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whump-town · 4 years

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A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Five: They Told Me That The End Is Near

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 3195

Author’s Note: I’m about to fuck yall all kinda of ways-- buckle in babies cause shit is GETTING FUCKED

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

Welcome to the final show Hope you're wearing your best clothes You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky You look pretty good down here But you ain't really good

She hates everything about labeling his days as “good” or “bad”-- this stupid emphasis on each thing that he does and how well he can perform it. The doctors will ask how he is, nearly expecting to be told something other than like he’s dying, and that always frustrates her beyond words. She can feel Hotch tense each time, looking to her in his desperate attempt to conjure a lie they will believe. “Good” or “bad” and he wants to say “okay” so that they don’t poke him more. So they don’t stand him up in the room and run their hands down his sides feeling for more swollen nodes and inclinations to infections or whatever other bad nonsense will rear its ugly head.

Mostly, she hates how there are “bad” days and there are days that aren’t gut-wrenchingly horrible but they aren’t “good” either.

Tuesday he’d smiled and sat for three hours with Reid. The genius turned on the sofa to face Hotch in the recliner, rocking himself gently as he spoke about anything and everything on his mind. Emily had watched them for a moment from the kitchen, shocked at the painless ease Hotch was sitting with. Enjoying something close to normalcy as Reid doesn’t look at Hotch and see the sickness overcoming his pale skin. Doesn’t see how tired he is or how weak. He’s just Hotch and they’re sitting in the living room talking about quantum mechanics and then attachment theory and diagnosing schizophrenia.

For three hours there is so much normalcy to their chaotic lives. For three hours there is “good” and for the remaining hours after Reid leaves there is something close to right in the middle. It’s fighting tooth and nail over some supplements he’s supposed to have in this meal replacement that tastes like chalk. She chases the fight with vodka and he locks himself in his office to drink the meal replacement in the sort of isolation that affords him endless frustration with no outward consequence. He ends up sitting in there and hoping she forgives him for being such a pain in the ass. He knows she probably will.

Then he does something stupid, something entirely brought on by impulse.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

He can’t finish the job on his own, the clippers shaking painfully in his grip. His arm hurts and he can’t stand long enough to get the whole thing even. “It’s falling out, anyway.” He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he should be lucky he made it to this age without losing it. He tries not to think about it, mostly. To the way that his father used to smile at him and rustle it just to see the strands sit in all kinds of directions. How Haley would curl against him, arm over his shoulders, and brushing the strands as they talk.

But it’s just… hair. Mostly.

And “good” had melted into bad as Emily stood over him, running the clippers through his remaining hair. She’d cried and he had too but he had the free hands to wipe those tears before she could see them. She’s always the strong one, the least he can do is pretend for a moment.

Standing behind him, she can see every bone in his back. His pale skin stretched over each vertebra, like the hard pressure across knuckles clenched tightly. The plethora of scars in various stages of healing-- several from tubes and wires and tests and others from the childhood he refuses to speak of. A canvas with a story right there for her to see. There are no real secrets between them anymore.

The last bit of hair falls and she looks at what they’ve done. “You’ll have to wear a hat,” she tells him. She steps out of the tub, using his shoulder to balance herself. “I always thought you had a weird-shaped head but now I know.” There’s nothing abnormal about his head, she’s just thinking about how cold he always is. That at least now he’s got an excuse to wear a beanie inside and how he’ll look like a dork with the assortment of color and variations Garcia’s going to knit the second she catches wind of this.

She offers him her hands so that he can stand too and it’s a testament to their proximity that his shirtlessness isn’t strange. She’s watched his skin ease apart under the pressure of a scalpel. Sat beside him on the bathroom floor, head on his shoulder as the night moved on but they both knew he’d be back here all together too soon to get up. The scars are nothing to the vulnerability that he’s shown her.

Standing she… she sees the protrusion of his collarbone. Of the harshness, the invasion of the central line snaking into him. It overcomes her and she pulls him into her. Throwing an arm over one shoulder and around the other, pinning him against her. “I love you,” she whispers turning her face into his neck.

Her warmth seeps into him, in every place that her skin rests against his. The desperation in her tone makes him smile, the way that she holds him. He’s empathetic to her pain but it feels good to be held, to be loved like something someone is terrified to lose. “You know,” he says. “I kind of figured. You’ve stayed around too long for someone who, supposedly, hates me.”

She laughs. How many times had she gone out of her way to mumble “I hate you” at him? For waking her up to make her go back to bed so that she doesn’t spend her whole night on the floor as miserable as him. To have something to say in the face of the scary things that happen, when he squeezes her hand too tight or when he’s that numb calm she knows is no good.

“I do hate you,” she sniffles.

He laughs. An actual laugh. “Good,” he replies, wrapping his arms around her. “Good.”

Wednesday he makes her French Toast with a black beanie pulled down over his ears, one she’d seen only in the winter to stave off the threat of the ear infections the icy fingers of the wind give him. They talk while they eat and it’s a truly monumental thing to be shared between them-- a meal.

There’s something about sitting there and watching him perfect some glorified egg bread that annoys her. Knowing that likely, tomorrow this will be like a slap to the face. A taunt to see him now and then. Today he will the Aaron that she knows. The Aaron that peers over her shoulder while she’s trying to do things, baiting her into pointless arguments with his bad French and even worse German. To the Aaron who walks soundless and who grins when he turns up silently behind her and makes her yelp with a jump.

She watches the ease in which he takes to his french toast bleed away like the color in his face until lunch brings one of those meal replacements and he can’t do it. Then she finds the french toast she thought he’d eaten in the trash where he’d purposely tried to cover it. Knows that next week they’ll find the meal replacements didn’t work and do something else to his poor body. Cut another hole, insert another tube.

She hears him fall that night.

After hearing him laugh loudly over some stupid thing she’d said.

After playfully fighting with him over stealing one of his sweaters-- he has so many it’s not going to kill him to let her borrow one.

After just sitting with him on the couch for hours listening to music and sitting in the dark.

She hears him fall and, worst of all, she hears how hard he tries to cover it up. The sound is not as distinct as it should be with no crash that rattles dishes or a harsh thud. A stumble, really, a softer thump as he leaned into the wall for support but found none.

“Aaron.”

He’s sitting up against the wall, shoulders sunk in and head hanging. When he looks up she sees the blood pouring down his face, the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. “...can’t stop it.” He coughs, wiping at the blood across his lips. “It won’t stop, Emily.”

She runs to the bathroom, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and not thinking twice about manipulating his face in her hands. One hand holding the back of his head while the other dabs the blood up. “We’re supposed to go to the hospital when this happens,” she reminds him. He’ll need platelets or something invasive but more than likely he’ll be submitted to an hour-long wait in the E.R. to be told it was the right thing to come in but altogether unnecessary.

He groans, not in pain but in the general theme of the awfulness he knows will ensue if she makes the decision they will be going to the hospital. To the cold beds and the wheelchairs.

“Water and bed,” she says, instead of what he’d thought would be her asking where his shoes and coat are. She smirks at him, knowing what he’s thinking and seeing the surprise written across his face. “We’ll tell them Tuesday about it,” she assures him. Tuesday when they’re probably going to tell them he needs to come back in another day. When they see the supplements aren’t working and he’ll probably need something invasive and painful. Then they’ll deal with the nose bleeds popping back (and that cough she’s noticed but has let convince himself she hasn’t noticed).

“Bed,” she says again when the words seem like they haven’t processed.

“Bed,” he repeats thickly, her fingers clamped over his nose thickening the nasally quality of his voice.

They shuffle down the hall, Emily’s fingers curled around his hip and his arm over her shoulder. Heads bent in towards one another. He whispers an apology, feet hardly leaving the ground, and leaning on her a little too much. He imagines the beginning. When he’d laid on his bed, thinking about her and thinking about his father. The way the cancer had eaten his father away and he can see in the mirror, he watches closely and knows the same thing is happening to him.

His father had done what he can’t-- ended it.

It had been Aaron who found him. So strange to see such a violent man seemingly… peaceful. His memory is a patchwork of things, his childhood full of too many greys of undetermined moments, but that sight. Seeing his father’s lifeless body in the high-backed office chair he’d spent so many waking hours in has been unforgettable.

He can’t do that. He won’t make Emily see that or leave that sort of memory for Jack. It’s important to him that it be like this.

“You have to sit up.” She props him up on pillows, ignoring his complaints. The blood has slowed and there’s nearly no point in wiping it away. He just watches her, vacantly staring back as she tucks the blankets around his chest. “Sleep,” she instructs, kissing his forehead. “Do you want me to stay?” He knows she will. She’ll sleep right here beside if he asks but… no. He’ll be okay.

It snows.

He watches it from the only window in his room, she’d pulled the curtains back before she fell asleep. He sees her and her giant shadow with the yellowing light from the street pouring in, eating out the deep consuming darkness looming over him. Until today he’d only ever suspected she was dragging his office chair into his room but he’d never caught her, always waking up after she’d moved the chair back and gone back to her own room. Leaving behind only the three deep dents in the carpet where she’d sat for hours. There had been so many nights he’d spent sitting and watching Jack sleep as a baby-- some irrational fear that the baby would stop breathing in the middle of the night and so long as he was watching Jack would keep breathing. He needn’t ask silly questions, he knows she’s using the same irrational approach.

Clenching his teeth he tries to bite down against a cough breaking out, afraid to wake her some such peaceful slumber. He pulls himself upright, curling down as his temples throb, and his body shakes violently beyond his control. A goal in-sight-- the water on his nightstand and getting Emily back to bed-- he powers through it and overcoming the weakness of his body feels so satisfyingly familiar. To days when there was pain but no cancer and he loves the triumphant that washes over him.

The water is warm and stale, left there by Emily yesterday when she’d forced him to take his medicine (even though he thought he’d throw it back up and he had). It kills the ache of his throat, dry and bitter, and he clears his throat softly to take the rest away.

“Emily,” he whispers. Moving his lips cracks the dried blood on his face he grimaces as he smells the thick scent of the blood. “Emily, get up.” He won’t leave her to sleep in this chair all night. He’s made the mistake plenty of times, knows it’s no good. “Come on,” he touches her arm, palm against her bare skin. She jumps his touch is so cold. “Sorry, sorry--”

She really sees him and jumps even harder. Yelping in shock. “Oh! Oh, God!” She wraps her arms around her chest, breathing quickly, startled. “Fuck Aaron,” she shouts. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He rubs his nose, tries to dislodge the blood.

“Is-- Is something wrong?” She pushes her hair back from her face, “are you okay?”

God. He’s hurt her irreparably, hasn’t he?

“Nothing.” He offers his hand, even if the hand trembles visibly enough in the low light. “Nothing, I promise.” She takes his hand, allowing him to guide her up. “You shouldn’t sleep in that chair,” he informs her softly but still with that distinct fussiness to his voice.

She looks back to the chair and up at him, “I guess I’ve finally been caught.”

He smiles. The first time he’d put two and two together he was angry. Overly frustrated, seething over something so… sweet. She’d sat with him through the night, watching him sleep, just trying to be close and he’d been mad. Not now, though, now he can see how tired he is. He can feel her hand still clutching his. “It’s okay,” he shrugs. “It’s late, let’s go to bed.”

She frowns, brows crinkling as she looks around them in confusion. Sleep riddled brain torn between the rational thought that concludes he’s right, she should go to bed, and the worry she’d felt hours ago about leaving him in this room. She’s not sure what to do now, which thought to travel and act upon.

“Do you--” he looks down at the thrown back covers on his bed. Remembers this wouldn’t be the first time she’s slept in that bed beside him. Likely more than just the memories he can think of now, unprompted. He blushes, embarrassed he even had the thought but she looks down to and nods.

She doesn’t want to leave him alone.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

They start side by side, neither entirely comfortable. She falls back to sleep first. He can feel her breath even back out and within a few minutes she turns over towards him, her hand resting over his wrist. He looks back to his office chair, the giant back of the old thing. She’s so afraid to lose him, they all are. He can feel it in every little thing that they do. How Dave lingers a little more after each visit, hugs him a little longer. The way Derek looks at him, how close he stands. Even in Spencer and Jack who soak up his attention like flowers to the sun. Turning and facing him, finding him wherever he is to enjoy just one more moment. Hanging on to his every word.

He wakes soaked in sweat, shaking as Emily talks to someone rushed, too quickly to sound anything but frantic. Afraid.

He opens his eyes as a sea of red flushes through the room, the shrill of an ambulance breaking up the serene silence the snow has muffled the Earth with.

“Aaron?”

She’d woken to him struggling to breathe. Both had turned over in the night and while she’d turned toward him, he’d turned away from her. Her arm over his hip, her head against his back, they were nearly welded together. If not for the proximity-- his arm pulling hers closer, her leg in-between his, she likely wouldn’t have heard him at all. But she’d felt him jerk in his sleep, fighting his body for air.

And he wouldn’t wake up.

“Aaron?” she calls a second time. She should go open the front door, let the EMTs in but she’d seen a sliver of his eye. His cheek is cold against her palm but she cries, tears streaming when he opens his eyes. When he turns his face into her palm. “There you are,” she beams. His eyes slide back shut. “Stay awake,” she asks, her nerves getting the best of her and she shakes him. Pleased when his eyes open back up and find her. “Stay awake, don’t you want to see the snow?”

The stretcher is cold and he mourns the loss of his thick comforter but the drugs flooding into his blood makes him loose, pliable. He doesn’t fight being taken from his bed, even if he longingly looks back for it. Lets them strap his legs down place an oxygen mask over his face. The snow means nothing to him. He hates it, honestly, but as they step outside, Emily tossing his winter coat of him like a blanket, he looks up at it falling down on him.

Her hand slips away and he looks back for her, confused. She stands in the street, face turned to the fat snowflakes falling around her. All the light coming from street lamps high above her head. He’s reminded of a lifetime ago. When she’d gone against his orders and gone to investigate Michael’s death with a ferocity he hadn’t seen coming. When she’d avoided his eye and said she’d understand if he wanted her badge and gun after that little show. She’d forced his hand, made him call the Vatican, and consider his own allegiances. To when they were two very different people than they are now-- younger, naive… alone.

She catches up to them, slipping her hand back into his. Her fingers freezing cold as they curl around his. “Don’t you love it?” she asks. She looks back out, watching until the doors shut behind them and all she has is a tiny window.

He doesn’t but she does.

She looks young, weightless.

In a way, yes, he does love it.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #tw cancer

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lavellander · 3 years

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more bc i am unstoppable now

I Am Thinking About My DA Protagonists’ Taste In Romantic Partners both their “usual” type and why they’re drawn to their canon love interest (and the hypothetical ones from other games). i expect no one to give a shit abt this except me lsdfjd but im on a roll and its a good exercise or whatever. i’m sure i’ll use it eventually?????

once again. i know no one gives a fuck but if anyone DOES happen to want to torture themselves and read this pls know all my ocs are bi except zaniyah, who is a lesbian<3

sarenan:

general disclaimer that “in the circle love is just a game” etc etc etc so while she definitely is more inclined to romantic relationships, she only really had friends w benefits at most

she likes smart people! she likes fun people, she likes people who can get on board with her fucked up sense of humor. she’s witty and charming and loves to flirt just to flirt, and in the circle that wasn’t much of an issue lol. leliana is the first person she ever feels like...foot-in-mouth around, bc suddenly she likes and is attracted to someone and...that’s allowed? it’s all very foreign to her but she falls Real Hard, Real Fast

in a hypothetical da2 romance obviously isabela is extremely hot but also sarenan canonically has a foursome w her, leli, and zev so dLFKKDS it makes sense that bela’s the love interest of choice<3 (but also i think it would be like...friends-to-friends with benefits-to-lovers lol)

in a hypothetical dai romance once again josie is very hot and also so sweet and cute and delightful !!!!! idk if its just me but i see similarities bw origins leli and josie so again it just makes sense to me that josie is the LI for an inq romance :’)

(BUT for the most part. it is pretty hard for me to imagine sarenan w anyone but leli, bc they are the only couple i have that like. makes sense. lmfao)

maeve:

actually doesnt often have romantic relationships? she has ~flings~ and rarely catches feelings. she describes her type as “anyone sexy”

(her and isabela do in fact have a brief Thing but strictly no strings attached; this is bc i was very very adamant about romancing isabela when i played da2 and then anders fucking SNIPED me. so i incorporated it into canon i guess. lmao)

her attraction to anders is originally just “sexy tortured man” and then “sexy tortured man that gives free healthcare to poor people!!!!” and then - after it’s clear it won’t be a fwb situation - she realizes she has Actual feelings for him and is like well. its been a good run. guess i’ll die! until he reciprocates dflksdjf then they are kirkwall’s weirdest couple to everyone except themselves :’)

in a hypothetical dao romance her and zev would be classic fuckbuddies who accidentally start having a crush on each other, absolutely refuse to acknowledge it, then someone else in the friend group is like “oh my god PLEASE just kiss we are all going insane watching yall do this” <3

in a hypothetical dai romance im still torn bw sera and bull. maeve would just keep hitting on sera until sera did something about it; bull would be similar to zevran in the fuckbuddies-accidentally-caught-feelings dynamic

alani:

i feel like (depending on the size of the clan etc) alani was prob mostly involved w people she’d known almost all her life. she’s obviously attracted to other ppl who like to learn and stuff, but other than that it’s equal opportunity crushes ykwim. she doesn’t even Know she has a thing about people who are like. puzzles to be solved until solas lol

in a hypothetical dao romance she’d be drawn to alistair bc...who wouldnt be. hes adorable. they’re both warm friendly charming sunshines and i think it’d be natural for them to be drawn to one another. once she realizes he has Baggage she’s like oh. OH. i have to defend you against the world now

in a hypothetical da2 romance i thiiink it would be kinda similar to solas. like oh this bitch has a lot of emotional walls up, he’s got some real shit going on. I Like That. also mage rights, hes a sad sexy doctor, we love a revolutionary, etc. it makes sense imo

zaniyah:

similar to maeve i think she’s more of a fling person than a relationship person, but she has had a couple gfs. she’s not very comfy being super serious but she’s a good gf and is very devoted. generally speaking i think she just likes Hot Ladies but is esp drawn to quirky / weird ppl lol

in a hypothetical dao romance she’d like morrigan bc 1) she’s hot and 2) she’s standoffish lol. she’d take it upon herself to get morrigan to like her as like, a personal triumph, but then along the way realize she has a real crush on her and be like shit? fuck? (the same goes for morg. it would be an oh shit oh fuck moment on both ends)

in a hypothetical da2 romance i think her and merrill would be more like friends to lovers :’) zaniyahs immediately like “youre weird. i like you” also they bond bc dalish etc, and over time she starts liking her more and more. eventually zaniyah just cant take it anymore and kisses merrill, apologizes profusely, etc, and merrill’s like “oh. i thought we were dating?” sldkfjsLDKFJds i care them

(josie is kind of an outlier bc she’s so graceful, collected, knows what to do/say always, etc. i dont believe in love at first sight but if i did thats what zaniyah and josie would be<333)

ranae:

she doesnt like. have a type really. because she’s just been in love w her childhood best friend since forever and doesnt think of what she might like in other ppl bc well. he’s right there? she assumes they’ll be together forever, even if only platonically :(

when she meets morrigan she’s like oh i like women too apparently. cool?? when she meets alistair shes a little put off by the fact that hes a golden retriever, then clings to him bc Trauma, then VERY begrudgingly realizes she has a crush on him but feels like shes betraying tamlen

eventually she comes to terms w the fact that like. theres nothing she can do about tamlen unfortunately, and alistair is here and Loves Her and he’s been the only person to make her truly happy in a very long time. it takes a lot for her to think she deserves that, but she does, and the rest is history :’)

in a hypothetical da2 romance it makes perfect sense to me that she’d latch onto the other Elf Who Is Full Of Rage immediately. they are both very intense and it can put other people off sometimes but they dont really care! die mad about it, shem! etc

in a hypothetical dai romance she’d be drawn (platonically) to blackwall bc grey warden stuff, but subconsciously they both kind of feel like frauds, like they dont deserve happiness, etc; theyre both kinda brusque, at least at first, too. she just kinda sees him as a buddy til she watches him bonding w sera or with some kids or something and then shes like 😳 😳 😳 and then angry that shes like that lmao

#oc prompt #AGAIIINNNNNN going to reiterate i know no one cares im posting this for Me #to Reference #also i have had wine. so #what can you do when the OC brain goblin latches on ykwim #sarenan surana #maeve hawke #alani lavellan #zaniyah lavellan #ranae mahariel

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vampirequeenoffan · 4 years

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Intrusive

IDK, just a DP drabble that seized me by the hands and forced me to write it. I haven’t re-read or edited lmao so it’s probably Real Bad but I have other shit to be doing so imma just dump it here, sorry to yalls eyeballs

Tucker pokes him in the shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Danny groans. He’s got his arm slung over his eyes and he’s upside-down on the couch; legs hooked over the back and back pressed into the cushions. It’s not exactly the world’s most comfortable position, but if he eases off the gravity a little it doesn’t actually hurt. Besides, the discomfort is grounding, pulling his brain away from itself and back into the physical world.

“Ghost bullshit,” he grunts at Tucker. He doesn’t bother uncovering his eyes. He doesn’t really even need to, not the way he is right now, with Tucker picked out so neon in his mind that he can almost taste his presence. He doesn’t use his eyes to “see” when his friend sits down beside him, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch and drawing his legs up off the floor.

“That sucks,” Tucker says.

“Tell me about it.”

“Do you wanna?” he asks. “Tell me, I mean. Get it out of your brain.”

Danny contemplates that for a moment, falling so still he nearly forgets to breathe. Then his lungs start complaining, reminding him that he is very much still in human mode, thanks, and that he does need air for more than just vibrating his vocal chords.

Danny sighs.

“Urges,” he says. One-word response.

He still can’t see Tucker, but he can “see” him nod. He’s such a pleasantly warm shade in Danny’s mind right now, a color he can’t describe because humans can’t perceive it. Danny could look at it forever.

“One of the fighting ones again?” Tucker asks. Danny shakes his head.

“I wanna put you in a box.”

It’s a testament to their relationship that Tucker doesn’t freak out about that sentence and all that it could imply. Instead he just pauses, purses his lips in the way that Danny can only vaguely “see” (a slight variation in his color, dipping almost orange on the spectrum), and drums his fingers against the back of the couch.

“Like. . . a coffin?” he asks, tone casual. More casual than it probably should be for the subject matter.

“Not really,” Danny says. “I mean, it’s not not a coffin either, but it isn’t specifically one. My brain just. . . really wants you and Sam to be tucked away somewhere safe where no one else can touch you and I can guard you forever. And ever.”

He pauses.

“And ever.”

Tucker nods, the motion burning brightly in Danny’s mind.

“Creepy,” he comments.

Danny groans again.

“I hate my brain.”

“So do I, you’re not special,” Sam calls from the other room. Danny’s itching under his skin with the urge to go grab her, despite how the walls in between them don’t dampen the “sight” of her in his mind. He presses his arm a little harder down over his eyes, as if that could block out her luminous smear across his consciousness.

“We’re having a private conversation,” Tucker yells back at her. “Me and Danny are bonding. Get your self-depreciation out of here!”

“Then stop talking so loudly, idiots!” Sam says. She’s crouched on the ground, rifling through what Danny knows is a box despite neither seeing nor “seeing” it. It shouldn’t take her that much longer to find Dead Teacher iii, and then she’ll be back in the room. Danny has to keep repeating that to himself.

Tucker reaches down and pokes his shoulder again.

“It’s really bugging you, huh,” he says. “That she’s in the other room.”

“How can you tell?” Danny asks. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t acted on any of his instincts. For all intents and purposes Tucker should just see a normal teenager lying sprawled out next to him, albeit in a somewhat awkward position.

Tucker shrugs. His shoulders bleed color behind them in an echo of the movement.

“Your teeth. They’re always pretty sharp, but right now they look like you could bite your own lip off. You’re not kissing anyone for a while, by the way,” he adds.

Danny’s groan borders on a whine this time.

“My ghost half is ruining my life,” he complains.

Tucker snorts and pokes him again, this time on the cheek. The warmth of his skin, of his presence in Danny’s mind, make Danny shiver. He wants so badly to bundle Tucker up in his arms and never let go.

“Is it just us right now?” Tucker asks. “Do you wanna box up anyone else?”

Danny hesitates, turning that thought over in his head.

“. . .no,” he ultimately concludes, “Not really. My brain’s got my house categorized as safe and mine and that’s where my family is right now, so they’re fine. And Val– well. Val is Val. I’ve always got conflicting feelings there.”

“It would be nice if those cancelled out, huh,” Tucker muses. Danny’s complained about this to him before. Fight and Protect fluctuate in his mind from moment to moment when it comes to Valerie and The Red Huntress, and the overlap when they’re both at their strongest can nearly give Danny a migraine. In the same way he can have a panic attack while in the middle of a depressive episode, he can very much want to swaddle Val in bubble wrap while also wanting to stab her.

“Well,” Sam says, straightening up and starting to (yes!) return to the room, “We can’t do a box, but we were already going to cuddle pile on the couch.”

“I still can’t get over you saying cuddle,” Tucker says.

“There’s nothing more hardcore than cuddling,” Sam huffs as she flops down on Danny’s other side. Her arm swings as she makes to throw what Danny assumes is the DVD box at Tucker, and Danny’s hands shoot up to snag it out of the air before it can strike his friend.

There’s a moment of silence. Danny opens his eyes. It’s weird seeing the world around him and “seeing” on top of it, part of why he’d covered his face in the first place. His brain just isn’t meant to process that much visual information at once, the same way his brain isn’t actually wired to “see.” He tries to focus on what’s real, on the actual light bouncing off his friends and into his retinas, and blinks away the glowing smear that isn’t even on the visual spectrum. He’s holding Dead Teacher iii in his hands, and he stares at the cheesy cover art with the single-minded focus of a guy recalibrating his eyes.

“Ah,” Sam says. “That bad, huh?”

Danny lets go of the DVD and it lands on his face. It hurts, but not that much.

Tucker sighs and grabs the case, standing up and moving to pop the DVD into the player. Danny, with a herculean effort, manages to not grab his ankle on the way by and drag him bodily back onto the couch.

Sam stretches, her long pale fingers tangling together overhead, physical form barely more present in Danny’s mind than the glow of her presence. Then she drops her hands and lays down, plopping her head onto his stomach and peering up into his very-close face. Danny can pick out every sun-starved freckle-that-could on her face, inherited from her parents and dampened by lifestyle choices. In the summer, when even the extra-strength sunscreen Sam slathers on can’t fight back her love for the outdoors, those freckles darken and bloom like constellations in the night sky.

The weight of her head against his stomach smooths some of Danny’s anxiety. She’s here. She’s real. She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s his.

She isn’t, of course. Tucker isn’t either. No one, on this planet or off of it, belongs to anyone, least of all Danny. And Danny knows this, believes it with the same certainty and maybe even the same part of his brain that knows that the earth goes around the sun, but that doesn’t get rid of his ghost-lizard brain chattering away in the back of his consciousness.

There’s the hum of the DVD player starting to spin the disk, then the previews begin behind Danny’s head. Tucker sits back down and, with Sam taking up the real estate on Danny’s abdomen, hooks an arm under one of the legs thrown over the back of the couch. He drags Danny’s limb closer and starts using it like a headrest, cheek pressing against Danny’s shin.

“You guys–” Danny’s voice breaks off. Finally, the anxiety that’s been buzzing at the back of his mind for the past hour and a half is tapering off, soothed by his proximity and contact with those he wants to protect. It’s such a relief that Danny could almost cry. But. . .

“You guys don’t have to be that close if you don’t want,” he says. Because it’s true. Sam and Tucker are under no obligation to play along with his ghost brain, no obligation to surrender to whatever weird instincts Danny has jammed into his consciousness. Danny has no right to ask them to, and he doesn’t. Not ever. They can make their own choices, and he refuses to become the kind of monster who would try to take their free will from them. They’re his friends, not his property, and he’s never going to forget that.

“Danny,” Sam says, “Shut up. The movie’s starting.”

“Yeah, man,” Tucker chimes in, “We were gonna do this anyway. Let us know when your brain’s calmed down enough to be upright, okay? I want popcorn later and there’s no way we’re gonna be able to integrate a bowl into this mess.”

Danny kicks his foot lightly, jostling his leg in Tucker’s hold and bumping his head, but he’s smiling. His friends are here. They’re alive. They’re watching a dumb movie from a dumb series they love and hate in equal measure.

And Danny’s happy.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Tucker Foley #Sam Manson #Eternal Trio #kinda #I use the term friend a bunch but there's also the implication that They All Be Smoochin #sooooo #Posessive behavior #intrusive thoughts #Ghost Bullshit functioning like anxiety #IDK this is probably super poorly written and I might delete it later but #whatever!

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 5 years

Text

New York Minute PT. 1

anonymous said: I saw you say your requests are open (but your bio doesn’t say they are so I totally understand if I misunderstood and I apologize). I was wondering if you could do a ben hardy imagine where the reader and he aren’t together but he gets jealous about one of the other boys (and realizes his feelings) and the rest is up to you ;) thank you! and anonymous said: Ooh could you do an age gap thing with either roger or ben of like roger being in the early 1980s and reader/oc being in their early 20s and Ben being the age he is now with someone in their early 20s??

(a/n: this will be a multi-part series!!!! i just had too many ideas for these requests and had to go crazy - sorry i’ve been so inactive lately yall i promise i’ll try to post more now that the summer is winding down. i should have part two out in the next week or so??? anyways this one’s a thickie tbh (like.... almost 10k) so buckle up!!!)

"Ben's moving here? He that blond bitch in all your posts?" You were draped across Joe's couch, feet resting on his left thigh as you popped another berry into your mouth, humming happily as you chewed. Joe's eyes were slightly glazed over, still focused on the TV that was playing some baseball game as you studied his face, watching the way his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip before he afforded you a quick glance. "Yeah. Real 'lad' type, Gwilym's words. Kid's a textbook definition of a ladies man when he wants to be." "Kid? How old is he?" you asked curiously, quirking an eyebrow at your rather indisposed neighbor. His fingers tapped at the armrest to his right, and you scowled a bit at his apparent disinterest in your questions. He was always a baseball guy, but you couldn't believe how distracted he could become by a single game. You were less than a couple feet away, and it was like you were speaking into the void. "I thought he was like 30."

"28," Joe corrected, still not taking his eyes off of the TV. You huffed at that. 28 was still a good half a decade older than you, and here Joe was calling him a kid. "If he's a kid, then I'm baby." "What? What does that.... why do you always say that?" he asked, finally looking at you with a questioning look that seemed more pained than anything else. "I'm baby? What does that mean?" "It means.... I don't know how to explain it, Joey, I'm baby!" you exclaimed, throwing up your arms in defeat before letting them fall back down limply. "Anyways, you said he's a ladies man? Is he gonna put the moves on me?" Joe snorted at that, returning his gaze to the TV as you sat the plate back on the coffee table, waiting patiently for his answer. "Maybe. Like I said, he's a ladies man when he wants to be." "Wants to be? What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, suddenly wanting to clarify the discrepancy. Sitting up a bit, you pulled your feet off his lap and instead hugged your knees to your chest, staring across the couch at Joe, who was slightly slack-jawed and way too interested in the current play to answer. Clearing your throat, you spoke louder, commanding his attention. "Joe!" "Huh?" he asked, turning his head slowly over to you and following with his eyes a few moments later. Slowly, recognition registered on his face and he pulled his jaw closed, swallowing hard before he answered. "I mean he's a smooth talker, but he also gets all messy when he fumbles." "You get messy when you fumble during flirting," you pointed out, and Joe furrowed his eyebrows before sneering a bit, mocking your words under his breath. "You do! Remember that blonde at Feinstein's-" "Yes! I remember the blonde at 54 Below, okay? Let it go," he rushed out all in one go, his face a bit red as he closed his eyes and tried to push his memory of the wine-soaked night to the back of his mind. "And for the record, she did end up coming back to my apartment later." "I'm just saying." Holding your hands up in surrender for a moment, you made a show of letting it go before hugging your legs again, hiding your amused smile behind your knee. Joe's glare was almost burning, his narrowed eyes only making your smile harder to hide. It had been over two years since you moved in next to this dumbass, and you still hadn't learned a single thing about controlling your facial expressions from a well-seasoned actor like him. Finally, Joe sighed and shook his head, deciding to pick his battles wisely. "Anyways, he'll be here next week. Are you free Thursday? We're going out with Chace." "Chace?" you repeated, humming nervously before shaking your head. "No go. Chace still probably thinks I'm a moron from the time I thought he was you on the balcony so I came out and did jumper cables on his side and found out - surprise, surprise - it was not you." "That was like, two years ago. How do you still even remember that?" he laughed, turning his attention back to the screen. "I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. Chace probably forgot all about it." "It was mortifying, Joe! Imagine some random chick just walking out on your friend's balcony and jabbing your sides with the force of a great typhoon." Pursing his lips, he considered it for a moment before grimacing. "Yeah, no, that's pretty fucking weird." It fell silent, Joe focusing on the game while you watched him once again, back to square one. Finally, you spoke to cut off the silence, wanting to make one last comment before you let him get too invested. "Ben's kinda cute. Is he single?" "Dunno," Joe answered noncommittally, making you frown as you stretched your legs out again, intentionally kicking his thigh lightly. "Ow!" Scowling at you, he reached out to smack your foot away before he crossed his arms, snuggling more into his armrest and fighting back a laugh. "I think he is. Know he has that bee dating app. Buzz....le. Bumblebee?" "Bumble," you snickered, nudging his leg again teasingly and making him fake scowl a bit more before he laughed once at himself, shielding his face from your gaze with one hand. "Stop, I know I'm a terrible millennial! I've got to start keeping up with this shit." "As a fellow millennial - you right."

---

"First night out as an American citizen! How was it, bud?" "Dual citizen, thank you! You'd think as a dual citizen, you'd know what the hell to say," Ben corrected, his cheeks a deep red from the liquor coursing through his veins and muddling his thoughts. Closing his eyes for a moment, he leaned against the wall next to Joe's door as Joe fished through his pockets, grabbing the key chain with the worn-down Yankees mini-bat and picking out the key that read 'APT' on some painter's tape. You'd dubbed it so once Joe had forgotten which key it was for the fortieth time when you came over to help him patch a hole left in the wall by the previous renter. Ben just assumed the label was Joe's handiwork. It looked dorky enough. Sliding the key into the lock, he easily turned it and swung open the door a little too drunkenly, leading his equally-as-drunk friend into the living room. "You're American when you're here, okay? I'm requiring it by law, starting.... now!" Ben laughed, trudging his way into the apartment before heading down the hallway towards the bathroom and rubbing the side of his face, the skin hot to the touch. "M'not sure it works like that, but whatever. I gotta take a leak." Before Joe could yell out a half-assed reply after him, Ben had already disappeared into the room down the hall and to the left, only re-emerging minutes later and wiping his still-damp hands on his jeans while sending Joe a look that said everything about the glaringly empty towel ring, even without even saying a word. "Sorry! Laundry day, dude... I gotta piss." "I'm gonna have a smoke, then," Ben mumbled as Joe passed him in the hallway, transferring a slightly bent cigarette from the crumpled package in his pocket to his mouth as he made his way to the sliding doors that led out to Joe's balcony. The lock refused to budge at first, but it slowly slid out of place with a bit of extra effort from Ben and clicked up into an unlocked position before he moved to tug the door open. The door slid open a lot easier than the lock did, smoothly gliding over and letting in the pleasant, if a bit warm midnight breeze on the late spring day. It smelled vaguely of rain, and Ben wondered if it was going to storm later, a sardonic chuckle leaving his lips as he eyed the dark clouds hovering over the harbor. The moon peeked just under the bottom of one, teasing the city with a light that wouldn't last long. "Get a place in America to escape the rain and end up in a thunderstorm. Alright," he remarked to himself, flicking the lighter a few times before raising it to the cigarette end and lighting it. He inhaled slowly as he did so, feeling the familiar light burn of the tar smoke filling his lungs - it didn't taste as well as it once did, but it filled a space for the time being, and distracted him enough. In fact, it distracted him so well that he went on smoking for a good minute or so before he realized that there was another human being on the extended balcony with him. Their arm was dangling over the edge of the reclining lawn chair, which was conveniently placed next to a crate that featured a phone on a wireless charger and a half-drank bottle of Apothic Crush in a cheap wine chiller. Just a single bottle, sans a glass, a red that looked as though it tasted of relatively inexpensive inebriation and drunk texts to your best friend about how you were crying over Keanu Reeves. It was you, though he obviously wouldn't know that. Ben's usually warm green eyes widened in fear as he spotted your unfamiliar figure lazily draped over the fully reclined chair, your mouth hanging open slightly as you dozed away peacefully just out of reach of the rays of moonlight. You were wearing a familiar shirt, though - one for a baseball team Ben only faintly recognized because Joe had mentioned his brother being on that team. A faded 'Mazzello' was printed on the back, the end part visible to Ben as he peered curiously over at you, trying to figure out what in the hell his plan of attack was here. He had a predicament. There was a half finished cigarette in his hand, one that couldn't go back inside with him but also one that he didn't particularly want to drop from several stories up with this many people passing by below. And he sure as hell didn't want to waste the cigarette, so stomping it out was a no-go. But there was a literal stranger on Joe's balcony, drinking what was probably his wine and wearing his shirt, and in his inebriated panic over your presence, Ben conveniently skimmed over the full view he had of the door that led into your apartment. It was a shared balcony, a nice fact that Joe could have shared with his friend before he got 5 frantic texts and a picture of sleeping you in rapid succession. Benjamin: HOLY FUCJ Benjamin: Joe, getout here right now!!! Theres a literal stranger on your balcony! Benjamin: JOE Benjamin: [picture] Benjamin: WHY IN THE BBLOODY HELL IS THERE A STRANGE WOMAN It was less than 30 seconds before Joe came stumbling out, Ben staring at him helplessly as he held the cigarette just over the railing, nodding to your side. Peeking his head around the doorway, Joe managed to keep an even expression on his face as he cleared his throat, stepping out onto the balcony between you and Ben. "Hey!" You stirred a bit at Joe's aggressive tone, your lips smacking together as you ran your tongue over them and peeked open an eye just barely, indicating you were listening. "This is like the fifth time this week, lady, stop getting drunk on my porch and using my reclining chair!" "My reclining chair," you corrected, groggily raising to a sitting position and running a hand over your hair to smooth it down before looking down at the wooden crate and smiling sleepily upon remembering the wine. "Oh yeah. Mmmmm. Forgot about that." "Pfffft. Drunks, am I right?" Joe scoffed, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at you when he turned to face Ben. His hand came to rest on his hip that jutted out with a bit of sass as Ben stared at him in complete confusion, utterly baffled at how calm and collected he was despite the apparent situation. "Who are you calling a drunk, you drunk?" you giggled quietly, letting your head fall back against the chair as you eyed the back of Joe's head with an unreadable look. Joe rolled his eyes like it was obvious, not even turning to face you as he made an exaggerated annoyed expression at Ben, then proceeded to ignore your question. "I get these all the time, dude, crazy bums just taking up my space out here." "Why do you keep acting like I'm a homeless person bumming on your shit- No, nevermind, fuck you. I'm ignoring you now," you retorted, yawning as you reached for the wine bottle and pointing to the ground between you and Joe with your free hand as you narrowed your eyes. Ben's eyes followed your direction to a line of duct tape on the concrete below, clearly meant to demarcate something, though he wasn't sure what. It was crudely placed, but seemed to have an enormous effect on Joe when he looked over his shoulder and groaned, letting his head roll back for a second before he gave the wall opposite you a withering look. "Are we seriously still fucking doing this?" Joe remarked scornfully while he turned, his hands going into his pockets, and he slumped over a bit in stature as a pout etched itself into his features. "I said I was sorry. I was asleep! Also, is that my shirt? You said you'd bring that back weeks ago." You remained silent, staring up at Joe through your lashes in an unmoved manner before taking a drink of the wine. As you returned the bottle to the chiller, your attention switched over to Ben, who was still standing there in absolutely dumbfounded astonishment. A wondrous smile made its way to your lips, and Ben felt a light blush creeping onto his already-red cheeks as he dropped the cigarette to the concrete balcony floor, stomping it out gently and trying not to shrivel underneath your delightfully bleary, sleepy gaze. It was odd, being so affected by you. Ben usually had a relatively charming, laidback personality, and he was easy to get along with, but something about you sent him into a panic as he kept eye contact for a painful second or two, the sparkle in your hazy eyes enchanting to him. Maybe it was the liquor. Yeah, definitely had to be the liquor, he decided. There was no way that this dizziness was anything but top shelf gin having a row in his digestive system. His eyes dropped to the ground, seeming hyperfocused on his own actions, but it was blatantly obvious he was avoiding eye contact now. Noting the blush, your smile grew even wider as you sat up a bit, suddenly interested in the flustered man across from you. He looked quite familiar, and you were amused that he was so unsettled and shy right now - he didn't seem to be like the type who couldn't talk in front of girls. He must have just been caught off-guard today. "You're Ben, from the Queen thingie! Ah, I'm so glad I finally get to meet you, y'all are so cute on Instagram." Climbing up from your chair, you swayed a bit at the sudden rush of blood to your extremities, reaching out to steady yourself on Joe and grinning sheepishly. Then your gaze shifted once again to your neighbor, your eyebrow cocking slightly in challenge, and Ben let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as you mumbled, "Never puts me on his Instagram like that. You'd think after two years-" "I've told you a million times, I can't let you steal the spotlight from me!" Joe teased back, crossing the duct tape line and dropping into the chair that sat just over the boundary of it, next to your reclining chair, his hand easily snatching the wine from the chiller before he took a long swig. "And besides," he added, his arm coming up to swipe a bit of excess wine that had dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. It looked like watery bloody slipping down his chin, and he quickly wiped it away before reaching over the wipe it on your leg, much to your chagrin. But he retracted his arm before you could reach out and swat at him, instead leaving you with a mildly grumpy expression while he grinned impishly. "Ben wouldn't like sharing his primetime spot." "Ben can share. I'm low maintenance anyways, I only need, like... one feature a month. I'll even settle for just a story shout-out." "Low maintenance? Says the one who has to have Sugar In The Raw or she won't drink her coffee!" "Says the one who now steals my Sugar In The Raw because he knows it tastes better! Fuckin' leech." This dynamic was weird, Ben had decided. No explanation left him hopelessly in the dark as he watched Joe hand off the wine casually to you when you reached out for it, a wordless exchange that didn't even need to really be prompted in order to happen. It made Ben wonder if he'd somehow been ignorant of Joe having a girlfriend until just now. A very attractive girlfriend, at that, despite the mussy, sleep-wrinkled state of you and your clothes. A mouthy girlfriend that was easily out-sassing Joe - a girlfriend that slept on his balcony? This wasn't adding up. "You look confused," you hiccuped, narrowing your eyes a bit as you scrutinized the charmingly quiet blond that stood about five feet from you, still awkwardly stanced up near the railing on Joe's side. A deft observation, too, because Ben's facial expression read like a book, highlighting all of the absolutely baffling thoughts he was having. Suddenly, it clicked. "Joe, you dumbass, did you not tell him we share a balcony?" "It may have.... slipped the mind," Joe admitted, smiling sheepishly as he shrugged and tapped on the armrests of the chair he was in. "Ben, this is my neighbor. She's annoying as hell, trust me. Still holds a grudge from when I napped on her chair at least two years ago and pretended to be asleep when she came out here and yelled so I wouldn't have to move." "And he thinks I'm the bad neighbor," you giggled, rolling your eyes before stepping forward to reach out your hand and offer your name, swaying a bit from the effort. Looking at the three of you from an outsider's position, it was getting hard to tell who was the most sloshed. "It's nice to finally meet you, I've only seen his dumb videos that he sent back from England and posted on Instagram every once in a while." "Oh my god, I'm proper fucked, you both had me there for a second," Ben admitted in relief, laughing a bit as his panic ebbed away into amusement at the mild freak-out moment he'd just had. Taking your hand, he flashed an embarrassed smile and shook your hand gently, letting it go after a moment and immediately flexing his fingers a bit, noting how cold your hand had been from the wine. It was an odd sensation, one that sent a tingle down his spine upon contact, but he did his best to ignore it and put on his best smile before continuing. "It's nice to meet you too. Just glad I didn't call 999 on you." Your nose wrinkled at the discrepancy as you sat back down in your reclining chair, Joe immediately catching it and raising a finger to correct his friend. "It's 911 over here, buddy. Don't worry, you'll get used to it." "Oh yeah! Joe said you're moving over here, welcome to the States!" Laughing lightly, Ben rubbed the back of his neck slowly, then nodded in acknowledgement of your words. "Have you settled in yet, or are you still unpacking?" "Still unpacking," Ben grimaced, making you pout a bit in sympathy as you clutched the shirt that rested directly over your heart, signaling you understood his pain even in your drunken state. "But I should be done getting all my stuff unboxed by tomorrow evening - Joe said he'd be coming over to help?" He tried to speak it as a statement, but the end came out as more of a question as he side-eyed Joe, who nodded in confirmation and pointed a finger gun at him, indicating he'd be there. "Now that you're here, does that mean I'll finally see someone in Joe's apartment besides him?" you joked, Ben chuckling at how well you managed to casually roast Joe with every other word out of your mouth. Maybe the dynamic wasn't so weird after all, he figured. Maybe it was fun. "You telling me that this guy over here doesn't even bring home girls from the bar?" Ben asked curiously, nodding to Joe. He finally took the opportunity to drag a chair from the far end of the balcony over to join the two of you, accepting the wine gratefully when you held it out for him. Joe let out a humorless laugh as you burst into a fit of gleeful giggles, reaching over to smack Joe on the thigh several times in amusement. A small smile played at the corner of Joe's lips, and he glanced at you before shaking his head, his eyelids fluttering closed a bit, heavy from the alcohol. "I tried that once! I'd never seen a woman throw a full wine glass at me until that day! Genius here," he paused, pointing to you with his thumb and ignoring the ensuing peal of laughter that had you doubled over, "popped over in some underwear and a t-shirt to ask where I kept the eggs! She was making cookies! Can you believe that?" Ben shifted his gaze over to you for confirmation and found you to still be doubled over in silent laughter, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding it in. A wide grin spread across Ben's face, and he looked back to find Joe trying to look annoyed, but failing miserably and bursting into laughter with you. "What was her name again?" you asked between peals of laughter, wiping at your watery eyes as Joe tried to stifle his laughter, resting his head on his hand and sighing. "It was Tori, I think," he replied, shaking his head and smiling a bit. "Art history major. You fucked that one up for me majorly." "Well, you got me back the next week anyways," you finally got out when your laughter had subsided, a grin still quirking at the corner of your lips as you looked at Ben and continued. "Knew I had a Tinder date one night and literally waited in my living room in boxers for hours until we got back!" "Joe, that's almost cruel," Ben scolded jokingly, reaching over and giving Joe a gentle punch on the arm before handing the wine back to you. "You're telling me," you mused, a sly smile gracing your lips as you looked from Joe to Ben, your gaze lingering a bit on the blonde. Ben met the stare evenly, his face a lot more level than he felt as you rose from your chair, brushing a hand down your torso to smooth out the frumpy shirt before walking over to the railing and leaning forward against it. Your stomach pressed into the cool metal through the thin Mazzello shirt that denied you any curves, giving you a boxy frame only marginally saved by the corner of the shirt that had got caught in the waistband of your shorts. "Well, feel like I've overstayed my welcome, so I'll probably head in for the night," you stated, looking out to the moon that was slowly disappearing over the harbor before you turned to face the two of them, giving them a sleepy smile. "No, stay out here with us," Joe complained, patting the reclining chair, but you were already making your way past the chair, taking another drink of the wine. "I want you to bond with Ben, he'll be over here a lot now that he's in NYC." "I will? Jake Gyllenhaal lives here too, is he over here all the time because of that?" Ben teased, looking up at you with a dopey grin when you let out a single laugh. Stopping just behind the chair, you raised an impressed eyebrow at him while Joe studied the two of you with a mildly annoyed glare. He didn't appreciate being teamed up on, but he had to appreciate the two of you getting along on your first meeting. You, however, were completely ignorant to your neighbor's pointed looks as you kept eye contact with Ben, noting that he had gorgeous green eyes. "I like this guy. Bring him around again when I'm not sloshed, yeah?" Joe nodded at that, and you began to walk towards your door, yawning. "I've got a hot date tonight, so don't wait up for me, Joey." "God, I told you not to call me that," Joe groaned, but a boyish grin remained on his face as he watched you saunter back over to your door, wine in hand. "And who's the guy? Shouldn't have told me, now I might have to come crash your party." "His name is Mattress, Matt for short. We sleep with each other a lot... Nice meeting you, Ben." Swirling the bottle around a few times, you wiggled your eyebrows at the two men before retreating to the sound of Joe's exaggerated groaning and Ben's hapless attempts at reciprocation of your pleasantries, your door sliding shut just before you drew the curtains. That left the duo alone on the balcony, the faint smell of smoke still lingering in the space around them as Joe sighed a bit, grinning and shaking his head. Ben, on the other hand, was still reeling from the whiplash that the last few moments had given him, and it must have clearly registered on his face, because Joe laughed a bit as he stood, brushing off his pants. "Sorry I didn't warn you beforehand. Didn't think she'd be out here getting wine drunk. That's Y/N for you, though." A shrug coupled with his last observation made Ben chuckle, cocking his head slightly and curiously gazing over at your door before shaking his head. Following in a similar fashion to Joe, Ben rose to stand again, instinctively reaching for a comfort cigarette and placing it between his lips before offering a weak smile in return, fishing for the lighter while he spoke. "Wasted my first one." Inhaling slowly, the end of the cigarette finally lit and Ben held the smoke in for a moment before leaning over the railing, looking around as he exhaled. When he'd taken in a proper amount of the dwindling NYC night, he finally returned his attention to Joe, the cigarette resting delicately between two fingers as his hands came to rest on the railing he leaned back against. "Y/N, you said, yeah? Seems alright... you been neighbors for long?" "A couple years now, actually. Met her about the same way you just did! She's cool, though," Joe confirmed, coming over to look over the balcony right next to Ben, one foot on either side of the duct tape line that divided the floor. It was scuffed, like it'd been there a while, and that made the stories slowly check out in Ben's brain while he looked over to Joe, a sly smile slowly creeping onto his face. "She's kinda fit, yeah?" Joe hung his head and let his eyes close for a moment, laughing at Ben's apt remark before nodding a bit. "But definitely seems a bit mean. Got a bite to her all the time?" "She's got her weak moments like everyone else! But yeah, she's definitely quick with the comebacks. I think I'm better for it, honestly, keeps me in check. Always brushing up on my wit, you know? Kids these days always keeping me on my toes." Reaching up to tap on his temple, he only had a moment to grimace before his phone was ringing, prompting him to pull it out of his pocket and answer it as Ben watched. "Hey, Seb... No, I didn't grab your wallet from the bar. Did you leave it there?" As Ben watched his friend retreat back into his own sliding door, his thick blond eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion. Kids these days? She couldn't be a day under 25, as clever as she was. Wait, that didn't even make sense. Cleverness is not an indicator- "Hey!" Ben jumped at the sound of your voice, whirling around to meet your accusatory stare as he looked on helplessly. You looked mad, and he couldn't even begin to think why. The cigarette, maybe, but you hadn't even flinched about it earlier. Was he too quiet? "Do you want the rest of this wine?" you asked, grinning once you'd let him suffer enough, and Ben let out a sigh of relief as he leaned forward on the railing again, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Christ, you scared me again!" Taking a deep breath, he laughed once before shaking his head, taking another drag and turning to face you. "No thank you, though. If I drink any more tonight, my old man body will punish me tomorrow." "Old man body?" you repeated, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief as you looked him up and down for a moment. "Uh huh... Good night, then." You shut the door before he could get the chance to reply, so he just gave a half-hearted wave before he widened his eyes, trying to restore his heart to a regular beating pace. "Jesus Christ on a cross," he mumbled, rubbing his hand over his face for a moment and messing up his eyebrows even more before he took another drag as he stared out at the last hint of the moon just before the clouds completely covered it up, plunging the city into a new darkness.

---

It was a bitch moving to a new country. The DMV, the bank, the moving companies - everything was a living nightmare, and Joe was the only thing getting Ben through it, on call at all times to help him with anything he needed to know. So when Ben texted him that he was frustrated about his internet connectivity ("It's fucking rubbish, seriously"), Joe offered a simple solution - come over and use his until the problem was resolved. And that's what he did after the gym, taking an Uber over to the now-familiar building and making his way to Joe's floor, which is how he walked in on Joe in the middle of an.... argument? Spat? Friendly fight? He wasn't sure how to place it as he entered his friend's apartment to the sound of you switching between laughing and shrieking while Joe made unintelligible noises of frustration. All Ben knew was that this was something beyond teasing - Joe honestly looked like he could drop at any moment, worn out from trying to keep up with whatever you were doing. Though you were keeping it playful, he was definitely at his wit's end. "You have to do the whole thing!" Joe cried out in frustration, dancing along with the figures on the screen and sending quick glares in your direction between moves. His hips were swaying along with the music, limbs flailing accordingly but sometimes not really even resembling anything close to what was on the screen. The scores popping up on his corner of the TV seemed okay by itself, but in comparison to yours, it was meager at best. "Absolutely not, dummy. That's so much energy conserved to do this." You continued shaking your Wii remote around in the appropriate moves, just the remote, and used the other hand to pick up your drink, taking a long sip from the straw and trying not to laugh as Joe made yet another noise of frustration. "Joe, come on.... who's winning here? I think I'm right." You were both playing Just Dance, one of the earlier versions, and a stark difference between the two of you had been quickly found out - while Joe, ever the dancer, did every single move with every part of his body, you were the type to swing only the remote hand around in time with your moves. Joe was beginning to get very annoyed at this tactic, so much so that he paused the game and crossed his arms, turning to scowl at you for a moment before he saw Ben's head peeking around the wall just past your shoulder. "Oh, hey bud!" Joe greeted, giving him a dopey grin before pulling off the Wii remote strap and purposely shouldering past you to greet Ben with a one armed hug. Ben reciprocated, meeting your gaze over Joe's shoulder and nodding in acknowledgement as you turned to face them, a hand on your hip and a cocky smile on your face. This was a much different you from when he'd seen you a few weeks ago, sleepy, slow, and somewhat inebriated. Now you were bright-eyed, alert, and seriously giving Joe a run for his money. "Sorry, she came over with her Wii and knew I couldn't resist a friendly game of Just Dance." "Friendly?" Ben laughed, looking between the two of you as he pulled out of the hug, setting his laptop on the counter. "Seems like you weren't having a good time." Glancing to the screen, he raised an eyebrow at the scores. "She's killing you, mate." "Well, she's a cheater, so." Shrugging, Joe went to grab his WiFi router so he could give Ben the password, Ben taking a seat at the stools placed under the counter and turning a bit so he could see both of you. "Joe's just mad because I've been roasting him nonstop for the past hour," you informed Ben, pulling your Wii remote off your wrist and setting it on the couch as you lifted your gaze to meet his. You were reminded that they were green, paired with slightly damp, curly blonde hair that fell a bit over his forehead and blonde lashes that were extra visible at this angle. It was a fascinating combo, bright eyes framed by equally as bright lashes, and you couldn't help but smile a bit in wonder as you straightened up again. Was he made in a factory? He seemed too perfect to be real. Ben was intrigued by the look you gave him, so unreadable but so persistent that he almost asked if he had something in his teeth. But Joe ruined the moment, cutting in with his own biting words that severed the eye contact and directed attention back to him. "I hate it when you say roasted. That's my least favorite part of your vocabulary." Breaking out of your trance, you shook your head before giggling at the mild venom behind his words, unfazed by the grumpy pout he currently had on his face. Rolling your eyes playfully, you gave him the middle finger while you made your way past Ben into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of popcorn from the cabinet and tearing the plastic off as Joe helped Ben log in to his laptop. While your bag of popcorn popped, you quietly observed the two men, hunched over Ben's computer together and figuring out which network was his out of the hundreds that had similar names. Joe was focused, his thin, darker eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he watched Ben scroll through the list on his screen. There was a clear stubble on his chin, a five-o'clock shadow that refused to be hidden as it shaded the area along his jaw and just above his lips, which were pressed together into a thin line when he wasn't murmuring network names to himself. He was cute, a goofy camp counselor kind of cute that was more endearing than anything, and you smiled a bit at the thought of Joe as a camp counselor - that would be too good. In contrast, Ben's lips fell slightly parted, his tongue trapped between his teeth as he directed all of his attention to the list as well. Assessing him sober this time, you realized he was actually quite good-looking, far beyond what you'd seen on that dark balcony through drunk goggles. Like, seriously good looking. This was another level of attraction, way past what you'd felt the first time Joe had showed up with Seb Stan and Chace Crawford. You crossed your arms over your chest, an insecure habit, as Ben's curious green eyes darted up and down the screen, searching for the name Joe had provided. When he finally located it, his plump, slightly chapped lips pursed into a round O shape, and Joe pointed to the name excitedly, his finger tapping the screen. Ben groaned and smacked his hand away meekly, jokingly complaining about a smudge on the the display while Joe laughed and wiped his hand off on the front of his shorts. "Sorry, we've been eating popcorn in between Y/N cheating," Joe explained, making you roll your eyes and suppress a grin as you turned to retrieve the bag of popcorn. Opening the steaming bag, you poured it into the bowl next to the microwave, then turned to sit it on the counter between the three of you as you spoke. "Again - still just salty that he's getting roasted." "Roasted? Is that really a popular slang word here?" Ben asked curiously, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for a moment as you hummed and turned to grab a packet of ranch seasoning. His eyebrows furrowed a bit when you flicked the packet back and forth, moving the seasoning to the bottom before you ripped open the corner, and you started to pour it over the popcorn as he watched, dumbfounded. "What kind of monstrosity is that?" "Ranch popcorn," you replied simply, emptying half of the packet before folding it over and pinching the corner, providing Ben with a sugar sweet smile as you did so. "Don't knock it 'til you try it, bloody ol' chap." Your smile disarmed him quite a bit - it was a smile that could disarm anyone, really, and he could tell by the way that Joe smiled with you that it had a similar effect on him. But your attempt at imitating his accent didn't go unnoticed, and Ben cringed a bit as he laughed, shaking his head. "Horrible. Truly horrible. And you didn't answer my question." "In Y/N's world, roasted is the only word," Joe answered for you, reaching to shake up the bowl a bit before he snatched a piece of popcorn off of the top, tossing it into his mouth and making a happy noise as he chewed. For a moment, he paused, then swallowed and added, "Actually, that and dummy." "Makes sense." Ben watched you as he replied, grinning a bit when you just smiled impishly and tossed the packet onto the counter, shrugging a bit before leaning forward to rest your elbows on the counter. Propping your chin on your hands, you cocked your head to the side a bit and fought back a bigger smile as Ben almost mirrored you, his head tilting just slightly to the side out of curiosity. "So, Mr. British Man-" "Ben," Joe interjected, sending you a pointed look and a raised eyebrow that only made you roll your eyes before continuing. "He's American now." "Dual citizen, but I'll look past it for now," Ben corrected, Joe scoffing quietly in response. "Okay, Ben. How has it been so far in America? You liking it?" Joe picked up his slip of paper from the counter, returning it to the router as Ben leaned his head on one hand, looking down to his computer screen and grimacing a bit at the thought of all the hell he'd had to go through in the past few weeks. But you were still practically a stranger, and even if he did want to get to know you better, he figured it was far too early for him to unload all of his problems on you. "Yeah, yeah, it's been alright," he yielded, scratching at his temple with his index finger before sitting up straight again and crossing his arms on the counter in front of him, the fabric of his sleeves straining a bit against the movement. "Unpacking was hell, but the rest was okay, I guess." "Oh, stop bullshitting me!" you laughed, pushing yourself up off the counter so you could go retrieve a beer from the fridge for him, the action in itself revealing your familiarity with Joe's apartment to Ben. Without looking, you grabbed the bottle opener magnet off of the freezer and popped the top off the beer, bringing it over to the handsome blond. "The DMV fucking sucked, didn't it?" "God, it was so terrible," Ben groaned unhappily, relieved that you'd practically read his mind as his shoulders slumped a bit, hand automatically reaching out to receive the beer. "Thank you. But seriously, between that and the bank, I swear I'm going to lose my fucking marbles! I had to go back to the DMV three times before they could finally see me, 'cause the wait was so long and I had other things to do!" "You gotta set aside, like, a whole afternoon for the DMV," you laughed, leaning on the counter again and watching quietly as he went to take a drink, his hand easily dwarfing the bottle. "Screw that, you need a whole day off for the DMV," Joe interjected, climbing onto the stool next to Ben and popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth. "I swear to God my license expiration dates have always haunted me." "Happens when you're pushing 80, dusty bones," you teased, propping your head up on one hand and imitating Joe's bitter, sarcastic laugh when he flipped you off. "I'd rather be old and scared of license renewal than 22 and a cheater at Just Dance Wii." Twenty-two. So that's what Joe was talking about when he called you a kid. By no means was 22 a kid, but in relation to Joe, that was quite a jump. And yet, you carried yourself like you were at least 30, the confidence in your posture and sureness of your words masking the childishly playful glint in your eyes as you watched Joe, pressing your lips together to fight back a smile. Joe was returning the favor with a playful glare. "Speaking of Just Dance, are you gonna catch these L's again or what?" you challenged, Joe huffing before climbing off the stool again and heading for his discarded remote while you wiggled your eyebrows at Ben, then made your way back to the living room too. Sitting still for a moment, Ben blinked a few times in amazement at the whiplash you'd managed to give him yet again. You were full of surprises, someone that could talk sweet one moment and flame you to high heaven in the next, and honestly, he'd never wanted to be a person's friend so badly in his life. Turning on the stool, he watched as you both restarted the song, Joe immediately complaining when you set right back into your one-armed efforts. "Play the game like a normal person!" he whined, making you laugh and falter a bit in your dance moves as you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder while you squeezed his arm and made him cry out in even more frustration. "That's sabotage! Stop!" Straightening back up again, you fought a round of giggles as you tried to catch up, Joe frowning when you easily got back into the groove. Huffing softly, he reached over and clamped a hand over your eyes, making you cry hypocrisy as you struggled to pull his hand away, laughing in delight as Ben turned back to face his computer again, a contagious smile adorning his lips. That smile stayed well on into the night, fueled by jokes, laughter, and friendly banter between the three of you that kept Ben there even after he'd gotten his emails sorted through. And somehow, you'd ended up on the balcony, Joe snoozing away in your reclining chair while you shared a smoke session with Ben, chatting about everything under the moon. You didn't smoke yourself, so you definitely didn't actually partake, but Ben didn't mind sharing space with someone who was picking his brain as well as you were. It was odd, bonding with Ben. He'd seemed like such a foreign concept when Joe had started all of this BoRhap business, something you weren't quite attached to - though you did enjoy the movie. But Ben had been nothing more but a character to you, some hot guy who frequented Joe's Instagram pictures and had comebacks/comments to rival your own. Now, he was here and real. You didn't know what to think of him yet - it was hard appraising a person in real life when you'd become so accustomed to the idea of him, the picture that Joe painted of him. To you, Ben was a pretty boy, a fitness-obsessed lad who was a bit of a flirt and couldn't resist a good bromance. Sure, Joe had said he had some shy moments, but really, he'd pegged him as quite a player, and that alarmed you when you found out he'd be around more - you didn't exactly have the best track record with men and a player would most certainly not be the worst blemish so far, so his frequent drop-ins could spell trouble. However, you hadn't seen any red flags about the man so far. Ben was quite a normal person, and you were starting to enjoy his company and conversation just as much as you enjoyed Joe's goofy, 'average Joe' personality. That didn’t mean you weren’t keen on keeping your guard up, though. "That's what I don't get!" Ben scratched his eyebrow a bit before taking another drag of the cigarette, shaking his head and exhaling the smoke to his left so it wouldn't go into your face. "You're saying guilty pleasures don't exist, but I have to hide my Spotify session every time I listen to the Spice Girls so I won't get absolutely walloped by all of my friends for my activity." Giggling at the thought of Ben jamming out to Spice Girls, you wrapped your fingers around the railing and leaned back once more to stretch as you shook your head in response. "I'm not saying they don't exist, but I'm saying they shouldn't exist!" you corrected, groaning a bit when Ben only gave you a more confused look. "Oh my god, I don't know how to make it any clearer here! Guilty pleasures shouldn't exist. If it's a pleasure, why does it have to be guilty, you know?" "I'm.... trying to follow," he admitted with a laugh, glancing back at Joe for a moment before meeting your gaze again and squinting a bit. "So, are you saying that because it's a pleasure, you shouldn't be guilty about it?" You made an excited noise and tapped the railing, then grinned at him and gently poked his arm to accentuate your next words. "Exactly. If I like drinking milk straight from the carton, why should I be ashamed?" "Because that's like, kind of disgusting," he replied, laughing a bit at your excitement and wrinkling his nose a bit. "D'you really drink milk straight from the jug?" Giving him a pointed look, you pressed your lips into a thin line before leaning forward on the rail with crossed arms. "See, that's why guilty pleasures still exist. You can't judge other people for things that make 'em happy, you know?" "Christ, sorry," he grimaced, and you could barely fight back the grin that played at your lips as you watched his expression morph into one of regret. "That was a shitty thing of me to say, of course it's fine if you like drinking milk from the jug. Jesus, I'm such a dickhead sometimes, I really don't think about what I say before it comes out of my mouth..." Scooting over a step or two as he rambled, you gently elbowed his side to get his attention, smiling benevolently when he turned to meet your gaze and his words faltered. "Chill, it's alright. Nobody's perfect." A pregnant pause followed soon after as Ben smiled just a bit, mainly just to make it seem like he wasn't still beating himself up over seeming like a cunt to you, but you weren't thinking about that anymore. Your mind was already moving on, eyes roving over his facial features slowly as you took them in. He was attractive, no doubt, and you had the faintest idea that there was some very real traction to the ladies man persona that Joe had talked about so much. It was wishful thinking to even consider that Ben wasn't at least half-aware of how potent his looks were. It was also wishful thinking to let any attraction you had to him get away from you and convince you that one date really wouldn't be that bad. You desperately needed Joe right about now so you could hear a discouraging story about Ben's conquests during filming, just to knock your self-confidence out and keep you from doing anything rash. It was really quiet now. Ben squinted a bit as he did the same to you, his gaze wandering quite a bit, but not lewdly. There was an innocent gleam in his eye, one that you couldn't quite understand - was he looking at you as Joe's neighbor, or a kid, or the hot girl next door? What was his approach here? You truly couldn't tell whether he was objectifying you, but the idea that he was sent a shiver through your spine as you tore your gaze away from his, unable to handle the heavy air between you and the stocky blond next to you. A loud snore from Joe seemed to puncture the moment just seconds after you looked away, the both of you jolting a bit as the tension deflated, and you shared a laugh at how quickly Joe had managed to pass out on the balcony despite your incessant chatting. "Sleeps like a log, eh?" Ben commented, pushing himself back from the railing before snuffing out the cigarette he'd been neglecting in the mug that was serving as an ashtray. "Always," you deadpanned, but a smile played at your lips as you walked around to stand on the other side of Joe, crouching down until you were eye level with the heavy sleeper. Ben could see every quirk of your lips, every subtle expression in your face as you reached out to shake Joe's shoulder gently, murmuring to him as you did so. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You in there?" Joe stirred, though not much, and a soft grumble from him prompted a sympathetic look in your eyes that did not go unnoticed by Ben, who now stiffened up at the interaction. Whiplash, once again, as he tried to reckon with the gentle side of you that wasn't privy only to him like he'd blindly and so dumbly assumed. That warm, somewhat sentimental look in your eyes was achingly familiar to Ben, seeing as he'd only witnessed it mere hours ago when you were nothing more than friendly strangers, your gaze following his while you listened to him groan about the DMV. So why was he so covetous? You'd barely just got to know each other, only having a few hours of talking time tonight where you'd picked up small details about each other, so the fact that your fondness of Joe irritated him was baffling. But it couldn't be jealousy, could it? Not this early. No, for sure not. By the time he'd snapped out of his stupor, you'd already managed to get Joe to his feet, giving him a warm hug before patting his back and sending him back to his apartment. That left you alone with Ben, and the heavy air settled once again as you gave him a somewhat shy smile, sighing before stepping around the chair and pulling him into a hug as well. Reciprocating, he wrapped his arms around you briefly, the warmth of his body surprising as it transferred between the layers of clothes between you and assaulted your skin. While you'd been almost cold out here on the balcony, he seemed like he was burning alive. And his face matched as he pulled away, a rosy coloring to his cheeks making you wonder whether it was you, or just rosacea and you were a dumb bitch. Taking a shaky breath, you decided to pocket the assessment for later. "Thanks for entertaining my bullshit all night." Ben laughed at your words, shoving his hands in his pockets and shaking his head as you moved your hand to the back of your shorts, subconsciously fiddling with the tag that was sticking out. "I'm really sorry if I said anything wrong. I didn't mean to be an arsehole," he admitted, bowing his head a bit before shooting a sheepish look at you that was paired with a boyish smile. "It was nice talking to you, though. Sleepy Joe doesn't make great conversation. And I like getting to know you, you're.... interesting." He said the last word as his lips quirked upwards even more, his eyes crinkling a bit at the vague compliment that made you furrow your eyebrows playfully and give him a questioning look. "Wow, Joe wasn't wrong when he said you were a charmer," you noted. While Ben shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets with the same undying smirk still on his face, you took the opportunity to return to your side of the balcony, your hand going to pull your sliding door open as you peeked over your shoulder. There was a sly smile on your lips as you did so, one that said everything and nothing at all in one go as you spoke. "Goodnight, Ben. See you later." You would see him later. Never had you considered how true that statement could be as you came across his profile on Bumble while you were burrito-ed in your comforter, curled in the fetal position as your nightly playlist was on in the background to lull you to sleep. Hozier crooned to you while a sweaty, cutoff-clad Ben stared you down from the confines your phone screen. You hadn't actually expected to run into him on the app, despite having that nagging memory of Joe mentioning that Ben was on here. It made you drop your phone at first, a knee-jerk reaction paired with a shocked expression that lasted for a few seconds before you scrambled to pick up your phone, staring at the picture of him at the gym again. It was a stereotypical fuckboy picture in the big mirror at the gym, but you got a good giggle out of the short bio that didn't even remotely hint at him being an actor - how humble, and how juxtaposed with his red carpet flexes in the subsequent photos. Suddenly, you realized that you had to swipe left or right. Your heart seized up for a moment, and all rational thought was thrown out the window as you went into a panic. If you swiped right, what if you matched? But if you didn't and then he swiped right on you, then he would know when you didn't match and that would make things really awkward. "Mmmmfuck no. Nope." You closed the app, too overwhelmed by all of the situations that choosing could cause, and you fell into an uneasy sleep as Ben sat dormant in your Bumble cache, waiting for an answer. Little did you know, seeing your profile had induced the same panic for him. But he'd done something that you couldn't. He chose.

---

taglist - @crosmopolitan @just-ladyme @rogerfxckingtaylor @fourmisfitz @shae-is-not-ok @moreinfinite @fruityfreddie @poachedhazontoast @strawberryfields-forever @imladrs @psychoticobsession @killer-queen-xo @rebelrebelyourefaceisamess @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @brownhardyho @stardvstial @iminlovewith-rogers-car @benyeehawdy @mercurys-bike @mazzelloplots @beaaatle @sunshine112 @wonderless-screwup @rogers-sweatbands @whowaits4everanyway @sunflower-borhap-boys @bitemerog @jennyggggrrr @bensrhapsody @xiaoqueencava @discodeacygotmorerhythm @reedusteinrambles @extrovertedwallflowerboy @the-next-one message me/reply to this to be added to the permanent taglist! REQUESTS CLOSED

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #borhap #borhap imagine #borhap x reader #joe mazzello #joe mazzello imagine

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ms-marmar · 4 years

Text

tw: pictures of food that may or may be fear foods

but also some pro recovery shit! fuck eds!

SO TODAY I SAID

FUCK U

TO MY BRAIN N WEIRD EATING BEHVAIORS AND TOLD MYSELF IMMA EAT LIKE A NORMAL PERSON TODAY (or as normal) AND TRY TO LISTEN TO MY HUNGER CUES, AND IF U DONT FEEL EM, EAT A BIT ANYWAY, U PROBS NEED IT, AND IF U EAT A BIT N U KNOW UR NOT HUNGRY, TELL URSELF ITS OK

Also just a reminder to y'all food is a necessity, not a reward 💕 yalls important n beautiful

IM SORRY IM TRYING TO ADD A READ MORE LINE BUT THE FUCKING TUMBLR APP GIVES SHIT FORMATTING AND I CANT EDIT IT ON MY LAPTOP BC ITS DUMB AND SO PLEASE IF THIS IS TRIGGERING PLS SKIP OVER

I ATE HALF THIS BURGER. IT TASTED OK, NTN SPECIAL, BUT I DO LOVE KETCHUP

I ATE SOME OF MY FAVORITE FISH + SOME RICE N MY LEFTOVER SPAM ONIGIRI I MADE A BIT AGO

I MADE MILK BREAD TODAY, I ATE SOME W WHIPPED CREAM N FROOT (mah favs, mango n banan n strawberry ✨)

I MADE THESE STRANGE LOOKING CHOCOLATE DONUTS TWO DAYS AGO, I ATE ONE LEFTOVER

AND TODAY WAS THE FIRST TIME I RLLY HAD ANY FOOD FROM OUTSIDE SO FUCK YEAH I GOT BOBA. COCONUT STRAWBERRY WUZ THE SHIT TODAY. tho I wish there were better boba places in my area, but this place isn't too bad!

so yeah hopefully you take this as some positivity ✨ did I feel great? Nope. Deep down I know I'm scared of recovery, even though I know something is wrong and I need to fix it. Ive always been scared that recovery = "letting myself go." And the fact that I gained weight during my remission period just confirmed it. But I didn't consider all the other factors going on in my life that contributed to it. Ive been refusing even just trying to believe that where I'm at with my weight is okay. Constantly I feel like I do and dont deserve to feel like I'm fat. There's too much to consider in this mess. But what i do knownis thag I don't want to tell others get better when even I'm not putting that effort to get better myself. We all know its a lot of work and it's exhausting, but we can't give up. I've been keeping secrets from the ppl closest to me again and last time it happened I rlly hurt them. Hopefully I'll try to improve so that I don't keep spiraling down like I have in the past and repeat cycles of remission/relapse. I'm lucky enough to have people support me, and I take them for granted and refuse to reach out because I know that im supposed to "get better" when that's the last thing I wanna do. Why do I cling on so desperately to something i both love and hate, and all it does is make me suffer. I pray that you have others you can rely on, have resources available, etc. because you deserve and need help. And if you got nobody else to turn to Im always here to listen.

sorry this was long I went on a rant ahaha I could probs say more or edit this but I'm too lazy

i don't mean to offend anyone, all our experiences r v different and there’s no easy solution to any of the things we face. I wish there were better ways and answers. But first we must be open to them. I know that some day we'll all eventually feel okay 💕 and I can't wait :)

#Tw #Tw eating disorders #Tw food #Eating disorders #Marmars thots #Long post #Ana #Mia #Binging and purging #Binge eating disorder #Recovery #Relapse #Pro recovery #But not #Pro ana #Pro mia #Not pro just using tags

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tracelii · 7 years

Text

Listen yall by time I finished there’s not going to be any eyesagao left for anyone else to fucking write i s w ea r

The afternoon left a weird taste her mouth, like something that was supposed to be good, and yet.. yet something lingered afterwards, pulling her emotions into a soured look. It was unpleasant in almost every shape and form, but she accepted it as yet another thing she simply just needed to ‘fix’ between her and Jack.

Ellie paced back and forward, crossing the few feet of her dorm in just a few steps, but was completely focused on the object in her hands, turning it over again and again, studying its features, almost as if she could find all of her answers just by doing this.

Had she ever stolen from Jack before? Not that she could recall- or, not that she had a reason to, or had even meant to this time around.

But like, obviously, he was texting Traci, how else did the two meet up with each other, away from her prying eyes?

Ellie cleared the surface of the smartphone, making the shape she had seen Jack make a hundred times. The phone’s screen had brightened, and soon after, unlocked.

Yes, it had to be so. This was how it was happening, all behind her back. It wasn’t Jack’s fault, certainly. He was amazing and funny and great, and Traci, well, Traci was just jealous of what was here- of what, and who she couldn’t have. That certainly wasn’t Jack’s fault, and Ellie was sure, she was so sure that he just didn’t understand that he had everything he’d ever need in her.

He saw the good in her that she couldn’t see in herself. She was good, and good enough for him. Why see anyone else?

She formally realized his background screen was a picture of the both of them, each of them in the middle of an action that had caused both of them to appear slightly blurry, and with wild expressions to boot. Jack was reaching for the camera of whoever had clicked it, and was half grinning, but probably opening his mouth to say something, and Ellie had her eyes wide as she remained seated besides him, but reached wildly to try and catch her boyfriend’s milk-drink that seemed to ascend from the table (mostly because Jack had elbowed it). Her hand was blurred into a completely different dimension, but she recalled missing the milk completely, and (for the second time this year) slam dunking into the mash potatoes.

She barely remembered this happening, but found herself studying the picture, and begging her memory not to tell her that Traci had been one to take it, for no other reason in particular than assuring her that Traci was making him smile. That Traci had the time of her life, and this resulted in potato-hands part 2, and that something that Traci had done was now on her boyfriend’s phone.

Her anger returned. She went into the gallery of the phone, deleting it in a fit of jealousy and leaving his background bare before returning to the main menu, and flipping through his contacts.

Traci wasn’t here.

Ellie had checked, double checked, triple checked the list. Her name, or nothing that could be it, was here. She backed out into the main menu again, and stared into the nothingness behind his apps. Was it possible that she was… wrong?

No. Not a chance.

She moved on into his messages where… of course, she had been the most current message with the multiple times she had texted him up until they had met again this morning. Below that was a few familiar names- Luke, Caddy, some guy named Mark, but underneath her message and right above theirs was a blank space.

Curiously, she tapped it, and an empty message log opened for her. There was no number, no name, and no messages, but the text box curser blinked, waiting for her. Ellie wasn’t sure what to do next.

[Jack- 15:48]- Traci?

[ - 15:48]- !! Jack!!

Her chest was cold. This was her. It was her, it was Traci, here, texting Jack on his phone. His phone with Traci’s picture. Texting him. Texting him like he was hers.

There wasn’t quite a feeling that could describe the hatred that seemed to add to the frost that refused to melt over her heart. Her fingers tapped at the keyboard with renewed purpose.

[Jack- 15:50] Traci, we’ve got to talk.

[ -15:50] didn’t you say we couldn’t meet during the day?

[Jack- 15:50] never again

It was showing that someone was typing, but Traci’s typing quickly stopped.

[ -15:51] What do you mean

[Jack- 15:51] never talk to me again. I never want to see you again.

[ -15:51] Jack?

[ -15:51] Jack? What did I do?

[ -15:53] I’m sorry, I can fix it just tell me what to do

[Jack- 15:57] you’ve come between us for the last time. There’s nothing you can do but to leave me and Ellie alone. And let us be together. And leave us alone. There’s nothing else.

[Jack- 15:57] leave us alone

[Jack- 15:58] leave us alone

[ -15:58] Please, I cant go on without you!

[ -15:58] I did everything you asked

[ -15:58] im sorry, what can I do?? What can I do to show you how much I love you?

[ -15:59] I need you dont go!

[ -15:59] pl e

[ -15:59] I cn t go

[ -15:59] ill d e

[ -15:59]

[ -16:00]

There was a sick satisfaction to see the desperation fizzle out. It felt like victory, if victory came with a sickening guilt, but the guilt was muted, and so far away. This was how it was supposed to be. Jack would be safe from Traci, now.

Tears dripped down Ellie’s face as she chuckled a bit to herself, pulling the phone to her chest. Maybe it would be over… Maybe there’d be peace at last. With a sigh, Ellie pulled on the door, expecting anything but Ian standing there, his hand up like he was supposed to knock.

“Ah.” Ian blinked vaguely. “What kind of telepathy-“

“What are you doing here?” Ellie asked breathlessly. Her brain screamed at her that she had been caught. Everyone in the school must have known what she’d done, and they’d hate her, even though She was right and Traci was wrong. They would… they would-

“Uh, Are you alright?” Ian said, pointing at the object she was clutching possessively. “Is that… Jack’s phone?”

“No?” She answered with a question, and to which question was just as much as a mystery.

“You took his damn phone. Like, took it. And it’s on, what did you do?”

“You’re not supposed to be in the girl’s dorm.” Her voice shook. “And Jack left his phone and I’m going to give it to him.”

“I told you two hours ago I was coming to pick up my text book and Jack didn’t fucking leave his phone, he’s been in the library all day. You told me that, Ellie.”

More gaps in her memory. She had no clue what she had done since she’d seen Jack that morning. She didn’t recall even seeing Ian let alone telling him to show up to her dorm.

She scrubbed at her eyes to clear the tears, but stumbled back as Ian held his hand out for the phone.

“I said I would give it to him.” She assured him. “So… it’s fine.”

“Show me you didn’t do anything to his phone and you can have it.”

“Do anything?” She asked. “He’s my boyfriend, what the hell would I do?” her voice was challenging, but Ian shot back.

“I don’t fucking know that’s what I’m trying out. You’ve been all sort of doing all batshit stuff, so prove to me that you didn’t do anything, and I’ll let it go. I’ll just leave right now- even without my textbook.” He still had his hand out.

Well, no, she didn’t do anything crazy or wrong, but Ian wouldn’t believe that. He never would. She continued to clutch the phone close to her, and refused to move. “N… No.” She whispered.

“What?”

“I said no. It’s… its none of your business.”

“Okay, well, it’s Jack’s business.” Ian said sharply. “So lets go tell him, yea?”

“No!” The demand emerged from her mouth as a shriek. This was supposed to be her happy ending. This was supposed to be the start of the good part. Ian would ruin that if he told Jack.

She reached for… she wasn’t even sure at that point- probably his shoulder if not his shirt collar, but she had startled him to turning back in her direction, and she instead let her hand strike him right across the cheek. Both of their positions in relation to each other was odd and askew- And- her hand was supposed to be open, but she just-

Ian hissed, bringing his hand up to the cut that began to well on his cheek. He turned back towards Ellie, both of their eyes open in shock.

“Oh- I didn’t-“ She trembled slightly, and the phone forgotten, dropped to the floor. She took a step back into her room. “No, I didn’t mean to—I’m—“

Ian’s glare was set on her and was for the moment was completely unforgiving. The cut wasn’t too bad, maybe half an inch in length, but it was there, and was definitely something that now existed.

“No, Ian, I didn’t mean-“

He ignored her, and picked up the phone, turning it over in his face.

“What in the hecklord was that? Who’s yelling like they’re being mur—” Elsa asked, poking her head out the stairwell down the hallway. Her joking, casual expression spiked into panic, and she stepped out to hurried over. “What happened- Ian your face! Ellie?”

“Elsa, where’s Traci’s dorm?” He asked, looking up from the phone

“Huh?”

“Her dorm, we need to check on her right now.”

“It’s downstairs-“ but Elsa knew not to ask anymore questions. She turned back around and ran back for the stairs. Ian didn’t even give Ellie another look before he took off running after Elsa and disappeared into the stairwell as well.

Ellie carefully followed suit- not exactly sneaking, but her mind was so focused on the phone that she had to follow. All that was in her brain is that Jack wouldn’t understand, if Ian explained it. Jack didn’t even have to know. If Ian opened his mouth, people will be upset with her because they wouldn’t understand. She had to get the phone back. She had to delete those texts.

She entered the stairwell, mere echoes of thoughts all around her of what could happen now. Some part of her felt… bad? She certainly. She felt something, but she couldn’t describe it. She couldn’t… put her finger on it, but something about this was wrong. Something about this… something about what she had done.

Before her now was the open, and noticeably empty dorm room of Traci’s. Elsa and Ian stood off to the side, just inside the room, worriedly talking amongst themselves.

Nothing had meaning to her anymore, Ellie realized. Not the photos of Jack on the wall, not the abandoned phone of Traci’s on the floor. It didn’t mean anything. She didn’t feel anything. Something seemed to be wrong, but there was no indication of what it might have been.

She was doing this to protect Jack. If nothing else, absolutely nothing else, she had to protect her beloved.

“She could be anywhere.” Elsa murmured, looking around the room.

“I know.” Ian said grimly. “Do you think she stayed on school grounds?”

“I have no clue. I hope she did.” Elsa glanced up, staring at Ellie worriedly. “Ellie, shes your friend, believe it or not. You have to at least care about her. At least a bit. She could get hurt.”

But it was talking like a blank wall. Ellie put her hand out, and said nothing else, her face neutrally super focused on the phone Ian was waving around.

He only sighed in annoyance, and put the phone in her hand. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but you’re getting on my god damn nerves.”

“Prove…” Elsa said slowly as Ellie clutched the phone, then turned to quickly head away to where she had been heading in the first place- back to Jack. She had to make sure he was safe, of course… and to put the phone back.

“Traci would want to prove herself.” Elsa said suddenly. “Ian, we have to check the school roof.”

“The roof-“

“Remember what I told you about what she told me? Ian, we gotta get to the roof. Right now.”

The words of irrelevant conversation faded from her forethought. Ellie walked calmly as her friends (a questionable term) ran past her towards the main building.

But that they didn’t matter, whoever or whatever they would find. It definitely didn’t matter- not to Ellie. All that mattered was Jack.

#eyesagao #asagao elsa #asagao ellie #asagao traci #fuk man

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