#Best Coping Saw Blades

[craftsaw]

When Choosing & Buying Best Coping Saw Blades- Think Beyond Cuts To Get That Perfect One!

When It Comes To Buying A Diamond Coated Round Wire Hacksaw Blade Or A Coping Saw, The Normal Tendency Is To Just Weigh Out The Options With Cuts In Mind. No, We Are Not Saying That This Is A Wrong Approach; It Is Just That There Are A Lot More Factors That Need To Be Evaluated To Get Hands Over The Best Coping Saw Blades. The Basic Fact That Needs To Be Comprehended Is That The Coping Saw Blades Do Not Come With The Option To Reshape, Thus It Gets Important To Check Out For The Replacements In The Pack. Also, The Frame Of The Blade Needs To Be Extremely Sturdy As Without This The User Won’t Get The Required Grip.

Ø  If You Are Looking For A Saw That Makes Precise Cuts, It Would Be A Wise Move To Ditch The Conventional Attachments And Go With The Modern Ones That Promise Both Precision And Safety.

Ø  Another Interesting Parameter On The Basis Of Which Best Quality Dual Blade Rope Saw Can Be Bought Is The Tpi Which Stands For Teeth Per Inch. This Will Help One Settle In For The Most Practical One That Serves The Purpose Unfailingly.  The Standard Size Is 18tpi, Thus Checking Out For The Dimensions Closely Will Help One Make The Right Pick.

Ø  The Tensile Strength Of The Diamond Coated Round Wire Hacksaw Blade Frame Does Not Degrade Too Fast, However Checking In For The Taut Will Ensure That The Money In Being Invested In The Best Quality One.

With Lots Of Sellers Selling Coping Saw Blades Online, There Is An Environment Of Mistrust And Insecurity Amongst The Buyers As They Are Skeptical About The Overall Quality. One Sure Shot Way To Settle In For The Best Coping Saw Blades Is To Go With A Credible Seller Like Spyral Saw That Has A Comprehensive Product Catalogue In The Offering.

By Closely Looking At The Product Description, Reviews And Feedbacks One Can Easily Buy The Kind Of Fret Saw Or Any Other Blade If Coming From A Reputable Seller.  Now That The Cheat Codes Are Known, We Hope That The Purchase Process Would Not Only Become Easy But Quick Too As Now You Know What All Factors To Consider And Ignore.

[pepperyduck]

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

[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

[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. 

[numberonetacostan]

okay im writing this at 2am while I bet on losing dogs is playing not a great mix.

OKAY here we go sensitive topics(?) consisting of self-harm

tacopad and SOME tacomic I guess

Sometimes i wonder how Mepad or Microphone would react to Taco self-harming, I like to think they immediately comfort her, no matter how many times she says she doesn’t need it, or doesn’t want it. They would keep sharp objects away, but since Taco can hide things in her shell, blades on those sharpeners aren’t safe nor are pocket knifes. The two would try EVERYTHING to keep her away from blades, but would end up with new scars on her wrists/thighs.

Taco doesn’t know why she doesn’t this, she doesn’t like it, yet she continues. She hides her arms with hoodies and long sleeved shirts. Summer is a hellhole for her, either having to wear arm warmers, or not going out her room. No one has seen her scars, not even Microphone and Mepad. Though they have caught her, everytime they try to bandage the wounds, she hides her wrists away.

ok im actually so sorry if this is very different from what i usually put here, and im sorry again if this topic makes you uncomfortable.

-nori

Hiya, Nori!!!!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in a hc!!!!! :] no worries about it being too dark, I love angst!!!! The only type of ask I won't take are sexually explicit ones. I will be putting a trigger warning and a cut, just in case others might be sensitive to it. I do hope you're feeling okay, though <3 I know I'm an internet stranger so feel free to ignore this, but I'm always willing to lend a listening ear for all my ii buddies on here!!! <3 <3 <3

TW: discussion of self-harm!!

I can, unfortunately for her, see Taco self-harming. She has trouble handling and expressing her feelings, a maladaptive coping mechanism such as that is a definite possibility for her, especially one she could pick up living alone in the woods such as self-harm. Especially especially since we get a glimpse into her self-image during Taco's Tirade!! Granted, she is at her rock bottom during the song, but we see throughout season 2 that she does feel bad about her actions!!!! She found herself to be monstrous long before the song, yeah? aaaaaa sorry your ask was about Mic and Mepad finding out!!!! I'll get right on with that!!!

So, I think Mepad would be a lot better about finding Taco self-harming because of his calm demeanor, and his teleportation ability, but mostly his demeanor. Him remaining quiet and soft and calm about it would make Taco herself a lot less reactive, since her feelings wouldn't be amplified by a loudly emotional reaction from him. Depending on how accurate or selective he can be with his teleporting, he could get whatever item Taco is using to harm herself away from her quickly and easily. Despite his understated reaction, of course, he is worried sick. He would not leave her side for a single second for weeks. I mean, I picture them sticking together anyways, but he is extra alert!!! I think he and Taco would do a lot of talking, and he would be very keen on trying to find her other coping mechanisms that aren't harmful. And and, he'd be very discreet about it. He would not tell a single other soul if Taco told him not to, unless he found he couldn't properly handle the situation alone.

However, much to my despair (i was actually crying about this before i saw your ask, funnily enough), Mepad is dead!!!!! So he can not be here to expertly Therapad his way through this. So we have the next best person to take care of Taco when she's in severe distress, Mic!! Who, as we have seen (ex: after lb and testy disappear in s2 ep12) Mic does not seem to do too well in surprising, stressful, and/or scary circumstances!!! Not that Mic wouldn't be a great help to Taco, no no, she would do her best and be incredibly supportive, but she would react more outwardly and, in true Mic fashion, loudly, to seeing Taco self-harming. The classic "What are you doing?!?!!??!!!!!!!" Sort of thing, yeah? I can see her being a lot more proactive in trying to keep all sharp objects away from Taco, since unlike Mepad, Mic has to sleep and thus can't keep her eyes on Taco 24/7.

I can see Taco potentially using self-harm as a form of punishment for herself while she's trying to change. Snapped at someone? She deserves to be hurt. Lied instinctively? She'll train it out of herself by force. Honestly this is pretty aligned with my hc of Taco initially trying way too hard to change immediately post-canon and it taking a huge toll on her mentally.

Ough and her hiding her scars even from Mic and Mepad and keeping them hidden despite all the misery it causes her am I seeing an ALLEGORY right there??? I think I am with her keeping all her feelings down despite how much worse it makes her feel. She's trying to heal and get better, but old habits are hard to break, yeah? Sometimes they come back with a vengeance.

[t0p-1-sidecharacter--fan]

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

[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.

[craftsaw]

Learn How Advanced Saws Helps in Overcoming the Challenges on the Way

A Spiral Saw Blade Moves In All Directions And It Helps You Get The Perfect Cuts. It’s Used To Cut Wood, Plastic And Other Non-Ferrous Metals. The Blades Can Be Used In Power Scroll Saws, Jewelers Saw Frames Etc. And The High Carbon Steel Blades Are Easy To Use. The Spiral Saw Blades Are Available In Different Sizes And You Need To Choose The One That Meets Your Specifications. Now, You Can Place Order Online And You Will Get The Genuine Spiral Saw Blade.

Explore The Best Safety

A Survival Saw Brings Ultimate Safety And You Will Feel Confident To Travel To Remote Areas. Survival Saws Are Easy To Carry And They Are Extremely Lightweight. Before You Place Your Order You Must Go Through The Detailed Product Description That Helps You Find The Ideal Product. A Survival Saw Is Highly Durable And Thus You Can Keep Using Free From Any Worries. The Survival Saws Are Foldable And It Even Helps In Cutting Firewood. Thus, You Will Learn How A Survival Saw Makes It Easy To Plan Tours To Remote Areas. It’s Time To Explore The Real Thrill And Life Will Bring True Joy And Ecstasy. It’s An Important Survival Tool And You Will Enjoy Travelling.

Uses Of Wire Saw

A Wire Saw Uses A Metal Wire To Cut Solid Materials Such As Stone, Wood, Glass, Concrete Etc. Industrial Wire Saws Usually Run With Power And Even You Can Find The Hand-Operated Survivalist Wire Saws That Help You Cut Tree Branches. Thus, It’s Considered As A Tree Branch Cutting Saw And It’s Easy to Get the Ideal One That Meets Your Requirements. The Wire Saws Use Abrasion To Cut Different Materials And It Has A Similar Functionality Of Band Saws. Now, The Diamond Wire Saws Are Gaining Popularity And You Will Get Familiar With The Beneficial Solutions.

Benefits Of Camping Saw

Here You Will Get An Idea Of The Benefits Of Camping Saws:

·         This Saw Is A Better Option For People Who Enjoy Exploring Wildlife. It Helps You Survive Challenges And You Can Keep Moving.

·         It Has A Safety Lock That Protects From Any Harm.

·         The Double Component Handle Brings The Better Grip And You Can Use In Your Way.

·         The Camping Saw Blades Are Rust-Resistant And Thus They Have A Higher Durability.

Once You Get The Best Camping Saw You Will Learn How It Brings Better Solutions. Finally, You Can Start Travelling And You Will Explore The Adventures In Real-Time. It’s Important To Learn The Features Of The Camping Saw That Helps You Use The Stuff Efficiently.

[asumofwords]

what are the Blacks doing at the moment?? And what about Jace wedding?? my babygirl needs to receive a raven from her parents and brother :(

I had been planning to write a lil Black POV chapter, and saw this ask and thought I would write a little Black/Dragonstone Blurb instead!

I hope this answers your questions and shows some insight into how the Blacks are coping in her absence!

The Black POV - Dragonstone

Daemon paced along the edge of the Painted Table, irritation and anger radiating from his body. One hand laid tightly atop the hilt of the Dark Sister blade, whilst the other was pressed on his hip. He had been like this for many days, moons even, ever since his daughter had left for King’s Landing. 

Rhaenyra had done her best to soothe the Rogue Prince, now King Consort, ensuring him that the Princess had her dragon, and that should she need help, she would ask for it. That the Princess was clever, and would be swift to violence if needed. But even as Rhaenyra spoke the words, it felt bitter on her tongue. 

Whilst Daemon openly showed the world his emotions, Rhaenyra kept hers tight to her chest. 

Where Daemon was openly pacing, Rhaenyra was quietly suffering.

A Queen must never show her weakness. 

Ser Erryk entered the chambers of the Painted Table, bowing softly to his Queen and the King Consort as he came towards them. The other Lords in the chambers stilled as they watched the knight hand over a roll of parchment to Rhaenyra. 

The Queen’s eldest son, Jacaerys, stood beside Baela, posture straight and jaw set as they anxiously waited for the Princess’ response. 

Another letter from the Princess.

It was like this every time. 

Each time a raven was seen in the skies, the council was summoned to the chambers, and all waited to read and see if the Princess had given the signal to attack. And each time, they were frustratingly told no.

Rhaenyra had to steady her hands as she held the scroll, looking down at the deep green wax seal, a three headed dragon stamped into it. The sigil of her brother. The Usurper. The Drunken King. She picked off the wax, feeling Daemon move to her side, hovering over her shoulder as she unfurled the paper. 

‘Muña se Kepa,’ Mother and Father, The letter began, completely written in High Valyrian.

Rhaenyra had to blink to keep her tears at bay, the sight of her only daughters handwriting sending her reeling through an onslaught of emotions, and none of them positive. She felt the heat of Daemon’s eyes behind her as she continued.

‘The weather in King’s Landing is agreeable this time of year, though there is a biting chill in the evenings which blankets each and every corner of the Keep. It seems that no matter where I go, there is always a bitter coldness at every door, and every entrance. Even the Dragon Pit is far too cold to enter, Vermithor is no doubt missing my absence.’

Daemon’s teeth ground together as he read. 

Cold no matter where she goes. 

Guards.

She was being watched.

Daemon and Rhaenyra both knew that their daughter would never shy away from the cold to ride her dragon, and so now they knew the truth of her inability to get to the Bronze Fury. 

They were keeping her trapped.

Just as they had expected.

‘I spent the day walking around the Keep, and each corner I took to escape the cold, I would hide, and sure enough, its icy limbs would follow me, searching about for my warmth. There is not one place in the Keep where I may find solace, except perhaps in my chambers.’

Daemon struggled to keep his emotions at bay, fingers clenched around the sword. His eyes stung as he pushed away the tears that threatened to fall. His daughter. His sweet, little dragon. She was hurting, and she would not let them help. 

Daemon’s gaze fell to his wife’s. 

She was struggling just as much as he was. 

‘Aemond ensures that the chambers are warmed with fire for me, and I am most grateful for it. It seems to be the only place in which I can escape it. Perhaps Winter is coming for King’s Landing after all.’

“She is being watched. They’re suspicious of something.” Daemon grunted, Lord’s and Maester shifting on their feet as they waited for the Queen and King to finish reading. 

Waiting for them to voice the news aloud as they read silently.

Jacaerys could scarcely hold still, grounded only by Baela’s hand, tightly fisted in his.

‘I asked the King if the Prince and I could attend Jacaerys and Baela’s union, and unfortunately the King has pressing matters for the Prince, and I regretfully will not be able to attend. I am deeply saddened by this, but I find pride in knowing that my Lord Husband will always be loyal to his King, and often leaves to perform his duties.’

Daemon breathed heavily out of his nose as they got to the end of the letter.

‘Star Fruit in the Keep comes plenty in numbers thanks to Aemond, and I can comfortably know that I need not ask for your supplies yet. How do you all fare? Is Jacaerys smitten with Baela? Will you have him write to me soon? How is Aegon the Younger and Little Viserys? Does Joffrey spark trouble?’

The Rogue Prince turned King’s heart cracked, sorrow drowning him as he finished reading the last paragraph. 

‘I miss you all terribly, I wish I was there to hold you. I pray to the Gods that we will see each other very soon.

All my love,

Yours,

Zaldrītsos.’

The King moved away from Rhaenyra and growled, pacing the chambers once again. The energy in the chambers shifting to a hostile one. 

“Your Grace,” Jacaerys started, anxiety rolling through him from his mothers silence, “What did she say?”

Rhaenyra took a steadying breath before handing the scroll to Jacaerys, straightening her posture as she readied herself to update her Small Council on the Princess’ recent letter. 

Jacaerys took the letter, fingers clutching the paper with shaking hands and brought it back to his side. Baela tried, and failed, to not look at her sisters handwriting, instead leaning in closer, dipping her head to read alongside her betrothed.

“The Princess is being watched.” Rhaenyra began, “There are guards stationed at every chamber and path in, or out of the Keep.” She looked amongst the room at all the familiar faces of the Lord’s who had stayed on Dragonstone.

“She has no access to the Bronze Fury and has informed us that she is being followed. Likely a spy of Larys Strong, or one of the Dowager Queen’s informants.”

“Vermithor has been spotted at Dragonmont on occasion, Your Grace.” Maester Gerardys informed the Queen.

“A smart move on their end.”Rhaenyra spoke proudly and also bitterly, “The Princess would burn the Keep to the ground if she could.”

Jacaerys finished reading his sisters letter, hand tightening on the parchment.

“She won’t come to our union.”

“She can’t.” Daemon growled, “Do you think that they would let her come back here? Unsupervised? So that she may spill their secrets to us? They aren’t that stupid. Aemond isn’t a fool.” Daemon spat his nephews name, “He knows that if he were to fly here alone, that we would have the upper hand. He may ride atop Vhagar, but with Caraxes, Meraxes, Syrax and your dragons, we would have the upper hand on our shores.”

Jacaerys all but scowled at Daemon, not angry at the man for his words, but the both of their tempers simmering, unhidden beneath the surface. 

Rhaenyra looked at her husband and son before addressing the chambers. 

“You may leave.” She dismissed the Council, and watched as they all bowed and went back to their business within the Keep.

Once the last of the men had left the chambers, Daemon rounded on his wife. 

“We shouldn’t have sent her to the vipers to be subjected to their bite. We shouldn’t have left her to suffer under them whilst we gorge ourselves on her successes.” Daemon snapped, composure whittling away.

“We shouldn’t have, and yet we did. But it was the only way in that moment.” Rhaenyra argued, though she felt the same anguish the King Consort did, “She knew what she was agreeing to. She knew what would await her there, I made it very clear when we spoke.” Rhaenyra heaved angry breaths.

“We are no better than them for knowingly sending her to her doom.” Daemon spat.

Rhaenyra was filled with the sharp edges of guilt, twisting her stomach. 

Guilt ate at the Queen’s every waking moments. 

Guilt. Fear. Rage. 

"Y/n insisted on going with no room for argument.” Rhaenyra’s temper rose.

“And you’re the Queen. You could have commanded her to stay.”

“And you, the King.” Rhaenyra snapped back, “Do you think she would have listened? She took to Harrenhal alone. She is not a child we can tame.”

“She is barely a woman grown, and we sent her to them with open arms!” Daemon’s voice boomed across the room.

Jacaerys shifted, and Baela pulled his arm closer towards her body. Pulling him to her. 

Grounding him.

“Do you think I take pleasure in knowing that she suffers alone under their hands?”

“I think we sit on our hands in cowardice, knowing what is happening to her.”

“And what do you suggest we do, Daemon? Fly across the realm atop our dragons and fight a war that we know we cannot win? The realm will burn, our daughter in it. This is why we accepted the treaty terms in the first place.”

Daemon’s hand twitched on the hilt of the blade, fingers flexing around it in thought.

“We should have flown to the Keep when this began. We should have mounted their heads on spikes and burnt them to the ground.” He sneered, directing his anger towards his wife. 

“I am not repeating this with you.” Rhaenyra snapped, leaning towards her husband with her body, brows furrowed, “It is the same argument, over and over. How much more must we all hear it?”

“Until we are burdened with the grief of what we have done! What we have done to her!”

“We are burdened. We are burdened most terribly! But we must find comfort in knowing that we have eyes in the Keep.”

“What, the Maester and some maids?” Daemon growled, “Goldcloaks and lower Lords? Do you think they see all that happens? Do they see behind closed doors?”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra’s jaw ticked, “Find comfort in knowing that we have any eyes on her at all. Find comfort in knowing that we did not send her there blindly. Find comfort in knowing that she will not birth his child.”

“I find very little comfort in any of this. Look at the way she writes to us.” Daemon’s hand flew towards the parchment Jacaerys still held, “She has lost her fire, grown dull like embers. She cannot even speak freely to us.”

Rhaenyra looked down at the table, taking a deep breath before she began.

“And we knew this was to happen.” She said solemnly, she knew all too well, as did Daemon, “And we shall continue to wait for her word.”

Rhaenyra straightened, and a shadow passed over her face. A face in which Daemon had seen many times before. When she had told him to take her to Dragonstone to wed on her union to Laenor. When she had demanded he wed her at the funeral. 

When she refused to bend the knee to her usurper brother.

She was digging her heels in.

And with conviction that Rhaenyra was losing, she spoke with the strength and command of a Queen, "I will not allow for her sacrifices to be for naught. And I will not have this same circular argument, again and again. We all grieve her absence, but if we tear each other apart, she will have nothing to come back to.”

“If she comes back at all.” Jacaerys snipped.

Daemon bristled.

“She is playing her part, and we must play ours.” Rhaenyra stepped closer to her husband, crown shining atop her head from the light of the table and the fireplace behind them, “She is strong. Stronger than we give her credit for, and cunning too. They will underestimate her. And it will advantage us. We cannot afford to dive into another war like a steadfast fool. She will tell us when it is time, and until then, we must be ready.”

[saltandfire-blog]

if you keep killing me how can i keep absolving?

update!

chapter two: claw marks pt.1

----------------------------------------

Years passed, and the slashed open flesh across Aemond's face eventually scarred. 

Grandmaester Orwyle told him time healed all, but Aemond had to disagree. Wounds remained. And the ones that don’t show on the body are the deepest and most hurtful than anything that bleeds. 

Aemond learned to pretend like he didn't see the blood across the floors anymore and the heads stacked atop the spikes that ran along the dry moat. He ignored the ash that fell like snowfall from the throne room, and he didn't even turn his head anymore when he heard children shrieking and wailing that resided nowhere in the Red Keep. Aemond did his best to distract himself throughout the years, desperate attempts to escape things he saw and the sense of insupportable loneliness from a dread of some strange, impending doom. He took to the sword as Helaena took to her needlepoint to cope with the things no others ever could, and after Lucerys, he didn't know what was premonitious and what was… derangement . 

Because he didn't just see what could be, but what things that had already happened. 

When Aemond dreamt of a man who wasn't his father sat atop the Iron Throne with his throat and wrists gushing blood that ran down the melded sword steps, he stood beneath it and knew he was seeing what had already been. As Aemond stared at Maegor's head that was unable to fall with the sword that had pierced through his jugular, holding him up like some grotesque marionette, he had to ask himself, were these images from events that had happened long before his birth, or just conjured up from his mind from all the stories he’d been told? Was he really seeing Maegor grab Alys Harroway from her bed with her slain sister strewn at her feet? Did he really see the Cruel King push his Queen out a window that now belonged to his sister?

Aemond was treated as sickly and unstable for years after he lost his eye, but he determined that would not keep him weak. With the support of Ser Criston, his champion when Aemond's mother was against him picking up a sword so soon when he still struggled just to write, he swung every aggression against every grievance against him with a practice sword.

Though Aemond did not only dedicate his time to swordplay but to his studies as well.

Learning to stop drawing attention to the things that happened around him that no one else saw, he turned his eyes down to the pages of books and also fought his nightmares and frustrations with a quill and parchment. Aemond would not admit to his disturbance any longer, no matter how many times his mother and Orwyle asked, and poured himself into his studies to find out what had happened to him. He studied human anatomy, combed through the entirety of the Red Keep's textbooks and diagrams that had anything to do with a person's head. He considered if Luke's blade hit a nerve so deep, or maybe even the fever had boiled him so hotly it had damaged some part of him that could explain the hallucinations he now suffered. But all this wouldn't explain how his sister Helaena had experienced no such trauma or damage to her head, but still sometimes looked up from her embroidering when the walls would glow red and begin to melt like wax from a candle, assuring him he didn't suffer these alarming occurances on his own.

Orwyle tutored him for years, and his mother had even invited reputable scholars from Oldtown and across the realm to visit the capital when Aemond's appetite grew too large for their Grandmaester to attend to on his own. 

Studying in the Citadel, he checked in every morning, the librarians and archivists recognized him easily enough by now and were always attentive to whatever he needed from the indices of their archives and catalogues. They were most generous in their own suggestions, some worth noting and some not, and were most charitable in letting him take notes from certain texts that had more restrictive rules on copying passages. There were a fews maesters he studied under, but with his royal status he was tutored more privately under Archmaester Crey and Archmaester Umbert, both renowned researchers in their areas of expertise that consisted of mathematics and healing.

When he first arrived, people stared. Even with the patch covering his mutilation, it was like everyone could discern who he was at a glance and knew just what was under the dark leather he hid behind. Nothing. All he was in the eyes of everyone, was a victim. Flayed open by his own kin, left to endure the mark permanently across his face. Some people stared with pity, but most were horrified.

Cont. on AO3

[thedemoninme141]

Love Me Leave Me.

This is not my writing id, I don't even write. This story was 3/4th written by my late best friend Celine, this is her id, she wrote all the stories here. She took her own life on August 20th, Her life was complicated and I do not feel comfortable sharing it with you guys, What I can share is what she wanted me to share, Her last wish in her last letter was to finish all her unfinished stories and give you guys all the love, I tried my best giving it the ending she instructed me to do, I am not a professional writer but I tried my best to finish her starting. I hope I did justice to her works.  I had a few errors autosaving this work on tumblr. I don't know much about tumblr so the better version of this story is in her AO3 account , I would recommend reading it there. Here is the link https://archiveofourown.org/works/50014339 Celine's Works are here.

2 months, It has been 2 months since you came out as a lesbian and Wednesday, who tolerated you all year already hates you for it. You never thought someone's sexuality would affect Wednesday so badly that she had unleashed a torrent of hatred you never thought possible from someone who had tolerated your presence all year.

As the truth spilt from your lips to your so-called "trusted" group of friends, the fallout had been swift and merciless. Enid, who had been your last tether to friendship, now wore a pained look in her eyes, brimming with pity and sorrow.

Your friends, once close allies, had turned their backs on you. The very bullies you thought you had escaped, the ones Wednesday had once saved you from, now saw an opportunity. They hurled cruel words at you, shoved you into the girls' restroom, and locked you in there, leaving you to fend for yourself. The sight of creepy-crawly creatures, the same ones that had filled you with dread, now invaded your room. Someone had left behind intentional proof as footprints of a disembodied hand and a pair of boots.  All these horrors could have been reported to Principal Weems, but you refrained. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, and the pain that once cut deep had numbed over time because you found another pain that cut even deeper. You found a solution, to cope with this pain, you found a greater one. A blade was all you needed, you had a collection of them already in these 2 months. Each cut, each red line, became a lifeline to relief from the relentless suffering that now consumed your existence. No one knew, not even "Detective all knowing" Wednesday, of course, you hid them in the bathroom.

The relentless bullying persisted day after day. Katherine and her siren friends, fueled by cruelty, would taunt you mercilessly in the school hallways, their taunts occasionally escalating to physical violence, leaving you sprawled on the unforgiving ground. Strange as it may sound, those physical bruises didn't hurt. What did hurt was when you entered the classroom an unknown disembodied hand dropped a bucket of real human blood on you. The classroom erupted in a chorus of cruel laughter, and even Wednesday had a smug smile on her face. She never smiled, did she? unless she was truly at peace. So yeah, you getting hurt gave her joy. The cuts were deeper that day but you were careful not to cut any vein, You had a collection of jackets now, without them you couldn't go to the classes now. You would love to cut yourself to shreds in front of Wednesday if it gave her joy, cause you loved her, she was the reason you were finally brave enough to come out.

Wednesday despised you, you made her do something she would never do, you made her hurt you. She hated how you were braver than herself to admit your feelings. Falling for someone was never part of her plan, yet you had made it happen. She resented you deeply for that, a resentment that drove her to darker actions. You hated spiders, you used to tell her how creepy they looked. You hated blood, it sent chills down your spine. You hated cuts, your pain tolerance was lower than 0. You hated bees, So she set about crafting a sinister contraption in your bathroom bathtub, a jar brimming with bees, poised to unleash their torment upon you the moment you unwittingly opened it. Her twisted plan was a desperate bid to make you feel the same way she did. That's when her eyes went to a small box, and as always curiosity filled her mind, She took the box carefully and opened it, only to find razor blades, a lot of them, and a small knife. Some of the blades had stains of dry blood on them, the blood on the knife looked recent. Always wearing jackets... Wednesday ran, she ran and ran, she had to find you, wherever you were. I love coffee, just not as bitter as you. Your voice ranged through her head. I really wish I could see you smile Your smile ran through her head. I love planting flowers, the blooming flowers make me happy. Now you wouldn't bloom yourself anymore. No no no, Wednesday didn't mean it, she couldn't know, she never thought you would turn to this way to cope with this pain, she had to find you, She had to find you, no matter where you were. She sprinted through the courtyard, desperately searching for any sign of you. Wednesday spotted Enid engaged in conversation with Ajax. She hurried over to the pair, her desperation evident in her voice.  "Enid, have you seen Y/n anywhere?" Enid's anger flared at the mere mention of your name on her lips. "Why? So that you can hurt her more?" Enid had held her grudge against Wednesday ever since the bullying had begun. "No, I..." Before Wednesday could explain herself, her gaze shifted, catching sight of you entering the school gates, a shopping bag in your hand. Without thinking, she sprinted towards you, her heart pounding. But you backed away as soon as you noticed her approach, and Wednesday couldn't help but notice the profound sadness etched in your eyes – the same eyes she had avoided for the past two painful months. "I need to speak with you," Wednesday implored, her voice trembling with sincerity. "No," you replied firmly, attempting to walk away and put distance between you two. "Please, this is important," Wednesday persisted, her desperation driving her to reach out and grab your arm in a plea for your attention. You walked as fast as you could to your dorm, You can't feel like this anymore, you have to get to your room and cope. Wednesday followed you, determined to talk to you, she can't let you cut any more.  "Y/n please!" She begged. You didn't even look back, She ran in front of you making you finally stop. "What do you want from me?" You asked, tears in your eyes, your voice broken with sorrow. The bag held close to your chest made Wednesday doubt. She looked at the empty hallway to make sure that it was only you and her and then snatched the bag away from you and emptied the contents on the floor, painkillers, sleeping pills and a new sharp knife. All the things that she liked, yet she felt so much dread in her heart. "I am sorry." She whispered, her voice shaking, You hurriedly picked all of them up before anyone could show up. "Show me." She said as you stood up. "Show me what I've done." She said as she tried to grab your hand, "Please don't." You said. "SHOW ME WHAT I'VE DONE." She said gritting her teeth in anger, but not on you, never on you, it was on her own self. She slowly grabbed your hand and took it up to herself, She removed the jacket sleeves slowly to see your arm filled with dozens of cuts, some deeper than they should've been. "Please." You cried now. She let go of your hands as she was frozen in her spot and you ran into your room.

Tears weren't stopping. Maybe another Tears weren't stopping. Maybe another Tears weren't stopping. Maybe another Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. The tears finally stopped.

Outside your door, Wednesday's voice trembled, the weight of the past 12 hours pressing down upon her. She cleared her throat softly before speaking. "Y/n," she said, the sound echoing through the stillness of the corridor. "I know you're in there." A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she continued, her words tinged with vulnerability.  "I am sorry, for everything." Admitting her own emotions had never been her strong suit, but she realized that acknowledging her mistakes was the first step toward repairing the damage she'd done.  "I understand that some things can't be fixed, but maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to mend what's broken and hold it together." Wednesday's voice wavered as she opened up further, her admission of feelings a rare glimpse into her inner world.  "Y/n, you made me feel things – things I've spent my entire life running from, things I've been terrified of. I never wanted to become like my parents, but now it seems like embracing those emotions might be worth it, especially if it means being with you. I was too blind to see it, too wrapped up in my hatred for love, but I know you feel the same for me. Please, just let me in... Please..." Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, but she refused to give in to her own weakness. Wednesday's heart ached as she contemplated walking away, but then, a sudden, painful sting in her chest stopped her in her tracks. "Y/n, at least answer me, and I won't bother you anymore," she implored softly. "Y/N," she continued, desperation lacing her words, "Tell me to go away, and I will leave, nevermore, if you ask." But the only response was silence, hanging in the air like an unbreakable barrier. With trembling hands, Wednesday retrieved her lockpick, a skill she had mastered long ago. However, this time was different, her hands shook as she struggled to unlock your door. After a few tense moments, she finally succeeded. What she discovered inside, though, was more than she had braced herself for. There you lay, eyes closed, seemingly at peace on the bed, although only peace was in your expression. The room was stained red, with your blood marking the bed, the floor, and the glinting knife nearby. Even your hands bore the evidence of your anguish, but what struck Wednesday the most was your serene smile. Approaching cautiously to your lying figure, She didn't need to check for a pulse to recognize a lifeless body, but she did it anyway. She wanted to hope and she needed you. But she found none. "I am sorry," she whispered, her voice broken with regret. Her gaze shifted to the heavy sleeping pills on the floor, all still intact. It became clear that you hadn't chosen this method. You chose the painful one, leaving the easy one for her, Good. Enid and the others looked for you and Wednesday, when they found you two, you two were finally each other's, holding each other, your arm on Wednesday's waist, her arm on yours, Wednesday laying on your chest, peacefully, cause she finally found her final home.

Alternate Less Sad Ending Author's note: For Celine, the most heart-warming and accepting person I knew, I would try to write and alternative good ending to this story if you guys want. For her recent readers, Did I do it right to her style? 

[adddddiiii]

can you write relapse with jameson as the s/o instead and where the reader is on the cliff where Emily died instead?

Relapse (Jameson vers.)

Author's Note: Hi anon! Sure I'd love to write for Jameson. How did your Christmas go, if you celebrate?

Contents: Jameson Hawthorne x gn!reader

Warnings: self-harm, relapse, slight gore, angst, fluff, slightly ooc? (Personally I don't think so but a friend of mine said it)

You knew what was coming. You'd had nightmare after nightmare, flashbacks, everything you didn't want to think about. You were smart enough now to know that what happened with Emily wasn't your fault.

Fresh wind swept through her strawberry blonde hair as she looked over the edge. "Come on!" She called to you, smiling. You didn't know that this would end with her pale body coughing out her last breath. You didn't know that when she would call to you for help, you would freeze. You didn't know you would leave her to die-

No, no, no.

These are bad thoughts. That's what Jameson told you, right? Yes. Think about Jameson, not Emily. Think. Think.

But you already felt your body moving without your permission, towards your drawer. You dug out a blade and stared at it as it lay in your palm.

There was so much noise in your head, so many little voices telling you what you could've done, what you should've done.

So you coped with it the best you knew how. You dragged the blade across your skin, across already existing scars, made new ones. You drew lines of blood and felt the pain, embraced it. It felt like a hug of poison, but this poison seemed like the only thing you could trust.

"Babe?!" You heard Jameson's voice before you saw him. You dropped the blade and clenched your fingers into the bedsheet.

"Hey, hey, just me. Just me." He looked at the scene with a pained expression, but he was trying to hide it for your sake. "Baby," he kneeled down in front of you, "you relapsed, yes?"

You nodded slowly, your brain still processing the fact. He nodded with you, "Okay, that's okay. These things happen. We'll start again. I'm here," he swept back the hair on your face and only then were you able to comprehend what you had done to yourself again. Tears flowed down your cheeks and dripped onto your thighs. Jameson held you through it all, murmuring sweet words.

What happened next was a swift blur. He cleaned you up, bandaged your cuts, and peppered you with so many kisses that you lost count.

"Do you want to know why I did it?" You asked in an unsure tone as you two sat back down on your bed.

"Tell me if you want to." He put his arm around you.

And you did tell him, because you did want to and he listened to every word you said. He did everything he could to comfort you, to make you feel like your world wasn't falling apart. And eventually you started to believe him, because how could your world fall apart when you had Jameson? You had given him your heart and you knew that he would never let anything come close to hurting it. You were safe with him. That's what you needed; safety.

After a while of sharing whispered thoughts, you were getting drowsy and he could tell.

"Sleep, baby. We'll talk tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Jameson."