#whetstone sets

[thefirstvanishingmemories]

Blade Care 101: An In-Depth Look at Japanese Sharpening Stones

Japanese water stones, no matter if they’re natural or synthetic, are famous for their fast and efficient sharpening abilities. They’re not only suitable for Japanese blades but also Western ones. The loose binding of the small cutting particles in the stone ensures that during the sharpening process, the surface particles are swiftly rinsed away, making room for fresh and sharp particles to…

[henchmaxxing]

I must not browse the surplus store. Browsing is the wallet-killer. Browsing is the little death that brings useless camping crap. I will face these deals. I will permit them to pass over me and through me. And when they have gone past I will not have bought a knife. Where the deals have gone I will have bought nothing. Only what I came for.

[greypetrel]

Hello 💜✨ n.24 per tutti (o solo per chi vuoi)? 👀

Hullo! 💜✨

No no per tutti! :P It's interesting and it gives me the chance to think to so many new AUs... :P

Tis the prompt list

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

Alyra: She would have left Alistair a Warden, given him the command before Witch Hunt, and then followed Morrigan through the Eluvian. She would have been happy then: she loves politics, but fundamentally she doesn't care. She does care for Morrigan and Kieran tho. She would have stayed in contact with Alistair, of course... I don't think she would have forgiven the Inquisitor for leaving Alistair in the Fade, tho. Not after Tamlen. And after that, it would have been back to politics and move to unstabilize the Inquisition. She would have been to the Exalted Council instead of Teagan, and it would have probably lasted way less. No Leliana to talk her down.

Raina: Uhm, for her it's either ditching her responsibilities whatsoever, learning sooner rather than later that her family isn't her responsibility, she's a sister and not a mother for them... And left as she intended to before Malcolm died. I kinda picture her getting in contact with the Hero of Ferelden and becoming a companion, maybe? Or, leaving Kirkwall to the Arishok, supposing that Isabela didn't turn back and just... Sent the Book back via Thedas-Amazon. She would have actually tried with the Qun, just to discover she would have fitted VERY poorly in it. And then run from the city and live as a fugitive, most likely.

Garrett: Take his money after the Deep Roads, return to Ferelden and buy a farm in the countryside, in a place forgotten and isolated, and live as a hermit cultivating pumpkins. He would have been content, or that's what he would tell himself. "Raina will be better if she doesn't have me to worry about.". Except she would have not, remotely. I can picture Raina actually getting killed by the Arishok, Leandra's death would have destabilized her too much to actually pay attention to it. He'd feel horribly, horribly guilty and isolate himself all the more. No family of his own, picture him living as Heidi's grandfather.

Aisling: I'll leave the most obvious one with Radha and indulge in another what if here. Plan the Lavellan detouring to Soundermount during DA2. She would have been sent to town to investigate on Merrill as a favour for Merethari (the two met in Arlathven and got fairly along, they thought maybe Merrill would listen to Aisling). Except... Aisling actually listened to Merrill, agreed with her. And stopped in the city becoming another companion for Hawke. She would have been fairly happy there, befriended everyone (if not romanced, I laugh at the idea she would have gone pestering her way into Cullen's friendship anyway, somehow), got known as a herbalist, became Anders' therapist (he knocks at her door at 3am, gift her a kitten as an apology. She lives in a hut with 20 cats, by now). I think she would suggest Merrill to come with the Lavellans after game, or just decide to stay with Hawke if she's needed there, according to how much approval she'll have.

Radha: She would have not switched place with Aisling and travelled to the Conclave herself. She would have been a firmer Inquisitor, surely. Would have exiled the Wardens, let Celene die and keep Gaspard on the throne with Briala actually controlling him (and Leliana instructed to keep all her spies on de Chalons, and cut down every contact he has if he tries something against Briala). She wouldn't have trusted Morrigan for a moment, and drank from the Well herself. I think she would overall be way less popular Inquisitor than Aisling was amongst the people, but more palatable for nobles. She wouldn't have been happy, tho: She would be frustrated in a role of command and under so many eyes. She will adapt, but happy? Oh, no. Not at all, she would hate the position to bits. Woudn't have disbanded the Inquisition out of pure pettiness, and become a more and more bitter and angry person as time went by.

I'll spare you Mass Effect shenanigans :P

[pleasantboatpress]

so, you wanted to start bookbinding?

so @princetofbone mentioned on my post for "factory settings" about wanting to know more about the binding style that i used for it. so i thought i might make a post about it.

i was as terrible as i always am for taking in progress shots, but i can link you to the resources i used in order to make my book. i would also like to point out that "factory settings" is my 120th bind, and i have been doing bookbinding as a hobby for just over 3 years now. unfortunately this means some of the methods that i used for that bind aren't particularly beginner friendly, just in terms of the tools and methods i have used, but i would love to point you in the right direction when it comes to resources. i dont say this to sound pretentious which i fear i might come across, just so that youre fully informed. getting into this hobby is fun and rewarding, but it can definitely be intimidating.

with that caveat, heres a list of links and resources that i have used for bookbinding in general, with additional links to methods i used specifically in regards to this bind.

ASH's how to make a book document. it gives you a great introduction into typesetting fics (where you format the text of fics to look like a traditionally published books) and then turning them into a case-bound book (the style i used for "factory settings"). it is comprehensive, and explains how to use microsoft word to do your bidding. it was invaluable to me when i was just starting out! currently i use affinity publisher to typeset/format my fics for printing, but i only bought and learned how to use that after i had been binding books for a year and a half. i made some beautiful typesets with word, and some of my close friends use it still and design stuff that i never would be able to in my wildest dreams (basically anything by @no-name-publishing)

DAS Bookbinding's Square Back Bradel Binding. a great style to do your first bind in! this method requires, when making the case, to attach the cover board and the spine board to a connecting piece of paper, which makes it so much easier to match the size of the case to the size of the text block (your printed out and sewn fic). using this method is what allowed me to get much more accurately fitting cases, and made me much more confident with the construction of the books i was making. a well-made book is something that is so wonderful to hold in your hands!

DAS Bookbinding's Rounded and Backed Cased Book. This is the specific method that i used to create my bind for "factory settings"! even before i could back my books, i found that watching DAS's videos in particular helped me see how books were traditionally made, and i was able to see different tips and tricks about how to make nicer books.

Book Edge Trimming Without... i trim the edges of my text block using my finishing press and a chisel i have sharpened using a whetstone and leather strop with buffing compound on it. i follow the method for trimming shown in this video!

Made Endpapers. i follow this method for my endpapers, as i used handmade lokta endpapers, and they can be quite thin, but they look beautiful! i used "tipped on" endpapers (where you have your endpaper and then put a thin strip of glue on the edge and attach it to your text block) i used for a very long time before this, but these feel like they are much more stable, as they are sewn with your text block.

Edge Sprinkling. this is the method that i used for decorating the edges of my text block. but the principle is basically clamping your text block tight and then sprinkling the edges. i do not believe you need to trim the edges in order to do sprinkles on the edges, and that's what makes it accessible! i personally just use really cheap acrylic paint that i water down and then flick it onto the edges with my thumb and a paint brush.

Double-Core Endbands. i sew my own endbands, which i followed this tutorial for. that being said, it's kind of confusing, and this video is a bit easier to follow, but it is a slightly different type of endband.

Case decoration. i used my silhouette cameo 4 to cut out my design for "factory settings" in htv (heat transfer vinyl). i also used my cameo 4 to cut out the oval of marbled paper on the front, as i honestly didn't want to try my hand at cutting an oval lol. i also glued some 300 gsm card with an oval cut out of the centre of it onto the cover before covering it with bookcloth, to get a kind of recess on the cover. i then glued the oval of marbled paper onto the top of the recessed area once it was covered with bookcloth, so that it was protected. the images i used were sourced from a mix of rawpixel, canva and pixabay. a more accessible way to get into cover decoration is by painting on a design for your cover as described in @a-gay-old-time's tutorial just here. or even doing paper labels, which look classy imo.

physical materials. sourcing these will depend on your country. i am located in australia, and have compiled a list with some other aussie bookbinders of places to buy from. here is a great post describing beginning materials for getting started binding.

@renegadepublishing. this tumblr is great! its what got me started bookbinding, and being in the discord has been inspiring, motivating, and honestly just one of the best online experiences i have ever had. it is full of resources, and most people in there are amateur bookbinders, with a couple of professionals thrown in. the discord is 18+, and anyone can join!

i'm sorry this post got so long, but i hope that this has a lot of information for you if you would like to get started bookbinding. its one of the best hobbies ive ever had, and i genuinely believe i will have it for the rest of my life.

[fuckingrecipes]

Hey friend I basically learned to cook from you (you took all the intimidation out of it, and gave me my first meal that other people liked) so I come back like a decade later asking if you have any advice about knives. I don't love cooking but I recognize that the right tools make any task much more satisfying and also I am just so tired of my cheap knives going dull immediately so: what exactly is a "good knife"? Any advice on how to recognize one, and take care of it once acquired? Many many thanks.

Thank you so much, that's really heartwarming to hear <3

Regarding knives: I'm going to go over some basic care & maintenance that will help knives stay sharper, longer... and then some knife recommendations.

Always cut on a cutting board. Wood or plastic. Don't cut food against stone, metal, or glass as they'll fuck up the edge.

Don't use the sharp side of the knife to scrape food off the cutting board. If you wanna use the knife as a scraper, flip it over and use the non-sharpened edge.

Once or twice a year, sit down and sharpen all your knives.

Don't use those shitty little "knife sharpeners", they don't actually give the knife a good or stable edge. Instead, take 30 minutes to learn how to use a whetstone. They're shockingly easy to learn to use, and super effective. You can make a shitty $11 walmart knife razor sharp. Here's another video about it.

Ideally, you should hand wash and towel dry your knives right after you're finished prepping food with them. Best practice is to avoid leaving it in water to soak, and to avoid putting it in the dishwasher. Cleaning it immediately keeps the edge nice, longer, and heads off any rust or corrosion that can happen from leaving acidic juice on the metal.

ALL KNIVES need to be sharpened 2-3x per year if you're a home chef who cooks almost every night. 4-6 months of excellent sharpness, then becoming kinda dull, is normal for a good knife.

Even a $700 knife will eventually get dull and need sharpening, if you're using it frequently. Because knives are tools, they get used, and in being used the metal gets a little damaged. The edge rolls, dents, or gets chipped. So, it needs to be sharpened.

--

This guy gives an EXCELLENT overview of knives.

You do not need to spend a ton of money for decent knives.

Victorinox and Mercer are solid workhorse brands that make good-quality knives, which you can get for between $20-$60 per knife. Really great for any home kitchen. Wusthof and Zwilling are a little more expensive, and even nicer quality. More expensive than that, and you're looking at high-carbon steels meant to be used by pros for hours and hours, every day. A home chef doesn't need that.

---

There's a lot of specialty knives out there, but I always come back to the 8" chef's knife. Two chef's knives lets me cut raw meat with one, and everything else with the other.

I also have a cleaver and a bread knife for Melons/Bones and Bread respectively, and a small set of smooth-blade steak knives.

Tbh, most people think they have a shitty knife, but really they've just been using it for 3 years straight and never once sharpened it.

[comatosebunny09]

clumsy | astarion a.

genre(s): romance, erotica (kinda sorta) warnings: blood drinking, dry humping, steaminess, terms of endearment (petal, sweetling), language summary: you get hurt. astarion helps the best way he knows how. spoiler: it's with his mouth. now playing: shirt - sza notes: based off the results for this poll. hope you all enjoy! thank you so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️

It’s an accident.

Happens when your attention is siphoned by Shadowheart bidding you a “goodnight” over the firelight as she moves to retire to her tent.

You look up from your sword, the whetstone warm and textured in your hand, grinding across your blade in your lap as you offer her a smile.

You’re usually so attentive. So careful. Yet, tonight, you grossly misjudged your ability to multitask.

Shclink!

The cut is inevitable. Tears a hiss from betwixt your lips, and the whetstone plops to the ground along with the weighted thump of your weapon. You’re on your feet, nursing the angry, red line marring your palm. It buds with crimson, a pretty contrast to your skin.

“Hells!” cries Shadowheart, scrambling to your aid. She gently peels your hand away from your chest. Winces at the blood lazily spurring from your cut. A clean slice. Her voice holds concern when she looks up at you. “You’ll live. Would you like me to take care of it?”

Your lips quirk despite the pained knit of your brows. You draw your hand back, cradling it in your other. “Nah. Wouldn’t want you to waste your magic on something so small.”

“You’re sure?”

The tearing of your shirt fills the stilled space between you. Shadowheart blinks as you haphazardly wrap the scrap around your wound, mustering a reassuring smile. “I got it. I’ve had worse. You get some rest.”

Shadowheart smiles something unconvinced. Squeezes your shoulder. “You’ll come find me if you can’t staunch the bleeding?”

You nod, wary of the exhaustion hanging below her eyes. She examines you a moment longer before stepping around you and away from the warmth of the fire.

You watch Shadowheart retreat behind the flap of her tent. Left with the idle crackle of the campfire. Your hand throbs, your blood coloring the fabric you dressed it with.

You suck your teeth. Bend to retrieve your sword, cautiously setting it on the log you once occupied. You feel the hot trickle of your blood coasting down your fingertips. Hear it drip against the soil, the sound amplified in the stillness swallowing you.

You’ll need more than a bit of cloth to manage this.

Your gaze flits to your pack. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating downing a potion to mend your hand. Then, you spot Gale’s tent. You could trouble him for some help. But, again, you see no need to waste your companion’s magic on something so contrite. You won't die, after all. It’s just blood.

Just…

Blood.

Your mind suddenly sparkles with an idea. A mischievous one, but an idea, nonetheless.

You wipe your hands on your breeches, starting towards a familiar setup. And somehow, devilry sets your face alight along with the coppery glow of the moon.

You find him silhouetted by the moonlight. Curls of white mulling over the deckled pages of a book, seated on a stool at the mouth of his tent.

You’re not trying to be discreet. Feet crunch soundly through the dry grass, alerting the vampire to your presence. Though, you’re sure he could hear you from eons away.

Astarion doesn’t look up as he acknowledges you, concentration nestled amongst his features whilst he turns a page. “Well, hello, sweetling. Fancy a cud—dle?”

The book, once cradled in his palm, clatters to the ground.

His expression is bemused as you slide onto his lap, your legs dangling on either side of his waist. Your arms sluggishly encircle his neck, and your chests brush together, coaxing an undignified sound from his throat.

Astarion intuitively wraps your hips in the circle of his arms to keep you both from toppling over. Angles his neck to stare up at you. His mouth hangs open with an unasked question.

Your voice is light. Twinged with something seductive. Manipulative. “Astarion,” you sing-song.

“Petal?”

“I need you,” you state plainly.

His brows quirk. Quads tense beneath you. “You—what?”

You bite back a laugh. It isn’t often you catch Astarion so off guard. Typically, he’s the one dismantling your resolve with his forwardness.

“As much as I enjoy beating around the bush with you,” Astarion’s nose twitches as he samples the air with it. Vermilion eyes land on you, shining with the slightest bit of apprehension. “You’re bleeding.”

“Keen observation.” You shift upon his lap, thrusting your bloody hand into his face until he goes cross-eyed. “Mind cleaning it up?” It’s more of a demand than it is a request. Damn your innocent face.

Astarion’s mouth twitches. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Hunger wades below the depths of his irises whilst he glances between you and the blood seeping so enticingly through your impromptu bandage.

“Not going to tell me what’s happened?”

You shake your head, that devilish smile still twisting up your lips. “No time. I’m dying, Astarion. Save me. Saaave meee.” You drape your hand over your forehead and lean back to turn up the drama.

He scoffs at your theatrics, feigning aloofness despite his muscles twitching beneath you. “Fine.” Mumbles about being the cleanup crew as he unravels the cloth from your palm. Attentive and meticulous.

You flinch at the sticky pull of the dressing. The sting is immediately replaced by curiosity surfing along the shoreline of desire as Astarion appraises your wound.

He holds your hand between his. Looks at you with parted lips, saliva puddling in his cheeks. He licks his canines. His gaze holds a question. Offers an out as it chases the viscous fluid dribbling down your wrist.

Is this truly alright?

You nod, your breath held in your sternum.

Astarion studies you a moment longer before he delicately shackles your wrist in his hand, and his mouth pans in. His lashes shutter, and he groans something hoarse and feral as he presses his lips to the veins of your wrist. You flinch as if scorched by burning coal. How something as simple as a kiss could feel so sinful is beyond you.

You haven’t much time to linger on it because his tongue is sweltering and moving. Languid and obscene as it laps at the trail of crimson marring your skin. Astarion exhales appreciatively, his gaze sifting through his hunger to capture yours. He peppers your wrist with kisses, lips glistening a pretty red amid the moonlight.

You throb. Through hooded eyes, you watch your lover, your mouth parting with shallow breaths. A shudder filters through your bones, his lustful stare purposeful and unyielding.  

He licks a torrid stripe up to your palm with a flattened tongue. Your fingers twitch with the need to touch. Thighs quiver. His wet mouth closes around your laceration with a raspy sound. Fangs graze the worn lines of your hand, and he sucks, drawing a bitten-off groan from your throat.

He feasts like he kisses. Stripping down your barriers, leaving you lightheaded and wanton. Swaying, and Astarion snakes an arm around your waist to keep you tethered to him. And a devious hand finds the globe of your ass and squeezes.

Your unoccupied hand curls around the base of his skull. Fingers comb through soft curls, and you press yourself impossibly closer to the rigid pane of his body. Your stomach spumes with heat. Somehow, your lover gorging himself on you turns your innards to mush.

Astarion moans. He fucking moans amid his sticky suckling, and you feel the sound stir something between your legs. He feels it, too, and he springs to life beneath the thick layers of his clothing, twitching against you.

Mindlessly, you bear your pelvis down on his. Sluggish like the drag of a tide, and Astarion hums his praise. He feels good. So wonderful, and you can’t help how your body instinctively writhes against his.   

A few more languid rolls of your hips, and Astarion breaks away from your hand all too soon, heaving a breath as if resurfacing from water, his lips crooked with a smirk.

His mouth shines with your blood. Your ichor. And he greedily licks it up, not leaving a single morsel behind. The notion siphons your breath, and you feel like the most exalted thing. Hardly notice your skin gradually mending itself thanks to your lover’s attentiveness.

Once the lustful haze somewhat abates, Astarion’s chest rumbles with a chuckle as he draws you ever closer, sealing your body to his. “Tell me, petal. Surely, you didn’t come all this way just to provide me a midnight snack.“

His mouth drags along the slope of your neck, sending little warning shocks throughout your lower extremities. His throat crackles with a groan at the quickening of your pulse, teeth pinpricking your flesh.

“Don’t know what you’re on about,” you husk, craning your head back to allow him more access. Still playing innocent as if you didn’t charm him into this wicked dance of bodies and tongues. “But whatever it is, I like where it’s going.”

Astarion chuckles, lips sealing around your throat and sucking.

Your responding gasp is wet and wanton.

And you find yourself thanking the Gods for your carelessness.

[astonmartingf]

FALLING FOR YOU ; MV1

max verstappen x reader

. . . in his own little way, max finds the solutions to his problems not without a little help from his friends and ends up giving you the confession of a lifetime

amgf yeah... there's this, just fluff. i won't be as active this week because of exams and research but this is prime time of my impulsive ideas so either i can milk this opportunity to write every single day, or avoid this app for the remainder of the week. enjoy 👍

Max strives for stability. 

He enjoys the same routine that consists of jogging at eight am, early morning workout by nine am, brunch, a few rounds of sim racing, stopping by for a few phone calls and online meetings. If he isn’t expected to fly anywhere else he’d have his usual afternoon snack, play with his cats, more sim racing from six to eight pm, dinner with his team, reviewing data and notes, an hour for his own leisure— mostly sim racing, before heading to bed at one am.

Whatever happens in between is usually one of Lando’s plans in an attempt to spice things up in his life. Whether it’s going to the movies, buying ice cream at the convenience store down the street, or playing padel. Max is very much thankful for his friends.

Max also strives for the best.

He takes pride in his skills in racing and acknowledges his talent, and flaws. Honing them like a sharp knife through whetstones, he polishes himself and cuts through the defenses of the grid. He is a World Champion for a reason, and with a great car and team behind him, he knows they’ll get far. Max is very much thankful for the trust his team set upon him.

Max hates uncertainty. 

Well- hate is too strong of a word and dislike would be too weak for his opinions. 

Max despises uncertainty.

Especially when there’s you- the current root of all his “problems”. Despite his tendency to be blunt and straightforward statements, uncertainty always left a distasteful feeling in his mouth. 

Realizing that his wavering feelings for you have now shattered the routine he built to perfection. Long gone are sleeping on time and hello to staying up with you crowding his thoughts. Head full of the lingering scent of your perfume and the same voice playing in his head.

Max hated it. He despised how you orbit around his mind, bouncing through the walls of the gray matter inside his skull. He often catches himself smiling at the thought of you- before a bitter scowl fills his face and an incredulous and slightly constipated look pasted on his face.

But that was the least of his worries, such feelings could be fixed (a term he used to convince himself these are temporary). It’s not that Max doesn’t believe in relationships or think it’s nothing but a distraction, deep inside he’s aware that he craves affection. It’s the vague emotions clouding his heart making him think twice.

Then again, Max is thankful for his friends. 

“What did you say?” Lando squinted his eyes in the hopes to hear his words clearly. With a blank look- almost as if he put on a mask void of emotions Max spoke once more.

“Do I like YN?” 

The rest tilted their head to the side, in confusion. “D-did you perhaps ask us. . . if- if you like someone?” George, asked once more to make sure of his words, sighing in disbelief.

“It’s not just someone, it’s YN.” Max pushed the question once more and glanced at everyone on the table.

The silence was deafening. Max’ statement was too loud and too quiet at the same time, no one spoke and they left each other contemplating on the next words he will say.

“I need help. How do I know I like YN?” Collective gasps were heard throughout and one by one they slowly left the group of friends on the table leaving Max with Lando and George.

“How about we sleep over your question and. . .think— think about it you know?” Lando, the first to talk regarding the revelation that their stoic friend has now developed feelings for someone.

“Sleep? I hardly get any sleep these nights. I want to confirm my feelings now so I can finally sleep peacefully.” 

That’s when the pair noticed the bags under his eyes, mostly due to the lack of sleep like he said. Lando took a glance at George and started to talk telepathically at each other.

George sighs before pushing Max from his seat, “You see Max these feelings can’t be confirmed in a night, these requ-”

“It’s been weeks, George, I can’t lose sleep over such a trivial matter.” Max retorted with a firm stance using his lack of sleep as a front to confirm his feelings.

“Okay, first of all feelings are not a trivial matter. They are valid, and whatever is going on in your head about YN shouldn’t be taken lightly. Not because we’re curious but because we care about your emotional well being.” Lando spoke in a serious voice which only added on to Max’ confusion.

Feelings are not a big deal, at least not for him.

“And we're curious as to why you like YN.” George chimed as he followed the pair outside the room.

“Yes we’re curious but now how about I give you some romance books that you can study and read. Only you can confirm your feelings Max, let’s stop by my room and I’ll give you books you can read and next week- next week we’ll talk about this matter again.”

Lando now sounds like a mom scolding his child for misbehaving, dragging the latter to his room and sending him off with a tower of romance books.

Max is smart, he can understand such concepts by himself.

Feeling accomplished, Lando glanced at George smirking at him before walking away with Max to his apartment.

Max on the other hand went inside his room and began to bury himself in the books he brought along. “If I’m not sleeping at least I get my feelings in line.”

One chapter. And another turns to five and in the blink of an eye a week has passed. Max returned to his routine but instead of sleeping at one he pushed it to an even later hour to make time for reading which helped him sleep.

The first nights were hard, after finishing a chapter of the book he finds himself falling asleep and now you appear to become more vivid in his mind. Invading his dreams as romantic scenarios play on repeat while Max mindlessly sleeps which results in him waking up flustered and warm.

Passing by you on the paddock became frequent; it's as if the universe has its way to bring you together. Now everywhere Max looked there was you, in the corner of his sight you occupied a chunk of his thoughts and as much as he hated to admit he found himself anticipating your presence.

By the end of the week you managed to invade his thoughts and heart which only strengthened his theory and confirmed his feelings for you. With no time to waste, Max went to look for you. The second practice was over, he’s telling you what you’re doing to him.

With new found information from the team about your whereabouts, Max made his way to the hospitality locating where you’re assigned he opens the door abruptly to see you preparing food. You stand straight feeling the intimidating aura around him, you watch him exhale a sigh of relief before talking a large step in your direction. On instinct you back away giving him space, every step Max takes is a step backward from you.

Unknowingly your feet hit the corner of the marble countertop and like a cliché scene Max remembers from the books he’s been reading you stumble backwards.

Max is a racer for a reason, and with swift reflexes he managed to catch your fall and brought you up to your feet. “You should watch where you’re going. I don’t want you falling just like how I fell for you.”

Silence. Complete, utter silence from the both of you paired with the low buzz of the booming air conditioner right near you. You blink your eyes incredulously, “What?”

“I mean. . . I do want you to fall for me, it would be sad to find out that my feelings are one-sided. But I mean my words YN.”

You adjust your posture and back away. “What are the words Max? About me falling to the ground or you. . . you f- falling for me?” Your voice thins out at the end unsure of what you just heard.

“Both. I don’t want you to fall, it’s dangerous just like how you did to me. You enamored me with those charms, I just want to know how you did it.” Max spoke with the most bored and plain looking face he could muster up. His palms were sweating inside his pockets in extreme nervousness.

“Is this- is this your confession perhaps?” You try to piece things together, like the subtle clues Lando and George have been leaving out of nowhere.

“Yes. This is my confession.” Max blurts out as sweat drips from the side of his forehead. And just as he was losing hope from this failed confession your bubbly laugh bursts the silence in the air.

“You know, you need to work on your confession more. That was unlike any other, but I understand what you mean. Do you want me to fall for you, Maxie?” 

Max stares at you and you don't miss the soft gaze he set upon you. You note the light blush spread around the apples of his cheeks as his eyes light up the moment you called his name. The once awkward silent air was now filled with a warm feeling that spread all over your body, leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

“I do. I fell for you, I like you, and I want to mean something to you.”

His way with words caught you off guard, Max Verstappen, who would’ve thought. You smile at him, this time it’s you walking towards his direction.

Max stiffened at the proximity between the two of you, his feet stuck to the floor preventing him from backing away. Your face gets closer to his and all the thoughts clouding his mind have been wiped away.

You face him and whisper something in his ear before walking away towards the kitchen at the back, legs shaking and breaths heavy. 

Taking a moment to himself Max meditates in an attempt to calm his bouncing heart, legs shaking as if they ran a hundred miles, and his mind whirring into different ideas and possibilities.

Max never falls- literally and figuratively.

Yet you managed to be the root of all his problems. The person who made him fall, there was no doubt that Max fell and will still be falling for you.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x afab!reader. you want to get your work done so you can go home. blitzø wants to fuck you on his desk. you come to a compromise that turns him on way more than he thought it would. anon request for tail play. 1.6k.

featuring: imp!reader, tail play (including jerking him off with your tail), blitzø being reduced to a mess by a power dynamic shift, oral sex (f!receiving).

“Hey, tits! Get in here!”

You look up at the sound of Blitzø’s voice, huffing a sigh as you drop your whetstone and set the blade you were sharpening on the table. Millie gives you a glance torn between sympathy and annoyingly knowing humor, and you flip her off on the way out the door. You hear her giggle as you make your way to your boss’ office.

“Would it kill you to call me by my name?” you ask as you enter, closing the door behind yourself out of sheer habit.

“Dunno. Maybe.” Blitzø shrugs, lazing back in his chair, feet kicked up on the desk. “Better to play it safe.”

“Uh-huh.”

He grins toothily, crooking a finger at you to beckon you towards his desk. “Got somethin’ for you.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m working, Blitz.”

“I fuckin’ hope so,” he smirks. “It’s what I pay you for.”

You register the lascivious edge to his expression, and despite the way it automatically makes your insides flutter, you fold your arms over your chest.

“Be careful how you phrase whatever you’re about to suggest, B.” you warn. “’Cause if you even suggest that I put out for pay, I will slap you in the face so hard your teeth will bleed.”

“Ooh, kinky,” he teases, and you shake your head, determined to hide your amusement. He tucks his hands behind his head, shifting in his seat in a way that lifts his hips briefly in a manner that you know is suggestive. “Wanna take a break?”

“I want to finish up so we can go home,” you shoot back, jerking your thumb back over your shoulder. “Can I go now?”

Blitzø shakes his head. “Nope. I got shit for you to sign. So, get your sweet ass over here and… do your job.”

You scoff at the weak innuendo but do as he tells you. However, when you come to a stop on the other side of his desk he raises a brow pointedly. His tail is waving lazily back and forth behind him, the way it does when he’s thinking about just how quickly he can get you naked. You sigh, rounding his desk obediently and coming to a stop beside his chair. You eye the stack of papers in front of you skeptically.

“And these are?”

He shrugs. “You took out the main target on all of these. You gotta sign off on ‘em for billin’.”

“Right… and I have to do it in here, huh?”

He smirks, dropping his feet from the desk. He pats his lap invitingly, brushing his palm over the bulge in his pants and squeezing suggestively. “You wanna get comfy, you can park it right here.”

“I’m good.” you tell him, bending down to sign the first form. He reaches forward to smooth a hand up your inner thigh, dipping it between your legs before grabbing a handful of your ass. You inhale sharply, caught off-guard by the sudden thrum of arousal his touch elicits from you. You swallow, cursing yourself because you know he’s heard it, and turn your focus determinedly back to the papers in front of you. “Dude.”

Blitzø slumps back in his chair with a heavy, overly dramatic sigh, one elbow propped on the arm of it. His cheek squishes against his fist petulantly. “Come on, tits. I thought the whole point of you comin’ in today was so we could get freaky on my desk.”

You roll your eyes, flipping the form over and skimming the other side. In truth… this is turning you on. The way he’s touching you, the way his tone is growing almost needy. You’re so used to him calling the shots, to taking charge both in and out of the bedroom, and so is he. Denying him like this is sending a new kind of warmth tingling through the middle of you. Still, you ignore that feeling pointedly.

“You are so lucky we don’t have a H.R. department.”

He snickers. “Bitch, I am the H.R. department.”

“Well, that’s terrifying,” you shoot back snidely, and his smirk widens. You turn around when you feel the spade of his tail smooth over your ass, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly. He raises his hands innocently, the gesture ruined by the evil little grin still on his face. You sigh dramatically before a smirk of your own blooms. You take hold of his tail, just below the spade, just before he can smack you with it again. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Unlikely.”

“Asshole.”

“Ooh, now there’s an… shiiit…” he breaks off as you squeeze his tail and drag your fist down the length of it slowly. His eyes roll back for a moment, his jaw ticking.

“You’re gonna keep bugging me about this,” you continue, wrapping his tail around your hand and squeezing. You straddle his lap, thrilling in the way his eyes spark with interest as you do. He leans back in the chair, pressing his hips up into yours temptingly. You reward him by palming him through his pants, feeling him twitch beneath your hand. “You’re not gonna stop until you get to cum…”

He shakes his head quickly, eagerly.

You unzip his pants, and Blitzø exhales a soft groan as you slip your hand into them and take hold of his cock. He’s hard under your touch, and he surprises you slightly by leaning up to kiss you. You tilt your head and let his lips catch the underside of your chin, and you lean back, letting spit drip from your mouth and down onto the head of his cock.

“Satan’s taint, that’s hot…” he mutters, confused when you climb back off his lap. “What the fuck are you—”

“Shut up,” you tell him, and Blitzø’s next complaint is drowned out in a moan as you wrap your own tail around his cock. You drop a quick kiss on the mark on his forehead. “And be a good boy for me.”

“Holy titty-fucking… fuuuuck…” he groans as your tail begins to stroke him, spreading saliva and precum down over the length of him. You tighten your hold around him each time you reach the base, and he grasps at the back of the chair and the arm of it as you turn back to the desk. “Slutty little… Christ!”

You smile to yourself as you bend over again, picking up your pen and returning to the paperwork. The way he’s breathing is getting to you, the heavy, labored exhales sending sparks dancing along your spine. You can feel his own tail wind around your calf, the spade of it twitching back and forth in time with you jerking him.

There’s almost a purr sounding through the imp behind you, his hips humping up into the grip your tail has on him. Your signature becomes skewed and shaky as you feel him shift forward, his hands running up over your thighs. Your breath catches as he takes hold of the waistband of your pants and jerks them and your underwear down over your ass.

“Bli—” your reprimand breaks off with a gasp as he buries his face in your cunt, his tongue immediately finding your clit. “Oh, fuck!”

He snickers into your pussy, teasing your clit before pushing his forked tongue into your cunt. You moan aloud, accidentally knocking the pile of paperwork onto the floor as you bend further over the desk. Your tail quickens over his cock as he circles your clit with two fingers, his other hand digging claws into the flesh of your ass. He urges you to grind against his mouth, fucking you ruthlessly with his tongue.

“Jesus, fuck, Blitz—” you crush a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, but Blitzø has no such hang ups, snarling your name as he cums, forehead pressed against your ass. You can feel his cum drip over your tail and you loosen it, your body quivering as he returns his tongue to your clit. “God…”

He moans into your cunt as you cum against his mouth, lapping at your clit until you take hold of his horn and force his head away again. Boneless against the desk, you bump your head against the wood with a sigh.

“Goddamn it.” you mutter, pulling up your pants. You feel Blitzø give it a parting, appreciative squeeze as you straighten. “You always get your way, don’t you?”

He hums a self-satisfied laugh. “Seems that way.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing the tissue box out of the drawer and tossing it into his lap. “Clean yourself up, B.”

“Ooh, I love it when you’re all bossy.” he teases.

“Yeah?” you raise an eyebrow, stepping up between his parted knees. You brace both hands on the back of his seat, leaning down over him. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking down over you before meeting your gaze again. He leans up, but you press a finger to his lips before he can kiss you. “Well, if you wanna see me get all ‘bossy’ like this again, you better finish the fuck up in here. Because the next time I make you cum, it’s not going to be where we’re risking staining the fucking paperwork. Got it?”

He nods, his face flushed.

“Good.” you kiss him, briefly. “Because I’m gonna need to ride that cock of yours as soon as fucking possible.”

Blitzø grins. “Oh, you filthy whore.”

You straighten, smiling back at him as you head for the door, blowing him a kiss as you go.

[keynil]

i wld pay so much money for zoro and sanji to talk about blades w each other like !! sanji seeing zoro clean his blades w so much care turning into comparing where the weight shld sit on a good kitchen knife vs a sword. nerding out abt different oils/whetstones until they realise they've been talking excitedly to each other for almost an hour and start fighting to restore the equilibrium

zoro seeing one of sanjis knives left damp on the cutting board after some random ambush. cleaning and drying it before putting it back in the rack bc he knows sanji wld never leave his knife like that if he had a choice

sanji seeing that zoro chipped an edge during their latest fight and silently leaving his whetstones in the crows nest bc he knows the larger grit wld be more helpful

(40 y/o zoro leaving a set of knives in the kitchen for sanji to find as an anniversary gift and sanji realising that he not only still remembered the first real conversation they ever had, but also the exact brand sanji had been so excited abt)

[delicious-in-imagines]

Hii! Hope you’re doing well :3! Could I request like basic relationship headcanons with Kabru, Chilchuck, and Laios? If not that’s totally fine! Hope you have a good day! :D

You got it, boss!

Kabru of Utaya

I've covered this before in other posts, but his eye for details when it comes to people is going to be used on you. He has a internal list of things you love and things that you hate, and often references it over the course of the relationship.

The only way that he cleans his room is if you're coming over. He'll ask you to return with him on a whim, and then realizes that 'oh shit, I can't have them see this,' and once you get back, he tries to make a distraction, or just asks you to hang out in the hallway as he struggles to stuff all of the shit on the floor under every piece of furniture he can. His landlord finds this endlessly amusing, and knows when you're coming over because Kabru is frantically trying to clean - he helps to give Kabru some pointers.

Loves to surprise you with things you mention in passing, a necklace or bracelet that you saw in a nearby stall, taking you out to a fancy place that you mentioned wanting to go to dinner, or even just something that you need that he noticed. Stuff like a new whetstone, a repair for your armor, anything like that.

He's not the biggest on embraces, but this is a man who loves to cuddle when the two of you are in bed. He absolutely enjoys wrapping his hands around you, either having you curling into his neck, or with your back slotted neatly against him. He always plays with your hands, linking your fingers together. He actually gets to the point that he can't sleep easily unless he at least has some part of his body touching yours.

Cup his face before kissing him, stare into his eyes and tell him something along the lines of 'I love the color of your eyes' and just watch him melt. He used to be self-conscious and hate his eyes, though it's something he's outgrown over the years, but he still loves to hear it come from your lips.

Chilchuck Tims

His love language is admonishing you - sorry not sorry. He's very much the kind of person that if he is barking at you while patching you up, or while trying to help you, that he cares deeply about you. He yells because he cares, if he didn't, he wouldn't say a word.

Before you get into a relationship, he's absolutely going to bring up his past, at least in some capacity. Even if it's part of his sordid past, you deserve to know. He promises that he's changed, but he also knows that the only way to prove that is through his actions.

Speaking of, he does want you to meet his daughters. He's not ashamed of them - quite the opposite, he loves them dearly, and he doesn't want to feel like he's hiding them from you, or you from them. Though, there's not enough words in the common language to express how relieved he is when his daughters like you.

Even though he hates interpersonal relationships in groups, he also starts to outgrow that in bits and pieces. While on the job, he's going to be a bit more aloof, though he absolutely will indulge a handhold, and will only marginally shoo you away when you press a little peck to his cheek or temple.

Though, whenever you take breaks, he's definitely more receptive to any open displays of affection, and will even come to you to initiate. Especially if you're sitting, he'll come up to you and cup your face, making you look up at him - which is something that he loves way too much to be healthy. He's used to people looking down towards him, so being able to tip your head up? It's like a drug for him.

He knows that he's a walking space heater, and anticipates you setting your bedroll beside his own. He'll open up his blanket and grouse until you settle down, sighing out and finally snuggling up to you. Whether you like to be the big spoon or the little spoon, he enjoys the casual closeness. Though, his favorite is if you're bigger than him - being the big spoon, or more aptly, your jetpack.

Laios Touden

Being able to share meals made up of meal parts is a dream come true for him. He might pout occasionally if you are unsure about whatever y'all are eating. But, whenever he can, if there's something that you genuinely liked - then he's more than willing to share with you! I like to think that sharing food or cooking it with him is a love language of his.

If you're willing to listen to him constantly rambling about his hyperfixation on monsters, he'll continue on excitedly before he'll cut himself off, stumbling over his words and apologizing. Please - please, please, please, reassure him, even if you just tell him, 'I might not fully understand, but I just like listening to you.' You'll have his heart immediately, looking at you so softly and wrapping you up in a hug and thanking you. He knows sometimes he can get carried away, but knowing that you value his joy even if you don't fully agree, it warms his heart.

I like to think that rather than defaulting to kisses for showing affection, that he head bonks. You know how cats do the bunting? Yeah, that. He'll come up to you while you're doing something mundane and just bonk his head against yours. Sometimes it's a little too harsh, but that's just how much he loves you.

Above anything else, he wants you to meet his sister. While he may not be able to, nor want, to take you home to his parents - he does want you to meet the family that he cares about most. He'll share stories about Falin, things they did when they were younger, or when they were gold strippers, though sometimes he cuts himself off when he feels overwhelmed with what has happened to his sister.

He's a sprawler when he sleeps, usually on his back - pulls the full starfish. So, if you want to cuddle, you'll have to sleep in the crook of his arm, where he'll close his arm to bring you closer to him. Sleeping on the rise and fall of his chest, hearing his thumping heart skip a beat every time that you rest your head there. When he wakes up first, he can't find it in himself to wake you, craning his head awkwardly to watch your sleeping form with the softest smile on his face.

[tunastime]

UM UM UM “staying up until midnight to talk” with SEN or DBHC ethubs or docsuma

Or “pull me closer,” with dbhc docsuma :floshed:

Okay skitters away

staying up until midnight to talk (919 words) (x) (:3c)

Etho’s hands follow a practiced rhythm. He isn’t sure how they wouldn’t, with every wire and mechanism and gear in his body perfectly calibrated to move with precision and within expectation. He certainly fails, and jerks, and stutters, and falls, but base programming, movements that fell perfectly into subroutines he couldn’t even begin to trace, even if Xisuma showed him the exact steps? Of course they were perfect. And of course he never faltered.

The sand beneath him offers a much needed cushioning from the hard, winter dirt, despite the fact that the sun provides little warmth to the air around them in the snow fort. The sky is so blue it makes his eyes strain to look at—and maybe it would hurt, if he knew how it was supposed to feel.

Instead, Etho watches patches of sky blue in the silver-warped reflection of his sword, faint flickers of enchantment pulsing out from the hilt where the hastily carved runes sit. He runs the sharpening stone against the blade’s flat edge, careful not to nick the silicon of his fingers as he scrapes it across, again, and again. Practiced, careful, calculated rhythm. So much so that he doesn’t even register the sounds of shuffling a few paces away until Bdubs’ voice cuts through the silence.

“Etho,” he says, voice all rough around the edges like he were hungry for something more than just company. Etho keeps sharpening, just for a moment, before he chances a glance over.

Bdubs leans at the wooden fence, leaning his weight into the flimsily-set posts. He grins like nothing in the world could bother him. The characteristic dark brown of his eyes flickers with red, with that same hunger. Etho hates it. Which is odd. Because he really doesn’t feel strongly about much of anything, and disgust is an emotion very foreign to him, and he’s beginning to think the slight grinding in his chest is a problem Xisuma might need to diagnose when he gets back. It feels wrong. Because he knows he likes Bdubs just fine. He trusts him just enough. But that look.

Bdubs is still watching him, eyeing the sword in his hand with a gaze he can’t place, let alone read. Better give him an answer.

“Bdubs,” he says calmly, tilting his head to the side.

“You thought anymore about my offer?”

Etho makes a sound like a hum, mimicking the sound of turning the idea over in his head. He stands, setting his whetstone next to the cold embers of last night’s fire. The pot and cups still rest in the dirt, as cold as the rest of their surroundings. The sword stays in his hand.

(In the back of his mind, a memory surfaces. In it, Etho lies in the night-damp grass in clothes that still smell a bit like gunpowder, but not enough to notice unless you got real close. Bdubs is somewhere to his immediate left, still speaking, haloed in the glow of lanterns and lights of a shop. One of them at least. Within the clarity of memory, Etho can pinpoint that it’s Tango’s shop. Bdubs doesn’t live far from here. He isn’t sure when waiting for Tango to restock candles turned into tell Etho all about the extra additions to your base and your journey to find all the perfect horses for the Horse Course that you both just wrapped up, or into tell Bdubs all about how empty the mountain is, and how interesting this new game sounds, and how you hope you both find somewhere cool to base. Because you’ve already told him that you’re teaming up. But it does, and in this same space, the sky is full of bright white stars and a sliver of a moon that's starting to peek into the sky. Bdubs yawns.)

“The one from last night?” Etho asks, coming to with the sword heavy in his hand. He pushes the point into the soft sand until it hits hard earth and starts to give.

“You don’t gotta keep this fence, Etho…” Bdubs sighs, leaning his head into his palm. Etho folds his arms across his chest, splays one hand as he shrugs.

“Seems like the best way to settle this, ‘Dubs.”

“You could join me. Could always still join me,” Bdubs tries. “Just a quick one-two stab! Easy!”

“I can’t do that,” Etho says, shaking his head. “You know that.”

Bdubs sighs again, dramatic, deflating over the fence as Etho’s rejection stands firm. The thirium in his chest feels like it’s been flash frozen and has only started to dethaw, cold in his hands and feet, up his shins and to his elbows. He rolls his shoulders in, cupping each hand around each opposite elbow. There’s a little warmth to be found in the action with no fans kicking on to compensate.

“Well,” Bdubs says, drumming on the wooden beam between the two fence posts. “If you ever change your mind.”

He watches Etho for a moment, that familiar look coming to his eyes, as if it were trying to eclipse the haze of red Bdubs looks at him through, as if it were trying to expand his tunnel vision by just a fraction of an inch. Just as Etho notices, it’s snuffed, and the easy, careful look is replaced by an indifference Etho doesn’t think he enjoys. He still isn’t sure how much he knows for certain. He shrugs, barely a movement at all. Better say something.

“I won’t,” he says.

Bdubs huffs and turns away.

[cressidagrey]

Welcome to the World - Chapter 3

Summary:

The quickest turnaround time between finding your mate and having a kid anybody in the history of Prythian has ever managed

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of Miscarriage, Mention of Child Murder, Mention of Adult Murder, Mention of Stabbing, Childbirth, Labour, a disgruntled Donkey named Thistle

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

To say that he had tried to stay busy was an understatement. 

For cauldron’s sake, Azriel had pulled out his mother’s bedraggled Recipe book from its place in the kitchen and was making chicken soup. 

And it was definitely not like he normally cooked. He left that to Cassian, the only one of the three of them who had any talent in the kitchen. 

Though putting a chicken in a pot, covering it with water and cutting up an assortment of vegetables to go along with it…he could do that. 

So he had. 

He had split up enough wood in the shed outside that his mother had enough wood for the rest of the winter. 

He had brought the same wood inside and tidily stacked it next to the fireplace. 

He had started sharpening Truthteller with the whetstone he always had with him, sharpening his weapon to keep his hands busy. 

Azriel had tried to concentrate on the feel of the blade on the stone. There was something soothing about a task that required just a single set of movements. He could do this. 

But where it normally soothed him…tonight it did not. 

He had done all of this, trying desperately not to listen to the voices coming from upstairs and failing. 

His ears strained without his want, listening to every noise Ciara made. 

The sounds of her steps, her moans that steadily escalated throughout the night…the quiet assurances of his mother that she was doing so well, that it would be over soon…

and on and on it dragged. 

Azriel had absolutely no clue how long a birth should take, what was normal. Was it normal that she had been at it since late afternoon, and now it was pitch black outside, stars gleaming? 

Was it normal that the moans seemed to get louder with every minute, sometimes turning into choked-off groans or a gasp for air? 

She was in pain. In so much pain, and there was nothing he could do as he sat there at his mother’s kitchen table, a hand harshly gripping Truthteller's hilt, the whetstone forgotten in his other. 

It was…

He could feel her anxiety, her pure fear through the inkling of a bond they had. She seemingly screamed it down the bond at him, the terror that gripped her. 

And then there was another groan, louder choked off…

“Your water broke. She will be here soon, sweetheart,” his mother cooed. 

Oh. 

Soon. It would be over soon. 

He tried hanging on to these words. It would be over soon. The pain would end for her…she would have her daughter in her arms. And she would be fine…she needed to be fine. 

“Could you fill the bathtub, Esmeray?” the midwife asked, her voice low but Azriel could still hear her…the bathtub? Why…would she take a bath now? Was the baby already going to be born in the next few minutes and needed a bath afterwards? But why would she do that now? 

“What’s wrong?” Ciara gasped, and the sound of her voice, pain-filled, had him on his feet, pacing. 

“Nothing is wrong, Ciara,” the midwife soothed. 

“You didn’t think I would need the water because the baby isn’t that big,” Ciara whimpered. 

She was going to give birth in the water? Was there a problem? Was the baby not coming?

“She’s not. It will help you,” the midwife assured Ciara. “You’ll have less pain and could heal quicker.”

Oh. 

He could hear steps again, 

“In the tub with you," the midwife said calmly… more steps…more pain-filled moans from Ciara. 

And then…“I can’t get in there.”

“You can and you will.”

Splashing of water…Her moans quieted right down. He could still listen to them, could still hear every movement from her because he was so attuned to what was happening in the cottage right now. 

Still…shouldn’t she be louder? Shouldn’t she be screaming? 

 She was being so quiet, he feared that it was going to be another day or two before the baby would arrive… Ciara spent and exhausted by then.

Even more than she already was…

He forced himself to sit back down, return to his blade and his whetstone…and nearly dropped it when he heard Ciara vomit. 

Fuck, that wasn’t normal, right? Was that normal? How should he know?!

“That’s alright, Ciara. Your body knows what to do. It's getting rid of the food so it can work harder.”

Harder? 

Hadn’t the last few hours been enough? Hadn’t…

And then he heard her sobbing, the sound cutting him to the marrow of his bones. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” pure desperation bled from every word that left her mouth. 

This wasn’t…this didn’t sound well.

He was back to pacing. 

“Yes, you can. You’re doing so well,” the midwife assured her. 

“If I die, can you get her out?” 

And he was done. He was fucking done. 

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t listen to that. 

He was up the stairs before he could reason with himself, bursting into her room without a second thought. 

He ignored the shocked look from his mother as he ended up on his knees in front of that cauldron-forsaken bathtub…Ciara draped over the side of that, sobbing, her skin pale, hands biting into the white porcelain. 

He reached out to touch her, to push the hair away from her face, cupping her cheek, wet with tears and sweat. 

“You are not going to die,” he snarled. That was not going to happen. That was fucking unacceptable. He just got her. He was not going to lose her. “Listen to me. You are not going to die,” he gentled his voice, but still held her face…her eyes, still filled with tears…and the utter exhaustion he saw in them. “ You are going to do this.” 

“I can’t…” she whimpered. 

“Yes, you can,” he disagreed. “You can do this, Ciara,” he promised. “You are going to do this and I’ll be there every step of the way.” 

“You are nearly there. You just need to push,” Nora said quietly. “Just a few good pushes and she will be here.” 

“Come on, Ciara.” He helped her move so that she was kneeling, holding one of his hands with her… somehow worming the other one behind her shoulders, so that he could be the one holding her up and she could use all her strength for bringing her child into the world…her head ended up lolling against his shoulder, face pressed against his neck, panting against him. 

Her wings weakly twitched behind her, and he closed his eyes, for one moment just breathing in nutmeg and clementines. 

She was still there, she was alive, she was breathing. 

And they were going to do this. Together.

“When the next pain comes, listen to your body. Push down,” Nora said calmly. He had no idea what the midwife was doing and didn’t think he wanted to know, but he felt the muscles in Ciara’s body tighten, pain clearly mounting. “There we go.”

And for the first time, a shout broke free out of her throat. 

***

The unwavering strength of him, the smell of cedar and mist was the only thing that kept her calm. The only thing that kept her hanging on…against the fiery hot pain…

She screamed like she had never screamed before, clawing herself into his hand and into Esmeray’s, every bit of strength as she had concentrated on pushing . 

“Good! You are doing so good, Ciara!” Nora assured her. “Another one just like that.”

Another scream ripped out of her throat, another pain lancing her, another…and then she could feel the baby’s head break free, “Now the wings and it’s over.” 

Wha…

“Ciara. Ciara, reach down,” Azriel whispered and she listened, Nora guiding her hand…and with one more push, one slick slide…she had her baby right in her waiting hands. 

A quiet panting sob escaped her throat, as she blinked open her eyes, both hands reaching out to grab her baby under the arms,  using her fingers to support the neck and head as she brought her baby immediately up out of the water. 

“Oh,” she whispered. A gasp and then a quiet cough…and then a loud cry of surprise and Ciara brought her baby to her chest as her own sobs of relief overtook the baby’s.

Her warm little body pressed against her chest sent an instant flush of heat and relief through her entire being, body and soul.

She could feel her heartbeat right against her chest, could feel the fluttering of her wings…little black, perfect wings…

And Ciara cried her eyes out because she was finally there. 

Finally there in her arms and she was crying and she was alright and it was over and…

“You did so well,” Azriel whispered against her temple and she leaned against the arm that was still holding her up, feeling him shift…ready to leave her alone, ready to give her distance…but she didn’t want distance.  

“No, don’t,” she whispered hoarsely. “Stay. Please.”

He pressed a kiss against her temple, and she looked to watch him look down at her daughter, an expression on his face…that she could only describe as wonder. 

“She’s beautiful,” he breathed, one single scarred finger reaching out to touch the dark curls covering her head. The touch was whisper soft, nearly reverently. Like her daughter was the most precious thing he had ever had the privilege to even look at…

She fell like a ton of bricks for him right at that moment. 

At the care, he showed to both her and her daughter...that steadfast presence...that gentleness that she would have never expected from a male like him, but still was there, so very obvious... 

“Is it a girl?” Nora asked quietly.

Oh. She hadn’t even checked.  Ciara reached around her daughter and felt between her legs, pushing the still pulsing cord out of the way.

“Yes,” she said softly. “it’s a girl.” 

A girl. Just like she had thought. 

“You were right. Mother’s intuition,” Esmeray said softly. “Congratulations. She’s perfect.”

She was. She was perfect. 

Ciara gasped as another pain ran through her. 

“What’s wrong?” Azriel demanded and she clenched her teeth, pushing once again. 

“She’s fine, it’s just the afterbirth,” Nora assured him, calmly. It was the work of moments until Nora severed the cord. “Can you let her go?” she asked Ciara calmly and she hesitated for a moment before she turned to Azriel. 

“Will you…” she asked and he stared at her wide-eyed, even as Esmeray handed him a towel to wrap around her daughter. 

“You want me to hold her?” he asked her, swallowing, looking so hesitant. 

“Yes,” she agreed. Safe. Her daughter would be safe. 

So she handed her to him, pressing a kiss against her forehead...and watched as he lifted her into massive, muscular arms, softly murmuring to her as he left the bathing chamber.

Somehow, letting her go, meant that her body started shaking in the earnest as Nora and Esmeray helped clean her up. 

Her arms physically ached for her baby as much as the rest of her body throbbed with pain, exhausted and weak…shivering with something…

The water in the tub was suddenly too hot, even when she was shaking. “Oh, Ciara,” Esmeray crooned softly as she helped her stand, holding her in a warm, comforting grip. "You're alright.” 

“Don’t be scared, a lot of new mothers have this,” Nora promised her as they fished her out of the tub, wrapped her into a towel…and then into a clean nightgown, and helped her to the soft comfort of the bed…

“I need her,” she whispered, her arms aching…the pain so very present. 

“One moment, then you can have her,” Nora promised her, leaning over her, still in Azriel's arms. “I just want to check her over, then you can have all the cuddle time you two need.”

Every second seemed too long, even when Azriel finally handed her over to her again, and suddenly her little girl was in her arms again, her warm weight instantly chasing away the ache building within her…

She was wrapped into a blanket Ciara had made for her and she carefully pulled it back to look her over, memorising every detail from her little fingernails to the way her hair curled…her olive skin glowed in the first rays of the sun that just came over the horizon… admiring her until tears blurred her vision and she brought her baby back to nestle against the warmth of her chest, skin to skin. 

“She has a name yet?” Esmeray asked her softly, as she pulled up a blanket to cover both of them.   “You had a few options the last time we spoke about it,” she said with a smile to the little baby, sitting down on the edge of the bed, tucking the blanket tighter around them. 

Ciara wondered if she still knew who her mother was…if she would have done the same thing. 

She had had a few options for names…but she really only could imagine one. “Aurora,” Ciara said softly. “It means Dawn.”

“A new day breaking,” Esmeray said, smiling. “It’s beautiful. A very fitting choice, Sweetheart. Well done. Do you want a middle name?” She asked curiously. 

“Oh, I had one in mind,” Ciara agreed, a smile stealing over her face. “Though that she deciding to come today of all days worked out just perfectly…Aurora Esmeray,” she said softly. There hadn’t really been a choice in that matter. Not when Esmeray had been the one to save her life and to give her a home, to keep her safe and cared for and had never expected anything in return. “Happy Birthday.”

[blueiscoool]

Viking Silver Bracelet Hoard Found in Norway

Archaeologists have unearthed a set of uniquely decorated bracelets on the site of a "large and powerful" Viking Age farm.

Archaeologists in Norway have discovered a Viking Age treasure that had remained "untouched" for more than 1,000 years.

The four silver bracelets had been buried nearly 8 inches (20 centimeters) in the ground on a mountainside in Årdal, a village in southwestern Norway, according to a translated statement from the University of Stavanger.

"This is definitely the biggest thing I have experienced in my career," Volker Demuth, an archaeologist and project manager at the Archaeological Museum at the University of Stavanger, said in the statement.

Archaeologists found the bracelets ahead of construction of a new tractor road.

Further exploration revealed that the location once housed a "large and powerful" Viking Age (A.D. 793 to 1066) farm comprising multiple houses for people and animals, according to the statement. The researchers found the buried bracelets within one of the smaller structures, which likely housed enslaved individuals.

In addition to the jewelry, researchers discovered an array of artifacts, including soapstone pots, rivets, knife blades and whetstones for sharpening tools. There's also evidence that the farm had been burned down, which "coincides with a period of great unrest in the Viking Age," according to the statement.

"If people who lived on this farm had to flee from an attack, it would be natural to hide away the valuables you had before escaping to the mountains," Demuth said. "And perhaps in a place where you would not have thought that a treasure was hidden."

By Jennifer Nalewicki.

[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly Part 4

Enemies To Lovers

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

summary: Robb & You married via forced/arranged marriage between Starks and the Frey’s, yet the two of you refuse to get along.

——————————————————————————

The wind howled outside the tent, a bleak reminder of the late autumn chill that had settled across the camp. Inside, however, there was only silence, heavy and strained as you sat on opposite ends of the space you now shared with Robb. He was sharpening his sword, the steady scrape of metal against stone echoing like an accusation in the quiet. The air between you felt thick, weighted with everything unsaid, each one of you refusing to break first.

For a while, the only sounds were the crackling of the small fire and the rhythmic rasp of Robb’s whetstone. You could feel his eyes flicker to you every so often, though whenever you glanced up, he looked away, as if he could barely summon the interest to even meet your gaze.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough and detached. “How is the child?”

The question caught you off guard. It had been so long since he’d asked you anything directly about the baby. Not even bothering to look up from your seat, you answered curtly, “Well I’m just a few weeks now. No visible bump yet, but the healer says it’s developing well.”

Robb merely nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he murmured, his voice flat, almost as though he were discussing the state of his armor rather than the life of his unborn child. The lack of feeling in his tone sparked something angry within you, and before you could stop yourself, you felt the words slip out.

“Don’t pretend to care if you don’t,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “It doesn’t make you sound noble. If you’re uninterested, you could simply say nothing.”

Robb looked up, his blue eyes narrowing as he studied you with a mixture of irritation and something close to surprise. “I’m trying to show an interest, my lady,” he replied, his voice cool. “Would you rather I pretend the child doesn’t exist?”

You scoffed, setting down the small embroidery piece you’d been working on in an attempt to steady your nerves. “What difference would it make?” you asked, fixing him with a steady glare. “You spend more time planning battles and with… your healer than you do with me. I’d think I was a ghost if not for your hand on my stomach at meetings.”

A flicker of something crossed his face defensiveness or even guilt but it was quickly masked. He set his sword down, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at you with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “I have responsibilities,” he said, as if that were excuse enough.

“So do I,” you replied, unwilling to back down. “Or do you forget that I’m here against my will as well, playing the dutiful wife to a man who doesn’t want me?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, the shadows of the tent dancing across his features, casting him in a harsh, almost unforgiving light. “You’re here because your father made an agreement, not because I chose this,” he snapped, his voice low. “And forgive me if I’m distracted by the task of keeping us all alive.”

“And I’m here because I had no choice either,” you shot back, rising to meet him, unwilling to be looked down upon. “I didn’t ask for this marriage, this… charade. But you could at least pretend to care for appearances, or does that take too much effort?”

Before he could reply, a voice called from outside the tent.

“Lord Stark?” It was one of Robb’s commanders, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek and a stoic expression that seemed permanently etched into his features. Robb exhaled, stepping back and shaking his head as though to clear his frustration.

“Enter,” he called, his tone clipped. he stepped in, his eyes briefly glancing between the two of you with a look of concern.

“Apologies for the intrusion, but there’s news from the south,” the man said, his tone grave. “Lannister forces are moving, and they’re cutting off supply lines through the river routes. If we don’t address it, our men could be starved out before winter’s end.”

Robb nodded, his expression hardening into a familiar mask of focus. “We’ll meet in the command tent. I want a full report.”

With a quick bow, he left, and Robb turned back to you. The tension between you remained, thick and unresolved, but there was something almost pleading in his gaze, as though he wished to say something but didn’t know how.

“If you want to join us, you’re welcome to,” he muttered, his voice softer. It was as close to a peace offering as he could manage.

But the idea of sitting in that tent, at his side as he strategized, his cold demeanor, a reminder of the distance between you, was more than you could bear. “No, thank you,” you replied curtly. “I think I’ll find my own company more pleasant.”

Robb’s gaze darkened, a flash of frustration flaring in his eyes, but he said nothing more, only turning and leaving the tent without a backward glance.

The silence he left in his wake was oppressive, and despite your anger, a pang of something lonelier, sharper, cut through you. Alone, you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the emptiness in the tent like a second skin.

The hours passed slowly, and evening fell. You took a walk through the camp, trying to ease your mind, but everywhere you went, you felt eyes on you, whispers trailing in your wake. The men respected you as Robb’s wife, but you could tell they sensed the distance between you two. Some even looked at you with pity, others with confusion, unsure of the bond they assumed must exist between the Stark lord and his Frey bride.

Eventually, you found yourself at the healer’s tent, where Talisa was working over a soldier with a nasty leg wound. You paused in the doorway, watching her ease his pain with a touch far gentler than the one Robb had ever shown you.

Talisa looked up, her gaze meeting yours. For a moment, she studied you, a quiet empathy in her eyes, and you wondered if she knew the nature of the rift between you and Robb.

“My lady,” she greeted, her voice warm and steady, but with an undertone of awareness. “Is there something I can help you with?”

You forced a polite smile. “No, thank you. I was just… walking. I thought I’d see how things were here.”

She nodded, sensing your discomfort, and returned her attention to the soldier. It was no secret that she held Robb’s favor, nor was it hard to see why. She was kind, assured, capable in ways that made you feel inadequate, a reminder of the gap between you and your husband.

Feeling restless, you returned to your own tent, wondering how much longer you could keep up this performance. But as you stepped inside, you were startled to find Robb already there, waiting.

He looked at you, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of something softer crossed his face.

“What is it?” you asked warily, crossing your arms.

He hesitated, the silence stretching between you until it grew almost unbearable. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he said, surprising you with the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his tone. “But I’m trying to make the best of it.”

You regarded him, the bitterness in your heart softening just a fraction, though your voice was still guarded. “If you’re trying, it’s a poor effort, Robb. You treat me like another pawn on the board, something useful only when it suits you.”

He looked down, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This isn’t easy for me, either. I didn’t want to marry for alliance or duty, but here we are.”

The words hung between you, an uncomfortable truth neither of you had admitted aloud before. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the boy behind the hardened lord, the man who perhaps hadn’t asked for this life of war and responsibility but had it thrust upon him.

——————————————————————————

Tags!!

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[loozer]

Javierxm!reader where reader admires Javier who gets flustered about it would be so cute!!

Alright, first fic after a while of not writing, with my favorite mexican man, let's do this. I hope you enjoy it, feedback is always appreciated🙏

Warnings;: One mention of reader being a guy, but it was written with a male reader in mind. Not really any other warnings

Usually, Javier would sleep as much as he could unless he had guard duty and was up until the early hours of the morning before someone would come to relieve him and take his post. But tonight, tonight would be an exception.

He's sat by the fire, sharpening his knife. The only sounds being the crickets chirping, someone snoring, the crackle of the fire, and Javier's knife running across the whetstone. Until footsteps were added to the mix.

"Javier? What are you doing up this late?" It was you, and Javier felt the hints of a smile tug at his lips as you sat down on the log across from him.

"I could ask you the same." He chuckled, taking a moment to glance up at you. The warm glow of the fire highlighted your features perfectly, shadowing some parts that the fire's light had trouble reaching but you still looked absolutely handsome either way.

"Can't sleep." Javier answered simply, and you nodded in understanding.

Your eyes stayed on Javier where he was sat, his outfits always so well put together, sometimes you thought of how much money he spent buying the clothes for each piece of his outfit.

It wasn't often that you'd find yourself fantasizing about someone, but Javier had wormed his way into your mind, plauging most of your thoughts like an illness without the cure. Yet, you didn't know if you ever wanted to find said cure.

His voice was something that could be described as angelic, soothing the loudest parts of your mind to a quiet and low whisper. His eyes dark as coffee, but when the light of the setting sun would shine in them, they appeared like pools of honey.

"You're staring, that's kinda rude y'know?" His voice broke your train of thought and when you finally looked at his face, he was staring deeply into your eyes. Looking into your very soul.

"Uh- Sorry." Clearing your throat, you looked away. And Javier being the man that he is, knew there was something on your mind, and he wanted to know.

"Anything you wanna say?" Javier asked, stilling his movements and giving you his full attention.

Looking around, for peering eyes because you knew Micah was definetly up at this hour and his antagonizing would be endless if he saw or heard, and in general because you could not look at Javier without picking him apart to find more things to love and admire.

"No. We- well, I mean. I guess. I'm just, thinking." Trying to choose your words carefully, you stumble over them, only further peaking Javier's curiousity.

Javier leaned forward, "Go ahead, tell me, we're both men here I think I can handle it." He inquired, his tone becoming a bit more playful.

"Well uh,.." You started, palms becoming sweaty before you cleared your throat "You're.. pretty. For a guy, I s'pose." Your voice became softer as you admitted your reason for staring.

Before he could get a response in, you had stood up and began to make your way towards the outskirts of camp, most likely to relieve whoever was on guard duty and take their place in keeping the camp safe.

Javier stayed, processing what you had said to him. What you had called him. Pretty. You had called him pretty. He felt his entire body grow warm, and it was not just from the fire infront of him. He shook his head to stop thinking about it and went back to tending to his knife.

Except he couldn't stop thinking about it, and he wouldn't. There you go, invading his mind and making his heart beat faster than it should. And that's how he stayed for as long as he could remember, sitting by the fire, sharpening his knife, thinking about what you had called him with a flush overtaking his face. The corners of his lip quirked up in a small smile.