#second one is phil to grant

[rainintheevening]

Alternatively: "I trust you with my life because you are ruthlessly loyal and you value my life above all others. But I don't trust you with your own life, because you are ruthlessly loyal and value your own life below all others."

i think 'I trust you with my life but not your own' as a trope is one of the ones that can always fuck me up no matter what

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Okay, hear me out: Do you mind writing a NSFW alphabet about CM Punk? :P

CM PUNK NSFW ALPHABET I8+ NSFW content

NSFW ALPHABET MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

CM PUNK MASTERLIST

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He is very loving and nurturing 

He will hold you close and tell you how much he loves you as he whispers sweet nothings as you fall asleep

Although Phil has a bit of a mean streak, intimacy is something he won’t take for granted with you

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him, his favourite part is his tattoos (which you agree)

He loves the way his painted canvas looks against your bare one

He loves the sight of his tattooed hands around your throat 

On you he adores everything 

He could never pick just one thing

He is obsessed with you, he worships your body like a god

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He is a dirty old man, he loves the sight of you covered in his seed

Whether it’s pouring out of you or dripping all over you, he loves it

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His little secret is how obsessed he is with you 

He completely obsessed with you, in an insane crazy way

Even before you started dating he would stalk you

Punk would kill with his bear hands if it meant he could have you

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

With age comes experience, he is very experienced 

He has been with many many women in his age so he knows s thing or two

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Missionary; he loves the intimacy it provides 

Cowgirl; he loves it when you ride him

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He is very serious, almost a bit mean

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Clean shaven 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

When he wants to be Phil can be quite the romantic

Worshiping your body like a temple

Slowly making you come undone

He loves to take his time with you

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Multiple times a day

He needs that release, mainly because he is always turned on around you

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

dd/lg (heavy on this)

Daddy kink

Hair pulling 

Impact play 

BDSM

Breeding kink

Pregnancy kink

Bondage 

Biting 

Cock warming 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere he will take you anywhere he can 

Besides the privacy in your home or hotel, he loves water sex, the beach, the pool all of it

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Anything 

He gets turned on by anything 

Your sent, your smile, the way your fingers linger on his for a second too long

He’s embarrassed about the effect you have on him

He’s like a horney teenage boy around you

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Sharing, he’s a selfish man

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Although he gives he would rather receive 

He loves the sight of you underneath him gagging on his cock

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He is hard and rough

Fucking you into obliviation 

He loves to turn your brain into mush 

He can be mean during sex but behind the tough guy act there is so much love behind it

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

When he needs you he needs you

Although he is not the biggest fan of quickies they occur more often than you think

They will occur backstage before a match or when one of his co-workers gets a bit too friendly with you

Sometimes he might take you in the car if you misbehave 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Phil is a risky man, he likes to play games

However, he will always pass them by you first before trying something new

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

I don’t see him lasting very long, typically before you

However, he can go several rounds in a row before getting tired

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He has a special collection just for you

Silk handcuffs, a variation of vibrators 

He loves to use them with you

Oh and don’t forget the collar (IYKYK)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

CM Punk is a big tease, he loves to mess with you all the time 

He will feel bad for it after but in the moment he loves it

He loves it when you beg him to go faster after purposely going painfully slow

Begging for your orgasm

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s quite loud

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

👀👀👀👀

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

6 inches

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

So high, like a teenage boy

It’s not normal

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

He doesn’t fall asleep fast at all

He would probably watch you sleep tbh

[panxramic]

Love.

Missa isn’t possessive no… he just sometimes sees Phil talking and laughing with someone else and he feels his gut twist and jealousy crawl across his skin.

But no… he’s not possessive. And there’s no reason for him to be so jealous right? Phil loves him, he tells him all the time. Missa has no reason to doubt Phil’s love for him. In fact, there is nothing better than basking under the love and adoration that Phil casts on to him.

Phil’s love is everything to Missa. It’s so special and unique, the type of love he wants to wrap himself in and drown in. The type of love he never wants to let go of, the type he doesn’t want to share. It’s a drug he can’t get enough of.

Is he being over dramatic? Sure. But there’s no other way to describe the obsession and attachment Missa has grown to Phil. He likes to think it isn’t a problem and then he hears back what he says and mayybeeee he might be a bit insane. Or just over dramatic. Or just insecure over love.

Missa doesn’t know what it is about Phil’s love but sometimes he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. Enjoying and loving love feels wrong. Anytime he gets an “I love you” or a compliment it feels like a special treat, one he needs to hold on to because he believes it will disappear from one day to the next.

Every time he accepts Phil’s love he gets excited. That excitement is destroyed by one person: himself. He feels weird getting excited over it, he feels like it’s wrong to be this happy and excited over feeling loved. Because what did he do to deserve it? Why is he being so weird? Why is he so obsessed? Why can’t he be normal about receiving this love?

No matter how he interacts with Phil’s love it never feels right. It’s either too much or not enough.

And then it gets worse. Now he’s sitting here thinking, what if I scare him away? What if I already have?

Phil’s love feels like glass to Missa. One wrong move and he thinks he will lose it. For good.

So, Missa is careful. He tries not to get too excited about the love in front of him, tries to keep it to himself to not scare Phil away. But he also tries and returns the love enough to show he appreciates him, to show that the love isn’t taken for granted.

But he never feels like he is enough. Nothing he does feels like it is enough.

And what a fucking asshole he is.

This person is giving him the world and yet Missa can’t help but overthink it all. How could he? How could I think so little of Phil?

Why can’t he just appreciate Phil’s love for what it is like a regular person? Why does he overthink it all?

The same questions, and no answers.

Missa couldn’t tell you why he feels the way he feels. It’s a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. He doesn’t think he will ever find them and that thought terrifies him.

Is this how it’s always going to be? Love is supposed to be beautiful, it’s supposed to be everything and more. So why does he feel like he’s suffocating? Like he’s ruining it all?

Missa wouldn’t exchange Phil’s love for the world. He’s done everything right. He’s been nothing but sweet and kind. Yet Missa’s mind always finds holes. And he knows, he KNOWS it makes no sense but he can’t stop. Because surely Phil will get sick of him. Surely Phil will find out how weirdly happy he gets with every I love you and kind remark. Surely Phil will find someone better.

Everything Phil does makes Missa’s heart flutter. It’s intoxicating. He always has a dopey smile around him, and if he could, he’d spend every moment and every second by Phil’s side. Whether it be talking, sitting, or sleeping, Phil’s presence next to his feels like the world finally makes sense.

The mere thought makes him want to claw at his arms. Every feeling he feels towards Phil makes him want to scratch at his skin and dissolve into a messy puddle. It’s too much. It’s too much on his mind and it’s too much on his heart. Missa feels so stupid. This type of over dramatic lovey dovey thought process is for teenagers in school going through hormones. He feels stupid and dumb for getting butterflies in his stomach. He feels icky and weird for the amount of love he feels.

And it’s not that loving Phil is weird, no. It’s that Missa thinks his love is too much. That whatever he returns will send Phil running. It’s why he sticks to paintings, he sticks to casual interactions and compliments. Missa doesn’t want to be too much but he doesn’t want Phil to be completely unloved. So he tries. Because Phil is everything to him, and he’ll try to show it to him in whatever way his mind allows it.

Missa will try and tell himself he’s not insecure. But the more he talks and looks back the more everything starts falling apart. He doesn’t want to be insecure. He doesn’t want to be a selfish and jealous partner and yet he always finds himself in those shoes.

Phil’s love is unique and exhilarating. Missa wishes he could keep Phil’s attention all to himself, he wishes he was the center of his world. Nothing makes Missa feel more like a selfish and entitled asshole than the jealousy that fires up in his veins when he realizes Phil is getting close with someone else, someone that’s not him.

He’s not possessive. He won’t go out of his way to control Phil, EVER. Phil can do as he pleases, and can talk to who he desires. Phil can have friends. Who the fuck is Missa to tell him who he can and can’t talk to? Missa knows, he KNOWS, how his thoughts sound but he can’t help but feel the darkness encompass his mind. It spreads and spreads infecting every inch of his brain and his heart. He feels rotten.

He’s rotten for ever thinking of looking through his things. He’s rotten for ever thinking of spying on his interactions with others. Missa is rotten for every thought he knows would violate his partners privacy like that. That’s not something you do to the person you love, he knows that. He wouldn’t want it done to himself. So no matter how insecure he feels, he won’t do it to Phil.

What would Phil think if he knew?

Phil deserves someone who isn’t so selfish and insecure. Phil deserves someone who doesn’t get their heart twisted and mushed every time he extends his love to someone else. Phil deserves someone who isn’t Missa. Anyone but Missa.

If anything he feels sorry for Phil. He’s sorry that he got stuck with someone who hides their feelings and prefers for everything to build up until they explode. Missa is sorry for feeling the way that he does. He’s sorry that he can’t love him the way he deserves to be loved.

Missa hates everything about this. He hates how miserable he feels. He hates the tightness in his throat, he hates the tightness in his heart, and he hates that he knows sooner or later he will lose Phil and he will be nothing more than someone else he was too afraid to hold tight onto. Someone else he let slip through the cracks.

Until then Missa will smile. Missa will say he is okay and that he loves Phil. Because he does. And he’ll hold onto this fantasy in his mind for as long as he can. He’ll hide all the dark and the ugly deep in his soul. He’ll cage it in the twisted parts of his heart. He’ll try to be perfect for as long as he can be.

Why can’t he just appreciate the love that has been so kindly handed to him? He has the perfect family, why can’t he be perfect for them too?

[makeyoumine69]

Starfall (commission)

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: Ever since he was a kid, Patrick always had everything he wanted. Always egoistical and entitled, he always took everything he had for granted. But what happens when one day his entire world falls apart when he receives a call?

— CONTAINS: Patrick Bateman's POV and no other warnings in order to avoid spoilers!😏

— WORDS: 2.3k

— A/N: Writing Patrick's POV was such a rollercoaster experience for me, so I want to thank a person who asked me to write this commission. Love you guys, I hope you like it!💗

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [COMMISSIONS] [AO3] [buy me a coffee]💓

The sudden knock on my office door made me frown in annoyance, as I was in the middle of listening to the new Phil Collins tape. Slowly, I removed my headphones and turned to look at Jean, her expression was something between sorrow and shock. 

"What is it?" I ask, straightening my red tie.

"P-Patrick... I got a call from..."

Jesus, why do women always need to be so slow?

"A call from?" I repeated, crossing my arms in a mannerly way, without missing a chance to check my gold Rolex.

"From the hospital." She blurted out quickly before dropping her head.

I still didn't understand why she looked so sad, so I leaned back in my chair and let out a tired sigh.

"So you interrupted me because some asshole dialed the wrong number?" I pointed at my phone, enjoying the way she got embarrassed. "When I have a break, it means I don't exist to anyone, even you, Jean. How many times have I told you that?"

"It's about (y/n)," something heavy fell in my stomach. "They called to say that she got in a car accident, and they found your office number in her wallet."

Her words hit me harder than a truck, and I could swear I felt my blood freeze in my veins from the creeping fear. Fear of losing you. I stood up before even thinking about it, my hands shaking, but I tried my best to keep my cool. 

"Patrick." Jean muttered as she watched me put on my coat.

"Where is she?" 

"Can I come with you? I want to help."

"WHERE IS SHE?" I didn't even notice my voice getting loud, but when I saw Jean's frightened glance, a shaky breath escaped my lungs and I closed my eyes for a second. "Sorry."

"I... it's okay, I understand." She carefully handed me my scarf, which had accidentally fallen, and I hadn't even noticed. "I wrote down the address."

In addition to my scarf, she gave me a piece of paper with her note, I could barely control myself now that I realized what was happening was real.

"Thank you, Jean." I mumble, buttoning my coat and taking my briefcase. "For everything."

The taxi ride took only 20 minutes, but to me it felt like an eternity, and when I finally saw the outline of the hospital, I let out a nervous breath and got out of the car. I paid the taxi driver double what I had to, but I didn't care.

With every step I took, my heart was about to burst through my rib cage, it was beating so fast that it even hurt, and I felt so helpless and miserable under the weight of circumstances that I found it difficult to even open the main door.

Inside the hospital, time seemed to stop for me. I looked around, trying not to panic, and rushed to the reception desk, almost bumping into a nurse on the way.

The receptionist noticed my anxiety and overtook me, asking in a calm voice, "How can I help you, sir?"

"I... I'm looking for (y/n). I was informed that she's here." I said hesitantly, leaning on the reception desk.

"One moment, please." The middle-aged lady replied, fixed her glasses and picked up the phone to make a call.

To be fair, I tried not to listen to what she was saying, doing my best to distract myself from thinking about the worst, as if the worst hadn't already happened. Fuck, I'm such a mess.

"Sir?" 

I shrugged at the receptionist's voice and cleared my dry throat. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"The patient you asked about. Her condition is stable now, but she's in a coma. And we can't say when she'll—" 

"Can I see her?" I interrupted, my emotions finally taking over.

The lady sighed, but said nothing.

"Please," the grief and despair were eating me from the inside, and I was about to lose myself at any moment. "I need to see her and talk to the doctor!"

"I completely understand your feelings, sir," she held out her hand in a reassuring gesture. "I'll see what I can do. Please wait here."

In a few minutes I was walking down the long, dimly lit corridor, accompanied by several nurses. I had never been more scared in my life, I could feel my heartbeat pounding against my ears as my blood rushed through my veins as if I were about to jump off the top of the Empire State Building.

When one of the nurses stopped near the door to what I assumed was your medical room, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a few seconds. No, I was not prepared for what awaited me behind that door, but was it possible to be prepared at all?

Suffocating, I managed to open the door and walked in, all my insides tightened the moment I saw you lying on the hospital bed, your face looked so peaceful, even with the oxygen mask on, you were like a sleeping beauty.

At first I didn't know what to do, so I just stood by the door for a while, and only then did I dare to approach your small, motionless form. Cautiously, as if afraid to wake you up, I sat down next to your bed and I thought my eyes were already beginning to water.

"Hello, dear." I murmured sadly, slowly running my hand along the edge of the bed. "I... I'm here now, and everything's going to be okay. I promise you."

I felt stupid because I knew you couldn't hear me, but still, my urge to assure you that everything would be fine didn't seem strange to me. I brushed away a single tear that ran down my cheek, which you always loved to stroke, and looked at your face, wishing for a moment that I could remove this mask and press my lips to yours. I damned myself for not doing it more often when you were around. God, why did I always have to be so stubborn and arrogant?

"(Y/n), you've always been so kind to me, and you've never asked for anything in return… and I probably didn't appreciate it as much as I should have." I paused when my trembling hand found yours, and then I stared down at it. Every time I noticed how tiny your palm was compared to mine, it made something inside of me quiver.

Cursing myself, I sobbed pathetically and squeezed your hand. "And you never tried to change me or fix me, you accepted me as I am, but... but you never knew what terrible things I did! Jesus!" I was getting hysterical, but now I could no longer hide my emotions. Hateress cursed through my body, burning me like a glowing iron. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry that I wasn't completely open with you! I just didn't want you to know all the shit I've done in my fucking life!" As I continued to confess, both my arms now wrapped around your fragile frame, I laid my head on your chest, feeling your steady breathing. "Please don't go... I can't do this alone."

The beeping of the medical equipment mixed with my own whimpering, and the whole word seemed to be reduced to this small medical room, where a psycho like me was drowning in the swamp of grief.

"Maybe I'm a sick guy, but I need you more than I ever imagined," I gritted my teeth in disgust. "God damn it! I'm so fucking selfish, even now I only think about myself... I'm so fucking—"

The sound of the door opening made me almost choke. Hesitantly, I fixed my disheveled hair and wiped away my tears before turning around to see a guy who was probably a doctor, and I expected nothing but the worst. When I noticed his relaxed expression, I frowned and almost pleaded:

"Tell me she's going to be okay."

The doctor paused and looked through the papers in his hands. "According to our tests, we expect her condition to get better in a few days."

A small drop of sweat fell from my forehead the moment I heard those words. With a sigh of relief, I quickly got up from the chair and stumbled over to the doctor.

"Thank you," I managed to say, trying to shake his hand, but my body did not seem to listen to me. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll do everything I can."

The doctor nodded. I sat next to you again and mumbled that you were going to be okay. The way I was talking reminded me of the times when you couldn't sleep, and I lulled you by telling you stories where we would run away and finally be alone together. In the end, that would happen, I wouldn't let anything take that away from us, and even if I had to go to hell, I would do it. 

"I'll always be here, love," I murmured, kissing the top of your palm. "Please come back."

One of the reasons I was really proud of my apartment was the view, even if it didn't overlook the park, you loved it and that was all that mattered. 

Trapped in my thoughts, I stood next to the wide window in my living room and watched the night city through the open blinds. I could still feel your sweet scent on my skin, I could still hear the lewd sounds of us making love just a moment ago. Smiling, I closed my eyes and returned to the pleasurable images in my head, even though you were only a few feet away, lying in my big bed, I already missed you, but I would never tell you that.

I didn't know how long I stayed like this, but when I noticed your half-naked figure in the doorway of my bedroom, I gasped because I couldn't resist how beautiful you were, especially when you looked at me like that, with your deer-like, devoted eyes.

"Can't sleep?" You asked me, yawning a little and hugging yourself.

I grinned again, hiding my hands in the pockets of my gray sweatpants. "I'm just trying to understand why do you find this view so special," I crooned in a seductive voice. "But since you're awake, maybe you'll explain it to me?"

You gave me a mischievous grin, and I didn't even have to beckon you over as you slowly approached me, wrapped your elegant arms around my torso, and I purred in response. I didn't really like hugs, but when it came to YOU, it was a different story.

"Well, usually at night you can see some shooting stars," you murmured, still pressed against my chest. "And every time it happens, I make a wish."

For God's sake! Your naivety and innocence always struck a chord in my heart, making me grin like an idiot, though I was glad you couldn't see me right now, as I held you close, stroking your back and breathing in your scent, which had become so tranquilizing to me.

"Oh! Look!" You suddenly exclaimed, moving closer to the window. "A falling star!"

"Where?"

"Right there!" You took my hand and pointed to the spot in the midnight sky.

I laughed, admiring how excited you were, sometimes I thought you would never grow up and that was something cute, I could even say I was really jealous because I never allowed myself to act like that.

"Patrick, we should make a wish!" 

"Like what?"

"Just think of something that you want to come true," you continued to bubble, frowning a bit as you probably were thinking about the list of wishes you might have. "Think, Patrick!"

Your childish attitude made me sigh as I rolled my eyes. "All right, all right. I want this moment to last forever."

"Why did you say that out loud?" You suddenly grumbled and broke out of my embrace. "It won't work if you say your wish out loud, didn't you know that?"

"Honestly, I don't believe in such things," I moved closer to hug you again, but you pushed me away jokingly, your pretty lips pouted. "Oh, honey, c'mon! I can't take this seriously!"

"Then I'll leave you here alone to think about it." You stuck out your tongue teasingly and slowly moved away from me.

"Besides, I already have everything I want," I chuckled smugly, feeling a bit turned on by the way you swayed your hips. "You know what I mean."

"Maybe..." You purred, making your voice sound even more seductive, before disappearing into the darkness behind me.

Only with you did I realize that I had always lived for emotions, that I had done so many terrible things because I was a sucker for the adrenaline. And you were my strongest addiction, but not one that killed, but one that freed me from my fears, my demons, my sins.

Shaking slightly, I let out a loud gasp as I felt a searing pain cut me from the inside like a fan of knives. Then I turned back to the window and saw my own reflection. I blinked several times, feeling the tears weeping in my empty eyes.

"(Y/n)?" When I called your name and no one answered, I almost fell to my knees. 

My wounded heart started to bleed, as once again I was alone. Sobbing, I pressed my head against the cold glass and let the tears flow freely down my cheeks. And there was nothing left for me to do but hold on to the warm memories of those days. 

The days when you were here with me.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[rainintheevening]

🍁🍁Comfy-vember 🍁🍁

Day 9: Scars

Grant Ward & Phil Coulson, Agents of SHIELD, Saving Grant Ward AU, aftermath of torture, non-sexualized bathing/washing, the author does not recommend postponing medical care for a shower

---------

The first thing Grant demanded was a shower.

"It's been three weeks, okay? You don't want me in your medbay like this."

Simmons stood with her arms crossed over her chest, frowning down at him where he sat on the Quinjet, which had just touched down in the Playground's hanger. "Just because Trip splinted your leg and I gave you some anesthetic, doesn't mean it isn't serious. You need to get the bone set, and I'm worried about infection. Never mind your shoulder—heaven only knows what those x-rays are going to look like."

Phil stayed seated, feeling Grant's weight leaning into him, though it was less than it had been before. Before Garrett, before HYDRA, before he'd been on the run. There was no denying Grant was a mess—greasy hair grown too long and falling in his eyes, ragged jacket and jeans bearing mud and tree sap smears, a fading black eye, and that nasty red scar in front of one ear that ran down to his neck. But he was here! He was safe, he was home, he was back where he belonged. Phil's kid was home again, and the joy of that overwhelmed any grief or fear for now.

"Medbay is built for messes, man." Trip grinned down at his old buddy. "Think about how many people puke in there."

"I'm with Ward," Fitz put in, hovering over Jemma's shoulder. "He should- um- er–"

"Shower." Jemma's whisper was barely audible.

"–shower if he wa-would like to."

"Thank you, Fitz." Grant opened his eyes to smile at the younger agent. "I'm taking a shower," he said again to Simmons. "I'll get back to you in an hour. In the medbay."

Phil knew that tone, and smiled up at the agents clustered in front of them, now including May; Skye lingered warily in the cockpit. It hit him suddenly that they were all here. Grant, May, Fitzsimmons, Skye, Trip. The whole team, reunited.

But he shook off the warm surge of emotion. Grant had to be cared for. "You're not budging him, guys, sorry."

"And what if you fall and break something else?" Simmons argued. "Splitting your skull open in the shower isn't exactly unheard of, and you're not exactly stable."

Grant sighed, sitting straighter so he could turn his head to look at Phil. "Dad?"

That tired little murmur had Phil swallowing hard, nodding before he answered: "Of course. Don't worry," to Simmons. "I'll go with him."

Grant shifted his weight to stand, and Phil moved quickly, ducking under the good right arm, as he levered himself up on the good left leg.

"At least let us get you a stretcher or a wheelchair." Simmons's hands fluttered out in a helpless gesture.

Stiffly, Grant patted her arm with his free hand, made more awkward by the damaged shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Jemma. But I'm walking in there."

"He's not unconscious," Trip shrugged, moving to Grant's other side, but Fitz had beat him to it.

"Alright, we've got you," Fitz said, his arm joining Coulson's around Grant's waist.

Grant's smile was soft, and he nudged his chin against the curly hair at his shoulder. "Thanks, Leo."

The pure love and hero worship in Fitz's answering look would have melted anyone's heart.

By the time they made it to the bottom of the ramp, though, Phil was wishing Grant had taken Jemma's offer. Even with the local anesthetic in his leg, and the age of his shoulder wound, he moved slow and painful, only the hiss of his breathing betraying what must have been agony. He'd lost enough weight that Phil could have comfortably carried him, but he doubted Grant would agree to that with such an entourage.

That thought was cemented when the second set of heavy doors slid open to the main hall, and instantly a wave of applause washed over them.

Dozens of agents of all ranks and duties lined both sides of the hall, clapping and cheering as Grant stood frozen. Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw him go first white, then red under the dirt and sweat.

"They're all the ones you saved," came May's calm voice behind them. "At Rabbit's Run and Carlton Place and Foxhole. They know what you did for them."

Most of them were hostages released in the wake of Grant's silent but deadly run on the HYDRA ranks. He'd assassinated almost a hundred HYDRA agents and operatives in the US and Europe, all in the span of two months, and while carrying a bullet in his shoulder. Not even Natasha could match that, Phil thought, pride welling in his chest.

As they came down into the hall, Agent Morse stepped forward, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.

"Baby Bird." Grant nodded at her.

"Baby Hawk." She grinned. "Welcome back."

Phil wanted to chuckle at the normalcy of their friendly banter, but he could feel Grant's arm trembling around his neck, Grant using all his strength to stand tall in front of the crowd.

"I suppose I have you to blame for this circus."

"Nah, it was Mack's idea."

"Mack." Grant smiled faintly over toward the big man. "Now if you'll excuse me, Birdy, I need a shower."

"And then medical attention," Simmons piped up rather crossly.

"Yeah, that's obvious." Concern creased Bobbi's forehead as she took in his current state. "Well, I certainly won't stand in your way." She stepped back into the line of agents on the left.

"Showers are down two levels with the bunks," Phil said softly, as they stepped forward again. "We'll take the elevator. Straight ahead, then to the right."

Grant did not reply, he was exerting every effort to limp as strongly and steadily as possible down that hall. Some of the agents they passed stood to attention and saluted, some just nodded or tapped a fist over their heart.

What a contrast to the outrage and anger that had gripped the surviving SHIELD members after they saw the footage from the Treehouse massacre—Grant Ward following John Garrett as obediently as a leashed dog. Phil, had been one of his only defenders, along with Fitzsimmons. Even when Grant had betrayed Providence, Phil had clung to his belief that his kid was just playing the game, keeping his cover by giving information that may or may not result in deaths. It was a far better idea than the alternative.

And Phil's belief had been vindicated.

Just Phil, Grant, Fitz, and Trip stepped into the elevator, and the second the doors closed, Grant sagged heavily into Phil, almost falling.

"Steady, steady!" Fitz exclaimed, then froze as his frantic tug on Grant's injured arm elicited a deep groan from him.

"Just– gimme a minute," Grant squeezed out.

"It's okay, Fitz," Phil said, hooking his fingers under Grant's belt to support him better.

It was... different sticking with an injured member of his team this far. Usually by now he'd stepped back, taking the team leader's long view, taking stock and planning what to do next, while other more qualified people did their jobs. Especially now that he was Director Coulson, and not just another agent. But this was Grant, this was his son. Grant trusted him like no one else. And Phil was more than grateful to have this time with Grant, after so long.

"I wanna sleep for a week," Grant whispered, somewhere around Phil's collar.

"That can be arranged." Trip looked both concerned and amused. "Are you sure you're up to this, man?"

Grant did not lift his head from Phil's shoulder, even as the elevator halted, and Phil barely caught his whisper: "I just want to get him off me."

Phil stiffened, and Grant straightened hastily, shaking his head. "No, no! That's not what I– I just–" He made a frustrated sound. "I smell like HYDRA," he said at last.

"You smell like shit," Trip said dryly.

"Exactly."

Phil had been blocking it out best he could, but in the narrow space of the elevator, it was impossible not to notice the reek of sweat and blood and something rotten that clung to Grant. Phil did not blame him at all for wanting that shower.

It took them another ten minutes to reach the men's showers; a long narrow space, with benches along one wall facing a row of shower heads, half enclosed, half not.

Fitz was sent for a chair, while Trip helped Phil remove the splint from Grant's leg and cut the bottom of his pant leg off so it could be put back on over bare skin.

"Are you sure you don't want me to-?" Trip held up a hand against Grant's glare. "Nah, it's okay, man. I'll leave you two to it." He glanced at Phil. "Want me and Fitz to stand guard outside?"

"One of you at least, if you wouldn't mind." He was about to ask if Trip could fetch something clean for Grant to wear, when Fitz came in, carrying the chair, and a handful of clothes.

"Agent May brought these." He held out the clothing: Grant's old Seahawks sweatshirt, a SHIELD-issue t-shirt and underwear, and a pair of flannels Phil didn't recognize. "Agent MacKenzie, er, gave the trousers."

Phil smiled, noting how Fitz's transitions from a word he couldn't remember to one he did were getting smoother. "Tell them both thanks."

"Clearing out now, sir." Trip patted Fitz's shoulder in a way that served to steer him back toward the door. "Holler if you need anything."

The clank of the door shutting echoed in the sparsely outfitted room, and then there was silence, except for a pipe gurgling, and the harsh sound of Grant's breathing.

Phil knelt beside him, involuntarily reaching to push back the shaggy hair from his forehead. They'd laid him flat on the floor for stability while they moved the splint around, but Phil couldn't help thinking he looked nearly dead, stretched out like that.

Grant opened his eyes, squinted up at him.

"You ready?" Phil asked softly.

"Think the granola bars are kicking in." Grant sighed, sat up carefully. "Let's get this over with."

They started with peeling off Grant's jacket, and two button-down shirts. "Haven't worn a t-shirt since Anchorage," he muttered, letting his left arm fall back into his lap.

Phil nodded silently. He remembered the shock of Grant's body hitting his, in time with the crack of Garrett's gun. That bullet had ended up in Grant's shoulder, rather than Phil's brain.

He frowned at Grant's torso, counting three puckered spots of skin, obvious gunshot scars. "Where'd you get those?"

Grant had already started to shiver slightly, and sat forward instead of back against the cold cinderblock wall. He took a moment to reply. "Garrett. On the Bus. Trying to get Fitzsimmons."

Phil was kneeling in front of him where he sat on the bench, so he could look up into Grant's face. There was a distance in Grant's gaze he understood, but didn't like. "Jemma was sure you were dead. She said you got shot at least six times. Fitz was heartbroken."

A spark in the dark brown eyes, a twitch of the lips. "He's a good kid. Leo the lion, bravest of them all."

"But Garrett kept you alive."

A nod, and Grant looked away.

Phil took a deep breath, quelling the anger and sadness that welled in him, and reached slowly to cup Grant's cheek, press his fingers to sweat-sticky too-warm skin.

"I'm glad you're alive."

A glance at him, before Grant's eyes welled up, and he covered them with one hand. Phil's heart cracked a little; four hours since rescue and this was the first time he’d seen tears from from Grant.

Grant slid his hand over on top of Phil's, now hiding his face behind both of them, but he gripped Phil's fingers painfully tight. He said nothing, but a few deep breaths later, he let go, sat straighter, rubbed his eyes.

"Okay, let's move."

They had to cut the waistbands of his jeans and underwear above the injured leg to get those off anywhere close to comfortably, and then Phil turned on the water, giving it time to warm. Grant would need that; Phil hated hearing the little teeth chatters and quick breaths behind him as he collected the company-issue soap and shampoo from a shelf, along with washcloths and a clean towel. Koenig deserved a raise for keeping this place so well-stocked, Phil thought.

At last he helped Grant gently to his feet, and half-carried him into the now-steaming shower, lowering him to sit in the chair Fitz had brought.

A little gasp escaped Grant as the warm water hit him, before he relaxed, tilted his head back to let it wash over his face. Phil moved back to the curtained entrance, awkward and uncertain now. He'd set the soap and things within Grant's reach, but it wouldn't be easy for him to wash himself in his current state. He decided to wait for Grant to ask before he tried to help any further.

He had a sudden sharp recollection of being a child in the bathroom doorway, watching his mother help his father bathe, near the end when the cancer had robbed him of his strength. It was the same mixture of embarrassment, helplessness, and love that filled Phil now.

Sweat beaded on his brow, and he became aware of his heavy jacket and boots, and the water splashing on the cement floor. He left the coat, socks, and boots on the bench, along with his watch, rolling up his sleeves as he walked back to the shower stall.

That was when Phil finally saw the bullet scar clearly, stark on Grant's flushed skin. A dent the size of a quarter in his left shoulder, red and purple lines radiating outward in a strange sort of shatter pattern.

In the narrow space, Grant's back was only an arm's length away, but Phil hesitated to touch him, afraid to startle him. He'd carried that wound for two months– How had he ever survived? How had he kept going? Kept spying and shooting and moving.

"Coulson," Grant was saying. "Dad!"

He blinked, shook his head, cleared his throat. "Yes?"

Grant had his head down, turned, but not quite looking back at him. His hand holding the shampoo bottle was trembling. "Can you-?"

"Of course."

Water droplets pattered against his arms, darkened his sleeves as he worked a lather into Grant's hair, careful and awkward at first, before settling down to the job. He could feel Grant relaxing under his hands, and bit back a smile.

"Feeling better?" he murmured, as soapy grey water slid down the drain.

Grant's only reply was a grunt.

"Just don't fall asleep," Phil warned. "You can do that when they knock you out in the med bay."

"Won't need to knock me out," Grant mumbled.

No, they probably wouldn't, Phil thought. At this rate, he'd be carrying Grant down to the med bay.

"Anything else I can do?" he asked aloud, dropping his right hand to Grant's shoulder.

Grant said nothing, just held up a washcloth, and Phil silently took it.

He eased back a step, as Grant leaned forward, and was thinking of how gentle he'd have to be when he paused, staring at Grant's back.

The bullet hole wasn't the only scar there. There were other, older lines, cuts, burns that almost looked like finger prints, and... was that-?

"Grant. What is this?" He could barely hear his own whisper over the running water.

"What-?" Grant started, before he froze under Phil's touch.

Phil's stomach churned as he traced the raised flesh, the hollow-eyed skull and the eight curling tentacles. Bile rose in his throat, hot and scalding, but he swallowed it back. "Who did this to you?" He hated how his voice broke, how tears burned behind his eyes.

"Sorry, Garrett's already dead."

With a curse, Phil turned away, slammed a fist into the metal wall, but Grant's flinch yanked him back from the anger better than the pain in his knuckles did.

A deep breath, before he found a word. "Why?"

Grant seemed to shrink under his gaze, curling under the weight of that awful brand. But his words came as steadily as they would in any debriefing. "He said I was his. After I– I tried to escape. They tortured me, but he wouldn't let me die. And then he had me branded. To make sure everyone knew which master to send the mutt back to.

"Did you know?" He sat straighter, as if the bitter words gave him strength, glanced over his shoulder up at Phil. "Did he tell you he came to recruit me? In juvie? He got to the detention centre ten minutes after we left. He wanted me for HYDRA. But you beat him to it." A rusty laugh. "The way he harped on that, you would have thought you'd done it on purpose." He sighed, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "After- after I broke, after I shot Firenze... he said he won. He said he got me in the end."

The warmth on Phil's cheeks was not water; it stung in his eyes, burned in his throat. Words, where were they? What was he supposed to say?

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. We should have searched harder, we should have found you, I should have saved you. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came.

Blinking away tears, he looked down to where his hands rested on Grant's shoulders, water pattering over his fingers and dripping steadily down from his wrists... washing over those scars. On the right, the brand of HYDRA. On the left, the shattered mark earned from saving Coulson. He wished suddenly that the brand could have been on the left, could have been punched through by that bullet. Because which one had been Grant's choice?

"He didn't."

It came out in a croak, and Phil cleared his throat.

"He didn't get you in the end. You were willing to die to save me. The whole time he thought he had you, you were waiting to turn it back on him. He might have had your hands tied, but he didn't have you."

Grant sat quite still in front of him, head bowed, and suddenly Phil needed to see his face, to make sure Grant understood the truth. He ignored how water soaked his shirt as he stepped around to turn the shower off, and in the ringing hush, sank into a crouch in front of Grant.

Naked, dripping, hungry, exhausted, scarred, and in pain—this was Grant Ward at his most vulnerable. Phil only hoped he could get it right, could say and be whatever it was Grant needed most right now.

"Grant," he murmured.

A sniff, a shaky exhale, a hand rubbed across his face, but Grant did not look up.

Phil shifted to one knee, reaching up to cup the back of Grant's neck, rest their heads together. "You did what you had to do to survive."

Grant shook his head, drew back. When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed and wet. "You taught me a long time ago there was more to life than survival."

"I trust your judgement on the cost. You're a good man, Grant. Making the hard choices doesn't change that."

Tears brimmed over, and he turned his face away again.

"You stayed alive," Phil whispered. "And I'm grateful."

A shudder under Phil's hand, and then a sob broke out, Grant shaking his head hard. "But I didn't! I didn't try to survive! He wouldn't let me die."

How could his heart hurt anymore? Phil wondered. Not that he could really pretend surprise. Torture could push people in all kinds of directions. But he needed to keep Grant talking, dig out whatever was festering in his heart.

"What do you mean?" he whispered.

"This scar," Grant gulped, lifted a shaking hand to the pink line running down from in front of his right ear to under his jaw. "That wasn't Garrett. That was me."

And now he was sobbing, slumping forward against Phil's chest. As gently as he could, Phil wrapped an arm over Grant's back, their positions making it awkward to offer more physical comfort.

He wished he had a towel to wrap around Grant's shoulders, knowing the chill would get to him sooner or later. Cool water was dripping down inside his collar, and the hard floor was hurting his knee, but Grant had a fistful of his shirt, and Phil would not have pulled away for the world. He pressed his cheek against wet hair, and closed his eyes.

"What happened, Grant? Talk to me. This is our debriefing. Just us. Talk to me."

"He told me they were dead," Grant choked out. "Fitzsimmons. But he kept me alive. Tortured me. No food. No water. Alone. In the dark. For weeks." A last sob shuddered through him, and he subsided to ragged breathing. He was collecting himself, trying to explain coherently. "Garrett wanted to break me. I tried to escape, but–" a deep shaky inhale "–they caught me. Beat me. When I woke up... he branded me. And I..." His voice caught, and he shook his head, shivered.

"I'm sorry, Dad, I'm so sorry."

That tearful whisper tore at Phil's heart, and a couple warm drops slipped down his own cheeks.

"For what?" Even though he knew the answer.

"I was supposed to die bravely. But I couldn't. I wanted it to end! I just wanted... it to stop, so I tried. I stole a knife, went for the carotid. When I woke up... Garrett said I wouldn't get away that easy.

"I gave in, Dad." Another round of sobs threatened, but he fought them back. "I wasn't trying to be a double agent, I just... wanted to eat every day. I wanted to wake up and not hurt. I don't even remember the Treehouse. Because he was right. I was no better than a dog."

"Grant Douglas Ward." His voice came out too loud, and he tried to soften it with a hand on Grant's cheek. "Look at me." He stared into bloodshot brown eyes, gripped Grant's face gently. "Sometimes heroes have to start by saving their own lives. And yours is worth it." A thumb stroked deliberately down the knife's old path. "So thank you. Thank you for surviving. I'm proud of you, son."

More tears, but quieter now, both of them worn and chilled.

Phil leaned in to press a warm kiss to Grant's forehead. "Come on," he murmured. "We better finish up and get you in some dry clothes."

"Okay."

As he stood though, Grant caught his hand, squeezed it. "I love you, Dad." His tiny tired smile was like the sun breaking through clouds.

It took a moment before Phil could answer.

"I love you, son."

He tried to move quickly, cleaning Grant's back, and helping him wash around the splint. The little gasps from Grant at any movement of his leg, told him the anesthetic had run his course, and his kid belonged in the med bay ten minutes ago.

But at the same time there seemed to be something lighter in Grant's eyes, in his air, and Phil was certain their conversation had been a good thing. What was that saying? The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable? Well, they'd gotten some of the misery out of the way.

Getting Grant dry and dressed was an arduous process, but at last he sat on the bench, clad in the borrowed flannels and Phil's jacket, preferable because of its zipper. Phil discarded his soaked button down, and took the t-shirt and sweater. May had forgotten socks, so he gave Grant his own, kneeling in front of him to gently ease on one and then the other, at least as far as it could go on the wounded leg.

As Phil hastily laced his boots, he glanced sideways at Grant's pale face, and closed eyes, the way he slumped back against the wall, still shivering.

"I'm carrying you." Not a question, a decision.

"You always carry me."

The words were barely audible, and he wondered if Grant had meant to say that aloud. But he clearly meant for Phil to hear him as he was set gently on the elevator floor, Fitz and Trip fussing around his leg. As Phil made to stand, Grant caught his sleeve, spoke soft but steady. "I'm glad I'm alive too."

Phil could only nod and smile.

Grant was asleep on his shoulder by the time the elevator stopped.

[isa-ghost]

So I'm pretty sure the ending of The Beginning shows Phil being caught by Kristin before he hits the ground. And she likely then granted him his real wings as her Angel of Death.

Or perhaps he DID hit the ground, then was taken by her, then given his wings. And this is his one death rather than the baby zombie. But personally I think it's my first idea that's correct and the baby zombie is his one death.

Either way, if the second idea was correct it'd be cool to start making angsty headcanons about him being undead >:D

[rip-quizilla]

I'm Not Crying, You're Crying (Eddie Cries While Watching Tarzan)

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 27: You'll Be In My Heart

WC: 653

A/N: Okay... so I may have gone a bit rogue on this one. I know the prompt list explained this one as 'navigating love on the road', but when I hear the words You'll Be In My Heart I can't think of anything BUT Tarzan. So here's the weird little bit of fluff I came up with.

Tags: College!Corroded Coffin, crying, Eddie thinking about motherhood and the role it's played in his life, surprise at the end. It's an AU... but not the way you might think.

Divider created by @strangergraphics

In one of the smallest dorm rooms on the USI campus, four twenty-somethings had gathered around a glowing screen on a rainy Tuesday night.

“Wait, she’s taking the baby into a fucking tree?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Yes, Grant, she’s a gorilla. Gorillas climb trees sometimes.”

“But what if she drops it?”

Gareth scoffed, chiming in. “This is a Disney movie, idiot, that isn’t gonna happen.”

“I just watched a baby gorilla get mauled by a cheetah!” Grant yelled, incredulity plain on his face as he pointed to the TV. “You think they’d show that but draw the line at babies falling from trees?”

“A leopard mauled the baby gorilla.” Jeff corrected. “Cheetahs live in the savannah, dumbass.” 

“Would you all kindly shut the fuck up?” Eddie silenced them all, eyes trained on the TV with rapt attention as he watched Kala climb up the gnarled branches of a jungle tree, Phil Collins’ You’ll Be In My Heart crooning through the speakers. “You’re missing it.”

The other three looked at each other, confused but too scared to ask why he cared so much about some kids' movie, and continued to watch until-

“Dude, are you crying?”

“No!” Eddie sniffed, wiping furiously at his eyes. “You’re crying!”

Gareth’s nose scrunched up. “Bro, nothing sad is even happening, the mom got a new baby and the baby got a new mom-”

“They’re happy tears, jerkwad!” Eddie bit back, punctuating his reply with another sniffle. “This whole scene is about motherhood and loving your kid no matter what and it’s fucking beautiful, if you had a heart you’d be crying too!”

Jeff and Grant were laughing- to their credit, it was quietly and mostly to themselves. Gareth put on a mask of mock-sympathy as he grabbed a tissue and handed it to Eddie. “Those are some big feelings you’re having there, huh buddy?”

Eddie scowled at Gareth, swiping the tissue from him aggressively. He blew his nose into it, but not without giving Gare the finger first. 

Gareth patted Eddie’s back. “That’s okay, let it out big guy.” 

Eventually, the chuckling subsided until everyone’s focus returned to the movie. However, that scene still lingered in Eddie’s mind- the message about motherhood that this movie drove home for him every time he watched it. How Tarzan wouldn’t have grown into the man he was without Kala; a man so sure of his decisions, who trusted himself because his mother trusted him first. How no matter what happened, she stood by him and allowed him to chart his own course in life. 

Discreetly, Eddie pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping on his screen until he’d opened up a text thread. Quickly, he typed out a message. 

Love you, mom ❤️

The reply was instant, as it always was. 

I love you too bud! Everything okay?

Eddie smiled to himself as he typed out his response.

Yeah, all good! Just feeling extra thankful for my mom today :)

He turned his eyes back to the movie after hitting send, keeping his attention on the screen until he felt his phone buzz once, then again a few seconds later.

Aw, buddy! 🥹 That made my day!

I’m so proud of the man you’ve grown up to be. I raised a good one 😌

Eddie smiled, pride blooming in his chest. He and his mom had been through a lot, but they’d made it through because they’d had each other. Eddie couldn’t imagine what life might have been like for him if he hadn’t had her by his side. Who would he be? What kind of man would Eddie Munson have become? 

Now, here he was at college with his friends- his band- with a world of possibilities ripe for his picking. Could he have even gotten here without her support every step of the way? 

Maybe, he thought, but I would have been a hell of a lot more lonely.

[lexisgrump]

✨Reunion.✨ (Phillip Graves x Reader)

A continuation of this post.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

They were being watched. You saw that black van several times a day driving through your street. Sometimes it was parked on the side, and while the windows were tinted you could tell someone was inside. Part of it was thanks to the training Phil had given you when- well. When your loving fiancé had still been around to care for you. Telling you he would have people come after him, that would try and hurt her to get to him. Jokes were on whoever was trying to hurt them now, since Phillip hadn’t been around for two years. Losing his life in Mexico, in a fight that he thought he could win, but ultimately didn’t. Leaving behind his fiancée and his son. Not that Phillip knew he was a father, you had learned about your pregnancy after his ashes had already been delivered to your house. The same house you had bought together on your fifth anniversary to live together and grow a family. You still sat with the urn in the evenings, telling Phil all about your day and your little one. The pregnancy hadn’t been easy, but Nathaniel had been nothing if not supportive. Nathaniel Graves- your late fiancé’s older brother. You supposed he felt guilty for his brothers’ demise, and tried caring for you the best he could.

With the birth of Phillip Junior, named after his late Father, your world took on a new priority. Some nights had been tough, and they still were. The little munchkin was old enough to toddle around now, and babble a few words to show what his needs were. Another hard pill to swallow for you was the fact that little Phillip was a carbon copy of his papa. Dirty blonde hair and the same blue eyes you had fallen in love with. And the same attitude. It made you miss the grown man even more, with the way your toddler demanded appy slices. Phillip hadn’t left a will, not that you were made aware of anyway, but his brother had left you a sizeable amount of inheritance money. It enabled you to quit your job and care for your son properly, the way the little boy needed. Phil had always wanted you to be a housewife. Provide for you, knowing he made the numbers easily for a comfortable life. You’d always denied his wish, wanted to earn your own money. One child later, and widowed while not even married and you granted Phillip his wish.

Phil’s second in command had come around to collect all files and evidence of Shadow Company 6 months after the incident. Theodore Wiscon was a scary man. 6 feet 5 inches in height, broad shoulders and a strong muscled torso. He had kind eyes, and the way they had softened even further seeing your baby bump, you couldn’t help but let Uncle Theo be a part of your son’s life. Now- Theo only came around sporadically. What, with having to run Shadow Company now in absence of your fiancé, but he made sure to spoil your little man rotten whenever he did. He’d also been kind enough to pay you a monthly allowance, assuring you it was what Phil would’ve wanted. The first thing you did when you noticed the van was text Theo about it. He’d asked you to do so, whenever you thought you were in danger. Two men of Shadow Company showed up at your door only hours later, looking at Phillip playing on living room floor. Telling them about what you had seen, the taller one of the two assured you they were going to make sure nothing would happen. He’d introduced himself as Vance. The other one stayed woefully quiet, before introducing himself as Matthews. They informed you they were just going to have a look around, to make sure there wasn’t an immediate threat.

The two men stayed around for a while, sleeping in the guest room that you had turned Phil’s old office into. It had hurt you to change the room, open up a window to air out the lingering scent of Phil’s cologne. You fed Vance and Matthews for the better part of two weeks, the two made sure to pay special attention to the little boy sitting on a big boy chair already, brabbling about all kinds of things, with some normal words mixed in between. Theo wanted to see them after those two weeks, and Vance and Matthews made sure to escort you. Matthews sat behind the wheel, while you were squished in the backseat with Phillip and Vance, the latter having a gloved hand on his weapon and watching the neighborhood as they left. The security system was live when they left, both Theo and Nathaniel had made sure to get you and Phillip the best one there was. One that send an alert out to Shadow Company so they could come and help you. They were faster than the cops most days anyway. Phillip was ecstatic to visit Uncle Theo at work, climbing all over the mountain of a man and wanting to sit in all of the armored vehicles they walked past. According to Theodore, the neighborhood was clean and there was no one suspicious around.

Vance and Matthews drove you and Phillip home a day later, the two of you having stayed the night on base of Shadow Company, if simply for the little boy to enjoy Uncle Theo’s presence. They dropped you off at the end of the street as to not rouse more suspicion from your neighbors. Phillip needed to stretch his little legs either way. Feeling eyes on you, you turned partially to the direction, only to see Miss Steward on her porch, her wrinkly hands on her banister. Are you alright, love? She called across the street, no doubt referring to the masked and armored men having stayed with you for the past two weeks. “Yes, Miss Steward. Just some friends coming for a visit. Thank you for asking.” With that you herded your son through the front door, locking the door and the place down at the same time. Security was still live, no alerts on your phone. Phillip asked for some juice before nap time, something you granted the little boy happily. Putting him down for a nap, it gave you some much needed alone time. A nap as well, and some time to scroll through your phone, looking at the various pictures of Phil. Jesus Christ, you missed your fiancé more than anything.

There was no sight of the van again. Theo installed you some security cameras as well, and both him and Nathaniel asked for access of them. Agreeing easily, knowing they wanted to keep you and Phillip safe, you were busy making snacks in the kitchen when you heard your son call out to you. Mama, just that single word had you hauling ass out the front door, watching your son having backed up onto the porch. Across the street, on a shadowy bench, sat a stranger. Dressed from head to toe in black, a black Hoodie pulled over his head, and what appeared to be a balaclava on his face. Immediately you lifted Phillip into your arms and carried him inside giving Theo a call. This time it took Vance and Matthews only thirty minutes to show up at your door. The stranger was long gone then. “I’m scared they’re a kiddy fiddler,” The term had been inherited from Phil, who had used that word instead of the official term for it. Again, Vance and Matthews combed through the neighborhood, all nice and sneaky. They didn’t find anything, and kind of looked at you like you had lost your mind. Thank the heavens for the security cameras then, because a quick scroll through the footage showed them said stranger on the bench watching Phillip.

Said footage was what got Theo to her doorstep within the hour. He ordered the two mercenaries to go have another look, and to look in every fucking nook and cranny to make sure that bastard wasn’t going to hurt his honorable nephew. You fed three grown fucking soldiers that night, glad someone enjoyed your cooking as much as they did. Phillip was a spoiled little baby, though he also enjoyed mamas cooking whenever you cooked for them. Theodore left with Vance and Matthews the following morning but left you a 9 Millimeter pistol to make sure you could defend yourself in case of an emergency. Unnecessary, seeing as Phil had left you a whole locked closet worth of weapons, but you weren’t about to disclose that information. Besides, you knew next to nothing about firearms and weren’t sure if they needed regular cleaning or oiling or whatever. Locking the gun into the lockable kitchen cabinet, just out of reach of Phillip but perfectly convenient should an intruder make his way into the place. It left you thinking about possibly renovating the house.

Currently, you stepped into a small hallway, where the coats and shoes were placed. Walking from said hallway, you stepped into the living room with a large couch you and Phil had picked together. And spent some quality time together on. Possibly making Phillip on one lonely evening, but you had never been one to deny your late fiancé a spontaneous quickie. From the living room was an open arch that led to the kitchen, with the lockable cabinet right at the door. The kitchen bled into an eating area, that was kept as clean as you could with a two-year-old menace living in the same house as you. Returning to the living room, another door led into what had been Phil’s office now turned guest room, which had led into the mudroom and the garage. A stairwell was right next to the door, which took your upstairs to the master bedroom and its own ensuite. Right across the hall was the old guest room turned Phillip’s bedroom. The urn had long moved into your bedroom, standing on Phil’s bedside table so it felt like he was still sleeping with you.

You were eating cookies at Miss Steward’s table with Phillip when the security alert flashed on your phone. The very same alert was going to Theo’s computer, knowing shadow company was going to show up soon enough to check it out. Taking a deep breath, you waited until you saw the armored vehicles pull up, to check out the premises. You could see the whole ordeal from Miss Steward’s kitchen window. The old lady was a saint, asking you if you needed a place to sleep. And if you were going to be safe. “I will be, Miss Steward. Thanks again. Just a lot of things happening at once.” It was true. A lot of things had happened recently that kept you up at night. If only Phil was here. He’d keep you and the munchkin safe. Waiting for the all clear, you were safe to return home only 15 minutes later. They hadn’t found anything, having combed through the entire home twice. Theo showed up at your door the same evening wanting to make sure you were alright. Right there, in the dim light of your dining table, you realized how lonely you were. Theodore also seemed to notice, because soon he had leaned over and pressed his lips to yours.

It felt good, at first, the first human contact in a little over two years now. Realization settled as one of Theo’s hands found their way up your sweater, and you grabbed it while looking at him pleadingly. You couldn’t do it. Your heart and body still belonged to the man that sat cremated in an urn on his bedside table. Theodore apologized and left only a few minutes later. Thankfully this wasn’t going to become an issue. Except then it did, because later at night your phone flashed with yet another security alert, a silent one, as to not alert Phillip sleeping in the other room. Slipping out of bed, and pulling on your robe, you moved downstairs as quietly as possible. The light was on in Phil’s old office. No doubt someone was trying to get information on him. Carefully unlocking the cabin in the kitchen, you grabbed the gun from its hiding place, quickly sliding back the safety. Thankfully both Phil and later Theo had taught you how to use one efficiently. Calling out to the intruder that you were armed, and were not afraid to use the gun, you received no reply. Of fucking course not. Slipping in through the ajar door, you found an empty bedroom. Checking under the bed, and the closet found it empty. The mudroom and the garage were empty as well.

Just as you were about to give Theo an update, before the Shadows showed up again, you turned to run into a chest. Before you could scream, two hands grabbed the gun from yours, surprisingly gentle, disarmed you and then pressing a warm hand over your mouth. This was it, you thought. You were going to get raped, and killed, in the safety of your own home. Tears spilled over your cheeks and the intruders hand still pressed to your mouth. Soothing shushing suddenly sounded said stranger. Opening your own eyes you were met with a wave of nostalgia. Blue grey stared back at you, albeit covered by a black hoodie. The very same one you had seen not a few days prior. Understanding flashed in those eyes, and the hand was lowered from your mouth, cupping your neck in a loving gesture. “Phil?” You croaked out. Another soft shush left the strangers covered face. You were going crazy. Absolutely fucking bonkers, considering you saw an intruder as your dead fiancé. Just how far gone were you? You weren’t even aware you needed meds, and suddenly they sounded good if you were hallucinating. In hindsight, maybe you should’ve fucked Theodore to get some sense into you. Your fiancé Phillip Graves was dead. Burned in a tank, in Mexico, after General Shepherd blackmailed him into starting a war he couldn’t have possibly won.

Standing in your guest room, in a nightie with a silk robe wrapped around your body, you watched the intruder pull the hoodie down, and the balaclava off. Maybe you were going crazy, but staring your long dead fiancé in the face, left you flabbergasted. SLAP. The sound echoed around in the guest room, and you watched Phil’s cheek color red in the shape of your handprint. One of his hands lifted up to touched the tender area, and he stared at you just as shocked. “I mourned you, asshole.” Voice trembling with anger, and sadness, tears began trickling back down over your cheeks. “I cried for you, and you were alive the whole time? How fucking dare you?” This time your voice cracked towards the end, as Phil pulled you in tightly, wrapping his arms around you while shushing you again. Pushing away, and shoving the man you had thought dead away as well, you stared at him. “Leave, now. Theo is well on his way since I didn’t respond. I will tell him to shoot you.” A car pulled into your driveway, the headlights illuminating the space. “Go,” you urged, shoving Phil once more. The hood pulled back over his face, he escaped through the backdoor, possibly how he left the last time. You were sure it had been him.

[daddy-ul]

let me second that anon and say I too would very much appreciate any and all analysis of their friendship and James POV specifically. that 95 interview where he talks about Lars being the keeper of the secrets lives in my mind rent-free

i take this as a free rant card fhkdfhkdsdf not my fault.

let's talk about mr james trust issue hetfield, starting from 90s tallica (which. 👀👀👀 every time i talk abt it to my non tallica friends they are like "wh what the fuck?" and that's the only sane response)

when I think abt the codependency twins and secrets I usually think about this James interview from Rolling Stones 93

"There's little whispers and little games and little crap that goes on. But when it comes down to a problem, something serious going on, we go to each other, and there's no bullshit. When there's something serious being talked about, it's not talked about with the other guys or with anybody else. It's like an unwritten law. And I definitely like that."

I remember reading it and going "it was... almost normal, until you specified that 1) it was a silent law 2) you liked it that way

I dont think saying that James has trust issue is something controversial or new, so im taking that for granted to focus on WHEN he gives his trust and how with Lars he constantly gave it and took it away for DECADES.

A part from the fucked up part where you relish in having a secret deep bond that separates you from the rest of your bandmates + the fact that you dont even needed to state the rule for the rule to be born... what james is saying here is "when there is something important, i can trust him" and more specifically "i choose to go to him and no one else" (and the sentiment goes both ways but lars' side is not the point here) "because i trust him and not the other guys with what i consider important".

Now, imagine knowing this, having read this interview and many more, where EVEN IN THE 90S --even at the peak of rock 'n roll lifestyles, dysfunctions, white jackets, "little games, little whispers", aesthetic debates and so on-- you remember that EVEN THEN Lars talked about how the two of them had a lot of fights but couldn't bear to let pass more than 3 minutes before going to the other and apologize. And, uno mas: you have lars going around being happy that they both had children in the same year and talking about them growing older together!

THEN, be me in 2020, finally getting the This monster lives! book (the book abt the making of SKOM) and you read this:

JAMES: [...] I want to feel some trust. (to Lars) I just feel static all the time from you. PHIL: (to James) What would it take for you to trust him? JAMES: I have no idea. PHIL: No, what would it look like? JAMES: With him? I don't know. I don't know if I've ever seen it.

apart from me being gutted (bc believe me that if my 15+ year friend said that to me i would have had trouble breathing) i was.... disoriented? perplexed? like, yeah, it was a tough period and I can imagine that James would have some difficulty trusting Lars in that moment but... the last line? talking like trusting lars or lars being trust worthy was something that never could happen?? it. it doesn't make any sense.

He is not trying to be mean or hurt lars, he is being sincere and he is honestly trying to resolve their issues. He is saying what he is feeling in the moment.

and that goes even more sideways when Lars confesses his needs and vulnerabilities regarding James and--

JAMES: It doesn't hit me right... I don't know... PHIL: Doesn't hit you right, meaning you think he's bullshitting you? JAMES: Sure.

He doesn't even trust what Lars is saying IN THIS MOMENT. Not a word from his mouth. how could it be? How you can go from being weirdly proud of having a secret cult with only two members to *move hands* this.

He says, and i quote, "because there's been twenty years of mistrust", so basically every single year of their friendship (look at me jumping out of a bridge at this part because jesus FUCK it would hurt less). And look, I dont know them, and you can lie to the press, you can lie to the fans, you can act and pretend all you want bc it's the show business -- so it could be that all the times before james lied.

But if i believed in those lies,, so had Lars bc not long after that he fucked right off the room to take a breather.

But let's put to the side this, because Phil was a good therapist and took James through his reasonings about trust and especially why he feels this distrusting towards Lars in particular:

JAMES: [...] Like, when I walked in, I wanted to hug everyone in the room, but I didn't want to hug you. There's how I felt. It's not a lack of love. I didn't feel like touching you that way. I was carrying some of that ugliness, and it's not good for me. PHIL: And when he reached out for you, did you feel it was genuine? Or would you prefer to believe it wasn't, so you could feel safe? JAMES: Sure, that's the safest way to go, for sure. PHIL: So mistrust is a defence against being hurt. I mean, the more we find a reason not to trust somebody, the safer we feel. The closest relationships have the most difficulty with trust. JAMES: Uh-huh. KIRK: That's. Uh. Pretty amazing. JAMES: Because there is so much more to get hurt with, or so much to lose.

Basically, Lars was special.

That's it. That's the deal.

What James feels towards Lars is so big, it could go so wrong, it could hurt so much- that is better not opening to it, not trusting it --him.

Knowing this, all the parentheses click shut behind.

This is a big turning point in their approach to one another, imho. On Lars' end too, but you asked abt James so I'm gonna contain myself.

But I gotta say that, in MY OPINION, ABSOLUTELY OPINIONATED VIEW BASED ON WHAT I'VE SEEN AND NOTHING ELSE SO TAKE IT FOR WAT IT IS-- Lars after this learned not to need James so much, or he tried to. He confessed that he had a special need for him, to have a special connection, on a deeper level. And, like, it happens, when it happens in friendships is BRUTAL (have you ever considered someone your absolute bff to then discover they just thought you a casual friend? IMAGINE AFTER 20 YEARS).

So, to me, it felt like... He started to ask less, to ask of James what he would ask of his other friends and no more.

What did James do?

Started to point out how Lars was instrumental in the earlier days

Gave a lot more compliments and started to consistently underline in a positive way the length of their relationship

Saying OUT LOUD that he is special to him

Doing the weird thing that he does 85% of the time when the interviewer ask about Metallica in general and he just brings up Lars, only Lars. DUDE YOU HAVE OTHER 2 BAND MEMBERS (I don't think he does it consciously sjsjsjsjs and he loves rob and kirk! BUT DUDE)

I'm gonna expand the last one BC it was the first that I noticed back then. Mind you, Lars had always had Lars Privileges™️, I'm not even listing things bc it's everywhere, but now? like, 2005/6 going forward???? James consciously and openly let him and djjeksksksksk Lars noticed and basically did what he always does (the little shit): run with it to see how far he could push. Famously from that era: he wore NAKED AND SWEATY James embroidered bathrobe, saying that if someone could, that would be him, sitting on James' special stool, because he could. and then he started saying embarrassing shit about them in front of him, with James just ignoring him or looking in the middle distance, like "why the fuck he is like that" BUT LETTING HIM.

>>>>>> he lets them do whatever the fuck he wants with him.

HE STARTED TO SPELLING IT OUT, HE IS NOT AFRAID ANYMORE.

Where is the gifset abt the XXX anniversary where James said "I know that Lars is doing stuff behind me" --and Lars immediately starting doing that-- "but it's okay because only Lars can do that".

All of this to say: they always have been like this to a degree, now James just lets himself (and Lars) live it as it is.

Look at them being sixty and living their best weirdo life.

[ladygriffith]

Historical parallels between Roman Empire and Berserk

Casca was originally a Roman Man:

Publius Servilius Casca

Publius Servilius Casca Longus (died c. 42 BC) was one of the assassins of Julius Caesar. He and several other senators conspired to kill him, a plan which they carried out on 15 March 44 BC. Afterward, Casca fought with the liberators during the Liberators' civil war. He is believed to have died at the Battle of Phillipi either by suicide or by Octavian's forces.

Despite his being initially a childhood friend of Caesar, Casca and his brother Titedius joined in the assassination. Casca struck the first blow, attacking Caesar from behind and hitting his bare shoulders, after Tillius Cimber had distracted the dictator by grabbing his toga. Caesar replied "Casca, you villain, what are you doing?" and tussled with him for several seconds. Casca simultaneously shouted to his brother in Greek, "Brother, help me!" The other assassins then joined in.

Casca joined Marcus Junius Brutus and Gaius Cassius Longinus, the leaders of the assassins, during the Liberators' civil war against the Second Triumvirate, Caesar's former supporters.

Casca is commemorated on a coin along with Brutus, in which a bearded figure is depicted next to his name. However, this appears to be the god Neptune rather than a portrait of Casca.

Neptune is the Roman god of freshwater and the sea in Roman religion. He is the counterpart of the Greek god Poseidon.

Guts: "Anytime she stands next to water, nothing good ever comes of it ..."

Calpurnia was either the third or fourth wife of Julius Caesar, and the one to whom he was married at the time of his assassination. According to contemporary sources, she was a good and faithful wife, in spite of her husband's infidelity; and, forewarned of the attempt on his life, she endeavored in vain to prevent his murder. Her contemporaries describe Calpurnia as a humble, often shy woman. The night before his assassination, Calpurnia dreamed that Caesar had been wounded, and lay dying in her arms. 

Gaiseric (c. 389 – 25 January 477), also known as Geiseric or Genseric was king of the Vandals and Alans from 428 to 477. He ruled over a kingdom and played a key role in the decline of the Western Roman Empire during the 5th century.

(Sack of Rome in 455) Gaiseric's invasion was a devastating blow to the empire itself, so much so that historian Michael Grant claims, "Gaiseric contributed more to the collapse of the western Roman Empire than any other single man."

Before Gaiseric marched upon Rome, Pope Leo I implored him not to destroy the ancient city or murder its inhabitants.

Gaiseric agreed and the gates of Rome were thrown open to him and his men. Once inside the city, the invaders plundered it thoroughly, including the Jupiter Capitolinus temple "Gaiseric contributed more to the collapse of the western Roman Empire than any other single man."

Marcus Junius Brutus was a Roman politician, orator, and the most famous of the assassins of Julius Caesar. He also was close to Caesar. Brutus eventually came to oppose Caesar and sided with Pompey against Caesar's forces during the ensuing civil war (49–45 BC). Pompey was defeated at the Battle of Pharsalus in 48, after which Brutus surrendered to Caesar, who granted him amnesty.

With Caesar's increasingly monarchical and autocratic behaviour after the civil war, several senators who later called themselves liberatores (liberators), plotted to assassinate him.

Popular unrest forced Brutus and his brother-in-law, fellow assassin Gaius Cassius Longinus, to leave Rome. After a complex political realignment, Octavian – Caesar's adopted son – made himself consul and, with his colleague, passed a law retroactively making Brutus and the other conspirators murderers. This led to a second civil war, in which Mark Antony and Octavian fought the liberatores led by Brutus and Cassius. The Caesarians decisively defeated the outnumbered armies of Brutus and Cassius at the two battles at Philippi in October 42. After the defeat Brutus took his own life.

His name has been condemned for betrayal of Caesar, his friend and benefactor.

Et tu, Brute?

[soundsoftechzakissing]

techza au where Phil is chosen to get wings from the universe and is crowned king after a huge war where he fought side by side with Techno.

techno didn't get wings but he's just happy to be around Phil. he's just glad that Phil's newfound status and magic didn't wipe away the partner he's fought alongside for years

techno becomes Phil's right hand man, he is kept close for strategy and diplomacy but also for comfort. it's rare that you should see the emperor without his second. for techno, it's everything he could've dreamed of.

as long as Phil holds him close he will ignore the possessiveness and greed that the emperor keeps him with. he will ignore the concerned wayward glances and being locked away in Phil's nest for days on end because it's Phil.

Phil, who Techno has loved for years, and who Techno can only be grateful to hold a second of his attention. Phil who cradles him close and is warm and chirps worriedly when techno is out of sight for too long

perhaps one day techno will be worthy enough to be granted wings, to be chosen by the gods. but until then he is content to be chosen by Phil.

[canonrpfinder]

About Me: She/Her. 25+. EST. I write on Discord (DMs or servers) or through Tumblr messages. I like to stay on Tumblr for plotting. I write in third person, past tense and around 150-400 words. Replies happen within 2-3 days usually. Sometimes daily, depending on how busy I am with work and RL. I typically do not double. I have no triggers but that doesn't mean I'm willing to do everything. I take things on a case-by-case basis. ❄️

What I'm Looking For: Various fandoms. Please be 18+ to interact!!! Write in third person (I don't mind the tense). No one-liners and preferably have a ~100+ word count. Replies within 2-4 days is ideal. But I'm fine with every 5-7 days. Just let me know if it's going to take longer. I'm only looking for canon x canon pairings. Mainly looking for MxM ships. Willing to take on a limited amount of MxF or FxF. I'm a lot pickier with what ships I do for those latter two, though. I don't mind writing NSFW/smut and wouldn't mind incorporating it into most of these threads (with any plot/smut ratio).

I'll just be listing my primary muses for each fandom (I might be talked into writing some others). Any muse in bold I especially would love to write as right now. We can discuss ships together. I have a lot of favorites, and I'm always to discussing new ones I've never given a chance before.

Baldur's Gate 3:

Abdirak

Astarion Ancunín

Cazador Szarr

Dammon

The Emperor

Enver Gortash

Gale Dekarios

Halsin

Ketheric Thorm

Nere

Raphael

Rolan

Zevlor

Doctor Who:

Delgado!Master

Dhawan!Master

Eleventh Doctor

Fifth Doctor

Fourteenth Doctor

Harry Sullivan

Jack Harkness

Rogue

Second Doctor

Sixth Doctor

Tenth Doctor

Game of Thrones:

Alliser Thorne

Beric Dondarrion

Daenerys Targaryen

Jaime Lannister

Margaery Tyrell

Petyr Baelish

Robb Stark

Roose Bolton

Sansa Stark

Stannis Baratheon

Thoros

Tywin Lannister

(AMC) Interview with the Vampire:

Armand

Lestat de Lioncourt

The Lord of the Rings:

Boromir

Celeborn

Elrond

Gríma Wormtongue

Haldir

Marvel:

Benjamin Poindexter

Billy Russo

Bruce Banner

Bucky Barnes

Carol Danvers

Frank Castle

Grant Ward

Lance Hunter

Loki Laufeyson

Matt Murdock

Nathan Summers

Andrew!Peter Parker

Phil Coulson

Ray Nadeem

Reed Richards

Tony Stark

Victor von Doom

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre:

Drayton Sawyer

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer

Nubbins Sawyer

Tex Sawyer

If you'd like to work something out, please like this post, and I'll get back to you ASAP.

✒

[roleplayfinder]

About Me: She/Her. 25+. EST. I write on Discord (DMs or servers) or through Tumblr messages. I like to stay on Tumblr for plotting. I write in third person, past tense and around 150-400 words. Replies happen within 2-3 days usually. Sometimes daily, depending on how busy I am with work and RL. I typically do not double. I have no triggers but that doesn't mean I'm willing to do everything. I take things on a case-by-case basis. ❄️

What I'm Looking For: Various fandoms. Please be 18+ to interact!!! Write in third person (I don't mind the tense). No one-liners and preferably have a ~100+ word count. Replies within 2-4 days is ideal. But I'm fine with every 5-7 days. Just let me know if it's going to take longer. I'm only looking for canon x canon pairings. Mainly looking for MxM ships. Willing to take on a limited amount of MxF or FxF. I'm a lot pickier with what ships I do for those latter two, though. I don't mind writing NSFW/smut and wouldn't mind incorporating it into most of these threads (with any plot/smut ratio).

I'll just be listing my primary muses for each fandom (I might be talked into writing some others). Any muse in bold I especially would love to write as right now. We can discuss ships together. I have a lot of favorites, and I'm always to discussing new ones I've never given a chance before.

Baldur's Gate 3:

Abdirak

Astarion Ancunín

Cazador Szarr

Dammon

The Emperor

Enver Gortash

Gale Dekarios

Halsin

Ketheric Thorm

Nere

Raphael

Rolan

Zevlor

Doctor Who:

Delgado!Master

Dhawan!Master

Eleventh Doctor

Fifth Doctor

Fourteenth Doctor

Harry Sullivan

Jack Harkness

Rogue

Second Doctor

Sixth Doctor

Tenth Doctor

Game of Thrones:

Alliser Thorne

Beric Dondarrion

Daenerys Targaryen

Jaime Lannister

Margaery Tyrell

Petyr Baelish

Robb Stark

Roose Bolton

Sansa Stark

Stannis Baratheon

Thoros

Tywin Lannister

(AMC) Interview with the Vampire:

Armand

Lestat de Lioncourt

The Lord of the Rings:

Boromir

Celeborn

Elrond

Gríma Wormtongue

Haldir

Marvel:

Benjamin Poindexter

Billy Russo

Bruce Banner

Bucky Barnes

Carol Danvers

Frank Castle

Grant Ward

Lance Hunter

Loki Laufeyson

Matt Murdock

Nathan Summers

Andrew!Peter Parker

Phil Coulson

Ray Nadeem

Reed Richards

Tony Stark

Victor von Doom

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre:

Drayton Sawyer

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer

Nubbins Sawyer

Tex Sawyer

If you'd like to work something out, please like this post, and I'll get back to you ASAP.

.

[prpfz]

About Me: She/Her. 25+. EST. I write on Discord (DMs or servers) or through Tumblr messages. I like to stay on Tumblr for plotting. I write in third person, past tense and around 150-400 words. Replies happen within 2-3 days usually. Sometimes daily, depending on how busy I am with work and RL. I typically do not double. I have no triggers but that doesn't mean I'm willing to do everything. I take things on a case-by-case basis. ❄️

What I'm Looking For: Various fandoms. Please be 18+ to interact!!! Write in third person (I don't mind the tense). No one-liners and preferably have a ~100+ word count. Replies within 2-4 days is ideal. But I'm fine with every 5-7 days. Just let me know if it's going to take longer. I'm only looking for canon x canon pairings. Mainly looking for MxM ships. Willing to take on a limited amount of MxF or FxF. I'm a lot pickier with what ships I do for those latter two, though. I don't mind writing NSFW/smut and wouldn't mind incorporating it into most of these threads (with any plot/smut ratio).

I'll just be listing my primary muses for each fandom (I might be talked into writing some others). Any muse in bold I especially would love to write as right now. We can discuss ships together. I have a lot of favorites, and I'm always to discussing new ones I've never given a chance before.

Baldur's Gate 3:

Abdirak

Astarion Ancunín

Cazador Szarr

Dammon

The Emperor

Enver Gortash

Gale Dekarios

Halsin

Ketheric Thorm

Nere

Raphael

Rolan

Zevlor

Doctor Who:

Delgado!Master

Dhawan!Master

Eleventh Doctor

Fifth Doctor

Fourteenth Doctor

Harry Sullivan

Jack Harkness

Rogue

Second Doctor

Sixth Doctor

Tenth Doctor

Game of Thrones:

Alliser Thorne

Beric Dondarrion

Daenerys Targaryen

Jaime Lannister

Margaery Tyrell

Petyr Baelish

Robb Stark

Roose Bolton

Sansa Stark

Stannis Baratheon

Thoros

Tywin Lannister

(AMC) Interview with the Vampire:

Armand

Lestat de Lioncourt

The Lord of the Rings:

Boromir

Celeborn

Elrond

Gríma Wormtongue

Haldir

Marvel:

Benjamin Poindexter

Billy Russo

Bruce Banner

Bucky Barnes

Carol Danvers

Frank Castle

Grant Ward

Lance Hunter

Loki Laufeyson

Matt Murdock

Nathan Summers

Andrew!Peter Parker

Phil Coulson

Ray Nadeem

Reed Richards

Tony Stark

Victor von Doom

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre:

Drayton Sawyer

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer

Nubbins Sawyer

Tex Sawyer

If you'd like to work something out, please like this post, and I'll get back to you ASAP.

Leave a like, and anon will get back to you!

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fic Titles That Are Questions (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

Am I Pretty? (ao3) - heymoons

Summary: Dan is an intern at the BBC who moonlights as a cam model. He’s worried about being judged for his secret, until he meets Phil and everything changes.

Can I Borrow A Kiss? (I Promise I’ll Give it Back) (ao3) - tjmcharg

Summary: Lots and lots of different kisses.

Can I Even Complicate Your Breathing? - botanistlester

Summary: Pastel!Dan lives in an apartment complex and sits on his windowsill every night and sings. Punk!Phil listens to him every night.

Can You feel The Love Tonight? - nebulous-frog

Summary: Phil sings with the door open while he’s folding laundry and Dan overhears. Phil’s completely tone deaf and doesn’t know any of the lyrics, but that won’t stop him, dammit, no matter how many times people ask him to seriously just stop. Dan thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

“Did you ever doubt that your dream will ever come true?” - secretlywritingstories

Summary:As Phil reads out the question, Dan’s involuntary reaction is to smile and glance towards him. He hides it pretty well during the live show but as soon as it’s over, he begins to fully appreciate that his dream did come true.

did you know penguins mate for life? (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Phil takes care of fifty penguins at work and another twenty-five at home, though the latter wasn’t exactly his choice.

Do You Believe In Magaic? (ao3) - darkesthorizon

Summary: Dan discovers a meadow of flowers where fairies made of flowers can grant you one wish. But there’s a catch: your wish has to be pure. What does that even mean?

do you feel it too? (ao3) - heartsopenminds

Summary: A bad break-up has left Phil scared of getting his heart broken again. He’s not ready to date, but he’s missing the easy affection of a long-term relationship.

Cuddle therapy might be the perfect way to get what he needs, with no strings attached. But what happens when that’s no longer enough?

Do You Sleep Anymore? -  botanistlester

Summary: Phil has insomnia and Dan has bruises on his knuckles.

Ever Wonder What Stars Taste Like? (ao3) - ncirpng

Summary: au where Phil runs a successful café in Paris and Dan is a shy fashion designer. Their paths cross, which leads to an unhealthy amount of awkwardness and a lot of weird sentences (mostly from Phil).

Ghost, Or Spirit Satyr? (ao3) - cuddlepuss

Summary: Phil moves into a new flat, but is haunted by a young male poltergeist that he finds both amusing and attractive.

Have You Read the One Where I Have a Vibrator? (ao3) - Ironicallyiron

Summary: Dan reads Phil a fanfiction.

How Did We End Up Like This? - xinyanhowell

Summary: They knew falling in love isn’t a choice - but staying in love, working out your problems and inconstancies, that’s the most powerful choice you have.

How Do Flowers Grow? - writeroflies

Summary: Dan knows he is that single annoying cloud in an otherwise clear sky and Phil is the sun, happy, bright and warm. He wants to know why Phil is letting him stay in the sky beside him.

Is Our Love Valid? (wattpad) - phanetexplorer

Summary: dan is alone. he always has been. he would spend day in and day out on multiple chat websites hoping one day he indeed will find a friend.that is, until a certain boy named phil lester sends a chat request to him, and he flips his shit. some one had finally wanted to be his friend, but maybe he gets more than he had originally bargained for.

Isn’t He Pretty? Isn’t He Insane? - daeguk

Summary: in a world where a person’s soulmate has an identical birthmark, police intern phil lester is completely alone; that is, until he starts receiving cruel gifts from a psychotic serial killer. seeking out the comfort of a boy on the phone, dan howell, while desperately trying to figure out the killer’s messages, time is running out by each fractured second.

Is Our Secret Safe Tonight? (ao3) - resurrectdead

Summary: That time I fell in love with the semi-realistic idea of Dan as an anonymous camboy and then I made Phil walk in on him mid-show.

is that as good as it gets? (ao3) - dvp_95

Summary: Having Dan around makes it all so much easier that Phil can’t imagine a life without him now. He fits into the places where the rest of Phil should be, allows Phil to settle into shape around him.

Wait, Where Have I Seen Those Before? - poetictragediess

Summary: Phil would never admit he’d signed up for such a website as camboys, especially not to his best friend/flatmate.

What Happened Last Night? (ao3) - duskomybloom

Summary: Things get complicated when Dan wakes up in Phil’s bed after a party and he has no idea how he got there.

when i run (will you chase after me?) (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan escapes from the megacorporation that he's contracted to but plans go astray and he ends up leaving his partner Phil behind, who gets tasked to catch him in his run across the solar system.

when it feels like nothing else matter, will you put your arms around me? (ao3) - commonemergency

Summary: “Sorry.” Phil says.

His father wraps his arms around him, and the embrace feels warm. It’s an embrace that he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s like when he was a kid and something scary happened and his father just held him like nothing could ever hurt him because his father was there protecting him.

“It’s okay.” His father quietly whispers into his hairline. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t know how to tell him all the things that he wanted to say, like: I don’t know how to stop my thoughts from spiralling out of control. What if the medicine makes it worse? What do we do if things don’t get better? How do I live in a world that doesn’t have my dad in it?

“Let’s just enjoy right now.” His father says, and he doesn’t let go of him.

Wishing You Could Kiss Me (Do You Really Want To Do That?) (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: In which Phil’s childhood crush on Dan ends dramatically, and he’s living proof to not judge a book by its cover.

[isa-ghost]

Ok so I've seen you do phil + techno and phil + cranboo, time to complete the syndicate and ask for phil and niki! c!niki or q!niki, i don't mind :D

Oh god oh fuck I didn't see enough Niki on either SMP *explodes*

EDIT: Just kidding, apparently I have plenty of material for c!Niki.

qPhil headcanons masterlist

He KNOWS she was done dirty. He's familiar with that anger and bitterness she tried so hard to hide for so long, he's been there. He was more than happy to have her in the Syndicate so she could do something proactive with all that pent up emotion.

They had a lot of conversations just one on one where he tried to ask her more about his son and what was going on before his arrival. She seemed close-ish to the L'Manbergians (he didn't realize at first that she had BEEN one), could she give him ANY context, any closure at all?

He told her about the letters he got and asked how true they were. She was PISSED reading some of them, which he took as "I was lied to." It didn't surprise him, but it did reopen that wound.

They had a chat or two about Ghostbur. They both fucking hated him. Wearing the face and using the voice of someone they cared for so deeply, who hurt them so badly, but wasn't anything like him.

Sometimes he thinks about her being a lynx hybrid and giggles to himself bc it makes sense she'd be hanging out with dudes that live in the tundra.

He wishes he had the chance to help her further lush up her cave. Rose would've gone absolutely feral in there and he bets talking to her would've done Niki a lot of good. Granted, at the time, he was very private about having affiliations with otherworldly deities. This is something he wishes he did in hindsight.

Fuck Revivedbur that extra bed on the second floor was for Niki and he told her she could stay with them any time she wanted since she didn't have a house by the rest of the Syndicate. He didn't want her to abandon her place but the offer was always there in an effort to make sure she felt included and cared for, since her previous group affiliation did little to ensure that.

He is SO SAD he didn't get to try anything from her bakery and on at least one occasion he begged her to make a new and better one so he could try her baking. When he heard she eventually started baking again, he was elated.

He had mixed emotions about her being hellbent on going after Tommy, but overall he just. Didn't get involved. Wasn't his business. He didn't have anything against Tommy and he loved Niki, but he wasn't about to tangle with whatever they had going on. Didn't want to damage or break either bond.

He DID think, when it was described to him as "some Team Rocket bullshit" by someone, that Niki and Jack's attempts were kinda funny in a fucked up way.

When she told him the story of how she stood before Manberg with no one to protect her (you know the iconic picture I'm talking abt I'm sure), Phil was SO PROUD. That was one of the things that made him sure she belonged in the Syndicate.

When he heard that she burned that one tree, his jaw dropped and he laughed. He isn't sure if it was out of shock or amusement or something else, but it's all he could think to do.

Honestly sometimes he considered asking her if she'd like to just. Talk things out. Communicate with people. Get herself closure more directly instead of through what they had been doing. It's not exactly his style, but the fact that he came to this realm because of poor communication from his son had him unable to help but think someone deserved some clear fucking answers for once.

He was more than happy to spar with her and help her sharpen her combat skills. She picked up on things he taught her very fast, and in typical Phil fashion, he always downplayed himself when she'd call him a great teacher.

Post-DSMP he still thinks about her sometimes. He hopes she's happier now, less plagued by bitterness and in a place she can confidently call her own, with no government or "stronger" group of people to breathe down her neck or threaten her. Because we don't have confirmation afaik that c!Niki & q!Niki are the same, I'll say q!Niki just reminds Phil of a happier, lighter c!Niki.