Fanart of Grace from the fic "as alive as you need me to be" by Man_Who_Sold_The_World (aka @labyrinthphanlivingafacade ) PLEASE GO READ IT GUYS PLEASE ITS SO GOOD PLEASE—
Sorry anyways, blood/deaths below the cut
Grace MacCaullay and denying the way blood covers her hands, seeping into her skin the more she kills Titus. The violent nature that Titus believes she's pushing away, unwilling to examine just how easily she resorts to violence when it comes to him.
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“Suit yourself." There was a pause. Smurf was certainly making a face, but Andrew couldn't bring himself to look at her. "Just know I’m not taking you back when you can’t handle it, Andrew.” She said with an air of dismissiveness.
Like nothing, Julia and Andrew were left standing beneath that bridge.
-----
Or,
What if instead of leaving Julia alone underneath that bridge at 18, Andrew decided to stay with her?
On ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83768656/chapters/220786531
Pairing: Titus Danforth & Male!Reader (can also be seen as romantic, not explicitly one or the other)
Tags: Age regression, CG!Titus, Little!Reader, Silent Tantrums, Mentions of Canon-Typical Violence, Nature, Baths
Softness is weakness. It's what got him slapped over and over and over because he couldn't seem to learn.
Maybe he was a man of softness. At least, capable of it.
He couldn't seem to grasp just how capable he was of it, until he met you.
Which is not to say Titus Danforth changed in his entirety. Titus never veered off the path that had been carved for him since the day he was born, but that didn't mean he couldn't step into the grass from time to time.
----
Or, Male/Masc Little Reader spending a day with Titus as his caregiver
Franklin House is so them and I couldn't get it out of my head. My phone is struggling with 1:50min so im splitting it up bc I've thought out the whole song 😭😭😭
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i think titus is really secretly a brat when he’s worked up. like yeah he’s a psycho, but some good cock can calm him down, yk?
you could tell by the rough slam of the door and the gruffness in his breathing that he was mad. it was easy to tell by now, you had been married for years.
"titus? my love, i'm in the bedroom!" you called, you brows furrowing slightly in concern. titus' heavy footsteps were loud as he treks from the front door to your shared bedroom.
you were reading your current book when he had to leave for a family meeting. you didn't mind, though you missed your cuddle buddy. you had hoped it wouldn't upset him too much, but here we are.
he grunts as he falls onto the bed, crawling up to rest his body on top of yours, his head on your chest. "those stupid fuckers, i can't stand them sometimes. they never understand what i'm saying, they never listen, they just fuckin' ignore me all the time!" he rants, his eyes focused but not on you. you could tell he wasn't mentally with you. he needed to calm down.
luckily, you knew the best way to do that.
"titus, baby, look at me," you muttered, sliding your fingers through his hair to make him crane his head to make eye contact. he listened, because who was he to disobey his husband?
"i know you're mad, my love. your family isn't the best, i've seen how they ignore you firsthand. but… they're not here anymore. it's just me and you, right? and i listen to you, baby, anytime and anything." you say, massaging his scalp as you use the certain tone that makes him weak every time.
"and right now… i think you need to use your mouth for something else, right? don't you think so? it always helps to calm you down." his eyes snap to yours and they glisten immediately.
he nods and scoots himself down your body, his hands eagerly undoing the bow of your pajama pants and sliding them down. he hums in satisfaction as your cock was already plumping up in your boxers.
"can i?" he asks nicely, looking up at you. always so nice. so polite and patient for you. only you.
you give him a nod and he gets to work. he slides your boxers down, letting your erection bob up. he smiles and quickly latches onto it, suckling and humming around your tip. his tongue swipes along all of the veins before wriggling against your slit.
you groan and close your book, setting it on the bedside table as you readjust. your hands go down to grip his hair. you don't pull or guide, it's just to let him know you're still there. he always needed this sfter a difficult interaction with his family(which is any interaction with his family). it helped him calm down and gave him something to focus on completely.
he was oh so good at it too.
titus opens his mouth further, slipping down your cock until his nose was nestled into your pubes. he loved this part the most. his mouth was full of you, his nose was surrounded by your scent, he couldn't think of anything else.
titus' hips roll int the mattress as he guzzles you down, swallowing and sucking harder. his eyes close and he moans around your length, his movements growing sloppy and needy as he falls into they familiar fuzzy headspace.
you shift and grip his hair tighter, slowly starting to slide your cock deeper into his throat. once titus got like this, you knew he needed you to take over. to take all responsibility and control.
you start thrusting into his throat, taking all the pleasure you could get before blowing your load down his throat. titus swallows it all greedily, his own pants growing wet with his own spend, as he had finished in his pants.
you pull him off of your now softened cock and manuver his body to cuddle him into your chest like before.
"sweet boy.. you just needed some cock to calm down, huh? go to sleep, baby, we'll talk about what happened later. you need the rest." you whisper to him, as titus was already half asleep. you kiss his forehead before closing your eyes too.
Pairing: Jack Abbot/Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Past Jack Abbot/Jack Abbot's Wife
Tags: Age regression, Trans!Jack Abbot, Little!Jack, Caregiver!Robby, Transphobia, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Summary:
Jack Abbot spent twenty six years of his life believing he was a girl, that he was just odd. After coming to terms with his transness, he builds his life on secrets and hiding himself because it was the only way to keep himself safe.
He has to relearn how to exist outside the boundaries of the military, how to reconcile his ideas of what masculinity is with who he wants to be, with who he is. He learns that not everything he does makes him weak, that instead, they become a testament to his strength. After decades, he slowly learns to be gentle and to take comfort.
----
Or, the Trans!Jack Abbot fic that I needed. One where he begins regressing and learns how to be kind to himself.
A story of Jack's life growing up trans from 1975-2026.
Where Jack and Robby get together and Robby gets to treat Little!Jack with all the kindness and comfort he should've gotten.
Guys why is coming up with little plot points for a fic so hard. Like damn you're telling me i gotta break down this grand idea i had an make it functional?
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!! Spoilers for Ready or Not 2 !!
Exploring some of the aftermath and trauma responses of Grace and Faith.
In the span of less than three days, Grace had gone from being a MacCaullay to a Le Domas to a Danforth.
And frankly, she's done with people.
Somehow, the one time she really tried to earn something more for herself she ended up being hunted for sport. The only good thing to come from it all was the fact that Faith could stand to be around her again— even if she still didn't forgive her. It's not up to Grace to understand why Faith can't forgive her just yet, she can only hope that she can prove herself to Faith, that she can earn a place back in her life.
It was hell without her.
It gave Grace some solace knowing the feeling seemed to be mutual.
After all that hell, after staining two wedding dresses with blood and destroying a fucked up satanic organization, she's so fucking tired. And in an ocean of pain.
She was going to go to jail for the Le Domases being blown to bits by Mr. Le Bail. Who knows what they're going to do now that she's— kind of— responsible for the deaths of all the families who had become entwined with the devil. Just thinking about any of it makes her want a cigarette.
Her and Faith had left the goat somewhere on their journey away from the Danforth property. They managed to find a change of clothes too, figuring that showing up at the hospital drenched in several peoples blood might be cause for another investigation to be opened.
It had been weeks since that had gone down.
Grace, after disappearing for three days with no contact, had been fired from her position as a waitress. If she was honest, a change of scenery could do her some good.
Now, her and Faith are living together. Grace found some place that would hire her and she encouraged Faith to find something better for herself. She let her know that from now on, Grace would be there to catch her.
Sometimes, Faith would find Grace sitting on the front steps, just staring at nothing. Sometimes, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off her left hand.
It didn't look at all like her right one. She remembers being able to see through her hand, somehow held together at her knuckles. She can sometimes still feel the blistering hot pain, even with the skin graft having taken well. Her middle and ring finger are fucked up mobility wise, she can barely move her ring finger anymore. In part because of the gunshot, and because of the nail that split between the space of the two fingers.
Some days she cant stand to look at it, almost preferring to have it wrapped up with a glove or a bandage.
Some days, she needs something to remind her that it was real.
If the steadily healing glass cuts on her arm, or the stitches holding her skin together at the junction of her shoulder weren't enough of a reminder, her hand will forever be one. Even the cuts that Faith had gotten from being pummeled by Titus were almost entirely healed.
She doesn't know why it scares her so much for those reminders to fade.
She hates how she can still feel slick blood coating her skin. How she can see people exploding whenever she closes her eyes at night.
She can never seem to rid herself of the trembling in her hands.
In a way, Faith is the same. Sometimes she relives the moment she first saw someone explode. A gore-y firework, decorating the walls, splattering chunks of skin and slimy blood all over her. How she almost witnessed Grace being murdered in the same breath.
That day still taunts her.
She remembers the feeling of blood pooling in her mouth, thick and suffocating. Her nose is still a bit messed up from all the punches. Sometimes she feels like she can barely breathe, like the wind got knocked out of her, like she can still feel those kicks to her stomach.
She never wants to be that familiar with weapons- with violence again.
But she will admit that that katana was badass.
The two are still adjusting. To the afterwards. To their new normal.
Most days, Grace feels gutted. Hollowed out to nothingness, just a body navigating the world. It's hard for her to find a tether, to keep her from floating too far into her head. Faith is better in some ways, but not unaffected. The two help each other where they can, and try not to argue where they can't (sometimes it just can't be avoided).
They can find a way to put this past them.
There's not really a manual for how to deal with almost dying to a satanic cult twice.
Ive spent like 15 minutes looking for the post talking about "imagining if Jack Abbot had a panic attack and Robbys unempathetic response caused him to push away his best friend" and I had to write it. So. Enjoy my subpar writing 🙏
———
"Alright, what have we got?" He asked, walking into Trauma 2.
Truly, Jack should've left when he had the chance, but knowing the influx of patients that would soon flow in and the fact that he would've spent most of his "nap" staring at the ceiling, he stayed anyways.
Any response that he'd gotten had fallen on dead ears.
What he wasn't expecting was a young woman with her leg sliced neatly beneath her knee.
A much cleaner version of his own injury. The skin wasn't mangled and torn, and the amputation sat much closer to her knee than his own.
When she'd deliriously questioned why she couldn't feel her leg, when the panic had fully set in at seeing her leg being flushed with saline a foot away from her, Jack felt like he couldn't breathe.
The sandy dirt was hard underneath him. The wind knocked out of him, back slamming into the ground with a solid thud. Everything felt like too much. His ears were ringing harsh and high. His leg stung, like he was being pelted by sand.
He could feel the same panic thrumming in his veins as he jerkily turned and rushed out the trauma room as calmy as he could manage. All he could hear in his ears was the sound of his screams on the battlefield, seeing his leg lying a few feet away from him.
He was hardly there when he'd been commanded to go sit in a patient room. His breathing was stilted, coming out in desperate huffs. He couldn't seem to get himself to stop. And people were worrying about him. There were tons of patients that needed help, the room could be occupied for something better if he'd just been given some space.
Eventually, the feeling of drowning had lessened. He didn't feel like he was being crushed under a hydraulic press, and the desert and screams had dissipated.
Of course, Joy had gone and grabbed Robby, letting him know why Jack had just up and left.
"You alright, brother? Didn't stick around in Trauma 2 for long." Robby spoke, giving Jack a look-over.
"I'm fine now. Just the case," Jack glanced off to the side before looking at Robby again. "Little too close to home." He chuckled, albeit a bit hollow.
Something in Robby's demeanor shifted. Suddenly, Robby looked down at him and huffed out a laugh. "Really? You, what, had a panic attack over something that happened decades ago?"
"If you can't handle something like that, especially now, maybe you shouldn't come back for your shift later. Can't have you freaking out again."
What the fuck.
"Robby—"Jack struggled to find his words. "What the hell is this about? You know the shit that I've dealt with. You know that I can handle it."
"I need to know that this ED can run while I'm gone. I don't— we don't need doctors that can't handle their shit and focus on the patients."
With that Robby, turned and left.
Jack just sat there.
Robby had never once acted that way about his PTSD before and Jack was sure that he'd never treated Robby that way either, or given him any reason to besides their usual digs.
He couldn't pretend that it didn't sting. Robby, his best friend, thinking that he was incompetent. That one panic attack on shift had suddenly done irreparable damage.
The others in the room shuffled out quietly, awkwardly, leaving Jack to sit alone.
One creeping thought, etching its place in his mind, whispered that maybe Robby doesn't want him around anymore.
He didn't want to think about how much that scared him.
We have Jack dismantling Robby's bike before the end of shift
The possibility of the entire ED banding together, preventing Robby from leaving, and calling Caleb to come down and get him
And then McKay slapping Robby bc of his misogyny and hypocrisy, Dr. Michael "nobody else is allowed to have panic attacks bc i cant handle my big boy feelings about my own shit" Robinavitch.
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My suggestion of the day is age regressor Jack Abbot with phantom pain. Something about him being all sniffly all day on his day off because it hurts but he thinks he has to power through it and not rest
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