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#yet still he’s afraid like get therapy please

am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

Note

😴😴😴 (to find later) AITA for putting sleeping pills in my boyfriend's drinks without him knowing?

I know this sounds absolutely awful, but please bear with me.

Basically, me (27 m) and my boyfriend (26 m) have been living together for around five years, meaning we usually also sleep together. Or at least we try, since my BF suffers from terrible insomnia and reoccurring nightmares so bad sometimes he wakes up into a full on anxiety attack. He does go to therapy and has prescribed sleeping pills, but he hates taking them because he's always afraid that when he does fall asleep he's just going to have nightmares, (which also just makes him avoid sleeping in general even not including his insomnia).

Usually I try to help him by staying up with him, watching his favorite show while cozied up on the couch under a bunch of blankets and with a hot coco, or we do something else that he likes and helps him relax. I really don't mind, I love him and I love spending time with him. However, it used to be that he would fall asleep at around 3-4 AM, but as time went on he started staying up longer and longer, until at a certain point I literally had to start leaving for work in the morning while he still hadn't gotten any sleep.

This was an issue for two reasons: 1. Obviously, without me there he felt even less comfortable and had an even harder time falling asleep, sometimes staying up for even 48 hours (or maybe more, I'm not sure) just to wait for me to come back home so I could help him unwind again. 2. He actually started lying to me about sleeping while I wasn't home, so that I would go to sleep normally and let him stay awake because "he wasn't tired" even though I could clearly tell he was.

That's when I started getting seriously concerned and questioning him about how much he actually sleeps, especially since I could see it was affecting him more and more both mentally and physically. He was avoidant about the topic but I pleaded with him to talk to his therapist about it, to try and find anything else to help him. Apparently his therapist just told him to keep using his sleeping pills to help with the insomnia, and if they're not working she'll look into prescribing him stronger ones. Yet despite that he still insists on not taking them and just going to bed normally even though it's clearly not working.

To clarify: as far as I'm aware, he has no negative side-effects from these sleeping pills, he's never complained about feeling any pain or feeling worse after taking them or anything like that. Literally he only doesn't want to take them because he's just that afraid of going to sleep.

That's why whenever we stay up nowadays, I always add a small dose to his cup of coco, which thankfully has a strong enough taste to cover the pills (I've tried a small bit myself and couldn't tell a difference). Since I started doing that, he's been regularly falling asleep before 2AM and even though the nightmares still sometimes wake him up or make him feel a bit tired in the morning, overall he's been doing much better.

Still, I do feel bad about putting stuff in his drinks without his knowledge even if it's for his own good. I really wonder if I should stop, but I'm really scared that if I do, he'll start spiralling again. I want to help him and be there for him but I've already tried talking about it and it never worked. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mypoisonedvine · 10 months

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PLEASE I HAVE A REQUEST:

Reader is deathly afraid of physical touch and she’s a student of Jonathan Crane’s. She begins to question whether or not exposure therapy is humane and decides to write a research paper against the idea of exposure therapy and Dr Crane plots against her and finds out her fear, inevitably forcing her to confront her fear with non/con(???)

I’m thinking totally brutal / slow burn and Jonathan is just a full psycho in this, not offering her any mercy. He Def does his research and Def traumatized reader

PLEASEEEEEEEEEE

(because this is just drabbles, I'm not going to be able to flesh this out the way you've envisioned, but I love the concept so I will do something based on it!) obviously this is dark, warnings for kidnapping and threats of noncon

haphephobia - the irrational fear or overwhelming aversion to physical touch.

You were far from the only psychopathology student who got into this line of work due to personal experience. Actually, more often than not, this interest begins for people with their own relationship with mental health-- maybe something as simple as a long battle with clinical depression, maybe trauma or abuse, maybe a history of addiction. You would hope that this made most of the students more equipped, more empathetic; that was true, but it also meant that there was a little more... instability among the cohort than you wanted to admit.

And yet, you hadn't even noticed that the worst of them all was right there in the front of the class, teaching.

"I read your paper," he explained, pacing back and forth, sparing long glances at you. "It was quite good. But your conclusions are weak."

Normally, if you'd been receiving this sort of feedback during office hours, you would just tilt your head and ask 'how so, Professor Crane?'

But considering you didn't even know where you were, strapped to an exam table in some dark basement, you weren't as inquisitive as usual. "See," he continued, approaching you, "if you want to disprove exposure therapy, you can't just do a systematic review of previous literature-- you need to get in the field, experiment yourself."

He lowered his voice as he stood closer to you, leaning over you, looking at you with a sort of fascination and pity.

"After all," he continued, "I'm a... fierce advocate of psychiatric experimentation."

"Yeah," you panted, the initial panic of waking up here fading into a general, steady terror, "I'm beginning to realize that."

"And you're always free to have your own opinion-- I think it's important that my students utilize their right to disagree with me-- but in this case, well, you just can't deny the results."

He was fucking smiling as he discussed it-- he was proud of what he'd done, of what he was going to do to you. "I can," you insisted, "if they're not ethical."

He rolled his eyes. "Always such a good girl," he cooed. "Let me worry about the ethics and you-- you can just worry about what I'm going to do now that I've got you tied up down here, where nobody will ever find you."

Bringing his hand closer to your face, you turned it away with a whimper. "Please," you whispered, "I-- you know I can't--"

"How does it feel?" he asked. "Right now, knowing I might touch you?"

"It's..." you trailed off, struggling to find a train of thought with him so close. "It's anxiety-inducing, obviously. It's dread."

"Filled with dread just because I'm getting close," he smirked. "You're in serious need of intervention, sweet thing. I can't believe you've gone without help for so long."

"This-- this isn't help, Professor--" you began to protest, but you winced as he gently brushed a finger over your cheek.

"You look like you're in pain," he noticed.

"It hurts," you hissed. "It hurts to be touched."

"Hurts how?"

"Like... like I'm raw all over. Like my body is one big burn," you whispered, eyes still shut tight as his hand moved down to gently caress your neck.

"And you've ruled out any medical cause-- an autoimmune disorder, hypersensitivity of the skin?"

You nodded, biting your lip to try to think of something other than the pain he was inflicting-- the pain you were totally helpless to. "There's no... physiological cause..."

"It's all in the mind," he finished for you, "and what a powerful mind you have. You're one of my best students, you know-- it's a shame you're limited by your fear. Fear of the truth, fear of breaking your precious ethics... fear of the future."

Your eyes shot open when his touch trailed down even further, toying with the neckline of your shirt; if any human contact was painful, you hadn't even prepared for the overwhelming anxiety of being touched in a way that had even the slightest sexual undertone. "Y-you don't really think you're that powerful, do you?" you pressed. "That you can take away fear?"

He shook his head. "No, dear, I don't have to," he replied. "I don't take it away-- I use it."

Just as his touch wandered, so did his gaze, and you shuddered under his dark stare as he started to properly grope you; his breathing picked up a bit, his lip twitched-- he even darted his tongue out for a second before smiling again.

"And now," he grinned, "I have you to use, too."

#jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan crane dark fic

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aziraphales-library · 3 months

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Hello, thank you for the work you put into this blog. It might be a bit early, but are there any S2 fix-it recs yet?

Hi! We have a plentiful #fix-it tag now! Here are some more to add...

you're the victim of your crime by JustNerdyThings (T)

It's a simple decision, really. It's simple in the way things rarely are, in that it's not much of a decision at all. Whatever Aziraphale might stand to gain by staying in Heaven, it cannot possibly compare to what he's already lost down on Earth. So Aziraphale leaves. He miracles up his letter of resignation, pretends to clear out his still-empty desk, and leaves. And he hopes against hope that somehow, someday, Crowley might forgive him.

hungry work by CCs_World (E)

“You must understand,” Aziraphale had whispered. He was on the doorstep of the bookshop, months after his departure, looking in at Crowley — disheveled, both of them. Broken, both of them. Afraid, both of them. Hopeful, both of them. “I understand, Aziraphale,” Crowley had said back. They had stretched out a hand to Aziraphale. “Come on. Let’s think of a plan together.” And they had. Somehow, miraculously, ineffably, a second apocalypse had been averted. Heaven and Hell were cut off. They were free — truly free. And they had all the time in the universe. So, naturally, they left London. OR: After the Second Coming does not Come, Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs. However, living together is difficult when there are over 6000 years of tension between them - tension which must be resolved if they are to have their happily ever after.

Trembling with tenderness by HolRose (T)

When the former demon Crowley is surprised in his Mayfair flat by a visit from his erstwhile boss and their ex-Archangel partner asking for assistance, Crowley has that familiar sinking feeling that something he did in the past has come back to bite him on the arse. When the current Supreme Archangel materialises in his flat shortly afterwards, Crowley knows the time has come for them to really talk at last. Just as soon as they’ve got rid of their visitors, that is. A post Season 2 fix-it fic in which they communicate properly, and Aziraphale demonstrates just how crafty, and also loving, he can be. This is one for those who might like something genuinely soft and romantic after the ending to Season 2.

We'll make Heaven a place on Earth by arabellas_court (E)

Aziraphale unfolded the piece of paper slowly beneath the horrid lighting. He cleared his throat and looked around, the corners of his mouth faltering just a second when he landed on Crowley. He looked down at the paper. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth—” “Jesus Christ,” Crowley grumbled. “No, dear, he came later, remember?” ------ Crowley knows his worth. He can't take Aziraphale back immediately after how hurt he's been. And for once, Aziraphale has to work for that forgiveness. Both of them are a mess. Both of them go to therapy—unexpectedly, together. Angst with a happy ending.

Snogging on Heaven's Door by Tetrisbiene (M)

What if Aziraphale actually said, 'Do it again. Please. Right now!'? A Post-Season 2 Fanfic. Aziraphale has to go to Heaven to thwart the Second Coming, and Crowley just can't let him go alone. Follow the pair as they meet old and new faces, go to heavenly meetings, sow mischief, and tempt some angels to fall in love with humanity. May the two find a flat surface to talk things over with each other before this big promotion can tear them apart. This is the story of our ineffable idiots in a roller coaster ride of emotions, heavenly bureaucracy, and stolen kisses against doors. Have some angst, some stupid puns in the chapter titles, and an elevator ride that's basically an excuse for me to write a cheesy alternative ending to help me get over the actual finale.

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you by sunrisesinthesuburbs (T)

Aziraphale stares back at the Metatron with renewed optimism. “I know where my loyalty stands, Sir,” he starts, even managing a small smile. “And I do not need to prove myself to them. When the Time comes, they will enjoy what I’ve been working on.” He sounds convincing, really. Honest, reliable and responsible. Crowley decides this is a good time to whistle: “Someone’s getting all professional up here.” Aziraphale dares to peep in his direction, hoping to convey with one brief look everything he is thinking about: ‘Shut up, will you? I’m trying to do something here.’ Crowley smirks, of course. He really is so annoying. “Well, Aziraphale, you may not need to prove yourself to them,” the Metatron reaches for something inside his jacket, “but you need to prove yourself to me.” Aziraphale fails Heaven's test (of course), and now he has to fix an even bigger mess. Throw a messy break up and a Second Coming in the mix and, somehow, you get a getaway car and a cottage in the South Downs. A lot can happen in a day. (Post Season 2; my very own attempt at fixing things.)

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #fix-it #mod d

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spgothkidsheadcanons · 5 months

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Can I get a reader who’s childhood friends with the goths and has feelings for them all those years but is afraid to confess their love because they’re afraid they won’t return their feelings because they’re not goth enough. Eventually the reader does confess on accident

Hi friend!

So, true to my nature as a writer, I forgot it was supposed to be childhood friends with all of them. I started strong on Henri, but had to kind of edit Pete and Michael’s bits just a tad.

I’m rusty getting back into this, so I implore you, please let me know how I can fix this if you aren’t satisfied!

~~~

Henrietta:

- You had first met Henrietta when you were in elementary school together

- Despite her being mean on your first initial meetings, you couldn’t seem to just leave her alone

- She was so interesting and so different than you, it made you want to be friends with her

- Even though she didn’t return the feeling, Henrietta eventually let you tag along with her and her crowd, even though you dressed “like a conformist”

- Growing up together, you couldn’t help when your platonic feelings took a left turn and you began a small crush on Henri

- Yet, she was so much different than you, still acting as Goth as she did the first day you met her

- After graduation, when she moved off to Los Angeles, and offered you an invite to come stay with her

- Pushing back your feelings, you agreed, packing a couple of bags and flying out to move in with her

- It was a quiet night for the both of you when one thing led to another, and you finally shared your feelings for her

- Prefacing your speech with the iconic “I know you might not feel the same way,” you spilled how long you had liked her and why you were so scared to do so

- She was so drab and dreary, taking pride in the way she acted and not caring about other peoples’ opinions

- You were… the complete opposite, and after you had finished babbling, you didn’t actually feel better about putting your emotions out there

- To your surprise, Henrietta just laughed at you, catching you off guard with the sound

- Apparently, she harbored the same attraction for you, but never acted on it because she had the same reasons

- After the confession, and the awkward “So… Do you wanna be my girlfriend now 🥺👉🏻👈🏻”, you finally felt the years of terror and anxiety leave your body as she snuggled into your side, carrying about the evening as usual

Pete:

- You had actually liked Pete for as long as you could remember, seeing as he was one of the only Goth kids who wasn’t a complete asshole to you upon meeting

- You had known him since childhood, but the crush you had developed on him was tearing you apart, feeling as if you had harbored the love for centuries

- You were complaining about it to your sibling, how you felt about him, but didn’t feel like you were Goth enough for him, and overall just spilling your feelings as a way of therapy

- Uh oh

- You had accidentally confessed your feelings to Pete, not realizing you hadn’t switched back to you and your sibling’s chat after he had texted you asking to hang out

- Before you could delete the message, of course Pete went and opened it, and you died a little inside when you saw him start to text back

- His text bubbles stopped abruptly, and you were left on read, your heart shattering over your stupid mistake

- Turning your phone off, you tossed it to the side, turning your face into your pillow and screaming out the bubbling negativity in your body

- And just as you finished, you jumped when you heard three sharp knocks at your bedroom door

- Figuring it was your mom or dad telling you to quieten down, you pulled yourself from your bed, trudging to the door

- What you didn’t expect was Pete standing before you, slightly out of breath and looking at you with a strange look in his eye

- “Did you mean that?”

- After hesitantly confirming that yes, you did feel that way, Pete seemed to relax, pushing past you into your bedroom to take a seat at your desk

- Turns out, Pete has liked you forever. He just didn’t expect you to return the feelings because of his… Everything

- After talking about it some more, you both decided to see where it would go, and ended up happily together

Michael:

- What it was that drew you to Michael is a complete mystery to you and everyone around you who knew about your crush

- You had never spoken to him before, even though you had known of him since elementary school, and more often than not, you kept your head down when walking past him in the hallways

- You definitely admired him from afar, annoying your friends with your pity party over not being Goth, or else you’d try to make a move on him

- One day, having woken up late for school, you decided that it was a good day to skip, and that’s exactly what you needed

- It would give you a break from seeing your crush, and also let you sleep in and finish your homework that you fell asleep in the middle of last night

- But first, a cup of coffee sounded glorious

- You grabbed your keys and threw on your coat, descending the stairs to your home and waving at your older brother as you left

- The drive to SharSnucks was short, and you parked and went inside quickly, falling in line with the other patrons of the shop

- “I didn’t peg you as the type to skip a class”

- Turning your head, your stomach felt like it was filled with lead as you saw Michael, smirking down at you while awaiting your answer

- Shyly, you just shrugged, putting a smile on your face, giving some random excuse as to why you weren’t in school

- Finally, it was your turn to order, and you got your usual combo of a medium vanilla latte and a banana nut muffin

- Before you could pass your cash to the woman behind the register, Michael pushed you to the side, causing you to look at him in confusion

- “Add a large black coffee to that,” Michael said, pushing your hand away from the cashier as he handed him his card to pay for your, and his, orders

- Upon asking why he had decided to buy your stuff, he shrugged, pointing out he knew about you staring and gawking at him, causing him to chuckle as your face turned bright red

#sp goth kids #south park goth kids #south park headcanons #sp fanfiction #south park michael #sp headcanons #south park fanfiction #sp michael #sp michael x reader #south park michael x reader #south park henrietta biggle #sp henrietta biggle #south park henrietta biggle x reader #sp henrietta biggle x reader #south park pete thelman #sp pete thelman #south park pete thelman x reader #sp pete thelman x reader

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bemyawakening · 2 years

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Heyy!! May I please request a platonic fic abt Simon (Ghost) with a younger sister reader basically FORCING him to watch movies with her when he gets off duty Imagine him watching movies like Mean Girls, twilight and disney movies. (I feel like he secretly loves mean girls...) Just Simon being a father figure to his teenage sister💔 Tysmmm!!

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X YOUNGER SISTER!READER (platonic)

I absolutely love this request! I believe he would be so soft with his little sister and protective, given his past. Let’s be honest, he would try the hardest to be the father his sister needed but never had.

word count: 1145

warnings: mentions of abusive household and trauma, mentions about depression, curse words

You knew your brother killed people. He carried a burden on his shoulders, wanting to provide for you since you were the only family he has left. He perfectly knew that he was supposed to be a good, caring brother and not exchange you for a battlefield, but you understood him. You never asked for him to change even if every night of yours was haunted by the image of him dying.

You couldn’t have another funeral.

No idea when he was supposed to return, you spent your days quietly. The university had you clustered with work enough and at the weekends you worked in a little local bakery. Yet you were an outcast, just like your brother is, but you got used to living in a routine. You didn’t need people to survive, you didn’t need to feel any more negativity in your life. You were just trying to survive the pain your father has placed on you.

Haunted by nightmares, a few of your nights were doomed. The therapy was working, at least helping you to get on with your days, but some night horrors would appear over and over again. You tried to meditate or read a book, but you couldn’t do anything, but be wrapped in a blanket, staring through the window.

A distant noise alerted you. Opening the drawer beside the bed, you took out a knife – it was an instruction from Simon. Pushing the blankets off yourself, you embraced yourself—it will be fine. It was nothing. Moving through the opened bedroom door, you found yourself looking at a huge shadow and the sudden light made you squint your eyes.

Simon was home.

“Jesus Christ, Si,” you mumbled, placing the knife on the window sill and running to your brother.

Watching his tired, tall frame respond to your presence, he offered you a soft smile. He never stepped into this house with his mask on. He never stepped into this house with his military clothes and equipment. He tried to keep you as far away from it as he could.

“Sorry for waking you up,” he tiredly mumbled as you quickly hugged him.

Every hug you two shared had a moment of longing. He could feel the fear in your arms as you would always squeeze him so tight, afraid to let go. He knew that you were afraid to lose him, but he indulged himself in a circle of violence from which wasn’t easy to get out. But you didn’t complain once, yet he understood everything.

“Did you get hurt?” The tone in your voice told him that you haven’t slept yet.

“Am fine,” he admitted, even if he did scrape his shoulder pretty badly, but he didn’t want you to worry. “Get back to bed, yeah?”

“Get away from me with your orders,” you said, pulling away from him, giving him the look. “No Lieutenant shit in this house.”

“Still older than you.”

“Let’s just say you’re old overall,” you shrugged.

Simon raised his eyebrows, oddly missing when you gave him that kind of attitude. Especially, since it reminded him that he could be Simon Riley here and not Lieutenant Ghost.

Sharing a moment of silence, you cleared your throat: “You know what we have to do now.”

Simon thought the battlefield was the worst that he has experienced. It was until he and you made a pact, that each time he will come back late at night, you two will watch a movie of your choice.

“Please no—“

“I’ll make tea and get snacks. There’s no going back now,” you instructed.

He always felt weird when you were so bossy, he was so used to giving instructions, that you giving him the exact same treatment showed him how similar you two were. “Alright, Lieutenant Black.”

Your mouth dropped in pure surprise and anger: “Simon! It’s team Edward—we talked about this four-hundred times how can you even say tha—“

“Yeah, yeah…” He shut his fingers in front of your mouth. “The man who sparkles like a fuckin’ disco ball.”

“Because of this—we will watch Twilight,” you crossed your arms and saw the horror flash in his eyes.

“No—“

“Your own fault.” With these words, you gave him the look which meant your victory and you made your way to the kitchen.

It was nice to have him back home. This house immediately didn’t feel so empty and every single sound didn’t scare you as much. It felt good taking out two mugs – his favourite, with a little cat drawn on it which you have gifted him for Christmas a few years ago.

You quickly made two Earl Grey teas and put a splash of milk in his, knowing exactly the way he liked it. You grabbed a bag of chips and put them between your arm and your ribs as you grabbed the mugs and walked into the living room.

Simon was already there, Netflix flashing on the screen as he was moving down through choices: “How about the Office?”

“No.”

The man sighed. It was harder to reason with you than with fucking soldiers. Grumbling, he typed Twilight into the search bar and pressed play. You placed the mug in front of him and you made your way to the couch beside him, placing the bag of chips between you two.

As the movie started, you opened your mouth to begin Bella’s monologue that you knew by heart and he whined before you could say something: “I’ll scream if you’ll say it again.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, can’t let me enjoy shit.”

“Language, young lady.”

“Eat ass.”

“I raised you better,” he squinted his eyes.

“As if you don’t curse. You called Edward, and I quote, ‘The man who sparkles like a fuckin’ disco ball’.”

You got him there. When did you get so smart? He remembers when he was helping you with math homework and now you were already in a university, starting your life already. “You know, I’ll try to be home more often.”

Averting your attention from the screen, you caught his eyes looking at you and you knew he was trying his best. You won’t ask him for more. “It’s alright,” you shook your head. “I just want you to come back home. That’s all.”

“You know I will.”

You nodded, knowing that your brother was a man of his word. He has never left you alone even if he could’ve left you alone. His love was unconditional and you have never doubted it. Both of you weren’t people of big, emotional words and this small reassurance was all you two needed.

Simon was home. And on the same night, well, almost in the morning, you caught him reciting Edward’s speech at the wedding. Yeah, he hated this movie so much.

#sunnywrites!#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost as father figure #platonic

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h-c-u · 1 year

Text

Eye of the storm pt 1

Summary: You can't cope with your grief and Beau is there for you.

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x fem!reader (Iceman's daughter)

W/C: 8k

Rating: PG, age gap, canon character's death (Tom Kazansky)

TWs: Grief, unnamed ED, Panic attacks.

A/N: It's going to be long and slow. And there is a lot of feelings. Is it healthy...? Wellll.... What in life truly is healthy...? Also - the next chapter is almost ready, and will be most likely posted on Sunday.

Part 2 | Part 3 Masterlist | List of tags | Eye of the storm playlist

Personal note: I am aware that grief is a very heavy topic for some people, and if you're not in the right mindset, please skip this story. A lot of what I described here is based on my personal experiences, so if you could, please don't comment on the amount of sleeping, crying and panic attacks. From the outside perspective, I know that there are a lot of them, and that it might even sound unrealistic for someone who was able to deal with loss in a more healthy way than I did. Everyone deals with it differently and I wish none of you, my dear readers, will experience what I did. Love, G.

The last few weeks were rough for you... Mostly because you just couldn't process your dad's death properly, and you were having terrible nightmares every night and panic attacks when you were awake. And yet, you were afraid to go back to therapy; you just... weren't ready yet, because actually going there and talking about it somehow made it more... true. And because acknowledging that would break you even more.

You couldn't spend more than a few minutes at home, because everywhere you looked you were expecting to see him, to hear him... Every time you looked at your phone you were expecting to see a text from him... Every time you looked at your driveway you expected to see him getting out of the car... But none of those things happened, and every time you realized that the won't happen ever again, it was crushing you over and over.

You cling to his clothes, desperately seeking the remains of his scent... You re-read his journals every day, hoping that somehow the last unfinished sentence magically fills in with his neat handwriting the next time you get to that page... You were obsessively listening to the recording of My Funny Valentine he made for your mother a few years ago when he still had his voice...

You knew that none of those things was healthy. And yet, you just couldn't let them go, making yourself re-live the pain of realizing that he's truly gone multiple times every day...

To say that you were close with your dad would be a severe understatement. You told him everything, and he told you even more than he was sharing with your mother. You were almost inseparable, especially during the last couple of years. You learned sign language with him and you were with him in every unofficial meeting, translating, because it was much faster than writing on a computer. You were with him at every doctor’s appointment and every round of chemo, talked him through every panic attack and moment of self-doubt, when your mother just couldn't handle it anymore.

And you missed him with every breath you took and with every heartbeat...

But ever since the funeral... you just couldn't handle it. And you had no one to help you, so you hid in the place where you could weirdly still feel his presence...

You never got into military; you knew you weren't built for that life. You craved personal freedom too much and the strict routine would kill you. And yet you found yourself seeking the comfort of that, even if only by existing in the same space as it was happening.

To be honest, you assumed that getting on base would be much harder, considering that you weren't even in the academy, but almost everyone you came in contact with got sudden amnesia and selective blindness when they saw you entering the base or walking the corridors... You usually just sat on the floor somewhere, tucked in the corner of the hangar, or in the furthest part of a cafeteria, being completely quiet and re-reading one of your dad's journals. It was the only place where you didn't feel like dying...

You were extremely careful not to accidentally stumble upon something you weren't supposed to see or hear, that's why it took you so long to get into your fathers office; because you assumed it was reassigned and you didn't want to be confronted by the new occupant...

But you finally gathered the courage to open the familiar door and enter even more familiar room. You've spent a lot of hours here... Sure, all the personal belongings were packed and sent to your mother's house, but you could still see the marks he made there...

The worn place on the edge of his desk, where he rubbed his thumb over and over, when someone was saying something extremely stupid during meetings. Blinds were still in the 2/3s of the window, just as he liked. The place in the carpet where he liked to keep his right foot perpendicularly to the floor, resting it on his toe was still visible. And many, many little things that gave unimaginable comfort when you saw them again. He was still here... Maybe not alive, but he was still here, and that took that heavy weight from your chest and shoulders, even if just for a moment.

You couldn't force yourself to sit in his chair, it felt almost sacrilegious... Instead, you opted on curling up on the couch you helped choose, just for few minutes... To catch a breath from the constant grieving, even if for a moment... You didn't even notice when you fell asleep, and for the first time in weeks, there were no nightmares haunting your dreams...

- Cyclone...? - he heard a familiar voice, and he instantly turned around. - Are you ok, buddy? - Warlock looked a little bit concerned but got curious when his friend put his finger on his lips, shushing him, and closing the door to his office a bit more.

- I'm fine... - he lied smoothly, trying to position himself in front of his door in such a way, that his friend wouldn't see inside, but he failed.

- What the...!? - to say that Solomon was surprised and confused would be an understatement, when he caught sight of the young women sleeping on the couch in his friend's office.

- Shush. - Cyclone pulled his friend by the elbow further into the corridor, so their conversation wouldn't be so loud.

- Why the hell she's in your office, and more importantly, why the hell were you watching her sleep? - Warlock crossed his arms on his chest evidently judging, and Beau's shoulders slumped as he looked at the floor.

- Because she thinks this office is still unoccupied... And it's the only place where she doesn't have nightmares when she sleeps... - he bluntly avoided answering the second question, because if he did, he would actually have to admit few things out loud, and he definitely didn't want to do that in front of his friend.

- And you know that because...? - Solomon dug deeper and Cyclone sighed heavily.

- Because I overheard her conversation with her mother after I caught her for the first time...

- Jesus Christ, Beau...

- I know, believe me. - he was evidentially ashamed of what he did, and Sol didn't even know the half of it.

- How often is she here? - Warlock sighed again and let his arms fall to his sides.

- Every day... - even though Beau was much higher than his friend, right now he felt much, much shorter.

- Every...!? Cyclone, what the actual fuck!? - vice-admiral wanted nothing more than for the ground beneath him to open and swallow him whole. - Wait... If she's in your office every day... Where have you been working from? - the judgement disappeared for a moment, replaced by curiosity.

- From a conference room on the 3rd floor... - compared to the previous things, this one was easy to admit, and now Solomon just laughed quietly...

- Shit, you're in deep, aren't you... Working from that shoebox just so she can catch some sleep... For how long exactly? - usually very sure in himself and confident Beau Simpson was currently folding onto himself in front of his best friend.

- Almost two months... - he mumbled under his breath, readying for the next wave of laughter.

- Have you even talked to her? - Cyclone didn't have to reply for Solomon to know the answer. - Why?

- She's very obviously grieving. And she's Iceman's very young daughter and he would... - he couldn't even finish that sentence.

- He would what... kill you? A bit late for that, isn't it...? - if looks could kill, Solomon would be dead then and there. - And I didn't mean it like that... Everyone treats her either as a ghost or like an egg which could break any second. Just treat her as a human being, not as a daughter of a dead father. Talk to her. And don't creepily watch her sleep ever again, because you won’t have to wait for Kazansky to kill you, I'll do it for him, I'm serious. - his expression told Beau that indeed, he wasn't joking.

Cyclone sighed heavily and straightened himself, trying to put on his usual expression of confidence and nonchalance, which came surprisingly easy.

- Could you...? - he asked before they went their separate ways.

- Yeah, yeah... Your creepy little secret is safe with me... - he just shook his head when his friend's face showed nothing but relief for a short moment. - But seriously, she's a human being first, just remember that. - Cyclone only nodded, straightened himself and readjusted the flies and laptop he was holding in his hands. - Atta boy. - older man couldn't help but laugh and patted his friend on the shoulder.

But when Beau was passing his door, he couldn't help but take one last look at the sleeping girl in his office... She looked so innocent and peaceful, curled up in a tiny ball on only one couch cushion, desperately trying to occupy as little space as possible. Her breathing was steady, and he could see her chest slowly raising and coming down, even from that far. He didn't have time to study the light freckles on her cheeks that were glistening like gold in the rays of morning sunshine. He took this sight one last time and gently closed the door, leaving her completely alone, which was much more true than he realized at the moment.

Next time he saw you was on the balcony of the hangar. He was looking for a quiet space to eat, because he hated eating in the canteen with a passion. Someone was always either staring at him, or trying to talk to him, and he wasn't sure which was worse. He also didn't want to eat in his office, because he honestly thought, you were still there and he didn't want to disturb you. So, he was a bit surprised when he saw you in one of the biggest hangars, where the lights were off and the only sound that could be heard was planes landing and taking off on the tarmac.

He didn't say anything, just sat about a meter away from you, took a smoothie from his lunch bag and placed it right next to you, wordlessly giving it to you, and started to eat his sandwich in silence. He didn't ask any questions, didn't make any remarks, just... kept you company, while you couldn't stop staring at the glass bottle, he presented you with. You eventually placed your dad's notebook on the ground and cautiously took the glass bottle into one hand. Even though the intention was obvious, you still weren't entirely sure if it wasn't happening in your imagination.

- Peanuts...? - you asked quietly, without even looking at him. Your voice hoarse and rough from all the crying and screaming. You honestly weren't sure exactly when was the last time you spoke to anyone. Even your mother wasn't calling you that often, tired of your constant grief; you didn't blame her though. Cyclone only shook his head for no, which you caught with a corner of your eye.

- Cashews, apples, kiwis, coconut milk and fresh, young nettle. - he said after he swallowed the bite of his sandwich. You still held the glass bottle as if it was about to explode any moment, but eventually you opened it and took a sniff before you put it to your lips and took a sip. It was... good. Tasty.

- Thank you... - you whispered and started slowly sipping on the smoothie while he continued eating his breakfast. He only nodded once in response, letting you know that there’s nothing to thank for.

You of course knew him... For the last couple of years, you were interpreting your dad's words in the meetings with him at least couple of times a week. You didn't know much about his personal life though. But right now, he was the right person in the right place, at the right time. His mere presence brought you weird comfort, taking you back to simpler times.

He finished the meal first, but he didn't go, just reclined a bit, seeking support in the wall behind. He wasn't rushing you and didn't even give you impression that he was in a hurry, so you continue to take small sips of something that had actual sustenance, instead of tea or a single fruit that you could barely stomach. You knew you should be eating more, because you started to see bones through your skin that you weren't able to see before the funeral. The clothes were secondary, because you were mostly wearing your dad's old t-shirts and jackets, which were already much too big for you, but they brought you comfort, and you held to that small piece of support with all your might. but because of that, you haven't noticed how much weight you actually lost.

So, you were extremely grateful for that smoothie, because you just didn't have the energy to even think about the food, you just didn't know how to show it or say it, so a simple "thank you" had to suffice, at least for now.

You weren't sure how much time had passed until you finally finished the drink and closed the bottle, but it was at least half an hour, maybe even closer to an hour. You suspected that he had other things to do, yet he was sitting on the cold, metal floor of a balcony with you, as if you were kids who just met in the kindergarten. And if you had to be completely honest, you didn't mind that. Because he didn't do or say anything that was supposed to make you feel better. You were just two people. Eating breakfast. And for the first time in weeks, you smiled...

He joined you later that day again; you were still sitting on the same balcony, so you weren't exactly hard to find. This time he brought you a wrap with smoked salmon, avocado, sunflower seeds and Philadelphia cheese. He had sushi... And you sat in complete silence again, not even one word between you this time, because even simple "thank you" seemed too heavy for you.

You didn't know why he was doing that, but deep inside, you were grateful. It was your second meal of the day since forever, and he stayed with you till you ate it whole, which took at least thirty minutes, because the bites you were taking were small and far apart. And yet he didn't say a word, didn't complain, didn't rush you... Just sat there and ate his sushi, and after he finished, he leaned again on the wall behind him. It wasn't easy for you to relax, but you at least didn't find his presence overbearing, which was progress.

Small, yet somehow significant. But Rome wasn't built in a day.

After you finished eating, he took the wrapping from you to throw away and left you alone again, saying goodbye with a simple smile.

In the afternoon he brought you hot black tea, a caramel cookie and a blanket, which you let him drape over your body while you were holding thermal mug in your hands. He was really careful and made sure not to actually touch you, because in his mind it was a line, he wasn't ready to cross just yet. He again sat with you while you were slowly nibbling on the cookie and sipping tea. You suspected that the mug he brought the tea in was his personal one, because you seriously doubted that navy had yeti mugs just laying around, but you didn't say a word. Commenting on that would require much more energy than you had left in your batteries for today. Maybe tomorrow...

This time he didn't bring anything for himself, so he was just sitting next to you with his eyes closed. He was breathing slow and steady, and that quiet, rhythmic sound somehow managed to ground you enough that you finally looked at him. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon and shined its rays on both of you... He looked... tired. But at the same time calm and content. You could tell that he wasn't in any hurry to get anywhere, and if he had any worries on his mind, there weren't reaching him this high up. You could see his chest slowly rising with every breath... Unknowingly, you focused on the same things he noticed about you, when he was looking at you sleeping.

You eventually looked forward again and went back to slowly sipping from a giant mug of tea. You were surprised to learn that it was your favorite - earl grey with bluebottle flowers, with a little bit of honey. You doubted that it was an accident, but you honestly didn't care right now; it didn't matter.

Only after you finished your tea, you realized that he wasn't just sitting there... He fell asleep, and that made you smile for the second time today. You placed an empty mug on his left side, and moved a bit closer to him. The metal floor was getting colder this late in the day, and he was bound to get cold sooner rather than later, so you unfolded the blanket he draped over you, and put it around him as well. If he was tired enough to fall asleep here, he definitely deserved to get some rest. The blanket was big enough that it covered both of you, without forcing you to touch, so you could go back to re-reading your dad's journal in the last rays of sun for the day.

At first you didn't notice his scent, because the detergent on the blanket was so strong, but it finally got to you, after few minutes of sitting in such close proximity. He smelled faintly of either pine or spruce, and a hint of very good quality soap. At first it distracted you, but it didn't take long for you to stop consciously noticing it. It still surrounded you though...

You weren't sure what was the exact reason... If it was the heat radiating of the body next to you, his calm and steady breath, the fact that you actually ate today, or maybe the combination of all three, but you eventually joined him and fell asleep, sitting under one blanket with vice-admiral Beau Simpson.

When he woke up, he didn't know where he was at first. His back and ass were cold, but the front of his body was pleasantly warm. It was dark all around him and he had trouble identifying anything. But finally his train of thoughts caught up with reality, and he realized what, or rather who, was responsible for the additional weight on his thighs.

He gave his eyes few minutes to adjust to the darkness and he was finally able to see the familiar outline of your head, which made him smile. He still couldn't say what exactly possessed you to lay on him and, but the realization finally got to him, based on the blanket placement. You must have fell in your sleep, without even realizing it, and it made him chuckle a little. He couldn't help but move your hair from your forehead and you took a deeper breath when he did that. He didn't want to wake you up, but at the same time, he knew that it wasn't the best place for you to sleep, mostly because of the temperature, and he didn't want you to get sick.

But he selfishly didn't move for few more minutes, just taking in your presence. He was watching you from afar for so long, that actually being so close to you seemed... surreal, almost like a dream. Especially in the moonlight that was coming through the giant windows above you. In his eyes, you looked as if you stepped straight out of a fairy-tale to bless him with your company.

You looked so peaceful and he hated that he had to disturb that, but to his surprise, when he touched your arm and gently shook it, you didn't wake up... You didn't even react in the slightest.

At first, he wanted to try to call your name, to shake you a bit stronger, but another, admittingly more creepy plan won in his head.

Very gently he hooked your arm on his neck, turned towards you, and grabbed you under your knees and your back. You weighed almost nothing in his arms, and he could feel your shoulder blades even through the jacket you were wearing. Your head moved forward and rested on his chest, instead of lulling back, following the gravity. He left his mug on the balcony, making a mental note to come back for it later, when you'll be out of his arms.

He walked slowly and carefully, trying his best not to wake you up. There wasn't a lot of people in the corridors this late, and those who were, suddenly went quiet and found something else to look at. At first, he wanted to get you to his office, but he selfishly didn't want to leave you there alone, and sleeping on the rough carpet didn't sound that appealing... Instead, he took you to the quarters that were assigned to him. It was a small room, with almost no decoration. There was a bunk bed built into the wall, even though he was the only one assigned to this room, a small desk, a wardrobe, armchair in the corner.

He didn't spend a lot of time here, preferring his house off the base, but this room was still available to him if needed. And today definitely qualified under "if needed". He didn't even turn the lights on because he knew how harsh they were, and he was afraid that you would wake up.

He gently placed you on the lower bed.

He was torn about what to do next, but he eventually unlaced your shoes, took them off, and placed them under the bed. Not creepy at all. At last, he slowly moved the duvet from under you and covered you with it, even though you were still wrapped in a blanket. But when he was covering your shoulders, you desperately grabbed his wrist in your sleep and pulled it closer to your chest. He tried to gently pry your fingers away, so he could climb into the top bed and fall asleep, but you didn't want to let go.

He honestly considered climbing in the bed with you for a moment, but Solomon's voice slapped him over the head and instead he sighed heavily. Without moving too much, he grabbed a cushion from the armchair and placed it on the floor next to the bed. he also grabbed a pillow from the top bunk and did his best to find the most comfortable position while sitting on the floor. He eventually unbuttoned and loosened his collar. In the ideal world, he would be able to take his shirt of completely without waking you up, leaving only his t-shirt... That was a lie... In the ideal world, he wouldn't have to worry so much about you because you wouldn't be grieving... He also took his shoes off and put a pillow on the shoulder that you were currently trying to pull closer, and rested his head on it, trying to find the best angle, so the edge of the bed wouldn't be stabbing his ribs.

He looked at you one last time before closing his eyes and focused on your breathing for a moment.

It was calm and steady, which told him that even though you were clutching his arms like a lifebuoy, you didn't have a nightmare; at least that's what he was hoping for...

You woke up in an unfamiliar place, yet somehow you felt calmer than you felt in weeks. At first you didn't even want to open your eyes, in fear that if you did, that bubble of serenity would disappear in a blink of an eye. So, you laid there without even moving a finger, allowing yourself absorb every second of that bliss.

Only after good five minutes you realized that you were holding someone's hand and your eyes shot open in a slight panic, which only grew when you realized your current position.

Vice-admiral Beau Simpson was sitting on the floor, draped over the edge of the bed in which you were currently laying. Your heartrate immediately jumped, and your brain slowly started to fill in the blanks with the most rational possibility. You fell asleep. He took you to this room so you could sleep in the bed. But you didn't let him go...

So, he slept next to you. On the floor. In a very uncomfortable position.

It must have been very early, because the sun wasn't fully over the horizon yet, painting the sky with a muted orange color, that filled the room almost completely.

You took a closer look at his sleeping face for the second time during last twenty-four hours; the calmness of if somehow rubbed off on you, and you weren't panicking anymore... You couldn't place exactly why you were reacting that way to his presence, but you did... And now it was your turn to do something creepy and stupid...

Without letting him go, you gently cupped his cheek with your free hand and his eyes immediately shot open, but he calmed down when he saw you. You didn't say anything... Instead, you pulled him towards you, and moved closer to the wall, making space for him under heavy duvet in the very narrow bed, and he followed... Like a puppy on a leash... He climbed into bed with you, ignoring all the sirens in his head.

You let go of his hand and he pulled the covers over both of you, and just as he was beginning to feel unsure about what to do with his limbs, you took his arm again and guided it around your body, letting it rest on the top part of your stomach, and covered it with your own. After that his other hand easily found a place under your pillow and his left ankle rested on top of your right.

At this moment in time, this was the only thing you needed from life...

You didn't even realize how quickly your breaths synchronized, lulling both of you back to sleep.

When you woke up for the second time, the sun was high up, and he was gone... You couldn't help feeling a bit sad. You knew that he had to work, and there were total of... 12 words exchanged between you two. But to your surprise, that sadness had a different taste than the one you felt constantly for the last two months... But you knew that if you started analyzing and dissecting it, you would spiral again.

When you turned around and looked around the room, you noticed your bag resting on the floor next to the desk, your dad's journal on the desk, and a another glass bottle with a short "no peanuts" scribbled on a post-it note stuck to the side of it. But... you didn't want to get out of bed just yet. Your rational brain was screaming at you that you definitely should, because you were already abusing vice-admiral's hospitality. Not to mention that you used his body... Well, not in the most obvious way, but still... On the other hand, he wasn't exactly yelling at you and protesting.

So, staying in bed it was...

But first you took your jacket off and hung it over the ladders edge. You also took of your jeans and socks because it was extremely warm under the duvet. It definitely wasn't navy issued and even only in your underwear and your dad's much too big for you t-shirt, you were hot. But it was pleasant, because for the longest time you were always cold... It was partially to the fact that you weren’t eating enough, and partially because you were... well... depressed. So, you welcomed that warmness with your whole heart, covering even your head, leaving only a small gap for the oxygen to come in.

It wasn't long before you fell asleep again, surrounded by a very subtle pine or spruce smell.

Next time you didn't wake up on your own... Vice-Admiral Simpson was kneeling next to the bed and gently moving your hair from your forehead.

- You need to eat something... - he whispered quietly. He didn't want to wake you up, but when he came back with lunch and saw that you didn't even touch your breakfast, he got a little bit worried. You wanted to shake your head for no, because you already ate so much yesterday, and you were still full from that... Sleep sounded much better than eating. But instead of refusing you ended up following his nods. - Just a quick small meal, and you can go back to sleep, ok...? - he asked, but it wasn't a request. You propped yourself on the wall behind you and took a glass bottle you saw earlier from his hands.

It took you a good minute to hype yourself up to actually take a sip, but when you saw relief on his face... Well... It helped with every sip that followed the first one.

He stayed with you until you finished the whole smoothie and gave you a gentle smile when he took the empty bottle from your hands. You moved your pinky just by few millimeters, so you could touch his hand. You weren't entirely sure if you did that consciously or subconsciously, but he didn't pull away for few more seconds, allowing the touch to linger.

He wanted nothing more than to climb to bed with you again and protect you from both the outside world and what was happening in your mind, and you were so naively allowing him to do so... He couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage of you, but you were a fully grown woman... Much, much younger than him, but still.

He wanted to tell you how much of a good girl you were for drinking the whole smoothie, and how proud and happy he was that you were finally getting enough sleep, but that would cross so many lines, that he wasn't even sure if he could count that high.

You were so obviously depressed and grieving, that even an idiot would have noticed, and instead of getting you professional help, he was selfishly keeping you in his room, feeding you food he prepared and occasionally climbing in the bed with you...

He clenched his jaw and finally pulled away, breaking this small point of contact between your bodies. And everything would have been fine, if you didn't follow his movements, and kneeled on his bed, and cupped his face with your right hand, forcing him to look you in the eyes. He almost immediately looked away, afraid of what you could possible find there, but you followed his gaze and intercepted it again.

- Thank you... - your voice barely a whisper, because you couldn’t make it any stronger... Not yet... He only nodded in response and moved away from your hand by finally standing up.

- I will leave the lunch on the desk... It's a crab sushi roll, please try to eat it when you'll wake up next time, ok...? - he pleaded and you simply couldn't say no to that, so you nodded - Also, there is grape juice... - "your favorite..." he wanted to add, but he didn't want to explain exactly how he knew that. But your soft smile told him everything he needed to know. - Do you... want a book? - he asked with one hand on the door handle, and you considered your response for a moment, but eventually shook your head for no. You didn't think you had enough in you to process anything new. He gave you one last, soft smile and you were alone again.

Usually, it would the prime time for a panic attack, but you stayed calm, grounded by the subtle scent vice-admiral left behind.

You laid back in bed, and closed your eyes, even though it was the middle of the day, and harsh rays of sunshine would make it extremely hard for a regular person to fall asleep. But you had 2 months of catching up to do. And you were going to squeeze everything you possible could from that bubble of calmness, because you honestly didn't know how long it would last.

Next time you woke up, it was still bright outside, and nothing in the room changed, so you assumed that no one visited you while you slept. At first you wanted to go back to sleep immediately, but you remembered that you promised Beau that you would at least try to eat... With a heavy sigh, you got out of bed; but before you got to the food, you opened a window, to let some fresh air in. What you didn't predict was, that the fresh air was cold. So, you took your lunch and grape juice, sat in the armchair, curled your legs under you and pulled a t-shirt over them.

It took you good five minutes before you actually took a first bite, and even longer to take the second one... But you kept at it, slowly but surely eating the lunch that Beau prepared for you. And you were sure that he made it because you knew canteen menu well enough to know that they didn't have sushi. If you weren't so cut from reality, you would be wondering what all that meant, but at this specific moment you could find the energy only for slowly eating. And with every bite it was easier to take and swallow the next one. It wasn't a big portion, and yet you still weren't able to eat more than half.

And this time you didn't go straight back to sleep after eating... Instead, you grabbed the journal and continued reading where you left off yesterday.

That's how vice-admiral Simpson found you... Curled up in his chair, completely hidden in a tent made from your dad's t-shirt, so even your toes weren't visible, with a very old journal in your hands. One look at the desk told him that you did your best to follow his request, and then was that feeling again... The one that demanded that he tell you how proud and happy he was, but he squashed it before it grew any bigger.

- I brought you some towels, a toothbrush and a change of clothes. You don't have to do anything, they will just be here, in case you'd want them... - he placed the small bundle on the edge of the desk. He also brought with him a thermal mug full of tea. "I'm sorry I can't stay..." he wanted to apologize while holding you closely in his arms and showering you with gentle kisses all over your neck and chest. Instead, he just put a yeti mug on the desk close to you, and was gone before you even managed to thank him.

For a few more minutes you tried to focus on your father's handwriting, but your eyes kept wondering to the bundle he left for you. You didn't have to, he said it himself... But you were curious enough to stand up from the armchair and take a closer look. Towel was nothing special... Well, at the first glance. Another thing that might have looked like it was military issued but wasn't. The one you were currently holding in your hands was much, much bigger, and softer than the ones issued in the common area. Inside the towel there was a plain white t-shirt, soft grey shorts, plain black underwear and... fluffy dark-green socks. To say that you were surprised would be an understatement. Not only underwear was in your size, but you couldn't help but wonder where he got the socks from. You gently run your fingers through the soft material, and you couldn't help but smile.

Now you definitely had to take that shower.

You correctly assumed that the second door indeed led to a very tiny bathroom. You took your clothes off, folded them neatly and stepped into the shower. Both the water pressure and the temperature were perfect, and you spent much more time in the bathroom than you initially planned. It was spruce, not pine... you realized when you saw the shampoo on the small shelf. He was using a natural, spruce scented shampoo... And now you will smell like him...

You dried yourself with a towel and put on the clothes he gave you. Both shorts and t-shirt were too big for you, but you honestly didn't mind. You did your best to dry your hair, but they were still very damp when you left the bathroom. You hang the towel on the radiator, so it would dry faster, and finally put on the fluffy socks. It was such a small thing, and yet it brought you so much joy. Not only they were extremely soft, but they were also in your favorite color. You settled back in the armchair and looked first at the journal and then at the unfinished roll... You sighed heavily and reached for the latter.

It took you more time than taking a shower to finish your lunch, but you finally did, after which you got up again to wash your teeth. You noticed that he gave you the same toothbrush as the one that was in the cup on the sink, and since you didn't want them to mix up, you just placed yours on shelf next to the mirror, which you avoided more than a plague.

All that food and hot temperature started to knock you out and you climbed back to bed, hid under the covers and almost immediately dozed off.

When Cyclone came back to his temporary quarters, he felt that nagging feeling again... You not only ate everything he left for you, but also found enough energy to take a shower, which he knew must have been huge, ever since you stopped running on that harmful autopilot and had to actually think about what you were doing. He took one look at you and the warmth spilled inside his chest... You were laying in his bed, wearing his clothes, smelling like him... He couldn't help that feeling of possessiveness that crept in and demanded that he marks you in so many more ways, but he squashed it again. Now was not the time... And he was better than his basic instincts.

So instead, he went to the bathroom and took a quick cold shower. He noticed with a soft smile that you kept your toothbrush separated from his; he should have thought about it earlier and bring you one that didn't look like his, but still... A very small thing, yet it left a mark that you were there.

You didn't wake up to the quiet hum of the water, or when he took a fresh set of clothes from the wardrobe to wear to bed. And before he climbed up to the top bunk, he took one look at you, only now noticing that you were shivering. He quickly closed the window and put the duvet over you. He wanted to kiss your forehead so badly... but he didn't, settling on tucking your hair behind your ear, so he could see your face better. You looked... a bit more like you today, than you did yesterday.

He sighed softly and finally climbed in the top bed.

You knew that something was wrong before you even woke up. Your heart was pounding, your hands and legs were shaking, your cheeks were completely soaked with silent tears, and when you finally woke up, you couldn't catch your breath. You tried to stay as quiet as you could, while attempting to take gasp after gasp of air, but your lungs just weren't cooperating. You knew what it was, you knew how to deal with it in theory. Yet when it came to actually calming down... You were desperate...

You got out of your bed and as gently as you could, put your cold fingers on Beau's shoulder, which jolted him awake. And when he saw in what state you were in, you didn't even register how he got down; you just felt his arms pulling you to his chest and surrounding you from every angle. His embrace was strong enough to ground you in reality, and his scent only amplified that. You were openly sobbing into his shirt, not really caring about the potential consequences. You didn't register when exactly he sat on the lover bunk, and pulled you with him, letting you curl up in his lap, with his arms still tightly wrapped around you. He pressed his cheek you your forehead and was whispering something you didn't understand in your current state, but his voice alone was enough to pulled you out of that spiral and try to match his breathing, even if that hurt your lungs in the short term. You knew from experience that it was the best option to pull you out of that self-loathing spiral. He realized what you were trying to do and started breathing a bit quicker so it would be easier for you to match that tempo, and only after you did that, he slowed down again...

Only now you started to process what he was saying to you... How well you were doing, what a good girl you were, how brave you were, how he was proud that you started to calm down... You weren't even sure if he realized what he was saying, because as soon as you went stiff in his arms, he immediately stopped, as if it hit him too.

The rational part of your brain was screaming at you that it wasn't normal and that you should get out, but everything else was telling you to stay near him at all costs. You weren't sure if you were getting addicted to him or what any of it meant... You just knew you felt safe, and for now... That was more than you could have said about your own home. At this specific moment, you didn't give a shit if he was using you, or if you were using him, because it just felt so good... not to feel numb.

- I'm sorry... - you mumbled against his skin, still clinging to his shirt with one hand, as if you were afraid that if you let go, all of this would disappear, and you would be alone again.

- Shhhhh... It's ok, it's ok... - he started to gently rub your back and pulled you even closer, which you thought was impossible... - What do you need, babygirl…? - a pet name left his mouth before he even realized that it started forming on his tongue, and when it reached your ears, it was already too late. For both of you...

- Just... Don't leave... Please... - you finally whispered, and he could swear you would be able to hear his heart break for you... You needed so much more than he felt he was able to give you and it broke him, but heavens and hells be damned, if he didn't at least try.

- I'm here, I'm not going anywhere... - he whispered against the top of your head. - Just let it all go, I'm here to catch you... - he said and that was enough for you to start sobbing again, but this time not because of the panic attack...

After two months of suppressing everything you possibly could, you finally felt safe enough to actually let some of those things go. It was stupid and small, but you were slowly accepting one small thing after another... You will never get a message from your dad wishing you a good day. You will never wave him goodbye from your childhood bedroom when he'd be leaving to DC or somewhere else... You will never clean up after his botched breakfast... You will never sneak into his workshop to scare him. Never fight with him about your non-existing parking skills. Never watch him start a fire in the fireplace. Never get a handwritten letter from him on your birthday. Never bicker with him about the correct way to store chopped wood. Never sing another Christmas song with him...

So many small things that clumped together into one giant monstrosity that consumed every aspect of your life, and letting it go in one move was simply impossible. So, you slowly chipped away one thing after another, spent a short moment holding it close to your heart for the last time and finally let it go...

You couldn't stop crying, but a moment came when you run out of tears, so you ended up quietly sobbing into Beau's shirt, clinging to him, as if he was the last thing on Earth.

And he didn't lie... He was there to catch you when you were falling. Every time you started sobbing harder, he gently soothed your back, started whispering sweet nothings straight into your ear, and what was most important, he didn't let you go, not even for a second.

Both of you were lost in time, holding each other to give and receive comfort you both so desperately needed, just for entirely different reasons.

It took him a moment to realize that you passed out from exhaustion, because after a while, you started to sob without making any sounds, only shaking against him from time to time... He dried your wet cheeks with his thumb and just looked at you for a long moment. The sun was getting ready to raise up again and started creeping into the room but wasn't reaching the bed just yet. He no longer gave a fuck about what was proper and what was not... Not when you broke in his arms, and he couldn't do anything more than just not let you go... He laid you down and he couldn't believe how peaceful you looked after what just happened.

Before he joined you, he lowered the blinds and shot a quick message to Solomon, so he'd be able to keep his promise to you. It was dangerously easy for him to slip into bed next to you and find the perfect position to wrap you in his arms and pull you as close to him as humanly possible. In your sleep you grabbed the front of his shirt and tightened your fingers around it, and he didn't mind that in the slightest. He rested his face in your hair and was content with just being surrounded with your scent, which was dangerously close to his own now. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head and felt your fingers relaxing a bit, but he didn't do that again, afraid of what he could do if he'd start moving that line further and further away.

He wasn't able to fall asleep for the longest time, because he was afraid that you might wake up in the middle of another breakdown, so he just laid there with his eyes closed, listening to your breathing mixed with familiar sounds of a military base waking up... Somehow this tiny room became its own microcosm in the last 24 hours, and it felt like it was disconnected from anything else, despite being so close to, well... everything. He could hear the laughter of young pilots, running water somewhere far away, people complaining about the breakfast. And yet, all of that felt at least few universes away, when you were in his arms. But finally, this part of the base became quiet with everyone getting to their duties, and only now he was able to doze off...

Part 2

A/N 2: Please don't feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. But I would really appreciated if you commented :) Love, G.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #TW: ED #TW: Panic Attack #TW: grieving #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #beau simpson x reader #Cyclone x reader #Beau Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson x reader #Cyclone fanfiction #🖤#📏

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scintillyyy · 3 months

Note

jack for ask game please xD

whew, okay, last one <3

Headcanon A: realistic

jack regained most of his mobility following the poisoning in haiti, but he still has lingering effects. his hands have a tendency to tremble. when the weather gets cold, he gets stiff and his nerve pain acts up. he has some balance issues. he probably should use the cane more than he does, but it makes him feel like an old man, and just reminds him of everything that happened that he wants to not think about--he just hangs on to dana for balance, instead. he starts keeping a cane in his car again after he finds out tim is robin and he starts getting therapy, he also finally starts working through some of the things like his wife's death that he has been avoiding thinking about for the past few years, and getting through some of that makes the idea of needing a little help a bit easier for him.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

he's not a trekkie or anything, but star trek was his favorite show as a kid. he loved the adventure/exploration aspect of it. his favorite movie was the swiss family robinson. as he grew up, he moved onto other interests like football, but he always had a fondness for scifi and adventure stories. if he had shared any of this with tim, they might've actually found they had more in common than they thought. but jack tended to want to try and bond with tim how his dad bonded with him: fishing. and thus set the stage for a father-son pair that was so close and yet so far.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

jack was hit by his own dad growing up. and he loved his dad, always insisted that his dad was just a hard man. but he also swore he would never treat his own child the way he was treated. and he did do much better, it just wasn't enough. jack was unable to see the ways in which he failed his son because they were different than the ways he was failed by his own dad.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

the reason he fell in love with dana is because dana made him feel safe. after two kidnappings, one of them from his own home, he was deeply afraid and traumatized. when dana came along, and cared for him, and listened to him--really listened to him--and he was able to finally confide in someone about his fears and insecurities after everything he went though, he couldn't help but fall in love with her. why wouldn't he? she took care of him. and nothing bad happened to him while he was in her care.

#scintilly ask tag #lafoget #tw abuse mention

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drivinmeinsane · 3 months

Note

Henry: 35, 26[Luke]

Julian: 16, 18, 30, 37 & 50

Seb: 18, 20, 29, 37, 28[Henry]

K: 31, 48

I hope it's not too many.

Thank you for sending an ask! Apologies for it taking me a couple days to respond!

Responses are under the cut. Please be advised that there is mention of some heavy topics due to the nature of God Only Forgives.

Henry

26. What Henry would do if stuck in an elevator with Luke Glanton (The Place Beyond the Pines).

I can see them getting into a discussion about tattooing and art styles. Henry would definitely be interested in Luke's tattoos.

35. Their idea of a perfect day.

If he could turn time back, he really would just like to spend a day with his parents again. He would value it so much more than he had before the accident.

Julian

16. Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves.

That he maybe he did deserve a normal life. Maybe he did deserve to have a mother that loved him and kept both of her kids safe. Maybe he did deserve to have a brother that didn’t become an abuser himself. Maybe he could even be loved after everything that’s happened to him and that he’s been pressured to do.

18. What they’d go to see a therapist about.

Everything. That man needs SO much cognitive behavioral therapy. Someone who specializes in childhood trauma is a must.

30. Sleeping habits.

He rarely sleeps. He’ll stay awake until he passes out from exhaustion in a chair, on a couch, anywhere but a bed. There are too many bad memories associated with laying on a mattress.

37. What they really think about themselves.

He thinks that he is a coward, that he’s a broken shell of a man. Julian has no hope for himself.

50. A memory they’ve blocked out.

I can imagine that Julian has repressed most of his childhood. Who wouldn’t? At a minimum, his mom was sexually abusing both him and his brother.

Sebastian

18. What they’d go to see a therapist about.

If he were to see a therapist, I think the sessions would largely end up dealing with how he handles interpersonal relationships and the view he has of himself. The sense that I got of him from the movie is that he is afraid of failure both in his career and in his relationships and is prone of molding himself into what other people want at the cost of himself.

20. Scars.

He’s got the usual scars from living. There’s the small, barely significant traces of childhood mishaps on a bicycle on his legs and elbows. On his hands are the shiny burns and finger cuts from time spent in the kitchen.

28. How Sebastian feels about Henry Letham (Stay).

I think that Seb would respect Henry as a fellow artist. They’re both struggling in their own ways.

29. Eating habits.

I think that Seb often forgets to eat. He gets so lost in music that his physical needs fall to the wayside. By the time his fingers go still on the keys of his piano, or the last record finally spins out, hours have gone by and he’s suddenly, acutely aware of his hunger and thirst for something other than jazz.

37. What they really think about themselves.

Sebastian is not as confident as he projects himself as being. I can see him viewing himself as an interloper at times.

31. If they had a tumblr what would it look like?

In my heart, K would be mostly a photography reblogger. He would primarily focus on nature and animal photography. He might reblog the occasional bit of poetry as well. It would all be a carefully curated collection of content that made him feel something.

48. Scariest moment of their life.

The day of his inception. Being deposited as a fully formed adult out of a plastic bag would have been terrifying. He knew nothing of the world and yet he was already held in contempt.

#.character ask game #.from you #stay (2005)#henry letham #only god forgives (2013)#julian thompson #la la land (2016)#sebastian wilder #blade runner 2049 #officer k #.my thoughts #.my posts

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lightning-writes · 7 months

Text

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 16/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: …until he’s not alone (alternatively - rue had other intentions)

word count: 2452

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: part 2 of bucky's thanksgiving is very spicy :)

AO3 MASTERLIST X

(When was the last time Bucky was nervous about seeing a girl?

Maybe, it was the first time he’d kissed a girl, at fifteen. Or maybe it was the first time he went on a date with a girl, Katherine Brown. Or maybe, it was the first time he’d snuck out of his house to see a girl at her house, at seventeen; he’d climbed the tree by her house, to her window, and nearly fell when the porch light came on.

Actually, it might have been the time he had sex for the first time, the night before he was deployed, with Dottie Clark. He was twenty, and all he could think was he needed to do this, to be a man, before he proved himself a man in the war.)

He knocks on the door, and in the moments it takes her to answer, he wonders what the hell he’s doing here. Does she expect something from him? Is something going on with her? Flashes of her tearful face fill his memory.

(Is this some sort of unusual trap? his brain screams. Is she revealing her villainous intentions?)

The door opens. Rue’s hair is down, thick waves over her shoulders, and she’s still in that green dress. Close now, he sees its velvet with a deep neckline. He sees the tattoo of crossed knives and a curling design disappearing beneath her breasts.

(He sees gooseflesh ripple over her skin as the cold from outside comes in.)

His eyes quickly zip back to hers. She noticed him noticing her. He passes a nervous hand through his hair.

“Hey.” She leans her head against the door and offers a lazy smile. “Glad you could make it.”

He studies her. He can’t tell if her smudged makeup and red eyes are from tiredness or tears. “Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier.”

“Better late than never.” She moves aside, stretching an arm to invite him in. “I like this better.”

(The alarm bells in his head won’t let him admit it, but he likes it better too.)

Bucky walks in and surveys the open concept of kitchen, dining room, and living room. There’s a big Christmas tree, not yet dressed, in the space between dining and living room. There are still plates and food in the dining room and kitchen. The light is warm and low, candles burning on the table.

“My roommate is staying at her boyfriend’s place,” she tiptoes to get some wine glasses. Her dress rides up. He sees the word ADORE on the back of her right thigh. “So, I’m on clean up duty.”

“I could help,” Bucky offers, clearing his throat after a beat.

“You’re sweet.” She pulls the stopper from the already open red wine bottle easily, pouring it into a glass. “Do you want some wine? I have stronger stuff, too.”

“I’ll pass for now.”

(He can’t tell if it’s because he hasn’t seen her drunk before, but his intuition says something is wrong. He doesn’t ask her yet, though, afraid it might trip a wire in her.)

“Okay.” She takes a deep drink from her glass. She starts bringing plates into the kitchen with her free hand. At this rate, she’ll be here all night. He starts to help. “Oh, are you hungry?” she asks, “We have tons of leftovers.”

“I’m good for now,” he sticks with this line.

“But I made pumpkin pie.” She pouts a cute pout. She must know how cute it is. “Please, have some.”

He relents, “I’ll have a slice.”

She grins and puts her glass down to serve a slice. “How was your Thanksgiving, what did you do?”

(Panic flares up his throat when his mind flashes to Evie. His brain short-circuits when he watches her spray whipped cream in her mouth after spraying some of his pie.)

He lies, saying he went to George’s. She moves around the kitchen, a little wobbly, a little sloppy, cleaning up as he talks and eats pie, leaning against the counter. She asks about the gym, about George; she also asks about Sam, if they ever reconciled.

(When she bends to load the dishwasher, he notes the curve of her ass and the nakedness down the front of her dress. He keeps averting his eyes despite his nature to stare.)

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she suddenly asks. She’s nearly done clearing the table and counters.

Bucky braces himself for the worst. Questions about being the Winter Soldier, about Hydra, about his missions, about his brainwashing. About his sessions with Raynor, about his friendship with Steve or Sam. His brain even, briefly, considers this question a play for her to reveal she is a secret agent.

“Okay.”

“Did you disappear, five years ago?” She hops up onto a counter, a little taller than him. “Like… dusted?”

“Was I snapped?” He repeats it because this is the funniest question he would have never imagined her asking. She nods, eyeing him curiously. “Yeah… yeah, I was.”

“What was that like?”

(To the untrained eye, her expression looks open and curious. But Bucky can see how curated it is, the mask of interest when she has a different motive, a different feeling about this question. He wants to pull that cord, but what if it detonates something?)

“It was like… nothing,” he answers honestly, “one minute I’m there, one minute I’m crumbling away. And when I came back, I knew there was something going on because I was ready to fight.”

“I wonder if it was like that for everyone.” She goes for her wine glass and realizes it’s empty. Her eyes wander to the counter behind him, to the bottle, but he pretends not to notice. “Maeve was dusted,” she says into the empty glass.

“I know, you told me.”

“Right… she never told me what it was like, when she was gone. She just told me she was glad to be back.” When Bucky doesn’t speak, she says, “I proposed to her the day she got back, you know.”

His brows raise. “Really?”

She nods, “If it wasn’t for Vick, I would have married her that weekend.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, putting his plate in the dishwasher, next to her swinging legs. She has a tattoo of a dragonfly on her shin closest to him. He looks up at her, but her gaze is miles away.

“She showed up tonight.” Her voice is low.

“I thought she was MIA.”

Rue’s eyes fill with tears, but anger sets her jaw. “Yeah, well, she interrupted dinner, and even though everyone basically told her she’s not welcome here, she insisted on talking to me.”

“What did she say?”

(He knows Rue spoke to Maeve. He knows because he would have done the same. It would have been less about the conversation and more about wanting to press a thumb into the bruise that is heartbreak. Bucky thinks he and Rue are more alike than what meets the eye.)

Tears streak her face, but her voice doesn’t break, “She’s engaged.”

The final blow of the story propels her to her feet, and she pours the last of the wine into her glass. He hadn’t noticed how much she’d been drinking.

“I think… I’ll have that stronger stuff now,” Bucky says after a beat. This makes her laugh, wine to her mouth, a wet hysterical laugh turning into a drowned cry.

Bucky crowds her slumped frame. She’s not short, but in this state, she’s so small. She heaves a deep cry, painful sounds coming out of her, and Bucky carefully hugs her. He’s had to comfort people before, but not like this. Not inconsolable sobs that didn’t have an answer his wit or fists couldn’t handle. She slowly melts into his chest, her head pushed under his chin, her cries shaking her body. But he remains solid.

(Anger plumes like a smoke bomb in his chest. Maeve is something evil, to know Rue and to hurt her like this. Though they haven’t known each other long, he knows Rue hides behind the guise of naivety, and he knows she’s built of stronger stuff. To see Rue like this, he knows Maeve is a true villain. He holds Rue tighter, a sudden realization that he wants to protect her at all costs, against any threat, physical or emotional.)

“Ugh, I’m sorry.” She rips herself from him, stumbling back to the other counter. Her frenzied hands wipe her flooded face. “I keep dumping this nonsense on you, and god, the crying–”

“Stop.” Her eyes snap to his, and he takes her shoulders. Her eyes are still watery, but she seems to melt under his gaze. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Bucky…” her forehead slams into his chest.

“You don’t.” His tone is firm. “Now, can I ask you a personal question?”

She peeks up at him through a squinted eye.

“I guess it’s only fair.”

“How many tattoos do you have?”

She laughs, her confused eyes searching his expression for something, but he can’t pick up what.

“Maybe twenty something? Mostly small ones. And that excludes these guys,” she holds up her hands to show the dots and little doodles decorating her knuckles. Then, she covers her face. “Do you want to see an embarrassing one?”

“When you put it like that…”

She turns her back to him, unzipping her dress. His face heats, but when she stops half way and the dress falls from her shoulders, he nearly laughs. At the base of her neck is a small pair of angel wings; to the right, she has flowers flowing from her back onto her shoulder, and on the left, there’s a large blue outline of the Avenger’s ‘A’ emblem.

The blue pops against her tan skin. But then, he sees it. The scar running through one of the legs of the ‘A’. It’s raised and crude, a little darker than her skin. Without thinking, he traces it with a finger, feeling the imperfection of it.

(She shivers. He doesn’t shrink back.)

“I got it after the alien attack, back in 2012.” She tries to rezip the dress on her own; Bucky helps her gently. “I was about to get crushed by a falling building, but then, your buddy,” she turns to give him a meaningful look, “had pushed me out of the way. He’d used the shield to keep us from getting hurt. I mean, my back obviously had been hit by some debris, but…” she shrugs. “He saved me.”

After a beat, Bucky says flatly, “So… you’re, like, a super fan.”

(She laughs, and he really likes it.)

////

“I… I don’t want to be alone,” she had said. “Please stay?”

He agrees.

She gets him a drink of bourbon Victoria’s boyfriend leaves for himself. She turns off the overhead light in the dining room, plunging the whole space into darkness, aside from the candles on the table. She moves around him in the dark, despite her drunkenness, maneuvering to switch a few lamps on in the living room. She tells him to wait there before disappearing into her room.

He takes off his jacket, resting it on the back of one of the dining chairs, and sits on the couch, getting comfortable. He fiddles with his knife, the one usually in his boot, while he sips the bourbon. It’s good.

She returns, wearing an oversized shirt and a fluffy robe. She stands in the space between his splayed knees. He’s got an arm around the back of the couch, so he has to look up at her.

“Can I tell you something?”

Her face is void of makeup or expression. He’s curious.

“Sure.”

“This was supposed to be a booty call.”

(His eyes land on her thick bare thigh, a fresh and complicated tattoo design disappearing under the hem. He registers that she isn’t wearing anything beneath the shirt by the barbell piercings through her nipples.)

“Yeah, I could see that,” he says evenly, gaze drifting back up to hers.

She shifts her weight to one hip, making the shirt lift on one side. He keeps his eyes on her half-lidden ones.

“But that wouldn’t be fair,” she says.

(He sees she’s nervous. Maybe not nervous, just on edge. Anticipating.)

“To you.”

“To me?” he echoes in shock. He raises an amused brow. He moves his knee to touch hers. She doesn’t move. “How isn’t it fair to me, Ruby?”

Her nostrils flare at her full name, but it's a sharp breath she takes.

“You deserve better than to be used,” she says matter-of-factly.

(He’s not sure why, but that spears him through the heart.)

“Same to you,” he returns. “You also drank almost a whole bottle of wine.”

“You could have helped.”

“I don’t think anything was stopping you,” he says, lapsing into a chuckle. “Not even a super soldier.”

His eyes stay on hers, and he takes another drink from his glass.

(Maybe he’s anticipating too.)

“I just don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

He leans forward, and he sees her tense. He uses the hilt of the knife to lift the hem of her shirt. He also notes how gooseflesh travels up her hip.

“It’s a tarot card, Death,” she breathes, like any sudden movement might startle him. From stopping. “It means–”

“Ending a cycle, new beginnings, change.” He anchors his metal hand against her thigh, tracing the skull design with his thumb. He hears her swallow. “It’s new.”

“Yeah.”

He looks up at her as he pulls away from her. Her gaze is thick and sharp. The city and the world outside of the apartment fades as he focuses on her haloed in warm light.

(Her lips are still stained from the wine. They look like she’d been in a hot-and-heavy kissing session, and it makes him hard thinking about it.)

“I’m following your lead here,” his voice is low.

“That’s not fair.”

He smirks, knowing it’s his advantage. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Okay.”

When he leans back as she moves, he’s anticipating her to settle onto his lap. Instead, she sits next to him and grabs the remote. She turns it on without looking at him, and he can’t help but smile while tucking his knife back into its holster concealed by his boot.

“Hey, wait, I like that show,” he points. She goes back to the channel she’s passed.

“You’re a Trekkie?”

“It was one of the few shows in Russian,” he says, “in the 70’s.”

He raises his arm and looks at her expectantly. She studies him for a moment, and he wonders what’s passing through her mind. He wonders if she’s fighting the same thing he is. Finally, she yields, tucking herself into his side.

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trrickytickle · 1 year

Text

Therapy Dog

(great art by @//akkasute on Instagram)

Fandom: Puss in Boots: The Last Wish ☠️

A/N: I remember when I said I’d do some tickle art for this movie- I wanted to, couldn’t find the time, but I got an idea for a fic after seeing lots of pics of Perrito and Death’s friendship in the film! Speaking of 2022 blockbusters, I wanna do something with the new Avatar movie lol, so anyways- onto fic :D

Pairing: Perrito + Death, friendship, lee!Perrito, ler!Death

Death itself was the only force that could make fearless hero Puss in Boots’ whiskers fray, its eerie whistle howling whenever the red eyes met his. This force had a non-metaphorical or rhetorical, honest to goodness face, and while it wasn’t ugly, it was unsightly to behold.

But right now, two beady eyes dared to look directly in the face of death, straight-up asking to be at the mercy of its claws.

“...Que?”

“Rub my belly! Come on! Pleaaase? Pretty-pretty please?”

Perrito, the tiny dog wormed his gut out of the sock-sweater he wore, staring beckoningly. Rolling around to give an extra-cute effect, the scar and gurgling noises coming from it weren’t helping at all.

“I’ve asked Puss- and-and Kitty, but they all refused- and like, I said to them that it’s PRACTICE for being a therapy dog-”

Death scoffed. “..La Muerte doesn’t need therapy.”

“But isn’t death.. sad?” Perrito beckoned.

“Do I look like I’m crying right now, perro?”

“No, no, let me explain!” the dog got back on his hind legs, pacing around Death almost like he orbited him, “Don’t you see people’s families grieve...”

“All the time. Listen, nino, it means they’ve lived a good life-”

“People being murdered..”

“Now, now, perro..”

“One day, you could just take one of us- Team Friendship-” -Perrito gestured, pawing at the air and jumping around- “when we haven’t lived to the fullest and just- SNATCH!- the life out of-” At that, Death interfered, using his paw to signal him to sit down.

“Okay.” He growled.

“Wh- what?” Perrito lit up. His pupils enlarged, tounge out- almost panting.

“Okay.” Death repeated. “I’ll rub your belly.”

“I know! I just wanted to hear you say it again! I’m so EXCITED!” Perrito barked, flipping himself over as if to get ready. Death flinched. Did he have worms or something? Alright, let’s get this over with. he thought, reaching his claw over to prod at Perrito’s gut as lightly as possible. No panting. No leg-kicking. No nothing that would indicate a dog in a state of pure ecstacy. Not that he would know, of course. There were, instead, tittering and slight giggles. Not the usual. Death stilled its spindle-like fingers, afraid to take someone he didn’t intend to away. Instead, Perrito whined in impatience.

“Keep going, keep going!” he beckoned. Death, resigned, did just that. In all his humiliation, he couldn’t admit he felt a warmth in his cold embrace. Speeding it up, he gently placed two more claws onto Perrito’s belly, scritch-scratching it in a circular motion. With that the giggling grew louder and louder, erupting into full-scale belly laughter.

“Kk-HA-hahaha-HA! Dehehe- DEATH! DEATH! Thaha- that tickles! Hahaha-HA!” Now there was that leg kicking. The puppy writhed around, shaking as if spilling the mirth he had inside out all over the place. Death scowled in response, as per the usual. Despite saying nothing, he kept on going while Perrito was attempting to keep still to no avail. He kept rolling around and kicking his leg like he was scratching invisible fleas.

“Keep still, perro.” Death broke his silence, leaving Perrito in that play-bow position he first laid in.The gentle scratches were practically about as effective as a sickle scar to the chest, and secretly he was relishing in it. Stifling a Cheshire cat grin, he moved his claws up and down, slyly yet slightly experimenting with different techniques.

“Ha-hahahaha-haha- HA! Yehe- YEAH, Deahath! Let ahall those emohohotions out!” The encouragement made Death feel like Perrito was almost egging him on. But the concept itself shrugged that inferior concept off, going in straight for the kill out of pure cuteness-aggression.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve got LOTS to work on.. And we’re just getting started, perro..” Death whispered in a strangely teasing and cooing tone, one he had never used in the past.

“Let’s sta-haha-hart with your- AHAHAHA-HAHA-AHAHANGER ISSUES!” With his long snout, he nuzzled Perrito’s stomach feverously, tickling him with the coldness of his nose and fluff of his muzzle. Even when he was close to the sharp teeth of death itself, Perrito laughed. He was laughing in the face of death, sparkling with life.

“Yes..?” Death smirked, halting his attack.

“Well- well, aha, you tend to let it all out on the people you take, and that includes Puss, and...” Perrito prattled, gesturing with his forelegs.

“And...” Death continued. “I’ll huff- and I’ll puff- and I’ll blow the house down!” He blew a raspberry- the best one he could do with his pointed snout.

“GK-HAHAHA-HAHA-HA!!” Perrito cackled, kicking both his hind legs frantically. Death halted, leaving the little dog a breather. “*pant* *pant* *pant* Ya know, Death, that was a workout! We should have another session sometime! Really work on telling me those feelings rather than whatever magic you were working over there with your nose- Hey, thanks for rubbing my belly, by the way! You look happier already!” he rambled at a breakneck pace, following Death’s trailing charcoal cloak. And he smiled. Smiled back. Not a “let’s never speak of this”, not a frown, not nothing. As a reverberating whistle whisked by, there was an echo of a sentence.

“You’re gonna be one hell of a therapy dog.”

#tickling #tickle community #tickle fic #t-word #tfb community #tickle #lee #tword #ler #it bugs me that my keyboard can't spanish

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ralphlanyon · 2 months

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TC tag game

Tagged by @spudodell!

Rules: Answer the questions and tag other TC fans!

1. "He would not fucking say that" only they did and it's canon. When/who?

Not that they're necessarily out of character, but whenever Renault is clearly projecting her own internalized misogyny onto the characters (e.g. Laurie calling Nurse Adrian a "silly little dumbbell" at one point or the narrative voice commenting on Aunt Olive's lack of makeup), I am like

(Granted, her other contemporary novels that actually feature female protagonists are even worse about this… 🫠)

2. Did they kiss in the study? Yes/no + why you are 100% correct about this.

Yes, absolutely! I previously wrote this meta about why I think so here. But here are a few more reasons:

"Over and over, during those first months, Laurie had relived the scene in the study, guarding it with fierce secrecy as a savage guards a magic word." It would be quite odd for Laurie to constantly relive that last meeting with Ralph and guard it with "fierce secrecy," if Ralph had done nothing more than chastise him, give him an old book, and turn him out of his study. So something intimate must have happened there that Laurie still obsessively thinks about.

The infamous ellipsis after "Come here a moment" was deliberately added to the 1959 edition (one of the only additions Renault makes, rather than subtractions), which I think is probably to help clarify the significance of that pause.

Laurie's proprietary behavior towards Ralph at the party, especially him staking claim of Ralph in front of Bim (and frankly a lot of about Laurie's behavior towards Ralph in general), makes a lot more sense if they had a "moment" together in the past and both of them never got over it or each other. It would help explain why Laurie instinctively feels he does have a claim over Ralph (as the Odysseus to Ralph's Penelope, to use Bim's analogy), as well as why Ralph continues to carry a torch for him after seven years and countless other relationships.

3. Mandatory question about Ralph's alleged tattoos.

To be honest I don't think he has any tattoos yet (or at least any in areas that would be normally exposed to the public), or else Laurie would have commented on them like he comments on just about everything else about Ralph's appearance. I could see him getting some in the future though, maybe some nautical-themed ones and probably at least one related to Laurie because he's sentimental like that.

4. 53 vs 59 edition: quote a line or paragraph that is better in the edition you like the least.

I generally prefer reading the '53 edition mainly for the extra bits, but there are several stylistic writing choices I do prefer in the '59 edition. One of them is Ralph telling Laurie, "I didn't think you had that much bitchery in you." He says "cattiness" in the '53 edition, but Laurie is very bitchy (and Ralph likes that about him!).

5. Which TC character would feel right at home here on tumblr dot com?

Bim or Sandy! They would be bringing the tea. ☕️

6. Tag yourself at Alec's birthday party.

Probably part of the couple holding hands in dead silence, lol.

7. Post a TC meme.

I have a lot of memes in my TC tag, but here's one I made a while ago:

8. Easy to talk about who deserved better. Who deserved worse?

Dave because he bores me (the worst thing a literary character can do). Also Ralph's parents and Jeepers.

9. You can break the fourth wall (at any point in the novel) and say a single sentence to our protagonist, Laurie Odell. What do you say?

"You are intensely afraid of abandonment which is why you keep trying to leave people before they can leave you. (Please go to therapy.)"

10. What's a question you have about TC? One you haven't found an answer for yet.

What do Laurie and Ralph do for their post-war careers? There have been several excellent ideas in post-canon fics, but I haven’t quite settled on my own headcanon for them.

Tagging: not sure who hasn’t been tagged yet, but feel free to nab if you see this!

#the charioteer

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an-aroaces-harem · 8 months

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Since I was asked to elaborate on my Ellis brainrot, I tried to write something little. And I remembered why I'm bad at drabbles. It got longer than intended and it's by no way perfect or finished, I'll probably write a continuation one day.

He smiled at her. "If that makes you happy, of course."

In her opinion, every person had their own wavelength and depending on these wavelengths, people either got along or not. Her own wavelength was so weird that it had just a few compatible wavelengths. Not that she cared. Social interactions were hard, conversing with more than one person at once was impossible.

Yet, sometimes she couldn't stop herself from quipping into conversations, so she had to constantly tell herself 'just ignore them, it has nothing to do with you, just do your work'. Still, she managed to get on bad terms with most of her coworkers. It was her fault because she had untreated problems and would just lash them at her coworkers at any given moment.

So of course, one of her coworkers completely fucked up and no matter what they did or say, she would judge them. Bearing grudges was just so easy, you know? Would it better to seek therapy? But what would be left of her if she stopped judging everyone? She always felt empty inside, so talking down other people in her mind felt good.

Lucky for her, she was one of the best so her boss had no reason to throw her out. As long she could do work that required no teamwork and didn't have to deal with clients, she was fine, just sewing away curtains or whatever the clients ordered.

Their workshop was rather small, so they had a limited amount of sewing machines. She needed her order and had a hard time sharing, especially with people she couldn't stand, so as long as they remained exactly this number of workers, she didn't have to share.

Well, and then he joined. Of course, her boss told her that the moment had come where she had to share her sewing machine. It took all her best to surpress the incoming panic attack and well, five black teas with an unhealthy amount of sugar.

She was afraid; feeling only at ease when she went to her workplace in the morning and knew she had a place to sit down and work at. Especially after she saw him for the first time. He was so tall that her already small frame looked even smaller.

And yet, after he looked at her for a few seconds, he asked, "Are you unhappy sharing a sewing machine with me?"

That was a question she didn't expect. All others always told her she should stop acting like she was special, she should simply behave normally. The world wouldn't bend to her will.

She blinked at him. "What?"

"I don't want to make you unhappy, so I'll ask the boss to find another solution," he elaborated.

Her mind was in jumbles. Not only did his question surprise her, it also let some of her memories resurface. Memories of her mother.

Her mother who always claimed that she just wanted the best for her daughter. Sadly, her mother lived in an illusion. Her mother only cared as long as she felt she was doing the right thing and if her views didn't align with her daughter, it was always "Don't be like that. Didn't I do everything for you?"

Her mother wanted her to be happy but only as long as their happiness aligned. Him talking about happiness made her wary. She didn't need another person like her mother in her life.

"So, you really mean it? You mean my happiness and not your view of what my happiness should be like?"

"Yes, of course. Your happiness comes from you, not anyone else."

The thing was, it took her a long time to get away from her mother. She had been under her influence for so long that she didn't mind overcaring people per se. She wanted to be cared for, just not from liars.

In the end, she gave a hesitant nod. "Please don't disrupt my order. If something's in the way, you can put it away as long as it's back to its original place."

He smiled at her. "If that makes you happy, of course."

So, she showed him their now shared sewing machine. Even though she was rather small, she sat on the highest sewing machine, so he shouldn't have a problem with his height.

And then she realized that she didn't even know his name.

"Oh, I'm Ellis. Ellis Twilight."

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikemen villains ellis #ellis twilight #my writing #just a snippet tho #resa's rambling

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sl-newsie · 3 months

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Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 4: Test Subject

“I’ve come to collect you for individual counseling.” Crane goes to grab my arm and I flinch away to stand in a fighting stance. “Very well, no armed escort is necessary as long as you play nice. You’re capable of walking cooperatively, right?”

I ignore his jeering tone and wave goodbye to Ivy and Nigma before walking down through another hallway. This one’s lit up better than the others and is much less noisy.

“You know where you’re going, Prentiss,” Crane observes from behind. “Care to explain why? You’ve never been inside Arkham before.”

“I may or may not have memorized the blueprints.”

Silence takes over. If I’m correct the interrogation- oh, old habits. The safe space room should be another three doors down and 5 to the left. It certainly is because the door I stop in front of is the one Crane unlocks when he catches up. The mirror attached to the wall outside leads me to believe it's used for police interrogations. The room I’m nudged into is smaller than all the others. Only a matching mirror, a simple desk, and two chairs take up space.

I don’t like it. Being on the other end of therapy. Back in Metropolis the facilities there are much more open and modernized. This place looks as if it’s going to swallow me whole and never let me see the light of day. And I’m supposed to be stuck in here with Crane for a whole hour?

“Take a seat please,” Crane instructs as he himself sits at the table and writes down more notes. “The date is October 2nd, the time is 11am Eastern Time. Therapy is now in session, Calico Prentiss.”

“Still waiting on that lawyer.”

“I see you still show reluctance to your situation,” Crane says simply. “How are you getting along with the other inmates?”

I bite my lip and stay strong to keep my gaze from dropping. “I’ll admit the company here is far better than what I had in Metropolis.”

“Interesting.” Crane’s icy blue eyes flash with hidden excitement. “And how has my, ah, treatment been acting?”

He’s going to be so disappointed. I’ll admit I’m still a bit skeptical of the toxin’s effects; however I can’t carry out the rest of my life limiting myself because I’m afraid to fail.

“I’ve kept my head, Dr. Crane. There have been no new hallucinations or symptoms.”

My response takes a moment so set in. “I see.”

Crane’s face shows no readable emotion; yet there’s no denying the aggravation itching under his skin. He goes to write more notes and I notice he’s holding the pen much tighter.

“You’re upset. Good.”

I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, victorious. There you have it, Dr. Crane. You can try to quiet me as much as you like but I won’t be the perfect patient you want me to be.

“My toxin hasn’t failed yet.” Now with a laid-back demeanor, Crane opens his briefcase and my mind races to the conclusion of what’s about to happen. “Maybe it’s time for a stronger dose-”

Bang bang!

A loud knock on the door startles both of us. It creaks open and a security guard pokes her head in.

“Dr. Crane, Rachel Dawes from the District Attorney’s Office is here to see you.”

The doctor takes a deep breath and regathers his thoughts. “Very well. We shall continue our session later, Prentiss.” He orders the guard to escort me back to my cell and leans in to whisper: “I suggest you keep quiet unless you want me to change your condition to a death sentence.”

Death. Something that used to bring back painful and guilty memories. Who knew that the loss of my parents would turn death into something so fascinating? The methods of death, the causes, the superstitions. Crane’s invitation of death might be the best thing that’s happened to me all day.

In a fleeting moment I see a glimpse of a brown-haired woman in a black business suit turn around the corner. The D.A. lady!

“Help! Please! I’m not supposed to be here!” I grip the door and the guard tries to tug me away. My hope soars when I see the D.A. woman return with a confused look. “My name is Dr. Calico Prentiss from the Metropolis Hell’s Gate Psychiatric Institution! I am of sound mind and demand to speak to a lawyer- or at least just one person who’s not as corrupted as the rest of this insane city-!”

A cloth is shoved in my mouth and I feel something collide with my skull. I crumple to the ground and the guard gives a hard kick to my stomach for good measure. I stay like that for about 15 minutes and then hear familiar footsteps approaching.

Crane kneels down and forces me against the wall, eyeing me with controlled anger.

“I don’t get mad often. But you seem to want to change that. For this I am going to subject you to special treatment.”

I’m pulled up to stand and Crane starts dragging me down the hall. Personal mortality is a personal understanding of one’s own mortality and acceptance of the fact that they are going to die. I now see that I will have to accept my death today. There’s no way I’m surviving after that stunt.

“Special treatment? Like what? Electroshock therapy? Waterboarding? You know my worst fear is failure and that my parents are dead. What do I have to lose that death won’t deliver?”

The doctor tsks and waves a finger at me. “Oh, no. I’m not going to kill you. You could have had the same routine as the other inmates. But you couldn’t play the game, could you? Had to play the hero and try to tell the nice lawyer about the bad guy in the scary mask?" He acquires a vicious look in his eye. “No, I don’t think so.”

Crane forces me down several flights of stairs and I’m starting to lose track of where we are. I don’t remember this in the blueprints. Suddenly we stop and Crane uses a key to open a gate into another section of the building.

“Where are we?”

“In an abandoned wing of Arkham, where no one can hear you scream.”

In the dark I see the gate close and hear the keys jiggling, locking me in. Before I can reach for something to defend myself, Crane flips on a dim, flickering light and locks in on me with a hungry gaze.

“You are my new lab rat, Calico Prentiss.”

So that’s it? I spend the rest of whatever time Crane gives me as a spare body for experiments. I should feel scared… But I’m not.

“Knowing that your days are numbered gives your life a more powerful sense of meaning,” I say softly. “It sets a time limit to what we want to accomplish in life. If we didn’t have a limit on life we would never be motivated to do anything because life would go on forever.” The doctor’s perplexed expression shows I’ve caught his attention. “But my accomplishments have already been fulfilled, Dr. Jonathan Crane. I became a psychiatrist. I helped people. But in this sad, twisted world helping people only makes you a target.”

Grasping my nerves I step forward and accept my fate. “If my eventual death is to be for the use of science then so be it. But as Einstein said, time is relative. What might seem like a week to you seems like 10 years to me and visa versa. I’m more than capable of conjuring enough mental motivation to put up with whatever experiments you’ve got. Do your worst, Dr. Crane.”

My speech leaves the doctor wide-eyed as he keeps scanning me with curiosity. The first time he looked at me like that it felt unsettling, but now… Why do I feel encouraged to edge him on? It works because Crane’s advance has turned subtly gentle.

“You are without a doubt one of the most unique patients I’ve discovered, even if you never were supposed to be one.” He holds out a hand as if he’s approaching a wild animal. “This doesn’t have to be as bad as you think. You need only cooperate and keep quiet. If you keep to that then I promise I won’t hurt you beyond my range of standards.”

Is he serious? He talks about being locked up and tested on as if it’s a simple business deal!

“What exactly is your range of standards, Dr. Crane?”

He shrugs. “Being exposed to some toxins isn’t exactly the same as smelling a rose, dear. I can’t guarantee each dose will be merciful. But I will take precautions to prevent it, I assure you.”

This is seeming more and more like a discussion a surgeon has with their patient before undergoing surgery. If I didn’t know better I’d say he’s actually being… sympathetic.

“And if I don’t cooperate then someone pays for the guards to look the other way and have someone bump me off?” Crane nods. I sigh heavily and consider my options. Compared to being beaten to a pulp in the street this doesn’t seem as brutal. And it’s in the name of science, which has never failed me before. “Very well. I will consent to your experiments, only if you let me back into group therapy. After each session I will return here.”

The doctor frowns. “Why return to group therapy? What guarantee do I have that you won’t tattle the second I let you back upstairs?”

“Because I am an ambivert, Dr. Crane. If you keep me locked down here with no other human contact then my mind will disorient and create inaccurate data for your tests. That, and I actually liked talking to Nigma and Ivy even if they’re not normal.”

“None of us here are normal, Dr. Prentiss,” Crane replies in a distant cold voice.

I'm in way over my head. I never should have come to Gotham no matter how good the pay is.

“However since you do make a fair point I will allow you 1 hour of group therapy each day.”

He budged. Is it just me or is Crane actually being nice? No, he just wants to dangle a carrot and make me play by the rules. Still, it’s a small win.

“Thank you, Dr. Crane.”

“Try anything and I’ll arrange for you to live in constant terror for the rest of your life,” he responds in a laid-back tone and pats my shoulder before walking over and locking the gate behind him.

It’s no deal with the devil, yet why do I feel as if I’ve just signed my own death certificate?

#jonathon crane #jonathon crane x reader #dr jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #poison ivy #the riddler #harley quinn #the joker #two face #the penguin #batman #batman begins #the dark knight #the dark knigth rises #gotham #gotham tv #cillian murphy

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therichantsim · 8 months

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Hi! I hope you don't mind that I'm playing catch up. It looks like your blog theme changed, so I went to your main blog to catch up, so I don't what was going on in the comments, so please excuse me if I echo anyone else's thoughts. Even though my brain wouldn't let me fully engage, I kept reading until I couldn't. I paused keeping up at Rose Ceremony Part 2 S15.Ep:58-BMB34, but the last time I really checked in, was Giddy up and Footloose, so that's where I went back to. I'm just commenting on each episode as I go along again because I don't fell like I really read them, so there's a significant chance that my observations may shift as I progress. That said!

Giddy Up and Footloose S15.Ep:47-BMB25 - Wow! I mentioned before that it was a fun episode, but having seen all the dates now, this is by far my favorite. It put Chanel in the like column with Lucy, personality-wise. Romance-wise I was undecided because I still wasn't rooting for anyone yet. I also said before that Chanel is a sore loser who hides their shortcomings with arrogance, and while I still think that, I also think that arrogance is a natural state for her and that rather than hiding her short comings with arrogance, it's more like, she does not like to fail (who does?) but she doesn't have time to dwell on it, so she just throws on an extra layer of confidence that she has in reserve and moves right on. Her ego has been well-nurtured and even though he's not egotistical, Chanel would be the first (other than Trin) to put Quinton in check if his ego ever decides to out-pace him. I think I also said somewhere else that Chanel's confidence is (likely) deserved, but now I'm removing "(likely)" and giving her her due. She is all that, but is she marriage material for Quinton? I'm not entirely sure. Friends, though? Definitely. As long as the future Mrs. remains confident in the fact that she was chosen, I think they could be real friends post-show. Also, the 3-way convo with Draya, Yasmine, and Noemy once again had me in stitches!

Inner Child S15.Ep:48-BMB26 + Do You Still Believe? S15.Ep:49-BMB27 - It was never articulated, but I feel like Lucy's tears were from both relief and sorrow. Relief that someone actually got her to an extent, saw something of her and made an attempt to feed it. And sorrow because she had dismissed the first effort that person made, an effort that she's now realizing was an earnest one. Sorrow because she's so used to being disappointed in that respect that, even in the face of promise, she couldn't or wouldn't let her guard down. She probably thought the show would be fodder for her audience, if nothing else, but was caught off guard by the genuineness of it all (save for Trin's antics). She has an open curiosity about her because she's lived a life with few limits--for her, there's always something else or someone else, there's always the next one--but it seems like that's also made her take the things in front of her for granted. And poor Quinton, he was trying. That conversation over chess seemed to me like she was trying to rein in her expectations by defaulting a to contrary attitude, as if she was not just shutting Quinton out, but also telling herself don't let him in. I wonder if she was afraid that if she did let him in, he might come to believe she's as empty as she feels.

Art Therapy S15.Ep:52-BMB28 + Paint Sip and Kiss S15.Ep:53-BMB29 - First I'm going to say the first shot of Noemy had me laughing until I had hiccups! Now, Zahara's disposition during the date was a bit of a surprise to me. I was expecting her to be a little playful and silly, but it looks like her realization that she was more invested than she thought she was and that she did sign up in hopes of getting a happily ever after that could end up in someone else's hands put her in an introspective mood. I was surprised that Quinton not only interrupted their argument but also told Noemy to leave. He barely acknowledged any of the other interlopers, so I have to wonder if it was more than the scene they were making that made him feel like he had to intervene?

I'm trying to keep these short. I'm going to break here for now, but I'll be back soon enough; I hope you don't mind. I feel so refreshed after reading again!

First let me say you a such a breath of fresh air to this community and I truly enjoy your thoughts and opinions on my post. So please never feel like you’re being or doing too much. YOU ARE APPRECIATED this is good food for my creative soul. Now as far as my theme changing I am so blown I looked up and my theme was gone after spending so much time looking for the perfect one that worked with all of this god forsaken apps changes and updates. So I just threw the current one there as a place holder. Thank god for my main blog but I know people prefer to engage here. I love you thoughts on the dates and I’m looking forward to the reading your thoughts on the rest of the dates and the rosé ceremony.

#thanks for the ask!#therichantsim #becomingmrsblackburn2

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phanfictioncatalogue · 4 months

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Fics Written In 2022 (2) Masterlist

part one

all of these small things (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: It’s Dan’s first day back from his American tour, and Phil can’t believe how much he’s missed him.

a party full of everyone you know (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: It has caught Dan off guard - how happy they all are that he's here, that he accepted that offhand suggestion Cornelia made that since Dan would still be in London and the girls from IRL were already going - well, she'd said, wouldn't it just make sense.

A Perfect Pair (ao3) - husbants

Summary: Dan, a struggling actor who works retail by day, and Phil, an ex-YouTuber-turned-porn-star, end up matched together on the new reality show, Perfect Pair.

broken bones heal when you set them right (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Dan goes to see his mum after his birthday.

Dan’s First Day (ao3) - Jinny12912

Summary: Dan wakes up late for his first day working as a lifeguard and doesn’t get the chance to use the bathroom before he’s on deck.

Decisions (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: Otherwise known as “I know we don’t know each other but my awful ex is here and I’m scared, please just pretend I’m your boyfriend.” And then more stuff happens that’s sweet

in a cosmic spray (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Dan likes to think that he’s got therapy down to a science, and yet sometimes he still finds himself here.

kiss me just to kiss me (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Phil knows it’s serious. He knows he’s serious about Dan in that way he gets about people because he is so painfully afraid of messing things up. Dan came all this way just to see him, but he didn’t come all this way just to see him, and the least Phil can do is show him a good time.

Looking After You (ao3) - pasteldanhowells

Summary: A few weeks before he's due to go on tour, Dan gets sick. Luckily, his boyfriend is there to help make him feel better, even when Dan doesn't make it easy for him.

Love, Becky (ao3) - husbants

Summary: At a We’re All Doomed pre-show Q&A, Dan gets a question about his old characters Becky and Jessica.

He has a dream about them. And sometimes dreams inspire in peculiar ways.

Momentary Bliss(x2) (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: The only thing that really helps Phil’s head is an orgasm. But. Phil is lazy.

Revolving Door (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: Phil really doesn’t want to think about what Dan said. He really would like to leave, and take this strangled feeling elsewhere. But he can’t stop listening to Dan’s song.

security! (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Dan comes home to Phil after tour rehearsals. They cook, kiss and banter. And Dan reflects on the word "security".

See The World, Watch It Spin (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: YouTube isn’t responding.

To Dwell on Dreams (ao3) - carltzmann

Summary: "Taking in the whole image, though, it hardly hurt. Watching this perfect version of himself smile and wave and talk to his friends, bathing in success and appreciation, Dan suddenly started to believe that maybe all that was possible, even with the confirmation of a terrifying secret."

Dan and Phil meet at the Mirror of Erised.

Vacation Buddies (ao3) - larryisrealaf

Summary: Both couples have broke up but the trip is non- refundable. Can it still work? Will the relationships suffer or will it work out?

We Could Never (ao3) - danielshands

Summary: Dan navigates the world while also contemplating coming out.

well, what if? (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: its two days before dan flies off to start the american leg of his tour and phil is having Some Feelings

we never change (ao3) - nivi_chip

Summary: different decade same laundry problems

won't you help me sober up (ao3) - pasteldanhowells

Summary: Dan finds himself at a party that he most definitely shouldn't be at, but he also finds himself being reuniting with an old friend.

you’re somewhere breathing (ao3) - vvuptic