ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
{ blacksmith!mage!kenma kozume x reader | fantasy au }
*both the reader and kenma are around 18-19 years old.
dictionary:
Sasakure: enemy state of Wysteria, where both the reader and kenma reside.
Wysteria: the homeland of both kenma and the reader.
Kozume Akiyo: kenma's father, who was a blacksmith previous to him, and died in the previous war (unknown as to what the circumstances were beyond that).
Qntal petram: literal translation from latin would be 'nightmare rock'. it's a charmed and expensive metal.
charmed: when someone or something has had magic cast upon it with certain criteria. in the case of Qntal petram, the metal has been charmed to make those who wield it with a weapon a "better fighter".
mage: someone who can cast spells/use magic.
bryo: currency in Wysteria.
---
When the door creaks open even wider, the small blacksmith barely glances up. The smell of molten metal fills her lungs, mixed with charcoal, and she chokes. Tears water in her eyes, and it's obvious she's not used to the environment. The heat is unbearable, and she realizes why both of the doors were open, but even with that, it was hotter than hell in the small, bricked hut. Underneath the dirtied cloth skirt she wears, she's sweating, and she wipes her forehead with the long sleeve of her ripped dress. The woman with [h/c] hair pushed the cloth on her hair that had been substituted as a headband back.
"Are you alright?"
The voice bounces off of the warm bricks of the hut that the two share, but they hit her, and are stone cold. They almost sound uncaring, like the very action to ask was tiring. The woman glances towards him, [e/c] orbs flickering around the blacksmith's shop, and nods.
"I am alright. Thank you," she says. Despite her ripped and worn clothes, the words that fall from her mouth, while simple, are clear and send shivers down the young man's spine. The air she holds contrasts her overall appearance to a point where he starts doubting his own eyes. "I am here because of my brother's sword. You have heard of the upcoming war against Sasakure, correct?" Her gaze still focused on many of the cooling swords on racks; Kenma nods, despite her not being able to see him. It is common knowledge after all, the king of Wysteria had already been drafting young men for quite some time.
As she turns towards the other weapons he had crafted, pudding head gets a good look at her back, a sword elegantly attached to her back as if it belonged on her back. Kenma can only assume that she was there for him to fix it up, at the very least. And while his gaze is fixated on the girl, she suddenly turns, and he knows he has been caught in the act of staring.
"I need you to fix a sword for me."
The blacksmith's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, giving the slightest inclination of his emotion---but she does not pick up on it, and he glances her over. She seems too frail to wield sword as long as her back, and while he doesn't voice his thoughts, it's dragged into his tone. "You're going to fight?"
Running a hand through her [h/c] locks, she tries not to give him a glare, and suppresses it successfully. Instead, the dirtied girl presses a smile to her lips. "No, my brother was drafted, and my family wishes to give him the best to protect Wysteria and himself. I meant fix his sword for me. Is that so wrong?" She purses her lips, and her clear cut tone sends a foreboding feeling down his spine, tingling him down to his core.
"No." Curtly, he purses his lips, and finally stands up from the wooden foot stool, it clattering away, and tipping over. He holds out his hands for her to give him the sword.
She doesn't slide out from the strap gracefully, either; it getting caught in her hair, and her having to forcibly tug and tear it from her. Finally, she places the sheathed sword in his calloused hands. "You are Kozume Akiyo, correct?"
"No, that was my father," he says sharply.
"Was?"
"He died in the first war against Sasakure," Kenma finishes simply, and taking the sword out of it's sheath, holds it out away from the both of them. The sword itself is dark, almost seemingly not to be made out of steel, and when he weighs it out in his hands, he finds that it is not. Holding the sword up to the single light source in the shop --- the window ---- he sees the tiny cracks and chips in the sword, and he nods. "This isn't steel."
"I am aware."
Kenma narrows his eyes towards the young woman, suspicion contorting his features as he did so. "This is made out of Qntal petram," he says softly, his gaze flickering from the woman to the sword, holding a certain adornment towards the weapon. He swings it a few times, before sheathing it once more. "The really expensive metal."
"The enchanted one," she says, knowledge in her voice.
"I also said it was expensive." The nineteen year old blacksmith frowns, glancing over the young woman once more, not sure what to think of her. How someone like her would be able to even get her hands on something like this on the first place, and have it forged into a sword by someone else is beyond him.
"Do you always question your customers like you do I?" She snaps back, a bit harshly, wiping her hands that were practically drenched in sweat on her dirtied skirt. "It's been passed down my family for generations, alright? Qntal petram has the charmed ability of an increased accuracy in strikes, does it not?"
"It does. However," reluctantly, he hands it back to her swiftly, practically thrusting it into her hands, "I can't work with charmed metal. It's too dangerous." Kenma's gaze hardens as he looks towards the other. While what he has just said was true, it was partially incorrect.
The [h/c] girl is quick to call him out on it, as well, but when she does, her back is turned once more. "For someone who is not a mage. It is dangerous for non-magical persons to work on, as I am aware." Her slender fingers curl around the hilt, and she lets go of the sheath, letting it clatter to the ground.
The next part is almost in slow motion, as she spins around gracefully, sword out, halting as it touches the tips of bleached hair. Her dirtied hem of her skirt circles around her widely, before brushing past her ankles once more. Kozume can only describe it as angelic; his golden brown hues flickering towards the obsidian black sword. "Kozume. You're a mage." She lowers the sword, the light in her eyes that resembled yearning (but not towards him, perhaps towards the action she had just made).
"How do you know?"
"Word travels in the c---village."
He falls silent, and a sigh tumbles from his chapped lips, running a hand through his hair. "I can fix it. But I won't."
"Why not?"
"It'll cost a lot of money that you probably don't have, and even for mages it can be dangerous to work on a charmed weapon," he says with a shrug.
"I can pay you as much as you'd like," she says eagerly, and for the first time in their conversation, a smile crosses her lips as she leans closer to the older teenager, pressing the sword into the dirt floor of his blacksmith shop, leaning on it with her two hands. He shuffles back a few steps, and doesn't meet her gaze. "Please, you are the only blacksmith who can help me."
"How much can you afford?"
"I can pay at least eight thousand bryo."
"Nine thousand?" Kenma raises a single eyebrow in interest, and she nods. He felt himself doubting her more and more. Nothing seems to line up with the young woman on in front of him. "What's your name again?"
"A-Ares." She stumbles over her name, [e/c] eyes flickering over the blacksmith; waiting for some kind of reaction out of him.
What a peculiar name. "You've got yourself a deal, Ares. "
*both the reader and kenma are around 18-19 years old.
dictionary:
Sasakure: enemy state of Wysteria, where both the reader and kenma reside.
Wysteria: the homeland of both kenma and the reader.
Kozume Akiyo: kenma's father, who was a blacksmith previous to him, and died in the previous war (unknown as to what the circumstances were beyond that).
Qntal petram: literal translation from latin would be 'nightmare rock'. it's a charmed and expensive metal.
charmed: when someone or something has had magic cast upon it with certain criteria. in the case of Qntal petram, the metal has been charmed to make those who wield it with a weapon a "better fighter".
mage: someone who can cast spells/use magic.
bryo: currency in Wysteria.
---
When the door creaks open even wider, the small blacksmith barely glances up. The smell of molten metal fills her lungs, mixed with charcoal, and she chokes. Tears water in her eyes, and it's obvious she's not used to the environment. The heat is unbearable, and she realizes why both of the doors were open, but even with that, it was hotter than hell in the small, bricked hut. Underneath the dirtied cloth skirt she wears, she's sweating, and she wipes her forehead with the long sleeve of her ripped dress. The woman with [h/c] hair pushed the cloth on her hair that had been substituted as a headband back.
"Are you alright?"
The voice bounces off of the warm bricks of the hut that the two share, but they hit her, and are stone cold. They almost sound uncaring, like the very action to ask was tiring. The woman glances towards him, [e/c] orbs flickering around the blacksmith's shop, and nods.
"I am alright. Thank you," she says. Despite her ripped and worn clothes, the words that fall from her mouth, while simple, are clear and send shivers down the young man's spine. The air she holds contrasts her overall appearance to a point where he starts doubting his own eyes. "I am here because of my brother's sword. You have heard of the upcoming war against Sasakure, correct?" Her gaze still focused on many of the cooling swords on racks; Kenma nods, despite her not being able to see him. It is common knowledge after all, the king of Wysteria had already been drafting young men for quite some time.
As she turns towards the other weapons he had crafted, pudding head gets a good look at her back, a sword elegantly attached to her back as if it belonged on her back. Kenma can only assume that she was there for him to fix it up, at the very least. And while his gaze is fixated on the girl, she suddenly turns, and he knows he has been caught in the act of staring.
"I need you to fix a sword for me."
The blacksmith's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, giving the slightest inclination of his emotion---but she does not pick up on it, and he glances her over. She seems too frail to wield sword as long as her back, and while he doesn't voice his thoughts, it's dragged into his tone. "You're going to fight?"
Running a hand through her [h/c] locks, she tries not to give him a glare, and suppresses it successfully. Instead, the dirtied girl presses a smile to her lips. "No, my brother was drafted, and my family wishes to give him the best to protect Wysteria and himself. I meant fix his sword for me. Is that so wrong?" She purses her lips, and her clear cut tone sends a foreboding feeling down his spine, tingling him down to his core.
"No." Curtly, he purses his lips, and finally stands up from the wooden foot stool, it clattering away, and tipping over. He holds out his hands for her to give him the sword.
She doesn't slide out from the strap gracefully, either; it getting caught in her hair, and her having to forcibly tug and tear it from her. Finally, she places the sheathed sword in his calloused hands. "You are Kozume Akiyo, correct?"
"No, that was my father," he says sharply.
"Was?"
"He died in the first war against Sasakure," Kenma finishes simply, and taking the sword out of it's sheath, holds it out away from the both of them. The sword itself is dark, almost seemingly not to be made out of steel, and when he weighs it out in his hands, he finds that it is not. Holding the sword up to the single light source in the shop --- the window ---- he sees the tiny cracks and chips in the sword, and he nods. "This isn't steel."
"I am aware."
Kenma narrows his eyes towards the young woman, suspicion contorting his features as he did so. "This is made out of Qntal petram," he says softly, his gaze flickering from the woman to the sword, holding a certain adornment towards the weapon. He swings it a few times, before sheathing it once more. "The really expensive metal."
"The enchanted one," she says, knowledge in her voice.
"I also said it was expensive." The nineteen year old blacksmith frowns, glancing over the young woman once more, not sure what to think of her. How someone like her would be able to even get her hands on something like this on the first place, and have it forged into a sword by someone else is beyond him.
"Do you always question your customers like you do I?" She snaps back, a bit harshly, wiping her hands that were practically drenched in sweat on her dirtied skirt. "It's been passed down my family for generations, alright? Qntal petram has the charmed ability of an increased accuracy in strikes, does it not?"
"It does. However," reluctantly, he hands it back to her swiftly, practically thrusting it into her hands, "I can't work with charmed metal. It's too dangerous." Kenma's gaze hardens as he looks towards the other. While what he has just said was true, it was partially incorrect.
The [h/c] girl is quick to call him out on it, as well, but when she does, her back is turned once more. "For someone who is not a mage. It is dangerous for non-magical persons to work on, as I am aware." Her slender fingers curl around the hilt, and she lets go of the sheath, letting it clatter to the ground.
The next part is almost in slow motion, as she spins around gracefully, sword out, halting as it touches the tips of bleached hair. Her dirtied hem of her skirt circles around her widely, before brushing past her ankles once more. Kozume can only describe it as angelic; his golden brown hues flickering towards the obsidian black sword. "Kozume. You're a mage." She lowers the sword, the light in her eyes that resembled yearning (but not towards him, perhaps towards the action she had just made).
"How do you know?"
"Word travels in the c---village."
He falls silent, and a sigh tumbles from his chapped lips, running a hand through his hair. "I can fix it. But I won't."
"Why not?"
"It'll cost a lot of money that you probably don't have, and even for mages it can be dangerous to work on a charmed weapon," he says with a shrug.
"I can pay you as much as you'd like," she says eagerly, and for the first time in their conversation, a smile crosses her lips as she leans closer to the older teenager, pressing the sword into the dirt floor of his blacksmith shop, leaning on it with her two hands. He shuffles back a few steps, and doesn't meet her gaze. "Please, you are the only blacksmith who can help me."
"How much can you afford?"
"I can pay at least eight thousand bryo."
"Nine thousand?" Kenma raises a single eyebrow in interest, and she nods. He felt himself doubting her more and more. Nothing seems to line up with the young woman on in front of him. "What's your name again?"
"A-Ares." She stumbles over her name, [e/c] eyes flickering over the blacksmith; waiting for some kind of reaction out of him.
What a peculiar name. "You've got yourself a deal, Ares. "
Literature
hunger. kuroo tetsurou | tghoul/hq!!
Your aggressive retching and coughing echoed through the dingy alleyway of a restaurant. In the darkness of the night, you pushed two fingers down your throat once more and dipped your head towards the concrete.
You violently gagged as tears rimmed your eyes.
Not again. You couldn’t let yourself digest human food again. If only you’d turn down the invite from your friend, the chances of your state weakening wouldn’t increase. If only you’d excuse yourself to the toilet when your friend was talking, you would’ve made it in time to vomit up the contents. If only, if only, if only.
It was no use. All you managed
Literature
lies. / kuroo
The sun shown brightly above you as the rays caressed your face. Kuroo and you were sitting together at the beach this morning, and luckily enough, nobody besides the two of you were out there, so you could enjoy this moment alone together.
"To be honest, I can't swim." He said bluntly.
"Really?!"
"No, I totally can. I was just messing with you." He replied with a shit-eating grin, making you give him a look.
"Good. I like that face." He said as he scooted towards you.
A blush crept up on your cheeks, Arrgh...why must you always be like this.. you thought to your flustered self.
"Because it's fun. Obviously." Kuroo said as his gaze was
Literature
ash, / nishinoya yuu.
Her realm was gray, everything she gazed at was gray. What was the significance of a world without color?
Sunsets were never vivid enough as the contrast of black and white masked their authentic beauty. Food tasteless, plain. Charcoal bags hung underneath her clouded globes. Ordinary. Weary. Austere. In every direction she beheld, stretched the different intensities of dust.
Forlorn frontages filled her vision every time she entered the bus.
Frustration.
Anger.
Sadness.
Depression.
None of them were ever foreign to her. Negative emotions whispered ruinous images to her mind. Revolution of melancholy. Like poison, it slowly corrupted her be
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
fandom: haikyuu
character: kenma kozume
word count: 1258
reader: she/her
pov: third
triggers/topics: war, violence, weapons, death ( upcoming chapters ) / mideval/fantasy au
it's a bit short, i know, and i know i've been gone for 20 billion years but i've been working on my novel and chess ! this is part of a series created by ObscurePhoenix here on dA, and they offered to let me write with them and a couple of other writers, and i was honoured !! i hope you guys enjoy !!
* i read over this several times, but i didn't have someone beta it. if you see any errors, let me know in the comments or in a note!
* i read over this several times, but i didn't have someone beta it. if you see any errors, let me know in the comments or in a note!
© 2016 - 2024 minakurosaki
Comments2
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
The air she holds contrasts her overall appearance to a point where heUm, I don't think this sentence was completed. . . I THINK IT'S A GREAT STORY SO FAR, THOUGH. *-*