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aoibhinnslater04 · 1 year

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Kanej AU

The scene (specifically from the series rather than the books but basically the bathroom scene) where Nina doesn’t interrupt them and Kaz doesn’t decide to sabotage himself

Basically a whole load of Kanej angst!!

Word count: 1697

Requested by @arany-studio

TW: mentions of rape, trauma, injuries

Kaz walked into the small room to find Inej packing her knives. He saw her pause at the sound of his steps, her head tilting slightly towards him, before she resumed sorting her knives.

"You've been lying low?" he asked, his voice rough.

"I've been gathering Intel on Pekka's assassin. I've discovered my bladesmith supplies him with bone-cutters and fillet knives," she responded, still not looking at him.

"Taxidermy tools," Kaz choked out.

"His name's Mogens. I've got his address,"

"That must have cost you."

Inej cut him off. "A new set of blades." She paused before continuing. "He intends on taking me alive, so he can put me back in the Menagerie."

"I won't let that happen," Kaz said gruffly.

"And why should I believe you?" Inej asked, sharply, turning to face him at last. "We were ambushed, Kaz. Whatever this is, this blood feud you have with Pekka Rollins, I don't believe it's about some Saints-forsaken club! You are gambling with our lives and I deserve to know the reason! You owe me that much," she spat out, the first time Kaz had truly seen her angry. She always managed to find something positive about every situation, even being taken by slavers, sold to a Menagerie where she was abused and raped nearly every day, because her parents and brother weren’t there with her, they were safe, they were alive. Suddenly a bright red staining her sleeve caught Kaz's eye.

"Inej, your arm," he whispered, his eyes fixed on the blood spilling out of her. She paused and glanced down, before sighing and rolling her eyes. She seemed to whisper a silent prayer for patience before removing her shirt, leaving her with just a vest on. She checked the bandage, before removing it, wincing. Kaz looked away, unable to bear it, before finally answering her question.

"Pekka Rollins killed my brother."

He felt Inej stiffen slightly, and heard her turn to face him. There was a long moment of silence, as she searched his half-hidden face, before finding whatever it was she was looking for.

"Then we destroy him."

Kaz turned his head quickly up to face her, and saw the openness and anger in her face. She meant it, too. They shared a look, a brief moment where they were both just two people in pain, where they could get comfort from each other, before Inej winced again, and the moment shattered. She glanced once more at her arm, before turning away from Kaz again, reaching for the alcohol to disinfect the wound. She poured some on a piece of linen, and started dabbing at it, twisting her neck to make sure she was reaching every bit of the exposed cut. Kaz, hardly even aware of his own body, moved towards her. She glanced up at him, her beautiful doe eyes searching his face, before she turned to the cut again. Kaz reached out his hand silently, an offer. With her eyes now again on his face, not moving, as if hypnotised, she handed him the cloth. He wasn't able to remove his gloves, not yet, but he hadn't been so close to another human being since Jordie had died.

Inej saw his momentary hesitation, and turned away from him, allowing him to move at his own rate. He reached towards her, dabbing at the wound with the cloth. He heard her breathing hitch slightly, and kept dabbing, not wanting to break the spell by speaking. But then Inej spoke, her words soft and hesitant.

"Is there anyone to protect you?"

You, Inej. You.

But instead he responded, slightly harsh, "Was there no one to protect you?"

Inej turned to look at him, her face soft and vulnerable. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could say a word.

"Look for Mogens' tells. Signs of an old injury that point to a weakness or a repeating action that tells you what he's going to do next."

He saw her face turn contemplative, before she asked hesitantly, "Do I have one?"

He turned his head back to her soft brown skin, before responding "you shift your weight onto your back leg before you lunge. "

She turned fully, facing him again. He stepped back slightly, cursing himself inwardly. She whispered, so softly he could barely hear her. "What's yours?"

Kaz paused, before looking her in the eye. "The limp. The cane. No one's ever smart enough to look for the real one."

Inej moved slightly, just an inch towards her. It was as though his senses were heightened. He smelt her gentle jasmine scent, saw her lips slightly parted, heard her soft breathing, felt her gentle touch as she recovered the cloth he forgot he still held, and all he could think about was her nearness. He hadn't so much as removed a single glove, but he felt as vulnerable as though she had stripped him naked.

Kaz cleared his throat before stepping back, grabbing the fresh roll of bandages off the bench. Inej obediently turned away again, allowing him to take a deep breath. The silence was killing him, and he spoke without thinking.

“You know, I don’t find this part easy. The cutting, the slicing, causing pain is the easy part. Repairing the damage afterwards is far more difficult.”

He wondered if she knew that he wasn’t talking about her wound, then, not really. He was trying to explain that although he was broken, he was trying to repair himself, trying to fix the cracks to become the sort of man she would be proud of, that Jordie would be proud of.

Inej let out a deep breath, sending strands of her dark hair fluttering outwards. Kaz reached out automatically, smoothing her hair down against her head. She stiffened, and so did Kaz, that brief moment of automatic affection an oddity to both. But Kaz then again, feeling almost dizzy with desire, allowed himself to gently stroke her hair. His gloves were still on, a barrier that separated them, but as he felt Inej relax at his touch, he allowed himself to want more, to want Inej. Perhaps one day she might want him too.

Inej cleared her throat, bringing back reality. “Once, when I was much younger, the first time that I tried to walk across the tightrope, I fell. Not when I was on the wire, but at the end, can you imagine? I fell, and hadn’t yet learned how to fall properly. My parents ran to me, but I didn’t feel the pain. I think I was in shock.”

Kaz waited, sure she had a point to this story.She hesitated, before continuing.

“I broke my leg in three different places. My mother thought I might never walk again. My leg healed, but some scars still remained. I couldn’t walk on the tightrope for months, fearing what would happen when I reached the end.”

She turned to face him now, causing him to step back.

“Finally I decided enough was enough. I had been afraid for too long. So everyday for three weeks, instead of walking across the tightrope, I would climb the ladder and just stand at the end. I stood there for an hour that first day, until I had calmed enough to climb down. The second day, I stood there for forty five minutes. Finally, I was only standing there for a few seconds. It took a long time, and the end is still my least favourite part, but I fought against my fears and won.”

She stepped closer to him, and this time he didn’t move back.

“You will fight your fears Kaz Brekker, and then one day you will live without the same fear. It might still hurt occasionally, but you are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

Kaz looked down at her, his face soft, open and vulnerable. Inej looked straight back up at him, her eyes wide and searching, waiting. Kaz bent down slightly towards her, and brushed his lips slightly against her forehead in the gentlest kiss. Her eyes shuttered closed briefly, the softest sound escaping her throat, but she didn’t move. She allowed Kaz to tell her without words what he was capable of, what was too far and yet not enough. She allowed the broken man before her to fix a small, fractured piece of himself, before she stepped back, quivering slightly. She was feeling everything all at once, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. But she stayed steady, and breathed, like she was at the end of the wire once again. Kaz gazed at her, his expression full of wonder, like a young boy, his future full of possibilities.

She turned, so he wouldn’t see the tears that had filled her eyes, and grabbed a hairbrush, unpinning her plait to rebraid it. But he held out his hand, and said, softly, gruffly, as if he, too, was fighting back unshed tears, “Let me.”

Inej handed him the brush, and climbed onto the small bench in front of him, and as Kaz began to gently brush her hair, untangling the knots with such care it was as though he thought she might break at the slightest tug. Inej allowed, then, the tears to fall. She didn’t see that Kaz, too, had tears trickling down his cheeks.

She let out a deep breath, she didn’t realise she had been holding, shuddering slightly, and allowed her eyes to shut for a moment. It had been so long since she had slept, and she had never felt so tired, as if her emotions had drained her more than usual. Her body swayed slightly, but then felt Kaz steady her. He gently laid her back onto the bench, and she felt him move away. She thought he had gone, but then heard his uneven steps return. She felt the softness and warmth of a blanket cover her, and felt him gently lift her head to put a pillow underneath.

“I thought you had left me,” she whispered, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Never,” he vowed. “I will never leave you.”

And then Inej fell asleep, guarded by the healing man above her, his dark eyes keeping watch, protecting her from anything that meant her harm.

#kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows #crooked kingdom #bathroom scene #angst #kanejedit #kanej angst #netflix shadow and bone #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone season 2

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erabundus · 9 months

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@melodicbreeze &&. said... "where did you learn how to do this so well?? Peers over at whatever Ren is working on.

he's aware that the bard is there, long before he ever speaks. it does little to halt the movement of ren's pen; he isn't the kind of INSECURE creative who fears having his work viewed by prying eyes. before him sits the half-finished diagram of a sword. the design is intricate, though in such a way that belies the work of an expert in their craft — as opposed to an amateur with more grandiose ideas than sense. his linework is impeccable; straight and sharp far beyond what most would be capable of replicating entirely freehanded. in fact, there's something almost ARTIFICIAL about the neatness of his penmanship — particularly considering all evidence points to this being a first draft. were it someone not privy to his true identity serving as an impromptu audience, perhaps the wanderer would try to make it a bit more messy. for appearances, if nothing else.

his hand finally goes still when venti speaks. just as well, ren supposes a break would do him good. physically he may not get tired, but mentally he grows FATIGUED the same as anyone. ❝ i was raised by bladesmiths. ❞ pen clatters to the table as if to punctuate the statement. he laces thin fingers beneath his chin and stares down at the page, indigo gaze drifting over the design. occasionally, his brow furrows — as if noticing imperfections only his eyes can see. ❝ ... for a given value of raised, at least. physically, i didn't look much different than i do now ... but i was still comparable to a child for all that i knew of the world. ❞ he knows he's spoken vaguely of his mother's abandonment before. never in detail — though frankly, ren doesn't care to. he's not interested in worthless SYMPATHY; he would rather focus on the topic at hand.

❝ guess you can understand why i was so INTERESTED in your bow. ❞ regrettably he lacks the knowledge to make something with the same transformative capabilities ... yet instead of frustration, the wanderer finds he feels a begrudging sort of respect.

MISC SENTENCE PROMPTS

#melodicbreeze #( weapon nerd moment part 2 DJKFDK )

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the-masked-artist05 · 1 year

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S.D.A. General Information

Supernatural Detectives Agency (S.D.A.) is a group based in Albany, New York. It is composed of four individuals who investigate supernatural happenings, ranging from spirits to cryptids. They assess the situations their clients bring to them and determine whether or not a location is haunted or not. If or when the entity they find is hostile, they will try to remove them and rationalize with them to prevent any harm from being done to other people. Each member in this group has their own role.

Casual Clothes:

Work Uniforms:

[Note: their weapons are not to scale.]

Nicole Jane Cawley

D.O.B.: April 12, 1997

Age: 26

Height: 5'6"

Job: Historian/Archivist Librarian, S.D.A. Member

Weapon: A flail with supernatural properties. Its chain can extend to any length and can be used to trap both physical and spiritual entities by wrapping itself around the target. It can be converted to a hair clip when not in use.

Role in group: Group leader, organizes plans for investigations, founder of S.D.A.

Additional Information: She was born in Italy and moved to New York when she was 10. She is able to speak both Italian And English fluently. She studied to become a historian and works at her local library. In her free time, she and her friends investigate the locations of their clients to search for supernatural activities. She is an energetic, comedic woman with sharp wits but can be quick to judge when things appear to be very face value to her. She also possesses the gift of seeing and interacting with ghosts and other spiritual entities. She lives with her roommate, Orion, in a small yet comfortable house.

Orion Evander

D.O.B.: May 17, 1998

Age: 25

Height: 5'10" (both human and true form)

Job: None/ S.D.A. Member

Weapon: A crossbow with unusual properties. When one of the bows hits an object, a small explosion will occur upon impact. There is an infinite amount of bows, they spawn when one is fired. It can be converted to a forearm bracelet when not in use.

Role in group: Defense - fights any hostile entities who try to harm the group or bystanders.

Additional Information: From roaming the streets and woodlands of New York as a cryptid to living comfortably on Earth, Orion is a rather unusual monster with no intent of hurting humans just for the sake of it. He is a fiery yet entertaining individual, just looking to have a fun time. He has no issues with fighting for himself or his friends when conflict arises. He does errands such as house cleaning and grocery shopping to make up for not having a "main" job and not getting bored. He has the ability to shapeshift, control/summon fire, super strength and speed and crawl on walls and ceilings with ease.

Jayden Horatio Lee

D.O.B.: June 2, 1999

Age: 24

Height: 5'9"

Job: Therapist, S.D.A. Member

Weapon: A spear with supernatural properties. It can slice through most strong materials such as metals and concrete. It provides the user with greater agility and lighter on their feet. It can be converted to a pen when not in use.

Role in group: Voice of reason - tries to reason with any entities to de-escalate any dire situations or attempt to speak to them about their past and/or why they are stuck within their clients' location.

Additional Information: Jayden was raised in London and moved to Albany with Flynn Bennett to experience life differently from what he had at home. He works as a therapist, helping people go through any mental turmoil or confusion they may be feeling and giving them diagnoses. He implements some aspects of his job into his role in the S.D.A. to help his group mates and other paranormal beings. He is a collected and thoughtful individual who thinks very carefully before he does anything, sometimes overthinking a decision in some cases.

Flynn Anthony Bennett

D.O.B.: July 6, 1999

Age: 24

Height: 5'11"

Job: Bladesmith, S.D.A. Member

Weapon: A hammer and shield with unusual properties. When the hammer hits any surface with great force, it can blast anyone and anything a few meters away or destroy the object with a bright, hot glow. The hammer is heavy and can be wielded by strong people. The shield can withstand greater forces than any usual shield. It can convert into two tattoos when not in use.

Role in group: Weaponsmith - makes weapons to defend the group from enemies, with items such as holy water obtained from a certain priest to create said weapons.

Additional Information: From the outbacks in Australia, he has had an interest in bladesmithing ever since he was a child thanks to his mother and father. He moved to Albany with Jayden for the same reason as him. He has a small bladesmithing business, creating items for customers who are interested in his craft. He also uses his skills to create weapons with unusual properties to aid his mates in fights against aggressive and malicious entities. He exudes exuberance and loves getting creative whenever he can but some things can fly over his head if they're not direct.

#art #my art #digital art #writing #my wrtitng #ocs #my ocs #S.D.A.#nicole cawley #orion evander #jayden lee #flynn bennett

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eorzeashan · 8 months

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On Specialized Echani Arts

Echani Bladesinging is a specialized art that originated from the Bengali province of Thyrsus, which required a bladesmith to learn hyperspecific tones and pitch to be able to vibrate their fangs at a specific frequency--one that allowed them to discern the weaknesses of in the blade by touching their fangs to the sword and listening to the sound/feeling the vibration created. Due to its difficulty, few undertake such a profession as it is harsh on the vocal chords and bone structure over time, but the art itself has become cemented in myth as one of the marks of a master bladesmith and the trait of the legendary folk hero, Thyrsus.

Echani music and several martial styles owe their humble origins to bladesinging, and the beautiful haunting tone of an Echani "singing" to the ringing of a blade is one that few, if no other species can replicate, and it is said that the music produced from a blade is the soul of the sword speaking to its wielder. Combining this unique art form with other traditional Echani vocalizations (or as humans like to call it, "howling" though it is not limited to such a definition) has made a rather popular and flourishing performance art in Eshan, specifically in the colder regions, where local theatre has found its footing as of late.

In martial arts, a single yet incredibly famous move is that of blade biting, ever popularized in films featuring Echani martial artists. One must howl at the exact frequency to shatter their opponent's blade, but at the same time, catch it with their teeth-- a deadly and near-impossible move to master, but one of extreme pride amongst those who have, as it requires an inhuman reaction speed and the mastery of knowing another's blade so well that one would recognize its weakness instantly.

#star wars #echani #more echani hcs this time featuring a very niche art #eight has his scar from pulling this off exactly once

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akallia · 2 years

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smoke spot (kazuha x reader)

the 2.8 event has me in a Kazuha chokehold. ever since Kazuha literally basically admitted to being a stoner, I've had fried Kazuha in my mind. I just had to write about it (sidenote, WHY IS NOBODY WRITING ABOUT THIS????) so here you go!!!

Pairing: Kazuha x fem!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Concept/summary: you've traveled for so long, you feel as though it's time you come clean to Kazuha. and he's given you the perfect excuse to speak your mind.

CW: marijuana usage, mentions of Tomo, scars (?)

Content UTC!

“Fuck, Kazu, really?” You said, irritated. This was the fifth time tonight he’d almost fallen asleep, his head dipping low enough to jerk him back into consciousness from the weight of itself. Of course you were feeling tired as well, but he didn’t need to know that. You would stay awake out of spite, since this was his whole idea.

He only whined childishly in response. “Whaaaaat?” He sat cross legged in front of you, completely at ease on the sharp incline of the shingled roof you were both perched on. “It’s not my fault this Liyuean stuff makes me sleepy.”

“It is most definitely your fault,” you chuckled, “since you’re the one who bought it.” You couldn’t fight off the smile creeping onto your face. Your eyes felt heavy, and you experimentally attempted to open your eyes all the way, fingers coming up to test if they were really open all the way or if your intoxicated brain was imagining things.

Kazuha, in a simple Mondstadt-style sleep shirt and loose shorts, inspected the small pipe he held pinched between his thumb and index finger. “Maybe no more Liyuean strains, then?”

You snorted. “It’s fine, I’m actually quite at peace despite the drowsiness.” And you were. You had followed Kazuha ever since you were teenagers, and you felt as though you were both finally at a place of peace; so much had happened, and you were now at a stable point in the healing process of the past few years.

“Ah, Y/N,” he sighed, gazing up at the moon keeping watch over the city of freedom, then down to you at his side. “Where would I be without you, love?” His eyes were half-lidded in the way the drug made them, slightly reddened as well. You two had been doing this for years, on every special occasion or when the company deemed it appropriate, but this was the first time he had brought you to a smoke spot for seemingly no reason.

Your heart clenched a bit at the pet name despite knowing there was no romantic intention behind it. You had been in love with him since you were children, but you had covered the smoldering embers of your feelings due to, well, everything: he was nobility while were but the daughter of a local bladesmith, you two had been on the run from the Shogunate… he had been in love with your best friend. That familiar pang beat in your chest again, though this time in sorrow for Tomo, who had never known Kazuha’s love for him, and who had died before his time. You resigned yourself to silent adoration in respect for these reasons. He did not need to know the true extent of your bond to him.

“Probably dead in a ditch.” You grinned at him sidelong, making sure to hold onto the spine of the roof before leaning over to snatch the pipe from him again. “Why are we up here anyways? We never smoke unless something’s happened. Did you hang out with the Traveler again?” You teased, jostling him. Aether and Kazuha were quite close, and you couldn’t say you weren’t jealous. You knew Kazuha felt nothing for the mysterious boy, but the vice grip Kazuha had on your heart couldn’t help but feel a pang of searing green envy whenever Aether spirited away the man you loved for hours or even days at a time.

Kazuha merely exhaled lightly at your banter, brushing it off just as the wind drew his bangs away from his forehead. You loved that about him - no matter where you two were and no matter how still the evening, there was occasionally a light breeze that fluttered around him in response to his emotions. You weren’t sure if he was aware of it, but you had spent years studying him. It was… cute.

“No, dear, I’ve not been with Aether.” He shifted a bit, and undid his hair from its ponytail, letting Barbatos comb his fingers through the soft white strands.

You surveyed the city of Mondstadt. The sky was clear, constellations lit up in the captivating way that astrologer girl you’d run into earlier said they’d be. The peace you felt from the contents of Kazuha’s pipe was momentarily disrupted as a veil of homesickness settled over you. You opened your mouth to comment but closed it again as Kazuha beat you to the punch.

He uttered your name softly, like the prayers of the nuns in the cathedral you’d toured yesterday. “You know I speak my mind, no?” He tilted his head to take you in.

“Of course, Kazu.”

“Then I must be honest with you.” He gently plucked the pipe out of your fingers, cradling the bowl at the end as though he were holding an injured bird. His brow was furrowed a bit, as though he were extremely focused on either the ground leaves inside the bowl or choosing his next words wisely. You assumed it would be the latter. A great curiosity plucked at you like a finger on the string of a lyre.

“I care greatly for you, my friend. We have been through much and experienced much together. I have great respect for you as a warrior, a confidante, and, of course, as a travel partner.” His unbandaged, scarred fingers twitched as he rested them on his knee, a new cloud of smoke dissipating around his head as he exhaled.

Your stomach roiled in anticipation of what the hell he would say next.

“I feel as though you have been far from me recently, and the only thing I could think is that you desire the freedom I have been searching for all these years. I am at peace with my path in life; I enjoy the life of a wanderer. But I do not know what it is you desire, and so, if freedom from me is what you desire, then I want you to tell me, and I will tell you that it’s alright. You can be free.” He said all this in the easy manner in which he said all things, but you could read him like those poems he wrote constantly; he didn’t want you to go. His face betrayed the lies in his words.

“Kazuha,” you began, turning your whole body to face him. You grabbed his hands, lightly brushing your thumb over the burn scars on his hand. You prayed Tomo’s soul would be able to rest after what you knew you would have to say tonight.

“Kazuha, I have followed you all these years for a reason.” You squeezed his hands for emphasis. “I want nothing more than to stay by your side… forever.” His face was shadowed by his bangs and you cursed Barbatos for his horrific timing - you needed to be able to read his expressions! “I hope you understand what I am saying. I also understand if you cannot give me what I’m asking for…” you trailed off, eyes burning with unshed tears at the thought of your dead friend, feeling horrible for putting Kazuha through this, but you truly couldn’t take it anymore. You had to tell him.

Your name left his lips again, gentle and smooth like silk, the exact way he recited haikus. The breath left your lungs.

“I cannot say I do not feel the same way, though it seems you have put much more thought into it than I have. I will admit that my feelings are much less developed than yours, but…” Those half-lidded eyes again. “We can try.” A smirk.

The shame in your stomach faded at his words, and you prayed thanks to Celestia for finally, finally letting you catch a goddamn break. You would do anything for this man. Maybe… maybe you could be happy.

He smiled and leaned in to kiss you softly.

“Kazuha,” you whispered. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I can’t say. What the wind whispers to me is mine to keep.” He laced his fingers through yours. “Now what do you say about some more of this,” he gestured at the pipe, “and then see if the Angel’s Share’s beds are as comfortable as Master Diluc says they are?”

“I would love nothing more than that, Kazu.”

#genshin impact #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #genshin impact fanfic #Kazuha fanfic #kaedehara Kazuha fanfiction #Kazuha fanfictin #Kazuha x reader #Kazuha x female reader #stoned kazuha #Kazuha is literally a stoner #like canonically #why are we #as a community #ignoring this vital part of his character #Kazuha one shot #I love this man

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ultimate-sword-showdown · 7 months

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This tournament will return...

#sword showdown #the bladesmith speaks #I've been planning things out and I have a pretty good idea of how I want to host the rematch #I have to wait until this school quarter is over though. I will not have time before then period.#but I might as well start building hype now...if anyone still cares about this thing lmao #I assume my 500 followers are still paying attention somewhat

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iliektehhaxs · 2 months

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waloed holds the 4 top spots for war victory% no glitch speedrun, the first being the time some nation made a comment of barnabas’ spouse being a good addition to their concubine circle.

and the second place being bladesmith, when some foreign noble was bold in taking the princess (their tiny tiny baby aged 15) as a political marriage and she just won the war themselves. barnabas was too horny at the initial yelling from his spouse to get on the battle field

That second one has some genuine potential anon, I always wanted to get into bladesmith a abilities so *cracks knuckles*

She was an apprentice bladesmith working under her father, then eventually an official bladesmith once she became a teenager

She had difficulties applying for an official apprenticeship as smithing was seen as a man’s job. The only reason she was able to be taught is because of her father, who personally gave her master one of the blades she had forged as proof of her skill. Even then there was an obvious bias between her and the rest of the apprentices.

She didn’t care though. As much as they wanted to deny her, they could not deny her craftsmanship.

When it was her turn to sell her pieces under the watchful eyes of her master she used a pseudonym as she was afraid her gender would impact her sales.

When her master finds out she sold a weapon without his knowledge he renounces her (really he was finding any excuse to get rid of her.) When words spreads on who make Barnabas’s weapon he tells everyone that he was the one who taught her how to best forge a blade, and you can imagine how thrilled she was to hear him using her name to his advantage.

Barnabas wanted to kill him—she wanted to embarrass him. Instead of murder she had Barnabas enter his forge, pick up his weapons and loudly exclaim “These are the worst blades I’ve ever had the misfortune of seeing, much less holding.” He soon ran out of business.

She has a philosophy that the best bladesmiths are the ones who know how to hold a sword—how do you expect a chef to improve without developing his palate? Her free time is spent watching the royal guards train through an opening in the fence and practicing it herself. She has been doing this for the better part of her life.

When Barnabas returns after conquering Waloed she insists on traveling with him under the guise of being close by to repair his armor and weapons as his personal smith, but she also wants an up close and personal look at how a true warrior wields her weaponry—that way she can improve even further.

Because of this she’s actually a surprisingly good swordswoman, better than most. I would say she’s on par with the royalist guards.

#robo speaks #ask #DING DING DING ITS A LORE DUMP!!!#bladesmith! au

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bloodgoddarlin · 1 year

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Yes please! That would be awesome!

Ask and you shall receive, anon ❤

[[MORE]]

First, we a have Hades Bladesmith, The Knight of Dusk 🌙

Hades new look is very different from his last one. He is still the dashing, harming knight we know him to be, but he's now got a little bit of sharpness to him. He is cloaked in night, his sword glinting in the moonlight.

Whenever he takes your heart or your life is entirely up to you 😊

Next we have our protag and sunshine boy, Titus Valerius! ☀

Titus, like Hades, hasn't changed much in terms of personality. He's still a soft himbo lad-- but with a slightly sad edge to him. He's all bright colors and positivity, but also impossibly lonely. He goes through most of his days alone, barely speaking to anyone, even his father or his brother, even though they all live in the same home. Titus is the sun-- alone in the sky, shining on others and keeping them warm, but always somehow never able to shake off the chill of the loneliness of his life.

Next, we have Brutus Emperor, Imperial Prince of Ice ❄

Brutus has evolved a LOT since you guys last saw him. He is, as he titles implies, an imperial prince. In public, he puts on the persona of nobility and poise, but behind closed doors, he's rather crass-- particularly when he's alone with Io or Lucius. Because of this, some people in the Emperor's Manor think they're both bad influences on him, not realizing that the opposite is actually the case.

(He also also been secretly admiring a certain sunshine boy from afar, but shh. That's a secret that he keeps to himself.)

Next we have the Rouge of Stars, Io Ethos🌠

Io is a complicated soul-- he loves and cares for all the people in his life as hard as he possibly can, but gets flighty when people show care for him. He will do everything in his power to help and protect anyone, but errs to the side of caution when people try to defend or protect him. He is fire-- bright and warm and inviting, but dangerous to the touch.

And lastly, we have the Earthly Scholar, Lucius Flown 🌎

Lucius is Brutus' right hand. He keeps him (and Io) out of trouble, and help him conduct his daily business as the imperial prince. He is constantly reading something, and is generally a huge nerd.

(He also may have a crush on a certain rouge but SHH. thats a SECRET.)

#{ snail answers #original character #oc desgins #fantasy original character #oc x reader #{ hades bladesmith.#{ titus valerius.#{ lucius flown.#{ io ethos.#{ brutus emperor.#more redesigns to come :)#i hope soon

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marinesocks · 2 years

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Heads Up, Seven Up

hey hey writers! i was tagged by @worldstogetlostin , @andromedatalksaboutstuff , @j-1173 , @kyofsonder , @perasperaadastrawriting , @verba-writing , @eccaiia , @aohendo , @marigoldispeculiar , @my-writblr , and @bookish-galaxy !! yall i was literally gone for like three days what is this lmao????

snippet from the owl's wish :)

Sakusa closes the door and kneels across from him. It is dim enough to wonder if Sakusa sees the tears bubbling under Bokuto’s eyelids, if he can trace their slick pathways down Bokuto’s flushed face. If he does, then he shows no sign of it. Sakusa, nearly noiselessly, takes a deep breath. “I will say this once, and once only,” The weasel spirit begins, tone firm and unyielding. “Afterward you will ask me no questions and we will never speak of it again. Understood?” - bladesmithing, part two: assemble

i'm going to formally tag @kjscottwrites , @cbolandwrites , @pen-of-roses , @icarusisstillflying , @space-cadead , @crossroadcrow , and @howsweetthewords , as well as keeping this an open tag as always!!

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writblr #writers #writing #creative writing #my writing #heads up seven up #heads up 7 up #helena scribbles #the owl's wish

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monogatcri · 1 year

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it's hard for anyone to let go of someone they love. (from nahida, as promised!)

━━ ˟ ⊰🍁FOR HOW LONG HE'D BEEN gone and how the past had painted him , Niwa had been utterly baffled when news of Kabukimono sparing his descendant had been one of the updates mentioned. To hear that one who'd been friend had turned cowardly foe and raced to save his own skin, leaving you behind to take responsibility for what he'd claimed he would? The restraint of friend -- it felt...powerful than most humans would have managed.

Second chance. Friendship reformed. Pain sutured in one way while stitches tore in another ; the bladesmith sat before Nahida, lips pulled into tight line, nodding head. For how much pain had been thrust to heart, letting go of perception of what once existed was all a quality of being human...no heart required to beat within breast. Nahida knew this as well as Niwa ; they knew that what makes a person the same as a human was not the physical organ but the morality, the intentions, the existence, emotions...

Emotions that ran high as the concept of this meeting continued to fill him, anxiety-riddled form, somehow, managing to remain perfectly still before this benevolent god of wisdom. He could bow deeply, slam his forehead to the floor and repeatedly strike it to show how grateful he was to her, barely holding back at committing to this by a thread -- a culture divide he feared breaking. A hand raised, eyes falling upon palm, examining its structure...silent for some time...

❝ Lesser Lord Kusanali, ❞ he'd finally start, lowering hand down to lap. Life had been handed back to him, but... ❝ That's why I need you. I know he cares and that...that me dying again would be painful ; I just want to be know if I'm dangerous -- if my existence must be snuffed out once more for the betterment of the world's safety. ❞ Grateful is he that he managed to speak at all to his loved one, a chance to set the record straight and to hug him one last time ; he could never have asked for more than that -- all that he'd shown him thus far a bonus... By nature of law, he won't allow himself to pose a threat to the rest of Teyvat, however ; no matter how much he wants to live, no matter how much his friend wishes for his life to remain, Niwa wouldn't stand in the way of ensuring everyone's safety over his own desires.

❝ You're the neutral party. I will accept your judgment of my situation, but...first I must thank you ; if not for your kindness and intervention, others may have continued to abuse him and would have long killed or thrown him aside once they were through with him ; it is this knowledge that warms my heart and makes this choice to ask for your judgment on my existence easier, for I know that if you must destroy me, he'll be safe...and he'll have someone who cares. ❞

#* // ♦︎ 001. — › I C #* // ♦︎ 008. — › A N S W E R E D #* // ♦︎ V3. — › HEART FROM IRMINSUL #// I cry into my hands #// he's so grateful to her #// he feels at peace knowing that she's been there for him

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kultofathena · 1 year

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Ádám Bodorics – Dürer Bauernwehr

When one picks up this custom-crafted dagger by bladesmith and artisan Ádám Bodorics they may well be struck by how comfortable it is in the hand, both in its contoured grip shape and also its balance. In the hand it becomes immediately apparent that a great deal of attention went into making this dagger feel like an extension of the hand. Ádám took great care to hollow out enough of the pommel so that it would not be hilt-heavy despite its size and the results speak for themselves. The uniquely shaped bolster butts nicely up against the knuckle and a closer look shows how it has been deliberately offset to best fit the natural contour of the hand. In its profile this sidearm has a fine and very pleasing arc to its entire shape. Its paired with two byknives of fine craftsmanship and a signed Certificate from bladesmith and artisan Ádám Bodorics which details his though process when creating this piece. Read on to see his thoughts for this dagger in his own words:

The Bauernwehr is a dagger-sized sidearm with a knifelike grip construction. The archetypal form appears in the 15th century and survives several centuries with the later pieces being more hunt than combat oriented. This specific piece is based on Albrecht Dürer’s circa 1497 engraving, Three Peasants in Conversation. It is not a direct copy as my version is definitely smaller even though we can’t see the entire piece in the illustration.

The robust and sharp blade is hand-ground from 6150/51crv4 steel. Even with minimal distal taper and a beefy cross-section, making the pommel solid would’ve messed up the handling even though my interpretation is smaller than what we see on the illustration. To avoid making a useless hilt-heavy piece, I hand-forged and filed a mandrel with which I created a three-piece hollow pommel out of 1.5mm mild steel. The parts are assembled by silver solder and are secured by hot peening the tang. Hollow pommels are far from being rare on swords and knives – due to the relatively low number of surviving Messers, we can’t tell if it’s true for them as well, though certain pommels shown on illustrations have no other way of working without making the weapon in question cumbersome or unresponsive. The bolster is a simple piece of folded-over mild steel, barely extending beyond the edge. A couple of years later it would be more fashionable to add a protrusion to the bolster, almost like a miniature half- cross.

The Nagel is massive. It is possible that Dürer made a mistake at illustrating this part, but my interpretation is surprisingly comfortable. While this will definitely vary between people, in my case my hand locks perfectly between the pommel and the Nagel. It is peened on the other side as proper Nagels are supposed to be. The grip is made from hand-picked walnut (juglans regia) and is affixed with a combination of gluing and tubular brass rivets made from folded-up sheet.

The delicate bypieces consist of a byknife and a pricker/awl. Both are heat-treated, though the pricker is softer to lessen the chance for breaking. The knife is sharp. While the prickers are often believed to be used for eating, I find it unlikely. In my personal experience, they are very uncomfortable for this role, but they are a surprisingly handy multitool able to undo knots even in soaking wet cords and tongs, punch holes, remove splinters and so on. Both have hand-picked walnut grip slabs and the knife has cast bronze bolsters.

The sheath is somewhat crude but functional. It is made by first sewing the subsheaths from vegatable-tanned cow leather, then forming them to conform to the pieces they will house with the flesh-side out. Then the subsheaths are glued together using hide glue, and the same hide glue secures the covering layer of vegetable-tanned goat leather. The dyeing is decidedly imperfect for a somewhat used and abused effect. – Ádám Bodorics

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erabundus · 11 months

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@ruinlost &&. said... Make me choose choose: catalysts or swords !

❝ that would depend on the context. ❞ because of course it does — the question is never so straightforward as choosing one weapon over the other. ❝ do you mean wielding or creating? ❞ chin rests between thumb and forefinger; brow furrowing in thought. there's a marked difference between the two; there was a time when he once would have chosen the sword without a fight — yet centuries of relying on a catalyst ( centuries of relying on the only weapon that would not break beneath his power ) has skewed his biases somewhat. as a result, it's hard to declare a clear-cut VICTOR without further context. he can't generalize; each has their appealing qualities for different reasons.

even so, the wanderer puts forth an effort to elaborate — for he is nothing if not willing to chat about weaponry. ( it's one of the ONLY THINGS he jumps at the chance to talk about, really. ) ❝ if it's a fight, i'd prefer a catalyst. ❞ the balladeer was rather infamous for his proclivity for melting any blade he tried to wield into a pile of unusable metal. his electro ran too strong; the might of a god equally willing to turn on its wielder as it was his enemies. though he fought to control it, even entire lifetimes of practice could only do so much to hone his skill. he wonders if it might be different now, with anemo as the power that ebbs and flows at his FINGERTIPS. it's certainly easier to use — feels more his own, rather than something alien he happens to be drawing from like some unsightly parasite. he's hesitant to try, if only for the consequences; a sword is a dignified thing, particularly when made CORRECTLY. ( and perhaps the wanderer empathizes with them more than he should. ) he would hate to destroy one based on a vague assumption.

❝ if we're speaking purely in terms of forging ... ❞ ren starts to continue, only to trail off just as quickly. he shakes his head. ❝ a catalyst and sword are two completely different animals. ❞ in a manner of speaking. ❝ a catalyst can be almost anything, provided it's made from a material conductive to channeling raw energy. that's why it isn't uncommon to see so many variations in their design. ❞ as if to demonstrate, the wanderer summons his own weapon — bell chiming delicately above his upturned palm. ❝ a sword is considerably more rigid by comparison ... although i would argue that in itself is its greatest STRENGTH. ❞

he banishes the catalyst with a flick of the wrist. ❝ have you ever heard stories of famous art pieces that were crafted under severe deadlines or inhospitable conditions? more often than not ... restriction is ironically the very thing that allows creativity to prosper. ❞ though it also helps that ren has a very personal history with bladesmithing in particular. either way, ❝ i'd rather make a sword. ❞

MAKE HIM CHOOSE.

#ruinlost #( ren babbles about weapons for 87 years: part 382 )

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kharrneth · 1 year

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Cont

The Raven is right, as he often is. The Old Hound is not happy at the whispers that come from the Crystal-Lands of the Changer, from the beaks of Tzeentch’s blue-and-beaked furies, their throats torn by his own as they trespass to screech and warn. And from his own furies to the bladesmiths, the proper bloodletters, the Gore-Lords and finally his own ragged ear.

The Ainlifun stirs, they say. From the southmost lands, from the deepest darkest forests, does he rise with eyes and claws turned north. He reaches for the Chaos Gods, they say. He seeks to tear their crowns from their head, melt them down into a great sword in which to slay them with.

"𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖. 𝐀 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐙𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐂𝐇. 𝐖𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄!"

Before him, the Gorelords of the Eight Hosts of Murder were assembled. They were not quite eight at the moment, however. Skaravex, Lord of the Legions and Leader of the Eighth Host, had been the brave Bloodthirster to deliver the rumors to Khorne’s person. And he was little more than a bloody stain in the Blood God’s great armored fist, crushed like a gnat for such foolish insolence.

The remaining Gorelords knelt, terrified, but wise enough to not show it before their angry god. Finally, it was Ki’yantha’nak of the 7th Host, who who dared to speak.

“ My Father in Fury,” She began, utterly submissive, “ The vast legions you so graciously assigned me do spin tales akin to that of the Tzeentchian furies. The Changer is a liar. That is certain. This is part of a larger scheme and game, as you say. But this part of the scheme rings true.”

Gore-Lord Ki’yantha’nak fell back into silence and tensed. She expected to meet a similar fate as her late Blood Brother, Skaravex. However, as the second weakest of the Gorelords, it was better her than any of the others. But Khorne did not strike. He sat, shifted slightly, and considered, turning her words over in his mind. Skaravex had been boastful, proud, so it was no surprise he had gotten beyond himself with what he heard. However, Ki’yantha’nak had never lied to him, nor was she a braggart like the dead Deathbringer.

She had also brought him his beloved Valkia all those centuries ago and Queen and Gorelord had enjoyed something like a friendship.

“ 𝐊𝐢'𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐚'𝐧𝐚𝐤. 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞.” Began the Hound-God, turning his fiery gaze upon her. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐦. 𝐓𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

The Bloodthirster nodded from her position on the blood drenched floor. Khorne finally looked away, as if peering through the veil itself.

“𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦.”

From among his children, he could feel the most monstrous of them agitate. An’ggrath brought up the head of the Bloodthirsters and his odd anatomy made bowing an awkward and uncomfortable thing. He even thought he heard a growl from his strongest spawn. Khorne tilted his head, much as a curious hound might. His voice rumbled forth, filling the cavernous chamber bearing him and his throne.

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.”

Less a statement, more an observation, a challenge even. Upon being invoked, An’ggrath rose to his four hooves. He looked at Khorne, directly in the eyes, with as much confidence as another who once stood where he did. The Blood God chuffed.

“ I am stronger than Skarbrand.” The Unbound stated plainly, “ You have made it so. I should be given the honor of facing this foe, not the mongrel. I should venerate your name with this kill, not the traitor.”

It was almost amusing, how the Grand Marshal seemed to hate Skarbrand despite having never met him proper. Almost. Khorne, however, merely narrowed his hellish glare and that was all it took to cow the Unbound. His righteous rage fled, replaced by fear, and the Blood God knew satisfaction as he slank back into line.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞. 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝.” Said Kharneth, “ 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

If they weren’t sure they would be in just as much trouble as the Unbound, the others would’ve surely laughed at their sulking sibling. Khorne looked again at Ki’yantha’nak, growling the message into her mind, then leaning back against his brazen throne. He looked...none-too-pleased.

“ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞.”

#Plot Point #Kill Them All (Muse Status);#Champion; Ki'yantha'nak (Gore Herald);#warhammer fantasy #khorne #Champion: An'ggrath (The Unbound);

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