One of my favorite tickling tropes is when someone who’s hella ticklish has to be written on/ painted on and they can’t sit still. Or they’re being used as a canvas and they have to be tied down and they’re just cackling madly. Painting and drawing on their sensitive belly and the brush gets dipped into their bellybutton and they lose it. AUGHH SO CUTE. Someone abusing their poor feet and writing “tickle me” on their soles. Just end me.
lying on the floor staring at the long cable cord that gives me cable tv like…….. modern au,, wouldbthe ghost man have cable? certainly satellite is right out, he’d never get service,, so isbthere just a really long extension cord running from the cable tv in the managers office down to the fifth cellar like???? subtly who?? the man’s gotta watch the PGA tour! needs that cable tv!
Imagine Lance is sick and in the hospital, and meet Keith (while he was visiting Shiro for exemple // Allura as a nurse or smth?), can’t help but flirt with this dark-haired (mullet) beauty. They start to hang out a lot and stuff and maybe become more than friends?
Sherlock thinks John deserves better, so he breaks things off even though neither wants to...
Sherlock saw the way John was treated differently after they started going out publicly, even if John seemed oblivious to it. He saw the way people made fun of him behind his back for hanging around the ‘freak’. He saw the way his own abrasive personality was beginning to drive away John’s close friends.
More than that, Sherlock was aware of the way John tended to be at the wrong end of that abrasive personality and hurtful deductions when Sherlock was in a bad mood. He had no one else to take it out on, since no one else could stand to be around him. And it didn’t seem to get to John, but then again, Sherlock wasn’t always terribly good at reading others’ emotions. Which was just another reason he wasn’t…good enough for John. John deserved someone more empathetic, more caring, less cruel, more…human. Someone to treat him the way he deserved. And John deserved so much. He was so…just, genuinely good.
Sherlock had these thoughts for a while, but the final straw was the night John had left. There Sherlock was, spouting off complaints and insults–not all directed at John, but he was the only one there. And the worst part was, Sherlock had been speaking so quickly, rattling off so many things in so short a time, he couldn’t even be sure which comment it had been that made John’s face go stony, that made him close off and get up to excuse himself. Sherlock had never been good at knowing when he’d gone too far.
The next day Sherlock had offered a fumbled attempt at an apology, which John, so forgiving, too forgiving, had accepted. Which was far more than Sherlock deserved. He hated himself for having hurt John, and yet that’s exactly what he’d done. And he’d probably do it again.
So Sherlock took it upon himself to end it before he hurt John even more.
They stood outside John’s dorm. The walk there had been spent in silence. Which wasn’t uncommon–John had grown used to Sherlock’s long bouts of silence by now.
And then, in place of what normally would have been their parting kiss goodnight, Sherlock delivered the blow.
He didn’t give a valid explanation–if he’d told John it was simply because John deserved better, John would try to convince him otherwise. And Sherlock was afraid he couldn’t be strong if John started showering him in praises, that he’d give in and take it back.