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#survivor's guilt tw
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No One Deserves This
Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake “Hangman” Seresin, f!reader
Summary: For the last few months, Jake has fallen into a self-destructive pattern. Tonight is the final straw for you.
Word Count: 1637
TW: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Mentions of Character Death, Mentions of a Bar Fight, Broken Nose, Grief, PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, Self-Destructive Behavior, Hopeful Ending
Note: Written as part of @callsign-phoenix's 500-follower celebration with the prompt "You like the pain. You like it because you believe you deserve it". Thank you to @green-socks for beta reading for me! 💖
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Not for the first time, you arrived home to find Jake sitting on the floor outside your apartment leaning against the wall in a small pool of his own blood. You didn’t say a word as he looked up at you through his bloodshot eyes, instead, you just walked past and unlocked the door. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him struggling to climb unsteadily to his feet, but you ignored him as you walked into the apartment. However, you left the door open so he would follow you in.
Once inside, you placed your bags down before leaning heavily against the dining room table. You could feel Jake hovering behind you, but he knew better than to say anything right now. After all, what could he possibly say to make this okay? 
Taking a few deep breaths to try and keep your temper in check, you asked, “How many were there this time?”
“Six.” The word was muffled and thick, warped by the likely broken nose he was sporting. 
Shaking your head, you turned to face him. “Seriously, Jake? Six? What were you thinking?” You hoped he could hear the disappointment and disgust that was dripping from every word you said. But even if he did, you knew it wouldn’t make much of a difference.
As always, he hung his head in the semblance of contrition. “They jumped me while I was walking back to my truck. I didn’t know there would be that many. There were only three or four in the bar.”
Stalking over to him, you grabbed his hand, flipped it over to reveal his unmarred and completely uninjured knuckles, and held it up for him to see. “Did you even try to fight back this time? To protect yourself? Or did you just run your mouth and then sit there and let them beat the shit out of you? Hmm?” You threw down his hand and marched into the kitchen.
Seconds later, you reemerged with a bag of frozen peas and a dish towel which you hurled at Jake before turning to stomp back to the bedroom. “For your face. But that’s all I’m doing. You can patch yourself up for once.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were whispered softly from behind you.
Without turning around, you said, “No, you’re not. If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t keep doing this to yourself. You wouldn’t keep doing this to me.” The hand that settled gently on your shoulder sent a small shudder through you, but you still refused to face him. “Jake, I can’t do this anymore. What happens when you pick a fight with someone who won’t stop? What happens when I don’t find you outside my door but a pair of cops telling me you didn’t…”
“I’m so sorry, baby. I-I didn’t think–”
“I know you didn’t. That’s the problem. You are so wrapped up in your own pain that you don’t care how much pain you’re causing the rest of us.” Suddenly, something snapped deep within you, and all the walls you had built up to try and protect Jake came crumbling down, releasing a flood of suppressed emotions.
You whirled around to face your boyfriend, tears streaming down your face. “Did you know Javy asked me to meet him for coffee today? He’s so worried about you and what you’re doing to yourself that he was practically in tears. In all the years I’ve known that man, he’s never…. And Nat makes me text her every night when you get home because she’s terrified one night you won’t make it. And Bob comes to visit me at the hospital about once a week just to see how I’m holding up and almost every time I end up sobbing into his chest because I’m so scared for you.”
Jake stumbled back a few steps as if your words were physical blows slamming into him. His busted lip quivered and he choked out, “I-I didn’t know. I didn’t know you guys were worried about me.”
“Weren't worried? You go to a random bar at least once a week with the sole intent of starting a fight that you then refuse to protect yourself in. I’ve gone through all of my medical supplies twice in the last month trying to patch you up afterwards. How the fuck did you think we wouldn’t be worried?”
He shrugged half-heartedly. You could tell he wasn’t processing this information very well, but you had already come this far, you might as well lay all the cards down on the table. 
“It’s not just the fights. Jake… when was the last time you kissed me? Or hugged me? Or even looked me in the eye? Because I know when. It was months ago, on the day you left for the mission. The day you pulled me into your arms and kissed me so passionately that it took my breath away. The day promised you would come back to me. But you didn’t, did you? I think it’s time I accepted that the man I love died up there in the sky along with Maverick and Rooster. That the man who came back is just a ghost of the man who left. And I can’t keep being haunted by the memory of what once was.”
Jake lifted his eyes slightly, still not looking you in the face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m done, Jake. I’m sorry. I just can’t keep doing this. I love you too much to stand here and watch you kill yourself. And I know it’s horrible of me to say, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m drowning and I’m so tired and I don’t know how much longer I can keep my head above the water before…” You trailed off, unable to finish the thought. 
Jake collapsed to his knees before you, his beautiful green eyes magnified by the tears gathering there. Taking your hands, he whispered, “You never told me you were feeling like this.”
“I tried, over and over again but you never listened. I begged you to get help. I begged you to go talk to someone. I begged you to do it for me if you wouldn’t do it for yourself, but you didn’t care. Because you like the pain. You like it because you think you deserve it. But no one deserves this.” You gently ran your free hand through his hair, careful to avoid the clumps of dried blood near his hairline. Jake leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as tears finally began to streak down his face.  
Lowering yourself to your knees so you were level with him, you tried to get through to him one last time. “What happened wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could to save them. You wanted to go after Maverick and Rooster long before they let you. You begged them to let you take off, yet Cyclone refused. If he hadn’t, you would’ve made it there with plenty of time to spare instead of arriving just to see them get shot out of the sky. That was on Cyclone. And Rooster never should have gone back for Maverick in the first place. That was his choice, not yours. You did your job, you didn’t fail anyone. They failed you. 
“So please, stop trying to punish yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. Just come back to me, Jake. Come back. Please.”
“I don’t know how.” The words were whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear them. Jake’s head was hung low, the top of his forehead barely brushing against your chest. 
Taking his face between your hands, you tilted it towards you though his eyes still trailed on the floor. Tears slipped down his cheeks, creating pinkish trails as they traveled through the blood left on his face. 
Using your thumb, you wiped them away as you cooed, “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m not asking for things to go back to how they were overnight, or even ever at all. I know what happened isn’t ever going away. But I need you to stop this, okay?” You gently touched one of the bloody cuts on his face, causing him to wince slightly. “I need you to stop punishing yourself. That’s the first step. Then we can find you someone to talk to. M-maybe even just Javy or Nat to start with? Or I can find you someone at the hospital. See if it helps. Okay?”
Jake nodded softly. Then he whispered, “Please don’t leave me.”
“Oh, Jake.” You gathered him into your arms, his arms clinging to your waist and his face burrowing into your neck as you felt his tears begin to fall once more. “I don’t want to leave. I swear. I’m just so scared and I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry. But no, I won’t leave, baby. We’ll figure it out. Together.” 
The two of you knelt on the floor for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms. After a while, your knees began to ache and your back cried out from the way you were twisted around Jake, but you ignored the pain and just squeezed him tighter. Yet, eventually, you felt him shifting in your arms and he pulled away.
But as you glanced at his face, you inhaled sharply as, for the first time in months, Jake stared you directly in the eye. And brushing a tear from your cheek, he murmured, “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, Jake. Always.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. It wasn’t a passionate kiss that took your breath away, but it was progress. And that was all you needed.
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Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @lorecraft, @green-socks, @heart-0n-fire, @marvelousmermaid, @mayhem24-7forever, @wildbornsiren, @hederasgarden, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87, @forever-sleepy-sloth, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27, @phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson, @cycbaby, @topguncortez, @imjess-themess, @footprintsinthesxnd, @fantasticcopeaglepasta
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No One Deserves This
Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake “Hangman” Seresin, f!reader
Summary: For the last few months, Jake has fallen into a self-destructive pattern. Tonight is the final straw for you.
Word Count: 1637
TW: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Mentions of character death, Mentions of a Bar Fight, Broken Nose, Grief, PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, Self-Destructive Behavior, Hopeful Ending
Note: Written as part of @callsign-phoenix's 500-follower celebration with the prompt "You like the pain. You like it because you believe you deserve it". Thank you to @green-socks for beta reading for me! 💖
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Not for the first time, you arrived home to find Jake sitting on the floor outside your apartment leaning against the wall in a small pool of his own blood. You didn’t say a word as he looked up at you through his bloodshot eyes, instead, you just walked past and unlocked the door. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him struggling to climb unsteadily to his feet, but you ignored him as you walked into the apartment. However, you left the door open so he would follow you in.
Once inside, you placed your bags down before leaning heavily against the dining room table. You could feel Jake hovering behind you, but he knew better than to say anything right now. After all, what could he possibly say to make this okay? 
Taking a few deep breaths to try and keep your temper in check, you asked, “How many were there this time?”
“Six.” The word was muffled and thick, warped by the likely broken nose he was sporting. 
Shaking your head, you turned to face him. “Seriously, Jake? Six? What were you thinking?” You hoped he could hear the disappointment and disgust that was dripping from every word you said. But even if he did, you knew it wouldn’t make much of a difference.
As always, he hung his head in the semblance of contrition. “They jumped me while I was walking back to my truck. I didn’t know there would be that many. There were only three or four in the bar.”
Stalking over to him, you grabbed his hand, flipped it over to reveal his unmarred and completely uninjured knuckles, and held it up for him to see. “Did you even try to fight back this time? To protect yourself? Or did you just run your mouth and then sit there and let them beat the shit out of you? Hmm?” You threw down his hand and marched into the kitchen.
Seconds later, you reemerged with a bag of frozen peas and a dish towel which you hurled at Jake before turning to stomp back to the bedroom. “For your face. But that’s all I’m doing. You can patch yourself up for once.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were whispered softly from behind you.
Without turning around, you said, “No, you’re not. If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t keep doing this to yourself. You wouldn’t keep doing this to me.” The hand that settled gently on your shoulder sent a small shudder through you, but you still refused to face him. “Jake, I can’t do this anymore. What happens when you pick a fight with someone who won’t stop? What happens when I don’t find you outside my door but a pair of cops telling me you didn’t…”
“I’m so sorry, baby. I-I didn’t think–”
“I know you didn’t. That’s the problem. You are so wrapped up in your own pain that you don’t care how much pain you’re causing the rest of us.” Suddenly, something snapped deep within you, and all the walls you had built up to try and protect Jake came crumbling down, releasing a flood of suppressed emotions.
You whirled around to face your boyfriend, tears streaming down your face. “Did you know Javy asked me to meet him for coffee today? He’s so worried about you and what you’re doing to yourself that he was practically in tears. In all the years I’ve known that man, he’s never…. And Nat makes me text her every night when you get home because she’s terrified one night you won’t make it. And Bob comes to visit me at the hospital about once a week just to see how I’m holding up and almost every time I end up sobbing into his chest because I’m so scared for you.”
Jake stumbled back a few steps as if your words were physical blows slamming into him. His busted lip quivered and he choked out, “I-I didn’t know. I didn’t think I was worrying you guys.”
“Weren't worried? You go to a random bar at least once a week with the sole intent of starting a fight that you then refuse to protect yourself in. I’ve gone through all of my medical supplies twice in the last month trying to patch you up afterwards. How the fuck did you think we wouldn’t be worried?”
He shrugged half-heartedly. You could tell he wasn’t processing this information very well, but you had already come this far, you might as well lay all the cards down on the table. 
“It’s not just the fights. Jake… when was the last time you kissed me? Or hugged me? Or even looked me in the eye? Because I know when. It was months ago, on the day you left for the mission. The day you pulled me into your arms and kissed me so passionately that it took my breath away. The day promised you would come back to me. But you didn’t, did you? I think it’s time I accepted that the man I love died up there in the sky along with Maverick and Rooster. That the man who came back is just a ghost of the man who left. And I can’t keep being haunted by the memory of what once was.”
Jake lifted his eyes slightly, still not looking you in the face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m done, Jake. I’m sorry. I just can’t keep doing this. I love you too much to stand here and watch you kill yourself. And I know it’s horrible of me to say, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m drowning and I’m so tired and I don’t know how much longer I can keep my head above the water before…” You trailed off, unable to finish the thought. 
Jake collapsed to his knees before you, his beautiful green eyes magnified by the tears gathering there. Taking your hands, he whispered, “You never told me you were feeling like this.”
“I tried, over and over again but you never listened. I begged you to get help. I begged you to go talk to someone. I begged you to do it for me if you wouldn’t do it for yourself, but you didn’t care. Because you like the pain. You like it because you think you deserve it. But no one deserves this.” You gently ran your free hand through his hair, careful to avoid the clumps of dried blood near his hairline. Jake leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as tears finally began to streak down his face.  
Lowering yourself to your knees so you were level with him, you tried to get through to him one last time. “What happened wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could to save them. You wanted to go after Maverick and Rooster long before they let you. You begged them to let you take off, yet Cyclone refused. If he hadn’t, you would’ve made it there with plenty of time to spare instead of arriving just to see them get shot out of the sky. That was on Cyclone. And Rooster never should have gone back for Maverick in the first place. That was his choice, not yours. You did your job, you didn’t fail anyone. They failed you. 
“So please, stop trying to punish yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. Just come back to me, Jake. Come back. Please.”
“I don’t know how.” The words were whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear them. Jake’s head was hung low, the top of his forehead barely brushing against your chest. 
Taking his face between your hands, you tilted it towards you though his eyes still trailed on the floor. Tears slipped down his cheeks, creating pinkish trails as they traveled through the blood left on his face. 
Using your thumb, you wiped them away as you cooed, “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m not asking for things to go back to how they were overnight, or even ever at all. I know what happened isn’t ever going away. But I need you to stop this, okay?” You gently touched one of the bloody cuts on his face, causing him to wince slightly. “I need you to stop punishing yourself. That’s the first step. Then we can find you someone to talk to. M-maybe even just Javy or Nat to start with? Or I can find you someone at the hospital. See if it helps. Okay?”
Jake nodded softly. Then he whispered, “Please don’t leave me.”
“Oh, Jake.” You gathered him into your arms, his arms clinging to your waist and his face burrowing into your neck as you felt his tears begin to fall once more. “I don’t want to leave. I swear. I’m just so scared and I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry. But no, I won’t leave, baby. We’ll figure it out. Together.” 
The two of you knelt on the floor for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms. After a while, your knees began to ache and your back cried out from the way you were twisted around Jake, but you ignored the pain and just squeezed him tighter. Yet, eventually, you felt him shifting in your arms and he pulled away.
But as you glanced at his face, you inhaled sharply as, for the first time in months, Jake stared you directly in the eye. And brushing a tear from your cheek, he murmured, “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, Jake. Always.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. It wasn’t a passionate kiss that took your breath away, but it was progress. And that was all you needed.
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Taglist: @valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog,  @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014, @dempy, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @kkrenae, @zebralover
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grislyintentions · 8 months
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[Another stray thought before I actually head off here: Sometimes I think about how the Ei from 500+ years ago would have willingly purged her own existence in exchange for saving her sister if she knew and had the resources to tamper with Irminsul (like mother like son lol) and I get the big sad tm. She really doesn't see herself as anything more than a weapon and that is no way to live a life.
Now, she is willing to step out of the shadows (no pun intended) and try to engage the world more. But I don't think she can fully bridge that emotional distance between herself and others if she doesn't learn to process her own grief and navigate her own identity as a person. Not her sister's double. Not as a living weapon. Who exactly is "Ei"? I doubt she herself knows anymore.
This is yet another reason why I think both scaramouche and her mirror one another in their own arcs. They are both still navigating the world whilst trying to define "self". It's honestly quite the lonely journey for the both of them.]
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queeniecamps · 2 years
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@jaspvid-week day 1: Guidance/counselor/luck "You survive it all, but can you really call this living?"
Okay, so, I was honestly torn on whether or not I'd even join jaspvid week because my adult jasper is a trans girl, and I was like "uhh, idk if having a trans girl in a normally mlm ship would fare well in the fandom", so this is more or less me testing the waters
{ do NOT tag as ge//nderbe//nd }
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whiskeysmulti · 11 months
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.Whiskey.
Sometimes I forget how many characters I write that have endured serious trauma or abuse and then I remember these guys,
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and the list goes on.
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dreamedbeyond · 1 year
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THE SHADOW.
For those of you who don't know, the 28th century leader of the Suliban Cabal, dubbed 'Future Guy' in fanon, and 'Shadow Boy' by me, had Enterprise been renewed and had they pursued the Temporal Cold War arc (seasons 1 and the first half of 2) instead of the Xindi War arc (the second half of season 2, season 3, and season 4), was going to be revealed to be none other than Archer himself. This has been confirmed by Brannon Braga.
What led Jon to become Shadow!Archer is that the Enterprise went down with all hands and he alone survived. He blames himself, and is all but debilitated by grief. He has lain in wait for centuries, undying, and causes the Temporal Cold War to rewrite that history.
Having sat around and watched the prime timeline (the timeline comprising of the Original Series, the Next Generation / Deep Space 9, Voyager, and culminating in the version of the 31st century Daniels is from), he is incredibly disappointed how things played out, and will stop at nothing to make a better future.
Given the Trek universe and the many reboots / soft reboots / things changing behind the scenes without an in-universe explanation, I reckon that Shadow!Archer has reset the timeline at least three times but it could be a lot more.
The first reset results in the timeline consisting of Discovery, Strange New Worlds, Lower Decks, Picard, and the 'bad future' 32nd century Archer and Daniels go to in "Shockwave."
The second reset results in the AOS timeline.
The third reset results in the 'final' timeline or the 'best' timeline, a timeline where the Xindi War doesn't happen, the Kelvin survives, the Burn doesn't happen, Captain Pike either lives (AOS) or is disabled but lives well (TOS / DIS / SNW), there's no Dominion War, and Voyager doesn't get stranded in the Delta Quadrant.
As a result, Shadow!Jon is ancient, jaded, and ruthless. He does not consider himself to be Captain Jonathan Archer, maintaining that Captain Archer died on the Enterprise with his crew. Though he loves deeply, fiercely, and all-consumingly, he could not care less about time, the universe, or himself. He is incredibly angry, eaten alive by guilt, and feels that what's happened is his fault to the point that he will remake time to his own design. He has nothing to lose, and he both doesn't care at all and cares so much to the point it destroys him. His best ending, he knows, is getting erased from history so that normal!Jon can live his life as he always should have, so if things don't work out this time, that's alright.
He's patient.
He can wait.
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iruludavare · 2 years
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Honesty hour: how are you honestly recovering from the trauma you went through with the weapon?
Honest hour || Not accepting @pkmnsdarkqueen
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    The question is simple, straightforward, yet it sits upon her shoulders in a way that threatens to consume the heroine whole. Bony, long fingers digging into the skin, claws latching onto muscle, forcing Serena to sitter a little straighter, but never taller. Another hand manifests from nothing to wrap around features pale and slightly translucent under harsh, white light, stifling what sounds poise themselves at the tip of her tongue. The same one that, perhaps on another day, would point into the corners of lips and drag them upwards until they stayed put; that would seize her jaw and push out the words ‘I’m doing okay’. A set of words heartless and cruel, as memories from the deepest parts of her mind are dragged forward, bound in chains and shadows.
    No sounds interrupt the gap between question and response, yet she hears screams. Piercing, guttural, raw. Of those wounded, and those bearing witness to it all. The scent of dirt and iron and smoke and wood fills the young woman’s nose—a stench that pools in the back of her throat; a blockade, a failsafe, for what keeps the blonde silent. Each scene, each scent, each sound broken apart temporarily by the blinking of grey eyes.
    Trauma. Serena would not call it that. What right has she, to experience such things? With a heartbeat and lungs filling with air, how could the heroine possibly call it that? They are memories—reminders of her mistakes and the pain she had failed to stop. A time when the world was close to ending, yet she had not the courage to throw a single punch of her own. To admit that she balances upon her shoulders such things would mean to admit that something is wrong—with her; with her ability to push forward. That she, still blessed to be alive, bears scars that the dead might yearn to accept as a cost to continue living.
    It would be useless to argue that part of her heart does not live in the past. She stands, a woman in the present, but a girl in the past. Sometimes feeling the wind in her hair or sunshine upon skin, and other times not. Shivering from the cold on one day, and from emotions driving tear-stained cheeks the next. Yet it is no less than what Serena deserves, or so she tells herself. To be unscathed would be an insult, but to acknowledge she is wounded would be selfish. Instead, the blonde hoists it up onto her shoulders, and anchors herself to the ground, letting it dig into the earth and pull strides to a stop when it feels necessary.
    Just like now.
    And although not a single word escapes from her lips, the look hidden among shining eyes screams one thing:
         ‘Not well,’
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hawkinscursed · 2 years
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anyways one last thought before i log off for the night and head to bed: steve 100% thought, even if it was just for a fleeting moment, that he was going to die, alone in the upside down, once the bats started attacking. he was in pain and scared and one was literally wrapped around his neck, he didn’t think he was making it out of there alive. he knows if it wasn’t for the others, he would not have. and man oh man the survivor’s guilt he has over the fact that he did (live) and eddie didn’t ... is absolutely impalpable.
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historic-meme · 2 months
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Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. This whole week l have been thinking alot about the Holocaust. So last night I re-read maus. One panel really stuck out to me during this reading. For context this is in Maus 2 when Art is talking to his therapist, a Holocaust survivor, about how he feels he could never measure up to his father who survived Auschwitz. At this point in the story his father had already past. May his memory be a blessing.
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The dialogue, “but you weren’t in Auschwitz. You were in Rego Park,” hit me like a punch to the chest. I have no better way to explain the paradoxical guilt I felt and continue to feel as the granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor. I did not live during the Holocaust. It had ended before my grandmother reached eighteen years old. And yet, the Shoah seems to loom over me. Forever a reminder, that I am alive by sheer luck. My great grandfather’s parents as well as two of his brothers were murdered in Auschwitz. My great grandmother’s twin sister was also murdered in the Holocaust. Despite hours of research, I still have no idea where exactly she died.
Using the term guilty for what I feel doesn’t seem exactly right but there is no better word in the English language. Maybe if I was smarter or more articulate I could find better words.
A key theme of this chapter is intergenerational trauma. This is the same chapter that has this iconic image.
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On this Holocaust Remembrance Day, I simply want to acknowledge the real and extremely painful intergenerational trauma and inherited survivors guilt felt by descendants of Jewish survivors. I know I struggled in the past with feeling like I even have any right to feel this way considering I am three generations removed from any of my family that were murdered in the Holocaust. If any other Jews struggle with thoughts like this, I want to assure you that your feelings are valid and real. Intergenerational trauma is complicated and the feelings that come with it don’t simply disappear once a certain number of generations from the event pass.
This post is specifically about the Holocaust and jewish intergenerational trauma stemming from our persecution and genocide. If this post resonates with as a non-Jew who has intergenerational trauma I am glad, but please do not derail this post.
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mayasaura · 1 year
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I am never going to forgive Cristabel for what she did to Mercymorn. Inflicted on her the same "cruellest thing anyone has ever done to you" that Gideon did on Harrow, but without the same pressures. No one was banging down the door threatening to kill them both. She didn't have to choose between watching Mercy die and dying for her. When Cristabel violently manipulated Mercy into lyctorhood, she did it with fore-thought. She planned it. Fuck her.
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elven-kisses · 1 year
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survivor's guilt - a third life au where scar won instead.
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henderdads · 1 year
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Eddie wasn’t supposed to survive. In fact the doctors say it’s a miracle that he did. He knew he was dying in the moment the bats ripped into his flesh. He expected that to be it. The last face he’d ever see would be Dustin’s. He wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Wayne or the band. He’d never see Steve again.
But then he woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by beeping monitors and was swarmed with doctors and nurses checking his vitals and his bandages. He felt like he was going to suffocate. The last thing he remembers is hearing Dustin scream for help. Apparently he somehow made it to a hospital and survived.
Steve and Wayne take care of him. They visit him every day. The kids stop by frequently too. They shouldn’t though.
He’s assured that he’s off the hook with the murder charges. That Hopper is finalizing everything. The man came back to life and immediately starts working on clearing the name of a kid who shouldn’t be here.
It doesn’t matter how much everyone seems to care. He wants it to matter. Steve Harrington of all people has especially been a great addition to his life. Except he can’t shake the fact that he’s here and Chrissy isn’t.
He’s here and so many other young, innocent people didn’t make it. They all died gruesome deaths and yet he survived. It doesn’t make sense.
Eddie finds himself spiraling the longer he’s stuck in this hospital bed. He curls in on himself, forcing a smile every once in a while so Steve and Wayne don’t get on his back. Steve starts cuddling with him and playing with his hair when they’re alone.
Steve keeps taking care of him even after he’s discharged. Eddie appreciates the gesture, he likes the closeness. But he can’t bring himself to enjoy it. He feels numb and he continues to spiral.
It’s just days after getting home that Eddie holds his medication and stares at it. He considers taking more than he should. Steve walks in just moments later and smiles, asking if he wants to watch a movie. Eddie shakes the thought, forces a smile, and nods.
Eddie curls into Steve as he presses a quick kiss to his cheek. He feels a tiny spark of warmth but it disappears just as fast as it came. He knows he should talk about it and not bottle everything he’s feeling up, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
His chest feels heavy. He can’t get himself out of bed in the morning. He wants to be happy. He wants to explore the blossoming relationship with Steve. But all he can do is let his emotions fester. All he can do is stare at that damn pill bottle and think what if?
Steve notices that something is off soon after. He’s had a feeling for a while, hoping it would pass but he can see it getting worse. It all comes to a head when he confronts Eddie about it.
He sits softly on the bed, rubbing Eddie’s back as he curls up to him.
“Hey Eds? You okay?”
Eddie doesn’t turn his head to look at him, he groans, “M fine.”
Steve stays gentle, “You sure about that?”
That’s when Eddie breaks. Silent tears stream down his face as he pulls the sheets up higher, continuing to stare ahead at the wall. He softly shakes his head no.
Steve pulls him in closer and moves a piece of hair out of his face, “Can we talk about it?”
Eddie finally turns to face Steve, burying his face in his chest as he sobs. Steve gently rubs circles into his back, allowing him to cry.
When Eddie calms down enough that he can talk, he tells Steve everything. How guilty he feels. How it should have been him. How he shouldn’t be here. How he might be better off dead.
It breaks Steve’s heart. But he wipes Eddie’s tears and he hugs him. He tells him he’ll be there every step of the way and he suggests he talk to a therapist. Dr. Owens set him up with one a few years back, he’s sure they could figure something out for Eddie.
Eddie offers a small nod in agreement. He’s never been good at asking for help. But god knows he needs it right now.
Steve calls Owens immediately and offers the phone to Eddie so they can talk. Owens tells him he’ll figure something out as soon as possible.
Steve takes to hiding Eddie’s medication and gives him only what he needs.
Even months later, Eddie still has bad days. It never fully goes away, but he slowly recovers both physically and mentally. He doesn’t feel as numb anymore and he can enjoy the physical affection Steve gives. He can give it in return too.
Recovery isn’t linear. He has his ups and downs. But eventually, Eddie is able to look at his scars and see them as a reminder that he’s a fighter. He’s still here. Maybe that’s a good thing.
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frankly-alien · 3 months
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disco elysium wip | kim has a nightmare | typos corrected
Harry's voice is a warm rumble, a distant thunderstorm in the height of summer. The alien orange glow of the sodium streetlamps pours through the metal blinds in the window above you and lands in strips on the door opposite. You can barely see it over Harry's head as he continues to whisper in the darkness, one hand curled up to support his neck and the other stroking lazy patterns in the fabric of your undershirt.
"I think we made real progress today," he's saying. His eyes aren't even open. He's half asleep and a little shard of guilt jabs you. He's only awake because of you. "Once we get to talking to people, asking around and whatnot, we should have a better idea of what...."
He pauses to inhale dramatically. His hand goes flat on your back while he yawns deep and wide.
"...What kinda hooliganism’s been going down with all the fireworks. Probably just some kids."
You hum in reply. It’s all you have energy for. Your nose is still stuffed from crying. Outside, a car goes by. Inside, you shift in the tangled blankets until your legs are pressed against his. He is warm and fuzzy, and there is no way to describe how comforting he is to you.
"I'm sorry," you whisper. You are. Harry cracks his eyes open and blinks at you like he doesn't understand what you just said. Then he uncurls his hand from under his neck and pulls you against his body, as easy as breathing. You hide your face against his soft chest as he cuddles you closer and inhale the musky scent of home. His heart thuds next to your ear and his chest expands and contracts with each breath. It’s almost enough to set you sobbing again; you maintain your composure just barely.
"Please don't be sorry," he murmurs. You can feel his voice reverberating in his throat, an oaky timbre made rough by years of cigarettes and drinking. "I'm glad I woke up."
"Still," you mumble, stubborn. It would be better if he wasn't awoken at all, if you could manage to keep your desperate struggling and horrified screaming contained to your dreams.
It had been a bad one. The first bad one in a long while, the first truly awful one that Harry was there to witness. This time, the darkness of a rain slicked alleyway merged with the stark white of snow-covered cobblestone like an abstract painting. The slick shock of red on your hands united both.
"No, no, no Harry," you remember pleading. (Did you say 'Harry?' Your mouth made the motion but the painting spun and another name slipped out while the heat of the wounds burnt your palms.)
"God, please—"
"Why are you asking God? She didn't come for you last time."
The scene darkened like a stage. The cobblestone bruising your knees become frozen mud, bunched up from boot prints. Harry was laid at your knees, still as stone with two shots to his gut. Above you, a dead man spun almost lazily. A disco ball cast dappled light around like the sun through trees.
"Then again, maybe God did come for you. Just left the rest of us behind."
"I'm sorry," you whispered. An old greeting to this particular body; he haunts you often enough. Your voice was hoarse. Harry was still under your hands. He wouldn't breathe.
"I know," the dead man said mildly. His RCM uniform was stained black and plum red near his wishbone. There was a fine splatter of blood on his chin—sanguine freckles from coughing.
"What is this?" you asked, throat sore with stress. Harry bled sluggishly from wounds that didn't belong to him. The dead man swayed. The disco lights glowed in slow procession around the three of you.
"A warning. He'll end up like me, you know. Everyone does."
The dead man had eyes like porcelain and the wrongness of white where there should be chocolate brown made your throat close. You tried not to cry. You were already crying. There is a part of you that has never stopped crying. You have been sobbing since the first shot made impact. Harry was cold under your touch.
"Why?" you questioned weakly. The dead man sighed. Viscous black liquid bubbled up his throat and slid down his chin. His long fingers were pink and blue at his sides. The mud began to thaw under your legs.
"Kits...." The dead man spoke your old nickname so gently, so softly. "You are very good at surviving. From the very beginning, you could be counted on to make it out alive."
You shivered violently in the cold truth of those words. Death wrestles your loved ones away from you and leaves you devastated in the middle of it all. It isn't fair. How foolish you were to believe you could have love in this place, that Ravechol wouldn't drag Harry from your arms too. Your mourning pulled a long sound of pain out of your lungs and crushed you in half over Harry's body. You twisted your hands in his shirt, unable to rise while you shook from the force of your grief.
"Kim," the corpse of Harry's rasped. Blood rose and spilled as he spoke, river green eyes fogged like glass. "Kim, I'm here. We're okay, you're safe."
The dead man smiled, lopsided and easy in that old way of his as his rope creaked.
"Ah, don't be so blue Kits. It probably won't be your fault this time."
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As someone who's permanently physically disabled as a result of an abusive relationship some of y'all's takes on Izzy are fucking UNHINGED. Like "I hope you never go near an abuse survivor, EVER, in your life" levels of revolting. I shouldn't be struggling for breath with a panic attack after trying to scroll through a blog for pictures but here we are.
Nobody, nobody, can ever deserve being physically mutilated by someone they trusted. Nope, not the assholes either. And nobody can do that to someone else and claim it was their fault for being an asshole. And nobody can traumatize MULTIPLE PEOPLE and point to that other person as the source of the problem. What the FUCK are you talking about.
(ok to rb but if you start arguing that "well, actually" I'll block you)
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waiting-so-long · 1 month
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A trope I will never get over is character A not understanding why character B is angry after they saved them
And A blowing up in B’s face like, “What was I supposed to do?! Leave you there?! Let you die?!”
And B looks at them like they’re crazy when screaming back that “YES! That’s exactly what I wanted!”
And then it gets all quiet as they both feel the weight of what B said. Both of them knowing that it’s one hundred percent the truth.
And that B will never forgive A for saving them.
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stayaiden · 4 months
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Okay so I just saw Godzilla Minus One and I have so many thoughts. Spoiler warning so scroll away now
So Shikishima deals with his inner demons and a fuck ton of survivors guilt from World War II, and Noriko tries to help him and teach him that he deserves to live. And I just feel like I was internally begging him as well. USE THE EJECT BUTTON PLEASE LIVE YOU HAVE A KIDDDD!!
And if was so different and refreshing to have a Godzilla that was like a proper beast and not a guardian titan thing. Don’t get me wrong, I love Godzilla as a good guy, but the ones where he represents the sins of humanity or this unstoppable evil is just way more meaningful to me.
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