#astraphobia

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

Hey, lovely! I have a request and I wish it helps you to kill some time 💜

One where he notices an anxious gesture on reader during an apparently common situation and then discovers it has triggered some traumatic memories from their childhood on them.

Can be angsty and comforting, so hope it works for you (;

I hope this is to your liking!

“Astraphobia”

Pairing: Loki x Reader Summary: Ever since your sibling was killed in a storm, you’ve hated thunder. Someone else at your workplace (who’s had his eye on you) shares in your phobia and decides to reach out a comforting hand. Content Warning: descriptions of sibling death, PTSD, fluff/comfort Word Count: 1900

Please, end the meeting, end the meeting, end the meeting…

You sat in the back of the conference room with all of the other assistants as Tony Stark rambled on and on about the Avengers and funding at the quarterly meeting. Most of your colleagues were taking notes, but your eyes weren’t leaving the open window as clouds gathered to the west. A breeze was blowing into the room, dark, cool, and heavy with moisture. A summer storm was nigh. 

NYC didn’t really get thunderstorms very often, which is why you liked it. Sometimes, the sounds of the ambient city were loud enough to drown out any thunder claps a storm did produce. However, the oncoming tempest looked foreboding, dangerous, threatening. 

Just like twenty years ago. 

You and your twin brother grew up in a trailer in Oklahoma. Twenty summers ago, a record-breaking line of storms slowly rained hell on the region, with torrential rains flooding the low roads in front, and whipping winds and tornadoes bringing up the rear. 

You and your brother were playing at the nearby schoolyard when the sirens sounded. You raced towards the park shelter together, but after a moment you’d pulled ahead, being the faster runner. You had only looked behind you at the last moment, just in time to watch a tree blow over right on top of your twin. He hadn’t even seen it falling. Your father had to throw you over his shoulder, screaming, to get you into the shelter before the twister flattened your neighborhood, killing twelve, your brother being the youngest victim. 

You and your parents moved to New York before the end of the year, choosing to find a new home instead of rebuilding one in a place full of bad memories. 

Now, every time a clap of thunder pounded overhead, you shrieked and flew to the floor as if a nuke had dropped. Your skin would go hot and your eyes would see nothing but the image of your brother’s hand sticking out from underneath the tree, as if attempting to reach for a last chance. It would feel as if your heart were exploding within your chest, and nothing would make sense.

You didn’t realize, in the moment, that you were pulling on a tendril of hair, running your fingers down the strands, alternating hands. Just the feeling of the stormy wind on your cheek was beginning to bring that horrifying night back to you. 

You couldn’t see that the gaze of one of the Avengers, all gathered at the front of the table, had landed on you. Loki of Asgard sat next to his brother, unable to take his eyes off of the subject of his secret admiration. He was concerned as your eyes were fixed on the window, and your nervous tics became more pronounced. 

The first roll of thunder made you jump (in silence, thank god), which, in turn, made Loki’s heart jump. So, that’s it, he realized. Perhaps I can finally get her to give me notice if I aid her…

The assistant next to you, a blonde woman named Annie, put her hand on your shoulder. “You ok, Y/N? Afraid of a little thunder?” 

You dropped your hair and snapped back to reality, your heart racing. “I…uh…well, yes.” 

Annie snorted. “I think you may be the oldest person who’s afraid of storms I’ve ever met. It’s just weather! Not like it’s not all around us.” 

Okay, rude, you thought, though you decided to ignore it. Annie was a snob, anyway.

“Okay, so before we’re all blown away to Oz, the meeting is adjourned,” Tony Stark announced. The assistants began getting to their feet and leaving, but you immediately took off, the first to leave the room, leaving everyone, including a worried Loki Laufeyson, in your wake. 

“Shit, it’s only 3pm. I can’t go home,” you mumbled to yourself, trying to push down the racing fear coursing through your body as you silently wished the Tower came with a bomb shelter. “My office is near a window…where to go--?”

You felt a strong hand grab your elbow as you jerked to a stop. “What the--?”

Loki pulled you back and turned you around. “Ms. Y/N, I noticed you were appearing to be in distress back there. Are you ill?”

Another roll of thunder passed over the Tower. You reflexively ducked, your head falling to the level of Loki’s knees, your hands covering the back of your head. 

“Ms. Y/N, I do believe you are astraphobic,” he said mildly, kneeling down beside you, slipping an arm gently around your shoulder. “Come with me. I am also a bit uncomfortable with the impending weather..”

“I…Mr. Laufeyson…I couldn’t…”

“I insist, Y/N.” 

He took you to his apartment on the floor above, which were simple and small, especially for someone like Loki, used to the parapets and flying buttresses of the palaces of Asgard. However, the humble means had also humbled the god somewhat, and you didn’t expect the God of Chaos to have a sitting room with a table and two chairs, neatly arranged, with an electric kettle and tea set sitting expectantly on it. 

Another clap of thunder. You found yourself gripping Loki’s arm so tightly he gasped. But he didn’t let go. In fact, he took your hand. 

“We can fix this, just let me…”

Once he closed the door behind you, he used his free hand to conjure a small green spark on the tip of his finger, which he tapped on the wall. You watched in awe as the green spark divided and traveled about the room, dissipating over by the tea table. 

Suddenly, something about the room changed to you, and it only took a moment for you to realize that the pounding of the heavy raindrops on the windowsill had stopped. It was so quiet in the room that your ears almost felt hollow, craving any sliver of sound it could mine from the air.

Loki then broke from you and went to the window, closing the blackout curtains against the flashing lightning and winds painting water against the glass. “Are you partial to tea or coffee? I have the capacity for both, but Rogers drinks most of the flavored before the rest of us can--”

“--I’m usually a black tea type, one sugar, no cream?” you asked politely, your sanity slowly pouring back into your brain after your unexpected savior blocked out the storm. 

He smiled and cordially bowed his head. “As you wish, my lady.”

Loki swiftly arranged for the kettle to begin bubbling as he set up the teapot and two cups with tea bags and a small sugar bowl. “This will take a moment. Strictly speaking, I’m supposed to limit my magic use, so out of the two, I thought soundproofing the room would be more worthy of the limited use I am allotted.”

You nodded. “Thank you.” 

Loki put a gentle hand on the small of your back, sending pleasant chills up your spine, as he guided you over to the table and sat you down with your back facing away from the window, pulling out the chair for you like a maitre’d. 

“May I ask why you’ve chosen to become my hero tonight?” you asked as you sat. “I can usually handle this on my own.”

The Prince of Asgard looked at you seriously. “But do you need to?”

“What do you mean?”

Sitting down across from you, Loki smiled. “Do you need to face the storm alone?”

You shrugged. “My twin brother died in a tornado when we were kids. He was…he was…”

A tear began rolling down your face. Immediately, you felt a hand cover yours from across the table. “If it is painful for you to recall it, I never asked for you to reason with your fear in front of me.” 

“Oh no, it can help when I tell someone else,” you replied. “I was the faster runner…and he couldn’t keep up. The tree that hit him was the size of a sedan.”

You looked down and wiped away another tear. 

“That explains more than everything,” your new ally assured you. 

“Now, every time I hear a blast of thunder or a storm warning siren, I duck and cover like the H-bomb is coming. I flash back to that street every time a warm, muggy wind slaps my cheek. I see his eyes sometimes when the lightning flashes through the window at night--”

“--and you feel like an impending doom is creeping up behind you like a predator,” Loki finished for you. “Indeed.”

You raised an eyebrow as you ran a finger nervously around the edge of your teacup, noticing for the first time the nice way his hair moved when he shifted in his seat. “You seem to know the feeling, Mr. Loki.”

He looked off into the middle-distance a moment, thinking of what to say next, and whether or not it would drive you away to expose a vulnerability so quickly. “I associate thunderclouds and lightning bolts with my past. Let’s just leave it at that.”

You weren’t dumb. You knew exactly what he was implying, and your heart went out to him. His eyes were cast low and pensive, sadness flickering behind them as a core memory washed over his brain. 

His hand was still gently covering yours. Sighing, you pulled it out from under his, only to set it on top. You ran a soft finger over his knuckles. “You don’t need to hold back from me, Mr. Loki. You reached out to me first.”

“Loki. Just Loki, there is no prefix,” he corrected. 

Nodding, you smiled. “There is one thing I wanted to ask you, Loki.”

“Anything, my friend,” he replied, looking at you sweetly. 

“You saw me tugging on my hair from across the room. But, what was making you look over there in the first place? The speaker was in front of you.”

He clearly wasn’t expecting this question, but his dominating, but sincere gravity never faltered. He only bit his lip and considered his next move. 

“Perhaps I could explain it to you over supper tomorrow evening,” he suggested, almost too casually, as if he were compensating for some insecurity. That didn’t last long, as his voice deepened and grew serious again. “I could tell you about how you were wearing blue the first time you caught my eye and my interest, and your smile made my breath catch in my throat, and your laugh made my heart leap.”

Your heartbeat was picking up tempo. “I’m sorry, but my only blue outfit is my spring suit, and it’s been two months since I’ve worn it here, it’s become too hot--”

--it hit you then, what Loki was trying to tell you. “Oh!” you gasped. 

Loki chuckled. “Only a few moments here with you, and I feel safe again already.”

The two of you were so distracted by one another that neither of you noticed the kettle beginning to whistle as Loki leaned across the table to give you a soft, sweet, gentle first kiss. 

@lokisgoodgirl @coldnique @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @mochie85 @sarahscribbles

[ash-the-shark]

Astraphobia

Jonathan Kent X Reader

Description: Y/N has a panic attack because of the thunderstorm and Jon helps her through it.

[I tried]

You, Jon, Jordan, and Sarah were hanging out at the farmhouse in the living room it was cloudy Saturday afternoon. You and Jon were sitting next to each other. All of you were just talking and studying for the test on Monday when suddenly thunder roared from outside, you felt your entire body freeze for a second before you heard Sarah say something “Y/N are you ok?” you looked up to see all of them looking at you “Yeah I just wasn’t expecting that thunder” You say smiling and adjusted in your seat. “Ok,” Sarah said with a nod.

It started to rain outside, lightning started to strike and the thunder roared, slowly becoming louder, or at least it was to you. You noticed your breathing was starting to get a little heavy, you tried to ignore it for the time being telling yourself everything would be fine. Suddenly you were snapped out of your own thoughts when you heard someone call your name “Y/N” You looked over and saw Jon looking at you concerned “Are you okay?” “Yeah,” you say as you nod and look around the room noticing Sarah and Jordan are gone “Are you sure cause I just called your name like 5 times and you didn't respond,” he said sounding worried. Suddenly thunder roars again, and your whole body tenses and you feel your breathing quicken. You look back down at the table “I am pretty sure I am having a panic attack” You say loud enough for him to hear “I didn’t know you had panic attacks” He says “I don’t have them very often, It mainly happens just with…” you stop your sentence when the thunder roars again. He just nods. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He asks.

“Hold me,” You say weakly in response he gets closer to you and wraps his arms around you. Your whole body tenses and your arms tighten around him as the thunder roars outside the window this one a little louder than the rest he kisses the top of your head before whispering “Everything is going to be ok,”

[whumpster-dumpster]

Summer Whump

Sunburn

Bug bites

Dehydration

Sports injuries

A summer cold

Pollen allergies

Light sensitivity

Heat exhaustion

Boating accident

Swimming accident

Fireworks accident

Lawn mower injuries

Picnic food poisoning

Fear of thunderstorms

[sickficideas]

silence || dazai + akutagawa sickfic

ao3! 3.8k words - please refer to the link for additional tags!

request for @potatopersonal on ao3!

Dazai has a feeling this thunderstorm isn't going to let up any time soon.

He's been waiting on Akutagawa for about half an hour - his own fault, this time. He never has the right time in his head because of his terrible sleeping habits, and he has arrived far too early. And with this weather, he doubts his subordinate, who is not fond of storms or rain in general, will be on time either.

He stands outside at the back of the building, overlooking the industrial, abandoned corner of the city, trying to will himself to not vomit.

Part of him almost wants to call Akutagawa back and tell him not to bother coming. But he's done that twice already this week, and as much as he doesn't want to deal with a stubborn teenager today, he has to train him, especially after losing out on two sessions this week.

Agonizing over it isn't going to help any, but before he can decide on anything, he feels his stomach contents splash up at the back of his mouth with no real warning. He keels over onto his knees and wraps his arms around his middle as his esophagus forces up stomach bile, having no say in the matter himself. He’s been horribly nauseous all day. Dazai doesn’t care much about throwing up, but it’s starting to hurt. The muscles in his abdomen have been screaming at him all day, he can hardly straighten himself out properly when he stands, and his throat burns so much that his voice has gone hoarse.

He’s going to have a hard time hiding this from Akutagawa, for sure.

"Dazai?"

He hears Akutagawa's voice echo inside the warehouse and he groans. Dazai would rather fall forward in this puddle of his own vomit than go train him right now, but he’s decided against it. He spits up the saliva that’s gathered under his tongue from the nausea, and forces himself up on shaky legs, to the door that he’s left slightly ajar.

“You’re late,” Dazai grumbles. He’s not even sure what time it is, and he doesn’t even remember when they agreed to meet. Akutagawa is standing in the middle of the wide, open wareroom room, giving every indication that he’s defensive. Dazai’s taught him to be that way, but he’s still too obvious. His wide eyes and tense shoulders - they’re obvious to someone like Dazai, even if they’re simply hints to anyone else.

Akutagawa looks like he’s been preparing to hear this comment, with the way he straightens his shoulders. Dazai honestly doesn’t care to hear his excuse. It doesn’t matter either way.

“The weather made it difficult to get here -”

“When are you going to get over your childish fear of thunderstorms?” he asks with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. He’s trying to rile him up, it’s a familiar tactic, but it throws Akutagawa off every time. And it works. Dazai secretly hopes it’ll throw him off a trail of Dazai’s obvious signs of illness.

“Wh-”

“You’re a lot more tense than usual. Loosen up. Do you think the thunder’s going to hurt someone like you?” Dazai taunts. “Maybe it will. You’re just as frail as you were when I picked you up two years ago. You haven’t gotten any stronger, and especially not physically.”

It’s comments like this that always set him off. Akutagawa seems to have come to expect taunts like this by now, and he launches hesitant tendrils at Dazai, both quickly dissolved by his own ability.

“You’re just proving my point,” he says, dropping his voice.

And he goes again, this time, with full force.

Akutagawa has gotten stronger. He’s gotten much better control over his ability and it shows, but Dazai would never tell him that. Akutagawa can’t have any praise, it would hinder his progress greatly. Any praise goes directly to his head and lowers his guard. One day, when he’s at a point where he can’t fall behind, Dazai can give him the approval he wants. But not now. Not anytime soon.

Dazai’s head is swimming. In all honesty, he can’t track Akutagawa’s attacks with his eyes, but he’s memorized them. Akutagawa has a hard time breaking up his patterns.

“I could dodge you with my eyes closed,” Dazai says, doing so to prove his point. He’s hoping it will quell the pounding in his head, even just for a moment. He hears Akutagawa’s coat fire at his head and miss, crumbling the concrete beneath him.

That’s good. There’s more force behind it than usual.

“Are you going out of your way to prove all my points today?” Dazai sighs, forcing an annoyed tone that he doesn’t have the energy for. Opening his eyes turns out to be a grave mistake. His vision doesn’t adjust, it blasts pure white into his retinas and he can’t get his footing. Akutagawa doesn’t seem to catch wind of this, and manages to destroy the ground beneath Dazai’s feet.

He doesn’t have time to catch himself. He falls backwards, his head smashing into the concrete behind him, which only worsens his headache. All he hears for a few seconds is ringing, and when he’s finally able to see clearly again, Akutagawa is standing above him.

"Are you -"

"Don’t,” Dazai hisses, shooting him the nastiest glare he can muster, and it makes Akutagawa take a few steps back. Dazai tries to prop himself up, but his head isn’t showing any mercy for him.

Once Dazai is sitting up, he feels something hot rush up his throat again, and realizes there’s no avoiding it. He turns his body and chokes up vomit in the space to his left. This was a mistake. He almost wants to convince himself this is because he’s hit his head, but this has been happening all day.

"Let's stop here. I can't deal with you today," Dazai groans, coughing a few times after he ends his sentence with a choke. He wipes the dripping saliva from his mouth with the back of his hand and somehow manages to get himself on his knees, and then, on his feet. “Go home.”

Akutagawa looks incredibly confused. He doesn’t move. His eyes are usually wider than normal, but now they’re extra wide, stuck on Dazai’s face. He looks unsure of what to do. Dazai waits a moment for him to say or do something, but he doesn’t, and Dazai doesn’t have the will to properly scold him.

“Are you…” he starts, his energy quickly being sapped through speaking, “are you deaf, or…”

Dazai can’t get the words out. His vision starts to rock back and forth again, and before he can do anything to avoid it, he loses it completely, and his body goes limp.

…

Dazai hears the rain banging against the metal roofing of the building before he hears anything else.

He’s outside, he realizes, he’s not met with the darkness inside of the warehouse - but rather, the covering right outside the back end where he was earlier. He was moved.

His head is throbbing, particularly the back of it where he was slammed into the concrete. It was his own doing. He shouldn't have been training Akutagawa in his condition, so he considers this to be his own fault. He hates pain. He wants to go back to sleep. The way he's lying on his back, his head pressed against the ground, is making it worse.

Akutagawa's still here. He can hear him breathing. It's quiet, but Dazai knows it so well that he can hear it over the rain.

"Why haven't you left," Dazai mumbles. He doesn't see him. He's not sure exactly where he is.

"It's raining," he says plainly. He doesn't sound surprised about Dazai waking up, so he assumes he’s been watching him. He wonders how long it's been.

"Can't you use your ability as an umbrella or something?" Dazai groans.

"It's still a coat. Once it's soaked it's useless," Akutagawa reminds him. Dazai knew that. He tries to sit himself up, and he's able to gather that Akutagawa is sitting a few feet away from him. "You should know that."

It used to be his own, after all.

"Ugh. I do," he says. He turns his head and spots Akutagawa sitting against the wall of the building, his knees defensively pulled up to his chest. He often sits like that when he's stressed, Dazai has noticed. He's been trying to break him out of it. It's too obvious a flaw.

He sees him flinch at the sudden crash of thunder that rumbles the unstable metal warehouse they're sitting outside of. It's just enough of a flinch that it almost looks like a quick shiver.

"You don't need to be scared of a little thunder," Dazai huffs.

"I'm not scared," Akutagawa defends.

"Yeah? Could've fooled me," Dazai scoffs.

"I'm not scared." Akutagawa snaps back.

"Then what is it?" Dazai asks. Normally, he wouldn't care, but this has piqued his interest.

Akutagawa seems to share the sentiment that he doesn't agree Dazai would care for his answer, so he doesn't say anything. He looks at him for a few seconds before his eyes return to the rain.

"Tell me. I wanna know," Dazai says. He must have some reason to be so defensive about it.

The rain won't let up. They're going to be here for a while, and he's trying to distract himself from his oncoming nausea.

"Nothing good ever happened when it rained. In the slums," Akutagawa mumbles. That's all that he says. Dazai doesn't expect him to elaborate, but he can guess. Damage to their structures, ruining their supplies or food storage, and even worse, hypothermia when it's colder. Akutagawa isn't afraid of the sound, the association is what puts him on edge.

Dazai often forgets Akutagawa's past.

Neither of them say anything for a while. Dazai wants to go back to sleep, but the dull pounding in his head won't let him. He's sure he has a concussion.

"Are we just waiting out the rain?" Dazai asks, pressing the heel of his palm up against his temple is some attempt to relieve the pressure. Of course, it does nothing.

"Unless you have a better plan," Akutagawa mumbles.

"Can't you call Hirotsu or something to come get us?" he groans.

"Hirotsu doesn't work for me. He works for you," Akutagawa reminds him with an annoyed sigh.

"Since when do you care about the chain of command? Geez," Dazai mumbles to himself, deciding he'll try to call Hirotsu himself. Akutagawa seems to have a surprising amount of respect for the man for reasons Dazai isn't sure of. Maybe because he works so closely with his sister.

"Dazai," Hirotsu says upon answering. He answered quickly, Dazai makes the assumption that he's free.

"Hey. You got any plans? I need a ride," he says with a sigh, tapping his foot. "I'm down by the Port warehouses."

"Please send me your location," Hirotsu says politely as always, "I'll be there within the hour."

"Cool. Thanks," he says, hanging up.

And just as soon as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket, the nausea hits him full force without any warning at all, leaving him with no choice but to turn his head off to his left side and choke up the vomit that's rushed up his throat. He coughs and sputters. The force of it shooting up like that only leaves his head feeling worse, and if he wasn't painfully aware of Akutagawa's presence, he might have blacked out for a moment.

He didn't even catch wind of Akutagawa suddenly standing beside him until he hears him start to say something.

"Stop it. Don't…don't say anything. Shut up," he stammers, his arm wrapping tighter around his middle as he starts to curl into himself. He breathes heavy through his mouth, hoping to quell some of the nausea that way, but he doesn't feel any better.

Akutagawa, surprisingly, obliges. He hears him take a few steps back, but there's still hesitancy.

Dazai isn't sure what's wrong with him. He wants to blame things on the concussion, but he was feeling horrible before he hit his head, that's evident by the puddle of vomit that's since been washed away by the rain before Akutagawa arrived.

He doesn't have a lot of options. He won't see Mori, and if he tries to be seen by any other Port Mafia doctor, they'll get Mori involved. Going back to his shipping container sounds almost as miserable an experience as that.

He'll just have to push through it and keep working.

Dazai lets out a shaky sigh and leans back against the wall, feeling a shiver start to take over his body that doesn't feel like it's planning on subsiding.

Akutagawa is still there, sitting on one of the metal containers, apparently aware enough of his own posture this time - not sitting curled up in a ball. He's facing the wall of the building, his head only slightly turned in Dazai's direction.

"You don't look -"

"What did I just say?" Dazai growls, shooting his subordinate a nasty glare. His body is overtaken with chills, which he now realizes he’s been feeling this whole time, only now it’s gotten worse enough for him to realize. He doesn't want this situation addressed in any way. He wishes Akutagawa would just give up, but for better or for worse, Dazai trained him against that.

Akutagawa unceremoniously tosses the coat over in Dazai's direction, not leaving him much room to refuse it. It’s kind of an impressive toss, the coat lands right over his knees.

"Don't give me your coat," Dazai grumbles.

"It's yours,” Akutagawa reminds him. Only two years ago, Dazai was wearing this same coat.

Akutagawa looks small without it on. He hasn't seen the kid take it off since he gave it to him two years ago. He forgets he's just sixteen, that he's only two years younger than himself, sometimes. That he’s a child. Dazai isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now, what’s causing the tightness in his chest, but it feels far too similar to guilt for him to be content with it.

"You're defenseless without it," Dazai huffs, tossing it back to him with the little energy he has. "Don't be an idiot."

Akutagawa tucks his arms back into the sleeves, for some reason, with no will to argue.

The rain doesn’t show any sign of slowing down. Dazai leans his head back and tries to will his chills away, but it doesn’t seem to work. It’s not the end of the world, He’s dealt with worse. It’s just inconvenient on top of his headache and nausea and dizziness. It takes everything in him not to groan from the discomfort, but he won’t do that in front of Akutagawa.

"How’s your sister,” Dazai asks without even mentally consulting with himself. It just slips out. Gin was her name. Dazai only sees her here and there. She’s been working with Hirotsu and the Black Lizard for the past two years.

Akutagawa blinks as Dazai turns his head in his direction, looking surprised to hear this question. “She’s…she’s well.”

“The plan is to make her a commander alongside Hirotsu once she’s old enough,” Dazai says.

“So I’ve heard,” Akutagawa nods.

“You could do the same. If you wanted,” Dazai says. He’s just rambling, not thinking much about what he’s saying. “You could quit working with me.”

“No,” Akutagawa says, sternly but quietly.

Dazai knows why. He promised Akutagawa a reason to live, something Dazai hasn’t even found himself. He chuckles to himself, his eyes drifting towards the roof. He’s never thought much about how ridiculous that is. What on earth made him think he could give anyone else a reason to live?

He stands up, heavily using the wall for support. He doesn’t know what he’s planning to do. It’s still pouring, but he feels like he’s crawling out of his own skin. The chills send violent shivers up his spine that make him groan. The way his head is spinning is solid proof he won’t be able to make it very far, and suddenly, he finds himself under the rain.

The heavy rain pours over him like a waterfall as soon as he’s away from the safety of the roof. He doesn’t walk any further, he just lets it wash over him, soak his clothes, and lets him forget about everything that’s ailing him.

Another step forward is too much for him, and he falls forward. He doesn’t even feel the impact. Everything feels numb. He’s vaguely aware of Akutagawa’s voice, but it’s lost to him, and he’s lost in his own mind.

…

Hirotsu can’t say he’s surprised, but it is a rather inconvenient situation.

He saw Akutagawa first, under the roofing on the far end of the warehouse, and knelt beside an unconscious form that Hirotsu quickly understood to be Dazai. He pulled the far up underneath the roofing to avoid getting wet himself. He’s concerned. Dazai didn’t mention any kind of injury over the phone - he wonders if something happened during the time it took him to get here.

As usual, Akutagawa says nothing, as Hirotsu steps out of the car. He takes note of Akutagawa looking over the windows and doors - silently expecting his sister, he thinks, but she hasn’t come along.

“Is he injured?” Hirotsu asks as he kneels down on the other side of Dazai. He’s soaking wet, and Akutagawa isn’t very dry himself.

Akutagawa doesn’t say anything. His eyes drift back down to Dazai. Hirotsu can’t get a read on him at all, but he never really could. Gin has told him it’s difficult for anyone to do.

Hirotsu sees blood on the back of Dazai’s head. It doesn’t seem to be actively bleeding, but it’s pooled underneath him and mixed with the water. A head injury, he deduces. Hirotsu tries to turn Dazai onto his side so that he isn’t lying on his face. He doesn’t look well at all. He lays the back of his hand against Dazai’s forehead and finds he’s running a fever, too.

"How long has he been unconscious for?" Hirotsu asks.

“Ten minutes,” Akutagawa says quietly, not giving Hirotsu much else information. Hirotsu supposes he doesn’t need to. He can deduce that Dazai was ill, and probably received this head injury as a result of his impaired senses.

"I'll take him to one of our doctors," Hirotsu says, hoisting Dazai up by his shoulders. “Open the back door for me.”

Akutagawa does as he’s asked, using a ribbon from his coat to pull the handle. Innovative use of his skill, Hirotsu thinks. He hasn’t seen it in action in a long time. Hirotsu thanks him, something Akutagawa narrows his eyes at as if it’s an insult, but Hirotsu doesn’t acknowledge it.

He’s able to get Dazai in the back seat of the car. He leans the seat back all the way and buckles Dazai, and absolutely nothing stirs him. He knows Dazai doesn’t get much rest in general, it’s obvious enough from the dark circles that never brighten underneath his eyes, so he can imagine he’s going to be knocked out for a while.

Hirotsu opens the driver’s side door, but Akutagawa doesn’t move. He stays where he was, staring at the space where Dazai was lying about a minute ago.

“Akutagawa,” Hirotsu says, “you can get in the car. I’ll take you back.”

“But you’re here for Dazai,” Akutagawa reminds him.

“I have more than enough room in my car for an extra passenger,” Hirotsu insists. Akutagawa still doesn’t look very keen on accepting the offer, but Hirotsu keeps his gaze on him until the kid stands up, not very steady on his own feet, to walk to the passenger side of the car. He’s sure Dazai would have childishly reprimanded Akutagawa for taking this offer, but Hirotsu isn’t like him.

Akutagawa reluctantly gets into the passenger seat after briefly looking back at Dazai, who is still out cold. Even so, he’s concerned. That’s obvious.

The thunder roars overhead as Hirotsu pulls the car back onto the windy, urban warehouse roads, and he catches Akutagawa flinch from the corner of his eye.

'"Are you hurt, Akutagawa?" he asks, realizing he hadn’t checked on the latter at all.

"No," he mumbles, staring forward at the glovebox.

"Is it the storm?" Hirotsu asks.

Akutagawa stays quiet. He didn't expect him to answer, let alone answer honestly.

"Gin is the same way,” Hirotsu tells him. He doesn’t want Akutagawa to think he’s ridiculing him, and mentioning his sister seems like a good way to remind him he means no harm. “She’s back at headquarters, if you’d like to see her.”

“We’re not allowed to talk at work,” Akutagawa reminds him, his voice quiet.

Hirotsu knows. He’s the one that made that rule for them. It’s important that no one knows they’re related in any way, things like that can easily be used for blackmail or hostage situations in their line of work,

“Then you two should go home when we get back,” Hirotsu tells him. “You won’t be able to do much with Dazai incapacitated like this.”

Akutagawa only briefly turns his head to eye Hirotsu before turning his gaze back forward, this time, out the window instead of at the glovebox.

“Will he be okay?” Akutagawa asks. There’s not a hint of emotion in his voice, but the fact that he’s asked at all tells Hirotsu he’s very concerned.

“He’ll be fine,” Hirotsu says with a nod. Dazai always makes it out okay, but lately, he seems to be losing the will to move forward. He’s never been very good at caring for himself, but the light in his eyes is so long gone that Hirotsu isn’t even sure it was there to begin with.

He needs to get out before it’s too late.

[mentoillnesspolls]

Tried to include ones that are common but not usually talked about! So I didn't include some super obvious ones like claustrophonia, arachnophobia, and agoraphobia.

[newwwwusername]

Fic title : It Came Out of Nowhere! (How am I Supposed to Be Okay???)

@hurtcember 2023 prompt : Astraphobia

Rating : Teen & Up Audiences

Fandom : Monster High (Live Action Movies)

Pairing : Frankie & Toralei

Additional tags : Astraphobia, Toralei Stripe Has Astraphobia, Good Friend Frankie Stein, Toralei Stripe Needs a Hug, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Embarrassment, Stimming, Autistic Frankie Stein, Canon Non-Binary Character

Word count : 998

[jazzstarrlight]

Internets gonna be down for a while in a few hours. So here's some quick Panprice sketches to tie us over.

Dave's Claustrophobia

And Rupert's Astraphobia.

What do you think?

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

The First Storm

It isn't often Paul Hill finds himself terrified of a storm, but the first storm he experiences on Crockett Island would be enough to put the fear of God into anyone. Set during Less Than Holy

Two fics in three days, whaaa? Really though, I knew I wanted to write something with Paul's perception of storms corresponding with his emotional state, with the reader helping him calm down. I didn't know I would actually write a bit of backstory for this AU Paul. I'm happy I did, though.

gif by @shazadlatifgf​

The First Storm - 4.5K

tw: a light panic attack

It was father Paul’s third night on Crockett Island. He served his very first mass for his new congregation in the morning, a chilly late february Sunday. To say he was nervous was an understatement. Most of these people had only ever known one pastor their entire life, the esteemed Monsignor John Michael Pruitt, who was currently recovering in a hospital on the mainland.

—

Paul met him in the Holy land and had been the one to stop him from walking off into the desert on his own. He helped the older man wake up from his haze and then led him back to their hotel, and they began talking. Monsignor Pruitt told him about all the good people in his town, all with a smile on his face and kind words to say about every single one of them. But there always came a point in their conversations when John Pruitt stopped talking. His eyes became unfocused and he looked around himself in near panic. He suddenly didn’t recognise him, didn’t know where he was and kept muttering two names. Millie. Sarah.

Paul knew the signs, unfortunately. He remembered coming to visit his elderly grandfather, reading to him, helping to feed him, and bringing him tea. Sometimes they shared long talks until old Phillip Hill became too tired, sometimes he stared at his grandson like he was a stranger. By the end, he was in too deep, his mind slipping into memories and disregarding the outer world entirely. By the end… by the end it was a relief when he left to join his wife up above. For him, surely. For Paul… Well, he was glad his grandfather was no longer in any pain, but he did miss him terribly.

So each time he lost the Monsignor completely, he knew what to do. He’d bring him to his room, sometimes even helped him get ready for bed, if John Pruitt was too far gone. He’d order melissa tea from the hotel service and wait until the elderly priest fell asleep. Then he’d sneak out and go to his own bed, saying a quick prayer for his new friend before falling asleep. Monsignor’s mind worked better in the mornings and he usually had no recollection of how he got to bed in the first place. But he seemed more jovial and quite excited to tell Paul more stories.

When the day of their departure came, Paul decided he couldn’t let Monsignor go by himself with a clear conscience. The younger man himself wasn’t needed anywhere. Before coming to this journey, he served as a substitute at a small parish near Boston, but seeing as their priest returned from his mission, Paul was currently jobless. The Monsignor was surprised that the younger man decided to tag along with him, but he seemed delighted and promised to introduce him to everyone on Crockett Island. But there was something wrong… The young priest couldn’t tell how, but he felt something was wrong indeed.

That little something was unfortunately proven right. During their first transit flight, John Pruitt still shared stories of people of his parish. ‘Ed and Annie Flynn, they are amazing people, Annie is a saint, and both of their sons are such clever, nice boys!’ Or ‘Bev Keane, she’s very zealous, knows the Bible by heart, every single word.’ and ‘A young woman recently started coming in. I don’t think she’s from the island, because I don’t know her and she sits back during communion, but she seems very lovely!’ . John Pruitt told stories of Erin Greene, who came to bring new life to the little town, ‘such a dear girl!’ , poor Leeza Scarborough, who despite being bound to a wheelchair never missed a single sermon, and Joe Collie, whom he wished he could help but didn’t know how.

Paul tried covertly asking about the women John mentioned during one of his episodes. “You did say something about, um, Millie, I think?” The elderly priest stayed quiet, a strange look appearing in his eyes. Paul decided not to pry and they talked of other people once more. However, an hour before the plane was supposed to land, Pruitt got quiet again. Paul thought perhaps he fell asleep, or maybe his mind wandered off. Looking at him though, he discovered not only was Monsignor awake, he also looked very aware. But also quite ill. Something was definitely wrong.

“Monsignor Pruitt? Are you feeling well?” Paul asked, concerned. The old man didn’t reply, but he shook his head no and continued staring in front of him. He stayed this quiet during the entirety of their second flight, looking worse by the second. And as they left the aeroplane, John Pruitt grabbed at Paul’s shoulder, steadying himself. His hand was warm, way too warm. “Monsignor?” was the last thing the old priest heard before he lost consciousness.

—

It was a rough few days. Monsignor Pruitt was promptly taken to a hospital, where he was diagnosed with gastroenteritis, most likely caused by faulty food. Which wouldn’t be that serious really, but with the priest’s old age and the health problems that went hand in hand with it, the doctors insisted it’d be better for him to stay in the hospital to recover. Paul agreed. The monsignor did too, to some extent, but he didn’t want to leave his parish without a priest for such a long time, as he'd been 'gone too long already' . Paul Hill didn’t know why he said what he said next, didn’t know why an idea so spontaneous felt so absolutely right. He’d grown fond of the old priest, and wanted him to recover in peace, without him having to worry about his congregation. It all came down to why he even became a priest in the first place - he just wanted to help.

“I will stand in for you.”

—

And so here he was. It was all rather rushed, but it could've been much worse. He explained Monsignor's and his situation to the dioceses under which Crockett Island fell, phoned his family to send more of his clothes, personal objects and anything else he could need while standing in for the old priest, seeing as he travelled to Israel rather lightly. He found the correct dock from which the ferry to Crockett left and managed to go all the way to the rectory without alerting anyone. He spoke to Monsignor Pruitt on the phone, assuring him he'll take care of his flock and explain what happened. It all went down so quickly, but as he finally sat down on the tiny (and rather uncomfortable) sofa in Pruitt’s little house, he felt he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

That is not to say the last few days didn’t take their toll on the young priest. As he stood on the porch of the rectory, watching the clouds becoming darker and darker by the second, he felt that familiar uncomfortable tingle in his stomach. He was nervous. Paul usually didn’t mind storms, in fact, he often enjoyed them. Sometimes though, mainly when he was going through some stressful times, the comfort he normally felt, when raindrops hammered against his window and a deep thunder roared through the sky, turned into utter terror. Some stormy nights he’d be able to sit outside under some shelter and keep watch for lightning bolts, contently breathing in the smell of earth mixed with rain, other nights he’d press his hands to his ears, painfully hard, trying not to scream each time the thunder almost shook the very ground he was cowering on. Trying not to weep in fear and embarrassment. It was like the chaos of the tempest could latch itself onto his inner turmoil, and when it did, it shook Paul to his core.

He let out a long breath, trying to calm down. Paul went inside intent on distracting himself from the ever nearing storm. He changed from his priestly attire during the day into a pair of washed out jeans, a simple grey t-shirt and a very warm and comfortable blue bomber cardigan. The priest made a cup of tea and sat down, opening a well read old Bible and trying to drown out the loud sounds of rain entirely, which was quite difficult, considering it was the only thing he could actually hear. The many lights in the rectory calmed him somewhat, so, of course, they went out not five minutes after Paul’s heartbeat started slowing down.

The man was plunged into absolute darkness, panic immediately rising within him. Between cursing himself for not preparing any candles beforehand and wincing as the entire room was suddenly illuminated by a different kind of light, he bent his legs to place his sock clad feet in front of himself and hugged his knees with his arms. Paul closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on his breathing and steadying the little tremors that started coursing through his hands. Suddenly though, his ears perked up. There was a new sound among the booming thunder and the loud noise of millions of raindrops falling all around. A pitter-patter of feet hitting wet gravel, slowly getting closer.

He opened his eyes and saw a different kind of light in one of the windows, light blue, like the thunder, but much smaller and moving erratically. His curiosity managed to outweigh his discomfort and he crept to the window. It was hard to actually see anything in the dark, especially through the thick curtain of rain, but Paul saw the light, clear as day, and the sound of footsteps grew louder. There was a person, running through the storm, a flashlight in their hand to light their way, wherever they were going. ‘Are they mad?!’ thought Paul and, without thinking, he ran to the door. He opened it wide and stepped out onto the porch, immediately getting drenched by the rain which was flying in all directions because of the wind.

“Hey!” he called, as loud as he could, but another thunder rolled through the skies at the exact same moment, drowning out his voice and making him gasp and cringe. “Heey!” he called again and this time, the person, who was now some 40 yards away from him, nearly by the church. They stopped and shone their light in his direction. “Come inside, quick!” he called again, managing to do so before another giant flash of light illuminated the entire sky and more roaring came, making his already trembling hands shake violently. The person stood still but for one second, before they made a dash towards his door. They both ran inside and Paul threw the door closed with a bang. His unexpected visitor put their light (which turned out to be a mobile phone flashlight) onto a little side table close to the door, and it helped illuminate their face.

Father Paul instantly recognised it as belonging to the girl he saw in church earlier that day, the newcomer who sat back during communion.

—

You were an idiot. You were an idiot and got yourself caught in this horrid storm. Originally, you had been taking an afternoon stroll, hoping to get some writing inspiration and secretly thinking about your interaction with the charming new priest in the morning. You liked strolling through the Uppards. Most of the stray cats were quite feral and ran away as soon as they caught your scent through the tall bushes, however, every now and then, a few of them would get curious and investigate, even let you pet them.

You thought you had enough time to get back home before the storm began, but the first few little drops that fell on your head soon turned into a full blown shower and the sky got dark fast. You started running as fast as you could, using your phone’s flashlight to guide your way through the shrubs, careful not to step on any cat that could suddenly appear in front of you. You were soaked to the bone and well aware that you’ll soon be freezing, even though you were running. You basically jumped right over the little bridge leading from the marshes back towards the town and carried on, the quickest route back to your home leading around the church.

But only, as you neared the church itself, gravel rustling under your feet, you heard something other than just rain and thunder. It almost sounded like… a voice? A distressed one, too. “Heey!” You turned towards it. It was the new priest, you could barely see him, standing on the porch of the rectory. “Come inside, quick!” A lightning bolt tore through the sky and you wasted no time in running towards him. He shut the door behind the both of you once you finally stepped over the threshold, rather hard, too. You set your phone down onto the first flat surface you saw and stopped to catch your breath.

In the light of your flashlight, you finally got a good look at his face and blinked in confusion. There was an expression of fear there, his eyes were wild and when yet another cracking louder sounded around you, nearly shaking the ground with its intensity, the charming priest’s entire body visibly jerked and his eyes screwed shut. You were at a loss for words. You were standing in a house you’ve never been to before with a man you only met today and who was an absolute stranger to you. It was obvious the storm was making him feel panicked and miserable, terrified even, and you wanted to provide comfort, seeing as he saved you from the rain and most likely from a nasty cold as well, but you had no idea how.

If you knew him a little better, if he was your friend, you’d probably wrap your arms around him, whisper gentle words of consolation, perhaps pet his hair. But not only was he a stranger, he was also a priest, and you didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable than he already was.

So instead, you slowly reached a single cold, wet hand out, and put it on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, but made no move to shake your hand away. “Hey,” you said softly, getting his attention, “how about you sit down?” His breathing was shallow and his eyes still wide, but then he blinked, once, twice and stiffly nodded his head. He walked to the sofa and sat down on it, hands gripping his knees. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself, than to him and began untying your sopping wet shoes to take them off. Your socks were equally drenched, but at least they weren’t muddy. Next to go was your jumper, the wet wool was heavy and freezing and you thought for a moment, before you just opened the door and threw the garment out on the porch. No use having it drip all around the floor here and making you freeze to death.

You made your way over to the priest, whose entire body radiated tension. There was no point in asking him if he was alright, because even in the near darkness you could tell he was definitely not. You kneeled in front of him and once more reached out a hand, putting in on his own which seemed intent on crushing his knee. He looked at you and his large soulful eyes were literally screaming. “Do you know where the candles are?” you asked, your voice only loud enough for him to hear over the rain and wind outside. He shut his eyes again and shook his head. “Alright. Do you mind if I go look for them?” Paul opened his eyes again, a tiniest hint of gratitude hidden behind the panic in the nearly black orbs. You went to fetch your phone and put it next to him on the sofa, so he wouldn’t have to sit in the dark while you were searching the rectory for candles. And after a bit of thought, you took a hold of the blanket that was haphazardly thrown over the back of the little couch and draped it over the priest’s lightly trembling shoulders. His hands left his knees to grab at the blanket and wrap it tightly around himself.

You spent several minutes looking around the room to see if you could perhaps spot the candles hiding somewhere in plain sight. You didn’t. Erin kept her candles in the kitchen cabinets, you remembered, and perhaps Monsignor Pruitt did too. The first one you checked only contained mugs and glasses, good thing to remember, maybe you could make some tea for the priest later. The next cabinet had various plates in it, and the one next to it had various durable foods stored inside, pasta, rice, canned goods, etcetera. Only one cabinet remained. You took a deep breath and opened it. You were wet, cold, a bit miserable, and worried for the priest, so you grinned in victory at the various candles of all shapes and sizes, complete with a large pack of matches.

There was no coffee table, so you pulled a chair from a dining table nearby and began lighting up a candle after candle. You left one large one and several smaller ones on the chair itself, but then started putting the little lit candles on every flat surface, making sure nothing flammable was nearby. Soon enough, the rectory was bathed in a pleasant warm orange glow. It wasn’t exactly bright, but you saw father Paul’s face clearly now. He stared into the flames of the candles placed on the chair, still trembling a bit and flinching at every loud boom of a thunder. Acting on instinct, you pulled close curtains on all the windows. Tea, you remembered, that could help him calm down.

Well, this idea left as quickly as it arrived. The rectory’s stove was an electric one, therefore useless in the current situation. Damn, you could have sworn it was a gas one, at least it looked to you as such before you lit the candles. However, on one of the burners stood a kettle and when you touched it, told to do so purely by your own subconsciousness you supposed, you were quite delighted to feel the little sting on your fingers. There was hot water inside, and while not boiling anymore, it’d be enough for tea to steep in. Remembering you saw some earl grey in the third cabinet you opened, you fetched two random mugs and put a teabag in each, before pouring the hot water over them.

You carried the tea back towards the sofa and, without a word, father Paul moved to sit a little closer to the edge of the sofa, prompting you to take the now empty seat beside him. You did and held out one of the mugs for him to take. He appeared to be a little calmer, the thunder ‘only’ making him tense up now, instead of full on flinching. He still stared into the flames, his expression less panicked, but still unhappy and now also appearing tired. “A little better?” you asked softly, blowing on your tea. He nodded and started biting on the inside of his cheek. “It’s not…” he began, sadness in his rich voice, “it’s not always this bad… Almost never, really. I actually even like storms, it's just-” he broke off after another loud crash from the skies.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasped out, “you haven’t known me for a day and you already have to… comfort me, because I got-... spooked by a stupid storm... That’s some first impression as a priest I gotta be making now.” Yes, he was still a stranger, but you hated how self-deprecating and ashamed he sounded. Without thinking, you took a hold of his free hand. Paul gave you a surprised look. “Don’t…” you whispered, looking into his eyes, “don’t. We all get spooked sometimes. And many people are terrified of much smaller things than this hell of a nasty storm. Besides,” your thumb stroked over the priest’s large hand, “I don’t think it’s really just the storm that made you so wound up. You said it yourself, you usually like them. Perhaps you’re just… under a lot of stress. Which of course you are, I mean, you stood before total strangers today, talking to them from a position of authority, I mean, I’d be sweating bullets. But you weren’t. You were awesome. You were charming and kind and knowledgeable and approachable. Just like a good priest should be. That’s my first impression of you. As for the second,” you scooted just a tad closer to him, “my second impression is that you are a man who went out of his way to give me shelter from an abominable storm. The storm terrifies you, and you still went out and got yourself drenched, just to help me. And I think that’s pretty awesome, too.”

Paul’s expression softened and he gave you a small, but honest smile. And you were so glad your face was only illuminated by the candlelight, because it hid the fact you blushed seeing that smile. It made his face look so open, and little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes, in which you saw pure gratitude written. “Thank you,” he said, and squeezed your hand, but didn’t let go of it. He turned his head away. “You’re right,” he spoke then, “these last few days… have been quite stressful.” You waited for him to elaborate. Another thunder - the priest’s hand squeezed your own again. “Let’s talk some more,” you said, trying to get him to focus on you instead of the tempest raging outside.

“You can talk to me about what’s been bothering you, if only to get it out of your system. Or, if you don’t want to talk about it, you can tell me something about yourself.”

So Paul talked. He told you everything that happened from first meeting the Monsignor in Israel up until today, holding your hand the entire time, and the more he talked, the less he tensed up each time the ground underneath trembled with the storm’s intensity. Gradually, his body relaxed and once he was done with his story he seemed nearly as calm as he was when you first spoke to him in front of the church. “No wonder this monstrous cloudburst got you so worked up, this is enough pressure to throw anyone out of their element. Especially so suddenly… Your first storm here is always the worst. It gets better after that,” you said then.

He looked at you with a slight smile: “How about you, then?” You frowned at the question. “What about me?” you asked. He chuckled lightly: “How come you got stranded in the storm? I mean, Monsignor Pruitt told me a little about you, but he never mentioned you're fond of going for jogs in thunderbolts and lightning, which I think is rather peculiar.” You giggled and rolled your eyes. You supposed it was your turn to talk.

And so you did. You took turns talking about your lives, what was before Crockett Island, and you talked long, long into the night. So long actually, that neither of you noticed that the storm slowly fading away until there were no other sounds than your voices, and while many of the candles died, the rectory wasn’t as dark as it had been before. And the entire time, you held each other’s hand.

Father Paul suddenly stopped talking, excused himself, held a free hand in front of his mouth and yawned. You chuckled and, letting go of him, stood up to walk to the window.

“The rain has moved on,

And left a new day,

Nothing seems to move,

Everything is still.

It’s just a perfect day.”

You sang quietly and pulled the curtains on the window apart, revealing first rays of sunshine appearing on the horizon, stars still visible on the west. “You should get some sleep, father,” you turned towards him, your own eyes feeling quite heavy. He observed you with such fondness, anyone would’ve guessed he’d known you for years, not less than 24 hours. “Thank you,” he spoke in a whisper, which you heard perfectly in the absolute silence of the room, “you’ve done so much for me, a man you barely know. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” You smiled and shook your head, walking back to the sofa and stopping right in front of him. You put your hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes: “There is nothing to repay. I mean that. I’m glad to have helped ease your unrest, father. And don’t forget, you saved me from the storm.”

You went to put your shoes back on at the door. They were still wet, but they’d get you home just fine. Your jumper though, that was a different case entirely. Seeing as it spent the entire night out on the porch and was not only soaked but also utterly filthy, you could pretty much throw it away. “Wait,” Paul said as got up and disappeared to, what you presumed, was the bedroom. He came back a few moments later, holding a warm looking cable knit cardigan. “Please, take it, I- I wouldn’t want you catching a cold because of me.”

You gratefully accepted and let him help you put it on. You were right, it truly was very warm, but also soft and it smelled really nice. “Go get some sleep, father Paul, you could really use it after the last few days. I mean, I know you’re supposed to be serving mass in a few hours, but after that, I think you earned yourself a nice long day of rest,”  you said, standing at the door. He gave you that soft smile again, and you tried your hardest to keep blood from rushing into your cheeks. “Perhaps. Hopefully.” he replied. “You too should rest.” “I will,” you agreed and smiled at him in return, “Good night, then.”

You walked down the few steps leading from the rectory’s porch and made your way around the little graveyard by the church. But then you turned around: “Also,” you called to him, stopping him from closing the door, “we know each other now.” Your voice, while tired, held cheer within. “I guess we do,” replied the priest, his voice matching yours, “good night, (F/N). Sleep well.”

Father Paul shut the door only after you rounded a corner and disappeared from his view. He blew out the last few remaining candles and walked slowly into the bedroom. As he got rid of his own cardigan and changed into some sleeping trousers, he kept thinking about you, the sound of your voice, your very presence. The moment you stepped over his threshold last night, something inside of him happened, and with each passing moment you spent sitting together on that ghastly sofa, he felt more and more at ease. And he felt so very grateful. He lied down and got comfortable, looking at the ceiling.

His mind kept replaying the song, sung in your voice. He didn’t know it, but it was lovely. And it sounded lovely when you were singing it. Maybe someday you'll sing it in its entirety for him. Father Paul Hill didn’t even realise he closed his eyes, still hearing your soft voice in his head, your tones gently lulling him to restful sleep.

Hello, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3 You can check this story and the entire series on AO3. I love your guys’ feedback :)

Song: Perfec Day by Miriam Stockley

[craniumzirconium]

You know I'm pretty sure I have some sort of case of astraphobia, because I am scared shitless of getting struck by lighting, especially in open areas where it's just dark clouds above me. Intense thunderstorms also scare the shit out of me because well, they're loud as fuck and I get anxious thinking when I'm gunna hear a loud boom and get jumpscared.

[nightowltribe]

Therapy day, got 3 hours of sleep before having to get ready for therapy; we have astraphobia and it could be a relapse because of the large amount of stress we've been under from going without a job for 3 weeks, the strange brand of ptsd people get after natural diasters that get worse over time, or it could be delayed-onset PTSD. Regardless, we are going to try exposure therapy meaning in person appointments once a month and normal business between them.

[nightingaleflow]

I'm not ready for the thunderstorm tonight. -_-

[whumpster-dumpster]

Untrusting/astraphobia whumpee promt: during a thunderstorm caretaker comes into whumpees room to ask them something, maybe return something, and they arent there. When a loud thunder cracks they hear a muffled whimper coming from whumpee's closet. They find whumpee huddled inside their closet having a panick attack. Caretaker stays and desperately trys to help calm down whumpee while whumpee just begs them to leave them alone and wishes for the storm to end.

It’s monsoon season over here and speaking from personal experience tonight: bonus points if their hiding place ends up having a leak so they’re cold and wet while they’re hiding

[cactusbus]

self-care: putting my hands on my hips and yelling "hello???" at particularly loud thunder like it's an intruder in my home

[sanniewriteshere]

🎸⚡Headcanons and Scenario: Rockstar Cookie x Male!Reader: Storm of Music

Request: Can I request rockstar cookie and ligyrophobic male reader where rockstar comforts the reader during a thunderstorm? Since there's like a lot of sudden thunder and stuff and if you don't mind could you write it in 3rd person?

There's a big storm tonight, and y/n is in need of a little comfort, if only one melody could save the night...

Gender: Masculine

Pronouns: He/Him

Y/N

Third person (I think?)

CW: - Thunder

Fluff and Comfort (Angst if you look veeeery deep)

Type of relationship: S/O with Romantic tones

Let's suppose Rockstar is on Kingdom for the sake of the Oneshot xD

Headcanons

~ He usually sleeps with you at the studio at home since it's soundproof and you can barely hear thunder there.

~ Makes lighthearted jokes about it with songs and lyrics about thunders and storms. But only when you two are alone, and knows when to stop.

~ Of course he buys you a pair of soundproof headphones, or let you borrow his when you forgot to bring yours outside.

~ Humms songs to help you sleep when the storms are light. He knows how to mix tones and sounds to make relaxing tunes that hide the thunder on the background.

Scenario / Oneshot

Another rainy night at the Kingdom. It was another autumn storm, particularly loud as usual for the season. The leaves and branches crashing the roof make it feels like it was going to break y/n's house in half.

But let's rewind a little...

Y/n moved to the kingdom some months ago with Rockstar Cookie for recommendation of Parfait Cookie. The reception, public and environment was better for both Y/N and his special one, Rockstar Cookie.

So this wasn't his first storm with Y/N, but it was always a battle to make you feel comfortable.

Since Y/N was a the drummer of the duo, it was hard for Rockstar Cookie when he discovered that his companion was scared of storms, like, he saw him giving concerts on a lot of stages louder than a storm. But he wasn't going to judge, even when a lot of people told y/n to "buckle up" and "be strong" because "storms can't hurt you", Rockstar Cookie was always by his side to help to stand up for him.

One day, y/n and Rockstar Cookie were shopping at the music store on the kingdom, the shops were a little far from the residential area, where they lived.

The afternoon was windy, and since it was autumn, the weather was really unstable, at the morning there was a nice sunny day, but now, some clouds where spying on the sky.

The north wind made the leaves fly and make the usual whistle that announced rain, or even worse, a storm.

Only y/n with his good ear noticed, since the doors were closed and Rockstar Cookie was trying some new guitar strings. He touched Rockstar's shoulder slightly to call his attention. "Hey, I think-I think we should be going home", said y/n. Rockstar watched through the crystal wall and saw the black clouds for a storm coming to the kingdom. "Oh, yes of course, just let me pay for this real quick and I'm done". "Code Thunder" said Rockstar for himself.

Not even five minutes after, when Rockstar and y/n got out of the store, black clouds where already covering the kingdom.

"Do you think we'll make home before the storm start?", said y/n said in a scared voice. "If we run I think we'll make it, let's go then!", Rockstar said and they started running.

A thunder from the forest made y/n shiver a little, but he has to keep moving to get home safe.

They were near, tired from running but they can see home already just some streets more to get there.

A nearer thunder, louder this time, distracted y/n and make him trip on the paviment. Not a bad fall, but the noise was enough to put y/n in a freeze state, he was too scared to move, waiting for the next thunder to break his ears, but just some steps from home.

"Come on y/n get up, we're almost home, it's near and we can get on the studio", Said Rockstar in an attempt to get him up the ground. "I- I can't, I'll just wait here, I'm not moving..." y/n said almost crying, scared to even look at Rockstar.

"Please, we'll get soggy here outside, let's go..." No response... "Here, take my hand, you can squeeze hard if another thunder falls, no worries as always"

So y/n almost crushes Rockstar's hand, but now the only thing that matters is to get home. Rockstar puts a hand on his s/o shoulder to give him strength and balance. Step by step, slow but steady, they walk home.

"FINALLY HOME", y/n screamed to relax his body.

Just as they left the shopping bags on the table, little raindrops start falling. And another loud thunder made y/n shake, which Rockstar jump from behind to give him a big hug. Rockstar could feel y/n's heartbeat, it was loud and fast.

As the great improvisor he is, Rockstar quickly remembered a music that matched his heartbeat and started singing it with a soft voice, and the hug lasted at least some minutes.

With the now loud rain hitting the house, he takes y/n's hand "Before the storm gets stronger, let's choose a movie and get to the studio", "Thanks for everything, I'm such a looser, I'm sorry to make you go through all of this and sorr-" Interrupted Rockstar "Hey hey, don't say that, you're not a looser, or a heavy load, or anything bad you say about you, you are an amazing cookie, who makes happy a lot of people , so please don't say that to you ever again, you know that I'll love you with any little silly thing you have, that only makes you an amazing limited edition."

Y/n almost started crying, but a thunder far from the city makes him get back in himself again.

Rockstar made popcorn, and with a comfy blanket, y/n and Rockstar Cookie now are relaxing on the couch in the studio, without hearing any storms or Thunder from outside. He takes y/n's hand really tight and softly strokes his hair, and he feel the soft and crunchy dough of Rockstar, it feels like the witches really made a good job with him...

[newwwwusername]

Ahhhh! I’m here now! For the actual fic request!!!

spoiler alert!!! It’s THUNDER ANGST!

basically if you know anything about me is that I am the number one simp for any Thunder angst fic.

It’s gonna be a Toradeen fic! So that should fall into your rules!

So basically what I was thinking, was Clawdeen and Toralei are paired together to do some project. And so they’re working on it in the library or something late at night. They’re not enemies anymore. But friends also feels like a wrong term. More like acquaintances with extreme chemistry lol.

but then, of course. A FREAK THUNDERSTORM happens!

Toralei is of course scared. But she at first tries to hide it. But that quickly fails drastically since she’s way to scared of it to hide her reactions. And now (I’m low key having my own fic be some kind of unspoken base for this? It’s nothing big I’m just saying there was a storm while Tor was being brutally tortured). Like Toralei already had a bad phobia of storm. But since the stabbing it’s like so much worse and she gets these panic attacks and fears the witches are gonna get her again.

Clawdeen is very alarmed cause she doesn’t really know what to do. But now there is a shaking ball of fur hiding underneath the table and the little whimpers she’s emitting absolutely break her heart. So she forces past her awkwardness and ducks down with her. And idk. She helps/comforts her through the panic attack then storm? Some fluff at the end. Toralei probably needs close contact after the panic attack to get through the storm (cause during the panic attack any touch scares the shit out of her) but after when it’s just the storm fear she craves hugs and comfort desperately

idk!!! You do what you want with that! That’s just me rantinb about thunder angst. But I’m excited to see what you do! And any updates on it would be greatly appreciated but I also totally get if you don’t! Take your time!!! I’m very excited!

Please do not repost on other platforms. This will be posted on AO3 and TTBC under the same username.

Toralei didn't like thunderstorms. No, she hated thunderstorms.

She understood they were just a natural part of the weather cycle and typically not dangerous so long as you didn't go outside in steel armor, but they'd always freaked her out ever since she was a little kid.

This fear became especially bad after she'd been tortured by witches. By complete coincidence, there'd been a storm going on when she was attacked, permanently forming a link in her mind between the memory of her attack and thunderstorms.

She was already a bit irritated because she'd been paired up with Clawdeen Wolf, of all people, for a class assignment. Sure, the two weren't enemies anymore, but friends also felt like one hell of a stretch.

Still, she endured. She supposed there were definitely worse people to get paired with, at least in terms of productivity. Clawdeen, as it turned out, was actually pretty knowledgeable on the subject they were working on, which she hadn't been expecting from a half-monster who'd been solely raised by a human almost her whole life.

It all went to shit, though, when a sudden clap of thunder radiated in from outside, shaking the whole library with the aftershocks. Her whole body immediately went rigid and Clawdeen shot her a concerned look.

This was bad. This was really bad. Not only was there apparently a thunderstorm now (which had not been on the forecast that morning when she checked), but she also couldn't let Clawdeen Wolf know that she had a fear of thunderstorms.

"Just startled me" she said dismissively, trying to force the shake out of her hands and voice. Clawdeen gave her a small, sympathetic smile that made her want to crawl into a hole and die.

It wasn't long before another clap of thunder came along and shook her to her very core. She was unable to suppress the flinch or the terrified whimper, and her breathing was picking up at an alarming rate, as was the pitter-patter of her heart.

"Toralei, it's okay if you're freaked o-"

"I am not freaked out!" Toralei objected maybe a bit too passionately. Her whole body was trembling at this point and she was completely hopeless to stop it. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Clawdeen knew she was freaking out. Great.

"Tor-" Clawdeen was cut off by another clap of thunder, which caused the werecat to squeal in fear and leap under the study table.

Clawdeen just sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. While she wasn't rivals with Toralei anymore, the two were hardly friends, and she'd also never seen the girl freaked out like this before. She wasn't sure how exactly to approach the situation and she felt stuck.

Her unsure daze was quickly broken by the panicked whimpers coming from under the table. Personal comfort be damned, she had to at least try.

She cautiously got out of her seat and kneeled down to look under the table. Toralei was curled in a ball, her terrified eyes poking out from behind her knees and darting around frantically, as though the world was closing in on her.

Clawdeen had only experienced a panic attack once in her life, and it was when she'd first shifted into her human form. She tried to remember what Frankie had done to calm her down. Talking her down and... Some sort of bubbly water...

She didn't have bubbly water, but she did have her voice.

"Hey, Toralei" she said in a soft voice. Toralei's eyes continued to dart about but landed solidly on her a few times. As good a start as any, Clawdeen thought. She reached out her hand but the werecat flinched away, so she quickly retracted it. "No touch. Got it"

"They're coming" Toralei began to mutter repeatedly. Clawdeen frowned. She looked around but no one else seemed to be near their corner of the library.

"Who's coming?"

"The witches" Toralei said. "They're coming to take me back. That's why there's a thunderstorm" she explained. The rational part of her brain knew that didn't really make any sense, but that part of her brain was a shrimp in comparison to the vast majority, which was currently panicking. "There was a thunderstorm last time, so-"

"Toralei, I promise you, no witches are trying to get in here right now" Clawdeen said. "Even if they were, I'm not letting you get kidnapped, okay? You're safe here"

It took a few minutes, but Toralei's panic attack began to let up and she silently moved herself closer to Clawdeen. The immediate trauma response may have finished its course, but she still decidedly hated thunderstorms.

Clawdeen allowed the sudden switch in behavior and didn't comment on Toralei's sudden clinginess, instead just wrapping her arms around the clearly afraid girl, occasionally muttering basic reassurances whenever another clap of thunder came down, causing the werecat's trembling to worsen.

When the storm eventually decided to go away and bother someone else, Toralei came to her senses and realized how close in proximity she'd gotten to the other girl.

She quickly pulled out of the hug and got out from under the table, brushing herself off and blushing furiously- Whether it was embarrassment or realization that she didn't completely hate that closeness was beyond her.

"So..." Clawdeen started awkwardly, also getting out from under the table. "You wanna finish working on the project, or-"

"Yes"

"Okay"

They would end up getting an A+ on that assignment, something which Toralei found inexplicably fascinating, and, when possible, the pair always tried to work together in that class from that point forward.

[blacktipreefsharkk]

Day 60: There is a thunderstorm outside.

The sky is flashing so much, it needs a seizure warning and the thunder sounds like cannonballs.

I am afraid of dying. Our neighbors have a huge tree in their yard and in a strong storm it could break off and crush our roof.

I don't want to be crushed to death.

It's hailing outside too. Big ice balls, not yet big enough to Crack the windows but still making lots of noise.

We pulled all possible plugs. TV, Computer, Radios, even the coffee machine. They might get destroyed if lightning strikes.

I hate the noise that thunder makes. Thunderstorms, especially heat storms make me think of suffocating, burning and pressure.

Sometimes I just want to hide in a small nook with no bad noise or feeling.

I hear the wooden supports of our house making noise, it's horrible. I want to leave but outside is dangerous.

I don't know what to do.

I hate thunderstorms.