#but damn the suicide ideation is real in this one

[heavenfell-au]

I don’t belong here.

✦ About Heavenfell

✧ Patreon ✦ Support Heavenfell ✧ Heavenfell Discord

[luminesnake]

fork spotted in kitchen moment but depression fucks you up crazystyle

[batstorm93672]

Let It Be Over Already

Word of warning other than just tagging it.

This story contains heavy amount of depression, ptsd, panic attack and attempting suicide is explicitly stated. If this triggers you, then I beg that you do not read it for your mental wellbeing is worth more than a story.

.

.

.

.

.

It's been months since anyone has seen Damian Wayne. No one knows where he has gone, the last person he visited was Dick and Kory. Titus was left with the two adults as well. Titus had been less excited about things without Damian.

Alfred's death took a hard toll on Damian's life. He often did disappear from his siblings for awhile, but never this long and without Titus as well...

~

Siblings Group Chat

Dick: Has anyone received any news on Damian or Robin sightings?

Jason: No. I haven't heard or seen a thing on him

Stephanie: Where could he have gone?

Tim: It's like he disappeared

Barbara: I've been trying to trace his phone, nothing

Dick: What worries me is that he also didn't take Titus... then that night he was with me when I found him in the guest room. He tore it up, pillows were literally ripped apart and everything was a mess. Then I found these drawings

[Three pictures of Alfred sitting on a chair tied up as Robin, Bane or merely a shadow is behind him. Alfred's neck is snapped and he's clearly dead]

Cassandra: :(

Tim: Holy shit

Stephanie: I feel like I might be sick

Dick: He was sobbing horribly... then he spoke of how he just wants to give up at times. His mental health is dropping and the fact that he's missing is worse

~

Jason clicked off his phone, walking down the streets of Gotham, the sun was still shining down. "...where are you kid?"

By the time night rolled around, Jason made it to his apartment and took off his hoodie. The window... was slightly ajar. He locked it last he left, maybe he left it open a bit? Or... a hopeful twinge of a possibility that the one person who would enter through there and probably insult him for how easy it was to unlock it.

"Damian? Are you here?"

It was silent.

Jason sighed and lied on his bed "No... no you aren't"

.

"No..!"

He had struggled in vain, crying as his grandfather's neck snapped. Failing to save him. Failing to be good enough.

Failing to save a man he loved with all his heart.

.

Damian leaped up from the small makeshift bed. Looking around for his Great Dane to help, only to be met with the darkness. That's right... he left Titus with Richard and Kory. He can't let his canine see what he's done to himself, what he's been having weighed on his mind. Sometimes he really does want it to be over. Knowing that he can't do it anymore... it hurts so bad, but he can't really bring himself to have this dealt with. A coward. He wouldn't even be here, had he just stay put and not endanger Pennyworth then everything would be okay! Then he would be back and everything would be perfect! But it's not... and it won't be for a long time.

Damian got up off the floor this safehouse was completely abandoned. He had to make due with old blankets. Damian grabbed his uniform and put it on...

Robin swung until he overlooked the city, the sky was dark. Landing at the very top to see it all, it could end here and it would be okay... he'd go back to Hell, but he deserves it doesn't he. To go back to where he belongs, back where his sins torment every waking moment he lingers.

The very top of the building, falling would be a horrible plummet down to meet the ground. It doesn't seem so bad... does it?

Why is his heart racing like this?

Why is he scared?

Why can't he move forward?

Pennyworth is gone.

There's nothing else here, no one else.

Just go!

Go!

GO!

JUST GO AND GET IT OVER WITH IT WILL ALL BE OVER IF YOU DO IT! THE PAIN! THE SUFFERING WILL END!

IT WILL END!

FINALLY IT WILL BE OVER!

LET IT BE OVER!

END THIS!

HE'S GONE AND IT'S YOUR FAULT!

YOU FAILURE!

GO!

DO WHAT MUST BE DONE!

"NO!"

Robin moved away from the edge, panicking as he covered his mouth. "No no no no no I'm scared I can't do it! I can't! Why am I so scared..? What is wrong with me?!" Robin's hands shook as he grabbed his phone. Clicking onto a contact he could barely see through his tears. Putting it up to his ear when he heard ringing.

"Holy shit, Damian is that you!? Where have you been, we've been looking all over for you!"

"A-a-a-- a-akhi... akhi... I can't do it, I'm scared..!"

"Damian, slow down. Tell me where you are"

"G-Grand... Grand Avenue Station at the top..."

"Hang tight. Do you want me to st--"

Robin hung up, it was already bad that he called. Now he had to be rescued like a child in distress, he can't do this.

"Stop it stop it stop it, let it end already. Let me go! Let it be over already! Please let it be over! I-I can't do this... I don't want to be alone, but I don't want to be with anyone either. I want it to be over, let it be over for once"

"Damian"

Robin looked up, Red Hood stood above him only his mask was on and he was sweating. "Damian! Hey, hey, hey. It's me, it's okay. What happened, you can tell me" "I-I want it to be over... but I don't want to die, I just want it to be done for once" "What do you mean? What did you try to do?"

"I wanted to go... I wanted to go I thought it would be over if I just go. I tried, but I'm a coward I can't even take my life. I can't do it. It's my fault, I want the suffering to end I'm scared. I'm so scared"

Red Hood looked absolutely destroyed, he didn't say a word and honestly he couldn't bring himself to speak. Damian's mental state was dropping, but to think so quickly he would turn to... to... fuck.

Red Hood hugged him tight, Robin sobbed making no attempt to move or hug Hood back.

"I'm scared, I want it to be over! Please let it be over... let it be over already. Let this not be real I can't do this without him. I miss my grandfather, I miss Alfred. I want to die, I want to die already. Don't bring me back from the dead, don't let me stay dead. Don't stay, don't go" Robin was rambling random things, most of his words contradicted the other.

"Ssshhhhh easy now. I'm here. I'm here for you. Let's go"

~

Jason: I found him

Dick: Where?

Tim: Is he okay?

Jason: Shit this is gonna be hard to say and even worse to hear

Stephanie: Just say it

Cassandra: ?

Duke: Is he at least safe?

Jason: He tried to kill himself. He called me saying that he can't do it and that he's scared. Then I found him on Grand Avenue Station

Barbara: Oh my god

Duke: Did you stop him?

Jason: Yeah, he seemed to be in shock and stopped himself

Tim: Where are you?

Jason: Home, I brought him with me, he's sleeping rn

Cassandra: Dick?

Duke: Hey man you okay? You haven't texted

Jason: Dick he's okay now, I got him

Stephanie: We can go visit him

Barbara: Dick please say something?

~

Dick was wheezing with every breath, he dropped his phone and couldn't keep himself from trembling.

Damian almost...

Oh God!

Why?!

Why didn't I stop him from leaving?!

Should I have forced him to stay with us?

Why didn't I see this before?

"Dick, you must remain calm. Tell me what is happening my love"

"K-Kory?"

"Yes. It's me"

"Damian, he tried to kill himself. Jason found him"

"Okay, okay. Look at me, focus on what you just said after. Jason found Damian, Damian is okay, Damian is safe. Can you repeat those three things?"

"Jason found Damian, Damian is okay, Damian is safe"

"Yes, say it as many times as you must"

"Jason found Damian, Damian is okay, Damian is safe. Jason found Damian, Damian is okay, Damian is safe. Jason found Damian, Damian is okay, Damian is safe"

Dick's breathing lessened in volume, he closed his eyes then opened them to look at Kory. "Yeah... I get it, thank you Kor. I just started to drive myself crazy there, thinking on what I could've done better to protect him. But it's not just me. Damian has more than one person by his side"

"Exactly, so let's go to sleep. Tomorrow you can go see him and bring Titus along"

.

.

.

It was silent when Damian woke up, he could feel where the tears once were. He had messed up.

Did he mess up by calling Jason? Or did he mess up by not doing what he told himself to do? Damian doesn't know which part he messed up.

Regardless, Damian looked around, Jason was still sleeping by him. Damian hated himself, Jason wouldn't be taking care of him had he just fell off. No one would be worried if he just did that.

Coward, can't even do a single thing.

You've taken many lives, what's stopping you from taking your own?

Damian held himself, it just felt so awful, everything was a mess and it was his fault. Everytime Damian closes his eyes he can see how the thunder and lighting cast shadows over the people. The person who took his life always changed while the one person in that chair took his last breath and stayed the same. Same story. Same ending.

The snap of a neck.

The screaming and crying.

Then the Butler with his head limp to the side.

It all ended and began the same way.

He had snapped his neck. Bane had snapped his neck. The darkness had snapped his neck. Regardless of who was behind it, it's the result of who fell at the hands that hurts Damian the most.

"Hey, it's okay. It's akhi, I'm here for you"

When did Damian start crying again? When did Jason wake up to see this mess? More importantly, how long has Jason been hugging Damian?

"It won't end... i-it won't stop... make it stop. The nightmares, the thunder, the lightning, the bones, the screams. Make it stop... please make it stop I can't handle it"

"I know, I know. It hurts I know it does, but it will pass. You can't let it consume you"

"Why did you answer? If I hadn't been so cowardly then I could've done it and let you been in peace. Why didn't you hang up? Why did you let me talk?"

"Cause I care too much habibi, I couldn't let you go. I love you"

"...don't leave me"

"I won't"

"Don't go... don't leave me alone again"

"I won't let you be alone"

"Stay... please stay longer"

"Heh well this is my house, jokes aside, I'm staying Dami"

Then a knock brought the two back from their hug. Jason stood up while smiling at Damian "I'm not leaving, I promise. I'm just going to answer the door" "Tt. I know that" Even though he says that, a huge part of him was glad to hear that Jason wasn't going to leave.

Jason opened the door after looking through the peephole.

Damian was knocked to the floor and was slobbery.

"Titus?" The Dane barked and his tail wagged "I'm so sorry Titus, I love you so much I'm sorry I left you! I was scared. Please forgive me!" Titus sat down as Damian hugged his pet. Inhaling the warmth and smell of Titus's fur.

Damian smiled a bit as he moved Titus away, seeing who brought him... Dick was standing at the doorway, he looked at a loss. Damian's smile fell and he looked guilty.

"Richard... I'm... I didn't-"

Dick tackled Damian in a hug and Dick's sobs came out like exhales of relief and laughter. Damian somehow had a river of tears hiding even after losing so many tears before.

"I-- I'm sorry Richard, I'm so sorry I left. I'm sorry I tried to- I don't know what happened to me! Nothing felt good anymore, I'm a mess. I couldn't handle it, I'm sorry"

"Damian! I was so worried! I-I was so scared!"

"You... you aren't mad?"

"No, why would I be mad? I'm overjoyed to see you here and I love you so much I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I noticed the changes but didn't do a thing"

"Don't blame yourself... you tried to get me to stay. I'm the one who left"

"I'm so glad to see you"

"Me too"

[kaleidoscopicbullettrain]

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

 “Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him. 

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified. 

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily. 

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it. 

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst. 

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks. 

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.” 

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…” 

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that… 

“Pretty please?” 

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context. 

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart. 

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you  can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed. 

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality. 

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor. 

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter. 

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it. 

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

[lostgirlmuseum]

Give Me A Sign

Made with photos from Pinterest ^

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Summary: Bucky asks the universe for a reason to live. The universe delivers you.

Warnings: HUGE WARNING, please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable! Heavy suicidal ideation, but happy ending. Please be very careful in considering if this is triggering for you. It won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t read, your mental health and safety comes first.

A/N: I’m really sorry if this isn’t great, I wanted to do more but I kept getting stuck, and tbh I just want to post it as is instead of stress about it.

(Dividers from @saradika)

The air was unusually crisp the night Bucky snuck into the gardens of Cornelia Park. He had a faint memory of visiting once, in another century, with Steve. But that was then, and this is now. Now, Steve is dead. Bucky feels the weight of his entire history on his scarred shoulders. He feels out of place in such a green and flourishing area of flora. It’s wrong for him to be among such a place of peace and beauty, he finds it almost funny. Almost. 

He followed the path of lavenders into the private area of the park, surrounded by tall hedges. At the center stood an old stone statue, one he remembered from the last time he visited. Only now it looked much more worn and weathered. The statue was of an angel, a woman with wings. Her eyes were kind, her features soft, despite the stone. She held her arms out, one hand holding a lantern, the other beckoning him to hold. Instead, Bucky sat on the bench in front of her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her, apologizing for his very presence. He dropped his head into his hands.

And then he started crying. And his cries evolved to sobbing. He let himself cry, a privilege he rarely allowed himself. He let the tears flow, and they didn’t stop for what felt like hours. After forcing himself to pull himself together, he wiped his final tears from his cheeks and looked up to the black sky.

“Give me a sign, God.” His voice wavered.

“If you’re real, give me a sign to keep going. I’ve been at this a really long time. Just gimme— gimme a sign to keep going. That it will be worth it. Because life feels pretty damn bleak. And I know I should keep going, but I…”

The words wouldn’t come.

“I… fuck.” He looked back down at his hands. He thought about how much he hated those hands. He thought about how he wished he could wash the memories from his head like he does the blood from his palms, and how he wished he wasn’t Bucky Barnes. He thought about how he wished he had died at the bottom of that cliff, and how everyone would be better off if—

“Hello?”

A small voice shook him from his thoughts. He hadn’t even heard someone approach. But there you were, standing in the entrance of the hedge garden.

“Oh, hi,” you smiled, once you saw him. At least he thinks you smiled. It was hard for him to see you in the shadows. 

“Sorry,” he quickly apologized, once he realized he hadn’t said anything yet. He had just stared. He looked away from you and back at his lap.

“No need to be sorry,” you said, walking up to the bench he sat on, “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.” 

He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say. He too thought he was the only person there.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” You kindly asked, wrapping your white cardigan a bit tighter. 

That was when he looked up and saw your face in the light of the lantern for the first time. The first thing he thought was that you looked like you belonged there in the garden, unlike him. You could replace the angel statue, and its meaning would stay the same. 

“Go ahead,” he simply said. Although what he really thought was to warn you. Are you sure you want to sit next to him?

You took your place on the bench silently. Neither of you spoke for the first couple minutes. Bucky tried to focus on the sound of crickets, and the lack of traffic. 

He wasn’t sure why he stayed. If anything, his first thought should be to get up, walk away, escape. But he didn’t.

“My name is Y/N.” You softly said.

Stunned by your confession, he let his guard down.

“Bucky.” He half whispered back.

You simply hummed in response.

He could sense your gaze on him. It wasn’t malicious or judgemental; it felt curious and gentle. 

“Are you okay?”

His throat started to constrict again. He didn’t like that question, because he didn’t like the answer. He knows he’s not okay. But he doesn’t know how to say it. After struggling for a response for many seconds, he conceded to shaking his head softly. No.

“I hope it gets easier soon.” 

He felt the dam begin to break again. 

“It will get better someday,” you continued, “maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, or month, but someday it will get better.”

“How can you be so sure?” He choked.

“Life is like a pendulum, have you ever heard that before?”

“No.”

“Well, it is. Right now you’re swinging into the bad, but eventually you’re gonna swing right back into the good. It’s just physics. And it sucks in a way, because what’s the point of swinging into the light if it’s just gonna cast that shadow you’ll fall back into? But it’s also comforting to me, because I know as long as I keep pushing, I’ll end up on the other side.”

Bucky let your words ring in his ears. He didn’t know why he felt the urge to open up to you, but he did.

“I just keep asking myself why should I stay?”

“The trick is to find a new reason when you can. I think of one everyday.”

“What’s yours?” 

“Today?” You sighed and looked up at the stars. “I want to see the next snow.”

“That won’t be for months,” he said.

“Guess I’ll have to stick around then.” You gave a knowing smile.

“What should mine be?”

He knew there should be a million things, but they were all just out of reach of his mind.

“That’s up to you.”

Bucky didn’t say it, but he quickly came up with his reason to stay.

You. 

He told himself that he had to see you again.

Bucky went back the next night. And the next. And he kept going back, because you met him every night for a week until you finally asked him if he wanted to meet you for lunch. That was the start of your relationship. Soon enough Sam started asking where Bucky had gone so often. He wasn’t in his room all day anymore, and he seemed lighter. He wasn’t ‘fixed’, obviously, but he was better. It started to get easier to breathe. 

The pendulum had begun to swing in Bucky’s favor, and it stayed that way for months. He still had his days, as did you, but you were happy together. You supported each other. 

And then came a very tough week.

The anniversary of Steve’s death. 

The wound had reopened, and Bucky spiraled. He was a mess, a total mess, and you were there to comfort him. 

But your kindness reminded him of Steve, and how he wasn’t enough for him. If Bucky was good enough for Steve, he wouldn’t have left, right? 

Although Bucky knew you wouldn’t leave him. That was the problem. He was an anchor, and you held on. 

For your own good, he convinced himself he had to let go, if you wouldn’t.

The absence of warmth next to you woke you up. 

“Bucky?” You whispered. The clock blinked 4:13 A.M. 

No reply. You figured maybe he was sleeping on the couch, so you carefully sat up and waited a couple seconds before letting your bare feet touch the cold ground. Pulling your robe on from where it had fallen on the floor, you wiped the sleep from your eyes and padded over to the living room.

It was dark, and your eyes were still adjusting, but you could tell that he wasn’t there. You felt the rise of panic in your chest just before you spotted him standing on the balcony. 

He didn’t turn around to look at you as the door slid open and shut. He remained staring over the ledge at some unknown point.

“Hey, honey,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, as you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around him, giving him a big hug.

You hear his whimper before you feel his body shake.

“Y/N, I—”

“What’s wrong honey?” You quickly let go, turning him to face you. You notice his puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. His cheeks were rosy; you could tell he had been crying for a while.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t look you in the eyes.

“Sorry for what?” 

“I’m sorry for everything.” He starts. “I’m too much. I don’t deserve you, you deserve someone easier. Someone better, someone— someone good.”

“But I love you, and you are good. Bucky, where is this coming from?” The concern was thick in your voice. Sure, he had been a little down lately, but nothing alerted you to this level of distress.

“Sweetheart, all I do is bring hardship into your life. You deserve to live,” he looks into your eyes earnestly, “I know I shackle you to me. I know you give up things to be with me. But you don’t have to anymore. I’m letting you free.”

You hold back a shiver.

“What are you talking about? I want to be with you. You’re scaring me.”

“It’s not fair that I’ve lived this long, and it’s not fair that I’m dragging you down with me. I’m a fucking burden, Y/N. At first to Steve, then Sam, and now you. I can’t keep adding to the list of lives I ruin.”

“Honey, listen to me. I need you to take a deep breath.” You place your hand on his bicep, and try to speak with an appropriate mix of confidence and compassion.

“I’m doing it now!” He shakes his head vigorously, wiping away his tears as if evidence that he’s stopped crying will convince you to go. “You should be sleeping, please go back to sleep. You shouldn’t have to watch over me and make me feel better.”

“How long have you been feeling this way?” You whisper, fearing that if you spoke any louder your voice would break with your heart.

He took a while to answer, biting his lip and looking around before finally responding.

“Do you remember when we first met? In the garden?” He looks at you, eyebrows drawn. As if you could actually forget. You nod.

“I wanted to—” his voice breaks and he looks down— “I went… I was thinking about—” it cracks again, and his throat is constricting itself around the words he can’t say. “I was thinking I was really going to do it. I had basically decided. And then right as I was asking God for one more chance, one reason to stay alive—you appeared. I thought God sent me an Angel. A real Angel.” His eyes sparkle before dimming again. “I tarnish you. You waste your goodness on me, and the world needs it more.”

You don’t like where this is going. You know you need to reel him back in, and fast.

“Look at me, Bucky Barnes. Look at me.” You grab his face firmly and make sure he’s seeing you.

“I’m a burden.” He crumbles.

“Then be my burden!” You cry. “I want you to be my burden. Maybe without you, my life would be ‘easier.’ But I don’t want it to be if it means a life without you.” You search his blue watery eyes, wiping a tear that starts to leak from one. “I don’t fucking choose ‘easier.’ I choose you, Bucky. My choice is to be with the love of my life. And if that means skipping a couple hours of sleep to comfort you, and staying in on weekends, and crying with you, that doesn’t change the fact that I am the luckiest person on Earth. This is my choice too, Bucky. Do you hear me?” You place your hands on both of his arms.

He closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath, and nods.

“I choose you.” 

He nods again, and bites his bottom lip.

“I choose you.” You repeat, not once looking away from him.

He whimpers.

“Say it. Can you say it, please?” You don’t want to push him, but you need to know that your point has been made clear.

“You choose me.” He whispers, before falling into your embrace, and tucking his head into your neck.

“I do. I really do.” You say, holding back your own tears as you rub his back.

“I’m sorry.”

You know telling him he has nothing to be sorry for won’t work, so you instead answer by agreeing. 

“Me too. I’m sorry you’ve been feeling this way. I’m sorry you struggle to see how much I need you, too. But we are going to be okay, okay?”

He sobs harder, holding you tighter. You feel his warm tears start to stain your shirt under the thin robe. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you hum.

“Don’t leave me,”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You promise, bringing one hand up to the nape of his neck and start gently playing with his hair. “Are you ready to go back inside? Do you want to lay down with me?”

Without pulling away from you, he nods. You wait for him to let go of you before going to grab his hand and leading him to the bed, but he stops you. Instead of letting you show him the way, he decides to pick you up bridal style and carry you to your room, knowing he couldn’t wait until laying down to have your body pressed against his. 

Once you were both settled under the cozy blankets, your bodies facing each other, his head on your chest and your hand rubbing his back in circular motions, he spoke drowsily, exhausted from his breakdown.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

“And I love you,” You cooed, placing a small kiss on his forehead before drifting off into your dreamless sleeps.

A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. I know life can be a fucking shit show, but please stay alive. If you know someone who is struggling, consider reaching out to them. And if you yourself are struggling, please reach out to someone. And if you feel like there is no one to talk to, my asks/dms are open. You are not alone.

I don’t want anyone to read this fic and their takeaway is that if they have no partner, they are on their own. I choose you. Do you hear me? I choose you, and I implore you to choose yourself. Stay alive for yourself. Be spiteful against your depression. And if you’re one of those people who can’t help but say “I hate you,” to the mirror, and feel like you mean it, know that there is hope for you too. Because I was once that person. And with help, and time, I am able to say that I don’t hate myself. I can look in the mirror and appreciate who I am. Of course I still have my moments, but my point is that if you told me when I was at my lowest, that I’d one day be able to say “I love you” to the mirror without bursting out in tears, I’d call you a liar. 

(Sorry for making this A/N so long, hopefully someone can find comfort in it. I’m still here. And you should be too.)

[raining-its-pouring]

Not a Pebbles hater not a Pebbles lover but a secret third thing.

What he did he did out of complete and utter desperation. There was no noble intent, there was no malice, there was just the need to get out. To break the cycle he was trapped in, damn the consequences. Of course he acted rashly when he thought he found the key to ascending. (Not dying, mind you, he wanted to use the state of death in the cycle to tap into ascension. He didn’t - necessarily - want to die, but it was, in his mind, one of the necessary steps for iterators to take if they wanted to ascend.)

To be clear, there was no evidence that it would work. Just the speculations of a bunch of desperate people trying to escape a thankless situation. And Pebbles was so desperate he was willing to gamble it all, including his and Moon’s wellbeing, on those speculations.

On a slightly different note I do think there’s a weird snobbery that people have ABOUT rain world weirdly? That there’s this idea that applying real world stuff like suicide and whatnot is stupid bc this world is intentionally alien. But while I think Ascension isn’t death, I think the ideology of both the Ancients and the Sliverists can be seriously read as an allegory for depression and suicide.

We don’t know what Ascension is. I think far too many people write off that it’s inherently bad, when no where in canon is that a given. But we don’t know if it’s inherently good either, that’s just a desperate hope of the Ancients and Five Pebbles. They hope that whatever the next step is, it won’t be the living hell they seem to be in here.

My interpretation is that it’s just another step. It can be whatever the individual (if there is still a sense of identity to retain,) makes of it, and that happiness isn’t an inherent factor of it, but neither is unhappiness.

And that’s where I think the allegory can apply really well. Five Pebbles and the Ancients (at least the ones who left the biggest impact behind) are deeply, deeply unhappy. And I’d argue for good reason - theoretical immortality sounds, in my opinion, awful.

But Five Pebbles is one of the youngest iterators we see. Moon is one of the oldest. She seems to be content with her situation. And perhaps this is her folly - and I’d argue it is, a little - but I’d also argue that Five Pebbles does not try many other alternatives (that we know of) before deciding the problem is this stage of the cycle itself. That it’s out of his hands, because this existence- this stage- must be an inherent unhappy one. From there it’s not the biggest leap to deciding that the answer is to force his way into the next one as soon as possible, without seeing if he can carve a space for himself in this one. And I think that’s a very real parallel to a lot of people with suicidal ideation.

I think it also has something interesting to say in that regard. There’s a lot of argument around depression and suicide, specifically around “if the situation is bad enough and there’s no end in sight, how much does ‘changing your thinking’ really help the situation?” To which there is near endless debate. And to which I think the iterators situation is an interesting (and deliberate) wrinkle in the allegory tying into that.

It’s just one reading of it, and I think there are many more. But my point is that there is a very real, very canon-based reading there. And I’d like it if people stopped acting like it’s a misrepresentation of the text.

[livesworthlivingau]

Behind the Vale Chapter 1

Spoilers for TwoHats. CW: Suicidal thoughts/ideation This chapter is meant to be loops perspective on LWL Chapter 1, some dialogue and moments is cut out, assuming you already read it and not wanting to fully duplicate it, so please read that chapter first, or reread if you need a refresher. Lines in Red are meant to show duplicate lines from the complimentary chapter

[Your consciousness slowly fades back into existence. The sweet embrace of oblivion leaving you. The unfamiliar surroundings of a forest clearing filling your senses before a ringing takes over your hearing. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, gripping yourself tighter as the ringing grows. You can't move, you can't speak, you can't...]

(Was this actually real?... )

[What?... That voice... You can just barely hear it through the ringing. You focus, trying so hard to parse through the high pitched tone, only making it louder in the process. You have to find it! You have to... find him.]

[Stardust?... Is that you?....]

(LOOP!)

[His voice shouts through your mind. It snaps you out of it, letting you regain control of your body. Your head falls into your hands, staring wide eyed through the your spread fingers, falling to your knees.]

[Why?... Why are you back?... Why is this happening again?... You were free, it was over! Why do you exist again?! Why must you be forced through this endless torment?! Why can't you just die?!]

[You sigh and collect yourself... you have to hold it together. If you're back, then something must be wrong. You need to be there for Stardust, helping him is the only blinding thing you're pathetic existence is good for anymore...]

[You stand again, holding your arms lightly around yourself, waiting... You close your eyes and try to find him, trying to make that connection again. At first it's only static, but as you focus, and as they get closer, the picture becomes just a tad clearer. They seem to be running, frantic at that, rushing through trees, desperate to find you... Suddenly they come to a stop.]

"Loop... LOOP! LOOP IT'S REALLY YOU!" [Your eyes shoot open as you hear his voice, suddenly tackled into a tight hug, slowly wrapping your forearms around them as you respond. You do your best to keep up your same little facade as always, even though you fully dropped the that mask during your last encounter. It was what you were best at now, so no use in avoiding it. Performing in your little play was all you could do now.]

------------------------------------------------------------

"30 YEARS?!?!" [You cry out, scattering every nearby bird from the trees.]

[This can't be real... Stardust gets his happy ending and a whole BLINDING life, and you're just forced to exist further. You one and only use in this damned universe, taken from you... All you're left with now is his pity, offering you the cheap imitation of your former life. To be yet another character in his play... You suppose it's the only option you have at this point, other than simply wasting away in a tree, though that option did sound more appealing by the minute.]

-------------------------------------------------------------

"... So what's the plan here anyways?-" [You begin, it couldn't truly be that simple... right? This wasn't your family. This wasn't your life... Not anymore... Does Stardust truly pity you that much he'd be willing to mess up his perfect little life by cramming me into it?...]

“So, just Loop? No other details?” [... Why would he want another him around? Why would he want his family to know? You must be so pathetic! So broken beyond repair, so worthless, so disgusting to look at!... No... No if you were to even humor this silly idea of joining his family, you couldn't parade around as a hollow version of your old self... They're gone, dead... They're the lucky one. They don't have to suffer anymore...]

[legobiwan]

It's 2024 and I've decided to make a Gravity Falls fic rec list. Because I do what I want, even if I'm showing up to the fandom a decade or so late. All fics are Gen unless otherwise noted, warnings can be found at the end of each description.

Birthday Dinner by Fordtato

A post-series short story featuring our two favorite old men out at sea, this work is wildly in-character in terms of their bickering and sometimes-competitive-to-the-point-of-self-sabatoge sibling relationship, but in the best and most hilarious of ways. Warnings for lighthearted discussion of cannibalism.

i know exactly where my blood is by strawberrybiscuit

There are a number of works that delve into Stan's possible suicidal ideation tendencies, both in his drifter years and post-Portal Incident. I find this to be a wholly conceivable notion, given both the absolute shit hand he was dealt in life and the hints we are given throughout the series that his self-esteem was pretty much in the gutter. Of the stories that explore this theme, I find this one to be one of the most grounded - Stan's borderline dissociation/gallows humor is very in-character, as is Ford's genuine horror when he learns the truth of the situation, which is rightfully emotional without delving into melodrama or transforming into a Saturday afternoon special. Warnings for intense talk of self-harm and suicide.

By Any Other Name by Zeragii 

I, like many of us, am fascinated by the tantalizing tidbits we've been fed as to Stan's decade or so existence as a drifter. We know he's failed at somewhat more legitimate attempts at entrepreneurship (the dodginess of the actual products notwithstanding), we know he was living out of his car for a large majority of those years, we know he's been to prison three times in various countries, and we know something happened in Colombia. All this is to say, Stan's probably made a lot of enemies, and that his map of "States I'm Banned In" is more likely a summary of places in which he has outstanding warrants and/or a price on his head.

What happens when that past catches up to you?

While this isn't an uncommon theme in Gravity Falls fics, what I love about this story is the complexity of the interactions between Stan and Ford here, given this is a post-series fic. Yes, they've mended their relationship, but old patterns die hard. Neither twin ends up as the "damsel in distress" (a worrying recurrence in many GF fics), despite the fact they are thrown into multiple dangerous situations and the OCs/Pines family extension are well-crafted and three-dimensional.

The People That We Always Hoped We Would Be by SharoScylla

A Christmas Carol, but make it Gravity Falls. The section of this story that really sold me was Stan's climatic scene in a bedbug-ridden, hovel of a motel room in New Mexico. Guest appearance made by the infamous Jimmy Snakes, who I learned recently was going to be a real character (and essentially this universe's answer to Ghost Rider) until that whole bit about Stan's past biker life was cut (regrettable). Embracing both the humor and darkness present in the original show, this story sees a Research Era!Ford come face-to-face with his own proverbial demons (real demons not included) as he is visited by a familiar cast of future past. Warnings for suicide attempt.

O Brother by Obsessive_Reader

In progress. A timestuck AU with the Mystery Twins 1.0 being catapulted into the 1980s, a young Ford landing with an increasingly desperate adult Stanley as young Stan tries to navigate the thorny, icy adult his brother Stanford has become. Probably one of the most realistic timestuck AUs out there, as fences are not mended immediately between the adult twins nor with their children counterparts. Also, Fiddleford finally has a chance to shine!

Orpheus Descending by Sir_Thopas

Unfinished. Which is a damn, damn shame, as this is probably one of my favorite Gravity Falls fics of all time. Read it anyway. Yes, you'll swear vociferously at where it leaves off. ResearchEra!Ford goes to incredible lengths to bring his brother back from the dead as Stan's demise is not exactly what it seems. What exactly happens with Stan is incredibly realistic, given his circumstances, and the local color written in by this Georgian native just adds to the Gothic feel of the whole tale. To what lengths would you go to bring your family back? At what point do you cross the point of no return in order to survive? Warnings for graphic description of a decayed corpse and prostitution scene.

Journal #4 by Percival_T_Honeybee

To be honest, this story stops being a Gravity Falls fic a couple of chapters in, instead featuring characters we know and love in increasingly out-of-universe (in all ways imaginable) situations. This doesn't matter, though, as the world- and character-building of this swashbuckling, sci-fi epic are superb and will have you on the edge of your seat until the final chapter. When both Stan and Ford go through the portal, their futures become something they never could have imagined.

Turning by BrandyFromTheBottle

I've mulled over this conceit on more than occasion and truly think it's something that begs further exploration. What if Stanley Pines pulled a Saul Goodman and, after the world was saved, turned himself in, willingly going to trial, and eventually, prison as self-inflicted recompense for his past deeds?

And now for something different...

Entanglement by Haley3

Ford/Bill (to be clear, Triangle Bill. Accept no substitutions). I realize Billford is not everyone's cup of tea and I rarely, rarely post shipping stuff, but in full transparency, I find their relationship fascinating and the idea of their having interactions that may have seeped over the boundary of purely (well, not pure. Ford built a damned shrine and became a one-man cult while Bill was manipulating him the entire time) platonic is not out of the question. In other words, I'm not wholly immune to Billford, but I am rather picky about how they are portrayed.

This fic checks all my boxes. Bill remains a triangle throughout. Bill is unredeemable. Ford and Bill have a relationship whose complexity would rival the equations of the dimensional physics they debate. And, of course, Ford is lying to himself and those around him, deeply, deeply in denial as to the nature and profundity of his emotions towards his tormentor. Warnings for explicit sexual scenes, manipulation, emotional abuse. I mean, it's Bill, we all know what that means.

[silverskye13]

hello! What are your rules exactly for writing prompts? Can I ask for prompts containing your specific story and it's characters? Like, in this case I want to do a prompt asking for the reactions of Tango and Welsknight to learning just how little time their hel counterparts actually have. The fact that no, they don't have forever unlike the hermits do. Or is that too spoilery or not the kind of prompt your supposed to ask? This is my first time asking for this kinda thing lol

Also, can I just say how amazing your writing is? Like damn your writing is so beautiful. So many sentences that describe things so eloquently, and your characters so full of personality. They feel so real. I live your fic Redstone and skulk. It's been stuck in my head these last few days dangit.

Ah! Thank you so much for the kind words 💜

I'm glad you're liking RnS! It's my pride and joy [even if I'm struggling with it a bit at the moment].

I have no stipulations on what people can request as far as writing prompts and asks [though, given yours is a part of a larger question, I would recommend sending it again with just the prompt, so if I answer, I can answer the ask direction with the snippet!] I pick and choose which ones I work on when I have the inspiration for it, so there are many I haven't gotten around to. But I try my best to get a lot of them written! If they're too spoilery or will get handled in the main fic at some point, I will generally speaking, tell you instead of answering the ask.

[this one will get tackled in the main fic, but from the main characters' POV, so I think doing it from either Wels or Tango's POV would be interesting.]

But yeah! Don't be shy. I love prompts. I just sometimes can't get to them is all.

[Edit] Wait! One stipulation. I cannot write suicidal ideation and self harm. That is not what you asked for in your ask, but I don't think I've stated it in awhile so, for future reference for anyone else who would submit a prompt: my hard no boundary line is suicidal ideation/self harm. I cover it when it's relevant for characters, but I can't take prompts for it.

[shippofuri]

Thoughts on Fleki (headcanon)

Decided to organize some of my headcanons on Fleki's life and mentality pre-canon, and how it may parallel Lycion's own past. Bear in mind this is all headcanon, and mainly written from a shipping perspective, but it can still potentially be read as platonic (albeit codependent)

Heavy trigger warning for discussion of suicidal ideation, starvation, substance abuse, and codependency, along with a passing mention of vomit (if that bothers you)

I imagine Fleki's life before the canaries paralleled Lycion's life pre-"transition" in many ways. Lycion canonically mistreated his body out of self loathing. Letting himself be beaten, abusing substances, all manner of self-destructive behavior with an underlying feeling of if i'm lucky, this will kill me. Fleki, in her own way, is quite similar.

I imagine Fleki spent much of her life homeless, barely eating and blowing most of her money on drugs. She has an addiction, not the sort where one has terrible chemical withdrawals, but rather an emotional dependence on drugs to feel any semblance of happiness. Flying far above the world that she hates and seeing the vivid beauty of what she considers the "real world", that's her escape. That was the only time she ever truly felt alive.

She's reckless with it, as well. Tripping alone in alleyways knowing she might vomit and aspirate and die alone with nobody to give a damn about it, and being just fine with that possibility. She doesn't exactly want to die, not actively, but she would welcome death if it came for her.

It's not until she meets Lycion that she really feels like there's reasons life is truly worth living. That she gets any sense of self-preservation beyond pure instinct.

Lycion was able to fix himself, but Fleki needed him to fix her. She's dependent on him to a degree. He takes care of her because she doesn't care enough to do it herself. Doesn't care about eating, doesn't care about drinking water, doesn't care about her own safety. But he makes her happy, sober or not. And that's something very rare for her.

And just like her, he too thinks the world is shit, but she is the light that makes it all feel worth it. They're both emotionally dependent on eachother, but Fleki is more dependent on Lycion, even though Lycion takes their relationship much more seriously.

Fleki is playful, boisterous, and finds humor in everything, but she's still a deeply, deeply broken person. And he picks up the pieces.

[marvelstars]

Anakin & Trauma

So there´s this talk around saying that being part of the Jedi Order was akin to taking therapy and that it was Anakin the one who didn´t respond well to therapy and I honestly don´t know where to begin because this is honestly false and is victim blaming.

The Jedi Order´s Philosophy on it´s own isn´t a therapy, not even real world buddhism from which George Lucas took some narrative clues is a therapy, it is a way of life, yes, a philosophy under which it´s members WILLINGLY become a part of it but this isn´t a therapy.

They don´t address trauma, they don´t address anxiety, they don´t address suicidal ideation, etc.

In fact, while Lucas took some narrative clues from real world buddhism, we can´t truly say in good faith the Jedi Order works like real world buddhism, beggining with the fact that they take away choice from their members, they are brought too young into the fold to make a real decision over if they want to become part of their order or not, they take away their parents and cut all connections forever, that doesn´t happen in buddhism, they are openly an armed part of the state even if their functions are diplomacy, buddhism isn´t part of any state , I could go on but I guess the idea is clear.

So blaming Anakin for not "responding well to therapy" isn´t just false, it´s victim blaming, it´s willingly ignoring the context of the story.

In the story the roots of Anakin´s trauma came from slavery and the forced separation from his mother, both situations that never were addressed by the Jedi Order or by Obi-Wan in Anakin´s training, they were openly suppresed while sending Anakin the message that he was the problem for caring and fearing for his mother´s life, his mother who was left alone with a bomb inside her body in a planet ran by the mafia, this isn´t therapy, this is gaslighting.

Wether the Jedi Council or Obi-Wan were aware of it, they willingly made Anakin doubt his own reality and made him take the blame for not taking well his separation from his mother and I don´t know you but if someone, anyone, told me I had to leave my mother behind as a slave with a bomb inside her body because their physophy said so and I was their chosen one so I have to obey them I would have punched them in the face and left to free my mom, chosen one prophecy and Jedi be damned but Anakin was a child, he didn´t have the emotional and verbal skills to even express how wrong all of this was and how much harm they were doing to him.

The signals were clear from the beggining, Obi-Wan noticed that Anakin didn´t have any friends in the Order, that he mostly expend his time with droids and it was the same even when he became an adult and a respected general, can you imagine the level of isolation Anakin had to felt living inside the Jedi Order, that he no longer could relate to the people around him because they saw him as a stranger and he saw them as strangers as well?, that he had to expend his time with droids? when he used to have many friends and acquitances and people who cared about him in his planet of origin despite the horrible reality that he was a slave?, do you believe it talks well about the Order the fact Anakin had better emotional balance and support network living as a slave on Tatooine but with friends and family than living as a member of the Jedi Order?

The Jedi Order were not a supporting network for Anakin, they could not be because their way of life and philosophy openly harmed Anakin, keep him from addressing his trauma, keep him from having comunication with his mother, keep him from learning to manage his emotions without suppresing them and openly shunned him for his past as a slave in current disney canon so don´t tell me this is how a supporting network works or that Anakin was at fault for all of this.

The only person close and interested enough in Anakin to notice the dissaster happening to Anakin´s mental state was freaking Sheev Palpatine, he inmediately noticed Anakin was going to grow up bitter and resentful of the Jedi Order given how they keep him separated from his mother, he noticed he needed a friend who didn´t talk about the Jedi code every five minutes, he noticed he needed a father figure because he never had a father and Obi-Wan actively refused to be one given his beliefs and phylosophy, too bad for Anakin that Palpatine was also a sith lord who planned on destroying his very sense of self and person so he could use his power, he saw all of this happening and let it happen because it helped his cause and he could be the cool parent who lets Anakin talk about his issues without jedi philosophy as he used to do on Tatooine with his Mom and his friends while also adding some psycological issues of self worth to Anakin´s trauma under the image of him caring for Anakin´s well being. Don´t get me started on the Jedi Order allowing this for the sake of keeping a good political relationship with the Chancellor, what´s a kid well being in comparision to a good relationship with the Senate after all but this is a rant for another day.

While Obi-Wan´s love and company could and did help to weather the worst of this, the fact Obi-Wan seemed to care first because of his promise to Qui-Gon, the fact that he didn´t care for Anakin for himself when all people need to be cared for themselves at least in their early years to grow up emotionally stable, need to be loved for themselves, not just for who they are to an institution or as a symbol like the chosen one, which the Jedi Council shunned and put in doubt from the beggining anyway, even if Obi-Wan himself tried to believe in that because his master cared for that stuff, by doing this Obi-Wan subconciously send Anakin the message he was only worth to the Order and to him because he was the chosen one, if he wasn´t then he would have been left a slave on Tatooine just like his mother was, which isn´t that far from reality, Qui-Gon only got interested in Anakin for his force sensitivity, not his kindness and generosity helping strangers when he didn´t have much himself and was a slave.

This truly makes me mad because doing this to a kid isn´t just cruel, it´s abuse be it blind on the Jedi Order´s part or willing abuse on Palpatine´s part, an injustice, a never addressed injustice and even the narrative tries not to tackle this in all i´ts intensity but this is why Lucas said that Anakin was a victim and sure the Jedi were also victims of Palpatine and Anakin by proxy during Order 66 but I think fandom needs to address more in good faith that Anakin himself was their victim first if not the entire Jedi Order (and Palpatine of course) of the adults who were in charge and supposely cared for him and truly didn´t, not in the way that truly matters.

So it is any surprise Anakin wanted to leave the Order to raise his child with Padmé? because honestly I believe that in his situation that was the healthiest decision he could make without completely cutting his ties to what he loved and respected of being a Jedi, so it´s tragic he didn´t get that opportunity because the other adult in his life decided he wanted him as his weapon and manipulated him by isolating him from all his loved ones into becoming exactly that.

[solangelo]

I was wondering, do you have any recomendations on some long fics? Like, not just one chapter? Sorry if you had already posted something abou that. Anyway, thanks!!! (Really like your blog <<3333)

Absolutely!! I pretty much only read on Ao3 anymore so all of my recommendations are going to be there, but if others want to tack on their own recommendations in the comments they're always welcome to do so :)

A few things,

I tried to put content warnings on the bodies of work as I see fit, but some of these I read over a year ago and haven't looked at since so I apologize if I've missed something!

Additionally speaking, I've marked anything in which contains characters having sex with a red heart emoji ❤️ as it should be viewable on light and dark mode, across multiple forms of devices (ios vs android, etc) and should be readable to screen readers as well; As per previous notes on this blogs, any explicit depictions of characters having sex will also have them being explicitly over 18. Now without further ado-

I'm a huge fan of rabbit_soup's "Healing Takes Two" series, it's 13 pieces in total some of them are oneshots and others are multichapter but they all fit together making it a large body of text. The plot extends from Nico's three days in the infirmary to the early stages of their relationship and still seems to be ongoing with the author taking on rewriting some of their older pieces.

arum scarce by GalwayGirlo [16/20] AU ❤️:

Nico wakes up paralyzed following a motorcycle accident. Maybe Will Solace can help him get some feeling back?

(cw: suicidal ideation, a suicide attempt, adult having a relationship with a minor, "mafia stuff")

When I Get Home to You by 2nd2ndalto [10/10] Canon Compliant, Time Travel ❤️:

Will’s brow furrows."N - Nico?"

It’s impossible, this boy can’t be Nico, but the name falls from his lips without real conscious thought. Nico is 38 years old and probably sitting at home in their living room, hopefully having figured out how to fix the clogged dishwasher line, which is what he’d been planning on doing when Will left early this morning.

(cw: conversations about suicidal ideation and related topics, and young nico is involved so canon compliant trauma of his comes up as well)

talk your talk and go viral (i just need this love spiral) by wrongcaitlyn [34/34] and a part 2 currently at [2/?] chapters, Celebrity AU ft. Trans Nico:

“Keep telling yourself that,” Will says quietly, because even though the door is closed, speaking any louder would seem wrong. “You’re too harsh on yourself. If you wrote songs or something, you’d easily get on the Billboard Hot 100. Dad would help you. I would, too.”

“Promote it to your seven followers?”

“Yes!”

Nico laughs, and then Will is joining him, and they’re closer than before, but it’s nothing unusual. It’s been this way since before stupid feelings and stupid crushes, and Nico would be damned if he let it change just because of that.

(cw: alcoholism, childhood abuse and neglect, character death, car accidents, transphobia/homophobia/generalized queerphobia, gender dysphoria, suicidal ideation and related topics)

peach tea by ghosttotheparty [5/5] AU ft. Latino Will:

Will brushes his thumb over the side of Nico’s hand gently. His skin is soft. Nico’s fingers tighten on Will’s. It kind of feels like neither of them wants to move. Will doesn’t mind.

He sits up after a moment, but Nico doesn’t let go of his fingers, so he lifts the arm that’s awkward between them and sets it behind Nico, leaning back to rest on it. Nico just looks at the tapestry.

or; Will falls in love with the new kid.

(cw: mental health struggles, ptsd, anxiety/panic attacks, depression, grief, and character death)

What Could've Been Lights by athaleablaire [18/18], AU - I can’t remember if they have sex in this, rating is teen and up and all characters are over 18 but enter at your own risk:

In Will's eyes, he really has it all. A job as a surgeon at an amazing hospital, great friends-- what more could he ask for? Everything is going great until a man walks into his emergency room half-dead. In the mission to save his life, Will gets a little more than he bargained for.

(cw: injury and recovery, accusations of substance use)

a shadow in the rising sun by demigodbeautiies [9/13], AU Royalty, Arranged Marriage:

This is a story about the Ghost King.

Will Solace (crown prince in the Seventh Kingdom, politically useless as it may be) does not particularly want to be married to a thing of nightmares. He doesn't really have a choice, though. When does he ever? He allows his father to push him led into this politically advantageous, beauracratically necessary arrangement without too many complaints, and resigns himself to the fact he will be marrying a tyrant out of the tall tales his mother used to tell him when he was a boy.

Except then he meets his husband - a boy, and one younger than he is at that! - and realises that he has absolutely no idea what to expect. All he can hope for is that no one tries to kill him.

(cw: character death, character injury?)

NICO Centric:

Lethe by Eridans [8/8] Canon Compliant with a part 2 at [16/16]:

He's ten and ninety simultaneously, his mother was murdered and his sister is a stranger. He's got a deck of cards that he holds onto like a lifeline and an Italian-English dictionary that's old as hell and crumbling, but it's not as old as he is, and that makes him laugh.

The River Lethe was supposed to take away their memories, but Nico remembers his past, his days at home, the times he spent with his sister and mother at parades Mussolini hosted, where Maria sang the national anthem. The river tried to take away everything Nico cherished, and it could have been pure desperation or grief that made him remember his past.

Nico didn't know.

(cw: I started reading this fic over 8 years ago and haven't read it since it's last update 3 years ago, expect canon compliant events and themes to occur but otherwise proceed at your own risk, exercising caution and compassion for yourself where necessary <3)

WILL Centric:

Solace by solisaureus [11/11], Canon Compliant:

solace (n.) comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness.

solis (n.) the Latin word for "sun."

(cw: author includes their own content warnings at the start of each chapter!)

sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes by whimsicalMedley [13/26] Canon Compliant ft. Trans Will Solace:

Contrary to his general disposition, William Andrew Solace was born in the middle of an October hurricane.

Or, Growing up is hard. It’s even harder when you’re the son of the sun god.

(cw: author includes their own content warnings at the start of each chapter!)

Hopefully this is a good place to get you started, nonnie!

[writingwhatiwanttoread]

Help! I've Landed in a FanFiction (Chapter 2)

Pairing: fem!OC x Justice League

Genre: OC insert, Soulmate AU, Isekai, Reverse Harem

Characters: OC, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, John Constantine, and other DC characters as the story progresses

Warnings: all warnings not tagged, suicidal ideation, domestic violence, general violence and dark, 18+ themes, read at your own risk

Summary: Katie Smith wakes up in a new world, one out of comic books and ridiculously cheesy tropes. All she wants to do is find her way back home, but no one is helping her. Worst of all, they claim to be her soulmates. Surely it's all dream. How can she make herself wake up?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 (This One)

Chapter 2: Is it Called Kidnapping When You're Not a Kid?

The alarm screamed in a very annoying way, and Katie wanted to cover her ears but she was still tied to the damn chair. Luthor (sure, whatever, she didn't have a better thing to call the made-up villain in her obviously confused mind) dragged her chair to the middle of the room, practically tipping her over. He grabbed some duct tape off his desk, and wrapped it around her head three times. She could almost taste the glue and it muffled her so much that she barely heard the groan as she felt it stuck to the back of her hair. It would be a pain to get off. (Why was she even considering it? She just needed to wake up. Warm bath and then maybe not sleeping again for like, two weeks.)

She felt cold metal pressed against her head and realized, a little delayed, that it was a gun. Isn't that an idea? She saw a movie once where a character killed themselves in a dream and returned to the real world. She tilted her head against the barrel, a little bit, considering. She couldn't see Luthor's face, but as he pressed in harder, she wondered what he thought.

The room was thick was anticipation. He had stopped his monologuing and the only thing Katie could hear besides her heavy breathing was the persistent wailing of the alarm.

About ten minutes later, the large office doors flew open. Several bodies rushed in, Katie taken by the bright colors. She really was the best at imagination, she thought, a little smugly. When she was younger, she had wanted to be a writer, and before Matt firmly shot down that idea ("Pretty much a waste of your time, babe, isn't it?"), she always thought she could come up with a pretty good story. Maybe when all this was over, she could figure out how to write it all down.

The room was chaotic until it wasn't. Whether this was because they saw the gun to her head or were just being cautious of the man behind her, everyone stopped suddenly. Two tall figures (most likely male?) stood in front of the rest of the group. One was wearing a black suit with a blue bird and the other wearing a red helmet. Behind them was a young man in a red and black suit, and a smaller boy? wearing what she finally recognized as a Robin(?) suit. All of them had their faces covered in some sort of mask. There were three others behind them---a young man wearing a leather jacket with spikes, a smaller figure in red and white with goggles, and a young woman with blonde hair and a W on her costume. Katie's eyes were wide as she took in the cosplayers in front of her. She figured if Lex was a villain, maybe these guys were heroes and had no idea why her brain made them up. She knew only a few characters from comics---Batman, Superman, and Lex Luthor. Wonder Woman was a comic book character, right? The Joker? Spider Man. Um...Captain America? And some guy with a burlap sack on his head that Matt always said was his favorite. Who else? Maybe Archie and Jughead would show up soon.

"Lex." The man in blue said sternly.

"Ah, Nightwing. Forgive me for my disappointment, but this invitation was not for you or the rest of the...freaks with you." Katie watched as the boy in the jacket flinched slightly. His face didn't change though---all of them were staring with a mix of stoicism and anger.

"Well," the Nightguy said pleasantly, dangerously, "we received it anyway. I'm afraid those you did mean it for are out of contact right now." His eyes flicked to Katie and back to Luthor.

The man with a red helmet rested his hand on the gun attached to his hip. His voice came out gravelly and deep, almost machine like. "What do you want, Luthor?"

Katie felt the gun press against her temple harder. No one moved an inch but she felt several pairs of eyes land on her. She looked back curiously.

There was a gasp behind Helmet Head and Nightguy, coming from the Red and Black dude. He whispered something Katie couldn't hear.

Nightguy and Red Helmet stiffened a bit. Katie could hear the sneer in her captor's voice. "As you can see," he trailed his fingers down her chest slowly, stopping at the top of her bra, "this isn't a conversation for you."

Red and Black guy stepped forward, sounding bored for some reason. "It looks like this isn't a conversation for you, either, Lex. The League is off world right now. Don't you think this would mean a while lot more if you played this game with them?" He twirled the large staff in his hand. (Gandalf! That was a comic book character, right? Katie patted herself on the back for knowing something.) He then turned his back to them, which Katie thought was kind of stupid. "Not our circus, not our monkeys, right, guys? We've got bigger things to worry about." The room was still for a moment, until the man in the red helmet shrugged. "Sure, Red. What do you say, Big Bird?"

The Nightguy nodded sharply, never taking his eyes off Katie. "If you say so. We'll pass on your message, Lex." He twirled his finger in the air, some sort of nonverbal wrap it up and turned around and just fucking walked out. Every single one of them.

Katie, who was getting frustrated with the duct tape wrapped around her face, must have managed to show enough confusion in her eyes that even the bald villain seemed to pity her. He put away his gun and scoffed, ripping the tape from her face and around her hair without any warning. She yelped and tears sprung to her eyes. Several strands were tugged out with the violent ungagging and she couldn't help but whine. Luthor laughed meanly. "Smarter than they look. I don't fully believe it, but I'll find out if they were lying soon, I gather. Go to sleep, darling. We'll try again later." The last thing she felt was a prick in her neck.

----

Katie woke up in a different room than her first cell, and definitely not in Luthor's office. It was about the size of a walk-in closet and carpeted. The door was locked, but there was a small pallet with a thin blanket and a bucket in the corner. A plate with a peanut butter sandwich and a small cup with water was on a side table. She took a couple of bites and downed the water and then sat on the pallet. She had been dressed in a pair of sweatpants and large black shirt, and she was determined not to think about who changed her.

She redid her ponytail and cleaned her glasses with her shirt, and then scooted back against the wall. Slowly, she started thumping her head against it, wondering how hard she'd need to hit it to wake up. Just before she could bang it harder, the handle on the locked door jiggled. Katie made herself smaller on the pallet, scooting further into the corner of the room. She was not ready for another round, even if it was all in her head.

The door opened slowly. But instead of Luthor, it was the small one she saw earlier, with goggles.

"AwesomeIknewyouwouldbehereItoldRedRobinthatIwouldfindyoufirstIcan'tbelieveitareyouok?" The words rushed out and Katie had a hard time keeping up. The kid looked at her, bouncing up and down from foot to foot.

"Um. Yes?" She hadn't caught the question, really, but hoped it was the right answer. Judging by his smile, it was.

"GreatI'mgoingtopickyouupnowandwearegoingtogetoutofherebeforetheplacegoesboomSuperboydecidedhe'ddothehonorsthistimetakethatLex!"

And before Katie could decode any of that, the guy grabbed her hand, tossed her on his back (despite how much bigger she was than him) and flew? ran? teleported? away. Katie actually didn't know what was happening because one moment she was in the weird closet and the next she was on top of a skyscraper watching a building across from her blow up. Her stomach lurched and she threw up.

"Impulse, did you even warn her?" Katie wiped her mouth with the bottom of her shirt and looked up. The young man in red and black was shaking his head in exasperation, while the other young man in the leather jacket was flying (!) next to him. Red stepped forward, his hand extended.

"Sorry about that, we had to work fast. I'm Red Robin. What's..." But Katie didn't hear the next thing because at that moment the tattoo on her chest flared in pain and she sunk to the ground. All she heard before she fainted were the shouts of surprise around her.

[withacapitalp]

Countdown Pt 3

Part One Part Two

Tw: Slight suicidal ideation and general grieving

--------------------------------------

They only carry a couple things with them on the run. 

Surviving the apocalypse isn’t pretty, and it’s easier to make a quick escape if they’re always traveling light. Essentials only, with a few sentimental items so they don’t completely lose their minds. 

Nancy had her journals, Max had her skateboard (even if she couldn’t use it right now), Will brought a pack of colored pencils, and Steve was pretty sure Hopper had somehow saved a half a pack of smokes. 

And Steve….Steve has a shoebox. 

It’s an old thing, held together with duct tape and decorated with sharpie doodles. Wayne had given it to him right before he left town, along with the necklace that Steve kept around his neck every moment of every day. 

He’s never let any of them look in it. They think he’s insane, but they’re not the ones with zeroed out timers.

This shoebox is all he has left of his soulmate. 

What’s inside would seem like junk to most people. A handful of rocks of varying size, shapes, and colors. A leather cuff with spikes that Steve had immediately put around his timer wrist to hide it from view. A matchbook from a gay bar in Indianapolis, a Spalding bouncy ball. Some hand-sewn patches with logos he didn’t recognize, three different mini figures, a dozen faded beautiful photographs, and a single mixtape. 

Only Robin knew about the mixtape. He had only told her in case they needed a song for him. That mixtape was the only thing in the world that had the song that could save his life. 

But the most important thing in that box was the letters. 

He read one every night. He had promised himself he wouldn’t read more than one. It was routine. When it was his turn to be on watch and the rest of their family was sound asleep, Steve would open his shoebox, pull out a letter, and read it. 

The first one is probably his favorite. It was written in dark red marker on yellow construction paper, the edges ripped and torn with age. The marker bled through the back of the paper where the child who wrote the letter had pressed down too hard, and Steve could imagine the way his fingers must have stained from the ink. Blood red. The same way his fingers were stained when he died. 

7/4/1971 

TWO SULMAYT,

HI.

I AM EDDIE MUNSON. I AM FIVE YEARS OLD. I LIKE TRUKS. YU SHUD LIKE THEM TO. WE CAN WATCH THE BIG TRUKS! 

WHAT IS YUR NAMY? 

BIE

LUV EDDIE

P. S. I HAD A NANA FOR BRIKFEST. YUM. 

There was a picture of two giant monster trucks under the words, and a tiny thing Steve assumed was a banana under the postscript. Steve keeps that one tucked in his jacket pocket, just in case he ever loses his bag or his precious shoebox. 

He keeps the first in his side pocket, and keeps the last one in the breast pocket right above his heart

6/13/1986

Hi Love,

The first one says ‘Two Sulmayt’ but every one after that starts with ‘Hi Love’. 

Steve can’t help wondering if Eddie would have eventually called him ‘Love’ if they had gotten more time. 

Well, if you’re reading this, then I guess my plan to be the one that lived really didn’t work out. Damn, that sucks. Probably a little bit more for you than for me. 

I don't know how you dealt with knowing we only had five days, but I thought it was kinda fucked. Like damn, really? Five? The universe sure has a funny sense of humor, doesn’t it, Love? Or maybe it just hates me. That is also a very real possibility. 

Maybe. But if the universe hated Eddie, then it must hate Steve more for making him continue to live. For giving him other people to love, people to care about, people to force him to not give up. 

Anyways this is how I dealt with it. If you only get five days to have me, I’m going to make sure you know me. Or know who I was at least. One letter a month for the last 12 years, and a bunch of random one off ones from when I was little. Before I lived with Wayne it was kind of catch as catch can with paper and stuff, and I was also like seven, so how many letters do you really want from a seven year old who still can’t spell ‘Difficulty’?

I know how to now, by the way. Mrs. D, Mrs. I, yada yada. Do you ever wonder why all those women are married? I think that’s stupid. Forced conformity, even in our nursery rhymes. 

That joke always made Steve laugh. He’s read this letter so many times it’s starting to come apart at the creases, but it still made him pause and chuckle. 

Anyways. This is yours. Eleven letters a year for twelve years is one hundred and thirty two. Adding in the ones from before, it’s probably around a hundred and fifty. It’s not the same as having me around, but if you spread them out, you might get thirteen years or so before you have to start rereading them. 

Or read them all in one sitting. Do whatever you want. 

Steve had counted. It was one hundred and forty one. He read one new one a night, because every single day they survived seemed like a miracle right now. 

He only had seventy three more left. 

Not like I can stop you, haha. 

That’s probably not as funny to you as I want it to be. Sorry, Love. 

It wasn’t funny. Not in the slightest. Steve wanted Eddie here, wanted him to tell him to wait. He wanted Eddie to write him more letters. 

Oh, I also included a bunch of stuff I thought was too cool to lose, and a mixtape with songs that I wrote for my band. I thought you might want to get to hear my voice. It’s probably stupid, but you don’t have to listen to them if you don’t want to. 

Steve listened to it. They had been forced to scrounge up new batteries for his walkman three times because it kept dying. 

Everything in this box is yours, Wayne has strict instructions to give it to you. And, anything of mine Wayne doesn’t want is for you too.

Wow. A whole trust fund of trailer park trash. Some people leave their soulmates huge inheritances. I left you rocks and pictures and a shit ton of letters. Aren’t you lucky, Love? 

He was lucky. He had seventy three more letters. Seventy three more reasons to survive another day. 

After that…Steve wasn’t sure if he would be lucky anymore. 

Now if you’re good at math- which I hope you are, because I’m terrible at it- then you might be saying to yourself ‘Is my soulmate an idiot? Does he not know there’s twelve months in a year?’ 

No. I’m actually incredibly smart, even though my grades don’t really show it. I rewrite this top of the box letter every year on my birthday, and then I burn the last one. It’s a fun, extremely morbid, tradition. 

I’m 20 today, Love. I wonder how old you are a lot. I hope you’re close to my age at least. Maybe you’re like fifty years older than me, and I meet you when you’re on your deathbed, and that’s why we only have five days. 

They had only gotten five days because Steve hadn’t just taken Eddie and run. He should have just told Eddie to go as far from Hawkins as possible the second he realized. Fuck the rest of the world, fuck stopping the apocalypse. The best part of Steve was already dead. 

Two whole decades, but somehow I’m still in high school. I failed. Again. I wrote a lot about it in my letter last month, so I’m not going to talk about it again. Suffice to say I’m pretty bummed. I mean, c’mon, even Steve Harrington managed to graduate last year, and that guy barely even went to class during senior year. 

That part of the letter always made his stomach turn. He hated the reminder of all the wasted time, the little nudge that always told him it was his fault they barely had any time. 

If he had only looked up. 

Oh, well. This one is it. ‘86 baby! I’d say I want this to be the year I meet you, but I really want to graduate, so maybe hold off for just one more year? Stay wherever you are for just twelve more months, Love, just to be safe. Then I can put a picture of me flipping off my principal in this box for you. I’ll add my diploma in too, just to prove to you I did it. 

Eddie wasn’t going to get a diploma. 

If you wait a year, I’ll give you twelve more letters. So just wait one more year. By then, I think I’ll know what to say to make this better. I’ll know what to do to fill the gap I know you’re going to have. I’ll have something to say that will fix all this. I say that every year, and I never do, but hey, ‘86. 

Nothing anyone said would fix this. Nothing Eddie could write would fill the hole left in Steve’s soul. Nothing. 

I’m sorry. 

I say that every year too. 

Steve didn’t want apologies. He didn’t want letters. He didn’t want a hard to hear voice on a single mixtape. 

He wanted Eddie. 

Well. Happy birthday to me. One more year without meeting you. Eleven more letters. You better be doing something just as nice for me in case it's you that bites it, or I’m bringing your ass back just to kill you again. 

Steve didn’t care if Eddie killed him. Eddie could reappear right now and immediately shoot Steve and he would die happy. He just wanted one more minute. Just a little more time. 

…Wait just a little bit longer. I’ll have better words next year. 

Can you do that for me, Love?

P.S. You should read the first letter I wrote to you, just to appreciate how eloquent and charming I am in this one. 

Eddie called him ‘Love’. Eddie asked him to wait. Eddie wanted to have the right words. He wanted to live long enough to save Steve from his own broken heart.

Steve wishes he had waited.  

[sorio99]

So, I’ve pretty much entirely stayed out of the James Somerton discourse, because frankly, I just didn’t think I had anything that valuable to say. I wasn’t a fan of Somerton’s, I never watched his videos or fell for his lies, the first time I heard of the dude was in HBomberGuy’s video, and the most impact he’s had on my life is encouraging me to watch Todd in the Shadows.

That said, I did have thoughts as things developed, about his “apologies”, about his claims of depression, and even about the “suicide note” he posted to Twitter. But, I really didn’t feel like I had anything to add to the discussion that wasn’t already being said by at least 50 other people.

But uh, I have thoughts. About the latest developments.

One of the thoughts I shelved about Somerton in the past was that I wasn’t sure if the “note” being real or fake was the worse option. I really don’t have much sympathy for James, given some of the really heinous shit he’s said in the past, but I’ve never wanted him dead. I personally wanted him punished for his actions, and then removed from public view; I didn’t think anything he’d done deserved the death penalty.

While I do still think that, him posting a fake suicide note makes me VERY skeptical.

Here’s the thing: I’ve talked before about my struggles with my mental health, with Suicidal Ideation, and just general depression. There have been many times in my life where I have wanted to kill myself, and even one occasion a decade ago where I actively tried.

I’m also not a good person.

A few years ago, I did something bad to someone I cared about. I won’t go into details, for both selfish and non-selfish reasons, but suffice to say, it’s the kind of thing where I think most people would say I deserve some kind of punishment.

And I can say, based on that point in time, based on what I was feeling then, I could very easily believe that someone like James was actually suicidal.

I knew it could still be a manipulation tactic, I knew it probably was one. I even knew that, if it was real, it was still arguably a manipulation tactic. But I genuinely thought there was a chance, even a solid chance, that Somerton had wanted to commit suicide.

That chance has gone out the fucking window.

Let me be clear, also: the fact that James was horny posting on an alternate Twitter account, and engaging with media was not what convinced me that it was all bullshit. As someone who’s used the god damned Professor Layton games as a coping mechanism during depressive episodes, I’ve seen far weirder and worse responses to being suicidal.

It was how he talked about himself, responded to his defenders and accusers. The fact that while people were genuinely panicked at the thought that he might have tried to kill himself, he was purposefully stoking the flames and trying to make himself look better.

James Somerton is a fucking bastard, and I never want to hear from him, or ANY defenses of him, ever again.