#this thought kept gnawing on me for the entirety of the last ten minutes. i was so ready for the shit to go down

[mr-tll]

imagine if the butcher did get to torture arthur and if he'd go for his left hand arthur would have to fake pain while john'd be taking one for the team. man

[nejibaby]

Daylight

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Y/N

Summary: You’ve been keeping things from Ace, but it takes a reoccurring nightmare to finally make you tell him.

Word Count: 3.6k

Daylight - Part 1 | Afterglow - Part 2

Loosely based on: Taylor Swift’s Lover album (but mostly about the song Daylight)

A/N: First of all, I just want to say there’s going to be a part 2 😌 Secondly, I’m sorry if this is angsty again 😫 Lastly, I wanted to give the reader some depth so there’s a backstory, I’m sorry if it doesn’t feel like a reader-insert. I tried my best... Please let me know your thoughts~

You wake up with a jolt, sweat forming on your forehead, heart beating significantly faster than usual, and tears threatening to fall from your eyes. The scenes from your nightmare are replaying in your mind.

The thing is you know it would be easier to tell yourself it was just a simple nightmare if your mind came up with those scenarios, however, that isn’t the case. The nightmares you get are often about the experiences you had to live through in the past. While you try to keep them buried, it resurfaces at the most unexpected days.

You take a few shaky breaths to calm yourself down, but that doesn’t really work out for you. Your room that was once a safe haven for you now feels like a suffocating cage. So you decide to get up and leave your room rather hastily.

You find yourself on the deck of Moby Dick, leaning on the railings and taking in the sight of the sun slowly ascending the sky. Only then are you able to breathe normally. However, it only takes ten minutes of silence alone before a sleepy figure breaks it.

“Y/N?” Ace yawns. “Baby, what are you doing here? Come back to bed with me,” he says as he rubs his eye.

You remain silent as you continue to look at the horizon. Ace frowns at your lack of response. He situates himself beside you, mimicking your stance. When he looks over at you, he instantly notices your red, teary eyes. “Did you… did you have a nightmare again?” He asks softly.

You’ve had a lot of nights that have been interrupted by your nightmares since you’ve been welcomed in this ship. He’s actually the first person to know about your nightmares, because his room used to be right beside yours and he’s heard your whimpers and wails. He doesn’t exactly know what your nightmares are, just that you have them. Nonetheless, he’s the first one to offer comfort to you, which must’ve been the reason you fell in love with him in the first place. But ever since you started sharing the same bed with him, the nightmares stopped coming altogether, except for today.

The genuine concern in his voice instantly makes you feel warm. You let yourself look at the rising sun a few more seconds before you direct your gaze to Ace, knowing full well that you won’t want to look at anything else once you settle your eyes on him. More precisely, you couldn’t actually look away from him.

The sun hits him in a certain way that makes him look amazing. Your breath almost hitched at the sight of him, but the worried look he gives you reminds you of your troubles.

“Ace…” your voice unexpectedly cracks. “I…”

His eyes widen in alertness, “Are you okay? No, don’t answer that, that’s a dumb question.” He cups your cheeks and kisses your forehead before asking, “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to, but if you do, I’ll listen—”

You cut him off by saying, “I want to… I have to tell you this… But it’s… I just...” you release a shaky breath, “I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you.”

His breath hitches. A thousand questions fill his mind in an instant. Did you do something wrong? Did you finally realize he wasn’t worthy of your attention? Did you cheat on him? Why did you look so guilty?

You can see the panic on his face and you immediately decide it wasn’t something that you want Ace to feel, especially if it was because of you.

You close your eyes and try to even out your breathing. “Ace… I… I felt like I’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night.” It unintentionally comes out as a whimper.

The panic on his face is replaced by surprise. You never really talked about your problems to him before and he never really prodded. The strain in your voice causes him to feel an ache in his chest. “Baby, I’m telling you you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to or if you aren’t ready—”

“...but now I see daylight.” You look at him straight in his eyes as you finish your sentence after he interrupted you. “I only see daylight.”

Ace takes a few seconds to process your words and then he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A smile makes its way into his face. “That’s good.”

You remain silent for a while, thinking of how to say what you want to say. You’ve kept your past far too long from Ace and he deserves to know you in your entirety, even if it could possibly end your relationship. But your thoughts were so messy so you say the first thing that popped into your mind, “You know… when you found me in the shipwreck, I was ready to die then and there.”

He shakes his head. “I’m glad I found you on time. Marco told me if I’ve been a few hours late, you would’ve died.”

“The crew…” your voice cracks again.

“It must’ve been hard on you. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to open your past wounds,” Ace interjects as he rubs your arms in a comforting manner.

“I was the one who killed them,” you say, tears forming in your eyes again.

Ace halts his movements at your declaration.

When he got to you, all your crew members were dead and you were heavily injured as well, so he assumed it was because some other pirates attacked your ship. He didn’t know that it was you who caused that destruction.

You finally let your tears fall as guilt creeps inside you like a long lost friend. “They were evil. I know they sheltered me, fed me, and I should be grateful, but they were evil. They killed and murdered for fun. They stole even from the poor. They terrorized villages.” You cry, “I can’t… I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear with—”

“Ssshhh. It’s over now…” Ace hugs you tightly.

You immediately melt into his embrace. He stays silent after that and you do too.

This wasn’t the only thing you are keeping from Ace though. You have yet to drop the biggest news about yourself.

Was Ace going to stay with you if you told him your identity? The question echoes in your mind.

Maybe you’re foolish to think that this could work out.

You start to feel queasy. This feeling brought you back memories of your most important conversation with Pops.

It was the day that he asked you to join the crew, or as he worded it, “family”, after you had healed from your injuries. You remember telling him he shouldn’t openly welcome someone like you.

You weren’t even sure if he had heard about you and your deeds, but knowing how fast news of that spectrum could spread and his status as a Yonko, you assumed he did but if he did, you wondered why he still insisted you join them.

And then he claimed that you’re too young to be left alone. When he said that matter-of-factly without a trace of malice, you almost gave in and joined on the spot, but you stopped yourself. You didn’t want to burden them with the dangers that come with you, especially because they took care of you until you fully healed. So instead, you just said you were going to think about his offer.

A week later, you found yourself knocking on Whitebeard’s door with the intent of talking to him. Then the next thing you knew, you were confiding in him. You told him who you are, what you’ve done, and why you’ve done them. It was the first time you’ve ever bared yourself to someone.

You expected him to give you a look of disgust or of anger, but he didn’t. Sure, it took a few minutes for him to process everything you’ve said but in the end, he looked like he was unfazed by your revelation. It was then that you asked him if he would still have you knowing who you were. He didn’t even think twice as he said, “You’re part of the family ever since my son brought you here.”

You remember feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder because of Pops. He and the rest of the crew treated you as if you were their own blood, but also so much better than that, considering you had an awful relationship with your biological parents.

You start to wonder if Ace would react the same way. So far, he’s being gentle with you like he usually is. But what you’ve told him was only a portion of your story. It wasn’t the cause of your nightmares, although it might be an effect of it.

There’s a possibility that he wouldn’t accept you for who you truly are and it scares you. This fear gnaws at you. The fear of being left almost overpowers your desire to tell Ace everything, but you fight it with all your might. He deserves to know you, wholly. And if he doesn’t want to be with you after this, it was understandable. You wouldn’t hold this against him.

You gather the last bits of courage you have left and pull away from him. You wipe the tears from your eyes.

Ace reads your face. It’s easy to tell that you wanted to say more. He can see the determination in your eyes. So he waits patiently for you to talk.

“Do you know why my bounty is so high?” You ask.

“I think I heard Marco and Thatch talk about something… Hm…” he scratches his chin as he thinks. “Ah! I heard them say that they read in the newspaper that you killed a Celestial Dragon.”

You purse your lips. So he does know…

“Is that what bothers you?” He asks but you remain silent so he continues, “I’m sure you had your reasons. You aren’t the type to do anything just because. Hell, you don’t even follow my orders as your Commander when you think it’s unreasonable.” He chuckles. “They’re scums anyway, especially those Celestial Dragons.”

He’s waiting for you to crack a smile or verbally respond but it takes a minute and then two, you still haven’t said a word. You’re looking at him but your eyes are unfocused and glazed. He starts to worry about you. There must be something deeper behind the death of that Celestial Dragon.

Sometimes it’s hard for Ace to find the right words to say, just like this time. He’s aware you’re bothered or anxious about something, but he doesn’t know what it is about. You aren’t exactly confirming or denying his assumptions, and he doesn’t want to pressure you into talking about it. But… how is he supposed to say the right thing to comfort you when he doesn’t know what it is that bothers you?

However, there’s one thing he’s sure about, and that is his desire to protect you, to shield you from the cruel world.

He wants to erase the sadness that is overwhelming you. He simply can’t stand seeing you in pain.

For now, words fail him so he resorts to actions. He takes you in his arms once again. He tucks your head into his chest and rubs soothing circles on your back. He kisses the crown of your head and lets you know he’s there.

It doesn’t take long for you to break free from his grasps. You take a step back. But you think it wasn’t enough so you take two steps more. This confuses Ace, but you know it’s better this way. “I… killed two Celestial Dragons,” you correct him.

Ace nods his head.

“They are…” you shake your head, “They were… my parents.”

He tenses from your declaration.

“I am— I was a Celestial Dragon.” You mumble. Before you lose your courage entirely, you quickly tell him about everything.

You tell him about how as a child, you didn’t think much of your status and your actions. You acted accordingly as a Celestial Dragon, that was how you were raised after all; as a person who didn’t pay any thought to another person besides yourself.

That was, until you became friends with one of your slaves who was around your age. “She was really nice to me. She was one of the few people brave enough to talk to me. But we only talked when we were inside the comfort of my room without my parents watching, knowing they disliked it when slaves talked. Because of her, I realized how lonely I actually was. The only people I got to interact with during those days were my parents, their Celestial Dragon friends who visited once in a while, and the slaves  because I wasn’t allowed to go out of our home until I was nine years old. So she was a really good company for me. She talked about the life in the villages she went to and all types of people she met. It’s funny because she even taught me manners,” you smile at the memory of her, albeit momentarily. “Every story she told was so interesting and every day I found myself wanting to visit the places she described, and to experience what she did before she became a slave.

“But one day, my parents found us talking and playing together… And they deemed it horrific for a slave to act that way with me.” You clench your fists as the memories come crashing down on you. “So they killed her… in front of me. And I couldn’t do anything to save my only friend.”

It’s their fault for thinking they could act like that towards you. We’re gods, they’re merely humans. You could almost hear the words your father spouted that day.

Ace is listening closely to you, but he has that faraway look on his face. You aren’t sure if he’s picturing the scenarios you told him about or if he’s remembering an awful memory of his own involving Celestial Dragons. Either way, you can tell from his face his distaste.

There is so much more to say though, so you continue, “That kinda put things into perspective for me. It made me resent my parents, their way of living, and the way they raised me. It opened my eyes to how cruel and horrible every Celestial Dragons were. It made me wonder how many lines have I crossed unforgiven… And I just drifted apart from them.

“I was upset and angry about everything but I didn’t know what to do about it so I kept myself locked up in my room. My shitty parents thought getting a new slave my age would make me feel better so they did just that, but that didn’t change the way I saw my parents.

“Be that as it may, I started getting out of my room again, afraid of what they would do if they thought the new slave wouldn’t be of any benefit. In the end, I befriended her, although she was way more timid than my first friend and she was always scared to drop her guard. This time though, I was more careful when interacting with her. But she was the only one I could protect from the ton of slaves my parents had and it just… It left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“For years I couldn’t do anything more. And the longer I stayed under their roof and the more I saw of them treating humans as awful creatures, the angrier I got until I just snapped. And I...” your voice cracks once again.

“You killed them.” Ace finishes the sentence for you.

You nod your head meekly. “The way out of Mary Geoise was tricky because I wanted to bring as many slaves as I could so they could be freed. Somehow I managed to do just that. I parted with them at Sabaody, but... I heard some of them got recaptured,” you weep. It broke your heart; you tried your best to give them back their freedom but it was short-lived for some. You hate the fact that you gave them a small flicker of light— of hope— only to have it extinguished within moments.

You fall silent as you remember how there was nothing you could do back then because you had to run away too. You were aware that it was only a matter of days before the Nobles would learn of your crime and have someone from Cipher Pol or maybe an Admiral come after you.

“Maybe… Maybe I should have ended the bloodline then and there…” you mumble. “I remember thinking, no, hoping, that it would be Aokiji-san who would be sent after me. At least then, if I was to be executed, it would be in the hands of someone who was at least nice to me. But that was selfish, and for all the sins my family and my descendants committed, I cannot afford to be selfish.

“But then again, wanting to live is also selfish,” you chuckle humorlessly. “I tried to reason to myself that I should live just to make sure no one suffers the same fate as the slaves, but I haven’t been doing a particularly great job at that, considering I wounded the good and trusted the wicked when I got mixed up with Morganeer pirates.” You look away from Ace momentarily as you let your tears fall once again.

The tears have fogged your mind and you find yourself not wanting to say anything more. You take a quick peek at the man in front of you. He looks tense, rigid. He doesn’t speak nor look back at you. His face is void of any emotion. Somehow he doesn’t look like himself; he doesn’t look like the goofy, sweet Ace who fell in love with you. And perhaps it’s all your fault.

Observing the man who holds your heart, you realize that he too doesn’t have anything to say. Maybe you should tell him that you’re going to give him time to process things alone, but words died on your throat the minute you started crying again. So instead of bidding him a goodbye or even a “See you later” or waiting for him to tell you to leave, you run.

Maybe that’s the only thing you’re really, truly good at.

For the rest of the day, you stay in your room. Once in a while someone would knock to ask if you’re alright, but it’s never Ace, so you lie and say you’re fine. No one seems to question you after you say that but you can tell from their faces they don’t believe you.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner comes and goes but you still haven’t left your room, let alone your bed. You haven’t touched the food that Thatch left you too, and it makes you feel bad but you have no appetite at all and you’re feeling quite nauseous.

You wait until the ship grows silent as the crew starts to get ready for bed. When you’re sure that most of them have been lulled to sleep by the calm sea, you get out of your room and head to Pops. You haven’t even knocked on his door yet but he already tells you to come in.

As soon as you close the door, he asks why you haven’t gone out of your room the whole day. You inform him, and he nods in understanding. “Do you want me to talk to him or beat him up or something?” He asks.

You shake your head, “Can I… Can I depart tonight?”

“Where to?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet…” you tell him earnestly.

He gives you a look, as if saying, “Do you really think I’d allow you if you aren’t sure what you’re going to do?”

“It’s just that… Its anniversary is coming up and I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time.”

He laughs, “You aren’t going to be able to bring my children down.”

“I know,” you smile briefly. “But... I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble in case something happens…”

He sighs, “Okay, but bring—”

“No, I want to be alone.”

For the first time in a while, you see Pops frowning. It’s evident that he didn’t want you to be alone, it’s far too dangerous for you.

You understand where he’s coming from but you need time for yourself, and Ace needs time without you too. So to convince him, you hand him your vivre card and a Den Den Mushi. You didn’t have to tell him anything more, the pieces of items speak for themselves. It’s for him to know that you’re safe and you’ll be safe.

He looks at you solemnly, but nods anyway. It comes to a surprise to you when he pulls you into his embrace. He whispers, “Be safe, my child, and come back home soon to us.”

You nod with tears in your eyes. Pops has always been nice to you, even when you know you don’t deserve it, so leaving is hard for you. Although you’re both hoping you’d come back, you both know it’s not going to be easy. The seas aren’t as forgiving as humans, after all.

“Thank you, Pops,” you tell him as you break free from his embrace.

When you’ve boarded your boat, you take one last look at Moby Dick and think, “It was nice finally seeing the daylight because of Ace, but perhaps it was time to go back to sleep and face the nightmares instead of running from them.”

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

All Norman Bates

PART FORTY-TWO OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of estranged parents, therapy, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: Jess and Ella experience a bump in the road on the way to California.

A/N: Just so everyone is aware, there are only two chapters left after this, including the epilogue :)

Sighing, Jess glanced over at Ella, who sat in the passenger seat with a crinkled brow and the cap of a red pen between her teeth. They were halfway to California, and Jess didn’t think he’d seen her without that same pensive look on her face for the entirety of the trip thus far. But, he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed at her insistence on working over the spring break. Her cheeks were lively with rosy color, and her eyes looked clearer.

They weren’t all good days. Sometimes, she would come home from work or school and fall asleep on the couch almost immediately, lethargic and unable to articulate any of the thoughts which were jumbled in a confusing, depressed mess within her head. Then, when she awoke, she would often find herself needing to cry. Whether she knew what her feelings were about or not, she would let herself cry, like her new therapist was urging her to. Jess would rub circles on her back and make green tea and listen. And eventually, she would feel better. They were working it out together, just like he promised. Most of the time, there was a gnawing guilt sitting in her stomach. He shouldn’t have to take care of her, she would think. She was holding him back. She was weighing him down. Each time she brought it up though, he would patiently remind her of how much she had helped him, how this thing of theirs was a two-way street, and that he didn’t mind.

She would smile, in spite of herself. Slowly, it was getting easier, and she was regaining her passion for things. She was drawing again, even painting, finally making use of the easel Jess had gotten her for Christmas. Jess often made jokes about how big of a role their therapists played in their lives, but they only made Ella laugh, instead of making her angry. It was true, but she was becoming less ashamed of it by the day. It would probably always feel a bit like her and Jess against the world, but their world could be bigger. Help didn’t need to be an evil. She didn’t need to make survival her ultimate goal. Instead, she was working on happiness. And, of course, the antidepressants were playing a part no one could understate.

“You’re gonna make yourself carsick,” Jess warned begrudgingly, turning down the Killers song which played on the radio.

Ella rolled her eyes but didn’t look up from the essay. “You’re the one who gets carsick, Jess. I’ll be fine.”

Again, he gave a slight sigh. Sometimes, the silence could get to even him. When she was working, it was like she was on a different planet. “Whatever, Daria. Just call me the invisible man.”

“You are so clingy,” she teased off-handedly, chuckling.

He scoffed, though a blush rose hotly up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “Am not.”

“Sure, tough guy,” she quipped, then finally looked up from the midterm papers she was grading.

The current one was a pretty decent account of how Van Gogh made the most of his madness through his art. She was pretty engrossed in it, and it was almost free of her annotations. Her harsh grading style had become almost notorious with the T.A. circle at the University. But, sometimes, people really did turn in perfect work. Besides, she knew it was better to bite the bullet and give the advice. It was what the students were there for, after all. And subtlety had never been her strong suit.

For what it was worth, she was working on the drive in an attempt to have less to do once they actually reached California. The plans were to spend the week on the beach, reading and drawing, and popping into Jess’s father’s house every now and again. The visit was partially for vacation, partially an obligatory gesture. Jess hadn’t visited in so long, the guilt was starting to get to him. His father was a douchebag, but he had still welcomed Jess into his home when he didn’t have to. The gesture certainly counted for something.

Watching the darkness of the road ahead, Jess tried to keep his anxiety at bay. He had to remind himself that Ella was with him, they were older, and even more stable than they had been the last time they visited. He didn’t need to feel nervous about the trip, but the memories of his lonely months in Venice were itching at the back of his mind. Sometimes, he would give in and scratch, even if it only made things worse. He bit at his bottom lip, eyes occasionally wandering to the sky. There were stars, lots out in the heartland of America with no light pollution. And there were hardly any other cars, as the night went from evening to late. There were no concrete plans about where to stay the night, just the next decent motel they happened upon. Each time Ella suggested stopping, Jess insisted he was fine to keep driving. He wanted to get as much done as he could manage. Truthfully, he was not looking forward to the silence of the nighttime, when Ella went to sleep and he had to be alone with thoughts of his father turning over and over in his head.

“Do you hear that?” she asked after a moment, brows furrowing. With her attention away from her work, she had begun to pick up on a faint clicking sound.

“Hear what?” Jess said, broken from his anxious reverie.

“Listen,” she said, then gave a hesitant pause. Then added: “It’s getting louder.”

Jess did as she told him, turning the quiet music on the radio all the way down. Sure enough, beneath the rushing of the tires and the occasional screech they had come to tune out after years of riding in the death trap, there was a clicking. And it was getting louder, faster and faster. Then, Jess began to feel a drag in his speed and a resistance in his brakes.

.   .   .

Too tired even to work, Ella laid with her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling. They were somewhere in Kansas, with shitty cell reception and even shittier motels. No auto repair shop would be open until the morning, the man with the tow truck had said, but he suspected it was the engine, based on the sound they had described to him. Luckily, the man had been kind enough to drive them to the nearest 24-hour lodging. The Ambassador would sit solitary in the tow yard until the morning, when they came to bring it to whatever repair shop had the lowest prices. In all honesty, Ella was just glad they hadn’t been forced to spend the night on the side of the highway. It had taken them almost a half an hour before finally getting Ella’s cell in the right position to handle a call to information, to get the name of a towing company. The whole ordeal had been nerve-wracking, but she was feeling marginally better behind the safety of their closed motel room door. At the front desk there sat a disinterested woman with thick glasses which magnified her light eyes and a magazine open on the desk in front of her. She had told them a lost key was a $50 fee before sending them on their way with little more than a glance.

It wasn’t a shock. Jess’s car had been living on borrowed time for quite a while, anyway. Rusty and creaky and dying. Ella almost felt vindicated. Finally, her predictions had come true. She had expressed doubt when Jess had said he would be the one driving, to give her time to work and relax. He’d been encouraging her to relax more often recently, and she appreciated it. But riding passenger in the Ambassador was anything but relaxing. Ella still couldn’t believe how flabbergasted Jess had looked when he had to pull over on the side of the road, unable to drive safely with the way the gas pedal wasn’t cooperating. Ella felt a bit of foolish nostalgia at the thought of the vehicle. Another site of their youth bites the dust.

“I don’t know,” Jess sighed into his phone, running a hand down his tired face.

He’d been talking to Sasha for the last twenty minutes. It was past ten, but not the middle of the night. Jimmy, however, wasn’t available to talk apparently. Sasha had been suggesting alternative plans for them to get to California, though both Jess and Ella knew there was no way they were getting down there anytime soon if the car was as broken as they suspected. Even if it wasn’t completely dead (which it was), they’d have to wait for parts to come in. Who knew how long that would take for such an old make and model.

Eventually, Jess pushed Sasha off the phone with some muttered excuses and forced goodbyes. His head was swimming with fatigue, and he didn’t think he could deal with another second of his stepmother. Not considering how chatty and cheery she was. Putting his cell phone on the rickety nightstand next to him, he flopped down onto his back. The comforter had a faded floral pattern, but was surprisingly soft. He blew out a long breath and shut his eyes for a moment.

“So she took it well?” Ella asked flatly. She had heard Sasha’s good-natured badgering as she lay silently next to Jess.

“Oh yeah,” Jess replied. “Very understanding.”

Ella snorted a laugh and sat up again, looking down at him. She raked her fingers through his hair affectionately. He sighed again, eyes still closed. Biting at the inside of her cheek, Ella fought back a small smirk at the sight of him in the low glow of the singular bedside lamp. The night certainly hadn’t gone according to plan, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel too upset about not making it to California. She still wasn’t the biggest fan of Jimmy or the Pacific Ocean. She kept stroking his hair, eyeing his long lashes and exhausted pallor. She could tell how sleepy he was, even if he wouldn’t exactly admit the effects of driving so long.

She looked around the small room, big enough only for a queen bed, a small TV, some nightstands, and a bathroom off to the side. The rosebud wallpaper was yellowed with age and there were a few precarious stains on the beige carpet. But the air had a homey smell of dust and she decided it wasn’t the worst place they could have ended up. Fortunately, they didn’t need to find dinner, having already grabbed some takeout about an hour before the end of the Ambassador’s long, strange life.

“At least we won’t have to reconnect with that weird guy who works on the boardwalk,” Ella said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“The guy who sells the hemp hats?” Jess asked, then cracked his eyes open again. “You think he still works there?”

“I bet he’ll still be standing out there long after you and I are dead,” Ella replied.

Jess laughed. “You’re probably right.”

“Maybe I should grade more,” she said distractedly, speaking mostly to herself as her idle hands made uneasiness creep up in her stomach.

Rolling his eyes, Jess grabbed her gently around the waist and pulled her down onto the bed, guiding her head to his chest. “This is an addiction, Stevens. I’m cutting you off.”

“Yeah, well, the first step to healing is acceptance,” she quipped, placing a kiss on his t-shirt and settling in against him. For once, she decided to oblige him and sleep instead of stay up into the early hours of the morning with her red pen. Her therapist had also suggested doing work in moderation.

Jess chuckled breathily. “It’s true.” Then, after a moment: “I think I’m honestly more upset about the car than not getting to go visit daddy dearest.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“Oh, am I that transparent?” he deadpanned.

“Like a glass house, Mariano,” she teased. “I guess it is the end of an era.”

He nodded. “Yeah. No more weird cigarette burns on the ceiling.”

She laughed. One of the only nights in high school she had ever gotten stoned, Jess had picked her up from her house by surprise, throwing pebbles at her window. He found her eyes red-rimmed and glassy, her cheeks flushed, and her mind spacey. All she’d wanted to do was drive around and smoke cigarettes and listen to Joy Division. At the time, she hadn’t told him about the blowout fight with her father and Fiona. Not until the next morning over breakfast in the diner. When she’d accidentally burned the ceiling of the car with her cigarette, leaving a dark circle, she’d started tearing up. In response, Jess lit a cigarette of his own and pressed it to the ceiling without hesitation, unphased.

Smiling at the memory, she threw an arm over his waist. “And no more barrette stuck in the window crank that won’t come out no matter how fucking hard I try.”

Jess snorted a laugh. After the Arctic Monkeys concert they’d attended the previous summer, they’d had sex in the backseat. One of her barrettes had somehow ended up eternally wedged in the window crank. The next day, she’d taken a pair of pliers to it fruitlessly. Jess had teased her, the woman who prided herself on being able to fix anything, mercilessly, ever since.

“And about a million other ‘no mores.’ Who knows what’ll happen in our next car,” he said.

“Only time will tell,” she muttered through a yawn. “I love you, James Dean.”

“Love you back,” he replied.

A gentle click sounded in the cozy quiet as Jess shut off the lamp. Getting comfortable again, he ran a hand up and down over her back and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Then, he bit at his bottom lip, and his mind flashed to the small red box in this duffel. With the thin gold ring, a tiny amethyst in the middle. He’d bought it months ago, on a random trip to some antique shop with Chris, and he had a few ideas in mind. He hadn’t nailed down a real proposal plan yet, but took it with to California just in case. It had been wishful thinking, of course, since California was neither of their favorite places. And they weren’t going to make it there anyway. Still, it was there. It was happening. He just didn’t know when. It made his insides feel fluttery and excited and almost sick with nerves. But, for now, he decided getting the fuck out of Kansas would be the first step.

Dozing, Ella let her mind wander again to their teenage years. She felt her heart ache with sentimentality, and then brushed it off. Not because she wanted to ignore the feeling, but because all of a sudden she didn’t feel it. She didn’t need to miss Jess when he was right next to her. She didn’t need to worry about the past. Let yourself have a middle. Lorelai’s words reappeared in her mind, soft and comforting.

“Jess?” she asked, voice beginning to grow rough with sleep.

“Hmmm?” he hummed, and she felt the word vibrating in her ear against his chest.

“Do you think that lady at the front desk is gonna go all Normal Bates on us?” she asked.

He sighed, but then it turned into a laugh. “No, Daria, I don’t think so.”

“I bet that’s what Jant Leigh thought too,” she replied, all too serious.

Jess kept his smirk. “Just call me Marion Crane, then.”

She giggled, then was quiet for another moment. Jess slipped his hand beneath her t-shirt and began rubbing small circles on her skin. Usually, she fell asleep within a couple minutes of laying down. Apparently, something was eating at her.

“I think I’m gonna take that job at the University for next year,” she spoke again suddenly.

“Really?” he asked, smirk turning to a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” she said, almost shyly. “I’ll have time for actually making some damn art, but I’ll still have a steady income, good benefits...ugh do I sound like a middle-aged tragedy?”

“No,” he said, reassurance in his tone. “I think it’s gonna be great, Eleanor. Seriously.”

“I just...I think I’ll be happy doing it.”

“I do too,” he said, kissing her hair once more. “Congratulations, Stevens.”

“Thanks,” she said with a nervous chuckle, blushing a bit. “And I’ll have that whole sexy professor thing going for me, which is a plus.”

[philomathhh9]

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

Philomath, I just took a stroll down memory lane. A very cliché thing to say, I know. It was a long stroll though; the sun set and dawned upon my path countless of times and I kept walking. Swept away in a journey of nostalgia and emotions of comfort, I soon was struck by a wave of anger and resentment.

  All began when I chose to check my phone as I dressed to leave home to study for a big upcoming exam. A friend and colleague of mine had messaged me his location in Riyadh; his family recently moved there. We went back and forth and chatted about how our homes where a mere ten minute walk apart and that we could meet up once we visited our families in winter. It then hit me. “Home” was no longer that small cozy place in Saudi Arabia; the little apartment that I spent seventeen years of my life in. The place I had just called Home in front of my friend was nothing but a figment of my past - a dream I dreamt for just a little over a decade and a half. Home in the present is this place in Amman in which I currently take residence in with my sister, my lovely cat Leta, and my sweet departed cat-angel Valenta, who has been buried in our garden since May when illness rode her fate.

  I am content with the present day. I really am. However, calling my parents’ place in Saudi Home swung me back to the moments, days, months, and years of my being that I spent in innocence. I ran the Maps application and I checked every part of what used to be my life. I saw the school I spent the whole of my childhood in. I saw the park and the malls I used to go to on weekends with my mother. I saw the restaurant that my father enjoyed dining in on Fridays and I even saw the school I spent my high school years in. I then paused. Memories of my high school senior year washed up from an ocean I thought I had left behind. I spent it the way I spent the entirety of my days till then: dreaming, reading, and exploring the wonders of what life is. Curious is what I was. Not the kind of curious that is forced and involves taking a risk and leave familiar surroundings because they feel threatening and unsafe, but the type of curious that sticks to you in innocence while thriving in your provided environment- you just wonder if the outside is just as splendid.

  I wanted to become a lawyer at some point in high school and that brought me to read my personal statement that I had sent to universities in the UK for an undergraduate law degree. In front of me was a live example of what I used to be: a dreamer. Today, I believe that ignorance and innocence are synonymous from a certain perspective, despite being two very different words. The saying “Ignorance is bliss” is popular because of that very reason. Not knowing and staying in my naivete brought me happiness. Soon, the clock started to tick and the time came where being curious was not a thought to think of, but a thought to I had to execute. I had to figure out what was to become of me. My dreams of becoming a lawyer leaped away as the reality of its demanding financing settled. This marks strike one against young Philomath.

  Now, I am in the path of becoming a doctor; something I had chosen and kept as a back up plan in case the launch of my time with law failed. I know I did not choose it for the prestige of it. The human body and the world within infatuated me just as much. To reiterate, I am content with who I am and what I am doing today. It just so happened that the start of my new life as a meds student yanked my innocence away from me as I cried for and held on to it for dear life. My parents’ conditioning brought me to block away all my triggers and flaws by daydreaming and spending my time with thoughts of idealism. Now that my little daydreaming session of seventeen years had been brought to a screeching halt, I was shocked with what I found down here. As I recalled this and what followed today, I felt nothing but a strange mix of anger, resentment, disembodiment, and disbelief of what I had been and put others through. My surroundings in my first year of medicine were not only less than ideal, but straight up parasitic and gnawed at my little body day by day. The gnawing manifested physically; I lost a good fifth to fourth of my weight as depression and maladjustment took over me. Now that my bubble of idealism was popped, I was subjected to the thorns I harbored all along and had no idea what to do with them other than project them on others, both good and horrible people alike. That marked strike two for young philomath.

  Personal boundaries were alien things to me. Unfortunately, that me twinkle in the eyes of whom I know now to be a narcissistic sociopath. During the timeline in which him and I met, I was already dealing with confusion, maladjustment, and a dear friend that faced demons only I knew of. Today her and I do not really keep in touch anymore despite being mostly amicable. As far as I know, she is thriving and walking up her own path and struggle day by day and I am happy for her. Though, resentment still plagues the back of my head as she fell victim to projection of my own flaws and I sadly fell into hers. It was a lot of up, downs, lefts, and rights with her and at that time we brought horrible things out in each other. Apart from my doings, she had a phobia of abandonment and would do anything and everything to reassure herself and of course, due to my lack of boundaries, I enabled her. She was and is not a person of bad morale, but the anything and everything included a lot of jabs and stabs that mark where some scars in my soul still are today. That was strike three for you, young philomath.

  Back to the twinkly yet empty eyes of the narcissist that ended up becoming my wicked boyfriend. Like a vulture, he spent his first few weeks and months with me circling me and analyzing just how vulnerable I was and how much I had on my plate. Again, I had no boundaries; that meant that whatever he wanted, he would draw out of me. And inspite of that, nothing was ever enough for him. Everyone dear in my life at that time, I gone to the extremes for. That is: everyone but my own self. So I kept enabling him to use me, control me, and display me as an accessory. Did I project my flaws on him too? Yes. The truth is I never was, am, and will never be perfect. The difference though, was that I eventually recognized where I fell wrong with my people and took it upon myself to halt it and improve myself. Him on the other hand, emotionally abused the soul out of me until it no longer yearned to be in my body and to this very day, he victimizes himself as the ex of a horrible liar slut that harassed him for affection and ended up cheating on him. Again, horrible move on my part for both parties involved, but I will never ever dismiss the things he would do to me. He would use my insecurities as leverage and hold my emotional needs hostage until I popped and fell into an irrational reactive state. And of course, he contorted it all to make me out as the guilty. The crazy bitch. Yes of course, the crazy bitch that gave him everything she could give to him. The same crazy bitch that he gaslit, put down, and rejected when she needed him the most. What people do not know today is that when I horribly sought other than his affection as I fell into another reactive state due to constant episodic emotional rejection, I already was contemplating leaving him. The cycles of abuse became unbearable, and although I do not excuse myself for it, they finally pushed me to do something that was awfully wrong on my ex’s and the involved person’s behalf. And I cheated. The cherry on top of the icing? I do not recall the timeline it happened and suppressed it due to personal trauma. I lived my life knowing and believing that everything that happened between me and said person was at a time where him and I were not an item. Until it was brought to light by the third party that I did what I did around two weeks before I left him, the time I knew as the moments I was building myself up the courage to leave him. And that was strike four.

  Strike four marked the most ultimate of an ultimatum for me; it was either saving myself or continue down the path of self obliteration. Those two weeks before I left him were a turning point; for once I felt like I had to choose myself and my sanity before anyone else’s. I took back control of my life by ending it with him. Although initially it was amicable as we shared a group of friends, I ended up backing away more and more until I cut him off completely because he kept trying to get his sticky fingers on me and snatch me back onto his rollercoaster. Things with my friend were still going though, and with all that I already had endured she again did anything and everything to feel like I was not going to abandon her. I felt and feel for her, I really do. Just like emotional rejection and abuse pushed me to do a big mistake, her fears pushed her too. But reasons and context do not mean excuses. If I held myself accountable for everything I projected on her and him and everyone else in my life at that time, it would mean I had to hold her accountable too. And so, the journey of learning how to set boundaries and bettering myself began. She rejected it the whole time. To her, boundaries meant abandonment, and the more I set them, the more she’d do anything and everything to reassure herself I would not desert her. Until she did one last move, after which I could not bring myself to tolerate anything. At a weak point of hers, she spoke with my same ex that I had cut off to console her about my issues with me. She knew what kind of a person he is. In her vulnerable moments, he saw an opportunity to “avenge” the narcissistic injury I caused him by taking back my own control and pulled and withdrew information from her that he ended up using against me. With one big mistake, he contorted, molded, and spiced things until they tasted just right. To him, this was his big moment that he was waiting for: to end the bitch that dared dump him before he finished dumping her. One year after breaking up with him and not speaking with him at all, he used my friend’s poor judgement and vulnerability to attempt sabotaging me and my reputation. He circled me with other people and bullied me for my pronounced sexuality and supposed “manipulation and lies” and tried to convince other people to jump on an anti-me bandwagon. He even went as far as claiming that his reputation, which he ruined with his own hands, was in fact tarnished by me and the said fact that I was “psychotic” and never shut up about him and talked horrible of him to everyone I knew. All I did was confide in my so-called friends about the abuse I endured; ironically, no one turned against him the way he claimed and everyone that actually had a problem with him had nothing to do with the people I confided in. In this circle of nonsense that brought me severe trauma, barely anyone took him seriously. Reasonably so, picture viewing a couple split and move along with their own lives until one decides to dish and chase the other with some old dirt between them to convince people that the other was ruining their precious reputation. No sensible person would interfere with someone else’s problems with another. I ended up standing up for myself and further asserted my boundaries away from him by refuting responsibility for his broken reputation and stated that in fact it was his problem. I also mentioned that the circus of a show was unnecessary and that if he approached me like normal people do I would have been reacting very differently and took responsibility for my “dirt”. I ended things between him and I by pointing out the fact that it was pathetic to harass someone a year after they broke up him and it did nothing but prove his goal of claiming me as the “obsessed liar” the actual opposite. In the end, I was not the one to harass the other long after no contact with an old screw up.

  I then retained my most powerful tool: boundaries. Although I understood why my friend spoke with him, I could not help but hold her accountable that her irresponsibility with that move caused him to set off on a rampage. So I kept withdrawing from her and she could not bear it. Until one day she comes and “warns” me to “be careful of what I tell my friends because they are not the people I think they are”. The very friend that I had trusted with my life and a lot of information and mistakes on my behalf. The same friend that allowed him to grab those out of her in her vulnerable moments. I am more than sorry for everything I caused her, but this is something I would never forget. I remember trembling with anger and blocking her so that I would not blow up on her and cause her trouble and cost her a spiral. I got so angry that I became sick the next day. And ever since then, I had enough of my relationship with her. It was clear to me that we had both done too much to each other to recover from as normal friends. It had to end. After a few months of occasional angry SMS’s from her, I made it clear why I left and what I felt and that she would have to stop sending me message. She ended up acknowledging my hurt and apologized for everything she had done on her part. Everything. I remember crying with exasperation as I read her message admitting to everything; as for a good while of my life, I felt like I was the only one paying for my mistakes and trying to remedy them. The fact that someone else finally took responsibility for the damage done to me was something new and something alien. All that because I learned to set boundaries.

  I brought myself out of my stroll down memory lane. Now, I am filled with nothing but pride that I not only overcame my own demons and learned the concept of boundaries, pride that I chose to use my mistakes as a learning point and not a point of shame. I now have more power and independence than ever; although, I still have a lot to work on. My ordeal has caused me to be very reluctant with expecting anyone to assist me with any hardship and become guarded. On a note, I do not expect my ex’s last appearance to be final; that is unless he becomes knowledgeable enough to realize one more move towards me would show everyone watching his true color and that his most prized possession, his ego, would be in danger. I do hope he left things as they are and just gave up; as I am not a hostile person that enjoys attacking- even in self defense. But it became clear that staying out of his path does not stop him from staying out of mine. I feel always ready and on edge to play his exact game and use leverage against him so that he would never come near me again.

  As I now conclude writing to go study, I feel nothing but content with who I surround myself now and the person I have become. Thank you, Philomath again for living up to your name and allowing your love for learning get me out of a path of self destruction.

[jae-bummer]

The Silence of Growing

Request: Qhh!! Open requests? Well seeing as you write Yongguk better than anyone else I've read, could I please request #2 yongguk?            

Prompt:

2) “Well, you certainly proved a point. I’m just not sure if it was the one that you wanted.”

Pairing: BAP Yongguk x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

.

. Yongguk's POV

Pulling down on the hemline of his oversized, knit cardigan, Yongguk smiled at himself, taking in the image of his grin reflected back at him. He swiveled in front of the mirror one last time before nodding to himself.

Good.

He had never been the type to necessarily double, or in this case, triple check his outfit selections, but today felt different. There was a fall feeling in the air making him nearly giddy with the weather change. While some people experienced seasonal depression when the colder months hit, he seemed to have the opposite reaction. As soon as the first autumn breeze rustled past his hair, he was a different man.

"Who are you trying to look good for?" Jongup asked, lifting a brow.

Yongguk spun toward his friend lounging in the sitting area of their shared apartment. "Thank you for confirming how I good I look."

"That didn't answer my question," the younger man sighed, keeping from rolling his eyes.

"I guess I didn't realize that you expected an answer," Yongguk smirked.

"If you avoid the question, I'm just going to assume you're going to see Y/n," he muttered. Glancing toward Himchan, Jongup nodded in solidarity with the fellow friend who had now joined them in the small living room.

"You guys going on a date?" Himchan asked, glancing up at Yongguk as he plopped beside Jongup.

"We don't like to put labels on things," Yongguk hummed, checking his vibrating phone.

Y/N: I'm here.

Yongguk hastily tapped on his screen that he would be down in a moment before looking toward his friends again. "I'm not saying that there is anything wrong if we did want to put a label on our...friendship, but-"

"Relationship," Himchan corrected. "Call it what it is."

"He hates that word," Jongup grinned. "Commitment issues."

"I disagree," Yongguk said softly. "I am not afraid of commitment, I am-"

"He's afraid of what happens if the other person isn't as committed," Himchan finished. "Our softie would never admit it, but he's afraid of a broken heart."

"My heart will never break over some torrid liaison," Yongguk sighed. "Heartbreak is reserved for much more important things."

"I wonder how Y/n would feel about being called a torrid liaison," Jongup clucked.

"You won't have to wonder if we ask," Himchan teased.

"You won't have to ask if I kill you both," Yongguk grumbled.

"You're too sensitive to be the killing type," Himchan sighed. "Like a man afraid of heartbreak would ever get his hands dirty with a double murder."

"You'd be surprised," Yongguk hissed. "And for the second time, I'm not afraid of heartbreak."

"Then why are you so afraid to ask Y/n to be a couple?" Himchan asked. "You two have been seeing each other for months."

"Because love, much like time, is a self imposed construct that isn't real," Yongguk sighed. "it's just a word humans crafted to explain the feeling of chemicals combining in your brain when you're infatuated with someone."

"So what you're saying is, you don’t plan to fall in love with Y/n?" Jongup asked, tilting his head.

"If it were real, maybe," Yongguk chuckled. "But we're speaking in hypotheticals here."

“Hypotheticals or not,” Himchan hummed. “I think it’s silly for you not to admit that you at least have some sort of feeling toward Y/n.”

“Oh, i certainly have some sort of feelings,” Yongguk nodded. “But to say it’s love may be overstepping. Love is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It’s the universe’s way of making sure you continue to breed. i have enough chemical imbalances where serotonin levels are concerned, so why would i want to throw another type of imbalance around?”

“Love isn’t practical enough for you, is it?” Jongup chuckled. “It’s not opportune for you, so you’d rather pretend that it doesn’t exist.”

“There’s no pretending here, friend,” Yongguk chuckled, shaking his head. “If Y/n expects for me to fall head over heels in love, it may take awhile.”

.

Your POV

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, gnawing on your lip in annoyance. He said he would be downstairs at least ten minutes ago, so what was taking him so long?

You and Yongguk had known each other for quite some time, but had just recently begun seeing each other more romantically within the past few months. While you weren’t rushing for him to express his feelings, you were interested in seeing a little more enthusiastic displays of his affection. You had hoped without hoping that tonight would be the night he asked you to become more serious, but if his tardiness was a precursor to the nights’ events, you were happy to never admit you had hoped at all.

“Screw it,” you grumbled, launching toward the steps of his apartment building. Might as well see what the hold up was.

Climbing stair after stair, you tried to calm your annoyance. It wasn’t the first time Yongguk had made you wait, and you were certain it wouldn’t be the last. Technically it could be seen as a larger metaphor for him making you wait to be an official couple, if that day were to ever come. Perhaps that’s why you were so irked. You weren’t just annoyed by his lack of punctuality today, but in general.

Reaching the landing of Yongguk’s floor, you stomped toward his apartment. Reeling back your annoyance, you knocked on the door, instantly becoming more annoyed as no one appeared to open it.

For a second, you were worried. What if he had slipped and hit his head on a counter top and was passed out on the floor? What if he had fell victim to a mounting anxiety attack and decided to lock himself in his room instead?

Feeding in to your imagination, you found your palm on the knob, and gave a gentle push. The door sprung open with little effort and you quickly slid into the entryway.

You suddenly felt incredibly foolish as you heard the laughter echoing from the living area and down the hallway. If Yongguk were hurt or upset, surely his friends wouldn’t be laughing. A heat of embarrassment began to travel up your neck as you heard Yongguk’s voice as well.

“Oh, i certainly have some sort of feelings,” You heard Yongguk insist. “But to say it’s love may be overstepping. Love is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It’s the universe’s way of making sure you continue to breed. i have enough chemical imbalances where serotonin levels are concerned, so why would i want to throw another type of imbalance around?” 

Tilting your head, the heat of embarrassment quickly changed to a heated anger. What was he talking about?

“Love isn’t practical enough for you, is it?” Jongup chuckled. “It’s not opportune for you, so you’d rather pretend that it doesn’t exist.” 

You felt hollow as the men’s laughter hit you like the truth you had been avoiding. In all of your hopes for Yongguk to confess, it had never occurred to you that perhaps he hadn’t loved you at all.

“There’s no pretending here, friend,” Yongguk laughed as well. “If Y/n expects for me to fall head over heels in love, it may take awhile.” 

Swallowing, you felt yourself choke on your saliva. You hadn’t realized how dry your mouth had become. You also hadn’t noticed the lump of emotion struggling it’s way down your throat. As soon as the whimper escaped your lips, you regretted stepping foot into the apartment. You remained cemented in your spot, wide eyed and teary as Yongguk and Jongup’s necks strained around the corner, looking at your placement not far from the door.

“I was waiting,” you choked out, unsure of what to say. “I thought something was wrong and...”

Yongguk’s face fell as you spoke, realizing you had heard a piece of his love-scorned diatribe. Jongup’s expression slid to one of shock as he cut his eyes at his friend.

“Y/n, I-” Yongguk began, taking a hesitant step toward you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, attempting to hold back the tears that had been brewing for what seemed like the entirety of your courtship (or lack thereof.) “I shouldn’t have.”

Turning on your heel, you fled from the boys, not bothering to stop even when you heard Jongup’s gloomy response.

“Well, Guk, you certainly proved a point...I’m just not sure if it was the one you wanted.”

.

Your feet kept moving until they hit the concrete of the sidewalk, finally stopping long enough for you to catch your breath. It wasn’t as if he had said that he didn’t love you, or that he never would, but the indifference hurt. Sure, you were mortified to admit you had essentially broke into his apartment. And yes, it looked as if you were spying on their conversation. But mostly, your heart ached with how apathetic the man you had grown to love had spoken about his own feelings towards you.

You had full knowledge that relationships weren’t always equal. Both people involved weren’t always on the same page or had the same caliber of emotion as the other, but this came as a shock. Yongguk had shown no sign of disinterest or lack of willingness to pursue things. Tonight, he had joked about love as if it were a mythical story parents told their children about before bedtime.

It hurts when you realize you aren’t as important to someone as you thought you were.

“Y/n,” Yongguk’s husky voice called from behind you. You didn’t want to turn around, but you knew that you would anyway.

You also knew you looked incredibly sulky as you turned to face him. Tears still slid down your cheeks and you felt your eyes growing puffy. You weren’t even terribly sad, but the excess emotion seemed to spill out through your tear ducts.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stepping cautiously forward. “I didn’t think you would ever hear me say anything like that.”

“Either come closer or stay away because this in between is exhausting,” you choked, hardly able to look in his direction.

Heaving a sigh, he crossed the distance between the two of you.

“I don’t just mean here,” you croaked. “But with our relationship as well.”

Glancing at him, you shook your head. “Not relationship. I don’t even know what this is anymore.”

“It’s a relationship,” Yongguk whispered, his deep voice hardly registering words at such a low tone. He felt silly correcting you after he had just used the word “friendship” himself with Himchan.

“Didn’t sound like it up there,” you muttered. “And for the record, I would like to say that I thought you slipped and hit your head on something, so I was terribly worried that you were in your apartment dying, but instead, you were just making fun of how much you didn’t love me.”

“Well, that sounds like a dramatic take on the situation,” he sighed. “But If we’re putting things on record, I wasn’t making fun of how much I don’t love you. In all actuality, I love you very much.”

You blinked for a moment, uncertain if your brain had fabricated that last sentence. “And I quote, if Y/n expects for me to fall head over heels in love, it may take awhile.” 

“That didn’t sound very convincing, did it?” Yongguk winced.

“You don’t believe in love,” you whimpered. “You said it yourself.”

"Of course I believe in love," Yongguk sighed. "Even if I'm too much of a coward to admit that to my closest friends."

“So you were saying it was all an act?” you said quietly.

“I can admit freely to you,” he began, breaking eye contact. “That i have fabricated so many walls around myself, that I don’t even know how to be honest with my friends about my emotions sometimes. I don’t want to seem weak. I don’t want them to think that I’m distracted or less of who I was just because I have found myself caught up in feelings.”

“Who said it makes you weak?” you murmured.

“My own anxieties,” Yongguk nodded. “People in love are wrapped up in those they care about. They’re opening themselves up for heartbreak and hurt. It seems like love is a fool’s game and I didn’t want the people around me, who I think so highly of, to see me as a fool.”

“Then what about me?” you prodded. “Had no problem making me look like a fool in the process?”

“You have never been a fool,” Yongguk chuckled sadly. “If anything, you’ve been the brave one. You’ve been so open with how you’ve felt about me...you’ve made me realize just how silly I look even caring about the jokes my friends may have thrown my way.”

“Which they wouldn’t have, by the way,” you pouted.

“They wouldn’t,“ he nodded. “Really, I’m the only one standing in my way of being open about how I care about you.”

“And how is that exactly?”

"You make me feel things that I can't explain away,” Yongguk whispered. “Real love isn’t this spontaneous, electrifying, cartoon feeling. Real love is deliberate, it’s a choice. It’s for better or worse. It’s making you more of who you are and helping you accept what you could be. I’ve never felt more of myself than i do when I am with you, and if that’s not some inkling of love, maybe i’m a fool that doesn’t know what love is.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but could only close it again.

“Let us grow together, let us have our roots intertwined,” he said lowly, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “Let me make up for the past five minutes with our future moments. Let me show you that I can learn.”

You chewed on your lip, unsure if you were about to cry or swoon. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he chuckled. “That’s all?”

“Anything I could possibly say after that would pale in comparison,” you murmured.

You could feel his gummy smile grow even though you couldn’t see it. His eyes were shut as his face stayed close to yours, and his hands snaked around your waist. You remained quiet, enjoying the moments of shared breaths, and just being.

“How lovely the silence of growing things,” Yongguk whispered, pulling you even closer to him. You smiled as well, taking in his scent and the pure feeling of being with him, finally on the same page. “Thank you for not walking away from the silly boy who wanted to pretend that he didn’t know what love is.”

“You knew all along,” you hummed, nuzzling your nose into his neck. “You just needed a little prompting.”

[memescomicswriting]

In the Pursuit of Happiness Ch. 8

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Reader x Bucky, Reader x Steve

Warnings/genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Singer!Avenger. Raised by Sheild since the age of ten, Y/N grew up without everyday examples. She only saw how to be an agent. Though, as a grown woman she has surpassed that mindset, she still faces challenges from her upbringing- like how to handle feelings, unrequited love, and interpersonal dilemmas. Set after similar plot points in Civil War, Y/N must face returning home after leaving during an uncomfortable time in her life and face the consequences.

Story Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N: This chapter was super long in its entirety so I decided to make it two. I’ll post the other on Friday!

--

Soon you fell into the rhythm of balancing Avenger duties with last-minute concerts around the North-east. The majority were benefit concerts, but it kept your manager and the fans happy. Many of Avengers couldn't make the shows. Clint and his family took you up on backstage passes to one show. Peter was too busy with schoolwork to make any. Tony had a company to run and Pepper. The others were busy being Avengers. You became a bit lonely but in it some much-needed normalcy. Soon it was Halloween. Tony insisted that you take a break and come to his party. This had nothing to do with charity, government persuasion, or the press. It was for friends and friendly colleagues to blow off some steam. You hadn't 'hung out' with most of the Avengers or the associates of the Avengers- ie Sheild agents, since The Fourth. You missed your people. Beforehand, Wanda and Sam insisted on a pre-game. Nat, ever the instigator encouraged the entourage on and gathered more recruits. Soon you were faced with a booming Thor, Pietro speeding around, and an inquisitive Vission egging you on. The others were preoccupied or hid from the building chaos. Peter wanted to join in, but a quick glance in his direction suggested otherwise. He shied away from the group. Soon you were outside by the starting bonfire with a bunch of super idiots.

Avenger pregames couldn't be taken lightly. They were endeavors to disqualify themselves as the world's mightiest and become the world's most obnoxious. However, to Thor, this was another Thursday on Asgard. Drinking games ensued on an extreme level. Each tried there best to outdo the others in the wildest position to funnel a beer. Flip cup mixed with the water bottle challenge where everyone chucked their cup. Beer pong was stretched across a fifteen-foot divide. All in all, things amped up. Everyone stumbled back into the compound less sober, but not inebriated yet. All the powered team members found it harder to feel the effects of alcohol. Sam wasn't anything close to a lightweight and Nat was Nat. When you returned you quickly scampered to your room to change out of your sweats and into your costume because the party already began. Halloween meant costumes, and with permission from Wanda (you didn't want to step on her toes), you dressed as a witch. Your body was drenched in skin-clad black lace that sat ontop a bed of velvet. The dress was cut with a large slit up the thigh that made the fabric waterfall across your legs. The moderate v cut of the top was suttled by the long sleeves that flowed from it. Of coarse, you wore some chunky, witchy heels. Finally, you found the most elegant witch's hat in New York. It was demure in size, but flowing in beauty. The hat was laced together with a ribbon the color if silver moonlight and fastened with a crescent moon charm. In addition, you wore a pair of dangling moon and star earrings that matched the dainty charm around your neck. You accompanied the look with your normal makeup but differed with bright and bold red lips. You were a hit. Everyone loved your costume. It was gorgeous, over the top, and striking; just like you. Many more party-goers bought their costumes from a shop or online. Tony, being Tony, spraypainted the design of a tux onto one of his Ironman suits. It was less inventive and more practical and comfortable according to him. "Nice of you to join us." He mused. You'd found him hoping he hadn't noticed your absence. You wanted to counter but he cut you off. "Don't rely on the kid to cover for you. After a minute of interrogation, he caved into telling me he was Spiderman. He can't hide a damn thing." You chuckled. "Well, I did stop him from joining the degenerate band of merry men." You waved over to Thor and Sam who were chatting it up over by the pool table. "I sacrificed myself to save him." "Yeah, right." Tony rolled his eyes. "Remember who gave you your first drink kid? I know you thrive in the party element. It runs in the family." You playfully scoffed. "If that were true Peter wouldn't be following Pepper around like a lost puppy. I think your nurture and care didn't pass much down to that one in the social aspect." Tony ran a hand over his face, pulling his skin down. "Ugh, that kid I swear. One minute he doesn't like my supervision and the next he's lost without it. You good here? No supervision needed at the moment?" "Nah, I plan on saying hi to my Sheild friends and then find James. If he's up to it, I'll introduce him to a few of them." You shrugged and waved Tony off, way past your party supervision phase. Tony, however, gave you his pattened 'mile a minute' processing look. "Speaking of you and 'James', what's up between you two? I know you're friendly and you felt guilty about Steve but you've gone above and beyond to bring him up to speed. You're not making him a Cap 2.0? Just friends, will they won't they, crossing boundaries, right?" You understood Tony was only being the concerned parental figure he was, but something uneasy washed over you. Being around Bucky felt so natural, like Steve before everything went to hell. Maybe, you were trying to recreate your friendship with Steve in your friendship with Bucky, but it didn't feel that way. Sure, for the first year of knowing Steve you harbored a small crush for him. He was attractive and a gentleman but it was a schoolgirl crush and you moved on to other boys and relationships. Steve was comfortable and safe. You pushed yourself to create a life outside of Sheild when you pushed him. Truthfully, he was a crutch in every sense of the word. But Bucky, Bucky was different. You didn't need him like you needed Steve. You had friends to help you through Steve leaving, but you chose to hang around Bucky because he needed you. Natasha or Sam could have done the job just as well so maybe you were pushing for something. Then again, you didn't seek him out first thing returning to the compound and you didn't invite him everywhere you went. You didn't need Bucky, but you wanted to be around him. So, you concluded that you were not making your friendship with Bucky into a replacement for Steve. Still, something gnawed at the back of your mind to push it further. "Nothing dubious is happening." You placed your hand over your heart. "Promise." "You sure? Because I'm sure that friends don't look at you like that." Tony pointed just over your shoulder. You saw Bucky sitting at a pool table while Nat and Clint played a round. When you held his gaze he lit up like a Christmas tree. Nat and Clint followed his gaze to see what got him so excited. They then turned and began whispering to each other. You turned back to Tony with a million excuses ready but you couldn't bring yourself to say one. "Y/N, I'm not a big fan of the guy but I do enjoy having him in my corner now. He's loyal as all hell, and if he's as good to me- someone who's tried to kill him then there's no limit to what he'll do for someone he looks at like that. I'm not telling you to do or not to do anything, just...be careful." You nodded slowly. You never considered if Bucky wanted to start something. Yeah, you'd been in those types of friendships before, but no one wanted to date the girl with freak powers and other issues. So you never thought of anyone in that way until they made it crystal clear that they wanted you. Maybe you should use your government perks to see one of the many therapists on site. "I'll try." Tony patted your shoulder and gave you a parting sympathetic look. When he stepped back into the crowd, you turned back to Bucky. He hadn't lost any of his spark. You grazed past the crowd and joined him in his nook. His eyes were soft and friendly. His whole demeanor came across as relaxed. "So you got 'napped earlier?" "Yeah," You replied with a slight nod. "I would've called 'ya to join, but I know its not exactly your thing...Partying and all!" You stuttered out, clarifying. "Nah, I can still be the social guy I was." He shrugged cooly. "Maybe not with a more obnoxious than normal Sam, but I can have fun." You bit your lip second-guessing yourself. Should you've invited him? While you'd known him, Bucky didn't exude extrovert or carefree tendencies. Or was he making these comments for you? Because you were there. He pulled you out of your thoughts. "You look good, by the way. Not that I've ever seen you look bad, but this look is nice." He wasn't starring in any inappropriate way but his gaze was a little more intense than you liked. You sharply inhaled. You didn't want to be rude but you weren't sure if you should encourage anything either. If he was going in that direction. You looked down to his bomber jacket and the rest of his clothes searching for something. His clothes, you realized. "Not much of a costume yourself." You quipped and the color began returning to your cheeks. He chuckled. "I thought showing up was enough of a surprise for everyone. Didn't feel the need to add a costume to it." "Well, that's not very spirited." You mused. "No, its not but I can make up for it in other ways. Come on Y/N," He tilted his head in the direction to the dancing area. "No one here has a thing on my dancing skills and you can help me learn the rhythm to these new-age toons." Again, you bit your lip but found yourself slowly nodding. Maybe moving around would get you out of your head. "Yeah, sure. But nothing too wild. I'm not exactly in a leotard here." Bucky gave you a playful wink and then nudged you when you didn't show amusement. "Yes, ma'am!" He walked you to the dance area with your arms interlocked. It was crowded but you had enough room as long as you stayed off to the side. Tony hired a DJ for this party. He wasn't half bad. He played a variety of songs, some refreshed Halloween toons, and thankfully no originals. Not everyone acted like this was a college bar, bumping and grinding. Some jumped to the beat, others moved with the rhythm, and some tried to legitimately dance. No one was close to what Bucky had you doing. You were moving back and forth a quick pace, kicking here and there, and being pushed into full twirls. It was nice and friendly. You were glad you hadn't stuffed your face on candy yet. "These songs aren't half as bad as I thought they would be." Bucky wasn't panting by any means, but with having to raise his voice and all the physical activity his voice was a little hoarse. You tried to speak but croaked, causing both of you to erupt in laughter for a moment. "So we are modernizing you, yah old fossil!" Bucky scoffed. "I'm hardly a fossil. Realistically I'm still in my twenties!" "Still modernizing." You teased. He rolled his eyes. "Half as bad is not the same as liking it. I still prefer the stuff from my time. They're called classics now for a reason." "Mmm," You pursed your lips in sass. "All of the songs on Tony's playlist that you despise are considered classics as well." "By the tasteless people who like that crud." He puffed. "Thank you for proving my point." You smiled triumphantly. His expression flashed from confusion, to understanding, to annoyed. You couldn't help but erupt in a fit of giggles. He quickly joined. The moment lasted and you didn't realize the crowd had hushed a bit for a slow number. When you both realized the song had changed, it was halfway through. You considered pulling away. He saw it in your eyes, but Bucky's hold remained firm. "What's a slow dance between friends?" He was looking down at you, a lazy smile on his face. You paused, running over the idea and accepting it. Then something dawned on you. "That's the first time you've called me your friend. MIght have to get a cake to celebrate." Bucky, ever confusing you with switching between casual and playful, shrugged. "Thought it was obvious." "T' still nice to hear." You quipped, keeping your smile. He chuckled light and low, and the dance continued. Soon the beat picked up as another, definitely wilder, song began to play. It started steady but the DJ began adding additional song effects as the beat built up speed. Soon it was a mix of clashing noises. Something about the base ticked the wrong way and it made your stomach tighten. The loud layers of sound had no pattern to it, but to you, they echoed something familiar. Your breath hitched as your muscles began to constrict. Somewhere in the ocean of sound, Bucky was asking if you were okay but the layers dominated your hearing. It was like you were trapped in a fishbowl with that noise. You felt sick. When the beat dropped into a scream you lost it. Consumed with pure fight or flight adrenaline, your body jerked in the direction of the exit. To later relief, you discovered you didn't run into anyone or anything before you burst out of the room and out of the nearby window pane. All you could focus on was the deathly need to getaway. Get out. Run. In the insanity, you forgot who you were today and who you were now. All you felt was the panic of your younger self, still inside of you.

A/N: Sorry to leave you on a cliff hanger, but what did you think? Let me know if you want more Avenger’s tomfoolery. We might see some in later chapters.

The next chapter may contain some triggering content, depending on what you consider triggering. Warning now.

Like, Reblog, Follow, Ask, all that good stuff if you are enjoying the story so far!

[seriousshit88]

College midterms were only a day away, so Scott and Stiles joined a multitude of other students in the campus library to get in some quality study time. Despite the number of people around them, the library was a relatively quiet, peaceful place to study, write essays, and do some last minute research. Nearly everyone worried about doing well on their midterms, so distractions were kept to a minimum.

Unfortunately for Stiles, his brain was capable of finding distractions in sheer nothingness. The day before midterms was no exception.  

“You know how you can control parts of your transformation, right?” Stiles asked. He and Scott were tucked away with their notes and laptops and coffee cups at a table near the back of the library’s common area. They weren’t alone back there, though it was definitely less crowded. “Yeah…” Scott replied absently as he highlighted a portion of text in his organic chem notes. “Can you, uh, like, choose single, individual parts to transform? Like, only one claw instead of all ten or twenty at once?” Scott gave a small, affirmative hum. “I think I’ve done that before. Not often, but it’s possible. I opened some mail that way one time. Why?” “No reason,” Stiles said. He went back to his own notes, gnawing on the side of his pencil as he read. But after only a few minutes of attempting to absorb something about themes in modern literature, his mind wandered back to the topic that wouldn’t stop demanding his attention.

“So, since you can do it, have you ever, um…” he trailed off when Scott looked at him expectantly. Stiles chuckled weakly to himself. “Heh, never mind. It’s stupid.”

“No, what were you going to say?” Scott asked.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Scott watched him for a second more, eyebrows drawn in concern. Stiles caught the subtle flare of Scott’s nostrils and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“Yes, I do. I can’t study for my chem exam in peace with you reeking of embarrassment two feet away from me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just embarrassing.”

Scott gave him one of his patented Scott McCall Being Sincere faces, a face that Stiles had yet to develop any kind of immunity towards. It was unfair how just a subtle knit in Scott’s brows, a slight widening of his eyes, and an almost imperceptible pout could disarm Stiles so completely.

Stiles sighed. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Just stop with the face, jeez. And don’t say, ‘What face?’ because you know the one I’m talking about.”

“You’re stalling,” Scott smiled. “Look, whatever you have to ask me can’t be any more embarrassing than that time we both pooped at the same time in the same toilet.”

Now it was Stiles’s turn to stare. “What? When did we ever do that?”

“First grade. You don’t remember? You were freaking out a little about starting grade school, and you had the stress poops. And I just had to poop, so we pooped together, and you felt better. Oh, my God, please tell me you didn’t forget this. Don’t let me be the only one cursed with the burden of that memory.”

Stiles tried his best to remember. It sounded like something they’d have done when they were kids, but he couldn’t for the life of him actually recall doing it. Wait, did that mean…

“Scott were you sharing poops with strange people who weren’t me? Because if you were, I’m offended on 7-year-old me’s behalf.”

“It was definitely you. We even held hands.”

Stiles couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud at that. A couple of people from a few tables away shot him dirty looks, but he didn’t care. “Are you fucking with me? Did you make that up?”

“No, I didn’t,” Scott insisted. He retreated back into his notes. “And now I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

“Don’t be.” Stiles’s laughter calmed down, and he wiped a tear from his eye. “Okay, well, what I had to ask definitely seems a little tamer than two kids holding hands and pooping together.” He started laughing all over again. “How did our butts fit? I mean, you were kinda small for your age back then, but there’s no way we both fit.”

Scott mumbled something.

“Huh? What was that?”

“I said I sat in front.”

Stiles didn’t frequently shriek with laughter, but he did at that moment. A wheezing, high-pitched shriek that nearly morphed into a scream. A guy from a few tables away glared daggers at him.

Scott threw an eraser at him. “Dude, stop. You’re going to get us kicked out of here.”

“All right, all right,” Stiles held his hands up in acquiescence, but he couldn’t get rid of the grin completely.

Stiles picked up his notebook and looked at the words on the page for awhile. “So, can I ask you something?”

Scott groaned. “No,” he said without looking up from his notes.

“Too bad. I’m going to ask anyway. About your transformations.”

Scott visibly relaxed.

“When you change, not all of you changes, obviously. You haven’t done the full shift, yet. But you do have some control over what does transform.”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“Have you ever tried to make your dick do something?”

“Stiles, I swear to God,” came the clipped reply.

“That’s what I wanted to know a few minutes ago. You don’t have to answer. I was just wondering. Like, of course dicks are pretty good at moving stuff from the inside of your body to the outside, and sexy stuff, duh, but for a werewolf, what else could it-”

“My dick does not become wolfy or otherwise canine in nature. There. We’re done. You have a lit test tomorrow. Maybe you should study for it.”

“Have you tried, though?” Stiles barrelled on.

“Why do you care what my dick’s doing?”

“Um, I care about the entirety of you? Obviously that includes your dick?”

Scott frowned. “That’s...oddly sweet. Thanks.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles stammered a little, realizing what he’d just said. “It’s for science.”

“Uh-huh,” Scott said. “Science. Right. Okay. I totally believe you.” He hid a smile behind the swig of coffee he chose to take just then.  “Also, no, I haven’t tried. To be honest, I don’t think about my dick much when I’m, you know.”

“Would you consider-”

“Gentlemen, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Stiles looked up to see a library assistant looming over them at the table. Her voice was stern, and she wore the miffed expression of a person who’d overheard the worst of his and Scott’s entire conversation. “You’re banned for the rest of the day. See you tomorrow.”

“But we have midterms tomorrow!” Scott pleaded.

“I suggest you two find somewhere else to study. This library is not the appropriate place for whatever you two are discussing.”

“What did you hear, exactly?” Stiles asked.

“Enough. Please leave.”

She watched them sullenly gather their things as Scott apologized profusely. Stiles wasn’t really sorry for anything, so he didn’t bother apologizing. He had trouble trying to study in there, anyway.

After the door was closed firmly behind them, Stiles exhaled with contentment. “Cool. You want to go grab some ice cream?”

Scott looked at him in disbelief. “I’m going to the student union and hoping a study room is open. And then I’m going to bury myself in my organic chem notes. You can get ice cream if you want to.”

Stiles thought it over. “No, no, you’re right. I’ll tag along with you, and I promise to behave this time. Just one more question, though. Do you mind if I take a peek at your-”

“If you say ‘dick’ one more time, I’m going to disown you.”

“-modern lit notes. Scott I can’t believe you think so little of me.”

Scott growled in annoyance and started making his way to the student union. Stiles had to hurry to catch up, but the view from behind Scott was sort of worth it. (Scientifically speaking, of course.)

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

Writting Prompt: Danny cries in his sleep, sometimes really loud. And screams. Once he even transform while sleeping. The problem is, he start to doing it when he fall asleep in class. Hope it's good enough to write

angst oh god what is with this phandom and angst okay here’s ur angst with a heavy dose of weird millennial humour because this bitch can’t angst without a metric fuck of comedy sprinkled all over the place

also I’m sick and wrote half of this in the middle of the night while feverish so like, I did my best

–

“OKAY THIS IS FINE.” Danny said aloud to the floor. He didn’t really intend the floor to be the recipient of his ire but it was where his face was currently planted so it would just have to ding darn diddly deal with it.

Danny had experienced his fair share of being stuck in awkward positions but this one had rivalled many of his top ten, and he hadn’t even been thrown across a room by a ghost to achieve it! Nope, he just fell out of bed.

One arm was flung out before him, the other awkwardly pulled behind his back, still twisted up in his bedsheets, along with his leg. Just the one leg, the other was hanging - in quite a remarkable display of inhuman dexterity - over his shoulder.

All it took was some gut wrenching, heart stopping, bile inducing nightmares. Nothing fancy really, just the visceral image of everyone he loved and cared about DYING from TOO MUCH FIRE right in front of his eyes as he watched helplessly. Yep.

“THIS IS FINE.” Danny said again, a little louder this time. The carpet smelled like feet, Danny decided maybe he should take his eating hole off the gross floor before he caught a foot fungus on his lip. He knew it was possible, it happened to Ricky Marsh once at camp.

Yeah Danny should REEEAAAALLY get his face off that carpet. Right now, yep. He was gonna get up at this very mome-

Jazz heard a loud snore come from Danny’s bedroom. He was supposed to be up half an hour ago, school started in ten minutes. But she knew he had a plate piled high with superhero shenanigans that kept him up at obnoxiously late hours nine nights out of ten. The bags under his eyes could hold all the homework he never got done, with extra space for his unfinished chores.

Jazz was fully prepared to sneak in and firmly tuck him into bed with ghost proof sheets, a lie, an excuse and at least three compromises balanced on her tongue ready to jump at any parent and/or teacher that wanted her brother out of the warm sanctuary of bed today. Then she heard his gentle snores twist into a devastatingly soul crushing little whimper.

Oh boy, that wasn’t good.

Jazz opened her brother’s bedroom door and quietly peered inside to find… no one. He wasn’t there. Typical ghost bullshi-

Jazz had almost closed the door when she heard it again, that tiny little whimper. Was he invisible? She thought to herself, barely acknowledging how fucking weird her life had gotten that that question came so naturally to her.

Jazz padded into the room and found that Danny had, somehow, managed to fall asleep on the floor beside his bed. One leg still hanging in the air via blanket sling, it was almost funny, until he screamed that is.

Jazz nearly jumped out of her spotty blue socks when a noise ripped out of her sleeping brother’s throat, a noise that honestly could have come from the cutting room floor of a horror flick that was deemed too terrifyingly violent to be shown on screens literally anywhere. His back was arched, his mouth wide, hands curled in on themselves, he almost looked as though he were convulsing.

It stopped suddenly, with a gasp and a jolt Danny woke. He didn’t shoot up or flail about, he just laid down on the floor, eyes blearily noticing that there was another person in the room. Jazz sat down by his side as he wiped his face, staring at the tears on his hands.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Danny glared at her.

“Sorry, standard question.” Jazz mumbled as she unhooked his foot from the clinging bedsheets. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Danny, still laying on the floor, swung his right arm around, it had gone numb and tingly, the kind of numb and tingly that really hecking hurt when he started moving it again, yeesh.

“I had this really gnarly dream,” he started as he massaged his arm, Jazz listened intently. “I ordered a sandwich without mayo but when I bit into it there was mayo like, EVERYWHERE and-”

Jazz dropped a pillow on his face.

“That was rude.” Danny’s muffled voice grumbled.

“If you don’t want to talk about it you can just say so instead of being an asshole.” Jazz huffed as she found a pair of jeans and a shirt that were Clean Enough and threw them at the pillow. “You were crying and screaming, I was WORRIED.”

Danny pulled the pillow and clothes away and looked at his sister, actually looked her in the face. Her eyebrows were pulled tight and she was gnawing on her bottom lip, she really did look worried. Danny sat up and fished a somewhat pungent binder from under his bed, Pariah’s Oath he really needed to do his laundry.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” he stared down at his hands, face suspiciously neutral.

“Okay.” Jazz’s voice was gentle, she wasn’t going to push it, she’d learned a long time ago that it always just made things worse. “That’s okay, just know you can always talk to me, alright?”

Danny stood up and stretched, joints cracking and popping in a way that made Jazz want to barf. He could feel his arm again, thank the Ancients.

“You say that now, but every time a new rocket model comes out-”

“Bye Danny.” Jazz fucked off faster than Johnny’s shadow at dawn, absolutely Not wanting to stick around for another geeky space rant. Danny’s shit eating grin followed her out the door until it clicked shut, suddenly dropping back into the deadass tired face of a student who was entirely convinced that consistent sleep schedules were a myth.

He was not okay, ooooh he was so not okay.

Falling asleep again had been a mistake, a GRAVE mista- no okay, no, that pun was just inappropriate. He’d just had not one, but TWO disgustingly detailed nightmares about Literally Everyone dying, death puns were OFF the table right now.

Regular puns were still on the cards though, he thought to himself as he plopped his Little Pocket Book of Puns on top of a deck of cards sitting on his desk. He was proud of that one, in fact he snapchatted it, his smug face squeezed into the corner of the shot by the words ‘passng chem is off the cards bt my puns arnt’. It was easy to fool people with photos, he only had to pull off one good smile and people thought he was fine.

The flood of horrified snapchats he received in return made him giddy. Everything from a two minute video of Valerie trying not to hurl to a picture of Dash’s middle finger. Danny grinned, his grin looked genuine, it was not.

“This is fine.” he lied.

*RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING*

Danny barely made it through the door before the bell went off, he celebrated his victory with a very brief and offensively outdated dance move before Tucker threw a pen at his head and the teacher told him to sit down before he hurt himself.

Danny’s goofy grin remained plastered onto his face as he sat next to Tucker, who was giving him the kind of look that was usually reserved for the weird surrealist internet videos Nathan always tagged him in on Facebook.

“You are like…” Tucker started, fiddling with the broken nib of his stylus. “Super hyper today what the fu-”

“Language, Foley.” the homeroom teacher deadpanned from behind his book.

“Sorry sir! But seriously what the fuck dude.” Tucker continued at a still very perceptible volume. The teacher sighed heavily.

“It’s cool I’m fine I just got like two hours of sleep and drank five coffees in ten minutes I think I can hear colours.” Danny’s eye twitched.

Tucker didn’t laugh, Danny was trying to be funny but it was like, twelve year old funny. He sighed and lowered his voice.

“You’re having nightmares again aren’t you.” Tucker stared through Danny’s plastic grin with serious eyes. “We talked about this Danny, I told you to STOP faking this shit with me. You know what happens when you don’t get enough sleep, you get really fucking weird.”

“Did you get my snapchat this morning?” Danny asked as though he hadn’t heard a single word his best friend had just said.

“Yes, it was awful and I hate you.” The jab had no bite, Tucker couldn’t stand seeing Danny like this, it was like some awful parody of his friend amped up to eleven. He didn’t bother trying to talk sense into him, sense was gone, sense was out the window, sense was on the next plane to god damn Timbuktu.

Danny’s giddiness didn’t let up a single inch throughout their first couple of morning classes. He had stupid jokes and shitty puns hidden up every sleeve in the building, and the tiniest little thing would set him off giggling. Star smacked a fly with a ruler, Danny literally fell off his chair laughing.

Mr Lancer gave Tucker permission to drag Danny out into the hallway to calm down. Tucker grimaced in apology as he dragged along a snorting Danny by the sleeve, the rest of the class having a good laugh of their own.

“Do you think he’s like, actually on drugs or something?” Tucker heard Paulina whisper not even remotely quietly as they left the room.

The moment the classroom door had closed, Tucker slammed Danny against the wall.

“DUDE! GET. A. GRIP.” Tucker was not even in the general vicinity of fucking around right now. Danny needed to chill his tits before he got into serious trouble, the last thing he needed was a detention lumped on top of the pile of reasons Danny’s life was a train wreck.

Danny clenched his teeth, his eyes were wide, too wide. Then his mouth curled up and a laugh squeezed its way through taught lips. Oh no, not again. Not on Tucker’s watch. Before the next giggle fit could get into full swing Tucker had pulled out his drink bottle, uncapped it, and dumped the entirety of its contents on Danny’s stupid guffawing head.

A cough and a splutter later and Danny was sitting on the floor, the stupid grin officially washed from his face.

“Can we talk like actual human beings now?” Tucker asked, the plastic water bottle thudding emptily on the ground.

“I’m not an 'actual human being’. So no. I can’t.” Danny’s voice was short and clipped, his expression stony.

Tucker slumped to the floor next to his best friend, ignoring the puddle he was half sitting in. They sat in silence for a bit, listening to Mr Lancer’s muffled voice droning on about adverbs or something. A squeak from someone’s shoe echoed down the empty hall. A fluorescent light flickered. Danny winced.

“You wanna borrow my earphones? I’ve got some chill tunes if you need to like, shut everything out for a bit.” Tucker held the tangled cords out to Danny who promptly stuck them in his ears and buried his face in his arms. It was all just, just too much right now.

He threw his hands over his ears when the bell rang, Tucker put a gentle arm around his shoulder.

“C'mon, it’s about to get really loud out here.” he said quietly, taking Danny by the arm and leading him to their next class. It was history, they were watching a movie. Perfect. Tucker rolled up his jacket and put it on the desk in front of Danny.

“Try and sleep a bit, if you can. You can copy my notes later.”

Tucker was a good friend.

Danny put his head down, Tucker’s chill playlist still thrumming softly in his ears. He didn’t want to sleep, he didn’t want to see everyone die again, but his eyes could barely stay open. He read somewhere online that just laying down and resting was still good for you, even if he didn’t sleep he could still get some energy back at least, maybe.

He was out like a light the moment his head hit Tucker’s jacket.

The dream was never the same. Every time it started as just a regular weird ass dream, he was at the Nasty Burger, but he was sitting at his kitchen table. His friends were there, so was some guy he’d never met, they were talking about monster trucks or… something. The guy he didn’t know was showing him a song he wrote, it was gentle and calm, Danny liked it.

That was when the Guys in White showed up. They’d been there before, but not every time. Danny remembered the last dream he had, vaguely, he didn’t know he was dreaming now, but he knew what was going to happen next.

“RUN!” he tried to scream, but his voice came out strangled and quiet. Sam and Tucker kept chatting, they couldn’t see the danger, the strange guy started playing a different song, he had an acoustic guitar now and was on a stage that wasn’t there before.

The Guys in White aimed their ectoguns, knocking off shots around the entire Nasty Burger, Valerie collapsed behind the counter, had she always been there? Jazz was next, she was reading a book on the lounge that had definitely been there the whole time. Danny kept trying to scream, but his throat just couldn’t make anything more than a strangled rasping noise.

Sam and Tucker collapsed before him, the music changed again, the guy on the stage had a smoking hole in his chest, he was playing a cello now. The music was calm, soft and gentle, it hadn’t stopped during the shooting. The GIW agent at the head of the group turned to Danny, face splitting into an evil grin, flaming hair licking at his temples, it wasn’t a GIW agent any more. It had never been a GIW agent.

Danny tried to transform, he needed to save them, they were dead but he NEEDED to save them, if he could go ghost, if he could change he could fix this. His core felt so far away, the cold chill within him just JUST out of his grasp. Why couldn’t he change? WHY COULDN’T HE CHANGE?

Tucker sat at his desk in the dark classroom, taking halfassed notes about… something something president Washington. Hadn’t they already covered this? A flash at the edge of his vision pulled his tired gaze over to the sleeping mess beside him. Danny made a noise, a whimper? It sounded like he was trying to say something.

“Ru… ru-” Danny muttered, voice broken and, oh god he sounded so terrified.

Tucker’s heart splintered into tiny little pieces, and those tiny pieces shattered until his heart was basically just a pile of powder, really sad and devastated powder. Concentrated melancholy, in powder form. He nudged Danny.

“Danny, Danny wake up. Dude you’re talking in your sleep, WAKE UP.” Tucker was super worried, like beyond overprotective mother worried, if Danny said something incriminating in his sleep, if he said something about PHANTOM-

“Gotta… go-” a strand of silver began to creep through Danny’s dark hair.

Oh fuck.

Tucker shook Danny as violently as he subtly could, he needed to wake up. He needed to wake the fuck up right the fuck right NOW. FUCK. It was panic time, shit was getting dangerously identity revealing up in here and Tucker had to do something about it.

More silver was weaving through Danny’s hair, flickers of a dark, skin tight costume appearing for only the briefest of anxiety inducing moments. They were sitting in the back corner of the room, no one had noticed that anything was wrong yet, but someone would. Someone would notice SOON if Tucker couldn’t get Danny to wAKE THE HECKING FUCK HELL UP.

“Danny I swear to god if you don’t wake up I’m going to kill the rest of you. WAKE. UP.” How was Tucker supposed to wake him up without drawing attention to- oh good lordy fucK HIS HAIR.

Tucker pulled Danny’s hood over his head as quickly as he could nearly half a second after a flash of white overtook his entire scalp. Had anyone noticed?? Tucker glanced around the room, nobody was looking, thank christ Wes wasn’t in this class.

Tucker tucked the white strands into the hood as best he could manage before texting Sam as fast as his fingers would allow.

Sam was in the middle of copying some crap about photosynthesis that she already knew when she felt her phone buzz. It was from Tucker, and if his spelling was anything to go by, he was in trouble.

'DIASTRACTION NOWm’

Sam got the gist.

Pretending she was about to vomit everywhere was an easy way out of the classroom, and from there it was just a quick run to the fire alarm. It wasn’t the first time Sam had pulled off a fake emergency, she smashed the glass and hit the button with no hesitation, fuck the consequences. From there she just had to figure out where Danny and Tucker were, they all had copies of each other’s classes in case of just such emergencies.

History, they had history. She knew which room that was.

Sam took off running, boots thundering through the crowds of students filtering out of their classrooms. Sam could barely hear the alarm over the sound of her heart beat thudding in her ears, she didn’t have time to panic and worry, something was wrong and the most important thing right now was finding out what it was and if her friends were okay.

Someone noticed her through the crowd though. As she smashed through a group of kids coming out of a maths class, one guy caught her gaze, one guy decided to follow. Jesus shit she did NOT have the time for this.

Sam detoured down a seperate hallway, the tall redhead on her tail easily keeping pace, why couldn’t he just mind his own god damn business for once and, you know what? Sam thought, FUCK IT.

Another detour into an empty classroom and she had him. Bursting through the door after her, Wes looked around fervently, expecting to find Danny in some kind of juicy compromising situation. What he got was a surprise boot to the gut and he hit the deck like a sack of bricks.

Sam didn’t waste a second before bolting from the room, Wes had already taken up enough of her precious time.

Wes coughed and wheezed and tried to drag a breath into his aching abdomen, she’d clocked him a damn heavy blow and his body was not cooperating until it had a good few moments to recover from Whatever The Fuck Just Happened.

Damn it he was so close!

“Alright everyone, out onto the parking lot, like we do literally every other week.” The history teacher droned, his voice dry. He didn’t even bother making sure everyone left the room before walking out himself, it was probably a ghost attack anyway. These things lost their sense of urgency after the last fifty billion times, the only reason he didn’t make everyone get back into their seats was for legal reasons and honestly, he could really use the smoke break.

Tucker made a show of getting up to leave, but once he and Danny were the only two left he immediately dropped his shit and whammo’d his fists down on Danny’s desk.

“WAKE UP!” He yelled as Sam slid haphazardly into the room, clocking her hip on the teacher’s desk as she failed to reign in her momentum. She struggled with her footing for a moment before catching herself and racing up to the back of the class.

“Is he okay? What’s happening??” she asked, breathlessly.

Tucker lifted the hood from Danny’s bright-ass silvery hair.

“He’s transforming in his sleep and I can’t get him to wake up.” Tucker rushed out in one breath before grabbing Danny by the shoulders. “WAKE. UP. WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!!!!” Tucker screamed while shaking him with about as much tenderness as an irate Skulker on illegal performance enhancing ghost drugs. Finally, it was enough.

Danny jolted roughly, spasmed almost, and opened his fluorescent green eyes. Sam and Tucker took a quick step back in case he lashed out, but he didn’t. Danny’s hands gripped at the table hard enough to leave gouges in the sharpie-graffiti stained surface as his breath came out laboured and rasping. Tears smeared across his cheeks and dripped from his nose and chin.

He blinked, hard, before finally raising his head from the desk, looking remarkably disoriented. He was still flickering in and out of ghost form, disappearing from view entirely a few times as well, but it was slowing down as he took a few deep, shuddering breaths. Soon enough he was calm enough to stick to one form, human fortunately.

Sam breathed out a sigh and sat heavily on the nearest chair. He was okay and god she needed to sit down and catch the breath she’d left behind in science class.

Tucker sat beside Danny - who was now vigorously rubbing at his face - and took back his earphones, Sam could hear something that sounded like a cello playing through the small speakers

Tucker got through maybe the first two syllables of the standard 'are you okay?’ when he was abruptly cut off by a mildly lisping giggle.

Wes stood half through the doorway, phone out and trained on Danny’s previously unstable form. He looked a little pale and seemed to be having trouble breathing but that didn’t stop a wide shit eating grin from stretching across his freckled cheeks.

“Gotcha.” he sneered before turning on his heel and fleeing in unbridled glee.

Sam had recovered quickly from her previous run, she was on him like the Box Ghost on a roll of bubble wrap. Tucker heard the pounding of two sets of feet followed by a loud THUD, a squeal, and then what sounded suspiciously like a phone being heavily stomped on by a very firmly placed boot. The groaning came after that, punctuated with some extremely foul language that may have been spluttered through a bleeding nose and/or lip.

Sam came back into the room with a crushed phone in one hand and bloody knuckles on the other. She wasn’t dicking around, not today.

“You okay Danny?” she asked, getting only a tired glare in response. “Sorry, standard question.”

Sam picked up Danny’s backpack and put her hand out for him to take, he grasped it gratefully and she pulled him up from his chair as Tucker wound an arm around his waist. With the support of the two actual greatest people in the whole damn world, Danny walked out of the school and into the parking lot where an exasperated principal Ishiyama was counting heads and calling names.

“Equal Rites! What were you three still doing inside? Get into your- Mr Fenton are you alright?” Mr Lancer’s angry stride softened into a quick jog, concern weaving it’s way through his face at the sight of Danny’s red eyes and wet cheeks.

“He uh, had a head on collision with Wes on our way out.” said Sam, like a liar. “Took a corner too fast and copped a hit to the nose so his eyes got all teary, but he’s okay.”

“Wes might need a little help though.” Tucker added on. “We offered but he’s pretty much convinced we just rammed him on purpose and he threatened to tell everyone we beat him up sooo we kinda just left him on the floor.”

Lancer rubbed at his brow, exasperated. He did NOT have the time for Wes shenanigans. He took a quick look at Danny’s face, checking for any bleeding, satisfied when he could find none he sent the three on their way to get their names marked off before he headed back to the school building to find Wes.

“Thanks.” Danny squeezed Sam and Tucker tenderly, never wanting to let them go. He was so glad they were here, he was so glad they were alive.

“Sleepover at my place tonight.” Tucker declared. “No exceptions, there’s gonna be cuddle piles and maybe a pillow fort, but definitely lots of these.” he gave Danny a big ol’ smooch on the forehead and pulled him in for a tight hug. “You’re gonna be fine man, you’ll be okay.”

Sam jumped on and threw her arms around both her boys, pressing her lips against Danny’s cheek.

“We’re not going anywhere, okay? We’re gonna sleep right beside you and tell those fucking nightmares to fuck right off, just like last time.” Sam gave him a hearty thump on the back that might have knocked over a regular human, but Danny barely shifted.

What in Ring and Crown’s name did he ever do to deserve these two.

That night after a coma inducing amount of junk food and soft drink Danny passed out smushed between Sam and Tuck in what was pretty much the most affectionate and down right adorable Danny Sandwich either of them had ever made.

He dreamed of the three of them beating the shit out of Dan with Fenton Anti-Creep Sticks. He hadn’t slept so well in years.