#tw: depression

[apolladay]

What Depression medication do you take?

Prozac (fluoxetine)

Zoloft (sertraline)

Lexapro (escitalopram)

Paxil (paroxetine)

Celexa (citalopram)

Effexor XR (venlafaxine)

Cymbalta (duloxetine)

Pristiq (desvenlafaxine)

Fetzima (levomilnacipran)

Wellbutrin (SR/XL) (bupropion)

Doesn’t take depression medication button

Other medication not listed here

Voting ended onSep 11, 2025

Super curious what is the most common amongst other users on here! I take an SNRI and was curious

[mournfulroses]

Katherine May, from Wintering: How I learned to Flourish when Life became Frozen 

[an-abysma1-0bserver]

Another Brick In the Wall

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Nurse!F!Reader

Summary: Jack finds you in his usual spot, “getting some air.”

Warnings: Past abusive relationship. Angst and hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Reader is struggling. Protective!Jack. Soft!Jack. Thoughts of suicide? Possibly. No use of Y/N. Ambiguous race and physical description. I don’t proofread (please mind my mistakes 🥲). Is this my strongest work? Absolutely not. Not beta’d. Whatever else I failed to mention.

Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.

Word Count: 1,326

Masterlist

You were always quiet, Jack noted. Reserved, but observant. Oftentimes lost in thought when you weren’t busy. You were polite when it counted, but it felt rehearsed—practiced in a way that wasn’t quite genuine, yet not false either. You were a mystery Jack found himself wanting to figure out.

You were a good nurse. You knew what to do and followed through quickly and efficiently. But Jack worried. He couldn’t help it.

Part of him wanted to say it was just a rough day. But another part of him knew better. You never looked anyone in the eye longer than necessary. You never got close enough to anyone for them to know the real you.

And you apologized. Constantly. For things that didn’t need apologizing for—brushing past someone in a crowded hallway, asking for help, even when a patient snapped at you.

The first time Jack really noticed, you’d flinched when someone slammed a cabinet shut. It was quick, barely there, but your shoulders had drawn in tight, your breath hitching before you smoothed your expression back into something neutral. Practiced.

He told himself it didn’t mean anything. Hospitals were loud. Stressful. People startled.

But then he noticed how you checked your phone. The way your expression would shift, just for a second, before you locked it and tucked it away. How you’d grow quieter afterward, more careful, like you were measuring every movement.

Jack never pushed. He wasn’t the type. Instead, he hovered in small ways—offering you half his sandwich when you forgot lunch, stepping in when a patient got too aggressive, walking with you to the parking lot when shifts ran late.

You always thanked him. Softly. Like you weren’t sure you deserved the help.

Even after you left…even after the bruises faded, and you started staying with a friend, and everyone else seemed to think things were better—Jack still noticed the way you held yourself. The tension in your shoulders. The distance you kept.

Even now, all this time later, it still felt that way.

At least…a little.

Tonight, you’d been quieter than usual. Moving through the shift like you were somewhere else entirely. You’d smiled when spoken to, nodded when needed, but Jack had caught you staring off more than once—unfocused, distant.

He’d meant to check on you earlier. Between patients. Between the chaos. But the ER never really slowed, and by the time he looked for you again, you were gone.

That’s when he headed for the roof.

It was his spot. Not officially—just a quiet corner he retreated to when everything got too loud. He expected it to be empty.

The door was already open.

Jack frowned slightly, pushing it wider. The night air met him first, cool and sharp, followed by the soft hum of the city below.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting on the ledge.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

For a second, he couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think past the way your silhouette cut against the dim lights, too close to the edge, too still. Every worst-case scenario rushed through his mind all at once.

“Hey,” he said softly, careful not to startle you.

“Hey,” you echoed.

Your voice was quiet. Too quiet.

Jack stepped forward slowly, each footfall deliberate. He didn’t want to spook you. Didn’t want you to feel cornered. The night air pressed cool against his skin, but he barely noticed it over the pounding in his chest.

“Didn’t know anyone else came up here,” you said.

“Sometimes,” he replied. “Needed some air.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie.

You nodded, staring out over the city. One of your legs dangled just slightly over the edge, the other tucked close. Your fingers gripped the concrete beside you.

Jack’s throat tightened.

He stopped a few feet away. Close enough to reach you. Far enough not to crowd.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

You gave a small shrug. “Just thinking.”

Jack nodded, like that was enough. Like he wasn’t cataloging every tiny detail—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way your fingers curled too tight, the way your voice sounded thinner than usual.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

Then you shifted slightly, making room without actually looking at him.

Jack let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and carefully lowered himself beside you, keeping a deliberate distance. He planted both feet firmly on the roof, grounding himself before he even let his hands rest on the concrete.

Silence settled between you. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.

“You used to come up here a lot,” you murmured after a moment.

“Yeah.”

“When things got bad?”

Jack glanced at you. Your eyes were still fixed on the skyline.

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

You nodded again, like you understood more than you were saying.

Your leg shifted, heel tapping softly against the building’s exterior. The movement made Jack’s chest tighten.

“You ever just…” You trailed off, swallowing. “Feel tired?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Tired how?” he asked gently.

You huffed a soft, humorless breath. “Just…tired. Of thinking. Of trying. Of…everything.”

Jack’s hands curled slightly against the concrete.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Your shoulders sagged a fraction, like the acknowledgment alone took effort.

“I thought it would get better,” you whispered. “After I left. Everyone said it would. That it just takes time.” You swallowed again. “And it did. For a while.”

Jack didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

“But sometimes it feels like he’s still there,” you continued, voice thinner now. “Like I can still hear him. Every time I mess up. Every time I’m too slow, or too quiet, or too much.” Your fingers tightened. “I keep waiting for someone to get tired of me. For it to all…snap back.”

“You didn’t mess up,” Jack said softly.

You shook your head. “You didn’t see it all.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I saw enough.”

That made you finally glance at him. Your eyes looked glassy in the dim light.

Jack kept his voice steady. “You got out. That’s not messing up.”

Your lip trembled faintly, and you looked away again.

The silence stretched. The city hummed below. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed.

“You ever think…” you started, then stopped.

Jack felt his pulse spike.

“Think what?” he asked gently.

You stared at the ground far below. “That it’d be easier if everything just…stopped.”

The words were quiet. Almost lost to the wind.

Jack’s chest tightened painfully.

He didn’t react sharply. Didn’t panic outwardly. He just shifted, slow and deliberate, inching a little closer—close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said.

You blinked, like you hadn’t expected that.

“On the roof?” you asked faintly.

“With me,” he clarified.

Your fingers loosened slightly against the concrete.

Jack kept his voice soft. “You don’t have to hold all of it by yourself.”

You laughed quietly, but it broke halfway through. “I don’t even know how not to.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “We can figure it out.”

You were quiet again. Your leg stopped tapping.

After a moment, Jack slowly rested his hand on the concrete between you—close enough that his pinky barely brushed yours. He didn’t grab. Didn’t pull. Just stayed there, offering.

You stared at his hand for a long time.

Then, hesitantly, your fingers shifted. Just enough to hook lightly around his.

The contact was small. Fragile.

Jack held still, like any sudden movement might break it.

“You don’t have to sit on the edge,” he murmured after a while. “We can move back. Just…a little.”

You didn’t answer right away.

But slowly, carefully, you drew your leg back from the ledge.

Jack didn’t exhale until both your feet were safely on the roof.

He squeezed your fingers gently, once.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly.

And for the first time that night, your shoulders loosened—just a little.

[loves-alibi]

dr robby x f!reader

secret baby part 4

wc: 2.1k

*****

“Yo, Robinavtitch,” Dana snorts from the hub. Robby’s phone is in her hand. “You have a stalker or something?”

Beads of sweat drip down his forehead. Robby just spent the last hour coding a twenty year old boy. He lived— thank fuck —but it’s going to take a while for all that adrenaline to run through Robby’s system. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t quite understand Dana’s question.

“Huh?” He asks, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. He takes a few, long swigs of it. “A stalker?”

“Yeah, a…” Dana squints at his phone in her hand. Then, she says your name with a scoff. His blood runs cold. “She’s called you forty-seven times in the last thirty minutes.”

Lo and behold, Dana flips his phone around. There are forty-seven missed calls from you. As he blinks at it, paralyzed by the fear of everything that must have gone wrong for this to occur, your contact photo pops up with a new call.

It’s a picture of you and Elijah at the zoo, the baby’s distracted, looking somewhere in the distance, but you smile at the camera brightly. He would have made that photo his wallpaper if it wouldn’t scare you off.

It’s Dana’s voice that snaps him out of it, “Oh, there she goes again. You gonna pick up?”

“Yes. Call Abbot.” Robby snatches the phone and presses it to his ear. “Tell him it’s an emergency.” He rushes towards the lockers, almost running there.

“M-Michael?” Your voice is warbly, and the sound of you sniffling comes through clearly on the phone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do.” You’re sobbing, so is Elijah in the background.

“What?” Dana again. She’s rounding the hub, but Robby stops her with a raised hand.

“He just won’t stop crying!”

“Goddamnit,” he growls at Dana, covering the phone, “I said call Abbot!”

Heads fly in their direction, but Robby doesn’t care. He takes his hand away from the phone.

“What’s wr—“

“And so I called you, but you didn’t pick up. But then he heard your voice, and he stopped crying. And—“

“Take a deep breath for—“

“—so I kept calling because every time he heard your voice in the mailbox thingy he—“

Robby punches the code into his locker and grabs all of his stuff as quickly as possible. “I need you to relax, baby.”

“—stopped crying. And I’m sorry if it’s too much or annoying, but I didn’t know what else to do, and—“

That’s it. Your sobs take over. Robby’s heart aches as he makes his way across the ED floor. He spots Dana out of the corner of his eye. She mouths something that looks like Abbot and gives him a thumbs up.

“I’m coming over, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes, can you hold on until I get there?”

Your sobs wane, and Robby can hear Elijah’s more clearly. The boy clearly has a strong pair of lungs. After a moment of listening to Elijah’s tears, Robby hears a soft, “Can you stay on the line?”

“Of course, of course, baby. I’m on my way.”

*****

Robby hangs up as he runs up the stairs of your building, taking them two at a time. The door is already open, and Robby wastes no time in entering.

Inside, you pace back and forth the small length of your living room. Elijah’s in the middle of it, screaming his lungs off in a rocker seat. There’s a pile of used tissues on the coffee table next to a bottle of Tylenol and Vicks. Robby turns back to observe you.

“Hey,” you offer weakly.

Robby closes the distance. His hands hover around you, afraid to touch you as if it’d make things worse. “Are you sick?”

“Yes, but—“

“What did you take?”

“Medicine, Michael. But I need you—“

“What type of—“

“Jesus, Michael!” You yell. It stops him in his tracks. “I need you to be Elijah’s father here, not my fucking doctor!”

Robby’s teeth clack from the force at which his jaw slams shut. You’ve never yelled at him before, and the sound of it strikes him worried. But, evidently, his worry is not what you need here. You need a more level-headed version of him right now.

“Okay,” he cautions. “I’m sorry.”

Your face falls. Robby realizes in horror that you’re about to cry again. He can’t do anything to stop it, so Robby nods at Elijah, who is also crying. “Is he fed?”

You nod. Silent tears cut a path down your face.

“Perfect, perfect.” Robby leans down to grab Elijah, holding your teary gaze. “You did everything right, baby.”

You don’t respond, mouth pressed into a tight light, but you don’t cry harder as Robby holds your son, so he takes that as a win.

“Hey, buddy,” Robby says, bouncing Elijah. The boy’s tears have already died down. “Are you giving mommy trouble?"

Elijah blinks blearily at his father. “That’s not very nice…” Robby looks over his shoulder at you, “I got this. Go to bed.”

“But—“

“Go to bed,” he insists. “I’ll be in there once he’s sleeping to check on you, okay?”

Your lips wobble, but you nod. Robby waits until you’re in your bedroom before taking Elijah into the nursery. The baby is still crying, so Robby gives him a quick checkup. No fever. His coloring is good. His diaper is dry.

“Is someone just being dramatic?” Robby asks. Elijah sniffles, then yawns. Robby nods, “Ah. Tired.”

Elijah finally stops crying. Robby sighs, “Bedtime it is.”

Robby’s been here enough times to know where Elijah’s pajamas are. Typically his bedtime routine is more elaborate, but there’s more important things for Robby to do. He quickly changes Elijah and gets him into bed before slipping out.

Robby grabs the tissues and medicine from the living room before heading to your bedroom. He knocks, and after a moment of silence, pushes the door open.

The lights are off, but from the illumination of the hallway, Robby can see you're not in bed. He says your name softly.

“Over here,” you whisper. You’re sitting on the floor, back against the bed facing the wall. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

You sit there, staring off numbly. You don’t acknowledge it when Robby slides down to sit next to you on the floor. His knees crack, but you say nothing. He wonders if you even heard it.

“I’m a terrible mother.”

“No you’re—“

“Yes I am! Michael, you don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me, because it looks like you have a happy baby. A healthy baby—“

“He was crying—“

Robby finishes for you, “Because he was tired.”

You shake your head, “He was crying because I was screaming.” Robby lifts his head, concerned. You continue, “He kept fucking biting me when I was feeding him, and I was so sick and so mad, so mad, Michael.” You shift, sniffling. You’re crying again. “I had to put him down so I could just scream. I fucking screamed and yelled for like ten fucking minutes.” You laugh humorlessly, “I’m surprised nobody called the cops.”

Robby nods, taking in your confession. He tries to conjure the right words. It’s clear now that he can’t keep avoiding this conversation. You need help, and he’s been putting it off for too long, too afraid of saying the wrong thing. It’s you, however, that speaks first.

“Something’s wrong with me.”

“No,” Robby soothes, “There’s nothing—“

“Michael, I had to scream my head off because my son kept biting my nipple. That’s not- not normal.”

“You’re depressed,” he says. Depressed. The word looms over the room, made worse by your tears. “It’s entirely normal in postpartum women.”

“I scared him.”

“It’s a scary thing,” Robby affirms. Your head hits his shoulder, and Robby finds your hand in the darkness. He squeezes it, “Have you talked to your doctor about it?”

“Not yet,” you take in a shaky breath. “Was thinking about it, though.”

Robby hums, tries to make it seem like he doesn’t think that’s the greatest idea on the planet. “That’s good. They’ll be able to help you.”

“Yeah…”

The two of you sit there for a while. Robby tries not to let his mind wander, tries not to worry about how long you spent afraid, trying to console Elijah, sick and scared. Most of all, he tries not to worry about how ashamed you seemed to be in telling Robby all this. He wants to be someone you can rely on. You’re a family, after all.

“Do you want to move to the bed?” He offers, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Yes please.” You yawn on cue, “‘M tired.”

Robby chuckles, “I can tell.”

“You can spend the night.”

“I will.”

You push yourself up without Robby’s help, much to his displeasure. When Robby stands, his foot hits something metal. It thunks and then rolls. Robby cringes, “What was that?”

“Uh,” you squint, trying to make out the object in the low light. “A paint can, I think.”

Paint. Right. You’re an artist. It’s then that Robby notices the easel in the corner of the room. “You paint in here?”

The bedroom is so small, Robby can’t imagine it’s very conducive to your work. Then again, Elijah’s nursery is taking the space of what would be your studio. When you move in with him, Robby will make sure that you get your own workspace.

You hum noncommittably, “Don’t paint much anymore.”

“Oh, okay,” Robby says, because it’s the only response he can conjure that doesn’t show how concerned he is at the comment. The first night he met you, almost all you could talk about is your art. Now, you’re not even painting? Hell, it’s how you make a living.

“You can sleep in here or on the couch. Don’t really care.” You sit up on the bed. Robby sees you unscrew a cap, and the familiar smell of Vicks hits his nose. Robby opens his mouth, but you beat him to it, “If you tell me that Vicks is pseudoscience or a placebo, I’m going to throw the jar at your head.”

Robby throws his hands up. “No,” he lies. “I was going to ask if you wanted help applying it.”

You snort, or try to. It doesn’t come out right with your clogged nose. “Sure you were.”

Robby strips from his scrubs, ignoring the way you stare at him as he does so. “Sorry,” he apologizes as he slips into bed next to you, “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you shrug, lowering yourself down. You turn onto your side to face him, “I tend to overheat, so don’t be alarmed if I take off my clothes, too.”

“Alarmed?” Robby grabs your hand under the sheets, “Try thrilled.”

You chuckle, which turns into a nasty coughing fit. Robby helps you sit up, patting you on the back. When the coughing subsides, neither of you move. You’re awfully close, the heat from your feverish body radiating off of you. Robby lets his head droop, forehead pressing against yours.

“You did everything right today,” Robby assures. “I hope you know that.”

You smile weakly, then sigh. “Baby’s fed and safe, right?” You say it like it’s some self-depricating joke.

“Exactly,” Robby says harsher than he meant, “Elijah’s safe and happy because of you. You are a good mom. A great mom.”

Your face crumples, and you begin to cry again. To Robby’s shock, you’re smiling. Your brows furrow, and you ask, “Michael?”

“Yeah?” He rubs a thumb over your cheekbone, brushing away a tear.

“I… I really want to kiss you right now.”

Robby’s mouth falls open, but he quickly snaps it shut. Before he can think, he blurts, “Do it.”

You press your lips together, hiding a smile. “I’ll get you sick.”

Robby shifts closer. His nose brushes yours. “Then I’ll kiss you.”

“Wha—?”

Robby captures your lips in his. The kiss is rather chaste, but neither of you are willing to push it much further after the night you’ve both had. He can taste cough drops on your tongue. Dully, he thinks that he may very well get sick, but he doesn’t pull away. That responsibility is yours.

You pull away, a dopey grin on your face, no doubt mirroring his own. His heart feels like it’s gonna burst out of his chest. He wants to kiss you again, get his hands on you, but it wouldn’t serve you well.

“Go to bed.” Robby presses another kiss to your lips, this one more chaste. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Robby stays up until you fall asleep. Once you do, it’s only then that he lets his eyes shut, a smile on his face.

*****

part 5

[docrobinavitch]

it is strange to me the way people seem to take robby's depression out of the context of season one. i've seen multiple takes where people are like "well i went back and watched early season two and i still don't get it" and it's like okay well. i mean for one we're told exactly how suicidal robby is immediately in the opening scene when he's riding that motorcycle without a helmet. again when he lies to his coworkers about wearing a helmet.

but fine, let's take the season two of it all out of it for a second. did we all forget the last time we saw robby he was on a roof top sobbing saying he couldn't do this anymore? did you guys just think that like. oh in ten months he'll be fully healed that'll all go away? i'm just really struggling to understand how so many people seemed to miss that robby is still actively going through a crisis.

[snoozer-crow]

caleb picking you up

🍎🦾

gn reader, hurt/comfort. tw: depictions of depression. wc: 600 i like his arms

You're lying down in bed, half curled up and staring off at the wall. You hadn't bothered to get under the covers, instead opting to lie on top of them. The ache in your chest is bad this morning, and you're not sure you have it in you to move. Your eyes start to water, not enough to bubble over, just enough to sting a bit before eventually fading. Your body cruelly denies you the release that would come with tears, leaving you to lie still in bed with what feels like a hole in your chest. Merely moving a finger is a task that requires focus and motivation to accomplish.

You've been responding to Caleb's messages as usual, doing your best not to add your problems to his workload while he's stuck in Skyhaven working on a project for the Fleet. He had pushed you about your well-being a few times, but backed off after your repeated assurances that all was well. You thought that maybe for once, you had finally gotten one over on him.

You had not.

You hear the beep of your apartment's front door accepting a key, then the click of the door opening and closing. You don't panic, recognizing the sound of his footsteps as his socked feet pad through your space as if it's his own. After a short while, he knocks a soft rhythm on your bedroom door, waiting a beat before opening it.

You don't turn your head to look at him, you can't. His large form is silhouetted by the light in your apartment's main room, contrasting against your nearly pitch-black bedroom, and you turn your eyes back downwards to avoid catching a glimpse of his expression. Just the thought of his puppy-like eyes gazing at you with such hurt and concern strikes you with guilt, the light he radiates becoming tainted by your dull shades of grey.

You tense slightly, waiting to be chewed out for lying as you rightly deserve. But the scathing words never come. You feel a gentle touch on your shoulder, testing your reaction and subtly asking for permission. You don't know what you want. You don't know if you want anything.

You feel arms snake underneath you, one beneath your knees and the other in the center of your back. The corded muscles of his arms flex as you're carefully lifted from the spot you had become stuck in, gathered up in Caleb's arms, and rested against his solid, warm chest. His heartbeat is strong, slow, and steady, prominent as always as you rest your ear against him.

He carries you out of your room, bringing you out into the light. He had opened up all the blinds and tidied up a bit, making your space feel more open and welcoming. Breathing still hurts the aching lump buried in your chest, but you find it's a bit easier to do so while not confined to your small bedroom.

Caleb moves to set you down on the couch, but your breath hitches at the thought of leaving his arms. You look up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he responds with a soft smile. He presses a kiss to your nose, securing you back in his embrace as he sits down and pulls you closer.

"Relax, baby. I've gotcha. Everything's gonna be okay."

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic idea: The Fib

Danny Fenton has told many lies to conceal his secret. It was hard at first, considering Danny had never been good at lying, but over the years, he improved.

In fact, he got so good, he couldn't stop letting fibs fall from his mouth anymore. Sometimes he wasn't even sure why he lied, since it had nothing to do with Phantom.

It was almost a natural response whenever he felt nervous or stressed. Or whenever a stranger asked a question about himself, and suddenly, Danny was two minutes into a hilarious story that never happened. He heard himself, but he couldn't stop.

At one point, Danny found himself lying awake at night, mentally reviewing every conversation he had had, wondering why he had said what he had said. He started to worry when he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't.

It seemed most days, when he spoke, it was about an entirely entertaining memory he wanted to retell, only for Tucker to cut in, confused. "That never happened."

Danny would grow quiet, generally confused, staring at his best friend with wide eyes. "Sure it did. Don't you remember?"

But Tucker didn't. Neither did Sam, and the phrase "That never happened" became a staple in their conversations. So did eye rolls, scoffs, mocking smiles, and short, tried frowns.

They didn't like that he lied so often, and soon they didn't believe him. No matter what Danny chatted about, he could tell that his best friends found fault in nearly all his conversations. Little by little, Danny's lies piled and piled until he forced himself to not speak.

If he didn't speak, then he couldn't lie. It seemed foolproof.

Until he found that he rarely spoke, and now his friends eyed him with worry instead of exasperation. The dread that grew in Danny's stomach was so overwhelming that more and more lies burst to life in his chest, smothered by his forced muteness.

Tucker and Sam were pulling away. Or it felt like it. Like a wall was being built between them, while a clock counted down to the little time he had left with them. The more he noticed the distance, the larger it seemed to grow, and soon he felt a twig of unease at the idea of Tucker or Sam asking to spend time with him outside of school.

He would find any excuse, any fib, about having to go straight home as soon as the dismissal bell rang. Danny would race home without letting them get a word in, desperate to escape everything and everyone.

Locked behind his bedroom door, Danny finally felt like he could breathe. He would often wander out of his room to deep clean the house, sometimes with music blaring from the speakers, and to grab meals, but most of his time was spent in his room.

His parents were happy he was taking his chores so seriously, to the point he would even do Jazz's until she moved away. Jazz felt pride when she caught him buried in textbooks, desperately trying to smother out the little voice whispering in his mind.

Liar. Liar. Liar, liar, liar.

It was easier to block out that voice while studying. His grades improved dramatically as a result, even when he had to rush to fight a ghost.

When he caught up with his studying, he stumbled across Jazz's fantasy books. Stories of faraway lands with heroes who never buckled under any daunting circumstances. He felt comforted by their stories, and the hours passed as he flipped page after page.

Soon, Danny followed Jazz to the local library, searching for more and more novels. There wasn't a second that Danny didn't wish he weren't reading something, even when he was with Sam and Tucker.

Then Jazz showed him a website where fans wrote stories of their favorite books, movies, or comics. All accessed from the library computers or from home computers.

She called it fanfiction. He couldn't get enough of it.

In those small moments, Danny wasn't lying. He wasn't panicked over something he couldn't pinpoint. He wasn't watching his every word, his every action, or the room. He wasn't cleaning or studying like he was being held at gunpoint.

He was happy. He was safe.

He was also sinking further and further into a shell. Now he searched for corners of the rooms, for places that provided internet access, and for bags that allowed him to carry books and journals.

Having the controllable urge to lie turned out to make one an excellent storyteller, and Danny was trying his hand at his own fan fiction from his favorite book series.

Danny's friends still tried to pull Danny away from the corner of the room, away from his phone screen, which was the only thing keeping him calm among the crowds. Crowds now scared Danny in a way he's never encountered before.

Not even when fighting ghosts. Those were easy fears. He just had to punch them hard enough. But the way his stomach dropped when he noticed how many people were in the room was much harder to deal with.

His bullies didn't seem to care that Danny was getting worse. In fact, ever since he got an award for being one of the top scorers in the overall grade, they doubled down. Danny had just been a dork before, but suddenly he became smart.

Brighter than any of them. That seemed to be a personal insult to the other students. How could they lose to a loser? Now, it wasn't just Dash hurling insults or stuffing him into a locker; instead, the entire school seemed to grow hostile.

Sam and Tucker snapped and sneered at anyone who insulted Danny, still supporting him in both his civilian life and his ghostly existence, even if it felt like they were closer to each other than he was, but it wasn't enough.

His parents were starting to worry, asking him day after day if anything was wrong, but Danny couldn't put into words where and how it all went wrong. So he started snapping. Growing defensive.

Practically hissing when his mother or father so much as made an inquiry about his day. Nevertheless, it ended in numerous screaming matches and multiple groundings.

Two years passed, and Danny wasn't showing any signs of approval. He didn't really talk to Tucker or Sam outside of school anymore. They were friendly, but only in class and during breaks, because Danny hadn't put in the necessary effort to keep their friendship as strong as it once was.

He had burned the bridge between them, and Danny wasn't sure how to begin rebuilding it. Life had become dull, with reading and writing being the only sources of joy.

Everything else felt like a chore. School. Friends. Parents. Ghost duties. Something he had to do but didn't really enjoy. It worried him, just as his lying did.

Why was he like this? Why couldn't he feel as happy as he was when he was a kid? He no longer wanted to work with NASA. Or anywhere. He didn't have dreams or hopes for the future like he had when he was fourteen. Where had all of that gone?

He approached Jazz about it when he turned sixteen. His sister was away at university, working on her degree in psychology, and figured she had a better chance of understanding what was wrong with him. She had gone away sooner than he had thought, as she passed the exam to skip a few grades and started college earlier.

Jazz had been one of the few awarded a full-ride scholarship to Gotham U, the best school in the country for Psychology. He'd been so proud of her.

His stories online had grown both in quality and following. It felt like it was the only level of validation and happiness in his bleak life.

"I think you're in a rut," Jazz had said. " A change of scenery would do you good. Have you thought about my offer?"

A couple of months ago, before Danny's junior year started, his sister had placed a folder on his desk. It contained bank statements for an account she started for him, titled "Danny's education," and information for the same scholarship she had gotten.

Wayne Scholars were for the university or for Gotham Academy (the high school for the rich and elite that would eventually become Gotham U). She wanted him to try for the scholarship and moved to Gotham with her.

Got out of Amity Park, away from the ghosts and the bullies, claiming now that their parents had taken down the Ghost Portal as ordered by the Justice League Dark, Danny didn't have a reason to stay.

Danny breathes deeply. "Okay. I'll go to Gotham."

He got the scholarship. Tucker and Sam had congratulated him with a cake in the school parking lot- it was the wrong flavor. Danny hadn't liked strawberry cake since he was fifteen. He preferred chantilly cakes now, and they seemed relieved when he declined going out to eat to celebrate.

There really wasn't anything left for him here.

It was easy enough to move into the dorms that Mr. Wayne had built for his scholarship awardees; Jazz lived in the neighboring building as a college student. The city was large, with a whole lot more to do than Amity Park ever did.

Jazz seemed to make it her goal to show him everything in the first month, and he found himself breathing more easily with each passing day. His sister, now more mature and confident in herself in a way she hadn't been back at home, became his rock.

She listened to him babble about his fanfictions for hours, came over to watch movies, and talk about cute boys or girls. Jazz had come out as bisexual, which surprised Danny, if only because it started making him think about how he tended to have similar thoughts to hers when it came to attractive girls and boys.

He became close to Jazz, just as he had been with Sam and Tucker, and it didn't take long for him to realize he had finally found a best friend again. He hadn't told a lie in a long time. His grades were still high even if he wasn't the top anymore; the material was much more complex than Amity's, so he wasn't number one, but he was up there, and he wasn't losing himself in fantasies as often anymore.

Kids at Gotham Academy seemed content to ignore him, so Danny had no bullies. His sister helped him get a makeover at her girlfriend's fashion boutique. Gone were the baggy clothes that he used to hide behind and find comfort in, and in which the trendy outfits were pieced together to make him stand out.

Sally, Jazz's girlfriend, knew how to make someone feel good in their own skin, having studied fashion and worked as a personal style assistant.

Life was starting to gain color again. He was feeling good.

Until he ran into his first ghost.

Thankfully, the ghost wasn't the violent sort, but she did seem excited to be seen. Danny had learned from Jazz that, outside of highly potent ectoplasm locations, such as Amity Park, most ghosts could not be seen, heard, or felt.

It's why his parents weren't able to find proof of ghosts despite moving to the most haunted city in the USA until the portal came into play. Gotham, with all its death and danger, surprisingly had very low levels of ectoplasm, but Jazz theorized it was due to another force smothering the natural ectoplasm.

She claimed Gotahm was cursed and that he was stealing natural resources like ectoplasm. Danny had yet to find proof of this curse, and he didn't exactly believe in it.

The only reason Danny or Jazz could see ghosts at all was due to the years of exposure from their parents' experiments, as well as the few years they spent bathing in the Ghost Portal's residue. It was easy to tell them apart from other people.

They had all the characteristics of the ghosts Danny was familiar with —oddly colored skin, a glow around them, and dressed in odd outfits —but the ghosts formed in low-level ectoplasm areas lacked powers beyond the top three.

Invisiblity, flight, and intangibility.

Jazz advises him to not react to them, otherwise people would think they were crazy, just like Amity Town once called his parents the town freaks. Neither of them wanted to relive that particular part of their childhood.

"I just want my son to know about the safe I hid in Old Gotham, inside the Seven Ring Hotel. It's in room 209, behind the wall in the bathroom. It's still there, I check on it every day, and he must get to it before they take down the building next month! Please, please pass on the message. " The ghost follows after Danny as he scrambles to get to class. He made the mistake of making eye contact with her, and now she wouldn't leave him alone. "Please, I swear I'll leave you be afterwards."

Danny struggles to keep his face even as she flouts near his locker, attempting to block his view of it. He grabs his books, stopping only to adjust his uniform blazer in the locker mirror, and catches sight of one of his classmates staring at him in the reflection.

Throughout his transfer, a solid five months in, with summer break fast approaching, he had noticed that the guy was always watching him. He isn't sure what he did to grab Jason Todd's attention, but the rumors flying around school didn't paint a good image of him.

He was the ward of the man paying for Danny's education, but there were rumors of him being involved with street gangs and other crimes while he was on the streets. Whispers of Bruce Wayne only taking him in on the suspicion that Todd was his bastard, after his mother had overdosed, only to find the boy stealing tires and running drugs.

Danny didn't mind the rumors too much, but Todd was a year younger than Danny and thus didn't share any classes together. They only passed by each other in the hallway.

He glances over his shoulder to give the kid a nod. Todd practically leaps out of his skin at the acknowledgment, throwing his locker door closed and racing away, flushed at being caught staring.

The ghost at his side, a beautiful blond woman, gasps. "That was him! My son! Oh, Jason looks so smart in his uniform. I wish I could tell him how proud I am. I never got an education, you know. I fell into drugs and ruined my chances, but my boy. He's got out of Crime Alley. I wish I could hug him. "

Danny pauses, closes his eyes in defeat, and turns to run after the fleeing kid. He doesn't quite think of what he was going to say once he caught up to him, but he couldn't just ignore Catherine anymore. Not when her voice wobbled like that.

"Hey! Wait up!" He calls, causing a few people to turn to him, but once they realize he's speaking to Todd, they look away. Though many are obviously eavesdropping, and that causes a familiar stone to drop in his stomach.

It's been five months. He hated how quickly it came back.

"Yes?" Todd says breathlessly as Danny just stares at him.

Suddenly, words vanish from his mind, and Danny feels old habits spring up before he can stop himself. Words burn on his tongue, and a fib flies off of it before he can figure out why. "Are you free this weekend? I heard the Seven Ring hotel was going to be torn down. Want to go on an exploring date?"

"What-um-yes hello." Todd gasps like he's choking on the words. "Wait, a date, like a romantic date?"

"Yeah. If you swing that way. I've been captivated by you for some time, ever since I saw you reading the Lock Down Series." Danny smiles, his face and body relaxing as if he hadn't been screeching on the inside.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. What are you even saying?!

Catherine makes a noise of disapproval. "Now hang on a minute. Jason is too young to date."

At the same time, Todd lets out a nervous little laugh, "I do swing. That way, I mean. I swing many ways. I love going on dates. I'd be happy to go on a date with you. I'm Jason."

Danny's smile grows wider, a little amused that someone else is as adept at social interactions as he is. He glances at the clock, ignoring the fuming mother, to notice he's only got a minute before the next bell rings. "Great, I have class now, but I'll meet you on Saturday at five in front of the Gotham Horse statue? I'm Danny."

"Yes! I'll be there!" Todd calls towards his back, prompting Danny to raise a hand lazily over his shoulder. The second he sits at his desk, he has a panic attack.

"What have I done!?"

"That's what I want to know!" Catherine sneers, but Danny ignores her in favor of sending a panic text to Jazz.

Hopefully, his sister has advice on how to handle his latest fib.

[niktos-dinasaur]

Ghost is scared that you hate him, like really scared. You’re his boss, well, next to price atleast. He never thought he’d have two captains but here you are chatting with price and Laswell. Sitting at a mess hall table quietly as the other two talk.

You never talk to him unless is necessary, he’s seen the ring on your finger.. he’s sad about it. He still wants to chat but why chat when it’s someone you love and someone and they’re already married so you can’t have them?

But he fails to miss the ring that matches yours on Johnny’s finger, his best mate that he’s been rattling off all his troubles too. One of those troubles being your marriage.