#Best Coping Saw Blades

[prosypepper]

growing old with kento nanami

word count: 2.8k

warnings: post-shibuya arc, descriptions of: surgery, recovery processes, depression, insomnia, trauma, therapy, coping mechanisms; pregnancy, marriage, crying. (18+ mdni!)

notes: this WILL have a part 2 and maybe 3! it will be very long so i'm splitting it up. even though the warnings seem kind of sad i promise it's a happy story :)

part 2 | masterlist

“marry me.”

proposing to you was nanami’s first conscious thought after being in a coma for 5 days after shibuya. you were reading a book, peacefully keeping him company in his hospital room, not even noticing he was awake. your eyes fluttered up from your book, back down, and then up again.

“marry me, please,” he repeated. you stayed silent for a moment, eyes widening and mouth dropping. he wasn’t supposed to wake up.

“kento, oh my god,” you yelped, dropping your book and rushing to the hospital bed to look at him. his eyes were open, only slightly, and the weakest smile he could bear rested on his lips. you gently settled your hands on each side of his face, barely hovering over the charred skin. he looked so tired, and yet, he was asking you to marry him.

kento groaned when you hugged him, but you couldn’t stop yourself, you squeezed him gently and with care. a weak hand rested on your back, in between your shoulder blades. he was too weak to repeat his question again. but the only thing on his mind was if you would be his wife.

“yes, yes, i’ll marry you,” you cried into his chest, wetting the fabric of the hospital clothing.

neither you nor nanami himself understood why he proposed to you in that moment. after waking up, his journey to recovery began with slow but steady progress. it took several months of intense rehabilitation and support from both sorcerers and doctors for him to regain his mobility. with their help, he was able to walk and move with a surprising degree of agility, nearly returning to how he was before shibuya. he also had a few cosmetic surgeries, in an attempt to minimize the scarring from all he had been through. within a few months, he was able to see his skin smooth out and hair grow from the side of his head. he wouldn’t look the same, ever; but you didn’t care. you loved kento, as he did you, the fact you were able to celebrate his recovery made you feel like the luckiest woman on the earth.

the loss of his previous strength and abilities weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his spirits. yet, amidst the struggles, he found solace in small victories and the support of those around him, your support meaning the most to him. although kento was deeply troubled by the realization that he could no longer pursue his life as a sorcerer, he came to accept it as the best possible outcome given the circumstances. this acceptance marked a pivotal shift in his perspective, allowing him to focus on rebuilding his life in new ways. before he turned in his resignation, he had made sure to recommend ino for a promotion. it was his last wish as a sorcerer.

after the almost year-long recovery process, kento surprised you with a beautiful ring, one of the ones you had talked about before he went on his trip. he proposed again, in the place you first met, this time without weak hands and barely audible words. he was able to find a job, one not nearly as draining as his job from before he returned to jujutsu – and began making plans for your wedding. the planning process didn’t take long, he wanted the wedding to make you happy.

your and kento’s wedding was outright beautiful. it was a stunning venue on a beach, hundreds of guests attended, friends and family alike. kento shed a few tears when he saw you walking down the aisle, clad in the most gorgeous attire he’d ever seen you wear, as his bride. his voice shook as he said his vows – vows that he wrote, almost a good 1,000 words – and he made you a million promises. promises he wouldn’t dare to break, promises to grow old together and live the life you both deserve.

at the reception, you told kento you had a surprise for him, and ran off to go get something from one of your bridesmaids. he was confused at first, because he didn’t need any more surprises, he was the happiest he’d ever been. a newlywed, married to you. but when you came back to the table, two small pieces of paper in your hands, he didn’t think it would be possible to be more joyous.

“we’re going to malaysia, for our honeymoon, kento,” you excitedly told him, showing off the two plane tickets scheduled in a week.

nanami was speechless, a huge smile with teeth plastered across his face, and he gave you the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone.

when the two of you traveled to malaysia, kento was at peace. he had never seen a place so charming and breathtaking, he remained entranced by the culture and landscapes. the two of you spent your time hiking in nature, watching waterfalls and having lovely picnics wherever felt right. kento was so ecstatic, a smile constant on his face as he watched his surroundings with never-ending wonder. he thanked you a million times over.

you had never seen him be so alive. he promised you that one day, he was going to build a house, right on the beach, just for the two of you.

once you were back at your shared apartment, the reality of the past year and a half hit kento like a train. so much time had been spent recovering, constantly in and out of the hospital, planning for your wedding and improving both of your lives, he never had a chance to reflect on the genuine trauma he went through.

you didn’t notice for a while, but kento grew depressed, and restless at the same time. he began to spend his nights awake, insomnia brewing like piping hot tea, staying conscious until the early hours of the morning, doing any exercise or meditation to calm himself down and go to sleep. yet the visuals replayed over, and over, and over. the blood, the curses, the flames, the death. it hadn’t bothered him before, he thought, but he just never gave himself the time to soak it all in. and the depression – the depression was an all-new low for him. when kento wasn’t working, he was at his house, in the bed, while you were working or off running errands. you only noticed his new behavior when you woke up in an empty bed at 4 a.m. one night, 3 months after your honeymoon.

“mm…kento?” you called, footsteps heavily plopping down the hallway towards the bright lights of your kitchen. when you entered the room, you saw kento sprawled out on the floor, knees bent, with sweat rolling down his forehead. stepping over towards him, you kneeled down to look at him, and his head rolled to the side to look at you, too.

kento’s eyes looked so tired, the eyebags you hadn’t seen in years were full-fledged, his eyelids were droopy and exhausted. just by the emotion his eyes conveyed, you could see he was silently suffering, and he had been that way for a while.

“kento, what’s wrong?” you asked, bringing a hand to the side of his face to rub a thumb over his sweat-glistened cheek.

“i don’t…know,” he replied, defeat in his voice, “i can’t sleep. i haven’t slept. i don’t know.”

your husband always had a plan. he always knew everything; he always took care of the unknown and intimidating parts of life. for kento nanami to say “i don’t know” meant something was wrong, seriously wrong.

“sit up,” you softly demanded, gently pulling his shoulders off the floor. you sat on the ground, crossing your legs, and kento mirrored your actions, slumping when he finally sat up. “kento, honey,” you began, taking his hand in yours and resting it on his knee, “what’s going on?”

he was never one to talk about feelings, to talk about emotions felt deep down, because he wasn’t sure how to convey anything that would make him vulnerable. but as he sat in front of you, chest slightly heaving, such a burnt-out expression on his face, you knew there was something he wasn’t saying, but that something needed to be said.

“i can’t…” kento muttered, stopping himself for a second, “i can’t stop thinking.” he finally admitted, causing you to furrow your eyebrows with concern.

“about what, honey?” you sweetly asked, thumb caressing the back of his hand, tenderly rubbing back and forth.

“everything.” he stated, eyes flashing away from you to look at the floor next to him. you knew what he meant, though, but you had never seen him so pained from his work, especially from something that happened so long ago.

“tell me, baby,” you soothed him. you grabbed his other hand, causing him to look back at you pitifully. kento stayed silent for numerous moments, unsure as to what you could handle. but you were his wife, someone he was supposed to be able to confide in.

“so many people…died…” he mumbled, “i almost died. i saw what it looked like, i faced death.” his words began to come out quicker, “i’ve never seen that many people die, not even in shinjuku, and there was so much blood, and gojo almost, he almost-,” kento’s voice began to get shaky and uneven, a crack in his words as tears stung his eyes. “gojo almost died, too, and…i almost died, i saw it,” he repeated, “and yuuji – looked so upset, and takuma got hurt,” he clenched his eyes shut, words still coming out as a single string.

you moved closer, shifting onto your knees and wrapping kento in a comforting embrace. he clung to you immediately, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if trying to anchor himself in reality. his body shook with the intensity of his sobs, each breath coming in ragged gasps. the rawness of his anguish was palpable; his cries were filled with a pain that seemed almost too immense to bear. the image of the carnage replayed in his mind, a relentless cycle that he couldn’t escape. kento’s tears soaked through your shirt, repeating with his incoherent murmurs of horror. his face, once so composed, now twisted in an expression of deep, unrelenting despair.

kento wailed into your chest for hours that night, unable to stop his shuttering and repetition of the same phrases. he only calmed down when the sun began to rise, slowly illuminating the insides of your home. once kento parted his head from your chest, he looked you in the eyes, asking for help without saying a word. you wiped away his tears and grabbed the sides of his face, promising him you will get him anything he needs. kento fell asleep around 7 a.m. that morning, with the help of you running your fingers through his hair, shushing him and telling him it will all be okay.

he believed you. kento nanami put all his faith in you, his wife, to help him fix his problem he hadn’t an idea on how to mend. and so, you did everything in your power to help him. you spent countless hours on research, finding therapists that specialized in helping people like him, and you came across different mechanisms to help him cope. most of all, you continued your duties as a supportive wife, constantly telling him to get up and go to the supermarket, or out to the library. little by little, these smaller things combined together to work out, and kento began to get better. it was a breath of fresh air, as well as a weight lifted off both your and his shoulders, when he began to smile again, and shifted his view of life to a more positive outlook. he was alive, he began to feel alive again.

kento nanami was finally beginning to live the life he desired and deserved, all with you by his side.

a couple of weeks after kento’s 30th birthday, you came rushing into his office, tears of joy — and anxiety — pricked in your eyes. soon as his eyes landed on your seemingly upset expression, he was concerned.

“what’s wrong, dear?” he asked, pushing his chair away from the desk to stand up. you quickly closed the door behind you, leaning against it, and you dug around in your purse to pull out a small plastic baggie. when you tossed them to kento, it only took him a few seconds to realize what you were there to tell him.

“…you’re pregnant?” kento beamed, rushing over to you to wrap his arms around your waist. he quickly lifted you up in the air, grip so tight as if he never wanted to let go, your feet kicked happily.

kento always wanted to have kids, but being a sorcerer, he always thought it was too dangerous. you had some conversations about it after shibuya, and the both of you agreed that if it happened, it happened. and your children would have the best life possible, of course; but the glimmer of hope you had for having kids slowly burnt out over time with both of you increasing in age. in that moment, though, kento had so much hope and pure happiness, just at the thought of growing a little family with you.

the first few months of your pregnancy were hectic. between doctor’s appointments, mixed with morning sickness and fatigue, you thought it would never end. although you were happy to start a family, negative emotions easily overcame you, and kento noticed. he tried his best to be there for you, but his work schedule conflicted with your lives, and he soon realized he needed a change in his life. he needed to change your life and his, because he would be damned if he was going to return to the same boring life as he had before.

using his savings and bonus money from his job, he bought you a house. a real house, with acres of land and space for your family to grow, so much bigger than the previous apartment you shared with him. a house that he owned, a house that would contain all the joy for your future. he made sure it was grand, with a huge kitchen, and multiple bedrooms – not caring if only two of them were filled, or if all of them housed someone. before kento showed you the house, he set up a nursery.

“where are we going?” you inquired for about the 50th time that day. you had been in the car for hours, and all kento would say in return is, “you’ll find out.” nonetheless, you were excited, kento had always given you the best surprises, but you had never driven so far with him.

“we’re here.” kento stated, pulling into an empty concrete driveway big enough to fit 6 cars.

“where are we? did satoru move?” you asked, the huge display of a home proving to be a bit intimidating for you. kento didn’t reply this time, he only scurried out of the car to come and open your door, helping you get out with a kind hand.

you didn’t even understand what was going on until you walked up the front steps, and a few keys jingled in kento’s hands until he found the right one to unlock the door. the door to your new home.

“wait...wait. kento,” you said, standing still as your husband strode inside, “what is this?” the familiar tears of joy rushed to your eyes, and you just stood there with a shocked expression plastered on your face.

“this is our new home, honey,” kento chimed, reaching a hand out again to welcome you inside. you took his hand, albeit a little hesitantly, and stepped inside your house.

“oh, kento,” you blubbered, throwing your arms around his neck, tears beginning to trickle down your face.

you and kento explored the house for hours, marveling at all the space and beauty he bought for you. you thanked him a million times over, crying at each new space you discovered in the house, you felt sheer gratefulness for your husband and all he did for you. and kento, well, he did all of it to thank you, to thank you for never losing hope in him, and to thank you for the joy you’d made him experience. he was so undeniably in love with you, just as he had always been, and he promised himself he was going to do everything in his power to live the life he deserved with you. he was going to live up to every word he made in his vows, every promise he made with you, each and every word he had spoken to you was going to show in your lives.

even from the moment he met you, he knew he was going to spend his life with you.

taglist: @kundere20000000 @missakward123 @cherriee-ee @starlightanyaaa @lagataprrr @hazzelle-kento

let me know if you'd like to be added!

[mattscoquette]

how do you think matt would react if he found his girl sh-ing? (u should make a one shot on this <3) would chris react the same as matt?

matt finding out his girl is sh

. detailed mentions of self harm and anxiety !! pls read with caution <3 this is also in no way romanticizing sh ! remember u are loved :)

you shakily pried open the back of your phone case, carefully removing the small blade you’d taken from your shower razor. standing over the sink as water poured from faucet, you slid up the sleeves of your sweater, an array of both fresh and healed scars adorning your skin. you felt tears prick your eyes as you began to slide the blade against your skin, slashing new cuts into your wrists.

as hard as you tried, you just couldn’t stop yourself from hurting yourself. it had become your way of coping with your anxiety, and your solution to every situation that arose. and matt, poor matt, was so observant in your change of behavior. the way you only wore long sleeves, how you seemed to panic whenever he held your hand. you two stopped having sex months ago. and you noticed how it affected your relationship. you noticed how everything that you did affected your relationship. and that only made you want to hurt yourself even more.

matt deserved a better girlfriend. or so you thought. in your head, you were ruining matt’s life. you were barely there anymore, feeling like you were a ghost watching your life from the outside. and you loved matt so much, so much that it hurt, and all you wanted was for him to be happy. but to you, if you weren’t happy, matt couldn’t be happy.

lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize the mess of blood you were making in the sink, and matt knocking on the door softly. “baby are you good? i’m home with food.”

you cursed underneath your breath, hurriedly turning off the sink and holding a fist over your cuts, trying to stop the flow of blood. i’m okay was all you could unconvincingly rasp out.

“are you sure? can i come in?” matt called out, his voice as sweet and caring as ever. because why wouldn’t it be. you were matt’s entire world, the only thing that mattered to him was you.

“i’ll be right out, i’m okay.” you spoke, trying your best to stop your voice from shaking. you looked down at your cloth covered wrists, dark stains seeping through the sleeves where your hand was clamped around them.

but, matt knew you. he knew something was wrong, and he knew you weren’t okay. so, matt being matt, pushed his thumb against the lock, twisting it as it unlocked. slowly, he turned the doorknob, opening the bathroom door where he saw you standing inside, a panicked expression on your face as you held a hand over your wrists.

matt’s eyes scanned around the bathroom, his face falling as he realized what you were doing. the blade on the counter, the blood in the sink, the way you were drawing your arms into your body. and suddenly, the last few months made sense. "sweetheart.” he couldn’t even manage a whisper.

matt swiftly made his way to you, wrapping his arms around your body as he held you tight. you couldn’t stop the sobs that racked your body, crying hard into matt’s chest while he just cradled you. he kissed the side of your head repeatedly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he pulled you both down onto the tiled floor, letting you climb up into his lap.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffled, burying your face into his shoulder, “i’m sorry i’m so messy.”

matt pulled away, his expression as if you had just personally offended him. his ran a thumb across your tear stricken cheek, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “don’t be sorry, i’m not upset.”

he continued to comfort you, rocking you back and forth in his arms on the bathroom floor.

“i’m always gonna be here for you.” he mumbled into your hair, feeling his own eyes begin to well with tears. “no matter what.”

“always?”

“always.”

© mattscoquette | taglist

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ i kinda wanna start trying to write more angsty stuff like this, ty for this request ! can’t lie i lowk cried writing this but i feel like it lowk helped me in a way bc i used to struggle w this. anyway i hope u guys like <3 and if anyone needs someone to talk to im here !!

[ikinremu]

I don’t know if your still doing story rqs or not but I would love a possessive!tommy shelby x innocent!reader.

idea: thomas saw a guy flirting with reader but was to innocent to know it, or notice it—reader does know about sex and other shit, just didn’t really understand it.

Hi anon! Tysm for requesting, hope you enjoy! Also, just to let everyone know that if you have requested, I will be working on it I’m just working through a lot of requests atm so bear with me!! <3

My Property

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: Innocence, Virgin!reader, Fingering, Unprotected sex, P in V, Multiple orgasms, Praise, Possessive/jealousy, Praise, Cream Pie

"What can I getcha, miss?" Came the low, hoarse voice of the bartender, burnt cigarette faltering in his mouth.

"An Old Fashioned, please." You smiled politely, shuffling a little atop the rickety old stood, resting your hands upon the bar's scuffed surface.

The man returned the smile, accompanied by a nod of understanding. His gaze seemed to linger on your face for a moment, fingers swiping the cigarette from between his lips. His eyes never once faltered from your own as his mouth puffed out a cloud of foggy smoke, and he stubbed it out on a nearby ashtray accordingly.

"Rough day?" He inquired, the broad span of his back facing you as he reached over the bar's vast array of contents, seizing whichever components he needed.

"Not particularly, no." You smiled.

"Just figured somethin' had to bring a beautiful woman like you 'ere." He spun to face you once more, laying all intent to the way he studied your expression. He leant forward quite the distance, pouring out your requested drink, gaze never leaving yours.

His words caught you rather off guard, making you stumble over your own slightly, "Oh- um, just fancied a drink, I suppose."

At that, he slid the glass into your open hands, "Here you are."

"Thank you." You gave a honey-like smile, raising the glass to your lips.

As you did so, the man turned once more, slotting the previously retrieved bottles back into their correct places. Glass clinked together, and one particularly large bottle slipped from the shelf, just barely saved from smashing by his splayed hands.

He let out an exhale of relief as he seized the bottle, assuring it remained firmly in place this time.

"That's not like me." He chuckled to himself, pivoting back round in your direction, "I'm usually good with my hands."

He followed the sentence with an obnoxiously bold wink, which you unknowingly ignored, allowing it to fly right by.

There was a moment of drawn out silence as you nodded politely in response, "Well I'd hope so in a job like this."

His brows creased ever so slightly, and he cleared his throat once more.

"Guess I must've been.. distracted." He accentuated the very last word, wetting his lips. You felt his eyes roam over your entirety, lingering over your chest specifically.

With a small nod, you indulged in another sip from your drink, brows furrowed slightly. You could feel his gaze trained upon your mouth as your lips met the top of the glass.

It only then became apparent that you ought to return to your table - you'd become entirely too caught up with polite conversation.

"I best get back." You smiled, hand cupping your beverage as you shuffled atop your barstool. 

His disappointment was blatant, "Leavin' so soon?"

Your gaze spun back to the table you'd been at until only recently. John and Arthur were cackling about God knows what, and Tommy sat beside, smirking, although it appeared he was a little more focused on yourself than the accompaniment of his chortling brothers.

"Ah, I see." He observed, voice a low rumble as your swivelled back toward him, "They seem like they're coping." He chuckled, "Maybe I can convince you to ditch them for the night, hm?"

"No need for that." Tommy's voice cut through like a blade from behind you, making you jump out of your skin for a brief moment. He stepped close beside you, the scrutiny of his stare channelled upon nothing but the bartender.

An obvious, frustrated exhale escaped the man, "I think the lady can make up her own mind, don't you?"

From the very corner of your eye, you observed the tight tick of his jaw.

"Listen, darlin, if you want a good time you know where to find me."  He bargained on.

Irritation painted Tommy's face - although you couldn't quite resolve the puzzle as to why he was so agitated by the man offering you company; he seemed nice enough.

He was practically glaring at the bartender by now, his eyes struggling to leave as he nodded in the loose direction away from the counter, signalling the pair of you should make your way back.

As you hopped off the rickety, wooden stool, your eyes travelled back and forth between the two men, "Uh, thank you for the company." You offered a sweet - more so polite - smile, followed shortly by yourself and Tommy heading back.

"I think we should leave." He spoke, monotone as ever, "Arthur and John will be fine."

It was as though he knew you'd ask of them.

It wasn't particularly late, however you didn't fancy bargaining and in all honesty, you had no problem with leaving early.

Tommy's hand planted suddenly upon the small of your back, guiding the pair of you to exit out into the cool evening air.

A chill whisked over your face as you walked, "I don't understand why you're so upset."

"I'm not upset." He exhaled as the both of you ambled into the familiar, locked door of the betting office.

"Well, judging by the way you're jamming that poor key into the lock, I'd say otherwise." You mumbled, stood uncomfortably beside him, watching as he forced the key over until the lock finally clicked, turning it and shoving the door open, "You looked like you wanted to throttle that bartender."

He let out a scoff,  raising a brow a little as he turned to face you specifically, shutting the door the very moment you strode inside.

"I thought he seemed nice.." You uttered, accompanied by a genuine sense of confusion, "Friendly."

Tommy's eyes flickered across your face, from feature to feature; practically drinking you in, "You weren't gonna entertain the bastard, were you?"

You simply furrowed a brow, "What do you mean?"

He wet his lips, another blatant sigh escaping him, "Clearly thinks he was in with a chance, I don't want you doin' something you'll come to regret, eh?"

Somehow, his words were rather sudden to your ears, and it was a secret to no one that you were confused.

"He was gonna use you to get off, we both know you deserve more than that, don't you?" He leaned in a little as the words floated from his lips, the heat of his breath caressing your skin.

Your breath caught in your throat, hitching at the utter proximity of it all, and his hand found your waist suddenly. You were stunned, losing a single, soft gasp upon the feeling of the possessive squeeze he offered.

"Tell me you want this." His mouth mumbled, a mere inch from your ear.

An ambush of butterflies fluttered through your stomach, and you just couldn't deny his words, "..I want this."

"That's right, my fuckin' girl." Tommy grumbled, snaking a callous hand beneath your skirt, sliding slowly up your thigh, "Mine to touch, eh?"

A shiver coursed down your spine; intoxicated by the way he looked at you with such possession. Greedily, his fingers splayed over your thigh, inching nearer and nearer to the place you were most sensitive.

Your teeth sunk into the pillow of your bottom lip as one single, gentle finger brushed over your silken underwear.

"Acting so innocent, but you're fucking soaked." Tommy chuckled, beginning to trace subtle circles around your clit through the material, "Needy, eh?"

The way his fingers moved felt unbelievable, like nothing you'd ever experienced before. It was entirely new, and you didn't want it to end.

As though reacting to the unfamiliar sensations, your back hollowed an arch from the door, drenched cunt pressing against the motions of his hand, drawing a chuckle from his lips.

"Feels good, hm?" He taunted, lips curving into a prideful smirk as his digits crept beneath your underwear, hooking the silk hand and tugging it aside quickly.

A loud, breathy sound left your mouth as his fingertips came in contact with your bare, sensitive pussy.

"You want more, love?" He raised a brow, aware and deliberate of the question he knew the answer to, the strain of his own arousal increasing as he watched the way your face twisted in pleasure.

You nodded, "Mhm."

Tommy trailed his touch down your soaked cunt, pulling yet another gasp from your lips as he slipped one finger between your folds. You cursed under your breath, unable to resist as he slid a single, skilful finger inside you.

He watched your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed and pouring heavy breaths. Your cunt twitched around him as he so slowly slipped another finger beside the first.

"That's it, fucking feel it, eh?" He whispered, voice low and raspy.

Easing in, Tommy began to move his grouped digits inside you, reaching a spot so sensitive it was made simply impossible to restrain your whine.

"Oh fuck.."

"Look at that sweet little cunt squeezing my fingers.." He breathed, "Mine."

Your arousal further soaked his hand as his fingers thrust at a tortuous pace, finally beginning to quicken, gaze focused solely on yours; the way in which you reacted.

The warm, though rough, pad of his thumb pressed itself to the swell of your clit, toying with the pressure as his digits moved faster, curling and pumping in and out in a way that had your chest heaving.

"Please.." You murmured. You weren't at all accustomed to this new feeling, rather like a knot building in your stomach.

"I know, love," Tommy encouraged, "You like the way my fingers fuck that tight little cunt, hm?" He smiled, only further fuelled by the sight of you losing composure at his touch, "Come for me."

His words snapped the tightly-wound knot in your stomach, and a wave of intense pleasure stormed  your entirety - no trace of mercy.

Tommy's hand didn't halt, maintaining his pace as you came undone, guiding you through the release.

Your thighs trembled desperately around him, the feeling dying down, an air of euphoria about you.

Slipping his fingers from the heat of your pussy, he pressed his forehead against your own, eyes flickering and locking onto yours. Finally, his mouth connected with yours, lips soft and warm - enticing your body to the feel of his as he deepened the kiss. His hands gripped at your waist, stumbling back without shattering the embrace, the pair of you shuffling into the centre of the betting office.

The kiss grew hungrier by the second, his tongue gliding between your lips, he assisted you in perching atop his - usefully - wellkept desk. His hand snaked a path between your weakened thighs, parting them.

As you moved your mouth desperately against his, you felt the movements of his dark, certainly costly trousers being unclasped, followed immediately by the sound of fabric crumpling. He tore back from the kiss, breathing ever so heavily as he wrapped his fist tightly around his cock, throbbing against his palm.

"Going to let me ruin that sweet fucking cunt, aren't you?" He grumbled, to which you gave a delicate nod.  "Ready?"

The subject of your gaze switched, roaming downward to the sight. Tommy's large, veiny hand grasping his erection. To say you couldn't quite process it would be a vast understatement.

"Yes." You nodded, fingertips digging firmly into the desk as he stood before you. He lined up the thick, pulsing head of his cock with your sopping entrance, one hand planted loosely to the small of your back.

With a low, hoarse sounding groan, he slid inside the warmth of your cunt. At a volume you hadn't yet reached, you gasped, adjusting to the feel of him inside you, a sharp moan rolling off your tongue.

"Fucking hell," He exhaled, "You feel incredible."

His cock twitched within you, your hands instinctively flying to the broad of his back for support. Tommy pulled his hips back, then forward, thrusting so very slowly into you as floods of soft whimpers fled your throat.

"You're mine, eh?" He groaned, controlling his hips at a divine pace, "And I take care of what belongs to me."

Clutching helplessly onto his waist-coat clad shoulders, your breaths grew shallower and far more frantic as he picked up the pace. The desk wavered beneath your bodies, suffering from the impact of the pair of you working with one and other.

"My property." He whispered, bare hips bucking hungrily against yours, as though a craving overcame him. "No one touches my property."

A shiver shot down your spine, pussy squeezing greedily at his length, his cock reaching perfectly deep.

"Fuck.." You practically heaved out, unable to prevent your whimpers as his tip struck repeatedly against your g-spot.

"That's it." Tommy praised, bright eyes rolling back for the span of one brief moment as he slammed his hips against yours, "You take my cock so well.."

Your cunt soaked his cock further as it stroked back and forth at a fulfilling pace, room swarmed with the sound of skin colliding and frantic breathing.

The thick, pulsing head of his cock struck repeatedly against your g-spot as his pace fell sloppier, clearly losing composure as you squeezed him.

"Fuck.." He grumbled, "So good."

Fingertips digging into his lower back, you felt Tommy tremor beneath your touch, his hips bucking with far less control. Once more, his fingers crept toward the heat of your pussy, pressing the perfect level of pressure to your clit.

A newly familiar sensation began to build in your stomach, bringing your teeth to bite down on your lower lip; overwhelmed by the combined feelings of Tommy’s thrusts working with his fingers to bring you closer to a second release.

“Shit,” He groaned, “Gonna fill up that sweet fuckin’ cunt, hm?”

“So good.. Please..” You practically babbled out, mouth falling open with a breathy moan.

Abruptly, the very same tidal wave of pleasure washed over your body, although far more intense this time. Your soaked, overstimulated cunt twitched around his deep, pulsing cock.

“That’s it.” He encouraged, jolting his hips at a divine pace as he fucked you through the release, feeling your nails push down against his waist-coat.

Eyelids fluttering over his eyes, Tommy slipped a raspy, broken groan. A spurt of warmth filled you suddenly, pooling within your drenched pussy as he breathed heavily. The pair of you struggled to catch your breath.

He stroked one warm, callous palm over your cheek ever so softly, though contrasted with possession, “Mine to ruin, eh?”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! As I said, I’m working through a lot of requests so thank you for your patience if you’ve sent one in <3

[bxllydxnnabxtch]

Bittersweet Saviour

Gojo x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Things quickly go sideways when you get sent on an emergency mission with your lover. When you both get split up, it's not long before this mission turns into a different kind of emergency.

Warnings: Profanity, Blood, Descriptions of reader getting their ass absolutely handed to them, Near death experience.

SMACK

The last thing you expected when you got sent on this mission with Satoru was to be launched through a wall by your fucking face. But as you blinked your eyes open through the incessant ringing and metallic taste on your tongue willing them to stay closed, you realized that this mission may have been a little (a lot) above your pay grade. The chewing out you were going to give Yaga after this mission might even rivel whatever injury Satoru’s going to tear you a new one for. At this point it seemed like the higher ups were trying to kill you.

You were barely able to stand up on shaky legs and a shitty sense of balance from your clearly concussed mind, but you managed. Alas, you stumbled, hand shooting out to what was left of the decimated wall for balance, as your other hand came up to use your technique. When, again, your body was shoved back in to the pile of rubble you had just climbed from. Your back hit the concrete with a sickening crunch, and a wail left you when you felt pain explode along your shoulder blades and cascade down your back like molten lava. Your head fell back, your neck resting at an odd angle as you sat locked in a world of agony. You tried your best to breath though it, but your chest heaved as you attempted to get your bearings. The next time someone at the school told you to fucking box breathe to cope during missions, was the day you would be put to death for murder.

The curse was seemingly toying with you as it stalked towards you with a sadistic grin, it’s skin a grotesque green with shell like shield formations covering it, It’s armor barely chipping against your prior use of your technique. You gritted your teeth upon realizing Gojo hadn’t returned since the cursed spirit had split you up with it’s multiple copies crowding the man. And if he was having trouble getting through multiple of them, it meant that this was a special grade, and your chances of getting through this one were slim to none.

Your body had become essentially numb to the pain as you backed yourself up the piled of rubble, your hands gripping the concrete as it sliced through your palms. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the crackles of pain shooting off along your spine as you tried to steady your breathing for the second time. Your hand raised as it curled into a fist, focusing your cursed energy into your palm as you let go of your middle and ring finger. Your technique manifested as a slice of wind launched towards the curse, cutting through the ground in its wake as it hurdled its way towards its target. You could hear it howl as it sliced through the air, tearing up the existing rubble and raking up pieces of it with its momentum.

The curse was flung onto its back as it collided with your cursed energy, throwing it across the ground, pieces of concrete and rock chipped at its armor as it was dragged further and further from you. You watched it tumble, rolling over a couple times as it’s hands gripped at the ground in a desperate attempt to slow its speed, despite the blade of wind actively shoving it further. Your technique only stopped when it slammed the cursed spirit into a building, the structure swaying at the impact as a cloud of dust and debris surfaced from the landing. A silence fell over the barren what once was a street, now more of a warzone, but it was short lived as you saw movement from among the cloud. It didn’t take long for the spirit to get up again, and your heart plummeted as you realized how little your technique did to it. It screeched as it got up, the sound piercing your eardrums as you flinched from the jolt of pain it sent through you.

A switch seemed to flip in your mind as you shot up, getting up off the rubble, deciding that it would be better to flee with your life than to try and fight a losing battle. Your palms left bloody handprints on the bits of rock and shale as you scrambled to get off the pile, feet clambering down the pile of blood-stained cement as you pushed yourself off of it, feet hitting solid ground as you broke into a sprint. You stumbled the slightest bit, but righted yourself as you attempted to fend off the violent nausea that plagued your sense of balance and direction. A steady burn started in your lungs as your fatigued body tried to keep up with the added exertion, your feet clapping against the ground as you ran with everything you had left in you.

Adrenaline shot through you when a solid object was thrown into your side, the shrapnel cutting through your hip and throwing you off balance as you were mercilessly thrown to the ground. Your body skidded across the tarmac as the wind was knocked out of you, coming to a stop as you hiccupped, heaving in a futile attempt to get air into your lungs. A grotesque wheezing sound came from you as you tried yet again, the strain in your chest finally letting up as you greedily sucked in mouthfuls of air. A sense of dread settled in the pit that had formed in your stomach, your throat closing up as a sense of panic took hold of you. You didn’t need to look down to know that the freshly made wound in your side was bleeding heavily, you could tell from how cold it felt when the wind brushed against it. You sensed that the absence of pain was due to shock, and that only meant that the injury was severe enough for your body to block it out. Your forehead came to rest on the hard asphalt, your body shaking from the shock your body was put under as you quickly weighed your options.

You assessed your physical state, and you really didn’t need to think too hard as you deduced that you were entirely fucked.

You had essentially accepted your fate by the time you had flipped over, and for a brief moment you wondered how Shoko would react to seeing your corpse in the mortuary. You felt the faintest sense of guilt at that sentiment, maybe if you had defected like Suguru, maybe you’d have been able to spare her the disappointment of seeing another one of her childhood friends exit the Jujutsu world, only this time in a body bag.

SMACK

That thought was quickly interrupted as the curse was kindly launched through a wall by it’s fucking face.

You didn’t even get a chance to process the relief at this development, as you saw a platinum head of hair pop in your vision and a hand come to pull his blindfold off as he stared down at you with those damn near blinding blue eyes of his. A grin spread across his features, a chuckle emanating from him as he looked you over.

“You don’t look so hot, princess.” He remarked slyly.

“Oh yeah, I’m great, thanks for asking.” You wheezed, hand coming to press into your side with a hiss. You flinched at the pressure, beginning to feel the warmth of your own blood flow through the spaces between your fingers. You felt the large divot that was now engraved in your side, and blinked up at Gojo when you saw his expression falter at the amount of blood beginning to pool around you. His signature smile fell slightly, silently examining you before pivoting around to face the curse head on.

“Just give me a minute to deal with this.” He said softly, and you nodded your head lightly. “Take all the time you need.” You hummed, a soft groan falling out of you as the shock began to wear off. You began to feel the steady thrum of pain throb through your being, squirming slightly as you laid on the ground.

You could hear the shuffle of rubble through the soft ringing in your ears. One second your eyes were on Satoru, and the next he had vanished, you barely had a second to flick your eyes over to the curse as you heard him sprint towards it with frightening speed. You saw his figure practically fly through the air as he cocked his leg back only to swing it at the cursed spirit. With a sickening crack, the curses head flew through the air, splitting it’s armor and leaving a stump in it’s wake. You flinched at the sight, tearing your eyes away as you heard its head roll across the dust scattered road.

You blinked and he was at your side yet again, face unreadable as he directed both of your hands over to your sliced open side. “Keep pressure on it.” He said, eyes flicking over your face as you laughed weakly. “Aww, c’mon don’t be like that, what happened to the cocky Satoru that never takes anything serious?” You joked, wincing as you obeyed his order, forcing your hands harder into your side. You struggled to keep pressure on it as you began to shake, hands trembling as they began to feel sticky from the blood.

“Shut up.” He scoffed, scooping one hand under your legs and another under your shoulders as he hoisted you up. A yell of pain left you at the movement, and his face fell the slightest bit as he adjusted you in his hold. “You’re pale, I’ve gotta get you to Shoko.” He stated softly, voice laced with a twinge of- dare you say- concern? Your laugh came out as more of a weak wheeze, head leaning against his shoulder as you stared up at him. “Yeah, I dunno about you but-“ you sucked in a breath of air, finding it getting harder to breathe as you gritted your teeth. “People usually get pale when they’re bleeding out.” You finished, eyebrows furrowing as a wave of nausea hit you.

A small smirk crept onto his face as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, your figure dipping the slightest bit with the movement. “I wouldn’t know, never bled out before.” He said with a huff. You snickered, shaking your head lightly as laughter wracked through you. A wave of pain hit you immediately after, and you tensed in his hold. “Ugh you’re such a dick.”

Your eyes slipped closed as you rested your head against his chest, feeling your surroundings change as you snapped them open again in surprise. You quickly took note of the beds that took up the room, and your jaw fell in astonishment as you blinked in shock. Your eyes flickered up to him, Brows knitting together in confusion as you realized what he had done. “Did you just-“

He cut you off, cocking a brow as he spoke. “Warp you to the infirmary? You really thought I was going to let you bleed out in the street? Wow, you wound me. Truly I don’t think I could ever recover-“ You cut him off with a soft slap to the chest, the action leaving a bloody handprint on his pristine white shirt. A groan sounding from you as you listen to him ramble about your subsequent betrayal.

“Just set me down and go get Shoko before you’re the one that ends up in a recovery bed.”

[maladaptivewritings]

Personal Jesus

Simon has a tattoo artist he favors, and in his boredom while home becomes a superhero for a single person

tw: general Simon Riley behavior, general C.O.D topics, stalking for the cause?

Y/N : They/them, female anatomy implications, tattoo artist, oblivious loser , slightly more emotionally intelligent, nickname of lamb by Simon

word count: 550

Pt.2

Every time he got back into that Manchester suburb, the bell on a simple tattoo shop rang. A deep breathe shared amongst the two as music hums in the thick air.

The needle buzzes against Simon's shoulder blade as you followed amongst the stencil. A new style you had convinced him to try and updated the dingy sleeve he had, cyber sigils now outlined nipping just at his collarbone. His gruff voice breaks the silence he had asked for when he entered.

"Man just blew up in'front of me," The breathes uneasy as the needled hummed with the lines. He knew he shouldn’t of said anything, but the young man who’s life disappeared in less than a moment was haunting his thoughts.

"That why you’re here and not hiding from the world?" You sighed, trying to understand what may going through this brick-wall- of-a-man's mind. You didn't know much about him besides that he may be military, what snacks he got from the shop, his favorite musicians etc 'maybe you knew a bit about him.' He was your favorite customer, let you free flow and practice against the tough skin he had built. Layers of muscle that tensed and relax underneath your touch, enticing you further. He also tipped well, and brought snacks despite the length. You worked on his shoulder blade as he rambled about this past deployment. A simple mistake of some stranger messing with him.

"Wouldn't've been older than twenty," His breathless nature made you second guess if you needed to stop. The fresh scars littering his broad back contorting with every hitch. Should this stranger know any of this, would the government 'Men in Black' you? The joke dashed across your mind.

"Just a boy, and he stepped on a land mine, not a soldier just a kid getting groceries." He finishes the thought, and it's wrenches your heart in the worst way. His realization of what he saw hitting him as you finish the stroke. sharing the mutual silence.

"You didn't know he would be there." Your attempt to help him cope and coax his desperate need for any sort of comfort. Simon turns towards you his obsidian like eyes burn like daggers, they are glossy but he doesn't cry. He just sits there in frustration.

"I should’ve, simple as that. Kid looked like he had no clue what was goin' on, like the idea that a fuckin terrorist was livin' next door was less likely than winning the lottery." He leaned back, arms flex as he supported himself against them. He had seen some of the worst bits of war, and this one kid was messing with him. His mousy blond hair tussled at his grown out buzz cut, a huff escapes his mouth as you return to tattooing him.

You just simply nodded for the next hour or so, as he ranted and raved as if reciting exactly what he knew what he could say. Pushing the limits, as he finally finished his whole moral dilemma , you finished your task.

You continued the conversion at the front desk, handing him a flyer for a group meeting. The two of you understood that despite your best efforts he would never go, but he would remember this act of kindness.

[mariasont]

hi!! I have a spencer reid x fem!reader request, how about emily plotline but it's spencer instead of emily and reader totally falls apart after she thinks he died, to the point of self-destructive behaviors. she simply can't cope. i totally understand if you're not comfortable with writing something like that, though.

i hope you're having a great day <3

Beyond the Grave - S.R

a/n: angellllll thank you so much for requesting !!!!!! <3 i hope you have the BEST day ever!

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: angst, spencer dead for a hot sec then he's not, reader using alcohol to cope, weight loss briefly mentioned, unhealthy coping methods, happy ending!

wc: 1.7k

The knocks were there again, a stubborn sound you chose to ignore as you smothered yourself with your pillow. You willed yourself to drown out the noise and fall back asleep, to forget that your existence now had shrunk to the four corners of your mattress--a fact that didn't necessarily bring you any pride.

When it first happened, you were in a constant state of disbelief. The harsh truth that Spencer had died, leaving a void that you were powerless to fill, seemed to a cruel joke. You found yourself caught in an endless loop of denial, half-expecting him to stroll through the door or wake up to the realization that this was all just a bad dream.

But that never happened so you spent your days imprisoned in your own home, a shell of your former self, devoid of anything that once animated your being. You distanced yourself from everything that once brought you happiness--your family, your friends, your gardening.

You had just introduced Spencer to it a couple months before it happened--when to plant each flower, how to prepare the soil, the schedule of watering. But now it all felt very meaningless, and the once-tended garden became a forgotten space, overgrown and disregarded.

Each morning at work, you were met with a twisting, angry sickness--a gnawing reaction to the collective failure of everyone in that room. You had all let him down, and now the weight of never seeing his smile again was a blade that kept twisting deeper. It was excruciating.

The blow landed on you with a severity that others seemed spared from. You couldn't simply erase the memory and move on. It wasn't an option; it was etched into your very being, monopolizing every thought and sensation.

The team had attempted to piece you back together, but eventually, their help felt like a stabbing reminder. You were beyond repair, a lost cause--you skipped meals, you never slept, you drank too much. With every look in the mirror, you saw the reflection of someone slowly crumbling away. 

Finally, you were angry, a scalding feeling that spread through your veins. You were furious at Spencer leaving you, at the unsub for taking him away, and at yourself for failing to save him, for arriving too late, for watching him struggle against the knife, for watching him disappear into surgery and not come out.

The incessant knocking persisted, an annoyance that finally drew you from your bed. Your limbs were heavy with sleep, a thick haze still clouding your mind. You dragged yourself toward the door, a string of mental curses directed at the uncivilized disturber--likely Penelope with her usual invites for a girl's night out.

But as you swung the door open, the familiar world upended itself, flipped around, and splatted to the bottom of the universe. Dryness clung to your throat, your hands rendered numb at your sides.

And there he was--Spencer, not a ghost, not a figment conjured by your overwrought imagination, but flesh and blood--alive. You fought the urge to pinch yourself. You questioned your sanity briefly, but those eyes--his eyes--were indelibly seared in your memory. You would know them anywhere.

You can't breathe, can't form coherent thoughts. This moment is the very one you've replayed in your dreams, a thousand different ways, and now that it's tangibly here, you can't breathe.

Spencer's heart squeezed at the sight of you. Your eyes were swollen and tinged with the redness as if you'd been crying or just woken up or both. Your hair was shorter than he remembered, ending just shy above your shoulders. You face was washed and hollowed out; the color sapped away as if the sun had become a stranger to you.

"Hey," his voice floated to you, soft as though he was worried you might vanish at any louder sound.

A hesitant hand reached out, trembling as if half-expecting it to pass right through him. But when your fingers brushed against his--solid and warm--reality intensified to an almost unbearable degree, too visceral to be anything but real. 

"B-But you're dead," you choke out, a tremor in each syllable. Your fingers find their way to your lips, the ground seeming to spin in a disorienting whirl. "Spencer, I watched you die."

"Can I come in?"

He didn't wait for an answer, stepping around you into the room. His eyes swept over the cluttered space--the litter of empty alcohol bottles, the stacks of dirt dishes. His heart plummeted, a sinking stone to the pit of his stomach.

One of the first things he noticed about you was your near-compulsive need for keeping things clean, orderly. Your desk had been organized to an almost surgical degree, and Morgan took a secret pleasure in disrupting your system, shifting your pens just to get a reaction. But Spencer had memorized the exact coordinates of your things and discreetly corrected each item before you could notice.

So, this, the sight of your neglected home was something he never thought he'd see.

"Maybe we should sit?" Spencer suggested, more firmly. "I have explanations for everything."

With a nod, you make you way to the couch. His gaze lingers on you, taking in the way the clothes that once hugged you, now draped over your frame in loose folds. He noted the strained swallow, the constant bobbing of your knee, and the startled wideness in your eyes, as if you weren't really sure how to process the sudden influx of information.

He told you everything--why he faked his death, what he had been doing this whole time, why it wasn't Hotch's fault for keeping it from you, and why you had to be kept in the dark. 

His expectations hadn't included you jumping up and down at the sight of him, but the coldness he encountered caught him off guard. Brows knitted downward, knees angled away as if his presence was unbearable, you offered no words when he spoke, an occasional vacant look washing over your features.

"Did you even think of me once, or was I out of sight, out of mind?"

The words surprised him, your tone casual, but your balled fists resting on your knees betrayed you.

"I never stopped thinking of you," Spencer's response was immediate, his hand reaching towards yours.

But you recoiled immediately, shaking your head.

"No, no," you stammered out, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to speak. "You can't just...leave me and come back and act as if... as if...it's all okay."

Your voice broke with every word and so did his heart.

With a quick motion, you're on your feet, nearly tripping over the disorder that's invaded your space. Spencer's instinct is to reach out, to steady you, but he knows better.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, standing to follow your movements. "I didn't have a choice. Believe me, if there was any other way, I'd never have left. I couldn't--"

He paused, a hand brushing through his hair as he blew out a breath.

"But that's just it, Spencer, I don't believe you," you snap, voice trembling with indignation. "You were my best friend, the one person I relied on, and you disappeared."

He started to speak, but you took a step back holding your hand out to stop him. 

"No, you died Spencer. I went to your funeral. I stood over your grave, and now you're here." Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you turned away, hiding your face. "How can you just stand there after all of that?"

Spencer moves closer. "You're being unfair," he says cornering you against the wall. "Why are you being like this?"

His eyes search yours, probing for an explanation, and you give it to him, raw and unfiltered.

"Why am I being like this? Maybe because I'm in love with you."

Spencer's steps falter, retreating as if struck. 

"Oh, come on, don't act so surprised," you blurt out, already wishing you could take back the words. "I know you know." You're rambling now. "I mean, in team briefings I always save you a seat, in meetings I'm always the first one to back your theories, and for crying out loud I got you a copy of the first edition of On the Origin of Species by Darwin for your birthday, like do you know how hard that was to find? What platonic friend would--"

Your admissions pour out unchecked until Spencer's hands are on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours, stopping the flow of your confessions. 

Your breath hitches, a startled sound muffled by Spencer's mouth, a rush of surprise coursing through you. For a heartbeat, you're frozen, but as quickly as it comes, it fades into a warmth that blooms deep in your chest, and you're kissing him back with a desperation that matches the pounding of your heart. 

The world narrows down to the sweet pressure of his mouth moving with careful ease against yours, your hands finding their way to his hair, tangling with the soft strands as you melt into him. 

You pull back just enough to see his eyes, your breaths mingling, foreheads still touching, softly panting. 

"I'm still so upset with you," you whisper, your eyes glistening. 

Spencer's hands are soft on your skin, brushing away the tear. "I know. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

You nibble on your lower lip and give a small nod. Spencer responds by wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer. "Promise?" you ask, heart in your throat. "I don't want you to leave me again."

You had never felt so vulnerable. 

"Promise," he replies. "I'm not going anywhere, baby."

You let out a shaky breath, the reality of his words setting in. In a moment of boldness, you reach up to trace the lines of his face, memorizing every detail. 

Spencer's eyes soften, and he whispers, "By the way, I love you too. From the very first moment I saw you."

It's like a key turning a lock. You don't say anything, you don't need to. The silence is enough--the quiet understanding that you'll heal, you'll grow, just like the garden waiting for your return.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[registeredboykisser]

I'm just thinking of Silco at like the worst lows of his late teens/early twenties. (tw for VERY unhealthy coping mechanisms, including substance usage, domestic violence, and just generally self destructive behaviors)

Drug abuse: He was probably too broke to afford most decent drugs and instead was at the mercy of whatever dealer he could find, which probably included a few tampered ones here and there. He might've neared overdose at times, where he just barely got enough medical attention to live.

Alcoholism: Would probably result in severe hangovers. Vander would try and restrict his habits (despite the irony of owning a bar), but he'd just find somewhere else to go because he was that desperate to forget and feel something other than discomfort.

Aggression: Ok yeah he probably punches enforcers any day of the week, but that's expected (and justified). But like, this man is probably a piece of SHIT to everyone else when he's upset. Verbal attacks, physical harm, anger issues in general that he'll take out on anybody regardless of relationship.

Self harm: Not the stereotypical kind, and it probably never did any serious damage, but punching walls or getting a bit too antsy with his blade when he didn't have someone else to take it out on seems likely.

My #1 headcanon for Silco is that this motherfucker is HORRIBLE with emotion, especially since we saw that scene where he just had a full blown meltdown. Probably was worse when he was younger but either way

All I can do is imagine Vander doing his best to help him because he's so stubbornly caring and he knows Silco is struggling. But most interactions during these types of episodes would either result in him being yelled at, having to carry Silco to somewhere safe if he ended up in an alleyway, seeking out medical attention for Sil, cleaning up broken glass or bodily fluids, or even getting hit or physically hurt because of him. Some, nearing the end of these phases, might end in them actually talking and Silco just breaking down in tears or passing out in his arms, but majority of them probably didn't turn out good. He knows it's unhealthy and Felicia lectured him for it all the time because she cares for both of the damn bozos, but he just ignored it because he knows Silco is different and just needs help/support before he gets himself killed or seriously hurt.

I think these kinds of weeks would be triggered by some heated politics in Piltover, where regardless of whether it was his fault or not, he was frustrated and angry and full of rage at his oppressors with no chance to do anything that would actually make an impact.

woah this was a lot more angsty than I anticipated (probably because I threw in a lot of issues but c'mon, it's completely unregulated)

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Bittersweet Savior

Gojo x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Things quickly go awry when you get sent on an emergency mission with your lover. When you both get split up, it's not long before this mission turns into a different kind of emergency.

Warnings: Profanity, Blood, Descriptions of reader getting their ass absolutely handed to them, Near death experience.

SMACK

The last thing you expected when you got sent on this mission with Satoru was to be launched through a wall by your fucking face. But as you blinked your eyes open through the incessant ringing and metallic taste on your tongue willing them to stay closed, you realized that this mission may have been a little (a lot) above your pay grade. The chewing out you were going to give Yaga after this mission might even rivel whatever injury Satoru’s going to tear you a new one for. At this point it seemed like the higher ups were trying to kill you.

You were barely able to stand up on shaky legs and a shitty sense of balance from your clearly concussed mind, but you managed. Alas, you stumbled, hand shooting out to what was left of the decimated wall for balance, as your other hand came up to use your technique. When, again, your body was shoved back in to the pile of rubble you had just climbed from. Your back hit the concrete with a sickening crunch, and a wail left you when you felt pain explode along your shoulder blades and cascade down your back like molten lava. Your head fell back, your neck resting at an odd angle as you sat locked in a world of agony. You tried your best to breath though it, but your chest heaved as you attempted to get your bearings. The next time someone at the school told you to fucking box breathe to cope during missions, was the day you would be put to death for murder.

The curse was seemingly toying with you as it stalked towards you with a sadistic grin, it’s skin a grotesque green with shell like shield formations covering it, It’s armor barely chipping against your prior use of your technique. You gritted your teeth upon realizing Gojo hadn’t returned since the cursed spirit had split you up with it’s multiple copies crowding the man. And if he was having trouble getting through multiple of them, it meant that this was a special grade, and your chances of getting through this one were slim to none.

Your body had become essentially numb to the pain as you backed yourself up the piled of rubble, your hands gripping the concrete as it sliced through your palms. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the crackles of pain shooting off along your spine as you tried to steady your breathing for the second time. Your hand raised as it curled into a fist, focusing your cursed energy into your palm as you let go of your middle and ring finger. Your technique manifested as a slice of wind launched towards the curse, cutting through the ground in its wake as it hurdled its way towards its target. You could hear it howl as it sliced through the air, tearing up the existing rubble and raking up pieces of it with its momentum.

The curse was flung onto its back as it collided with your cursed energy, throwing it across the ground, pieces of concrete and rock chipped at its armor as it was dragged further and further from you. You watched it tumble, rolling over a couple times as it’s hands gripped at the ground in a desperate attempt to slow its speed, despite the blade of wind actively shoving it further. Your technique only stopped when it slammed the cursed spirit into a building, the structure swaying at the impact as a cloud of dust and debris surfaced from the landing. A silence fell over the barren what once was a street, now more of a warzone, but it was short lived as you saw movement from among the cloud. It didn’t take long for the spirit to get up again, and your heart plummeted as you realized how little your technique did to it. It screeched as it got up, the sound piercing your eardrums as you flinched from the jolt of pain it sent through you.

A switch seemed to flip in your mind as you shot up, getting up off the rubble, deciding that it would be better to flee with your life than to try and fight a losing battle. Your palms left bloody handprints on the bits of rock and shale as you scrambled to get off the pile, feet clambering down the pile of blood-stained cement as you pushed yourself off of it, feet hitting solid ground as you broke into a sprint. You stumbled the slightest bit, but righted yourself as you attempted to fend off the violent nausea that plagued your sense of balance and direction. A steady burn started in your lungs as your fatigued body tried to keep up with the added exertion, your feet clapping against the ground as you ran with everything you had left in you.

Adrenaline shot through you when a solid object was thrown into your side, the shrapnel cutting through your hip and throwing you off balance as you were mercilessly thrown to the ground. Your body skidded across the tarmac as the wind was knocked out of you, coming to a stop as you hiccupped, heaving in a futile attempt to get air into your lungs. A grotesque wheezing sound came from you as you tried yet again, the strain in your chest finally letting up as you greedily sucked in mouthfuls of air. A sense of dread settled in the pit that had formed in your stomach, your throat closing up as a sense of panic took hold of you. You didn’t need to look down to know that the freshly made wound in your side was bleeding heavily, you could tell from how cold it felt when the wind brushed against it. You sensed that the absence of pain was due to shock, and that only meant that the injury was severe enough for your body to block it out. Your forehead came to rest on the hard asphalt, your body shaking from the shock your body was put under as you quickly weighed your options.

You assessed your physical state, and you really didn’t need to think too hard as you deduced that you were entirely fucked.

You had essentially accepted your fate by the time you had flipped over, and for a brief moment you wondered how Shoko would react to seeing your corpse in the mortuary. You felt the faintest sense of guilt at that sentiment, maybe if you had defected like Suguru, maybe you’d have been able to spare her the disappointment of seeing another one of her childhood friends exit the Jujutsu world, only this time in a body bag.

SMACK

That thought was quickly interrupted as the curse was kindly launched through a wall by it’s fucking face.

You didn’t even get a chance to process the relief at this development, as you saw a platinum head of hair pop in your vision and a hand come to pull his blindfold off as he stared down at you with those damn near blinding blue eyes of his. A grin spread across his features, a chuckle emanating from him as he looked you over.

“You don’t look so hot, princess.” He remarked slyly.

“Oh yeah, I’m great, thanks for asking.” You wheezed, hand coming to press into your side with a hiss. You flinched at the pressure, beginning to feel the warmth of your own blood flow through the spaces between your fingers. You felt the large divot that was now engraved in your side, and blinked up at Gojo when you saw his expression falter at the amount of blood beginning to pool around you. His signature smile fell slightly, silently examining you before pivoting around to face the curse head on.

“Just give me a minute to deal with this.” He said softly, and you nodded your head lightly. “Take all the time you need.” You hummed, a soft groan falling out of you as the shock began to wear off. You began to feel the steady thrum of pain throb through your being, squirming slightly as you laid on the ground.

You could hear the shuffle of rubble through the soft ringing in your ears. One second your eyes were on Satoru, and the next he had vanished, you barely had a second to flick your eyes over to the curse as you heard him sprint towards it with frightening speed. You saw his figure practically fly through the air as he cocked his leg back only to swing it at the cursed spirit. With a sickening crack, the curses head flew through the air, splitting it’s armor and leaving a stump in it’s wake. You flinched at the sight, tearing your eyes away as you heard its head roll across the dust scattered road.

You blinked and he was at your side yet again, face unreadable as he directed both of your hands over to your sliced open side. “Keep pressure on it.” He said, eyes flicking over your face as you laughed weakly. “Aww, c’mon don’t be like that, what happened to the cocky Satoru that never takes anything serious?” You joked, wincing as you obeyed his order, forcing your hands harder into your side. You struggled to keep pressure on it as you began to shake, hands trembling as they began to feel sticky from the blood.

“Shut up.” He scoffed, scooping one hand under your legs and another under your shoulders as he hoisted you up. A yell of pain left you at the movement, and his face fell the slightest bit as he adjusted you in his hold. “You’re pale, I’ve gotta get you to Shoko.” He stated softly, voice laced with a twinge of- dare you say- concern? Your laugh came out as more of a weak wheeze, head leaning against his shoulder as you stared up at him. “Yeah, I dunno about you but-“ you sucked in a breath of air, finding it getting harder to breathe as you gritted your teeth. “People usually get pale when they’re bleeding out.” You finished, eyebrows furrowing as a wave of nausea hit you.

A small smirk crept onto his face as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, your figure dipping the slightest bit with the movement. “I wouldn’t know, never bled out before.” He said with a huff. You snickered, shaking your head lightly as laughter wracked through you. A wave of pain hit you immediately after, and you tensed in his hold. “Ugh you’re such a dick.”

Your eyes slipped closed as you rested your head against his chest, feeling your surroundings change as you snapped them open again in surprise. You quickly took note of the beds that took up the room, and your jaw fell in astonishment as you blinked in shock. Your eyes flickered up to him, Brows knitting together in confusion as you realized what he had done. “Did you just-“

He cut you off, cocking a brow as he spoke. “Warp you to the infirmary? You really thought I was going to let you bleed out in the street? Wow, you wound me. Truly I don’t think I could ever recover-“ You cut him off with a soft slap to the chest, the action leaving a bloody handprint on his pristine white shirt. A groan sounding from you as you listen to him ramble about your subsequent betrayal.

“Just set me down and go get Shoko before you’re the one that ends up in a recovery bed.”

[matchsumu]

Lost

description: now that he’s lost you, winning means nothing

genre: angst to open ending (i cannot commit to angst, it’s just too sad)

warnings: anxiety, substance use as a coping mechanism

Kageyama Tobio knew that he had grown up too soon when it was too late;

when smiles were rare to come by, and never managed to reach his eyes; when he pushed everyone that he loved away (because people can’t leave you if they’re already gone); when his determination to succeed turned into an obsession. 

Kageyama Tobio knew that he had lost himself when even you couldn’t find him. 

You weren’t there to will the clouds away, so he stayed in the shadows- but he deserved it. 

He had lost his guide, his one way out of the dark abyss his mind had become- only it was his fault.

Part of him wanted to chase after you, to apologize for what he had done, even though he had promised himself that he would never neglect you; but he did. He deserved to be locked away in the hell that he had created for himself. He didn’t deserve your compassion but even so, he longed for it. 

He wanted to slump into your arms like he used to and have you hold him tightly, humming softly. He wanted your fingers in his hair. He wanted his hands in yours- they had always fit so perfectly together. He wanted to make you smile, even if it was only a slight quirk of the corner of your mouth. 

Kageyama Tobio wanted to be a kid again. He wanted to be happy; back when his grandfather was still alive, back when you still loved him.

Kageyama Tobio wanted nothing more than to want nothing. 

You had always told him that his determination was one of his greatest strengths, but how could it do him any good if his determination for volleyball was the reason he lost you? 

He thought he had gotten better, really he did. His time at karasuno helped him outgrow his King Mentality, and you couldn’t have been more proud of him;

but good things don’t last forever. 

Why did he stay late practicing all those nights? Why did he leave you alone in your shared apartment? if he had been better then maybe-

------

You had made his favorite food the day that you left. He had come home to the lights off- it was always dark when he got home- you were probably in bed. Everything felt normal until he saw the note on the table, next to a cold bowl of pork curry. Happy Anniversary! was scribbled out and replaced with i’m leaving. 

Kageyama Tobio was a proud man- it was difficult not to be prideful as a professional athlete; but he was beginning to see the fault in this as well. 

Playing for the Schweiden Alders was a massive accomplishment. He wanted to make you proud so he worked himself to the bone, day and night at practice; but you each took pride in different things. Kageyama believed that he needed to be the best setter, and if he couldn’t achieve this, all of his hard work would be wasted. Whereas your pride resided within an accumulation of memories. shared happiness made your heart swell. His volleyball career only mattered to you because it mattered to him. you didn’t ask for this life, yet he had forced it onto you.

He had been selfish.

His determination propelled him forwards but he didn’t know how to slow the blades. Little by little, the spinning metal chipped away at his mind until he had lost the very essence of himself. He couldn’t slow down, and in doing so Kageyama Tobio had lost the one person in his life that kept him sane. 

The effects were almost immediate. His heart slowed but his mind moved at an impossible speed. He was desperately trying to keep himself from falling apart, fighting an uphill battle against his own mind. Countless nights, his thoughts were dedicated to you and what ifs. 

What if he had been on time that night?

What if he had worked harder? There had to be a way he could have both, right?

But the question that plagued his mind the most frequent:

What if he just wasn’t good enough?

And that’s what it really came down to, his pride; because Kageyama Tobio was always good enough. He put in the effort required- and more- everyday at practice. He worked his way up from the bottom to be one of the best setters in all of Japan, so how did he lose with you?

But mixed within the bewildered feeling that consumed his mind, Kageyama knew that it was only a matter of time. He knew exactly why you were leaving him, and as much as he wanted to chase after you, he knew you deserved better. 

-----

Even so, it sickened him how well he was playing. His first official game back was a few weeks after you had left and he had never played better. his body moved in the way he had worked so hard to train it to; every step was polished to perfection and the footwork came as naturally as breathing. Until after a particularly impressive service ace, Kageyama’s eyes glanced across the seat that was always reserved for you, only to find someone else sitting in it and that empty feeling in his chest grew a little bigger.

You were really gone. Maybe part of him had thought that you didn’t really mean it- like this was the same as your other arguments where you’d finally come around back to him. Panic began to build up in his throat and his mind clouded over. 

Had he even called you? 

Kageyama wiped his hands on his jersey in an attempt to dry them off. It felt like he was moving in slow motion as he walked back to the service line; jaw tightening into iron, leaving him unable to respond to Hoshiumi’s concerned question, settling for a stiff nod instead.

His joints had stiffened and his body felt too tense, but there was nothing he could do about it, only a spectator trapped in his mind, forced to watch the mechanical cyborg he had become go through the motions.

The referee’s whistle- which normally brought his mind into focus- made his body jolt and he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling inside of him.

The ball was suddenly up in the air, a perfect, high toss; and his shoes squeaked against the gym floor: right, left, right, left. The contact was solid enough to feel his brain rattle inside his skull;

Another ace.

And as the crowd cheered his name, Kageyama Tobio hoped that somewhere, someone noticed that something was wrong with him. 

Help me.

------

The vodka burned as it slid down his throat, but he didn’t care- in fact he welcomed the feeling; at least he was feeling something.

It was dark in the apartment. Kageyama refused to turn the lights on ever since you had left. He didn’t need to be reminded how empty everything was without you. 

That’s what he told you, in one of his seven voicemails that he had drunkenly left before passing out on the couch.

He didn’t remember what had happened when he had woken up. After checking to see if there were any messages from you- there weren’t- he stumbled to get ready for practice. 

------

This became his new routine. play a match, drink to forget his problems, leave you embarrassing voicemails, and go to practice the next day.

Why did he push you away? He could feel that something was wrong, so why did he ignore it? Why did he have to be so selfish?

Kageyama Tobio was reminded of his fear of solitude. 

The silence was unbearable- suffocating. It came slowly, creeping up his chest and tightening around his neck; he was stuck in a constant state of asphyxiation and his mind had clouded over until you were the subject of every thought.

Had he always been this cold? Or had you just been there to pull his hands into yours and massage the warmth back?

Kageyama Tobio wasn’t sad, he was numb.

------

Schweiden Alders 24 vs Tachibana Red Falcons 23

The referee’s whistle was shrill in his ears and the crowd roared Kageyama's name as he made his way to the service line. 

One more, just one more and then he could be done.

Were you watching him? Before, even if you couldn’t make it to a match, you would still always watch the broadcasting. He hoped you were.

“Nice serve, Kageyama,” Ushijima encouraged, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

With a curt nod and another whistle from the referee, he tossed the ball high into the air and slammed it onto the other side of the court: an ace.

As the spectators cheered loudly and his team crowded around him excitedly, Kageyama Tobio couldn’t help but feel that none of this mattered if he was alone, without you by his side.

------

Hoshiumi wanted to go out to a bar to celebrate, but Kageyama just wanted to go home. He had opted for water tonight, sipping it slowly. It was cold outside and he was exhausted, Besides he normally celebrated with you and-

"Hi, Tobio."

His mouth went dry and he whirled around at the sound of your voice. What were you doing here? 

“You guys played well.” you looked normal, bundled up in a big puffer jacket. His eyes didn’t miss the necklace he got you a few years ago with his initials on it. 

“Did you enjoy the game?” Kageyama finally remembered how to speak.

“No, not really.” 

He knew that his mouth had fallen agape, but couldn’t manage to shut it. 

Of course you didn’t- why would he even ask you that? This was the first time he had seen you in a month and that was the first thing he said to you? 

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Huh?” the question sent his mind through another whirlwind.

“Well, you just looked really tense out there, that’s all.” you had said it so nonchalantly, it almost went over his head.

Every emotion Kageyama Tobio had felt since you left immediately pumped in his heart and spread through his veins, warming his body. You noticed. Of course you had noticed.

“I miss you.” his voice came out croaky, but he didn’t care. 

“I miss you too, Tobio.” your eyes softened and crinkled a little at the corners. You always made that face when you forced a smile.

Don’t leave. Don’t leave me alone, not again. 

He didn’t think that he would physically be able to handle it if you had turned up, only to disappear again.  

“Wanna grab coffee?”

“Isn’t it a little too late for caffeine?” Kageyama wished his soul would separate from his body so he could punch himself in the gut. Why would he even say that? Of course he wanted to go with you.

You snorted, “Doesn’t have to be coffee, dumbass. I just wanted to talk more, that’s all.”

“Tea sounds good.” His heart ached deep in his chest, but he wasn’t sure if it was from heartbreak or hope. Everything felt so normal, almost as if the past month never happened. How were you able to continue on with your life so easily? 

Did all those years that you had spent loving each other really mean nothing? 

Of course, you could throw that same question back at him. Kageyama hated himself. 

“Let’s get out of here then.” 

He nodded, quickly gathering his things. 

He would not mess this up– whatever this was or could be. 

[zephyr-ro-emenki]

I was recently introduced to the Idea of Percy being a reincarnated Odysseus and I have to say I'm in love. I've only really seen 1 fic with that idea so far, and I absolutely love it.

Because picture it, your Odysseus, you've returned home after 20 years, and you lived out the rest of your days as king alongside your family, passing on the title of king to your son, and still coping with all the horrors you saw in your journey, all the death you wrought, all of your trauma and regrets. Then one day, when your old, your wife probably having died before you met your natural end of old age, hoping to see her and be reunited in the afterlife, entrusting the kingdom you and your wife fought for to your son and Best Friend/Mentor/3rd member of your romantic relationship...

And then you and all your trauma are reborn as a Baby.

And you find out 12 years later that your father is Poseidon, the very God who tormented you for half your time away from home, and who made you into a man-made-monster.

And now, your new mother is stuck in a relationship with a absolutely Horrible man named Gabe who reminds him of the stories Penelope told him of the absolute worst of her Suitors. Your first and best friend in this new life acts so much like Polites that it Hurts, and you have to constantly stop yourself from calling him such. The first person you lock eyes with at camp is this blond girl who looks and reminds you so much of Athena that it hurts and makes you wish that Athena would accept your prayers after all these years.

And then, to top it all off, you, an Archer, are now stuck in a body that is absolutely Horrendous at Archery.

Obviously this must be Poseidon getting the last laugh and torturing you, it has to be.

Now picture how everyone else probably sees this.

Sally expected her newborn son Perseus's first words to be something normal like Mama or Dada or something, but instead his first words are "Penelope" and he's very protective of you, oftentimes referring to your 1st husband Gabe as "Another Suitor who will die by my blade" and your utterly confused on why he has so much faith that his true father will return to them and save them from Gabe (he thinks his father is just like him and is forced away by a war of some kind)

Grover expected this Demi-God he sensed at Yancy academy to be the standard for Demi-Gods, but instead he gets a Demi-God who slots in next to him like he's something that's been missing from him for his entire life, who gives off so many confusing combinations of emotions when he see's him, and who sometimes slips up and calls him "Polities" when he's in high stress situations or without realizing and he just has to cope that this Demi-God has his own name for him.

Poseidon is absolutely confused, because he's never interacted with his son once except for sneaking to meet him as a new born, but as soon as his son learns he is his father, his son is absolutely terrified and also unquenchably angry. He's terrified out of his mind whenever he's brought up, but when he's face to face with Poseidon himself, his anger in barely contained, held back by politeness and terror, a true trauma response and PTSD and he's left questioning who hurt him? Who made him so afraid of his father? He can't possibly have done anything to Percy, because he's never interacted with him before, but he's terrified as if he's spoken to Poseidon before and is on edge whenever he meets him. And he swears to hurt whoever made his son fear his own father.

And then Poseidon learns that Odysseus was reborn as his son and he has to realize that "Oh... I am the one who hurt my son."

And then the rest of the camp has to picture Percy as this contradiction of a kid. A kid who's strangely knowledgeable about Archery yet is terrible at it, a kid who could recite off every step of operating a Greek/Ithican warship and every form of ship or raft as if he had at least 30 years of experience with them despite being 12, who is a son of Poseidon who's absolutely terrified of getting into the ocean water, and who looks like he's never trained his body a day in his life but can effortlessly pull off disarming moves and put the camps best fighters on their ass with a few moves.

And then Sea of Monsters happens and Odysseus has that moment of "Oh Poseidon is REALLY fucking with me if he thinks I'm going through our entire journey a second time, except in reverse Order."

[madhatterbri]

Glitter and Gold | J.W.

Summary: Jay gets the AEW championship.

Author's Note: Listen, some shit is going down tonight. Let me dream.

Jay White Masterlist

AEW Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @magicalbuttertarts @hodgepodge-musings @keytothewardy @cowboywritersworld @letsgivethisonemoreshot @breathewiththeswitchblade

Jay barely heard the roar of the crowd as he stood over Christian Cage. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw the case that held the title contract at his feet. With the OPPS having taken care of Kip Sabian and Nick Wayne, the kiwi was in the clear to cash in on the gold. He grabbed the pen on the floor and signed on the dotted line.

After tonight, he was going to be immortalized in the valley of champions. Forever crowned as one of the best in AEW amongst men like Hangman Adam Page, Jon Moxley, and Kenny Omega. All men that he has defeated in singles competition before. In one last pinfall, there will never be a shadow of a doubt that he is the best wrestler in AEW.

Jay handed the contract to the referee. He was cashing in right here and right now on the champion. The referee turned and gave the signal. With three rings of the bell, the match was official. The champion barely had any idea what was going on.

Many nights, Jay lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The match only minutes before played in his head like a movie. All the mistakes he may have made to not get the gold. It'll come with time. That's what everyone said. Well, tonight, it was his time.

Jay stared into the camera pointed at him. A smirk on his face. The soon to be previous champion in his grasp. He made a gun symbol at the camera before executing the Blade Runner. The crowd cheered wildly around him.

Maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to stab Cope in the back. It was all the older man's fault. Everyone in the back knew not to trust the Switchblade. Juice and the Gunns had served their purpose. It was his time to shine with a pretty gold belt around his waist. Everyone is after one thing in the wrestling business and it isn't friendship.

The referee slapped the ground three times. The audience counted along with her to three. The referee gave the signal that the match was over. The bell rung and Jay was victorious. They presented him the AEW World Championship belt. He hoisted the belt in the air and gave a victory yell. He finally had his belt.

[str1ing]

TOPHABE IN SKYRIM💥💥💥

Topher's speech:

«A DWARF?!?!! THE DWARF!!!!! ARE YOU AN IDIOT?!? HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD OF DUNMER OF SMALL STATURE?!?! THEN MAYBE YOU'VE HEARD SOMETHING ABOUT BODYSHAMING??? SO THAT'S WHO YOU ARE, ONE OF THOSE UNEDUCATED RACIST NORDS WHO'S MEDDLING IN OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS, RIGHT? HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT WITH YOUR DUMB HEAD FOR EVEN A SECOND??! BECAUSE IF YOU DID, YOU JUST WOULDN'T WANT TO LIVE, REALIZING YOUR ILLITERACY!!!»

And the details of this AU:

Let's start with the races and additional information:

Topher Bus - Dunmer, obviously too small for an elf (I'm not sure if this is physically possible within their species, but it was such a fun option that I couldn't resist xq).

He is a magician who has chosen witchcraft as his main focus, which causes a negative reaction from most ordinary people. In his early childhood, he lived in Morrowind, but after the eruption of Red Mountain, his parents died (Topher himself, for some reason, is sure that they abandoned him) and Caitlyn picked him up. After that, they moved to Windhelm, but neither the Nords nor the Dunmer accepted them there. Topher was considered too suspicious, he didn't talk to anyone, rarely left the house. Fortunately, his mother Caitlyn, who had the status of an urban lunatic, went out on the street for him. She brought him food and all the necessary ingredients for experiments. As you can already see, Topher is also fond of potion jam, he likes to cook all kinds of poisons in his free time, although he does not use his blades too often (spoiler alert, this will be useful to Abe with his arrows in the future).

On his 16th birthday, Topher decided that he had had enough and it was time to finally unleash his potential. He packed up his things and one of the following nights, escaped by jumping out the window.

And so his adventure began.

Fortunately, after a few days of walking across the latitudes of Skyrim, he still hadn't been eaten by wolves and had even moved quite far from the city. It was an early, cool morning when he was walking slowly along the river, when suddenly, from somewhere behind him, he heard a rustle…

Abe Lincoln - Nord, not outstanding in physique (and intelligence, for that matter). He always wanted to use a sword, but he just couldn't bear its weight, so he gave up and picked up a bow. Abe was born and raised in Whiterun, where he was not particularly respected, he was often bullied, burdened with hard work, which he obviously could not cope with, and generally liked to bully. But at least he had a childhood best friend, Gandhi. He was an Orc, so he wasn't particularly favored either. But one day Gandhi disappeared, like he fell into a river in winter and left our world from hypothermia, or something like that, for some reason it's hard for Abe to remember and when he asked about it, no one could tell him anything. In any case, it was the last straw, so Lincoln plucked up the courage, packed up his things and, one night, slipped unnoticed through the back exit of his house. He wanted to prove that he was a true warrior worthy of being a Nord.

And so his adventure began.

After a few days of walking along the river, Abe still hadn't come across anything more dangerous than a deer (and not to say that it upset him much). It was an early cool morning, he had just recently woken up and continued walking down the river in high spirits, when suddenly he saw in front of him none other than a magician.…

To be continued💥

(the scene I drew will happen a little later than their collision)

[fr3aky-fr1es-akathattheatrekid]

Drew Tanaka Headcannons

• Drew has a need to be perfect all the time (trauma from her dad)

• Was rude and mean as a way to cope with Silena's death

• Wants to be as different as Silena as possible

• is really physically strong (stronger than most campers)

• uses fame blades and if she's feeling lazy a gun (both from a Headcannon)

• Was really close with Silena to the point they were inseparable and did everything together

• I saw this from someone (help I forgot they're name, just that I know they post a lot of Drew, Malcolm and Connor as trio posts) with Drew's middle name being Adelaide and I'm loving it

• is best friends with Billie Ng, Will Solace, Connor and Travis Stoll, Chiara Benvenuti, Alice Miyazawa and a few more (I'm getting lazy)

• is best friends with Connor who's best friends with Sherman who's dating Miranda so they all occasionally hang out together

• But the thing is, Drew and Sherman hate each other. But once in a blue moon, they're able to get along

• Is actually really loyal though

• has a fast metabolism

• actually really enjoys sparring

• petty af (I love my petty queen 😍)

• loves eating McDonald's and Lays

• I remember seeing this from somewhere but I saw that Drew remembers everything she hears and I'm here for it

• After the Mark of Athena, Drew started to slowly change and become a nicer person

I want to make more but I'm tired

[barrenclan]

ok ONE more music ask bc i think this is the third one i’ve submitted for the new issue so far:

so i went back & read issue 37 while listening to “drunk walk home” by mitski (both the original and the live at palisades version), timing my reading with the listening so that certain panels & passages would line up with the right points in the song, and dear. fucking. LORD. i wanna make a rainhaze pmv with this so badly. the only question is which version of the song to use

so the best way i can explain it:

*drumbeat intro* - the title page

“i will retire to the salton sea/at the age of 23” - that comic panel at the beginning showing how much he changed

“for i’ve started to learn i may never be free/but though I may never be free/fuck you and your money/i’m tired of your money” - idk exactly how it’d line up with the issue but something something him being influenced by defiance & ranger, something something “you can love someone and still hate/hurt them”

*guitar picks up* - the canine realization and/or slug’s reaction to the murder reveal. some combination of the two.

“and i sit on the curb ‘cause it’s the prettiest night/with no one else in sight/don’t you know i wore this dress for you/these killer heels for you” - rain gets all defensive & tries to justify the murder with the sleep thing & the hypocrisy

“see the dark, it moves/with every breath of the breeze” (+ the buildup before the guitar solo) - “convince them…okay”

*guitar solo* - slug attacks him, big fight scene

and of course the screaming at the end correlates to him screaming as he’s gutted like a baked potato

Nice!! I always love how much thought you put into song choices.

As a Johnny Cash enjoyer I must say I do prefer his cover but of course I love Nine Inch Nails too. More dark and gritty does fit Rainhaze better.

I've never actually listened to or seen Repo, but it does seem like something that would be up my alley. It does fit him too, driving in what he's done and forcing him to remember killing Asphodelpaw.

I remember every dying whisper Every desperate murmur I remember when I gaze upon her She looks just like you I remember, I remember

I like this from Rainhaze's perspective, like he's constantly trying to guess what Ranger wants from him, how much he has to hurt himself to please Ranger.

The waves suck you in then you drown If like, you'd just stay down with me I'll swim down with you Is that what you want?

You hang the anchors over my neck (Saw your end) I liked it at first but the more you laughed The crazier I became

Haha aww, Pinepaw.

I lost some weight from anxious pacing talking on the telephone If I look cool I'm fooling you At any point you can assume My mind's computing every path that screws up what I wanna do

The things that I can't shoulder well I pass onto my older self And hope I learn to cope so I don't end up broke or overwhelmed 'Cause vocally, I'm not the best

Poinsettia is an interesting pull, but I can see it. I hate to say Rainhaze once again but yknow... kinda Rainhaze...

The feelings of regret And now I'm running to forget But know, the consequence of imagination's fear I met a man downtown the other day With ruby eyes that took my life away

Thе antidote we look so hard to find To purge yourself of fear, relax your mind But heaven only knows Where my mind leads, the feeling grows

Someone has actually recently made an incredible animatic set to Ptolemaea, actually! You can see it here.

That's alright, I usually do all the lyric quoting!

Pick up another cigarette Smoke it now and soon you'll forget If only your silver lining had better timing 'Cause there's no crown for one on the way down

Your dull blade and your dusty attire Can bring back all those burning desires So go back to the pit or roll over

I'd love to see the animation if you ever make it! It does have big synergy with "The Death of BarrenClan" event.

Heed the sirens, take shelter, my lover Flee the fire that devours But the sight held me fixed like a bayonet against my throat

It was a pale white horse With a crooked smile And I knew it was my time

Not a song in the world that doesn't make me think of Rainhaze... anyways, I always like a good Hoosiers song.

Everything you love turns to dust, You'd make more of it but you felt rushed By all that's periphery, You held tight, but on the contrary

Don't look your life passed you by, 'Cause you're too attached to it, Don't look your life passed you by, 'Cause you're too attached to it

[astrohasswag]

lore and ref sheet requested by @soledadcatalina

So, this was Simon’s younger sister oc that I was talking about. Let me introduce her.

Her full name is Mariana Corazón Rojo-Flores, but she mainly goes by Maria. Cora is another nickname for her middle name Corazón. She’s 14 years old in Lockdown, Solitary, and ages 15-16 years old all the way to Death Sentence, Fugitives, and Execution.

Lore: Maria was always a good kid since she was born, but that was only when adults were around. She went to a strict Catholic school her whole life, got straight A’s, and even was put in the state’s best orchestra and was gifted several awards for her viola playing and computer lab work. She’s a nerd in anything tech or science related, but knows her way around the streets and basic self defense. (Simon taught her how to throw a few punches here and there, and maybe some boxing too.) Aside from the achievements, she’s a bit of a troublemaker as well. Maria participated in the manhunt and robbing closed shops along with Simon and her other brother, mainly playing the role of looking out for any police or snitches when they stole goods. She’s a pro at arcade games as well! Just play Guitar Hero with her and next thing you know, she’s already beating you by 1000 points. Maria always had a good childhood as well. Well, not necessarily. Sure, she had a loving family who supported her and friends that she could count on, but her whole life went upside down when Simon was sent to Furnace Penitentiary. She wasn’t there at the time when he accidentally shot the shop owner at the jewelry store, and regretted so. No matter how much she pleaded and explained about what happened in a different perspective at the trial, they still sent him off. After that, she was completely different. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function properly with her behavior, and resorted to self harming as a coping mechanism, such as lighters and blades on her wrist and arms. The environment in her house changed too. Her parents and other brother were fighting all the time, abuse was going around, she had her bedroom torn apart by her dad when he got drunk & angry. She was absolutely hopeless.

Some time later, Maria was forcefully sent by her dad to go and get him another pack of beer. She tried to protest, but knew it would only serve her another throwing bottle of wine at her already-injured head. As she was checking out, a stranger sneakily approached behind her and put illegal drugs in her bag. She didn’t notice as she walked through the doors and the security alarms went off, the police barging in and sending her off to Furnace as well.

LOCKDOWN:

At Furnace, she arrived in the elevator all by herself. As the crowd booed and yelled “New Fish!”, a Skull walked up to her and started mocking her of her size. Maria immediately grabbed the collar of his overalls and threw him across the cafeteria room, landing him a few broken teeth and a nosebleed. Since that incident, she’s had a bad reputation. The only person who didn’t seem to be afraid of her was Montgomery Earl, who she quickly became best friends with when she punched the living soul out of a Skull that was bullying him one time. They had the same jobs in the morning and even sat together at lunch. Yet, they kept their beloved friendship a secret. When Monty was taken away by the wheezers, Maria went haywire. She became more aggressive than usual, snapping at every inmate that even threw a glance in her direction or anyone who dared to talk to her. She finds Alex Sawyer and immediately blames him, since she saw the incident where he jumped in to save Monty and beat up a few Skulls as well. Maria picked a fight with Alex and left his body nearly paralyzed on the floor. Later on, she heard about his plan for escaping and desperately begs for forgiveness, ending with Alex eventually agreeing and leaving her up to the job of guarding the team when they filled up the hand gloves with gas. Maria went along with Alex, Zee, Toby, and Gary when they jumped in the river and got sent to Solitary.

SOLITARY:

As Alex then meets Simon when he gets dragged away by him, he notices a few things. He looked similar to Maria, said some exact phrases like she did, and was as smart too. Things immediately clicked for him when he brought her to him, reuniting the siblings once more. Maria was furious at Simon for leaving her, grasping his shoulders and yelling as tears ran down her cheeks, “Where the HELL have you been?! I’ve been searching for you for five goddamn months, did you even think about your family or even me at all?!” As Simon calms her down and messily explained his lack of existence, Maria’s anger fades away and eventually pulled him in for a hug, both of them promising that they wouldn’t leave each other again. Her main role in the second book was pointing out the small details and risks while planning their escape out of solitary, like memorizing the footsteps of the blacksuits, wheezers, or rats outside of her cell and counting down the hours and days that those beasts would come in as if searching for a pattern in their violent tendencies. When Simon, Alex, and Zee went to the infirmary for reasons such as getting the climbing equipment or checking up on Donovan, she would wrench a toilet pipe out of its place from her cell and bent the tip, sharpening it against the concrete wall. She used this as a weapon while coming along with the boys, stabbing wheezers and taking their bandolier of needles to study the nectar itself, her curiosity getting the best of her. Maria used her knowledge of fluid mechanics/statics/ and/or dynamic studies of hypodermic needles while delivering drugs in the human body back in her health unit class in her catholic school to study the nectar; even injecting some on a corpse to test the after effects in the circulatory system. It didn’t do much since all of the systems in that corpse already shut down, but she had a good guess on what would happen if she tested it on a living being as she sees the visible black veins travel through the corpse’s body. After they got the climbing equipment to go up the Steeple as an escape route, she told the whole group of her studies and explained what she saw in her studies, breaking it down into theories like maybe the golden flecks in the nectar being unknown elements mixed with the fluids of the nectar being another unknown drug Alfred Furnace may have discovered long ago.

She’s also included in other events like meeting Ozzie and Pete, climbing up towards the exit in the incinerator with Simon, Alex and Zee, etc. She has an important part just like the main cast as having the role of a experimenter and a fighter, but has the equivalent amount of times mentioned as Zee’s due to Solitary being a shorter book.

DEATH SENTENCE:

I got lazy here, but I’ll probably update the lore sometime soon when i read further into Death Sentence and the other books. I hope it’s enough to grasp and not too confusing :P

(her voice claim is Julie Winters from the maxx btw)

[cerastes]

any expectations/predictions about the DLC you might like to share, Mr Dreamo?

(This is about the Elden Ring DLC)

My expectations are very high, because FromSoft has always done their very best on DLCs to their games, due to a strong internal culture of taking in criticisms of their base games and trying to rectify them while elevating their base, solid formula. It's why they tend to take a while with DLC: They don't immediately go into DLC development as soon as their base game ends, at least not in full (they likely do conceptual groundwork and all the sundry parts you don't really need a lot of feedback for, like world assets and such), they always take their sweet time cranking out those bad boys, and it always feels like they address the weaknesses of their base games in their DLC.

So to hear that this is the biggest expansion they've ever produced as a company is not surprising at all: Elden Ring is, by far, their biggest game. And not only that, they managed to make an open world game that actually feels full. Miyazaki mentioned in an interview that the DLC map will be as big, if not bigger, than Limgrave, and Limgrave in terms of size alone is like a fourth of the base game, so That's Pretty Impressive (though... Is he counting the Weeping Peninsula in there? WP is part of Limgrave so I assume he is but there was no specificity). There's also apparently 8 new equipment categories, which is kind of insane to me? Likely they'll have 1-3 weapons each obviously but making 8 new equipment types is also pretty ambitious. We saw Dueling Shields, and we've heard rumors of odachi as well (Walmart Mortal Blade real?), and I will be cautious in my enthusiasm and assume it won't be 8 new weapon types specifically (probably some kooky meme items there like the double door shields or some gimmick torch with attacks from DS3, wouldn't be Fromsoft without clown nose equipment) but new weapon types outright is in fact a perfect way to revitalize a game further. All I want is for the new weapons to be relatively easily accessed for new characters instead of necessarily an endgame or NG+ deal unless you're willing to kill endgame bosses with a very low level character so we can do full NG runs with these new toys (see: Moonlight Greatsword runs or Rakuyo runs in Bloodborne. Have fun REALLY learning Ludwig and Maria on no-hit formats! Hope you brought plenty Fire and Bolt Paper, respectively!)

And my biggest hope, perhaps even cope, is that the triple flying kicks we saw in the trailer are Martial Arts weapons and not just an Ash of War. If the Bone Fist from DS2 finally returns in spirit, you will catch me dropkicking player and god alike until the end of time.