I should have left you?” Johnny moves his face farther into your hand, blood contaminating your skin but you don’t pull away. You let him sag into your palm instead, reveling in the scrape of his stubble against your soft hands.

“I’d not see you harmed,” is all he answers.

You sigh and blink away your tears, stealing the man’s rag so you can dab at the bloody nostrils. Johnny’s pulse is still fast under you—like the pound of his hammer.

“Well,” his eyes dig into yours and you smile. “I believe my priorities are the same. I may have only met you yesterday, but I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

“Aye, well, everyone will know how fond soon enough.” He’s more worried about this than you are, a stubborn and almost grumbly tone to his words.

“Is my purity that much of a sore point for you?” You can’t help but tease him, even in the circumstances. “I had no idea.”

His face goes more crimson than his own blood, and he blinks at you rapidly.

“I…That isn’t what I…” You chuckle gently and press your forehead to his, whispering.

“I was just joking.” He sags with relief, his hands coming up to rest on your hips with the care of a man unbefitting to his station. Again, you have to ask yourself how an individual so intimidating can be, at the same instance, kind and generous.

His lips mutter, brows tight. “Are ya sure you’re alright, Hen?”

You think, wondering about the run through the forest when this all began, the plea for shelter. Such a deep coincidence that you’d end up here—perhaps the most safe place in the entire fiefdom. Everything had lined up perfectly, barring a few bumps in the road. You doubted Wilkin will mess with this place after the spreading of your ‘promiscuous’ behavior.

He was too sly for outright violence if given the option.

“Yes,” you know, and thin your lips. “What about your nose? A-and everything else?”

“Don’t think about it,” the Scot smiles, eyes still glinting with worry. So many hours and you’d barely gotten any sort of break. “I just want you to rest, then, eh?”

Maybe it was outwardly obvious, but the entire ordeal had left you drained; shaky, and still coming off of panic. What if they had killed Johnny…?

You’d go back to Wilkin and live as his wife, producing heirs and locked away in his estate for the remainder of your life. What kind of existence was that? No, you knew, you’d never live like that.

You’d never live like that here.

With a shaky breath, you watch Johnny’s eyes flash with concern for a moment by your silence, but before he can speak you’re pressing your lips to his in a firm and honest kiss—sinking in every emotion you could.

The man grunts in surprise, but doesn’t move back; if anything, his grip on your hips increases, sliding up to your waist.

After a moment of tasting flesh, you pull back and whisper, “Thank you.”

Johnny breathes heavily, a glimmer in his blues, “Well,” he grumbles, “I’d say you did most of the work.”

You both share a chuckle before you’re lifted again, carried gently over to the bed without sheets. You’re placed atop the bear fur and wrapped in that instead after your cloak is unclipped and folded neatly, set on the floor. Outside, the call of a far-off storm hits your ears and you blink to the window.

“Stay with me?” You ask before you can stop yourself or can even think.

The blacksmith’s breath catches, his fingers flinching as they were pulling the fur tighter around your neck.

It’s a moment before he asks in a quiet tone.

“You sure you want this, Dearie?” His lips go tight, eyes narrowing in inner conflict. You stare and already know the answer just by how he speaks to you. “I’m no King. I…I can’t give you fine jewelry or fancy clothes. There’ll be no grand suppers beyond the game I catch or what I can afford to buy. Long winters.”

The air goes quiet with worship, and your eyes go wide with care. His broken nose is crooked, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. You wonder if that was for your sake or his.

“I’m not someone worthy of your beauty,” he rubs at the back of his head, bending down by the edge of the bed. “Certainly not your smarts. I’m only a blacksmith, Little Lady.”

“Only?” You huff a chuckle. Johnny looks at you in confusion as the black clouds outside roll in, seen through the window of this quaint and lovely home. The hearth is warm, the scent of food still in the air, and the memory of a dash through the forest behind you.

“If you’re only a blacksmith, Mr. MacTavish,” you’re sent a fake stern look as the back of a hand goes to brush your cheek. You shiver. “Then I’m only a runaway bride.”

“Aye,” Johnny admits with a growing smile of adoration, “but still a bonnie one, at that.”

“...Stay with me?” You ask again.

The man breathes out, “Tell me why.”

“The trees do not deny what they need to make them whole, Blacksmith,” you whisper. “Why should I?”

He’s clambering under the fur, wrecked clothes, and blood on his face but never feeling more whole. Is so little a time enough to fall in love with someone? What deity had tied your souls together so soon with ribbon soaked in rainwater—tinged with blood?

His lips meet yours as you sigh into him, hands gripping his arms as they circle your waist tightly. Johnny breathes you in and lets his hands span your back, fingertips digging into your clothes. Into his mouth, you whine a plea for him to keep you close and hold you tight. It’s all your need from him. It’s all you want.

For the wise know best: there is nothing better than a simple life.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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crxshed-skxlls · 11 months

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Hiiii I'm being anon since I've never done a request before and I'm mildly embarrassed about it KJHFUIOG

do you think you could do something with eyeless jack? either just nsfw hcs or even a fic! i guess to add any suggestions for a fic maybe ej breaking into the reader's home? Could also have dub-con and breeding elements to it if you'd like! Though you can do whatever! ^^ (also gn reader if that's ok!)

OVERALL THOUGH I've been enjoying reading your content n stuff so far and ty for reading this even if you don't do the idea! :D

Word count:

Ooo very intriguing request. Don't worry Anon, your sins are my command 🙏 (my apologies if this isn't the best; it's my first time writing with a gn!reader)

— ❝ Home Invasion

Eyeless Jack x Gn!reader

Word count: 2k+

Plot: You were having an ordinary night, slowly slipping into your bed to a sweet slumber. Little did you know, an unwelcoming visitor gives you a sinful surprise.

NSFW tags: Dubcon, breeding, mating press, knife play, primal elements, bloodplay, biting, implied voyuerism, praise, Masochism elements

Credits for MDNI divider

It was a dark, brisk night. The cold air of the night tickles for body as you lay in your bed. You lay peacefully bliss to your surroundings as you slip into a slumber, your breathing slow as you sigh. You had a long day, and you were ready to get some shut-eye. However, you had been tossing and turning from the uncomfortable chill of the room. You feel a subtle presence in your room, like prying eyes watched you, but you thought it was your anxieties about the dark night. It took a little while, but you finally slip out of consciousness, eyes fluttering shut as you slip away.

Though, your gut told you right. A dark figure lurked out your window, careful not to draw attention to him. His features muted except for his cobalt blue mask with signature black eye holes. He watches you toss and turn, only for you to lose consciousness. He licked his lips as he prowls, silently opening your window you so obliviously forgot to lock. He lifts the frame with a click sound, quietly stepping into your room. You flinch in your sleep as you hear the subtle shift of your window closing, turning to where your back pressed into your mattress.

Jack looks around, silently slipping to your bed. He looks down at you, his soulless sockets peering onto your sleeping form. He grabs the corner of your plush blanket, slipping the cloth off of your form. You mumble something in your slumber, shifting in your sleep. Jack has watched you many times before, knowing how much of a heavy sleeper you are. The noirette continued his prowl, getting on top of you gently. He straddles your hips, looking down at your figure with a small grunt. He licks the dried blood from his stained teeth as he slips your shirt up slightly, revealing your abdomen with ease.

You shutter under the taller being, humming as his hand traces your stomach. Jack soon takes out his knife, examining the thin blade made for incisions. Jack groans quietly as his stomach fills with a familiar warmth, the uncomfortable fabric sticking to his growing member. The uttered thought of watching you so vulnerable made his head reel with sinful thoughts. It wasn't long before your eyes start to flutter, which made Jack tense. Your eyes open quickly as you see the unwanted stranger, though there was a sharp feeling to your neck before you dare utter a word. Jack keeps his knife to your throat, leaning in to your face slightly. Your adrenaline made you wide awake as he traces the blade faintly on your skin, making tears prick your terrified eyes.

Jack smirks at your body's reactions, his head tilting to the side. You watch as his soulless eyes prey upon your form. You shiver, closing your eyes. He let's out a small a chuckle, tracing the blade down to your chest. You don't dare utter a word, the silence filling up the air. It wasn't long until his grim voice spoke, his voice in a rough tone.

" You're pretty for prey, don't you know? "

He breathes, letting the blade snag at your shirt. He watches as some of the cloth rips under the blade, making you shiver under his grasp. You feel your body become a little flush under the compliment, his rough voice melting at your scared thoughts. You want to shake him off, tell him to stop, but this was something you had been anticipating for a while. It was a weird fantasy of yours that not a lot of people understood, but you thought it was arousing with the unexpectedness that lingered around the thought of a break in. Jack interrupts your thoughts as you hear a tear sound, noticing the blade tear halfway down your shirt. It revealed your collarbones and part of your chest, making the man bite his lip under his mask.

" You're body structure is in great proportions, you know? Great for me to take in.. "

" Why are you doing this? "

You say in a hushed whisper, your soft voice ringing in his ears. It wasn't long until you realized the surprise in Jack's pants however, feeling it throb against his clothing. He pauses his movements, looking at your face. It wasn't long before he lifts a part of his mask with a dark chuckle. Your eyes widen at the inhuman features, his sharp teeth visible in his grin. His grayish features shimmered in the moonlight, dried blood visible on his face. Your hands ball into fists as he leans into your neck.

" Simple. You caught my eye from a greater distance, love. Ever since, it's been hard not to think about how lovely you would look tainted in your own blood. "

His soft tone as he explains to you was both frightening and arousing. The way his words coaxed you in an uncomfortable arousal left you to whimper under him. You never knew such an intruder that had a soft side to his words. You gasp as you feel his tongue lap at your neck, pressing in all the right places.

" Be good for me.. And you might walk off with your organs in tact. Understood? "

" M- mhm.. "

You nod and stiffen under his words, letting out a hushed moan as his tongue traces your collarbones. Jack grunts as he gets between your legs, hungrily nipping at your neck with his teeth. You moan out as you feel his erection press against your sensitive crotch, making him smile on your neck. You yelp suddenly as you feel a sharp pain signal down your spine. Your hands instinctively tug at Jack's back, feeling his sharp teeth bite harshly into your soft skin. He moans at your cries, listening curiously as they turn into moans. As his teeth release from your neck, he laps out the thick blood that spilled out.

It wasn't deep enough to hit an artery or anything, but it definitely was deep. You moan at the twinges of pain, gripping the figure's Hoodie. Jack moans as well, pulling up slightly. Your tear glazed eyes were able to make out the messy blood on Jack's lips, making your face flush a little red. Jack grins at your figure, licking his lips. You shiver tenderly as you watch him lick the blood off his lips.

" I didn't realize you were a such a masochist now.. After all, there's only so much I can see from your windows. "

You gulp as tears spill from your face, panting from the twinges of want and need. You knew this was crazy, the back of your mind berated you for wanting such a monster. However your body clouded any sane thought your brain could come up with. The way he teased and admitted to watching you made you squirm slightly, feeling a little more nervous if anything. You soon get snapped into reality as Jack takes off your pants, along with your undergarments. You squirm more, your hands shifting to Jack's chest as you slightly push. Jack let's out a guttural growl, his eyes piercing into your gaze. You gulp as you watch his blade come up to your neck again, making you whimper out as your hands fall down onto your mattress.

" What happened to being good, huh? "

Jack comments, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. You shiver with uncertainty, but as soon as Jack makes a small incision on your chest makes you moan out in surprise. You hiss from the twinge of pain, but Jack just chuckles at you. He licks at the small cut, making you moan out again in a more pleasurable tone. You soon hear an unzipping sound, making you tremble slightly under Jack. You knew what was coming, and there was no point for your aching body to fight back. You feel as Jack sighs in a somewhat relief, letting his member spring from his denim jeans. You audibly gasp as his cock hits your abdomen teasingly, looking at the sheer size made you flush a deep red.

" Awwh, like what you see darling? "

Jack snickers at your actions as you watch his cock twitch. He soon positions himself to your hole, pressing the tip to your ass. You look up at Jack with a doe eyed expression, earning a groan from the man. You soon yelp out as you feel Jack slam into you with one strong push, causing twinges of pain and pleasure to fill your body. Jack growls as you clench to his length, using one of his hands to stabilize himself. You feel him slowly pull about halfway out of you, just for him to thrust back into you. You both moan out as he sets a rough pace.

" F- fuck- "

" Yeeah, tha- hah- that's right. Take it. "

You hear Jack mutter out loud as you feel his dick press into all your sweet areas, causing you to shamelessly moan. He growls almost animalistically as he slams into you, moving to your neck to bite into the same mark he left on your skin. You yell out with breathy moans and pleas for more, but Jack continues to lick and suck at the blood that taints your tender skin. You tremble under him as you feel your body reaching a climax, whimpering out as he thrusts into you. You hitch your breath as Jack hooks your shaky legs to his shoulders, borrowing his dick deep inside of you. You let out moans and mewls as he aims for all your sweet spots, your back arching as you press against him. It wasn't long before you end up coming onto him, choking out more moans. Jack groans as your body tenses around him, earning you a stifled laugh from him.

" Awwh f- uck– you really think were- ngh- done yet? "

Jack grins into your skin as he slams into you, hearing your sultry moans and slapping sounds from his movements. You shake under him as he keeps going, holding you in this mating press as he growls and bites at your skin. You feel as if your ascending as your stomach bubbles and prepares for another climax. You give him choked out pleas, begs but none were answered. You hear Jack muttering in your ears about all the things he could do to you, possessive statements ringing through your body.

" Sh- shit– get ready doll.. I'll make sure you'll– haah– be mine. "

He hisses in your ears as he chases his climax. You let your arms fly up to grasp at his Hoodie again, whimpering as you both chase your orgasms. Jack groans as he slams his dick all the way in your poor hole, his hips sputtering as he splashes white ropes inside of you. You tremble from your final orgasm, spasming as his hips sputter for a final time. The room once filled with slapping and moaning sounds is now filled with pants and breathy moans. Your legs tremble against Jack before he peacefully rests your legs back down to your bed. Jack bites his lip as he pulls out of you, watching as some of his semen dribble out of your cute hole.

You pant as you feel a sudden tiredness flood over you from all the midnight activity. Jack pulls you in for a bittersweet kiss, making you taste a mixture of himself and your blood. You whimper in his mouth as you feel his sharp teeth as he explores your mouth. He soon breaks the wet kiss with a smirk, a beaded mixture of your salivas connected together. The string breaks as he pulls himself up, getting out from between your legs as you weakly watch. He gets off your bed, watching your limp body as its covered in bodily fluids. Soon, in a timid manner almost, Jack pulls up the covers for you.

He tucks you in, giving you a warm sensation as your eyes droop in and out of your tired focus. He kisses your forehead, slipping his mask into place as he stands beside your bed. You look at the figure shining in the moonlight, his blue features vibrant. He has a soft gaze on you as you tiredly close your eyes, slipping into your polite slumber again.

" You did so well, angel… Sweet dreams. "

The last mumbles of praise leaves his soft lips as you hear him faintly walk to your window. As he opens the window, you quickly fade into the nonchalant darkness of your subconscious. Your mind echoed his soft words with endearment rather than unsettlment, peacefully passing your subconscious in your sweet dreams. You look at this night in endearment, hoping to see that familiar face again one day..

#eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta smut #not safe for minors #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #mdni #smut #creepypasta x y/n #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack x y/n #eyeless jack smut #creative writing

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lesbeauien · 2 years

Text

Beau strikes me as the kind of person to be like "I hate kids" even while being in denial about having like. Eight of them. The Cobalt Soul library puts her in charge of the kids reading hour and she complains VICIOUSLY and then they try to replace her and she's like "NO." A kid complains about their parents ONCE and they end up sleeping at her and Yasha’s more often than their house. Veth asks her to do a lesson at the camp and she’s like “UGH do I have to? I hate children” while she’s holding a baby and correcting a teenager’s math homework and letting a giggly toddler hide under the long part of her robes and interrupting herself mid-argument to go “Hey, TJ, put that sword down, Mom said no blades until you’re 12, okay!”

#cr spoilers #critical role #the mighty nein #beauregard lionett #critical role spoilers #critical role c2 #beau said 'i hate kids' and my brain went 'i call bullshit'#yes i do mean TJ as in beau's canon little brother

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pixelmensupremacy · 1 year

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Can you do an angst, fluff one-shot where Reader knows both Krauser and Leon, her boyfriend, far back to when they were doing during Operation Javier. So during the fight against Krauser, he started saying how Leon will fail to protect reader and how he could possibly give her a good life when he’s weak during the fight, in his mind games against Leon, even hinting he will harm Reader as well. This does get to Leon emotionally so when he returns home, he starts acting off- Reader senses something is wrong when he is acting like everything is okay. So she tries her best to give him comfort and assurance.

A/N: Not going to lie I was in a crappy mood today so writing this request did help a little. Thank you for your request and I hope you like it!

Word count: 0.7k

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluf, hurt/comfort

“You’re so naïve, thinking you can save everyone.” Ear piercing clang rang in his ears as he barely managed to parry the attack with his knife. “You know (Y/N) isn’t safe with you.” Leon’s puzzled gaze closely watched the man that used to be his major.

“Leave (Y/N) out of this!” Leon shot back, his grip on his knife tightened.

“Oh, rookie haven’t you learned anything?” With a loud thump, Leon came crashing to the cold ground with Krauser on top of him, his knife just mere inches away from Leon’s racing heart.

“Tell me” The sharp tip of the blade poked at his chest ever so slightly, reminding of its threatening presence. “Do you really think you can provide her with the life she deserves?” Krauser let out a mocking laugh before he backed away.

“One day you’ll end up alone and it will be all your fault.”

Sharp pain stung his heart. With a gasp, Leon shot up in bed; beads of sweat prickled the fair skin of his forehead, illuminating the gloomy moonshine that seeped through the blinds of the window. Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, he wasn’t surprised to see the digits have fallen on the small hours of the night; he rubbed his eyes, in a failed attempt to scrape off the image that had been imprinted in his mind, refusing to leave him at peace. His pensive, glassy irises mindlessly gazed out the window as the thoughts kept crawling back to him.

Ruffling of sheets caught his attention; glancing to his side, he was relieved to see his partner safe and sound beside him. Her half lidded (E/C) irises stared back at him, her mouth fell open as she let out a prolonged, audible yawn.

“Another nightmare?” Her gentle voice put him at ease, her delicate touch on his hand alleviated the sorrow that had made itself at home in his tormented heart. (Y/N) wasn’t indifferent to grief her partner bottled within himself from the very moment their assignment was successfully completed. It pained her to see him fighting his demons on his own- any traces of joy behind the soft cobalt blue of his eyes faded away with each passing day- yet she patiently waited for him to open up, when he was ready.

Hesitantly, Leon hummed; he forced a smile that did nothing but to further concern her. Sitting up next to him, she cupped his face, her thumbs caressed his cheeks. He leaned into her touch, immediately sensing the sedative effect she had on him; his own hands went to hold her wrists, making sure they would stay exactly there, a single tear rolled down his cheek. Her heart shattered at the dreadful look on his face; his lip quivered, his breath hitched, his eyes were sealed shut.

“It’s nothing to worry about, you should go back to sleep. You know you gotta wake up early tomorrow.” Leon tried to convince her, yet his shaky voice did little to aid the confidence in his words.

“Oh, dear.” She pulled him in her arms, to which he surrendered as he wrapped his arms around her form in a tight hug. Her fingers tangled in the mess of blond strands, whilst her other hand rubbed circles on his back in a soothing manner; his nose was buried in the crook of her neck, intentionally muffling his uncontrollable sobs. She planted a kiss atop the crown of his head all the while she gently rocked him back and forth; he was gripping on her loose shirt, his hot tears rolled down his face and landed on her shoulder akin to a gentle flow of raindrops.

“You know you can tell me anything.” (Y/N) reminded him as she kissed his temple; in response he nodded with his face still nuzzled in her shoulder. With her arms still wrapped around him, she carefully laid back in bed with his head now resting atop her chest; listening to the melody of her heartbeat, Leon felt ease weave in his tense muscles, the sound of her beating heart reminded him the love of his life was very much alive and safe right beside him. That though alone was enough to help him relax and let himself fall into peaceful slumber, lulled by the comforting song of her heart against his ear.

#resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon x reader #leon x you

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urmomlikeslinotoo · 1 year

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Why Not Me— Percy Jackson

Genre: angst :DD, lovers to exes

Pairing: Percy Jackson x gn!reader

Warnings: insecurities, fighting, percy falling out of love and kinda being a shit bf??

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s note: i was just listening to washing machine heart by mitski and this came to mind so… heh :DD

You hugged yourself tightly as you breathed out heavily. The bonfire seemed cold tonight, flickering cobalt. The campers all turned to look at you one by one, concerned frowns gracing their faces as they wondered how upset could you be that your side of the fire was completely dark, almost merging in with the darkness looming over and around.

“Babe, you okay?”

Your eyes lit up at his voice, and you looked away from the flames to the boy. Your excitement extinguished when he looked at you with impatient and flitting emeralds. You cowered into yourself again and tried to think of a response, but ended up going with a small smile and nod.

He didn’t even check twice. He turned his body around completely to laugh at some story she was telling. You watched his eyes crinkle into crescents, lines folding over the other. The slight blush heating the apples of his cheeks as she laid a hand on his. She didn’t mean anything by it, it was only an innocent touch. But you knew he thought of so much from that one spark.

That one spark would soon receive more sparks and would one day turn into a raging fire. Meanwhile, your fire was already weakening as he stopped sparking it. It would die little by little, until there would be less of a sad thing to call a spark even. You knew it all, you knew it better than even he did, still you couldn’t bring yourself to put out the fire in you, still raging higher than ever. Rather, you allowed yourself to get suffocated by the smoke that choked you and intoxicated your lungs.

What would he say if you asked him about what you wanted to be when you’d grow up? Would he even remember? Maybe he’d say architecture, because that’s what she likes. What if he’d confuse you with her? He’d call you her, he’d remember her likes and dislikes, he’d remember her parents, her dad, her siblings, her friends, her enemies, her childhood, her future, her. He’d see her in you. Or worse, he wouldn’t even see you. Only her.

Who did he imagine was in his arms when he held you, safe and strong but still so fragile and lonely? Did he imagine her blonde hair strewn across his pillow, and his hand caressing her shoulder? Did he smell her scent in your neck, her lips kissing into his stark black hair? Did he even hear anything you said, or was he busy thinking about how the next day he could ignore you again and meet her and laugh with her and like her and wish she was you?

Was that it? Were you her now? Was that all he saw in you now? Because you could swear there was once a long time ago when he’d walk into the fiercest of fires for you, take the sharpest blade for you, crumble under the heaviest weight for you, die the most painful death for you, live the most depressing life for you… would he even remember any of those promises he had once made to you? Or was he already promising them to her?

What did you even fight for anymore? What was all the yelling and screaming and crying and accusing all for even? He’d call you untrustworthy and slam your door on the way out sometimes, then other days he’d yell about how controlling and selfish you were and then disappear for a few days to kiss up to you again. Was it all really worth it? To feel your heart slam repeatedly against your ribcage and crumble and crack until it would finally shatter and fall lower and lower until it couldn’t heal to perfection again?

Did it really matter that much? Him and you? Was it really you both against the world? Or was it really him and her alongside the world against you?

The crystal droplets slowly slid down your cheeks, an expression so devoid of emotion it was heart breaking, but he could not notice in his anger. It was the first time he’d done something physically dangerous. The closest thing was a glass bottle of seashells, and he’d hurled it at the wall in his rage. His shoulders heaved, harsh breaths escaping him as he tried to rein in his anger.

“So you’re accusing me of cheating this time?” When was his voice so cold and upset? When did it change from loving and carefree to tense and disappointing?

I’m not wearing my usual lipstick, I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

“No… but I’m saying that you’re too much about Annabeth nowadays. Do you even know that I hurt my ankle three days ago? Or that Travis had to drag me out of the lake because my canoe tipped over and I was still sore? Or that I got a new sword? Do you even know me anymore?”

You watched as he didn’t even regard your words, trying to think of ways to defend his sorry ass. You knew better. He was making up excuses. What a solid confirmation.

You got up, legs feeling shaky and weak but still, you did your best to act strong so you could quickly get this done and out of the way.

Baby, will you kiss me already and toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart, baby bang it up inside

“Listen… we’ve been dating for over two years, Perce. I know you better than anyone else. I know when you’re happy, or sad, or tired, or frustrated. So I know when you’re lying. Don’t try to hide it, I know you love Annabeth. I’ll accept it, and I’ll leave you so you can pursue her without the baggage of already being occupied by another person you don’t even feel anything for”

Finally, something other than rage cracked through his beautiful irises that told you wondrous stories and fascinating tales. They were oceans of depth themselves, warm and inviting. Enveloping you into its waves of serenity. Now they seemed treacherous, murderous, almost as if they wanted to drag you into their lowest and drown you , strangle you so that you couldn’t even remember what made them so enticing.

It was shock. Maybe relief somewhere behind but it made a smile break out onto your chapped lips, feeling the skin crinkle.

“Yeah… I’m breaking up with you, Percy. I think we both saw it coming for a long time now. I mean, the amount of days we fought over the days we loved were ridiculous. I want you to be free of that, Percy”

Baby, though I’ve closed my eyes, I know who you pretend I am, I know who you pretend I am

He took one step towards you, hand holding his bed frame so he wouldn’t trip. His jaw slackened as he tried to formulate words to spit out, but they died in his throat as soon as something came to him. The sight ignited the spark again, but you immediately pressed it out before something else happened to add more fuel to it.

“I hope you and Annabeth have a great life together. Unfortunately, I don’t think we can be friends any longer. I will regard you as my ally and battle companion, so I hope to see you on the field someday”

“N-No, babe-“

“Goodbye, Percy Jackson”

Maybe fire and water aren’t so different after all.

Do mi ti, why not me, why not me?

#maria’s art!#percy jackson #perseus jackson #pjo #hoo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #angst #greek mythology #pjo angst #percy jackson angst #x reader #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympian gods #annabeth chase

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starsreminisce · 1 month

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Why would I ship Azriel with someone who makes him feel like this

She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to skin, tainting her with his presence.

when he doesnt feel that way about Gwyn?

He slowly demonstrated, rotating his wrist where she did. "You see how you open up right here?” He corrected his position. “Keep your wrist like that. The blade is an extension of your arm." Gwyn tried the movement as slowly as he had, and he watched her self-correct, fighting against the urge to open up her wrist and rotate the blade

And why would I ship Elain with someone who treats her like this:

Amren said, “We do not have the time to wait for Nesta to decide. I say we approach Elain tomorrow. Better to have both of them working on it.” Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”

when Az treats Gwyn like this:

“There are plenty of other unspeakable things that could be happening to her,” Cassian said, voice thickening. “To Emerie and Gwyn.” The shadows deepened around Azriel, his Siphons gleaming like cobalt fire. “You—we—trained them well, Cassian. Trust in that. It’s all we can do.”

#antie/riel #antielriel #gwynriel #pro gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn

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azsazz · 9 months

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Another vamp!az blurb cuz I’m down bad for him

He unsheathes the knife from his holster, reaching out for your hand to place the silver weapon there. You study it, nothing the cobalt gem embedded in the hilt, the runes carved into the handle in a mesmerizing manner. You wonder if they have meaning, but your heart is in your throat and you can’t speak.

Azriel guides your hand, twisting the blade so it’s facing himself and pressing the tip right into his chest, where his unseating heart rests.

You whimper, trying to pull your hand away but his hold is firm, dark eyes serious as he keeps you still.

“You’re in control here,” he speaks, voice much softer than you’ve ever heard before. You stare up at him, brows furrowed as you realize what he means. The silver blade, your hand on the hilt. If you don’t want him, if you want to be free of him, all you have to do is press in, the blade will do the rest. Azriel’s hands fall away from yours as soon as he’s sure that you aren’t going to drop it. “If you don’t want this, stop me.”

You hold his stare, hand shaking against the hilt of his weapon. He doesn’t move, letting you get take the chance to decide. You know he won’t fight you.

Taking him in, you let yourself really take him in. His shaggy black hair, not ever swept into order because he’s always running his fingers through it. His skin, that maybe has once been tan over time, washed out with the lifelessness that plagues him, silver scars here and there from battles before your time.

Whorls of dark ink across his chest. They’re hypnotizing. Bargains, he’d once told you. Deals he’s had to make during his many centuries alive, because all he has to bargain with are his skills and his body.

The deep, dark wings pulled tightly into his back. He hasn’t taken you out since the night he’d taken you, and a part of you aches for the feeling of the wind on your face and his arms around you, though you don’t know if its the freedom from him you seek or the adventure of him you need.

Those hazel eyes that always pin you to your spot, always follow you through a room like a moth to a flame. They remind you of home, of the woods surrounding his estate, so dark and ominous and calling you to them without even trying.

You swallow harshly. You don’t know how long it’s been, standing here with him, knife pressed to his chest. It would be so easy to lean your weight on it and kill him. He would let you too, of this you know.

But, you don’t want that, you realize. You’ve never wanted that, even when you shouted and fought and prayed that you did.

You want him.

You want him now.

In a burst of courage, you fling the knife away, pressing into him with a speed that catches him off guard, but your hands are already around his neck and pulling him down into you, lifting yourself onto the tips of your toes so you can reach his mouth, pressing it against yours.

Your body flares with heat. There’s nothing sweet and soft about this kiss, it’s a frenzy, hot and demanding and a fight of control. You know he’ll win, but you hold on a little longer, loving the way his tongue feels against yours, tasting—no, devouring you to your very core as his fingers tighten around your hips and he hauls you into his arms.

#azsazz #vampire!azriel #azsazz blurb #Azriel #azriel x reader #acotar

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mosquito-queen · 3 months

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“what’s your favorite season?”

“i thought you knew everything about me.”

yelena does know most of everything: kate hates the smell of mint, she broke her wrist and collarbone from horseback riding, the sun always shines brighter when she is around. yelena also knows that she will always be hungry to learn more.

it stings when kate snarks at her. because yelena is attempting to dismantle a fortress she has painstakingly built from her own bones, cemented with her blood. each question claws at the walls, unbinds memories she so carefully imprisoned. each question is a decision to bring the possibility of loss back into her life. so it stings when kate teases, even though yelena does the same.

yelena rolls her eyes. she’s shutting down quicker than kate anticipated. kate blurts: “it’s spring, when everything turns green again. what about you?”

she doesn’t expect a response. everything kate knows about yelena she has carefully observed and deduced. she knows: yelena is afraid of halloween even though she won’t admit it, that she’s probably allergic to peanut butter (not proven, but yelena avoids it like the plague), and that the scrunch of yelena’s nose will be kate’s ultimate downfall. she especially knows that yelena does not like to answer personal questions.

except, a fond, nostalgic smile smoothes yelena’s usual frown lines. her favorite season is ohio in winter. she can hear it now: natasha’s rumbling laughter as she drags yelena towards the ice.

“slow down! my shoes aren’t tied!”

“the sun will set before we even get there!”

the backside of natasha’s head is a blue beacon bobbing against the late afternoon’s pillowed sky. two pairs of bright white skates are slung over her shoulder, bouncing with each stride, sunlight glinting on the blades. the sisters race through the shin-high snow towards a small pond nestled just behind their neighborhood. the ice gleams, beckons them closer.

natasha missed yelena’s recital from the previous evening. so had mama. but papa was there, a bear stuffed between smiling grandmas. he had smelled like their perfume afterwards. he had thrown the biggest bouquet of roses on the rink when she was finished, a toothy smile and two thumbs up gleaming in the crowd. yelena could find her papa anywhere. he was always there for her skating. right next to her sister and mother. but they had missed it.

natasha settles on a stone bench near the pond bank. she turns her head to check on her younger sister (she’s still trudging through the last bit of snow) before chucking off her shoes and stuffing on the larger pair of skates. after a few moments, yelena drops onto the bench. she is much more tame in changing her shoes and making sure the ice skates are laced properly. she pauses, steals a glance at natasha.

the older girl is sporting a new welt just below her eye. it is the color of a summer thunderhead, a sinister purple blotting the sky. yelena knows her sister only flares like lightning, never bears rain. yelena is the crier. she could make a new ocean with the crocodile tears that so easily spring to her eyes. she wants to be like her sister. natasha is always so poised and decisive. a calculated perfection. yelena is her shadow, an understudy. except on the ice. on the ice, she is her own spotlight. she is always costumed in cobalt blue during competition and recitals, tiny sparkling beads sewn meticulously into snowflakes. her mother has spent so much time on this outfit. pricking her fingers raw.

yelena wins every competition in this dress made with love and hurt. she practices until she’s perfect, lands every trick, wins every competition. she says thank you to her mother with each carefully executed leap, and spin, and flourish. her mother says i love you by webbing back together the wear and tear, by gently hand washing the costume and keeping it hung on the outside of yelena’s closet door. she sews a new snowflake for each medal her daughter brings home.

natasha is growing impatient, gives yelena an encouraging smile, “ok snegurochka, show me what i missed.”

and yelena does. she wobbles towards the ice, and at first contact slips into her stage persona. on the ice, she closes her eyes, imagines the music reaching across time and space to curl around her, turning her clothes into her usual costume. she imagines the frosted face paint edging the corners of her face, the deep purple eye shadow and white lashes, she imagines herself as the snow maiden. it is her favorite routine. it is her best routine. it is about a girl made of snow and ice, who longs to be amongst the humans. she is lonely, but with a frozen heart she is unable to know love, until her mother takes pity. she grants her this ability, but as soon as she falls in love, she melts from the warmth of her newfound heart.

the routine ends with yelena curled on the ice, natasha clapping and cheering with the ferocity of their father. yelena lays on the ice for a moment longer, lets the cold seep into her bones. she thinks if she really was the snow maiden, she would only want to know what it felt like to love skating. she wouldn’t melt for a dumb boy.

natasha skates out to her, reaches out a hand and brings her back up. they spin and race until the sun dips down towards the rooftops. it’s a perfect day during an ohio winter.

the memory is a blanket that settles around yelena’s shoulders, makes her sleepy and vulnerable. she answers truthfully: “winter.”

a surprised smile crosses kate’s face, quirks the corner of her mouth. it’s yelena’s favorite smile. and it isn’t lost on her that she met kate during the same season. yelena’s gaze is caught too long on kate’s, her pulse thudding in the hallow of her throat. truthfully, her heart had been thawing since the first time they met. she was melting for a dumb girl.

it’s the snow mush in her brain that makes yelena ask, “do you want to go ice skate, kate bishop?”

#bishova #kate x yelena #kate bishop #yelena belova

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whatwooshkai · 1 month

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11 👁️

Graham feels like he shouldn't be getting this much enjoyment out of this, but it's fascinating.

He's currently perched on Boulder's shoulder, looking down at them scribble their findings on a datapad. The other rescue bots are in front of them, seated at a makeshift table. Their optics are turned off, tied with blindfolds as extra security, with their audials turned off.

And they're eating rocks.

It's like that bit on Hell's Kitchen where Gordon Ramsey has two chefs try the same thing and identify it, except these are these are giant alien robots and they are identifying rocks and minerals and metals.

The most fascinating part of all this is the obvious biases they have. Heatwave had eaten the whole sample of mica and Chase and Blades hadn't hesitated to give him theirs once they figured out what it was. Chase had immediately spit out the cobalt, and Blades hadn't eaten his quartz, but was instead licking it between samples.

And so far, Chase and Blades had been batting a thousand, while Heatwave had been confidently wrong on everything he didn't like.

"Last two," Boulder announces despite the fact they can't hear them, showing Graham the little pieces of gold and silver they'd saved for last. They give him a smile, and Graham starts to pay close attention.

Boulder hands out the gold first. Chase takes a tentative bite, before frowning. He seems to reluctantly swallow it. "Gold," he mutters, seeming disappointed. He hands his piece to Blades, who has a much more positive reaction, positively lighting up when he tastes it.

Heatwave plays with it a little bit, feeling it bend under his digits, before giving them a snaggle-toothed scowl. "I'm not eating gold, Boulder," he snaps, probably louder than he means to be, passing the piece to Blades, who happily accepts it.

Graham grins. "Is there is a story there?"

Boulder's gaze becomes haunted and far away for a moment. "A story for another time," they say, their expression reminiscent of someone having war flashbacks. But it's gone in an instant.

Surprisingly, Chase loves the silver. Blades eats it without complaint, but Heatwave spits it back out.

"And we're done!" Boulder brings up the chart to show Graham the results, tapping the ones in red. "I like to do this every once in a while, because their tastes change occasionally. I like to know everyone's favorite additives, and it's more fun for them if I make it a game." They give him a conspiratorial grin. "And it's good to know what to put in the high grade to keep Heatwave out of it."

Graham can't help but laugh. "Sabotage, Boulder? I didn't think you capable!"

They just give him a cheeky grin.

#boulder can be petty when they need to be #transformers rescue bots #tfrb boulder #tfrb chase #tfrb blades #tfrb heatwave #graham burns #woosh answers #smoke and mirrors au #s&m ask game #thanks for the ask!!

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