#tw; Survivor’s Guilt

[shiroi---kumo]

.: The Devil's Toll :.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He doesn't understand why his hair is getting stroked so lovingly but he also doesn't know why he's finding it so hard to pull away. There is a small hand brushing through white locks over and over and he doesn't quite know how he ended up leaning his head up on His Excellency’s chair like some kind of lounging cat but here he is doing just that nonetheless.

Words: 2.9 k   Pages:  6 TW;;  Depression, PTSD, Submission, Mental Illness, Survivor’s Guilt, gaslighting, possession, isolation, abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse, self blame, objectification, manipulation, injury, mental breakdown, intimidation, love bombing, dissociation, conditioning, punishment and praise, rewards, murder

His stomach twists in disgust as he realizes the true stakes of the situation and now if he moves wrong that hand in his hair will turn into a variable claw in the matter of a few moments. He hates how he can't remember ever laying down like this and quite frankly he can't remember waking up this morning either.

 It's becoming more and more frequent in recent days. He's missing entire chunks of time and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. He's missing chunks of time and he can't remember when was the last time His Excellency killed him. Somehow this seems like more of a bad thing than a good thing for as strange as that sounds. Shouldn't one want to be spared the pain of death? Well yes, and of course he does too but this also means that when the time comes that he inevitably messes up again, when His Excellency makes a move for punishment it will be the most severe one he's received to date. 

He's not stupid. He knows how this game works. Praise and Punishment walk hand in hand with this little beast and right now those same hands are in his hair and he can't move. He can't pull away no matter how much he wants to and he can't even flinch or breathe wrong unless he wants those small but deadly fingers ready to tear snow colored locks right out from his head. 

It's always such a wretched sensation.  

Nothing is worse than the feeling of his hair being pulled. He hates it. He hates the feeling and he hates the way it makes him feel so vulnerable. How the pain of it will bring him to his knees and have him fighting back the tears at the sensation. You would think one who has died as many times as he has would have more pain tolerance for something seemingly so simple but the sensation of even the root of his hair going taunt is enough to send his nervous system into overdrive. 

But what he hates the most is how he can feel himself start purring. He doesn’t know why he does it. He tries to tell himself to stop but he can feel those fingers grow softer as they stroke through snow. The louder he purrs the softer they get and he hates himself for finding so much comfort in the sensation. He hates himself for finding peace in this.  He should be running away from this beast as quickly as his body would carry him. He should be fleeing at any chance he gets but instead he allows himself to sink into his place on the arm of this chair as that little monster continues to comb through fluffy spikes with a gentleness that could only be described as care. 

That can’t be right. 

That’s just not possible, and he hates how many times he feels like he’s had this conversation with himself as of late. The beast does not love him. The demon does not care. The little devil felt nothing for him but yet those lips part and purr out affections of their own. 

“You’ve been so well behaved as of late, Precious.”  The small emperor sounds as his hand continues to work. “You’ve done your tasks so well. I’m proud of you, my Little Cloud. You’ve been such a good pet. Perhaps you deserve some time out of the castle? I think you’ve earned it.” 

He only increases the volume on his purring in response as if doing so will show his gratitude for such a notion but his lips are hanging in a frown behind the thin metal covering his face as the boy of pink continues. 

“You can go with Herba the next she leaves.” The Tyrant offers as he finally pulls his hand away and out of the Misterican’s hair. “But when she leaves you know the rules. Her word is as good as my word and you are to do whatever she asks of you. You understand, don’t you Precious?” 

“Yes, Your Excellency.” 

“That’s my good boy. You’ve become so well behaved. I’m so proud of you, Makenshi.” 

His purring only grows louder as those hands return to his hair and he doesn’t know how long he stays like that but it’s long enough that he doesn’t remember falling asleep.  Did he fall asleep? He doesn’t know. He does know that he woke in his own quarters the next morning and he was met with Herba throwing her arms over his shoulders to bring him into a very tight and very unwanted hug and she leaned to try to push a kiss to his cheek and he could only lean himself the opposite direction so far to avoid contact. 

“Makenshi.”  

His name was trumpeted in his direction in a small but authoritative voice and it has the Misterican standing up straight giving this damnable woman the space she needed to push those poison painted lips directly to his cheek even if it was covered in metal.  Dull jade is looking forward into the main hall with the entirety of his form tingling to both get away from this woman and get off the ground. The place just above the little demon’s head is calling his name because then he is both in eyesight but at the same time away from this gaggle of absolute morons. 

If he could never associate with any of them for the rest of his life ever again, he’s sure he could find a way to be happy. If only Rorahm could finally wake up - but  - jade moons downcast at the thought because at this rate his sun would never rise and he was going to be stuck here for the rest of said life. Should he make the most of it? Should he adjust?  

No. No. Listen to yourself Makenshi. You’re falling for that monster’s tricks! 

But are they tricks? 

It’s been too many years and he doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t remember the sound of his Mother’s voice and he can hardly remember his Father’s face. He tries not to think about them too much because he doesn’t want to get himself all upset and then in turn upset His Excellency. The Tyrant isn’t exactly one to be any form of comforting if he were to simply explain that he was thinking about home. In fact, he doesn’t want that little monster anywhere near  anything to do with Misterica in the first place, so it would probably be for the best to simply forget it all anyway. If he can’t remember then the little beast can manipulate it against him. 

He can’t seem to remember most things lately anyway. 

He can’t remember going to sleep the night before and he hardly can make sense of the morning. He just wants this woman to get off of him but instead she lets herself sink down to wrap her arm around his and lean herself up against him like they were anything that could be considered close - which was comical in his mind when the closest he would like to be to this 

woman would be to watch her burn.  

Still he just adjusts to the feeling of her hanging off his arm as he focuses his attention on His Excellency instead because the only thing he ever needed to do was to keep the little gremlin happy and as long as he did that he’d keep his head. Why was the beast smiling at him the way he was? He doesn’t like it. It’s making his skin crawl almost as much as the feeling of the plant witch hanging off his arm is. 

“Makenshi, I am assigning you to assist Herba today. I expect you two to cooperate while you’re out in the field. Herba knows what needs to be done, so you simply need to follow her lead, and I shouldn’t have to repeat myself with what we discussed yesterday, do I?” 

“No, Your Excellency. I remember.”  He sounds, raising his free arm to cross it over his chest to give this pink haired abomination a half bow. What he was saying he remembers, he doesn’t know. Quite frankly, he doesn’t even even the day before. Yesterday? He couldn’t tell you. Herba’s face was where his memory picks up and he hates that too because there is something about thinking about yesterday that is turning his stomach but he couldn’t tell you why. 

So now they’re returning to that damnable airship and he hates being on it.  It’s nauseating and the amount of pollen in the air is enough to make him sick. His stomach is twisting in knots As he takes a seat. He doesn’t feel well but there is the sound of jingling chimes in the air as he looks over to the open deck just to the right of him. Chimes blowing in the wind and it's enough to tell him to just focus on the sound of something pleasant for once as he lays his head down and tells himself to just go back to sleep.  She’ll wake him when they get there. She always does. 

And he’s sure it’s for something nasty.  It always is.

He won’t do it this time though. He’ll never kill again and he doesn’t care how badly His Excellency beats him to death for disobeying orders. He will not stain the Holy Blade with yet more blood of the innocent… He just needs to not think about it and sleep. He’ll fight with her when he wakes up. His Excellency might be able to get the better of him but Herba won’t. He will never let that woman - 

“ ‘kenshi-darling? ‘Kenshi-darling, wake up you silly willy. If you told me you were tired, I would have gotten you a blanket, lovely.”  She smiles at him with a face that is possibly dripping with more venom than it ever has before. Her smiles are always fake and they turn his stomach, but she is taking him by the hand and he’s letting her.  He doesn’t feel like fighting with her.  

It’s a quiet town they’ve found themselves in this time. It’s closer to the outer reaches of Wonderland but not quite all the way out. A town that has larger than normal buildings built up and a large building he wonders if it is a church of some kind on the other side of town. She has him by the hand as they walk, and the people of this village don’t seem to be paying them any mind.  Children are laughing, the smell of fresh bread is in the air and the city itself seems at peace. 

Herba is leaning herself in to cling to his arm as if they were some sort of couple and it is taking everything in him not to shake her off. She just seems to be happy to take a stroll with him and he doesn’t understand what the catch is. Why did His Excellency let him out of the castle if there was nothing wicked for him to do? Why let him just come take in the sights of Wonderland if they didn’t mean for him to cause some kind of havoc?  

She’s strolling through the local bazaar with him as his nose catches the smell of sugar and it’s been so long since he has got to eat anything truly sweet. He sniffs once and then again and she’s making an Oooh? Sort of sound that he doesn’t like as she takes him by the hand to lead him towards the source of the scent. 

“You like sweets, don’t you, ‘kenshi? I’ll buy you something. I’ll buy you something nice, for how good you’ve been lately. Tell me what you want. Anything and you can have it. We all deserve a little treat every now and then.” 

Is she serious? She can’t be. 

The Church bell is ringing in the background as she pulls him along. A grin slipping on her lips as she pulls him into the middle of the marketplace, only to look back at the Misterican with bright eyes and a poison purple smile. 

“Anything you want, ‘kenshi-darling. Name it, and it’s yours.” She pauses to look towards the church and watches as the streets seem to fill as if the building is emptying further with each chime.  “Must be noon.”  She sounds returning her gaze to her companion only to watch as a pale hand reaches back towards the hilt of his blade to rock it free with a single click.  

“ ‘kenshi-darling?”  She sounds but still just continues to watch the man move. The swordsman takes his blade up into his grip and it is held out towards her at length as if extending the tip in her direction. Mist rolls out from behind bared teeth in plumbs when the devil growls.  He’s pushing off a foot to take off in a dead lunge in her direction but instead of striking at the object of his absolute hatred, the man of white races past her directly towards that of an older man down the way of the lane of the marketplace and cleaves the poor soul clean in two. 

More Mist rolls out from parted pale as his blade is swung to send a flood of white colored energy racing through the stalls like a spark on a wick until it reaches its destination and half the bazaar goes up in a massive explosion.  Screams fill the sky as citizens start to scurry and scatter. 

“The White Devil!!” They cry.  “The White Devil has come for us all!” 

Red stains window panes and runs along the cracks of the cobblestone as the carnage continues.  The man of snow does not cease his hellsent symphony even as men and women alike fall to their knees to beg for their lives. Their lights are snuffed out regardless. Children struck down with little concern and explosion after explosion brings building of stone tumbling to the ground. 

Before long the symphony of sayonara falls silent and the Maestro of the Massacre stands center stage, crimson dripping from the Holy Blade stained with sin once more. 

Only one other life remains and a dangerous gaze of dimmed jade is turning to glare daggers at the plant like woman. He’s raising his blade and taking stance to charge her when she merely raises her hand in his direction and snaps her fingers together. 

Jade eyes go wide before they start blinking rapidly and soon their owner is looking all around him with horror etching itself into his features.  Anger overcomes him as he refocuses on Gaudium’s Lord of Plants and Potions only to scream. 

“What did you do?! Answer me! You didn’t have to kill them!” 

But he only gets a small laugh in response as she floats over to him to rest just over his shoulders. 

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything. You did this, ‘kenshi-baby. This was all your work. You killed them all gracefully and you didn’t leave a single one alive. Truly expert skill.”   

“You’re lying!” He hisses as his mind starts to reel at the possibility. Her lungs didn’t sound like she was lying. 

“Am I though?” She asks coyly. “Look at your sword.” 

And her hand is pointing a finger down causing jade eyes to drop along with it even if he’s scared to do what she’s asking. The Maken is in his hand and it is covered in blood. He’s covered in blood.  

His hand is trembling as the Maken is released and a deep guttural scream escapes him from down in his belly as the Holy Blade clatters to the ground. His hands are flying up to slip into white locks in between his horns only for the scream to get louder.  

What was going ON?!!!! This wasn’t right!!! He doesn’t remember ANYTHING!!!! 

His entire body is shaking as his knees hit the ground. All he can do is scream. He killed these people. He slaughtered an entire town and he doesn’t even know how or why. He can’t remember their faces. He never knew their names.  He slaughtered these people and -  

Herba is wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she hovers there next to him for the moment, nuzzling her face in close to his own. 

“ You did so good today, ‘kenshi-darling. Let’s go home and tell, His Excellency, about what a good job you did. I’m sure he’ll reward you. Oh and !”  She’s letting her feet hit the ground to shuffle over to the now destroyed stand of the vendor from earlier that had been selling all sorts of sweet treats and she picks up what appears to be some sort of hard candy on a stick and extends it out to him.  “I said I’d get you anything. A treat for doing such a good job.” 

But he couldn’t eat anything now.  Now it would only taste bitter.   

#misterican stories || drabble #topic: gaudium #topic: wonderland #topic: the white devil #topic: a prince's life #topic: chaos #topic: the earl #topic: herba #tw; Depression #tw; PTSD #tw; Submission #tw; Mental Illness #tw; Survivor’s Guilt #tw; gaslighting #tw; possession #tw; isolation #tw; abuse #tw; mental abuse #tw; self blame #tw; objectification #tw; manipulation #tw; injury #tw; mental breakdown #tw; intimidation #tw; love bombing #tw; dissociation #tw; conditioning #tw; punishment and praise #tw; rewards #tw; murder

[historic-meme]

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.

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.

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 you as a non-Jew who has intergenerational trauma I am glad, but please do not derail this post.

#history #holocaust remembrance day #holocaust #shoah #intergenerational trauma #jumblr #jewish history #shoah mention #tw shoah #holocaust mention #tw holocaust #judaism #maus #antisemitism #jewish trauma #survivors guilt #mental health

[mayasaura]

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.

#cristabel oct #mercymorn the first #the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #she made a PACT with Alfred #she planned ahead #so fuck that #suicide cw #suicide tw #cw suicide #tw suicide #survivors guilt cw

[scarletsaphire]

Clockwork didn't fix anything. Danny's parents, his friends, his sister, everyone was dead, and gone, and all he had left was Vlad. At least the older halfa was doing everything in his power to help him, with no nefarious plans at all. Right?

--

5th fic for phic phight, and this one is a doozy both in word count and in prompt fills! This one is for: @underforeversgrace, @faeriekit, @scarletsakuraaa, and @shadowfaerieammy. The prompts used will be in the end notes, as always, but having said that, I do not recommend reading them until after reading the fic. You'll see why :)

Danny couldn't say when he woke up. It wasn't as if being awake was all that different than being asleep anymore. It didn't matter whether he was staring at the back of his eyelids or at the lavish canopy hanging over his bed, everything would still be the same. His friends would still be dead. His family would still be dead. And he'd still be in this stupid mansion with the second stupidest man half-alive as his only company.

Danny didn't have any right to complain. It was all his fault, after all. If he'd just been smarter. If he'd just been honest. If he'd just been better. If he'd just been anyone but Danny Fenton, future world renowned fuck up, than everything would've been different. Everything would've been better.

When Clockwork had first shown him everything with his other self, he hadn't really understood. He knew it would hurt, losing everyone like that. He knew it would hurt in the same way that you might know breaking a bone would hurt, before you ever did. A distant kind of hurt that didn't hold a candle to the real thing.

He remembered thinking that his future self was being dramatic in separating his halves. Or maybe it had been Vlad's manipulation, his desire to be the only remaining halfa causing him to force that Danny to become the monster he'd seen through Clockwork's time mirrors. As much as losing everyone would hurt, there's no way it could hurt that badly, right?

Laying here for what was probably the fourth day straight, Danny knew that he'd been wrong.

He didn't turn his head at the sound of the door opening. He didn't turn his head when he heard Vlad's footsteps, sharp and deliberate, crossing the room that was far, far too big for him. He didn't turn his head when he felt the bead compress under Vlad's weight. He didn't even turn his head when Vlad's face appeared over him.

"Good afternoon, Daniel," he said.

Danny didn't reply.

Vlad sighed. "Little badger..." he said softly, resting one hand on the side of Danny's face. It was soft and caring, two thing Danny didn't think was possible of Vlad before last week. "I understand you don't want to, but you need to eat. Even if its just some soup. I can have somebody bring it up to you, or I can do it myself, but I'm not going to sit aside while you waste away."

Even if that's what I want? The thought floated through Danny's head, hazy and distant, but he didn't say it. He didn't say anything.

Eventually Vlad's disappointed face disappeared from his view, and his footsteps retreated from his room. A few minutes later (or maybe it was an hour? Or the next day? Danny didn't know, and he didn't care) he returned. There was the soft sound of porcelain on wood, and then Vlad was sitting on the side of the bed again.

Danny didn't fight as Vlad lifted Danny upwards, so that he was sitting against the large, plush pile of pillows instead of laying on them. He watched languidly as Vlad lifted the bowl back off the bedside table from the corner of his eye, and set it gently in Danny's lap. "Come now, Daniel. Just a few bites. It's got ectoplasm mixed in, so you won't need any more than that."

Danny did not move.

"Your only other option is for me to spoon feed you myself, and I think we both know how you would feel about that."

That got Danny to move, if not actually start eating. He turned his head to glare at where Vlad was sitting. He was surprised to see Vlad's look of relief so clearly on display, but he pushed aside any surprise in favor of annoyance. "If you even think about it I'll bite you." His voice was hoarse, and he became suddenly aware of just how dry his throat was, and how sore. He didn't know how long it had been since he last talked.

"If that's what it takes for you to eat, than I will do it," Vlad replied.

Danny huffed, before looking down at the bowl in front of him. Calling it soup would be a stretch; it was nothing but clear broth. Despite this, the thought of eating it made his stomach churn.

He glanced back up at where Vlad sat watching him expectantly. The older man made no signs of leaving, and he was right; Danny really didn't want to be spoon fed. He wasn't a child.

Danny took the spoon in his hands clumsily, bringing it up to his lips and slurping the warm, clear broth. It stung going down, but as soon as he'd finished swallowing, he felt a little bit better. He let the spoon fall into the bowl again, ignoring the broth that splashed out, and he pushed the bowl away from him.

"There. Are you happy now?"

Vlad pursed his lips together. "You need to eat more than that, Little Badger."

"Why?"

"Because you need food to survive?"

"Too late." Danny slumped backwards into the pillow pile, letting himself slide back down to a laying position. His eyes found the same fold in the canopy he'd been staring at for the better part of a week on instinct. "If only it had worked right the first time."

"Daniel-" Vlad cut himself off before restarting his sentence. "Danny. I will not pretend to understand how you're feeling, but do you really think that your friends and family would want you to stay like this? Even your father-" His voice was surprisingly free from disdain, which was impressive for Vlad. "-would've wanted you to be happy."

Danny didn't reply, and Vlad sighed again. "I'm going to leave this here, for when you do decide to eat." He moved the bowl from Danny's lap back to the bedside table, and then stood up and made his way back towards the exit. "Please try, Daniel. If not for yourself, then for them."

The door was shut with a soft click, leaving Danny to his thoughts once more.

By the time he mustered the energy to sit up and grab the bowl, it had long since gone cold. That was okay. Danny didn't think he deserved a warm meal anyway.

---

Another week had passed during his stay at Vlad's mansion. A week of blackness, followed by canopy, followed by another fight with Vlad, followed by darkness. The only reason he knew it had been a week was because of the different foods Vlad had been bringing up. While the first day had been nothing but broth, the day after it had been proper soup, albeit blended together into a liquidy mush. The day after it had been all soft vegetables, and the day after that a small slice of buttered bread had been included.

Danny hated to admit it, but the food had helped. He still didn't want to be awake, or aware, or existing in general, but he felt less like he was on death's door again. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

This time when Vlad came up to his room, Danny did turn to look at him. Unlike the previous days, he didn't have a bowl with him; he didn't have any food at all.

"Good afternoon, Daniel," Vlad said softly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed just like he'd done every earlier day. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad," Danny said. His voice wasn't ass hoarse as it had been the first day, but it still wasn't anywhere near good.

"I'm not surprised. Do you think you might be up for taking a short walk to the dining chambers?" Vlad asked. At Danny's obvious dismay, Vlad backtracked. "You don't have to, of course, but I thought that it might do you some good, to get out of the bed, if only for a few minutes. That way I can have someone come in and change the sheets, and you'll have a chance to stretch your legs."

Danny didn't answer; he didn't need to. He wouldn't be moving here anytime sooner. Maybe anytime ever, if he had his way. He would lay in this bed until he died, or until the world died around him. Whichever came first.

"Daniel, please," Vlad said. "If not for yourself, and not for me, than for the housekeeper that needs to get these stains out. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for them."

Danny didn't know enough about laundry to argue, but it sounded true. He didn't want to make things harder for anyone; he'd done enough of that already.

It was not easy for him to get out of bed. Even sitting up took as much effort as most of his fights did, and that was without really using his legs at all. Standing seemed like an impossible task.

He was about to let himself fall back to the bed, housekeeper be damned, but Vlad's hand caught him before he could.

Danny looked to Vlad, expecting to see ridicule in his eyes. It's what Danny deserved, after all. Instead, he was met with nothing but compassion and concern, and a second hand, wrapping so very gently around his wrist.

"Let me help you, Daniel."

Danny didn't have much of a choice. If he wasn't strong enough to get out of bed, he certainly wasn't strong enough to fight off Vlad. (And maybe, a small part of him wanted the help. A small part of him trusted Vlad, after everything he'd done. A small part of him just wanted to get out of this pit he'd dug himself into. Danny ignored that part.)

It was only with Vlad's help that he was able to stand, and even then, he fell right back down to the mattress. His legs were weak and wobbly, as if he'd never walked on them before, and black dots crowded his vision. He didn't want to try again, but Vlad was still holding onto him, ready to help him back up.

"I know you are strong enough to do this, Daniel."

Danny wasn't as certain as Vlad seemed to be, but there wasn't much he could do about it besides try again. This time instead of falling back onto the bed, he collapsed into Vlad's side. He clung onto to expensive suit purely out of instinct, nails tearing through the fabric.

He glanced up at Vlad, but was once again met with only compassion. "Well done, Little Badger. Let's go get you something to eat, shall we?"

The majority of the walk had Danny clinging to Vlad's side, legs shaking with every step. It was only after they'd made it a good few doors down, and the smell of herbs Danny couldn't name drifting from down the hall gave him the strength he needed to walk on his own, although Vlad kept a steadying arm around his shoulders.

By the time they'd arrived in the dining room, Danny was exhausted, and embarrassingly winded from such little effort. Still, Vlad didn't say anything, simply guided Danny to a chair before sitting down at the one at the head of the table.

"As I said, Daniel. I knew you could do it," Vlad said with a smile. Danny still said nothing, but Vlad didn't seem to care. He waved his hand, and a cart was pushed out by some invisible force. By the fact that Danny's ghost sense didn't go off, it wasn't just that they were invisible either.

"It's just magnets," Vlad answered Danny's unspoken question. "I have the controls under my side of the table."

"But then why the hand thing?" Danny asked.

Vlad smiled at him. "You know me. I cannot help a bit of dramatics."

Vlad handed out the food, a chicken noodle soup for Danny and something for fancier, and far less recognizable, for himself. Still, Vlad didn't eat, instead resting his head on his hands and watching as Danny fought with his spoon. He debated asking about it, but decided not too; it was too much effort.

The soup was good, and after only a couple of bites, Danny found his eyes falling back closed. He couldn't tell if it was because of the effort of walking here, or because of the soup himself. He didn't have the energy to fight against it, and before he knew it he was laying his head on the table, letting the black void of sleep consume him yet again.

He woke up several hours later, tucked comfortably into his bed with clean, fresh sheets.

---

It was now routine for Vlad to come and get him from his room. It wasn't always for food; sometimes it was get Danny to shower, or to watch a show, or simply to get him out of bed for a little bit. Rarely was Danny ever moving around for more than an hour, and never was it of Danny's own accord.

Not that he wasn't allowed to wander around; Vlad had made it very clear that Danny was welcome anywhere in the mansion, or on the mansion grounds, at any time. Danny just never was.

At least, he never was before today.

He wasn't sure why today was different; he'd woken up well past noon, when the sun was already starting to set, and been struck by such a strong desire to be anywhere but here that it was nearly suffocating. He'd practically run from his room, down hallway after hallway, never noting his surroundings longer than it took for him to figure out the next hallway, the next staircase, the next entrance.

It was only after he'd hit a dead end that he collapsed on the floor. He grabbed fistfuls of the soft, plush carpet underneath his feet, pulling them out in chunks and tossing them aside before doing it all over again. It wasn't enough. None of this was ever enough, he wasn't enough, just like he hadn't been enough to save them.

That's what he'd been running from, after all. That's what he'd spent the past weeks, the past month, the past however fucking long it'd been in bed hiding from. The fact that he wasn't enough. The fact that they  were dead, and he wasn't, because he hadn't even been fast enough to die with them.

The carpet was barren now, nothing but the hardened glue the strands had been connected to, and Danny had no choice but to move his hands to his head, to his hair. It hurt, but it didn't hurt enough , it wasn't anything like they would've gone through, what they would've felt, what he should've felt instead.

He couldn't fight against the scream that bubbled up from his chest, even though he knew  he should, that he needed to. He felt the way the scream tasted on his tongue, tangy and acrid and long overdo, even as his vocal chords vibrated in time with his core. He could hear the sounds of shattering glass and breaking vases, of wooden furniture smashing against the walls around him as he wailed but he couldn't stop it, just like he couldn't stop his fingers from pulling out his hair, just like he couldn't stop Sam and Tucker and Jazz and Mom and Dad and everyone from dying a horrible, horrible death and-

Warm hands met his, pulling them away from his head. Danny fought against it, scratching and screaming and crying as he tried to curl back in on himself, but it was no use; he was already exhausted, and clearly whoever this was was just stronger than he was. By the time they had succeeded at lowering Danny's hands to his lap, Danny was openly sobbing.

"It's ok, Little Badger," Vlad said, taking Danny into a hug. Danny didn't fight against it this time, burying his face into Vlad's shirt without a care for how his tears or snot would mess it up. "I'm here."

That was part of the problem though, wasn't it? he wanted to say. You're here and I'm here and they aren't. They aren't, and I am, and I should be dead in the rubble with them. I should be the one who died, so they could live, just like it was always supposed to be.

Danny couldn't say anything. His throat stung from the wail, and his eyes stung from the tears, and his head stung from the places he'd pulled out his hair.

It might've been an hour before Danny had cried himself out, maybe longer, but through the whole thing, Vlad had stayed their, holding Danny close and whispering soothing, meaningless words. It was only after his very last sniffles had died out that Vlad pulled away.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

Danny shook his head. It was the truth; he wasn't.

"That's okay. You don't need to be. I will be here regardless."

It was disconcerting, hearing words that kind come from Vlad Plasmius's mouth, but then again Vlad had been nothing but sweet to him since he came here however long ago it was. There was a solid chance Vlad would've had to carry him up to the bedroom; Danny couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything about his arrival here; he could barely remember anything from his time here anyway.

Danny didn't flinch away when Vlad's hands came up to his face to rub the tears off of his cheeks, not until he noticed the deep gashes pushed straight through the pure black gloves and into his skin. Tiny beads of already dried ectoplasm sat beneath the cuts, many of them smeared into a faint pink sheen.

Danny pulled away, grabbing Vlad's wrists to inspect them. Vlad did not fight. "You're hurt."

"It's just a scratch, Little Badger."

Danny shook his head. "I hurt you."

"Just as I have hurt you in the past. You didn't mean to."

That was right. Danny didn't mean to. Just like he didn't mean to wreck the potted plant that sat in tatters in the corner of the room. Just like he didn't mean to ruin the carpet, to the end tables, or anything else. He ruined it all, just like he ruined everything else.

He felt his eyes burn again, but this time no tears came. All he could do was tremble in place, hands gripped into tight fists, making sure that his nails dug into his own flesh this time, not anyone else's.

"I've said something wrong, haven't I." He heard Vlad say quietly. "I'm sorry, Daniel, for whatever it was." A beat of silence, before he continued. "Would it help if I let you clean up?"

Danny had almost forgotten that was a thing he could do. This was a mess he could fix, a problem he could solve. He nodded once, quick and shaky.

"I shall go get some supplies, and then we will clean this together. You wait for me here. Understood?"

Danny nodded, and Vlad went off down the hall.

It would be nice, to clean up one of his messes for once.

---

"I don't understand why I need to do this," Danny asked. He was sitting  on an operating table in Vlad's own lab, elgs dangling off the edge.

It was weird, entering it for the first time. He was struck with a horrible amount of deja vu, and once he'd fought that off he'd been overtaken by just how different everything was.

His parents' lab had always been messy, to an almost comical and definitely unsafe degree. wires and scrap metal and inventions in various points of construction littered every possible surface, and in some cases impossible surfaces as well. Despite the mess, his parents knew where everything went, where everything was. Danny could still remember the exact order of every single blaster and tool from when it was his turn to clean the lab, despite having not done it for... two, three months now?

Vlad's laboratory couldn't be more different. Not only was every surface visible, it was practically shining. Chemicals and instruments lined the walls on carefully designed hooks or holders, and there were no visible blueprints at all; Danny didn't know if they were holed up in drawers or if Vlad stored them somewhere else. Or maybe he'd given up inventing completely. He had been busy taking care of Danny these last couple months.

"Because you have been through a period of extreme distress, and its important that we monitor your health," Vlad answered, pulling on a set of gloves.

"I guess," Danny said, picking at the hem of his shirt. "But you're not a doctor."

"You are correct," Vlad said. "I do seem to recall a rather unfortunate accident while working on my PhD dissertation."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's okay, Daniel. I understand being hesitant about this. But as the only other halfa, and with nearly all of the education required to be a doctor in this field, I would argue that I am the best person to do something like this with you."

"Right. Okay. And it's just a check up, like a normal doctor would do?"

"There are some other things I will need to test for," Vlad said. "But they will be a handful of scans, nothing more. The worst thing I will be doing is a blood test, and I will make sure you are well aware when that will happen." He turned back to Danny with a smile. "I try not  to lie to you, Daniel. Not unless its necessary."

Danny trusted Vlad. It was still a novel concept, but he did. The older halfa had been almost unreasonably kind to him during his stay at the mansion, and hadn't so much as insulted his father more than once or twice. He'd done everything he could to help Danny, and had asked nothing in return. The least he could do was sit still for a quick doctor's visit.

They worked through the tests in near silence, Danny listening to the instructions the best that he could. It was only once Vlad had stepped to the side to wheel over a cart, something to measure the strength of his core, that Danny spoke. "In the other timeline, you'd built a statue."

Vlad stopped. A full, complete stop, as if someone had pressed pause on him. Danny had begun to worry that Clockwork was about to make another appearance before he started moving again. "Oh?" was all he said.

Danny nodded. "Where the... accident. Occurred."

"I suppose you are asking if I can do the same?"

Danny nodded again. 

"I can see why you might think it's a good idea," Vlad said slowly. "But I will have to disagree."

Danny's heart dropped. He'd been sitting on this idea for a few weeks now, waiting for the perfect time to bring it up. He had thought Vlad would say yes; technically, he already had said yes, even if that timeline was no longer accurate. "Why not?"

"I just think that something like that is more likely to make you start living in the past," Vlad explained, just as slowly as before. "I know you have not told me everything from this 'other future,' but it is quite possible that doing such a thing encouraged your other self to do all of that, is it not?"

He hadn't thought about it that way, but Vlad did have a point. Maybe the statue had been a tipping point for the other him; had he gone back to cry over their makeshift, communal grave? Had he gone there so many times that he could fly the route by heart? That his knees were in a permanent state of bruised and muddy from the time he spent kneeling there.

Danny only hummed in reply.

"I suppose that does lead well in another topic I've been meaning to talk with you about," Vlad said, wheeling the cart over to where Danny sat. "I also don't think its a good idea for you to return to Amity Park."

Danny threw his head up to look Vlad in the eyes. "What? Why?"

"It will be much, much harder to avoid... sour reminders, so to say," Vlad said. He pressed some buttons on the machine, pointedly not looking at Danny. "It will be much harder to continue as you have been in the last few days, when you are faced with their passing again."

"But-" Danny swallowed hard. "But what if a ghost attacks?"

"Do you really think there hasn't been a single ghost attack since you first came here?" Vlad asked.

Danny's eyes widened in worry. He hadn't really thought about it, not between everything else he'd been through, but Vlad was right. The ghosts didn't take days off based on how Danny was doing before, and they certainly wouldn't now. With his parents dead, that only left Valerie and the Guys in White, and while Valerie may have been competent, she was only one human. The Guys in White were hardly worth mentioning.

Vlad rested his hand on Danny's shoulder and gave a slight, reassuring squeeze. "Relax, Daniel. I thought of this as soon as I saw what state you were in. I have used my connections to make sure that your town is perfectly safe from any harm. And, not to brag, but I do believe my precautions are just as strong as you are. Perhaps even more so."

Danny sagged in relief. "Oh thank the ancients."

"Actually, I think you should be thanking me," Vlad teased. "Now, straighten up. The scanner doesn't work as well when you're folded up like that."

Danny obeyed. It was a good thing Vlad had thought ahead like that; Danny didn't want to see what an Amity Park without a Phantom to protect it.

---

Things had been going well. Almost unreasonably well, for only a couple of months having passed. Living with Vlad had become almost enjoyable, and Danny was feeling good.

Maybe that was why he was flying back to Amity Park.

He'd realized, some time after digging himself out of the vat of survivors guilt and depression, that just because the most important people to him weren't around anymore, it didn't mean that there was nobody left who relied on him. He was Danny Phantom, Amity Park's number one line of defense against ghost attacks. He couldn't disappear forever, not until his town was safe.

He'd let himself stay out of the fight for long enough. Part of that time, he didn't have much of a choice; sitting up had been too much effort, let alone a proper fight. The other part, his fears had been assuaged by Vlad's promises to keep the ghosts out. As much as he might not approve of Vlad's methods, he knew that they worked.

That didn't mean he could just leave his home behind. He had a job to do.

And maybe, there was a large part of him that still screamed in agony whenever he saw a creepy book from Vlad's collection, or when he booted up Vlad's ancient computer, and his first reaction was to message Sam and Tucker. How the voice in the back of his head that encouraged him to go through the motions of self care sounded a bit too much like Jazz, or the lab Vlad did his check ups in, and how his initial reaction was always that it was too neat , not nearly enough life in it. That part needed... something. Closure, maybe, or maybe it just wanted to drag Danny back down into the depths of his despair.

Either way, Danny needed to get back to Amity Park. Even if only for a little bit. Even if Vlad didn't want him to.

He made sure to stay invisible as he passed the welcome sign to the city; he wouldn't be surprised if the Guys in White had gone a little crazy in his family's absence.

The city was in surprisingly good condition, for what he could tell. He couldn't say anything about the Nasty Burger's disaster site; even now he couldn't get himself to look at it, but everything else was almost exactly how he imagined it. There wasn't an abundance of ectopuses roaming the streets, none of his normal rogues gallery had take over the town, and the Guys in White had either gotten much better at hiding, or they'd not taken up the reigns as much as he'd expected them too.

It was nice, seeing just how well Vlad had kept his promise. If this was how well the city ran with him gone, maybe the fruit loop was right; maybe he could move on and stop clinging to the past.

Danny drifted aimlessly through the streets, keeping high in the sky to avoid any ghost scanners that may detect his presence. He didn't have a real destination in mind, and was almost surprised when he found himself floating above the park.

He was surprised when he saw a familiar red hat.

Danny blinked, then shook his head, then rubbed at his eyes, but the hat didn't disappear. Neither did the familiar figure whose head it was sitting on, nor the girl wearing far too much black for the warm, sunny weather.

It was Sam and Tucker, sitting on their park bench, just like they'd done a thousand times before the accident. They were talking animatedly with each other, and while Danny was too far away to hear, he knew them well enough to fill in whatever inane argument they were having by their gestures alone.

They were alive. They were here, and they were talking, and they were alive. Danny didn't care how, didn't care why, didn't care about anything besides getting back to his spot on the bench, empty besides them after months and months of tears. They were alive.

Danny entered a steep dive, not caring to keep his speed in check, the only thing on his mind being his friends smiling, happy, living faces. He would be back by their side in just a few minutes, back where he belonged.

And then he was. Danny Fenton, lazily slotting into his spot on the bench as if he had never been gone. As if the last few months hadn't happened. He was shoving papers into his purple backpack, complaining loudly about some English assignment he didn't want to do.

Danny Fenton sat on the bench, in his normal, human form, and Danny Fenton watched him, frozen in the air, invisibility hiding his ghost form from view.

The person on the bench was him, he knew it with a certainty he couldn't remember ever feeling before in his half life. That Danny was him, and yet here he was, still floating dozens of feet above ground. Something was horribly, terribly wrong, and Danny had a feeling that he knew exactly who was at fault.

---

Danny was sitting on a billboard, overlooking the perfectly intact Nasty Burger when Vlad- when Plasmius found him. Even though he was in his ghost form, he was a mess, nothing like his normal, distinguished self. His hair was a mess, and he moved with a twitchy, anxious quality that Danny had become far too familiar with over the years.

"There you are," Vlad said, the relief palpable in his voice. "I was worried about you, Little Badger."

Danny hummed, not moving his eyes from the fast food restaurant. "It's still standing."

Vlad sat next to him, close enough that Danny could feel how he kept his body tensed. "They must have rebuilt it."

"Right."

"Daniel, I understand that you've missed this place, but you can't just fly off like that," Vlad admonished. "If you had just asked-"

"I did ask," Danny interrupted. "Several times. And you said no every time."

"I didn't realize you would go to such drastic lengths to get back here. If I had known, I would've brought you."

Danny hummed again. "So you could make sure that everyone had a convenient reason to be out of town, right? So you could make sure that I didn't see anything that would ruin the lie you've built up?"

"Ah," Vlad said, any warmth and worry he'd had in his voice gone. "You saw them, then."

"Yeah, I saw them. And I saw the real Danny too. Because I'm not real, am I? All those tests, all those check ups, they weren't to make sure I was still healthy, were they? You were testing to make sure I wouldn't, I don't know, melt away or something, weren't you?"

Danny finally turned to look at Vlad. He was staring through Danny, pure red eyes unmoving and unfocused. "I really thought you had changed, Vlad. You've been so nice to me, and now I find out that everything was a lie? That I'm a lie? You let me go through all of that, just because, what? You were lonely? Was that it?"

"I am sorry, Daniel," Vlad said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you really think an apology is going to make all of this better?" Danny said, just barely shy of shouting.

"I'm not apologizing for that."

The pain hit all at once, a horrible, burning, piercing feeling that seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once. It was pure agony, coursing through his veins, a type of pain he only remembered from the portal. He couldn't stop himself from falling forward, straight into Vlad.

Danny clung to Vlad's arms, squeezing hard enough that he knew it would hurt, but he didn't care, couldn't care, not over the horrid pain he was going through. Distantly, he felt Vlad's hand on his head, carding hands through his hair so very gently, just like he had done a dozen times before. He couldn't tell at what point it stopped being hair and started being pure ectoplasm.

"Hurts," he slurred, his voice muffled and distorted as he choked on his own melting flesh and ectoplasm.

"I know, Little Badger," Vlad said, voice soft. "It'll be over soon. I won't let this happen again. I promise."

---

Vlad did his best to gather as much of the ectoplasm as he could. He wouldn't be able to use it again, of course, not with how tainted it would be from the dirt and debris on the sign, but he couldn't find himself to let it go. The ectoplasm would be placed in a vial in the lab, safely tucked away in a cupboard with the other failures.

He did his best to blink back the tears he felt gathering in his eyes. He'd gotten attached to this one; how could he not? It was so close to perfect, so close to success. If it hadn't been for this little trip, it would have been. 

Vlad took a deep, deep breath. Next time would be different. He knew what to do now; this Daniel had given him the answer on a silver platter. 

It would only be a matter of time before he got his son. His Daniel. 

Only a matter of time.

---

Prompts used: ScarletSakura - Danny finds out he’s a clone, what happened to the real Danny? shadowfaerieammy - What if Danny's clone was actually identical to him? faeriekit - Two Faced underforeversgrace - It hurt. He always knew it would hurt. He didn't realize how much.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #vlad plasmius #phic phight #tw depression #tw survivors guilt #tw self harm #tw hair pulling #tw manipulation #post tue

[elven-kisses]

survivor's guilt - a third life au where scar won instead.

#goodtimeswithscar #grian #desertduo #3rd life #tw blood #kittlebyll art #survivor's guilt au

[rk-tmblr]

“I know that when I'm gone, you'll fall at my feet and scream why did I do it? Why didn't I let you die for her? Not me.”

ALNST Ivan/Till

#fanfiction writer #writercommunity #writerscorner #character analysis #angst #unrequited feelings #unrequited crush #unrequited love #jelous #anger #survivor guilt #dealing with grief #tw death mention #tw sui implied #tw death #tw depression #alien stage #alnst #ivantill #alnst ivan #alnst till #alnst sua #vivinos

[little-bloodied-angel]

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)

#me #personal #izzy hands #abuse tw #israel hands #israel basilica hands #negative #swearing #edward teach critical #some people on this site need to take a long walk off a short pier #actually disabled #actual survivor #not me getting VIOLENT flashbacks to my ex threatening or outright hurting other people if i didn't comply #the guilt i still carry from that is devastating #fuck off #mutilation

[stayaiden]

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.

#godzilla #godzilla minus one #godzilla minus 1 #godzilla movies #movies #tw survivors guilt #the protagonist learns how to live again #it was so good #I learned from him too

[kimetsu-chan]

(i hope it’s ok if i go ahead and send this in cause ima forget it if i don’t)

I have a fic request that is extremely angsty

It’s for the Milo Kocho au

So in the final battle, Muzan kidnapped Milo and brought her very close to death

I’d like to request post battle when Milo wakes up 5 months after the battle ended:3

Everyone and everything is very different so she’ll probably take a lot of things very hard and she’ll probably blame herself for not being able to save everybody

~Guilt~

A/N: oh this is going to be angsty. Like, real bad.

The Milo Stan’s are gonna come for me, that’s how bad this is.

This has major manga spoilers

TWs: angst, angst with no comfort, death, Milo has major survivors guilt, and possibly more that I may have missed. If any of these topics are unsettling to you, please do not read.

Milo had woken up from her five month coma four weeks ago.

And boy was she having a hard time coping.

The pure amount of people who had died that day… deaths that she felt that she could’ve prevented…

Miss Shinobu.. who had taken her in.

Muichiro Tokito… someone who she had seen as a brother.

Basil… someone she had loved, and seen turned into a demon, then disappear to where no one knew where he went.

They even lost Mr. Himejima… their strongest hashira.

Even one of her closest friends, and someone she would consider family died.

She knew Giyuu was just as torn over Yuna’s death as she was. But at least he was able to put a brave face on.

Another close friend, Tanjiro, and his sister, Nezuko, had been doing their best to comfort her after such a devastating loss.

She knew she should be happy that Muzan was dead, and that most demons had been eradicated, but she couldn’t help but feel utterly destroyed.

She had tricked herself into thinking that she caused some of their deaths, and that she had prevented their survival by getting in the way.

Not only did a multitude of people die, but so many had changed as well.

Some had began to be happier, and it felt like she was the only one grieving.

She felt silly for being the only one this outwardly sad.

She should be able to just get over it, right?

Wrong.

Milo found herself crying in her room. Alone.

The loneliness was starting to get to her, even though she was surrounded by people.

Oh why couldn’t she have just used her powers to heal them?!

She understands that doing so would most certainly cost her her life, but she didn’t care!

It would’ve been so much better for a larger group of people to survive, then one measly helper.

That was her way of viewing it anyway…

Milo wiped the tears that were falling like waterfalls. She felt so pathetic.

She adjusted her position in the corner of the room and re-buried her face in her arms.

The girl had curled herself into a ball and hadn’t left her room all day. Even when people came to check in on her.

Milo felt the familiar call of sleep luring her in.

Sleeping was the only thing she could think of doing to make her forget… everything.

Even when she had nightmares, she thought it was better than facing the reality that almost everyone she loved was either dead, or missing.

She didn’t even bother wiping her tears as her eyes finally closed for longer than a second.

Milo was slowly drifting off, imagining the faces of those she lost smiling back at her.

But they weren’t happy smiles.

They were smiles filled with sadness, regret, pity.

She couldn’t join them.

Not yet.

No matter how much she wanted to.

A/N: I busted some fat tears while writing this. My baby 😭

IABSJSBSUSBSMSBSUSNJSBSHSISNSJSN

I really liked writing it tho, even though it made me FREAKING BAWL MY EYES OUT.

Forgot to mention previously, Basil is not my oc. They belong to @aceofstars0.

#🍁 #oc #hehehe #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #yuna handa #milo suzuki #tw death mention #tw death #tw grief #tw survivors guilt

[serickswrites]

Hook, Line, and Sinker VIII

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, gun, gunshot, mcd, escape, survivor's guilt

Caretaker couldn't stop staring at something they caused. Couldn't stop staring at the worst thing that ever happened to them. Couldn't stop staring at the shell of the one thing they loved above all others. Caretaker couldn't stop staring at Whumpee's body.

Whumper had recuffed Caretaker to the wall. They had dragged the chair Whumpee was bound to over to Caretaker, just out of reached. "I think you should bask in the glory of your choices, Caretaker," Whumper snickered as they positioned Whumpee's head so Caretaker could stare directly into the lifeless eyes. They stepped back and admired their work and Caretaker's complete desolation. "They sure are something, aren't they."

"Please," Caretaker said hoarsely. "Please, just kill me."

"No. I want you to live with this endless pain, Caretaker. I want you to know that you did this. I wasn't going to kill, Whumpee, you know. Your choice left me with no other option. Your choice killed them."

"You....You killed them," Caretaker growled, finally tearing their gaze from Whumpee's face. "You did this."

Whumper stared down at Whumper. "I merely responded. You are the reason Whumpee is dead."

With a growl, Caretaker launched themself at Whumper. They moved with a ferocity and rage that they had not known they were capable of. Caretaker quickly slipped their broken thumb through the cuffs and attacked Whumper.

Whumper attempted to defend themself, their fingers scrabbling at the back of Caretaker's hands. But Caretaker never stopped. They kept going. Even as Whumper reached for the gun in their waistband. Caretaker just moved faster. Moved without thinking. Suddenly the gun went off in their hand. Went off and Whumper's eyes went wide.

Caretaker could feel Whumper's blood on their hands. Could feel the rage they still felt, even as Whumper collapsed and didn't move. This was not justice. Whumper deserved so much more pain and suffering than Caretaker could give.

They looked down at their blood covered hands. There was so much blood on their hands. Killing Whumper had not absolved them of the guilt. Whumpee. Whumpee was dead because of them. Caretaker released their other hand from the cuff and finally looked up.

Whumpee. Whumpee was well and truly dead. "Oh, God, Whumpee," Caretaker sobbed as they dropped to their knees in front of Whumpee. With a shaking hand, Caretaker cupped Whumpee's cooling cheek. "I am so sorry."

Caretaker carefully, slowly released Whumpee from the bonds keeping them to the chair. Whumpee's body slumped over as Caretaker worked. "I'm sorry, so sorry. Please. I'm sorry," Caretaker repeated over and over as they released Whumpee.

Caretaker stared down at the face they loved above all others. "I'm going to get you out of here. Hang on, Whumpee." Caretaker took one last look into Whumpee's eyes, hoping to find the spark of life in there. But Whumpee's eyes were empty and lifeless. Caretaker closed Whumpee's eyes and carefully lifted them.

As Whumpee hung limply in Caretaker's arms, Caretaker pressed their lips to the top of Whumpee's head, sobs wracking their body. "I am so sorry, Whumpee. I'm getting you out of here. I've got you. I've got you."

And though Caretaker walked out of Whumper's compound, Whumpee held close in their arms, part of Caretaker remained in the compound. Part of Caretaker had died with Whumpee. And Caretaker couldn't carry that out any more than they could bring Whumpee back. But they were free. Whumper was dead. Whumpee was dead.

Whumpee was dead and it was all their fault. Whumpee was dead because Caretaker had fallen for Whumper's trap. Twice. Once when Whumper lured them to the compound. And once when Caretaker believed they could break free. They had fallen for two traps. Fallen hook, line, and sinker.

@whumperofworlds@mefattortoise@gala1981@whumpy-bi@whump321@st0rmm@sowhumpful@writing-i-like-dump@bookworm7543@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@whumpitywhumpwhump @elisabethrosewrites

@written-by-jayy @lthrboy @whumppmuhw @bookinmyhandbloodontheknife @jdlite

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw torture #tw blood #tw gun #tw gunshot #tw mcd #escape #tw survivor's guilt #queue

[riality-check]

Max, Eddie, and found family feels

Summary:

“He was such a prick,” Max whispers. “And I hate that I feel bad, and I hate that I don’t feel bad.”

Eddie sits back down across from Max and tries to wrack his brain for an intelligent thing to say.

He settles on, “You’re allowed to feel however you feel.”

Max snorts. “But isn’t it fucked up either way?”

“Welcome to Hawkins, Red,” Eddie says dryly. “We’re all fucked up here.”

OR

On a Sunday morning, Eddie and Max talk about survivor's guilt, cycles of abuse, and good ways to feel big.

#ria writes #stranger things #stranger things fic #st #st fic #max mayfield #eddie munson #survivor’s guilt #tw referenced child abuse #read the tags #found family

[mayasaura]

Re: your John post: I’m so fascinated by the moment when Cristabel kills herself in front of John to give him the final boost (psychological and practical) to figure out resurrection because when it WORKS and he figures it out, John’s immediate response is…to leave her lying dead on the floor because suddenly the urgency to save that one individual life evaporates in the face of everything he can now do.

There are later moments, like when the ship escapes, that are obviously pivotal in HIS mind, but it’s my sense that everything which happens after Cristabel’s (first) death is colored by that shift from “If I can just figure out how to bring ONE person back, I can bring EVERYONE back” to “Who cares if I can bring one person back? I can bring ANYONE I want back!”

And with THAT shift comes a shift in his own understanding of what morality looks like for someone with his power.

Sorry for the delay, I've been struggling with answering this one.

I agree, Cristabel's suicide is an extremely important pivotal moment for John, if not THE pivotal moment, but I'm not sure I agree about exactly what his pivot was.

After Cristabel dies, when he's holding her soul and through it sees Alecto, he doesn't go straight to 'I'm so powerful I can do anything now,' and he doesn't immediately set off the bombs or make himself god. He does a journey first through begging to become a vessel for that power, begging the soul of the Earth to tell him what to do. When he says that Alecto was incoherent and screaming, he follows up by saying "It wasn't your fault." He doesn't blame her for it, but he resents that he wasn't given guidance in that moment, that he was left with so much power and no idea what he was meant to do with it.

Something I feel carries a lot of weight in that scene for how little John dwells on it is that John was also suicidal. When he set up the nuclear threat, I don't think he expected to survive the fallout if he followed through. When Cris told him she knew how to help him and then came back with a gun, John's assumption was that she was going to kill him. And he was going to let her.

I find it difficult to analyze his immediate reaction to Cris' death, choosing to focus on Alecto over Cristabel. For personal reasons, I'm incapable of judging someone for their immediate reaction to watching a loved one commit suicide. I just can't. He had the power to bring her right back and he didn't; it seems like there's obviously something deeply wrong with that decision, but I can't assume it was out of lack of care for Cristabel. Maybe it was representative of a shift in his priorities, it seems likely that you're right and it was, but I can only credit that retroactively in how he processed having made the decision. Seeing something like that can just. Make you insane. Sometimes there is no 'why' in what you do when you're experiencing that kind of traumatic shock, and trying to find deeper meaning in it will only fuck you up beyond belief.

I'm pretty certain John was in shock, from the way he recounts it. From the moment he starts telling how Cristabel came back with the gun, he's described as sounding 'as though he were underwater with the rest of everything'. His memory surrounding the immediate aftermath is fuzzy, he can't remember details about what he did, if he took anything with him. He remembers some trivial-seeming sensory and visual details clearly, like how there was less blood than he expected on his clothes. He doesn't remember what he did, when he left the scene of her death to find the rest of his friends under assault or dead. He thinks he just watched, but he isn't sure. It feels weird, like he dreamed it. He remembers Augustine saying something in their final moments huddled together behind the barricade, but not what he said. He recalls holding Augustine and Mercy's hands as they begged for his life, as they died in front of him, but he's not sure how he got there. He was, in short, incredibly fucked up and about to die.

And that's when he ended everything, and became god.

I've been thinking about that moment preceding all of it—about Cristabel and John and how pivotal their relationship was—for a while since you first sent this, and I think on some level John does realize how important it is. John was only Catholic by the furthest stretch of the definition, we find that out fairly early in the Verses. He was baptized at a christian rock concert he'd attended for the underage drinking. There's no evidence the man ever set foot in a church prior to his apotheosis, and he goes on to construct a giant Catholic-themed space empire. Why would he do that? Why is that the blueprint he chose for his new world?

John wasn't Catholic, but Cristabel was. She was a nun, she was the only person he allowed into the room with him during his breakdown, and he addresses her as 'Sister'. She killed herself in front of him. She's the reason he learned how to perceive the soul, and she was the first soul he ever touched. Did he lean so heavily on the Catholic theme in honor of her, or to spite her, or both? Or did she push the theme herself? We know she invented the oath "One flesh, one end," and we know she was the one behind forcing the invention of lyctorhood. In her first life, we know she was the one who most enthusiastically framed John as a religious figure, even before he formed the cult. How much influence did Cristabel have in the structure and formation of the Empire? How deep an impression did she leave on the culture, and on John?

#the locked tomb #cristabel oct #tlt meta #ntn spoilers #nona the ninth #john gaius #emperor john gaius #suicide cw #suicide tw #tw suicide #cw suicide #survivor's guilt cw #long post #I don't know what we're meant to take away from this scene or if there is a right or wrong answer to how we react #but I do know this series hasn't ever trivialized the trauma of being the immediate survivor of someone's suicide #so it is probably important to understanding John too

[silentprincessandsweethibiscus]

Green is NOT coping dudes going to cry so much that he can't cry no more but at least zelda is there :)

oop, was way to deep into the stardew valley hole to see that i got this. anyways;

yea! exactly. he would be a mess. coping with being essentially 1/4 of a person when the other parts of who you where are all right there, going through that with you is one thing. but having to go through it a second time? this time all alone? oh man.

at least hes got zelda, sure, but she has no idea how to even begin to help him through this. its not a problem anyones ever had before. this is a uniquely green problem.

growing from being 1/4 of a person into his own self, with the others by his side, only to have that ripped away. he may still be a whole person now, but theres an emptiness that cant be described. he watched the other parts of his old self grow into their own people beside him, still technically parts of a whole picture, and while the person is complete, the picture no longer is.

its an ach that cant be described. and id bet hed try to sooth it by trying to mimic what he thinks the others would do in his place. research until he passes out like vio, work until he cant think about it or lash out like blue, bake his feelings away or curl up and cry like red. all the while never truly getting to the heart of his feelings, to really work through them.

hes switching rapidly between incomplete and incompatible coping mechanisms and no one knows what to do for him, least of all himself.

maybe eventually he finds something that helps. maybe he spirals until he ends up joining them. maybe he lands somewhere in the middle. just, floating by, never really knowing who he is anymore, just numb enough to keep going, but never truly feeling whole or happy again.

#four swords #green #character study #tw death #hibiscus speaks #that uh #that went on a lot longer than i intended when i started #sorry? #survivors guilt au

[queerstudiesnatural]

people my brain has offed in a nightmare to make me grieve for no reason:

- two of my former professors whom i grew up with and who are now some of my closest friends/parent figures

- my brother

- my uncle

- my grandfather

- my grandmother

- my dad

- a few online friends

- a lot of random people that i felt responsible for somehow

the thing about having hyper realistic nightmares every night is i get to have so much trauma that's not even real but is also very real because i lived it (and keep reliving it) in dreams :)

#i'm fine this is fine #my brain is also really good at making up scenarios where everyone is under attack and i choose to hide by myself instead of sticking with #my family/friends #and when i come out of hiding the threat is gone but they are all dead :) #this is so fine and not at all haunting me at all times :) #rain.stuff #tw grief #tw death #tw trauma #tw guilt #tw survivors guilt #tw survivor's guilt #tw nightmares #tw unreality #<- to be sure #if i need to tag anything else lmk!! #i just needed to vent but i don't want to upset people

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

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! 💖

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.

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

#fic #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #glen powell #f!reader #angst #hurt/comfort #hurt & comfort #hopeful ending #grief tw #blood tw #ptsd tw #survivor's guilt tw #bar fight tw

[yonderghostshistories]

A Post talking about writing my first Monty Python AU fanfic (of sorts)

This is my first time wanting to write a fanfic. Hope it turns out well! Especially since this particular (albeit kinda morbid) topic of mine has interested me for a while, also because I want to get it out of my chest due to having nightmares about it a while ago, so it'll be better for me to write it down and probably make my health and mind better mentally. Anyway, uhh rambling over. Please do let me know your thoughts on the fanfic idea for when I actually make the idea a full fledged fanfic (maybe with the help of my friends, if they're comfortable with it that is), criticisms and all, just so that i can fine-tune some aspects of it! Thank you.

The working title for the fanfic is called "POV: John and Michael have Ceased to Be...." (A Monty Python AU fanfic)

Age Rating: 13+ and older

Tone: Angst (mostly angst but with some humour in there)

CW/TW: Assassination mention, grief mention, survivors guilt mention.

Synopsis: Today is Friday, 9th November, 1979. You and your friend are watching the "Friday Night, Saturday Morning" debate on the TV, where John Cleese and Michael Palin are up against Bishop Mervyn Stockwood and Interviewer Malcolm Muggeridge about the film "Life of Brian" discussing the accusations of the film being "blasphemous". Along with them, a weird-looking yet somewhat humble and somewhat quiet person called Benjamin Haroldson, a member of the public who was brought in to share their thoughts on the film "Life of Brian", stares at and is mostly fixated on John and Michael. You notice how Benjamin almost always has his hands in his coat pockets, never letting them out. You don't mention this to your friend since, to be honest, it's just a minor detail that you've noticed. Whilst your friend goes to make sandwiches for you and them, you're still at the couch enjoying the programme. One the TV, Benjamin asks for a glass of water, and gets up. That's sounds normal, right? Well, as everyone gets on debating with each other, Benjamin brushes past John and Michael. After Benjamin has his glass of water, he suddenly stands behind where John is sitting, and to your shock, you see him calmly pull out a gun, John at first not noticing and Benjamin shoots him in the head, bits of his brain spread across the floor, blood flowing down his forehead. Michael, in shock, shouts out "J-Joh-" before he too is shot next by Benjamin, his head split with a bullet wound, blood gushing out through his cold, dead face. Everyone in the studio is screaming in horror. Your face is covered by your shivering hands, trying to believe it's not true. That it's just some horrible prank, a joke even. But no.... it's really happening. The last thing you see is Benjamin's cold, emotionless face. The last thing you hear from him is ".....you shouldn't have made that film, you blasphemous twats..." .

#monty python #john cleese #michael palin #monty python aus #monty python fanfics #monty python fanfiction #tw assassination mention #tw survivors guilt #tw grief mention